RobertSpuhler.com

Radio Silence

You won't be asked if you were working on a wonderful, moving piece of writing when you died. You won't be asked if it was long or short, sad or funny, published or unpublished. You won't be asked if you were in good or bad form while you were working on it. You won't even be asked if it was the one piece of writing you would have been working on if you had known your time would be up when it was finished--I think only poor soren k. will get asked that. I'm so sure you'll get asked only two questions. Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out? -J.D. Salinger, "Seymour - An Introduction"

Multitasking messes with the brain in several ways. At the most basic level, the mental balancing acts that it requires - €”the constant switching and pivoting - €”energize regions of the brain that specialize in visual processing and physical coordination and simultaneously appear to shortchange some of the higher areas related to memory and learning. We concentrate on the act of concentration at the expense of whatever it is that we're supposed to be concentrating on. - Walter Kern, "The Autumn of the Multitaskers," The Atlantic

You know where to find me.

A Day Late, But...

Happy Valentine's Day.

(someecards.com is awesome.)

It Was Christmas Eve, Babe...

In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Self Portrait

Complete with Slurpee Squishee t-shirt.

Happy Easter

On The Road

"The road is [expletive] hard,
The road is [expletive] tough."

- Tenacious D, The Road

A PUBLIC INTERNET TERMINAL, THE ROAD - I'm on the pilgrimage back to western Colorado for the time being. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

A couple of quick notes:

• What does it take to be a "Republican strategist" or "Democratic strategist," like on the cable talk shows? Besides a loud voice and the complete inability to listen to reason?
• The Alliance went 0-for-8 at the Valley Theater League Awards on Monday night. But we looked the best and yelled the loudest, so I guess we're Mr. and Miss Congeniality, or something. Winners of awards included a guy doing a Liberace impersonation and several members of the Valley Theater League Board of Directors, so take it for what you will.
• Some say our life is insane - but it isn't insane on paper.

Back next Tuesday with news of a new class/big commitment and a chance for me to get on stage...

On the Road. Again.

Ah, the jetset life of an actor - 6:30 a.m. flights, coach middle seats, no liquids.

I'm off to DC to watch soccer, attend the premiere of my last DC film, and drink to forget.

My DCites -  call or email me.

Road Blog

"Everybody's coming back to take stock of their lives. You know what I say? Leave your livestock alone. "

Tomorrow evening I'll be hitting the road for a very long drive back home to western Colorado for, of all things, my ten year high school reunion. I'll be trying to check in from Glenwood Springs, Colorado, which has at least one thing going for it - it can't be hotter than Burbank.

"As a graduate of the class of 19[9]6, you are someone special. Remember, there's nowhere you can go that you haven't learned how to go in time. Whatever the hell that means. "

Welcome inside...

"So," voice-in-my-head-to-keep-me-from-loneliness says, "what's all this about, then?"

(NOTE: It helps to read said voice with a BBC British accent.)

"Well," I reply...wait, do I need to put my reply in quotes? It's my reply, yeah? No quotes.

I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to pretend like I know enough HTML to keep my own site up. I'm tired of deleting comment spam. I'm tired of giant billboard teaser campaigns for ultra-[expletive] remakes of horror films that were better off left sputtering by the roadside, coughing up blood...

I'm sorry, I've lost the plot.

(NOTE: And character separation. That should have come from the voice in my head.)

The look here will likely change when (if?) I figure out what the hell I'm doing. The old blog is still up, if non-functional - follow the link in the upper right corner.

And welcome.