Viva, Part I

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had a cram-it-down-your-gullet Turkey Day. I made sure to designate someone I know and trust to maintain my haircut during my food coma…Bush is still president, right? The last 10 days have been pretty eventful for me, so grab the orange extender belt, and buckle in for a blog that’ll more than fill your daily recommended allowance of Jared-centric shite. There will be videos. There will be pictures. There will be time that you’ll never get back…ever.

We’ll start with my least fuzzy memories, which takes us to Saturday night. Big thanks to the DC Improv and Comcast for putting on a great showcase and allowing me to take part. It was a hum-dinger of a line-up, including Toyota pitch-man, Justin Schlegel, Ziddio Lucky 21 finalist, Chris White (we’ll get to that later), and Forehead Magazine’s Man of the Century (his joke, not mine), Sean Gabbert. We were told to arrive early to tape interviews with the Comcast people that they’ll be showing along with our 5 or so minute sets. I’m hoping they use exactly none of my interview. I’m never sure how to handle those interviews…treat every answer as a joke or try to be a smidge sincere? I waffled between the two and I don’t think the result was anything that could be described as remotely interesting. But my set went well. And I knew it would. How, you ask? Because on my walk back to the club from by pre-show burger at Fuddrucker’s, an omen fell from the sky and splatted on my jacket. A bird put the “turd” in my Saturday and shat on me (it was later postulated by Jimmy Merrit that it could’ve been a homeless guy doing his impression of Miggs from Silence of the Lambs from the grassy knoll, but I prefer the lone shitter theory). I figured that would be the worst thing to happen to me, and my set would compare favorably to getting a boutonniere of bird crap pinned on my lapel. I’ll be sure to keep you posted on when you’ll be able to find me On Demand.

Friday night, I got a chance to see a great concert at the 9:30 Club given by one of my favorite groups from my high school days, They Might Be Giants. I’m not very familiar with their recent stuff, but after this show, I’m gonna check it out. Keep an ear peeled for “The Alphabet of Nations”, a bombastic bit of silliness that was a highlight of the show. They also peppered in a few of the better known classics like “Birdhouse in Your Soul” and “Particle Man”, both of which I badly sang along with. I was worried I might’ve strained a uvula, belting out the whoa’s on “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)”. Part of their second encore was the theme to Malcolm in the Middle. Another bit of TMBG trivia that I wasn’t aware of: they also do the opening music for The Daily Show. Long story short: awesome show…big fan.

I won’t waste too much space detailing the sundry items that conspired to make my pants tighter on Thanksgiving. I was proud that I limited myself to one helping. However, that one helping included a Devil’s Mountain-sized portion of mashed potatoes (it meant something) and enough biscuits to build a small fort. Starch-tastic. Moving on.

With this past week out of the way, we get to the meat of this installment. Vegas. Let’s spin back the clock to a week prior to Turkey Day. It was downright dismal here in DC. Rainy, windy, dark…the weather was right out of a Tim Burton rough draft. If going to Vegas wasn’t reason enough to hop on a plane, this dreck was.

Editor’s Note: I’m more than a little distracted by the Patriots/Eagles game and I feel myself losing steam here, so I’m going to chop this installment off here and devote the next one to Vegas. I’d rather not half-ass the recounting of such a cool trip.

Before I go, here’s a little something to brighten your day. It’s a short video of my impossibly cute nephew discovering upright mobility…

All together now… Awwwwwwwwwww.

Part two coming soon.

To be continued…

Blog #129

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to November…only 53 procrastinating days left until 2008. I’d like my readers to rest assured that the Hollywood writers strike will have no adverse effect on the quality of this blog…it’ll be just as shitty as ever. I swung by my local 7-11 and rounded up a couple day laborers to pick up the slack. I hope the strike ends soon, though. I found this disturbing little tidbit in this morning’s USA Today

The clock has stopped on 24. Fox confirmed that the real-time thriller’s seventh season, which was to have run from January through May, will be delayed indefinitely. It is the first major casualty of the writers’ strike, in its third day Wednesday.

Get your shit together, Hollywood, before Keifer Sutherland gets hammered and starts torturing writers with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. If it doesn’t get resolved soon, I’m here to offer the services of the writing team who brought you GUYS WATCHING 24. Pick our scabs.

Here’s another nugget of news that I found amusing…

Michael Jackson appears on the December 2007 of Ebony Magazine to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the world’s best-selling album, Thriller.

For the issue, the magazine will temporarily change its name to Irony. Really? Thriller is a great album, but Michael Jackson looks like the photo negative of an Ebony cover. Vincent Price has more color than Michael Jackson. He would look less out of place as the spokesman for Gap Kids.

‘Redheads, find yourself a piece of cake and a balloon and wish my impossibly cute nephew a happy birthday. He’s the big 0-1. Stand by for pictures from the par-tay…

I’ll give you some time to recover from that stampede of cute. Your senses are no doubt completely overloaded by this dimple dyna-mo. Since it was his 1st birthday, it took him a little while to realize that it was all for him. Once the presents got opened, I think it sunk in…MINE! I have to think that’s the predominant thought in a baby’s head anyway, but he seemed to noodle it through the he was even more special that day.

I plan on adopting Mo’s mentality in about a week, when I step off a plane and hit the strip in Las Vegas (I will NOT use the phrase “VEGAS BABY” at all…except for just then). I’ll be down there in support of my buddy, Chris White, who is taking part in the Las Vegas Comedy Festival. There will be much poker played. Hopefully, I won’t come home wearing a barrel. Can’t wait.

Tonight, I’m heading out to catch my friend’s band, Kid Goat, at the Quarry House Tavern. I’m excited, not only to see the band but because the Quarry House is right across the street from another place I’m eager to check out…Piratz Tavern. A pirate themed bar, with wench-themed waitresses. It’s Hooters with scurvy.

Finally, just in time for gas prices to get higher than a roadie for the Black Crowes, I’m hittin’ the road for a weekend of shows in the land of Dunder-Mifflin, Scranton, PA. I’ll be at .Wisecracker’s trying to force feed laughter to the Scrantonians. If you’re in the area, come say hi.

To be continued…