Well, you probably remember how my Uncle Bill Spaeth is always being forgetful with doing things in life because I write about that like every other post.

He did it again with these money guys who want to smelt aluminum and he’s dropping the ball on getting them their permission slips.

These business presidents bought that factory and every day he doesn’t let them smelt old cars it’s messed up for sure.

The June 9 letter was addressed to the City Council, Mayor Bob Burr, City Manager Brian Dissette and Zoning Administrator Bill Spaeth.

Spaeth is on vacation and was not available to comment on whether the smelting operation would be an allowed use under current zoning.

Way to go chief, this is like the time you didn’t mail my application to go on Here Comes the Bachelor in time to get to meet all those babes and go in hot tubs.

Now I’ll be alone forever and those smelting people are with me on how that one happened.

You have to let them smelt the aluminum or it’s messed up just like my life and how I’m not a famous TV stud.

Stop playing golfing.

Sometimes when Father’s Day comes I like to help celebrate with all the fathers I know.

I don’t have children that I got told about yet so until those cool confrontations happen I make do with other baby-daddy guys.

Well yesterday was a really special one because I pretended I had brand-new amnesia all day and there were things like this that happened:

Me: Oh no I can’t remember who I am.

Dad: Why are you acting like that.

Me: It is so scary being a blank slate.

Dad: I am not playing this game with you.

Me: Have I always had these cool muscles.

Then I would touch daddy’s face like I was blind even though I was laughing through all of that and it went on for three hours of me wondering how my muscles got on my skeleton.

After awhile Spider-Man 3 came on and I could not keep up the act and had to admit about how that one did not get gold stars for me.

Also Toy Story 3 gave my tears so many places they could go, like one of those places was all over my face.

My favorite Batgirl made a website code that will bring you here if you have your mobile smartphone look at it.

That’s good that it happened, so a thank you certificate is what Batgirl can have.

:)

It’s Wednesday and I’m getting a couple emails about the blog that are like, “What’s up with your website blog?? It used to be better and now you’re barely typing English.”

The Sound and the Fury was revered American literature and nobody complained about that, and here’s some of that book.

I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de endin. If I’d just had a mother so I could say Mother Mother. Caddy smells like trees.

I can’t believe I read that whole American Classic once.

Anyway, Mom wrote one email chat like that too, which is how I know the blog is off the rails, but in a way that is good.

The truth is that the blog is different and here’s how it was last July.

Can’t even read that one is where I’m coming from.

I bet this is great for my consulting business. lol

Let me finish on this book I’m writing at ’cause I’m in a zone with it that has cross-platform grammar carry-over with the blog, i.e. be patient for a little.

So here is something my sister said at me in email.

I’m usually craving popcorn and steak at all times.

My instincts tell me just to leave that be and go away.

The truth is I’m thinking of running this long race in Las Vegas this October and they call that a marathon if you need to know.

This quote was from Kristen Spaeth training protocols. She’s been running these marathons for years now on her legs.

Running long distances is something I hate by nature because of my ADD and also my sprinting and jumping muscles.

I dunked this weekend – it was a basketball and that’s a way for you to know how much explosive power I carry in my legs still.

If the marathon falls through the high jumping contest is in Vegas that weekend and also some restaurants. Check Yelp or Google Maps and you can find them.

Last year, for reasons of my own, I taught my nieces a new mantra for Easter.

It was a simple and joyful, “EASTER IN YOUR FACE!”

They were three at the time – in retrospect, perhaps it was immature of me to do this to (for?) them.

Being that they’re almost four, it’s time to tell them how adults celebrate Easter joy with a new phrase, “EASTER ALL NIGHT!”

It’s not so much a phrase as a party anthem.

Imagine the Black Eyed Peas taking these words and turning them into a song, and you’ll get what I’ll be going for.

Like Fergie sings the first part and then Waylon or Wilbie or whatever their names are sings the after-shout portion.

EASTER ALL NIGHT! (EGGS)
EASTER ALL NIGHT! (EGGS)
EASTER ALL NIGHT! (EGGS)
EASTER ALL NIGHT! (EGGS GOTTA GET EM)

Like all their songs, that’s all there is to it, and it goes on for ten minutes and sells a zillion copies.

I’m told that last year EASTER IN YOUR FACE! came out at completely inappropriate times, and this is why I’m the best uncle ever, and probably shouldn’t consider fatherhood anytime soon.

Also, I like hockey now.

If you’ve read my stuff for any length of time, you know the vividly horrific story behind my shoulder tattoo, and my embarrassed self-loathing I do at myself whenever anyone sees it.

If you’re new or whatever, this is it, all oiled up and stuff for you.

The time has come, at long last, to finish this mistake once and for all.

I’ve talked to people several times over the years about what to do about this monstrosity.

The removal options are bad – since it’s been done three times already and there’s scarring to boot, it just won’t look right.

I asked one tattoo artist about putting a roman numeral XIV over it, the rationale being that I could make up different stories every time someone asked me about the deep, hidden meaning of my ancient number tattoo.

This wasn’t going to be doable either, and every other tattoo artist suggested things that just wouldn’t work for me.

I always make this clear before these conversations – my number one option would be for it to not be there at all anymore.

Starting from there, I’m not sure how these people come to, “How about like a cool snake that’s on fire and goes from your shoulder all the way around your chest, and then is flowing into a skull that’s on your back, and it’s the skull of a naked booty stripper?”

Anyway, after many years and much thought, I am giving up…and that’s what this new version of the tattoo will represent.

Inevitably, someone will try and make it artistic or special or whatever.

No, no, nay, nay, booty.

I don’t want it planned or artistic or meaningful – I want it to look like someone scribbled over it in frustration…like which is what I feel about it with my special heart that is inside me.

(Yes, I’m excited about the Google Phone. Rumored January release and supported by T-Mobile for once.

Also, Calvin Stadiums has been blogging over at Yardbarker for a couple weeks now, and look for some Who Shot Mamba? blooper reels on the Facebook Page this week.)

Some years back my mom started sending those “here’s what everyone is up to” letters with her Merry Christmas cards.

I immediately insisted on control over any part of the content that referenced me, so each December I submit my own section for her to include.

(My brother does this too – perhaps he can post the 2009 edition, as his are excellent.)

Alas, this is what I sent her over the weekend.

I’m still writing and acting and producing and trying to get new projects together.

I’ve never touched a guitar before. Also, I stopped using question marks this year for awhile. Isn’t that weird.

Oops! Lost my car keys again! LOL

Do you use gmail?

Your pal,
Brian Spaeth

P.S. My sole goal in writing this was to have my mother say something like, “I am not sending this!” and I guarantee she did exactly that after I emailed it to her.

Sent via my Blackberri Tornado II From T-Marbles
Movie – www.whoshotmamba.com
Twitter – www.twitter.com/brianspaeth
Facebook – www.facebook.com/brianspaeth
Website – www.brian23.com

P.P.S. Mom, make sure to include these links, cause like that’s part of the joke for this section of the letter.

P.P.P.S Also include all of these PS’s – including this one. These are also part of the joke.

P.P.P.P.S. Sorry for not taking your Merry Christmas Letter 2010 seriously. :(

I have to admit, I can’t see a day where I ever send Christmas cards or letters of any kind myself.

Like I get them from friends of mine who are married already, and I’m always thinking, “Why did you send me this and why is it signed The Jones Family? I don’t know what one of those is – why don’t you just email or call me? Yeah, I know I don’t answer my phone ever, but why did you get married?”

Do you or your family send these type of Christmas letters? Do you send Christmas cards? Do you believe in Merry Christmas Trees and why.

So my sister did some photoshoot for a friend last week, and I just got my eyes on the pictures.

If you have no idea what a Two Gun Girl might be, go watch this Two Gun Guy thing.

Anyway, most of this week has been spent brooding and being happy about how sad and happy I am. Also, lots of self-important writing.

Over at AOL Fanhouse, I wrote up my problems with LeBron James, and did a podcast with Brett Pollakoff, wherein I talked about LeBron’s Dancing Crisis, Bill Simmons’ basketball book, and of course some Who Shot Mamba? plugging.

At Yahoo!’s Ball Don’t Lie, there’s a small essay about the logistics and fun of shooting at Bill Walton’s house. Couple cool behind-the-scenes pics – I think in that one I’m trying to explain what an Orange Roundie is.

LOL!

What.

At CT Kingston’s blog – otherwise known as @CTK1, I did maybe my favorite Photoshop work I’ve ever done for part of her mega-super-2009-roundup-post.

Thanks also to @DennyMayo, @mfeige, @cjrider, and @thegnc for joining me in that Matt Bullard-based Houston Rockets chat, helping to bring Calvin Stadiums, Petey Skippen, Sherpa, Peter Ovaire, Brad Radby, Russell Slanteer, Monstero, and others to vivid life.

Keep in mind we are twins, but I’ma go ahead and say it – do you want to date my sister?

I spent a good four or five hours in a Borders on Saturday, reading my own book, Prelude to a Super Airplane.

(My ego isn’t that crazy – something I’m working on has a a few loose tie-ins, and I wanted to make sure my continuity wasn’t getting screwy.

That said, I’ve read it purely for pleasure something like 27 times.)

In any case, I didn’t get much reading actually done, since the two elderly ladies over my knee there spent lengthy amounts of time talking about the merits of Nick Cannon, whom one of them referred to as, “that colored fella from America’s Talent Show“.

As if that – and my need to IM everything I was hearing to a friend – wasn’t enough, at a tumultuous moment, the following seven people came in and sat at a nearby table.

- white female/21
- white male/52
- latino male/16
- white male/28
- white male/48
- latino female/58
- white female/35

This was an amazingly odd grouping of people, because they didn’t seem to know each other at all.

Book club? No books.
Parent-teacher thing? No – there was a lot of introductory conversation, and the mix wasn’t right.
Fellow Nick Cannon enthusiasts? No mention of Nick Cannon.

It was really starting to bother me – there were no logical scenarios.

My IM companion said I should go sit down and apologize for being late, which I considered, along with simply asking them, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE, YOU SOBs. ALSO DO YOU WANT TO BUY MY BOOK.”

You may think I wouldn’t do this – I assure you I would, minus the SOB-calling and book-selling.

I didn’t have to though, because the 16-year old boy was squeezing the 21-year old girl’s leg under the table. She smiled, and had braces – I reasoned she wasn’t 22 at all, but rather 15 or 16 herself.

Then a flurry of info came forth – 35-year old whitey has infertility issues. She said this with a conviction and volume that amazed the entire cafe section. 52-year old white male runs down his family’s health history.

Adoption and “staying in the baby’s life” are discussed.

28-year old whitey – now reasoned to be in his mid-30s – tries to discuss Madden 2010 with the boy. He’s full of wonderment about how, “All the real players are in the game now…wow, how neat.” Buddy, they had that 20 years ago when you were growing up – did you only play Metroid and Zelda.

In any case…these teens were pregnant, and having a nice meeting about giving the baby away.

At BORDERS.

By the way, if you go to that Borders, there’s now a signed copy of PTSA randomly placed in the Cooking section. Where would you have your baby-momma adoption meeting.

So like I was somehow watching the final scene of Alias this morning, and what happens is Vaughn and Sydney’s kid see their old partner Agent Dixon walking on the beach.

She’s like, “Uncle Dixon! Uncle Dixon!”

It’s all awkward and stuff, because “Dixon” is his last name, but even moreso, my thoughts turn to what happens when this girl turns of legal age, and is no longer required to refer to him as “Uncle”.

Isn’t the precedent too ingrained at that point.

She’ll likely be cornered into an awkward transitional moment, like what occurred with myself and one of my uncles. I was like sixteen, we were playing pool in his basement, and I just went with his name, and no “Uncle”.

Everyone – and I remember my brother’s face more than anyone’s – shot me a “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DID YOU JUST DO” look. Still, I stood my ground and went with it, giving my Uncle a slow-and-dramatic-head-turn and a growly, “You heard me, friend. Converse with me.”

Not only do I have that burned into my memory as one of the Top Ten Most Awkward Moments of My Life, but now I never address any of my uncles directly.

I don’t feel I was wrong or something, but it’s just like a hanging issue that’ll be there forever.

As such, I’ve fought hard to make sure my nieces refer to me as just “Brian”.

Don’t misinterpret – it’s not a selfish thing or some hang-up about “Uncle” making one feel old – it’s for them. I don’t even know if that was my choice to make, but it’s worked so far. They will always be my peers in this manner.

How do you feel about the issue of the formal titles of Aunt and Uncle.

(I’m the seventh most important Cleveland-sports-related person on Twitter, according to WFNY.)

So after thinking about all the crying we did at movies together the other day, I decided to download an exciting new app to my Blackberry Tornado II – the TwitVid thingie.

This is “Tempest du la Keys”, and I’m pretty sure your tears of being overwhelmed should happen after you watch it.

Has there ever been something so powerful on a baseline emotional level – I don’t think there has.

Other stuff I’m up to, besides that – I started a new company with @kristinbrennan. We have set up a Facebook Page for it here. As soon as we figure out what the business does, I’ll let you know.

Also, the Who Shot Mamba? Facebook Page had to be rebooted to a new location Friday night – if you’ve got the desire, please join up.

HOT TIP: If you start a Facebook Page for a company or film or project or whatever, do it under a separate account than your own. Otherwise, you can only post on that page as the page, and not as yourself. Like on the old one, I was only able to post as “WHO SHOT MAMBA?” and not as “Brian Spaeth”. Twas a problem.

Hey, my sister is on Twitter now – be deliberate in what you say to her, because I will monitor every single Tweet sent her way.

(Joe, you win the free copy of Prelude to a Super Airplane from the other day for your awesome picture shown to the right.

Shoot me your address and I’ll get it out to you Mon or Tues. Thanks again for the pic – it made me do laughing.)

I’ll admit it – I’ve been sitting on this post for awhile. Perhaps to publish on a day when it’s an almost-holiday, or my mind is just tired from surgery, and jokes/thoughts (Nay, and as such, “joughts”. Tempest.) are not free-flowing.

Anyway, the following are things one of my toddler-aged nieces said. These were spouted right in a row, in about a minute and a half, and they’d all make great titles for deep and/or quirky independent films.

There Is A Ball in the Car
I’m Swording Myself
Fishing Pole Okay
Mickey Doesn’t Want to Wear a Shirt
Throwing In the Secret Garden
Doors Close Forever
I Did It With My Bat
You Know What a Bat is For
Take Home the Ball
It is Not Tired
Here’s My Socks and Shoes
Let’s Look Out the Window
Take Me Outside First

Any joughts?

You have any good indie film titles you can throw back at me?

(Follow me on Twitter here, and befriend Calvin Stadiums on Facebook – I figured out how to use his page. Those of you who miss NBA Photoshops will be pleased.)

So a revelation that honey is actually bee regurgitation, and some discussion amongst the siblings, yielded an updated list of foods that I’ve never had. It’s below the vid.

I basically added two foods and surveyed the brother and sister. Tim is the most adventurous of us, and Kristen actually became offended I would even ask some of these.

1) Mustard
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
2) Pickles
Tim: “ACCIDENTALLY”
Brian: NO
Kristen: “ACCIDENTALLY”
3) Mayonnaise
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
4) Beets/Radishes
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
5) Anything Mexican that isn’t a taco or burrito
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
6) Baked Beans
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
7) Baked Potato
Tim: YES
Brian: NO (Tim claims I have, but I dispute this.)
Kristen: YES
8) Sour cream
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
9) Cole Slaw
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
10) Egg Nog
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
11) Potato Salad
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
12) Relish
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
13) Cream Cheese
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
14) Cottage Cheese
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
15) Guacamole
Tim: YES
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
16) Blue Cheese
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO
17) Honey
Tim: NO
Brian: NO
Kristen: NO

Due to increasingly being tagged in this over on my Facesbook, and in honor of the 250th post on BTAA, here is my official “25 Things You Didn’t Know About Brian Spaeth”.

1) I don’t want anyone to know anything about me.
2) I like to be an enigma.
3) I keep secrets about myself.
4) I have a bad shoulder tattoo.
5) One time, I didn’t tell anyone anything about myself.
6) I have been known to be private.
7) I have a twin sister.
8) My twin sister won’t tell you anything about me.
9) I wrote my entire family into the first and only novel I will ever write.
10) You can get $3 off that book through Monday with this promo code: JGPTR476
11) I make a wonderful chicken dish.
12) I use Twitter.
13) My Twitter feed is becoming more useful than my blog at generating humor.
14) I had to walk a horse around in the background of CSI:NY once, and Gary Senise told me I looked scared of the horse.
15) Gary Senise can see inside my soul with regard to horses.
16) I don’t like telling people things about me.
17) I don’t like you telling people things about me.
18) I like telling things about you, as long as it doesn’t involve me.
19) I don’t want anyone to know I am yoked.
20) I once had to kiss a girl on the set of Las Vegas, and I screwed up twice on purpose because her boyfriend was there.
21) Scoop Jackson is my favorite writer at ESPN, and I don’t think he gets a fair shake.
22) I ended Gilbert Arenas’s career. (Not on purpose.)
23) I once told a tall girl we needed to reproduce for the advancement of mankind.
24) I don’t want attention drawn to me that I did not initiate in some fashion.
25) All of this said, I love being the center of attention.

Really, my book has everything you could possibly want to know about me, plus it’s all fictionalized. Why haven’t you bought it yet?

I don’t know why, but it just dawned on me I should put up a recipe or two.

Maybe the weight of my poetry is pushing me to do something simple and light – I dunno.

In any case, this is my recipe for Mixed Rope Chicken.

Ingredients:
1) 1 two pound chicken
2) 2 three pound chickens
3) 6 five pound chickens

Instructions:
1) Get all the meat off of the two pound chickens, and put into a bowl.

2) In a separate bowl, take the meat from the three pound chickens, and put it in that bowl.

3) Take the 6 five pound chickens and free them. Their participation was a trick to make them appreciate their lives more.

4) Mix the meat from the two bowls together in a third bowl, and then dump it into a fourth bowl.

5) Take it out of that bowl, and put it in a fifth bowl.

6) Put everything back in the third bowl, and sprinkle with salt.

7) Piece by piece, place the chicken on a cookie sheet, and preheat oven to 400.

8) While the oven is preheating, jump rope.

9) Place the cookie sheet in the oven.

10) Cook for awhile.

Enjoy!

As many of you know, my brother Tim, aka the self-dubbed Colonel T (who also appears in my book), pops up here from time to time, when he’s not busy raising his children and/or working and/or neglecting his own website.

He sent me over his stab at Texas this morning.

Really, his singularly unique artistic stylings deserve a bigger audience. In any case, I think he got Texas more or less correct – I’ve actually avoided looking at any pictures of Texas recently, so I can make another attempt at it soon.

(I’m officially (and humbly) re-integrating myself into my old haunt of the sports blogosphere, where I was once a king.

I will not link-bait. I will, however, make up 3 questions in 12 seconds and send them to you. If you would like this to happen to you, please email me.)

Today is Zach, who writes The Big Picture.

1) You interviewed me once for your blog, The Big Picture. I wish I could interview me, but I am me. What was the experience like?

I had a Hall of Fame baseball player as a guest at my Bar Mitzvah and I once got with two girls at once. Interviewing you far exceeded both of those.

I also had lunch with two girls at once one time, and you’re right – it wasn’t that fun. Plus, they each ate more than me because of my yokedness. :(

2) Sometimes at night I get scared, and put on my scared and sad face, and shiver under the covers. If you were my mean step-dad, how would you handle this?

I would beat you with my slipper. Right? Was this a trick question?

No, the next one is the trick question. :(

3) I can’t believe you have 12 kids. What kinds of candy is their favorite?

One likes Chocolate Skittles, another likes Milky Way Midnight and the others like Sour Patch kids.

This was the trick question, and the trick is that you’re a bad daddy-momma or whatever the word is. You don’t know what kind of candy they like. :( :( :(

:(

:(

(Here’s that old interview with me – that was actually interesting to read, here some time later. The WSM? info is very outdated – that was the experimental version of the movie, I think.)

(The following is an excerpt from my book, Prelude to a Super Airplane. It can be purchased by clicking on any of the roughly 400 banners adorning this site, or by clicking here. It’s also available on Amazon.

I’ve posted the first 20 chapters (roughly 55 pages of PTSA) on this site. Links to each of those are at the end of this post, or you can download all of them as a pdf by clicking here.

“Big Daddy Paleface get that part wrong. Hrrggg.”

Mudjukee needed to shift his weight. He’d been squatting in this tree for several hours, and his left leg had fallen asleep, to the point of total and complete numbness.

This made him distraught, because Mudjukee knew those prickly feelings would be coming as soon as he got his circulation going again. He didn’t understand the prickly feelings, because he was an honorable and traditional Cherokee Indian, and refused to become wise to the medicines and terminologies of the paleface doctors.

Below him, a father was camping with his two sons. The boys were close in age – perhaps fraternal twins, Mudjukee reasoned.

“Hrrggg…”

Mudjukee had been making this sound of frustration a lot the past three nights, listening to Big Daddy Paleface tell Mudjukee’s now legendary story to his two paleface sons.

Mudjukee scraped another note into the tree with his axe – he’d been keeping a detailed list of all the liberties Big Daddy Paleface was taking with the narrative.

Before they went home, Mudjukee planned to invite the three of them up into the tree to go over, point-by-point, where Big Daddy Paleface had perhaps misunderstood Mudjukee’s tale.

He could’ve done this earlier, but Mudjukee was fed up, and wanted to get every single piece of misinformation in chronological order, so that he could make a reasonable, organized presentation, and have a healthy exchange of ideas with the palefaces. Mudjukee had no desire, unlike his Cherokee ancestors, to get into a confrontation.

Besides, he liked this particular family – they seemed sensible, even if one of the boys had an eerie fascination with the palefaces’ big, loud, metal birds.

This was something that had been happening for the past several years now – fathers bringing their sons out to these woods, telling them the tale of Mudjukee. The details, of course, had now gotten so twisted that it didn’t resemble Mudjukee’s story at all, beyond the name.

“Hrrggg…” Mudjukee rubbed his temples – now Mudjukee’s wife was dead, too? Where did Big Daddy Paleface get this stuff?

Mudjukee had had enough for one evening. He gathered up his things, swung his axe over his shoulder, and hopped down out of the tree, into the shadows.

“HRRGGG…!”

He’d landed awkwardly on his sleeping leg, at the exact moment when the prickly feelings were sweeping in.

Mudjukee signaled to his horsey, Pencils, to quietly follow him. Because Pencils, whose name had also been tarnished by the palefaces, was an intelligent and loyal horsey, he did as Mudjukee asked, and walked on his tippy-toes.

Mudjukee nodded his thanks to Pencils, and walked away as carefully as he could, taking one step, and then dragging his sleeping leg behind him, hoping it woke up sooner rather than later.

The prickly feelings were bothering Mudjukee so badly, for a moment he was actually able to forget about this latest, bastardized adaptation of his life story.

Brad Radby’s Foreward, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 31

(The following is an excerpt from my book, Prelude to a Super Airplane. It can be purchased by clicking on any of the roughly 400 banners adorning this site, or by clicking here. It’s also available on Amazon.

I’ve posted the first 20 chapters (roughly 55 pages of PTSA) on this site. Links to each of those are at the end of this post, or you can download all of them as a pdf by clicking here.

Wearing my Producer Hat is the hardest, most complex thing I have to do when working in the entertainment industry.

Ironically, there’s a simple reason for this: answering the question “What does a producer actually do?” is nearly impossible, and it’s asked of me more than any other thing.

My dad will ask me this question at least once, without fail, on the rare occasion we speak. My usual answer is, “The producer makes the project happen. He gets it done. Goodbye.” It’s vague, but also the truth.

The Producer Hat is a “no matter what” hat, and usually involves either asking for money to get a project made, or screwing people over. Often both. For example, let’s say you needed a music track for a project, and knew of two composers who could do the job.

The first step is simple in concept, but difficult in execution: you have to get an investor to give you the money you need to fund the production of your project. (Without the project, you don’t need the music.)

Like I said, this part is a “one plus two equals three” procedure, and primarily involves telling your investor they’re all but guaranteed to make their money back, when in reality, there’s a 99.99% chance they’ll never see it again. (If that sounds risky to you, don’t worry – there are all kinds of lawyering tricks you can use to avoid getting sued.)

This part is especially hard for me, because the potential investor usually starts asking stupid questions like, “How do you plan to make money on this?” or “Do you have any sort of business plan I can look at?” It gets me all flustered and angry, because they’re blatantly trying to destroy my artistic vision.

Anyway, let’s assume you have your funding, because you found somebody smart enough not to mess with the details of why you need their money. Now you put on your Producer Hat, and deal with your two music composers, who you want to create an ominousy, impending-doomy track for the climax of your project.

This is where the fun starts. You might have both of them work on it, telling each that they have the job. Then, you may use subtle trickery to manipulate events, causing each composer to find out about the other one. This makes them both even more desperate to get the job.

In the end, you have two ominousy, impending-doomsy tracks, and you get to pick the one you like better, telling the other composer that “things are delayed a bit”.

Be sure to stress that you’ll be in touch, because this thing will get going again soon, and you have a lot of other things coming up, too. You say this even if you have nothing coming up.

I’m not sure how or why I became good at this, but I’ve always thought my older brother was wearing a metaphorical Producer Hat for most of his childhood. I’m man enough to admit I was, too. We were constantly screwing each other over.

In retrospect, this was probably our mom’s fault – she’d raised us as twins, even though he was older by four years. (I know what you’re thinking, and yes, the whole family eventually agreed she was crazy.)

My brother’s name is Tim, and growing up, Tim had two loves – airplanes and Star Treck. How and if these two loves connect to one another, I’ll never know, but his love of them was equal.

A third love was pencil sketching, a skill in which Tim had singularly unique talent, yet no desire to pursue beyond the recreational level, which I always thought was a shame.

When Tim learned he would never be able to command his own fictional starship, he turned his career attentions to his other love, airplanes.

This is skipping ahead a bit, but today, Tim is a Colonel in the Airplane Riding Marshall Taskforce Agency, or ARMTA, where he makes both his peers and his underlings refer to him as “Colonel T”.

(ARMTA is an important part of how our country’s airplane rides run safely. I read one study that said without ARMTA, airplane rides would be +/-4000% more at risk of crashes, resulting in a vastly increased number of fiery, crashy, airplaney fireballs falling to the Earth. These fireballs would be full of dead airplane riders, who died from being on fire.)

Like I said, our mother raised Tim and I as twins, which always made things awkward for my actual twin sister, Kristin. There’s not much to say about her, really. It seems in the twins-gestation process, I received what looks, personality, and talent were available to be gestated.

Maybe this contributed to my mom’s madness – this dual-twins game she’d set up. She’d often have to tell people we were triplets, while focusing on the fact that Tim and I were twins, when really Kristin and I were the twins.

Back to my big brother – Tim and I were close, which meant I learned a lot about Star Treck, and even more about airplanes, since the continuity and mythology of Star Treck baffled me. For example – how could Mr. Spok talk if he had pointed ears and he was an alien?

Colonel T and I haven’t spoken for years – in fact, I haven’t seen Tim since I was 12, when he ran away forever.

When Tim ran away, I stayed behind, substituting “playing with my brother” with “thinking about airplanes” in my little kid daily planner.

Wow.

That was supposed to be all about wearing a Producing Hat, and it turned into a story about my estranged brother. It appears I’ll need to acquire an Editoring Hat.

“And oh! What a fine hat it would be!” he declared, feeling it was a very literary thing to write in his airplane book.

Brad Radby’s Foreward, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 31

(That’s my brother’s hand holding the book itself.)

If you thought all I would do this week was talk about my book, you were probably right.

Still, you’re probably looking at four posts a day, and I think I can make it eclectic enough so it’s not just a big advertisement.

Plus, this blog is aboot my day-to-day, and this is what’s going on right now.

My brother, as you may know, is Colonel T, and a version of Colonel T (who is my brother) actually appears in the PTSA. He talks aboot the book here.

Anyway, that was a good opening day of sales – thanks to all who participated. Today will bring the first actual excerpt, and who knows what else.

(I’ve also got the eBook thing figured out – hopefully will have time to get it put together soon. Thanks to John R for the heads-up – he won himself a $5 off Promo Code.)

Moving on, I just now noticed that Antoine Walker got released by the Grizzlies. How has BOS not picked him up yet?

He also got snagged for DUI, and one must love the look on his face in the mugshot – it almost seems they caught him in the exact moment he got snagged.

He’s just like, “what-huh-oh no…damn.”

I love Toine, and Toine loves food.

Twitter…it’s pretty much replaced Facebook for me as a social network. FB I just use to keep in touch with old friends now.

I’d love to say it’s because of Twitter’s format or functionality, but it’s much more because it really easy and quick to meet girls on there, and if you’re good at making short, meaningless statements of mild humor, you can become fast friends with them.

Someone really needs to do one of those “Hottest Girls on Twitter” blogs.

All that said, my favorite user is actually R2-D2, who brings it like this nearly every day.

*woo dee doot daap beep doot deet deet. blaat doot weet doot.*

I’m not sure how someone decides they’re going to make a point to go in and do that every day, but I like it almost as much as my old pal “sandwich” from when I was on MySpace.