Hey there, ‘Redheads… Mustering up the motivation and finding worthwhile crap for this blog has been a tough task this month, but I’ve scrounged up some random things and dug deep in my couch cushions to bring you something that can quell your ADD for a couple minutes. Now if I can just keep mine at bay long enough to write the damn thing…so many shiny objects. Let’s start with this…I’m older. That’s right gang, I just turned 32. Thanks to everyone who sent along birthday wishes (and thanks to MySpace for the helpful nudging). I’ll be accepting gifts and pieces of cake shoved into envelopes here at Stately Stern Manor. I don’t ask for much on my birthday since I turned 30. Just to be in the company of good friends within two days of the birth date and that someone besides my family acknowledge it on some level…and cake. Gifts are never refused, but I haven’t actually wanted anything specific since high school. I’m pretty easy to shop for, though…
Luckily, 32 isn’t one of those birthdays that makes you feel like the guy who chose the wrong grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, but it is always nice to escape thoughts of impending oblivion, and what better way than to go back in time? The most reasonable facsimile, that doesn’t require slingshotting my Jeep around the Sun, is the Maryland Renaissance Festival. As per my aforementioned birthday specs, I went with my good friends Chris, Allyson, Becca, an Meagan. When I go to the Renn Fest, I go with a game plan: turkey leg for breakfast, chowder in a bread bowl for lunch, see a couple shows, throw a couple axes, guzzle a tankard of ale, and enjoy the parade of costumed freaks, dorks, and rednecks. We got there a little later than I like to, but I made a bee line for the turkey leg booth to get the day started right.
Nothing like gnawing on a roasted animal appendage to roll back the age odometer. A fun time was had by all. Things were going great until the end of the day, when I was reminded just how old I was. We were down by the castle wall rock climbing, watching Allyson dangle and sway on her safety line. The 16 year-old who was manning the station was trying to engage us in some playful renaissance banter. When one of his jokes fell flat, he actually said, “Jk”. He text talked to us…or talxted. I could feel liver spots bursting on my hands. I can understand saving time typing, but are those extra syllables really keeping you from living your life? Back in my day, we actually used whole words. I came to the conclusion that I could make a killing by opening a comedy club and calling it LOL.
I’ll leave you with some congratulations and one bit of sad news. First, a belated congrats to some of my fellow joke throwers who’ve scored some big time exposure. You may’ve seen comedy dynamo, Justin Schlegel, on your TV on Sundays as you refill your nacho cheese tub and watch your fantasy football studs snap their knee tendons. He’s starring in a series of commercials for Toyota. Here’s hoping he gets a set of floor mats.
Be sure to lock your radio dials to 98Rock after 7pm to hear the nasal dulcet tones of Joe Robinson’s new show, Irresponsible Radio. He’s on his way to becoming the King of Dundalk Media.
On to the sad news. A moment of silence for the loss of famed mime, Marcel Marceau. He had the only speaking part in Mel Brooks’ Silent Movie. His last words were…unexpected. Does anyone else find it mildly ironic that his final resting place will be in a box? The answers, my friend, are walking against the wind.
To be continued…
One thought on “…And I Smell Like One Too”
LOVE the comedy club idea. Now will you be catering to the 12 and under crowd on alternate Wednesdays, or…?