I’ll be headlining one of my favorite rooms on June 9th! Come laugh at me.
I’ll be headlining one of my favorite rooms on June 9th! Come laugh at me.
As of right now, it’s going to be a double album with comedy buddy Robert Mac. Wasn’t our initial intention, and it may be eventually split, but for now here’s what we’ve got. Stay tuned.
Check out my recently rearranged corner of the internet! This is your one-stop repository of all things Jared Stern, recently referred to by a British radio host who had no idea who he was talking to as, “One of America’s leading comedians”. Plan your life around my upcoming shows, follow me on social media, or enjoy a video clip of my comedy stylings. Click away!
Hey gang… Sorry for turning February into neglect-you-ary. I’ve been focusing my energies on gainful employment. Also, the last post about Susan Sarandon’s boobs is perhaps the most read installment of the blog to date, so I wanted to let it rack (I swear, no pun intended) up as many nose-prints on the screen as I could. Seriously, the count is up to 91, which is nothing to brag about, I know, but considering the bulk of my posts get a baker’s dozen eyeballs on it, that’s pretty significant. Even if half of the views were from Russian spam-bots, that’s still a ton. Does this mean I turn this into a fashion blog? My self-important blather doesn’t move the needle, but defending the cleavage of Hollywood royalty is just the kind of blather people seem to be clamoring for.
Before I consider a major overhaul, allow me to toot the horn on the Mild Amusement Express one more time. If you look to your immediate right, you’ll see a giant pink button (if you don’t see it, follow the link below). If you click on that button, you can then cast a vote for me, @FunnyJared, as Best Twitter Personality in the Washington City Paper’s Best of DC 2016 Reader’s Poll. I was runner-up in 2015, and I’d really like to add another winner’s widget to my wall to go along with Best Comedian from 2013. If you need some proof of my Twitteracy, here are some recent examples…
— Jared Stern (@FunnyJared) February 24, 2016
Who gets to give the dissenting eulogy? #Scalia
— Jared Stern (@FunnyJared) February 13, 2016
John Travolta is rolling over in his auditing chamber right now. #GreaseLive
— Jared Stern (@FunnyJared) February 1, 2016
.@nbcwashington correspondents now appearing live via impressionist painting. #blizzard2016 pic.twitter.com/5Gyje42OV0
— Jared Stern (@FunnyJared) January 23, 2016
Not to sound like Jeb Bush, but please vote. Polls close 3/1 at midnight, at which point I will stop bugging you about it.
Be back soon with Oscar Red Carpet coverage, I guess…
Let’s all calm down about Susan Sarandon’s boobs. The woman helped define feminism in the ’90s by driving her car off a cliff and she won an Oscar for playing a nun. She’s almost 70 and the fact that her boobs are still worth showing off deserves a special Lifetime A-cleave-ment Award. She’s Hollywood royalty and just because she wore a bra with no shirt at the SAG Awards, the Internet is reacting like the Empress had no clothes. Piers Morgan, auditioning for a judge’s seat on Britain’s Got No Business Commenting, felt the need to weigh in, tweeting that she was “very tacky.”
— Piers Morgan (@piersmorgan) January 31, 2016
You’re required to sneer when you read a Piers Morgan tweet out loud.
Some people took offense at the choice of wardrobe because she was presenting the In Memoriam segment.
So blessed that Susan Sarandon’s breasts were able to present the in memoriam. #SAGAwards
— Michael Wachowiak (@mikewachowiak) January 31, 2016
Just because you wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit doesn’t make it wrong for her. If she showed up to each individual funeral wearing that, I might agree with you, but this is the SAG Awards. Much like the Golden Globes, this is an excuse for the beautiful people to get drunk and tell each other how brave they are. Leonardo DiCaprio was vaping like he was preparing for his next role as the Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. The mood wasn’t exactly somber. It’s a celebration of lives of the recently passed and a contest to see which of them gets the most applause. Think of it as if her shirt was lowered to half-staff. The people who are giving her a hard time are also probably the same people who are miffed that Uggie the Dog wasn’t included in the tribute.
For some perspective, let’s look at the only metric that counts, the Dow Jones Below Average, the Worst Dressed List. Entertainment Tonight doesn’t have her on their 7 Worst Dressed, USA Today couldn’t find a spot for her on their 9 Worst Dressed, and Entertainment Weekly didn’t put her among their 5 Worst Dressed. I think the biggest take-away is that our attention spans can’t make it through a list of ten anymore, but give us two to look at and we examine them with laser focus. None of the so-called fashion experts think she offended the style gods, so why has this turned into a tempest in a D-cup?
Instead of picking Susan Sarandon apart, we should turn our attention to the real issue, Lori Petty. Yikes. More like Pink is the New Blech, am I right?
If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you were able to hunker down in your fort made of bread and toilet paper and weather the Blizzard of 2016. I think it’s a little early in the year to be handing out titles like that, but it is accurate. It is, so far, the one blizzard of 2016. I’m finally dug out from the wall of crusty brown blech that my car was plowed behind. It’s a good thing too because I have places to be. I got a call out of the blue from my friends at the Arlington Drafthouse and I’ll be featuring for one of my comedy heroes this weekend, Emo Philips. His sing-songy absurdism spoke to me in the formative years of my sense of humor. His voice, harmonized with the monotone of Steven Wright, made beautiful comedy music. I’m really looking forward to sharing a stage with him. And you can experience it live and in person, simply by clicking the link on your right. Speaking of convenient link clickage, please to click on the big pink button and cast a vote for me (@FunnyJared) as DC’s Best Twitter Personality. Validate my ego’s parking.
You may think this blog is just an exercise in self-importance, and you pretty much hit the nail on the head. Good job. Here’s a cookie. However, I am not nearly as self-important as the guy I encountered yesterday, while walking down Connecticut Ave. I had my earbuds in, so I could pretend to be listening to music, while actually listening in on out-of-context snippets of the conversations of passers-by. You should try it sometime…
“I’m just not warming up to Lisa like I thought I would.”
“Have you thought of getting it lanced?”
“We need to motivate the team. Go buy chocolate.”
It’s just a wonderful tableau of the extra ordinary (note the space). So, I’m getting some juicy non-sequiturs, when suddenly, I hear a piano playing behind me. It was on a street corner, so it could’ve been an enterprising busker. I turned to see a guy, maybe in his twenties, with a JBL speaker around his neck, pumping out the stirring classical jams. It wasn’t music that anyone could rightly complain about but it was loud enough to cause people to take notice. He figured a charge of disturbing the peace wouldn’t stick because the disturbance was so darn peaceful. It was simultaneously inspirational and obnoxious, motivational and rude, tasteful tastelessness. This guy was forcefully providing the soundtrack to my stroll. Listen, buddy, I’ve got the chorus of voices in my head for that sort of thing. Take your joyous jangle elsewhere.
And if I am self-important, at least I’m not self-proclaimed. I was talking to a buddy of mine who deals with booking guests on a radio show. He was telling me that one upcoming guest was billed as a “self-proclaimed sexpert”. He said, “She gives blowjob classes.” To which I replied, “Is there a recital?”
Think of the power of self-proclamation, though. Just because she says she is, she’s now a sexpert, whatever that is. She was probably sexhausted of sexplaining herself without sexaggerating, so she made a sexecutive decision to sexceed everyone’s sexpectations. Steve Miller says that some people call him a space cowboy and no one really believes him, but if he was a Self-Proclaimed Space Cowboy, then get this guy some spurs and a space helmet. On my taxes I’m going to list myself as a self-proclaimed religious institution. Let me make one thing clear. Any claims made about me should be made by someone else on an amateur level.