Blog #71

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to the 71st installment of this drivel. I’ve come to find out that it is, in fact, inspirational drivel. You’ll remember that in last week’s blogisode that I took the much needed first step toward physical fitness (then I got winded and had to sit down) and joined a nearby gym. Well, apparently my initiative has spurred at least two of my regular readers to action. On Wednesday, Kat Malone let me know that, after reading the blog, she plans to start jogging. Later that night, while reading Larry Poon’s blog, I found that he too was struck by my anti-flabbular (look it up) efforts. Helping people. Changing lives. This is probably a bad time to mention that I haven’t actually been to the gym yet. I have my free initial consultation with a trainer Tuesday afternoon, so I can be shown how exercise correctly…

He’ll also recommend the best course of action, given my level of physical fitness. Here’s hoping he doesn’t recommend suicide right out of the gate (thanks Chris)…getting out of that one-year contract could be tricky. My goal is to get a weekly regimen that’ll include at least two work-out sessions, maybe taking a boxing class, and as little herniation as possible.

On Friday, took in a movie on the big inflatable screen at the Strathmore Outdoor Film Fest. The flick du jour was the classic, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. As night fell, the sprawling crowd settled in for a different kind of snake…on a plain (call me Big Pun). A good many of the gaggle assembled were young couples. These couples fell into three categories: 1) both guy and gal are fans of Monty Python … 2) guy tricked gal into seeing the movie under the guise of the outdoor film fest being a fun night out… 3) this is the litmus test date for guy/gal to see if their date likes Monty Python…hey, gals keep insisting sense of humor is important to them…put up or shut up already.
After the movie let out, I got a text from a couple friends to join them at The Barking Dog in Bethesda for libations. The night was young, and I didn’t have to work on Saturday, so I figured what the hey. Well, BD has two levels. The lower level is your basic bar. The upper level, where my friends were, had the DJ/dance floor. Ok…libations and gyrations. ‘Redheads, I can’t dance…I can’t walk…the only thing about me is the way I talk. I did my best to keep my ass firmly seated, beer in hand, but it was only a matter of time before I was coaxed out on the floor to shake my groove thang. I should mention that I was born groove thang deficient. I wish wasn’t so goddamn stiff and awkward…there were plenty of hotties out on the dancefloor…their milkshakes bringing the boys to the yard and whatnot…snapping pictures with their phones that would later end up on a MySpace slideshow. I tried what I could, but my dancing is a stumbly hybrid of the Night at the Roxbury guys and the hokey pokey. I made Napoleon Dynamite look like Fred Astaire.
The highlight of the evening was the 60 year-old guy who was shimmying all night long. I tried my best to think of who this guy looked like. This was the best I could come up with…

You’ve heard that corny phrase, “dance like no one’s watching.” This guy was dancing like his Alzheimer’s made him forget he wasn’t supposed to. His dance style consisted of bouncing up and down to the beat and pointing with alternating fingers. I totally got served by him. This guy was the photo op of the night for groups of three or four hotties at a time to freak dance with him and snap a picture. If he was even aware of it, it was the finest scam I’ve seen in awhile. Nothing quite like pity.

Since you got last week off, here’s your comedy homework: go support the show at the Drafthouse Comedy Lounge on Wednesday night. There’s a great line up, with Dave George, Bird Knight, Larry XL, Andy Kline, and hosted by Molotov Cocktease, Jessica Paquin. You’ll be glad you did.

Before I sign off, a somber farewell to Bruno Kirby, who died of leukemia last week. You may know him from his roles in When Harry Met Sally or City Slickers. The one that resonated most with me was his role in Good Morning Vietnam, where he played the program director who tried to creatively stifle Adrian Croenhauer. He perfectly portrayed the guy who doesn’t get it. Painfully unfunny and completely oblivious to it. His great line as he’s getting the boot is, “In my heart, I know I’m funny.” Here’s to ya, Bruno. You’ll be missed.

To be continued…

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