BREAKING NEWS
NOTE: THERE HAS BEEN A CHANGE IN THE SCHEDULE -- SEE BELOW!
While one Mr. F. Christian Finnegan gets drunk with Charlie Murphy in North Carolina, I, Kambri Crews, devoted webmaster, girlfriend, over-user of commas and dashes, sit here toiling away in promotion of Mr. Finnegan without the perks of health benefits, a retirement plan or, hell, even a promise that said Mssrs. Finnegan & Murphy will not attempt a friendly re-enactment of their anal rape scene from the "Mad Real World" sketch as seen on the special features section of Chappelle's Show Season 1 DVD as a way of bonding through nostalgia.
Since there are no guarantees in life, promote away I will:
Get your tickets to see Christian tape his 1/2 hour special for Comedy Central Presents.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 6TH
The Hudson Theater
145 West 44th Street
New York, NY, 10036
Now scheduled for 6:00 PM
Click here for FREE tickets!
Incidentally, for those extra special Christian Finnegan fans looking for new masturbatory fodder*, I've updated the Photos page.
*Pipe down, Grandma, your limited edition nude-y pic is en route. Happy early Grandparents' Day!
-- Kambri
Quantities are limited. Act now while supplies last. Not responsible for anything whatsoever.
Friday, July 23, 2004
ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN
I'm going to go ahead and apologize for this now. Sorry.
So I've been doing a lot of stage time lately, preparing for this half-hour thingy on August 6th. And to be honest, it hasn't really been a whole lot of fun. I'm 100% in practice mode--spitting out (mostly) the same material every time, trying to iron out the kinks, timing everything out, etc. So a lot of my sets lately have been kind of workmanlike. I'm not worried about it affecting the taping--in fact, I know that when I'm standing there trying to process how surreal the environment is, I'll be glad I spent so much time banging this shit into my subconscious. But in the meantime, it's a bit of a drag. So yesterday afternoon I was trying to figure out how I be a bit more "in the moment" while I rehearse this stuff.
Cut to last night. I had a hour or two to kill between getting off of work and my gig at Stand Up NY, so I went to a restaurant and had a pleasant dinner and tried to plow through 15 pages of a book. Walking over to the club afterwards, I knew something was amiss--it seems my chicken penne with plum tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzarella was feeling rowdy. As I stood out at the bar waiting for my spot, I knew I was in trouble. And I'm not talking "Gee, I need to spend a little quality time in the mens room" trouble. I'm talking "feces may very well explode out of my ass at any moment, and I will be absolutely powerless to stop it" trouble. Standing in the corner of club, waiting to be called to the stage, I was in full-on panic mode. Sweat was pouring down my forehead and I was nervously shifting my weight back and forth. Various scenarios went through my head, all of them rather horrible. Was I to be known among my peers as "that jackass who once shit his pants onstage"? Right before I walked up the stage, the manager leaned in and told me one another comic had to cancel, so I was welcome to add an additional five minutes to my set. Ugh. Sweet Jesus.
Here's the kicker: I had my best set in weeks. Months, maybe. Everything felt fresh again, as if what I was saying had a sense of...well, urgency. I feel like I've stumbled upon an important discovery. Henceforth, I will eat a piece of week-old fish that has been left out in the hot sun prior to every important stand up gig. I'll let you know how it goes.
I'm going to go ahead and apologize for this now. Sorry.
So I've been doing a lot of stage time lately, preparing for this half-hour thingy on August 6th. And to be honest, it hasn't really been a whole lot of fun. I'm 100% in practice mode--spitting out (mostly) the same material every time, trying to iron out the kinks, timing everything out, etc. So a lot of my sets lately have been kind of workmanlike. I'm not worried about it affecting the taping--in fact, I know that when I'm standing there trying to process how surreal the environment is, I'll be glad I spent so much time banging this shit into my subconscious. But in the meantime, it's a bit of a drag. So yesterday afternoon I was trying to figure out how I be a bit more "in the moment" while I rehearse this stuff.
Cut to last night. I had a hour or two to kill between getting off of work and my gig at Stand Up NY, so I went to a restaurant and had a pleasant dinner and tried to plow through 15 pages of a book. Walking over to the club afterwards, I knew something was amiss--it seems my chicken penne with plum tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzarella was feeling rowdy. As I stood out at the bar waiting for my spot, I knew I was in trouble. And I'm not talking "Gee, I need to spend a little quality time in the mens room" trouble. I'm talking "feces may very well explode out of my ass at any moment, and I will be absolutely powerless to stop it" trouble. Standing in the corner of club, waiting to be called to the stage, I was in full-on panic mode. Sweat was pouring down my forehead and I was nervously shifting my weight back and forth. Various scenarios went through my head, all of them rather horrible. Was I to be known among my peers as "that jackass who once shit his pants onstage"? Right before I walked up the stage, the manager leaned in and told me one another comic had to cancel, so I was welcome to add an additional five minutes to my set. Ugh. Sweet Jesus.
Here's the kicker: I had my best set in weeks. Months, maybe. Everything felt fresh again, as if what I was saying had a sense of...well, urgency. I feel like I've stumbled upon an important discovery. Henceforth, I will eat a piece of week-old fish that has been left out in the hot sun prior to every important stand up gig. I'll let you know how it goes.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
FEELING SKITTISH
So last week I read Jay Mohr's book, Gasping for Airtime, which is his account of the two years he spent languishing as a "featured player" on Saturday Night Live. Despite the fact that Last Comic Standing has left me thinking that Jay Mohr is something of a douchebag, I found the book pretty interesting. I've always been fascinated with SNL, even in the years before I ever considered going into comedy as a career--there is no book, film, or even album that has had such a massive influence on me. And likewise, nothing has consistently so filled me with rage. But even in those years that the show has royally sucked (and there have been many), I've found myself captivated. A friend of mine compares SNL to an abusive husband who is constantly beating you, but you keep coming back, thinking he's going to change.
Anyway, reading Mohr's book has definitely rekindled my childhood dreams of being an SNL cast member. But that's not really the trajectory my little "career" is taking. I used to be in a sketch comedy group, but for the past five or so years, I've been pretty much solely devoted to stand up. And I think history has proven that stand up comics just don't do so well on SNL. Plus, I'm probably a bit too old. Still, I can dream. It's about having characters, man. So in that spirit, I'm contemplating spending the months following this Comedy Central thingy working on a few bonafide wacky sketch characters. You can add this to the list of things I plan on doing after August 6th, but will probably never really devote myself to fully (along with writing a screenplay, working on a spec script, doing a "What Your Favorite Album Says About You" book, getting in shape, ironing out my various personality quirks with a therapist and cleaning my bathroom.)
So I was doing some thinking yesterday and it occurred to me that I already do have a few probably-crappy characters rattling around in my brain (and in the TOH archives), such as:
* Chet Van Orr, 80's movie asshole-for-hire
* Pryce Martinez, investigative reporter for the Channel Six action squad "You Should Be Ashamed" report
* Pavel Pedrovsky, the "bad boy" of Ukrainian figure skating
* Dr. Cockblock, the evil genius who maliciously stops superheroes from getting laid (and there is also his counterpart, Captain Tries-Too-Hard, the superhero who ruins evil get-togethers with his desperate and annoying personality)
And then I spent a few minutes this morning comoing up with a few more. And no, these aren't completely serious. But they're not completely unserious, either. Anyway, here's what I've come up with this morning:
* Larry Caffee, the guy who inexplicably thinks everyone from Michigan is a homo
* Frrrrrrp, the space alien who desperately wants to establish friendly ties with the people of Earth, but whose language unfortunately sounds exactly like a series of wet farts.
* Sister Ann "Beermeister" Kelly, the nun who acts like a frat boy
* Dr. Todd Berger, indie hipster physician
* Sgt. Ron Roxley, Soldier of Wheel of Fortune
* Andrew, the stroke victim who everyone thinks is drunk
* Hugz, the learning disabled rapper
* El Strongo, Mexican Arm Wrestling Champion (Phantom Limb Division)
Yes, I know: I am a genius. True, some of these need a bit of fleshing out. But then again, looking at SNL over the past few years, maybe not.
So last week I read Jay Mohr's book, Gasping for Airtime, which is his account of the two years he spent languishing as a "featured player" on Saturday Night Live. Despite the fact that Last Comic Standing has left me thinking that Jay Mohr is something of a douchebag, I found the book pretty interesting. I've always been fascinated with SNL, even in the years before I ever considered going into comedy as a career--there is no book, film, or even album that has had such a massive influence on me. And likewise, nothing has consistently so filled me with rage. But even in those years that the show has royally sucked (and there have been many), I've found myself captivated. A friend of mine compares SNL to an abusive husband who is constantly beating you, but you keep coming back, thinking he's going to change.
Anyway, reading Mohr's book has definitely rekindled my childhood dreams of being an SNL cast member. But that's not really the trajectory my little "career" is taking. I used to be in a sketch comedy group, but for the past five or so years, I've been pretty much solely devoted to stand up. And I think history has proven that stand up comics just don't do so well on SNL. Plus, I'm probably a bit too old. Still, I can dream. It's about having characters, man. So in that spirit, I'm contemplating spending the months following this Comedy Central thingy working on a few bonafide wacky sketch characters. You can add this to the list of things I plan on doing after August 6th, but will probably never really devote myself to fully (along with writing a screenplay, working on a spec script, doing a "What Your Favorite Album Says About You" book, getting in shape, ironing out my various personality quirks with a therapist and cleaning my bathroom.)
So I was doing some thinking yesterday and it occurred to me that I already do have a few probably-crappy characters rattling around in my brain (and in the TOH archives), such as:
* Chet Van Orr, 80's movie asshole-for-hire
* Pryce Martinez, investigative reporter for the Channel Six action squad "You Should Be Ashamed" report
* Pavel Pedrovsky, the "bad boy" of Ukrainian figure skating
* Dr. Cockblock, the evil genius who maliciously stops superheroes from getting laid (and there is also his counterpart, Captain Tries-Too-Hard, the superhero who ruins evil get-togethers with his desperate and annoying personality)
And then I spent a few minutes this morning comoing up with a few more. And no, these aren't completely serious. But they're not completely unserious, either. Anyway, here's what I've come up with this morning:
* Larry Caffee, the guy who inexplicably thinks everyone from Michigan is a homo
* Frrrrrrp, the space alien who desperately wants to establish friendly ties with the people of Earth, but whose language unfortunately sounds exactly like a series of wet farts.
* Sister Ann "Beermeister" Kelly, the nun who acts like a frat boy
* Dr. Todd Berger, indie hipster physician
* Sgt. Ron Roxley, Soldier of Wheel of Fortune
* Andrew, the stroke victim who everyone thinks is drunk
* Hugz, the learning disabled rapper
* El Strongo, Mexican Arm Wrestling Champion (Phantom Limb Division)
Yes, I know: I am a genius. True, some of these need a bit of fleshing out. But then again, looking at SNL over the past few years, maybe not.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
I WILL BE MAKING FART NOISES INTO THE MICROPHONE FOR THE ENTIRE 28 MINUTES
Okay, so I'm a dick. What can I say? Like Tony Blair, I take full responsibility for this travesty. I've been going a little nutsy for the past month or two, and I guess it finally caught up to me in the form of my shameful re-posting of a link. I am a penis.
So what have I been so busy with? I suppose it's about time I should just be out with it. I am going to be taping an episode of Comedy Central Presents on Friday, August 6th. For those of you unfamiliar with this program, it's a stand up comedy showcase where one comic does a full half hour in front of a few hundred people at the very beautiful Hudson Theater here in New York.
In terms of stand-up, this is far and away the biggest thing that's ever happened for me. It goes beyond mere exposure and airtime (although that's pretty damned sweet, too). Doing your own half hour special is a massive rite of passage in the comedy world, and I feel pretty overwhelmed at the opportunity. So as you can imagine, this half-hour thingy has been pretty much dominating my life for the past month or two--I think about it morning, noon and night. I've been doing long sets on the road for the past couple of years, so doing 28 minutes (it eventually gets edited down to 22) is not really so intimidating in and of itself. The question has been, exactly which 28 minutes will I be doing. The kind of set I would do for a crowd of thirtysomething couples in Doylestown, PA who don't know me from Adam is somewhat different than the set I would do for a bunch of media-saturated "hipsters" on the Lower East Side. Each type of set has its positives and negatives and each represents at least part of what I think I'm "about", as a comic. But marrying the two sensibilities has been a challenging (and ongoing!) process. So one of the reasons I haven't been writing a whole lot lately is that I'm not really in that mode these days--I'm editing, rearranging, pruning. And performing--a lot. Any new shit I do come up with these days is being funnelled into Tough Crowd, where I am employed dring the day, and Best Week Ever, where I come up with new and exciting ways to call Britney Spears a whore.
So that's the long and short of it. Like I said, the taping takes place on Friday, August 6th at around 8:30-ish. There will be two half hour shows taped at once, mine and that of the very funny Godfrey, who you might recognize as the current spokesdude for 7-Up. If you live in or around NYC and think you might like to see the taping, that is definitely do-able. The tickets are free and relatively plentiful, but they do require putting yourself on some sort of list. As we get closer to the actual date of the show, I will post exactly what one needs to do to reserve a seat.
Thanks for your ongoing support and readership. After August 6th, I will never again be so scatterbrained as to post the same link twice. Well, maybe I shouldn't make any promises...
Okay, so I'm a dick. What can I say? Like Tony Blair, I take full responsibility for this travesty. I've been going a little nutsy for the past month or two, and I guess it finally caught up to me in the form of my shameful re-posting of a link. I am a penis.
So what have I been so busy with? I suppose it's about time I should just be out with it. I am going to be taping an episode of Comedy Central Presents on Friday, August 6th. For those of you unfamiliar with this program, it's a stand up comedy showcase where one comic does a full half hour in front of a few hundred people at the very beautiful Hudson Theater here in New York.
In terms of stand-up, this is far and away the biggest thing that's ever happened for me. It goes beyond mere exposure and airtime (although that's pretty damned sweet, too). Doing your own half hour special is a massive rite of passage in the comedy world, and I feel pretty overwhelmed at the opportunity. So as you can imagine, this half-hour thingy has been pretty much dominating my life for the past month or two--I think about it morning, noon and night. I've been doing long sets on the road for the past couple of years, so doing 28 minutes (it eventually gets edited down to 22) is not really so intimidating in and of itself. The question has been, exactly which 28 minutes will I be doing. The kind of set I would do for a crowd of thirtysomething couples in Doylestown, PA who don't know me from Adam is somewhat different than the set I would do for a bunch of media-saturated "hipsters" on the Lower East Side. Each type of set has its positives and negatives and each represents at least part of what I think I'm "about", as a comic. But marrying the two sensibilities has been a challenging (and ongoing!) process. So one of the reasons I haven't been writing a whole lot lately is that I'm not really in that mode these days--I'm editing, rearranging, pruning. And performing--a lot. Any new shit I do come up with these days is being funnelled into Tough Crowd, where I am employed dring the day, and Best Week Ever, where I come up with new and exciting ways to call Britney Spears a whore.
So that's the long and short of it. Like I said, the taping takes place on Friday, August 6th at around 8:30-ish. There will be two half hour shows taped at once, mine and that of the very funny Godfrey, who you might recognize as the current spokesdude for 7-Up. If you live in or around NYC and think you might like to see the taping, that is definitely do-able. The tickets are free and relatively plentiful, but they do require putting yourself on some sort of list. As we get closer to the actual date of the show, I will post exactly what one needs to do to reserve a seat.
Thanks for your ongoing support and readership. After August 6th, I will never again be so scatterbrained as to post the same link twice. Well, maybe I shouldn't make any promises...
LINKSANITY
I'll write something a little later in the day, but in the meantime, you really need to check this shit out. I think My favorite is the Orson Welles thing, althought they're all pretty great.
Like I said, i'll write something later. Seriously.
I'll write something a little later in the day, but in the meantime, you really need to check this shit out. I think My favorite is the Orson Welles thing, althought they're all pretty great.
Like I said, i'll write something later. Seriously.
Monday, July 12, 2004
GO FOR IT!
Hey there, you! Welcome to Monday! This is your week--I can feel it! This is the week you finally stand up to your boss! This is the week you patch things up with Mom! This is the week you'll get the attention from that boy or girl you've been furtively masturbating to for the past four months! This is the week you figure out how to siphon electricity for your squat! This is the week you learn conversational Portugese! This is the week you get the Big Country cover band back together! This is the week you punch a homeless guy in the face! This is the week you stop talking shit about Santa Claus! This is the week you drive for three hours, pull off the highway onto a deserted road, pull up behind an abandoned grain silo and dump the "package"! This is the week you get to work on that ransom note you've been kicking around! This is the week those balls finally drop! This is the week that celebrity you hate overdoses on drugs and dies alone in a motel room! This is the week your My Little Pony collection sells on eBay! This is the week the sky turns back, the rivers run red with blood and the Dark Lord Satan calls in your marker! THIS IS YOUR WEEK!
Now get out there and win!
Hey there, you! Welcome to Monday! This is your week--I can feel it! This is the week you finally stand up to your boss! This is the week you patch things up with Mom! This is the week you'll get the attention from that boy or girl you've been furtively masturbating to for the past four months! This is the week you figure out how to siphon electricity for your squat! This is the week you learn conversational Portugese! This is the week you get the Big Country cover band back together! This is the week you punch a homeless guy in the face! This is the week you stop talking shit about Santa Claus! This is the week you drive for three hours, pull off the highway onto a deserted road, pull up behind an abandoned grain silo and dump the "package"! This is the week you get to work on that ransom note you've been kicking around! This is the week those balls finally drop! This is the week that celebrity you hate overdoses on drugs and dies alone in a motel room! This is the week your My Little Pony collection sells on eBay! This is the week the sky turns back, the rivers run red with blood and the Dark Lord Satan calls in your marker! THIS IS YOUR WEEK!
Now get out there and win!
Friday, July 09, 2004
SOMETHING STUPID THIS WAY COMES
A few random thoughts/tidbits:
* Wednesday night, I stayed out drinking until 6am Thursday morning. This will never, ever, ever happen again. I am old. I am frail. I spent the entirety of Thursday sweating and shitting (sometimes simultaneously). This visual brought to you by the good people at Makers Mark.
* A couple of days ago, I nearly got into a fistfight on my subway platform. Some seemingly insane dude got right up in my face, to the point where his nose was pressed up against mine. Then, as he backed away, he took an open-handed swing at my face. At first, I had no idea how to react--it was completely out of the blue, and it took my a moment to know he wasn't joking around. When I finally came to my senses, my only thought was, "YES! I'm finally going to get into the fistfight I've been fantasizing about for the pas fifteen years! I, Christian Finnegan, shall punch! And be punched!" I'm not kidding about this--I am desperate to fight someone, anyone. So why didn't I actually "mix it up" with this dude? Because I was on my way to get my new headshots taken. That may be the lamest reason ever to not fight someone. Somewhere, the ghost of Ernest Hemingway was caling me a queer.
* I've heard of capital trials where a murderer is found not guilty by reason of insanity, after it's revealed that he has Multiple Personality Disorder. Well, what if you have multiple personalities, but it just so happens that each and every one of those personalities is a murderer? Can you still use that defense? Because even thought you're insane, you're still 100% murderer. Just a thought.
* I'm doing a great show on Wednesday called "Stand Up Smackdown" (you can find info about it on my calendar, or here), where comics go head-to-head in a vicious battle of wit and/or buffoonery. I will be taking on Chuck Nice, my fellow "Best Week Ever" panelist. At some point tomorrow, I have to email the producers and tell them what I want my entrance music to be--the whole thing has a pseudo WWF feel, obviously). Anyway, I've spent the last three days trying to decide on what the perfect I'm-about-to-fuck-you-up theme music would be. So far, I'm leaning towards "Hate to Feel" by Alice in Chains or "My Tortured Soul" by Probot. Any suggestions?
A few random thoughts/tidbits:
* Wednesday night, I stayed out drinking until 6am Thursday morning. This will never, ever, ever happen again. I am old. I am frail. I spent the entirety of Thursday sweating and shitting (sometimes simultaneously). This visual brought to you by the good people at Makers Mark.
* A couple of days ago, I nearly got into a fistfight on my subway platform. Some seemingly insane dude got right up in my face, to the point where his nose was pressed up against mine. Then, as he backed away, he took an open-handed swing at my face. At first, I had no idea how to react--it was completely out of the blue, and it took my a moment to know he wasn't joking around. When I finally came to my senses, my only thought was, "YES! I'm finally going to get into the fistfight I've been fantasizing about for the pas fifteen years! I, Christian Finnegan, shall punch! And be punched!" I'm not kidding about this--I am desperate to fight someone, anyone. So why didn't I actually "mix it up" with this dude? Because I was on my way to get my new headshots taken. That may be the lamest reason ever to not fight someone. Somewhere, the ghost of Ernest Hemingway was caling me a queer.
* I've heard of capital trials where a murderer is found not guilty by reason of insanity, after it's revealed that he has Multiple Personality Disorder. Well, what if you have multiple personalities, but it just so happens that each and every one of those personalities is a murderer? Can you still use that defense? Because even thought you're insane, you're still 100% murderer. Just a thought.
* I'm doing a great show on Wednesday called "Stand Up Smackdown" (you can find info about it on my calendar, or here), where comics go head-to-head in a vicious battle of wit and/or buffoonery. I will be taking on Chuck Nice, my fellow "Best Week Ever" panelist. At some point tomorrow, I have to email the producers and tell them what I want my entrance music to be--the whole thing has a pseudo WWF feel, obviously). Anyway, I've spent the last three days trying to decide on what the perfect I'm-about-to-fuck-you-up theme music would be. So far, I'm leaning towards "Hate to Feel" by Alice in Chains or "My Tortured Soul" by Probot. Any suggestions?
Thursday, July 08, 2004
TOMORROW!
Things will return to normal here tomorrow morning. I promise it. This is not the demise of TOH, just a necessary hiatus. Thank you for your patience.
In the meantime, check out this action. Pure genius. They're all great, but I must have watched the Orson Welles thing 25 times.
Tomorrow morning, dinks!
Things will return to normal here tomorrow morning. I promise it. This is not the demise of TOH, just a necessary hiatus. Thank you for your patience.
In the meantime, check out this action. Pure genius. They're all great, but I must have watched the Orson Welles thing 25 times.
Tomorrow morning, dinks!
Thursday, July 01, 2004
REJECTED TITLES FOR THE NEXT HARRY POTTER NOVEL
Harry Potter and the Unfilled Ice Trays
Harry Potter and the Conspicuous Cold Sore
Harry Potter and the Sucka M.C.
Harry Potter and the Flaming Bag of Dog Poo
Harry Potter and the Crazy Wizard Guy Who Does Lots of Weird Shit
Harry Potter and the Extremely Disturbing Homoerotic Torture Fan Fiction (NOTE: I was going to include a link here to an insanely violent and, yes, homoerotic piece of Harry Potter fan fiction I stumbled across on the web last night, but my computer here at work will not let me go to the page. Oh, and never you mind how I happened to 'stumble across' said piece of fan fiction. I was googling medieval torture devices, I swear! I suspect that I am now on some sort of FBI watchlist. Hooray!)
Harry Potter and the Order of Shrimp Lo Mein
Harry Potter and the Feisty Dick Puncher
Harry Potter and Awkward Morning-After Brunch with Dobby
Harry Potter and the Relatively Uneventful Semester
Harry Potter and the Heroic Aryan Brotherhood
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Dead Prostitutes and Drifters
Harry Potter and the Low Fixed Rate Mortgage
Harry Potter and That Lazy, No-Good Son of Yours
And, so you can join in the fun:
Harry Potter and the _______________
Harry Potter and the Unfilled Ice Trays
Harry Potter and the Conspicuous Cold Sore
Harry Potter and the Sucka M.C.
Harry Potter and the Flaming Bag of Dog Poo
Harry Potter and the Crazy Wizard Guy Who Does Lots of Weird Shit
Harry Potter and the Extremely Disturbing Homoerotic Torture Fan Fiction (NOTE: I was going to include a link here to an insanely violent and, yes, homoerotic piece of Harry Potter fan fiction I stumbled across on the web last night, but my computer here at work will not let me go to the page. Oh, and never you mind how I happened to 'stumble across' said piece of fan fiction. I was googling medieval torture devices, I swear! I suspect that I am now on some sort of FBI watchlist. Hooray!)
Harry Potter and the Order of Shrimp Lo Mein
Harry Potter and the Feisty Dick Puncher
Harry Potter and Awkward Morning-After Brunch with Dobby
Harry Potter and the Relatively Uneventful Semester
Harry Potter and the Heroic Aryan Brotherhood
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Dead Prostitutes and Drifters
Harry Potter and the Low Fixed Rate Mortgage
Harry Potter and That Lazy, No-Good Son of Yours
And, so you can join in the fun:
Harry Potter and the _______________
Monday, June 28, 2004
AMERICA'S LEAST POPULAR AMUSEMENT PARK RIDES
The Jostler
The Banana Hammock
Mr. Toad's Coke-Fueled Anonymous Gay Sex Rampage
The Haunted Tapas Bar
Pirates of the Catskills
Quality Time With an Elderly Relative: The Ride!
The Donkey Punch
Sophie's Choice Express
The Friendly Felcher
Dead Spouse Mountain
Hepatitis Falls
The Pepsi Grudgefuck
It's a Small, Yet Inexhaustably Cruel World
The Raging Douchebag
The Jostler
The Banana Hammock
Mr. Toad's Coke-Fueled Anonymous Gay Sex Rampage
The Haunted Tapas Bar
Pirates of the Catskills
Quality Time With an Elderly Relative: The Ride!
The Donkey Punch
Sophie's Choice Express
The Friendly Felcher
Dead Spouse Mountain
Hepatitis Falls
The Pepsi Grudgefuck
It's a Small, Yet Inexhaustably Cruel World
The Raging Douchebag
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Today is my beautiful girlfriend's birthday. In honor of this momentous occasion, I thought I would mention...
A FEW QUICK THINGS I LOVE ABOUT KAMBRI
* Her laughter often gets takes on a strange cornpone inflection, something along the lines of "GA-HILK!" She often sounds like a redneck Pee Wee Herman. I find it utterly infectious.
* Kambri hates children. No, seriously--she fucking loathes them. Oh sure, she may find herself smiling at a specific child every now and then, but that sort of bland, "I believe the children are our future" horseshit? She's having none of it. She and I are very much in accord on this one. Strangely, there is a part of me that believes that would make us good parents, in the same way that you'd rather date someone who wasn't really "looking" than someone who was willing to jump at the first person who came along. We certainly wouldn't fall prey to that "my child is so fucking magical" crap that leads otherwise perfectly sensible adults to drag their little fucking brats to restaurants, movie theaters and...well, anywhere.
* She's way too hot for me, but is kind enough not to rub my face in it. I ued to get enraged whenever I saw a beautiful woman with a schlub. I am now that very schlub. Sweet!
* Her self-proclaimed theme song is "She's Got Balls" by AC/DC. Go Limewire that shit--you'll soon see that a woman would be hardpressed to pick a cooler theme song. I am 100% in favor of "personal theme songs", by the way. I just spent 20 minutes trying to figure out what mine would be, to no avail. Maybe Superdrag's "Lighting the Way". Or "Moonage Daydream" by David Bowie. Or perhaps Queensryche's "Screaming in Digital". (Okay, that last one was a joke. It is a cool song, though.)
* Kambri puts on her high heels before she puts her pants on. Always. It's extremely impractical and not just a little bit hot.
Obviously, there's lots more. But that stuff is "none of your bees wax", as all the kids are saying these days. Bottom line is, I fucking love my girlfriend. There. What, my unfettered sincerity a bit too much for you, Mr./Ms. Ironic-Distance? Well, suck it!
(By the way, if you'd like to drop Kambri a happy birthday note, you can do so here. You know, just saying.)
A FEW QUICK THINGS I LOVE ABOUT KAMBRI
* Her laughter often gets takes on a strange cornpone inflection, something along the lines of "GA-HILK!" She often sounds like a redneck Pee Wee Herman. I find it utterly infectious.
* Kambri hates children. No, seriously--she fucking loathes them. Oh sure, she may find herself smiling at a specific child every now and then, but that sort of bland, "I believe the children are our future" horseshit? She's having none of it. She and I are very much in accord on this one. Strangely, there is a part of me that believes that would make us good parents, in the same way that you'd rather date someone who wasn't really "looking" than someone who was willing to jump at the first person who came along. We certainly wouldn't fall prey to that "my child is so fucking magical" crap that leads otherwise perfectly sensible adults to drag their little fucking brats to restaurants, movie theaters and...well, anywhere.
* She's way too hot for me, but is kind enough not to rub my face in it. I ued to get enraged whenever I saw a beautiful woman with a schlub. I am now that very schlub. Sweet!
* Her self-proclaimed theme song is "She's Got Balls" by AC/DC. Go Limewire that shit--you'll soon see that a woman would be hardpressed to pick a cooler theme song. I am 100% in favor of "personal theme songs", by the way. I just spent 20 minutes trying to figure out what mine would be, to no avail. Maybe Superdrag's "Lighting the Way". Or "Moonage Daydream" by David Bowie. Or perhaps Queensryche's "Screaming in Digital". (Okay, that last one was a joke. It is a cool song, though.)
* Kambri puts on her high heels before she puts her pants on. Always. It's extremely impractical and not just a little bit hot.
Obviously, there's lots more. But that stuff is "none of your bees wax", as all the kids are saying these days. Bottom line is, I fucking love my girlfriend. There. What, my unfettered sincerity a bit too much for you, Mr./Ms. Ironic-Distance? Well, suck it!
(By the way, if you'd like to drop Kambri a happy birthday note, you can do so here. You know, just saying.)
Saturday, June 19, 2004
SATURDAY NIGHT'S ALRIGHT FOR LACKLUSTER WRITING
Last night I did this show called "Sara Schaeffer is Obsessed with You", which is sort of like a live late night talk show kind of thingy. I was billed as a "celebrity guest". whihc of course is a stretch that even a Pilates instructor would be impressed by. You know, someone should really come up with a way to imply irony more forcefully than with everyday quotation marks--like uber quotation marks. Maybe it's just a matter of doubling up. So anyway, I was billed as a ""celebrity guest"". I sat down with the host and had a proper interview. And what did I learn about myself? I learned that I'm capable of being incredibly boring. I was so conscious of not coming off like a pretentious jack-ass, I just stammered awkwardly for the first ten minutes, determined to let people know that i was fully aware of how ridiculous I thought the situation was. But who the fuck wants to watch that? Eventually, I realized that the only way to make a "spontaneous" (just normal quotation marks there) onstage conversation interesting is if you are a teensy bit pretentious. So I spent the rest of my time onstage quoting Baudelaire and doing interpretive dance. Suffice to say, I was brilliant.
I know this isn't even remotely interesting. But I figured I should probably post something, right? It's not my fault that my life hasn't been very interesting lately. I spend all of my free time uploading music from my CD collection onto my comnputer, and then over to my relatively brand new iPod. I'm not kidding--that's pretty much all I've done for the last two weeks. I'm going through my CDs alphabetically, picking which songs I want to bother transferring--I don't want to waste any of those 20GB, after all. So far I've loaded up 844 songs and I'm mid-way through the letter "D". Surprisingly, I've already come across around 20 CDs from which I didn't want to take even one song. Why do I keep them? To impress people with my huge, throbbing CD collection (which I should mention is held in a tall, vaguely phallic wooden tower)? Perhaps. But it's more that I simply can't bear the idea of getting rid of music, no matter how little it actually gets listened to. So there they sit, the unlistend CDs by bands whose names were barely recognizable when I bought them, even less so now. Alice Donut? Check. Cliffs of Doneen? Yep. Dog Society?! What the fuck was I thinking? But it's not just albums I don't like--I can't even get rid of albums I don't even own anymore. Three years ago, I left a CD carrying case on an airplane, holding 25 of my favorite albums. It was very tragic. And yet, I still have all the cases sitting up on a shelf, like corpses, to remined me of what i once had. Here lies "Pet Sounds". And "Purple Rain". And the first Weezer album. Sniff sniff. I don't know what my deal is--do I secretly hope these CDs will one day find their way home, like lost puppies?
I dare to dream.
Last night I did this show called "Sara Schaeffer is Obsessed with You", which is sort of like a live late night talk show kind of thingy. I was billed as a "celebrity guest". whihc of course is a stretch that even a Pilates instructor would be impressed by. You know, someone should really come up with a way to imply irony more forcefully than with everyday quotation marks--like uber quotation marks. Maybe it's just a matter of doubling up. So anyway, I was billed as a ""celebrity guest"". I sat down with the host and had a proper interview. And what did I learn about myself? I learned that I'm capable of being incredibly boring. I was so conscious of not coming off like a pretentious jack-ass, I just stammered awkwardly for the first ten minutes, determined to let people know that i was fully aware of how ridiculous I thought the situation was. But who the fuck wants to watch that? Eventually, I realized that the only way to make a "spontaneous" (just normal quotation marks there) onstage conversation interesting is if you are a teensy bit pretentious. So I spent the rest of my time onstage quoting Baudelaire and doing interpretive dance. Suffice to say, I was brilliant.
I know this isn't even remotely interesting. But I figured I should probably post something, right? It's not my fault that my life hasn't been very interesting lately. I spend all of my free time uploading music from my CD collection onto my comnputer, and then over to my relatively brand new iPod. I'm not kidding--that's pretty much all I've done for the last two weeks. I'm going through my CDs alphabetically, picking which songs I want to bother transferring--I don't want to waste any of those 20GB, after all. So far I've loaded up 844 songs and I'm mid-way through the letter "D". Surprisingly, I've already come across around 20 CDs from which I didn't want to take even one song. Why do I keep them? To impress people with my huge, throbbing CD collection (which I should mention is held in a tall, vaguely phallic wooden tower)? Perhaps. But it's more that I simply can't bear the idea of getting rid of music, no matter how little it actually gets listened to. So there they sit, the unlistend CDs by bands whose names were barely recognizable when I bought them, even less so now. Alice Donut? Check. Cliffs of Doneen? Yep. Dog Society?! What the fuck was I thinking? But it's not just albums I don't like--I can't even get rid of albums I don't even own anymore. Three years ago, I left a CD carrying case on an airplane, holding 25 of my favorite albums. It was very tragic. And yet, I still have all the cases sitting up on a shelf, like corpses, to remined me of what i once had. Here lies "Pet Sounds". And "Purple Rain". And the first Weezer album. Sniff sniff. I don't know what my deal is--do I secretly hope these CDs will one day find their way home, like lost puppies?
I dare to dream.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
THIS, THAT, THE OTHER THING
I'm in the midst of a crazy busy week, kiddos. I'm truly sorry for the lack of posts. After the past few months of semi-neglect, TOH is due for a renaissance. Sadly, it shan't be today. But it shall come--this I pledge!
But while we're waiting for that to happen, check out this creepy shit.
And speaking of creepy shit, remember how I said I'd post a photo of my freakish facial sunburn? Well, we never ended up taking one when it was at the height of it's freakishness, but this one will give you an idea of what later turned into a painful, blistery mess. If you look you can see a distinct triangle under my left eye and a "T" under my right. You can also see a nice ruddy tint around my hairline--also a very attractive look.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The White Seal:
I was contemplating posting a picture of my hot girlfriend lounging by the pool in a bikini, but I decided not to call into such sharp relief just how out of my fucking league she is.
I'm in the midst of a crazy busy week, kiddos. I'm truly sorry for the lack of posts. After the past few months of semi-neglect, TOH is due for a renaissance. Sadly, it shan't be today. But it shall come--this I pledge!
But while we're waiting for that to happen, check out this creepy shit.
And speaking of creepy shit, remember how I said I'd post a photo of my freakish facial sunburn? Well, we never ended up taking one when it was at the height of it's freakishness, but this one will give you an idea of what later turned into a painful, blistery mess. If you look you can see a distinct triangle under my left eye and a "T" under my right. You can also see a nice ruddy tint around my hairline--also a very attractive look.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The White Seal:
I was contemplating posting a picture of my hot girlfriend lounging by the pool in a bikini, but I decided not to call into such sharp relief just how out of my fucking league she is.
Friday, June 11, 2004
I SUCK
What can I say, folks? Ever since getting back from Anguilla on Wednesday night, I've been running around attending to all of the crap I let pile up while I let my flesh burn in the beautiful Carribean sun. So what does that mean for you fine folks? No damned TOH entries.
Sadly, it looks like I still can't write something worthwhile. I was just about to start composing what was sure to be the most smashingly brilliant comedic treatise ever written when I was informed by one of the Production Assistants here in my office that I am, in fact, the last person here. That, of course, is code for: "Can you please get the fuck out of here so I can go home?"
So it looks like you'll have to go yet another evening without knowing my stupid opinions on the British Virgin Islands, Ronald Reagan's deadness, The Chronicles of Riddick, testicles, boogers or whatever I was going to come up with for this entry. I should mention that if you want to read about a few of the more interesting moments of my recent vacation, you can check out my lovely girlfriend's site--she's a far better traveloguist than me, anyway.
Oh, and I should mention that I had a little piece on Comedy Central's Shorties Watching Shorties this past week. You can check it out here, yo.
What can I say, folks? Ever since getting back from Anguilla on Wednesday night, I've been running around attending to all of the crap I let pile up while I let my flesh burn in the beautiful Carribean sun. So what does that mean for you fine folks? No damned TOH entries.
Sadly, it looks like I still can't write something worthwhile. I was just about to start composing what was sure to be the most smashingly brilliant comedic treatise ever written when I was informed by one of the Production Assistants here in my office that I am, in fact, the last person here. That, of course, is code for: "Can you please get the fuck out of here so I can go home?"
So it looks like you'll have to go yet another evening without knowing my stupid opinions on the British Virgin Islands, Ronald Reagan's deadness, The Chronicles of Riddick, testicles, boogers or whatever I was going to come up with for this entry. I should mention that if you want to read about a few of the more interesting moments of my recent vacation, you can check out my lovely girlfriend's site--she's a far better traveloguist than me, anyway.
Oh, and I should mention that I had a little piece on Comedy Central's Shorties Watching Shorties this past week. You can check it out here, yo.
Monday, June 07, 2004
I SAW RED
Why, oh why do I always think I can defeat the sun?
Immediately after posting my Saturday entry, Kambri and I went out and spent three hours relaxing on the beautiful Anguillan beach. A gave myself what I thought to be a very liberal slathering of SPF30, but never bothered to reapply after swimming. "I'm going to get a little color," I told myself. "I want people to know I've been somewhere!" Well, mission accomplished. Unfortunately, anyone taking a look at me would have to assume that the place I've been is the fiery rings of Hell. My stomach and chest look positively lobsteresque, and the rest of my body is covered with large splotches of sunburn, due to my haphazard Coppertone application method. Best of all is my face. I seem to have missed the patches of skin on either side of my nose, so I know have two very discernible red shapes under my eyes--a triangle under my left and a "T" under my right. I've spent the last two days trying to decide what I look like, and I've come down to three possibilities: a) a raccoon, b) A Mauri tribesman, or c) a supergenius determined to kill Batman. I will make sure to take a picture of my hideous face and post it for your pleasure and ridicule when I get back to NYC.
Ta ta for now.
Why, oh why do I always think I can defeat the sun?
Immediately after posting my Saturday entry, Kambri and I went out and spent three hours relaxing on the beautiful Anguillan beach. A gave myself what I thought to be a very liberal slathering of SPF30, but never bothered to reapply after swimming. "I'm going to get a little color," I told myself. "I want people to know I've been somewhere!" Well, mission accomplished. Unfortunately, anyone taking a look at me would have to assume that the place I've been is the fiery rings of Hell. My stomach and chest look positively lobsteresque, and the rest of my body is covered with large splotches of sunburn, due to my haphazard Coppertone application method. Best of all is my face. I seem to have missed the patches of skin on either side of my nose, so I know have two very discernible red shapes under my eyes--a triangle under my left and a "T" under my right. I've spent the last two days trying to decide what I look like, and I've come down to three possibilities: a) a raccoon, b) A Mauri tribesman, or c) a supergenius determined to kill Batman. I will make sure to take a picture of my hideous face and post it for your pleasure and ridicule when I get back to NYC.
Ta ta for now.
Saturday, June 05, 2004
INSERT LAME "HEY, MON" JOKE HERE
As I write this, I would like you all to imagine the languid breeze pushing through the palm fronds and delicate plinking of steel drums in the background.
And why, do you ask? Because I'm in the Carribean, muthafucka!
Yes, I am currently on the beautiful island of Anguilla, in the Biritsh Virgin Islands for a wedding (today) and mini-vacation (until Wednesday night). Kambri and I have been planning this trip for about eight months now, despite my never having mentioned it to you, the loyal (and otherwise) TOH readership. What can I say? I was worried that if you knew I'd be chilling on the beach with a rum punch in my hand, you'd have been forced to take a hard look at the bleak walking death that is your life. I wanted to spare you that humiliation.
Anyway, I'm not suyre what kind of posts you can be expecting from me over the next few days--I do have access to a computer, but I imagine that the longer I'm here in semi-praradise, the less funny I will become. For instance, I think I'm being completely hilarious right now! Damn you, Leisure!!
Talk to you soon, suckas.
As I write this, I would like you all to imagine the languid breeze pushing through the palm fronds and delicate plinking of steel drums in the background.
And why, do you ask? Because I'm in the Carribean, muthafucka!
Yes, I am currently on the beautiful island of Anguilla, in the Biritsh Virgin Islands for a wedding (today) and mini-vacation (until Wednesday night). Kambri and I have been planning this trip for about eight months now, despite my never having mentioned it to you, the loyal (and otherwise) TOH readership. What can I say? I was worried that if you knew I'd be chilling on the beach with a rum punch in my hand, you'd have been forced to take a hard look at the bleak walking death that is your life. I wanted to spare you that humiliation.
Anyway, I'm not suyre what kind of posts you can be expecting from me over the next few days--I do have access to a computer, but I imagine that the longer I'm here in semi-praradise, the less funny I will become. For instance, I think I'm being completely hilarious right now! Damn you, Leisure!!
Talk to you soon, suckas.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
PLUGGY McPLUGGERTON
Dearest friends,
You are very lucky boys and girls--those of you in NYC area, that is. For tonight at 8pm, you will all be nestled into the cozy confines of the Marquee, eagerly awaiting the start of this month's installment of SOB STORIES. And what makes me so sure you'll be there? Maybe it's this month's sure-to-thrill theme: Our Painful Adolescence. Or maybe it's because we'll be sporting a lineup that kicks so much ass, you won't be able to sit comfortably for a week! Because your ass will be bruised! From all the kicking!
Tonight (assuming you're reading this Tuesday morning), please welcome:
COLIN QUINN, host of "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" (convenient, eh?) and former SNL Weekend Update anchor
ED HELMS, fulltime correspondent for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart"
TOM SHILLUE, as seen on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"
And, in an exciting return engagement...MORE!
I, Christian Finnegan, will be your host. Come join my guests and I, as we dredge up years of teenage humiliation for your personal enjoyment! Here are the wheres and whens:
SOB STORIES, hosted by Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, June 1st
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
Doors open at 7:30, show starts at 8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: Our Painful Adolescence
NOTE: Comedy is a fickle mistress -- lineup subject to change
SOB STORIES is produced by PSNBC, network televisions only performance and development lab, in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions. For more information, visit www.ballyhoopromotions.net.
See you there, you lucky fools.
Christian Finnegan,
comedy peddler
Dearest friends,
You are very lucky boys and girls--those of you in NYC area, that is. For tonight at 8pm, you will all be nestled into the cozy confines of the Marquee, eagerly awaiting the start of this month's installment of SOB STORIES. And what makes me so sure you'll be there? Maybe it's this month's sure-to-thrill theme: Our Painful Adolescence. Or maybe it's because we'll be sporting a lineup that kicks so much ass, you won't be able to sit comfortably for a week! Because your ass will be bruised! From all the kicking!
Tonight (assuming you're reading this Tuesday morning), please welcome:
COLIN QUINN, host of "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" (convenient, eh?) and former SNL Weekend Update anchor
ED HELMS, fulltime correspondent for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart"
TOM SHILLUE, as seen on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"
And, in an exciting return engagement...MORE!
I, Christian Finnegan, will be your host. Come join my guests and I, as we dredge up years of teenage humiliation for your personal enjoyment! Here are the wheres and whens:
SOB STORIES, hosted by Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, June 1st
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
Doors open at 7:30, show starts at 8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: Our Painful Adolescence
NOTE: Comedy is a fickle mistress -- lineup subject to change
SOB STORIES is produced by PSNBC, network televisions only performance and development lab, in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions. For more information, visit www.ballyhoopromotions.net.
See you there, you lucky fools.
Christian Finnegan,
comedy peddler
Sunday, May 30, 2004
LEAST DOWNLOADED SONGS ON iTUNES
"Viet Congo" by Sgt. James P. Harris and the Valley Forge Sound Machine
"Your Dick or Mine?" by The Hounds of Heck
"Fight Ya Moms" by RiTardo with K-Bee and Supapoop (featuring Mastah Elektrishin)
"Barf Party" by Tina and the Bulemics
"Let's Have an Awkward Makeout Session and then Never Speak of it Again" by Treyshawn Mack
"Chew It" by Gary
"Funkfullly Yours" by The White Power Horns
"Your Love Gave Me Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma" by The Wonder Factory
"Eternal Jism Sacrifice" by Blood Knob
"Happy Birthday" (Trad.)
"Viet Congo" by Sgt. James P. Harris and the Valley Forge Sound Machine
"Your Dick or Mine?" by The Hounds of Heck
"Fight Ya Moms" by RiTardo with K-Bee and Supapoop (featuring Mastah Elektrishin)
"Barf Party" by Tina and the Bulemics
"Let's Have an Awkward Makeout Session and then Never Speak of it Again" by Treyshawn Mack
"Chew It" by Gary
"Funkfullly Yours" by The White Power Horns
"Your Love Gave Me Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma" by The Wonder Factory
"Eternal Jism Sacrifice" by Blood Knob
"Happy Birthday" (Trad.)
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
YOUR SPECIAL DAY
I went to a birthday party a couple of nights ago and I still haven't fully recovered. Of course, a "birthday party" ain't what it used to be, eh? When you're a kid, birthday parties are the shit. There was drama and pageantry, props--crepe paper, special hats, and novelty paper plates. And even better, there was usually some epic event to look forward to. Maybe it was just bowling or maybe you went to the roller rink to awkwardly skate around to Def Leppard's "Photograph" and stare at that one girl who'd gone ahead and sprouted breasts. And, assuming the kid's parents weren't dicks, there'd be a sleepover involved. But all of that changes once you're an adult. Nowadays, a "birthday party" is just an excuse to hang around a bar all night with your equally dour friends. It's code for "Let's get together and drink until out piss smells likie bourbon!" There are no sleepovers, unless you count crashing on some dude's couch because you're too wasted to drive. And those big birthday "events"? A thing of the past. Even if you tried to plan some sort of grand expedition, who in the world would be up for it? "You want to go where? Roller Skating? With my knee?! Not a freakin' chance, dude. I'll just meet up with you guys afterward, at the bar."
I also don't like it when people throw birthday parties for themselves. I don't know, it just seems kind of presumptuous. "Hey, it's my birthday tomorrow night! Make sure you clear off your schedule so you can bask in my presence on this very special day! Aren't you so very happy that I exist? Oh, and just because I said 'no presents' doesn't mean I won't make a mental note of whether you offered to buy me a drink!" My feeling is, having a birthday party should be like running for president--somebody's got to nominate you. I'll be the judge of whether your birth is worth celebrating, jack-ass.
I went to a birthday party a couple of nights ago and I still haven't fully recovered. Of course, a "birthday party" ain't what it used to be, eh? When you're a kid, birthday parties are the shit. There was drama and pageantry, props--crepe paper, special hats, and novelty paper plates. And even better, there was usually some epic event to look forward to. Maybe it was just bowling or maybe you went to the roller rink to awkwardly skate around to Def Leppard's "Photograph" and stare at that one girl who'd gone ahead and sprouted breasts. And, assuming the kid's parents weren't dicks, there'd be a sleepover involved. But all of that changes once you're an adult. Nowadays, a "birthday party" is just an excuse to hang around a bar all night with your equally dour friends. It's code for "Let's get together and drink until out piss smells likie bourbon!" There are no sleepovers, unless you count crashing on some dude's couch because you're too wasted to drive. And those big birthday "events"? A thing of the past. Even if you tried to plan some sort of grand expedition, who in the world would be up for it? "You want to go where? Roller Skating? With my knee?! Not a freakin' chance, dude. I'll just meet up with you guys afterward, at the bar."
I also don't like it when people throw birthday parties for themselves. I don't know, it just seems kind of presumptuous. "Hey, it's my birthday tomorrow night! Make sure you clear off your schedule so you can bask in my presence on this very special day! Aren't you so very happy that I exist? Oh, and just because I said 'no presents' doesn't mean I won't make a mental note of whether you offered to buy me a drink!" My feeling is, having a birthday party should be like running for president--somebody's got to nominate you. I'll be the judge of whether your birth is worth celebrating, jack-ass.
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