Kung Foolin’

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Baltimore Comedy Factory, Baltimore Comedy Fest, comedy, DC Improv, funny, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Ian Bagg, Jared Stern

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to April. I hope everyone had a Fool’s Day full of prank and free of personal injury or embarrassment resulting from any backfiring of said prank. Here’s hoping you didn’t have any real serious information to convey to someone…reaction time is slowed exponentially when everything you say is met with, “Yeah, right…good one.” It’s why there’s a glut of obituaries on April 2nd. A good buddy of mine tried to tell me that his wife is pregnant with their second child. I was genuinely happy for him…until I hung up the phone and I remembered what day it was. My happiness turned to mistrust and betrayal. How dare he use his wife’s uterus for such a lark. I called him back to try to salvage my April Fool street cred and left a message on his voicemail. It took his wife calling to corroborate the story to set things right…let’s just say I’ll feel better when I see a sonogram. Other than that false alarm, my day was prank free.

This also is not a joke…

LOS ANGELES, California (AP) — A Southern California McDonald’s restaurants official says Egg McMuffin inventor Herb Peterson has died in Santa Barbara at age 89.

Even though he shuffled off this mcmortal coil, he has a spot in all of our hearts…that we should have examined immediately by a cardiologist, in case it’s malignant.

Ok…enough of that. A big thanks to Allyson, Red, and the rest of the crackerjack staff of the DC Improv for another great week of shows. After taking the tequila shot of shucking and jiving for dullards in Hanover, PA, it was nice to suck on the refreshing lime wedge of appreciative DC crowds. I had the pleasure of working with two cool guys from the west coast, Ian Bagg and Reggie Steele. It was alot of fun to watch Ian work. His style is predicated on great crowd work interwoven with his written material. Essentially, he does a different show every time. I’m horrible at talking to the crowd, which is a pisser because I like to think I’m a decent conversationalist. On stage, my brain likes to stick to the script and rejects crowd interaction like a bad kidney. I don’t know if you read the other comedy blogs, I appreciate the brand loyalty if you don’t, but you should give them a looksee. Anyway, Erin Jackson had a link to a Bill Burr interview in one of her recent blogs. In it, he talked about how it felt like he was “reading from a teleprompter” when he was starting out. That pretty much crystallizes the gear that I’ve been stuck in. If I read from a teleprompter, Ian Bagg is the on the scene investigative reporter. A long way to go for the metaphor, but it’s an accurate comparison.

A word on proper audience etiquette when at a show like Ian’s, that contains crowd work. Let the show come to you. Don’t try to interject yourself. Speak when spoken to. I mention this because I encountered a putz who may well be coming soon to an open mic near you. About a third of the way into Ian’s set on Thursday night, a guy sitting toward the back of the club leaves his seat and introduces himself to me. He says he’s a former “teaser writer” for CBS and that he wants to start telling the jokes he’s been writing all these years. He seems nice enough. I give him my card and point him toward DCStandup.com for open mic opportunities. Then he eyes an empty seat on the right side of the stage and asks me, “What do you think he’d do if I sat down over there?” I shrug, “He’d probably keep going with his show.” He nods and waddles over to the spot he picked out. Sure enough, Ian acknowledges him. Everyone in the front couple of rows has had a piece of the action. Then this guy starts loudly piping up while Ian is talking to other patrons, acting as a giant sweaty impediment to comedy. This goes on for the rest of the show. Every time any comedic momentum is built up, this guy throws a handful of rusty nails on the road and blows out the tires. After the show is over, he comes back to where I’m sitting, looking for a high five. Normally, when a heckler comes up to me after a show, I nod and smile to keep the encounter as short as possible. But this guy, who planned on being on a stage at some point, needed to know how many pages of the comedy rulebook he had just wiped his ass with. “You weren’t helping,” I started. This stopped him in his tracks and he looked at me like a dog who just rolled over but was refused a snausage, “Wha?” “You contributed nothing to the show and you tried to be the show,” I continued. At this point he was too drunk to process what I was saying to him or coherently defend himself. “If you’re planning on doing stand-up, just know that what you did tonight is not cool. I’m not trying to be a douche. I’m just letting you know.” Then I awkwardly started talking to someone else and he shuffled out of the showroom.

Another big thanks to the crew at DCComedy4Now.com for having me on the latest Top Shelf show at Solly’s Tavern. Comedians in suits not worn since an aunt died or a parking violation was overturned. They had a great turnout for the show and a good time was had by all…aided by Pabst Blue Ribbon…oh, and tater tots…I dare you to have a shitty time with that combo in play…even if it’s your last meal.

A couple shows to let you know about. I probably should’ve led with this, but on Friday night (tonight, considering it’ll be Friday by the time I hit the publish button) I’m part of the kickoff show for the 3rd Annual Baltimore Comedy Fest. Besides me, the line-up is top-notch, including Erin Jackson, Mike Aronin, Mike Way, and Larry XL. The Fest benefits Autism research, so come check out the show and do some good while having some good done to you. Click the link for details. Also, on April 8th, I’ll be back up in Baltimore at the Comedy Factory for a Comcast OnDemand taping. That line-up will be stacked too…and you can get your mug on TV in a carefully planned spit-take reaction shot. See you in Charm City.

To be continued…

Quickie

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DC Improv, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, Victor Wooten

Hey there ‘Redheads… Just a quick installment to freshen things up. First, thanks to everyone who voted for my digital self in that YouTube TurboTax contest. Unfortunately, I don’t think it got me to the next stage of the competition. C’est la vie.

Tonight through Sunday, you can come support me live and in person at the DC Improv. I’m hosting the week’s slate of shows with headliner, Ian Bagg. Thumb your nose at Mother Nature and come enjoy some comedy and burritos in a dark basement. Click the link for tix and info.

If you don’t have plans for Friday night. One of the finest funk virtuosos on the planet is in town at the State Theatre. Do yourself a favor and check out Victor Wooten as he slaps is electric bass silly. Here’s a small sample of him on el quatro stringendo solo basso profundo de electronique…

And it’s not often I tell you to check out an SNL sketch, but this one tickled me as a drifted to sleep in my Hanover, PA hotel room. You have to have seen There Will Be Blood for it to be funny…just sayin‘ is all…

See you at the Improv…

To be continued…

Taxation Representation

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, contest, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, turbotax, vote, YouTube

Hey there ‘Redheads… Happy St. Patty’s Day to one and all. Here’s hoping the technicolor yawn from your green beer binge is an easy clean-up. I didn’t wear any green today, but I was envious of everyone who did, so my psyche was Irish.

Today’s installment is a call to arms…to fingers, actually. I need to mobilize my legion of loyal readers to the noblest of endeavors. Voting…in a YouTube contest…for me. Yes, the tax jokes I’ve foisted upon you in the last two installments have been performed, recorded, and uploaded. Now, all they need is your blind clickable approval. Here’s how the finished product turned out…

Yes, I’m a shill. I’m over it. Here’s the vital voting information you’ll be needing to help make my YouTube dreams come true…

1. Go to TaxLaugh.com
2. Click on VOTE
3. Type “Jared” into the video search
4. Click on my video (it’ll say “laughtrack” next to it)
5. Vote…lots…seriously, tempt carpal tunnel

Fly, my winged monkeys!! Vote like the wind!!

As a reward for your putting up with my antics, I have some cool audio and funny video for you to cram into your various sensory inputs. Here are some kick-ass mash-ups I found in the last couple days…

Sledgehammer & the Cherry Tree
Mash Me Amadeus
Jenny’s Superstitious
Funky Goes To Hollywood

There you go. Music to vote by. Also, I got this video from my buddy Christian aka Skinnen Bones MC. For the last 8 months, Christian has been working at an American theme park in South Korea. Here’s the email I got from him last week…

Hi everyone, I’ve had a blast living in South Korea the last eight months. My budddies and I just shot a music video for a song we wrote and recorded called “Kickin’ it in Geumchon.” Geumchon is a small city 15 minutes from where we live. Check out the video to see what our life in Korea is like. Hope you’re well.

I’m Jared Stern and I approve this message.

To be continued…

The Rewrite

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, taxes, turbotax

Hey there ‘Redheads… Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback on the tax jokes from the last installment. I was able to pick the brains of my comedy comrades at Wiseacre’s and made some rewrites, edits, and additions to what I had before. And, just so I can make some sense of my chicken scratch, here’s the revised version…

Tax time is coming up soon. Taxes are a sticky time of year for comedians because we ride the poverty line like a bear on a unicycle in the Russian circus. My cash flow situation makes Tom Joad look like the Monopoly guy. Unless IRS stands for Internal Ramen Noodle Service, there’s not a whole lot I ca kick back to the government. Alot of times, I’m paid in free drinks. Last year, a brewery claimed me as a dependant. I can’t exactly put a stamp on a six-pack and expect to be square with Uncle Sam.

Deductions are tough to figure out too. What about all the times I donated my services and was funny without compensation? What’s the blue book value of a witty retort? It doesn’t help that the tax code is so complicated it makes Shakespeare read like See Spot Run. You need a degree in finance and a black belt in sudoku. Ben Franklin once said, “Nothing is certain except death and taxes.” Just to make sure, now there’s a death tax. I can only imagine it means if you croak before you file, the government is allowed to take an arm and a leg post-mortem.

If you think you’ve got it bad, pity my friend, the accountant. Every year at tax time, he locks himself in a bunker and starts crunching numbers like The Count on meth. He becomes so reclusive, he makes Dick Cheney look like Rachel Ray.

But all is not lost because now there’s TurboTax. You plug in your tax information and TurboTax makes sense of it all for you. It takes the Rubik’s cube of taxes and gets all the colors to line up. It’s easy.

I streamlined or removed completely some of the more circuitous references. I feel like it needs one last punch to wrap it up, so I don’t seem like such a shill. Any ideas? I’m open to suggestions. It got a decent reaction when I tried it on stage (after cluing the audience in to what I was doing), but it needed to flow better and sound more natural…as natural as tax jokes can sound anyway. Hopefully, I’ll have the video recorded and posted for your voting pleasure in the next couple of days.

For you ‘Redheads in the Baltimore area, if you’ve got nothing better to do on Thursday, check out…

Also, please to be focusing any excess positive mojo you might have to spare on getting the Maryland Terrapins through the ACC tournament. They’re gonna need all the help they can get, and I’m not above using a mystical monkey paw to get it done. The madness starts Thursday…I’m hiring a family of gypsies to step in front of the Boston College bus before the game.

To be continued…

Marching In…

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DC Improv, Gygax, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, Ryan Conner, taxes, turbotax

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to the month of madness. Sadly, my Terps turned purple choking on a 20 point lead and lost a game that’ll probably keep them out of the NCAA tournament. Degenerate gambling just isn’t the same without a real rooting interest to pin your hopes to. It turns out, everything I know is wrong. I just found out that one of ingredients of the miracle cold fighter, Airborne, is bullshit, apparently. You might as well pop a Pez when you feel a cold coming on. They lost a class action lawsuit for false advertising that’ll have them cutting checks like Steve Martin at the end of The Jerk. I also ran across this depressing item…

MILWAUKEE (March 4) – Gary Gygax, who co-created the fantasy game Dungeons & Dragons and helped start the role-playing phenomenon, died Tuesday morning at his home in Lake Geneva. He was 69. He had been suffering from health problems for several years, including an abdominal aneurysm, said his wife, Gail Gygax.

I’ll put this in terms that the bereaved geeks will understand. He was losing hit points and was finally unable to make a saving throw vs. death. May a chorus of Umber Hulks sing thee to thy rest… His spirit will live on…in the hearts of people who have no life.

Originally, I wasn’t going to make this an official blog. I was futzing around, putting some ideas down in cyberspace to use for a YouTube contest that’s being sponsored by TurboTax, and I figured I post it for feedback. They want entrants to come up with tax jokes, with the eventual message being that TurboTax is the easy way to do it. So, I put together a small tax bit, in the style of a Dennis Miller rant (they’re fun to do…once you figure out the formula, it’s sardonic Mad-Libs). Here’s what I have so far…

Tax time is coming up soon. Taxes are a sticky time for most comedians because we ride the poverty line like a bear on a unicycle in the Russian circus. Unless IRS stands for Internal Ramen Noodle Service, there’s not a whole lot I can kick back to the government. Alot of times, I’m paid in free drinks. I can’t exactly put a stamp on a shot of Jager and expect to be square with Uncle Sam. Although last year, the Anheuser Busch brewery claimed me as a dependant. And deductions are tough to figure out. What about all the times I’ve donated my services and was charming and witty without proper compensation? What’s the blue book value of a fart joke?

For most people, doing their taxes is so horrific they get the same gut wrenching reactions as when they watch 2 Girls, 1 Cup. It doesn’t help that the tax code is so complicated, it makes Macbeth in Swahili read like the Cliff Notes to See Spot Run.

If you think you’ve got it bad, pity my friend, the accountant. Every year around this time he becomes so reclusive, he makes Dick Cheney look like Rachel Ray. He locks himself in a bunker and starts crunching numbers like Cookie Monster let loose in a Thin Mint factory.

All is not lost, though. Our push-button age that lets us google our youtubes has also brought us TurboTax. You plug in all of your information and suddenly you’ve gone from Laurel and Hardy to Ernst and Young.

Lotsa so *blank* it makes *blank* look like *blank*. It needs tweaking. I’m not trying to write Twain over here. I just want a passable entry into a YouTube contest. Not the loftiest of goals, but it’ll divert my deficit of attention for the time being.

Quick programming note: Turns out that I won’t be working with Judah Friedlander when I return to the DC Improv, March 26th-30th. Instead, Ian Bagg will be the headliner. His name is a much smaller score in Scrabble, but don’t let that keep you from checking out the show.

Switching gears to a serious matter, please take the time to follow the link and read about a plight that has befallen comedy comrade, Ryan Conner.

To be continued…

So Goddamn Sixy…

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DC Improv, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, Judah Friedlander, six

Hey there ‘Redheads… Before I get things started, I wanted to let you, my loyal readers (play along), know that I’ve stepped back from the ledge I was so precariously perched on in the last installment. I think this picture best describes things…

Married To The Sea

You take the delirious highs with the soul flattening lows…more often than not, it averages out to a big bowl of okay. Besides, I’ve reached another imaginary milestone in my trivial pursuit. I’m six. Yes, it was the last weekend in February 2002 that my buddy Bill and I trekked up I-95 to the open mic at Winchester’s in Baltimore. The club was a hole in the wall, but it was home to a close knit comedy community…it was like Cheers, with health code violations. So, six years doing stand-up. In Jerry Seinfeld’s documentary, Comedian, he said that your years in comedy are equivalent to a person of the same age. At this age, I say the darndest things and farts are hilarious. Here’s to six more…months.

For those of you clamoring to see me locally, mark this down on your calendars. March 26th-30th, I’ll be hosting a slate of shows at the DC Improv with Judah Friedlander from 30 Rock. Now, quit your clamoring.

Belated condolences on the passing of one of the best open mics in the area, The Laughing Lizard. I never had a bad time there. They always managed to draw a crowdesque audience and the fun house mirrors behind the stage made the jokes seem larger than they appeared. Hopefully, Tyler and company will be able to find a new venue for similar shenanigans.

And now, the news…
Alabama: Birmingham – The state unveiled a $1 million ad campaign aimed at scaring teens away from methamphetamine with images of strung out addicts with rotten teeth.
The budget was originally bigger, but they cut costs by using production stills from Flavor of Love 3.

California: Modesto – Angela Nellany was sentenced to two years in prison after pleading no contest for trying to kill her estranged husband. Prosecutors said she left a soda can full of wasps inside her husbands truck. Court records said her husband is deathly allergic to wasp stings.
It’s not all bad news for Angela. The video of the attack won her the $10,000 prize on America’s Funniest Murder Attempts.

Nebraska: Omaha – Police say a 4-year-old girl showed them how to smoke marijuana from a joint, a pipe, and a bong – techniques she learned from her mother.
Police suspected something was wrong when she polished off four sleeves of Thin Mints at snack time. Her kindergarten class voted her Best Show and Tell Ever.

Enough of that. You have some comedy homework this weekend. On Saturday, check out two international raconteurs, Larry Poon and Jim Marsdale, as they bring their comedy stylings to the intimate stage of the DC Improv Comedy Lounge. On Sunday, also in the lounge, a massive comedy conga line shakes its collective groove thang. Erin Jackson, Ryan Conner, Chris White, Erik Myers, Jason Weems, Jon Mumma, Justin Schlegel, Seaton Smith, Aparna Nancherla, Kojo Mante, and Rob Maher will showcase for a chance to be a part of the Just For Laughs and Great American comedy festivals. Click the link to get your tickets.

To be continued…

Regarding the Aforementioned Disappointment…

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Caroline's, comedy, disappointment, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, New York, poker

Hey there ‘Redheads… Where do I begin? When I left you in the last installment, I was full of starry-eyed optimism, with a couple of pipe dreams flowing through my head. First, I was looking forward to playing in a poker tournament that could’ve ultimately led, slim though the chances were, to a seat in the 2008 WSOP Main Event. Also, I was moderately psyched about doing a set at Caroline’s on Broadway in my first show in NYC that wasn’t a bringer contest. The world was my burrito. But, as we all know, when it comes to burritos, as delicious as they may seem in the beginning, they can tear your insides out like so much shredded cheese-like food product. I have bag of frozen peas on my bruised ego. My starry eyes are now squinty and my optimism has been overthrown by a mob of mopes. At this point, if life gave me lemons, I wouldn’t be shocked if I got lemon AIDS. So, in order to properly vent this malaise (that’s Hellmann’s malaise…ask for it by name), I’ll be detailing the debaclery for your diversion (alliteration, baby). Now serving Pity, party of one…

Let’s flip the calendar back a week or so to last Wednesday, which was the night of the poker tourney. I knew my odds were slim going in, let’s not have any illusions. The best I’d ever done in a poker tournament was the 3rd place I took in Vegas, and that was against 50 people who only had to pay the entry fee to play. This night was upwards of 70 players, all of whom had qualified by making final tables in smaller tournaments throughout the four weeks previous. I had to do the same, so I figured on having a puncher’s chance if I played tight and didn’t do anything stupid. If only I had typed these words before I played. The tournament started at about 8:30, just after I got to see my Terps get clobbered by Duke in high definition. I was gone at about 8:37. Three hands dealt. I only needed to play one. I’ll try not to be too technical for anyone who isn’t poker savvy. I was dealt King/Eight of Spades, so after folding my first two hands, I figured this one was worth playing out. The flop, or first three cards, comes down Jack of Spades, Ten of Clubs, Nine of Spades. Let’s break this down. There’s a straight (five cards in numerical order) draw on the board, and with my two spades, I have a flush (five cards of the same suit) draw. I bet 200 chips. I get a couple callers. Next card is the Eight of Hearts. No help on the flush, but now there’s one card to a straight, and I paired my eight. I bet 200 more. Good poker players out there are probably screaming at this blog right now. One caller. The last card is the Eight of Clubs. The flush is gone, the straight is there for whoever has a queen or a seven, and I have three of a kind eights. I push all in (yes, Joe…irresponsible). The other guy calls. He has, drum roll please, Queen/Seven…had the straight both ways. Thank you, goodnight. The only flush left is the one that sent my hopes of playing on ESPN down the crapper. I was the first player eliminated. That stung a little…but by a swarm of angry bees. It’s taken a week to stop from replaying the hand in my head…or folding it altogether. Ok, so, no big deal right? Poker is just a game. I didn’t lose any money, and some would argue that I have no pride. ‘Twas a simple pipe dream. I put poker on the back burner, and refocused my energy on getting my act together for Caroline’s. Yeah, about that…

On Tuesday morning I hopped on a bus up to New York City. By the way, if you’re traveling to the Big Apple, do yourself a favor and take Vamoose. $25 each way and it leaves from Bethesda or Arlington. Your chances of having a story about a urine soaked homeless guy puking on your shoes are about as slim as my chances in the poker tourney. It was a 4 hour straight shot. I slept for two hours and got ignored by the hot girl sitting next to me for the other two. I had some time to kill in the city before I met up with comedy compatriot, Ryan Conner, who was cool enough to allow me to crash on his couch. I figured I’d get a better idea of where I was going later that night and headed toward Times Square in search of Caroline’s. Just so you know, I am not a city mouse. I am Aquaman out of water. The fact that I found Broadway was a victory on the level of Rocky knocking out Drago. I have the sense of direction of a dreidel. So, it was only fitting that about a block from Times Square, a lovely young lady asked me for directions…to Times Square. Even I had this one covered. Her name was Valentina and she was from Italy. She knew enough English to introduce herself and ask which way she was going. It turns out, for people who don’t speak fluent English, I talk fast. We walked together for a bit, but my Italian is limited to ordering from a Carraba’s menu, so the conversation crumbled like so much parmesan cheese. I took in the sights, sounds, and smells for a bit. My theory on New York is that, other than the tourists, the people parading up and down the sidewalks are hired by Central Casting to give NY the proper freak flavor. They show up to a warehouse of mismatched clothing in the morning, take their pick, and then get paid to walk around for a couple hours. All the out of work actors get to work on character exercises and mutter to themselves while the families from the midwest gawk. I met up with Ryan at the subway to take the train to Hoboken (Hobo Barbie sold seperately). He explained which bus I’d need to catch to get back into the city later that night. Unfortunately, he had to fly out to a gig in Denver at 6am, so he wouldn’t be able to check out the show. We hung out with fellow DC comedy transplant, Matt Mayer, and rocked out on Rock Band for a couple hours. I’m Les Fucking Claypool on the bass…set on easy. Time passed. We got out of there close to 7:30. My show was at 9:30, and I wanted to make sure I got there with plenty of time to spare, just in case. Well, upon checking the bus schedule, we find out I missed the bus into the city and the next one isn’t for another 45 minutes. Ryan drives me back to the train station and I head back into the city, with about a 15 block walk to Caroline’s once I get there. It’s cold and windy and foreshadowy. I get to the club at 8:30 and check in with the nice lady working at the box office. I tell her I’m on the 9:30 New Class Clowns show. To which she replies that the 9:30 show has been combined with the earlier 7:00 show. Fuck. The next thing I discover is that I’m not on the list of performers on the program. Fuck a duck. The next thing I find out is that the guy who booked me is no longer with the club. Meep. She points me to a guy in a dark suit who is the manager of Caroline’s. I tell him about my situation. Luckily, he was very accommodating. He offered to put me on…next. So, I head into the showroom where a comic is on stage and killing. I get to follow him. Thankfully, they get my name right and I hit the stage. I’m a sweaty mess. The back of my neck is a log flume down my back and into the crack of my ass. I played the hits and got some decent laughs, but my mind was darting from joke to joke rather than flowing and I was not having fun. My 7 minutes was over in a flash and I shuffled off stage. I met no one. And the few people I had coming to the show missed it because they were coming to a 9:30 show. Oy vey. I met up with them as they walked in and made the awkward apologies for the crappy situation. We then left for some much needed alcohol. The highlight of the evening was the stellar roast beef sandwich I had at a bar called The Perfect Pint. I also had several pints of perfection, which made me feel even more inadequate.

I :-/ NY.

There ya go. High hopes…big splat on the pavement. One of these days, I’m going to learn to lower my expectations and stop having these Walter Mitty moments. Until then, I’ll be pinning my hopes to these lottery numbers I got off a fortune cookie…I got a good feeling about this one.

To be continued…

Milkshakes and High Stakes

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DC Improv, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, milkshake, poker, There Will Be Blood, WSOP

Hey there ‘Redheads… And welcome to any new readers who found their way here through my guest post on Arjewtino. Wipe your feet and try not to bust up the joint. This is why we can’t have nice things. A couple random cool things to cover in this installment, so allow me to whip out my extra large butter knife, so I may slather it on thick.

I my first road gig of ’08 over the weekend. Thanks to Dave, Tony, and the rest of the fine folk at the Funny Farm in Youngstown, Ohio for making it worth the trek up the PA turnpike. To help kill my Saturday, I took in a matinee at the local multiplex. It was a coin flip between No Country For Old Men and There Will Be Blood. Blood won the toss. I cannot recommend this movie enough. Daniel Day Lewis is a magnificent bastard. And yes, *spoiler* there is blood. See this movie…then thank me afterward. It contains my new favorite notable quotable. It won’t do it justice to type it out, so here it is…

I can’t stop saying it. It’d be nice to have a few people out there who knew what the hell I was talking about, so go check it out. It’s even cooler in context. When AFI puts out the new list of Top 100 Movie Quotes, that one better be on there.

Before I hit the road for Youngstown, I took in a show Thursday night at the DC Improv. Not only were two of my favorite local yokels, Jon Mumma and Herbie Gill, on the bill, but before the main show, the audience was treated to an impromptu feast courtesy of the Food Network show, Dinner: Impossible. Chef Robert Irvine was given an improv theme and had to put together a three course meal using 15 mystery ingredients, including ramen noodles and hot pockets, and using members of the DC Improv Comedy School as sous chefs. So the cameras were rolling whilst 250 other patrons and I served as guinea pigs for meals that may well have actually contained guinea pig. They were pretty damn delectable, especially a chicken breast stuffed with crawfish. I think I might’ve snuck on camera for a reaction shot, we’ll see when it airs. The coolest part of all, was the executive producer of the show…

It was a physical challenge to get this picture…

Marc Summers from DOUBLE DARE!! If you were in middle school when I was, that show was appointment viewing and you almost put yourself in traction practicing the physical challenges and training for that glorious day when you’d run the oozy obstacle course to capture the flags and win fabulous prizes…like school supplies. Ah, memories…

It’s all about being on TV in one way or another, isn’t it? It starts when we’re young with stuff like Double Dare, then you think you could be picked to live in a house with seven strangers, now there are so many goddamn reality shows out there, the dream is being realized by just about anyone whom light doesn’t bend around. Where is this going, Jared? Good question. Well, I’ve got a cool opportunity to be indirectly among the televised masses. I’ve qualified for a poker tournament that’ll be played Wednesday night. The top two finishers in that advance to a World Series of Poker charity tournament on Saturday. The winner of that gets a $10,000 buy-in to the WSOP Main Event in Vegas…which is covered by ESPN. I have a shot at a shot. I’ve got a lottery ticket and I get to fish around the ball hopper. My poker skills are on the better side of okay. I’ve been playing in free weekly tourneys for the past couple months against players much better than me and my dignity is still fairly intact. My big weakness is my poker face. I’m easier to read than the Cliff Notes to See Spot Run. It’s a chance, though. My fate isn’t up to some shady tv producer casting a show. I really want to take down a big pot in dramatic fashion, so I can bellow, “I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!! I DRINK IT UP!!” Seriously, go see There Will Be Blood.

I’ll keep you posted on the inevitable disappointment.

To be continued…

Groundblog Day

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in cold, comedy, Groundhog Day, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, Phil, Punxutawney

Greetings from beyond Gobbler’s Knob, ‘Redheads… I bring news that you’ve already seen, heard, and don’t care about from the land of not much else besides Punxutawney Phil, the world’s foremost immortal prognosticating rodent (suck it, Chuck E. Cheese). I braved the bitter cold, a sleepless night, and some shitty pancakes to bear witness to the furry oracle declare that six more weeks of winter are nigh (he also said to take the Giants and the under). Contained within this groundblog are the details of my journey. This is the story of how my plucky band of pals and I made the trek to stand in the cold and dark for 5 hours with 30,000 other goofy white people to watch some shmuck in a top hat yank a groundhog out of a stump at daybreak and tell us that Spring is going to start in March. I hope I’m not overselling this…

So, you may be asking yourself, “Why bother?” A couple reasons. Primarily, to indulge the whimsy of a friend, whose birthday is on Groundhog Day. The other reason was why the hell not? It’s a fun thing to do once, cross it off your bucket list, and take a fun road trip. So, the group of us piled into a couple cars and left DC on Friday afternoon in the only kind of weather that would make northern Pennsylvania seem cheerier by comparison, torrential rain. Since Punxutawney proper was occupado, we stayed at a campground in DuBois (which is pronounced doo-boys, because PA is classy), about 30 minutes away. None of us had much of a clue as to the timetable of the blessed event, but we planned on getting up around 5am, since Phil was due to appear around 7:30. It wasn’t until we dined at the local Ruby Tuesday that we found out that we overshot our estimate just a smidge. Our waiter let us know that in order to beat the inevitable crush of people and get a decent view, we’d have to get to Gobbler’s Knob around the time it opened at 3am. So, we went back to the cabin, set our alarms for 1:45, and tried to grab some shut-eye. Waking up early wasn’t going to be much of a problem for me, since the couch I was sleeping on conveniently folded out into a medieval torture device. Nothing like a spring in your spleen to give you a spring in your step when you wake up. We got up at the crack of night and bundled up for the kind of cold that makes you want to crawl inside a dead animal for warmth.

 

Control yourselves, ladies…

We got to a bustling Punxutawney at 2:30 and found a parking spot in the frozen lot of a Long John Silvers. There were two ways to get to Gobbler’s Knob. The first was a bus shuttle that ran on the half-hour. The other was to hike the 2 miles and change on foot. We opted for the latter, only because it would mean we could keep moving and slightly warmer. It also lowered our DDQ (Drunken Douchebag Quotient).

Not pictured: Tensing Norgay
Stay classy, Punxsutawney
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here…

As we got closer to the site, music and random revelry echoing in the distance, our buddy Guillaume made one of the greatest statements I’d heard in awhile. He said, “Chances this is a vampire herding, 1 in 10.” We’ll revisit that in a bit, but let’s just say that context made the next 5 hours a bit more tolerable. We reached the Knob and what lay before us was…not a hell of alot. You can’t tell from the picture, but the sign for Gobbler’s Knob proclaimed Punxutawney to be the “Weather Capital of the World”. Really? That’s like saying that my refigerator is the chocolate milk capital of the world. How shitty does your town have to be when the selling point is having weather? Off to the right was a raging bonfire, where I could only assume the virgin sacrifice to Phil was to be made. To our left was the main staging area for Phil, which was occupied by a bevy of bundled beauties, led by a guy in a long coat and a top hat, who were dancing to the Led Zepplin that was piped through the speakers. The organizers did their damndest to keep the huddled masses distracted. They played music, they brought some lucky people out of the crowd to play low-rent gameshows, and the crowd favorite, launching t-shirts and stuffed groundhogs via air cannon. Nothing like getting a beanie baby at terminal velocity. A few people took advantage of the spectacle and popped the question on stage. There were three proposals…in a row. Each one stealing some thunder from the one that followed. The third one was a half-assed job…more of a converted shout out. I’m pretty sure that marriage is only going to last six weeks. They also had another top-hatted guy on stage with a giant clock around his neck (if he had a viking helmet on, he would’ve been the photo negative of Flavor Flav), who kept a check of the time. And the time passed slowly. To help pass the time, we played a game called Spot the Black Person. That ended in a scoreless tie. The event should’ve been sponsored by Wonder Bread and Hellmann’s. Speaking of which, the experience as a whole could be best described as a misery sandwich on fun bread. What I mean is, the first couple hours were fun, the middle couple hours were painfully awful, then the last couple hours rallied back to fun.

Getting back to the vampire theory, we came up with three possible storylines for a new Groundhog Day movie. The first was the vampire story, with Phil being a vampire of some sort, which explains his purported 122 year lifespan. The next was a Phil assassination which plunges the world into an eternal winter. The last one would revolve around one of the afore mentioned cheesy marriage proposals. Hey, if Meet The Spartans can top the box office, I think we can get one of those greenlit. As a side note, if you spent money to see Meet The Spartans, we can’t be friends anymore.

As the appointed time drew closer, the crowd ballooned from roughly 5,000 to about 30,000. At 6:00am, they shot off a fairly impressive fireworks display. That was just enough to distract me from my frozen toes. Then they amped up the pageantry to get everyone ready for their audience with the rodent Pope.
The groundhog illuminati lined the stage and sounded off their important sounding weather-related titles, Stormchaser, Cloudformer, Sunbeamer, Gay Namegiver, etc. Then they had a local gal sing the national anthem. Then it was time for them to pull Phil out of his stump for the prognostication moneyshot. One of the top hats was designated to talk to Phil, because he could “speak groundhogese”. According to the legend, Phil is 122 years old and is fed some sort of life giving elixir every year to extend his life by another 7. I’m pretty sure if he could talk, he’d say, “Please kill me.” Anyway, after a brief pow-wow, it is declared that Phil saw his shadow and six more weeks of winter is on the way. This is met with a chorus of boos from the fickle masses. After that, they pretty much told us to get the fuck out. Thanks for hanging out…there will be no encores…you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And so the mass exodus of 30,000 people ensued.

It would’ve been cooler with vampires.

To be continued…

American Idle

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Caroline's, comedy, DC Improv, high heels, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jared Stern, New York

Hey there ‘Redheads… Well, we’re a mere two weeks into the new year and I’ve already hit my first full-fledged blue funk. Yeesh…the last blog was so full of gusto…with the expectations and the goals and whatnot. I’m still planning on fosberry flopping over the bar I set for myself, but I seemed to have stubbed my toe on the approach. I celebrated my 6 year shitcanniversary from DC101 last week…that never fails to get me thinking about what the future might hold when I get comfy and complacent in the ass groove on the couch of life. The screenplay I was yammering about in the last installment has been roughly outlined and I was happily surprised when I googled the name of my evil villain and got absolutely no results…that’s as sure a test as any that you have an original idea these days. It’s becoming a fun, if slightly aggravating, exercise to squeeze the lump of nerf in my noggin to come up with character names and establish the rules that will govern the little universe that the story takes place in. Now comes the part where I get off my ass and actually write a scene. It’s taking entirely too long to fire up the rocket-bike and jump the Snake River Canyon between visualizing a scene and putting it on paper. So, there’s that to deal with, plus I’ve been beating my head against a brick wall trying to come up with some new material. Anyone on the DC circuit can recite my act, complete with the I-uh’s, so since I’ve polished that 30 minute turd to a streak-free shine, it’s time to pepper in a couple new yucks for ’08. Oh, and I have a mustache. I was sick for the better part of a week, and I didn’t shave for awhile. When I finally got around to grooming the Teen Wolf sequel on my face, I decided to give the ‘stache a shot. It’ll either be gone by the next installment or I’ll grow it to Wilford Brimley proportions…rides are a dollar. So, how are you?

Some cool Amiable Zany sightings to keep an eye peeled for…

On Friday the 25th, I’ll be at the DC Improv MCing for Ari Shaffir. One night, two shows. Tim Miller is featuring. If you’ve been itching to see me locally, you should probably get that looked at.

Any ‘Redheads in Baltimore with Comcast digital cable, you’ll be able to see me OnDemand sometime in the near future. I taped a showcase up at the Comedy Factory last week with Charm City luminaries Big Ben Kennedy and Jim Meyer. Let me know where the camera decided to add the ten pounds.

For those of you in the Big Apple, I’ve gotten an opportunity to perform at Caroline’s. My previous appearances at NY clubs like Gotham and the Laugh Factory have been in the context of crappy bringer contests. This time I got a hook up through a buddy of mine who works at Z100. He knows the publicity director and he put me in contact with the booker, ipso facto I got 7 minutes to do my shtick. I have no idea what to expect from this, so I asked one of my compatriots in NY to drop some knowledge on me. Here’s what he told me:

Doing the show is a huge deal if you started in NYC, and went through the open mic ranks. But as someone who is actually good at comedy and does real shows, it won’t be a big deal. It’s just a regular show. Honestly, there isn’t a ton to gain from it, other than face-time in NYC, which is valuable. The positives that you can draw from it are 1) The booker will see your set, and hopefully give you more in the future. 2) You’ll meet a few comics who may not be able to put you on any shows, but will increase the number of comics in NYC that you know. That’s about it.

So, there ya go. I’m not a big fan of the exchange rate of 4 hours travel time for only 7 minutes of stage time but c’mon, it’s Caroline’s. If you’re in the city and want to check it out, it’ll be Tuesday, Feb 19th @ 9:30.

With the pluggage and baggage out of the way, there are a couple things that have been marinating for awhile that I’ve been meaning to get to. Just before the new year, I was up in NY for my cousin Josh’s wedding, a lavish black-tie affair at the Waldorf…swanky. There was an after party for the younger guests at a bar a couple blocks away from the hotel. So, I hang out with two other cousins of mine who will remain nameless, but they’re both women in their mid-twenties. Both were dressed to the nines, complete with strappy shoes. We get done at the party around 3am and we catch a cab to Penn Station to wait for the 4:50 train to Long Island. The two of them start complaining about how their feet hurt. I don’t think men will ever fully understand the mentality of women when it comes to shoes. It might harken back to the darker version of the Cinderella story, before Disney fluffed it up, where the step-sisters were cutting toes off to jam their feet into the glass slipper. Style over comfort…no wonder Easy Spirit went tits up. Women would wear bear traps on their feet if they had a bag to match. I get that their feet hurt…what I don’t get was what they did to cope. They both took their shoes off and walked barefoot through Penn Station. I can’t even imagine eco-system of filth, the petri dish of festering funk, the slithering muck that lives on the floor of a NY train station. I half expected them to start dissolving. They insisted that I was overreacting. So, to all you lady ‘Redheads, I ask you, fair or just plain foul?

That’s all for now, but be sure to check out a special bonus blog that I’ll be doing for Arjewtino at some point in the coming week. I met the guy who writes it at the Good For The Jews show last month and he asked me to do a guest blog about the experience of the Jewish comedian…oy vey.

To be continued…