Category: Uncategorized

Hey there ‘Redheads… This installment contains good news, odd news, and I’m pretty sure definitive proof that YouTube will one day become sentient and destroy us as we happily stream videos of the apocalypse. The good news first. Shooting for GUYS WATCHING 24 II wrapped on Sunday. Six hours of some silly silly stuff is being carefully edited and whittled down to bring you a concentrated chunk of hopefully hilarious spoofage. One thing I can promise you: bad acting, over-acting, and bad over-acting…technically that was three things, but you get the idea. It’ll be posted for human consumption in the next day or so and, when it is, you’ll be able to find it right here.
Speaking of 24, I had suspended my disbelief for the first 4 hours of the show, but tonight I had to grab the step ladder, the laser level, and the duct tape so I could remount it a couple feet higher, because I damn near leapt up to embrace it when they revealed that the bald, beaty-eyed guy from last season (aka former RoboCop cast member #3) is Jack’s brother. Really? And I’m supposed to believe uber bad-ass, Jack Bauer is related to a guy named Graham? The only thing that kind of calmed me down was the discovery that Graham’s wife is being played by the lovely Rena Sofer, owner of the most beautiful set of peepers I’ve ever seen.

She’s popped up in a bunch of short-lived, ill-fated series, so it’s very nice to see she’s found work on show with some legs. Now that I’ve typed this, she’ll probably have a suitcase nuke go off in her sock drawer next week.

Ok, on to the odd news:
AMSTERDAM, Netherlands (Jan. 22) – After a long day hunting, there’s nothing like wrapping your paw around a cold bottle of beer. So Terrie Berenden, a pet shop owner in the southern Dutch town of Zelhem, created a beer for her Weimaraners made from beef extract and malt.
Beer. For dogs. Somebody re-animate the corpse of Spuds McKenzie. Doesn’t this Dutch putz realize that giving dogs beer only gives them an excuse for pissing on the rug?I don’t even want to contemplate the 48 step programs that this witch’s brew will spawn. If you don’t think dog beer is a bad idea, I’ve got three words for you: dog beer goggles. Fido’ll get drunk on dog beer, go to the corner hydrant to sniff some butts, think he’s humping Lassie, and wake up next to this…

And now, I give you empirical evidence that YouTube is lulling us into a mushy-brained stupor, so it may one day turn the planet into an infinite loop of shitty video clips. I give you the following seemingly innocuous clip of a hot girl singing the song, “Heaven”…and response clips that it begat. May god have mercy on our souls…

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had an enjoyable weekend. Mine was chock full of recappable eventitude (look it up…if you find it, call me). I ventured out on my first couple road gigs for ’07, bathed my senses in playoff football, and offered up my Mondays as a sacrifice to the gods of suspended disbelief. Oh, and I had pancakes.

As most of you know, comedy takes me to all sorts of exotic locales. In order to balance things out, comedy decided to take me to Morgantown, West Virginia and Marietta, Ohio. Oh, the glamour. I’d been looking forward to this trip for a little while, mostly because of the room in Marietta, which is in a historical riverboat hotel. I mentioned balance before, so in order to get to that happy Saturday place, I had to first endure a crappy Friday place. I’d been to this place a couple times before, a lounge in a Ramada Inn, and whether it’s a gift or a curse, my memory refuses to store the less-than-average experience from the previous times. Don’t get me wrong, the staff at this place is great, and I’m sure the audience means well, but they’re that rare combination of drunkard and dullard that makes extracting laughter with anything but dick or shit jokes like trying to yank a wisdom tooth with a pair of salad tongs (did that run on? I think it did). They stunk, except for one couple in the back of the room. Apparently, the aerodynamics of my jokes were such that they sailed over the heads of the first few tables and landed in this couple’s laps like a badly bent Nerf boomerang.
Then the headliner goes on and proceeds to crush with the following poorly executed and carbon dated impressions:

– Bill Clinton as a rapper, complete with Monica Lewinsky stained dress reference
– Cheech and Chong giving weed to Forrest Gump
– Sling Blade talking to the Water Boy

His closer, which involves two puppets of Barney and Elmo fucking, began with him asking any parents in the room what their kids watch that drives them nuts. The audience barked back, “Spongebob!” “Dora!” and pretty much everything else besides Barney, because I’m pretty sure the purple foam satan isn’t on television anymore. The two puppets slam into each other, while he sings “I Love You, You Love Me” and “My Bologna Has A First Name,” then, from out of the Barney puppet pops a stuffed Cartman and he launches into “Kyle’s Mom is a Bitch”…not a parody of the song, the song from South Park. Aaaaaaaand scene. Applause. He bows. I start thinking about my career choice.

As potentially soul crushing as Friday night was, Saturday night was, thankfully, a complete 180. The show was sold out and the room was filled with lively, smart, and responsive people. Friday was work. Saturday was fun. I had a great time on stage and I was able to take the audience on a 30 minute tour of my head, even with a small collection of drunk idiots trying to puke over the guardrail. After I got done, I went up to my room to watch the Saints/Eagles game. As you can probably tell, the headliner’s show was already pretty much etched in my brain. I turned on the TV to see this beauty of a hit…

KA-BLAMMO! Reggie Bush got de-cleated. Impaled. Annihilated. His momma started crying, he got hit so hard. Never have I seen a football player crawling on his hands and knees after a hit, trying to recover. He got knocked into pre-school. Absolutely awesome.

24 is shaping up to be another banner day of terror suspects dying just before vital information can be extracted from them (DAMMIT!), big explosions shown on a fake FOX NEWS, and feats of badassery that are rarely seen outside of John Wayne’s id. In just the first 4 hours, Jack went Lost Boys on a terrorist, shot one of his best friends to preserve the greater good, and cried. He’s human, people. In one scene, Jack confides to his new ex-terrorist partner, Assad, “I don’t remember how to do this.” I wanted Assad to say, “It’s just like blowing up a bicycle.”

Got nothing to do Tuesday night? Fuck American Idol in its tone deaf ear, and come out to the latest DC Improv showcase showdown. It’ll be hosted by one of the funniest guys in DC, Erik Myers, and myself and Jon Mumma will be doing guest sets after the competition. Should be fun. See you there.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I figured since I was out of action, due to revoltin’ technology, I’d give you a super extra happy bonus installment to slake your thirst for random, me-centered blather. Drink up. Speaking of me-centered, take a gander at this…

It’s all still in the development phase, but JaredLive.com is finally on it’s way to respectability. Those of you who’ve been to that dried husk of a website, know that it’s an embarrassing waste of virtual space. There are Amish dairy-farmers with better websites. It has been left to rot, while I moved my internet dealings over to MySpace. With a new year comes rebirth, so hopefully the new site will be ready for ‘Redhead perusal soon. Big thanks to Chris White for helping me with my computer illiteracy…and for making the pictures of me nice and big.

This is one of my favorite times of the year. I’d say it was my favorite season, but apparently we don’t have seasons anymore…it was 72 degrees in DC last week. 72 degrees…in January. There are bears throwing alarm clocks against cave walls all over the area. The cherry blossoms came out. I think this year’s Farmer’s Almanac is a goddamn Mad-Lib. Nature is getting fucked with, and that can’t be good. I digress (it’s what I do…it’s my gift…my curse). A few of my favorite things are on a collision course this month…
–Playoff Football: Of all the pro leagues, the NFL has the shortest season…a mere 16 weeks. They also have the best playoffs…no 7-game series…one shot…loser takes his ball and goes home. The playoffs deserve an amped up viewing atmosphere, so I gave a call to Eagles super-fan, Jon Mumma, and we headed to Rhino Bar, a Philadelphian Embassy in the heart of Georgetown. Kickoff was at 4:00…we got there at 3:30…the place was a pit of screaming green. Jon and I waded through a din of E-A-G-L-E-S chants and wall-to-wall McNabb jerseys. We settled into a spot at the back of the bar, with a pair of tvs viewable with mild neck discomfort. I don’t know why Eagles fans get such a bad rap…the group that we were hanging out with were a swell bunch. Every defensive stand, every score, and every dead Giants fan was celebrated with a flurry of hand-bruising high-fives and throat-searing cheers. A great way to cap off the football weekend. The other games on the weekend slate were pretty frickin’ sweet too. The Colts held the Chefs (great googily moogily) to 0 first downs in the first half. Equal to the amount of first downs that I had in the first half. A greater sense of accomplishment you’d be hard pressed to find. The Pats smacked down the Jets and Tony Romo finished up his Twilight Zone episode of a season with the twist being that he kinda sucks. Can’t wait for this weekend.
–Terps Basketball: The team looks poised for a great season. The entitled head cases from last season are gone, and there’s a fresh bunch of hungry, talented youngsters in their place. Sure, they’ve got two early ACC losses, but the salve for that sting is that Duke does too. Duke losing means everybody wins.
–Girl Scout cookies: Two words. Thin Mints. I look forward to many a minty poo.
–24: The longest bestest day of the year. We rejoin our hero, Jack Bauer, 18 months after being captured by…General Tso. Somehow, he’ll go from orange glazed, bearded Chinese water torture victim to clean cut, ever-ready, ass kicking machine. A couple predictions for this season. 1) RoboCop will be back (I’ve got $10 on the table that says so…any takers?). 2) Chloe will be the next CTU staff member to either become a mole or fall prey to whatever impending doom that faces the world. Shooting for GUYS WATCHING 24 II is currently scheduled for next Sunday…watch for it.

2007 is kicking off nicely. Need more proof?
NEW YORK – The left wing of a plane backing out of a gate at JFK International Airport clipped the tail of another plane on the taxiway, authorities said. The Air China flight to Beijing had 215 passengers and 23 crew members on board when its wing hit an empty Delta Air Lines jet.
No one was injured, but the pilot was cited for unlawful perpetuation of a stereotype.

Enjoy your weekend.

To be continued…

It’s about goddamn time. I agree. ‘Redheads, we’re one year closer to flying cars, dippin’ dots, and, ironically, time travel. I had planned to ring in ’07 blog-wise much sooner than now, but my computer decided to contract the Y2K7 virus the weekend of New Year’s Eve and it took a round, steaming, fudge-dragon on me. Many thanks to MyComputerBuddy for pushing my computer’s nose in it and making sure it never does it again. It’s been gone for a week…and I’ve missed you…and the porn. So, as of this installment, this blog officially spans 3 years.

Ok, so 2007…I hope you all rang it in with the appropriate amount of revelry. My New Year’s Eve was not exactly what I had in mind. To give you an idea of what this New Year’s had to live up to, please to be checking out the recap of last year’s festivities. I wanted to try to recapture the informal, laid back, low-key celebration this year…maximize the fun…minimize dent in the wallet. In order to guarantee the first part, I made sure to spend it with good friends Allyson & Jeff. We were joined by their good friends John & Dara and friend to all, Jay Hastings. Fun was in the cards. The latter goal was pretty much quashed by the choice of location. John & Dara made reservations at Teatro Goldoni, a fine Italian restaurant in DC. I got there a bit early, so I decided to belly up to the bar and grease the skids to give the evening that fuzzy, festive feeling. I sipped on a rum & coke, tapped my toes to the jazzy bar mitzvah band that was playing next to me, and alternately watched The Simpsons on mute behind the bar and the party people that walked in while I waited. When my peeps arrived, I settled my tab at the bar. Little did I know, that for the price of these drinks, this should’ve been happening…

$20 for two rum & cokes and they better be rum & coke & tits…just sayin’ is all. We sat down at our table and took a look at the menu. $22.50 for soup. I’ll type that again…$22.50 for soup. I wouldn’t mind paying that much if, say, they used gold bouillon cubes in the broth. The rest of the menu was just as pricey, but I ended up getting a particularly sumptuous lobster risotto that made my tastebuds dance like no one’s watching. Besides, it wasn’t about the money…it was about good food, good friends, and finishing off the year right. As the night progressed, we waddled back to the bar for the last hour of the year for the requisite streamers, silly hats, and crappy champagne. It’s not officially New Year’s until Jared gets a migraine, so the surrounding revelers obliged by sounding off their noisemakers. Noisemakers are called that for a reason…nobody expects windchimes when you blow into them, but these didn’t sound remotely festive. These sounded like an elephant rape whistle. My brain wept. Anywho, the year rolled over with the appropriate fanfare…I filled my ’07 quota for being kissed by Jay Hastings…the man likes his scotch…and his dog, Baxter.

I’m gonna snap this installment off right here…I’ll have plenty more backlogged random crap and good times to get to in a day or so. But, I’ll leave you with one of my predictions for 2007: Way too many James Bond marathons.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… ’06 is a week away from being an I Love The special on VH1. The last couple days are going to be spent in a lazy haze of recovery from Xmas and preparation to celebrate the passage of time. A couple random things to get to in what will probably be the last installment of the year. It won’t be a recap, mostly because I’m simply not able to recall that much. Here, however, are the Top 3 things that happened to your favorite amiable zany this year…
#3. Lucking into opening for Train in front of 4000 people at the Erie Civic Center. The largest crowd I’ve ever been in front of, times 10.
#2. Featuring at the DC Improv. Big thanks to Chip Franklin for getting violently ill, which led to me filling in for him.
#1. Becoming an uncle. You’ve seen the pictures. Little Mo is cuter than the 1000 words those pictures are worth.
Speaking of little Moseph, my sister brought him to town to visit with me and the grandparents for a belated Hanukkah get-together. The highlight gift given was two sheets of stamps that my sister gave my parents that had Mo’s picture on them…Mostage.

I mentioned this installment was random, here’s something to make sure of it. This is an excerpt of an IM conversation that I had with avant gardian, Jerry Thomas:
Jared: I’m doing some career exploration…looking into voicework
Jerry: of what sort?
Jared: commercials, cartoons, etc… a friend of mine has a studio
Jerry: cool. pick me up some of that work while you’re over there
Jared: I’ll see what I can do
Jerry: thank you. you’re being a real sport about this
Jared: yes…badminton. although it can be argued that isn’t a real sport
Jerry: I think a real sport must include the possibility that one of the participants could be dead at the end of it
Jared: a shuttlecock in the eye will slow a guy down
Jerry: yeah, but it’s not like get your head severed by a hockey skate
Jared: true
Jerry: it’s not like pouring tabasco down a dolphin’s blow hole either
Jared: …also true
Jerry: sorry. I don’t know why I said that
Jared: you have a knack for knowing what stuff isn’t like
Jerry: I’m a genius!

Continuing with the randonimity (look it up), I’m happy to give you the latest video collaboration with freckled funnyman, Chris White. It’s called 10,000 Miles and Runnin’. It shows what happens when that special relationship between man and bike goes the distance. I appear in the latter half of the vid. See if you can spot the irony when I show up. Enjoy.

Look for plenty more video projects in ’07, including the second installment of GUYS WATCHING 24. Also coming in 2007, a brand new, fully functional, JaredLive.com. I know. You’re welcome.

Finally, I was saddened to find out that the world lost one of it’s greatest performers, James Brown. After all those years of clean living… He was, of course, known as the Godfather of Soul or Soul Brother #1, but he also held office…

December 9, 2003– US Secretary of State Colin Powell has named James Brown, the so-called “Godfather of Soul,” to a new and unusual, but apparently fictitious, senior diplomatic position, the State Department said today. Spokesman Richard Boucher confirmed that Powell had indeed appointed Brown to be the first US “Secretary of Soul and Foreign Minister of Funk” but said the job description for the post had not yet been drawn up.

He didn’t know karate, but he knew ca-razy. In looking for a proper tribute to the man who gave us Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag and Livin’ in America, I found a cool short film that he did with Clive Owen and Gary Oldman, called Beat the Devil.

Here’s to everyone who laughed with, at, and near me in 2006. Let’s do it all again next year.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Sorry I’m late, but I’ve been burning the candle at both ends the last week, and I simply was unable to find the inspiration or the energy to get to the blog in time. Besides, not a lot of blog worthy stuff has happened and it’s taken me a bit longer to compile enough stuff to fill this installment. But, you don’t come here for excuses…you come here for…well, what the hell do you come here for, exactly? While we try to noodle that one through, let’s get to the heart of things (then, on to duodenum)…

Last Friday, I ventured into the blustery cold to bathe my ears in some funk. I went to see Victor Wooten at the 9:30 Club. Victor is a virtuoso of el quatro stringendo solo basso profundo de electronique *ahem*. He plays the bass…has since he was 2. Seeing him live is a jaw-dropping musical religious experience. The club was packed mostly with local musicians who came to pay tribute to a living legend. I was able to get a spot right in front of the stage, where the sound thumped right through you. At one point, I think my heart actually started beating in 11/4 time. Those of you who are musicians, and know what that is, can probably get an idea of how cool this show was. For those of you who need the audio/video, here’s Victor and his brother Reggie having a thump-off…

Can’t fake the funk. The one downside to a show at the 9:30 Club, is having to stand for the whole show. Forget barking, my dogs were whimpering. The pain was more than worth it to stand about a foot and a half away from Victor whilst he works his magic.

I came up with an idea for a one-panel cartoon, but I don’t know how to draw. Here’s the premise: Where’s Waldo is at the gym, getting ready to lift a barbell as somebody walks by. The caption reads, “Hey buddy, can ya spot me?” It’s funny on a third-grade level, but it cracked me up.

I mentioned earlier that I’ve been burning the candle at both ends recently. Last night pretty much ran me out of wax. I picked up a one-nighter as a favor to a buddy of mine, Paul Lyons, who wanted me as the feature. Unfortunately, I agreed to do it before I MapQuested the location. Fishersville, VA…which, according to MapQuest was 2hrs 45min away. This didn’t take into account having to fight through rush hour traffic for an additional 30. So, trip time there: 3hrs 15min. And, I had to drive back home after the gig so I could go to work today (I called in sick). The gig was on the downside of ordinary…smallish crowd…no cd sales…but the pay was decent. Then there was the trip home. 2hrs 15min. I don’t think I could’ve gotten home faster if I’d slingshot myself around the sun (professional driver…closed course…do not attempt). I caught my second wind when I realized that the trip could’ve qualified as a quantum leap.

Before I wrap up this installment, there is, once again, some sad business to attend to. We lost Peter Boyle this week. Sure, his most visible work was on Everybody Loves Raymond, but I never watched that show. I remember him from obscure classic flicks like Turk 182! or The Dream Team, where he played an escaped mental patient who thought he was Jesus Christ. To me, he’ll always be the lovable monster in one of the funniest movies ever made, Young Frankenstein. Most tributes focus on the classic Puttin’ on the Ritz scene, but I don’t give you the same old rehashed crap that everyone else does…I give you completely different crap. Here’s one of the funniest scenes in the movie, between the monster and the lonely blind man, played by a young Gene Hackman…

Your comedy homework this weekend is to go see comedy dynamo Justin Schlegel and Danny Rouhier at the first ever Saturday comedy night at Ned Devine’s in Sterling. There will be a quiz later.

Oh, and Happy Hannukah. Have a latke on me.

To be continued…

Greetings from beyond the great white north, ‘Redheads… I’m back from a particularly nippy weekend in Buffalo, NY. Ah, yes…comedy takes me to all of the glamorous ports of call. A big thanks to Randy, Tracy, Mike, and the rest of the great staff at the Comix Cafe, for a great slate of shows. Before I get to the details of the trip, lemme dole out a few kudos:
#1. Erin Jackson, on her recent victory in Funniest Person in Baltimore contest, the NCAA Tournament of local comedy. Instead of March Madness, it’s July Jubilation/August Absurdity/September Stupidity/October Obsessiveness/November Neurosis. A veritable marathon of mirth, except without the chapped nipples or Kenyan domination.
#2. The 12 comedy brethren who made their case for television exposure last Tuesday at the DC Improv Comedy Central showcase. Even cooler than watching them ripping it up, was the show of support by the rest of the DC community. We are fam-i-ly.
#3. Rob Maher for taking one of his weekly open mics to Saturday prime time. Ned Devine’s is a great room for comedy, and Rob has done well to help it reach it’s full potential. Also, because he helped me remember that Kenyans always win marathons. Jack of all trades, he is.
Ok, with the virtual high-fiving out of the way, let’s get to the meat of this burrito.

On Thursday, I loaded up the truck and embarked on the 7+ hour drive to Buffalo, NY. Despite the mild weather we’d been enjoying, I was warned that the outlook for the remainder of the week was bleak and that my tan-tan would freeze before I reached the first marker. To which I replied, “Then I’ll see you in hell” (and I thought that reference smelled bad…on the outside).
Editor’s note: It was only a matter of time before I started going senile and repeating myself. I give you the following excerpt from February of this year…
Last night, the Blizzard of ’06 hit. A foot of snow dropped on a city that had been enjoying 60 degree days in January. DC was turned into a frozen wintry landscape. I was worried my tan-tan would freeze before I hit the first marker (and I thought that reference smelled bad…on the outside). I stand by the reference.
The trip up was largely uneventful until I stopped at a rest area on the turnpike to cram some cuisine from the Burger Kingdom into my head hole (no, the other one). I pulled in just as two busloads of high schoolers, with their sculpted bed-heads and zest for life, emptied into the rest area. As I bent an ear to their in-joking and awkward social interactions while I waited in line behind them, I felt an odd kinship with these scamps. It didn’t take me long to figure out why…they were theater geeks. As Steven Wright once quipped, “I like to reminisce with people I don’t know…granted, it takes longer.” I should’ve done my duty as a comic and started asking questions about where they were from and what production they were in, so as to properly mock them here, but as a card-carrying member of Springbrook H.S. Stage Crew, I couldn’t betray my past.
Nearing Buffalo, things got dark. At 4:00pm. A massive cloud pretty much swallowed the sky. Rather than rehash another reference from an earlier blog, I’ll forgo any mention of The Nothing and just say it was a down comforter of nastiness and forboding. Then came the cold November rain. Buckets of cats and dogs rain. This dreary bit of meteorology led to a less than stellar turn-out that night at the club. 55 people showed up to a room that holds 250. And they were not in a laughing mood.
Before, I go further, allow me to tell you a bit about the guy I was working with this weekend. As is blog policy, I won’t be naming names since this won’t exactly be complimentary. Not necessarily a bad guy, but an insufferable sad sack and a hack to boot. If he wasn’t complaining about his cellphone battery, he was trying to steer any conversation to him and some C grade name-dropping. A hairy lump of a man. I had high hopes because his credits said that he wrote for National Lampoon. Come to find out, he was mainly responsible for comma placement. His act was just reheated overused dreck…which the audience gladly lapped up, mind you. If you were on a hack scavenger hunt, you could put a check by the following items:
-If I have a 4-hour erection, I’m not calling a doctor…
-Are the speed limit signs just a suggestion around here?
-What’s with Braille on drive-thru ATMs?
-I’m sweating like a gay guy eating a hot dog…
-Where were the hot teachers having sex with kids when I was in school?
-Lorena Bobbit joke
The rest just kinda run together, but you get the idea. To top it off, not only was he a hack in the figurative sense, but I had to listen to him hack up phlegm from the adjacent room in the condo. Yech, with a side of blech. Luckily, my interesting person quota was filled by the MC, Tom Tran. He’s a DJ at local rock station 103.3, The Edge. Also come to find out that he’s an 8 year vet of special ops and got into comedy as a way to ease the stress that was brought on the battlefield. I will never complain about the “hardships” in my life nearly as loud anymore. Why? Because I saw video of Tom GETTING SHOT IN THE HEAD. He was shooting video during a routine sweep that turned into a firefight. It’s nuts. It was made all the more surreal watching it on his PSP. He was pretty much the polar opposite of Hacky McDouchebag. Tom also hipped me to this little nugget about Dane Cook in Rolling Stone. Definitely worth a read.

On Friday, the rain was joined by 50-60mph wind gusts. I wasn’t going to let that keep me from getting away from Eyore for a couple hours. I met up with my cousin, who attends the University of Buffalo, for wings at a Buffalo institution, Duff’s. If you’re ever in the area, do yourself a favor sit down for a plate of tingly deliciousness. Unfortunately, the tastiness of the wings going in is directly proportional to the pain upon it’s fiery exit. My tummy is not made of the cast iron that I assumed it was, and in between shows it reminded me that while I may’ve removed the headstones, I DIDN’T REMOVE THE BODIES!! Oh, the unholy exorcism that took place in men’s bathroom was an epic battle between good and evil. Telling it to “get thee behind me” seemed redundant, but it made me feel better in the end (you heard me).

Saturday was easily the best night of the weekend. Not only were both shows well attended, but it was some of the most fun I’ve had on stage in awhile. I need to do that more often. All in all, Buffalo treated me well. I was disappointed that I wasn’t able to get to the Seneca Niagara casino to try and win back my money from last time. In retrospect, it’s probably for the best. Over there, the wigwam always wins.

It’s gettin’ late. Sleep dep and blogging don’t mix well.

To be continued…

Hey there, ‘Redheads… My head is swimming in a haze of snot right now. I’m doing my darndest to evict whatever leased out space in my sinuses. It’s messing with the plumbing, apparently. Two tablets of Tussin are on the job. I’ve got a road trip coming up that I’d rather not be sick for. We’ll get to that in a bit. I just wanted to let you know what I go through to get this blog to you.
I hope you had a fun, non-confrontational, Thanksgiving. Mine was both of those. I went up to Philly to spend time with the big ball of cute that is my nephew. Turkey was had. Football was watched. Pretty much par for the course. I’m proud of myself for not shoveling too much into my head hole. Maybe if I crammed another helping of mashed potatoes in there, there wouldn’t be room for this cold.
On Saturday, I went back to my old ‘hood for a party for my buddy Richard, who was able to pass the bar (so, hooray for AA). He’s the guy in charge of upkeep for JaredLive.com, which has been stagnant while he was in law school. He promises it’ll be back up and current soon…he better, or I’ll sue his ass…I like my chances.

I’m looking forward to a couple things that’re swiftly approaching. First, which you may’ve noticed from the title, is tomorrow’s release of the Superman 14 DVD boxed set. Upside: it includes the new movie, Superman Returns, and a brand new cut of one of my favorite movies, Superman II. Oh yeah…Kneel before Zod. This includes all of the footage that was left on the cutting room floor when the original director, Richard Donner, was fired more than halfway through filming. This version gets to the action quicker and does away with needless fluff. The movie’s climactic battle in the streets of New York is still one of the best comic book fights on film…still holds up nearly 30 years later. I can’t wait to see what the new version looks like. Hopefully it’ll settle some unresolved issues…

Downside: it includes Superman IV: The Quest For Peace…hey, they can’t all be winners.

In keeping with the theme of the title, the second thing I’m looking forward to is shuffling off to Buffalo on Thursday for a slate of shows at the Comix Cafe. I had a great time last time I was there. I plan to feast on many a sauced chicken appendage. I also have some unfinished business with the Seneca Indian tribe. They have $100 of mine that I’d like to reclaim. Here’s hoping I can play a better game of poker than I did last time (I yelled out “go fish”…not good). A full recap of my Buffalonian exploits will be here next time.

With time passing as quickly as it is, I can’t wait for the return of the longest day of the year, 24. FOX is showing the promos, and they take me to a happy place. My Mondays are yours, Jack. I’ve reinforced the edge of my seat, so it’ll last the whole season. Look for a new installment of Guys Watching 24…it may not be there, but at least it’ll drive up the hit count for the current one.

Your comedy homework is due tomorrow night. At the DC Improv, a group of DC’s finest comics will be assembled to strut their stuff for some suits from Comedy Central. This could be a big break for them, and the chances of that increase with a larger crowd in attendance. Go support. Despite not making the list, I’ll be there to live vicariously through my comedy brethren. However, I will be ready for action, in case one of them happens to get Nancy Kerriganed outside the club before showtime. It’s a night of big dreams, is all I’m saying. I could sum it up best with one of my favorite exchanges from Superman II…

ZOD: What do you want?
LUTHOR: General, the world is a big place. Thank goodness, my needs are small. As it turns out, I have this affinity for…beach front property.
ZOD: What do you want?
LUTHOR: Australia!

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Boy, am I glad I didn’t write this yesterday. I was in a kind of self-loathing blue funk that made it seem that things sucked so much that light couldn’t escape. Apparently, you guys were lax in sending positive mojo my way, because I did not get cast for that talk show I auditioned for *sigh*. Congrats to comedy dynamo Justin Schlegel and human cartoon Jan Johns for getting the call. Curse their very talented hides. A plague on both their hilarious houses. Finding out that I didn’t get it, stacked on top of a couple other opportunities I’ve been passed over for recently, made all of my usual ironic self-deprecating anti-hype seem plausible. Long story short: It stunk. Out loud. On ice. With a lemon twist and a dash of salt for the several thousand paper cuts on my psyche. The only thing that kept me from wondering aloud, “Why not me?” was the fear that someone would whip out list of about 50 reasons why not. Anyway, rather than sitting at home, stewing, I dragged myself out to the comedy hot spot of Ned Devine’s. That was the perfect remedy. Good friends. Good crowd. Great laughs. So, in the spirit of the holiday, thanks to Rob Maher, Jessica Paquin, Brian Jett, Bird Knight, Hampton, Tyler Richardson, Jim Elliott, and everyone else who unknowingly took the thorn out of my paw with their camaraderie. Chalk up another quality of the blog…cheaper than therapy.

Ok, enough of that noise. I did something a couple days ago that I’m not proud of and I’m here to take responsibility for it. I sent a mass email forward. A chain letter. I hadn’t had enough sleep the night before and, in a moment of weakness, thought Bill Gates might send me money for every person I forwarded an email to. The last thing I ever want to do is perpetuate that kind of pointless unfunny garbage. To anyone who I might’ve sent that to, I apologize unreservedly. I offer a complete and utter retraction. The imputation was completely without basis in fact and in was in no way fair comment…and was motivated purely by malice. And I deeply regret any distress the email may have caused you, or your family, and I hereby undertake not to repeat any such action at any time in the future. We good? Ok then.

If you’d like a taste of my weekend hijinks, please to be reading Joe Robinson’s blog. I’ll give you my take on it in the next installment. In the meantime, I hope everyone has a gravy drenched Turkey Day. I’ll be back to my usual cheery blogging self when I wake up from the food coma.

To be continued…

Maybe that’ll help increase ratings. For as good a show as Heroes is, that whole Save the Cheerleader thing is cornier than Orville Reddenbacher’s will reading. Just sayin’. Hey there ‘Redheads… This week’s installment is going to be chock full of random goodness.

You’ll remember that last time I told you I was the the uncle of a nameless new nephew. Well, as of Wednesday, I’m happy to report that the little ball of cute was dubbed Moshe…I’ll be calling him Mo. I mentioned before that the ceremony took place at a kosher diner. A bris & breakfast. I felt bad for the little guy…he thought he was going for pancakes. He was incredibly well behaved, considering what was being done. A few of the adults cried more than he did. Care to see another of what will be a series of adorable pictures? I knew you did…

On Friday, I went to audition for some sort of talk show in Baltimore. Details were spotty at best, but they were looking for funny folk to potentially host, and I was one of the many that answered the call. There was a mix of actors and comics who came out for this thing. I ran into two of my favorite characters, comedy dynamo, Justin Schlegel and human cartoon, Jan Johns. To hear these two talk is like shoving peyote buttons in your ears. Both of ’em have their switches stuck in the “on” position. I did my best to contribute to the conversation, but it was like drinking a mint chocolate chip milkshake…delicious, yes, but I was the chip that got jammed in the straw. There was also no shortage of hot actresses. One gal, who’s name unfortunately escapes me, had the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I needed water-wings to peer into her peepers. Bay windows to her soul, they were. Anyway, the audition ended up being about two minutes of stand-up in front of three guys and a camera, then a small improved scene. They laughed at me, so I think things went well…I’m keeping the expectations nice and low. Feel free to send any positive mojo my way.

Here’s a curious news nugget I spotted in the Sports section of last Thursday’s USA Today…
The scene that unfolded following this year’s U.S. Open women’s final was classic tennis theater of the absurd. As 19-year-old Russian star Maria Sharapova slugged her way to the title, television cameras caught members of her camp holding up a banana and flashing four fingers from the stands – possible evidence of coaching, which is illegal in tennis. She was later seen eating a banana at courtside. Sharapova later deflected questions about the fruit by declaring, “I believe at the end of the day, my life is not about a banana.”
Are they sure that that was a member of her camp? I ask you, what guy doesn’t want to watch Maria Sharapova eat a banana? I’m just saying, I’m sure there was another lonely putz, on the other side of the stadium, coaching her to eat a foot-long hot dog, then squeeze mustard on her chest.

The following is a presentation from the world of Dork. If that’s not your particular brand of vodka, you may want to just skip down to the next bit. For the rest of you, put down the 20-sided dice and check this out. I’m not usually a huge fan of homemade Star Wars films, but this one is pretty damn sweet.

See what a Star Wars project looks like with a little fun injected into it? Take notes, Lucas. Your prequels were as joyless as Condoleeza Rice attending a puppy’s funeral…with droids. Ok, I’m done. I just think that a couple franchises would do well in the hands of well meaning fans with the technical know-how. I submit Exhibit B…

We wrap up this week’s installment on a somber note, as we lost a film icon over the weekend. Sadly, Jack Palance is now doing one-armed push-ups at the Oscars in the sky (I hear Passion of the Christ swept…again). He was 87. Most people thought he was closer to 97…or dead five years already. He’s the second member of the cast of City Slickers to die in the last few months. Someone check on Daniel Stern. Mr. Palance, you…were our #1…guy (extra credit if you got that reference).

To be continued…