IT LIVES!

Okay, so much to discuss. I'm just going to plow through a whole bunch of shit.

* Yesterday was my birthday. Yes, I know--I was born on April Fools Day. No lame-ass jokes, please. So how did I spend my special day? On a train to Saratoga Springs, NY where I made an atempt to entertain the young men and women of Skidmore College with fellow comedian Kyle Grooms. The audience was great, and Kyle was very funny. As for me, I felt a bit off my game. I'm not sure if the audience could tell, but I felt a bit distracted. Maybe it's because I couldn't help but count all of the puka shell necklaces and sailor bracelets in the audience. Seriously, college students, what's the fucking deal with that retarded neo-Ocean Pacific shit? Retro is fine, but not every fucking fashion era needs to be resurrected. Maybe they're supposed to be "ironic" now, but I felt like I was looking out into a sea of everyone who I hated from high school. Who knew James Spader's "Pretty in Pink" character would the model for the 21st Century college hipster? Still, the show was fun and the students activities people were nice enough to get me a birthday cake, which was genuinely thoughtful.

So tonight Kambri and I are going out for a post-birthday birthday dinner, and then it's on to meet some friends--not a party, just communal drinking. But then, is there really a difference anymore? Once you pass the age of thirty, what IS a birthday party, other than simply a designated night of drinking. You know, I was about to write a long spiel on this topic, but then a feeling of deja vu swept over me and I realized that I already did write about this last year. So, um...enjoy that.

* I was in Miami last week, where I spent the week slathered in SPF 70. No, I'm not exagerrating. I am a pasty, mayonnaise-tinted man and I'm never again going to make the same mistake I made in Anguilla, also known as the 'White Seal' incident (see June 14, 2004). But wait, it gets even dorkier: I reached a new plateau of pathos last week, as I actually brough my Playstation with me on the trip. Yes, I spent four days in Miami, perhaps the most notorious "party" city in the United States, fighting digital monsters. Because that's how I roll, dawg.

* As Kambri mentioned, we did this weird thing on Staten Island public access TV a couple of weeks ago. These guys were attempting to break the Guinness Book talk show record for continuous hours on the air and, as far as I know, they succeeded. Of course, to do that, that means lots of very strange guests. I don't really have the energy to describe them all, so I'll just focus on this dude:



I know what you're thinking: Holy shit, that guy rules. Well dear friends, let me assure you: you have no fucking idea. Before we move on, let's get one more view of my man, this time from the back:



SWEET!

I simply can't explain how awesome this dude was. He sang an orginal song, which he dedicated to his mentor, Joe Franklin (who you can see visibly squirming in the background of that first photo). This gist of the song was that, no matter how famous he got and how much his music moved people (the song actually included lines like "After the roar of the crowd, after the spotlight fades..."), he would never forget the one who has was always there for him. Presumably, this is meant to be a woman, but he sang the song entirely to Joe (with his back squarely to the camera half the time, as seen in photo #2), reaching out to him as if he might at any minute he might give Joe's cheek a soft caress. It gave giving the whole thing a fascinating and tender prison rape vibe. There were also a lot of wonderful closed eyes/clenched fist moments, where you could almost see the guy saying to himself, "I am blowing these people's minds--hell, I'm blowing my own mind..."

My favorite moment was probably when he got to that "After the roar of the crowd..." line. In the musical vamp between verses, he told the audience that he was going to require our participation. Now I should mention that, in order to break the world's record, a small studio audeince was required at all times. In this case, the "audience" conisted of a few surly Staten Island firemen and some doughy middle aged folks who I assume were relatives of the guys producing on the show (very nice and industrious fellows, by the way). They appeared to have been there for hours and were a subdued group, to say the least. So when the magnificent singer dude got to his line, "After the roar of the crowd", he gestured to the audience with a majestic sweep of his hand. At this point, the 12-15 people in the room forced out a half-assed cheer/moan that sounded not unlike a group of zombies being shown a third grade magic trick. Ah, the roar of the crowd indeed...

That's it for now. Time to shower for my birthday dinner. I know Kambri and I aren't technically married, but I think tonight might be the night I get to Third Base! DOWN THE PANTS, BABY!

Christian had an unexpected trip to Florida and will be appearing at the various Improvs in W. Palm Beach, Ft. Lauderdale and Miami through the 26th. Buy tickets for the Miami Improv shows here.

While he soaks up some much needed sun (see post below for evidential photo), I am battling snow and freezing rain to bring you the following press updates:

-- My hometown paper, The Houston Chronicle, ran this interview today by Lana Berkowitz.

-- The Jeff Foxworthy Roast aired and Comedy Central has published clips of Christian interviewing the comics backstage before the show and at the after party. Here are the links:

Jeff Foxworthy Roast Interview with Jeff Foxworthy Video Clip

Jeff Foxworthy Roast Interview with Northern Comics Video Clip

Jeff Foxworthy RoastInterview with Southern Comics Video Clip

-- Christian and I both appeared on MoranoVision hosted by Frank Morano during his attempt to claim the Guinness World Record for longest televised talk show. (Current record is 29 hours, I think. MoranoVision taped for 33.) Other guests included Joe Franklin, Curtis Sliwa, Bernard Goetz and countless others. Read about it in Page Six. I'll let Christian tell you the surreal / funny parts if he ever gets around to writing again.

THE NIGHT TIME IS THE RIGHT TIME

So folks, this is a very special day in Finnegan-land. Comedy Central is airing my episode of Comedy Central presents tonight (Friday, March 11th) at 10pm. Yes, that's right--one full half hour of me doing my glorified dick jokes on your televsion screen. Don't believe me/ Check out the Time Warner Cable program guide:



Dear Christ, am I white...

Anyway, I know most people don't sit in on a Friday night to watch stand-up comedy on TV, but it's still far more meanginful to me than anything else I've done. So much so that I'm having a hard time being snarky about it. It's a genuine milestone in my little universe, and it goes a way toward making up for all of the drunken hecklers, the ego battles, the latenight subway debacles, the shows cancelled due to lack of audience, the threatening calls from collection agencies and the other, thrice weekly humiliations associated with being in this "business".

Interestingly, I started doing stand up exactly eight years ago this week. I'm not sure what I would have thought if someone told me I'd one day have a half hour on Comedy Central. Being a naive twat, I probably would have said, "Eight fucking years?! For one lousy half hour? Screw that." And then I would have settled into my publishing job and been eternally miserable for it. Thank god I'm no Nostradamus.

Anyway, check out the show tonight, if you can. If not, no worries--Comedy Central tends to air those over and over again. As a teaser, you can enjoy this little clip and interview from the Comedy Central website.

My next post will be funny. So let it be posted, so let it be done.

PAINFULLY SOBER

Greetings, friends. I'm currently in a hotel room in the DC area, back from performing at the glorious George Mason University. A strange gig, to say the least. The show took place in a massive food court kind of area, in a building that also housed the library (some students watched from the various floors above. The lights were neon and the ceiling was about a hundred feet high--it felt like performing in Superman's ice palace. Even better, situated next to the stage was a massive arts and crafts table. Yep, nothing makes a comedian feel professional like looking stage left and seeing thirty people playing with clay and construction paper. Definitely the proper setting for my glorified dick jokes. Don't get me wrong, the school was great and the kids seemed to really enjoy the show (except one woman who sat in the front row and sternly shook her head whenever I said anything that might be interpreted as 'off-color'). But a tad surreal, to say the least.

So I get back to the hotel a couple of minutes after midnight and I swing by the bar, hoping to grab a beer or three. The bar is just about to close up, which is not too surprising for a hotel bar. But that was fine, as I'd only planned to bring them up to my room anyway. But then he told me that it is against the law for a hotel to let you bring a beer from the bar up to you room? What the fucking fuck? How the hell am I supposed to develop a legitimate alcohol problem if these namby-pamby states won't allow me to get drunk while sitting on an uncomfortable king-sized bed, watching "In the Line of Fire" on the Superstation?

You know, hotels often host business conventions. I only mention that as an excuse to include a link to this. Enjoy.

I'VE GOT TO BE A MACHO MAN

So it appears that Kambri and I are reasonably situated in our new apartment, at long last. Over the past few days, I've been extremely manly. Holes have been drilled, various things pounded with a hammer and earlier today I actually acquired a slight tinge of body odor. This is a big deal for me, you see. Due to my fair Irish coloring and overall lack of body hair (my underarms look like Prince's upper lip), I hardly ever get that pungent pastrami-and-burnt-onions scent commonly known as "B.O.". Generally speaking, this is a good thing. But every once in a while it's nice to get a whiff of my pits and feel reassured that I'm not some neutered, overweight Powder.

Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I think I'm slowly but surely climbing out of my creative fox hole and I think I'll start posting on this site more often. Yes, I know--I say that all the time. And it's quite possible I'm totally full of shit. Only time will tell. I think the secret is learning how to keep these things short. Often times, I'll let a week (or three) go in between posts and I'll feel like I have to account for everything that has gone on in the meantime. Well, not anymore. No, for the forseeable future, all postings will be "fun size".

But as an added bonus for checking in today, here's a special message I've composed just for you.

Christian will return some day soon. Meanwhile, enjoy this interview with him posted on CollegHumor.com.

Also note some new tour dates have been added to his Calendar.

Where, o Where has Christian Gone?

He's been busy, okay!

He has been working. He has been writing. Just not for this site. What, you ask, has kept him away from you?

Besides performing all over this great nation of ours, he wrote a guidebook for men for 1-800-Flowers. Here is an excerpt of the Thoughtless Male Survival Guide from Jest Magazine.

Or get the whole darn thing here and here.

Are you a Frog or a Prince? Take the quiz, here.

Meanwhile, why not just see Christian perform live? Check his calendar for dates. Don't live near any venue? Then watch Comedy Central on March 11th for his very own 1/2 hour special premiering at 10:00 PM EST.

TO AIR IS HUMOROUS

I'm currently sitting at scenic Gate C6 of the Northwest Airlines terminal at Detroit/Wayne County airport, alternately known as "hell", "purgatory" or most commonly, "fuck this place". I have been sitting here for three and a half hours, waiting to board a prop plane that will take me to a small airport in Moline, MI, at which point a young man will pick me up to drive me 45 minutes to Knox College, where I will be performing what better be a fun show, else I might be forced to take lives.

I won't go into why I've been stranded here, as I've learned that travel horror stories are interesting no one, and should be endured only by family members and significant others (sorry, Kambri!). Suffice to say, fuck Northwest Airlines. Also, no matter how eloquently or hilariously I might describe how miserable my day has been, when it gets right down to it, I'm still a comedian making airplane jokes. Nay.

It's no mystery to me why jokes about airplane food and the airline industry in general have become the universally recognized sign of hack stand up comedy. If you're doing comedy as a "career", chances are you spend more time flying than, say, an algebra teacher or a Starbucks barista. And it's always stressful, even when it's not, and those are the kinds of situations that eventually strike one as funny. Just about every time I travel by plane, something happens to make me think "Hey, this would make a funny stand up bit". Eventually, though, I see the error of my ways before I take my hilarious new "What's up with those tray tables?" material to the stage. Trust me, you don't want to hear it.

I will say that I consider all of my nascent airplane material as a sign that I am, ever so slightly, moving up in the world. Why, I remember the days when I'd only come up with public bus and subway material. After a few years, I moved up to Amtrak jokes, and now finally, planes. Someday, I hope to have 20 solid minutes of material about travelling by private helicopter, a la "Man, don't you hate it when you're going out on a hot date and your hair gets all messed up from the gusts of wind generated by your private helicopter? When are they going to make a styling gel that can deal with that, am I right? 'Extra Hold', my ass!" You know, everyday observational stuff like that.

CUT TO:

Okay, it's the next day. Thursday, to be exact. I couldn't get onto the internet from my hotel room last night, so I had to wait to come back to the airport to finish this groundbreaking post. Luckily, I knew I'd have some extra time here at the Moline airport becasue...you guessed it, I'm waiting through another flight delay. Did I mention "Fuck Northwest"? Yeah. Okay. Onwards and upwards.

The show last night was fun, and the students of Knox college seeme to be a fine young bunch of men and women. But this has definitely been one of those Murphy's Law kinds of trips (and by that I mean that this entire trip has reminded me of a defunct punk rock band). Since I've spent this entire post basically bitching and moaning, I'd like to toss out another heart "F You" to the staff of the Galesburg Ramada Inn, who are among the stupider people on the planet. I'm okay dealing with idiots every now and then, because for the most part stupid people are quite friendly. But the folks at the Ramada displayed a stunning mix jaded apathy and Down Syndrome, two traits that aren't usually found together. When I checked in, I asked them if they had a highspeed internet connection and it was as if I were trying to discuss German philosophy with a bucket of poo. Actually, that would actually make sense on some metaphorical level, but you get my point. Okay, it looks like my plane to Detroit is about to board, so I'll just go ahead and post this. But I've already missed my connecting flight, so I'll probably have time to write about my experience sitting around a country-western karaoke bar after the show last night. Lucky you.

BELTWAY INSIDER

Howdy, peoples. I'm writing to you from glorious Washington DC, where people venture from all corners of the world, primarily to go see Fonzi's jacket at the Smithsonian. I am here all week, performing at the DC Improv, which has been pretty damn sweet so far (I've done two of seven shows so far). Among stand up comics, the DC Improv has a reputation as one of the best clubs in the country, and I'm happy to say that it has not disappointed. The crowds have been substantial (for weeknight shows, at least) and better yet, enthusiastic. Most everyone seems to be in the 20-40 age range, and the crowds have seemed unusually bright--yet not so bright that they refuse to laugh at my glorified boobies-and-poo material (thank god).

It's interesting--earlier tonight, I heard someone refer to Washington DC as "Hollywood for ugly people". And while the people here don't seem notably hideous, the assessment does make some sense. This city seems to be full of wide-eyed young people who've moved here from some small town, dreaming of the bright lights of CSPAN. It's not like these kids are hoping to become senators, necessarily. They just want to be part of the glitzy machine that is Washington DC--the lawfirms, the media, the non-profits, etc. Yesterday, I was making use of the WiFi connection at the Borders Books cafe and I silently observed two relatively dorky twentysomethings chatting each other up. In a way, it was your typical boy-hits-on-girl situation. The difference was, these two kids were trading anecdotes about doing volunteer work around the world, subtly trying to one-up each other. And it wasn't "Wow, you were in the Peace Corps?!!", it was more like "Of course you were in the Peace Corps. Who wasn't? But how many tours did you do?" I don't know if the dude ever got the girl's number (or more likely, her Gmail address), but as I was packing up, he did drop perhaps the best "socially conscious guy" pick-up line I've ever heard: "Well, in the village where I was staying, there were fourteen different species of monkeys, so that was nice." Come on ladies, that's got to be worth a handjob, right?

Well, that almost all for now. I'm going to be posting something again tomorrow (no, seriously), if that means anything to you. I've been doing some morning radio here in DC to promote the comedy shows (it's kind of part of the gig), so I'll probably write something about that. And in the meantime, check out this bizarro interview thingy I did for Scene Missing Magazine. A couple of my answers were lifted from this very webpage, but the rest of it is brand new and at least a tiny bit checkle-worthy.

Oh and I probably don't need to say this, but if you live in the DC area, by all means come on out to a show. You can find showtimes on the DC Improv website.

See Christian *Live* Tonight!

Wow, Christian has posted so little on Tower of Hubris that I have two entries on one page. He is still alive, however, and you can see for yourself tonight at this month's installment of Sob Stories. The details are below. If you are still in need of a Christian FiXegan, check out his New Year's resolutions published on collegehumor.com. (Scroll down a bit to see Christian's contribution.)

Sob Stories Plug
When the booze beckons or the Nicorette wears off, you're in for another year of low-self esteem. Join us for stories from comics who set themselves up to fail over and over again.

The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!

Christian Finnegan ("Chappelle's Show", "Best Week Ever!") hosts guests Matt Higgins ("Centralia", "Second City"), Liam McEneaney ("Premium Blend"), Marta Ravin ("Premium Blend"), John Hodgman ("Little Gray Books" reading series) and more!

FGUJJUYOIP248TYNPV NW9R9V-W=JCN;QC;KENV

Okay, so let's just skip the part where I apologize for not posting in two weeks, okay? Life is short, and none of us need another round of soul searching, I-promise-I'm-going-to-post-every-day-from-now-on bullshit. I've been on vacation from my brain and that's that. Rather than re-hash my almost completed (thank christ) holiday season--maybe I'll do that sometime soon, maybe not--I want to talk about another couple of random things.

First off, what does it say that the feeling of dizzying euphoria I used to get from spotting a woman with a fantastic ass is now reserved for the moment when I open my mailbox and seeing the new Pottery Barn catalogue? Oh wait, I know exactly what it says: I've metamorphasized into a middle-aged queen. That's what being in a longterm relationship does to you, fellas--it turns you into a fag.

In other news, there was an item in today's Daily News about two Long Island women who were using their hot dog van as a de facto whorehouse. In between selling hot dogs, french fries and knishes, they would invite dudes into the back of the can and perform sex acts upon them. Pretty funny, eh? You probably think I could have a field day with a story like this, being that I am a stand-up comedy professional. Well...not necessarily. You see, this kind of story is what I like to call "Comedic Fool's Gold". A story about two chicks using a "weiner wagon" (the Daily News' term, not mine) as a...well, weiner wagon is so ridiculous, so immediately comedy-ready, that it becomes too easy a target. You see, the role of a comedian is to take a topic that's universal, mundane, or even tragic and find the humor in it. It is this ability that separates the gifted social satirist from Jay Leno's opening monlogue on The Tonight Show. Sure, maybe you can get laughs out of it for a day or two, but before long you're competing with Kevin, the guy from Accounting who thinks he's hilarious. Of course, there are many comics (the cast majority, really) who ignore this unspoken rule. They say "fuck it, a laugh's a laugh". In the stand up comedy business, we call these people "hacks". A hack is a comic who spends the bulk of his time on stage telling jokes that any corporate drone/TV anchorman/Jay Leno is capable of telling, or has in fact already told. He'd so a bit wher the punchline would be something like, "Hey, nothing a lady likes more than a foot-long!" or perhaps "For an extra ten bucks, they put your weiner inbetween a couple of buns!". Or, if you're someone's dad, maybe you'd go the pun route, a la "Wow, there's an opportunity I'd relish!"

Hey...wait a minute...that's genius! Watch out, world--someone's just added a new bit to his A-List!

I WANT THINGS

Look, I realize there are only eleven or so shopping days left until Christmas and you guys are probably saying to yourselves, "What does Christian want? How will I show him how important he is to me during this very special holiday season?!" Well, fear not, kids--allow me to take the guess work out of it for you. I know it's a bit tacky, but rather than end up with a bunch of stuff I don't want, I've taken the time to list a few of the items I'm hoping to receive from...well, you. So get buying, people!

MY 2004 CHRISTMAS LIST:

* Sharper Image (tm) Ballsack Demagnetizer

* A signed copy of "Fuckstain Heart Attack: The Collected Poems of Huey Lewis"

* "Undead Noregian Assholes III: Blood Spurten" for Xbox

* Apple's new "iBong"

* $50 Gift certificate from "Functional Dildo Mart"

* One year subscription to "Office Bathroom Stall Nap Enthusiast" magazine

* "Mr. Dialysis" Home Kidney Failure Kit (Ages 3 and Up)

* Candycane codpiece

* 18" of actor Rene Auberjonois used dental floss

* A faithful rendering of Van Gogh's "Waterlillies" using only earwax and boogers

* The book-on-tape version of The Holy Qu'ran, read by a drunken Nick Nolte

* Perspective

THE MOST EFFECTIVE PLUG OF ALL TIME

Look, I ain't gonna beg. I'm just going to say that if you miss tonight's installment of 'Sob Stories" (see below for details)...well, you're a bad person. The theme is "Holiday Cheer" so if you don't show up, I guess we'll be left to assume that you have some sort of problem with the holliday season--a time when families, friends and loved ones put aside their petty grievances and join together in our common hope for peace on earth and goodwill towards men. . "But I live in Wisconsin," you're saying. "Surely you can't expect me to fly to New York for a comedy show!" And to this, my answer is: if world peace and goodwill toward men meant a goddamn fucking thing to you, you'd find a way to be there.

Thanks for ruining Christmas, asshole.

We Interrupt Your Regular Broadcast

Hello Tower of Hubris readers. Kambri Crews, here. Here is an update on two upcoming shows in which you can see your beloved Christian Finnegan perform in chronological order:

My Coolest Years premieres this weekend on VH1. Christian Finnegan will appear in the episodes Summer Vacation and First Time, premiering Sunday, December 5th at 12:30 PM and Saturday, December 11th at 10:00 PM, respectively. Click here for additional air dates/times.

Sob Stories, with Christian hosting, will feature guests Lizz Winstead (creator of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart), Rob Huebel ("Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man" and a million commercials -- a most excellent story-teller), Ophira Eisenberg (Premium Blend, Us Weekly Fashion Police) and Seth Morris (UCB all star).

Here's the promotional blurb that subscribers received along with this picture that ran in Time Out NY:

Going home for the holidays? Get a preview of the horrors that await you at this month's Sob Stories, as comics recount tales of undercooked turkeys, humilating family reunions, lame presents and a host of other holiday disappointments.

The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: Holiday Cheer

We're really hoping to pack the audience this time around for this consistently excellent show. So grab a friend and come on down.

If you want to be notified of updates like these, please join the list. We won't sell your information and you'll receive about two or three emails a month. Check out the last newsletter which has information on a free movie screening and more.

And, just for fun, my new favorite photo of me and Christian taken at the Jeff Foxworthy Roast after party at Strata which will grace the front of our Christmas cards:

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

PLEASE...MAKE IT STOP

I...can't...go on any longer. It has me and it won't let go. Two and a half hours today. Over six hours yesterday, at least three the day before. My health is failing, my hands are shaking and I feel as if the slightest incident may bring me to tears. When I close my eyes, I can see apparitions calling me, taunting me. Cruelty, thy name is "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas".

Why oh why did I allow this beast into my life? I feel like Frodo, doomed to shoulder an unholy force (in this case, a Playstation controller) that is slowly driving me insane. Yes, just in case my admitting to being completely obsessed with a video game wasn't dorky enough, I just threw in a "Lord of the Rings" reference to boot.

Anyway, it's been a banner weekend in the life of Christian Finnegan. Over the course of the last 48 hours, I've left my home for a grand total of 40 minutes. The only people I've spoken to are Kambri, the dude who makes my deli sandwiches and a couple of delivery men. What HAVE I done? Well, a lot. First of all, I rooted out the traitors in the Grove Street Family street gang (I never did trust Ryder and "Big Smoke"). Then I did a bit of dirty work for corrupt police officers Tenpenny and Pulaski--they've framed me for a muder, you see. Earlier today, I took a flamethrower to Mr. Truth's marijuana fields and shot down a police copter with a rocket launcher. I'm currently working as a freelance "soldier" for a pimp named Jizzy B, but that's just a ruse so I can get to the REAL players and make some serious shit go down. Silly you, you probably thought I hadn't posted because I'd gone away for the holiday weekend! Get your head out of your ass!

I am a sad, sad man.

Speaking of the holiday, I trust you all had a pleasant Thanksgiving? Or, if not "pleasant", I trust that none of you said anything to a family member that can't be taken back? No? Ugh. Well, don't feel too bad about it--we all kind of already knew that Aunt Karen was a "Donut Bumper" (nice wording, btw). As for me, I stayed in town, primarily because visiting my family would entail dealing with Penn Station. And on the day before Thanksgiving, Penn Station takes on a distinct "Pacers vs. Pistons" vibe. Seriously, people gather around the big board waiting for their track number to come up and once it does, all holy fucking hell breaks loose--punching, screaming, babies getting trampled, teenagers looting Hudson News and Bennigan's. F that.

Instead, Kambri and I inaugurated what we both hope will become a holiday tradition: Thanksgiving dinner at The Rainbow Room. It was pretty sweet--great food, unbelievable views and the rare opportunity to feel like I have something resembling "class". If you are so inclined, you can see a picture of us dressed up all fancy-like on Kambri's site. She looks ungodly beautiful, I look like a pasty, heavyset member of the Putterman family.

Okay, I suppose that's all for now. In case you're racking your brain, I give you this photographic reminder of the erstwhile Duracell pitchmen known as "The Puttermans". Enjoy:

THE LEAST POPULAR NATIVE AMERICAN NAMES, Part II

Coyote With Adult Acne

Chief Buffalo Who Mounts Other Male Buffalo

50 Wampum

She Who Will Not Trim Pubes

Runs for Comptroller

Fights Bravely With Spear...IN BED!

Fisted Owl

Princess Ticking Biological Clock

Wears Sacred Goggles While Drinking

Hates Puerto Ricans

Chief Embarassing Puka Shell Necklace

Hangs Nagel Painting in Teepee

Thunder Thighs

Little Sparrow Who Calls Big Sparrow Fifteen Times A Day Even When She Knows He's Busy (What Does She Think, Big Sparrow Has Nothing Better To Do With Afternoon Than Listen To Little Sparrow Babble On About How Copy Machine in Office Have Paper Jam? Give Big Sparrow Break!)

Toilet Paper Stuck To Moccasin

Crazier Horse

HEY, I THINK I JUST SAW IT MOVE!

I'm going to get back to posting shit on a regular basis, I swear. Today marks the very last day in my much whined-about "busy period". And what am I going to be so busy doing today? Sleeping. For you see, it is currently 8:03am and I have pulled what the young folks like to call an "all-nighter" to finish up some work for that 1-800-FLOWERS project I mentioned on this site a few weeks ago.

It's strange, I used to pull two or three all-nighters a week, but now that I'm older my body is starting to fail me. My hands have begun to shake my head feels as if, were I to tilt my head to one side, brain-matter would drip out of my ear. Back in my youth, I would never get this feeling until mid-afternoon. Part of me digs it, as it's as close as I'll ever get to knowing what it feels like to do hard drugs.

To give you an idea of how tired I am, I just spent a solid eight minutes staring at the screen after typing that last sentence. I'm not even sure what I was thinking about.

Okay, time for beddie-bye. Like I said, as of tomorrow, my schedule is looking pretty relaxed until Christmas, so that means I'll be beck to writing on a regular basis--maybe not EVERY day, but enough to make it worth wasting a few moments of your workday every now and then. Have a nice day, winners!

HIP HIP HOORAY FOR PRESIDENT BUSH'S SECOND TERM!!!

(sigh) I just wanted to see how it felt to type that. Ugh. I need to put my head in between my knees for a moment.

I don't even know what to say about this fucking situation. It's down to Kerry's lawyers trying to wring 125,000 provisonal ballots out of Ohio, and you know what? It ain't gonna happen. Me, I'd rather swallow the bitter pill and just sulk in private. I'm sure there are a few million people who are currently pounding the shit out of their keyboards, decrying the state of our nation, planning their exoduses (exodi?) to Canada, so I think I'll just sit this tragic moment in history out. Suffice to say, fuck this noise.

This week has already been a real doozy for me and it's about to get moreso. First (and most importantly), this election nonsense. In a few hours, I get on a plane to Sonoma, California for a college show. Sixteen hours later, I'll be flying back to NYC for the very last episode of "Tough Crowd" and the accompanying sure-to-be-melancholy wrap party. The next morning I go into my office to clear out my shit, and then get into a car to drive to Malborough, Massachusetts for a "NACA" conference. This is where you mill around a suburban Best Western for a couple of days, trying to impress nineteen year-old college students, so that they'll offer you work. Three cheers for whoring!! Yippee!!

Fuck it. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, America.

I LEFT MY HEART ON AMERICAN EAGLE FLIGHT 3130

Fun show at Fresno State earlier tonight--good turnout, friendly audience. It was such a good show, in fact, I really have nothing to say about it. It's funny how I can write paragraph after paragraph about a shitty gig, but have nothing to say about the relatively good ones.

But enough about that. The important thing is that, sitting across the aisle on the plane from me this morning, was legendary crooner and national treasure Tony Bennett. I have no idea why Tony Bennett would need to take a 35 seat, coach-only puddle jumper from Los Angeles to Fresno, but there you have it. Even cooler, he was nattily dressed in an expensive suit, with a ruby red pocket square and slightly-too-large-for-his-face tinted sunglasses. I like it when celebrities go the extra mile to be who they "are" in public, even if it means sacrificing a bit of comfort. You think Tony Bennett, you think classy suit and pocket square--to see him farting around in sweat pants and a Cookie Puss t-shirt would just seem...I don't know, not right.

Seeing Tony Bennett look so "Tony Bennett" makes me think that maybe I should start to cultivate a "look". Sure, I look hot as hell in my pastiche of Old Navy and The Gap, but maybe it's time for more memorable performance-wear. Here are a few ideas for my new "look":

* Urban Pirate
* Breakdancing Satanist
* Faggy Spaceman
* Hooker with a Heart of Gold
* Native American Jello Wrestler
* Lobster Boy Chic
* Grunge Barrister
* Stroke Victim Nouveau
* "Brendan", that creepy neighborhood kid who tortures small animals

If you have any suggestions, speak now or forever hold your peace.

THE BASEBALL, THE GLAMOUR

As I've mentioned here on a number of occasions, I am not a Boston Red Sox fan, despite my having spent the first 18 years of my life in Massachusetts. Still, I must say that I am very happy for Red Sox fans everywhere, including my family and childhood friends. I watched the game tonight with a few transplanted New Englanders, including one dude who is easily the most intense baseball fanatic I will ever meet. And when the game finally came to an end, my friend was crying, jumping up and down, screaming to the heavens and basically having a religious experience in front of my eyes. I must say, it was pretty amazing. Of course, if I was cynical I could mention that ten seconds later he started an enthusiastically received chant of "Yankees suck", thereby proving that even in a moment of supreme glory, Red Sox fans (and the city of Boston in general) will always need feel the need to measure themselves in terms of how they relate to the Yankees (and New York in general). But I won't.

In all seriousness, congratulations to everyone from my prodigal hometown.

And on a completely different note, I should briefly mention that beloved character actor John C. Reilly told me he enjoyed my set last night. An old friend of mine from NYC now lives out here and produces a really hip monthly vaudeville show. Apparently Jay Mohr was supposed to make an appearance, but he bailed, so my friend asked me if I wanted to swing by after what turned out to be a semi-lackluster USC show. I did and it was definitely surreal in that bizarre L.A. kind of way. Apparently, people were upset because famous photographer Bruce Weber had reserved the majority of the tables, meaning that other movers and shakers folks were actually made to stand (Heaven forfend!). Luckily, they found a seat for Marisa Tomei (WHEW!) and someone named Samantha Ronson (should I know who she is?), but John C. Reilly was forced to mill around by the bar, where sightlines to the stage were extremely limited. But I guess he saw enough of my set that he felt compelled to give me props--either that, or he just felt awkward that I happened to be standing there next to him and tossed me one of those "Good Job comments that I wrote about a couple of weeks back. Still, it was pretty neat.

In other strange "celebrity" sightings, members of the seminal punk band The Misfits were staying here at the Best Western Sunset Plaza last night, and I saw some weird looking dude I recognized from "Melrose Place" (Grant Show, maybe?) sitting in the window of a shitty Mexican restaurant. Hollywood glitz, baby!