Hey there, ‘Redheads… I’m getting my requisite blogging out of the way early, because I have a jam packed evening ahead of me, and even if I do make it back to my computer before midnight, anything I try to type will be rushed and slapdash. Much like that last sentence. That one ran on a bit. Anyway, better to rush it now, during the moments that make up a dull day at work. Once I’m done here, I have to return my rental Chevy Cobalt and pick up my (in my best Rod Roddy) BRAND NEW CAR! A 2011 Jeep Patriot. I’ve named it Pat. Pat Riot. It’ll be nice to drive a proper vehicle again. I’m not a big guy, but I needed a shoe horn to get in and out of the Cobalt. On a less exciting note, I also get a BRAND NEW CAR PAYMENT! Blech.
Once I get home, I have to delouse and put on my spiffy duds for the first of six shows at the DC Improv this weekend with Judah Friedlander. Have I mentioned that? Because if I haven’t, I should also mention that tickets are going fast and you can get yours at DCImprov.com.
I’ll leave you with one of the more morbidly hilarious things I’ve seen today. Enjoy…
See you Friday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… It’s 11:15pm on Wednesday, and I have a few things to share with you. First and foremost, if you haven’t yet gotten your tickets to see me at the DC Improv, tomorrow through Sunday, with Judah Friedlander, time is running out. The 8pm show on Friday and both shows on Saturday are SOLD OUT. Once he starts doing his local promotional blitz on morning radio, whatever’s left is going to go quick. So, go to DCImprov.com to get your tickets and I’ll wait here for you to get back.
Got ’em? Good.
They say you learn something new every day. Today I learned that DaVinci invented scissors. Shortly thereafter, his mother coined the phrase, “You’ll putta your eye out!” I’m betting the invention of band-aids came right after that. If necessity is the mother of invention, then bleeding is it’s second cousin.
Since my truck got all smashy a couple weeks ago, I’ve seen a couple big wrecks on the road that I’ve missed being a part of by about thirty seconds. I saw a five car wreck on 295 yesterday that was caused by a couch in the road. The couch got the worst of it. Completely undriveable. What it was doing in the road is beyond me. Maybe the guy who owned misunderstood what a convertible couch is.
See you Thursday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but I love me some me. Probably explains why I bother to shout my random thoughts into the ether from my little cyber-soapbox. It’s the delusion of self-importance that keeps me (and most people) chugging along. If this blog falls in the forest, and no one bothers to read it, blah blah blah. Anyway, with all of the crap that’s going on in the world, the trivialities in my world seem all the more trivial. Well, as it turns out, vanity and charity found a way to cross paths.
After the disaster in Japan, several artists have been donating their talents to raise money for Japan relief. One of my favorites, caricaturist Kari Fry, auctioned off a limited number of custom caricatures for a $20 donation to the Red Cross. Another picture of me? I jumped at it. I sent her a couple reference photos, so she could see the cut of my jib, and I told her a little bit about me. Here’s what she came up with… I’m helping a chicken cross the road. I think it came out great. And it was for a good cause, so I can feel good about myself for two reasons.
See you Wednesday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… Sorry about the lack of blog on Friday. I’m here to make good on my IOU, as I had a weekend chock full of random goodness. It turns out I was already a winner. On Friday night I got a call from an unknown number that I usually wouldn’t have answered, but I’ve been in contact with various insurance agents because of my car, so I picked up. The fellow on the other end informed me that I had won a big prize in a contest that I don’t remember entering. I was eligible to win a car or a TV or a large sum of money. All I had to do was go somewhere and listen to a brief presentation before I could claim my fabulous prize. When he asked to confirm my date of birth I said, “Yesterday.” Then I hung up. On Saturday, my gal and I met up with friends Chris, Joe, and Allyson for a day of adventure. Usually, any adventure with Chris includes some kind of learning and this one was no different as we traveled to the Pope Leighy House, built by famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. We were led on a tour through and around the house by soon-to-be-famous tour guide, Fairfield. He was so happy to have people in his group that weren’t dead eyed tweens that he gave us an extra long but very interesting look at the subtle details of the house.Here are some fun facts that I learned: 1) Frank Lloyd Wright was so rigid and dictatorial in his designs that he would force clients to use only the furniture that he provided. He would often visit months after the fact and rearrange to house as he saw fit… “I took the liberty of removing your curtains and stacking your children while you were asleep.” 2) His son invented Lincoln Logs. 3) I’m thinking of changing my name to Fairfield. From there, it was a quick drive down the road to check out a giant watering can. You heard me.We also spotted something you might find in Stephen King’s garden. After that, we swung on over to Silver Spring to batten down our collective hatches at Piratz Tavern. That’s right, a pirate themed bar. Like Applebee’s with scurvy. We got ourselves a pitcher of grog and drank in the one-eyed atmosphere.For those of you wondering what exactly grog is, it’s spiced rum served in large quantities. Speaking of which, remove the “quan” and that describes the corseted waitresses. Huge tracts of land.
See you Tuesday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… Happy Friday to you and yours. The sun was shining just a little bit brighter today because Duke got trounced by Arizona and bounced from the NCAA tourney. Just so you know, this one is to keep the streak alive and to let you know that I’ll have a super-size installment, full of weekend hijinks, on Monday. I just got home from a fun gig up in Columbia. Big thanks to David Shofer and the gang up at Sonoma’s for having me on their one year anniversary comedy show.
I will use this spot for a shameless plug. Tickets are going fast for next weekend’s slate of shows at the DC Improv with Judah Friedlander from 30 Rock. I’ll be featuring and Laura Prangley will be hosting. Six shows, Thursday through Sunday. So, stop your grinnin’ and drop your linen because the Saturday early show is already sold out and the rest are soon to follow. Go to DCImprov.com for tix and info.
See you Monday. I’m going to bed.
See you Monday
Hey there, ‘Redheads… It’s a slow news day here in the tiny pocket of cyberspace that this blog occupies. I’m happy to report that I’ve finally gotten new business cards. Previously, I had none of your goddamn business cards, but those weren’t the best networking tool. I like these new ones. It will set me apart from roughly half of the cheap comedian crowd, who all have the same showbiz card design from VistaPrint.com, with the old school microphone and the flowing red curtain. The design is sharp, clean, and professional looking, which means I don’t have to try to be any of those things. The card will represent me in fishbowls and garbage cans all over DC. I actually always wanted to have business cards like Clooney had in Ocean’s 11. Just had “Danny Ocean” written on them. He was so cool, that was all the information you needed. I’m not quite there yet. Hopefully, these’ll help drum up some business. If you print them, they will come. Or something.
Y’know who’s going to need new business cards? The putz who nodded off in the air traffic control tower at Reagan the other night. That’s the last time they have Wear Your Snuggie to Work Day. I can just imagine what went on in the planes that had to land while this guy was drooling into the crook of his arm. “This is your captain speaking. We’re about to begin our descent into Reagan National Airport. Please fasten your seat belts. And if those of you with a window seat could take a look outside and let me know if you see anything get too close, that’d be a big help.” I’m shocked the cabin didn’t depressurize from every passenger’s butt simultaneously puckering. They better have waived the checked bag fee or given them a voucher for a stiff drink once they got on the ground. To make sure this doesn’t happen again, they’ve put an extra guy on duty in the tower for the midnight to 5 am shift. The second guy is there to poke the first guy. Fool proof.
See you Friday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… I’m getting to this installment a little late tonight, just under the wire for it to count as a Wednesday blog. I need to keep my arbitrary streak chugging along. I’ll be brief. Just a couple quick thoughts about the news of the passing of Elizabeth Taylor. In a time when celebrity actually meant something, she was one of the brightest stars. Today, celebrity is so devalued it might as well be on the first shelf of a skee ball prize counter. In her later years, she became more of a tabloid caricature of herself, hanging out with Michael Jackson, and marrying enough times to qualify as a serial monogamist. Her career highlights included two Oscars and she was the voice of Maggie Simpson when she spoke her first words. I was looking at her IMDB credits. She apparently also supplied a voice for an episode of Captain Planet and the Planeteers. That’s range, people.
I was shocked that she went before Zsa Zsa Gabor. Zsa Zsa outliving Elizabeth Taylor is like Morehead State beating Louisville. Here’s a fun fact: We all know that some celebrity obits are written in advance. Well, the guy who wrote Elizabeth Taylor’s obituary died six years ago. There’s going to be a new wave of beloved celebrity death as time creeps on. People like Betty White, Hugh Hefner, and John Cleese. Speaking of which, a happy belated 80th birthday to William Shatner. Surely the best of times. All I’m saying is cherish them while they’re still here.
See you Thursday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… We’ve made it to Tuesday. I’ve been pretty quiet about the world falling to pieces around us over the last couple of weeks, mostly because I’m not terribly well informed and I’ve been too preoccupied to make stuff up. But the Tsunami Roll I got from Harris Teeter tonight got me thinking about the disaster in Japan and the pineapple I ate got me thinking about the situation in Libya. Gadhafi’s going to be really pissed when he finds out the bombs he bought are made out of pinball machine parts. To be fair, if I were him, I’d be ticked off too. Have you seen pictures of him? His face looks like a paper mache art project I made in 5th grade art class…Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka and Edward James Olmos look at him and say, “There but for the grace of God go I.” All I’m saying is, I can understand why he might be on a short fuse. Now, the US is leading the charge into yet another middle eastern country to take down another evil doer. Don’t we employ a team of ninjas or SEALs or the A-Team or G.I. Joe or the goddamn Wonder Twins for stuff like this? There’s gotta be an app for that. It’ll probably cost millions of dollars to uproot this guy with a standard military operation. Put one million on the table and offer it up to the first assassin who can do a halfway decent Chuck Norris impression and it’ll save time, lives, and money. No disintegrations. Better yet, why not send a robot? Like Blinky…
The moral of the story: Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.
See you Wednesday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… I was planning to finally conclude my three part travelogue of my trip to drunken fever dream that was Mardi Gras, but as we get further removed from it, it’s becoming clear as the ice in my bottomless glass of whiskey and ginger ale that my memories of the trip might as well have been transcribed on an Etch-A-Sketch by Michael J. Fox. Sure, I’ve got pictures to help piece things together, but none of them are of anything you guys really want to hear about. Plenty of shots of the parade on Fat Tuesday.
The floats…The people who were mistaken for floats…I was perched on our hotel balcony to watch as people flooded down Bourbon Street. Right below was where the religious outreach folks set up shop to shout the good word through a megaphone at the stumbling revelry. They meant well, but this wasn’t the most receptive audience, which is kind of ironic since the whole party serves a religious purpose. Some people consider seeing boobs in exchange for plastic beads a miracle. Anyway, this was the scene on Bourbon Street at 2pm on Fat Tuesday…When night fell, we set up shop on another part of the balcony to do some bead tossing. It’s harder than it looks. Once you find a decent target, you’ve got to take things like distance, angle, and wind into consideration. And most of them weren’t paying attention, so you had to hit a moving target. I could’ve used a bead caddy. It turned into a game of, well, whoreshoes. More often than not, some drunk musclehead would snatch the beads anyway. The most fun was being had by the guy next to us, who was teasing the women below with a giant interwoven strand of beads. He kept shouting down to them, “These are bunghole beads! Show me your bunghole!” The best part was watching women actually think about it. Kudos, sir.
And by the way, I’ve been seeing some corny ads for Applebee’s running during the NCAA tournament for their new entrees with the “taste of Bourbon Street.” So, if you want your steak to taste like flop sweat and regret, bon appetit.
See you Tuesday.
Hey there, ‘Redheads… It’s 75 and sunny outside and I’m 35 and unkempt inside, smacking the 57 on the side of the ketchup bottle that is my brain, hoping that something worth a quick blog will slowly ooze out. Then you can dip your eyes in it. The things I do for you.
Even if I wasn’t furiously typing, I’d be inside anyway, balanced precariously on the edge of my seat, watching the NCAA tourney on four separate channels and my girlfriend’s iPad. Some great ones just finished up, including the nail biter between George Mason and Villanova, which was made all the more dramatic by the play-by-play of Gus Johnson. That man can make CSPAN sound exciting. But even he can get too caught up in the excitement. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure he screams, “EXPLANATION POINT!” as George Mason finishes off Villanova. What say you?
That was one of the few games played today that I actually got right. I’d like to encourage all of you to text 9099 to help me recover from my devastated brackets. Paul the Octopus could’ve made better picks than me and he went to the big plate of calamari in the sky six months ago. I’m glad, though. Now the pressure is off and I can enjoy the tournament without obsessively checking to see if I got a game right. I can just assume I was wrong and enjoy my beer.
See you Monday.