Blarney and Friends

Hey there, ‘Redheads… Happy St. Patrick’s Day to one and all. The day we commemorate St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland by drinking enough Guinness to float an aircraft carrier. Mine hasn’t been all that happy. I found out today that my vehicle was totaled in the accident I had on Wednesday. It’s all kinds of smashy. I’m conflicted about it. On the one hand, I’m getting a new car. On the other hand, I’m getting a giant headache dealing with the insurance and all of the other crap. We’ve been through alot together, the Liberty and I. Countless comedy road trips, through all sorts of weather, it was a trusty steed. It only ever left me stranded twice, and both times it was stolen, it faithfully returned to me. Over 163,000 miles of loyal service. Liberty, I hardly knew ye…

Well, that was somber. Let’s lighten the mood with a St. Patty’s Day favorite…

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if that doesn’t make you smile, you’re not human.

So far, through the bulk of today’s NCAA tournament play, my brackets have remained largely unscathed. I picked the Richmond upset and I was on the right side of the hotly contested Butler/Old Dominion tilt. The one giant pockmark came when Louisville, a team I picked to advance to the Elite 8, crapped in their hat and got beat by Morehead State. The only comfort I take in that is that only two people picked Morehead State to win, Tiger Woods and Charlie Sheen. They are alumni, right? By the way, I caught some of the coverage online today at work, Leslie Visser looks like the Crypt Keeper in a pink sweater. She is not meant to be within a thousand paces of an HD lens.

See you Friday.

Prognostication, Baby…

Hey there, ‘Redheads… I don’t have a clever coherent framework for all of the crap I want to get to in this installment, so pardon me if today’s batch of self-important blather seems a little scatter shot.

I hope everyone has let their livers sleep in a couple hours the last couple days to prepare for the all-day pickling it’s going to get on St. Patrick’s Day. St. Patrick was apparently the patron saint of blacking out and holding your hair while vomiting. I’ve reached that certain age when drinking for distance no longer does anything for me. Sure, I’ll wear some green and kick a ginger, but you won’t see me out at a bar wading through a sea of Guinness. That is ground zero for drunken douchebaggery. I’m Jewish, so I can’t give up crap like that for Lent. The Jewish equivalent would be called Owed, I guess. I’m here all week. Try the fish fillet. But none of that matters, because everyone is Irish on St. Patty’s Day. Even these guys…

I did a show up in Timonium, MD, which was named for the element on the periodic chart that conducts polite chuckling, on Sunday. I encountered the strangest form of heckling I’ve ever received. Towards the end of my set, a couple drunken Timoniites started growling and barking at me, just enough to throw me off my Swiss precision joke rhythm. I tried to ignore it, mostly because addressing it directly meant bringing everything to a screeching halt to deal with people who weren’t going to care or understand what I had to say in response. Plus, on the off chance one of them genuinely had Tourette’s, I didn’t want to look like a dick. I made some lame joke about them eating kibble and shutting the fuck up. Did I mention I’m horrible with hecklers? So many better comebacks showed up late to my brain as I was driving home. “Y’ever see Old Yeller, asshole?” or “Howabout to go back to the bar and sniff your friend’s ass?” or “Play dead.” I just wanted to vent that out, because I’d never heard of anyone growling or barking at a comedian before.

I can’t let that bother me, because it’s the most wonderful time of the year. Tourney Time. The time when my productivity plummets (granted, it doesn’t have far to fall) as I crunch all of the numbers, knowing that my brackets are going to be more brittle than Haiti’s infrastructure. This year, just about anybody can take it. I’m hoping this is the year that a #16 seed beats a #1 seed. And I hope that #1 seed is Duke. So, just to get my picks on record, here are my picks to click for the NCAA Tournament…

-In the Midwest corner of the bracket, where my Terps reside, referred to as the “group of death”, it’s going to come down to the winner of Georgetown vs. Ohio St. I’m a homer, so I picked the Hoyas over the Buckeyes to get to the Final Four. I love my Terps, and I have them making a respectable run to the Sweet 16, but that’s all.
-From the West region, I’ve got Syracuse in a cake walk to the Final Four as the only #1 seed to make it.
-Out of the East, where I have Cornell making it to the Sweet 16, I’ll take Texas to reclaim the perch they got knocked off of early in the season and make it to the Final Four.
-In the South, where I have Duke losing in the second round to Louisville, I think Baylor makes it to the Final Four.
-So, Georgetown faces Syracuse for the fourth time this season with a shot at the national championship on the line and two Texas teams go at it on the other side of the bracket. I’ll take Syracuse vs. Baylor for the championship. Go Orange. Now, look for Syracuse to lose to Vermont.

Let the games begin…


Hey there, ‘Redheads… Greetings from beyond the flowing rivers of green beer and vomit. I hope everyone had a Happy St. Viviana’s Day…never heard of it? That’s probably because I just made it up. She’s the patron saint against hangovers and headaches…so, who better to name the day after St. Patrick’s Day for? I’d like to nominate someone else for patron sainthood (can a Jew do that?). I think Jack Bauer should be the patron saint of badasses. I watched Jack kill a man, then start up a truck with the same bloody screwdriver. Somebody call Vince from the ShamWow and SlapChop commercials, because I’ve got a feeling the StabStart is gonna be bigger than the Snuggie. By the way, if the blog seems mintier than usual, it’s because this blogging session is being fueled by Girl Scout Thin Mints. That’s right, Thin Mints, making poops smell like altoids since 1980.

So, I should break a small bit of crappy comedy news to you. You may remember in an earlier installment, when I was touting an upcoming feature spot at the DC Improv. Yeah, well…turns out I’ve been bumped from that stratosphere back down to earthly hosting duties. The headliner is bringing his own guy to feature. No worries, though…it’ll still be a fun slate of sold-out shows…just less of me. Me concentrate. So, come check out less of me May 14-17 with Roastmaster General, Jeff Ross. Click the link for tix and info.

And thanks to everyone who came out to the shows at the Baltimore Comedy Factory last weekend. Apparently, people that I don’t know either read the blog or stalk me on Facebook, because plenty of printed out coupons with my name on them showed up and I didn’t recognize any of the drunken masses as they filed past me and ignored my attempts to sell CDs. So, here’s to my supposed fan base.

Congrats to my Terps for squeaking their way into the big dance. They kick off what’ll hopefully be a deep run in the tourney on Thursday. Here’s the thing with having them in the tourney…I have to try to fill out my brackets without seeming disloyal. If they play up to their potential, they can beat anyone in the country, so it might be easy to justify a national title run, but I have to bet with my head instead of my heart. I’d love to see a UMD/Morgan St. rematch in the championship game, but that’s just not gonna happen. The 2009 brackets might as well be pinned on a dart board this year. Any one of about ten teams could conceivably win it all. Once the games tip off, I fully expect my brackets to collapse like a game of Jenga in the Parkinson’s ward. Heck, this year the tourney could be won by Stone Cold Steve Austin, who will be playing Syracuse 5 on 1…he gets a steel chair, of course. And this year, President Obama has filled out a Baracket. I think he picked UNC to win it all. As a country, we better hope they do because I think he bet the bailout money on it.

In case you care, here’s my Final Four prediction:


Book it. Let the games begin.