QUERY: ARE YOU AN AVID HIGH-FIVER? AND A DUDE?
Hello, e-persons.
As you may recall, a couple of weeks ago I posed a question, namely:
"WANT TO BE IN MY UPCOMING COMEDY DVD?"
Well, I'm back, looking for one more person to participate in this sure-to-be-snazzy little project.
To recap, I recently taped a one-hour comedy special to be aired on Comedy Central and sold in real stores for actual cash money. On Sunday February 8th I'll be shooting a few DVD extras that will also function as web advertisements for said DVD and I'm looking for some help from you, the mighty Internet Friendbase.
Think you might like to participate? Ask yourself the following questions:
* Am I a dude?
* Have I been known to deliver an occasional high-five at sporting events, happy hours or other social gatherings?
* Am I a 'guy's guy'? (In other words, am I not like Christian Finnegan)?
* Do I live in or around NYC?
* Am I free the afternoon of Sunday, February 8th?
If you answered 'YES' to all of these questions, I'd love to hear from you ASAP! Basically, I'm just looking for a regular guy who can deliver a functional high-five without looking like a massive pussy. Is that you?
If you think you'd be up for this, please get in touch with me as soon as possible. I can be reached here on Facebook or at cf@christianfinnegan.com. A few more relevant details:
* This will be shot in midtown Manhattan, the afternoon of Sunday 2/8
* This will require no preparation from you
* This will take about an hour of your time (90 minutes tops!)
* Your name will be listed in the credits and thanked in the DVD liner notes
* You will not be made to look like an ass
So what say you? Again, I can be reached at cf@christianfinnegan.com.
Let a brutha know.
Regards,
Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
WHY SHOULD FACEBOOK HAVE A MONOPOLY ON ME-RELATED TRIVIA?
So here's the deal:
Earlier today I got tagged in my friend Liam's Facebook note, "25 THINGS YOU DON"T KNOW ABOUT ME". It appears to be one of those viral Facebook threads that usually makes me flip off my computer screen. Here are the 'rules', such as they are:
"Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you."
Like I said, usually stuff like this makes me want to stab the sender in the face. But this 'thread' is open-ended enough to not be a total waste of time; I enjoyed Liam's note and I've stumbled upon a few other peoples' versions and enjoyed them as well. I've been remiss in posting anything other than promotional pleas lately, so I've decided to be a 13 year old girl and participate in this modern-day chain letter.
As you probably guessed, this started as a Facebook note, but I'm posting it here as well, seeing as I wasted so much damned time on it.
Now, without further ado:
25 THINGS ABOUT ME (AS IF ANYONE COULD GIVE A CRAP)
1. My full name is Fletcher Christian Finnegan. History buffs among you might assume that I was named after the infamous mutineer Fletcher Christian. Sadly, this is not the case. This simple truth is that my parents conspired to ruin my childhood.
2. My left armpit is considerably less hairy than my right.
3. In 8th and 9th grade I was briefly the lead singer of a hair metal band called "Fallout". Despite my extensive musical theater and chorus class experience, I was ill-equipped for my role as frontman / sex god. No one wants to watch a doughy, zit-faced dweeb bellow Tesla's "Modern Day Cowboy" (lowered a full octave).
4. A big 'date night' for my wife and I? Dinner at one of the four restaurants in our neighborhood and than an hour or two of Megatouch.
5. I never drank or took an illicit substance until a few weeks before my 21st birthday. Somehow I made it through high school (two years of which were at a rather drug-happy boarding school) and two years of college in NYC (including a summer working at a pub, fer chrissake) without falling prey to any 'negative influences'. These days? Not so much.
6. Despite my clean living, a long bout of teenage insomnia inspired my aging hippie 10th grade English teacher to pull me out into the hallway and demand I admit to being a hardcore drug user.
7. I lost my virginity on the floor of my dad's condominium with Steve Martin's "The Lonely Guy" on pause. (And no, my father was not in the room.)
8. I am both a middle and an only child. My younger brother Bobby passed away on July 13, 2001 and my older brother John passed away on March 17, 2008 (Hey, these shouldn't all be wacky, should they?)
9. When I was 19, Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead" completely changed the way I thought about the world. I later realized that people whose lives were changed by "The Fountainhead" are, without exception, huge fucking assholes.
10. If health was not a concern, I could eat KFC for the rest of my life.
11. The biggest regret of my childhood is not taking my guitar lessons seriously and then quitting once my teacher moved away. I mean, I'm sure there are things I regret more, but nothing that crosses my mind so consistently.
12. I once stood and watched Elvis Costello walk about 500 yards down Broadway, wondering if I should chase after him yelling, "Hey, Declan Patrick Aloysius MacManus!", so he'd know I was a real fan.
13. The last two movies that made me choke up were both animated (Ratatouille and Wall-E)
14. II was once busted for shoplifting two cassettes from Lechmere's department store. I was horribly embarrassed, as I considered myself a 'good kid'. I was even more embarrassed that one of the cassettes was an album by Jon Butcher.
15. In 9th grade I played the Cowardly Lion in my 99.99% white public high school's production of "The Wiz". It was none too funky.
16. When I used to temp, I took a twenty minute nap every day in one of the bathroom stalls. If you're ever interested, I can show you the perfect makeshift toilet pillow.
17. My father once briefly dated a woman he later found out to be a transsexual. A transsexual who, as a man, had been one of my father's business acquaintances. He swears they were never intimate. I have chosen to believe him.
18. In my upcoming comedy DVD (airing on Comedy Central, mostly likely in May, and then in stores a week or two later) I'm wearing a vest purchased in the store where Tom Waits gets all of his hats.
19. I think I'm drawing a technological line in the sand at Twitter. No. Can. Fucking. Do.
20. I used to hang out at a place in NYC called Fez, because my friend was the hostess and could get me in for free. One night I was enjoying a rather great folk singer named Sharon Worrell and she brought a 'friend' up to play a guest set. The ten of us in the audience were then treated to a 30 minute Jeff Buckley solo set. The highlight was an amazing song I later learned was "What Will You Say?" when it was released on the posthumous "Mystery White Boy" album. You should check it out, by the way, as it's possibly the best live vocal performance in recent rock history.
21. I once won a car on a gameshow.
22. My wife and I got married in a former mayonnaise factory by a friend who got ordained on the internet. Our 'processional' theme was "Head Over Heels" by Tears for Fears and the caterer was Brother Jimmy's BBQ.
23. Before I started doing comedy I was an assistant literary agent. One of my friends and co-workers was the supernaturally talented and good-natured John Hodgman. He's told me he thought I was mentally ill for leaving the security of the publishing industry for something as unreliable as comedy. I believe he now owns a castle and a fleet of Bentleys.
24. I recently purchased two items from Andre 3000's "Benjamin Bixby" clothing line. No, seriously.
25. I've spent a substantial time coming up with a playlist to be played at my funeral. Highlights include "Dead Man's Will" by Calexico & Iron and Wine, "Wind Through the Trees" by Ed Harcourt and "Que Sera Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)" by Sly and the Family Stone.
So here's the deal:
Earlier today I got tagged in my friend Liam's Facebook note, "25 THINGS YOU DON"T KNOW ABOUT ME". It appears to be one of those viral Facebook threads that usually makes me flip off my computer screen. Here are the 'rules', such as they are:
"Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you."
Like I said, usually stuff like this makes me want to stab the sender in the face. But this 'thread' is open-ended enough to not be a total waste of time; I enjoyed Liam's note and I've stumbled upon a few other peoples' versions and enjoyed them as well. I've been remiss in posting anything other than promotional pleas lately, so I've decided to be a 13 year old girl and participate in this modern-day chain letter.
As you probably guessed, this started as a Facebook note, but I'm posting it here as well, seeing as I wasted so much damned time on it.
Now, without further ado:
25 THINGS ABOUT ME (AS IF ANYONE COULD GIVE A CRAP)
1. My full name is Fletcher Christian Finnegan. History buffs among you might assume that I was named after the infamous mutineer Fletcher Christian. Sadly, this is not the case. This simple truth is that my parents conspired to ruin my childhood.
2. My left armpit is considerably less hairy than my right.
3. In 8th and 9th grade I was briefly the lead singer of a hair metal band called "Fallout". Despite my extensive musical theater and chorus class experience, I was ill-equipped for my role as frontman / sex god. No one wants to watch a doughy, zit-faced dweeb bellow Tesla's "Modern Day Cowboy" (lowered a full octave).
4. A big 'date night' for my wife and I? Dinner at one of the four restaurants in our neighborhood and than an hour or two of Megatouch.
5. I never drank or took an illicit substance until a few weeks before my 21st birthday. Somehow I made it through high school (two years of which were at a rather drug-happy boarding school) and two years of college in NYC (including a summer working at a pub, fer chrissake) without falling prey to any 'negative influences'. These days? Not so much.
6. Despite my clean living, a long bout of teenage insomnia inspired my aging hippie 10th grade English teacher to pull me out into the hallway and demand I admit to being a hardcore drug user.
7. I lost my virginity on the floor of my dad's condominium with Steve Martin's "The Lonely Guy" on pause. (And no, my father was not in the room.)
8. I am both a middle and an only child. My younger brother Bobby passed away on July 13, 2001 and my older brother John passed away on March 17, 2008 (Hey, these shouldn't all be wacky, should they?)
9. When I was 19, Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead" completely changed the way I thought about the world. I later realized that people whose lives were changed by "The Fountainhead" are, without exception, huge fucking assholes.
10. If health was not a concern, I could eat KFC for the rest of my life.
11. The biggest regret of my childhood is not taking my guitar lessons seriously and then quitting once my teacher moved away. I mean, I'm sure there are things I regret more, but nothing that crosses my mind so consistently.
12. I once stood and watched Elvis Costello walk about 500 yards down Broadway, wondering if I should chase after him yelling, "Hey, Declan Patrick Aloysius MacManus!", so he'd know I was a real fan.
13. The last two movies that made me choke up were both animated (Ratatouille and Wall-E)
14. II was once busted for shoplifting two cassettes from Lechmere's department store. I was horribly embarrassed, as I considered myself a 'good kid'. I was even more embarrassed that one of the cassettes was an album by Jon Butcher.
15. In 9th grade I played the Cowardly Lion in my 99.99% white public high school's production of "The Wiz". It was none too funky.
16. When I used to temp, I took a twenty minute nap every day in one of the bathroom stalls. If you're ever interested, I can show you the perfect makeshift toilet pillow.
17. My father once briefly dated a woman he later found out to be a transsexual. A transsexual who, as a man, had been one of my father's business acquaintances. He swears they were never intimate. I have chosen to believe him.
18. In my upcoming comedy DVD (airing on Comedy Central, mostly likely in May, and then in stores a week or two later) I'm wearing a vest purchased in the store where Tom Waits gets all of his hats.
19. I think I'm drawing a technological line in the sand at Twitter. No. Can. Fucking. Do.
20. I used to hang out at a place in NYC called Fez, because my friend was the hostess and could get me in for free. One night I was enjoying a rather great folk singer named Sharon Worrell and she brought a 'friend' up to play a guest set. The ten of us in the audience were then treated to a 30 minute Jeff Buckley solo set. The highlight was an amazing song I later learned was "What Will You Say?" when it was released on the posthumous "Mystery White Boy" album. You should check it out, by the way, as it's possibly the best live vocal performance in recent rock history.
21. I once won a car on a gameshow.
22. My wife and I got married in a former mayonnaise factory by a friend who got ordained on the internet. Our 'processional' theme was "Head Over Heels" by Tears for Fears and the caterer was Brother Jimmy's BBQ.
23. Before I started doing comedy I was an assistant literary agent. One of my friends and co-workers was the supernaturally talented and good-natured John Hodgman. He's told me he thought I was mentally ill for leaving the security of the publishing industry for something as unreliable as comedy. I believe he now owns a castle and a fleet of Bentleys.
24. I recently purchased two items from Andre 3000's "Benjamin Bixby" clothing line. No, seriously.
25. I've spent a substantial time coming up with a playlist to be played at my funeral. Highlights include "Dead Man's Will" by Calexico & Iron and Wine, "Wind Through the Trees" by Ed Harcourt and "Que Sera Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)" by Sly and the Family Stone.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
HEY ATLANTA, WE ARE ONE! (January 22-25)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009: Barack Obama is inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States of America.
Thursday, January 22 through Sunday, January 25, 2009: Christian Finnegan performs at The Punchline Comedy Club in Atlanta, GA.
What an amazing week for our nation!
Dearest weblings,
Please come out to The Punchline in Sandy Springs this coming weekend for an evening of morally questionable laughter. I will make you giggle uncontrollably, even if I'm forced to pump ether into the showroom. You will leave the show with aching sides, but that's mostly because I've hired someone to stand at the exit and punch you. Amazing what people are willing to do for money in this economy.
Some come on out, winners! Here are the specifics:
The Atlanta Punchline
Thursday 1/22 through Sunday 1/25
280 Hilderbrand Drive
Atlanta, Georgia 30328
(404)252-LAFF(5233)
As always, thanks for giving a poop.
Christian Finnegan
American Stand Up Comedian
Tuesday, January 20, 2009: Barack Obama is inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States of America.
Thursday, January 22 through Sunday, January 25, 2009: Christian Finnegan performs at The Punchline Comedy Club in Atlanta, GA.
What an amazing week for our nation!
Dearest weblings,
Please come out to The Punchline in Sandy Springs this coming weekend for an evening of morally questionable laughter. I will make you giggle uncontrollably, even if I'm forced to pump ether into the showroom. You will leave the show with aching sides, but that's mostly because I've hired someone to stand at the exit and punch you. Amazing what people are willing to do for money in this economy.
Some come on out, winners! Here are the specifics:
The Atlanta Punchline
Thursday 1/22 through Sunday 1/25
280 Hilderbrand Drive
Atlanta, Georgia 30328
(404)252-LAFF(5233)
As always, thanks for giving a poop.
Christian Finnegan
American Stand Up Comedian
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
HELPPORTUNITY: ARE YOU A FORMER POLE VAULTER OR SEX SHOP EMPLOYEE?
WANT TO BE IN MY UPCOMING COMEDY DVD?
NO?
WELL, WILL YOU ANYWAY??
Hello, Facebooklings.
As you may remember from my barrage of promotional emails, I recently taped a one-hour comedy special to be aired on Comedy Central and sold in real stores for actual cash money. Fun and exciting stuff to be sure.
Anyway, I'm going to be shooting a few DVD extras that will also function as web advertisements and I'm looking for some help from...YOU.
(Nice use of ellipses there, no? I think it really made the "you" thing feel more dramatic.)
I'm looking to conduct short on-camera interviews with two people:
* A former pole vaulter. Were you on your school's track and field team? Were you an Olympic hopeful? Were you just some weirdo who ran town around with a bendy fourteen foot stick? Any degree of pole vaulting experience is fine.
* A former or current sex shop worker. Have you ever worked in a store that sold "marital aids"? You know, fake wieners and whatnot?
If you are such a person, or if you know anyone who is, please please please get in touch with me. I can be reached at cf@christianfinnegan.com. A few more relevant details:
* This will be shot in NYC, most likely in February (so you'd need to be reasonably nearby)
* This will require no preparation from you
* This will take about an hour of your time
* Your name will be listed in the credits and thanked in the DVD liner notes
* You will not be made to look like an ass
So what say you? Again, I can be reached at cf@christianfinnegan.com.
Thanks. Look forward to hearing from you.
Regards,
Christian Finnegan
WANT TO BE IN MY UPCOMING COMEDY DVD?
NO?
WELL, WILL YOU ANYWAY??
Hello, Facebooklings.
As you may remember from my barrage of promotional emails, I recently taped a one-hour comedy special to be aired on Comedy Central and sold in real stores for actual cash money. Fun and exciting stuff to be sure.
Anyway, I'm going to be shooting a few DVD extras that will also function as web advertisements and I'm looking for some help from...YOU.
(Nice use of ellipses there, no? I think it really made the "you" thing feel more dramatic.)
I'm looking to conduct short on-camera interviews with two people:
* A former pole vaulter. Were you on your school's track and field team? Were you an Olympic hopeful? Were you just some weirdo who ran town around with a bendy fourteen foot stick? Any degree of pole vaulting experience is fine.
* A former or current sex shop worker. Have you ever worked in a store that sold "marital aids"? You know, fake wieners and whatnot?
If you are such a person, or if you know anyone who is, please please please get in touch with me. I can be reached at cf@christianfinnegan.com. A few more relevant details:
* This will be shot in NYC, most likely in February (so you'd need to be reasonably nearby)
* This will require no preparation from you
* This will take about an hour of your time
* Your name will be listed in the credits and thanked in the DVD liner notes
* You will not be made to look like an ass
So what say you? Again, I can be reached at cf@christianfinnegan.com.
Thanks. Look forward to hearing from you.
Regards,
Christian Finnegan
Sunday, January 11, 2009
NO, IM NOT HIGH
Why is 'hanky' the only kind of 'panky' you ever hear about? No one ever tells his wife, "Honey, I want you to know that what you witnessed between me and that cocktail waitress was completely appropriate panky. Nothing hanky whatsoever." Or do I have the phraseology wrong here? Is 'hanky' an adjective describing the sort of 'panky' you're engaged in, or does 'panky' describe someone one does with his or her 'hanky'? Which word is the modifier here?
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
ON VILLAINY AND WARDROBE
I wish all the assholes we encountered in our day to day lives wore costumes like comic book super-villains. It would make them so much easier to pick out from a distance. Because I'm introduced to and forced to socialize with new assholes every day (part of being a traveling performer) and it would save me so much time to know someone's douchebag status before engaging you in conversation. But for the most part, terrible people blend in with the rest of us and don't reveal their shitty personalities until you're cornered.
Say you're having a post show drink with the comedy club staff in a not-so-metropolitan area of the country. You know, just a completely random scenario. After 20 minutes of seemingly light conversation, one of the bartenders refers to the 'dyke cunt' who's hassling him for child support. Or he gets drunk and decides to give you his nuanced take on Islamic culture. At that moment, it suddenly dawns on you, "Oh no. You're evil, aren't you? Wow, I had no idea. To think, I could so easily have avoided you. Now I'm going to have to pretend to need to use the restroom and then quietly ask the club manager for a ride back to my hotel."
In the utopian world of Spiderman and the Fantastic Four, however, bad guys generally give you a visual heads-up. They go about their business wearing masks with black capes, maybe a glowing amulet of some sort. An ensemble that shouts, unequivocally: "I AM AN ASSHOLE. NO SERIOUSLY, KEEP WALKING. I'M WEARING STUDDED FOREARM GUARDS AND AN IRON FACEPLATE--YOU THINK I DON'T MEAN ILL WILL? THERE IS NOTHING TO BE GAINED BY ENGAGING ME ON ANY LEVEL." What a public service!
I just wish there was some modern-day equivalent. I guess the closest thing we have is Ed Hardy t-shirts.
p.s. Seriously, wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt and enjoying an energy drink?
I wish all the assholes we encountered in our day to day lives wore costumes like comic book super-villains. It would make them so much easier to pick out from a distance. Because I'm introduced to and forced to socialize with new assholes every day (part of being a traveling performer) and it would save me so much time to know someone's douchebag status before engaging you in conversation. But for the most part, terrible people blend in with the rest of us and don't reveal their shitty personalities until you're cornered.
Say you're having a post show drink with the comedy club staff in a not-so-metropolitan area of the country. You know, just a completely random scenario. After 20 minutes of seemingly light conversation, one of the bartenders refers to the 'dyke cunt' who's hassling him for child support. Or he gets drunk and decides to give you his nuanced take on Islamic culture. At that moment, it suddenly dawns on you, "Oh no. You're evil, aren't you? Wow, I had no idea. To think, I could so easily have avoided you. Now I'm going to have to pretend to need to use the restroom and then quietly ask the club manager for a ride back to my hotel."
In the utopian world of Spiderman and the Fantastic Four, however, bad guys generally give you a visual heads-up. They go about their business wearing masks with black capes, maybe a glowing amulet of some sort. An ensemble that shouts, unequivocally: "I AM AN ASSHOLE. NO SERIOUSLY, KEEP WALKING. I'M WEARING STUDDED FOREARM GUARDS AND AN IRON FACEPLATE--YOU THINK I DON'T MEAN ILL WILL? THERE IS NOTHING TO BE GAINED BY ENGAGING ME ON ANY LEVEL." What a public service!
I just wish there was some modern-day equivalent. I guess the closest thing we have is Ed Hardy t-shirts.
p.s. Seriously, wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt and enjoying an energy drink?
Sunday, January 04, 2009
I SHOULD BE A LIFE COACH
So it's early January, which is traditionally a time of earnest optimism. You're going to lose those forty pounds! You're going to get that promotion! You're going to finish that screenplay about the life of Ed Asner! Well pardon me for introducing a grey lining to the world's New Year's cloud of silver, but I'd like to offer up a few sober words in defense of...quitting.
It's a universally accepted truism that, no matter how many times you get knocked down, you have to keep getting back up. Most of the Great American Success Stories have been fueled by this idea. But you know what else this idea helps sustain? The Great American Self-Delusion Story. You know what happens when you're repeatedly knocked down and insist on getting back up? You end up looking like Mickey Rourke*.
Maybe there are times when one should say, "Hey, I've been knocked down a few times. I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not the world's greatest fighter and I kind of like my nose the where it is now. I think I'll just stay on the mat for a bit. And while I'm down here, maybe I'll fill out a few grad school applications."
I don't mean to depress anyone. I just think there's some value in taking inventory of what you're doing and why you're doing it. There's something righteous about occasionally looking around you and saying, "You know what? Fuck this." Imagine you're a buffalo, peacefully grazing on the plain. All the sudden a stampede breaks out. The buffalo next to you breaks into a mad dash and you think, "Oh, I guess we're running now." You didn't really make a conscious decision to start running--it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time. So now you're charging across the plain as fast as your legs can carry you and you have absolutely no idea why. And you're tearing up the earth and you just watched your uncle get trampled (it's okay, he was kind of a dick) and you ask, "So, um, what is the point exactly?" and all the other buffalo reply, "Just keep running, queer."
But eventually you get to a point where you've had enough. You've got a bitch of a leg cramp (you're supposed to wait thirty minutes after mealtime before you go stampeding) and you say, "Alright, this is just silliness. We're not running anywhere in particular. Nothing is chasing us. Fuck it. I quit." So you pull over to the side and stop running. A hundred and fifty buffalo storm past you, aghast. "Well I never! Doesn't that lazy fool know we're in the middle of a stampede?" But eventually one or two of them say, "Hmmm, that dude's got the right idea." So they pull off to hang with you. And then a few more. And a few more. Finally, everyone's at a standstill. They're chilling, sipping from a pristine lake, happily mounting each other--just generally living it up, buffalo style. All thanks to you, the quitter.
I have no intention of ever abandoning stand up comedy. I love the process of crafting new material and performing it live, there are people who believe I'm reasonably good at it and...frankly, I have no other marketable skills. But a least once a year I will ask myself, "Do I suck? Am I still enjoying this life I've chosen, or am I just hangingon like a barnacle because I'm afraid of admitting failure? Should I...quit?"
Enjoy your Monday!
* I know it's kind of not cool to piss on Mickey Rourke in the middle of his career renaissance and I certainly wish him well (Angelheart is one of my favorite movies of all time), but there can be no debate that that dude's desire to be a mediocre boxer fucked up his face something fierce. And yeah, the multiple plastic surgeries didn't help...
So it's early January, which is traditionally a time of earnest optimism. You're going to lose those forty pounds! You're going to get that promotion! You're going to finish that screenplay about the life of Ed Asner! Well pardon me for introducing a grey lining to the world's New Year's cloud of silver, but I'd like to offer up a few sober words in defense of...quitting.
It's a universally accepted truism that, no matter how many times you get knocked down, you have to keep getting back up. Most of the Great American Success Stories have been fueled by this idea. But you know what else this idea helps sustain? The Great American Self-Delusion Story. You know what happens when you're repeatedly knocked down and insist on getting back up? You end up looking like Mickey Rourke*.
Maybe there are times when one should say, "Hey, I've been knocked down a few times. I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not the world's greatest fighter and I kind of like my nose the where it is now. I think I'll just stay on the mat for a bit. And while I'm down here, maybe I'll fill out a few grad school applications."
I don't mean to depress anyone. I just think there's some value in taking inventory of what you're doing and why you're doing it. There's something righteous about occasionally looking around you and saying, "You know what? Fuck this." Imagine you're a buffalo, peacefully grazing on the plain. All the sudden a stampede breaks out. The buffalo next to you breaks into a mad dash and you think, "Oh, I guess we're running now." You didn't really make a conscious decision to start running--it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time. So now you're charging across the plain as fast as your legs can carry you and you have absolutely no idea why. And you're tearing up the earth and you just watched your uncle get trampled (it's okay, he was kind of a dick) and you ask, "So, um, what is the point exactly?" and all the other buffalo reply, "Just keep running, queer."
But eventually you get to a point where you've had enough. You've got a bitch of a leg cramp (you're supposed to wait thirty minutes after mealtime before you go stampeding) and you say, "Alright, this is just silliness. We're not running anywhere in particular. Nothing is chasing us. Fuck it. I quit." So you pull over to the side and stop running. A hundred and fifty buffalo storm past you, aghast. "Well I never! Doesn't that lazy fool know we're in the middle of a stampede?" But eventually one or two of them say, "Hmmm, that dude's got the right idea." So they pull off to hang with you. And then a few more. And a few more. Finally, everyone's at a standstill. They're chilling, sipping from a pristine lake, happily mounting each other--just generally living it up, buffalo style. All thanks to you, the quitter.
I have no intention of ever abandoning stand up comedy. I love the process of crafting new material and performing it live, there are people who believe I'm reasonably good at it and...frankly, I have no other marketable skills. But a least once a year I will ask myself, "Do I suck? Am I still enjoying this life I've chosen, or am I just hangingon like a barnacle because I'm afraid of admitting failure? Should I...quit?"
Enjoy your Monday!
* I know it's kind of not cool to piss on Mickey Rourke in the middle of his career renaissance and I certainly wish him well (Angelheart is one of my favorite movies of all time), but there can be no debate that that dude's desire to be a mediocre boxer fucked up his face something fierce. And yeah, the multiple plastic surgeries didn't help...
Friday, January 02, 2009
WHEREFORE ART THOU, MILDRED?
A lot of my friends have kids and it seems very 'au courant' to give your child a name that makes him sound like he was born in the 1920's, like Max or Lucy. I have two separate friends who named their kid Jackson, for example. That's all well and good I suppose, but if you're going to name your child Jackson or Bartholomew, you should have to buy him a little baby top hat and a little baby monocle. Actually that would be kind of excellent, seeing a dapper baby waving cheerfully from inside his stroller, a la FDR.
It should be noted, however, that not all old-timey names have experienced a revival. Some baby names get abandoned, banished to the netherworld, never again to be uttered within maternity ward walls. Like 'Mildred'.
That was once a common and respectable girl's name and then KA-POOF! How does that happen, that a name just suddenly vanishes? Is it just because it's not 'pretty' sounding? What is it about 'Mildred' (or Myron or Bertha) that just denies any sense of romance or sexuality? It can't always have been that way, could it? At some juncture in history, there must have been a supremely do-able woman named Mildred*. At some point, probably back in the 1890's, some guy in the those of passion must have moaned, "Ohhhh Mildred, that feels so good." And Mildred responded lustily, "I am gonna suck your cock...Myron."
The next day, while gossiping with pals over a fresh sasparilla, Myron probably said, "Dude, I'm telling you...Mildred. That girl knows things!"
And a friend says, "Well, how hot is this Mildred chick? Are we talking 'Bertha' hot?"
"Whoa, let's not get crazy here! I mean, Mildred's got a great ass and stuff...but nobody is Bertha hot."
So what happened? Was there some sort of tidal shift in opinion that occurred over time, or was there one particular woman so heinous, so physically repugnant that she ruined the name Bertha for all time? That's a degree of ugly beyond simple human comprehension. I went to junior high school with a girl named Heather Abrahams**, who was...how should I put this? Heather was a beast. Just a truly unfortunate looking person. The kind of girl that if you said walked into the room and said, "Hey, I heard you're going out with Heather Abrahams," we'd all burst out laughing. I wouldn't even be offended because it would be supremely obvious that there was no conceivable reason this would be true and that you had just made a hilarious joke. But in no way did Heather Abrahams' catastrophic acne or excessive back-fat interfere with me spending the better part of 7th grade, laying on my bed and masturbating to a poster of Heather Thomas** from TV's "The Fall Guy". That level of unattractiveness, while potent, was non-transferable.
So dear god, who was this poor Bertha woman? Apparently she was hideous enough to take the name 'Roberta' down with her, simply by being in the same ballpark. That's impressive.
* Yeah yeah, I know there was an old movie actress named Mildred Pierce. I owned that Sonic Youth album too, you pretentious fuck.
** The names of both the unfortunate looking girl and the marginal Eighties TV babe have been changed. This is 2009, after all, and that's not the kind of thing I'd want to come up in a self-google.
______________
NOTE: So after a couple year of relative blog silence I'm going to start posting things again, for reasons partially beyond my comprehension. Feel free to read them. Or don't. But keep the bar low--anything that find its way to the stand up stage will eventually be funnier, I promise.
A lot of my friends have kids and it seems very 'au courant' to give your child a name that makes him sound like he was born in the 1920's, like Max or Lucy. I have two separate friends who named their kid Jackson, for example. That's all well and good I suppose, but if you're going to name your child Jackson or Bartholomew, you should have to buy him a little baby top hat and a little baby monocle. Actually that would be kind of excellent, seeing a dapper baby waving cheerfully from inside his stroller, a la FDR.
It should be noted, however, that not all old-timey names have experienced a revival. Some baby names get abandoned, banished to the netherworld, never again to be uttered within maternity ward walls. Like 'Mildred'.
That was once a common and respectable girl's name and then KA-POOF! How does that happen, that a name just suddenly vanishes? Is it just because it's not 'pretty' sounding? What is it about 'Mildred' (or Myron or Bertha) that just denies any sense of romance or sexuality? It can't always have been that way, could it? At some juncture in history, there must have been a supremely do-able woman named Mildred*. At some point, probably back in the 1890's, some guy in the those of passion must have moaned, "Ohhhh Mildred, that feels so good." And Mildred responded lustily, "I am gonna suck your cock...Myron."
The next day, while gossiping with pals over a fresh sasparilla, Myron probably said, "Dude, I'm telling you...Mildred. That girl knows things!"
And a friend says, "Well, how hot is this Mildred chick? Are we talking 'Bertha' hot?"
"Whoa, let's not get crazy here! I mean, Mildred's got a great ass and stuff...but nobody is Bertha hot."
So what happened? Was there some sort of tidal shift in opinion that occurred over time, or was there one particular woman so heinous, so physically repugnant that she ruined the name Bertha for all time? That's a degree of ugly beyond simple human comprehension. I went to junior high school with a girl named Heather Abrahams**, who was...how should I put this? Heather was a beast. Just a truly unfortunate looking person. The kind of girl that if you said walked into the room and said, "Hey, I heard you're going out with Heather Abrahams," we'd all burst out laughing. I wouldn't even be offended because it would be supremely obvious that there was no conceivable reason this would be true and that you had just made a hilarious joke. But in no way did Heather Abrahams' catastrophic acne or excessive back-fat interfere with me spending the better part of 7th grade, laying on my bed and masturbating to a poster of Heather Thomas** from TV's "The Fall Guy". That level of unattractiveness, while potent, was non-transferable.
So dear god, who was this poor Bertha woman? Apparently she was hideous enough to take the name 'Roberta' down with her, simply by being in the same ballpark. That's impressive.
* Yeah yeah, I know there was an old movie actress named Mildred Pierce. I owned that Sonic Youth album too, you pretentious fuck.
** The names of both the unfortunate looking girl and the marginal Eighties TV babe have been changed. This is 2009, after all, and that's not the kind of thing I'd want to come up in a self-google.
______________
NOTE: So after a couple year of relative blog silence I'm going to start posting things again, for reasons partially beyond my comprehension. Feel free to read them. Or don't. But keep the bar low--anything that find its way to the stand up stage will eventually be funnier, I promise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)