I just got back from Megaplex 2010 down in the Orlando area and I’m still reeling from the fun I had. This is the third year I’ve been asked to play a show at this convention, though this time I owe a special thank you to two sponsors who stepped up to make the show possible. Zachary Friedrich, an awesome fan and one of my new VIP’s, and Genesis Whitmore, another fan and web comic artist. Without these two, my appearance at the convention would not have happened.

That’s not why I chose the title for this post, however. This is more about Megaplex 2010′s guest of honor, Paul Zaloom. Most folks my age or slightly younger know him as the mad scientist with hair that won’t quit, Beakman. I enjoyed the opportunity to chat, drink, caffeinate, and stew in Florida’s heat with this award-winning actor, puppeteer, and comedian. I should add blossoming nerd as well since he may end up coming to more of these conventions as an attendee in the future. He’s delighted children for years now and inspired quite a few to become real-world scientists.

He also has a puppet with a talking penis.

Anyone who remembers Mr. Conductor shouldn’t be surprised at that last bit. It’s this duality that got me typing this morning. Sometimes I forget that the people who entertain our children are also, you know, people. Fully grown adults with the same sick sense of humor as me. Hello, ever heard the Thundercats outtakes before? I believe this duality is not only healthy but absolutely necessary to nurture the artist.

After his Beakman presentation at Megaplex, Zaloom regrouped for an original puppet show later that day, this time for adults only. The tone of the show was on a par with South Park and Robot Chicken, making most of us laugh while the rest run to cover the ears of nearby children. Yet, as with all good comedy, the bawdy veneer surrounded a collection of social statements and real-world issues. Honestly, without the grown-up comedy, discussing these issues in a clinical way would make some even more uncomfortable. It was all in good fun, but definitely not for the kids.

At the end of the day, Zaloom is simply himself. He can’t be kid-friendly all the time, neither could George Carlin. That’s the job of Beakman, a fictional character. If I expected Zaloom to be Beakman, I’d expect him to be only a fraction of who he is. An artist requires more than one expressive avenue like a plant requires more than just sunlight to survive. Proper care and feeding of an artist means that the audience must be mature enough to separate the man from the role.

Maybe next year we’ll see him back at Megaplex simply as Paul Zaloom. Though I won’t be able to return as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, I do hope that I can return simply as Matthew Ebel.

If I really need to embed one of the Old Spice videos in this blog post, then you really haven’t been paying attention for the past week. The TV commercial itself was pretty good, but the phenomenon that followed on YouTube and Twitter made celebrities swoon and even garnered NPR coverage. Who’s the big winner out of all of this? Isaiah Mustafa.

It’s weird what horse some people will ride to success. Isaiah Mustapha didn’t wake up as an 8 year old boy and dream of selling deodorant. In fact, he thought his ticket would be with the NFL as a wide receiver. Pro football is certainly a much sexier dream than “pitch man for an aging product line”. Nobody would have predicted that’s the stable his winning pony would be in.

The message I got from that sexy, sexy man in a towel was directly applicable to my own line of work: What you dream of and what leads you to success are rarely ever the same thing. Derek Sivers worked his ass off as a funk band front man, but somehow I doubt he was secretly dreaming of running a website that sells CD’s for other artists. I’m trying to earn a living as a musician, but for all I know I could make a million dollars tomorrow as a pogo stick gladiator. Or something.

Musicians everywhere are trying to be “discovered”. They’re waiting for that lightning-strike moment when some guy in a suit with a ponytail will see them at an open-mic and make their rock and roll dream come true. I guess what I learned this week is that opportunity may come at you from the side, not from an angle you were expecting. Life isn’t a horse race, you can always jump to the pony in front.

Found this and a few others on Lurdanjo’s Channel. In case you missed FA:U this year!

I never learned how to Jive.
In fact, I really don’t even know
what Jive is.
Do you learn how from your grandmother
as she cooks some kind of food
they made during the Great Depression?
Must you be born with a sense of Jive,
rubbing it in the faces of those
genetically Jive-deficient?
Can you be Jive intolerant?
Allergic?
What about Jive classes?
They could be bigger than Pilates.
I could found a conservatory or university:
The New England Jive Institute.
There would be Jive undergrads
toiling for their BAJ.
Jive masters. Jive doctors.
Entire Jive scholarship foundations
with Jive internships
at cutting-edge Jive research facilities.
On second thought, this school should probably be in California,
but it really doesn’t matter. None of it will happen.
I never learned how to Jive.
Not yet.

Of all the things a little coffee shop could do to differentiate itself from Dunkin McStarbucks, small-business thinking seems to have won out.

Damn near 100% of my lyric writing is done in what I call my “field offices”, known to most as beaneries and coffee bars within 2 miles of my house. Since I’ve moved to a new home in Nashua, NH, I’ve been on the hunt for a new field office- some local establishment with a vibe conducive to making long strings of rhyming words. Finding one, for me, is a lot like finding a church; you have to experience the place and simply sense whether or not it’s right.

I’ve only been to the Riverwalk Cakery and Coffee House twice since I moved here, but I think I’ve found my field office. The atmosphere is typical beanery fare, the coffee’s good, but the difference lies in the people that run the place.

Last week I met with a drummer and a local friend at the Cakery and, late in the day, I wanted a pastry. That damned chocolate scone had been singing to me for about 3 hours and I just couldn’t stand it anymore. Sadly, the place had already closed down their Visa machine and I, as always, carry no cash.

“Oh, just take it,” was the response. Not even an expectation of payment next time or any kind of prior arrangement. I was not a regular- like I said, this was only the second time I’d been in that joint. Somewhere there is a sales manager at Dunkin McStarbucks shouting “you idiot, you don’t give stuff away for free!”

I don’t know where that somewhere is, but at least in Nashua, NH, the price of one chocolate scone has made me a customer for life. That’s the kind of vibe that facilitates writing.

Oh, and believe me, I will be paying for the scone next time I’m there writing lyrics.