YES, ANOTHER CHEAP PROMOTION FOR MY GODDAMN COMEDY SHOW!
Friends,
Those of you attended last week's installment of Portable Comedy at the Gerswhin Hotel know that it was a fantastic show. The comics were all great, the audience was appreciative and fun was had by all. But I want to be very clear about this, ladies and gentleman: last week's show in no way constituted the "Shock and Awe" portion of the Portable Comedy run.
Many of you may not recall that, when Portable Comedy returned from its recent hiatus a couple of weeks ago, I forcasted a level of hilarity that would "shock and awe" comedy fans all over the New York metropolitan area. Of course, this was always meant to be a step-by-step process. Two weeks ago marked the "Mild Surprise and General Amusement" phase of Portable Comedy--quite an understatement, considering that the capacity crowd was treated to a surprise guest appearance by Comedy Central megastar Dave Chappelle. And last week's show, fantastic as it was, was still only the "Well, I'll Be!" phase of our run. But tonight, March 21st?
Shock and awe, my friends. Shock and awe.
So tear yourself away from the "fair and balanced" reporting of the Fox News Jingo Patrol and laugh your Star Spangled fanny off, with:
JONATHAN CORBETT (Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and Montreal Comedy Festival alum and, simply put, one of the best comics in NYC)
OPHIRA EISENBERG (She's appeared on "The Guardian", "Queer as Folk" and had her own comedy special on Canadian TV's "Comedy Now!")
JORDAN CARLOS (A regular at world-famous Caroline's comedy club, where you have to pay lots and lots of dollars to see him. Not tonight, though.)
PEGGY O'BRIEN (Co-creator of "The Rules of Engagement", the short film that became a web sensation. See it at www.peggyandsteve.com!)
TOM McCAFFREY (This guy has been tearing up the NYC comedy scene lately. He's good good good.)
Plus, the glorious, fun filled and freewheeling music and comedy of BECKY & NOELLE!
You don't remember the where and when, you say? Attendez-vous:
PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, MARCH 21st
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison)
10:00pm
$5.00, I tell you!
Come on out and enjoy tonight's show, boys and girls. You won't be sorry.
Christian Finnegan,
Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Funny
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
PURE SILLINESS, FROM ME TO YOU
Hey, you! Stop checking CNN.com to see just how much horse poop we're wading into! I'm not feeling too funny/enlightened today, so I'll simply steer you over to these various timewaters:
For you super cool teenage girls, here's a fun site...that just happens to be funded by the National Cattleman's Beef Association.
Here's my friend Chelsea's very entertaining Amazon wishlist.
I think I've posted this site before, but Hoogerbrugge is always fascinating and bizarre.
And speaking of bizarre, check out Superbad--just go to the site and start clicking on shit. It's kind of mesmerizing.
Oh, and how could I possibly forget: Ladies and Gentlemen, the worst poem of all time.
Hey, you! Stop checking CNN.com to see just how much horse poop we're wading into! I'm not feeling too funny/enlightened today, so I'll simply steer you over to these various timewaters:
For you super cool teenage girls, here's a fun site...that just happens to be funded by the National Cattleman's Beef Association.
Here's my friend Chelsea's very entertaining Amazon wishlist.
I think I've posted this site before, but Hoogerbrugge is always fascinating and bizarre.
And speaking of bizarre, check out Superbad--just go to the site and start clicking on shit. It's kind of mesmerizing.
Oh, and how could I possibly forget: Ladies and Gentlemen, the worst poem of all time.
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
(sigh)
So it looks like we'll be at war as of tomorrow evening. The threat of terrorism will only get worse over the next few weeks. Gas prices are at an all-time high for the U.S. Our economy is in the shitter with absolutely no sign of getting better.
It's getting to the point where I'm nostalgiac for the future. But not "The Future" as we know it now--I'm talking about the "Future" we all thought lay ahead of us five years ago. Remember 1998? When we all thought the economy was going to keep on growing until the end of time? When, if you didn't already have one, you were right on the verge of landing a $75G per year job writing "online content" for some ultra-hip dot com that was going to change the way we all shopped / thought / ate / fucked / existed? When the worst thing you feared finding out about our President was that he liked having his balls played with while being blown? Those were the days.
I want my old future back. This future can suck my cock.
So it looks like we'll be at war as of tomorrow evening. The threat of terrorism will only get worse over the next few weeks. Gas prices are at an all-time high for the U.S. Our economy is in the shitter with absolutely no sign of getting better.
It's getting to the point where I'm nostalgiac for the future. But not "The Future" as we know it now--I'm talking about the "Future" we all thought lay ahead of us five years ago. Remember 1998? When we all thought the economy was going to keep on growing until the end of time? When, if you didn't already have one, you were right on the verge of landing a $75G per year job writing "online content" for some ultra-hip dot com that was going to change the way we all shopped / thought / ate / fucked / existed? When the worst thing you feared finding out about our President was that he liked having his balls played with while being blown? Those were the days.
I want my old future back. This future can suck my cock.
Monday, March 17, 2003
IRISH EYES ARE SMILING
Apparently, the woman behind the counter at Rite Aid is Irish today. She was wearing a button that told me so. Incidentally, I was Black for the entire month of February.
It has become obvious to me that it is 100% impossible for anyone under the age of 65 not involved in politics or the clergy to discuss St. Patrick's Day for more than 45 seconds without mentioning drinking. Seriously, try it on someone.
Oh, and one quick thing: hearing people brag about getting blasted on St. Patrick's Day is pathetic, but even more pathetic is the guy who declares "Getting wasted on St. Patrick's Day is for amateurs! This is my one night off, man!"
Right, of course. Because you drink so much. You're extremely cool.
Apparently, the woman behind the counter at Rite Aid is Irish today. She was wearing a button that told me so. Incidentally, I was Black for the entire month of February.
It has become obvious to me that it is 100% impossible for anyone under the age of 65 not involved in politics or the clergy to discuss St. Patrick's Day for more than 45 seconds without mentioning drinking. Seriously, try it on someone.
Oh, and one quick thing: hearing people brag about getting blasted on St. Patrick's Day is pathetic, but even more pathetic is the guy who declares "Getting wasted on St. Patrick's Day is for amateurs! This is my one night off, man!"
Right, of course. Because you drink so much. You're extremely cool.
Sunday, March 16, 2003
LLLLLLLLET'S GET READY TO BUMBLLLLLE!
So it appears that we will be going to war tomorrow, if the U.N. doesn't agree to pose a non-negotiable Bitchslap Ultimatum (yes, that is the legal term, if I'm not mistaken) to Saddam by "end of business". Tomorrow being March 17th, of course. Something tells me this isn't the first time G.W. will have done something incredibly stupid on St. Patrick's Day. Of course, no one's life was at stake when Dubya got wasted on green beer and blow and decided to take a dump in daddy's Vice Presidential slippers back on St. Patrick's Day 1981.
I for one feel pretty convinced that going to "war" with Iraq (on Iraq is probably more like it), will prove to be a huge blunder. No matter how many times G. W. and his crips try to convince me that Saddam Hussein is a genocidal maniac on the verge of dragging the world into Armageddon, I just don't feel personally threatened. I'm not saying the guy's not a douche (and a geuinely murderous one at that), it's just that I have a hard time taking Saddam completely seriously. Maybe it's because he looks so much like my Super. I mean, this guy's supposed to building weapons of mass destruction? Give me a break--it took him guy three weeks just to fix the damn shower head! How's he supposed to be wreaking global havoc when he spent the entire afternoon sitting on a milk crate outside of the bodega across the street, drinking Georgi vodka straight from the plastic bottle? What am I supposed to believe he was doing out there, plotting doomsday scenarios?
Please.
So it appears that we will be going to war tomorrow, if the U.N. doesn't agree to pose a non-negotiable Bitchslap Ultimatum (yes, that is the legal term, if I'm not mistaken) to Saddam by "end of business". Tomorrow being March 17th, of course. Something tells me this isn't the first time G.W. will have done something incredibly stupid on St. Patrick's Day. Of course, no one's life was at stake when Dubya got wasted on green beer and blow and decided to take a dump in daddy's Vice Presidential slippers back on St. Patrick's Day 1981.
I for one feel pretty convinced that going to "war" with Iraq (on Iraq is probably more like it), will prove to be a huge blunder. No matter how many times G. W. and his crips try to convince me that Saddam Hussein is a genocidal maniac on the verge of dragging the world into Armageddon, I just don't feel personally threatened. I'm not saying the guy's not a douche (and a geuinely murderous one at that), it's just that I have a hard time taking Saddam completely seriously. Maybe it's because he looks so much like my Super. I mean, this guy's supposed to building weapons of mass destruction? Give me a break--it took him guy three weeks just to fix the damn shower head! How's he supposed to be wreaking global havoc when he spent the entire afternoon sitting on a milk crate outside of the bodega across the street, drinking Georgi vodka straight from the plastic bottle? What am I supposed to believe he was doing out there, plotting doomsday scenarios?
Please.
Saturday, March 15, 2003
L MOTHERFUCKING V
Okay, so here are the highlights, lowlights and a few general observations from my trip to Las Vegas:
* The comedy shows themselves were a real struggle but, ultimately, a success. As to be espected, the audiences consisted of: old men, old women, lots of people wearing clothes with American flags on them (hats, t-shirts, vests, jean shorts), people staying at the Riviera for the World Bingo Equipment Trade Fair (no, I'm not joking), more old men, and still more old women. The problem is, there were also a good number of Spring Breakers at each show and as you might imagine, a 78 year old from Boca in town to play the nickel slots and a 20 year old undergrad in town to drink as many free beers as he can get his hands on have slightly different senses of humor. An encapsulating moment: I made an "off-the-cuff" remark about nearly tea-bagging a front row audience member--the group of drunken Penn State business majors went nutty (not so much laughing, as high-fiving and whoooooo-ing in approval), while the ancient biddy with the pearl eyeglass chain looks over to her dozing husband and very audibly 'whispers' "What is he talking about?"
That said, I actually did pretty well.
* Across the hall from the comedy club was the "Crazy Girls" topless revue. I was able to poke my head in (no pun intended) and watch part of the show one night and I can safely say that the "crazy" girls were mildy disturbed at best. I will never understadn the appeal of the Las Vegas topless revue. If you want to see a show, go see a show. If you want to see tits, go see tits. But why the fuck would you want to drop $50 a ticket to watch six saline-infused twits doing a kickline to Madonna's "Express Yourself"? F that, yo.
* I played a lot of Blackjack. A lot. Blackjack is an interesting game in that you spend a good deal of time sitting at a table "socializing" with people you'd probably want nothing to do with in real life--chain smoking former Allman Brothers groupies, morbidly obese dudes wearing denim pirate shirts, etc. Worst of all, though, is the "funny" gambler. This is the guy with stale jokes for every possible Blackjack situation. Such as:
"Hey there, buddy, sit on down before the seat gets too cold!"
"Hey [dealer's name], take it easy on me!"
"Okay, [dealer's name], you've been taking our money long enough--time for us to take some of yours!"
"Give me a six...hey, I thought I told you to give me a six!"
"Ooo, eleven! Looks like I'm about to double my fun!"
"You don't like me too much, do you, [dealer's name]? I mean, look at this--another sixteen! You're killing me, here!"
And Gimbot, our dealer, is staring out into space, desperately trying to stop himself from cramming a rack of poker ships down Mr. Funny Gambler's throat. Think about, he's just seen this asshole lay down more money than his family back in Bangladesh sees in an entire year, and now he's looking for sympathy? What a douche.
* Going into my last day, I was only down $25. Considering that I'd played hours upon hours of Blackjack, ordered perhaps a dozen free drinks, and consistently tipped the waitresses and dealers, I was in pretty great goddamn shape. But then I woke up on Thursday and quickly blew $30. Then, between Comedy Show #1 and Comedy Show #2, I lost another $30. But this was no matter. Because, you see, I was going to be pulling an all-nighter, which would give me plenty of time to win back all my money--in fact, I'd even make some money! Well...it didn't quite go down that way. When I finally slumped back to my hotel room to pack and check out, it was 5:15am and I was down $180.
* Now, I know that $180 isn't a whole lot of money in the grand scheme of things, but what really stung was my consequent trip to the ATM, where I had one of those holy-shit-this-can't-be-right-surely-the-bank-must-have-fucked-up moments. This happens to me far too often, where the simple act of checking my account balance becomes an utterly soul-crushing experience. I then proceed to call the bank and, with righteous indignance in my voice, verbally assault some poor customer service representative for losing hundreds (nay, thousands) of my hard-earned dollars. But then, after having my various expenditures read off to me in painstaking detail, I come back to the same sad conclusion: the bank is always right. Well, maybe not "right", but correct.
Alright, I guess that's all for now. Vegas was fun, but I'm glad as fuck to be home.
Okay, so here are the highlights, lowlights and a few general observations from my trip to Las Vegas:
* The comedy shows themselves were a real struggle but, ultimately, a success. As to be espected, the audiences consisted of: old men, old women, lots of people wearing clothes with American flags on them (hats, t-shirts, vests, jean shorts), people staying at the Riviera for the World Bingo Equipment Trade Fair (no, I'm not joking), more old men, and still more old women. The problem is, there were also a good number of Spring Breakers at each show and as you might imagine, a 78 year old from Boca in town to play the nickel slots and a 20 year old undergrad in town to drink as many free beers as he can get his hands on have slightly different senses of humor. An encapsulating moment: I made an "off-the-cuff" remark about nearly tea-bagging a front row audience member--the group of drunken Penn State business majors went nutty (not so much laughing, as high-fiving and whoooooo-ing in approval), while the ancient biddy with the pearl eyeglass chain looks over to her dozing husband and very audibly 'whispers' "What is he talking about?"
That said, I actually did pretty well.
* Across the hall from the comedy club was the "Crazy Girls" topless revue. I was able to poke my head in (no pun intended) and watch part of the show one night and I can safely say that the "crazy" girls were mildy disturbed at best. I will never understadn the appeal of the Las Vegas topless revue. If you want to see a show, go see a show. If you want to see tits, go see tits. But why the fuck would you want to drop $50 a ticket to watch six saline-infused twits doing a kickline to Madonna's "Express Yourself"? F that, yo.
* I played a lot of Blackjack. A lot. Blackjack is an interesting game in that you spend a good deal of time sitting at a table "socializing" with people you'd probably want nothing to do with in real life--chain smoking former Allman Brothers groupies, morbidly obese dudes wearing denim pirate shirts, etc. Worst of all, though, is the "funny" gambler. This is the guy with stale jokes for every possible Blackjack situation. Such as:
"Hey there, buddy, sit on down before the seat gets too cold!"
"Hey [dealer's name], take it easy on me!"
"Okay, [dealer's name], you've been taking our money long enough--time for us to take some of yours!"
"Give me a six...hey, I thought I told you to give me a six!"
"Ooo, eleven! Looks like I'm about to double my fun!"
"You don't like me too much, do you, [dealer's name]? I mean, look at this--another sixteen! You're killing me, here!"
And Gimbot, our dealer, is staring out into space, desperately trying to stop himself from cramming a rack of poker ships down Mr. Funny Gambler's throat. Think about, he's just seen this asshole lay down more money than his family back in Bangladesh sees in an entire year, and now he's looking for sympathy? What a douche.
* Going into my last day, I was only down $25. Considering that I'd played hours upon hours of Blackjack, ordered perhaps a dozen free drinks, and consistently tipped the waitresses and dealers, I was in pretty great goddamn shape. But then I woke up on Thursday and quickly blew $30. Then, between Comedy Show #1 and Comedy Show #2, I lost another $30. But this was no matter. Because, you see, I was going to be pulling an all-nighter, which would give me plenty of time to win back all my money--in fact, I'd even make some money! Well...it didn't quite go down that way. When I finally slumped back to my hotel room to pack and check out, it was 5:15am and I was down $180.
* Now, I know that $180 isn't a whole lot of money in the grand scheme of things, but what really stung was my consequent trip to the ATM, where I had one of those holy-shit-this-can't-be-right-surely-the-bank-must-have-fucked-up moments. This happens to me far too often, where the simple act of checking my account balance becomes an utterly soul-crushing experience. I then proceed to call the bank and, with righteous indignance in my voice, verbally assault some poor customer service representative for losing hundreds (nay, thousands) of my hard-earned dollars. But then, after having my various expenditures read off to me in painstaking detail, I come back to the same sad conclusion: the bank is always right. Well, maybe not "right", but correct.
Alright, I guess that's all for now. Vegas was fun, but I'm glad as fuck to be home.
Thursday, March 13, 2003
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
Monday, March 10, 2003
SIN CITY SOJOURN
Later this morning, I leave for a five day trip to sunny Las Vegas, where I will be doing stand-up comedy and trying my best not to lose the $312.57 I have to my name. Here are some other things I will try to avoid doing whilst in The Town Wayne Newton Built:
* At no point in my trip will I utter the words "Vegas, baby!" Now, I love the movie Swingers as much as the next 25-35 year old male. But I do so hate it when people take movie catchphrases and start tossing them around, as if they're their own personal sayings. This basically happens with any movie that's even remotely quotable, a la Pulp Fiction ("I'm gonna go medieval on your ass"). Is there anything more hateful then hearing someone bellow "Oh, behave!" in a shitty cockney accent and then breaking into aren't-I-hilarious laughter? It chills the blood.
* I will make a deliberate attempt to not get married.
* I will not develop Gambler's Ego. I have absolutely no business coming anywhere near a $25 Minimum blackjack table. Period. I simply have to accept that my place is at the shitty $2 tables, along with the octogenarian, fannypack-clad women and down and out mulletheads. Sad, but true.
* I will not wink knowingly to myself every time I see something kitschy. I'm sure there will be some stuff I'll definitely want to comment on, but trying to act "above" Las Vegas is a loser's battle. It's Las Vegas. It's cheesy. Get past it.
* I will not hang out on the casino floor simply to take advantage of the free drinks...I will not hang out on the casino floor simply to take advantage of the free drinks...I will not hang out on the casino floor simply to take advantage of the free drinks... (Repeat until it starts to sound believable.)
Anyway, I'm thinking there should be a computer somewhere on the premesis of The Riviera Hotel & Casino, so I'll try and file a report tomorrow.
Later this morning, I leave for a five day trip to sunny Las Vegas, where I will be doing stand-up comedy and trying my best not to lose the $312.57 I have to my name. Here are some other things I will try to avoid doing whilst in The Town Wayne Newton Built:
* At no point in my trip will I utter the words "Vegas, baby!" Now, I love the movie Swingers as much as the next 25-35 year old male. But I do so hate it when people take movie catchphrases and start tossing them around, as if they're their own personal sayings. This basically happens with any movie that's even remotely quotable, a la Pulp Fiction ("I'm gonna go medieval on your ass"). Is there anything more hateful then hearing someone bellow "Oh, behave!" in a shitty cockney accent and then breaking into aren't-I-hilarious laughter? It chills the blood.
* I will make a deliberate attempt to not get married.
* I will not develop Gambler's Ego. I have absolutely no business coming anywhere near a $25 Minimum blackjack table. Period. I simply have to accept that my place is at the shitty $2 tables, along with the octogenarian, fannypack-clad women and down and out mulletheads. Sad, but true.
* I will not wink knowingly to myself every time I see something kitschy. I'm sure there will be some stuff I'll definitely want to comment on, but trying to act "above" Las Vegas is a loser's battle. It's Las Vegas. It's cheesy. Get past it.
* I will not hang out on the casino floor simply to take advantage of the free drinks...I will not hang out on the casino floor simply to take advantage of the free drinks...I will not hang out on the casino floor simply to take advantage of the free drinks... (Repeat until it starts to sound believable.)
Anyway, I'm thinking there should be a computer somewhere on the premesis of The Riviera Hotel & Casino, so I'll try and file a report tomorrow.
Saturday, March 08, 2003
FIVE STARS!
Last night I had the distinct pleasure of watching a bit of the new "Star Search", hosted by Arsenio Hall. First of all, what the fuck is up with Arsenio's hair these days? It looks like he's wearing a shower cap covered with chihuahua turds. Think about it: every morning, Arsenio looks at himself in the mirror and says "Yeah...perfect!" It's quite obvious the man lost some sort of wager. And if I'm not mistaken, that wager was made in 1991 and went something like "I'll bet I'm that, in ten years, I'm the biggest thing in late night television history. And, if I'm wrong, I'll walk around in public with tiny wringlets of poop dangling from my scalp!"
Aw, fuck. I have a lot more to say about "Star Search", but I just looked up and realized I'm late for my Brazilian bikini wax appointment. I'll have to keep on with this tomorrow morning. Oh well.
I will, just say this: there was a moment on last night's "Star Search" when Naomi Judd exclaimed "I just love tap dancing--especially when it's done by Whites!"
No, I'm not kidding. More later.
Friday, March 07, 2003
PORTABLE COMEDY IS REBORN!
The following is the promotional Email I just sent out to (what's left of) my mailing list. If you're in NYC tonight and feel like having a great time on the cheap, you should definitely read on. And if you want to get on the mailing list, drop a quick note to PortableComedy@aol.com. Thanks, sexy mofos.
Hello, dear friends.
Admit it--these past three weeks have been rather gloomy. Brutal Winter weather, the world on the brink of Armageddon, and (most importantly) the seeming end of Portable Comedy at The Gerswhin Hotel.
Well, kind people, I can't do anything about the neverending snowfall or this wacky I-raq situation, but I do have some damn fine news: PORTABLE COMEDY IS BACK, AS OF TONIGHT! That's right--Friday, March 7th!
Before I get to the ridiculously great lineup we have in store for you, I need to mention one thing. You may have noticed that the 'sender' address of this Email has changed since last I wrote to you. That's because, in the three weeks since Portable Comedy temporaily bid the world adieu, my mailing list..well, simply put, it shit the bed. I have reconstructed it as best I can, but I am still missing at least a couple hundred Email addresses. Therefore, if you know ANYONE who might be interested in receiving one (and just one) weekly promotional Email regarding Portable Comedy, please encourage him/her to drop me a line at PortableComedy@aol.com. Conversely, if you have asked to be taken off this list and for some reason have now found yourself back on it, simply drop me an Email with the words "PLEASE REMOVE" in the subject heading. My sincere apologies for the hassle.
With that out of the way, let's get to the important stuff. Please join me tonight at 10:00pm and enjoy the comedic stylings of:
NEAL BRENNAN (Neal's the head writer and executive producer of "Chappelle's Show" on Comedy Central. Impressive, no?)
EUGENE MIRMAN (He's appeared on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend", winners!)
DAN CRONIN (He's ALSO appeared on both "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"--yep, this show's that good.)
BECKY DONAHUE (Giving the show a good burst of estrogen, Becky's the editor-in-chief of Girlcomic.net and yet another "Premium Blend" alum.)
JOHNNY SPANISH (You may recognize Johnny from his many appearances on HBO's "Oz"--as far as I know, he never had to get naked.)
ROGER HAILES (You can see this MTV staff writer steering the ship at Boston Comedy Club every monday night.)
RUSTY WARD (In addition to his many duties bringing comedy to the various United States of this America, Rusty's also a regular columnist for Shecky Magazine.)
And, of course, here are the details:
PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, MARCH 7th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street (b. 5th and Madison)
10:00pm
STILL, $5.00!
I hope to see some of you at tomorrow night's show, the first installment of Portable Comedy, Mach II. You'll have a great goddamn time--I promise!
Sincerely,
Christian Finnegan,
Vice President, Winger fan club
The following is the promotional Email I just sent out to (what's left of) my mailing list. If you're in NYC tonight and feel like having a great time on the cheap, you should definitely read on. And if you want to get on the mailing list, drop a quick note to PortableComedy@aol.com. Thanks, sexy mofos.
Hello, dear friends.
Admit it--these past three weeks have been rather gloomy. Brutal Winter weather, the world on the brink of Armageddon, and (most importantly) the seeming end of Portable Comedy at The Gerswhin Hotel.
Well, kind people, I can't do anything about the neverending snowfall or this wacky I-raq situation, but I do have some damn fine news: PORTABLE COMEDY IS BACK, AS OF TONIGHT! That's right--Friday, March 7th!
Before I get to the ridiculously great lineup we have in store for you, I need to mention one thing. You may have noticed that the 'sender' address of this Email has changed since last I wrote to you. That's because, in the three weeks since Portable Comedy temporaily bid the world adieu, my mailing list..well, simply put, it shit the bed. I have reconstructed it as best I can, but I am still missing at least a couple hundred Email addresses. Therefore, if you know ANYONE who might be interested in receiving one (and just one) weekly promotional Email regarding Portable Comedy, please encourage him/her to drop me a line at PortableComedy@aol.com. Conversely, if you have asked to be taken off this list and for some reason have now found yourself back on it, simply drop me an Email with the words "PLEASE REMOVE" in the subject heading. My sincere apologies for the hassle.
With that out of the way, let's get to the important stuff. Please join me tonight at 10:00pm and enjoy the comedic stylings of:
NEAL BRENNAN (Neal's the head writer and executive producer of "Chappelle's Show" on Comedy Central. Impressive, no?)
EUGENE MIRMAN (He's appeared on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend", winners!)
DAN CRONIN (He's ALSO appeared on both "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"--yep, this show's that good.)
BECKY DONAHUE (Giving the show a good burst of estrogen, Becky's the editor-in-chief of Girlcomic.net and yet another "Premium Blend" alum.)
JOHNNY SPANISH (You may recognize Johnny from his many appearances on HBO's "Oz"--as far as I know, he never had to get naked.)
ROGER HAILES (You can see this MTV staff writer steering the ship at Boston Comedy Club every monday night.)
RUSTY WARD (In addition to his many duties bringing comedy to the various United States of this America, Rusty's also a regular columnist for Shecky Magazine.)
And, of course, here are the details:
PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, MARCH 7th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street (b. 5th and Madison)
10:00pm
STILL, $5.00!
I hope to see some of you at tomorrow night's show, the first installment of Portable Comedy, Mach II. You'll have a great goddamn time--I promise!
Sincerely,
Christian Finnegan,
Vice President, Winger fan club
Thursday, March 06, 2003
BUSY BEE
I'm running around in a rather manic state today, so I don't have time to construct a proper blog entry. Still, I think you'll enjoy this. And this.
And you should definitely check out this interview with my good friend Miss Tammy Faye Starlite, one of the most talented people I've ever met.
Oh, and one more thing: My stand up comedy show, Portable Comedy returns tomorrow night after a three week hiatus! Stay tuned later today or first thing tomorrow morning for details!
I'm running around in a rather manic state today, so I don't have time to construct a proper blog entry. Still, I think you'll enjoy this. And this.
And you should definitely check out this interview with my good friend Miss Tammy Faye Starlite, one of the most talented people I've ever met.
Oh, and one more thing: My stand up comedy show, Portable Comedy returns tomorrow night after a three week hiatus! Stay tuned later today or first thing tomorrow morning for details!
Wednesday, March 05, 2003
THE FONZIE SCHEME
It's no secret that I'm fast becoming a very popular and beloved figure around NYC. Therefore, I would like to institute a new policy with regards to my personal appearances. From here on in, whenever I enter a room I would like to hear ten seconds of screams and applause, a la Fonzie. Once the applause dies down, I will say something hilarious and pithy.
It will play out like this:
INT. COMEDY CLUB LOBBY - NIGHT
A large group of comedians and industry folk chat affably, laughing, shaking hands, etc. FINNEGAN enters.
FINNEGAN: Heeyyyyyy... (Ten seconds of deafening screams and applause from studio audience) That's right, folks--your crown prince of hilarity is here!
FINNEGAN strusts through the lobby and into the showroom as everyone stares, dumbfounded
CLUB OWNER: Who the fuck was that?
Crowd shrugs, goes back to chatting.
______________________________
Or, this:
INT. MALACHY'S IRISH PUB - DAY
The BARTENDER and WAITRESS are casually removing stools from the bar
BARTENDER: Did you marry the ketchup bottles yet?
WAITRESS: I'll get to it. I just want to wipe down the tables first.
BARTENDER: Well, don't forget.
FINNEGAN barges through the front door.
FINNEGAN: Heeyyyyyyy! (Ten solid seconds of roaring applause.) Sorry ladies, whiskey's my bitch tonight!
Laughter
BARTENDER: Um, we're not open yet.
WAITRESS: Fer Chrissake, it's only 10:15am.
FINNEGAN: Well, you know what they say: The early bird avoids getting the shakes!
BARTENDER: You're going to have to leave, sir.
WAITRESS: You should really consider taking a shower sometime soon.
______________________________
Or finally, this:
INT. RED PONY XXX VIDEO STORE
CLERK #2 carries a mop and bucket up to the counter, where CLERK #1 is standing.
CLERK #1: Did you finish mopping the peep show area?
CLERK #2: Yeah. It took almost an hour, but i'm finally done. Let's hope that guy never--
FINNEGAN busts through front door, carrying a large bottle of baby oil and a cucumber.
FINNEGAN: HEEYYYYYY! (Roaring applause, interrupted)
CLERK #1: No! NO NO NO! Not again! Get out, sir! Get out of our store!
FINNEGAN: B-b-but I'm in the mood for love!
CLERK #2, screaming in terror, hits FINNEGAN in the face with wet mop. CLERK #1 beats FINNEGAN over the head with large dildo.
CLERK #1: Never again! Never! Never! NEVER!!
And...scene.
It's no secret that I'm fast becoming a very popular and beloved figure around NYC. Therefore, I would like to institute a new policy with regards to my personal appearances. From here on in, whenever I enter a room I would like to hear ten seconds of screams and applause, a la Fonzie. Once the applause dies down, I will say something hilarious and pithy.
It will play out like this:
INT. COMEDY CLUB LOBBY - NIGHT
A large group of comedians and industry folk chat affably, laughing, shaking hands, etc. FINNEGAN enters.
FINNEGAN: Heeyyyyyy... (Ten seconds of deafening screams and applause from studio audience) That's right, folks--your crown prince of hilarity is here!
FINNEGAN strusts through the lobby and into the showroom as everyone stares, dumbfounded
CLUB OWNER: Who the fuck was that?
Crowd shrugs, goes back to chatting.
______________________________
Or, this:
INT. MALACHY'S IRISH PUB - DAY
The BARTENDER and WAITRESS are casually removing stools from the bar
BARTENDER: Did you marry the ketchup bottles yet?
WAITRESS: I'll get to it. I just want to wipe down the tables first.
BARTENDER: Well, don't forget.
FINNEGAN barges through the front door.
FINNEGAN: Heeyyyyyyy! (Ten solid seconds of roaring applause.) Sorry ladies, whiskey's my bitch tonight!
Laughter
BARTENDER: Um, we're not open yet.
WAITRESS: Fer Chrissake, it's only 10:15am.
FINNEGAN: Well, you know what they say: The early bird avoids getting the shakes!
BARTENDER: You're going to have to leave, sir.
WAITRESS: You should really consider taking a shower sometime soon.
______________________________
Or finally, this:
INT. RED PONY XXX VIDEO STORE
CLERK #2 carries a mop and bucket up to the counter, where CLERK #1 is standing.
CLERK #1: Did you finish mopping the peep show area?
CLERK #2: Yeah. It took almost an hour, but i'm finally done. Let's hope that guy never--
FINNEGAN busts through front door, carrying a large bottle of baby oil and a cucumber.
FINNEGAN: HEEYYYYYY! (Roaring applause, interrupted)
CLERK #1: No! NO NO NO! Not again! Get out, sir! Get out of our store!
FINNEGAN: B-b-but I'm in the mood for love!
CLERK #2, screaming in terror, hits FINNEGAN in the face with wet mop. CLERK #1 beats FINNEGAN over the head with large dildo.
CLERK #1: Never again! Never! Never! NEVER!!
And...scene.
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
AMERICA'S LEAST SUCCESSFUL PROFESSIONAL SPORTS FRANCHISES
The San Diego Poo
The Dover 3-Hole Punchers
The Charlotte Fingerbang
The Harford Trust Fund Douchebag Art History Majors
The Denver Brie
The New Jersey Racists
The Honolulu Domestic Partnerships
The Birmingham Radicchio Salad with Goat Cheese and Basalmic Vinagrettes
The Oklahoma Terminally Ill Homeless Children
The Akron Pi
The Minnesota Homosexual Panic
The Salt Lake City Latter Day Cum Sluts
The Seattle Asian Dudes
The San Diego Poo
The Dover 3-Hole Punchers
The Charlotte Fingerbang
The Harford Trust Fund Douchebag Art History Majors
The Denver Brie
The New Jersey Racists
The Honolulu Domestic Partnerships
The Birmingham Radicchio Salad with Goat Cheese and Basalmic Vinagrettes
The Oklahoma Terminally Ill Homeless Children
The Akron Pi
The Minnesota Homosexual Panic
The Salt Lake City Latter Day Cum Sluts
The Seattle Asian Dudes
Sunday, March 02, 2003
I wasn't going to write anything today, as I just got home for a rather suck-ass weekend of comedy in glorious Albany, NY. But Blogger seems to be going haywire, so I guess I'll just write some shit to see if it's working.
Okay, so here we go--some random pieces of dialogue from unrelated and nonexistent stories. If there's one people particularly like, maybe I'll actually write a short story around it.
"Who the hell ate all the Bacon Bits?!"
"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousdand times--Wookies have male and female genitalia."
"Um...anyone got a tourniquet handy?"
"Drop and give me twenty, Hume Cronyn!"
"Red 29! Red 29! Hut! Hut! Snuggle! Snuggle! Cuddle! Nuzzle! HIKE!"
"Calzone salesman, my ass--you're having an affair!"
"Man, if I had a dollar for every time I dropped my pants in this mall..."
"Lay off it, monsignor--if I wanted to blow my nose, I'd have done it already, capiche?
Okay, so here we go--some random pieces of dialogue from unrelated and nonexistent stories. If there's one people particularly like, maybe I'll actually write a short story around it.
"Who the hell ate all the Bacon Bits?!"
"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousdand times--Wookies have male and female genitalia."
"Um...anyone got a tourniquet handy?"
"Drop and give me twenty, Hume Cronyn!"
"Red 29! Red 29! Hut! Hut! Snuggle! Snuggle! Cuddle! Nuzzle! HIKE!"
"Calzone salesman, my ass--you're having an affair!"
"Man, if I had a dollar for every time I dropped my pants in this mall..."
"Lay off it, monsignor--if I wanted to blow my nose, I'd have done it already, capiche?
Saturday, March 01, 2003
Friday, February 28, 2003
INSERT HACKY 'WON'T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOR' JOKE HERE
Let's everyone tip our Juicy Juices and pour out a little in honor of our fallen mentor, Mr. Rogers. As I'm sure most of you have heard by now, Fred Rogers passed away early Thursday morning at the age of 74. I'm going to forego any comedic cheapshots and just say that Mr. Rogers' passing has me feeling a genuine sense of melancholy. That dude was a saint, especially when you take into account that kids are, by and large, assholes.
Whenever I hear people (politicians, mostly) pontificate on the sweetness and wide-eyed innocence of a child, I want to run a cheese grater across my face. Do these people even remember what it was like to be a child? The beatings? The ridicule? The M80s they used to shove up my...I mean, their asses? The way I see it, a douchebag 38 year old was once a douchebag 8 year old--he's just learned how to disguise it a bit better over the years. What was great about Mr. Rogers is that he wasn't just spewing horseshit sentiment about how wonderful kids are in order to appeal to adults, and he certainly wasn�t pretending to be �on their level� by working awkward slang (�Radical, dude!�) into his patois. He was just a soft-spoken dork trying to appeal to a child�s better nature. He seemed to understand that kids are volatile works-in-progress, and that if you dealt with them quietly and sincerely, maybe (just maybe) they�d grow up to be just a little less douchey.
So farewell to Fred Rogers, a guy who actually tried. See you at tha crossroads, playa.
(P.S. Speaking of Mr. Rogers, later today I will be taking the magic trolley (Greyhound, actually) to the Land of Make-Believe (Well�Albany, NY) for a two day comedy sojourn. I will file a report tomorrow, detailing my first night in this incredibly exciting cultural hub--I hear they even have a mall!)
Let's everyone tip our Juicy Juices and pour out a little in honor of our fallen mentor, Mr. Rogers. As I'm sure most of you have heard by now, Fred Rogers passed away early Thursday morning at the age of 74. I'm going to forego any comedic cheapshots and just say that Mr. Rogers' passing has me feeling a genuine sense of melancholy. That dude was a saint, especially when you take into account that kids are, by and large, assholes.
Whenever I hear people (politicians, mostly) pontificate on the sweetness and wide-eyed innocence of a child, I want to run a cheese grater across my face. Do these people even remember what it was like to be a child? The beatings? The ridicule? The M80s they used to shove up my...I mean, their asses? The way I see it, a douchebag 38 year old was once a douchebag 8 year old--he's just learned how to disguise it a bit better over the years. What was great about Mr. Rogers is that he wasn't just spewing horseshit sentiment about how wonderful kids are in order to appeal to adults, and he certainly wasn�t pretending to be �on their level� by working awkward slang (�Radical, dude!�) into his patois. He was just a soft-spoken dork trying to appeal to a child�s better nature. He seemed to understand that kids are volatile works-in-progress, and that if you dealt with them quietly and sincerely, maybe (just maybe) they�d grow up to be just a little less douchey.
So farewell to Fred Rogers, a guy who actually tried. See you at tha crossroads, playa.
(P.S. Speaking of Mr. Rogers, later today I will be taking the magic trolley (Greyhound, actually) to the Land of Make-Believe (Well�Albany, NY) for a two day comedy sojourn. I will file a report tomorrow, detailing my first night in this incredibly exciting cultural hub--I hear they even have a mall!)
Thursday, February 27, 2003
LET US NOW PRAISE INFAMOUS MEN
I don't know how things will go for me in the world of entertainment, but I hope to one day have a career as noteworthy as Robert Black's. One look at his vast filmography and you can tell: this man is quite the auteur. Enjoy!
WARNING: Some people might find the titles of Mr. Black's films inappropriate for an office-type environment.
(FYI, I found this site via my good friend, Eric Drysdale. He's got lots of great shit you can check out.)
I don't know how things will go for me in the world of entertainment, but I hope to one day have a career as noteworthy as Robert Black's. One look at his vast filmography and you can tell: this man is quite the auteur. Enjoy!
WARNING: Some people might find the titles of Mr. Black's films inappropriate for an office-type environment.
(FYI, I found this site via my good friend, Eric Drysdale. He's got lots of great shit you can check out.)
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
HEY, LOOK--IT'S MY BIG IRISH HEAD ON YOUR TV SCREEN!
Ok kids, tonight is the night. If you turn on Comedy Central tonight at 10:30pm, you can see me on "Chappelle's Show". I'm in a "Real World" parody about a white guy living in a house with six black people. I play "Chad, the White Guy" and, among other incredibly flattering images, you will get to see me sob uncontrollably while simultaneously masturbating.
I'll just let that one sit for a moment.
Anyway, a friend of mine who works on the show gave me a videotape of the completed piece a few days ago and it's pretty damn funny, despite the fact that I die a little bit every time I watch myself on tape (a glorious personality trait to possess if you're trying to make a career for yourself in the entertainment industry!). It's actually divided into two parts, so make sure you watch the entire episode (it's only a half hour long). Do check it out, if you can--now you can put a flabby face to all the semi-literate blog rambling!
Oh, and just so today's post isn't only a plug, here's something resembling a joke:
My last girlfriend broke up with my because I was too sexually adventurous. I decided to surprise her one night by wearing edible underwear to bed. Problem was, the store was running low and the only flavor they had left was Ranch.
That's right, folks: Ranch-flavored underwear. On my balls.
Hey, I only said it resembled a joke.
(Thank you all for continuing to give a shit, by the way.)
Ok kids, tonight is the night. If you turn on Comedy Central tonight at 10:30pm, you can see me on "Chappelle's Show". I'm in a "Real World" parody about a white guy living in a house with six black people. I play "Chad, the White Guy" and, among other incredibly flattering images, you will get to see me sob uncontrollably while simultaneously masturbating.
I'll just let that one sit for a moment.
Anyway, a friend of mine who works on the show gave me a videotape of the completed piece a few days ago and it's pretty damn funny, despite the fact that I die a little bit every time I watch myself on tape (a glorious personality trait to possess if you're trying to make a career for yourself in the entertainment industry!). It's actually divided into two parts, so make sure you watch the entire episode (it's only a half hour long). Do check it out, if you can--now you can put a flabby face to all the semi-literate blog rambling!
Oh, and just so today's post isn't only a plug, here's something resembling a joke:
My last girlfriend broke up with my because I was too sexually adventurous. I decided to surprise her one night by wearing edible underwear to bed. Problem was, the store was running low and the only flavor they had left was Ranch.
That's right, folks: Ranch-flavored underwear. On my balls.
Hey, I only said it resembled a joke.
(Thank you all for continuing to give a shit, by the way.)
Tuesday, February 25, 2003
FYI
The following domain names are still available for purchase:
http://www.beanbagofdeath.com
http://www.poodlemassage.com
http://www.jesuitfartingspree.net
http://www.turdnuzzlers.gov
http://www.mygrandmotherrules.com
http://www.gaywerewolf.org
http://www.tragichandjob.edu
http://www.kickassgerbilphilosophers.com
http://www.sometimesIcan'tbebotheredtowriteanythingworthwhilebecauseIfeeldeadinsidesoIjustpostanyold
moronicbullshit.com/ImeanseriouslywhydoIevenbother.htm
http://www.magicpubes.com
The following domain names are still available for purchase:
http://www.beanbagofdeath.com
http://www.poodlemassage.com
http://www.jesuitfartingspree.net
http://www.turdnuzzlers.gov
http://www.mygrandmotherrules.com
http://www.gaywerewolf.org
http://www.tragichandjob.edu
http://www.kickassgerbilphilosophers.com
http://www.sometimesIcan'tbebotheredtowriteanythingworthwhilebecauseIfeeldeadinsidesoIjustpostanyold
moronicbullshit.com/ImeanseriouslywhydoIevenbother.htm
http://www.magicpubes.com
Monday, February 24, 2003
Last night, CBS aired the Grammy Awards, America's premiere celebration of the music your dad thinks you're listening to. Everyone is familiar with the major categories, such as "Album of the Year", "Pop Vocal Performance" and the award all of my friends look forward to every year, "Traditional Tropical Latin Album". What you may not know is that there are a number of less publicized Grammies that are given out in a special ceremony before the big televised shindig. It is my opinion that these are the unsung heroes of the music industry, so Tower of Hubris would like to announce, for your edification...
A FEW LESSER KNOWN GRAMMY AWARDS
POP INSTRUMENTAL KAZOO PERFORMANCE
Winner: Andreas di Marconi, Cliffs of Dragonsong
TRADITIONAL IRISH SEXUAL INNUENDO PERFORMANCE
Winner: Sweet Guinness from the Blarney, Tommy O'Donnell and His Knobby Shillelagh
RECORD COMPANY EXECUTIVE PONYTAIL OF THE YEAR, MALE
Winner: Keith Shipley, Senior A/R Representative (Arista Recording Group)
BLINGIEST BLING
Winner: Halll Monitah, The Masticator: Da Makin of da Life and Times of a Hardcore Yahtzee Playa, Vol. III
TIT PERFORMANCE, NATURAL
Winner: Kylie Minogue, Can't Get You Out of My Head
TIT PERFORMANCE, SALINE
Winner: Christina Aguilera, Dirrrty
AWKWARD CHRISTIAN ROCK PERFORMANCE
Winner: Triumphant Rise, He is the Reason Why We Are Rocking
ANSWERING MACHINE PERFORMANCE BY A DUO OR GROUP
Winner: Phillip and Sandra Kearney, We're Not Home Right Now
SONG WRITTEN FOR HOME SEX VIDEO, MPEG, OR OTHER VISUAL MEDIA
Winner: Bob Paulson, Glory Hole Honey: Irina's Theme
LIONEL RITCHIE TRIBUTE ALBUM OF THE YEAR
Winner: V/A, I Had an Awesome Dream: Off-Off-Broadway Salutes Lionel Ritchie
DRAG PERFORMANCE, "FEMALE"
Winner: BJ Lippps, Is That Chaka Kahn in Your Pocket, or Are You Happy to See Me?
DOUCHEBAG USED RECORD STORE CLERK OF THE YEAR
Winner: Tristan Farnham, No Exit Records (Cambridge, MA)
OVERWROUGHT R&B PERFORMANCE, MALE
DeVawn Marshall, Turn the Lights Down (So I Can Have Sex With You (In Your Vagina )(With My Dick))
A FEW LESSER KNOWN GRAMMY AWARDS
POP INSTRUMENTAL KAZOO PERFORMANCE
Winner: Andreas di Marconi, Cliffs of Dragonsong
TRADITIONAL IRISH SEXUAL INNUENDO PERFORMANCE
Winner: Sweet Guinness from the Blarney, Tommy O'Donnell and His Knobby Shillelagh
RECORD COMPANY EXECUTIVE PONYTAIL OF THE YEAR, MALE
Winner: Keith Shipley, Senior A/R Representative (Arista Recording Group)
BLINGIEST BLING
Winner: Halll Monitah, The Masticator: Da Makin of da Life and Times of a Hardcore Yahtzee Playa, Vol. III
TIT PERFORMANCE, NATURAL
Winner: Kylie Minogue, Can't Get You Out of My Head
TIT PERFORMANCE, SALINE
Winner: Christina Aguilera, Dirrrty
AWKWARD CHRISTIAN ROCK PERFORMANCE
Winner: Triumphant Rise, He is the Reason Why We Are Rocking
ANSWERING MACHINE PERFORMANCE BY A DUO OR GROUP
Winner: Phillip and Sandra Kearney, We're Not Home Right Now
SONG WRITTEN FOR HOME SEX VIDEO, MPEG, OR OTHER VISUAL MEDIA
Winner: Bob Paulson, Glory Hole Honey: Irina's Theme
LIONEL RITCHIE TRIBUTE ALBUM OF THE YEAR
Winner: V/A, I Had an Awesome Dream: Off-Off-Broadway Salutes Lionel Ritchie
DRAG PERFORMANCE, "FEMALE"
Winner: BJ Lippps, Is That Chaka Kahn in Your Pocket, or Are You Happy to See Me?
DOUCHEBAG USED RECORD STORE CLERK OF THE YEAR
Winner: Tristan Farnham, No Exit Records (Cambridge, MA)
OVERWROUGHT R&B PERFORMANCE, MALE
DeVawn Marshall, Turn the Lights Down (So I Can Have Sex With You (In Your Vagina )(With My Dick))
Saturday, February 22, 2003
AMERICA'S LEAST POPULAR PROFESSIONAL WRESTLERS
The Administrator
Pizza Face
The Burning Sensation
Placid Pete
King Ejaculator
El Pussio Grande
The Freshmakers
C-Section Sue
Dr. Grab-Ass
The Point of Ellipses
Triple A
Stone Cold Noam Chomsky
The Sexually Abused Altar Boy Brothers
The Fucking Asshole
Oragamitron
Captain Pussyfart
Jeff
Friday, February 21, 2003
MORE ABOUT SUPERHEROES
While watching the trailer for the upcoming Incredible Hulk movie, it occurred to me that Dr. Bruce Banner could never in live in New York City, as he'd never not be the Hulk--there's just too much shit in this city to make you fly into a rage. I envision this colossal green creature, running around the city, destroying shit. Eventually, he begins to relax and reverts to his normal, human form. But then two minutes later, as he's crossing the street on the way back to his secret lab, a cab driver skids to a halt in front of him, rolls down the window and starts screaming at him in Farsi (off to the side, two ironic t-shirt wearing Williamsburg douchebags point and laugh). The pressure too much to take, Bruce Banner turns back into the Hulk and immediately heaves tha cab into a nearby Starbucks. Eventually, he comes to and continues his walk home, but gets caught on the sidewalk behind two annoying teenage girls with baby strollers. He tries to get by them, but they manage to block the entire sidewalk. So, after ten minutes of following slowly behind them, listening to them babble about how great the new Tyrese album is, he loses his shit and once again becomes the Hulk: smash smash, destroy destroy destroy. He chills out, again, and steps onto the subway, where a homeless guy proceeds to hock a loogie on his foot. I think you can see where this is going...
If they did make a TV show about The Hulk living in New York, it would probably have to be called "The Incredible Bruce Banner", the story of a huge green freak who, on very rare occasions and for very short periods of time, turns into a mild-mannered scientist. His catchphrase would be "You wouldn't mind me...when I'm not angry".
While watching the trailer for the upcoming Incredible Hulk movie, it occurred to me that Dr. Bruce Banner could never in live in New York City, as he'd never not be the Hulk--there's just too much shit in this city to make you fly into a rage. I envision this colossal green creature, running around the city, destroying shit. Eventually, he begins to relax and reverts to his normal, human form. But then two minutes later, as he's crossing the street on the way back to his secret lab, a cab driver skids to a halt in front of him, rolls down the window and starts screaming at him in Farsi (off to the side, two ironic t-shirt wearing Williamsburg douchebags point and laugh). The pressure too much to take, Bruce Banner turns back into the Hulk and immediately heaves tha cab into a nearby Starbucks. Eventually, he comes to and continues his walk home, but gets caught on the sidewalk behind two annoying teenage girls with baby strollers. He tries to get by them, but they manage to block the entire sidewalk. So, after ten minutes of following slowly behind them, listening to them babble about how great the new Tyrese album is, he loses his shit and once again becomes the Hulk: smash smash, destroy destroy destroy. He chills out, again, and steps onto the subway, where a homeless guy proceeds to hock a loogie on his foot. I think you can see where this is going...
If they did make a TV show about The Hulk living in New York, it would probably have to be called "The Incredible Bruce Banner", the story of a huge green freak who, on very rare occasions and for very short periods of time, turns into a mild-mannered scientist. His catchphrase would be "You wouldn't mind me...when I'm not angry".
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
DOUCHEDEVIL
Yesterday I went to see Daredevil, and I have only one thing to say:
Ben Affleck must be stopped.
There was so much to hate about this movie, I don't even know where to begin. Ben Affleck is so shitty, he should be brought up on fucking charges. First Degree Sucking, perhaps? Is there any any "A-list" leading man who evokes pure, unadulterated stupidity like Ben does? It's not like I think he really is stupid--in interviews he comes across as downright likeable. But christ, between the montone delivery, vacant 14-foot stare and chronic mouthbreathing, he may be the worst actor in Hollywood not named Keanu. Off course, B.A. is not solely to blame for this catastrophic dingleberry of a film--Daredevil also boasts a phoned-in nonperformance by Joe Pantaliano, fight scenes seemingly choreographed by "Solid Gold's" Denny Terrio, and lots of pseudo-deep "religious imagery" ("Whoa, the bad guy got shot through the palms of his hands--just like Jesus! And they're even in a church! Heeeeavy, man."). As far as I can tell, the screenplay for Daredevil was conceived on the laptop of some ponytailed/goateed studio exec, utilizing a new piece of software called ShittyScriptwriter v2.0. Everyone involved with this movie should seriously consider suicide*.
I'm about to spoil the movie, so if you're planning on seeing it, don't read the next little paragraph.
WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK? WHY AREN'T YOU READING THIS? ARE YOU SAYING YOU'RE STILL PLANNING ON SEEING THIS PIECE OF SHIT? AFTER ALL I'VE BEEN SAYING ABOUT HOW HORRIBLE IT IS? WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM, ASSHOLE? GET WITH THE PROGRAM, FUCK-FOR-BRAINS!! FUCK YOU!!!!
Glad we got that out of the way--see you at the multiplex!
* Except Colin Farrell and Jon Favreau, who escape relatively unscathed. But if Michael Clarke Duncan and Jennifer Garner are reading this: please turn in your Celebrity I.D. badges at the front desk.
Yesterday I went to see Daredevil, and I have only one thing to say:
Ben Affleck must be stopped.
There was so much to hate about this movie, I don't even know where to begin. Ben Affleck is so shitty, he should be brought up on fucking charges. First Degree Sucking, perhaps? Is there any any "A-list" leading man who evokes pure, unadulterated stupidity like Ben does? It's not like I think he really is stupid--in interviews he comes across as downright likeable. But christ, between the montone delivery, vacant 14-foot stare and chronic mouthbreathing, he may be the worst actor in Hollywood not named Keanu. Off course, B.A. is not solely to blame for this catastrophic dingleberry of a film--Daredevil also boasts a phoned-in nonperformance by Joe Pantaliano, fight scenes seemingly choreographed by "Solid Gold's" Denny Terrio, and lots of pseudo-deep "religious imagery" ("Whoa, the bad guy got shot through the palms of his hands--just like Jesus! And they're even in a church! Heeeeavy, man."). As far as I can tell, the screenplay for Daredevil was conceived on the laptop of some ponytailed/goateed studio exec, utilizing a new piece of software called ShittyScriptwriter v2.0. Everyone involved with this movie should seriously consider suicide*.
I'm about to spoil the movie, so if you're planning on seeing it, don't read the next little paragraph.
WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK? WHY AREN'T YOU READING THIS? ARE YOU SAYING YOU'RE STILL PLANNING ON SEEING THIS PIECE OF SHIT? AFTER ALL I'VE BEEN SAYING ABOUT HOW HORRIBLE IT IS? WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM, ASSHOLE? GET WITH THE PROGRAM, FUCK-FOR-BRAINS!! FUCK YOU!!!!
Glad we got that out of the way--see you at the multiplex!
* Except Colin Farrell and Jon Favreau, who escape relatively unscathed. But if Michael Clarke Duncan and Jennifer Garner are reading this: please turn in your Celebrity I.D. badges at the front desk.
Monday, February 17, 2003
Here's the second (and final) part of the thing I began posting yesterday. You'll want to scroll down and read yesterday's entry before moving on. For purposes of flow, I'm beginning today's post with the final paragraph of yesterday's. Hope you like.
TAXI CAB CONFESSOR, Part II
I just stared at him, open-mouthed. He must have uttered that phrase three or four more times, "make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked". It was so blas�, it was as if he was reading aloud from the phone book. For my part, I responded with someone along the lines of "That's funny...that you say that to people...you know, other people...." Eventually, frustrated with my seeming inability to take a hint, my landlord asked "So...does that seem like a situation that would be appealing to you?"
I remember thinking that, as much as I wasn�t planning on letting this dude blow me, it was the fact that he wanted to have dinner that really skeeved me out. What the fuck was he envisioning�soft music, red wine and romantic conversation? Ewww. If he�d offered me, say, five hundred dollars to blow me right there on the spot�well, there might have been a few seconds of silent contemplation. How badly did I need $500? Very. Would anyone ever find out? Hard to say. Then, the dealbreaker: If I closed my eyes, would I be able to pretend that my landlord was that hot chick from the used record store who always wore the cute barettes and baby-tees? Sadly, not a chance in the world�the tickle of his moustache would have been a dead giveaway. So no, I wouldn�t have let my landlord blow me, regardless of the circumstances. And with the �bonus� offer of dinner, I didn�t need much time to reflect.
�No.�
�Well, that�s okay,� he dismissively assured me. I could tell that this was a deal he�d put on the table before. �You do what you want to do. Just saying: make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked. It�s up to you, really. But that�s fine.�
I remember being utterly dumbfounded at how brazen he was about the whole thing. I mean, this was his place of business! I was his tenant, fer chrissake! But it's not like I could rip into him--without that damned letter of recommendation, I wouldn't be able to sign my new lease. So instead of stabbing the guy in the throat, which is what I wanted to do, I politely declined and let him think that it was my shyness getting in the way of a romantic, blow job-laden evening, not the fact that he was a disgusting, middle-aged�well, guy. In that moment, I felt a kinship with Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin and every woman who�s ever had to �make nice� with a sexual conquistador.
So Tariq the cab driver, while obviously dealing with his own issues with regards to ethics and sexuality, was not wrong for being pissed off at Mr. Drive-around-the-park. After all, I�m sure you�d feel just as angry if someone decided to turn your workspace into a temporary jack-off zone. I tried not to judge Tariq too harshly as he wondered aloud, even though his ideas about homosexuality were a tad off. �I drive them in my cab all the time. They are good looking, they have money, they have nice clothing. I do not understand�THEY COULD GET WOMEN!!�
There was another reason why I let Tariq spout off about �the gays�. How often in your life do you feel any genuine camaraderie with someone whose culture is alien to you? Bcause, for me, it doesn;t get any more alien than the Middle East. Sure, New York is a �gorgeous mosaic�, but for the most part, the various sections of that mosaic keep to themselves. You may occasionally make drunken chitchat with the falafel guy while he fishes for your change, but do you ever really talk to him? Tariq and I had forged a fucking bond, man. He told me about his wife (she had not yet learned to speak English), his kids (his oldest had just made the basketball team), and his dreams (he hoped to one day buy a house in Long Island). I told him about my burgeoning comedy career (shut up) and my love of pizza. By the time we got to 106th street and Columbus Avenue, me and my dawg Tariq were tight, yo.
Tariq pulled the cab over to the curb and I began to dig cheerfully through my wallet. �Gosh, I really am a good person,� I thought to myself. �Most white people look down on cab drivers�bark at them, ridicule them, completely ignore them. But not me, for I am truly a man of the people. I recognize that Tariq is not a cultural stereotype�he�s a human being with feelings, values, and goals. Sure, his views on homosexuality are a tad�um, shall we say �old world�? But that�s simply because Tariq has had a different set of cultural experiences, and I shan�t judge him. It takes a very special person to bond with a Pakistani cab driver, and it appears that I am that kind of person. Simply put, I rule.�
As I slipped my cash (including healthy tip) through the little slot in the bulletproof glass, Tariq and I wished each other well and said goodnight. Climbing out of the cab, I experienced the warm satisfaction of knowing that I was more culturally sensitive than other people. The proud feeling stuck with me all the way to my front door, at which point I heard a car window open behind me.
�HEY,� shouted Tariq, within full earshot of at least six of my neighbors, �WATCH OUT FOR FAGS!!!� He had a huge grin on his face and gave me a big �thumbs-up� sign. The Domincan woman sitting in the lawnchair out in front of my building looked at me with an expression of faint disgust. I jammed my key into the lock and scurried into my apartment, feeling vaguely like an accomplice to a future hate crime. I never saw Tariq again.
And that�s why I won�t be befriending any more cab drivers.
TAXI CAB CONFESSOR, Part II
I just stared at him, open-mouthed. He must have uttered that phrase three or four more times, "make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked". It was so blas�, it was as if he was reading aloud from the phone book. For my part, I responded with someone along the lines of "That's funny...that you say that to people...you know, other people...." Eventually, frustrated with my seeming inability to take a hint, my landlord asked "So...does that seem like a situation that would be appealing to you?"
I remember thinking that, as much as I wasn�t planning on letting this dude blow me, it was the fact that he wanted to have dinner that really skeeved me out. What the fuck was he envisioning�soft music, red wine and romantic conversation? Ewww. If he�d offered me, say, five hundred dollars to blow me right there on the spot�well, there might have been a few seconds of silent contemplation. How badly did I need $500? Very. Would anyone ever find out? Hard to say. Then, the dealbreaker: If I closed my eyes, would I be able to pretend that my landlord was that hot chick from the used record store who always wore the cute barettes and baby-tees? Sadly, not a chance in the world�the tickle of his moustache would have been a dead giveaway. So no, I wouldn�t have let my landlord blow me, regardless of the circumstances. And with the �bonus� offer of dinner, I didn�t need much time to reflect.
�No.�
�Well, that�s okay,� he dismissively assured me. I could tell that this was a deal he�d put on the table before. �You do what you want to do. Just saying: make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked. It�s up to you, really. But that�s fine.�
I remember being utterly dumbfounded at how brazen he was about the whole thing. I mean, this was his place of business! I was his tenant, fer chrissake! But it's not like I could rip into him--without that damned letter of recommendation, I wouldn't be able to sign my new lease. So instead of stabbing the guy in the throat, which is what I wanted to do, I politely declined and let him think that it was my shyness getting in the way of a romantic, blow job-laden evening, not the fact that he was a disgusting, middle-aged�well, guy. In that moment, I felt a kinship with Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin and every woman who�s ever had to �make nice� with a sexual conquistador.
So Tariq the cab driver, while obviously dealing with his own issues with regards to ethics and sexuality, was not wrong for being pissed off at Mr. Drive-around-the-park. After all, I�m sure you�d feel just as angry if someone decided to turn your workspace into a temporary jack-off zone. I tried not to judge Tariq too harshly as he wondered aloud, even though his ideas about homosexuality were a tad off. �I drive them in my cab all the time. They are good looking, they have money, they have nice clothing. I do not understand�THEY COULD GET WOMEN!!�
There was another reason why I let Tariq spout off about �the gays�. How often in your life do you feel any genuine camaraderie with someone whose culture is alien to you? Bcause, for me, it doesn;t get any more alien than the Middle East. Sure, New York is a �gorgeous mosaic�, but for the most part, the various sections of that mosaic keep to themselves. You may occasionally make drunken chitchat with the falafel guy while he fishes for your change, but do you ever really talk to him? Tariq and I had forged a fucking bond, man. He told me about his wife (she had not yet learned to speak English), his kids (his oldest had just made the basketball team), and his dreams (he hoped to one day buy a house in Long Island). I told him about my burgeoning comedy career (shut up) and my love of pizza. By the time we got to 106th street and Columbus Avenue, me and my dawg Tariq were tight, yo.
Tariq pulled the cab over to the curb and I began to dig cheerfully through my wallet. �Gosh, I really am a good person,� I thought to myself. �Most white people look down on cab drivers�bark at them, ridicule them, completely ignore them. But not me, for I am truly a man of the people. I recognize that Tariq is not a cultural stereotype�he�s a human being with feelings, values, and goals. Sure, his views on homosexuality are a tad�um, shall we say �old world�? But that�s simply because Tariq has had a different set of cultural experiences, and I shan�t judge him. It takes a very special person to bond with a Pakistani cab driver, and it appears that I am that kind of person. Simply put, I rule.�
As I slipped my cash (including healthy tip) through the little slot in the bulletproof glass, Tariq and I wished each other well and said goodnight. Climbing out of the cab, I experienced the warm satisfaction of knowing that I was more culturally sensitive than other people. The proud feeling stuck with me all the way to my front door, at which point I heard a car window open behind me.
�HEY,� shouted Tariq, within full earshot of at least six of my neighbors, �WATCH OUT FOR FAGS!!!� He had a huge grin on his face and gave me a big �thumbs-up� sign. The Domincan woman sitting in the lawnchair out in front of my building looked at me with an expression of faint disgust. I jammed my key into the lock and scurried into my apartment, feeling vaguely like an accomplice to a future hate crime. I never saw Tariq again.
And that�s why I won�t be befriending any more cab drivers.
Sunday, February 16, 2003
TAXI CAB CONFESSOR
Last night, my cab driver recognized me from a former ride. It was weird--these dudes drive upwards of 50 people a day, and yet this guy remembered driving me home over a week ago. Obviously, I got chaRAZma! Anyway, we had a nice chat on the way back to Astoria, but I could feel myself holding back, not wanting to get attached to the fellow. Perhaps I was reminded of that time a few years ago, when I bonded with that other cab driver. Man, I can almost see it...
(cue harp music and wavy "flashback" camera effect)
Okay, so now that we're firmly rooted in the past, it was about 2am and I was taking a cab ride from the Lower East Side all the way to my then home on 107th and Columbus. For those of you non-New Yorkers, that's a rather long trip. Anyway, a couple of minutes after being picked up, I noticed that the driver was repeatedly banging his hand against the steering wheel and barking curses in Arabic. It was so loud and obvious, that I got the distinct impression that he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him. Plus, he was driving a tad erratically, so there was an element of self-preservation involved when I asked "Um...is everything alright?"
"The fucking guy!", he angrily exclaimed.
"Which guy?"
"THE GAY!!"
Ah, yes--the gay. After a few minutes of deciphering his broken English, I got the gist of the story. Apparently, Tariq (that was his name) had picked up a middle aged gentleman who instruced him to drive around Central Park, with no real destination in mind. Eventually, after Tariq noticed he was fiddling with something in the back seat, the guy asked him to pull over. It was at this point, I guess, that the guy offered this innocent Pakistani cab driver $100 for the honor of watching him spank his wanky.
Tariq told me that he'd refused the gentlamn's offer ("I say GET FUCK OUT!"), but something about his vehemence made me wonder--he had that whole "the cabbie doth protest too much" thing going. He said he'd driven around for a half hour trying to blow off steam before fianlly picking up another customer (me), and yet he was still plum freaking out, shouting, banging on shit, etc. Plus, he was constantly referring to his family ("I have wife and three children! THREE CHILDREN!!!") wife and children, as if that necessarily precluded a pocket-pool-for-pocket-change transaction. To me, Tariq definitely came across like Joe Buck after the movie theatre scene*--he'd done something shameful for cash and now he was questioning his very identity.
Further confirming my suspicion, Tariq soon launched into a rather passionate anti-gay rant. Thankfully, there was no "they should be buried to their necks and run over with a steam roller" type rhetoric, so I guess he would qualify as a "liberal" in the Arab world. Mostly, it was along the lines of "WHY DO THEY WANT SEX FROM MAN? THEY ALWAYS HAVING SEX! THEY ARE SICK! SICK!" In an effort to calm the guy down, I actually started trying to reason with him about it--I tried to explain that this guy was obviously an asshole, that he had personal issues, and that he didn't necessarily represent an entire group of people. Yet, there is a certain dregree of 'sexual daredevil-ism' among gay men in NYC, where guys feel perfectly comfortable thrusting (no pun intended) their sexuality upon you without invitation. In my nearly twelve years in New York, there have been a number of incidents where dudes have approached me with offers of sex, and always with a creepy "you know you want it" kind of arrogance. I'm sure women have experiences like this with straight men all the time, so I guess the reality of situation is simply that NYC is one of the few places where gay men are as douchebaggy as straight men.
Specifically, I remember once having to deal with a former landlord**, a genial man in his late 50s who I wasn't even aware was gay. I had stopped by one late Friday afternoon to get a letter or recommendation--I was moving to a new apartment and I needed to get a letter from my landlord in order to sign the lease. As he was typing up the letter, he invited me to sit down next to him--"I promise I won't bite...unless you ask me nicely!, he said "jokingly". He then started to ask me who was going to be moving into my old room, complaining that my lease-holding roommate never got anyone nice for him to date. I just kind of sat there and laughed nervously, desperately pretending that i had no idea what he was trying to imply. Finally, he came out with it.
"So, Christian...you're not gay, are you?"
"Um, no. Sorry. I mean....you know...sorry. But, no."
Seeing that I was incredibly uncomfortable, my landlord immediately waved his hands dismissively and tried to put me at ease. "Oh no, it's nothing like that. Don't worry about it. I don't like to pressure a boy. When I see a young man I like, I just say to him 'Hello. My name is Louis and I think you're attractive. Would you be interested in having dinner with me? You'll have a great time, you'll make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked', and that's it. That's all I say. No pressure, or anything!"
I just stared at him, open-mouthed. He must have uttered that phrase three or four more times, "make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked". It was so blas�, it was as if he was reading aloud from the phone book. For my part, I responded with someone along the lines of "That's funny...that you say that to people...you know, other people...." Eventually, frustrated with my seeming inability to take a hint, my landlord asked "So...does that seem like a situation that would be appealing to you?"
______________
Okay look, I know I do this all the time, but I don't have time to finish this thing right now. My sincere apologies. It probably won't be much of an issue, being that hardly anyone visits this blog on Sundays, but I promise I will finish this mini-saga later tonight, after I get back from performing for mulletheads and acid-wash afficianados in Ocean Township, NJ. Enjoy your evening, kids.
* That's a Midnight Cowboy reference, you philistines!
** His name is Louis DeVito, for the record.
Last night, my cab driver recognized me from a former ride. It was weird--these dudes drive upwards of 50 people a day, and yet this guy remembered driving me home over a week ago. Obviously, I got chaRAZma! Anyway, we had a nice chat on the way back to Astoria, but I could feel myself holding back, not wanting to get attached to the fellow. Perhaps I was reminded of that time a few years ago, when I bonded with that other cab driver. Man, I can almost see it...
(cue harp music and wavy "flashback" camera effect)
Okay, so now that we're firmly rooted in the past, it was about 2am and I was taking a cab ride from the Lower East Side all the way to my then home on 107th and Columbus. For those of you non-New Yorkers, that's a rather long trip. Anyway, a couple of minutes after being picked up, I noticed that the driver was repeatedly banging his hand against the steering wheel and barking curses in Arabic. It was so loud and obvious, that I got the distinct impression that he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him. Plus, he was driving a tad erratically, so there was an element of self-preservation involved when I asked "Um...is everything alright?"
"The fucking guy!", he angrily exclaimed.
"Which guy?"
"THE GAY!!"
Ah, yes--the gay. After a few minutes of deciphering his broken English, I got the gist of the story. Apparently, Tariq (that was his name) had picked up a middle aged gentleman who instruced him to drive around Central Park, with no real destination in mind. Eventually, after Tariq noticed he was fiddling with something in the back seat, the guy asked him to pull over. It was at this point, I guess, that the guy offered this innocent Pakistani cab driver $100 for the honor of watching him spank his wanky.
Tariq told me that he'd refused the gentlamn's offer ("I say GET FUCK OUT!"), but something about his vehemence made me wonder--he had that whole "the cabbie doth protest too much" thing going. He said he'd driven around for a half hour trying to blow off steam before fianlly picking up another customer (me), and yet he was still plum freaking out, shouting, banging on shit, etc. Plus, he was constantly referring to his family ("I have wife and three children! THREE CHILDREN!!!") wife and children, as if that necessarily precluded a pocket-pool-for-pocket-change transaction. To me, Tariq definitely came across like Joe Buck after the movie theatre scene*--he'd done something shameful for cash and now he was questioning his very identity.
Further confirming my suspicion, Tariq soon launched into a rather passionate anti-gay rant. Thankfully, there was no "they should be buried to their necks and run over with a steam roller" type rhetoric, so I guess he would qualify as a "liberal" in the Arab world. Mostly, it was along the lines of "WHY DO THEY WANT SEX FROM MAN? THEY ALWAYS HAVING SEX! THEY ARE SICK! SICK!" In an effort to calm the guy down, I actually started trying to reason with him about it--I tried to explain that this guy was obviously an asshole, that he had personal issues, and that he didn't necessarily represent an entire group of people. Yet, there is a certain dregree of 'sexual daredevil-ism' among gay men in NYC, where guys feel perfectly comfortable thrusting (no pun intended) their sexuality upon you without invitation. In my nearly twelve years in New York, there have been a number of incidents where dudes have approached me with offers of sex, and always with a creepy "you know you want it" kind of arrogance. I'm sure women have experiences like this with straight men all the time, so I guess the reality of situation is simply that NYC is one of the few places where gay men are as douchebaggy as straight men.
Specifically, I remember once having to deal with a former landlord**, a genial man in his late 50s who I wasn't even aware was gay. I had stopped by one late Friday afternoon to get a letter or recommendation--I was moving to a new apartment and I needed to get a letter from my landlord in order to sign the lease. As he was typing up the letter, he invited me to sit down next to him--"I promise I won't bite...unless you ask me nicely!, he said "jokingly". He then started to ask me who was going to be moving into my old room, complaining that my lease-holding roommate never got anyone nice for him to date. I just kind of sat there and laughed nervously, desperately pretending that i had no idea what he was trying to imply. Finally, he came out with it.
"So, Christian...you're not gay, are you?"
"Um, no. Sorry. I mean....you know...sorry. But, no."
Seeing that I was incredibly uncomfortable, my landlord immediately waved his hands dismissively and tried to put me at ease. "Oh no, it's nothing like that. Don't worry about it. I don't like to pressure a boy. When I see a young man I like, I just say to him 'Hello. My name is Louis and I think you're attractive. Would you be interested in having dinner with me? You'll have a great time, you'll make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked', and that's it. That's all I say. No pressure, or anything!"
I just stared at him, open-mouthed. He must have uttered that phrase three or four more times, "make a hundred dollars, get your dick sucked". It was so blas�, it was as if he was reading aloud from the phone book. For my part, I responded with someone along the lines of "That's funny...that you say that to people...you know, other people...." Eventually, frustrated with my seeming inability to take a hint, my landlord asked "So...does that seem like a situation that would be appealing to you?"
______________
Okay look, I know I do this all the time, but I don't have time to finish this thing right now. My sincere apologies. It probably won't be much of an issue, being that hardly anyone visits this blog on Sundays, but I promise I will finish this mini-saga later tonight, after I get back from performing for mulletheads and acid-wash afficianados in Ocean Township, NJ. Enjoy your evening, kids.
* That's a Midnight Cowboy reference, you philistines!
** His name is Louis DeVito, for the record.
Friday, February 14, 2003
WHAT THE FUCK?
It's almost 2pm on February 14th and I have not received one valentine. Not one! This is some bullshit, yo. I, myself, have sent valentines to the following people:
Hans Blix
The girl who Played Tapenga on "Boy Meets World"
Former Monkee Peter Tork
Gerald Levert
Mary Steenburgen
The guy who works the Slush Puppy machine down the street
Princess Leia
Former New Jersey Net Yinka Dare
J. Geils
Harriet Tubman
Rikki Rocket
Sally Ride
Celine Dion
Bob Balaban
Jabberjaw
Icy Hot Stuntaz
Annie
The late Vincent Gardenia
Booby McTitsface
Your mother
Screw you all.
It's almost 2pm on February 14th and I have not received one valentine. Not one! This is some bullshit, yo. I, myself, have sent valentines to the following people:
Hans Blix
The girl who Played Tapenga on "Boy Meets World"
Former Monkee Peter Tork
Gerald Levert
Mary Steenburgen
The guy who works the Slush Puppy machine down the street
Princess Leia
Former New Jersey Net Yinka Dare
J. Geils
Harriet Tubman
Rikki Rocket
Sally Ride
Celine Dion
Bob Balaban
Jabberjaw
Icy Hot Stuntaz
Annie
The late Vincent Gardenia
Booby McTitsface
Your mother
Screw you all.
Thursday, February 13, 2003
FOREVER YOUNG
I have two rather large zits today. I'm 29. This shit is supposed to end at some point, is it not? At the same time, I'm steadily going grey. Am I destined to be the only one at Shady Oaks Retirement Village to be referred to as 'Pizza Face'? If I am to retain teenage traits into my golden years, I would prefer the everlasting boners and lack of nose hair, thank you very much.
I'd write more, but I have to go audition for a PowerAde commercial, after which I will undoubtedly want to shoot myself in the face. Some day soon, I'll write about the dignity-crushing, soul-sucking experience that is auditioning for commercials. But, what with this annoying acne bullshit sprouting up, I don't have the self-esteem to spare at the moment.
I have two rather large zits today. I'm 29. This shit is supposed to end at some point, is it not? At the same time, I'm steadily going grey. Am I destined to be the only one at Shady Oaks Retirement Village to be referred to as 'Pizza Face'? If I am to retain teenage traits into my golden years, I would prefer the everlasting boners and lack of nose hair, thank you very much.
I'd write more, but I have to go audition for a PowerAde commercial, after which I will undoubtedly want to shoot myself in the face. Some day soon, I'll write about the dignity-crushing, soul-sucking experience that is auditioning for commercials. But, what with this annoying acne bullshit sprouting up, I don't have the self-esteem to spare at the moment.
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
YEAH, I KNOW: BLAH BLAH FUCKING BLAH
Okay, fuck this whole Valentines Week bullshit--I'm already bored of it and no one seems that enthralled, anyway. Besides, I feel kind of silly that all this major shit is going on in the world, and all I can seem to write about is fucking the chick from Species*
For instance, the new Bin Laden single dropped yesterday (Tuesday is 'new release' day, after all). From what CNN tells me, it's basically a love letter from Osama to the people of Iraq. Although he's not mentioned on the tape by name, I have to imagine Saddam's not exactly psyched that Osama's letting the world know he's got his back. There was probably a rather angry phone call from Baghdad, along the lines of "Um...dude? What the fuck?! YOU'RE NOT HELPING. Ixnay on the uplicpay eclarationsday of endshipfray, capiche?"
I don't know that I've ever felt so politically isolated about anything as I do Gulf War II. On the one hand I am, generally speaking, anti-war. And I would trust our government's claims that all this Iraq stuff is being done in the name of 'Homeland Security' (a term nearly as diabolically misappropriatable** as "Jihad', by the way) a lot more if Vice President Cheney hadn't sent an internal memo previewing Iraq's impending 'regime change' almost a year before September 11th***. Still, I'm definitely not one of those people who blithely dismisses Reality in favor of mamby pamby I'd-like-to-buy-the-world-a-Coke horsehit. Sooner or later, the shit is gonna go down in the Middle East--anyone who thinks otherwise is living in Mental Poopie Land. Why? Because there are thousands and thousands of people in that part of the world who are planning to kill us. Not figuratively--literally. This is a simple fact that a lot of my protester friends refuse to accept. But does that mean I'm ready to jump on the Jingomobile and ignore that the greatest human tragedy ever to occur on American soil has been commandeered by a few opportunistic fuckfaces (one of whom happens to be president) with a military axe to grind? Of course not. Like I said, the whole scenario makes my head hurt.
I sometimes feel like we should go to war, simply because France is telling us not to. I know I've ranted about this before on this site, but why the fuck does France even get to vote on this shit? Why do we keep pretending that its opinion matters? In the 21st Century, a country really should have something utterly necessary to offer the world (other than cinema and cheese) in order to be counsidered a first-tier nation. In basketball terms, America is basically Shaquille O'Neal: we're huge, kind of dumb, we totally cheat and get away with it, but there's really no denying that we're the most dominant force in the game. Russia is kind of like Patrick Ewing in the years leading up to his retirement: their skills have eroded, they're sort of living in denial, but we can all still remember a time when they were 'The Man'. 20th Century France, by contrast, is more like the Washington Generals, the team that used to face off against the Harlem Globetrotters: they're notable only for how often and easily they get punked.
But I tell you, it's really hard to talk shit about any country with W. as our global ambassador. I do believe in the American electoral process, for the most part, and I don't think it's too helpful to constantly bitch about the guy--like it or not, he's gonna be president for at least another year and a half. But christ he's embarassing. George W. Bush is basically like that ex-girlfriend (or boyfriend, as the case may be) who you got along with in private, but you always avoided bringing to parties because you were afraid of the stupid shit that was bound to come out of her/his mouth. You know the feeling--she's babbling to your friends about how she often suspects that she's clairvoyant, and you're silently screaming, "Shut up. Shut up. Please shut up. No... No... That's not how that word is pronounced. Please stop talking. Please, for the love of christ. Fucking kill me now." But then, someone like that prick France comes up to you and says "Dude...your girlfriend's kind of an idiot." And, all of the sudden, you're like "Hey, FUCK YOU! At least I have a girlfriend!"
And no discussion of global events would be complete without mentioning the "Dell dude" getting busted for pot. It's rare that the simple reading the paper can inspire me to pump my fist in the air and shout "YESSSS!!!", but there you have it. I would like to remind everyone that Tower of Hubris was way ahead of the curve on calling that guy a douchebag. He makes Jared seem downright likeable, by comparison. I'd write more about "Steven" and the strange circumstances surrounding his arrest (He was wearing a kilt, apparently), but it kind of seems like too easy a target. Besides, it's 5:42 in the goddamn morning. Still, fuck that guy.****
__________________
* For the record, I'd like to mention that I don't really find Natasha Henstridge all that attractive. She's a bit 'blank' looking, if you want to know the truth. But I just remember how much guys (and journalists) were publicly wanking to her when that movie came out.
** Yes, I'm aware that this is not a real word.
*** It was in a sort of governmental 'to-do' list that Cheney circulated to Bush's inner circle after the election, but before they actually took office.
**** With a splintery rolling pin.
Okay, fuck this whole Valentines Week bullshit--I'm already bored of it and no one seems that enthralled, anyway. Besides, I feel kind of silly that all this major shit is going on in the world, and all I can seem to write about is fucking the chick from Species*
For instance, the new Bin Laden single dropped yesterday (Tuesday is 'new release' day, after all). From what CNN tells me, it's basically a love letter from Osama to the people of Iraq. Although he's not mentioned on the tape by name, I have to imagine Saddam's not exactly psyched that Osama's letting the world know he's got his back. There was probably a rather angry phone call from Baghdad, along the lines of "Um...dude? What the fuck?! YOU'RE NOT HELPING. Ixnay on the uplicpay eclarationsday of endshipfray, capiche?"
I don't know that I've ever felt so politically isolated about anything as I do Gulf War II. On the one hand I am, generally speaking, anti-war. And I would trust our government's claims that all this Iraq stuff is being done in the name of 'Homeland Security' (a term nearly as diabolically misappropriatable** as "Jihad', by the way) a lot more if Vice President Cheney hadn't sent an internal memo previewing Iraq's impending 'regime change' almost a year before September 11th***. Still, I'm definitely not one of those people who blithely dismisses Reality in favor of mamby pamby I'd-like-to-buy-the-world-a-Coke horsehit. Sooner or later, the shit is gonna go down in the Middle East--anyone who thinks otherwise is living in Mental Poopie Land. Why? Because there are thousands and thousands of people in that part of the world who are planning to kill us. Not figuratively--literally. This is a simple fact that a lot of my protester friends refuse to accept. But does that mean I'm ready to jump on the Jingomobile and ignore that the greatest human tragedy ever to occur on American soil has been commandeered by a few opportunistic fuckfaces (one of whom happens to be president) with a military axe to grind? Of course not. Like I said, the whole scenario makes my head hurt.
I sometimes feel like we should go to war, simply because France is telling us not to. I know I've ranted about this before on this site, but why the fuck does France even get to vote on this shit? Why do we keep pretending that its opinion matters? In the 21st Century, a country really should have something utterly necessary to offer the world (other than cinema and cheese) in order to be counsidered a first-tier nation. In basketball terms, America is basically Shaquille O'Neal: we're huge, kind of dumb, we totally cheat and get away with it, but there's really no denying that we're the most dominant force in the game. Russia is kind of like Patrick Ewing in the years leading up to his retirement: their skills have eroded, they're sort of living in denial, but we can all still remember a time when they were 'The Man'. 20th Century France, by contrast, is more like the Washington Generals, the team that used to face off against the Harlem Globetrotters: they're notable only for how often and easily they get punked.
But I tell you, it's really hard to talk shit about any country with W. as our global ambassador. I do believe in the American electoral process, for the most part, and I don't think it's too helpful to constantly bitch about the guy--like it or not, he's gonna be president for at least another year and a half. But christ he's embarassing. George W. Bush is basically like that ex-girlfriend (or boyfriend, as the case may be) who you got along with in private, but you always avoided bringing to parties because you were afraid of the stupid shit that was bound to come out of her/his mouth. You know the feeling--she's babbling to your friends about how she often suspects that she's clairvoyant, and you're silently screaming, "Shut up. Shut up. Please shut up. No... No... That's not how that word is pronounced. Please stop talking. Please, for the love of christ. Fucking kill me now." But then, someone like that prick France comes up to you and says "Dude...your girlfriend's kind of an idiot." And, all of the sudden, you're like "Hey, FUCK YOU! At least I have a girlfriend!"
And no discussion of global events would be complete without mentioning the "Dell dude" getting busted for pot. It's rare that the simple reading the paper can inspire me to pump my fist in the air and shout "YESSSS!!!", but there you have it. I would like to remind everyone that Tower of Hubris was way ahead of the curve on calling that guy a douchebag. He makes Jared seem downright likeable, by comparison. I'd write more about "Steven" and the strange circumstances surrounding his arrest (He was wearing a kilt, apparently), but it kind of seems like too easy a target. Besides, it's 5:42 in the goddamn morning. Still, fuck that guy.****
__________________
* For the record, I'd like to mention that I don't really find Natasha Henstridge all that attractive. She's a bit 'blank' looking, if you want to know the truth. But I just remember how much guys (and journalists) were publicly wanking to her when that movie came out.
** Yes, I'm aware that this is not a real word.
*** It was in a sort of governmental 'to-do' list that Cheney circulated to Bush's inner circle after the election, but before they actually took office.
**** With a splintery rolling pin.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
VALENTINES WEEK, Part II
For today's visit to the Valentines Day hall of "fame", we travel back to 1981, when I attempted to woo beautiful young Karen Hickey with this homemade card:
VALENTINES DAY 1981
Deer Karen,
Will yoo be my valentine? Check one:
___ Yes I want to be yore valentine becuze I like yoo
___ No way I hate you
___ I shan't be your valentine, Mr. Finnegan. But fear not--this is not a matter of personal animosity. What I reject is the commercialization of "Love" in contemporary American society. Am I supposed to feel any more or less romantically inclined toward a person on February 14th simply because a multinational corporation like Hallmark or Godiva, Inc. tells me so? Nay, nay, three times nay! I am but a mere 2nd grader, but I will play what little part I am offered in this struggle with gusto. Together, we will finally wrest affairs of the human heart from the clammy hands of corporate greed. LIBERTE! EGALITE! FRATERNITE! Therefore, Mr. Finnegan, I must shun your well-meaning but socially misguided romantic overture. I offer you my sincere condolences and look forward to a mutually beneficial social partnership sometime in the future.
___ Sorree, I only hook up with 3rd graders
For today's visit to the Valentines Day hall of "fame", we travel back to 1981, when I attempted to woo beautiful young Karen Hickey with this homemade card:
VALENTINES DAY 1981
Deer Karen,
Will yoo be my valentine? Check one:
___ Yes I want to be yore valentine becuze I like yoo
___ No way I hate you
___ I shan't be your valentine, Mr. Finnegan. But fear not--this is not a matter of personal animosity. What I reject is the commercialization of "Love" in contemporary American society. Am I supposed to feel any more or less romantically inclined toward a person on February 14th simply because a multinational corporation like Hallmark or Godiva, Inc. tells me so? Nay, nay, three times nay! I am but a mere 2nd grader, but I will play what little part I am offered in this struggle with gusto. Together, we will finally wrest affairs of the human heart from the clammy hands of corporate greed. LIBERTE! EGALITE! FRATERNITE! Therefore, Mr. Finnegan, I must shun your well-meaning but socially misguided romantic overture. I offer you my sincere condolences and look forward to a mutually beneficial social partnership sometime in the future.
___ Sorree, I only hook up with 3rd graders
Monday, February 10, 2003
IT'S VALENTINES WEEK!
As you know Valentines Day is nearly upon us. And to celebrate this most wonderful of holidays, I will spend this week posting Valentines Day missives I have written to girlfriends of yesteryear. By Friday, I think you will all see just what a smooth operator I am. So throw open a window, ladies--it's about to get hot in here!
VALENTINES DAY 1996
Dearest Joanne,
I am so lucky to have you in my life. We shall be together until the stars all fall from the sky. You are so, so beautiful. Your lips, your eyes, your nose--nearly perfect. When I gaze upon thee, it's almost as if I am reminded of something. Or someone. Who could it be? Some lover from a past life? Some distant memory of a soulmate long since forgotten? No, now that I think about it, you kind of remind me of that chick from Species. What's her name again--Natasha something? Yes, that is who you remind me of, sweet Joanne. Christ, that chick is fucking hot. Remember that scene where she gets out of the alien pod, and she's all, like, slimy and naked and shit? And you can totally see her beav? That ruled. Then there was that scene where she was making out with that guy and her tongue like shot out the back of the guy's head? How awesome was that? Henstridge! That's right--Natasha Henstridge! Man, what a fucking fox. Can you imagine what it would be like if that chick was your girlfriend? Seriously, just think about it--you show up to the office Christmas party and you're all like "Guys, I'd like to all to meet my girlfriend, Natasha Henstridge. Yes, the chick from Species." They'd be so fucking jealous! How much would that rock?! And then you get to take her home with you. Like, to have sex with. Man, the things I'd do. I'd give just about anything...
What I mean to say is, I'd give just about anything for you to be my valentine. I'm aware that you already are my valentine. I mean, like, in the future. Remember, that whole 'stars fall from the sky' thing? Sure, I was just talking about that Species babe, but they were two separate points. One, you are my eternal valentine. And two, you just happen to kind of look like Natasha Henstridge (who I would totally fuck the shit out of).
Happy Valentines Day, my beloved.
As you know Valentines Day is nearly upon us. And to celebrate this most wonderful of holidays, I will spend this week posting Valentines Day missives I have written to girlfriends of yesteryear. By Friday, I think you will all see just what a smooth operator I am. So throw open a window, ladies--it's about to get hot in here!
VALENTINES DAY 1996
Dearest Joanne,
I am so lucky to have you in my life. We shall be together until the stars all fall from the sky. You are so, so beautiful. Your lips, your eyes, your nose--nearly perfect. When I gaze upon thee, it's almost as if I am reminded of something. Or someone. Who could it be? Some lover from a past life? Some distant memory of a soulmate long since forgotten? No, now that I think about it, you kind of remind me of that chick from Species. What's her name again--Natasha something? Yes, that is who you remind me of, sweet Joanne. Christ, that chick is fucking hot. Remember that scene where she gets out of the alien pod, and she's all, like, slimy and naked and shit? And you can totally see her beav? That ruled. Then there was that scene where she was making out with that guy and her tongue like shot out the back of the guy's head? How awesome was that? Henstridge! That's right--Natasha Henstridge! Man, what a fucking fox. Can you imagine what it would be like if that chick was your girlfriend? Seriously, just think about it--you show up to the office Christmas party and you're all like "Guys, I'd like to all to meet my girlfriend, Natasha Henstridge. Yes, the chick from Species." They'd be so fucking jealous! How much would that rock?! And then you get to take her home with you. Like, to have sex with. Man, the things I'd do. I'd give just about anything...
What I mean to say is, I'd give just about anything for you to be my valentine. I'm aware that you already are my valentine. I mean, like, in the future. Remember, that whole 'stars fall from the sky' thing? Sure, I was just talking about that Species babe, but they were two separate points. One, you are my eternal valentine. And two, you just happen to kind of look like Natasha Henstridge (who I would totally fuck the shit out of).
Happy Valentines Day, my beloved.
Saturday, February 08, 2003
Friday, February 07, 2003
THE END..........?
(Points of ellipses and question mark added for spooky effect)
Hello, winners.
Now, from time to time I've mentioned Portable Comedy, the stand-up show I've hosted every Friday night for the past seven or so months. Many of the readers of this page have come out to enjoy said comedy show in the flesh, and some of you have even come out for beers afterward at the glorious Limerick House (where livers go to die).
Well, friends, I have some rather unfortunate news. After a long and ridiculously successful run, Portable Comedy will be ending its run at the Gershwin Hotel tonight, Friday, February 7th. Hopefully, the show will return soon at a bigger and better location, but it's still a bummer.
In short, Portable Comedy has become a victim of its own success. As those of you who have been to the show lately know, turnout has been so good that we've been forced to turn people away at the door. Well, the Gerswhin's management has ALSO noticed this and decided to implement certain, um, "rental policies", making it impossible to continue producing the show. In short, they raised their rental fee by 500%, leading me to my official position of "Go fuck yourselves."
So until I can find a new (and better) home for the show, tonight will be the final installment of Portable Comedy. Luckily for you, there's an ultra-fantastic lineup for you. Check it out:
DEMETRI MARTIN (As seen on "Late Night w/ David Letterman". Demetri is also subject of the Comedycentral.com "spotlight". Check him out here.)
DAVE KEENER (One half of the beloved comedy duo Them Keener Boys, performing a couple of selections from his new one-man musical!)
VAL KAPPA (An NYC alternative comedy favorite and former regular at Boston's pretigious Comedy Studio!)
JONATHAN CORBETT (As seen on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend", and chosen to perform at this past year's Montreal Comedy Festival!)
JAY OAKES (This former co-host of Portable Comedy trvals all around this country, often opening for the likes of Lewis Black!)
OPHIRA EISENBERG (She's appeared on Canadian television and is the former host of the much-missed "Indutry Room" comedy showcase!)
And yes, the details:
PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 7th
THE GERSWHIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street (b. 5th and Madison)
10:00
STILL...$5.00! (The fucking cocksuckers at the Gershwin suggested I simply raise the admission price to $15, in order to cover their insane rental fee)
So come on out to tomorrow night's final (sort of) installment of Portable Comedy--there will be surprises galore! And if you can't make it to the show itself, come out for a beer at Limerick House (23rd street, between 5th and 6th ave). We'll probably be there by midnight.
That is all. Back to your furious masturbating and/or Ding Dong eating.
P.S. If / When Portable Comedy finds a new home, I will send out word. Thanks for humoring me.
Thursday, February 06, 2003
WORST SONGS TO PLAY AT A WAKE, Part II
"Iron Man" by Black Sabbath
"Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz" (the Alka Seltzer jingle)
"Yankee Rose" by David Lee Roth
"Paradise by the Dashboard Light" by Meatloaf
"Sugar Walls" by Sheena Easton
"Jungle Love" by Morris Day and the Time
"Mony Mony" by Tommy James and the Shondells
"K-I-S-S-I-N-G" (Trad.)
"Le Freak" by Chic
"Last Caress" by The Misfits
"The Thong Song" by Sisqo
"Far From Over" by Frank Stallone
"Seventeen" by Winger
"Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough" by Michael Jackson
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
ATTENNNN-SHUN!
This
is
a
blog
reading
endurance
test.
Let's
see
how
long
you
will
read
this
if
I
just
keep
typing
one
word
per
line.
Is
this
as
far
as
you
will
read?
How
about
here?
Still
reading,
eh?
I
must
admit,
I'm
surprised.
You
guys
must
be
really
bored
today.
Seriously,
like,
get
a
fucking
life,
you
know?
Maybe
I'll
just
say
something
incredibly
interesting
and/
or
funny
in
the
middle
of
this
thing
here,
just
to
see
if you're
really
reading.
Like,
did
you
catch
that
one
of
those
lines
had
two
words
in
it?
Didja?
If
so,
you're
are
an
observant
person.
You
should
be
proud
of
yourself.
Really.
If
you
didn't
notice,
it's
quite
possible
that
you
are
a
moron.
Way
to
go,
stupid--
enjoy
your
future
career
at
Sbarro's!
Anyway,
maybe
I
really
will
throw
in
an
actual
secret
of
some
sort
in
here.
Those
of
you
who
were
too
lazy
to
scroll
down
this
far
will
never
know,
for
instance,
that
I
once
gave
White
House
Press
Secretary
Ari
Fleischer
a
hand
job
whilst
in
the
ball
crawl
at
Chuck
E.
Cheese
restaurant.
Or
that
I
was
once
tea-
bagged
by
the
members
of
Glass
Tiger.
No,
that's
the
kind
of
cherished
information
that
is
only
revealed
to
those
of
you
who
display
fortitude
and
due
diligence.
Keep
this
information
close
to
the
vest--
you
will
called
upon,
once
the
revolution
comes.
(No,
I
haven't
been
smoking
weed
today.
Why
do
you
ask?)
This
is
a
blog
reading
endurance
test.
Let's
see
how
long
you
will
read
this
if
I
just
keep
typing
one
word
per
line.
Is
this
as
far
as
you
will
read?
How
about
here?
Still
reading,
eh?
I
must
admit,
I'm
surprised.
You
guys
must
be
really
bored
today.
Seriously,
like,
get
a
fucking
life,
you
know?
Maybe
I'll
just
say
something
incredibly
interesting
and/
or
funny
in
the
middle
of
this
thing
here,
just
to
see
if you're
really
reading.
Like,
did
you
catch
that
one
of
those
lines
had
two
words
in
it?
Didja?
If
so,
you're
are
an
observant
person.
You
should
be
proud
of
yourself.
Really.
If
you
didn't
notice,
it's
quite
possible
that
you
are
a
moron.
Way
to
go,
stupid--
enjoy
your
future
career
at
Sbarro's!
Anyway,
maybe
I
really
will
throw
in
an
actual
secret
of
some
sort
in
here.
Those
of
you
who
were
too
lazy
to
scroll
down
this
far
will
never
know,
for
instance,
that
I
once
gave
White
House
Press
Secretary
Ari
Fleischer
a
hand
job
whilst
in
the
ball
crawl
at
Chuck
E.
Cheese
restaurant.
Or
that
I
was
once
tea-
bagged
by
the
members
of
Glass
Tiger.
No,
that's
the
kind
of
cherished
information
that
is
only
revealed
to
those
of
you
who
display
fortitude
and
due
diligence.
Keep
this
information
close
to
the
vest--
you
will
called
upon,
once
the
revolution
comes.
(No,
I
haven't
been
smoking
weed
today.
Why
do
you
ask?)
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
Monday, February 03, 2003
HOME SWEET FUCKING HOME
Holy mother of fuck, I am so happy to be back in balmy (47 degrees, suckas!) NYC. One of the great things about leaving town for a while is getting to re-experience that sweet feeling of "I'm almost home". When most people get that feeling, they probably hear Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" playing softly in their heads. Me, I always get a brainful of "Strutter" by Kiss, which is infinitely more righteous, dude. So yeah, it's quite nice to be back. When I stepped out of LaGuardia and into a cab, I kissed the driver full on the lips--I'm not sure what 'maricon' means, but I'm going to assume it was a compliment!!
(I'll try to write more a little later.)
Holy mother of fuck, I am so happy to be back in balmy (47 degrees, suckas!) NYC. One of the great things about leaving town for a while is getting to re-experience that sweet feeling of "I'm almost home". When most people get that feeling, they probably hear Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" playing softly in their heads. Me, I always get a brainful of "Strutter" by Kiss, which is infinitely more righteous, dude. So yeah, it's quite nice to be back. When I stepped out of LaGuardia and into a cab, I kissed the driver full on the lips--I'm not sure what 'maricon' means, but I'm going to assume it was a compliment!!
(I'll try to write more a little later.)
Saturday, February 01, 2003
EXCERPTS FROM CONVERSATIONS I HAD LAST NIGHT
"Well, living in Cleveland, you pretty much just have to learn to drive drunk."
"Today's music fucking sucks, man. What happened to music that was pure? You know, like the shit that came out like I was in college. The Gin Blossoms, Better Than Ezra--that shit was pure."
"What you do is, you walk up to a girl and say 'I wanna tell you a joke' and then you say 'What did the ghost say to the bee?' And when she says 'what', you say 'Boo, bee' and grab her tit! If she doesn't freak out on you, you know you're in.
"You ever have one of those burps where puke comes up? I should probably go home." *
"Man, I would never have the guts to get up onstage in front of people. I'd be so scared I'd make an ass of myself!" (said by a woman who, ten minutes later, was standing on top of a table doing the 'rump-shaker' to Snow's "Informer".)
* This is the only statement that actually came out of my mouth. But, for the record, my near pukefest had more to do with having been ill than with Sweet Lady Liquor. I had a very reasonable three beers, thank you very much.
Friday, January 31, 2003
JEALOUS MUCH?
I ended up chatting with some Clevelanders (Clevelandites?) after last night's show, and they all seemed fixated on the fact that I live in New York City. There was a slight sense of awe in their voices, but not in an admiring way. It was more a "Why the hell would anyone want to live there" kind of thing. If there's one thing that travelling has taught me, it's that people in other parts of the country have serious love/hate feelings about New York, and it tends to be more Hate then Love.
What I realized is, the country hates New York City for the same reason that the rest of the world hates this country--both New York and America have no problem letting people know that they're the best. You see, every town in this country has civic pride. I'm sure the mayor of Cleveland, for example, doesn't hesitate to publicly sing the praises of his city. But I'm sure he's aware, on some level, that Cleveland is not the cultural hub of this nation. The difference is, when New Yorkers claim to live in the best city in the country...well, there's a ring of truth to it. And that rubs people the wrong way. So, where in Cleveland it might seem like civic pride, in New York it comes off as unforgivably arrogant.
Similarly, I'm sure Belgians are very proud of their country, but the simple reality is that they live in...well, Belgium. Now, imagine if you can, being a guy from Brussels and turning on the TV to see George W. talking about how the United States is the greatest nation in the world, an appraisal no American politician seems shy about making. I imagine it would piss you off a bit. Why? Because some little piece of you would know it was true--but why do they have to say it all the time?
So, in the same way that Bostonians like to portray New York as one big crack den (something I still encounter, every time I head home for the holidays and pick up a newspaper), people from France and Germany like to bitch about America being a cultural wasteland.
What's my point, you ask? Don't have one. I just like talking shit.
I ended up chatting with some Clevelanders (Clevelandites?) after last night's show, and they all seemed fixated on the fact that I live in New York City. There was a slight sense of awe in their voices, but not in an admiring way. It was more a "Why the hell would anyone want to live there" kind of thing. If there's one thing that travelling has taught me, it's that people in other parts of the country have serious love/hate feelings about New York, and it tends to be more Hate then Love.
What I realized is, the country hates New York City for the same reason that the rest of the world hates this country--both New York and America have no problem letting people know that they're the best. You see, every town in this country has civic pride. I'm sure the mayor of Cleveland, for example, doesn't hesitate to publicly sing the praises of his city. But I'm sure he's aware, on some level, that Cleveland is not the cultural hub of this nation. The difference is, when New Yorkers claim to live in the best city in the country...well, there's a ring of truth to it. And that rubs people the wrong way. So, where in Cleveland it might seem like civic pride, in New York it comes off as unforgivably arrogant.
Similarly, I'm sure Belgians are very proud of their country, but the simple reality is that they live in...well, Belgium. Now, imagine if you can, being a guy from Brussels and turning on the TV to see George W. talking about how the United States is the greatest nation in the world, an appraisal no American politician seems shy about making. I imagine it would piss you off a bit. Why? Because some little piece of you would know it was true--but why do they have to say it all the time?
So, in the same way that Bostonians like to portray New York as one big crack den (something I still encounter, every time I head home for the holidays and pick up a newspaper), people from France and Germany like to bitch about America being a cultural wasteland.
What's my point, you ask? Don't have one. I just like talking shit.
Thursday, January 30, 2003
THESE DREAMS
So I'm back at the library, and I'm sitting next to the very same crazy woman who talks to the screen. Apparently, she's the Norm Peterson of the Cleveland Public Library.
I feel like poop. I had a bit of the 'sauce' last night, just as I happened to be coming down with a slight cold. Combine those two elements with sleeping in a strange room, not to mention my general non-ability to get a good night's sleep, and you have the recipe for one of those long, horrific fever-dream nights. I swear to god, the night felt about 45 hours long. I kept slipping in and out of this strange dream, revolving around a professional sport where my friends and I took turns kicking each other in the stomach. Bliss, I tell you.
I feel better now, but I'm still in no condition to walk around a museum for hours on end, so the Hall of Fame will have to wait until tomorrow--I can't wait to check out the Stryper exhibit! I also plan on seeing this 'giant eraser' that everyone keeps raving about. That should take up a good 40 seconds. It's a full life. As for now, I'm staggering around with a slight touch of delirium--which, I have to admit, ain't all that bad. I feel like I've been 'huffing'.
Alright fuckers, I'm gone.
So I'm back at the library, and I'm sitting next to the very same crazy woman who talks to the screen. Apparently, she's the Norm Peterson of the Cleveland Public Library.
I feel like poop. I had a bit of the 'sauce' last night, just as I happened to be coming down with a slight cold. Combine those two elements with sleeping in a strange room, not to mention my general non-ability to get a good night's sleep, and you have the recipe for one of those long, horrific fever-dream nights. I swear to god, the night felt about 45 hours long. I kept slipping in and out of this strange dream, revolving around a professional sport where my friends and I took turns kicking each other in the stomach. Bliss, I tell you.
I feel better now, but I'm still in no condition to walk around a museum for hours on end, so the Hall of Fame will have to wait until tomorrow--I can't wait to check out the Stryper exhibit! I also plan on seeing this 'giant eraser' that everyone keeps raving about. That should take up a good 40 seconds. It's a full life. As for now, I'm staggering around with a slight touch of delirium--which, I have to admit, ain't all that bad. I feel like I've been 'huffing'.
Alright fuckers, I'm gone.
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
HELLO, CLEVELAND!
So, I've actually found Cleveland to be rather pleasant thusfar, other than the fact that everything (including most restaurants) seems to close before 7pm. 7pm?! Okay, that and one other thing: My rather large room at the Holiday Inn Express has the faint scent of urine. But other than that, things are peachy. The club I'm performing at (Hilarities, in the heart of downtown Cleveland) is quite nice. And the crowd, despite being rather small (it was a Tuesday and the night of the State of the Union, after all), was relatively bright and attentive. That's really all you can ask for, as a comic. Well, that and a backstage hummer from a beautiful waitress (I haven't yet brought this up with the management, but is it something I should really have to come right out and ask for? I mean, DUH! It's called 'being polite'--maybe you ladies should look into it.)
So...so...alone.
(sigh)
I'm currently sitting at one of the computers at the Cleveland Public Library. To one side of me, there is a man banging on his keyboard as if it fucked his wife, and on the other side, a very large woman in a furry leopard print hat. She seems to be having a conversation with the internet--she keeps saying things like "Whaaaaaaat?", "Yeah, that's what I thought!" and "No, I don't think so". It's almost enough to make me feel like I'm back in New York.
I haven't been to the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame yet (I don't want to shoot my tourism wad on the first day of my visit), but I am about to head off to...the mall! That's right, suckas! Jealous much? I'll think about you all when I'm checking out the super dope candles at Wicks 'n Sticks, or chilling at the Food Court! On the way, I'm pretty sure I'll be passing a "Quizno's", which advertises on television but, cruelly, doesn't exist in NYC. I have been dying to find out if toasted is, in fact, better. Now, it appears that I'll have that chance. God bless America.
So, I've actually found Cleveland to be rather pleasant thusfar, other than the fact that everything (including most restaurants) seems to close before 7pm. 7pm?! Okay, that and one other thing: My rather large room at the Holiday Inn Express has the faint scent of urine. But other than that, things are peachy. The club I'm performing at (Hilarities, in the heart of downtown Cleveland) is quite nice. And the crowd, despite being rather small (it was a Tuesday and the night of the State of the Union, after all), was relatively bright and attentive. That's really all you can ask for, as a comic. Well, that and a backstage hummer from a beautiful waitress (I haven't yet brought this up with the management, but is it something I should really have to come right out and ask for? I mean, DUH! It's called 'being polite'--maybe you ladies should look into it.)
So...so...alone.
(sigh)
I'm currently sitting at one of the computers at the Cleveland Public Library. To one side of me, there is a man banging on his keyboard as if it fucked his wife, and on the other side, a very large woman in a furry leopard print hat. She seems to be having a conversation with the internet--she keeps saying things like "Whaaaaaaat?", "Yeah, that's what I thought!" and "No, I don't think so". It's almost enough to make me feel like I'm back in New York.
I haven't been to the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame yet (I don't want to shoot my tourism wad on the first day of my visit), but I am about to head off to...the mall! That's right, suckas! Jealous much? I'll think about you all when I'm checking out the super dope candles at Wicks 'n Sticks, or chilling at the Food Court! On the way, I'm pretty sure I'll be passing a "Quizno's", which advertises on television but, cruelly, doesn't exist in NYC. I have been dying to find out if toasted is, in fact, better. Now, it appears that I'll have that chance. God bless America.
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
GONE, AGAIN
Okay, so I'm once again off on a comedy sojourn, this time to the shining metropolis known as Cleveland, OH. Why, you ask? Well, I decided that this eleven-degree NYC weather is simply too balmy for me--I need some of those bone-chilling gusts sweeping in off the Great Lakes. I will be there for six entire days, which should give me just enough time to see all of the Cleveland sights, such as:
* The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame
* The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame gift shop
* The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame rest rooms
* The hot dog vending cart outside the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame
* My hotel room
* Any bar that happens to be between my hotel room and the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame
* Rite Aid
If things get tedious, I may even go see a Cavs game. They're a professional basketball team, for those of you who do the I'm-too-intellectual-to-have-ever-heard-of-a-sports-team thing. Oh, and on that subject, I recently disovered that the Superbowl is gay (this takes a minute or so to load, then scroll down a bit).
So off I go to LaGuardia now. I'll be checking in from Ohio and I will be bored off my ass, so let's makes this week's comments extra juicy--lots of unbridled hostility, petty bickering and clumsy sexual innuendo. Make me proud.
Okay, so I'm once again off on a comedy sojourn, this time to the shining metropolis known as Cleveland, OH. Why, you ask? Well, I decided that this eleven-degree NYC weather is simply too balmy for me--I need some of those bone-chilling gusts sweeping in off the Great Lakes. I will be there for six entire days, which should give me just enough time to see all of the Cleveland sights, such as:
* The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame
* The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame gift shop
* The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame rest rooms
* The hot dog vending cart outside the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame
* My hotel room
* Any bar that happens to be between my hotel room and the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame
* Rite Aid
If things get tedious, I may even go see a Cavs game. They're a professional basketball team, for those of you who do the I'm-too-intellectual-to-have-ever-heard-of-a-sports-team thing. Oh, and on that subject, I recently disovered that the Superbowl is gay (this takes a minute or so to load, then scroll down a bit).
So off I go to LaGuardia now. I'll be checking in from Ohio and I will be bored off my ass, so let's makes this week's comments extra juicy--lots of unbridled hostility, petty bickering and clumsy sexual innuendo. Make me proud.
Monday, January 27, 2003
NADA. ZILCH.
Okay, fuck this. I've spent the last 45 minutes sitting in front of this screen, trying to think of something funny to type. I could talk about the Superbowl party I went to last night, and how I was exactly two seconds away from winning the 'pool' and taking home $85 (damn, that fucking last minute touchdown bullshit), but that will just make me bitter. Or, I could talk about the halftime show and Sting's neverending crusade to obliterate any credibility he once possessed, but I just don't feel like it. I'm determined to say nothing of interest today. My condolences.
Therefore, it seems fitting that I direct you people to this rather amusing cartoon.
It's gotten a lot of press, so you may have already seen it.
Well, that's all. Stop reading now.
Okay, I will just wonder aloud about Sting for a moment. Does he have gambling debts that we're not aware of? Maybe a few secret families he needs to support? Because I can't think of any other reasons for him to do the shit he does. The whole time he was onstage, butchering his own legacy (btw, dude--you're too old for that shirt), I could have sworn I heard the faint sound of a cash register in the background.
Off the top of my head, let's review the embarassing shit Sting has done in the last decade or so, in an effort to make coin and/or appeal to the TRL generation:
* Allowing The Mouth-Breather Formerly Known as Puff Daddy to turn "Every Breath You Take" into a pathetic tribute to the late Notorious B.I.G.
* Appearing onstage with "Diddy" at the MTV Video Music Awards and perfomring said tribute song.
* Performing that unforgivably horrid "Desert Rose" song (the one with the Morroccan fellow vaterwauling in the background) in a Lexus commercial.
* Penning 5 songs for The Emperor's New Groove, a recent Disney flop.
* Performing "I Want it That Way" with the Backstreet Boys(!), again at the MTV Video Music Awards.
* Appearing in three separate Outback Steakhouse commericials a few years ago.
* Last night's superbowl travesty.
Okay, I made up the Outback Steakhouse thing. But for a moment, it seemed plausible, didn't it? If that's not a fucking indictment, I don't know what is.
Okay, fuck this. I've spent the last 45 minutes sitting in front of this screen, trying to think of something funny to type. I could talk about the Superbowl party I went to last night, and how I was exactly two seconds away from winning the 'pool' and taking home $85 (damn, that fucking last minute touchdown bullshit), but that will just make me bitter. Or, I could talk about the halftime show and Sting's neverending crusade to obliterate any credibility he once possessed, but I just don't feel like it. I'm determined to say nothing of interest today. My condolences.
Therefore, it seems fitting that I direct you people to this rather amusing cartoon.
It's gotten a lot of press, so you may have already seen it.
Well, that's all. Stop reading now.
Okay, I will just wonder aloud about Sting for a moment. Does he have gambling debts that we're not aware of? Maybe a few secret families he needs to support? Because I can't think of any other reasons for him to do the shit he does. The whole time he was onstage, butchering his own legacy (btw, dude--you're too old for that shirt), I could have sworn I heard the faint sound of a cash register in the background.
Off the top of my head, let's review the embarassing shit Sting has done in the last decade or so, in an effort to make coin and/or appeal to the TRL generation:
* Allowing The Mouth-Breather Formerly Known as Puff Daddy to turn "Every Breath You Take" into a pathetic tribute to the late Notorious B.I.G.
* Appearing onstage with "Diddy" at the MTV Video Music Awards and perfomring said tribute song.
* Performing that unforgivably horrid "Desert Rose" song (the one with the Morroccan fellow vaterwauling in the background) in a Lexus commercial.
* Penning 5 songs for The Emperor's New Groove, a recent Disney flop.
* Performing "I Want it That Way" with the Backstreet Boys(!), again at the MTV Video Music Awards.
* Appearing in three separate Outback Steakhouse commericials a few years ago.
* Last night's superbowl travesty.
Okay, I made up the Outback Steakhouse thing. But for a moment, it seemed plausible, didn't it? If that's not a fucking indictment, I don't know what is.
Saturday, January 25, 2003
MY DEVOTION TO YOU PEOPLE KNOWS NO BOUNDS
So here I am in Roswell, GA. I just walked a mile and a half to this library, as I am completely fucking addicted to checking my Email/blog. By the way, finding a library in Roswell, GA is a lot like looking for the Lost Ark of the Covenant. People have either never heard of it, don't believe it exists, or won't tell you where it is for fear of reprisal.
"The Library? Umm...no, never heard of it. I mean, why would I know where the library is? I don't even know what the word means, this...'library' of which you speak! Nope! You are talking to the wrong guy, my friend!! (Whispering,) You fool! You'll get us both killed!"
I've been told that this is a "White" suburb of Atlanta, which is predominantly "Black". (Not sure why I'm usuing quotation marks there, as the people actually are White and Black. Anyway...) Now I don't want to blithely make the stereotype of Southern people being racist, but I should mention that I did just pass a house with actual lawn jockeys out in the front yard. LAWN JOCKEYS! They also had two of those old "jiggaboo" figurines sitting in the garden--grinning, bug-eyed caricatures with black skin and big, red lips.
Classy. Very classy.
I will say this, though--everyone here is very nice. Like, ridiculously so. I had lunch at a place called "Folks Family Southern Kitchen", which is kind like a Cracker Barrell kind of place. And it sounds odd, but I got the feeling that my waitress really was happy to serve me. It was kind of creepy. She was really excited to be there, to be wearing the "Folks" uniform and passing out chicken fried steak to local rednecks and soccer moms. I both envied and pitied her, in that oh-so-condescending New York pseudo-intellectual way. I mean, she seemed to be in a state of pure contentedness, but I kept fighting the urge to shout, "Why the fuck are you so happy? Are you aware that you're a waitress at a homestyle chain restaurant in Roswell, GA? You do know there's more to life than this, don't you?" But I suppose that's what makes her a happy, well-adjusted human being and me...well, me.
Okay, that's all for now. Hope you're all enjoying your respective weekends.
So here I am in Roswell, GA. I just walked a mile and a half to this library, as I am completely fucking addicted to checking my Email/blog. By the way, finding a library in Roswell, GA is a lot like looking for the Lost Ark of the Covenant. People have either never heard of it, don't believe it exists, or won't tell you where it is for fear of reprisal.
"The Library? Umm...no, never heard of it. I mean, why would I know where the library is? I don't even know what the word means, this...'library' of which you speak! Nope! You are talking to the wrong guy, my friend!! (Whispering,) You fool! You'll get us both killed!"
I've been told that this is a "White" suburb of Atlanta, which is predominantly "Black". (Not sure why I'm usuing quotation marks there, as the people actually are White and Black. Anyway...) Now I don't want to blithely make the stereotype of Southern people being racist, but I should mention that I did just pass a house with actual lawn jockeys out in the front yard. LAWN JOCKEYS! They also had two of those old "jiggaboo" figurines sitting in the garden--grinning, bug-eyed caricatures with black skin and big, red lips.
Classy. Very classy.
I will say this, though--everyone here is very nice. Like, ridiculously so. I had lunch at a place called "Folks Family Southern Kitchen", which is kind like a Cracker Barrell kind of place. And it sounds odd, but I got the feeling that my waitress really was happy to serve me. It was kind of creepy. She was really excited to be there, to be wearing the "Folks" uniform and passing out chicken fried steak to local rednecks and soccer moms. I both envied and pitied her, in that oh-so-condescending New York pseudo-intellectual way. I mean, she seemed to be in a state of pure contentedness, but I kept fighting the urge to shout, "Why the fuck are you so happy? Are you aware that you're a waitress at a homestyle chain restaurant in Roswell, GA? You do know there's more to life than this, don't you?" But I suppose that's what makes her a happy, well-adjusted human being and me...well, me.
Okay, that's all for now. Hope you're all enjoying your respective weekends.
Friday, January 24, 2003
TOODLES
I'm going away for a couple of days, to visit a charming 48 year old Belgian man I met in an internet chat room. He says he'll give me toffee.
Okay, that's not true (it was taffy, not toffee), but I am going away for what was to be My Weekend with Screech. Instead, I'll be opening for this guy. Why do I have the feeling he's going to ask me not to take the Lord's name in vain while on stage?
(Please let this weekend not suck...please let this weekend not suck...)
I'll file a report tomorrow, if I'm able.
I'm going away for a couple of days, to visit a charming 48 year old Belgian man I met in an internet chat room. He says he'll give me toffee.
Okay, that's not true (it was taffy, not toffee), but I am going away for what was to be My Weekend with Screech. Instead, I'll be opening for this guy. Why do I have the feeling he's going to ask me not to take the Lord's name in vain while on stage?
(Please let this weekend not suck...please let this weekend not suck...)
I'll file a report tomorrow, if I'm able.
Thursday, January 23, 2003
REJECTED SUPERBOWL HALFTIME SHOW THEMES
"A Tribute to Secular Humanism!"
"Puddlemania!", the songs of Puddle of Mudd, as performed by Andrea Bocelli and Charlotte Church
"An All-Star Salute to Product Placement", brought to you by Delta Airlines, Exxon, Bud Lite, Ford Motors and Doritos
"Let's Hear it for Segregation!"
Sammy Hager presents "America Fever", starring Michael Buffer and the cast of "Spin City"
"Tights Ends, Wide Receivers", a Celebration of Hardcore Gay Sex
"The Death of Music", featuring Britney Spears, 'Nsync and Aerosmith (Hey, wait a minute...)
"Noam Chomsky Forever!"
"A Tribute to Secular Humanism!"
"Puddlemania!", the songs of Puddle of Mudd, as performed by Andrea Bocelli and Charlotte Church
"An All-Star Salute to Product Placement", brought to you by Delta Airlines, Exxon, Bud Lite, Ford Motors and Doritos
"Let's Hear it for Segregation!"
Sammy Hager presents "America Fever", starring Michael Buffer and the cast of "Spin City"
"Tights Ends, Wide Receivers", a Celebration of Hardcore Gay Sex
"The Death of Music", featuring Britney Spears, 'Nsync and Aerosmith (Hey, wait a minute...)
"Noam Chomsky Forever!"
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
A FEW RANDOM THOUGHTS
* I've been quite busy today, but I did beef up the "Chet Van Orr" thing from a couple day ago.
* If given the choice between the new Ben and Jerry's "Karamel Sutra" ice cream and self-esteem, I'll stick with the ice cream.
* There were auditions today for "Last Comic Standing" a new reality show where they put ten stand-up comics in a house. I chose not to audition, as I'm quite sure the show will be designed to make everyone involved look as ridiculous as possible. I'm sure some of them will deserve it, but I'm not going to subject myself to it. You see, comedy is like The Force and there are many, many people in this community who have given themselves over to the Dark Side--vanity, pettiness, jealousy and the 100% hateful need to be "funny" at all times. And every single time someone writes an article or films a documentary about stand up comedy, those are the kind of people they highlight. It makes sense--jackasses make for better storylines and douch-ey behavior simply reinforces people's negative stereotypes about stand up comedy. When people imagine a "baseball player", they think of Barry Bonds or Sammy Sosa. When they imagine a "guitar player", they think of Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page. However, when people hear the words "stand up comedian", they are reminded of that one douchebag they saw that one time--the guy with the mullet who did Lewinsky jokes and couldn't get any laughs. So no, I shan't be auditioning for "Last Comic Standing". Maybe it's a matter of dignity, or maybe I'm just afraid that the only thing worse then getting picked for a show like that is not getting picked for a show like that.
* You should all watch the debut of "Chappelle's Show" on Comedy Central, tonight at 10:30pm. I'm not in tonight's episode (I'm in one that will air in something like 4-6 weeks), but I guarantee you it's going to be funny as hell.
* I've been quite busy today, but I did beef up the "Chet Van Orr" thing from a couple day ago.
* If given the choice between the new Ben and Jerry's "Karamel Sutra" ice cream and self-esteem, I'll stick with the ice cream.
* There were auditions today for "Last Comic Standing" a new reality show where they put ten stand-up comics in a house. I chose not to audition, as I'm quite sure the show will be designed to make everyone involved look as ridiculous as possible. I'm sure some of them will deserve it, but I'm not going to subject myself to it. You see, comedy is like The Force and there are many, many people in this community who have given themselves over to the Dark Side--vanity, pettiness, jealousy and the 100% hateful need to be "funny" at all times. And every single time someone writes an article or films a documentary about stand up comedy, those are the kind of people they highlight. It makes sense--jackasses make for better storylines and douch-ey behavior simply reinforces people's negative stereotypes about stand up comedy. When people imagine a "baseball player", they think of Barry Bonds or Sammy Sosa. When they imagine a "guitar player", they think of Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page. However, when people hear the words "stand up comedian", they are reminded of that one douchebag they saw that one time--the guy with the mullet who did Lewinsky jokes and couldn't get any laughs. So no, I shan't be auditioning for "Last Comic Standing". Maybe it's a matter of dignity, or maybe I'm just afraid that the only thing worse then getting picked for a show like that is not getting picked for a show like that.
* You should all watch the debut of "Chappelle's Show" on Comedy Central, tonight at 10:30pm. I'm not in tonight's episode (I'm in one that will air in something like 4-6 weeks), but I guarantee you it's going to be funny as hell.
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
TOWER OF HUBRIS ALERT
I'm watching Fox News right now (for joke writing purposes only), and they just issued a 'FOX NEWS ALERT': Hispanics are now America's largest minority group.
This is a statistic that merits an alert? Do they have reporters stationed at hospitals? ("Marlena Rodriguez just had twins--GET ME THE NEWS DESK!") And it it just me, or is there something slightly racist about the term 'alert' in this context? Why not a 'bulletin', or 'breaking news'? 'Alert' implies "Oh, shit!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, Hispanics are now America's largest minority group......... Run! RUN! Lock up your daughters! Avoid Taco Bell at all costs!! Fox News is issuing an official Minority Warning!!! Aaaagghhhhhhh!!!!"
I'm watching Fox News right now (for joke writing purposes only), and they just issued a 'FOX NEWS ALERT': Hispanics are now America's largest minority group.
This is a statistic that merits an alert? Do they have reporters stationed at hospitals? ("Marlena Rodriguez just had twins--GET ME THE NEWS DESK!") And it it just me, or is there something slightly racist about the term 'alert' in this context? Why not a 'bulletin', or 'breaking news'? 'Alert' implies "Oh, shit!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, Hispanics are now America's largest minority group......... Run! RUN! Lock up your daughters! Avoid Taco Bell at all costs!! Fox News is issuing an official Minority Warning!!! Aaaagghhhhhhh!!!!"
Monday, January 20, 2003
HERE COMES THE SUN
It's 6:27am and I just spent the last 2.5 hours watching Black Hawk Down. How in sweet christ am I supposed to get to sleep after watching this thing? And, perhaps more importantly, what the fuck is my problem that I would start watching a movie at 4:00am on a Monday morning? This is the way I'm starting my week? I'm not well versed in corporate philosophy, but I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that this is not one of the "7 Habits of Highly Effective People".
I was contemplating writing a '7 Habits of Highly Ineffective People' list, but decided it would be too hacky--a Google search for that phrase confirmed my suspicion.
Instead, I offer you "America Sings", a wonderful selection of 'song-poems'. It's very long, but also very wonderful. A bit of explanation as to how this thing came into existence can be found here. There really is so much to love here--the sub-Solid Gold dancing, the leotards, the feathered hair. It's beautiful to watch the awkward banter between the co-hosts. She obviously believes that this gig is going to catapult her to super-stardom, whereas he comes across more like Jennifer Jason Lee at the end of Last Exit to Brooklyn*. Particularly noteworthy is the company's name: Columbine Records. There's definitely a joke there, but I think I'll forego making it.
Anyway, enjoy.
(* If you haven't seen it...um...let's just say it ain't pretty.)
It's 6:27am and I just spent the last 2.5 hours watching Black Hawk Down. How in sweet christ am I supposed to get to sleep after watching this thing? And, perhaps more importantly, what the fuck is my problem that I would start watching a movie at 4:00am on a Monday morning? This is the way I'm starting my week? I'm not well versed in corporate philosophy, but I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that this is not one of the "7 Habits of Highly Effective People".
I was contemplating writing a '7 Habits of Highly Ineffective People' list, but decided it would be too hacky--a Google search for that phrase confirmed my suspicion.
Instead, I offer you "America Sings", a wonderful selection of 'song-poems'. It's very long, but also very wonderful. A bit of explanation as to how this thing came into existence can be found here. There really is so much to love here--the sub-Solid Gold dancing, the leotards, the feathered hair. It's beautiful to watch the awkward banter between the co-hosts. She obviously believes that this gig is going to catapult her to super-stardom, whereas he comes across more like Jennifer Jason Lee at the end of Last Exit to Brooklyn*. Particularly noteworthy is the company's name: Columbine Records. There's definitely a joke there, but I think I'll forego making it.
Anyway, enjoy.
(* If you haven't seen it...um...let's just say it ain't pretty.)
Sunday, January 19, 2003
A brief message from CHET VAN ORR, '80s Movie Asshole-for-Hire
Yo Bradley, check it out� Look who just showed up.
Look geek, I don�t know how you found out about this party, but how about you take your little friends and head back to Nerdville?
See, you think you�ve got everybody fooled, but I�m onto you. You think I�m just going to let you waltz in here and steal my girl? In my senior year? Two weeks before the big homecoming game? Four days before the prom? Three hours before the Interdenominational Water-Balloon Toss and Texas Chili Cook-Off? Well, my friend, you are sorely mistaken. Am I right, Bradley? Up high.
(Big laugh, fake punch)
Look, you may have gotten lucky in the unicycle relay race, but don�t make the mistake of thinking you belong here. See, I own this school. I�m captain of the Bungee Surfing team, Vice-treasurer of the Origami Club, and my father owns the biggest tiffany lamp dealership in the State of California. And you? You�re a dork. You�ve always been a dork, and you�ll always be a dork. So do yourself a favor and go back to Hillside, where you belong, before somebody gets hurt.
Carlise, it�s time for you tell tell your little friend goodbye and get in the car. I said, get in the car!! What, you can�t actually tell me that you�re going to break up with me for this�geek?!
Well, I guess you really are a slut�just like your dead mother. Come on, Bradley, we�re out of here.
Bradley, let�s go. Bradley?
Fine.
Dickwad, you and I are going to settle this. Tonight. Stay out of it, slut�this doesn�t concern you! Miller�s Creek, behind Shopper�s World. Midnight. Be there.
Oh, and don�t forget to bring your jet ski.
Yo Bradley, check it out� Look who just showed up.
Look geek, I don�t know how you found out about this party, but how about you take your little friends and head back to Nerdville?
See, you think you�ve got everybody fooled, but I�m onto you. You think I�m just going to let you waltz in here and steal my girl? In my senior year? Two weeks before the big homecoming game? Four days before the prom? Three hours before the Interdenominational Water-Balloon Toss and Texas Chili Cook-Off? Well, my friend, you are sorely mistaken. Am I right, Bradley? Up high.
(Big laugh, fake punch)
Look, you may have gotten lucky in the unicycle relay race, but don�t make the mistake of thinking you belong here. See, I own this school. I�m captain of the Bungee Surfing team, Vice-treasurer of the Origami Club, and my father owns the biggest tiffany lamp dealership in the State of California. And you? You�re a dork. You�ve always been a dork, and you�ll always be a dork. So do yourself a favor and go back to Hillside, where you belong, before somebody gets hurt.
Carlise, it�s time for you tell tell your little friend goodbye and get in the car. I said, get in the car!! What, you can�t actually tell me that you�re going to break up with me for this�geek?!
Well, I guess you really are a slut�just like your dead mother. Come on, Bradley, we�re out of here.
Bradley, let�s go. Bradley?
Fine.
Dickwad, you and I are going to settle this. Tonight. Stay out of it, slut�this doesn�t concern you! Miller�s Creek, behind Shopper�s World. Midnight. Be there.
Oh, and don�t forget to bring your jet ski.
Friday, January 17, 2003
JIVE TALKIN'
As I'm sure many of you have read, former Bee Gee Barry and Robin Gibb are investigating the mysterious circumstances surrounding brother Maurice's recent passing. Now, I'm waaaaay too classy to exploit this man's death in order to get a cheap laugh by making a "Staying Alive" joke. Nope. I'm above it.
It is worth noting, however, that a preliminary autopsy revealed that Mr. Gibb may have suffered a terminal case of "Night Fever".
Yeah, I know. I know.
As I'm sure many of you have read, former Bee Gee Barry and Robin Gibb are investigating the mysterious circumstances surrounding brother Maurice's recent passing. Now, I'm waaaaay too classy to exploit this man's death in order to get a cheap laugh by making a "Staying Alive" joke. Nope. I'm above it.
It is worth noting, however, that a preliminary autopsy revealed that Mr. Gibb may have suffered a terminal case of "Night Fever".
Yeah, I know. I know.
Thursday, January 16, 2003
MORE PLUGGING! (For me, this time)
Look, I know I occasionally litter this sacred web space with mentions of my career, most notably the show I host every Friday night. But I recently discovered something very curious and it's got me feeling a bit freaked out.
Perhaps some of you have read about the mysterious "Dark Side of the Rainbow"? For those unfamiliar, here's the gist: when played in tandem, "The Wizard of Oz" and Pink Floyd's album "Dark Side of the Moon" share a set of eerie coincidences. For instance, Dorothy's house gets swept up by the tornado during the Pink Floyd song "Great Gig in the Sky" and the album's final sound of a beating heart coincides with Dorothy placing her ear to the Tin Man's chest. Interesting, no?
Well, I was reviewing the lineup for this week's stellar installment of PORTABLE COMEDY, and I discovered that, if properly sychronized, this week's show shares a creepy similarity to Kenny Rogers' "Greatest Hits". First off, there's the whole "greatest" thing. On Friday, January 17th, Portable Comedy will be welcoming not one, but TWO writers for "The Daily Show with John Stewart", in my opinion the "greatest" show on TV. Secondly, one of Kenny Rogers' biggest hits was "Lady", and who do I just happen to have booked on tomorrow night's show? That's right: a lady. Two, actually. I don't know about you, but I just got goosebumps.
Oddest of all, I was just this week considering opening a chain of rotisserie chicken eateries. Still not convinced? Well, you'll have to come out to the show and see for yourself. Check out the lineup, yo:
ERIC DRYSDALE (In addition to his Emmy Award-winning work on "The Daily Show", Mr. Drysdale has appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend". He knows when to hold 'em, but is sometimes unclear on when to fold 'em.)
CHRIS REGAN (Like his aforementioned colleague, Mr. Regan is an Emmy-winning "Daily Show" writer and "Premium Blend" alum. Whatever you do, don't call him the coward of the county.)
ALLISON CASTILLO (Ms. Castillo has performed at the presitgious Aspen Comedy Festival and was the subject of an MTV documentary on life as a comedian. She is truly one of the funniest islands in the comedy stream.)
JONATHAN CORBETT (In addition to performing at the Montreal Comedy Festival, Mr. Corbett recently appeared on "Premium Blend". Try as you might, you won't be able to avoid falling in love with this dreamer.)
PRESCOTT TOLK (Mr. Tolk performs all over the city and country and is a regular at the world-famous "Comic Strip" here in NYC. If forced, he will indeed take his love to town.)
CLARA BIJL (Straight from France, the land of Romance--not to mention bread that carves up the roof of your mouth--it's Clara Bijl. She will undoubtedly decorate your life.)
And, the details:
PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, JANUARY 17th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison)
10:00pm
$5.00, FOLKS!
NOTE: It's been very crowded lately, so make sure you get there early, in order to ensure a seat!
Hope to see you there.
P.S. Yes, I know I'm shameless
Look, I know I occasionally litter this sacred web space with mentions of my career, most notably the show I host every Friday night. But I recently discovered something very curious and it's got me feeling a bit freaked out.
Perhaps some of you have read about the mysterious "Dark Side of the Rainbow"? For those unfamiliar, here's the gist: when played in tandem, "The Wizard of Oz" and Pink Floyd's album "Dark Side of the Moon" share a set of eerie coincidences. For instance, Dorothy's house gets swept up by the tornado during the Pink Floyd song "Great Gig in the Sky" and the album's final sound of a beating heart coincides with Dorothy placing her ear to the Tin Man's chest. Interesting, no?
Well, I was reviewing the lineup for this week's stellar installment of PORTABLE COMEDY, and I discovered that, if properly sychronized, this week's show shares a creepy similarity to Kenny Rogers' "Greatest Hits". First off, there's the whole "greatest" thing. On Friday, January 17th, Portable Comedy will be welcoming not one, but TWO writers for "The Daily Show with John Stewart", in my opinion the "greatest" show on TV. Secondly, one of Kenny Rogers' biggest hits was "Lady", and who do I just happen to have booked on tomorrow night's show? That's right: a lady. Two, actually. I don't know about you, but I just got goosebumps.
Oddest of all, I was just this week considering opening a chain of rotisserie chicken eateries. Still not convinced? Well, you'll have to come out to the show and see for yourself. Check out the lineup, yo:
ERIC DRYSDALE (In addition to his Emmy Award-winning work on "The Daily Show", Mr. Drysdale has appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend". He knows when to hold 'em, but is sometimes unclear on when to fold 'em.)
CHRIS REGAN (Like his aforementioned colleague, Mr. Regan is an Emmy-winning "Daily Show" writer and "Premium Blend" alum. Whatever you do, don't call him the coward of the county.)
ALLISON CASTILLO (Ms. Castillo has performed at the presitgious Aspen Comedy Festival and was the subject of an MTV documentary on life as a comedian. She is truly one of the funniest islands in the comedy stream.)
JONATHAN CORBETT (In addition to performing at the Montreal Comedy Festival, Mr. Corbett recently appeared on "Premium Blend". Try as you might, you won't be able to avoid falling in love with this dreamer.)
PRESCOTT TOLK (Mr. Tolk performs all over the city and country and is a regular at the world-famous "Comic Strip" here in NYC. If forced, he will indeed take his love to town.)
CLARA BIJL (Straight from France, the land of Romance--not to mention bread that carves up the roof of your mouth--it's Clara Bijl. She will undoubtedly decorate your life.)
And, the details:
PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, JANUARY 17th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison)
10:00pm
$5.00, FOLKS!
NOTE: It's been very crowded lately, so make sure you get there early, in order to ensure a seat!
Hope to see you there.
P.S. Yes, I know I'm shameless
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
FUTHER EVIDENCE THAT OUR SOCIETY WILL ONE DAY CRUMBLE AND FALL INTO THE SEA
A few days ago, I was having a semi-drunken conversation about the environment, and I happened to mention acid rain. A friend of mine, someone I consider a rather intelligent person, bellowed "Whoooooaaa, acid rain--there's a blast from the past!" Even more shocking, no one else at the table thought it a ridiculous thing to say. Now, as is often demonstrated on this very page, I'm not someone who fails to appreciate the value of Kitsch. Still, I find it unsettling that I have friends who store information about colossal dangers to the very existence of our planet in the same part of the brain usually reserved for Wang Chung song titles.
(Look, I know this entry isn't very entertaining. The well is a tad dry today, people--my apologies.)
A few days ago, I was having a semi-drunken conversation about the environment, and I happened to mention acid rain. A friend of mine, someone I consider a rather intelligent person, bellowed "Whoooooaaa, acid rain--there's a blast from the past!" Even more shocking, no one else at the table thought it a ridiculous thing to say. Now, as is often demonstrated on this very page, I'm not someone who fails to appreciate the value of Kitsch. Still, I find it unsettling that I have friends who store information about colossal dangers to the very existence of our planet in the same part of the brain usually reserved for Wang Chung song titles.
(Look, I know this entry isn't very entertaining. The well is a tad dry today, people--my apologies.)
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
MISSED OPPORTUNITIES
There's a party tonight for a television show I have a small part on, but it's just for the writers, crew and network people--no actors allowed. I think this is a grand policy, considring most parties consist entirely of actors. But I am a teensy bit bummed I wont be there, as there should be lots of hot production assistant ass in attendance. You see, we all have fetishes, and my major turn-on is a woman in a headset. Christ, is that hot! It gives a woman an air of authority--she's got things to arrange, bigwigs to placate, peons to belittle! And if she's also carrying a clipboard? Forget it, I'm in love. Sure, the women at this party won't actually be wearing headsets at the time, but that might even make it hotter--it'll be the night the production assistants let their hair down. Production Assistants Gone Wild!
I'm not so into roleplaying, but I'll know I've found my special someone when she suggests we play a hot little game of "Big Name Talent / Production Assistant". It will begin with me sitting in the 'green room', wearing a terrycloth robe, eating crudite and sipping mineral water (room temperature with no bubbles, as per my contract). Eventually, she will saunter in wearing a silk camisole, the requsite headset/clipboard combination and a thick belt, from which dangles a large set of keys.
"Mr. Finnegan, I think we're ready for you over here on the bed," she'll say.
There's a party tonight for a television show I have a small part on, but it's just for the writers, crew and network people--no actors allowed. I think this is a grand policy, considring most parties consist entirely of actors. But I am a teensy bit bummed I wont be there, as there should be lots of hot production assistant ass in attendance. You see, we all have fetishes, and my major turn-on is a woman in a headset. Christ, is that hot! It gives a woman an air of authority--she's got things to arrange, bigwigs to placate, peons to belittle! And if she's also carrying a clipboard? Forget it, I'm in love. Sure, the women at this party won't actually be wearing headsets at the time, but that might even make it hotter--it'll be the night the production assistants let their hair down. Production Assistants Gone Wild!
I'm not so into roleplaying, but I'll know I've found my special someone when she suggests we play a hot little game of "Big Name Talent / Production Assistant". It will begin with me sitting in the 'green room', wearing a terrycloth robe, eating crudite and sipping mineral water (room temperature with no bubbles, as per my contract). Eventually, she will saunter in wearing a silk camisole, the requsite headset/clipboard combination and a thick belt, from which dangles a large set of keys.
"Mr. Finnegan, I think we're ready for you over here on the bed," she'll say.
Monday, January 13, 2003
PLUG TIME!
My friends Anne and Sydney are, collectively, The Ukes of Hazard. They recently produced their first music video, which can by enjoyed here. It's goddamn funny and the production values rock. If you're not an anus, you will enjoy it.
My friends Anne and Sydney are, collectively, The Ukes of Hazard. They recently produced their first music video, which can by enjoyed here. It's goddamn funny and the production values rock. If you're not an anus, you will enjoy it.
Sunday, January 12, 2003
URINAL ETIQUETTE
Gentlemen, there is absolutely no reason to moan while you pee. Yeah, I know you really had to go. Yeah, I know it feels good. Yeah, I know. Stop moaning.
Also: If I don't know you, please don't start a conversation with me while we're both holding our dicks. Hell, even if I do know you. And if you are going to start a conversation with me while your dick is in your hand, please do not use your other hand to affably pat me on the back.
That's no good.
P.S. You can find these and other trenchant observations in my new book, "BREAKING THE SEAL: One Man's Adventures in Drunken Urination" (HarperCollins), available this Spring.
Gentlemen, there is absolutely no reason to moan while you pee. Yeah, I know you really had to go. Yeah, I know it feels good. Yeah, I know. Stop moaning.
Also: If I don't know you, please don't start a conversation with me while we're both holding our dicks. Hell, even if I do know you. And if you are going to start a conversation with me while your dick is in your hand, please do not use your other hand to affably pat me on the back.
That's no good.
P.S. You can find these and other trenchant observations in my new book, "BREAKING THE SEAL: One Man's Adventures in Drunken Urination" (HarperCollins), available this Spring.
Friday, January 10, 2003
WORST SONGS TO HAVE SEX TO, The Sequel
"Who's Johnny?" by DeBarge
"Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas
Theme song from "The Great Space Coaster"
"Love Plus One" by Haircut 100
"We Shall Overcome" (Trad.)
"Chicken Soup with Rice" by Carol King
"Me and a Gun" by Tori Amos
"The Monster Mash" by Bobby "Boris" Picket and the Crypt-Kickers
"Man in Motion (Theme from St. Elmo's Fire)" by John Parr
"Operation: Mindcrime" by Queensryche
"Darling Nikki" by Prince (simply because your performance will never live up to it)
"The South's Gonna Rise Again" (Trad.)
"Who's Johnny?" by DeBarge
"Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas
Theme song from "The Great Space Coaster"
"Love Plus One" by Haircut 100
"We Shall Overcome" (Trad.)
"Chicken Soup with Rice" by Carol King
"Me and a Gun" by Tori Amos
"The Monster Mash" by Bobby "Boris" Picket and the Crypt-Kickers
"Man in Motion (Theme from St. Elmo's Fire)" by John Parr
"Operation: Mindcrime" by Queensryche
"Darling Nikki" by Prince (simply because your performance will never live up to it)
"The South's Gonna Rise Again" (Trad.)
Thursday, January 09, 2003
THE HIGHS, THE LOWS
My professional comedy career has just taken an enormous hit. Later this month, I'm travelling down South to do three shows at some place called "The Funny Farm" for a rather puny amount of money. Why am I doing this, you ask? For the experience? Sure, I can always use more road gigs. Because I have nothing better to do that weekend? Well yeah, you got me there. But the real reason I was so excited to accept the gig was that I was scheduled to open for...
(drum roll, please)
...Mr. Dustin Diamond.
That's right, ladies and gentlemen--I was to be opening for Screech. I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to this. First off, I'm sure he draws big crowds, no doubt including dozens hot Gen X chicks on a nostalgia kick--in other words, my target demographic. Secondly, Screech has only been doing comedy for something like a year (apparently his "act" is comprised, largely, of "Saved by the Bell" anecdotes), so I probably would have come out looking like a pro. Secondly, a friend of mine did a show with him once and said that he's a genuinely nice guy, but a huge partier and an avid poontang enthusiast. I was really hoping to come back with a couple of good I-saw-Screech-snorting-blow-off-a-cocktail-waitress'-ass stories.
Alas, I got a call this morning and it appears that Screech has bailed. What the fuck does Screech have to do that he can't come out for a weekend and provide me with a few anecdotes? Stars, I tell you!
(Well...maybe notstars...but you know what I mean.)
And to think I was hoping for an introduction to Tiffani Amber Thiessen... Shattered dreams, shattered dreams.
My professional comedy career has just taken an enormous hit. Later this month, I'm travelling down South to do three shows at some place called "The Funny Farm" for a rather puny amount of money. Why am I doing this, you ask? For the experience? Sure, I can always use more road gigs. Because I have nothing better to do that weekend? Well yeah, you got me there. But the real reason I was so excited to accept the gig was that I was scheduled to open for...
(drum roll, please)
...Mr. Dustin Diamond.
That's right, ladies and gentlemen--I was to be opening for Screech. I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to this. First off, I'm sure he draws big crowds, no doubt including dozens hot Gen X chicks on a nostalgia kick--in other words, my target demographic. Secondly, Screech has only been doing comedy for something like a year (apparently his "act" is comprised, largely, of "Saved by the Bell" anecdotes), so I probably would have come out looking like a pro. Secondly, a friend of mine did a show with him once and said that he's a genuinely nice guy, but a huge partier and an avid poontang enthusiast. I was really hoping to come back with a couple of good I-saw-Screech-snorting-blow-off-a-cocktail-waitress'-ass stories.
Alas, I got a call this morning and it appears that Screech has bailed. What the fuck does Screech have to do that he can't come out for a weekend and provide me with a few anecdotes? Stars, I tell you!
(Well...maybe notstars...but you know what I mean.)
And to think I was hoping for an introduction to Tiffani Amber Thiessen... Shattered dreams, shattered dreams.
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