Me Olde

Hey there ‘Redheads… We’re on the back end of September, which seems like it’s only a week long. With time on an out of control rocket sled toward the future, I find myself reflecting on my life and a piece of it that I’ll never get back. That’s right, I just got done watching The Jay Leno Show. Wow, what a clunky pile of dreck that thing is. I realize it’s only in its second week, and it may still be looking for its comedy stride, but holy crap. It’s tough to find your stride with a charlie horse in one leg and polio in the other. His guest on tonight’s show was Pee Wee Herman. Nice to see Jay burnt through his celebrity Rolodex in the first week. They talked about when he got bit by the acting bug, and then he made Jay a salad. I wish I was kidding… I wish they were kidding… I almost euthanized my TV.

Speaking of finding your stride in the second week, howabout them Redskins, huh? They sputtered through another 60 minutes of football and narrowly beat the hapless Rams 9 to 7. And they were roundly booed by the home crowd. I can’t imagine why. It’s week two and your punter has more touchdowns than your starting running back. To the Redskins, the endzone is a mythical place, and the two members of the team that’ve crossed its magical threshold tell the tallest tales of the creatures that frolic there. I’m not one to boast about my athletic prowess but, through two weeks, I have comparable stats to Redskin wide receiver, Santana Moss. I only have 5 fewer catches, 41 fewer yards, the same number of touchdowns, and I haven’t fumbled. I’m expecting a contract offer from the team any time now. I’m no Cowboy fan either, but that monstrosity of a stadium that Jerry Jones built is pretty impressive. That place is so huge, the bathroom attendant is a Minotaur. After they lost to the Giants, I expected Jerry’s withered visage to show up on that massive jumbotron, give the thumbs down, and release the lions to eat Romo. By the way, Jerry Jones should never ever be in HD. He looks like he chose the wrong grail.

By the way, Happy 5770 to everybody. That’s right, Jews control show business and time travel. Wow, 5770…shit’s crazy. Anyone else think we’re way overdue for…

Keeping with the theme of lost time and wasted potential, it’s my birthday on Thursday. I’ll be 34…17 again…the 13th anniversary of my 21st birthday…the combined maturity of 17 two-year-olds. At some point this week, I’ll be plunging a candle into the blow hole of Fudgy the Whale. I’m not treating 34 like it’s old or anything. You’re only as old as you feel, so I’ve been 80 for a couple years now anyway. I got a small taste of life’s fragility earlier this week. I hit a bird with my car on my way to work. It just flew right out in front of me. What a way to start the morning. Just my luck. It didn’t have insurance and it didn’t speak English…

On the off chance any of you were thinking about buying me a birthday present, allow me to drop this subtle hint…

Huge show coming up this Saturday, in the DC Improv Comedy Lounge

Jason Weems
Steve Coltrain
Doug Powell
Erin Jackson
…and me.

Even if you’re sick of me, this show is gonna be awesome. Miss it at your peril. Click here for tix.

To be continued…

This Is How We Jew It

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had a very merry and a holly jolly. 2007 is just about in the books, and I can honestly say…shit’s crazy. Speaking of which, I’d like to congratulate Tom Brady on winning the Super Bowl…the fantasy football Super Bowl of the 2007 Stand-up League. The Golden Boy, along with his go-to receiver Reggie Wayne, and bruising running back Fred Taylor carried me, their coach/general manager/owner to my first ever fantasy football championship. It was a rough season, starting out 0-3 and needing to win the last game of the regular season to get the last spot in the playoffs, but we hit our stride in the post season. My team’s name: 2007…Shit’s Crazy. My avatar is going to!!

I’m not going to do a huge retrospective of how Britney be buggin’, or Anna Nicole be dyin’, or Don Imus be trippin’. If you want that, pick up the remote and turn on VH1…you two deserve each other. If you know me at all, you should know that my ego knows no bounds, and any look back at the year that was will be into a mirror. Yes, I probably think this year is about me…don’t I? So, sit back, relax, pretend you give a damn, and let’s get this last overdue blog going…

Before we rewind things, a huge thanks to Allyson from the DC Improv, John and the rest of the great staff of The Birchmere, and Good For The Jews, David Fagin and Rob Tannenbaum, for an amazing weekend. Just to help deconstruct that Rube Goldberg thank-you note, GFTJ contacted the DC Improv for a Jewish comic to open for them at the Birchmere, and I got the nod. It was a great couple of shows at a kick ass venue. A very cool way to cap off the year. Both shows were packed, though both nights’ crowds skewed a touch older than I was expecting. Old Jews tend to be a bit judgemental when you break out the Parkinson’s material, but they played along, and I was quick to point out, “Good thing Jews don’t believe in Hell, eh?” I was also happy to finally use my Nicotine Yarmulke joke in front of its intended demographic. Rob and David were great to work with. When I thanked them for having me, David noted that the choice was between me, “and a guy who’s comedy CD was called Mein Albumf.” If you can’t laugh at that, open the blog door and get out.

On Xmas Eve, I put on my dancin’ shoes (they’re prescription) and joined a couple hundred other chosen people, blacklisted by Santa, at the annual Matzo Ball in downtown DC. What better way to work up an appetite for General Tso’s chicken and milk duds the next day than to relive the awkward part of your Bar/Bat Mitzah? As you may know, dance is not my medium. I work mostly in water colors. Dance clubs aren’t my element. They’re not even on my periodic table. I can’t dance. I can’t walk. The only thing about me is the way I talk. The fact that I’m quoting a Phil Collins song, should tell you just how tragically white I am on the dance floor (Greek tragic). I’m here to tell you, I was not the worst dancer on the floor. There were poor bastards out there who made Napoleon Dynamite look like Helio Castroneves. They ran the gamut, from spastic to rigid. One guy looked like his feet were rooted to the floor…I’ve seen parking meters with better range of movement. He danced by bending at the waist, like one of those plastic drinking birds. The monster from Young Frankenstein could’ve served this guy. Anyway, long story short, I can’t stand dance clubs and I’m still a lonely Jew on Xmas. As a side note, one of the songs the DJ spun was the theme to The Jeffersons. To me, the height of irony is having a bunch of Jews shaking their trust funded groove thangs to that song. If you were wondering, the height of irony is apparently 5’6″.

Here now are a few of the top news blurbs from the blogs of 2007, as judged by me…just now.

From 2/22:
WASHINGTON (Feb. 21) – Drugs prescribed to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder will include guides to alert patients and parents of the risks of mental and heart problems, including sudden death.

Now, I’m not a doctor but, it’s my understanding that when a possible side effect of a drug is death, IT CEASES TO BE MEDICATION. Slap a Mr. Yuck sticker on it and keep it away from the children. Are these the lengths we’ll go to in order to ignore the lure of shiny objects? “Geez doc, Johnny seems to have gone limp.” “Yes, but he slumped over on his geometry homework.” The article continues…

The alerts also cover psychiatric problems, such as hearing voices, unfounded suspicions and manic behavior, of which there is a slightly increased risk in patients who take the drugs, the FDA said.

Hearing voices. Unfounded suspicions. That’s exactly what we need in kids that lose focus easily. Y’know, given my druthers, I think I’d rather be distracted by SHIT I CAN SEE. And nothing quite like a paranoid delusion to keep junior in his room with his nose to the grindstone. If you’re not careful, this’ll end up being his next book report…

From 4/04:
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.

From 5/23:
Here’s a news story that has renewed my faith…

Female shark reproduces without sex
A female hammerhead shark that gave birth without sex has put the bite into conventional wisdom about reproduction among large vertebrates, according to research published Wednesday. The discovery is the first known case of asexual reproduction in sharks but it also raises concerns about the genetic health of dwindling shark populations, they say.

…that God is a vicious eating machine. We’re going to need a bigger bible. That’s right, we may have witnessed the birth of Shark Jesus (yes, I resisted the urge to call him Jawsus…give me some credit). He’ll be able to turn water into chum, feed 5000 with just one surfer, and…swim on dry land.

I can’t go any further without acknowledging one of the recurring themes of the blogs of ’07, my impossibly cute nephew, Mo. Most of these blogs would be nothing without this dimple dynamo squeezing a cheap grin out of you. Here now, is a year’s worth of Mo…

Well, ‘Redheads… That’ll just about do it for 2007. Thanks to everyone who made it a fun year. And thanks to you for reading about it. I hope 2008 brings more of the same: good friends, good laughs, and good timing. See ya then…

To be continued…