Hi, everybody! Hope you had a good weekend.

I spent Sunday evening being a total nerd and playing D&D. I swear I only do it sometimes. Well, ok, once a month. But it’s lots of fun, so I’m pretending that makes it ok.

Because I was having fun all night, I didn’t get to see any of the Oscars, which is fine, because I didn’t want to see any of the Oscars. Sometime right after I started watching movies, I started disliking the Oscars in general. I could whine about how they never honor the really good movies and how it’s all politics and ego, but instead I’ll just say I think watching movie stars say dumb things and smile/cry for three hours is just boring, so I’m not down with the Oscar show at all.

But I do like trying to pick who’ll win. And so today I figured I’d compare my picks to “America’s Film Critic” Roger Ebert’s and then see how we both did!

Note: these were Ebert’s and my picks, not our preferences. If my preferences all won, Eternal Sunshine would have swept, and Jamie Foxx would have won nothing.

Best Actor

I said: Jamie Foxx.
Ebert said: Jamie Foxx.

Oscar said: Jamie Foxx, our generation’s Marisa Tomei.

Best Supporting Actor

I said: Clive Owen! Ok, Jamie Foxx.
Ebert said: Morgan Freeman

Oscar said: Morgan Freeman, who was actually my preference! Half credit? No? Okay then.

Best Actress

I said: Annette Bening.
Ebert said: Hilary Swank.

Oscar said: Hilary Swank. Meh. Should I say I haven’t actually seen Million Dollar Baby yet? No? Okay then.

Best Supporting Actress

I said: Virginia Madsen.
Ebert said: Virginia Madsen.

Oscar said: Cate Blanchett, who also was my preference, and definitely deserves an Oscar. But not for playing Kate Hepburn.

Best Animated Feature

I said: The Incredibles.
Ebert said: The Incredibles.

Oscar said: The Incredibles. Wow, up against Shrek 2 and Shark Tale. Tough choice there.

Best Directing

I said: Clint Eastwood.
Ebert said: Clint Eastwood.

Oscar said: Clint Eastwood. Ok, so I kind of said Scorcese, but I tacked Eastwood on there, so I’m giving myself this one.

Best Documentary

I said: I didn’t know, but I picked “Story of the Weeping Camels” because of the name.
Ebert said: Born Into Brothels.

Oscar said: Born Into Brothels. I should have realized sex always sells. Even sex in the red-light district of Calcutta.

Best Foreign Language

I said: Not much of anything. I blabbed a little bit about how Shaolin Soccer got robbed, and eventually went with the one with “Heaven” in the title.
Ebert said: The Sea Inside.

Oscar said: The Sea Inside. I’m getting screwed on this title voting.

Best Adapted Screenplay

I said: Million Dollar Baby.
Ebert said: Million Dollar Baby.

Oscar said: Sideways. Holy moly, Alexander Payne actually won an Oscar. I was joking with my roommate tonight and said that the first time they’ll mention Wes Anderson’s name at the Oscars is when he dies. We both laughed. Then I cried.

Best Original Screenplay

I said: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Ebert said: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Oscar said: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I can’t believe that Brad Bird, Alexander Payne, and Charlie Kaufman all won Oscars. Who’s next, Spike Jonze? Terry Zwigoff?

Best Visual Effects

I said: Spider-man 2.
Ebert said: Spider-man 2.

Oscar said: Spider-man 2. I’m kind of suprised they didn’t go with I, Robot. Oh, wait, no I’m not.

And finally…

Best Picture

I said: The Aviator.
Ebert said: Million Dollar Baby.

Oscar said: Million Dollar Baby. Eh. I guess it could have been worse. They could have actually picked Ray.

Final tally:

ME: 5/12 for 42%. F.
EBERT: 10/12 for 83%. B.

You win this time, America’s Film Critic. I guess that’s how you roll when you have a movie theater in your basement (per a NYT Magazine article that I was going to link to, but they’ve taken offline). Next time I’ll have to actually see all the movies.

Two thumbs down!

Opium Magazine has gracefully published this thing I wrote a long time ago. I was slightly obsessed with Nigella Lawson at the time, and though I pretend to say I’m less obsessed now, who could ever stop being obsessed with Nigella Lawson? Her writing is just so delicious.

I wrote this a while ago, too. I couldn’t think of a good title, so I just used the one Word gave me. Have a good weekend.

It was a few years back, when I still worked at the 7-11 over on Robertson Boulevard. I was just out of school—I don’t remember if it was high school or college, but I remember that I had just finished learning, or pretending to, anyway. I needed the money– I needed a schedule, any schedule at all, so I chose the one that went from 12 midnight – 6 a.m.

“It’s not bad, a good choice, really,” said the gruff, large, vaguely Mexican man(ager) who interviewed (that’s a story in itself, interviewed for a job at 7-11) and hired me. “Don’t listen to the horror stories of banditos and robbers,” he assured me, “it’s a 7-11. Nobody wants to make trouble at 2 a.m.” That actually described me, I thought, more than any would-be criminals who might miss the sign out in front that said I would only have fifty dollars on the premises after midnight. I didn’t want to make trouble, I thought, for myself or anyone else, and told my manager so. “Good kid,” he almost growled as he scratched his unshaven pair of chins. “Hell, that’s where I started—the midnight run—and look at me now…” I did look at him (it wasn’t easy), and took the job.

There are two kinds of customers, I quickly learned, who visit a 24-hour convenience store after midnight on weeknights. First, and easiest to deal with, are the Workers. They too are working stiffs like myself, forced (was I forced?) up at late hours to earn a living. Janitors, construction workers, nurses, truckers, delivery men and women—I was their first human contact, serving them their self-serve coffee, crumb cake, and doughnuts on their way to the still-dark, lonely outside world. Working late at night, and especially early morning, I concluded, is usually a very lonely proposition. Think of the man who vacuums the stock exchange on Wall Street, the woman who mops the floor of the Public Market in Seattle, the old man hired to hose down Hollywood Boulevard, the fake stars embedded into the empty pavement around him while the real stars shine harshly overhead, not quite as bright as the Hollywood sign in the distance. In some of the busiest, most populated places in the world, they toil alone, in preparation for the very crowds who are missing from the locales of their nighttime chores. These are the people I awoke and sent off with a hot cup of coffee and a few doughnuts in a bag, though they didn’t need me to wake up—they were all already awake with the half-sleep, patient eyes of those who work the third shift. I rang them out solemnly and sent them on their way, knowing I would see them again in a mere twenty-four hours.

But I didn’t notice the Workers as a group until I first noticed that there was another group of customers, who I called the Smokers. The Workers saw me at the beginning of their day and the end of mine, but I saw the Smokers at the beginning of my day and the end of theirs, if days existed for them at all. I started my shift at midnight, and they would begin to trickle in about an hour or so after that, as the clubs and bars around town closed. While I had quite a few Workers who were regulars, people I saw every day, it was a rare occurrence (not that I marveled at it much) that I would see a Smoker twice. While the Workers were always alone, Smokers were always accompanied, whether they came in with a friend or left a loud, laughing group in the car. They were better dressed, younger, and richer than the Workers, but they didn’t help themselves to coffee or choose a doughnut—they always headed straight for me, and asked for cigarettes while flipping through their wallets for change or dialing numbers on their cell phones. Workers needed human contact—they would look at me with their tired eyes or hold out their hand for change, but Smokers never looked at me—always played with their phones or signaled to the cars running outside waiting for them. I would lay their packs of cigarettes on the counter with their change, and they would swipe it all off and head for the door in one smooth motion.

I didn’t really prefer one group to the other—both gave me my change, and neither bothered me—the Workers paid and left, the Smokers paid and left. And I, in the middle of it all, sat and returned change, fetched cigarettes from the counter below, read the magazines I found in the racks, and earned $6.50 an hour at the 7-11 on Robertson Boulevard.

The new issue of Newcity is out, which means you can read my writing about Chicago’s place in the world (2nd item), what movies would make good videogames (I contributed, even though I’m not credited), and my encounter with a C-list movie star.

There’s a full moon out tonight in Chicago, and so I figured I’d provide a public service announcement for those of you dealing with a sudden change in lifestyle (and species).

Hello, and welcome to the astounding world of lycanthropy! You have probably just awakened in a ditch or field, with your clothes and hair torn and dishelveled. You’ve probably got a few scratches on you, some of which may still be bleeding! And you’re probably wondering just what the heck happened to you last night!

Well, the answer is: you were bitten. Remember that big black wolf-shaped creature that was following you through the underbrush? Yep, he got you, and now you, too, are a werewolf! You’re a creature of the night, destined to walk the earth as a horrible, cursed man/wolf, living a life of treachery and feral violence by the light of the full moon!

But don’t get us wrong, being a werewolf is a wonderful thing. Once a month, you get to break loose and really paint the town red (blood red, that is!). You’ll always have the upper hand in a fistfight, and, even without trying, you’ll be able to get that rugged, unshaven look that makes the she-wolves go insane! Like your meat raw? You’ll get plenty of it! Becoming a werewolf could be the best thing that ever happened to you!

Here’s a few friendly tips to help you on your werewolfy way:

-First, you’ll probably need to relocate. You might want to move to a rural, out-of-the-way area where bypassing travelers won’t be missed if they happen to meet bloody ends in the backcountry. Also, you’ll need a dingy bar to frequent, so that your disheveled condition can be mistaken for drunkenness. Mexico is pretty good for this– many a werewolf has spent his days as a locohombre, preying on passing gangsters and mariachi bands.

-Being a werewolf, you’ll tend to go through clothing pretty quickly. It’s always good to keep it simple, and try to wear loose fitting attire, so that when your hair and wolfy muscles grow in, your outfit doesn’t get too stretched out of shape. Sometimes, however, you just can’t avoid howling and ripping your shirt during your painful transformation, so for those times, it’s good to keep a spare outfit nearby.

-Speaking of that painful transformation, you’ll want to make sure you know when it’s coming, so be sure to mark your calendar every month. It’s considered something of a faux pas to transform among humans, not to mention extremely awkward– you usually end up mumbling something about having to leave and trying to hide quickly appearing outgrowths of embarassing hair. It’s just not civil, so make sure you’re ready for the transformation when it comes– it’s a good idea to check www.nasa.gov for the full moon schedule every month.

-And, of course, once you’re in wolf mode, the sky’s the limit. Traditionally, you’re meant to attack livestock and corpses, but you won’t be able to resist going after a fresh human baby every once in a while. And who can resist a screaming maiden running aimlessly through the woods just after midnight? No self-respecting werewolf, that’s who! If you need a companion, you could even just give her a nibble, and in a month or two, she’ll be hunting right next to you.

-When killing, make sure to get rid of any witnesses, or anyone who has seen you transform. Angry mobs of torch-waving villagers are not impossible to escape, but are usually a big pain in the wereass.

-Finally, don’t forget to stay away from anything silver, especially crosses and bullets. Fortunately, most bullets nowadays are made from a lead composite, which you can easily remove and heal from. Every once in a while, however, you’ll find a werewolf hunter on your tail who has custom made silver bullets. These can actually be dangerous, so your best bet is to just sneak up on him in your human form and shoot him with a gun or something. Rocket launchers are also fairly effective. If nothing else, blame the killings on him, and when he starts ranting and raving about hunting werewolves, you can get him locked up in an institution, leaving you free to find your own prey!

Those tips should help start you out. If you need any other help, or have any other questions, just howl at the moon three long times, and then one short one, and then two more long times, and a werewolf coach will contact you shortly.

Being a werewolf is a terrific opportunity! Make the most of it! Happy Hunting!

Did you enjoy all those links yesterday? I did.

Katamari Damacy totally rocks. Look for a review on RJ’s as soon as I sit down to write it.

That’s right, chocolate chip cookies. I haven’t actually ever made these by myself so I figured it was about time. You can’t live without:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup lightly packed brown sugar
1 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 12 oz. package semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

This recipe is notable for being the first one I didn’t actually have to buy anything special for. Because of all the cooking I’ve been doing, I actually had all of these ingredients sitting around my kitchen. Well, actually, I bought the chocolate chips a long time ago expecting to use them for something else, so I did actually have to buy the chips, but that’s it.

Also, actually, I didn’t really have 1 cup butter. I only had a 1/2 cup, so I just decided to half the whole recipe. I figured it would work out ok anyway.

I preheated the oven to 375, and then mixed up everything but the chips. My brown sugar has been sitting in my pantry for a little while, so it was pretty clumpy. I’m not sure if that’s ok or not– does brown sugar go bad? Nevertheless, I mixed it in. I microwaved the butter for about 30 seconds to soften it up, and then beat the egg and threw it in, added the vanilla (next to strawberries and baking bread, one of my favorite smells), baking soda, salt.

And then I beat the whole thing to a pulp. The recipe I used said to beat on medium speed, but I don’t have a mixer. I have a fork. I picked up my fork and said “Ok fork, let’s go medium speed,” and just whipped the mix around for about five or ten minutes. First it was floury and clumpy, then it was clumpy and dry, and then, like magic (beating magic), it was doughy. I poured the bag of chips in (half the bag, actually), mixed them into the dough, and I had chocolate chip cookie dough. Technically, I could have stopped here (I did sneak a nibble), but no– it must be cooked! I forged on.

I dropped the dough onto an ungreased cookie sheet with a tablespoon. In retrospect, I made my drops way too big. I guess because they’re mostly butter and sugar, the cookies really spread out while cooking. I put about 12 on a cookie sheet, and had enough dough left for about 4 more on another.

I let it cook for 10-15 minutes (and played more Katamari Damacy, man that game is fun). When the edges browned, I pulled them out and let them cool.

This is when something weird happened. I was in the other room playing the game, and I heard a crash. I came back into the kitchen, and one of my cookie sheets had curled up so much it had rolled over onto the floor. No idea what the heck happened there. I assume on side cooled faster than the other, causing the metal sheet to curl up on one side, but it didn’t happen to the other plate, and I’ve never seen that happen to any cookie sheet before. Very strange, and I lost four cookies because they fell all over the floor.

Ok, so I didn’t completely lose them. I ate two. Don’t worry, they were fine. I checked.

I Require Sustenance is supposed to run every Wednesday on mikeschramm.com, but to tell the truth, Mike is getting pretty tired of doing it. You could help, though– want to cook something, tell us how it went, and share the recipe? Sure you do! Email Mike, or your precious cooking column goes bye bye!

I didn’t come up with anything really creative to write about today. I was going to post an old essay that I wrote, but then I was reminded that I don’t have too many of them left (5), and I figured I should probably save them for rainier days.

So instead, we’re starting a semi-regular feature here at mikeschramm.com, in which we’ll feature links that you’ll certainly enjoy.

That’s right, “certainly.” And it’s called:

Of course, you can always find new links daily over on the miniblog, but those are usually one-off links, jokes or features or pictures, whatever. These are all sites that I’ve been visiting regularly, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy them as much as I have. Someday, being featured will be a big reward, and webmasters everywhere will work day and night to make their site good enough for a mikeschramm.com Link Roundup! reference. Until then, your job is to click on these links as much as possible, so these sites will take notice of this wonderful site, and maybe even link back here. It’s like one big promotional orgy! And you’re invited!

You may also notice that a few of these are already on the about page. But that is fine, because this is the first Link Roundup! Later editions will have newer links.

-Linkbunnies is what a collaborative blog should be like. Simple, to the point, and an interesting combination of multiple viewpoints. Plus, they’re English, so points in my book.

-Speaking of English, UK Resistance is a hilarious site about videogaming. They have a sense of sarcasm drier than a Bond martini, and they love the Dreamcast!

-Daily Dinosaur Comics saved money by just using the same dinosaur panel art and writing new dialogue for every daily comic. If everyone read this page before they left the house in the morning, the world would be 2.5% happier.

-Haiku Circus would only make everyone 1.5% happier, but they would also make everyone 3.2% smarter, because the dialogue of every comic constitutes a haiku poem.

-You already know them from such authors as me, but Girls With Insurance was nice enough to link to mikeschramm.com, and so the least you could do is go visit their site.

-Also, mikeschramm.com has also been reading Uber (I can’t do the umlaut), and hopes to submit something there soon. Very soon. Like next week.

-And finally, I’ve been reading the new Mediabistro freelance writing blog MBToolbox, mostly because it is run by the inimitable (and awesome) Claire Zulkey.

-Also, just in case you didn’t know, Abbie the Cat Has a Posse. I want one!

RIP Hunter S. Thompson: “There he goes. One of God’s own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.”

For various reasons which I won’t bore you with (because they would, y’know, bore you), I had to work until 3 a.m. last night. So I wrote this up yesterday morning, which means it’s probably old news by now. But because I am extremely tired, I’m posting it anyway.

Christ (Savior)

Super Dave (Osbourne!)

Victoria Gotti (Gangster daughter, listed twice)

Ingrid Caesares (Former Madonna girlfriend)

Stephen King (Author)

Party Guy (probably Ken Mehlman, chair of the Republican National Committee)

Pat O’Brien (Gossip reporter)

Ron Pearlman (Hellboy)

Lauren Popeil (Set it and forget it)

Richie Rich (Comic book character)

Robert Shapiro (Lawyer)

Vin Diesel (Action Star)

Han Zila (Related?)

Happy Friday people! What a week it’s been! Actually it hasn’t been that great a week, but we’ll pretend it has, just to keep things interesting.

So a few weeks ago I joined this email list called the Internet Writers Workshop, where a bunch of writers email each other about writing, and stories, and whatever they happen to be interested in at the time. One of the other members posted a message this week saying he’d come upon a contest that was looking for 1,000 word stories, but they’d made a typo, and their ad said they were looking for 100 word stories. He wrote one, and it wasn’t bad (I can’t share it with you because it’s his story), but I decided to write one, too.

And here it is. If you want to write one, and then send it to me, I’ll put it up here over the weekend– the only rule is that it must be exactly 100 words. Enjoy.

“I quit!” he said to his boss. “I quit!” he yelled at the secretary on the way out the door. He overturned his desk, spilled pencils everywhere. When somebody asked him what the hell was going on, he yelled “I quit!” to everyone. People were running from down the hall to see what all the noise was about, the interns came out of the breakroom (that cute one from Georgetown looked impressed). There was mayhem, and he was causing it. “I quit!” he screamed, again and again.

The alarm beeped, and he woke. It was 6 a.m. Time for work.

A trilogy of tracts for you to try out today: articles of mine are here (the first one) , here, and here. Hopefully coming soon: publication in places other than Newcity. Cross your fingers!

Dude! You’re the only one not crossing your fingers!

Ok, today’s recipe is a little off, I think. I got it from a co-worker, and while I’m sure she can make it really well, I’m not sure that I did it exactly right. You’ll need:

1 boneless skinless chicken breast
3 cloves garlic
about 1/2 onion
2-3 tablespoons curry powder (a lot of this is to taste– if you’re not a curry fan, you could lower it, and if you love curry, you could probably pile it on)
1 can nonsweetened coconut milk (this is what she told me, I didn’t find any nonsweetened, just regular– not sure if it’s sweetened or not)
juice of 1/2 lime (again, more or less to taste)
about 2 cups cooked rice (I used rice noodles, same difference)
sauteeing oil of choice (olive, vegetable, whatever)

First off, as always, sautee the onion and garlic in with the oil in a medium sized skillet. She originally told me to grill the chicken before I added it in later, but I just put it in at this point and just cooked it all together. Not sure if that would affect the taste at the end or not. I did it just to keep things easy and use as few pans as possible.

Start cooking/steaming the noodles/rice at this point, too, so that they finish together.

Ok, so the onion, garlic, and chicken cooks through– throw some curry in there to spice the whole thing up. In fact, she says, throw a lot of curry in there. You want to basically coat the whole thing with curry, get it really flavorful– 2 or 3 tablespoons should do it. Then, add the coconut milk, and stir and simmer until it thickens into a pale brown sauce type of thing. I had plenty of curry in there, but I had to turn the heat way up to get that milk to simmer. It reminded me of the condensed milk I used a few weeks ago– much more solid than regular milk. Also, although I probably should have noted this on the ingredients list– I had a heck of time finding coconut milk at my local Jewel. It ended up in the Spanish food aisle with the Goya. This lady who helped me was so happy that she’d found it for me after searching for like 15 minutes. Kept laughing that “It was in the Spanish food aisle all along.” I’m glad she enjoyed it.

Where was I? Oh, right, so you’ve got the sauce going, and the rice/noodles cooking. My co-worker says to pour the sauce over the rice, but I decided to just mix the whole dealy together, so I did. Let that sit for a few minutes to solidify a little more, and then add the lime juice.

Lime juice is in, stir everything up (and you’ll probably have to let it sit for a little more just to get it to coagulate or whatever it does), and you should be set.

I think, anyway. It’s definitely a “to taste” dish, because when I was all done, I thought it tasted a little bland. I added some more curry and lime juice, but then I think I added too much, because it didn’t mix too well, and it became a little bitter. My guess is that I should have added more curry in the beginning. Your best bet is probably think like Jonathan Lynn, the director of “Clue”: you can never have too much Curry!

HA! You know? Like the movie? And Tim Curry? Right?

I Require Sustenance runs every Wednesday on mikeschramm.com. At least it probably will for a little while longer. Well… next week might be it. Come back and find out!

And now this:

If you haven’t yet, you should totally link to mikeschramm.com.

Whether you run a weblog nobody reads, or a huge, multi-million dollar internet corporation with millions of visitors every day (especially if you have the millions of visitors every day thing), you should totally put a nice little link to mikeschramm.com on your front page.

Have you considered all the benefits of linking to mikeschramm.com?

-Your visitors will get the latest and greatest from Mike Schramm’s brain, directly from somewhere within his synapses straight to their screen, daily! Sometimes even two or three times daily!

-Your visitors will learn to love you, and we all know that love leads to lust, and lust leads to evil, and money is the root of all evil! Linking to mikeschramm.com will earn you money!

-Linking to mikeschramm.com will make you smarter! In a recent case study, 4 out of 5 lab rats who linked to mikeschramm.com were able to run mazes faster and eat more cheese. In the same study, those same rats were overjoyed at the terrific daily content on mikeschramm.com, finding it both witty and interesting. One rat was very dumb, didn’t like mikeschramm.com, and therefore got no cheese. Don’t you want cheese?

-If you put up a link to mikeschramm.com, you can get a free cute teddy bear!* Everyone loves teddy bears, and you’ll get one! For free!

-Putting up a link on your website, big or small, to mikeschramm.com will make you happier! Don’t ask us how, it just does!

Don’t believe us? Read these fake testimonials:

“I was skeptical about linking to mikeschramm.com. But I did it, and now I’m a new woman. Colors look brighter, food tastes better, and people smile at me when I walk past them. It changed my life!” -Thelma F., Omaha, NE

“All Praise Mikeschramm.com! Linking To It Creates Great Satisfaction!” -Ancient Chinese Philsopher, Ancient China

Yes, you too can put a link on your website to mikeschramm.com. Kids love linking to mikeschramm.com because it’s fun, but moms love it because it’s healthy! Don’t believe us? Listen to this well respected doctor!

WELL RESPECTED DOCTOR: “Not linking to mikeschramm.com can cause serious health risks, including death. Millions of people lived way, way before mikeschramm.com was ever invented, and none of them ever had the chance to link to mikeschramm.com. Well, now all of those people are dead. Every one of them. I’m not saying that mikeschramm.com will give you eternal life, but it might. Link to mikeschramm.com and find out! And take your vitamins!”

See? You can tell he’s well-respected because he has such great advice about vitamins.

Do your part to support the war effort, and put a link to mikeschramm.com on your webpage!

*Note: Bear offer not valid in states, especially the United ones. Bear offer is not valid anywhere, in fact, except the fictional country of Francoslovakiland. Also, not everyone actually loves teddy bears.

Happy Valentine’s Day, people.

Godzilla was in America, and depressed. His latest movie had opened and crashed within a weekend, and he had become the big green laughingstock of Hollywood. Godzilla sat in his hotel room and watched reruns of Miami Vice and The Commish and drank vodka until he passed out. In the morning, he would wake up, shower, and do it all over again.

Sometimes he would wander out to get something to eat at this diner down the road. People would shout things at him as they passed. “You suck, Godzilla!” is what they would say. Sometimes they would throw things at him, sticks and beer bottles that they found on the side of the road. And sometimes, they would stick their arms out in front and waddle back and forth slowly and say things like “I’m Godzilla! Look at me! I’m Godzilla and I suck!” Out of all the things they did, this hurt Godzilla the most. At the diner, the waitress wasn’t ever friendly to him, and always brought his food late, and put it down without saying anything. Godzilla would pay his check and leave without talking to anyone. He heard snickers and whispers as he walked by the other patrons.

“‘Zilla, baby,” said his American agent, a fat man named Harvey (Godzilla didn’t know if it was his first name or his last name). “‘Zilla,” he would say, “I gotta say– things don’t look good. I want to give it to you up front, I think you’re talented– you’ve got name recognition, and that’s good. But there isn’t a lot of call for big green lizards right now. Especially one that’s.. uh… iffy at the box office.” Godzilla would sigh. Godzilla sighed a lot when he talked to Harvey. “‘Zilla,” Harvey would say, “I’ll call you when something comes. I mean, don’t wait up or nothing. But I’ll call.” Godzilla sighed and hung the phone up, then opened another bottle of vodka. Something was missing, he thought as he swallowed a gulp and the familiar warmth spread through his throat, stomach, tail, and scales. Something was missing, and he didn’t know what it was.

One morning, he woke up and it was dark outside. It was probably evening, actually– he lost track of time, none of it ever mattered. He decided to walk to the diner and try to get some coffee and, maybe, perspective.

He walked down the street, which was empty. It must have been very late at night. He made it to the diner, and looked in the lit windows, saw the ugly guy behind the bar that always stared at him, saw the mean waitress. He decided maybe going to the diner wasn’t what he needed. But he didn’t want to go back to the hotel.

So Godzilla walked on, through the streets of Los Angeles. He walked past the video stores and all night doughnut shops and clubs. He walked towards the beach, past the surf shops and clothing boutiques, all closed up, lifeless, and dark in the deep of night. He made it to the beach, and walked across the sidewalk, over the grass, out onto the sand.

Godzilla stopped and looked at the water, the sand, the sea, the sky. The water splashed against the grains he stood in, and he dug in deeper to the solid wetness beneath him. Something is missing, he thought. Something I have to find.

And Godzilla took a step toward the water. And then another and another, until he was running, hit the water’s edge, and jumped in and swam. He swam away from the beach and America, from his terrible movie and the jerks who made fun of him and the man named Harvey who always told him things didn’t look good. Godzilla swam.

He swam for hours and then for hours more. The sun rose behind him, and he swam until it set in front of him. It looked beautiful, the red sky and clouds reflected in the water. Godzilla knew this was right, that what he wanted was this way. He swam some more.

And then, maybe three or four days later, he saw something on the horizon. It was a series of bumps rising from the line between the sea and the sky. He swam harder and faster, and the bumps grew and defined themselves, turned into pillars, with shorter pillars around them. He swam closer, and the pillars grew lights and shapes.

They were buildings. Godzilla swam closer.

It was Tokyo.

He reached shore, and the Japanese went crazy. They didn’t throw bottles at him or make fun of him. Instead, they were terrified. Old men and schoolgirls pointed and ran around and screamed things like, “Gojira! Iz tan poko Gojira! AAAAAHHH!!”

Godzilla roared. He knocked over a few buildings, stepped on some Hondas. He even knocked out a few planes with his radioactive breath. And, from one of his lizard eyes, a tiny tear fell.

It was a tear of happiness. Godzilla was home, and he had found love.

This is a Newcity reject, but I liked it. Enjoy. Have a good weekend!

Move over Punxsutawney Phil– not only is a Brookfield Zoo critter pushing middle age, he’s ready to start placing bets in Vegas. “Carver” became the oldest wombat ever in captivity last Sunday when he turned 30 years old. “He was born on February 6th, 1975,” says senior keeper Jeanne Brown. “His mom [Vicky, for those of you wondering what wombats are named] held the record– she was 24 1/2, but she was wild caught. Since he was born here, we know exactly how old he is.”

In fact, Carver has outlasted almost everybody else at the zoo– there are a few keepers left from his birth, but none of the original mammal keepers who saw him born are still around. Wombats, which are only exhibited at four North American zoos (Brookfield was the first in 1969), are in the marsupial family, which means they (yes) have a pouch, they’re mainly from Australia, and are medium sized mammals with a rounded head and body and strong, powerful legs. And they have something of a penchant for diggery. “They are huge tunnelers,” says Brown. “They’ll have a tunnel system with various chambers, and that’s called a warren.”

And they usually only live until about “late teens or early twenties,” so the real question is: how’s the old boy doing? “He still up and around. He does have some arthritis,” admits Brown. “He does have cataracts, but he gets around fine, and he’s a two year cancer survivor.” About two years ago Carver had a run-in with a form of skin cancer. “It was squamous cell carnicoma, and he did lose a digit.” But no worries, adds Brown, because it hasn’t affected his digging skills.

In fact, his sports betting skills are pretty good, too. To celebrate his birthday on Super Bowl Sunday, Carver’s keepers gave him a special pigskin related treat. “Our chef here made two cakes in the shape of football helmets”– one featuring the Patriots’ logo, and another featuring the Eagles’, and then they sat back and waited to see which one Carver went for first. And of course, how did it turn out? “I don’t know how long it took him,” says Brown, who apparently must have been home watching Paul McCartney at the time, “but he did pick the Patriots to win.” So he loses points on rooting for Tom Brady, but you have to admit the little guy knows a spread when he sees it. No word yet on Carver’s picks for the March Madness NCAA tournament– I hear the zoo chef is still making cakes.

Have you read my short story Mary yet? Because you should.

Also, the new issue of Newcity has my story about a play I saw. And, since it’s the Love and Sex issue, there’s a bunch of little bits about love and/or sex, none of which I wrote, but all of which are pretty darn good. I especially like the scientific inquiry one. I like it so much that I wish I had written it.

Are you excited about the new Winnie the Pooh movie? Neither am I. Apparently, Disney is scraping the bottom of the barrel on this Pooh thing, because the movie features a Heffalump, a character that never actually appeared in any of the A. A. Milne books (Pooh and Piglet tried to trap one once, but it very famously only lived in their imaginations).

Ubercool lit site Girls with Insurance has published a piece of mine, called Mary. They put it in the Essays section– it’s actually Fiction, but I’m just happy it’s up. Go. Read. Enjoy.

It seems like I had something else to tell you, but I can’t remember what that was. Oh well. By the way, don’t watch the movie “Thirteen,” because it’s terrible. I tried to watch it because 24’s Sarah Clarke was in it (not only does she rock, but she’s from StL!), but I had to give up and watch Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow instead.

Yesterday was Fat Tuesday, and so when I tried to think of something to cook, my mind turned directly to Cajun food. Maybe a nice gumbo, or a jambalaya, I thought. But when I went to actually look at the recipe for said jambalaya, there was a lot of stuff on there, and I didn’t particularly feel like going shopping. In fact, I didn’t really feel like all that mixing and chopping and simmering. I didn’t really feel much like cooking at all, but, trooper that I am, I looked on and found something to cook.

Turns out Fat Tuesday is known as Shrove Tuesday in England, a holiday when people confess their sins and eat pancakes. Only in England would they have a holiday like this. Americans don’t much feel like confessing their sins in February– they feel much more like putting on a massive football game, drinking and eating lots of junk, and, if you’re lucky, showing a breast or two.

But I didn’t really feel like cooking much, and so I thought pancakes sounded good. We’ll need:

1 cup flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 egg
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon oil

Making pancakes, as you probably know, is as easy as it gets. All you have to do is mix everything together (beat the egg before mixing in), pour the batter on a hot griddle, and let it cook, flipping when necessary.

And so, after all the stuff I’ve made the past few weeks, it’s a little surprising that pancakes are the first thing I seriously screwed up.

I mixed the flour and baking powder in. Beat the egg and added it, and then opened the fridge to grab milk. Except that there was none. I hadn’t bought any milk lately, but my roommate uses it in cereal for breakfast, so I figured I could just grab a cup of his. No dice, because he didn’t have any.

What could I do? The mix was made, the griddle was heating. I grabbed the cup measure and filled it with… water. I couldn’t think of anything else. Actually that’s not true– I do have some whipped cream, and I thought about adding that for a second before deciding that might not work.

I poured the batter (slightly runny) on the griddle, and let it cook. Now, this pancake flipping thing is something I know how to do. The first time I made pancakes I learned how to tell when to flip it– the secret is to wait for the batter to bubble. Once you see bubbles it’s fine to flip. That’s my tip, from me to you, friend.

I cooked them up, flipped them on a plate, and tried them out. They tasted terrible. Really bad. Nothing I’ve cooked has really been bad before, but this was. They tasted like hardtack, that stuff that Confederate soldiers used to write home and complain about.

“Dear Mama, today I had to eat some pancakes that were cooked by an idiot that didn’t know the difference between water and milk. The war continues, but I wish I were home with you and Sallie Mae, and away from these terrible, terrible pancakes. Love, Cletus. 1863″

Yeah, they weren’t good. If you make them, be sure to use milk. I even put some syrup on them to try and cover up the taste, but the syrup actually made it taste worse. I wasn’t sure why until I looked at the date on the syrup: Best if Eaten by May 15, 2004.

Ouch. I didn’t even cook all the batter– I threw about half of it away. Should have made the jambalaya.

I Require Sustenance runs every Wednesday, God bless it, on mikeschramm.com. If you’d like to recommend a recipe, or even be a guest chef next week, not only would you make Mike’s day, but he would sing your praises in many languages to anyone who wished to hear.