*** SuperBowl Funnies! ***
with your host, Jeremy Bear!

Q: What's the price of corn in Tampa Bay?
A: About a Buccaneer.

Yuk yuk yuk! So, I guess the Raiders lost. Ah well. There'll be other SuperBowls. Haven't heard too many rioting reports either, so I guess everyone sort of dejectedly waddled back home.

Pretty sick right now. Sore throat, coughing blood. As a result, I haven't gotten anything significant done in days. Our insurance kicks in next weekend, so... holding on...
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As of this past Thursday, I'm married to one of those women with a nose-piercing. Yeah, three nights ago, Carey went out with some friends to a tattoo and piercing parlor in Huntington Beach and got the deed done. A little diamond stud, or something like that. No, no, not a bull-ring or barbell, just your run-of-the-mill nose piercing (which was apalling and edgy 10 years ago... but, these days, nothing all that remarkable). She's been discussing a tattoo, but I dunno. I just don't go in for tattoos. Probably because, as a lifestyle, I resist the idea of permanence. The idea of being locked into a career or a home or (sh-shudder...!) kids scares the livin' heck outta me... I certainly don't want words or pieces of artwork on my body that aren't coming off.

That's not to say piercings are out of the question, I guess. I don't know, I just tend to think I'd look stupid with an earring or a nosering or an eyebrow ring. Some people wear them well, but... ah, who am I kidding, I don't even wear pants well, what makes me think I could get away with hoops in my ears or a tongue-stud?
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By the way, Carey and I have been informed that there will definitely be rioting in LA tonight. Whether the Raiders win or lose, count on it. It's just a matter of deciding between a celebratory riot or a pissed-off riot. But, Oakland's in the Super Bowl, so the city is gearing up either way.

How friggin' retarded is that?

I just bought a new sketchbook, which is something I'll often do at the beginning of the year. Started drawing in it today and, already, 9 pages are filled. There's something wonderful about a new sketchbook. A brand new, sparkling white chance to do something fun and cool and satisfying.

This is the very first sketch in my new sketchbook. I have no idea who this woman is.

You know, I used to be deathly afraid of sketchbooks. For some reason, I'd gotten it into my noggin that one must achieve a certain degree of artistic skill or confidence to draw in them. In high school and college, I'd fill reams upon reams of spiral notebooks with doodles and drawings, always on the lined paper. Now, to be fair, they were usually the notebooks I was supposed to be taking notes in... but, the site of a real, live, blank sketchbook was just a bit too intimidating. And, God knows, I was terrified to lay down any lines on (gasp!) illustration board provided in high school art class. This was the big time! After all, who did I think I was, amateur teenage artist, with unrefined lines, vague notions of perspective and an awkward sense of anatomy!

But, my opinions have changed on the whole matter of sketchbooks. The more I draw, paint, and illustrate... the more awkward my sense of perspective and anatomy feels. I feel as if I've been producing art for a good long while now and I'm STILL not happy with my progress. But, man, at least I'm not afraid of sketchbooks anymore. It's really often that I'll be drawing in one of my books (my favorite kind are the hardcover book-bound ones with a nice, sturdy spine and cover. Forget about the spiral bound or tear-away pads... I go all out, baby... they're about 12 bucks or so at Borders or Barnes & Noble) and someone will take a look and say, "you know, that looks like fun. If I were better at drawing, I'd love to keep a sketchbook." To those dear folks, my advice is always the same:

Buy a sketchbook. Invest the 12 bucks on a nice sketchbook with a nice cover. Make sure it doesn't have the type of pages that you can tear out when you happen to draw something awful or, conversely, when you happen to draw something really good. If that first, blank page looks intimidating, make a deal with yourself... write the deal you're making with yourself on the first page, if need be. Here's the deal:

"This sketchbook is purely for fun.
None of the pages are special or sacred.
None of the drawings, sketches, doodles, and notes I make throughout are going to look good or even approach any type of professional caliber.
This will be, mostly, a very ugly book.
If some drawing or other happens to look great during this book's tenure, it's purely accidental.
If need be, I can write phone numbers or grocery lists or curse words or song lyrics on its pages.
If need be, I can draw puppies or demons or hearts or swirls or models or people or comic strips or portraits of Jesus or snapshots of sex acts.
I'm free to draw or write anything... it's my book, after all.
I can skip pages if I want.
I can also draw something the size of my fingernail on a page and move onto the next, if the whim strikes me, and I refuse to feel as if I've wasted a page.
I am not going to worry about whether or not I'm getting the most out of my twelve dollars at any point.
This book is my playground and my business and it's the one place in my world where it's not only okay to mess up, it's encouraged.
Some day, I may decide to produce beautiful drawings and paintings and other work, but it won't happen in this book.
I will not be ashamed of anything that goes on between its covers...

I WILL NOT BE ASHAMED OF ANYTHING THAT GOES ON BETWEEN ITS COVERS."

And, you know, there's something I like about every single sketchbook I've ever owned. However pretty, however ugly, it's a picture of my brain at some period of my life, more accurate than any photograph.

Long Beach, California, baby. Here we are, mid-January... temperatures in the 70s, beautiful blue skies, and I took a leisurely stroll this morning all by my lonesome in a T-shirt. A T-shirt! Mid-January! Long Beach!
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Last night, Carey and I went to our very first, real-live hockey game. Although the Long Beach Ice Dogs were utterly trounced by the Bakersfield Condors, it was fun nonetheless. Kelly Larned, a dear friend, rounded up some free tickets... so, off we skipped to the Long Beach Ice Arena.

You know, it's pretty cliche about people going to hockey games mostly to watch the fighting, but I have to say I understand it now. As a sport, it's not all that exciting. The same puck just keeps on whizzing around and around the rink. Every so often, though, a player will throw a punch and all pandemonium breaks out. Even my tree--hugging, peacenik, vegan wife was caught up in the fever: "Hit him! Knock his teeth out! Hit him, you moron!"

"Easy, babe."

"What! I want to see some action! Come on!"
...

Saw Adaptation a few nights ago with Nick Cage and Meryl Streep. Man, now I have to go back and rethink a couple of my Best-Of-2002 categories. Thanks a bundle Spike Jonze! Nnh.
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Remember that guy in high school who was some kind of sports all-star? Everybody loved him and the ladies would trip over themselves for a date with him? Of course, at the height of this arrogant bastard's popularity, he blows his knee out doing some spectacular sports move and effectively ends his basketball career forever, right? Well, wouldn't you just know that--while the whole flaming world is lamenting the fall of this Olympian idol--the guy shrugs the whole ordeal off, ends up marrying some girl named Donna, moves out to the suburbs, raises a family and lives out his days, happy as a clam? Remember that guy?

Well, as it turns out, that guy's name is Darrell Garrison and (while he's anything but an arrogant bastard) he managed to supply the title to my latest script. He's calling it Ten Little Indians and, because I'm such a prolific fool, it's available for your perusal. Thanks, Darrell.

You know, lately I've been coming to terms with a very, very cold reality: I am a geek. No, truly. I am. For many years, I've harbored this delusion that... well, that I'm not really a geek, I just happen to share many of the geek community's interests. After all, geeks are unhygenic, socially inept, and generally awkward to be around. And... hah... that isn't me, is it? Well?

But, I can deny it no longer. While I may have the slightest advantage over your run-of-the-mill geek in the department of social decorum, it doesn't change the fact that I'm an un-athletic, 26-year-old comic book fan with an embarrassingly off-kilter knowledge base. For example... I could easily tell you who wrote and pencilled the latest issue of X-Men comics, detailing their career highlights and upcoming projects. I could not, however, name more than 5 players in the NBA. I could tell you who the director of photography on the 2001 art film "The Man Who Wasn't There" was and why I believe his camerawork to be brilliant... but, I don't have the first clue who won the Super Bowl two years ago. I could tell you who portrayed the voice of Megatron in the 1980's cartoon Transformers, but I couldn't replace the sparkplugs in my car to save my life. Speaking of my car, it's a mess. I have no fashion sense at all. I wear glasses instead of contacts. I live 3 blocks from the beach and I've never been surfing. I KEEP AN ONLINE BLOGGER, for crying out loud!

So, screw it! I'm heretofore committed to being proud of my geekhood! I have a job I love, a beautiful wife, and I live in the greatest place on Earth. And, yes, I'm a GEEK. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the comic shop to pick up the latest issue of Batman (Jim Lee is currently drawing it, you see, and I've read great things about it on the message boards I frequent).

So, nyah.
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Oop, and before I go, be sure to look at the latest script: The Boogy Woogy. You'll either get it or you won't. Title suggested by Matthew Wolfe, a fine young man currently on the mend from a little disease called Heartbreak. Women! Who need's 'em, Matt!

A few apologies, here...

First of all, my conscience has pecked me to death over the course of the last week or so. Although I'm sure that anyone reading is well aware of my regular use of biting irony, I feel I must set the record straight and clear the name of my dear friend Jeff Rockwood. He is in no way a sex-crazed fiend... in fact, he's probably among the more gracious and conservative of my old chums and, as his wife Melissa can attest, any man's daughter would find her virtue safe in his company. Blessings on your head, Rockwood. I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks.

Second, I must assure any and everyone aware of my McDonald's car-wreck fiasco, that, yes, indeed, definitely, I swear... I was certainly the party at fault. In rereading my Blogger post, I can easily see how one might surmise my innocence and place blame on the guy who went out the "in" lane. While I suppose I can concede that, had this guy stuck to the appropriate lane the accident probably would have never happened... but, believe me, I wasn't "forced" into a crash situation. In fact, he was long gone by the time the impact even took place. It's difficult to describe, but, rest assured, it was my deal. I received several emails and even a phone call after that post, attempting to convince me that I was the victim... but, I'm afraid it's just not true and my conscience couldn't allow me to represent otherwise. Really. I've been in accidents where it hasn't been my fault (in fact, I've even been screwed by the other guy and my own insurance company in said instance), so I do know the difference.

Third, there's a REALLY good chance, if you're reading this, that I owe you an email right about now. Friends, family members, associates, and several Blasts from the Past have emailed out of nowhere recently with script suggestions, legal advice, friendly hellos and whatall... and I'm sorry for not getting back with you. I assure you, I am getting your notes and I'll try to respond soon.

Fourth, sorry in advance for sounding like a total friggin' prick, but sometimes I find myself answering questions that people email me about what's going on on the Blogger here, rather than a personal email. In all honesty, it's not like I'm so popular that I'm having to ask my mother to refer to my press packet to find out how church went last weekend or anything like that. It's just that some sick, ego-maniacal part of me neglects to address blogger-covered issues and questions that come to me because... well, I don't know why... I suppose it's because, in some subconscious part of my grey matter, I tend to dismiss something that, I feel, I've already dealt with. This extends into every part of my life, by the way. It's pretty sad. "What? What do you mean they're sending us a turn-off notice? I paid that bill months ago! Oh, it's a whole NEW bill now ? Well, sheesh, who can keep up?!"
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I'll be the first to admit that I haven't exactly been batting them out of the park lately in the script department. My New Year's resolution was "Quantity over Quality" as an ongoing theme this year, so... hopefully, I'll have a lot of scripts with a few gems sprinkled throughout by the time '04 rolls around. I don't know, I think my dialogue may be going a bit stale of late. Well, whatever, the latest title comes from Jessica Kodrich of sunny Southern California: It's All About Me.

Jessica is an associate of mine who may also turn into a client in the near future. And, trust me, you'll never believe what she's offering as payment for my illustration services... because it sure as heck ain't money, Daddy-O, and I'll have a heckuva time explaining it on an income tax form. Let your mind wander as it will.
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DISCOVERY OF THE YEAR!!!

My good buddy Dave in Winona Lake, IN let me in on some terrific news. The In-N-Out Burger (i.e. the finest fast-food hamburger franchise known to man, ever ever) has a style of burger that's not mentioned on their menus. It's called "Animal Style" and it's a total party in your mouth. "Animal Style" is In-N-Outese for "A delicious burger with every great fixin' you can imagine, including sauteed onions." My goodness, I only wish I were lying, but it's true. Apparently, it's a very closely guarded secret in the In-N-Out community, so don't tell anyone I told you.

DRIVE-THRU GIRL: Hey, welcome to the In-N-Out! What can I get for you today?

JER: Yeah, hi, uh, I'd like a Double-Double with cheese, a regular fry, and a large iced tea.

DRIVE-THRU GIRL: Okay! Would you like onions on your Double Double, sir?

JER: Well, do you guys make, ah.... like, do you do... "Animal Style"? Because...

DRIVE-THRU GIRL (suddenly hushed and secretive): "Animal Style"?

JER: Yeah.

DRIVE-THRU GIRL: Hold on a sec, let me see what I can do...

JER: Okay.

[About 15 seconds pass]

DRIVE-THRU GIRL: Sir? You got it. Animal Style. Please pull ahead to the first window.

JER: Thanks!

[I pull ahead to the first window]

MONEY GUY: Hi there, that'll be $5.12, please.

JER: Here you go...

MONEY GUY: Thanks. Let's see, your order was a Double Double, a regular fry and and iced-- wait. Sir, did you ask for... (hushed) "Animal Style?"

JER: Yes, I did.

MONEY GUY (with a wink and a smiling nod, whispering): Animal Style...!
---

And, indeed, it was as delicious as I'd hoped. More, even. I think I understand why it's a secret, too. If this recipe were to fall into the wrong hands... well... I shudder. Leave it at that. I SHUDDER.

Well, that was very nearly rather hairy... the wife's on the computer last night and... well, the accounts vary, but apparently one of the cats stepped on the power strip and *fzzzt*. No more computer. Power out, won't reboot. I tried everything, but no dice. This morning, I got on the phone with Dell and, after long sessions of opening up the computer, removing cards, replacing cards, moving jumpers, disconnecting drives, reconnecting drives... we isolated the problem to my CD-RW drive. Apparently that little power snap fried my CD burner and a replacement will be here Friday. Thanks a million, Gilbert, ya goon.
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The newest script is up. From what Carey tells me, it's terrible. No, really, it's rude and offensive and degrading. Well, what can I say? With apologies in advance, the title of this wretched creation was supplied by the one-n-only Danielle Nadzan of St. Petersburg, FL: There's Junk in My Trunk. Danielle not only had the nerve to explain what her title means, she also offered up plot and character suggestions. Easy, Danielle, there's only one hack on this website and that's yours truly.
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Well, McDonald's finally called and they were actually exremely gracious about my whole tearing-through-their-property-like-a-wrecking-ball thing. In the end, the cost is about $900, which is far less than anticipated. The dilemma now, however, is whether or not to involve the insurance company. Dad (insurance guru ad infinitum) says yes, I should, but I'm just a couple of short months away from a totally clean record - speeding tickets and all - and I hate to tarnish it... hrr...
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Gotta take that fricken monkey off my homepage... my laziness is beginning to surprise even me...
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Gary Underwood, a dear chum from Akron, OH, visited over the weekend. Unfortunately, I was only able to spend a couple of precious hours with the gent because his true purpose in making the trip out was to attend the Fiesta Bowl. Being a die-hard Bucks fan, he was flying high. Way to go, OSU. Anyway, it was great to see him.
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Thanks to those who've recently sent title suggestions. Some of them are absolutely brilliant and I wish I had the time to do nothing but these 1-pagers for a living. By the way, I think I've mentioned this before, but... I usually favor the shorter, more abstract suggestions. While "The Day Elvis and William H. Macy Rescued the World from Nuclear Disaster" might indeed make for an interesting story, it tends to limit my plot possibilities. Have faith, though, if you've sent in a suggestion, I am trying my best to get to it.
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Well, the New Year. What can I say? Taking a cue from a certain Wailing friend of mine, I'll often assemble a set of best-of lists. Usually, they're mostly made up of Oscar-style film categories, though. Unfortunately, there was no clear-cut victor for Jer's Best Film of the Year. However, I shall dole out my awards forthwith...

Jeremy Bear's Best of 2002

In films...

Best Actor
Daniel Day Lewis - Gangs of New York

Best Actress
Emily Watson - Punch Drunk Love

Best Supporting Actress
Amy Adams - Catch Me if You Can

Best Supporting Actor
Jack Black - Orange County

Best Special Effects
Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers

Best Cinematography
Minority Report

Best Makeup
Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers

Best Director
Peter Jackson - Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers

Best Screenplay
Paul Thomas Anderson - Punch Drunk Love

Best Original Song
"Lose Yourself" by Eminem - 8 Mile

Best Picture
???

Honorable Mentions
Adam Sandler in Punch Drunk Love
Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me if You Can
Robin Williams in One-Hour Photo
Tom Cruise in Minority Report
Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorscese, and P.T. Anderson for excellence in directing
David Fincher's amazing cinematics in Panic Room
M. Night Shyamalan's eerieness in Signs
Colin Farrell, who deservedly seems to be the Next Big Thing


..........
Other misc. categories

Best Song
Lost Cause - Beck

Best Dramatic Television Series
The West Wing

Best Comedy Series
Scrubs

Most Impressive DVD Release
Jackie Brown

Favorite Book of 2002
From Hell by Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell

Most Siginificant Event
Relocating from Hilliard, OH to Long Beach, CA

Most Time-consuming/Rewarding Project
Design and upkeep of JeremyBear.com

Honorable Mentions
- Writing, Directing, & Producing Passion Fruit video short with other members of Be Still My Wild HeaRt Productions
- Adoption of a new kitten - Calliope
- Near-demise of our other cat - Gilbert
- Freelancing with Steve Harpster (including published artwork in the form of children's books and activity books)
- Authorship of 35 one-page Suggest-A-Script experiments
- Gainful part-time employment with Binary Pulse in Costa Mesa, CA
- Attending premiere of Blind Justice, independent short film of a screenplay I penned in college
- Participation in campaign to re-zone commercial property in Hilliard for Life Community Church
- 1st place in Morpheus Forge's comic art contest
- Church-planting Ekklesia in Huntington Beach, CA


..........
And finally...

The 2002 JeremyBear.com Award for Person of the Year
Carey Bear

(Through the good, the bad, the frightening, the funny, the poor and the plenty... Carey's steadfast support and encouragement endured. It was the scariest and riskiest year I believe I've ever lived, and, throughout, she managed to remain the perfect partner. I could not have come through without her. Thanks, Care.)

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All in all, not bad. 2003 already has a great deal on tap, though, and here's hoping for a good one.

Aargh, it's been several days and the Blog's been absent from my routine. Most of all, sorry to Jeff Rockwood, whose script is the latest creation. Bless that man, his doohickey is called Counter Productive and, while it's probably the most mundane of the many exciting titles Jeff sent over, it happened to catch my fancy the most. Bon Apetit!

As a side note, Jeff's been a dear friend for many years and it really is an honor to have his suggestion. The man's not without his own issues, though, I'm afraid... for, you see... Jeff is the sort of well-mannered, all-American young man you’d confidently entrust with your teenage daughter’s virtue, but you’d be wrong, Professor! Dead wrong. For Jeff is sex mad! He is a sex maniac! This Don Juan worships sex in all its forms. The zesty appetites of this Casanova, this leering Lothario, would exhaust even the most enthusiastic of Tantric love godesses. No man’s daughter is safe with Romeo Jeff Rockwood. Heed the warning!
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The New Year has brought many exciting twists and turns already, and not even a whole week in! I shall post them soon, but for now I'm off to bed.