Blogado Gigante 2

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DC Improv, funny, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Jimmy Fallon, mall walking, video

Hey there, ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had a great couple of weekends. The details of mine are forthcoming. Lucky for the both of us, they might actually be worth a glance. This installment is chock full of positive mojo…so, feel free to grab a little vicarious pick-me-up. For those of you keeping track, we’ll be working backwards from this past weekend. And away we go…

Big thanks to Vera, John, Pat and the rest of the great staff of Banana’s Comedy Club in Poughkeepsie, NY. I had the distinct pleasure of working with Joe Devito and fellow local funnyman, Big Al Goodwin. The club has been around in various locations since 1984, and a lot of big time comedy stars have passed through their doors. And, like any established club, every once and awhile a big name will stop by for a guest set. Friday night was one of those once in awhiles, when former SNL’er Jimmy Fallon popped in with his guitar to strum his new song, Car Wash For Peace, the proceeds of which benefit the troops. My opinion of Mr. Fallon has increased exponentially. He stayed for the whole show, stuck around to take pictures, and he insisted on buying my and Al’s CD…paying with a $20 and refusing change. I signed the CD, “Jimmy, I have a feeling you’re going to make it…” (and I slipped in a business card).

Hopefully, this will be the poster for Taxi 2: Fare Game

To kill time on Saturday, Al and I went mall-walking. A couple observations… Did you know Best Buy sold books? Maybe out of guilt. Seems to me that Best Buy trafficks in the downfall of the written word. It’s like selling baby rattles at an abortion clinic (that was harsh). Y’know what’d be the perfect book for Best Buy…a high-definition dictionary.
Generally, mall-walking is supposed to burn calories, but all that was shot to hell when we happened upon a girl scout troop peddling their boxes of crunchy goodness. Nothing brightens your day like the chocolate encrusted smile that comes from eating a sleeve of Thin Mints, which should be the serving size, by the way.
After we got done at the galleria, we drove a bit further down the road to the local ghetto mall, where they had a rare sight in these times of bloated overpriced movie megaplexes, the $2 theatre. We checked out 300 with the appropriate level of expectations, since we didn’t blow a 10 spot on a ticket. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t the kind of mind-blowing cinematic experience some people made it out to be. It was like Gladiator meets Braveheart meets a Tae-Bo workout tape…and one, and spear-thrust, and two, and SPARTA!! Abs you could grate cheese on…sheesh. Leonidas was a great king for one reason and one reason only…Sparta had an amazing dental plan.

Belated congratulations to all those who participated in the showcase finals at the DC Improv last week. It was a solid show, top to bottom. Pete Bergen, Kojo Mante, Tim Miller, John McBride, Jason Weems, Aparna Nancherla, and Mike Way kept the stream of funny steady and strong. Any one of five different people could’ve taken home the grand prize without any dispute. That distinction went to Mike Way. After the show, a bunch of us went to Lucky Bar and ended up tipping back a few with some of the Improv staff at the outdoor portion of the bar, where the comedy of DC drunken street-life picked up the slack after the show was over. The shadow-boxing homeless guy opened for the emergency vehicles responding to an incident inside the posh club next door. As soon as the ambulance pulled up, our table took odds on whether the drunk idiot being rescued was a guy or a girl. We seriously took a collection of $5 bets from everyone at the table who picked one or the other. When a girl was escorted out with her head bandaged, we applauded wildly, clinked our glasses, and divied up our meager winnings. The next act was a drunk who stumbled out of the club, one step shy of declaring himself a golden god, and stood about a foot away from one of the responding police cars, with his arms outstretched…almost like he was challenging his reflection. He was promptly put in a choke hold by one of his buddies, trying to keep him from being arrested. They were both cited. Good times.

Speaking of which, big thanks to Allyson, Red, Michelle, and rest of the awesome peeps at the DC Improv for an amazing slate of shows with Louis CK. Holy crap. Six straight sold out crowds. I was spoiled rotten, what with all the laughter and whatnot. Those of you who’ve had the pleasure have seen the “Wall of Shame” that is scrawled with sharpie comedian graffiti…essentially “I was here” stuff. On the lower plank, someone wrote, “You probably won’t make it, but that’s ok…” Why I found this oddly comforting, I have no idea, but it seemed to help me loosen up. It was awesome to watch Louis CK work night to night. And when he wasn’t working on-stage, he was busy editing a TV show or a previous night’s set on his Mac in the green room. I supposed it shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize that we’re at work when we do these gigs, and he takes it seriously. I talked to him maybe once or twice during the weekend, but I didn’t want to bother him. I also had the pleasure of working with Joe Bublewiscz (pronounced Bubble-witz). This weekend also marked a new beginning for me in the technological landscape…I renounced my Amish tendencies and finally bought a damn video camera. I put this on the last teaser blog, but here again is a short clip from one of my sets from that weekend…

Once I get a little more familiar with the editing program, I’ll start doing videoblogs and other projects. If you could pretend to care, it would be greatly appreciated. By the way, if you missed it last time, please to check out my horrible overacting in the latest comedic collaboration with Chris White, The Best Medicine…

Make sure to check out Owen Wilson stunt double, Rory Scovel, in his television debut on Comedy Central’s Live at Gotham this Friday night. Click the link for a sneak peek.

To be continued…

A Blog Before Blogging

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Uncategorized

Hey there ‘Redheads… My apologies for the delay. This past week has been super busy and I’ve had very little time to sit down at the keyboard for any non-porn related activities. I did want to give you a little something to tide you over for the weekend before I hit the road for Poughkeepsie, NY. Rest assured, when I get back, you’ll get another massive installment covering this weekend, last weekend, and the days that fell in between. It’ll be a biggun. In the meantime, here’s a small video sampling of the killing spree that was my weekend hosting at the DC Improv…

And if that wasn’t enough, check out the latest video collaboration with my good buddy, Chris White. Note my crappy acting and robotic gesticulation (that means hand movement, you pervs). Enjoy…

Lots more on Monday…promise.

To be continued…

The Pal in Palindrome

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DC Improv, shark

Welcome to the 111th installment of the chronicles of the Amiable Zany, ‘Redheads… As you know, arbitrary milestones are the 87 octane that this blog guzzles, so toss some confetti in the air for passing the 10,000 hit mark. Seeing as how most of those hits are me checking in to see how many hits there are, this fictional milestone is extra special to me…or something. As for the rest of you, thanks for reading.

Like all of the months on ’07, May is zooming by at a pretty brisk clip. The dog days of summer are living up to their name as seven seem to pass by as quickly as one. For me anyway, I find that the weeks pass quicker when I have something to look forward to. My apologies to the space-time continuum for having a big one starting Friday night, when I take the stage at the DC Improv for the first time in more than a year to open for Louis CK in front of 6 sold-out crowds. Yeah, my calendar has been a flip book. For those of you who’ve had the pleasure, you know that few crowds spoil you as a performer like a hot Improv crowd. Quick on the uptake and ready to laugh. I’m sifting through the finely polished turds of my sub-par material in the hopes that the shiniest nuggets make it into the set list…I’m playin’ the hits this weekend. If you’re there, feel free to sing along. Hopefully, I’ll have some video documentation of a few sets for those of you who would like to see me tell the same jokes with a different time stamp on the footage.

Before I wrap up this installment, here’s a news story that has renewed my faith…

Female shark reproduces without sex
A female hammerhead shark that gave birth without sex has put the bite into conventional wisdom about reproduction among large vertebrates, according to research published Wednesday. The discovery is the first known case of asexual reproduction in sharks but it also raises concerns about the genetic health of dwindling shark populations, they say.

…that God is a vicious eating machine. We’re going to need a bigger bible. That’s right, we may have witnessed the birth of Shark Jesus (yes, I resisted the urge to call him Jawsus…give me some credit). He’ll be able to turn water into chum, feed 5000 with just one surfer, and…swim on dry land.

To be continued…

Blogado Gigante

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Carlos Mencia, comedy, fat, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, karaoke, Mother's Day, Spider-Man 3

Hey there ‘Redheads… I know, I know, I’ve grossly neglected you, my loyal fictional fanbase. Rest assured, your unwavering patience will be rewarded with a massive installment. Let me start off by wishing all of you mommies out there a happy belated Mother’s Day. A special shout out to three new mothers:

My sis, Lauren, mommy of my impossibly cute nephew, Mo…
My good friend, Alison, mommy of the equally adorable Hannah…
And to my left coast pal, Mary, mommy of dimple dynamo, Emma…

See, isn’t this installment off to a great start? If you didn’t smile, you’re more machine now than man…twisted and evil. Now, compose yourself while I get to all the backlogged nonsense. Smiling babies are only tip of this sensory sno-cone.

Let’s start with the most recent stuff and work backward. Last night I was out with my compadres Allyson and Chris. We assembled the dork brigade show our intellectual and trivial might with a couple rounds of Quizzo at a bar in Adams Morgan. Turns out, that bar wasn’t running trivia that night, so instead we decided to check out the potential freak show of Kostume Karaoke at Wonderland. Just like regular karaoke, but you can’t get on stage without removing your dignity and putting one of the wacky costumes they provide. We sat at the back of the bar and tipped back a few pints, while Migraine: The Musical got going. To be fair, a couple of the entrants were fine singers…others made William Hung sound like Josh Groban. I’m not one to judge. I need a permit to carry a tune. But, it wasn’t long before the three of us started curiously thumbing through the catalog of songs. Then came the bargaining…I’ll do it if you do it, and so forth…a self-esteem murder-suicide pact. While the two of them were waffling, I figured the worst that could happen was getting laughed at by strangers…which is what I get paid to do anyway. So, I marched up to the sign-in sheet, scribbled down my selection, and grabbed a viking helmet in anticipation. Then I went back and informed the two of them of their legal obligation to follow suit or be labeled pussies. This would mark my first time ever on a karaoke stage. For my song, I chose “Flowers on the Wall” by the Statler Bros. You may know it from the soundtrack to Pulp Fiction, for three reasons. 1) I was familiar with it…I know most of the words by heart, 2) it’s a whimsical tune, perfect for the occasion and, most importantly 3) it was 2 1/2 minutes long. Brevity, baby. Aside from the fact that vocally I have the range of a Daisy air rifle, I thought I did ok. Reports from the floor were positive, and the environment is one of overall encouragement. After I was done, Chris hit the stage in a puffy red, white, and blue top hat for his rendition of “What a Fool Believe” by the Doobie Bros…an ingenious choice, since most of the lyrics are pretty much unintelligible. He got the crowd on its feet with his boyish falsetto and acquitted himself nicely. It took a bit more nudging, but we finally got Allyson to give it a go, putting on a modest lei to sing George Michael’s “Monkey”. She also did well, mostly because she got to yell out “monkey” a bunch of times and “monkey” is a funny word. For the record, if we had stayed longer, my next song would’ve been “Land of Confusion” by Genesis.

Big thanks to John X and the fine folks at the Riot Act Comedy Club for a fun weekend of shows. I was joined by fellow local funny man, Sonny Fuller, opening for Ari Shafir. You may’ve seen Ari in Joe Rogan’s video crusade against Carlos Mencia. Those of you on Rogan’s side will enjoy this spot-on nugget (those of you on Mencia’s side can stop reading now)…
http://www.superdeluxe.com/static/swf/share_vidplayer.swf

On my walk from the metro to the club on Saturday, I overheard an interesting exchange while waiting for the light. Waiting next to me was a woman with her three young children, two boys about 7 and a girl of about 4. Crossing the street towards us, was a lady of, let’s say large carriage. Her steps could’ve been measured seismically. Little kids are a font of curiosity from which endless unfiltered questions flow. The little girl asks her mom, “Who is that?” The mom replies, “Why don’t you ask her.” The little girl adds, “Why is she so fat?” The mom judiciously replies, “She enjoyed alot of yummy food.” Let’s break this down. First of all, I love the logic the little girl is operating on. In her mind, this woman must be really important to be taking up so much space. In a world where grown-ups rule, this woman must be the queen. She meant no offense. The mother’s reply bothers me slightly. Sure, you want to sugar coat the answer, but don’t lie to the kid. Odds are this lady hasn’t enjoyed food in awhile, because that would involve chewing. I’m sure she didn’t enjoy eating her young. And let’s not limit it to just “yummy” food. Yes, a few sweets are sucked through the vortex every now and again, but this lady didn’t seem like her palate had discriminated against anything short of “edible” in quite some time. Yes, I’m a horrible person. Scroll back up to the baby pictures if it makes you feel better…I’ll wait.

The complaints among the dork populace regarding Spider-Man 3 are numerous. You’ve probably heard most of the gripes by now, but allow me to toss my week-late two cents in. Once again a potentially awesome flick is brought down by too many plot-lines and not enough decent narrative to pull them all together. This movie had at least four stories to tell and it didn’t do justice to any of them. They handled the Venom story atrociously. When the black suit starts to impose it’s dark will, for some reason it turns Peter Parker into the lead singer of Fallout Boy. He’s got bangs now…look out! If you want a hero facing down his dark side, then look no further than the gold standard of Superman 3, where after being exposed to tar-laced kryptonite, the man of steel is seen getting drunk and flicking beer nuts.

This looks like a shot for…

I was able to forgive the changes in the Eddie Brock character, but where was the hissing introduction of, “We are Venom…”? I’m nitpicking, but seriously, these are important dork issues. This could’ve been much better had they simply axed the Sandman and just gone with the revenge/redemption story of Harry Osborne and coupled it with the Venom story. To be honest, I’m not sure why expectations for this movie were so high. Aside from Return of the Jedi and Return of the King, more often than not, sci-fi threequels suck. Alien 3, awful. Blade: Trinity, shit. Star Trek 3, abysmal. So, the fact that this one was a let down from Spider-Man 2, is no big surprise. Here’s a fun little video to take your mind off things…

Before I sign off, here’s some more mashed up food for your iPod. Stick these all up in your ear holes…or something:
What I’ve Confused (Linkin Park vs. Genesis)
Puppet Rock (Queen vs. 5th Dimension)
Don’t Speak About the Unforgiven (No Doubt vs. Metallica)
Enjoy…

To be continued…

Mayhap

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, DCUP, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Late Night Players, mash-up, May, Taglines

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to the first day of the last 2/3rds of this year. I’ve often found that time seems to pick up the pace when you have something to look forward to. If that’s true, May should be done in a couple days. I’ve got at least one show every weekend this month, and the capper is a big one. May also begins what I call The Gauntlet…a series of birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays that conspire to turn me into a stock tip for Hallmark investors over the next three months. It starts with Mother’s Day, and I’ve already complicated things by signing up for one of the many things in May I’m looking forward to on that Sunday…I’m going hang gliding. And, yes, I’ll be the prick wearing the Superman shirt…don’t judge me. Anyway, more on that as it gets closer. I had 3 shows over the weekend that when the audience reunion is held next year, it could be held in an overhead storage compartment.

The first show was the sophomore outing for the new Taglines enterprise, run by my comedy compadres Mike Shader and Sean Joxe. It’s a cool little room inside the Fire Rock Grill in Columbia, MD. If you’re up that way, go check ’em out on a Thursday night. The first show they had was packed…this night suffered from a small sophomore slump. The crowd was about 12 people…until four of them, for some reason, got up and left. A general comedic rule of thumb, when it comes to crowd size, is that numbers are easily compensated for by exuberance. I’ll take a fun 20 over a disinterested 150 any day of the week. Those that stuck around were there to have a good time and they more than made up for softball team-like attendance. They were like the Spartans of laughter. The press came out to cover the show for a local Columbia paper, so hopefully word will spread and they can get a regular following.

The show on Friday was a fun gig opening for local sketch group DCUP and the Bostonian Late Night Players at the Arlington Drafthouse (please click on at least one of those…I’m slave over a hot keyboard for you people…). DCUP put on a show called the Boneless Chicken Cabaret, consisting of three guys in giant chicken suits who cluck through each of their sketches, while random audience members are plucked from the crowd to become part of the act. Easily, the most bizarre thing I’ve seen in a week (top 5, at least). Frank Perdue on peyote buttons…that’d be the best way to describe it. After they got done, the Players took the stage and put on their own bit of inspired lunacy. Afterward, the lot of us went next door for Thai food.

Yep…pretty sketchy.

I’d never had Thai food before, and I was mesmerized by the exotic sounding names of the dishes. I asked about the crispy squid and it sounded delicious, so I ordered it. I ate the crispy squid and it was delicious (my kingdom to whoever got that very very very obscure musical reference). Anyway, so yeah…the crispy squid was damn good…and spicy. The Thai like their squid HOT. Great going down, the opposite of great coming out. It felt like somebody lit Sigmund the Sea Monster on fire, then he hopped on the Great Space Coaster out of my ass. Turd flambe.

For those of you who weren’t toddlers in the 70’s

Enough poo talk. Besides being very cool guys, the Players hipped me to a cool sonic treasure trove where they get their scene change music from. They use mash-ups. Add that to my list of “Things I Wish I Could Do”, right under last month’s entry: lightsaber videos. I found some kick ass tunes that’ve been frankensteined together by DJ’s worldwide. Here are four of my favorite to tickle your tympanic membranes:
Call Me Phantom
Whole Lotta Sabbath
Champ in Black
Madonna’s Carcass
Put that in your iPod and smoke it. You’re welcome.

The last show of the weekend was at Ned Devine’s Irish Epcot Village over in Sterling, VA. Herbie Gill, the two Tylers, Sonnichsen and Richardson, young Jermaine Fowler, and I took the stage for a show that so few people saw that it might just be a myth. When we got there, there was a family of four sitting dead center…mom, dad, and the two kids…they lasted about 5 minutes. That left three couples. One sat in front, just to the right of the stage, and the other two held down the back of the room on either side. It created a Bermuda Triangle where laughter was lost, never to be heard from again. Actually, that’s not true. The six that stuck it out up through my feature set were attentive, responsive, and laughed audibly. Then, the back two tables up and left…and one of the two sitting up front went to the bathroom, leaving one person in the crowd for Herbie’s set. ‘Redheads, I’m here to tell you that Herbie Gill is a fuckin‘ pro. He took the mic, sat down at the table with the one person, and did a casual, intimate, and hilarious show. A few more tables filled up during his set, and they were enthralled and entertained. And Herbie did this with a stomach flu that had him sipping iced gatorade because that’s all he could keep down. It was a clinic.

That’s all for now.

To be continued…

Death Blossom

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

Hey there ‘Redheads… Well, it appears Spring has finally sprung, and with it comes nature’s money shot, pollen. Usually, the only way pollen affects me begins and ends with it turning my car into a yellow canvas for people to write “WASH ME” on it. This time it appears global warming has brought on a mutated super strain of this crap which has reduced me to a sniffly, sneezy mess. Mother Nature is a yellow, powdery WHORE. My nasal passages are EN FUEGO and a Fantasia broomstick bucket brigade of boogers (alliteration, baby) has its hands full trying to douse the inferno. So, I’m writing this minus the sense of smell…if a joke has gone bad, I can’t tell. That being said, on to the blossom of bloggery…

Congratulations to Aparna, Mike Way, and Jermaine Fowler for bringing the heat to an already sweltering DC Improv showcase the other night. Big ups also go to Hampton and Katie Riffey, who both gave fine showings as well. Jim Marsdale got robbed. It was swell to see the DC comedy community come out in force to support the participants. One conspicuous absence was Mr. Jon Mumma. He should’ve been there, if for no other reason than to beat back the advances Jim Marsdale was making toward his wife, Amy. I was also hoping to talk to him about some of the big upsets that have the going on in the UFC. Not the least of which was this gem…

That was Mirko CroCop getting o-fucking-bliterated. One kick to the head and he wilts like a hot house flower. Granted, a kick like that would send an average person’s head into the third row, but CroCop was supposed to be an unstoppable machine, a la the Terminator…or Sanjaya. Seeing him get crushed like that is like seeing the Globetrotters lose on free throws. Not bloody likely. Jim Marsdale got robbed.

For those of you itching for a Jared fix, you’ve got plenty of chances to see me at a venue near you. Thursday, I’ll be in Columbia, MD at the recently reborn Taglines with fellow merry-makers, Mark Matusof and Mike Shader. Friday, I’ll be back at the Arlington Drafthouse, hosting a night of sketch comedy with the Late Night Players. And on Saturday, I’ll be at Ned Devine’s in Sterling for their weekly comedy night. 3 chances to experience the magic…I’ll be pulling jokes out of my ass.

If you’re hankering for more blog meat, you’ll be happy to know that top men in the blog archives have unearthed an installment that got lost to technical difficulty until now. A glitch in blogger forced me to put it on MySpace, floundering in obscurity. And it’s a dandy…it recaps my 31st birthday weekend. So stick a candle in something and enjoy…

To be continued…

The Dork Side

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Arlington Drafthouse, comedy, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, lightsaber, Nikki Payne

Hey there ‘Redheads… This week has been a doozy. While the mainstream media has been saturated by coverage of the Virginia Tech tragedy, hopefully this installment can provide some happy distraction. It sucks that it takes such a horrible event to shake us out of our infotainment daze and put things into perspective. Suddenly, Imus and Anna Nicole aren’t that important or significant, are they? Last week, a member of the Rutgers women’s basketball team was quoted as saying that she was “scarred for life” because she and her team were called a name. I’d like to hear her say that now. Anyway, on to the distraction…

A very big thank you to Chip, Pete, the crackerjack staff of the Baltimore Comedy Factory, and all of the Charm City folk for an amazing weekend. I had the pleasure of working with Canadian spitfire (emphasis on “spit”), Nikki Payne. You may remember her from the most recent season of Last Comic Standing. She was the gal with the lisp that made Sylvester the Cat sound like James Earl Jones. Not only was she very cool and very funny, but she did something on the Saturday early show that earned her some big time points in my book. We had some technical difficulties, to put it mildly, resulting in the mic completely cutting out about two minutes into her set. While the sound guy was manically scrambling around like Beaker in that Muppet Labs sketch where Bunson dips him in honey and covers him in fire ants (classic), Nikki was left on stage without any amplification…a precarious situation in a room that likes to talk back. But, the show must go on and so did she, making the absolute best out of an immensely crappy situation and giving the crowd 45 minutes of a capella hilarity. Much respect. After the sound was restored, the rest of the night went swimmingly. On the next show, I was approached by a young lady who was with a large birthday party that had 3 guys all celebrating their 30th. She wanted to know if I could, “make fun of them or work it into my act.” As the host, it’s part of my duties to be accommodating to these requests. It was mad easier by the fact that one of the guys was sporting a haircut that made him look like a cross between Kenny G and a wet labradoodle. Anywho, once the easy route was exhausted, I came up with a joke about turning 30, which I will share with you now…*ahem*…

30 is the point when you start to feel the age gap start to widen. You’re checking out the Playboy centerfold, you take a look at the birthdays and start doing math… “Let’s see, when I was in high school, she was…three.”

Well, they enjoyed it anyway…

I’d like to share my current obsession with you. Lightsabers. Wielding one…or making it look like I am. Apparently, it’s pretty easy to do. Check out what these Wannabe-Kenobis did…

Anyone else game? No? I find your lack of faith disturbing…

Well, if you’d prefer to watch me use farce instead of force, I recommend coming to the Arlington Drafthouse this weekend. I’ll be hosting shows on Friday and Saturday night with fellow DC funny man, Sean Gabbert and Paul F. Tompkins from Mr. Show, Tenacious D, and VH1’s Best Week Ever. We promise to joke if you promise to laugh.

To be continued…

A Good Day to Dye

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in comedy, Easter, grindhouse, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Quentin Tarantino

Greetings from beyond the land of stale peeps, ‘Redheads… I hope everyone enjoyed their Easter Sunday…I certainly did. As a Jew without an alibi, I thought it best to take part in one of the more fun activities of the holiday…no, not looking for Jesus…dying eggs. I got together with my good pals, Chris and Allyson, for a hard boiled afternoon of…crayons and bunny stickers…oh, we know how to party. After a couple test eggs, we decided to attempt egg likenesses of ourselves…they’re not eggsact, but they turned out about as well as could be eggspected…I’ll stop…

Chris White with Chris Egg White

Allyson with Alleggson and one with a festive holiday message…

Me with my artistic impression of an egg and Jaregg Stern

After all of this high octane eggcitement (sorry), we decided to wind things down with a trip to the Uptown Theater to see Grindhouse.

Before I get into my review of the film, I’d like to eggspress (sorry) my disappointment with the American movie-going public. C’mon people. I know it was Easter weekend, and maybe you were looking for some more family friendly fare, but this is ridiculous. Grindhouse came in 4th at the box office behind the oafish Will Ferrell figure skating dreck, a Disney flick, and the insipid sequel to Are We There Yet? Really? You’re being offered a unique movie experience that, for once, is giving you plenty of bang for your ten bucks, and you opt for that crap? I thought you were better than that. Allow me to fill you in on what you’re missing.
This movie, or should I say movies, kicked ass. A more entertaining 3 1/2 hours you’ll be hard pressed to find. It’s a big fat celluloid guilty pleasure. The first half of this double heaping of delicious depravity is Robert Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. It has every hallmark of a great splatterfest. Every good guy is a bad ass, every bad guy gets what’s coming to him, and every mutated zombie explodes like a bag of blood pudding when the bullets start flying. It doesn’t get bogged down in over explanation of the hellish goings on, but it gives you just enough so you can let your disbelief go and enjoy the ride. It’s also great to see Michael Biehn found work. Two dismembered thumbs up.
After that, you get a trio of trailers for movies that damn well better get made. Here’s one of ’em…

Who’s hungry?

On to the second feature, Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof. Where do I begin? This movie, about a sociopath who kills women with his car, has some great moments, and the payoff at the end is awesome, but Tarantino gives new meaning to the phrase “dialogue driven”. In the spirit of eggsploitation (sorry, really) movies, he takes things to a new level by exploiting the audience… Quentin, a car chase movie is about miles per hour, not words per minute. His group of young damsels do so much mindless yammering that you begin to root for their eventual automotive dismemberment. He also seems to have a strange obsession with his actresses’ feet…for the first 10 minutes, you’d think it was being directed by Dr. Scholls. Once the first batch of beauties is dispatched, we’re introduced to a new blah-blah sisterhood who also love the sound of Quentin’s voice and don’t have one thought that isn’t expressed out loud.
Death Proof, instead of being a love letter to the grindhouse movies that Tarantino grew up with, is actually just a love letter to Tarantino. The movie is chock full of references to his earlier work…mostly Kill Bill. The only thing missing was a Samuel L. Jackson cameo. If he’d just stop the ultra hip, self-referential ferris wheel for just a moment and get to the good stuff, this movie would’ve been a lot more fun. Kurt Russell, as the killer, Stuntman Mike, is the most compelling character in the flick. Like I mentioned before, the end is worth sitting through the lecture on how unhip you are. Two thumbs in your ears.

If you’re looking for laughter this weekend, might I suggest a trip up I-95 to check out the shows at the Baltimore Comedy Factory. I’ll be hosting the slate of shows with Pete Eibner and Nikki Payne. And be sure to check out the shows around town for the DC Comedy Fest. And go see Grindhouse, you won’t regret it.

To be continued…

Three Past Fool

by jaredsterncomedy, posted in Aretha Franklin, comedy, cute, depression, passover, Will Ferrell, wrestlemania

Hey there ‘Redheads… I’m stuffed. I’ve spent the last couple of nights shoveling matzoh and brisket down my gullet and washing it down with Maneschevitz, Jewish Mad Dog 20/20. All in celebration of Passover (you’re welcome for the pyramids, by the way). Like other Jewish holidays, Passover is rich in song. Here’s one of my favorites…sing along, won’t you?

For the first night of Passover, I went up to Philly to visit my sister, her husband, and of course, my impossibly cute nephew, Mo. Brace yourselves as I crank the adorable knob up to 11.




The knob seems to be stuck…stop trying to tickle the screen.

Before I blog any further, I would be remiss if I did not mention the bitch slap given to Autism over the weekend at the Mobtown Theatre. A big thanks to Greg Hall and everybody involved with the Baltimore Comedy Festival for a great event. I had the pleasure of sharing the stage with the likes of Mike Aronin, Sonya King, Jon Mumma, and Doug Powell as we dropped a comedy elbow into the solar plexus of this mysterious disorder. The late show featured Jessica Paquin, Mike Way, Bird Knight, Kat Malone, Chris Doucette, Larry XL, and Mike Storck as Swanky Hilltopper III. Best line of the night, Mike Aronin closed the early show with, “Thanks for supporting Autism!”

On Sunday, I indulged in a guilty pleasure and checked out the spectacle that is WrestleMania 23. For those math challenged, it was the 20th anniversary of WrestleMania 3, when the WWF set the indoor attendance record at the Pontiac Silverdome. Well, Aretha Franklin sang America the Beautiful then, so they brought her back to sing it again this year. Oy vey. Don’t get me wrong, she can’t still belt out the tunes, but her belt had to have a few new holes punched in it. Sister has let herself go. It wouldn’tve surprised me in the slightest if she was hiding the Rancor in a cell beneath her piano bench. She looked like the Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock…

D-O-U-G-H-N-U-T, someone bring a box to me…

Yes, I know wrestling is rigged. That doesn’t make the athletic derring-do any less exciting. For example…

Yes, that was a metal ladder they snapped in half. If someone would like to tell me how they faked that, I’d love to hear it.

On to one of the funnier news stories I found recently in the Washington Post…

Criteria for Depression Are Too Broad, Researchers Say
Guidelines May Encompass Many Who Are Just Sad

Up to 25 percent of people in whom psychiatrists would currently diagnose depression may only be reacting normally to stressful events such as a divorce or losing a job, according to a new analysis that reexamined how the standard diagnostic criteria are used.

Apparently, signs of depression include not being happy, not knowing that you’re happy, and an inability to clap your hands. Until the criteria can be narrowed down, doctors are simply prescribing their patients to get over themselves.

Speaking of the Washington Post, I’d like to thank movie critic Stephen Hunter for crystallizing why I hate Will Ferrell with the fire of a thousand suns. I give you this excerpt from Hunter’s review of Blades of Glory: “The joke is that his machismo is mostly fantasy and his hyper-masculinity is all the more off-putting for being fraudulent.” This sentence describes every freaking character that Ferrell puts on screen…Ron Burgundy, Rick Bobby, Chazz from Wedding Crashers, as long as the bravado is thick and whatever he says is either boorish, loud, or stupid, he’s treated as this great comic actor because “he so said that”. Keep mugging it up, you putz. I’m not sure why he irks me so, but he and Jack Black can take a flying leap.

Got nothing to do this weekend? Go check out the happenings at the DC Improv. You can either see the very funny Brett Leake in the main showroom or enjoy a ridiculously intimate evening with Todd Glass in the new Comedy Lounge. Your comedy options abound. Choose wisely.

To be continued…