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‘Redheads… I am HUGE in Erie. Allow me to explain. First, a big thank you to Debbie and the incredible staff of Junior’s Last Laugh for a great weekend of shows.
So, check this out. On Saturday, I arrived at the club with the co-feature, John Garrett, a half hour before showtime. When we get there, Debbie drops this on us: Grammy Award winners, Train are playing the Erie Civic Center tonight. Their opener got sick and can’t sing. They want you guys to take her place. For a crowd of 4000 people. They want you to be there at 8:00.

Wanna see pictures? Of course you do…

* an editor’s note: it seems that whenever I’ve been photographed recently, I’ve been wearing the same shirt. I do own other shirts.

This was the biggest crowd I’ve ever performed in front of. If it weren’t for that bottom picture, I might not’ve believed it myself. Up on that stage, with the house lights down and two massive spotlights in my eyes, I couldn’t see a damn thing (the only reason why the crowd is visible in the picture, is thanks to expert flash photography). With a crowd that size, that was expecting music, I had to make some adjustments to my on-stage presence to make sure I wasn’t devoured and spat into Lake Erie. I had to hit ’em hard, big, and quick to grab their attention. So, I channeled my inner-Justin Schlegel (WWJSD), and hit the stage like a fuckin’ rock star. “HOW’S IT GOIN’, ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA!!!” *CROWD ROAR* Awesome. The crowd was suprisingly receptive to my shuckin’ and jivin’. It was one of the cooler things I’ve done. Period. It’s totally going on the resume.
My 15 minute set went by in the blink of an eye. Thankfully, the house photographer snapped about a hundred pictures…which’ll have to serve as a replacement for my splintered short-term memory. After I finished, John hit the stage and as also well-received by the throng of people.
We were psyched. 4000 people. Guess how many people were at the late show at Junior’s… 40. That’s a 99% drop-off.

You know you’ve made it, when you’re recognized in Cracker Barrel the following day…AND I WAS. Mmmmmmm…syrupy celebrity. That’s one city down, roughly 499 to go.

Along with that massive highlight, there were some other sidelights that made whiling the hours away during the Erie days interesting. One of the easiest way to kill time on a road gig, is to take in a matinee. So, on Friday, John and I ventured to the local multiplex with the intent of gutting a couple hours out of the day. We chose Silent Hill. Now, I’ve never played the game it’s based on, but I’ve got to imagine this crap is more spine-tingling when the controller vibrates. A word on horror movies… Disturbing imagery without context, point, or plot isn’t scary. There was no reason to care about the well being of the people on the screen…to call them “characters” would imply their actions had some direction or thought behind them. In order to make the twisted stuff true horror, the audience has to be able to suspend their disbelief. I believe John and I spent most of the movie laughing. I had high hopes for this movie, only because the lead actress was in one of my favorite creature flicks, Pitch Black…do yourself a favor, rent it.

After a moment of silence for the $4.50 and two hours that gave their lives for that celluloid mess, we headed to the local DQ to ease our pain with a Blizzard…but it was something else that gave us chills. After we sat down, we noticed a person placing an order at the counter. The person looked kind of like Cleveland from Family Guy…

You may be wondering, Jared, why so ambiguous? Well, because after careful deliberation, even we weren’t sure what it was. We had a Pat on our hands. The person in question sat down with his friend, who was also of, at first glance, indeterminate gender. The way John and I were seated, John had a bird’s eye view of their table. He witnessed the first one scoop a dollop of whipped cream on his finger and feed it to the other one. A few minutes later, John held a napkin up to his mouth and said to me, “Jared, you have to turn around right now.” I did, and saw the first guy biting into a footlong hot dog. I turned back to John and stated matter-of-factly, “We need to go now.” We quickly abandoned our ice cream and hurried out the door. We didn’t even make it to the car before we both doubled over in laughter. Laughter so hard, my eyes teared, my nose ran, and my chest hurt…one step shy of a seizure. I don’t know how well this translates in blog form, but it was damn funny.

The next day, we took a trip to Wal-Mart. John had a cellphone earpiece to buy, so I decided to take in the value. I found a big fat bin of it. DVDs for $5.50. Decent ones too. I got Total Recall and Hudson Hawk. Ok, yes, I know…these are hardly classics, but for $5.50 I couldn’t afford not to get them. Besides, with the acquisition of Hudson Hawk, I completed the Danny Aiello trifecta (The Professional, Jacob’s Ladder, and Hudson Hawk).
As we walked through the Wal-Mart, monitors broadcasted Wal-Martian propaganda. One phrase I heard was, “Can you put a value on joy?” Would you really want your joy from Wal-Mart? It’s marked down joy…and that’s just apathy. But, at those prices, you can’t afford to not…you get the idea. Don’t settle, people.

Speaking of marked down performance, make sure to check out my gravelly tour de force overacting in…

Wanna see me live? It might be more awkward than our digital dealings, but take a chance people. I’ll be at the Baltimore Comedy Factory, Thurs-Sat with Jay Hastings and Angel Salazar. See ya there.

To be continued…

‘Redheads, I give you the world blog premiere of…

GUYS WATCHING 24

Enjoy…

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I apologize if this post is a bit scattershot. My brain is still slightly scrambled by reaching a new plateau of mental mastery. I can add a new title to my business card: Puzzle Samurai.

This puzzle was made even harder because I had to fill it out with a katana dipped in ink…in untrained hands, it’ll cut a Washington Post into birdcage lining.

Ok, enough with the flashy pictures. You came here to read…why, I have no idea. If there’s one thing this Samurai can admire, it’s commitment. For example:

UNIONTOWN, PA – A man threw a microwave at his girlfriend, then fatally beat her after she refused to heat up sandwiches, police said.

When I’m blinded by rage at the thought of a lukewarm hotpocket, I rarely have the energy to lift or throw heavy appliances with any accuracy. This guy showed follow-thru…and a great sense of irony. Instead of getting up off his own lazy ass to press the REHEAT button, he goes through the time and trouble to heave the microwave, a symbol of ultimate convenience, across the room. It’s like rain on your wedding day, people.

I hope everyone had a Samuriffic holiday weekend. Whether you ate brisket or honey baked ham, searched for afikoman or Easter eggs, and got stood up by Elijah or Jesus (…again), we all had one thing in common: food comas. I partook in the former of the choices mentioned, as my family and I recounted the common theme of the Jewish holidays… They tried to kill us. They didn’t. Let’s eat. Besides munching on corrugated cardboard and guzzling Maneschevitz like a pledge during hell week, we sing songs to help tell the story of our ancestor’s Egyptian work furlough. Here’s a great Passover song about the 10 plagues that God visited on the Egyptian people…sing along, won’t you?

Sorry this installment was more fluff than actual stuff…I’m feeling kinda lazy…I could use a hotpocket. NOW!

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope you all had a much more eventful weekend than I did. My weekend was tabula rasa. Whole lotta nothin’…which, especially on a weekend that was congested with comedy, thanks in part to the DC Comedy Fest, is inexcusable. So what, you ask, will I be filling this space with? Kudos, gentle reader. Kudos.

I’d like to devote a portion of this blog to wish a hearty congratulations and a fond farewell to soon-to-be superstar, Ryan Conner. Ryan has cut down the nets in the DC bracket and is off to New York to live the dream that every other comic chases. He took an opportunity in the infancy of his career, not seen since the mother of the Olsen twins sent their sonogram to Central Casting, and has made the most of it. He’s in with some of the biggest clubs in NY and is being courted by management agencies. Am I jealous? You bet your sweet bippy I am, but he’s a great example of the perfect storm that’s created when talent and hustle meets opportunity. I’m a better example of what happens when delusion and sloth meet a Law & Order: Criminal Intent marathon on Bravo. I’ve been waiting for someone in the DC area to hit, so I can latch onto their coattails and water ski to a cush life as a member of their entourage. A man can dream… In the meantime, I’ll hope for a bit part in his first cinematic vehicle, Flip Sorenson: Samurai Mechanic. Seriously, knock ’em dead Ryan.

What of us back in the real world? Well, once again, gas prices are higher than Courtney Love at the Comedy Central Roast of Pamela Anderson. These oil companies are seeing profits that make Scrooge McDuck’s pool of gold look like my ashtray of rusty spare change.

I paid $45 for a tank of gas today. I’m pretty sure I’d pay less if my car ran on black market babies. They need to get the nation’s scientists working on another viable fuel source. That, or make a better tasting gasoline, so siphoning doesn’t burn so bad. Priorities, people.

Switching the subject back to fame (like I said…priorities), and how best to pick at least 15 minutes of it from a low-hanging branch, the internet has provided the Mexican day laborers to get it done (that metaphor is mixed and stretchy). I was hoping to have big news for you about a video project that I’m collaborating on with some of DC’s top comics. Unfortunately, getting all of us together at the same time is alot like getting a cow down a flight of stairs. The shoot has been pushed about as far back as it can go, based on the time sensitivity of the subject matter. This will either win a YouTube Oscar (a Tuby), or it’ll be a bigger waste of film than the alternate ending of Titanic. I’ll keep you posted.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to Spring. 2006 is flying by just as fast as last year. In the blink of an eye, we’re a 1/4 done. As the weather warms up, I’m happy to bid one of my pet peeves of Winter adieu. Static electricity. There’s nothing quite as annoying as that unexpected static shock. Listen, I realize the human body is a natural conductor, but it’d be nice if I could touch a piece of metal without a stay of execution from the governor. Give me a sweater, a balloon, and a flux capacitor, and I can get you back to 1985. Unfortunately, as that annoyance vacates the premises, a new one moves in. Bugs…can’t stand ’em. If I could somehow harness the power of the first nuisance, I could gleefully zap the crap out of the second.

Also, a belated congratulations to the Lady Terps on their first ever NCAA National Championship. It was made all the sweeter by beating Duke. The overconfident Lady Devils fell to their knees and blew a 13 point halftime lead. Sorry, for the cheap blowjob joke. One of the gals on Duke is 6’7″…going down is about all she can do. Ok, enough. Go Terps. Hopefully, the men can take a hint and erase the embarrassment that was this season.

I stopped by the open mic at Wiseacre’s last night. A nice-sized crowd showed up, which led to a great night for the comics. Much of the crowd was thanks to a first-timer who brought about 15 friends. I’m sure it was great for his confidence. He Dane-Cooked it around the stage for 5 minutes. He killed. They laughed lots.
Here’s the thing about bringing large groups of friends/family when you’re just starting out: You will never get honest feedback as to how you did.
Your friends will laugh at you out of pity, drunken over-exuberance, or genuine merriment. Since they know you, the novelty of seeing you on-stage is enough to make their night worthwhile. You learn very little about yourself as a performer that way. If you shoot your wad in your first couple of weeks, while you’re in the comedy zygote phase, that novelty will wear off. As supportive as your friends are, eventually they’ll stop showing up and you’ll be left to fend for yourself in front of strangers. When I started out, I didn’t even tell my friends I was doing this until I was 3 or 4 months in, confident I was able to hold my own in front of people with no emotional attachment to me other than what they see in front of them. Not a sermon, just a thought.

Speaking of just starting out, I was flipping through my old notebooks and found a bunch of old, neglected, ill-conceived jokes from years past. In the spirit of Spring cleaning, here are a few of these fledgling bits, incomplete thoughts, and poorly crafted ideas for your reading pleasure. Some dynamite hack here…

People with speech impediments…they’re a very misunderstood people.

I was raised by monks. They helped shape my sense of humor. If there’s a bad vow of silence joke…I haven’t heard it.

…aaaaaaaaaaaand scene. Your patience is appreciated. Here’s a reward.

To be continued…

‘Redheads, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I know how you hunger for my regular McNuggets of mirth, wisdom, and complete egomaniacal delusion. Well, here you go… Eat, you jackals. In the spirit of Daylight Savings Time, let’s lose an hour of our lives, shall we?

Last night I had the honor and privilege of sharing the stage with three comedy dynamos, Mike Storck, Jim Meyer, and Justin Schlegel, at the Mobtown Theater in Baltimore. It was a cool little black box theater with a cool little black box theater crowd. Here’s how cool the crowd was last night… I grumbled “Mahna-mahna” into the mic, and they were hip enough to come back with “Doo-doo de doo-doo”. That’s a rare find. There were traces of drunk Baltimoron, but they were overpowered by the cackles of card-carrying members of the Knights Who Say Ni. Dork love. Here are some pix from the evening:

It was a fun show, and it all benefited Autism research. Nothing like the satisfaction of helping a good cause to offset the twenty minute set of soul blackening rhetoric.

Now, I’d like to extend big kudos to some of my comedy brethren, who lived the dream of every comic in the industry. They beat the snot out of a group of ignorant hecklers after a show. I’ve only heard this story second hand, and I’ll keep names out of it pending legal action, but apparently it was a rumble worthy of a title being on the line. These guys were yelling out “When’s the funny part?” and “I haven’t heard a joke yet!” during the ENTIRE SHOW. Then, afterwards, when one of the comics called them out on it, said “Oh, it looked like you guys needed help up there.”
Here’s a tip to John Q. Drunk Frat McMeathead Who’s Only Seen A Dane Cook Special And Forwards Emails As A Substitute For Original Thought: Unless you’re laughing, YOU’RE NEVER HELPING.
It’s generally not a good idea to piss of comics. We’re lovers, not fighters, but our humor is a mask for deep-seeded pent up rage and bitterness. A defense mechanism honed to weapons-grade by dealing with prickish clods. And a lot of us aren’t terribly stable. We may seem like harmless jesters, but if you call down the thunder by being an impenetrably boorish asshat, we’ll be happy to do 5 minutes at your funeral.
To those who traded punches for punchlines that night, this Bud’s for you…

On Friday, as a means of promoting the show at the Mobtown, I was a guest on the 98Rock morning show, with Kirk, Mark, & Spiegel. I used to work on a morning radio show, before I embarked on standup. I was reminded Friday why I don’t miss it. Don’t misunderstand me, I had a great time on the 98Rock airwaves, but getting up just past the ass-crack of dawn (the taint of dawn) was brutal. I’ve never been a morning person. Waking up that early kept me in an overtired, adrenaline head-rushed funk for the rest of the day.
The guys up at 98Rock are fans of the local comedy scene and it’s always fun shootin’ the shite with ’em. Their show is pretty rigidly scheduled, so I needed to pick my spots to surgically strike with quips, one-liners, and retorts. I thought I could’ve been more vocal, but all the feedback I’ve gotten has been positive. So, I done did good.

Ok, before I sign off this installment, I wanted to share a dream I had with you. Over the past week, I’ve had a string of cold-pizza fueled vivid dreams. I was able to remember most of this one, and I made sure to scribble down the major plot points. If any of you know anything about dream interpretation, or maybe remember the lyrics of Queensryche’s Silent Lucidity, feel free to let me know what the hell is going on in my head…

I start off riding a red dirt bike down a wooded trail. It’s a bike with pedals, but this one is moving more like a motorcycle. As I get further down the trail, I meet up with a pretty blonde girl, named Elfpig. I remember this, because in the dream it struck me as a weird name, so I asked her again. She said it was a British name. I escorted her down the trail to what appeared to be a school campus. We went into a large white building that she had a class in…I’m still riding the bike. We start up a flight of stairs. As we’re walking and talking, we stop paying attention to where we’re going. The stairs end. At a wall. She turns around to find her class and I realize that my bike is gone.
I start back down the stairs in search of it. I find a classroom where Larry the Cable Guy is giving a lecture to a group of students all sitting on leather couches. I never heard him say “git ‘r done” (thank you subconscious), but the kids were hanging on every word of that redneck drawl he affects. I sit in on the lecture because I see my bike in the room. At this point, his lecture turns to the subject of pro wrestling and the upcoming WrestleMania. He’s speaking as if he’s part of the WWE company and he’s selling the line-up to the students. He mentions that they’re set to have one of the most intense United States Championship matches in the company’s history and that I will be participating. I raise my hand like I know this… In the dream, I guess I do. I tell Larry, if I win, he can get a title shot, but it’ll have to be a joke-off.
The lecture ends and I grab my bike and head back downstairs. As I get ready to exit the building, I spot Elfpig in her class. She looks up from her notes and our eyes meet for a moment.
It then occurs to me that I have to cancel my plans to watch WrestleMania, because I’m IN WrestleMania.

Then I wake up.

No more cold pizza before bed.

To be continued…

Getting back to the trip, after six hours and change, I rolled up to JOE’Z CAFE. It was a bar just off Rte. 30 that was attached to the Mansfield Inn. The place looked sketchier than an SNL rough draft. Any qualms I had about my evening were allayed when I met Joe, the owner, and his wife Maggie. Very cool people who are committed to bringing a quality comedy show to Mansfield… receptive audience be damned. Just before the show started, I met up with the headliner I’d be working with on this run, Al Katz. Al is a 28-year comedy vet. He’s the triple threat you rarely find on the road: funny, nice, and not an irretrievable hack.
Before I go into the evening’s show, I’d like to share a nugget of wisdom with the DC comedy scene. Don’t EVER take the DC audiences for granted. They are, more often than not, educated, receptive, and capable of abstract thought. Cherish that. They’re a far cry from the coarse, narrow-minded, and obtuse folk that were warming the seats in Mansfield. I mean that in the nicest way, of course. They were hard working small towners who were out to have a hootin’ and/or hollerin’ good time. The quality of the show depended largely on the equilibrium I was able to maintain by doing my material and handling the unsolicited input from Tweedledrunk and Tweedledrunker.
This was the first show in a couple years that I was sent drinks on stage. Mid-punchline, a waitress alerted me to a shot of tequila that someone bought for me. Unless there’s a genuine health risk involved, it’s generally bad form to refuse a shot. It makes you look weak…this type of crowd respects strength. Tequila isn’t my usual choice but, fearing a mutiny, I took the shot. Feeling my oats, I jokingly asked, “Anyone got a worm?”, then moved on to my next bit. What does the waitress bring, not 2 minutes later? Another shot of tequila…with a fucking worm in it. Not wanting to embark on a vision quest, I drew a line in the sand and said that there was no way I’d be drinking a worm. Luckily, a guy came out of the crowd to show this city mouse how it’s done in Mansfield. The rest of my set went ok…one or two dead spots, but my dick joke closer got me off stage on a decent laugh…when in Rome…
After the show, Al and I set up our CD flea market in the hopes of recouping some gas money. While we were hawking our wares, I was approached by a guy named Jacob. He owned up to being the guy who sent me the first tequila shot. He thought I seemed a little tense on stage and I needed to loosen up. Like I said, at heart, these are good people. Jacob imparted this notion to me, “You should use the fuck word more.” This statement intrigued me. I replied, “Y’mean fuck?” As a comedian, economy of speech is an important part of the on-stage product. Shakespeare once wrote, “Brevity is the soul of wit.” What I’m trying to say is, the fuck word is fuck. Nitpickery aside, my new friend made a good point. It was as if the entire town of Mansfield had been mass hypnotized, and “fuck” was their trigger word.

FRIDAY– You might think that Mansfield, Ohio has no cultural value whatsoever. I’ll be honest, so did I. But that all changed when I ventured two exits west on Rte. 30 and visited the Richland Correctional Facility. Most of you have seen this place. It was where they filmed one of my favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption. Unfortunately, it doesn’t open for tours until May, but I was able to get a good long look at the prison’s impressive exterior. The only thing that would’ve made it more impressive would be if Morgan Freeman were narrating my thoughts. Sadly, he only pipes up when he’s commanding me to kill… I didn’t have a camera on me, but I found these pix online:



That last one isn’t from the prison…it was my hotel room. Moving on…
From Mansfield, it was off to the Wit’s End Lounge at the Ramada Inn in wild and wonderful Morgantown, WV. When it comes to mapping out my comedy treks, I use MapQuest. Alot of people don’t like MapQuest…here’s an example of why. Part of my trip to Morgantown included going from Rte 30 East to 1-77 South. Here’s how MapQuest wanted me to go:

Merge onto US-30 E. 27.5 miles
Take the OH-302/MADISON AVE exit. 0.1 miles
Turn LEFT onto MADISON AVE/OH-302. Continue to follow MADISON AVE. 0.8 miles
Stay STRAIGHT to go onto DOVER RD/OH-83N. Continue to follow DOVER RD. 4.6 miles
DOVER RD becomes US-250. 15.6 miles
Keep RIGHT at the fork to continue on US-250. 5.8 miles
Merge onto I-77S

For those of you keeping track, that’s 5 steps in between US-30 and I-77. After finding out the MADISON AVE/OH-302 exit was closed, driving around Ohio Amish country in circles for half an hour, here’s what I found out: US-30 HITS I-77. Hey MapQuest, I’m looking for the interstate, not One-Eyed Willy’s fucking buried treasure… Howabout keeping it simple for the Jew with the sense of direction of a dreidel, eh?
Once I righted the ship, it was a quick shot to Morgantown.
The show that night was on par with the show in Mansfield. Once again, I was advised to “use the fuck word.” Nice people, but their knowledge of audience etiquette was pretty slim. One young lady, who seemed confused for most of the evening, kept saying out loud, “That’s not right!” Another woman, sitting in the front row, while I was doing my bit about which diseases Sesame Street can tackle, I shit you not, shouted out, “Tourettes!” (yes, I’m sure the irony was lost on her) For the remainder of my set, I referred to her as my suggestion box (think that one over).
If there was one thing I would change about Morgantown, it’d be the dental plan. These people had Halloween teeth…lots of candy corn…lots of jack o’lanterns. They made Leon Spinks look like Carol Channing.

SATURDAY– The final leg of the trip was the Lafayette Riverboat Hotel in Marietta, Ohio. This blog is getting long, so I’ll just say that this was the most fun night of the weekend. The crowd was receptive, polite (mostly), and quick on the uptake.

All in all, it was a fun trip. I finally got my hands on a digital camera, so I’ll be able to snap some pix from the next exotic location I get to emanate from…Erie, PA… Oh, the glamour.

In the meantime, you can check me out at the Baltimore Comedy Festival on April 1st. I’ll be doing a showcase at the Mobtown Theater with local superstars Mike Storck, Jim Meyer, and Justin Schlegel. CHECK IT OUT!!

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I wanted to get in a quick blog before I hit the road tomorrow for a 3-day tour of Ohio, West Virginia, and…Ohio. Not exactly worth printing a t-shirt, but it should be a fun couple of days and it’ll give me a chance to get my road legs back.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to put in this post, when MySpace dropped this in my lap:

Jared,

– Jared Stern

Pretty cool, eh? Jared Sterns aren’t that rare, actually. When I first got into stand-up, there was another comedian named Jared Stern. That’s why my website is JaredLive.com…JaredStern.com was his. After a couple months of comedy training, though, I was able to track him down…lop off his head with a broad sword, and take his Quickening…thanks, Ramirez (that reference was for 5 people). So, in short, he and I will be battling on a rooftop in New York at some point.

Tonight, I hosted the American University preliminary round of the District’s Funniest College competition with fellow avid comedy bloggers, Rory Scovel and Danny Rouhier. The show was held in the food court of the student center. It was a great stage set up, but it was situated next to a juice bar…with the loudest blender since the Kenmore Monster Truck Appliance Jam…on SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!!!…sorry, got carried away. There’s nothing quite like being heckled by a wheat grass smoothie.
Highlight of the evening: the Coca-Cola drink, Full Throttle, a co-sponsor of the show, gave out promotional FREE WHOOPEE CUSHIONS. Rubberized comedy gold…the portable fart joke. The bat-a-rang of the 8-year old comedy utility belt. There’s something about that talc and rubber smell that stuffs me in the trunk of a Delorean, sets the clock to 1985, and hits 88mph back to my childhood. 1.21 gigawatts of innocent child-like poop humor (that reference was for 5 more people). All I’m saying is, I’ll be closing my shows this weekend with a whoopee toot. Old school…old elementary school.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Long time, no blog. I wish I could say I’ve been terribly busy, but no…I’m just lazy.
I worry about myself sometimes. I worry that I might be an awful person. I’ll give you an example. I was thumbing thru the paper on Thursday and found this story:

AUSTIN, Texas (AP) — The reigning Miss Deaf Texas died after being struck by a train, officials said. Tara Rose McAvoy, 18, was walking Monday near railroad tracks when she was struck by a Union Pacific train, authorities said. A witness told Austin television station KTBC the train sounded its horn right up until the accident occurred…

This made me chuckle. Yes, I know, I’m in my handbasket as I type this. But, I didn’t stop there… I went ahead and typed out this little embellishment:

…Details are still being sorted out, as the only witnesses were Miss Blind Texas and Miss Dumb Texas…they were taking a break from practicing for the Austin Women’s Team Pinball Championship. Police call it a “senseless tragedy.”

This, apparently, came from the side of my brain that wears a goatee and an eyepatch. If that made you laugh, even just a little, I’ll see ya in the smoking section.
Here’s something creepy I stumbled upon when I googled the story… She had a MySpace account. Not unusual, but check out her comments section. Something about seeing R.I.P. messages online that makes me long for the days when spam was just bad meat.

Speaking of MySpace, I’d like to give a shout out to my good friend Chrissy. She’s going through a patch of uncertainty and doldrums right now, and could use a cyber-hug. See? I’m not all bad…

This blog is short. I’ll have another one for you in a day or so. In the meantime, I’ll go sit in the corner.

To be continued…

Hey ‘Redheads… I’d like to begin this blog by saying whatever it is that I did, I’m sorry. Just a blanket apology to the universe because, apparently, I angered someone on a cosmic level. I was punished last night. Around 2:00am, my brain decided to update its profile on MyGraine.com…a place for agonizing pain. It felt like the left side of my brain was trying to secede from the Union and the new anthem was being sung by Geddy Lee and Bjork. For those of you who get migraines, you know there is a simple, three step method for dealing with them: 1) Turn out all the lights. 2) Curl up into the fetal position. 3) Weep. I tried killing it with pills, smothering it with pillows, but I was able to finally able to quash the rebellion in my head by stumbling to the bathroom and drowning it under a steaming hot, hour-long shower. I was pruny but less…painy. It was the combination of the near sensory deprivation and the constant stream of water that was able to diffuse the blinding pain from my head…back into my soul, where it belongs.

I’m still trying to piece together what led to this three hour ordeal. Perhaps it was my Disney Aristocrats joke from the previous post (I didn’t mean for it to come out like that…I meant to include the frozen head of Walt Disney and Pinnochio’s nose…but, what’s done is done). Or, perpahps it was Thursday, when I journeyed to Catholic University to be a judge in the latest round of the DC Improv’s District’s Funniest College competition. I judged three Catholic students by the same criteria that they’ll be assessed by when they reach the Pearly Gates: stage presence, originality of material, and audience reaction. The first two guys were pretty funny. The third guy, who apparently gave up original thought for lent, told 5 minutes of Mike Birbiglia jokes. After the competition portion was over, the other judges, fellow pillars of the DC scene, Chris White and Ryan Connor, and myself did some time while the scores were tabulated. Despite my fear of bursting into flames when I hit the stage and the student body realized I had no alibi, I had a fun time in front of the crowd. I did, however, violate a cardinal rule of stand-up: Know thy enemy, er, audience. I realized, as I was telling my birth control patch joke, that the Catholic crowd maybe wasn’t with me. It was a little like telling my Outback Steakhouse joke at Hindu U.

While this blog ponders the wrath of the Almighty and how it relates to my headache (wow, do I have to get over myself), allow me to share with you my theory on God and the afterlife. I’m not a very religious guy. I’m Jewish, but I don’t practice much anymore…nagging injury (enjoy a double helping of entendre). Regardless of your faith, this is how I think the afterlife works. Everyone gets a shot at being God…not just Morgan Freeman. From the most selflessly righteous to the most deplorably evil. When you die, your soul takes the controls until the next person shuffles off the mortal coil. Sort of like an omnipotent MP3 player…an iGod, if you will. Back in biblical times, there were fewer people, so people got to take the reigns for longer periods of time, allowing for miracles, smiting, etc. These days, people are gone from the control room before they even realize they were there.

A couple of my other comic brethren, Chris White and Danny Rouhier (whose blogs are conveniently linked to your right), have expressed their undying devotion to 24. I’m also a fan. It’s the only show on TV that I actually make it a point to sit down and watch every week. This season has been one of the better ones, if for nothing else than the high body count. Plot holes aside, the only thing that has me scratching my head is their choice of guest stars this season… The head terrorist is Julian Sands from Warlock. CTU’s primary suspect is Peter Weller…many have nicknamed him RoboCop, but to me he will always be Buckaroo Banzai (I have it on good authority that the terrorist who infiltrated CTU was named John Smallberries…god, I’m a dork). Kim’s boyfriend is C. Thomas Howell…the fuckin’ Soul Man. Not to mention head of The Goonies, Mikey Walsh as the recently deposed Lynn McGill. When did 24 become I Love The 80’s? The only way to make the circle complete, is if the head terrorist mastermind turns out to be this guy…

Put Jack in a body bag, Johnny!

To be continued…