COME AND KNOCK ON OUR DOOR

You know, since he went off to the great Regal Beagle in the sky last week, John Ritter has been the subject of many a sanctimonious "Access Hollywood" tribute. I think that's just dandy, as I've always felt the dude was a grossly underrated physical comedian. But I just wanted to state, for the record, that I have been preaching the Gospel of Tripper for years now, even on this very page (see March 29th). Say what you want about the bad clothes and predictable plotlines of Three's Company, no one in TV history could do a backwards pratfall over a sofa quite like John Ritter. And please, don't give me that tired Lucille Ball shit--I'll take Jack Tripper getting hit in the face with the swinging kitchen door over that "classic" wine stomping scene any day.

An bizarre piece of Ritter-related intrigue: Like pretty much every other newspaper in the country, the New York Daily News publishes daily syndicated horoscopes, theirs written by "celebrity" astrologer Joyce Jillson. In addition to the usual short blurbs relating to each zodiacal sign, Ms. Jillson usually includes photos of a couple of celebrities who are celebrating birthdays that week. Each is accompanied by a short paragraph explaining how the particular star's sign relates to whatever piece of shit album, movie or TV show he's working on at the moment. In September 11th's edition of the Daily News, Ms. Jillson surmises that Moby's business acumen in licensing so many of his songs to advertising campaigns is a direct manifestation of his Virgo-ness. Fair enough, I suppose. The other celebrity featured on this particular day? That's right, Mr. John Ritter. No, I'm not joking.

It gets better. Get a load of this line: "Having a Virgo sun sign helps keep his career ticking". I will remind you that John Ritter died of...yes, a massive heart attack. Well done, Ms. Jillson.

Look, I know astrology isn't a perfect science. In fact, it's a not a science at all. And even if I did buy into that horseshit (I don't), I wouldn't expect that even the most gifted astrologer would be able to predict the exact day someone was going to die. But is it too much to ask that someone who purports to see the fucking future might have the ability to pick out one of the 364 days this year when John Ritter was not going to kick off? I mean, all she had to do was pick a celebrity who wasn't going to suffer a fatal heart attack a few hours before her column went to press. I'd like to think even I could avoid dropping the astrological ball like that, and I'm not exactly what you'd call the Delphic fucking Oracle.

All I can say is, if I were Moby I'd be shitting my pants right now.

Oh, and if there does turn out to a "heaven", I'd like to think John Ritter is up there, overhearing an innocent conversation between Ghandi and Joan of Arc and mistakenly placing it in a sexual context.

THIS SITE BLOWS

I just mistakenly deleted a semi-long post I was writing. I am very angry. It was kind of funny, I think.

God fucking damn it, I'm a moron.

I no longer have time write the whole damn thing again, as I have yet another commerical audition to underperform at.

Jesus H, man. This sucks dong.

For now, just enjoy this.

Shit fuck.

THIS IS A TEST

Apparetnly, Blogger is letting people upload photos now (you used to have to pay for that honor). Let's give it a try:



Success! This opens an entirely new timewasting vista!

DREAD INDUCING THOUGHT OF THE DAY

There comes a time when the desire to succeed is overcome by the fear of not succeeding as the prime motivating force in one's life.

Enjoy your Saturday!

100% PURE LOVE


Portable Comedy. Tonight. At the Gershwin Hotel.

You will be there.

My very talented guests and I will attempt to make you laugh.

No less than 50% of the time, you will comply enthusiastically. "Holy crap," you will say to yourself, "I can't believe how funny this show is! And for so little money! I am genuinely flabbergasted!!"

Of the remaining 50%, you will smile comfortably 25% of the time and think to yourself, "Hey, that was sorta funny, kinda."

Of the remaining 25%, you will smile not-so-comfortably 15% of the time and think, "Hmm. Not so funny. But I guess it's not my place to judge. I'm sure the next joke will be funnier."

Of the remaining 10%, you won't even be able to force a smile 5% of the time. You will think to yourself, "Okay, that just sucked. This guy's a dick. At least there's free vodka."

And of the remaining 5%, you will spend roughly 3% of that time plotting my demise. "Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhh," you will moan to yourself. "I would rather take a cheese grater to my face than spend one more minute having my ears assaulted with the inane buffoonery of this jackass host. I must murder Christian Finnegan. I must. Die. Die. Die."

You will spend the remaining 2% of tonight's show thinking about Scott Baio. Not sure why.

No matter how you slice it, though, you're in for a great night of comedy. So come on out and enjoy:

ED HELMS (He can be seen every weeknight as a correspondent on "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart")

JACKIE KASHIAN (She has her very own episode of "Comedy Central Presents" and will be seen this Monday on "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn")

JON FISCH (Recently chosen as one of Comedy Central's "Fresh Faces" and a finalist in last year CC "Laugh Riots" contest)

STEVE DAY (This well respected British comic and Edinburgh Festival alum is in America for one week only)

BRIAN KENNEDY (A regular at world-famous Carolines Comedy Club)

MATT GOLDICH (He plays all the great rooms in NYC, including "Eating It" at Luna Lounge, and was a semifinalist in Comedy Central's "Laugh Riots" contest)

BRENDAN GALIVAN (After a long tour of duty with Austrian death metal band, "Lungstabber", Brendan returns to the cozy confines of the Portable Comedy stage)

And, the pertinent info:

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)
10:00pm
$7.00

You should show up. Comedy is good for you.


Christian Finnegan,
dreamboat

F YEAH

At last check, yesterday's entry had 63 comments and counting. VICTORY IS MINE! I thank you, the TOH readership, for providing such a glorious glut of needless verbiage. Viva overkill! And to celebrate this wondrous feat, I present:

WHAT MY FAVORITE ALBUM SAYS ABOUT ME, Part VIII

STING "Sacred love" -- Sometimes the plight of the world's poor weighs so heavily on me, I just get in my SUV and drive, drive, drive.

JACK JOHNSON "On and On" -- Finally, artistic validation for my burnout, going-nowhere lifestyle!

IGGY & THE STOOGES "Raw Power" -- Hey, you kids! Get off of my countercultural lawn!

JOHNNY LANG "Lie to Me" -- I don't care what people say; Dan Ackroyd is still the funniest man alive.

JAMES TAYLOR "Sweet Baby James" -- Prepare yourself for a long night of cuddling and blueballs.

KINGS OF LEON "Youth and Young Manhood" -- I am the product of what happens when irony falls into the hands of the witless.

JOSH GROBAN "Josh Groban" -- Help! I'm trapped under a pile of PBS totebags!

SPIN DOCTORS "Pocket Full of Kryptonite" -- My investment banker husband has no idea that I once took on seven guys at a Sigma Epsilon kegger.

AMY GRANT "Legacy Hymns & Faith" -- My investment banker husband has no idea that I once took on seven guys backstage at an LA Guns concert, whacked out of my gourd on coke.

KENNY CHESNEY "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problems" -- Hope you enjoy my assortment of patriotic and/or sexual innuendo-laden bumper stickers.

BERNIE WILLIAMS "Journey Within" -- 1918!! (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap) 1918!! clap, clap, clap-clap-clap) 1918!! (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)

ASHANTI "Chapter II" -- I'm looking for a true "thug" to call my own--preferably one in sixth grade, like me.

THE MARS VOLTA "Deloused in the Comatorium" -- Sit down and I'll spend 40 minutes telling you what an intellectual I am.

MICHAEL BOLTON "Vintage" -- Yes, I like Michael Bolton. Yeah, I know: ha ha fucking ha. So sue me! What the hell business is it of yours what kind of music I listen to in my own goddamn home, anyway? I mean, christ, can't a guy just relax with a glass of white zin and enjoy a little soulful R&B crooning once in a while? You'd think I'd fucking killed somone...

ROCKAPELLA "In Concert" -- It's okay to be confused--even I'm not sure whether I'm gay or straight.

COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen: the comments are back. YACCS, the site that runs them had a major server meltdown last week, and things finally got back up and running yesterday evening. So how good is this new server, you ask? Let's find out. I would like each any every person who visits this site for the next 24 hours to leave a comment. It doesn't have to be witty or insightful. Hell, just mash your hand on the keyboard, if you want to (example: rnfbjipaehipab). I'm going for quantity, not quality. As far as I know, I've never had more than 25-ish entries on any one particular entry, and most of those were just my friend Todd Levin's readers writing to tell me what an asshole I am (for those of you who are new to TOH, it's a long story). Today, I'm aiming for fifty. Fifty comments, people! Think you can hack it?

Just in case you need a little inspiration, feel free to answer any of the following questions:

* Who's the person in your life most likely to punch you in the face?

* How much money would it take to convince you to perform cunnilingus on syndicated gossip columnist Liz Smith? Once. With no one knowing. But with the lights on.

* Coolest word in the English language? Other than 'jackanapes'?

* Of all of the Hanna Barbara cartoon characters, who'd be the best lay?

* Where do broken hearts go?

Remember, you don't need to answer any of these--they're just there to motivate you. The important thing is: comment, mo-fo! If only five people end up following through, I'm going to be rather embarrassed, so don't fuck me on this, yo.

HELLO IT'S ME

Earlier today I had yet another sure-to-be-unsuccessful commercial audition. One of the odd things about this process is how I invariably end up sitting in the waiting area with people I think I recognize. I'll walk in, make eye contact with someone I'm 100% sure I've met before--didn't I use to wait tables with that guy? Or was he in my Civil Liberties class at NYU? Or maybe he's a second cousin I haven't seen since I was 12. I definitely do know him, though--I'm sure of it. So I'll say something noncommittal, like "S'up, man", and throw him one of those little head bobs that we dudes are so fond of. In response, the guy will either awkwardly respond in kind or quickly pretend to be reading the paper. And it's at this moment that I realize that I don't receognize this guy because he's part of my everyday life, I recognize him because he's Beecher from "Oz".

This morning's audition was sort of a banner day for marginal celebrity watching. In addition to Beecher, the waiting room included the guy who played A.J.'s high school principal on "The Sopranos", a former member of "The State", the guy who played the Best Man that Sarah Jessica Parker had sex with on Sex and the City, and Britta Phillips, co-star of the 1988 Justine Bateman-Julia Roberts vehicle, Satisfaction and current bass player for Luna. "Daily Show" correspondent Mo Rocca was also there, but I don't count him becuase I've actually met him a bunch of times (I'm very important, you see). But Beecher is the only one I made the awkward head bob at. To his credit, he casually said "Hey," before pretending to make a phone call. He was much more laidback than former Gremlins star Zach Galligan was at last week's Verizon audition. He seemed to be making a distinct point of not making eye contact with anyone in the room. But then, if I went from starring in one of the most popular films of the 1980's to competing with a room full of nobodies for the honor of shilling wireless DSL, I'd probably want to keep a low profile, too.

The funny thing is, this marginal (and in this case there should be a word that's a whole lot stronger than "marginal") celebrity shit has actually been happening to me, lately. Yes, me--the guy who's barely done shit with his career and who, for the past two weeks, has spent every night lying awake in bed wondering how the holy fuck he's going to pay next month's rent. I get stopped on the street at least once a week because of that "Chappelle's Show" sketch I was on last year. And just like me at these commercial auditions, it takes these random people a solid 10 seconds before they decide that I am in fact not their upstairs neighbor, childhood classmate or ex-girlfriend's brother's co-worker. It's very odd. And how do I respond when someone looks at me with that tentative how-the-hell-do-I-know-this-guy expression? I toss them a casual head bob and then desperately pretend that I'm reading a newspaper. Smooooooth.

Mr. Demille, I'm ready for my marginal celebrity close-up. But in the meantime, can you loan me a few hundred bucks so I don't lose my cell phone service?

TAKING ACTION

I was walking through the East Village last week and I saw a young hipster wearing a t-shirt with the word "DEMILITARIZE!" across the front. Um...okay, I'll get right on that.

I wasn't exactly sure how to go about demilitarizing, but after a few days of silent contemplation, I knew I needed to make some changes. So from this day forward, I will no longer shop at Old Navy.

LIKE MAYA ANGELOU SAYS, I WILL RISE

Hello, friends. I'm writing to you from my new hard drive. It works very nicely, but then so did my last one (snif sniff). I want to write a bonafide TOH entry (I will write a eulogy for that damned drive sometime over the weekend), but I just got banging out my silly Portable Comedy promo Email and I'm too damned exhusted to be creative for one moment longer. So, it shall have to do for today. If you live in NYC, you should definitely consider coming out to the show tonight--it's gonna be a good 'un.

And with that...

IN SESSION

Greetings, friends. Tonight's installment of Portable Comedy is damn swell and, now that the Summer has officially come to an end, I am confident that you will choose to spend your Friday evening in the cozy bosom of the Gershwin Hotel.

But first, being that this is "back to school" week, I will now perform a dramatic transcription of character actor Mark Metcalf's opening soliloquy from Twisted Sister's seminal music video, "I Wanna Rock". Enjoy.
_________________________

(SCENE: A high school class room. Students are laughing, high-fiving, trading bawdy stories of fast cars and summer romance. They are embracing the very essence of life itself.)

SFX: Door slam

(The students immediately cease conversation and direct their attention to the door. The TEACHER enters, grinning devlishly. He surveys the scene.)

TEACHER: Hello, students. School has begun, the summer is over. I am in command.
(The students collectively groan)
What was that? For that little outburst, each and every one of you will spend three hours in detention, today, immediately after school, in the BASEMENT!!

(We see a particularly rotund young student. There is a text book on his desk, the cover of which has been decorated with an expertly rendered "TS" emblem. The teacher approaches, nearly overcome with rage.)

What do you think you're doing? Twisted Sis-ter?! What kind of a man desecrates a defenseless text book? I've got a good mind to slap your fat face! You are destroying your life with that...that...that GARBAGE! All right, Mister Sister, I want you to tell me -- no, better yet, stand up and tell the class...

(The portly student ambles to his feet)

WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO WITH YOUR LIFE?!!

(The cherubic young Twisted Sister fan gathers up his courage. This is the moment he's been waiting for his entire life.)

STUDENT (singing,): I WANNA ROCK!

(The boy instantly mutates into a freakishly tall 1970's-era Bette Midler drag impersonator.)

And...SCENE.
_______________


With that out of the way, let's check out tonight's fantastic PORTABLE COMEDY lineup:

CHRIS REGAN (Emmy award winning writer for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" alum)

TODD LEVIN (The man behind the oh-so-very-popular Tremble.com and a contributing writer for Jest Magazine)

DAN NEWBOWER (Former finalist in Comedy Central's "Laugh Riots" contest)

PEGGY O'BRIEN (Co-creator of "The Rules of Engagement", perhaps the greatest movie trailer parody of all time--go watch it at www.peggyandsteve.com!)

JUSTIN JAY (I used to know this guy simply as my former downstairs neighbor. Then, one day he starts in with this "I do comedy now" thing. And wouldn't you know it, he's funny as all heck. Seriously.)

PLUS...SOMEONE ELSE!!

And here are the details:

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)
10:00pm
$7.00

Show up and get schooled.


Christian Finnegan,
Professor of Comedy

SWING LOW, SWEET E-CHARIOT

Let's all take a moment of silence for my computer's hard drive, which was pronounced dead earlier this evening, after slipping into a coma this past weekend. A proper eulogy will be given sometime over the next couple of days, once my new hard drive has been installed. Until then, I'm going to try and not think about the fact that I've now lost every bit of writing I've done in the past three years (other than what has been posted on this blog, obviously). And please, no sanctimonious lectures about "backing up". I don't think my heart can bear it right now.

Anyway, sorry my entires have been sporadic over the past week or so. Once this shellshocked feeling wears off and I get back up and running, I'll re-dedicate myself to the glorious and poignant inanity that is Tower of Hubris.

THE CREEPIEST BLOG ENTRY EVER

First of all, 'big ups' to the various people who wrote me with advice on what to do with my asshole of a computer. Nothing has really helped, leading me to believe that I may have gotten myself into some major league Tekserve hell bullshit. And comments are still down, goddamn it. But I'm not going to deal with that right now. For the time being, I'm just going to sit here in front of my girlfriend's computer, pet her dog, and try to figure out how I'm going to explain to her why I decided to break through her living room window while she was at work, just so I could write a blog entry.

Okay, that's not true--I didn't break any windows. I jimmied the door.*

It's odd being in someone's apartment when he/she's not there. I always get this strange urge to pull some mischievous shit. Nothing evil, of course--just rearrange little things, leave notes in odd places, etc. I mean, I'm over here at Kambri's all the time, so it's not really so big a deal. But I have this strange urge to take all of her socks and put them in the refridgerator. Or replace the contents of her medicine cabinet with those of her spice rack. Or leave a beautiful cake on the coffee table, on which something cryptic is written in frosting, a la, "Happy Hunting, Merlin!" Just something harmless that would make a person stop and say, "Um...what the fuck?".

Now in case my girlfriend is reading this, I'm not saying I actually did anything like that, but you may want to stand back a few feet before lifting the toilet seat.


* Also not true. No need to call the cops.

PERHAPS CHICKEN LITTLE WAS ONTO SOMETHING

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

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

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

And now, as far as content goes:

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

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

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

Toodles.

THE EXPERTS AGREE

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

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

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

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

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

Join me and my fancy-schmancy guests:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, AUGUST 29th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)
10:00pm
$7.00

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


Christian Finnegan,
laborious promotional Emails since 1998

MORE POTENTIAL FIRST LINES FOR MY YET-TO-BE-WRITTEN NOVEL


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Call me Fuckface.

ONE DAY HIATUS

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

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

AMERICA'S LEAST SUCCESSFUL PROFESSIONAL SPORTS FRANCHISES, Part II

The Indiana Palsy

The Jacksonville Trilateral Commission

The San Jose Buttfuckers

The Dallas Pox

The Portland Fighting Boners

The Buffalo Olive Garden Patrons

The Oakland Grab-Ass

The Carolina Queef

The Nashville Fat Fucks

The Chapel Hill Bad Touchers

The Minnesota Spank Machine

The Cincinnati Bengals

TEST YOUR KNOWLEDGE!

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

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

PLUG IN

Dearest TOH readership,

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

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

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

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

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

CHELSEA PERETTI (Co-creator of the web sensations "RejectionLine.com" and "BlackPeopleLoveUs.com")

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

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

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

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

And here, my friends, are the details:

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, AUGUST 22nd
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)
10:00pm
$7.00

Come on out and feel the power.


Christian Finnegan,
atomic punk

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO...


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

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

Behold, the majesty of Quigley.

THE WORLD'S LEAST POPULAR NATIVE AMERICAN NAMES

Popping Zit

Throws Like Girl

Works Sexual Conquests into Conversation

Mayonnaise in His Beard

Five Inch

Gets Paper Stuck in Photocopier

Wakes with Bong Hit

Raging Bitch

Sobs While Drinking

Shaves Back

Broken Condom

Shows Up To Party Without Beer

Oscillating Desk Fan

Reads on Potty

Rising Bedsheet

Collects Star Wars Action Figures

Drops Trou

OUCHIE

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

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

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

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

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

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

LIGHT AND LIVELY

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

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

I just thought that worth mentioning.

ENERGY, I DECLARE THEE MINE ENEMY!

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

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

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

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

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

5) I begin drinking heavily.

6) Okay, more heavily.

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

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

QUICK BULLETIN

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

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

MIX TAPES REVISITED

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

Anyway, enjoy:

MESSAGE OF LOVE:
The Subtle Alchemy of Mix Taping

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SHORT MESSAGES TO A FEW PEOPLE WHO HAVE MADE RECENT SUBWAY RIDES OH-SO-DELIGHTFUL

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, it's that time again...

WHAT MY FAVORITE ALBUM SAYS ABOUT ME, Part VII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE MOTION OF THE OCEAN

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

PLAYING POLITICS


Dear Tower of Hubris constituents,

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

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

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

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

Come out and see:

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, the logisticalities:

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, AUGUST 8th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison ave)
10:00pm
$7.00

Come on out and keep hope alive!


Christian Finnegan,
incumbent in your hearts

INTERVIEWWW

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

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

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

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

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

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

Q: HOW DID YOU GET INTO COMEDY?

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

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

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


Q: WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TEN YEARS?

* Snorting coke off of Colin Farrell's dick.

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

* On your couch.


Q: HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR BRAND OF COMEDY?

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

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

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

Superstardom, here I come.

F#G{PEJ%)@_HJIHAUY$*)&)%_!!!

No time for hilarity today. But in the meantime:

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

A very simple, yet mesmerizing, optical illusion thingy.

A few worthwhile rules for living.

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

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

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BEER


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GET TO KNOW ME

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

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

A POP QUIZ

Premium Blend is:

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

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

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

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

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

JESSI KLEIN
RUSTY WARD
TOM McCAFFREY
and JAMES PATTERSON

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

BECKY DONAHUE (a "Premium Blend" alumnae)
ANTHONY DeVITO
and SUSANNAH PERELMAN

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

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, AUGUST 1st
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)
10:00pm
$7.00

Attendez-vous!


Christian Finnegan,
puppetmaster

DUH...

And now, the answer to the question that has gripped the TOH readership for almost 26 hours: Did I or did I not shave my head?

Well folks, the answer is a definitive..."sort of". I chickened out of going the whole shaving-cream-and-razor route. There are a couple of reasons for this: 1) I've done it before and I'm inevitably left with little nicks and cuts all over my head, which is none too attractive, and 2) my skull is very Linus-esque, with all sorts of strange lumps and contours--again, not too attractive. But yeah, it's pretty much all gone--it looks like I shaved it clean a couple of weeks ago and it's started to grow back in.

So now, if humanly possible, I look even more like a meathead than I usually do. I tell you, it's difficult being so unspeakably brilliant* whilst simultaneously looking so ungodly stupid**. Of course, it's this fear of people thinking I'm a moron that leads me to insert words like "whilst" into everyday conversation. I also tend to reference "smart people" shit in public (e.g., "The situation in Liberia reminds me slightly of Milton's Paradise Lost, in that blah blah blah blah blah..."), even though I spend most of my free time drinking warm beer and playing MLB Slugfest 2003.

So, if you happen to see some fuzzy-headed clod lumbering down the street self-consciously quoting Baudelaire, it just might be me.


* Yes, that's sarcasm
** Yes, that's the complete and utter truth

JANE'S UPDATE

Some of you may recall that, on July 13th, I devoted a number of paragraphs to my desperate fear that Strays, the new Jane's Addiction album, would suck donkey dick. If you have any interest in this sort of thing, you can scroll down and check out the entry titled "Summertime Rolls". Well, I have given the new album a number of listens and I can now declare that Strays is not terrible. There are even a few songs I would call "really great". But is it the life-altering aural experience I was hoping for (despite knowing it couldn't possibly be)? No. It's just a pretty good rock record. Dave Navarro is one of my two or three favorite guitar players in the world, Stephen Perkins' drumming is predictably stellar and, for a guy in his early 40s, Perry Farrell still sounds gloriously shrill. But Eric Avery is definitely missed. The new bass player dude is perfectly functional, but he sounds like your cookie-cutter studio bass player--capable as all hell, but lacking any distinct flair. There is one song, "Superhero", that is embarassingly bad and I'm worried it will get released as a single. But all in all, it's pretty okay--I'd give it a B-.

The main problem with the album, as I see it, is that it's lacking the element that made Jane's so special to begin with: drama. There are moments during a couple of the songs ("To Match the Sun", "The Price I Pay" and the title track, specifically) that flirt with the breadth and grandeur of "Three Days" and "Ted, Just Admit It", but they all stop well short of being genuinely transcendant. In a nutshell, nothing sounds particularly dangerous about Strays. I realize that we live in a different musical landscape now, and that we, as a culture, have been "shocked" into a state of sarcastic apathy. So expecting an album to feel genuinely "dangerous" is probably way too much to ask. Nevertheless, that's what I was hoping for.

In other news, I'm seriously considering shaving my head this afternoon.

Oh, and it appears that I have plans for Thursday night.

IT'S SO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE TO YESTERDAY

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm kind of disraught today. As I'm sure you've heard by now, Liza Minelli and David Gest are separating. Even typing those words get me choked up. I mean, if these two lovebirds can't make it, what chance do any of us have? Who could have known this marriage wasn't going to last--after all, you don't have Michael Jackson serve as your best man unless you know you've found your soulmate.

Shit, I can't even think about this anymore. I'm going to go down some valium and watch Liza and David's Larry King interview (I burned it ontoi a DVD). You know, to remind me of the days when the world made sense.

Tip your 40oz in fond remembrance, dawgs.

PEOPLE ARE TALKING!

The great press for Portable Comedy at the Gershwin Hotel keeps rolling in! Check it out:

"Portable Comedy is so funny, it makes my jaw drop. Of course, my jaw is always kinda dropped, being that I'm a huge mouthbreather. But still, Portable Comedy rules."
--Ben Affleck

"We now acknowledge that the President's assertion in his State of the Union address that Saddam Hussein was attempting to negotiate a spot for himself on the Portable Comedy line-up was in fact erroneous. It was my responsibility to verify this information based on our intelligence and advise the President accordingly. I hold myself completely accountable for this lapse in communication."
--CIA Director George Tenet

"When America, the great whore mother of all that is unholy, rains waves of infidel comedy upon the Gershwin Hotel, the rivers will rise with the blood and maggots will chew through the hearts of all nonbelievers."
--Pat O'Brien, "Access Hollywood"

"Help! My apartment is on fire! I can't get out! Please, someone call the fire department! Help! For the love of christ, please help me!"
--my upstairs neighbor

"Hey, can you do me a favor and make an announcement at the beginning of your show? Tell the audience they're not allowed to use the bathroom to go Number Two. Last week, somebody left it all stinky and I had to clean it up. I can't be having that."
--Daryll, the Gershwin Hotel custodian

But don't just believe the hype--come see for yourself! Join me tonight, with my guests:

DAN CRONIN (He's appeared on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend", people)

KRISTIN SCHAAL (She was featured on Comedy Central's "Project Searchlight")

JESSE JOYCE (National touring comic and head writer for JokeVision TV)

DAN ALLEN (As seen at Carolines and The Comic Strip)

ROBERT COHEN (Former host of the beloved "Shecky Eichmann Show")

STEVE IBACH (Regular at the Upright Citizens Brigade theatre)

DANNY LIEBERT (Author of the nationally syndicated column, "No Love, No Nothin'" and contributer to "Mirth of a Nation: Best American Humor" anthology)

And, the specifics:

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, JULY 25th
THE GERSHWIN HOTEL
7 EAST 27th STREET
(b. 5th and Madison Ave.)
10:00pm
$7.00

Be there or be square.


Christian Finnegan,
loved in Belgium

BATCH O' LINKS

The following links were provided to me by Mr. John Batchley. Thank/blame him.

My favorite pastime.

My 2nd favorite pastime.

My idol.

My idol's idol.

And finally, for you marijuana smokers out there.

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST STARING AT HIS COMPUTER SCREEN

Look, I don't know what to tell you people. I'm dry as a damned bone today. Nothing even remotely funny to say. Seriously, even if I go over today's news, nothing piques my once-scintillating wit. For now, I can only suggest what funny jokes might sound like, a la:

Uday and Qusay Hussein are dead? Insert funny "Uday will be trimming his George Michael beard in Hell" joke.

Knicks trade Latrell Spreewell? Insert funny "crippling blow to NYC area cornrow industry" joke.

White House official apologizes for African uranium flap? Insert funny "Bush probably can't locate Africans in Africa, much less uranium" joke.

Army Pfc. Jessica Lynch finally returns home? Insert funny "local men will now consider making drunken passes at her at the local TGI Fridays an act of patriotism" joke.

Mortars shatter Liberian ceasefire? Insert funny "Um....well...there's really absolutely nothing funny about the situation in Liberia" joke.

The J. Lo & Ben Affleck interview helps NBC's "Dateline" win weekly ratings battle? Insert funny "networks now scrambling to cater to lucrative big-ass/mouthbreather demographic" joke.

Bad Boys II topping the box office? Insert funny "America is a disgusting cesspool of vigorous mediocrity and should sink to the bottom of the sea" joke.

See? I got nothing.

MARGINALIA

Christ, I am very glad to be home. Last night, I went to bed before midnight for the first time in perhaps five years. After a solid nine hours of sleep, I went out to audition for a Budweiser commercial. As is often the case, they were looking for a "Jack Black type". The commericals I get called in for tend to break down into two categories: "Jack Black type" and "Drew Carey type". The Jack Black auditions usually call for someone pudgy and off-the-wall, while the Drew Carey spots call for someone pudgy and awkward. I've never booked either kind.

Speaking of Drew Carey, he was up in Montreal and factored into one of the more surreal moments of the entire festival. I was eating dinner at Moishe's Steakhouse (filet mignon, mofos!) with a bunch of people I barely knew, when Mr. Carey walked in with the most ridiculous looking "porn babe" you've ever seen--she made Pamela Anderson look earthy and understated. Anyway, the two of them walked into the middle of the dining room, and Drew scanned the room to see who was on hand--this particular steakhouse is something of a festival hangout, you see. Once he was confident everyone had noticed his arrival, he began vigorously making out with (and basically dry humping) his surgically enhanced girlfriend. A couple of the people at my table rolled their eyes and told me he "always does that". Very bizarre.

I guess it makes sense, though. By and large, stand up comics are not the sexiest crew. I imagine Drew Carey probably didn't spend his teenage years knee deep in poontang. So now that he's famous, I guess he's determined to make up for lost time--and perhaps more importanly, to let the world know he's making up for it. God's speed, Drew.

P.S. Thanks to "H" for not posting anything evil on my site yesterday. I will never again forget to sign out of Blogger whilst using a hotel computer. Gracias.

word of advice from one blogger to another remember to log off when you use the hotel computer. hehe

FEELING FESTIVE

So Montreal has been tres, tres bien (see what I just did there with that "tres bien" thing? You know, because they speak French here? I am a genius.). I had my first "New Faces" show on Thursday evening and it went rather well, if I do say so myself. Not the set of my life by any means, and no one's lining up to pay me millions of dollars to develop a new sitcom called "Life With Finnegan", but it certainly didn't go poorly. Tonight, I have my final show and I'm pretty jazzed for it. Afterwards, I will drink a great deal and make semi-awkward chitchat until 4:30am, at which point I will head to the airport for my 6:45am flight home. Let`s hope the person sitting next to me doesn't have too delicate a sense of smell.

Everyone here keeps kvetching about the festival--how it`s gone downhill in the past few years, how it's not as cool as it used to be, etc. That is so very typical of my life. I always seem to get involved with things at the precise moment when people begin trying to throw dirt on them. It makes me feel as if I'm eternally locked into the first post-Belushi cast of SNL. Just call me Denny Dillon. On the other hand, though, I'm reasonably confident that those glory days everyone here seems to be waxing nostalgiac over never truly existed. It just seemed great at the time, because it was all so new to them. For instance, I'm having a fantastic time here at the festival--there's certainly a lot of awkward down time and cringe-inducing schmoozing going on, but all in all it's a great deal of fun. But if I were to start making the trek up here every year, I'm sure the novelty of the situation would wear off rather quickly and I'd start telling anyone who'd listen how much better the scene was sooooo much cooler back in 2003. That's what I'm telling myself at least.

Anyway, I guess that's all I have to say for the time being. The best line I heard last night was probably delivered by Otis Lee Crenshaw (aka Rich Hall), who said:

"There's only one surefire way to figure out who's rich and who's poor: If your name is on the front of the building where you work, you're rich. If you're name is on your desk, you're middle class. If your name is on your shirt, you're fucking poor."

Be back in NYC tomorrow, winners.

L'UPDATE

So far, Montreal rules. I've got one show under my belt so far and it went swimmingly. The truly important ones, however, are tonight and Saturday. I am reasonably confident about how things are going to go--at least, I'm as confident as my internal "dude, you're fucked" voice will allow me to be. It's been fun hobknobbing with the heavy hitters. I keep expecting someone to stand up in the middle of brunch (yes, I "brunched" this morning) and call me out for the fraud I am. J'ACCUSE!!!

I've seen a lot of stand up already and I'll probably see hours more by the time the weekend is over. But the joke that made me laugh the hardest so far is one this guy told me at a bar last night. I now pass it on to you:

A pirate walks into a bar. He has a steering weel attached to his crotch. The bartender asks "Why do you have a steering wheel attached to your crotch?" And the pirate says, "Aaarrrggh! It's drivin' me nuts!"

I laughed at that for an uncomfortably long time. I am a buffoon.

NON, JE NE REGRETTE RIEN


Alright peoples, here's the skinny: In about five hours, I'll be heading off to beautiful Montreal, where I'll be performing in the genuinely prestigious "Just For Laughs" comedy festival.

I'm really, really excited. Not just for the festival, mind you--I'm excited by the possibility of getting stopped by Customs. You see, I plan on packing my suitcase with a bunch of random weird shit. That way, when the Customs Officer unpacks my bag, wackiness (and possible detainment) will ensue. Items I plan on packing:

Chinese finger cuffs
Entire Rick Astley CD catalogue
12 bottles of Flinestones vitamins
Ant Farm
Afro wig
Children's xylophone
Glossy photo of Ed Asner
Atari 2600
Peach cobbler wrapped in foil
Dead bird wrapped in foil
Mascara
Pierre Trudeau bobblehead doll
"According to Jim" Underoos
Cucumber, baby oil

This is going to be the best trip ever!

I'm not 100% sure what my online capabilities will be up in the Great White North, but I will do my best to check in. Toodles!

AN EPIC RELEASE, INDEED...

Ladies, I don't want to hear you complaining that there are no eligible men left in the world.

I'm thinking he's probably really into cuddling.

SUMMERTIME ROLLS

Warning: Unfunny, music-related rambling to follow

There are probably lots of bands I listen to more often, but there's no band closer to my heart than Jane's Addiction. I've argued in many a drunken music-related debate that the so-called "alternative music" explosion of the 1990's began not with Nirvana's Nevermind, as is the conventional wisdom, but with Jane's Addiction's Nothing's Shocking in 1988. It may not have sold millions of albums, but I really do think you can point to that album as the birth of non-macho (or anti-macho, even) hard rock. It didn't fit neatly into any one genre--the guitars were way too aggressive to be considered "college rock" (a la R.E.M.), and the lyrics were way too creepy (read: bisexual) for most metalheads. And yet, the album secured beachheads on each front--"Mountain Song" was probably the first video MTV ever put into rotation on both "120 Minutes" and "Headbanger's Ball".

From there, bands like Soundgarden and Alice in Chains started to sell a few records and get a little mainstream attention. I remember that "Headbanger's Ball" began airing something called the "Frenetic Fringe", where they'd air 15 minutes of videos deemed too challenging for the average Winger and/or Bullet Boys fan. As a result, major labels began signing bands they wouldn't have looked twice at four years earlier, which brings us to Nirvana, Pearl Jam, etcetera and so forth. Indie purists don't like to admit it, but it's quite likely that the alternative rock explosion would never have occurred if Nevermind, like Nothing's Shocking, wasn't released (and pushed) by a major label. Anyway, I've never felt like Jane's Addiction has received its due--most rock fans remember them solely for "Been Caught Stealing", which is kind of sad. But make no mistake: Nothing's Shocking is absolutely one of the five most important albums of the last 20 years and should be owned by anyone who considers him/herself a fan of rock music. Strident enough for you?

On a personal level, I consider "Nothing's Shocking" to be the album that ushered me into maturity, in terms of my listening habits. For most of my early teenage years, I was into some really embarassing metal shit (yes, I owned not one, but two Dokken albums). I mean, I watched MTV and listened to the radio constantly, so I was abreast of pretty much everything that was popular at the time, but cheese metal was definitely what I actually went out and spent my money on. The thing was, heavy metal was never a comfortable fit for me, philosophically. All of the songs were about getting into fights (I tended to bawl uncontrollably when faced with the prospect of physical violence), getting wasted (I didn't drink until I was just shy of my 21st birthday) and getting laid (Um, you get the idea). Plus, I passionately hated all the people around me--and while disdain for parents, teachers, and unfaithful girlfriends factors heavily in hard rock lyrics, genuine misanthropy isn't really in lockstep with the glam metal ethos.

Now, I'm not saying the hippy/serial-killer/junkie/homo lifestyle seemingly espoused on Nothing's Shocking felt any more like the "real" me, but at the very least, it was undeniably different. There was just something beautifully unsettling about the way it made me feel about myself and the people around me--I felt like I was "in" on some sort of subcultural uprising. From that jumping off point, I started to get into stuff like The Smiths and The Cure, bands I'd always rejected due primarily to the fact that none of their very cute female fans would ever talk to me in high school. From there, I got really into David Bowie, Elvis Costello, The Beatles and pretty much everything else I love in this world. So I thank christ for Jane's Addiction--otherwise, I might still have Poison's "Open Up and Say...Ahhh! in heavy rotation.

Jane's Addiction was also the first non-arena rock show I ever attended, and I still consider it one of the greatest nights of my life. Previous to that, I'd go to places like the Worcester Centrum and the Providence Civic Center to see all my favorite bands: Whitesnake (yep), Def Leppard (twice!), and David Lee Roth (I stand by this one to this day). When Jane's Addiction came to town in the Spring of 1990, a few months before Ritual de lo Habitual was released, they were boycotting the city of Boston due to it's typically puritanical requirement that all music venues have seats. Therefore, they were playing in an empty hockey rink in the middle of the suburbs, which seemed indescribably cool to me. I was in my very first "mosh pit" that night, and even typing those words fills me with a strange mix of embarrassment, pride, bitterness and nostalgia. I know it seems odd now, when you see footage of jocks beating the shit out of eachother at a Linkin Park concert, but there was a time when moshing (or "slamdancing", or whatever dated terminology you want to use) felt fresh and spontaneous and, in a weird way, beautiful. I'd never in my life felt so in love with a band, or with the people around me--we were all part of something, motherfucker! Afterwards, walking toward the exit with my friend, I felt as happy as I ever have in my life. It was at this moment that I bumped into a girl who at one had lived down the street from me. She called over to me, "Hey Christian, I didn't know you were a Jane's Addict!"

Yes. She said "Jane's Addict". In one short sentence, she pretty much ruined the entire experience for me. These people were no longer my comrades in a crusade against musical and cultural hegemony--they were a group of pathetic, trendhopping "Jane's Addicts". It took me a long time to get over that one.

So why all this talk of Jane's Addiction, you ask? Well, the band is releasing it's first album of new material (I don't count that Kettle Whistle bullshit) a week from Tuesday, and I'm terribly frightened it's going to suck. Please don't let it suck. Pretty please? Anything any of you could to to ensure this album not sucking would be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance for your help on this.

SO ADDICTIVE

Ladies and gents, your wait is over.

After taking last week off for Independence Day, Portable Comedy is back tonight with yet another smattering NYC's best comedians.

So what makes this week's show different? For tonight and tonight only, each comic will be performing under the influence of hardcore narcotics. That's right folks--real comedians, real drug problems.

Here's the lineup, thrillseekers:

Special Guest Host: LIAM McENEANEY (Liam has appeared on Comedy Central
s "Premium Blend" and is combating a seven year smack habit.)

BOB POWERS (This creator of the web sensation "www.girlsarepretty.com" once snorted lines of cocaine off of James Caan's buttocks)

JESSE JOYCE (This nationally recognized touring comic just recently returned from a sold-out door of the Thailand's opium dens)

SUSAN PREKEL (Next week, she heads off to the prestigious "Just For Laughs" festival in Montreal. Assuming, of course, she awakens from her Crank-induced coma.)

MOODY McCARTHY (He appeared on "Star Search" this past Spring, and a few short months later, he appeared in front of a judge after being busted with 2 grams of "China Blue" up his keister.)

RACHEL FEINSTEIN (She's great with characters and voices--too bad none of those voices seem to be able to convince her to kick Crystal Meth.)

NOAM and MARY (They're the first husband & wife team in the history of Portable Comedy. Come out and help them celebrate their fourth full week on Methadone!)

And me, CHRISTIAN FINNEGAN (I'll just be doing a regular ol' spot tonight. And, um...I do lots of drugs, or something.)

And the details, you ask?

PORTABLE COMEDY
FRIDAY, JULY 11th
The Gershwin Hotel
7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison)
10:00pm
$7.00

Come on out and revel in our drug-addled hilarity!


Christian Finnegan,
your friend on the inside

HOLY LACKLUSTER SELF-PROMOTION!

At long last, I've finally updated my calendar. Check it out, if you're feeling so inclined.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE CLASSIEST TOWER OF HUBRIS ENTRY OF ALL TIME

New Slang Terms for Testicles:

Party Favors

Superfriends

The Ol' Harrison Fords

Los Danglitos

Sperm Caddies

KC and Jojo

The Starter Kit

Fantabulous Mr. Magic and his Wondertastic Life Partner, Jeff

The Baldwin Brothers

Les Nuttes

PURE SHITE!


We're in Boston now. Whilst riding the mass transit system (the "T", as they call it here), a wierd middle eastern dude with scabs all over his arms started ogling my girlfriend. It felt just like we were back in NYC. Wonderful.

That's all I have to say for now. How pathetic is that? We're actually at my uncle's house and we have a full day ahead of us, culminating in my gig at the Charles Hotel in Cambridge (that's a very swanky place, for all you philistines out there). But I did want to take a brief moment out of my day to say hello to you, the TOH viewing public. I thank you for your unwavering readership...well, maybe slightly wavering.

Okay, I'll admit it--I have absolutely nothing of value to say this afternoon. So sue me. As penance, I will now list a few of the various nicknames I have been given over the years:

Christian Fuckegan
Christian Faggegan
Finnefuck
Finnedude
Finnedouche
Finnebago
Christian Flamergan
The Finn
Finnthrax
Asshole

See you tomorrow, winners!

QUOTH MORRISSEY, "HAS THE WORLD CHANGED, OR HAVE I CHANGED?"

So, the Chinatown bus thing went off relatively without a hitch and I am now nestled in the suburban (or should I say sub-suburban) splendor of Acton, MA, where I spent the majority of my childhood. So far we (I have the lovely Ms. Kambri in tow) have done little more than eat, drink, and stare deep into the void of our own existential insignificance--Acton is good for that sort of thing. A while ago we took my dad's car out and we did a cheesy little "this is your life" mini-tour. We passed by my childhood home, my former Junior High school, the local hotspot known as the Acton Bowladrome, and the very stretch of pavement where my childhood friend Xavier Farragut once took a crap in the middle of the street.

I've made hating my hometown into something of a hobby over the years. Driving around, I wanted Kambri to see for herself that I was raised in the absolute cultural armpit of society. But much to my complete horror, I now have to admit that it's kind of a cute place--nice houses, well-manicured lawns, relatively friendly folk. In short, it's the perfect place to raise a family, if that kind of thing is your bag. So does this mean that the town has undergone some sort of massive transformation? Or have I suddenly become...old? Am I becoming the kind of horrid mediocrity-loving fuckwad who would find a cultural diaper pail like Acton, Massachusetts "quaint"? Sweet Jesus, don't let it be true! I will not go quietly into that fannypack-clad night!!

Wait a second, here--this is crazy talk. Of course this town sucks! It's all a ruse, man! Yeah! How dare Acton, Massachusetts disguise its truly vile nature with a upper middle class veneer of happiness and bonhomie! This place is a miserable hellhole and I'm going to prove it by spending the next three hours sipping a glass of iced tea by the pool!

That'll show 'em.

FANTASTIC VOYAGE

I'm about to get on a bus that goes from New York's Chinatown to Boston's Chinatown for a measely $10. This may be the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life. I will file my report this evening.

FIREWORKS REDUX

Today is the 4th of July. No seriously, don't check you calendar--it's true! So I spent a few minutes earlier today writing about my utter disinterest in firework displays, but then I thought to myself "Wait, haven't I written about this before?" I checked my archives and, lo and behold, there it was. This is actually the 4th or 5th time I've thought "Have I written this before?", but this is the first time my suspicions were confirmed. When you do this blog thing (nearly) every day, you lose track of all the nonsense you're casting into the void.

So now, a dilemma: do I just trash what I was working on and write something else? Well, no. It's already nearly 7pm, and I'd like to post something--I've been taking far too many days off lately and I need to cut that shit out if I want to hold on to my precious 179 hits a day (jealous much?). I could just post what I've been writing, but it's pretty much exactly what i wrote last year, with a few typos and tense changes thrown in--I've been drinking Maker's Mark and Mountain Dew all afternoon, you see. So, after a bit of internal debate, I've decided to simply re-post the same anti-fireworks rant I posted last year. Hell, I'm thinking 95% os you never read it the first time around, and the other 5% didn't exactly commit it to memory. I know it's kind of lame, and I apologize--just think of this as a TOH "clip show", like they used to do on "Happy Days", "Facts of Life", etc.

Anyway, enjoy:
____________________

Can we all just admit that fireworks suck? Every 4th of July, it amazes me how many of my cynical (read: sensible) friends pretend to be impressed by some cheesedick fireworks display. Honestly, when's the last time you found yourself saying "I've never seen that before"? Let's see: there are the ones that explode into a circle, the ones that that look like a pin cushion, and the ones that cascade down like a spider plant. In the words of former New Jersey Net Derrick Coleman, whoop de damn do. Still, everyone stands around with their necks craned skyward, occasionally ooooooo-ing like halfwits. Eventually, the reverent moaning dies out (save a moron or two) and the bitter smell of disappointment begins to waft through the crowd--people start looking at their watches and trying to remember where they parked. Then comes the most annoying part, the four minute period where everyone debates as to whether the show is or isn't over. "Is that the end? Yeah, I think that big one was the last--no, wait. Ok, now it's over...I think...coming up...this looks like it. No. Wait. Was that it? I think that's...nope, still going." Afterwards, everyone claims to have been awed by the fireworks, but that last year's were a little better.

Here's the ugly truth, people: last year's fireworks sucked. And next year's? Totally going to suck.

Please, don't be upset--you'll thank me later.

I HOLD THIS TRUTH TO BE SELF-EVIDENT

Tomorrow is July 4th, and it's got me wondering: did the signers of the Declaration of Independence think John Hancock was a dick? Because I know if I was asked to sign some incredibly important historical document and some jackass decided to take up half the page with a humongous hey-check-me-out signature, I'd be pretty peeved.

And as is so often the case, Hancock has been rewarded for his doucheplay. After all, we've heard of him, have we not? Hell, the 2nd tallest building in the city of Boston is named after the guy. And can you honestly name any other thing he accomplished other than taking up precious DOI square inch-age? What about the other signers? Where's Francis Hopkinson's name recognition? When are they going to break ground on Carter Braxton's skyscraper? And for the love of god, what about Elbridge Freakin' Berry?!!!

(Yes, I did have to do a Google search for those names. But that just proves my point, motherfuckers!)

Anyway, the facts are in and I'm rendering my verdict: John Hancock? Huuuuuuge dick.

MOVE IT ON OVER


A former co-worker of mine asked me to help him move this weekend. That, in itself, was not such an annoying request. It was the Tom Sawyer-ly way in which he phrased it:

HIM: Yeah, man. You should swing by on Saturday. I'm having this barbecue-slash-moving-party thing. It's gonna be sweet. Good food, crack open some beers, throw some boxes in a van--you should totally come.

ME: Um...who's going to be there?

HIM: So far, just me, you and probably Darren. But I have calls out to some other people.

And then, a bit later in the conversation...

ME: Where are you moving?

HIM: I'm moving in with Darren.

ME: Um, doesn't Darren live in a fifth floor walk-up?

HIM: Well...yeah. ....but the flights are really small!

It was at this point that I had to break the news to my friend that he and I don't have a "Five Floor Friendship". I mean, five floors implies a certain degree of closeness, does it not? I explained to him that he should think of me as more of a "Stand With the Van" kind of friend. After all, there are only a few times in my life that I've agreed to help haul someone's shit up more than two floors, and in each circumstance, the person being assisted had breasts and a vagina.

A woman can always get a couple of guy friends to help her move--the draftees usually consist of a lingering ex-boyfriend and some hopelessly lovestruck "platonic" friend from her poetry class, both of whom think that they're going to worm their way into the girl's heart (and pants) by lugging 46 boxes of Gabriel Garcia Marquez books and Ani DiFranco CDs up seven flights of stairs. They are misguided.

Guys, on the other hand, are up shit's creek when it comes to getting their shitty furniture from one apartment to another--unless, of course, they can bribe their friends with obscene amounts of pizza, beer and/or weed. Usually, though, it's just a guy sitting the front seat of a van, awkwardly squeezed in between two overweight Ukrainian dudes.

Or is that just me?

Another reason it sucks to help people move is that they're never fucking done packing when you get there--they always end up just throwing all their shit into milk crates and garbage bags while you get stuck trying to get the goddamn armoir through the front door.

I think the reason it takes people so long to pack is that they never factor in for "nostalgia time". Because when you're packing stuff into boxes, you end up going through everything single thing you own--every letter, every yearbook, every blurry snapshot of your bitchin' trip to Mardi Gras. So you're trying to get work done, but you find yourself saying things like "Oh, I'm gonna pack those books...just as soon as I read my 3rd grade book report on Superfudge." Or, "I'll get to disconnecting the stereo...right after I listen to my junior high chorus singing 'Careless Whisper' one more time."

Hey, now that I think about it, where the hell is that cassette...