Sunday, August 31, 2003


So here's the deal, faithful TOH readers: my computer has once again shit the bed. As you may recall, things went a bit nutty in the wake of the ol' blackout, but they were fixed rather easily with the help of a TOH commenter. Well, things have gone haywire again, though in a copmpletely different way than lasty time. So, on the off chance that there are any Mac-friendly types out there, I will describe my problem and perhaps someone may know what the fuck I'm dealing with, here.

Yesterday, as sometimes happens, my computer randomly shut down AOL. When I tried to re-start the program, everything froze. This has happened a few times, but usually I just restart the computer (a G4 tower) and everything goes back to normal and everything is just dandy. But when I restarted yesterday, it just went to a grey screen with a small folder icon in the middle. Inside the folder icon, the Mac icon and a question mark began alternately flashing--i.e. Mac icon, question mark, Mac icon, question mark, etcetera and so forth. Has anyone ever seen anything like this? My friend said it sounded like my computer was having trouble locating the hard drive, that maybe I had a loose connection. This would make sense, but I'm a tad nervous to start tinkering with my computer's innards, seeing as I am a complete moron about this stuff. Of course, it also occurs to me that something uglier might be afoot, but I'm going to try to not freak out about it. I am very fortunate that lovely Kambri lives just down the street from me, and has been nice enough to let me set up a Tower of Hubris remote basecamp in her apartment.

Anyway, if any of you Mac users has ever seen anything like this, I'd tell you to comment, but it just so happens that "yaccs", the program that does my comments, is having major server problems. Great, huh? I feel like Jeff Goldblum about an hour into The Fly--still functional, but rapidly falling tp pieces. Hey look, an ear! So the bottom line is, if you have any idea of what might be wrong with my computer and are feeling charitable, drop me an Email ( You will be rewarded in some yet-to-be-determined-but-genuinely-worthwhile manner.

And now, as far as content goes:

Yesterday, when my computer decided to give me a spiritual nut-punch, I was about to write an entry apologizing for the lack of quality humor over the course of the last two or so weeks. Entries have been sporadic and half-hearted and I was going to assure you, the discerning TOH readership, that I was going to use the "back to school" sentiment that is always floating in the air around Labor Day to rededicate myself to making this page something worth checking out on a (nearly) daily basis. But then this computer crap happened. So it looks like, for the time being, you're all just going to have to suck it.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure I saw a dead guy last night. A homeless fellow, laying on a front stoop, mouth gaping, eyes wide open in a state of shock. As with most genuinely horrific things I experience, I spent a good chunk of the evening wondering why I didn't feel worse. What does that say about me? Why wasn't I a basket case? I can't help but think that a person who was truly "deep" would have, at the very least, had his evening ruined--as opposed to, say, proceeding directly to a mexican restaurant for margaritas and taco salad. And it's not just that he was some anonymous homeless person--I've felt the same curious pangs of "what should I make of this?" in all sorts of personally tragic situations (none of which I will get into, because this ain't that kind of blog). I just tend to numbly wonder why I'm not more emotional about these things. And yet, I tend to be a veritable fountain of emotion when confronted with tiny, meaningless shit. Watching someone get a papercut elicits in me a compassion worthy of Mother Teresa. Hearing a subway train roll in and out of the station while I frantically try to purchase a new Metrocard is cause for hours of existential angst. And I will toggle though all five stages of grief after having a subpar stand-up set in some crappy bar in front of nine drunks. I am definitely a person who sweats the small stuff. It's the big stuff that tends to roll right off of me.

So, I guess if you have any idea how to fix me or my computer, do let me know.


Friday, August 29, 2003


Hey there, friend. Listen, do yourself a favor and don't go away for Labor Day weekend.

Why, you ask? Well, there are lots of reasons. For instance, it's going to rain. Yep, thunder and lightning from early Saturday morning straight through until Monday. And hail, probably. And locusts. All over the country, except for NYC. Here, it will be sunny and temperate.

Also, you should take into account the recent increase in gas prices. Are you really prepared to spend $2.03 per gallon to drive eight hours in bumper to bumper traffic, just to spend a few pathetic days in some rain-soaked vacation hamlet? And what if your car breaks down? Have you brought it in for a tune-up lately? Look, I don't care if you ARE just renting--you can never predict when you're going to get stranded in some god forsaken tourist town, where you could very well fall prey to vicious local teens out for kicks. And, yes, by "kicks" I mean theft, violence and forced sodomy.

Oh, and the cookout your boyfriend/girlfriend's parents have invited you to? Big mistake. That hamburger meat they're going to use has been sitting out on the back porch for five days. It's basically an Ecoli playground! Plus, your girlfriend/boyfriend's parents hate your guts and they're planning to use this weekend to tell you why.

Yessirree, spending Labor Day weekend anywhere but in NYC is starting to look like a real dumb move. And you don't want people thinking you're a dummy, do you? Nope, better to stay in town and check out the soul-enriching installment of PORTABLE COMEDY I've cooked up for you.

Join me and my fancy-schmancy guests:

BRIAN KILEY (Staff writer for "Late night with Conan O'Brien")

BRYAN TUCKER (Staff writer for "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" and former "MadTV" and "Chris Rock Show" scribe)

ROB PARAVONIAN (He's appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" not once, but twice! He's also popular on college campuses all over the country)

KYRIA ABRAHAMS (Writer for Jest magazine and, and one of NYC's most up-and-coming comedy types)

DAMION SAMMARCO (Co-host of "The Tuesday Night Train Wreck", one of NYC's longest running shows)

LARRY GETLIN (Former writer for "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" and host of the "Brooklyn Brew Ha Ha")

SAM LALLY (Performing a piece from her upcoming show, "Lady W/", at Manhattan Theatre Source)

And, on the off chance you've yet to commit them to memory, the details:

7 East 27th street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)

You've worked hard all year. You owe yourself an inexpensive comedy show in the back room of a hotel.

Christian Finnegan,
laborious promotional Emails since 1998

Wednesday, August 27, 2003


* It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the average of times--it really depended on who you were and what was going on in your life on that particular day.

* "If it's good enough for Matthew Perry, it's good enough for me," said Bishop Tutu, downing a handful of Secanol.

* Scott had always wondered what it would be like to make love to a soda machine change slot.

* By the time little Spencer Dunham completed his first day of kindergarten, he was sure of one thing: the Holocaust was a hoax.

* Business at the women's health clinic had been slow lately, but Gary was about to change all that.

* I never blamed Grandpa Fred for what become known around town as the "Captain Teabag" incident--after all, he was just trying to help.

* From day one, Caroline Gertz was determined not to be just any ol' baby-fallen-down-a-well.

* Even trained CIA killing machines need to rub one out occasionally, and Brock Masterly was no different.

* As Chief Running Bear handed in his TGI Fridays application, he knew his life was about to take a turn for the better.

* No one in the town of Baker's Creek had ever met a woman quite like Tits McSemengobbler.

* "Over the course of this trial, I will prove to you, the jury, not only who farted," declared Sylvia St. James, lightly tapping the rail of the jury box for emphasis, "but why."

* Call me Fuckface.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003


In honor of Macauley Culkin's birthday (he's 23 today), Tower of Hubris is taking today off. I'll write something funny for tomorrow morning, though. Set your Anticipatometer to "high".

Okay, nothing to see here, folks. Please keep it moving.

Monday, August 25, 2003


The Indiana Palsy

The Jacksonville Trilateral Commission

The San Jose Buttfuckers

The Dallas Pox

The Portland Fighting Boners

The Buffalo Olive Garden Patrons

The Oakland Grab-Ass

The Carolina Queef

The Nashville Fat Fucks

The Chapel Hill Bad Touchers

The Minnesota Spank Machine

The Cincinnati Bengals

Saturday, August 23, 2003


If only I'd taken this test before my high school prom.

Actually, I scored 15 out of 16. I'm not sure if that should make me feel proud or very, very ashamed.

Friday, August 22, 2003


Dearest TOH readership,

After taking a week off due to a small, rather isolated power outage, PORTABLE COMEDY returns tonight with gusto. And make no mistake: I've got this whole "electricity" thing covered. I've arranged to have a giant hampster wheel hooked directly into my the Gershwin Hotel's extremely hi-tech lighting system. In the event of another blackout, I will tell an NYU film student that I'm related to Harmony Korine and pay the kid $10 to run on said wheel until show's end. Or until he passes out, whichever comes first.

Just in case the hampster wheel breaks down, or if the NYU student turns out to be a total pussy, I'll be buying a few solar panels later this afternoon--I'm pretty sure Odd Job carries them. So, even if the power goes out AND the hampster wheel is a no-go, tonight's show will definitely go on. (By the way, if anyone out there knows how to harness solar power, please drop me an Email!)

On the extremely slight chance that the power goes out, the hampster wheel becomes nonfunctional AND I'm unable to comprehend the "science" behind solar power by this evening, we will begin tonight's show by throwing copies of "Catcher in the Rye" and "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" onto a bonfire in the middle of the room, so I'm confident the comedy show portion of the evening can be done by firelight. To be honest, the bonfire will be taking place with or without electricity. Take THAT, nihilists!

One thing you CAN count on is a fantastic show featuring some of NYC's best comics. Check out the lineup:

ANDREW DONELLY (He's appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and in countless national ad campaigns. Chances are you've seen him or heard his voice in the past week)

CHELSEA PERETTI (Co-creator of the web sensations "" and "")

JONATHAN CORBETT (Another "Premium Blend" alum, he's also performed at the prestigious Just For Laughs Festival in Montreal)

VAL KAPPA (NYC comedy favorite and a recurring voice on the Cartoon Network's "Home Movies")

JAKE SILBERSTEIN (After a long battle with SIDS, Jake makes his triumphant return to the Portable Comedy stage!)

LIZ LAUFER (Finally out of maximum security lockdown, the new "homocide-free" Liz makes her Portable Comedy debut!)

And here, my friends, are the details:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)

Come on out and feel the power.

Christian Finnegan,
atomic punk

Thursday, August 21, 2003


A couple of days back, I declared Blues Brothers 2000 the worst movie of all time. Ladies and gentlemen, we may have another contender.

You absolutely must watch the trailer. You must. What can you say about a movie where 2/3 of the budget seems to have gone to secure the talents of Gary Busey? If you look closely, you'll also see the singular talents of an aged Christopher Atkins and Curtis Armstrong, aka "Booger" from Revenge of the Nerds. This movie has sooo much going for it. First of all, you'll see from the trailer that there's not one, but two horribly executed pratfalls in the trailer. And, as my friend Adam Felber pointed out, " need to restore my faith in the idea that heaven is a place constructed from astroturf, dry ice, and a sheet-draped living room sofa."

Behold, the majesty of Quigley.

Wednesday, August 20, 2003


Popping Zit

Throws Like Girl

Works Sexual Conquests into Conversation

Mayonnaise in His Beard

Five Inch

Gets Paper Stuck in Photocopier

Wakes with Bong Hit

Raging Bitch

Sobs While Drinking

Shaves Back

Broken Condom

Shows Up To Party Without Beer

Oscillating Desk Fan

Reads on Potty

Rising Bedsheet

Collects Star Wars Action Figures

Drops Trou

Monday, August 18, 2003


I have a fucking swollen taste bud. Is there anything more maddening? The only thing that will make me feel better is to bitch about a few things:

* Is there anything lamer than a guy with a cell phone holster? Who needs to answer his phone that quickly? I refuse to believe that anyone who wears his phone on a holster has anyone important trying to get a hold of him. Sorry, no one's impressed, Wild (phone) Bill.

* All of this talk about Gigli has been making me think about the worst major motion picture of all time: Blues Brothers 2000. Rent it, you will see. The worst. Ever. Of all time. I adore terrible movies (I saw Glitter in the theatre, mofos!), but BB2K is too brutal even for me. It's like pressing your nutsack against the hot summer pavement. It's like passing a kidney stone while having a bone marrow transplant. I have it on DVD, if anyone wants to borrow it.

* VH1 Classic is showing a Bob Seger video. How and why was he ever popular? Looking at him, I bet he smells like a turd someone ate and threw back up. Turn the page, indeed.

* Has it ever occurred to you that were probably smarter at age 15 than you are now? Think about it--at one point in your life, you could solve Pi. These days, it takes you ten minutes to figure out a 15% tip.

* I tell you, it's really difficult to justify my sedentary lifestyle when the weather is so beautiful. Damn you, mother nature! I'm moving to England.

Sunday, August 17, 2003


So the big computer "catastrophe" has been rectified, and now I'm left to feel like a goddamn idiot for writing about it in the first place. Oh well, onward and upward.

By the way, a public service message to 95% of the Northeast United States: I don't want to hear your blackout anecdotes. We all went through it, people. Were you in the hospital, hooked up to a lifegiving machine when the power went out? Well, sure--I'd like to hear about that. Were you stuck in an elevator with Lorenzo Lamas, Mary Lou Retton and Ronnie James Dio? I'd be interested in hearing about that, too. Murder? Mayhem? Sex? Drugs? The Occult? Lay it on me. But if your twenty minute "how I spent the blackout" anecdote is about how long it took to find your candles in the dark, keep it the fuck to yourself. I don't care that all of your ice cubes melted, and I'm not especially interested in how wasted you got. And I definitely don't want to hear you whining about how your computer has been destroyed only to discover that the whole thing could be fixed by opening the damn thing and pressing a simple button. I mean, geez louise...

I just thought that worth mentioning.

Friday, August 15, 2003


Hey there, winners. It appears that my computer may have become a casualty of the Great Blackout of '03. Apprently, the power surge at the moment of the blackout laid a major bitchslap on my hard drive. After talking to a couple of techie friends of mine, I've narrowed things down to the following scenarios:

1) The power source in my Mac is blown. This is a relatively simple thing to fix, apparently, but it would require time and a couple hundred bucks. No matter how you slice it, this would suck balls.

2) The motherboard is fried. Fuck. Game over. Do not pass go without handing Tekserve upwards of $1000.

3) We are all a part of the Matrix and my computer never really existed in the first place.

4) I beat Steve Jobs to death with an i-Book. Computer still fucked, but I feel better.

5) I begin drinking heavily.

6) Okay, more heavily.

7) I decide to shun modern technology and move to a shack in rural Montana, where I spend the next eight years scrawling my manifesto on the back of Red Lobster placemats. I'm arrested twenty years from now sending a mailbomb to Joel Shumaker.

Anyway, for the time being, I'll be making TOH entries from a remote location. So if things are a tad sparse for a few days, cut a brother some slack.

Thursday, August 14, 2003


I don't usually get all sentimental-ish on this page, but I wanted to take a moment to give 'mad props' to Kambri, the superwoman who for seven months has been kind enough to occasionally make out with me in public. The company she co-founded, Tex in the City, hosted a mind-blowingly successful book release party for former Texas Governor Ann Richards on Tuesday, and it's been written up in a variety of publications, such as The New york Sun and little nondescript rag known as The New York Times.

Anyway, I'm welling up with boyfriendly pride. But fear not, I'll chuck the bonhomie and get back to trashing shit first thing tomorrow.

So in yesterday's 'comments' box, my dear friend Bob inquired about an old TOH entry devoted to the art of making an effective Mix Tape. I could have just linked to it, but seeing as I kind of re-wrote it a few months ago, I thought I might as well just post the new, semi-improved version. Besides, I'm feeling not even remotely creative today, so it's a wonderfully convenient cop out.

Anyway, enjoy:

The Subtle Alchemy of Mix Taping

So I've been dating a woman for a couple of months, and I think it may be time for me to take it to the "next level". I want to give her a little gift -- something poignant, but not over-the-top. Something that says "I understand you better than any man has ever understood you -- but not in a creepy way." Unfortunately, my complete lack of marketable skills has left me with very little in the way of funds. So you all know what that means! Hot chick? Poignant yet non-skeevy keepsake? No money? Say it with me, kids: MIX TAPE!

What the hell does it say about me that I'm 29 years old and still making mix tapes? Sure, they're technically CDs now, but for all intents and purposes, they're still the same 'mix tapes' I've been making for my sweethearts, requited and otherwise, since Grade Seven. My insatiable passion for transferring pop songs onto cassettes and compact discs is a manifestation of the low-budget, junior high egotism that defines my very existence. Because in the end, a mix tape is always much more about the giver than the receiver. It's meant to scream, "Hey, check me out! Look at all of the cool music I own! Aren't you impressed? You'll now want to befriend / have sex with me, right?! Please, tell me I'm valid!" My curse is that I'm fully aware of how ridiculous this mindset is (unlike, say, these people), and yet I cannot turn away from my calling.

If I were to put the same amount of energy toward my professional career as I do burning CDs, I'd be an internationally recognized "playa". In fact, I like to imagine myself the Tiger Woods of Mix Taping -- head and shoulders above the rest of the field, yet striving constantly to find ways to improve my game. Fer chrissake, Maxell could sign me to an endorsement deal! I can almost see it:

Hi, I'm Christian Finnegan. Whether it's for the ex-girlfriend you're trying to get reconcile with or some cutie who lives in the dorm room across the hall, nothing implies "I care" like a quality CD-R. That's why I use the Maxell Pro-XII. With its unique dye-recording layer, the Maxell Pro-XII ensures superior read-back for the ultimate in archival life and performance. And with an unbelievable 80 minute digital audio capacity, that's a lot of performing. Maxell Recordable Compact Discs: get in the mix!

So how exactly does one create a super keen, sure-to-get-your-foot-in-the-romantic-door mix tape? Well, like The Force, it defies simple explanation. Basically, you're attempting to take the listener on an emotional journey -- there needs to a beginning, an end, a subtle theme, a lesson learned. Every component plays a part, from lyrical sentiment to song length to track order. Lordy, the hours I've spent laboring over track order! It usually plays out something like this:

Okay, I'll start things off with something buoyant and austere, like Spoon's "Everything Hits at Once", to which she will involuntarily bob her head by the middle of verse two. From there, it's on to "Feedback Queen" by Lotion. Five listens from now, she'll be dancing around her living room to this song in a manner that is simultaneously awkward and unspeakably beautiful, but for now she's just digging it silently, wondering how it is she's never heard of this band. "Christian is so cool," she'll say to herself, "And, now that I think about it...attractive".

But she has no idea that I'm also extremely deep and capable of despair--at least, not until song #3. Man, by the time she gets to minute five of Cat Power's "Colors and the Kids", she will be sobbing into a throw pillow! "Christian has touched my very soul," she will cry to the heavens, "I must feel his tender kiss upon my face and neck! I absolutely must!"

Whoa, wait a minute. What am I thinking? Am I some kind of moron? "Feedback Queen" directly into "Colors and the Kids"? That's crazy talk! The shift in emotion is waaaay too abrupt. I need to slip in a transitional track--something uptempo, but with a hint of poignant melancholy. Hmmm... I've got it! "Achin to Be", by The Replacements! It's the perfect mix of happy and sad! Plus, when she reads the back of the dazzling, ironic clip art-laden CD case I've designed, she'll think "Oh, The Replacements! I've heard them referenced by people whose opinions I respect and I've always wondered what they sounded like--and now Christian Finnegan is giving me that chance!"

And then, as she scans down to the bottom of the track list, "Oh my god," she'll gasp, "Aretha Franklin's 'Ain't No Way'? My parents used to sing that to me when I was a little girl! What a breadth of knowledge! How could he have known? Is it fate? Could this"

Etcetera and so forth. What's tragic is that when you give a woman a mix tape, she's never quite as thrilled to receive it as you�d want her to be. She'll give it a perfunctory scan and "thanks", while you desperately resist the urge to start ranting about how long it took you to make it and the special significance of each particular song. Does she not understand just how precious a gift you've bestowed upon her?

A couple of weeks will go by and you won't hear anything from her. Or, maybe you will. In fact, maybe it's the best gift she's ever been given and she's called specifically to tell you how incredibly appreciative she is. But it won't matter. Sure, she claims to "really like" a few of the songs, but has her life been truly affected by what you've shared with her? Has her world begun anew, the sun and moon and stars replaced by dreams of you and you alone? No? Well, I guess you'll just have to try harder next time. It was probably that damn Shaggs song you tacked onto the end�you should have known she wouldn�t find it funny.

Basically, I won't be satisfied until one of my mix tapes convinces someone to kill herself. Not out of violence or malice, mind you. It's just that, thanks to my brilliant and heartfelt compilation of pop songs, she will have been awakened to the relentless and unyielding beauty of the universe. This glimpse of paradise will be so overwhelming that she will cast herself into the swirling sea rather than return to the sad drudgery of life BMT (Before Mix Tape). I dare to dream.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.

Wednesday, August 13, 2003


Blind dude trying to find his way into the subway car: You're not allowed to wear headphones. Sorry. as fun as it was watching you search for the door with your cane for a solid three minutes, some of us are in a hurry. You've got to give us some way of getting your attention, other than smacking you in the back of the head. No headphones for blind people, period.

Chinese food woman: Save the General Tso's for when you get home, please. That shit stinks like a decathalete's crotch.

Air rapper: No one on the train is impressed that you've got all of Beanie Seagel's hand movements down. Now quit with the dramatic gesturing, if you please.

Loud conversation girl: He's sitting right next to you, bitch. Bring it down.

Stand in front of the door guy: Fuck you. Move into the goddamn train. Or, if you're determined to hold onto that prime right-next-to-the-door real estate, step off the damn train and then get back on. God, I fucking hate you.

Monday, August 11, 2003

Yes, it's that time again...


* DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL "The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most" -- I spend at least one night a week going through my shoebox full of "memories".

* ROD STEWART "It Had to be You: The Great American Songbook" -- I am completely incapable of staying awake past 11pm, even on New Years Eve.

* FABOLOUS �Street Dreams� � I will someday look back on my current wardrobe and cringe.

* THREE DOORS DOWN "The Better Life" -- I have never read a book that wasn't assigned to me by a teacher.

* LUTHER VANDROSS "One Night with You: The Best of Love, Vol. 2" -- You know, I actually do like long walks on the beach.

* STAIND "Fourteen Shades of Grey" -- I'm extremely sensitive and often get depressed. Like the time we lost the homecoming game, for instance. Or when I see a goddamn fag.

* ORGINAL MOTION PICTURE SOUNDTRACK �Bad Boys II� � Ooooh�shiny object! (gurgle gurgle gurgle)

* DON McCLEAN "American Pie" -- Nothing will ever be as good as it used to be. Luckily for me, I stopped caring years ago.

* RANCID "Let's Go" -- I am the very person I make fun of.

* FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE "Utopia Parkway" -- I will corner you in a bar and spend 45 minutes drunkenly lecturing you on the evolution of the word "pop".

* BOB SEGER "Night Moves" -- I will make conversation while standing next to you at a urinal.

* RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE �Evil Empire� -- Free Mumia�or something.

Sunday, August 10, 2003


Did you know that they sell beer on the Staten Island Ferry? Well, they do. Cheap beer. And the ferry itself? Absolutely free. So when you factor the effects of alcohol in with the slightly disorienting feeling of bobbing up and down on the water, we're talking about perhaps the most inexpensive buzz in NYC. Seriously--I had one Heineken and felt tipsy enough to whip out my dick. I'm not sure the other passengers appreciated it, but you can't run your life according to the whims of others, am I right?

Friday, August 08, 2003


Dear Tower of Hubris constituents,

By now, you're probably aware of the effort underway to have me recalled as host of Portable Comedy. It has been suggested that I step down for the good of the community, that I am a lame duck comedy host who can no longer command the respect of the Gershwin Hotel faithful. But I want to assure you, the silent majority of discerning comedy fans, that I will not give in to this witch hunt without a fight.

You see, due to controversial Gershwin Hotel bylaws, a comedy show host can be recalled if concerned citizens are able to gather more than 45,000 guest signatures. Well, with a vast financial empire at their disposal, my opponents have managed to gather said signatures and it now appears that there will be a run-off comedy election sometime in early October. They think they can override the Will of the People. They are wrong. Predictably, Mr. Dustin Diamond (aka "Screech") has thrown his hat into the ring, but he's hardly the only one contributing to the carnival atmosphere in which we now find ourselves. Also considering a run are:

Lou Ferrigano
Keenan Ivory Wayans
Mary Kate Olsen
Mayor McCheese
That "Dude, you're gettin' a Dell" kid
various members of Smashmouth
Sen. Charles Schumer
The Herculoids

But have no fear, friends. I have not yet begun to host! My opponents will wither in the face of the sheer comedic genius on display at tonight's installment of PORTABLE COMEDY at the GERSHWIN HOTEL!

Come out and see:

JULIUS SHARPE (Writer for "The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn" and former Portable Comedy host. Julius is making a rare NYC appearance, fresh off his triumphant taping of Comedy Central's "Premium Blend")

ERIC KIRCHBERGER (He's a "Premium Blend" alum and has been featured in a number of national commericals. Most importantly, he kicks ass.)

KURT METZGER (He's an NYC club favorite and a contributing writer for Comedy Central's "Chapelle's Show")

TRAVIS POSTON (A Portable Comedy favorite! Come and worship at the altar of T-Bird!)

NELLIE STEVENS (Though she's a regular all over the city, tonight marks her first appearance on the Portable Comedy stage.)

LEIGH KESSLER (Though he's a regular all over the city, tonight marks his first appearance on the Portable Comedy stage. See how I just took Nellie's intro and just changed the gender? Yep, pretty slick.)

And, the logisticalities:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison ave)

Come on out and keep hope alive!

Christian Finnegan,
incumbent in your hearts

Wednesday, August 06, 2003


So I'm doing a show this weekend at the College of Staten Island Center for the Performing Arts. Please, hold your applause. Perhaps fittingly, it's part of the "Nobodies of Comedy" tour. It's one of those fancy "theater" shows, which are always the most gratifying--no attention-starved accountants shouting things out from the audience, no bachelor parties, no one settling up with the waitress in the middle of your set. Theater shows are the rare times when a stand up comic gets to feel like an "artist", rather than a Birthday Party Facillitator.

Earlier today, I did a telephone interview with a very pleasant young woman from The Staten Island Advance, who's writing a little article about the show. Now don't get the wrong idea, here--no one's seeking me out, personally. It's not as if reporters and opinionmakers are chomping at the bit for the sure-to-be-hilarious "Christian Finnegan" angle on current events. But every so often, a comic gets booked for a show that involves promoting the show via some sort of telephone interview--I've done maybe four or five in my life. So what have I learned from doing this a few times? That I suck royally at giving interviews.

Going into this sort of thing, you can count on the person interviewing you having absolutely no idea who you are, save what can be learned from your paragraph-long bio. That is, of course, assuming she/she has had time to read it. So that sets up this sort of awkward feeling of being simultaneously important ("Wow, I've being interviewed by a newspaper!") and utterly insignificant ("Um, no--I've never done Letterman. Nope, never done The Tonight Show, either. Conan? That would be a no.")

I always cringe when I see a comedian working obvious "jokes" into an interview, a la Robin Williams (someone kill him, please). But after reading a couple of my "interviews" in print (anyone see me in the June issue of Massive Douchebag Weekly?), I've learned that you have to be a little bit funny. After all, you're supposed to be a comedian, fer chrissake, and the whole point of doing the interview is to get butts into seats. I always find myself more concerned with flaunting my not-really-so-impressive vocabulary ("Indeed, this weekend's show at Professor Kooky's will represent a radical departure from the soporific paradigm of blah blah blah blah blah..."). I guess, as in all things, moderation is the key.

Pathetic as it sounds, I think I need to develop a few pat answers to the questions every single reporter (and by "reporter", I mean high school intern) asks, such as "How did you get into comedy?", "Where do you see yourself in ten years", and the most dreaded of all questions, "How would you describe your brand of comedy?"

Well, here are a few standard answers I've been considering to those very questions:


* Comedy is just a way of breaking into the lucrative catering industry.

* I entered a contest in college and was voted "Mr. No Dignity 1997".

* Well, I think you'd be surprised by how much a childhood's worth of "bad touching" by an uncle can help you see the funny side of life.


* Snorting coke off of Colin Farrell's dick.

* Setting fire to government buildings and basically "fucking up the system", yo. By the way, did I mention that I also write poetry?

* On your couch.


* Well, you've heard of Michael Winslow, right?

* My comedy is the product of an infinite number of monkeys jerking off onto an infinite number of typewriters.

* I would describe my act as: Jerry Seinfeld meets Groucho Marx meets Designing Women meets Pokemon meets Leeza Gibbons meets Charlamagne meets Pete Seeger meets Excel spreadsheets meets Baby Jessica meets retarded biker gangs meets Julius and Ethel Rosenberg meets the Puerto Rican Day Parade meets SIDS meets a donut. But with more of an "edge".

Superstardom, here I come.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003


No time for hilarity today. But in the meantime:

Some funny (in a semi-sad kind of way) cartoons.

A very simple, yet mesmerizing, optical illusion thingy.

A few worthwhile rules for living.

Now, I posted this many, many months ago, but it really does merit another look. Truly genius.

And finally, speaking of Jesus, something you should keep in mind.

Monday, August 04, 2003


There's a new Heineken ad that started airing a week or so ago, and it's been really pissing me off. In it, there's a commerical-within-a-commerical thing going on, where they show a "typical" beer commerical being shot on the rooftop of a city apartment building, with scantily clad chicks bouncing up and down and Andrew W.K.-esque music blasting in the background. There's a director dude yelling for the women to "show some skin", etc. Then, the camera pulls back to a rooftop across the street, where a white dude and a black dude (the kind you might believe would hang out with white hipsters), scoff at what they're seeing and return to their own party, a smattering of racially amorphous hipper-than-thou models, who are sipping Heinkeken and casually grooving to some paint-by-numbers "New Soul" jam. This is what life is really all about, man.

Then, the part that pisses me off the most: across the screen flash the words, "The Reality Check". Oh, fuck you.

If you want to see the commercial for yourself, you can go here, scroll down a bit and click on the picture.

So let's take the first part first: the scantily clad chick, loud music thing. I'm always disgusted (and grudgingly impressed) by how the advertisiting industry, like MTV, is willing to cannibalize itself. This silly beer advertisement has the sheer nards to posit itself "above" using jiggling tits and hard rock to sell its product. But who created those fucking stereotypes in the first place? Beer advertisements. So, they're essentially saying, "Hey, you know that image of 'coolness' we've spent the last twenty years trying to cram down your throat? Well, if you bought into it, you're a douchebag."

When I was googling the ad, I actually came upon this review which made me even more angry. Either this jackhole is a paid employee of Heineken, or we as a nation have absolutely no critical thinking skills. This chick is actually praising the commercial for going against tits-n-rock grain, without ever acknowledging that they're indirectly responsible for the grain in the fucking first place. It's akin to when MTV rags on Vanilla Ice and Gerardo, without ever mentioning the fact that these "losers'" careers were manufactured entirely by MTV. I think I ranted about this trend a few months ago, so I'll just leave it be.

But one more thing: The three blond chicks mugging to the camera during the commerical-within-a-commerical part are those triplets who are currently dating (and by "dating", I mean "appearing in photo shoots with") Hugh Hefner. So it was obviously important to Heinken that there be some hot and semi(and I stress semi)-famous tail in the commerical, otherwise they would have just hired any skank off the street. Well, if you have Playboy centerfolds bouncing around in your commerical, even for the purposes of "ironic critique", you officially forfeit the moral high ground. You can't have that shit both ways.

But it's the whole "Reality Check" nonsense that gets under my skin. Apparently, hanging out with a bunch of Lenny Kravitz lookalikes and Asian-ish fashion models in baby-tees qualifies as "reality". If they wanted to portray a real roof party, they would have shown 25 dudes and 3 women, two of whom would be married. The one single chick would be 80-120 pounds overweight and have a nose covered in sunblock, but that wouldn't stop three or four guys from trying to hook up with her, anyway. There might be one Black guy in attendance (a work friend, probably), but he'd spend the entire time looking at his watch and trying to avoid doing that stupid "soul brother" handshake/chest-bump thing with various White guys in need of cultural validation.

Oh, and there'd definitely be some puke somewhere. That's reality.

Sunday, August 03, 2003


You know, I've been maintaining Tower of Hubris for coming up on a year and a half now, and it occurred to me that I mention very little about my family life. That's why I thought I'd take this opportunity to introduce you all to my dad.

If you see him on the street, feel free to go right on up and say hi!

Friday, August 01, 2003


Premium Blend is:

A) A wonderful television show that airs on Comedy Central and features the best new voices in comedy.

B) A pretty big damn deal, if you're the kind of person who pays attention to the World O' Funny.

C) The objective sign of "progress" that allows an annual batch of comedians to unashamedly ask their parents for yet another loan.

D) The TV show my immigrant landlady once happened to see me on, leading her to mistakenly believe that I'm a big star who hangs out with Regis Philbin and Mr. T.

The answer is, of course, all of the above. Why do I bring this up, you ask? Well, this year's live "Premium Blend" tapings are set to take place next week, here in NYC. In celebration of this joyous event, and in order to help them prepare, I'll be welcoming no less than FOUR of this year's bumper crop to the PORTABLE COMEDY stage tonight, August 1st! So please come on out and support some excellent wonderful comics as they get ready for one of the biggest nights of their professional careers. Appearing on both the Gershwin stage and "The Blend" will be:


But wait, that's not all! Filling out this sure-to-be-wicked-awesome show will be:

BECKY DONAHUE (a "Premium Blend" alumnae)

This is gonna be a good one, folks--don't miss it! Here are the specifics:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)


Christian Finnegan,