ROLL FOR DAMAGE
I'm not sure how many of you know this, but last week marked the 30th anniversary of Dungeons & Dragons. That's right, 30--which, incidentally, is the age at which most D&D players lose their virginity. But seriously, it's hard not to feel a tad nostalgiac. If you were a suburban teenager in the 1980's chances are you have, at some point, sat in some kid's basement with the "Monster Manual" (or "Fiend Folio", if you were more advanced) and a pad of graph paper, weilding an imaginary broadsword with one hand and a far-more-real bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in the other. Of course, the fascination for most of us lasted only a brief time--I think I lost interest after about six weeks. But for some, like my older brother (Hi, John!), D&D was less a passing trend and more an all-encompassing way of life. It seems like only yesterday that the living room of my house was filled every Friday night with my older brother's ragtag collection of greasy-haired, scoliosis-wracked, B.O.-laden friends, fighting over who was weilding whatever fucking amulet or how much damage a +3 mace would do against a neutral evil Drow Elf wearing ringmail. Ah, memories.
Anyway, there's no debating that 30 years is something of an accomplishment for a game that consists of kids sitting around a table and pretending to do shit. I plan on celebrating by coming back to my hotel after tonight's gig, buying a six-pack of Lonely Inebriation potions, using my Wand of Remote Control to flip channels and treating my penis like a melee weapon.
Happy aniversary, Dungeons & Dragons! We raise up a flagon of mead in your honor.
Monday, October 25, 2004
HERE IS SOMETHING!
Alright, enough of this non-posting shit--I'm back...and as marginally funny as ever!
Rather than try and think of some grand p[ost that would somehow make up for the fact that I haven;t written shit lately, I'm just going to type for a while and that will hopefully get me on a roll for the week. I'm probably going to have a good bit of downtime this week, so I plan on posting something every damn day, even if it's nothing funny. Anyway, where do I start...
In a few hours, I'll be headed to Los Angeles. This will be second of three trips to California I'm taking over the course of three weeks. I'm doing a little mini-tour of West Coast colleges, sponsored by FHM Magazine. I still have very high hopes for the three gigs I have this week and the one or two more I have in the weeks following. But the first one, last Tuesday at Cal State San Marcos, was...well, very odd. Cal State San Marcos is a very tiny school that was founded less than a decade ago, and less than 10% of the students live on campus. Already, that didn't bode well for a huge turnout. But then, the clincher: it was pouring rain. Now I know what you're thinking: So what? A little rain never hurt anyone! Well, someone should spread the word to Southern California, because in the greater San Diego area, you would have thought this light drizzle was a biblical plague of locusts. I've actually written on this subject before, the LAST time I did a college gig in Southern California.
The upshot is, in a performance space that was designed to seat 250 people, a mere 30-35 students actually showed the fuck up. Behold, the mighty drawing power of Christian Finnegan! Oh, but wait--it gets better: the "performance space" I speak of? It was a lecture hall. Yes, a lecture hall. Now you're probably thinking, "Surely he doesn't mean, like, a classroom!" Yes, I mean that I performed a full show in a fully lit classroom, standing in front of a projection screen, playing to a smattering of kids in tiered seats with mini-desks attached. It was a truly bizarre aligning of the shitty-gig planets.
Strange thing is, I actually had a lot of fun. The situation was so surreal, I couldn't even be bummed by it. and this kids who DID show up were a pretty cool group and I ended up doing a full hour and ten minutes, which is probably the longest set I've ever done, and there was still a good bit of material I never got to. I guess you could call that a "moral victory", right? That said, I sincerely hope that this week's shows won't fall into the same category--I've had enough character-building experiences to last a fucking lifetime. I'm not even going to TELL you about the horrifying gig I did two days later, at the Columbia University Computer Science Department 25th Anniversary Banquet (no, I'm not kidding). Tonight, I'm at Cal State Long Beach, tomorrow I'm at USC and on Thursday, I head upstate to Cal State Fresno. I've been told that one of the shows (I can't remember which) is going to be taking place in a 1300 seat theatre, so I have reasonably high hopes. We shall see.
Alright, I'm going to get some shut-eye before I drag my ass to JFK. I'll have my brand-spanking-new laptop with me, so I'll be posting from sunny California.
Alright, enough of this non-posting shit--I'm back...and as marginally funny as ever!
Rather than try and think of some grand p[ost that would somehow make up for the fact that I haven;t written shit lately, I'm just going to type for a while and that will hopefully get me on a roll for the week. I'm probably going to have a good bit of downtime this week, so I plan on posting something every damn day, even if it's nothing funny. Anyway, where do I start...
In a few hours, I'll be headed to Los Angeles. This will be second of three trips to California I'm taking over the course of three weeks. I'm doing a little mini-tour of West Coast colleges, sponsored by FHM Magazine. I still have very high hopes for the three gigs I have this week and the one or two more I have in the weeks following. But the first one, last Tuesday at Cal State San Marcos, was...well, very odd. Cal State San Marcos is a very tiny school that was founded less than a decade ago, and less than 10% of the students live on campus. Already, that didn't bode well for a huge turnout. But then, the clincher: it was pouring rain. Now I know what you're thinking: So what? A little rain never hurt anyone! Well, someone should spread the word to Southern California, because in the greater San Diego area, you would have thought this light drizzle was a biblical plague of locusts. I've actually written on this subject before, the LAST time I did a college gig in Southern California.
The upshot is, in a performance space that was designed to seat 250 people, a mere 30-35 students actually showed the fuck up. Behold, the mighty drawing power of Christian Finnegan! Oh, but wait--it gets better: the "performance space" I speak of? It was a lecture hall. Yes, a lecture hall. Now you're probably thinking, "Surely he doesn't mean, like, a classroom!" Yes, I mean that I performed a full show in a fully lit classroom, standing in front of a projection screen, playing to a smattering of kids in tiered seats with mini-desks attached. It was a truly bizarre aligning of the shitty-gig planets.
Strange thing is, I actually had a lot of fun. The situation was so surreal, I couldn't even be bummed by it. and this kids who DID show up were a pretty cool group and I ended up doing a full hour and ten minutes, which is probably the longest set I've ever done, and there was still a good bit of material I never got to. I guess you could call that a "moral victory", right? That said, I sincerely hope that this week's shows won't fall into the same category--I've had enough character-building experiences to last a fucking lifetime. I'm not even going to TELL you about the horrifying gig I did two days later, at the Columbia University Computer Science Department 25th Anniversary Banquet (no, I'm not kidding). Tonight, I'm at Cal State Long Beach, tomorrow I'm at USC and on Thursday, I head upstate to Cal State Fresno. I've been told that one of the shows (I can't remember which) is going to be taking place in a 1300 seat theatre, so I have reasonably high hopes. We shall see.
Alright, I'm going to get some shut-eye before I drag my ass to JFK. I'll have my brand-spanking-new laptop with me, so I'll be posting from sunny California.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Friday, October 15, 2004
LONG TIME, NO WRITE
So I don't write for an entire week and then as soon as I come back I ask for a favor? Jeez, what a dick.
I've been hired to write this Valentines Day promotional booklet for 1-800-FLOWERS, whicvh is the main reason I haven't posted in a week. It's called the "Thoughtless Male Survival Guide" and I'm sure my girlfriend would claim it's the tome I was born to write. I know it sounds kind of silly, but I'll be getting a good deal of press for it, come February (barring unforseen catastrophes). Anyway, part of this little booklet is going to be me explaining to guys the right and wrong ways to deal with various relationship oriented fuck-ups. I'm supposed to come up with 25-30 different scenarios, and then write a little funny DO/DON'T thing about each. Problem is, coming up with the scenarios is proving more difficult than I would have thought. I was hoping you guys might have some ideas--ways you've screwed up (gentlemen), things boyfriends/husbands have to piss you off (ladies), etc.
Here are a few examples:
* You girlfriend catches you checking out another woman's ass on the sidewalk.
* A friend inadvertently reveals that you've been sharing the intimate details of your relationship with outsiders.
* You fail to notice your girlfriend's new hairdo.
* You mistakenly call your wife by an ex-girlfriend's name.
* Your girlfriend opens up your internet browser and discovers your porno habits.
Anything spring to mind? If you would be so kind as to let me know, I'd be oh-so-grateful. As an early reward, I present to you this 14 clip of a pretty amazing kids show that's supposedly been picked up by MTV. If it makes it past two airings, I'll be suprised and impressed.
So I don't write for an entire week and then as soon as I come back I ask for a favor? Jeez, what a dick.
I've been hired to write this Valentines Day promotional booklet for 1-800-FLOWERS, whicvh is the main reason I haven't posted in a week. It's called the "Thoughtless Male Survival Guide" and I'm sure my girlfriend would claim it's the tome I was born to write. I know it sounds kind of silly, but I'll be getting a good deal of press for it, come February (barring unforseen catastrophes). Anyway, part of this little booklet is going to be me explaining to guys the right and wrong ways to deal with various relationship oriented fuck-ups. I'm supposed to come up with 25-30 different scenarios, and then write a little funny DO/DON'T thing about each. Problem is, coming up with the scenarios is proving more difficult than I would have thought. I was hoping you guys might have some ideas--ways you've screwed up (gentlemen), things boyfriends/husbands have to piss you off (ladies), etc.
Here are a few examples:
* You girlfriend catches you checking out another woman's ass on the sidewalk.
* A friend inadvertently reveals that you've been sharing the intimate details of your relationship with outsiders.
* You fail to notice your girlfriend's new hairdo.
* You mistakenly call your wife by an ex-girlfriend's name.
* Your girlfriend opens up your internet browser and discovers your porno habits.
Anything spring to mind? If you would be so kind as to let me know, I'd be oh-so-grateful. As an early reward, I present to you this 14 clip of a pretty amazing kids show that's supposedly been picked up by MTV. If it makes it past two airings, I'll be suprised and impressed.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
GIVING BACK TO THE COMMUNITY
Every once in a while, I like to share a bit of wisdom with those just starting out in the world of stand-up comedy. So I offer you new comics some advice: when you bomb (and trust me, you bomb--repeatedly), other stand up comics will react to you in a variety of ways. It's important you learn to decipher these "friendly" comments, so as to determine what is well-intentioned critique and what is bitter, self-centered assholery. So I will now provide you short list of things a fellow comic might say to you after a not-so-spectacular set, followed (in italics) by what each comment truly means. Please keep in mind that I am guilty of having used all of these bullshit platitudes at one time or another, and I'm sure plenty of people have used them on me. Anyway...enjoy!
COMMENT: "Good job."
TRANSLATION: You were a forgettable part of a lackluster evening. I am complimenting you only because I have a vague notion that you performed and now we've found ourselves standing around the bar, socializing with the same group of people. I remember that you weren't offensively bad, but if you asked me right now what I liked about your set, I'd probably say something vague, like "You said something up top that I really loved," and then excuse myself to go to the men's room.
COMMENT: "The audience really sucked tonight."
TRANSLATION: I like you as a person, so I am going to help you shift the blame for what just transpired off of your either half-written or over-written jokes and non-existent stage presence to a group of people whose only crime was to spend their hard-earned money and time trying to be entertained by you.
COMMENT: "Hey, how much time are we supposed to do?"
TRANSLATION: Thanks for going way over your allotted fucking time, asshole. There are seven other comics on the lineup, you goddamn prima dona, including ME! And with every moment that passes before I go up, the chances of the already-dwindling audience calling it a night increases, thereby robbing me of the opportunity to validate my pathetic excuse for a comedy career. And don't give me that 'I didnt see the light' bullshit--I saw you acknowledge the light, and you went ahead and did another ten minutes. Just because your closer didn't get laughs, that doesn't mean you get to keep toggling through bits until you elicit a chuckle substantial enough for you to slink offstage. You went way over your time and I want to let you know it. Of course, I'm putting in the form of a questions, so as to deny accountability.
COMMENT: "You've really been getting better lately."
TRANSLATION: Despite my having written you off as someone who will do nothing for the world of comedy other than clog up the works, tonight you somehow managed to make me laugh in spite of myself. Still, because of my deep-seeded resentment for anyone trying to succeed in my chosen field, I'm unable to pay you a straightforward compliment. Therefore, I will subtly imply that, for you, being funny is not the norm, while simultaneously positing myself as someone whose respect and judgment should mean something to you.
COMMENT: "You brought out the classics tonight."
TRANSLATION: When the fuck are you going to write some new material? I just wasted eight precious minutes of my life listening to you tell jokes I heard you tell four years ago. And let's be honest, here: your 'gold' ain't all that golden, something I hope to underscore by my use of the mock-grandiose "classics".
COMMENT: "A couple of those bits I hadn't heard before."
TRANSLATION: When the fuck are you going to write some new material? The fact that I isolated a "couple" of new bits is meant to convey just how rarely you come up with anything new. Also, note that I never suggested that these "new bits" were the least bit funny.
COMMENT: "I didn't see your set. How did it go?"
TRANSLATION: I absolutely saw your set and you bombed horribly. In fact, getting a blowjob in front of my mother would be less awkward than the comedic dirty bomb you just unleashed on the audience. Luckily, I'm reasonably confident you didn't see me standing in the room, so I can get away with claiming not have seen you perform, rather than force us both to acknowledge how awful you were (and are, if you want my honest opinion). I'm also asking how your set went because I'm curious to see what your response will be. I'm kind of hoping you'll claim it went really well, so when I meet up with my friends at the bar later, we can have a good laugh at what a deluded fuck you are.
Hope this helps, Mr. and Ms. Young Comedian. Now get out there and make America laugh!
Every once in a while, I like to share a bit of wisdom with those just starting out in the world of stand-up comedy. So I offer you new comics some advice: when you bomb (and trust me, you bomb--repeatedly), other stand up comics will react to you in a variety of ways. It's important you learn to decipher these "friendly" comments, so as to determine what is well-intentioned critique and what is bitter, self-centered assholery. So I will now provide you short list of things a fellow comic might say to you after a not-so-spectacular set, followed (in italics) by what each comment truly means. Please keep in mind that I am guilty of having used all of these bullshit platitudes at one time or another, and I'm sure plenty of people have used them on me. Anyway...enjoy!
COMMENT: "Good job."
TRANSLATION: You were a forgettable part of a lackluster evening. I am complimenting you only because I have a vague notion that you performed and now we've found ourselves standing around the bar, socializing with the same group of people. I remember that you weren't offensively bad, but if you asked me right now what I liked about your set, I'd probably say something vague, like "You said something up top that I really loved," and then excuse myself to go to the men's room.
COMMENT: "The audience really sucked tonight."
TRANSLATION: I like you as a person, so I am going to help you shift the blame for what just transpired off of your either half-written or over-written jokes and non-existent stage presence to a group of people whose only crime was to spend their hard-earned money and time trying to be entertained by you.
COMMENT: "Hey, how much time are we supposed to do?"
TRANSLATION: Thanks for going way over your allotted fucking time, asshole. There are seven other comics on the lineup, you goddamn prima dona, including ME! And with every moment that passes before I go up, the chances of the already-dwindling audience calling it a night increases, thereby robbing me of the opportunity to validate my pathetic excuse for a comedy career. And don't give me that 'I didnt see the light' bullshit--I saw you acknowledge the light, and you went ahead and did another ten minutes. Just because your closer didn't get laughs, that doesn't mean you get to keep toggling through bits until you elicit a chuckle substantial enough for you to slink offstage. You went way over your time and I want to let you know it. Of course, I'm putting in the form of a questions, so as to deny accountability.
COMMENT: "You've really been getting better lately."
TRANSLATION: Despite my having written you off as someone who will do nothing for the world of comedy other than clog up the works, tonight you somehow managed to make me laugh in spite of myself. Still, because of my deep-seeded resentment for anyone trying to succeed in my chosen field, I'm unable to pay you a straightforward compliment. Therefore, I will subtly imply that, for you, being funny is not the norm, while simultaneously positing myself as someone whose respect and judgment should mean something to you.
COMMENT: "You brought out the classics tonight."
TRANSLATION: When the fuck are you going to write some new material? I just wasted eight precious minutes of my life listening to you tell jokes I heard you tell four years ago. And let's be honest, here: your 'gold' ain't all that golden, something I hope to underscore by my use of the mock-grandiose "classics".
COMMENT: "A couple of those bits I hadn't heard before."
TRANSLATION: When the fuck are you going to write some new material? The fact that I isolated a "couple" of new bits is meant to convey just how rarely you come up with anything new. Also, note that I never suggested that these "new bits" were the least bit funny.
COMMENT: "I didn't see your set. How did it go?"
TRANSLATION: I absolutely saw your set and you bombed horribly. In fact, getting a blowjob in front of my mother would be less awkward than the comedic dirty bomb you just unleashed on the audience. Luckily, I'm reasonably confident you didn't see me standing in the room, so I can get away with claiming not have seen you perform, rather than force us both to acknowledge how awful you were (and are, if you want my honest opinion). I'm also asking how your set went because I'm curious to see what your response will be. I'm kind of hoping you'll claim it went really well, so when I meet up with my friends at the bar later, we can have a good laugh at what a deluded fuck you are.
Hope this helps, Mr. and Ms. Young Comedian. Now get out there and make America laugh!
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO PLUG
I realize this is a tad late in the game, but those of you in the New York area should really consider coming out to tonight's installment of Sob Stories at the Marquee. It's a wicked awesome (to use my native Massachusetts-ian dialect) lineup, including DC Benny, Tom Shillue, Jackie Kashian and The Onion's Andy Selsberg. Tonight's theme is "Performance Anxieties", which should lend itself to laughs galore. That's right, galore. GALORE!
The 'deets':
PSNBC presents Sob Stories
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones/E. 4th St.)
Doors 7:30; Show at 8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
For more info, click here.
Come on out and feel the love. You shan't regret it.
I realize this is a tad late in the game, but those of you in the New York area should really consider coming out to tonight's installment of Sob Stories at the Marquee. It's a wicked awesome (to use my native Massachusetts-ian dialect) lineup, including DC Benny, Tom Shillue, Jackie Kashian and The Onion's Andy Selsberg. Tonight's theme is "Performance Anxieties", which should lend itself to laughs galore. That's right, galore. GALORE!
The 'deets':
PSNBC presents Sob Stories
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones/E. 4th St.)
Doors 7:30; Show at 8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
For more info, click here.
Come on out and feel the love. You shan't regret it.
Monday, October 04, 2004
AMERICA'S LEAST FAVORITE CHILDREN'S BOOKS
Who's in Bed with Mommy This Week?
Where the Mild Things Are
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Jonathan Silverman Movie
If You Can't Remember It, It Didn't Happen!
Jesus Let Your Hamster Die
James and the Giant Bee-atch
Cedric and Cindy's Kooky Crazy Custody Hearing
One Day You'll Wake Up and Feel Genuine Disgust at Who You've Become
The Protocols of the Elders of Sillyville
Everybody Poops (Blood)
Garrett Gopher and the All-Male Bookstore
Make Way for Racist Ducklings
Integrating Ivestments and the Tax Code: Using the Tax Code to Enhance Returns and Add Value
Horton Hears a Very Funny AIDS Joke
Learn How to Throw a Baseball, You Goddamn Fairy!
Who's in Bed with Mommy This Week?
Where the Mild Things Are
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Jonathan Silverman Movie
If You Can't Remember It, It Didn't Happen!
Jesus Let Your Hamster Die
James and the Giant Bee-atch
Cedric and Cindy's Kooky Crazy Custody Hearing
One Day You'll Wake Up and Feel Genuine Disgust at Who You've Become
The Protocols of the Elders of Sillyville
Everybody Poops (Blood)
Garrett Gopher and the All-Male Bookstore
Make Way for Racist Ducklings
Integrating Ivestments and the Tax Code: Using the Tax Code to Enhance Returns and Add Value
Horton Hears a Very Funny AIDS Joke
Learn How to Throw a Baseball, You Goddamn Fairy!
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
INERT
I know I haven't posted in nearly a week, and I don't want to pretend that this is a genuine entry, 'cause it ain't. This is just a bold-faced plug to let you all know that I'm going to be appearing on "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" tonight. Should be interesting. For those of you who don't already know, I've been on the writing staff there for over a year, but I've never actually appeared as a panelist. The thing about Tough Crowd is, the format is very tricky--it looks likes it's just a bunch of silly banter, but I've seen many a great comic come off looking bad on the show. When people suck on Tough Crowd, it's usually for one of three reasons: they don't prepare enough (and don't have the charm and charisma to pull of "winging it"), they prepare too much and spend the whole show awkwardly trying to cram their jokes in, or they simply freeze up and stare into the camera, aka "Cindy Brady Syndrome". I've seen it happen time and time again and told myself "Boy, if I ever get to do the show..." Well, I guess now we'll find out.
The show tapes this evening and then airs tonight at 11:30pm (in NYC, at least), right after "The Daily Show". Check it out, if you're so inclined.
Oh, and as far as posting some actual "comedy" goes, I'll be posting something relatively weighty very soon, probaby tomorrow evening.
I know I haven't posted in nearly a week, and I don't want to pretend that this is a genuine entry, 'cause it ain't. This is just a bold-faced plug to let you all know that I'm going to be appearing on "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" tonight. Should be interesting. For those of you who don't already know, I've been on the writing staff there for over a year, but I've never actually appeared as a panelist. The thing about Tough Crowd is, the format is very tricky--it looks likes it's just a bunch of silly banter, but I've seen many a great comic come off looking bad on the show. When people suck on Tough Crowd, it's usually for one of three reasons: they don't prepare enough (and don't have the charm and charisma to pull of "winging it"), they prepare too much and spend the whole show awkwardly trying to cram their jokes in, or they simply freeze up and stare into the camera, aka "Cindy Brady Syndrome". I've seen it happen time and time again and told myself "Boy, if I ever get to do the show..." Well, I guess now we'll find out.
The show tapes this evening and then airs tonight at 11:30pm (in NYC, at least), right after "The Daily Show". Check it out, if you're so inclined.
Oh, and as far as posting some actual "comedy" goes, I'll be posting something relatively weighty very soon, probaby tomorrow evening.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
DESERT ISLAND DICKS
I keep seeing ads for this show Lost, which appears to be a mixture of Survivor. ER and The X Files (I know what you're thinking: Finally!). To my eye, this show has the makings of a show that everyone pretends to love for two months and then gets cancelled after one season. There's such a thing as too much "drama", and I think a show about a group of people (all with their own personal issues and plotlines, of course) who crash land on an deserted island and then discover it just happens to be home to some sort of...well, monster. That seems like one premise too many. I am happy, though, that network TV has finally found another I-didn't-ask-for-this-responsibility-but-somehow-I-will-shoulder-the-weight role for Matthew Fox, aka The Man Who Holds Americas Hair Back.
I'm not sure how well I would handle finding myself on a deserted island, especially under stressful circumstances (like, say, a plane crash/monster type situation). My current way of dealing with stress is to lock myself in my apartment and play Madden 2005 until the feeling passes. That seems rather impractical on a deserted island. Plus, I get really cranky if I don't give my hair a good shampooing every day. I'm sure that I'd end up being that guy who'd bitch and moan and get on everyone's nerves. Eventually me and my fellow survivors would be trudging through the trees, searching for some sign of fresh water and/or civilization, when the sound of a snapping branch breaks the silence. All of the castaways stop and look around, worriedly. All of them except me, of course. "Did you guys just hear something?", the requisite hot-babe-who's-been-through-hard-times says. "WHAT'S THE DAMN HOLD UP?!" I turn back and bellow, displaying the ill temper that's made me the least-liked person on the island. The Matthew Fox type guy takes a cautious step towards me and whispers, "Christian...don't...move..." I stand there facing them, with my back towards a dense thicket of bushes and trees. "LOOK," I shout. "YOU GUYS CAN PUSSYFOOT AROUND AS MUCH AS YOU WaNT, BUT I'M GOING TO GET THE HELL OFF OF THIS DAMN ISLAND! YOU HEAR ME? I'M GETTING OUT OF HERE!!!" It's at this precise moment that an unseen force grabs me and I disappear into the bushes. What follows is fifteen seconds of terrified screaming and pleas for help. One of the other survivors begins to step forward to help me, but he he is held back by the more sensible among them. There is no helping me--I'm already dead. The hot-babe-who's-been-through-hard-times collapses into Matthew Fox's ever-capable arms.
And now, a word from our sponsors.
I keep seeing ads for this show Lost, which appears to be a mixture of Survivor. ER and The X Files (I know what you're thinking: Finally!). To my eye, this show has the makings of a show that everyone pretends to love for two months and then gets cancelled after one season. There's such a thing as too much "drama", and I think a show about a group of people (all with their own personal issues and plotlines, of course) who crash land on an deserted island and then discover it just happens to be home to some sort of...well, monster. That seems like one premise too many. I am happy, though, that network TV has finally found another I-didn't-ask-for-this-responsibility-but-somehow-I-will-shoulder-the-weight role for Matthew Fox, aka The Man Who Holds Americas Hair Back.
I'm not sure how well I would handle finding myself on a deserted island, especially under stressful circumstances (like, say, a plane crash/monster type situation). My current way of dealing with stress is to lock myself in my apartment and play Madden 2005 until the feeling passes. That seems rather impractical on a deserted island. Plus, I get really cranky if I don't give my hair a good shampooing every day. I'm sure that I'd end up being that guy who'd bitch and moan and get on everyone's nerves. Eventually me and my fellow survivors would be trudging through the trees, searching for some sign of fresh water and/or civilization, when the sound of a snapping branch breaks the silence. All of the castaways stop and look around, worriedly. All of them except me, of course. "Did you guys just hear something?", the requisite hot-babe-who's-been-through-hard-times says. "WHAT'S THE DAMN HOLD UP?!" I turn back and bellow, displaying the ill temper that's made me the least-liked person on the island. The Matthew Fox type guy takes a cautious step towards me and whispers, "Christian...don't...move..." I stand there facing them, with my back towards a dense thicket of bushes and trees. "LOOK," I shout. "YOU GUYS CAN PUSSYFOOT AROUND AS MUCH AS YOU WaNT, BUT I'M GOING TO GET THE HELL OFF OF THIS DAMN ISLAND! YOU HEAR ME? I'M GETTING OUT OF HERE!!!" It's at this precise moment that an unseen force grabs me and I disappear into the bushes. What follows is fifteen seconds of terrified screaming and pleas for help. One of the other survivors begins to step forward to help me, but he he is held back by the more sensible among them. There is no helping me--I'm already dead. The hot-babe-who's-been-through-hard-times collapses into Matthew Fox's ever-capable arms.
And now, a word from our sponsors.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
AMERICA'S LEAST FAVORITE AUTOMOBILES
The Pontiac Deathrattle
The Bentley Pretense
The Plymouth P.O.S.
The Lexus DUI Series
The Audi Hatecrime
The Isuzu Ennui
The Geo Bone Cancer
The Peugeot Stench
The Chevy Airbags-are-for-fags
The Kia Cockblock
The Mercedes-Benz Reichmobile
The Ferrari Orphanmaker
The Maxi Cooper
The Land Rover Overcompensator
The Volkswagen Gunt
The Pontiac Deathrattle
The Bentley Pretense
The Plymouth P.O.S.
The Lexus DUI Series
The Audi Hatecrime
The Isuzu Ennui
The Geo Bone Cancer
The Peugeot Stench
The Chevy Airbags-are-for-fags
The Kia Cockblock
The Mercedes-Benz Reichmobile
The Ferrari Orphanmaker
The Maxi Cooper
The Land Rover Overcompensator
The Volkswagen Gunt
Monday, September 13, 2004
DERISION 2004
I've had e-fucking-nough with the presidential election. I'm so fucking sick of of campaign-related horsepoop, I'm tempted to move to Brunei. Can we just go ahead and vote now? We're ready, right? We should amend the constitution so that, in years like this, we the people can look around at each other and say "Are we good? Okay, let's do this." But no, we have to endure seven more weeks of hokey sloganeering, make-believe anecdotes about "real" Americans (e.g. "I was recently talking with Edna May Jensen from Terre Haute, Indiana and she told me that her prescription drug costs blah blah blah blah bleeccch...") and around-the-clock punditry. And for who's benefit? The "undecided" voters? The most jelly-brained 2% of the American population? Anyone who doesn't know who he/she's voting for this far along in the game is someone who's vote we, as a nation, probably don't need.
I think Bush is an fucking embarassment, but it's no mystery to me why so many people like him. Bush and Kerry personify the perpetual (and very American) battle between "Common Sense" and "Intellectualism". In a nutshell, if you think that life is simple (good, evil, right, wrong, etc.), Bush is probably your guy. And if you think that life is very complicated and that what might be "right" for one person isn't necessarily right for another person, you're probably voting for Kerry--or, to be more specific, against Bush. The point I'm trying to make is, I understand why someone would vote for Bush, loathe him though I do. But the difference is pretty damn stark--how could anyone still be undecided? It's not a complicated menu, people--Christ, there are only two entrees. Pick one! (Okay, technically speaking, I there is a third entree, but do us all a favor and don't pick that one.)
What could you possible be expecting to learn between now and November that's going to make up your mind? Nothing good, that's for sure. Trust me, you already know every single good thing about about Bush and Kerry. In fact, had that shit drilled into your head for the past six months. And don't give me that crap about the debates. The presidential debates prove nothing, save how good a candidate is at memorization. How are you supposed to size someone up when they're just reciting their "talking points"? I wish we could insert some genuine spontaineity back into the debate process. Hell, what's stopping Kerry from just turning to Bush and asking, "Okay, George. Quick: what's nine times nine?" I would give three to one odds it would take bush at least ten seconds to answer. And to be fair, Bush could turn around and say "Okay, John Kerry, perhaps you can explain to America why in the world anyone would want a president who looks like the Scream mask."
I've had e-fucking-nough with the presidential election. I'm so fucking sick of of campaign-related horsepoop, I'm tempted to move to Brunei. Can we just go ahead and vote now? We're ready, right? We should amend the constitution so that, in years like this, we the people can look around at each other and say "Are we good? Okay, let's do this." But no, we have to endure seven more weeks of hokey sloganeering, make-believe anecdotes about "real" Americans (e.g. "I was recently talking with Edna May Jensen from Terre Haute, Indiana and she told me that her prescription drug costs blah blah blah blah bleeccch...") and around-the-clock punditry. And for who's benefit? The "undecided" voters? The most jelly-brained 2% of the American population? Anyone who doesn't know who he/she's voting for this far along in the game is someone who's vote we, as a nation, probably don't need.
I think Bush is an fucking embarassment, but it's no mystery to me why so many people like him. Bush and Kerry personify the perpetual (and very American) battle between "Common Sense" and "Intellectualism". In a nutshell, if you think that life is simple (good, evil, right, wrong, etc.), Bush is probably your guy. And if you think that life is very complicated and that what might be "right" for one person isn't necessarily right for another person, you're probably voting for Kerry--or, to be more specific, against Bush. The point I'm trying to make is, I understand why someone would vote for Bush, loathe him though I do. But the difference is pretty damn stark--how could anyone still be undecided? It's not a complicated menu, people--Christ, there are only two entrees. Pick one! (Okay, technically speaking, I there is a third entree, but do us all a favor and don't pick that one.)
What could you possible be expecting to learn between now and November that's going to make up your mind? Nothing good, that's for sure. Trust me, you already know every single good thing about about Bush and Kerry. In fact, had that shit drilled into your head for the past six months. And don't give me that crap about the debates. The presidential debates prove nothing, save how good a candidate is at memorization. How are you supposed to size someone up when they're just reciting their "talking points"? I wish we could insert some genuine spontaineity back into the debate process. Hell, what's stopping Kerry from just turning to Bush and asking, "Okay, George. Quick: what's nine times nine?" I would give three to one odds it would take bush at least ten seconds to answer. And to be fair, Bush could turn around and say "Okay, John Kerry, perhaps you can explain to America why in the world anyone would want a president who looks like the Scream mask."
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
BE COOL TO YOUR SCHOOL
So tomorrow, being the Wednesday after Labor Day, is the traditional "back to school" day. At least, that's the way it was in my youth. It's funny, I'm 31 and this week still gives me a restless, excited feeling. Much more than January 1st, I think of the Wednesday after Labor Day as being the true start of the new year. Just to make tomorrow feel extra special, I picked up a new Dukes of Hazard Trapper Keeper (my old one was worn aropund the edges) and I've laid out a sassy new outfit next to my bed--say hello to Chess King, baby!
If you're still in high school or college, you should get down on your knees and kiss the sticky cafeteria floor. I'm not going to tell you that these are the best days of your life--only douchebags say that. But I will say that you're in the midst of the most dependable days of your life. Being a student gives gives your vapid, meaningless life the illusion of structure. There are classes to be attended, homework to be done, pop quizzes to stress over. Shit needs to get done, and if you don't come through, there are consequences--bad grades, detention, etc. Even if you rebel and decide not to do what's expected of you, the educational system will drag your ass along and continue to give you a nice, sturdy framework against which to rebel. Compare that to the relatively weightless world of adulthood, where I'm expected to create my own reasons for getting up in the morning. Fuck that noise.
So enjoy it while it lasts, etudiantes. And if you're out of school but want to spend an hour or so reliving the highs, lows, triumphs and embarrassments of scholastic life, come out to tonight's installment of Sob Stories at The Marquee. The theme, obviously, is "Back to School" and the show will feature lots of fantastic guests, including Todd Hanson (head writer for The Onion), Todd Levin, Bob Powers and more!
Here's the relevant info:
SOB STORIES, hosted by Christian Finnegan (that's me)
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: BACK TO SCHOOL
Please show up. Funny will be made.
So tomorrow, being the Wednesday after Labor Day, is the traditional "back to school" day. At least, that's the way it was in my youth. It's funny, I'm 31 and this week still gives me a restless, excited feeling. Much more than January 1st, I think of the Wednesday after Labor Day as being the true start of the new year. Just to make tomorrow feel extra special, I picked up a new Dukes of Hazard Trapper Keeper (my old one was worn aropund the edges) and I've laid out a sassy new outfit next to my bed--say hello to Chess King, baby!
If you're still in high school or college, you should get down on your knees and kiss the sticky cafeteria floor. I'm not going to tell you that these are the best days of your life--only douchebags say that. But I will say that you're in the midst of the most dependable days of your life. Being a student gives gives your vapid, meaningless life the illusion of structure. There are classes to be attended, homework to be done, pop quizzes to stress over. Shit needs to get done, and if you don't come through, there are consequences--bad grades, detention, etc. Even if you rebel and decide not to do what's expected of you, the educational system will drag your ass along and continue to give you a nice, sturdy framework against which to rebel. Compare that to the relatively weightless world of adulthood, where I'm expected to create my own reasons for getting up in the morning. Fuck that noise.
So enjoy it while it lasts, etudiantes. And if you're out of school but want to spend an hour or so reliving the highs, lows, triumphs and embarrassments of scholastic life, come out to tonight's installment of Sob Stories at The Marquee. The theme, obviously, is "Back to School" and the show will feature lots of fantastic guests, including Todd Hanson (head writer for The Onion), Todd Levin, Bob Powers and more!
Here's the relevant info:
SOB STORIES, hosted by Christian Finnegan (that's me)
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: BACK TO SCHOOL
Please show up. Funny will be made.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
WATCH IT, YOU
A quick promo: Tonight I can be seen on McEnroe, doing five minutes of stand-up and another two minutes of semi-awkward banter. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about (and judging by the shows "niche" viewership, that's pretty much all of you), McEnroe is a talk show on CNBC, hosted by tennis champ John McEnroe. I actually taped the episode a couple of weeks ago, but it airs tonight at 10pm and then again at 1:00am. Check it out, if you can. Here in NYC, CNBC is channel 15 on yout Time Warner Cable box.
And here are a couple of more things about my little LA sojourn:
* Friday evening, Kambri and I attended Craig Kilborn's final Late, Late Show taping, I've always felt that Kilborn is unfairly dismissed. The show, on the whole, isn't as funny as Conan, but Kilborn has his own charm--he's always had a great Bill Murray/Tim Matheson in Animal House/Caddyshack-era Chevy Chase thing going. Anyway, the taping was pretty sweet. Being Craig's final show, the guest list was pretty stellar, including Will Ferrell, Vince Vaughn and (most importantly) Adam West. The only less-than-perfect aspect was that Kambri and I were actually seated in the studio audience for Kilborn (as opposed to the way we spent Kimmel, hanging in the green room). Now, being that I work at a TV show, I know that all tapings run the risk of growing tedious. This particular taping, being that it was a "special night", seemed to go on about 45 minutes longer than Schindler's List. Still, it was pretty cool to watch the whole thing go down.
* After the taping, Kambri and I headed downstairs and found ourselves in a Price is Right storage room (both shows tape in the same building). I suggested to Kambri that we should have sex on one of the giant set pieces, but she chickened the fuck out. What a wimp. She heard a little noise from some distant corner of the building and scurried out of the room like a coke-addled chipmunk. If you want to read her bullshit revisionist version of the moment, you can check it out here.
A quick promo: Tonight I can be seen on McEnroe, doing five minutes of stand-up and another two minutes of semi-awkward banter. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about (and judging by the shows "niche" viewership, that's pretty much all of you), McEnroe is a talk show on CNBC, hosted by tennis champ John McEnroe. I actually taped the episode a couple of weeks ago, but it airs tonight at 10pm and then again at 1:00am. Check it out, if you can. Here in NYC, CNBC is channel 15 on yout Time Warner Cable box.
And here are a couple of more things about my little LA sojourn:
* Friday evening, Kambri and I attended Craig Kilborn's final Late, Late Show taping, I've always felt that Kilborn is unfairly dismissed. The show, on the whole, isn't as funny as Conan, but Kilborn has his own charm--he's always had a great Bill Murray/Tim Matheson in Animal House/Caddyshack-era Chevy Chase thing going. Anyway, the taping was pretty sweet. Being Craig's final show, the guest list was pretty stellar, including Will Ferrell, Vince Vaughn and (most importantly) Adam West. The only less-than-perfect aspect was that Kambri and I were actually seated in the studio audience for Kilborn (as opposed to the way we spent Kimmel, hanging in the green room). Now, being that I work at a TV show, I know that all tapings run the risk of growing tedious. This particular taping, being that it was a "special night", seemed to go on about 45 minutes longer than Schindler's List. Still, it was pretty cool to watch the whole thing go down.
* After the taping, Kambri and I headed downstairs and found ourselves in a Price is Right storage room (both shows tape in the same building). I suggested to Kambri that we should have sex on one of the giant set pieces, but she chickened the fuck out. What a wimp. She heard a little noise from some distant corner of the building and scurried out of the room like a coke-addled chipmunk. If you want to read her bullshit revisionist version of the moment, you can check it out here.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
GETTING BACK FROM CALIFORNIA
At long last, I have returned from sunny Los Angeles. All in all, I would say the trip was a blast. In fact, there were moments of the type people daydream about when they imagine living in LA. The whole laptop thing didn't exactly work out for us, so I was unable to give you on-the-fly updates. But now, I am proud to give you a chronological account of our glorious trip:
* We got into town on Wednesday morning and cruised over to Enterprise to pick up our sweet Hyundai Sonata (upgraded from a Geo Metro, muthafucka--you know how I roll). Kambri, in addition to her dual role as my publicist and "thang", also was kind enough to drive my ass around Los Angeles. For reasons that are too boring to go into (read: vehicular homocide), I don't have a valid drivers license. So instead, I embraced my role as "navigator" and I'm proud to say that I only needed to be yelled at for giving crappy directions four or five times!
* Our hotel stank like a salami fart. I'm sorry, that's the only way to say it. Kambri tried to tell me it was just stale cigarette smoke, but, um...no. I know what cigarettes smell like. And I think I have a pretty good idea of what stale cigarettes would smell like. But Room 217 of the Best Western Sunset Plaza? Salami fart. On the upside, the hotel was perfectly situated, within a ten minute drive of pretty much everywhere we needed to go. I know LA has the reputation of being a sprawling metropolis, but as far as I'm concerned everything you need is within a few square miles of Sunset and Sweetzer.
* Wednesday night my managers held a big showcase thingy at The Laugh Factory, which was the reason I went out there in the first place. It was pretty damned sweet, with the room split 50/50 between regular audience members and industry. For those of you who aren't pretentious douchebags, the term "industry" generally refers to anyone employed on the decision-making side of the entertainment business--producers, casting agents, development executives and their many hangers-on. Industry audiences tend to suck shit, in terms of crowd response--they've seen it all and, rather than enjoy a show organically, they tend to watch everything with a critical eye. Well, I guess "critical" really isn't the word. It's more of an "Are other people liking this?" eye. Nevertheless, this particular audience was great, and everyone on the show had a damn fine set. Afterwards, we did what all movers and shakers do after a victorious night: we ate at a second rate, garishly lit Jewish deli. Hollywood! Yes!
* Kambri and I spent the majority of Thursday lounging around at the pool, and in typical Christian Finnegan fashion, I got sunbburned. Nothing as freakish as my "White Seal" period (see June 15th), but I'm still notably pink on the left side of my body.
* That evening, we went to see a taping of Jimmy Kimmel Live. A friend of mine is a producer on the show (industry, muthafuckas!), so he got us into the green room, which is something of a "scene" in LA, due to its open bar. It was filled with..well, exactly the kind of people you'd expect to find in that situation: greasy hipsters and their vapid-looking women. If the Kimmel green room was a bar in NYC, I'd avoid it like the freakin' plague. But in the scheme of our little trip, I loved it. And not everyone in the room was a pretentious Hollywood type. No, the highlight of our green room experience had to be our long (some might say exhaustively long) conversation with Jay Maynard (you'll want to take a few minutes to enjoy that site, trust me). I've said it before and I'll say it again: jealous much?
* The best part of the Kimmel experience was that The Cure (one of my favorite bands of all fucking time) just happened to be performing that night. There was a big stage set up behind the studio and, after the show was over, The Cure treated the 1500 or so spectators to a few additional songs. I'm sure banging out "Inbetween Days" and "Just Like Heaven" wasn't the highpoint of Robert Smith's career, but for me, it was damn near euphoric. It made me want to smear red lipstick all over my face.
There's more, but I need to get my ass into bed now. I'll finish up tomorrow.
At long last, I have returned from sunny Los Angeles. All in all, I would say the trip was a blast. In fact, there were moments of the type people daydream about when they imagine living in LA. The whole laptop thing didn't exactly work out for us, so I was unable to give you on-the-fly updates. But now, I am proud to give you a chronological account of our glorious trip:
* We got into town on Wednesday morning and cruised over to Enterprise to pick up our sweet Hyundai Sonata (upgraded from a Geo Metro, muthafucka--you know how I roll). Kambri, in addition to her dual role as my publicist and "thang", also was kind enough to drive my ass around Los Angeles. For reasons that are too boring to go into (read: vehicular homocide), I don't have a valid drivers license. So instead, I embraced my role as "navigator" and I'm proud to say that I only needed to be yelled at for giving crappy directions four or five times!
* Our hotel stank like a salami fart. I'm sorry, that's the only way to say it. Kambri tried to tell me it was just stale cigarette smoke, but, um...no. I know what cigarettes smell like. And I think I have a pretty good idea of what stale cigarettes would smell like. But Room 217 of the Best Western Sunset Plaza? Salami fart. On the upside, the hotel was perfectly situated, within a ten minute drive of pretty much everywhere we needed to go. I know LA has the reputation of being a sprawling metropolis, but as far as I'm concerned everything you need is within a few square miles of Sunset and Sweetzer.
* Wednesday night my managers held a big showcase thingy at The Laugh Factory, which was the reason I went out there in the first place. It was pretty damned sweet, with the room split 50/50 between regular audience members and industry. For those of you who aren't pretentious douchebags, the term "industry" generally refers to anyone employed on the decision-making side of the entertainment business--producers, casting agents, development executives and their many hangers-on. Industry audiences tend to suck shit, in terms of crowd response--they've seen it all and, rather than enjoy a show organically, they tend to watch everything with a critical eye. Well, I guess "critical" really isn't the word. It's more of an "Are other people liking this?" eye. Nevertheless, this particular audience was great, and everyone on the show had a damn fine set. Afterwards, we did what all movers and shakers do after a victorious night: we ate at a second rate, garishly lit Jewish deli. Hollywood! Yes!
* Kambri and I spent the majority of Thursday lounging around at the pool, and in typical Christian Finnegan fashion, I got sunbburned. Nothing as freakish as my "White Seal" period (see June 15th), but I'm still notably pink on the left side of my body.
* That evening, we went to see a taping of Jimmy Kimmel Live. A friend of mine is a producer on the show (industry, muthafuckas!), so he got us into the green room, which is something of a "scene" in LA, due to its open bar. It was filled with..well, exactly the kind of people you'd expect to find in that situation: greasy hipsters and their vapid-looking women. If the Kimmel green room was a bar in NYC, I'd avoid it like the freakin' plague. But in the scheme of our little trip, I loved it. And not everyone in the room was a pretentious Hollywood type. No, the highlight of our green room experience had to be our long (some might say exhaustively long) conversation with Jay Maynard (you'll want to take a few minutes to enjoy that site, trust me). I've said it before and I'll say it again: jealous much?
* The best part of the Kimmel experience was that The Cure (one of my favorite bands of all fucking time) just happened to be performing that night. There was a big stage set up behind the studio and, after the show was over, The Cure treated the 1500 or so spectators to a few additional songs. I'm sure banging out "Inbetween Days" and "Just Like Heaven" wasn't the highpoint of Robert Smith's career, but for me, it was damn near euphoric. It made me want to smear red lipstick all over my face.
There's more, but I need to get my ass into bed now. I'll finish up tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
GOING TO CALIFORNIA
In a few hours, the lovely Kambri and I will be jetting off to Los Angeles for a few days of light schmoozing. I'll be performing at a fancy-schmancy "industry showcase" tonight at the Laugh Factory, so if you are an Angelino, put down the mirror covered in blow, climb out of your heart-shaped jacuzzi and come out to the show.
I've only been to LA a few times, and never for more than a few days at a clip. I have mixed feelings about the town, on the whole. Sure, 75% of the work in TV and film is out there, and tooling around the Hollywood Hills in a rented car gives me an undeniable psychic boner. But I think of it not so much as a place where dreams are not "made", so much as "pitched, re-pitched, optioned, developed for eighteen months and eventually drained of anything remotely funny and/or interesting by a UPN junior executive."
I will say this, though: I don't buy into that "LA sucks" nonsense that most New Yorkers blithely parrot. NYC is and always will be my home. I didn't move here for professional reasons--I lived here for six years before I ever considered getting involved with stand-up. It was just a lucky turn of events that when I did, I was already where I needed to be (geographically speaking, of course). So in I never thought of the the Big Apple and the "Big Orange" (Um...yeah) as being diametrically opposed--in my mind, LA is just any other city-that's-not-New-York. But as far as those cities go, it's certainly not the steaming cauldron of shit my friends and colleagues make it out to be. In fact, it has often reminded me of nothing more than a bunch of New Yorkers, transplanted to the suburbs. And like any place, it has its positive aspects and its negative ones. On the upside: the weather, the abundance of really good Mexican food and the relative accessibility of the natural world. On the downside: I'm pretty sure they shoot Reba there.
Anyway, I'll have my laptop with me, so I'll try and check in from the road. In this case, that "road" happens to be the Sunset Strip, where we'll be staying. I'll tell Nikki Sixx you all say hello.
In a few hours, the lovely Kambri and I will be jetting off to Los Angeles for a few days of light schmoozing. I'll be performing at a fancy-schmancy "industry showcase" tonight at the Laugh Factory, so if you are an Angelino, put down the mirror covered in blow, climb out of your heart-shaped jacuzzi and come out to the show.
I've only been to LA a few times, and never for more than a few days at a clip. I have mixed feelings about the town, on the whole. Sure, 75% of the work in TV and film is out there, and tooling around the Hollywood Hills in a rented car gives me an undeniable psychic boner. But I think of it not so much as a place where dreams are not "made", so much as "pitched, re-pitched, optioned, developed for eighteen months and eventually drained of anything remotely funny and/or interesting by a UPN junior executive."
I will say this, though: I don't buy into that "LA sucks" nonsense that most New Yorkers blithely parrot. NYC is and always will be my home. I didn't move here for professional reasons--I lived here for six years before I ever considered getting involved with stand-up. It was just a lucky turn of events that when I did, I was already where I needed to be (geographically speaking, of course). So in I never thought of the the Big Apple and the "Big Orange" (Um...yeah) as being diametrically opposed--in my mind, LA is just any other city-that's-not-New-York. But as far as those cities go, it's certainly not the steaming cauldron of shit my friends and colleagues make it out to be. In fact, it has often reminded me of nothing more than a bunch of New Yorkers, transplanted to the suburbs. And like any place, it has its positive aspects and its negative ones. On the upside: the weather, the abundance of really good Mexican food and the relative accessibility of the natural world. On the downside: I'm pretty sure they shoot Reba there.
Anyway, I'll have my laptop with me, so I'll try and check in from the road. In this case, that "road" happens to be the Sunset Strip, where we'll be staying. I'll tell Nikki Sixx you all say hello.
Monday, August 23, 2004
EVEN MORE POTENTIAL FIRST LINES FOR MY YET-TO-BE-WRITTEN NOVEL
* At last, the Fatty Arbuckle trapper keeper was mine.
* Did Elsa ever truly love me, or was she merely the nurse I paid to assist me with my penile splint? I fear I may never know.
* If music be the food of love, then binge! And then purge! And then see a therapist!
* Capt. Brock Westerly had two big things going for him: the respect and admiration of his troops and the complete discography of Manhattan Transfer.
* Staving off death for one last moment, Galaxor reached for the ringing phone. "Good afternoon..." he uttered with his final breath, "...Bed Bath & Beyond?"
* Aunt Margaret discovered her little ping pong ball trick quite by accident, one drunken Thanksgiving night.
* By daybreak, the the villagers would all be burned alive and I'd be playing bass for Hoobastank.
* Every night, young Timmy Lewis climbed into his pajamas, knelt beside his bed and prayed to God for the biggest cock in Grade Three.
* A lot of people will try and tell you a tapeworm is not a proper housepet. But then, they've never met Stretchy.
* Herpes schmerpes--one way or another, the field hockey team was getting new uniforms.
* At last, the Fatty Arbuckle trapper keeper was mine.
* Did Elsa ever truly love me, or was she merely the nurse I paid to assist me with my penile splint? I fear I may never know.
* If music be the food of love, then binge! And then purge! And then see a therapist!
* Capt. Brock Westerly had two big things going for him: the respect and admiration of his troops and the complete discography of Manhattan Transfer.
* Staving off death for one last moment, Galaxor reached for the ringing phone. "Good afternoon..." he uttered with his final breath, "...Bed Bath & Beyond?"
* Aunt Margaret discovered her little ping pong ball trick quite by accident, one drunken Thanksgiving night.
* By daybreak, the the villagers would all be burned alive and I'd be playing bass for Hoobastank.
* Every night, young Timmy Lewis climbed into his pajamas, knelt beside his bed and prayed to God for the biggest cock in Grade Three.
* A lot of people will try and tell you a tapeworm is not a proper housepet. But then, they've never met Stretchy.
* Herpes schmerpes--one way or another, the field hockey team was getting new uniforms.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
GREECE ENLIGHTNING *
Have you caught Olympic Fever yet? I haven't, but I did recently suffer a bout of the 24 Hour Olympic Flu. I was in on the toilet all night long, shitting rings. (rim shot) Hello! Come on, people!
Anyhoo, I was watching gymnastics a couple of days ago and I have one question: what the fuck happened to the horse? You remember the horse--that tan thing that 14 year old freaks of nature vault off of, and the thing that your Nazi gym teacher made you basically dry hump in order to pass 2nd Grade phys ed. Well, the Olympics have apparently done away with the classic dildo-esque model we all remember from our youth, in favor of some new mushroomy thing. Apparently they got rid of the old vaulting horse because it was deemed "dangerous". And in response, I have but one word: Exactly. Why the fuck do you think I'm watching Olympic gymnastics in the first place? To see some Romanian girl with a hardluck story (is there any other kind?) score a perfect ten? Hell, no. I watch because I know there there is the chance, however slight, that I might get to see a growth-stunted anorexic totally wreck herself on national TV. Call me cruel, but that's good TV.
But seriously, what is the IOC doing, making the Olympics safer, especially when you consider what they're up against nowadays? If you want to compete with Fear Factor, you need to be making the events more dangerous, not less. For instance, the long jump--why not add a shark tank? You know, not a huge one. Most of the athletes would clear it no problem. But every once in a while... And instead of just having a guy chuck the javelin out into the middle of a field, why not have two javelin throwers throwing simultaneously, in opposite directions? Of course, each thrower would have his leg chained to a nearby post, so as to cut down on dodge-ability. And would it be so hard to have one of the Greco-Roman wrestlers pull out a folding chair every once in a while? Let's get some goddamn excitement, here.
* I can't tell if this is the best subject heading I've ever come up with, or the worst. Your thoughts?
Have you caught Olympic Fever yet? I haven't, but I did recently suffer a bout of the 24 Hour Olympic Flu. I was in on the toilet all night long, shitting rings. (rim shot) Hello! Come on, people!
Anyhoo, I was watching gymnastics a couple of days ago and I have one question: what the fuck happened to the horse? You remember the horse--that tan thing that 14 year old freaks of nature vault off of, and the thing that your Nazi gym teacher made you basically dry hump in order to pass 2nd Grade phys ed. Well, the Olympics have apparently done away with the classic dildo-esque model we all remember from our youth, in favor of some new mushroomy thing. Apparently they got rid of the old vaulting horse because it was deemed "dangerous". And in response, I have but one word: Exactly. Why the fuck do you think I'm watching Olympic gymnastics in the first place? To see some Romanian girl with a hardluck story (is there any other kind?) score a perfect ten? Hell, no. I watch because I know there there is the chance, however slight, that I might get to see a growth-stunted anorexic totally wreck herself on national TV. Call me cruel, but that's good TV.
But seriously, what is the IOC doing, making the Olympics safer, especially when you consider what they're up against nowadays? If you want to compete with Fear Factor, you need to be making the events more dangerous, not less. For instance, the long jump--why not add a shark tank? You know, not a huge one. Most of the athletes would clear it no problem. But every once in a while... And instead of just having a guy chuck the javelin out into the middle of a field, why not have two javelin throwers throwing simultaneously, in opposite directions? Of course, each thrower would have his leg chained to a nearby post, so as to cut down on dodge-ability. And would it be so hard to have one of the Greco-Roman wrestlers pull out a folding chair every once in a while? Let's get some goddamn excitement, here.
* I can't tell if this is the best subject heading I've ever come up with, or the worst. Your thoughts?
Friday, August 13, 2004
LOOK...
I realize I promised a blog entry every fday this week, but if reading this site has taight you one thing, it's that I'm a goddamn lying bastard. But, in an attempt to make up for my horrible inaction, I present:
WHAT YOUR FAVORITE ALBUM SAYS ABOUT YOU, Part CCXII (or whatever it really is)
MODEST MOUSE, "The Lonesome Crowded West" -- As I enter my Thirties, I'm finding it more and more exhausting to remain above it all.
MAROON 5, "Songs About Jane" -- Boy, applying for this Gap card was the best decision I ever made. Ten percent off every purchase! Sweet!
JURASSIC 5, "Quality Control" -- Despite my best attempts to embrace what I perceive to be 'hip hop culture', black teenagers still mock me openly.
KOOL MOE DEE, "Knowledge is King" -- Despite the fact that I am a black man, black teenagers still mock me openly.
VAN HALEN, "OU812" -- Did you know Sammy Hagar has his own brand of tequila? How cool is that? Fucking rock 'n roll, baby! Cabo Wabo! WHOOOOOOO!!! ...Oh shit, I'm late picking up the kids from soccer practice.
ASHLEE SIMPSON, "Autobiography" -- The Brooklyn Bridge? For sale? Wow, what a fantastic investment opportunity. Where's my checkbook?
FRANZ FERDINAND, "Franz Ferdinand" -- Do these glasses look okay? I'm worried they don't make me look nerdy enough.
ALAN JACKSON, "High Mileage" -- My wardrobe has queer undertones I'm completely unaware of.
SCISSOR SISTERS, "Scissor Sisters" -- My wardrobe has queer overtones I'm acutely aware of.
TOM WAITS, "Small Change" -- I like to meditate on life's big issues, such as "Why am I sitting alone in a bar on a Tuesday afternoon?"
RAY CHARLES, "The Very Best of Ray Charles" -- I went out and bought this album the week after Ray Charles died, so I could back up all of my bullshit about having been a lifetime Ray Charles fan.
LORETTA LYNN, "Van Lear Rose" -- I went out and bought this album because the White Stripes guy plays on it, but it will also come in handy in a few years, when I go around saying I've been a lifetime Loretta Lynn fan.
GIPSY KINGS, "The Best of the Gipsy Kings" -- I manage a three-star tapas restaurant.
BLACK FLAG, "Damaged" -- You know, back in the day, the mosh pit used to mean something.
BOB DYLAN, "Saved" -- You'd never know it, but I'm something of a controversial figure within my tiny online discussion group.
THE CURE, "Disintegration" -- Remember when I was completely miserable and would threaten suicide on a weekly basis? Man, those were the days.
JIMMY BUFFET, "Songs You Know By Heart" -- People foolishly think that smoking pot and being 'square' are incongruous. I am living proof that they are not.
LLOYD BANKS, "Hungry for More" -- Yo, Jurassic 5 fan. I'm about to make a very blatant pass at your girlfriend. Check it out. It's like you're not even here, yo.
SALIVA, "Back Into Your System" -- Odds are, before the weekend's over I'll attempt to light a fart.
CELINE DION, "New Day: Live in Vegas" -- I can't wait for Andy's party; this is going to be the funniest birthday present ever.
I realize I promised a blog entry every fday this week, but if reading this site has taight you one thing, it's that I'm a goddamn lying bastard. But, in an attempt to make up for my horrible inaction, I present:
WHAT YOUR FAVORITE ALBUM SAYS ABOUT YOU, Part CCXII (or whatever it really is)
MODEST MOUSE, "The Lonesome Crowded West" -- As I enter my Thirties, I'm finding it more and more exhausting to remain above it all.
MAROON 5, "Songs About Jane" -- Boy, applying for this Gap card was the best decision I ever made. Ten percent off every purchase! Sweet!
JURASSIC 5, "Quality Control" -- Despite my best attempts to embrace what I perceive to be 'hip hop culture', black teenagers still mock me openly.
KOOL MOE DEE, "Knowledge is King" -- Despite the fact that I am a black man, black teenagers still mock me openly.
VAN HALEN, "OU812" -- Did you know Sammy Hagar has his own brand of tequila? How cool is that? Fucking rock 'n roll, baby! Cabo Wabo! WHOOOOOOO!!! ...Oh shit, I'm late picking up the kids from soccer practice.
ASHLEE SIMPSON, "Autobiography" -- The Brooklyn Bridge? For sale? Wow, what a fantastic investment opportunity. Where's my checkbook?
FRANZ FERDINAND, "Franz Ferdinand" -- Do these glasses look okay? I'm worried they don't make me look nerdy enough.
ALAN JACKSON, "High Mileage" -- My wardrobe has queer undertones I'm completely unaware of.
SCISSOR SISTERS, "Scissor Sisters" -- My wardrobe has queer overtones I'm acutely aware of.
TOM WAITS, "Small Change" -- I like to meditate on life's big issues, such as "Why am I sitting alone in a bar on a Tuesday afternoon?"
RAY CHARLES, "The Very Best of Ray Charles" -- I went out and bought this album the week after Ray Charles died, so I could back up all of my bullshit about having been a lifetime Ray Charles fan.
LORETTA LYNN, "Van Lear Rose" -- I went out and bought this album because the White Stripes guy plays on it, but it will also come in handy in a few years, when I go around saying I've been a lifetime Loretta Lynn fan.
GIPSY KINGS, "The Best of the Gipsy Kings" -- I manage a three-star tapas restaurant.
BLACK FLAG, "Damaged" -- You know, back in the day, the mosh pit used to mean something.
BOB DYLAN, "Saved" -- You'd never know it, but I'm something of a controversial figure within my tiny online discussion group.
THE CURE, "Disintegration" -- Remember when I was completely miserable and would threaten suicide on a weekly basis? Man, those were the days.
JIMMY BUFFET, "Songs You Know By Heart" -- People foolishly think that smoking pot and being 'square' are incongruous. I am living proof that they are not.
LLOYD BANKS, "Hungry for More" -- Yo, Jurassic 5 fan. I'm about to make a very blatant pass at your girlfriend. Check it out. It's like you're not even here, yo.
SALIVA, "Back Into Your System" -- Odds are, before the weekend's over I'll attempt to light a fart.
CELINE DION, "New Day: Live in Vegas" -- I can't wait for Andy's party; this is going to be the funniest birthday present ever.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
AHHHHHHHHHHH...
So Friday was the big night, everything went great and all was right with the world. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, scroll down a bit. I actually wrote a really long blog entry about the taping earlier today, and then promptly deleted it by accident. Yes! Anyway, I will now try to recreate the pure genius of that lost blog entry.
The whole experience was surreal from beginning to end--from trying to explain what an "iPod" is to an octogenarian livery driver to sitting around in my dressing room drinking all the bottled water I could handle (jealous much?) to the performance itself to the many hours of drinking and drunken conversation that followed.
I have to say, I'm genuinely happy with the way the actual taping went, and I have no reason I won't be extremely proud of the show when it airs. But as I am a typical self-loathing comedian, it is in my nature to address that less-than-perfect aspects first. So...
The lighting in the (oh so very) beautiful Hudson Theater was such that I could make out the facial detail of just about everyone on the orchestra level. It was like doing comedy in 600 seat living room. That wouldn't have been so disconcerting if my entire guest list hadn't been sitting right in front of the stage. When it comes to an important show, friends and peers tend to be less-than-ideal audience members (especially if they've heard most of your set twenty times before). When you do comedy, you want to see people laughing unreservedly, as opposed to nervously 'rooting' for you. The producers actually offered to seat all of my friends up in the balcony, but I said, "Nah, I don't get phased by that stuff." What a douchebag. That said, the audience was absolutely fantastic and I don't think my performance was adversely affected.
The other semi-weird thing was that I flubbed a couple of lines and had to go back and do them over again. Apparently, this is par for the course in these half-hour tapings. But it was completely foreign experience to me. When you fuck something up during a regular set, you cut your losses and move on--there are no second chances. So it was bizarre to launch into a bit that the studio had heard me do thirty seconds earlier. But in a TV taping, it's all getting it down perfectly for the cameras, so I did what needed to be done, dammit. Thankfully, the audience kind of rallied behind me and the bit got nearly as good a response the second time around, if not better.
But all nitpicking aside, it was definitely the highlight of my comedy life and I imagine I'll never forget it. Afterwards, I went to a midtown bar with about fifty friends and drank beer after shot after beer. It was pure bliss.
So now that the Comedy Central Presents taping is officially in the books, I'll get back to to posting semi-funny shit on a more regular basis. In fact, i'm going to declare it right now: a TOH entry every damn day this week! So let it be typed, so let it be done!
So Friday was the big night, everything went great and all was right with the world. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, scroll down a bit. I actually wrote a really long blog entry about the taping earlier today, and then promptly deleted it by accident. Yes! Anyway, I will now try to recreate the pure genius of that lost blog entry.
The whole experience was surreal from beginning to end--from trying to explain what an "iPod" is to an octogenarian livery driver to sitting around in my dressing room drinking all the bottled water I could handle (jealous much?) to the performance itself to the many hours of drinking and drunken conversation that followed.
I have to say, I'm genuinely happy with the way the actual taping went, and I have no reason I won't be extremely proud of the show when it airs. But as I am a typical self-loathing comedian, it is in my nature to address that less-than-perfect aspects first. So...
The lighting in the (oh so very) beautiful Hudson Theater was such that I could make out the facial detail of just about everyone on the orchestra level. It was like doing comedy in 600 seat living room. That wouldn't have been so disconcerting if my entire guest list hadn't been sitting right in front of the stage. When it comes to an important show, friends and peers tend to be less-than-ideal audience members (especially if they've heard most of your set twenty times before). When you do comedy, you want to see people laughing unreservedly, as opposed to nervously 'rooting' for you. The producers actually offered to seat all of my friends up in the balcony, but I said, "Nah, I don't get phased by that stuff." What a douchebag. That said, the audience was absolutely fantastic and I don't think my performance was adversely affected.
The other semi-weird thing was that I flubbed a couple of lines and had to go back and do them over again. Apparently, this is par for the course in these half-hour tapings. But it was completely foreign experience to me. When you fuck something up during a regular set, you cut your losses and move on--there are no second chances. So it was bizarre to launch into a bit that the studio had heard me do thirty seconds earlier. But in a TV taping, it's all getting it down perfectly for the cameras, so I did what needed to be done, dammit. Thankfully, the audience kind of rallied behind me and the bit got nearly as good a response the second time around, if not better.
But all nitpicking aside, it was definitely the highlight of my comedy life and I imagine I'll never forget it. Afterwards, I went to a midtown bar with about fifty friends and drank beer after shot after beer. It was pure bliss.
So now that the Comedy Central Presents taping is officially in the books, I'll get back to to posting semi-funny shit on a more regular basis. In fact, i'm going to declare it right now: a TOH entry every damn day this week! So let it be typed, so let it be done!
Monday, August 02, 2004
AWAKE AND SING!
So did you miss me? Did you struggle to fill the 45-60 seconds of your workday usually devoted to reading my horsepoop? I know it was a long, cold week without me, but I had to stop writing for a week, in order to clear out all the suckers. I figure anyone who hasn't abandoned this stupid little website by now must be a true TOH reader. So for those of you who are back, half-expecting to see the same informational entry that has been collecting dust for the past eight days, I thank you.
Just about every waking moment these days is spent contemplating/freakingout about this Comedy Central thing on Friday. I genuinely look forward to being done with it, so I can stop poring over the same comedy pits (thinking they're going to suddenly become more hilarious) and go back to thinking of brand new poo-poo and pee-pee jokes.
But just to prove how totally non-funny I am these days, I'll try this:
AMERICA'S LEAST INLFLUENTIAL POLITICAL PARTIES
The I.O.U. Party
The Soldiers of Islam Party
The Ungroomed Vagina Party
The Half-Assed Indie Rock Hipster "Party"
The Wicked Retahhhded Pahhhty
The Key Party
The Need-fifty-dollars-to-make-you-holla Party
The Party Hearty Party
The Vicious Hitler-Loving Queers Party
The Danzacrats
Okay, that's all I got. Sad, no?
So did you miss me? Did you struggle to fill the 45-60 seconds of your workday usually devoted to reading my horsepoop? I know it was a long, cold week without me, but I had to stop writing for a week, in order to clear out all the suckers. I figure anyone who hasn't abandoned this stupid little website by now must be a true TOH reader. So for those of you who are back, half-expecting to see the same informational entry that has been collecting dust for the past eight days, I thank you.
Just about every waking moment these days is spent contemplating/freakingout about this Comedy Central thing on Friday. I genuinely look forward to being done with it, so I can stop poring over the same comedy pits (thinking they're going to suddenly become more hilarious) and go back to thinking of brand new poo-poo and pee-pee jokes.
But just to prove how totally non-funny I am these days, I'll try this:
AMERICA'S LEAST INLFLUENTIAL POLITICAL PARTIES
The I.O.U. Party
The Soldiers of Islam Party
The Ungroomed Vagina Party
The Half-Assed Indie Rock Hipster "Party"
The Wicked Retahhhded Pahhhty
The Key Party
The Need-fifty-dollars-to-make-you-holla Party
The Party Hearty Party
The Vicious Hitler-Loving Queers Party
The Danzacrats
Okay, that's all I got. Sad, no?
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