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Shiny as the day it came off the Chrysler assembly line, my Liberty is back in its rightful place in front of Stately Stern Manor. It’s freshly detailed and the engine purrs like a kitten…with emphysema. This is about the nicest it’s looked since I drove it home from the dealership. I’m thinking if I can get it stolen every one or two months, I can keep it looking tip-top. I’m very happy to have it back…just in time to drive it 7 1/2 hours to Buffalo, NY for a gig at the Comix Cafe. The schlep should take the truck’s glistening black gloss and turn it to a hazy off-dirt finish. Between the rock salt and the road grime, I’ll be driving a Jackson Pollock painting home. The next step will be to increase security. I’m torn between the smaller Club or the larger Rotweiler. I’ll probably go with the Club because it’s more of a set-it-and-forget-it tool…and it won’t shit in my truck.

I’m looking forward to the trip to Buffalo. Sure, Buffalo in January has the potential to turn this trek into a Donner Party tribute, but the town has other things going for it. It’s a stone’s throw from Niagara Falls (…slowly, I turn) and one of my favorite foods comes from there: the Buffalo wing. I plan to consume alot of spicy chicken and bleu cheese during my stay. Buffalo, stock up on wet-naps. Whenever you’re in a town that has something named for it, you gotta try it… though, if you’re ever in Cleveland, avoid the steamers…just sayin’ is all.

So if any of you ‘Red Heads find yourselves in western upstate NY (maybe you’re heading to Canada to try some Canada Dry), come check me out at the Comix Cafe with Buffalonian, Blane Kelly. And yes, I called you ‘Red Heads. If a fan club ever forms, I figure my minions will need a catchy moniker…something the newspapers can latch onto when the FBI raids the compound. Hey, this blog is up to the 700’s in readership…I know that really only amounts to 15 or 20 regular readers (or me hitting the refresh button 699 times), but ya gotta start somewhere. I’m the poster boy for delusions of grandeur…the poster is HUGE.

To be continued…

Oy vey. Wednesday, January 11th 2006… the first crappy day of the new year. Three small things conspired to slowly erode my usual good mood and leave me just plain pissed off by the end of the day (y’like the inadvertent a-b-a rhyme scheme there?). Ok, let’s start from the bottom and work our way to the top.

The cherry on top of this turd sundae was watching my Terps get their asses served al dente by Duke…in HD. Every misstep in vivid detail. The Terps had 30 turnovers. I’ve seen fewer balls thrown away in a dog neutering facility. All this was made worse by having to listen to Dick Vitale verbally fellate J.J. Redick throughout the game. It was an embarrassing display and it’s a miracle we only lost by 24 points. I think, in order to properly motivate the team, Gary Williams needs to threaten each player with the loss of a finger for each botched pass. They’ll either get their shit together or learn to dunk with hooks. Tough love.

Moving a bit further back through the abyss… It turns out you truly can’t please all of the people all of the time. Especially one guy in particular, who sent a complaint email to the DC Improv expressing his distaste for my set during the Sunday show. The Improv forwarded the email to me. I’ve gone back and forth as to whether I should email the guy back, but I ultimately decided not to empower one reactionary shmuck who didn’t get me by giving him a response. I will, however, post it here and add a few clarifications. Here ya go (he’s in red…I’m in grey):

We attended the Jeff Caldwell show last night (our fifth or sixth show at the Improv). As always, Jeff was hilarious. Herbie, the MC/opener was great as well.

But this is somehow the second time we’ve had to endure Jared Stern–we had to sit through his act before the otherwise great Arabian Nights show (where he did the same lame jokes)–and someone needs to clue the guy in. Two things: a) endure? ouch…you wound me, sir. b) In my 9 or so times on the Improv stage, I’ve never been a part of an Arabian Nights show, great or otherwise. Maybe I appeared to you in some kind of peyote-induced vision quest. Which makes sense that you didn’t like me…I never do well in my dreams either. But, please, enlighten me…

People dying of starvation in Ethiopia is not funny. Stern, I assume, is Jewish; would he make jokes about the Holocaust? If not, what’s the difference? Is it that Ethiopians are BLACK? By the way, you can treat my comments as a fortune cookie. Except, instead of adding “in bed”, add “you twit.” Try it. It’s fun. Without explaining the joke, it’s not making fun of starving people. It’s a corny take on what Ethiopian cuisine might be. Nowhere in the joke do I taunt a near-skeletal infant with a chicken wing. And there are plenty of funny Holocaust jokes. They’re dark and twisted, but in the end, they’re just jokes.

Stern, in his act, picked on:

Gays
Fat people
Parkinson’s sufferers
People dying of starvation
AIDS patients
Asian people (Stupid “Me make you laugh long time” comment)
You forgot: the Amish, albinos, Alzheimer’s patients, people with prosthetic limbs, the blind, unwed mothers, bulimic muppets, dead celebrities, and dim-witted knee jerks like you who can’t see past your over-inflated sense of morality to find humor in ANYTHING. And I wasn’t making fun of Asian people with that line. It was a reference to Full Metal Jacket, labeling me as a whore to those people who, y’know, get jokes.

Hey, Jared! Guess what! Some people in your audience are fat. Or gay. Or Asian. Or have a relative with Parkinson’s or AIDS. Or know someone from Ethiopia. Or just find the idea of making fun of others’ misery really low-class. You managed to alienate 90% of your audience by the time you were done. See above.

Jared should take a lesson from Jeff Caldwell, who did not once pick on a group of people but who absolutely killed the entire audience for over an hour.

Let me add that we’re big fans of Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle–the difference is, you can make fun of yourself or your own race/ethnic group. But kicking people when they’re down is just un-American. Point of note: this is the part of the email where the guy tries to back up his ignorant comments by claiming to be a fan of a famous comic that he probably doesn’t understand or know much about, but Tom Shales gave his show a glowing review, so he must be cutting edge. Listen, asshat, if you think that Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle only make fun of Black people, then you couldn’t be more full of shit if you were, to quote Dennis Miller, “a port-a-potty at the Lollapalooza festival.” And kicking people when they’re down is America’s bread and butter…it’s what Tiggers do best.

Other than Jared, it was a great show. We may come back–but we’ll first call to make sure Jared isn’t on again. And may I never have to endure your ass-backward sensibilities again…

Well, that was cleansing. See what I have to deal with? Any words of encouragement, for either party, are welcome.

The initial bit of crappiness that made the 11th so odious was the memories it dredged up. January 11th marked exactly 4 years since I was unceremoniously shitcanned from a supposed career in radio with Elliot in the Morning and DC101. It’s not all bad, though. That job, while fun, was slowly killing me from the stress, exhaustion, and unhealthy habits that come with morning radio. I put on 30lbs in 2 1/2 years, I was constantly falling asleep behind the wheel, and the job was a rut with no real room for advancement. A party every morning…including the hangovers.
If I hadn’t been shown the door, I probably wouldn’tve completed my COMM degree, become a stand-up comic, or started writing this blog… Merry Christmas movie house!!

The cool thing about January 11th? It’s over. Long live the 12th.

To be continued…

Well, one week down…51 more to go. My first week of ’06 ended with a cool bit of luck. At noon on Saturday I got a call from my friends at the DC Improv. Apparently, their feature for the weekend had fallen ill and they needed a less stricken comic to fill-in. Fit as the proverbial fiddle, I quickly dumped my plans of lazing on the couch in my underwear for paid stage time at one of the top clubs in the country…twist my arm, why don’t ya? And as an added bonus, my good buddy Herbie Gill was MCing, so there was definitely a great couple of shows in store.

When I got to the club, there was a group of about 20 guys all dressed in blue sportcoats, khakis, and ties singing in the lobby. Apparently, they were an acapella group from Yale who were touring the country and they had landed stage time at the Improv. I figured they were going to be the “guest set”, which meant I was going to have to follow them. I found out later that they were going on before the show…with no intro. The club simply turned down the music and they filed onstage like some kind of Republican parade. Now, when a non-comedy act plays in front of a comedy audience, you’d think they would choose a peppy number to get the crowd in the mood to have good time. I believe they closed with John Henry Was A Steel Drivin’ Man. Not exactly a feel good hit. After the calls for Freebird died down, they filed back off the stage, got on their bus, and headed back to their lives of privilege.

The shows for the weekend went well. The headliner was Jeff Caldwell. He has a very dry wit. We had to bring in a humidifier for the late show…there was some chapping. I wish January would make up it’s mind and either stay in the 50’s or cut the shit and just be cold. Saturday night, it was so cold you could hang meat in the lobby. They kept the showroom well heated. I was afraid it might rain if they opened the doors.

Now, along with the opportunity to perform came the opportunity to whore myself after the show and hawk my CD. I did modest sales, but I had two odd monetary transactions. One CD was paid for with a $5 bill, a Susan B. Anthony dollar, and four Sacajawea gold coins. Getting paid in gold coins gave the evening a kind of Dungeons & Dragons feel…though I got some good XP from taking out a Gnoll outside the club…it could’ve just been a hairy homeless guy, but the dice he was rolling said I hit him. I know…I’m a level 5 DORK. Another CD was paid for with 5 $2 bills. Don’t get me wrong…money is money…I’d take ten bucks in Chuck E. Cheese tokens if needed to, but these seemed one step shy of bartering. Where was they guy who was gonna pay me with a live chicken and wampum?…or magic beans, perhaps? Make me an offer, is all I’m sayin’.

News Flash:
Drug maker Pfizer has begun attaching high-tech radio ID tags to packages of Viagra to thwart counterfeiters. The tags emit a a signal that U.S. pharmacists may pick up on scanners to verify authenticity. Groovy…so now you can get a four hour erection that gets XM.

News Flash:
A 9-foot sculpture of a film-era Ronald Reagan on horseback will be the centerpiece of a $3.2 million riverfront development project in the former president’s hometown of Dixon, Illinois. The roads will be paved with jellybeans and the addresses will be purposely vague so people will forget where they live.

Well, because I was delinquent in updating, I give you two website treats to reward you for your patience…
To fill your creative mischief quota, check out this fun site. Make sure to hit the refresh button a few times. High quality.
And please enjoy this video that answers the eternal dork question of who would win in a sci-fi throwdown. You’ll be tapping your feet and humming along to the cartoon carnage.

To be continued…

Welcome to 2006, loyal readers. I know I promised a year-end wrap up, but my head still has My Hump thumping in it and I’m a little too groggy to be retrospective right now. I can do the next best thing, however, and recall the details of last night…something not everyone can brag about.

As the orchestra was about to play off the overblown acceptance speech for Best Cinematography that was 2005, I got together with my good friends, Chris, Allyson, and Jeff for dinner at Tunnicliff’s in DC. Seated to our left, was a table of police officers…in uniform. To our right, a table of priests…in uniform. All we needed was a table of rabbis and we could’ve had a re-enactment of the greatest joke ever written. Tunnicliff’s had one of the greatest deals of New Year’s Eve. For $20.06, you get an appetizer, soup or salad, entree, and dessert. Spinach dip, caesar salad, NY strip steak, and a brownie sundae…I was one step shy of taxidermy, I was so stuffed.

From there, Chris and I parted ways with Allyson and Jeff and headed to The Ugly Mug for the drunken countdown to ’06. We staked out some primo real estate in the middle of the bar…if people wanted to have fun, they had to go through us. As we started on our first of four pitchers for the evening, a menagerie of furry friends joined the merriment. I’ll try to paint the picture… 5 people: one in a pink bunny suit, one in a Frosty the Snowman suit, one in a gingerbread man suit, one in a bear suit, and a guy in a chicken suit… It was like the bar scene from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by way of the Mickey Mouse Club. So, we’d barely begun dulling our senses, and the Heffalumps and Woozles stroll in to get the night jumpstarted. The night got louder and more raucous as the year slowly faded away. Chris and I began chatting up two lovely ladies, Emily and Nikki…we hung with them for the rest of the night. On the TVs, Regis Philbin rang in the new year. At one point, he was speaking live-via-satellite with Donald Trump…y’know, nothing screams 2006 like two guys who’s combined age is 2006. Unfortunately, there was no kiss at midnight, but there was beer spilled on us at 1:45, so at least one tradition wasn’t ignored. As the night crept toward last call, some very demonstrative gals decided to practice for their Girls Gone Wild audition and began dancing and gyrating on the bar. It would’ve been hot, if they weren’t so sloppy drunk. Emily remarked, “They’re like Coyote Ugly.” I replied, “You’re half right.” ZING!

A good night was had by all. Easily, the best New Year’s Eve I’ve been a part of in the last three years…Top 5 all time. It’s tough to top the trifecta of good food, good fun, and good people.

So, what is my New Year’s resolution? To stop procrastinating. Actually, the was my resolution for ’03 but, no time like the present, eh? Here’s to everyone who made ’05 fly by so fast. To the new friendships and the rekindled ones. To Johnny, Richard, and Mitch… To The Riddler, Scotty, and Mr. Miagi… To everyone who laughed at me in ’05, may you not tire of me in ’06.

To be continued…

Well, I’m happy to report that all is not lost…not yet. The powers that be recovered my vehicle, with minor damage, in SE DC. Apparently, it was involved in a robbery, then the assailants were nabbed and the perps realized there’s no reset button in the real-life version of Grand Theft Auto. I couldn’t believe my Jeep was involved in a robbery… I mean, you think you know a car. It’s out of my sight for a couple of hours and it turns into Patty Hearst. Alot of the machinery I own have criminal tendencies. My PC is constantly performing “illegal operations”…dealing heroin out of the hard drive.

So, I went to investigate the damage to the Jeep. The ignition: gone…well, not so much gone, but in the cup holder. There was also minimal damage to the driver’s side door, where they used the hobo’s skeleton key, a screwdriver. When I inventoried the contents of the vehicle, I found that, not only did they not take anything…they left a bunch of stuff. A pile of CD’s, a couple packs of children’s pajamas, and a Batman playset. I’m petitioning to add this as a Hanukkah Miracle, but the Torah revisionists haven’t gotten back to me yet. Armed with this evidence, I’ve put together a profile of the ruffian who took my car. I was jacked by a narcoleptic toddler with a hero complex and a burnt out subscription to Columbia House.

I’d also like to thank my loyal readers (up to triple digits, btw) for their support. My buddy, comedy dynamo, Justin Schlegel offered to, “undergo intense 2 year training with the League of Shadows to become a weapon of righteous justice, striking down all those who stand in the way of my quest to return your car to it’s rightful place…it’s parking spot.” Stay your sword, for now. I’ll put that little fiery vengeance IOU in my hip pocket. In the meantime, you may walk the earth…solving mysteries, helping people, hoping that your next leap can be the leap home.

The next post will be the year-end wrap up. I’m a procrastinator…so sue me…later.

To be continued…

This blog is for venting… Do not adjust your computer screens…

FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCKFUCKFUCK

My car was stolen today. Right in front of Stately Stern Manor. And if I wasn’t such a ball of sloth, it could’ve been avoided. Apparently, a guy had stolen another car… The engine started smoking, so he decided to dump that car. He did so in my parking lot, and my car was the next most available means of conveyance. FUCK.
I was inside all day, either watching football or playing it on PS2 (Go Skins in both mediums, btw). My parents are out of town for the week, on a vacation that was designed so they would be incommunicado and not have to deal with bullshit like this. If I had gotten off my ass to go feed their fish at an earlier point, this might never have happened… Some other poor shnook would’ve been out of luck on Hannukah Eve. Or, I would’ve been in the vicinity of my car when this guy was trying to steal it. FUCK.
Luckily, aside from a couple CD’s (and if my insurance company is reading this: my golf clubs, my laptop, my plasma tv, and my bag of gold boullion), nothing terribly valuable was in the car. It’s just a big headache. FUCK.
The next entry will be funny and insightful… We now return you to your regularly scheduled whatever the hell you were doing…

To be continued…

Welcome back, loyal reader/s (I’m gonna install a counter on this thing, so I can see if it’s possible to have a negative readership…take that any way you like)…

Ok, so I’m watching the 2005 Radio Music Awards…not so much watching as using it as background noise whilst I tempt carpal tunnel with typing this blog. They’re going through the amazing cavalcade of stars that will be on the show…

Ciara

Ricky Martin

Snoop Dogg

The Pussycat Dolls

George Wendt

GEORGE WENDT? Fuckin’ Norm? What the hell is he doing within 500 yards of 2005? Just further reinforcement of what kind of a complete fustercluck of a business radio is. Playlists about as diverse as an OCD’s to do list (Wash hands. Wash hands. Wash hands. Touch the doorknob 5 times. Wash hands.) and on-air jocks who push the envelope about as far as I can push George Wendt…not far, people. I treasure the short time I spent in morning radio, but it put 30lbs on me and took about 5 years off my life…oh, and a small sliver of my soul.

I was watching late night TV yesterday and saw an ad for some online school. There, you can “train online to be a crime scene investigator.” Now, why would I turn to the internet for such training, when all the info I need is available on CBS? Hell, Blue’s Clues is pretty intense…I’m sure that, a Where’s Waldo book, and Playskool’s My First DNA Collection Kit is enough to jumpstart a quality career in…obstructing justice. Maybe you can find out who killed George Wendt’s career. Save your tuition money is all I’m sayin’.

What else is going on… I gotta wrangle some New Year’s plans and fast. It’s creeping up with a ninja-like quickness, and I’d like to be in the company of a couple acquaintances that could be forgot when they wheel out Dick Clark to drop the ball on ’05. Hopefully something will pan out.

Tune in next time for this blog’s year end wrap up, where I do my best to remember what the hell I did this year and try to quantify how much you should care…

To be continued…

I don’t have much to write in this post. I’ll come right out and admit that. Thursday night’s weather was just one step shy of a plague…frogs, boils, frozen rain, and shitty traffic. Usually, when faced with weather that drains the IQ’s of my fellow drivers to the point that Melwood tells them to keep their cars, I just stay indoors. But, my friends at the Baltimore Comedy Factory called me to fill in as the feature for Brad Trackman. If I’m getting paid to brave the elements, I will thumb my nose at Mother Nature in favor of the green. Comedy crowds, however, do not share the same disregard for their safety and comfort for the sake of laughter. A grand total of 20 people showed up. Luckily, they were willing to let loose and enjoy themselves out loud. A good time was had by all. Hence, the blog’s title…thematic, ain’t it?

This little nugget caught my eye yesterday:
CHARDON, Ohio (AP) — A 75-year-old Amish widower, afraid his church community would find out about him seeking sex from a prostitute, was scammed out of more than $67,000 from the prostitute and her boyfriend, a prosecutor says. Jake Byler of Burton Township gave the pair the money because they had convinced him that photos of Byler and the prostitute would appear on the Internet, county prosecutor David Joyce said.

Are ya kidding me? The prostitute tried to blackmail a 75 year old AMISH guy with the INTERNET. Maybe if she posted the pictures on the side of a grain silo, these threats would carry some weight. You show me an Amish guy with internet access, and I’ll show you an Orthodox Jewish Girls Gone Wild video (These girls LOVE BACON!!). The guy probably got spooked when he found out about the pictures because he thought a piece of his soul was taken by the camera. Can I get a witness? What’s the world coming to, when a simple lonely Amish guy can’t get his butter churned and his barn raised during the holidays without getting jacked by a ho ho ho with a hidden camera and a cable modem…? We’re spiraling downward, people.

To be continued…

Wish this blog a mazel tov…my sister got married over the weekend. It was an orthodox Jewish wedding. The bulk of the guests were on the lesser planes of Jewishness, myself included. Because it was orthodox, the men could not dance with the women…all the sexual frustration of an 8th grade dance, but with more beards. Another tradition of the orthodox wedding is a near carnival-like atmosphere as it is the guests’ duty to entertain the bride and groom…Cirque ‘du Soleil by way of Yentil. Despite the minor culture shock, a great time was had by all. There was much dancing in uncomfortable shoes and, in the end, I have not lost a sister. I’ve gained…gefilte fish.

In the wake of this new beginning, there is some sad news that needs to be addressed. The comedy world lost one of its pioneers, when Richard Pryor passed away on Saturday. Like most suburban white kids, I wasn’t exposed to Pryor growing up. I’m not nearly familiar with his work as I should be. I do know that without him there is no Eddie Murphy, no Chris Rock, and no Dave Chappelle. If comedy was currency, his face would be on the twenty dollar bill. Most of us wouldn’t even be on a Chuck E. Cheese token. Do yourself a favor and view The Toy, Brewster’s Millions, or any of his movies with Gene Wilder…your retinas will be better for it.

Another passing, that hasn’t gotten any major attention, is that of actor Jack Colvin. Who is that, you ask?

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Actor Jack Colvin, best known for his role as tabloid reporter Jack McGee in the 1970s television series The Incredible Hulk, has died. He was 71.

The Incredible Hulk was my favorite show when I was a wee tot. Every week, I’d watch as Mr. McGee got within minutes of sighting his green whale. Mr. McGee, don’t make God angry…you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. Mr. McGee, we hardly knew ye…

To be continued…

fun
n.

1. A source of enjoyment, amusement, or pleasure.
   
2. Enjoyment; amusement.
   
3. Playful, often noisy, activity.
   

I had a, by definition, fun weekend. Nothing wild. Nothing madcap. Just fun. Before the weekend officially got started, I reached a new plateau of personal achievement. I solved the Friday SuDoKu in the Washington Post. The puzzles get progressively harder as the week goes on. Mondays make you feel like Stephen Hawking…Fridays will give you a mild aneurysm. They put the puzzle right above the horoscopes, so just as you’ve taken that bite out of the caramel apple of vague good tidings, that razor blade of real impending doom is getting ready to bloody your tongue…that metaphor was long, confusing, and just so I could hear myself type.
Numbers have never been my forte so, when I sat down to take on the puzzle, I figured it’d only be a matter of moments before I became stuck and turned the page in search of the soothing salve of Family Circus to put on my aching brain. Not this day. This day, I put those numbers in their place…literally…or numerically…whichever. Long story short, I managed to be more smarter than I usually is. Onto the fun…

Friday night, I drove up to Columbia to hang out with some peeps…the marshmallow treats, not friends. Yes, I’m seeking help. Anywho, we ended up playing Texas Hold ‘Em. I’m a decent poker player…I have horrible tells (if I ever burst into tears, bet the moon), but I know when to walk away and when to run.
I think I mentioned earlier that I’m an idiot wearing a smart-guy mask…well, I suggested that we play for pride instead of money because I’m poor and, while I have the cashflow of a homeless person, I’m Hubris R’ Us…pride coming out of my arse.
Anyone want to guess how this turned out? Yeah, I won the game. With nothing to show for it but the knowledge that I could’ve been $60 richer…a Dollar Store spree.

Turns out it wasn’t all for naught, as I hosted another poker game at my apartment on Saturday night. This one was with Frank “The Ragin’ Asian” Hong, recently auburn-tressed funnygal, Erin Conroy (who came up with “Ragin’ Asian”…I can’t take credit for that) and her valet, Melissa. It was fueled by two 12-packs and a bag of corn chips. Hilarity was in the cards. The three of them hadn’t played cards in awhile…with my poker muscles recently stretched, you don’t have to be Einstein to figure out who won…but it helps…

It was a great night of reckless betting…a good time was had by all…but mostly me, because I won. And it injected some boisterous life into my humble abode.

Sunday was devoted to football. If you happened to catch the Bengals/Steelers game, perhaps you too heard Dick Enberg say the following: “These quarterbacks are like opera singers. Lots of gesticulating.” Here’s a tip, Dick: Know your audience. Odds are, the closest your average Steelers fan has come to an opera singer is that Bugs Bunny cartoon where Elmer Fudd sings, “KILL THE WABBIT!”. And when most football fans hear that a quarterback is gesticulating, they think he’s jiggling the center’s yambag at the line of scrimmage. Just say that he’s talking with his hands, Dick.

To be continued…