Come on, now baby come on!

The winds howl and rain spatters the PDX Borthwick barn on this pre-spring night but I have no fear. The folks are over on The Continent for the first time in their lives and it's about time. Buy me an ivory bust of Mozart for the piano. Friends in 'relationships' end up hating each other and I do not envy them. Grow a pair already, you know who you are.
The Orb turns again and in a week we'll have another hour of daylight. Sprinklers and barbecues, new shades and more soulful tunes to ride out the sunset.
I'll set the stage and compose the dialogue.
Oh yeah, Vegas plans in the works too.
Bring It.

Hey Ma! The Needle made me bleed.

So we were doing a story last night about how AIDS is running out of control through the dingy sex halls of gay meth users and needed some stock footage of people shooting up for the story.
Naturally, I volunteered.
The photog walked in with a fist full of condoms and syringes and asked the news room 'Who's ready to mainline?'
Except, ya know, he's a kid, he didn't use that terminology.
So as in the past, with my News B-Roll Acting rep as a whore-mongering, blood drinking, tattooed playboy out of control, I got ready to play King Tweaker.
Chopped up some powdered sugar from the prop drawer, rolled up my sleeves and got down to the biz of portraying The Junkie.
We set up the shot, I snorted some railers, tied off with my belt, and prepped the rigs for the big rush, then got a little too excited and stabbed myself with the needle.

"Are these new?!!" I fumed in panic. "They better be effing right outta the box beeyotch, cause I'm bleedin'!"

Turns out they were fresh needles, we got the shot for the piece, and I - once again - get paid to pose as a junkie, whore-mongering direlect on TV.


Score! Bring it on!

(Postscript - The bleeding has stopped. All is well. Don't worry, ma.)

Not caring at all is far worse than hate