Passover, Then Pass Out

Hey there, ‘Redheads… I’ve got a couple glasses of Maneschevitz in me, so this blog will be short and sweet, then it’s bedtime for Bonzo. I just got back from Passover seder, one of the many times that Jews celebrate the recurring theme of, “They tried to kill us. They didn’t. Let’s eat.” I enjoy Passover, mostly because you’re required to drink four glasses of wine, but also because we get to take credit for building the pyramids. Since the seder I was at had small children present, we used a haggadah for kids. It was a bit more sing-songy, but it kept them involved. Sort of like One Fish, Two Fish , Red Fish, Gefilte Fish. It took pieces of the Passover story and made songs out of them to the tune of “Pop Goes the Weasel” or “On Top of Old Smokey.” My favorite was the song about the ten plagues that was put to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” That’s now my second favorite song about the plagues. What’s my favorite, you ask?

During the seder, it’s customary to ask the four questions about why this night is different from all other nights. Well, now that it’s over, I have a couple follow up questions… 1) Why does my head hurt? 2) Why did I eat so much kugel? 3) Why do I keep forgetting that I can’t stand macaroons? And 4) What’s the deal with gefilte fish? Personally, I think gefilte fish is people.

All questions for another day. I’m going to bed. See you Tuesday. By the way, spell check hates the Jews apparently. Just sayin’…

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…