For Example…

Hey there ‘Redheads… It’s a dismal day 4 of Blog-A-Day in May. To cheer you up, here’s an excerpt of am IM between my sister and I about my impossibly cute nephew, Moshe. Here’s a quick cuteness refresher…

He fell down. Went boom. But a lesson was learned…

Lauren: yeah, don’t know if mom or dad told you, he fell and banged his mouth pretty bad…

Jared: yeah, I heard that

Lauren: he was all swollen for the past two days…didn’t look like our little moshe

Jared: awww… poor kid… he chip a toof?

Lauren: No, thank G-d…but he’s really bruised and there are dark marks behind his 2 front teeth… the swelling went down today, but he still has a lot of bruising

Jared: that’s how you learn not to stand on a rocking chair… he’s wobbly enough without help

Lauren: the whole thing was so flukey… i always tell him not to stand on chairs

Jared: now the chair told him

Lauren: right

Jared: and the floor said, “told ya”

Lauren: uch, he was so sad

Jared: :o/

Lauren: no, the book case said “told ya”

Jared: OUCH

Lauren: mm hmm

Jared: this is why I don’t read… books are a hazard

Lauren: lol

Jared: especially in cases

See you on Cinco…

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…


Hey there ‘Redheads… Wow, another month has flown past. September is on the horizon, and with it, some nice little nuggets of fun. None of those nuggets are comedy work, unfortunately. I appear to have shot my wad in the first 3 quarters of the year. My next 3 months is so thin, it makes Nichole Richie look like…less of a pregnant skeleton. I’m gettin’ desperate…

This week marks my second year here at Stately Stern Manor. I moved in right around when Katrina hit. I still have yet to host an official housewarming party. At this point, it’d be a house re-heating party. When I finally get around to it, you’re all invited…bring a bundt cake. Speaking of parties, there’s another one on the way. I turn 32 on Sept. 24th. At the very least, a candle will be stuck in the blowhole of a Fudgy the Whale. I have pretty high expectations for this year, though, as I’ve discovered that I share my birthday with a couple people that can stand to be around me…so, perhaps a mega-party can be arranged.

Of course, the big deal in September is the start of football season and with it, fantasy football season. This year, I’m playing in a league with a bunch of other comics, including a couple local favorites, Mike Shader and Kelly Terranova. We had our draft earlier this evening…I’m pretty happy with my team. The draft went as expected…except the yuck-a-puck with the first pick came out of left field and drafted Drew Brees. Here is your starting line-up for Team 2007…Shit’s Crazy:
QB: The Golden Boy, Tom Brady (NE)
RB: Rudi Johnson (CIN)
RB: Maurice Jones-Drew (JAX)
WR: Reggie Wayne (IND)
WR: Donte Stallworth (NE)
TE: Vernon Davis (SF)
K: Josh Brown (SEA)
DEF: New England
Yes, it’s very Patriot-heavy, but you can’t go far wrong riding that horse. The season can’t start soon enough. Let’s play some imaginary pigskin.

Before I go any further, I would be remiss if I did not thank the entire staff at Banana’s Comedy Club in Hasbrouck Heights, NJ for a great weekend. It started off slow as the ride up to the club was stretched out by a jack-knifed tanker truck that turned the last 4 miles of my drive into a 2+ hour crawl. Anyone who’s been to Jersey knows it has a distinct bouquet. I made the mistake of having my windows rolled down as I hit the meat of the turnpike. I think I singed my eyebrows. I was reminded of this classic scene from Kentucky Fried Movie

…cracks me up every time.

On the way home, I stopped off in Philly to engage in my new favorite pastime, playing with my impossibly cute nephew, Mo. Brace yourself for the ensuing adorability…

Just when you think he’s reached the plateau of cute, BAM, he hits a new high. Buy stock in this kid’s dimples…it’s fiscally responsible…send the money to me.

To be continued…

Live Free Or Blog Hard

Hey there ‘Redheads… Long time, no type. Sorry about that. Summertime, and the living is easy and whatnot. Luckily, the blog lag has given me a backlog of crap to spread on cracker and feed you (yummy). So far, June has been a pretty clean month for me, in that it’s been uncontaminated by comedy work. Business picks up in July and August. For your stalking convenience, feel free to print this on the back of a t-shirt…

July 13-14 @ the Funny Farm in Youngstown, OH
July 19-21 @ the Baltimore Comedy Factory
July 27 @ the Mid-Atlantic Comedy Smorgasbord in Frederick, MD
August 10-11 @ Cozzy’s in Newport News, VA
August 24-25 @ Banana’s in Hasbrouck Heights, NJ

Follow me like Phish…I’ll try to fit in a 30 minute jam session somewhere during my show.

Where do I begin… Well, let me start off by saying to anyone who was on I-95S between Delaware and Baltimore on Sunday night, FUCK YOU, YOU BRAKE TAPPING WINDOW LICKERS. Allow me to elaborate. I was on my way home from an extended visit with my impossibly cute nephew, Mo (pictures soon to follow) up in Philly. I was caught in the expected snarl of traffic that bottle necks at the toll right as you get out of Delaware. I was passing the time by doing shadow puppetry on the tailgate of the truck in front of me (that’s what YouTube was when I was a kid…damn whippersnappers). Y’ know that feeling of liberation as you get out of that kind of traffic? You pay the toll and there’s nothing but open road in front of you….BOOOOOOOOOORNNNN FREEEEEEEE…you hit the gas and you feel like Chewie just made the jump to lightspeed as the lane lines blur past you. Cruise control is set, you’re ready to make up some lost time, and then you SLAM ON THE GODDAMN BRAKES because some doddering shmuck is doing 65 in the left lane. Hey, putz in the Chevy Impediment, move over or I’ll find a way through you. If you’re going the speed limit in the left lane of a major thru-way, you’re a hazard. And what’s worse, is these puttering malignancies don’t look in their rear-view mirror, because objects are larger than they appear and they’ll just look like a bigger twit, so they can’t see me closing in. Now, I’m pretty mild when it comes to highway driving…my rule of thumb is 10mph over whatever is posted…not life-threatening. I’m happy to abdicate my patch of pavement if someone is coming up behind me at a faster clip…it’s the courteous thing to do. You move over, the flow of traffic keeps flowing, and everyone’s happy. Instead you get these rolling blockades that tap their brakes like Savion Glover on meth with nothing in front of them but their own bleak futures.
Aaaah…catharsis. Here’s a double dose of cute to take the edge off of that bit of road rage…

Seriously, you can’t dispute the cute of this particular patootie. Much peek-a-boo was played. I got so good at it, that even I didn’t know where I was. For a little while, my parents and I were left with the task of feeding the little guy while mom and dad ran a couple of errands. A sumptuous meal of strained sweet potatoes and vitamin-enriched yogurt was on the menu. We put on his bib and put him in his baby butler and proceeded to make a complete mess trying to guide the nummy nummy airplane into the hangar. We thought we were doing pretty well…until Mo decided it was time to get cranky. Wow, did he pitch a fit…contorting his little face into something out of an Edvard Munch rough draft. So, off with the bib and I picked him up to calm him down…as soon as he was up, he started smiling. The little faker was playing us like a fiddle…or a rattle anyway. So it went. We’d put the bib back on, get a few more spoonfuls in, then he’d wig out and I’d pick him up again. I like the kid’s policy…eat ’til you cry. Try it sometime…it takes longer as an adult.

Before I forget, I’d like to extend a big thanks to the fine folks at the DC Improv for including me in their first ever Variety Showcase. It featured stand-up, improv, sketch, and multi-media comedic endeavors. They showcased two of the videos that I did with comic compadre, Chris White. It was very cool to see Never Can Say Goodbye and Good Directions (both conveniently linked to your right) played in front of a nearly packed house and hearing them laugh loudly. Warmed my cockels. The evening was hosted by international raconteurs, Larry Poon and Jim Marsdale. Good guys. Larry had a bra thrown at him. It was that kind of night.

Also, please join me in wishing a bon voyage to the man of 1000 voices (and at least 5 kinds of facial hair), Danny Rouhier, who’s heading off to seek his fortune in the Big Apple. Fear not, though, he’ll be popping back up in the area…like funny herpes. The DC area will get flare ups over the coming months, but shouldn’t stop us from canoeing or hot-air ballooning or biking. Although, we should be more careful, seeing as how we just gave him to NY. We’re a dirty dirty comedy community. Supportive, but dirty…we should get checked out. I had the pleasure of seeing Danny off at a little not-quite-surprise get together over the weekend. Jay Hastings, Kojo Mante, Larry Poon, and myself represented the comedy circle of Danny’s massive Venn diagram of friends. One of the larger circles in there was of chicas mas caliente. In a sea of hot ladies, we were an island of awkwardness. It was like a study in social dysfunction. We just found a patch of floor and huddled around it while we drank and talked shit. Somebody intervene.

By the way, if you’re not busy this Thursday night, go check out the debut of a brand new comedy showcase in Adams Morgan, cleverly titled The Bomb Shelter. It’s at 18th & Red. It’ll feature 4 or 5 of the area’s best doing solid 15 minute sets. I’m not sure what time it starts, but 8 is a safe bet. Best of all, it’s FREE. So, your good time is guaranteed or…your…time back. I’ll get to work on the flux capacitor, you just go have a good time.

That’s all for now. I’ll try not to keep you waiting for the next one. If we don’t talk before the holiday, may the 4th be with you.

To be continued…

Three Past Fool

Hey there ‘Redheads… I’m stuffed. I’ve spent the last couple of nights shoveling matzoh and brisket down my gullet and washing it down with Maneschevitz, Jewish Mad Dog 20/20. All in celebration of Passover (you’re welcome for the pyramids, by the way). Like other Jewish holidays, Passover is rich in song. Here’s one of my favorites…sing along, won’t you?

For the first night of Passover, I went up to Philly to visit my sister, her husband, and of course, my impossibly cute nephew, Mo. Brace yourselves as I crank the adorable knob up to 11.

The knob seems to be stuck…stop trying to tickle the screen.

Before I blog any further, I would be remiss if I did not mention the bitch slap given to Autism over the weekend at the Mobtown Theatre. A big thanks to Greg Hall and everybody involved with the Baltimore Comedy Festival for a great event. I had the pleasure of sharing the stage with the likes of Mike Aronin, Sonya King, Jon Mumma, and Doug Powell as we dropped a comedy elbow into the solar plexus of this mysterious disorder. The late show featured Jessica Paquin, Mike Way, Bird Knight, Kat Malone, Chris Doucette, Larry XL, and Mike Storck as Swanky Hilltopper III. Best line of the night, Mike Aronin closed the early show with, “Thanks for supporting Autism!”

On Sunday, I indulged in a guilty pleasure and checked out the spectacle that is WrestleMania 23. For those math challenged, it was the 20th anniversary of WrestleMania 3, when the WWF set the indoor attendance record at the Pontiac Silverdome. Well, Aretha Franklin sang America the Beautiful then, so they brought her back to sing it again this year. Oy vey. Don’t get me wrong, she can’t still belt out the tunes, but her belt had to have a few new holes punched in it. Sister has let herself go. It wouldn’tve surprised me in the slightest if she was hiding the Rancor in a cell beneath her piano bench. She looked like the Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock

D-O-U-G-H-N-U-T, someone bring a box to me…

Yes, I know wrestling is rigged. That doesn’t make the athletic derring-do any less exciting. For example…

Yes, that was a metal ladder they snapped in half. If someone would like to tell me how they faked that, I’d love to hear it.

On to one of the funnier news stories I found recently in the Washington Post

Criteria for Depression Are Too Broad, Researchers Say
Guidelines May Encompass Many Who Are Just Sad

Up to 25 percent of people in whom psychiatrists would currently diagnose depression may only be reacting normally to stressful events such as a divorce or losing a job, according to a new analysis that reexamined how the standard diagnostic criteria are used.

Apparently, signs of depression include not being happy, not knowing that you’re happy, and an inability to clap your hands. Until the criteria can be narrowed down, doctors are simply prescribing their patients to get over themselves.

Speaking of the Washington Post, I’d like to thank movie critic Stephen Hunter for crystallizing why I hate Will Ferrell with the fire of a thousand suns. I give you this excerpt from Hunter’s review of Blades of Glory: “The joke is that his machismo is mostly fantasy and his hyper-masculinity is all the more off-putting for being fraudulent.” This sentence describes every freaking character that Ferrell puts on screen…Ron Burgundy, Rick Bobby, Chazz from Wedding Crashers, as long as the bravado is thick and whatever he says is either boorish, loud, or stupid, he’s treated as this great comic actor because “he so said that”. Keep mugging it up, you putz. I’m not sure why he irks me so, but he and Jack Black can take a flying leap.

Got nothing to do this weekend? Go check out the happenings at the DC Improv. You can either see the very funny Brett Leake in the main showroom or enjoy a ridiculously intimate evening with Todd Glass in the new Comedy Lounge. Your comedy options abound. Choose wisely.

To be continued…