Wednesday, August 31, 2005
DRUNK DRIVING CAN KILL A FRIENDSHIP
When you're at a bar and you're getting drunk, the bartender takes your car keys away.
I think the first thing they should take away is your phone.
Because you're more likely to make a phone call you're going to really regret.
People get mad when I make a joke like that. They say, "Drunk driving isn't a game."
Well, if drunk driving isn't a game, why do they keep giving me so many points on my license?
But really, I think we've all made a drunk call we regretted, and it always goes the same way:
"Hey babe. What's up? Oh, no, I was just sitting here thinking, it's 2:30 in the morning, was wondering what you were up to.
"Why did we break up, baby? My drinking problem? Well I got some good news there - I stopped drinking - so much. Look, I can talk now.
"Why don't you come over. Just come over so we can talk. Why not? Yo're married? So am I.
"Oh no, they took my keys away. I told them, shit take the engine, but leave the keys. They're the only thing that still works on my car.
"Listen. Listen. Listen. What? Oh yeah. Look, hold on a second -"
(to bar in background)
"What? No, you don't need to call a cab for me. I'm still drin - where'd my beer go? Who you? Here to drive me home? Can't you see I'm on the phone with the woman I love?
"Well, fuck you bitch. Who you talking to? Who do you think you are, my wife?
"Oh yeah, I guess you are."
(into phone)
"Look baby, I have to go. My, um, ride's here. I'll call you."
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I think the first thing they should take away is your phone.
Because you're more likely to make a phone call you're going to really regret.
People get mad when I make a joke like that. They say, "Drunk driving isn't a game."
Well, if drunk driving isn't a game, why do they keep giving me so many points on my license?
But really, I think we've all made a drunk call we regretted, and it always goes the same way:
"Hey babe. What's up? Oh, no, I was just sitting here thinking, it's 2:30 in the morning, was wondering what you were up to.
"Why did we break up, baby? My drinking problem? Well I got some good news there - I stopped drinking - so much. Look, I can talk now.
"Why don't you come over. Just come over so we can talk. Why not? Yo're married? So am I.
"Oh no, they took my keys away. I told them, shit take the engine, but leave the keys. They're the only thing that still works on my car.
"Listen. Listen. Listen. What? Oh yeah. Look, hold on a second -"
(to bar in background)
"What? No, you don't need to call a cab for me. I'm still drin - where'd my beer go? Who you? Here to drive me home? Can't you see I'm on the phone with the woman I love?
"Well, fuck you bitch. Who you talking to? Who do you think you are, my wife?
"Oh yeah, I guess you are."
(into phone)
"Look baby, I have to go. My, um, ride's here. I'll call you."
Monday, August 29, 2005
FREAKS & GEEKS
I went to Coney Island yesterday, and I'm still kind of wiped-out. I finally visited the Sideshow by the Sea, and watched the freak show. I like the sideshow performers and not just because, due to the life I lead, I've met a few of them (they're really nice folk). But I think it's important that there are people in this world who are dedicating themselves to a craft that doesn't net them a huge amount of money or fame or prestige, and may never do, and yet is something they've decided is important and so they pursue it anyway, to keep a dying form of entertainment alive. It seems like our culture over the last twenty years has become obsessed with The Big Score, and to see some - dare I say it? - young people pursuing fire-eating, sword walking, sword-swallowing and the like for the pleasure of it, I like that. To me, a sideshow freak is like an independent watchmaker, or a guy whose specialty is repairing fountain pens - not someone you would think an integral part of society, and yet without them, this world and this city would be a slightly more impersonal place.
All right, enough of that. Part of my enjoyment certainly came when my friend and I were called out of the audience to help onstage (I watch pretty much every show believing that I should be up there as the center of attention somehow. yes, even Broadway musicals). Eak, the Geek - a classic strongman covered head-to-toe in tattoos - was doing the lying-on-a-bed-of-nails of nails trick. He had a smaller bed of nails (a pillow, if you will), that the Sideshow's MC, Diamond Donnie V had placed face-down on his stomach. My friend and I were invited to stand on top of the pillow of nails, placed face-down on his stomach. A nerd friend later explained how the laws of physics guaranteed Eak's safety, but fuck that. I would not want a guy as heavy as me standing on top of a bed of nails that was lying face-down on top of me.
When the trick was over, Eak faced the audience gave an impassioned speech about the need for tolerance that started, "In real life, there are no freaks and geeks." First of all, yes I do exist. But secondly - and I'm not just saying this because he could probably bend me like a pretzel - but secondly, it was kind of weird and sweet and slightly out-of-place but still you're glad that he actually did it, which I think precisely sums up the Coney Island Sideshow by the Sea.
This is Eak the Geek. You're not allowed to take pictures at the sideshow. My buddy Logan works the door there, and he had to tell a woman with a camera who was taking a picture of a sign, "No photos!" She said, "Not even of this?" He siad, "No." She walked two feet away and started focusing her camera on a poster, and Logan had to say, "NO PICTURES!" "Not even of this?" she replied, like he was going to say, "Oh, if it's only THAT the forget it, I must have been mistaken." The zero-tolerance-for-pictures is an odd rule that I don't personally understand, but I certainly wouldn't continually break it hoping that they would somehow completely change their minds and make an exception for me - tourists are kinda like two year-olds that way - and the point of this way-too-long caption is that this picture is from The Sideshow by the Sea's website . They also run a sideshow school which sounds intriguing, but I probably won't take advantage of the offer. I have a horrible gag reflex, which not only keeps me from swallowing swords, but also from making any kind of living in the Men's room at the Port Authority.
HOWEVER if you don't believe that freaks and geeks exist in the real world, then you clearly don't ride the NYC subway at any point in your daily routine. I was on the F train home (I had stopped in at a comedy show in the back of a bar where the guy who runs it had told me to stop by last night, I got there, stepped into the room - which was packed with an audience - and he kind of looked at me and said, "We're booked up." Then he said, "Could you please sit out in the bar?" Okay. Like I'd been so dying to do a set in the back of a bar somewhere that I'd stopped by uninvited to beg for a spot. This aside will end with the twenty-something New Yorker's answer to everything frustrating - WHATEVER).
I was on the F train home, and I ended up watching a muscle-bound gay guy, with mostly close-cut hair except for a few clumps of longer hair that were artfully spiked, who was watching a middle-aged Chinese woman eating a pint of Godiva ice cream out of the container, using the lid of the pint as a spoon. It was a fun tableau. The palpable look of disgust on his face, and the complete lack of concern for anyone's opinion on hers, were precious. Although she did put the pint of ice cream away when she was halfway through the pint. My opinion is, once you're eating ice cream in a warm environment, you're pretty committed to eating that ice cream until it's finished. Unless you have a portable freezer. With you.
One more subway story:
Friday night, through a series of circumstances (circumstancii?), I ended up taking the L train home from Williamsburg Brooklyn home at two-thirty in the morning. Or I should say, I ended up waiting for an L train home from Williamsburg Brooklyn home at two-thirty in the morning. Most New Yorkers think of Williamsburg as a pretentious white hipster enclave, but they forget that it's mostly a working-class Puerto Rican neighborhood, except for the parts that are working-class Italian, or wacko fringe Orthodox Jews. Oddly enough, those four groups don't hang out as much as you would think, and when they interact, it usually goes something like this:
I'm sitting on the bench at the subway station, and the loud Puerto Rican guy who had huge muscles - and a friend with neck tattoos - had already loudly proclaimed his disdain for white people, so I have that subway 1000-yard prisonyard stare, where you watch everything yet see nothing. At one point, the muscle-bound Puerto Rican guy who had been drinking says to his friend with the neck tattoos, "It's always a white boy." I take five seconds to react, in case he's talking about me I want to not get into it with this guy. Then I look up and see a British dude, blond hair and hipster suit, walking backwards along the platform, getting into it with a group of Puerto rican dudes at the end of the platform. He's walking backwards with his hot girlfriend nervously leading him away. I'm genuinely worried for him that he's going to walk backwards and plow right into the muscle-bound Puerto Rican guy who has already been drinking more than is good for him, who has a friend with neck tattoos, because then it's all over.
He doesn't, but as he passes us, he shouts to the end of the platform: "I can't understand you, I'm in an English-speaking country you cunt." Which is answered by a volley of angry Spanish. His hot girlfriend then leads him to the end of the platform. I risk a look at the musclebound Puerto Rican guy who has been drinking a bunch, and at his friend with the neck tattoos, and neither looks sympathetic. The woman sitting next to me is so deeply engrossed in her book that I can only imagine it was a great work of literature like Moby Dick, or The Woman Who Was Rich Enough to Take A Cab Home Every Night of The Week.
As the first of the Puerto Rican guys the British dude in hipster suit had engaged in spirited debate rushed down the platform to drive his point home, the muscley Puerto rican guy handed him a screwdriver, which the angry fella who wanted a word with the British gent slipped into his back pocket. This is when I began thinking about how whether or not I wanted to wait around for the train, or if I would rather just walk home. Then the muscle-bound Puerto Rican gentleman said "Oh no!" Laughing, like a gleeful six year-old watching a violent cartoon. I stood up, and saw an English fop with hair dyed blond, laid out on the platform in his hipster suit. The friend with the neck tattoos said, "He punched him in the nose!"
As I walked to the next stop on the L, at Bedford Avenue, I realized that the right thing to do would have been to walk over to the fellow in the hipster suit and made sure he was all right. Certainly, the many thing to do was not leave the subway station ASAP and head for one that I knew had a 24-hour police presence. But then again, no one's ever accused me of being a tough guy, or a hero. Not only do I rarely stand up for what's right, I would probably not stand up for a sandwich (I'm hungry right now, yet I prefer to remain seated).
Five minutes later, the L train arrived. I got on the car, to find myself with all the Puerto Rican guys from the last station, excitedly reenacting the dramatic scene they'd just left behind.
Ahhh, life. Freaks and geeks, indeed.
|
All right, enough of that. Part of my enjoyment certainly came when my friend and I were called out of the audience to help onstage (I watch pretty much every show believing that I should be up there as the center of attention somehow. yes, even Broadway musicals). Eak, the Geek - a classic strongman covered head-to-toe in tattoos - was doing the lying-on-a-bed-of-nails of nails trick. He had a smaller bed of nails (a pillow, if you will), that the Sideshow's MC, Diamond Donnie V had placed face-down on his stomach. My friend and I were invited to stand on top of the pillow of nails, placed face-down on his stomach. A nerd friend later explained how the laws of physics guaranteed Eak's safety, but fuck that. I would not want a guy as heavy as me standing on top of a bed of nails that was lying face-down on top of me.
When the trick was over, Eak faced the audience gave an impassioned speech about the need for tolerance that started, "In real life, there are no freaks and geeks." First of all, yes I do exist. But secondly - and I'm not just saying this because he could probably bend me like a pretzel - but secondly, it was kind of weird and sweet and slightly out-of-place but still you're glad that he actually did it, which I think precisely sums up the Coney Island Sideshow by the Sea.
This is Eak the Geek. You're not allowed to take pictures at the sideshow. My buddy Logan works the door there, and he had to tell a woman with a camera who was taking a picture of a sign, "No photos!" She said, "Not even of this?" He siad, "No." She walked two feet away and started focusing her camera on a poster, and Logan had to say, "NO PICTURES!" "Not even of this?" she replied, like he was going to say, "Oh, if it's only THAT the forget it, I must have been mistaken." The zero-tolerance-for-pictures is an odd rule that I don't personally understand, but I certainly wouldn't continually break it hoping that they would somehow completely change their minds and make an exception for me - tourists are kinda like two year-olds that way - and the point of this way-too-long caption is that this picture is from The Sideshow by the Sea's website . They also run a sideshow school which sounds intriguing, but I probably won't take advantage of the offer. I have a horrible gag reflex, which not only keeps me from swallowing swords, but also from making any kind of living in the Men's room at the Port Authority.
HOWEVER if you don't believe that freaks and geeks exist in the real world, then you clearly don't ride the NYC subway at any point in your daily routine. I was on the F train home (I had stopped in at a comedy show in the back of a bar where the guy who runs it had told me to stop by last night, I got there, stepped into the room - which was packed with an audience - and he kind of looked at me and said, "We're booked up." Then he said, "Could you please sit out in the bar?" Okay. Like I'd been so dying to do a set in the back of a bar somewhere that I'd stopped by uninvited to beg for a spot. This aside will end with the twenty-something New Yorker's answer to everything frustrating - WHATEVER).
I was on the F train home, and I ended up watching a muscle-bound gay guy, with mostly close-cut hair except for a few clumps of longer hair that were artfully spiked, who was watching a middle-aged Chinese woman eating a pint of Godiva ice cream out of the container, using the lid of the pint as a spoon. It was a fun tableau. The palpable look of disgust on his face, and the complete lack of concern for anyone's opinion on hers, were precious. Although she did put the pint of ice cream away when she was halfway through the pint. My opinion is, once you're eating ice cream in a warm environment, you're pretty committed to eating that ice cream until it's finished. Unless you have a portable freezer. With you.
One more subway story:
Friday night, through a series of circumstances (circumstancii?), I ended up taking the L train home from Williamsburg Brooklyn home at two-thirty in the morning. Or I should say, I ended up waiting for an L train home from Williamsburg Brooklyn home at two-thirty in the morning. Most New Yorkers think of Williamsburg as a pretentious white hipster enclave, but they forget that it's mostly a working-class Puerto Rican neighborhood, except for the parts that are working-class Italian, or wacko fringe Orthodox Jews. Oddly enough, those four groups don't hang out as much as you would think, and when they interact, it usually goes something like this:
I'm sitting on the bench at the subway station, and the loud Puerto Rican guy who had huge muscles - and a friend with neck tattoos - had already loudly proclaimed his disdain for white people, so I have that subway 1000-yard prisonyard stare, where you watch everything yet see nothing. At one point, the muscle-bound Puerto Rican guy who had been drinking says to his friend with the neck tattoos, "It's always a white boy." I take five seconds to react, in case he's talking about me I want to not get into it with this guy. Then I look up and see a British dude, blond hair and hipster suit, walking backwards along the platform, getting into it with a group of Puerto rican dudes at the end of the platform. He's walking backwards with his hot girlfriend nervously leading him away. I'm genuinely worried for him that he's going to walk backwards and plow right into the muscle-bound Puerto Rican guy who has already been drinking more than is good for him, who has a friend with neck tattoos, because then it's all over.
He doesn't, but as he passes us, he shouts to the end of the platform: "I can't understand you, I'm in an English-speaking country you cunt." Which is answered by a volley of angry Spanish. His hot girlfriend then leads him to the end of the platform. I risk a look at the musclebound Puerto Rican guy who has been drinking a bunch, and at his friend with the neck tattoos, and neither looks sympathetic. The woman sitting next to me is so deeply engrossed in her book that I can only imagine it was a great work of literature like Moby Dick, or The Woman Who Was Rich Enough to Take A Cab Home Every Night of The Week.
As the first of the Puerto Rican guys the British dude in hipster suit had engaged in spirited debate rushed down the platform to drive his point home, the muscley Puerto rican guy handed him a screwdriver, which the angry fella who wanted a word with the British gent slipped into his back pocket. This is when I began thinking about how whether or not I wanted to wait around for the train, or if I would rather just walk home. Then the muscle-bound Puerto Rican gentleman said "Oh no!" Laughing, like a gleeful six year-old watching a violent cartoon. I stood up, and saw an English fop with hair dyed blond, laid out on the platform in his hipster suit. The friend with the neck tattoos said, "He punched him in the nose!"
As I walked to the next stop on the L, at Bedford Avenue, I realized that the right thing to do would have been to walk over to the fellow in the hipster suit and made sure he was all right. Certainly, the many thing to do was not leave the subway station ASAP and head for one that I knew had a 24-hour police presence. But then again, no one's ever accused me of being a tough guy, or a hero. Not only do I rarely stand up for what's right, I would probably not stand up for a sandwich (I'm hungry right now, yet I prefer to remain seated).
Five minutes later, the L train arrived. I got on the car, to find myself with all the Puerto Rican guys from the last station, excitedly reenacting the dramatic scene they'd just left behind.
Ahhh, life. Freaks and geeks, indeed.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
FREE SHOW MONDAY
Last week, the NY Daily News highlighted "Tell Your Friends!" as Monday's Pick of the Day. (TRUE!)
Time Out NY called it a "DON'T MISS," and said:
"With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show—and 'workout comedy room'—is sure to please." (ALSO TRUE!)
BETTER CATCH IT BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE KNOWS ABOUT IT BUT YOU!
THIS WEEK'S SHOW:
MONDAY, AUGUST 29
8:00pm - FREE SHOW
"Tell Your Friends!"
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
WITH YOUR MC - Baron Vaughn
* Ophira Eisenberg from Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and had a 1/2 hour comedy special on Canadian television
* Brian Finklestein, from Chicago City limits and the UCB Theatre
* Liam McEneaney, from "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever"
* Andres DuBouchet, Time Out NY called him one of NYC's best comedians, and was one of Backstage magazine's "Stand Out Standups Worth Watching."
* Allison Castillo, from the Aspen Comedy Festival, Comedy Central's "Premium Blend," VH1's "Best Week Ever," MTV's "I Want To Be A Comedian," Comedy Central's "The World Stands Up," has appeared on Dutch TV, and is currently writing a book. Whew! When does this lady sleep?
AND OUR HOUSE BAND - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they've played. They've performed here in the USA, and abroad, and last year did an in-store appearance at Amoeba Records in LA. We're very lucky that they've agreed to open this show.
Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney
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Time Out NY called it a "DON'T MISS," and said:
"With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show—and 'workout comedy room'—is sure to please." (ALSO TRUE!)
BETTER CATCH IT BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE KNOWS ABOUT IT BUT YOU!
THIS WEEK'S SHOW:
MONDAY, AUGUST 29
8:00pm - FREE SHOW
"Tell Your Friends!"
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
WITH YOUR MC - Baron Vaughn
* Ophira Eisenberg from Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and had a 1/2 hour comedy special on Canadian television
* Brian Finklestein, from Chicago City limits and the UCB Theatre
* Liam McEneaney, from "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever"
* Andres DuBouchet, Time Out NY called him one of NYC's best comedians, and was one of Backstage magazine's "Stand Out Standups Worth Watching."
* Allison Castillo, from the Aspen Comedy Festival, Comedy Central's "Premium Blend," VH1's "Best Week Ever," MTV's "I Want To Be A Comedian," Comedy Central's "The World Stands Up," has appeared on Dutch TV, and is currently writing a book. Whew! When does this lady sleep?
AND OUR HOUSE BAND - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they've played. They've performed here in the USA, and abroad, and last year did an in-store appearance at Amoeba Records in LA. We're very lucky that they've agreed to open this show.
Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney
Friday, August 26, 2005
COOL JOKES AND HOT LINKS
Here's my new rule:
If you insist on talking way too loud in a crowded restaurant, then the rest of us get to vote on what you talk about:
"I'm sorry, miss, but Section 17 have had a meeting, and we've decided that you don't get to talk about your gall bladder surgery, because in case you haven't noticed, we are all eating here. In fact, we've sentenced you to death."
* * * * *
A Doctor is a person who keeps you healthy.
Dr. Pepper is about the least healthy thing you can put in your body.
The only thing less healthy - Diet Dr. Pepper.
At least the name "Coke" is upfront about who they are and what they do - "We're addictive and we will fuck you up."
* * * * *
Here's some linkage for your stinkage:
* David Cross writes a great article for a website that slammed his albums. Very funny stuff.
* Some truly odd fetish porn - "Colossal Cuntessa," a woman who crushes crawdads and "crawdad buildings" (?!) under her giant feet. If this is your thing, please don't tell me about it. I'll take your word that it's hot.
* Shelby wants to be a woman, and he needs you to send him flatware to sell so he can afford the surgery. The most shocking thing? The surgery only costs $20,000. Shouldn't a sex-change cost more than open-heart surgery?
|
If you insist on talking way too loud in a crowded restaurant, then the rest of us get to vote on what you talk about:
"I'm sorry, miss, but Section 17 have had a meeting, and we've decided that you don't get to talk about your gall bladder surgery, because in case you haven't noticed, we are all eating here. In fact, we've sentenced you to death."
* * * * *
A Doctor is a person who keeps you healthy.
Dr. Pepper is about the least healthy thing you can put in your body.
The only thing less healthy - Diet Dr. Pepper.
At least the name "Coke" is upfront about who they are and what they do - "We're addictive and we will fuck you up."
* * * * *
Here's some linkage for your stinkage:
* David Cross writes a great article for a website that slammed his albums. Very funny stuff.
* Some truly odd fetish porn - "Colossal Cuntessa," a woman who crushes crawdads and "crawdad buildings" (?!) under her giant feet. If this is your thing, please don't tell me about it. I'll take your word that it's hot.
* Shelby wants to be a woman, and he needs you to send him flatware to sell so he can afford the surgery. The most shocking thing? The surgery only costs $20,000. Shouldn't a sex-change cost more than open-heart surgery?
Thursday, August 25, 2005
I'M A REGULAR CHEF PAUL PRUDE-HOMEBODY
My friend Jennifer Blowdryer is a food critic for The NY Press, and her column involves bringing her friends to review restaurants with her. I was in The Press last week, in this restaurant review. Free food, and the chance to have my name in print? Can't beat that!
I would like to clarify one thing: I'm not sure where the "comedians made $80,000 a weekend" figure came from. Basically, my comedy pal DJ Hazard, an old Boston comedy hand (and very funny fellow) who once told me that Boston comics during the '80s comedy boom could make as much as $20,000 a weekend just by going from club to club without leaving town.
Also, I can't vouch that the money all went up their noses, although - let's be real, it was comedy in the '80s. The money all went up their noses.
In further extremely important Liam McEneaney News, tonight I said out loud the nerdiest phrase in history: "I got hundreds of hits on my blog from my MySpace profile." Impressed much, ladies?
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I would like to clarify one thing: I'm not sure where the "comedians made $80,000 a weekend" figure came from. Basically, my comedy pal DJ Hazard, an old Boston comedy hand (and very funny fellow) who once told me that Boston comics during the '80s comedy boom could make as much as $20,000 a weekend just by going from club to club without leaving town.
Also, I can't vouch that the money all went up their noses, although - let's be real, it was comedy in the '80s. The money all went up their noses.
In further extremely important Liam McEneaney News, tonight I said out loud the nerdiest phrase in history: "I got hundreds of hits on my blog from my MySpace profile." Impressed much, ladies?
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
NERDS IN PARADISE
I just got back from an evening of theatre - Spamalot on Broadway, a play baed on Monty Python and the Grail.. Why? Because my life is better than yours.
I'm not going to waste bandwidth bemoaning the Death of Broadway, because I'm not a 49 year-old theatre critic writing his book proposal for Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
I will say, though, that Spamalot (which I quite enjoyed) is playing next to a theatre that has a musical called "Lennon," based on the John Lennon musical catalogue. It answers the eternal question, "What if John Lennon had lived long enough to play Banson, MO." I can't think of any other reason to stage a musical that's just a bunch of a famous person's songs strung together.
The poster for the show doesn't highlight the actors or the incredible gushing positive reviews the show has failed to garner. Instead, it has a list of John Lennon songs, "Mother, Imagine, Watching the Wheels, Woman is the Nigger of the World," etc. with TWO UNHEARD SONGS!
Ten years ago, that wouldn't have been a Broadway show. That would've been a K-Tel late night compilation commercial.
You know, ten years ago at the height of Broadway's Golden Age - Les Miserables, Phantom, Cats.
I was walking to the theater, and I was handed a CD promoting a new musical called "In My Life." It's a "New Musical From Joe Brooks, The Oscar-Winning and Grammy Winning Composer of 'You Light Up My Life'." If you're a regular reader of this blog, then that sentence just made your spine curl itself up in a fist and try to punch its way out of your skull.
The CD says "Listen to the best music you've heard in your life!" I was going to, but then I didn't. *SOB!*
Anyway, my evening at the theatre reminded me that the you can spend millions of dollars on a show, but the most entertainment you can get comes from other people. I was walking along the back of the theatre, and walked past two guys who both looked pissed. As I passed, one hissed to the other sternly, "Quiet, Queen!" I realize it doesn't come off in print, but I doubled over laughing.
I was sitting in front of a guy who looked like a sleazier, slightly more weather-beaten Peter Fonda. He was with a woman half his age. During the intermission, he was LOUDLY telling her, "I was a counselor at a Muscular Dystrophy camp for horribly handicapped kids where they were all Monty Python fans. They kept saying 'I'm not dead yet*!' After two weeks, I started saying, 'You will be soon'!"
I hoped his date's laughter was the kind that's faked by someone whose date just took her to an expensive play, and not genuine amusement.
* A routine from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
|
I'm not going to waste bandwidth bemoaning the Death of Broadway, because I'm not a 49 year-old theatre critic writing his book proposal for Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
I will say, though, that Spamalot (which I quite enjoyed) is playing next to a theatre that has a musical called "Lennon," based on the John Lennon musical catalogue. It answers the eternal question, "What if John Lennon had lived long enough to play Banson, MO." I can't think of any other reason to stage a musical that's just a bunch of a famous person's songs strung together.
The poster for the show doesn't highlight the actors or the incredible gushing positive reviews the show has failed to garner. Instead, it has a list of John Lennon songs, "Mother, Imagine, Watching the Wheels, Woman is the Nigger of the World," etc. with TWO UNHEARD SONGS!
Ten years ago, that wouldn't have been a Broadway show. That would've been a K-Tel late night compilation commercial.
You know, ten years ago at the height of Broadway's Golden Age - Les Miserables, Phantom, Cats.
I was walking to the theater, and I was handed a CD promoting a new musical called "In My Life." It's a "New Musical From Joe Brooks, The Oscar-Winning and Grammy Winning Composer of 'You Light Up My Life'." If you're a regular reader of this blog, then that sentence just made your spine curl itself up in a fist and try to punch its way out of your skull.
The CD says "Listen to the best music you've heard in your life!" I was going to, but then I didn't. *SOB!*
Anyway, my evening at the theatre reminded me that the you can spend millions of dollars on a show, but the most entertainment you can get comes from other people. I was walking along the back of the theatre, and walked past two guys who both looked pissed. As I passed, one hissed to the other sternly, "Quiet, Queen!" I realize it doesn't come off in print, but I doubled over laughing.
I was sitting in front of a guy who looked like a sleazier, slightly more weather-beaten Peter Fonda. He was with a woman half his age. During the intermission, he was LOUDLY telling her, "I was a counselor at a Muscular Dystrophy camp for horribly handicapped kids where they were all Monty Python fans. They kept saying 'I'm not dead yet*!' After two weeks, I started saying, 'You will be soon'!"
I hoped his date's laughter was the kind that's faked by someone whose date just took her to an expensive play, and not genuine amusement.
* A routine from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
LAUGH-IN LOOKS AT THE NEWS, WAH WAH!
A few weeks ago I started writing on this theme -
I don't trust the "mainstream" media - except AM NY, of course. That I read cover-to-cover.
(Those of you that don't live in NYC,this is AM NY . Basically, they have shady characters handing out these free newspapers at your subway stop every morning. You get the feeling that any papers they can't give away become their blankets. Anyway.)
The news has some fucked-up juxtapositions. Like, they'll say: "Cming up, a special report - from Prozac to Wellbutrin, why are so many Americans taking anti-anxienty and antidepressant medications? We talk to a doctor to find out.
"But first, IRAN HAS NUCLEAR WEAPONS. OHMIGOD EVERYBODY RUN WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!"
That isn't news to me. Every country has nuclear weapons.
I want the news to tell me when individual people get nukes. To me, that's the news. 'This just in, Bob down the street has a nuclear bomb. He seems to be going through a nasty divorce, and he thinks your dog is peeing on his roses'."
Because a lot of countries have nuclear weapons, but as far as I can recall, only one of has actually used it.
All I'm saying is, ask an 80 year-old Japanese man who the crazy terrorist country is. His answer might surprise you.
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I don't trust the "mainstream" media - except AM NY, of course. That I read cover-to-cover.
(Those of you that don't live in NYC,this is AM NY . Basically, they have shady characters handing out these free newspapers at your subway stop every morning. You get the feeling that any papers they can't give away become their blankets. Anyway.)
The news has some fucked-up juxtapositions. Like, they'll say: "Cming up, a special report - from Prozac to Wellbutrin, why are so many Americans taking anti-anxienty and antidepressant medications? We talk to a doctor to find out.
"But first, IRAN HAS NUCLEAR WEAPONS. OHMIGOD EVERYBODY RUN WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!"
That isn't news to me. Every country has nuclear weapons.
I want the news to tell me when individual people get nukes. To me, that's the news. 'This just in, Bob down the street has a nuclear bomb. He seems to be going through a nasty divorce, and he thinks your dog is peeing on his roses'."
Because a lot of countries have nuclear weapons, but as far as I can recall, only one of has actually used it.
All I'm saying is, ask an 80 year-old Japanese man who the crazy terrorist country is. His answer might surprise you.
Friday, August 19, 2005
I'M LAZY
But I did manage to update my calendar, although not with all the shows I'm doing upcoming. Just a new show I'm helping produce.
More lazy Friday links:
The Internet Archive has some pretty cool vintage cartoons, including old Bugs Bunnys, Popeyes, and this awesome Betty Boop/Cab Calloway "Minnie The Moocher". (Thanks to Eric Drysdale.)
Also, what the hell. Do you like dry, sarcastic, off-beat humour? Do you like on-going role-playing games? Then you're going to want to play The Kingdom of Loathing, where An Adventurer is You! Seriously, the more I play this game, the more drawn into it I get. (If you join, my character's name is "Frank Stallone.")
Finally, I'll admit, I like funny baseball anecdotes. Luckily, anecdotage.com has 339 (mostly) excellent, funny baseball anecdotes.
If you have some hot links, let me know!
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More lazy Friday links:
The Internet Archive has some pretty cool vintage cartoons, including old Bugs Bunnys, Popeyes, and this awesome Betty Boop/Cab Calloway "Minnie The Moocher". (Thanks to Eric Drysdale.)
Also, what the hell. Do you like dry, sarcastic, off-beat humour? Do you like on-going role-playing games? Then you're going to want to play The Kingdom of Loathing, where An Adventurer is You! Seriously, the more I play this game, the more drawn into it I get. (If you join, my character's name is "Frank Stallone.")
Finally, I'll admit, I like funny baseball anecdotes. Luckily, anecdotage.com has 339 (mostly) excellent, funny baseball anecdotes.
If you have some hot links, let me know!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
LET'S JUST BE FRIENDSTERS, BUT NOT REALLY
The People have spoken, in this case nine people, and what they've said is, "We want to read a wack MySpace message a woman you went on one date with three years ago sent you." And just like our President, I'm not going to ignore my clear-cut mandate.
Speaking of man-dates (LOLCI*), three years ago I went out on a date with a woman. The first sign that it wasn't going to work out was that the date was on September 11th, 2002. I'm not a huge believer in omens and portents, but a relationship that starts on the first anniversary of a horrible national tragedy that scarred an entire city is not going to end with me telling my grandkids the "Here's how we met" story.
Now, this was a woman I'd met at a party who'd found me through Friendster.
Now, first of all, I didn't know she was the woman I'd met at the party, because her Friendster pictures looked way different than the way she actually looks.
We met at a bar, we talked, we made out a little bit, then, well, I'll tell the rest of the tale in a little bit.
What follows is a message she sent me through MySpace a couple days ago, three years after we'd gone out on our one date.
Her message is in bold.
My commentary is in italics:
HER MESSAGE BEGINS:
Hey
Even though you defriendstered me back in the day, I forgive you.
just kidding.
LIAM INTERRUPTS TO SAY:
Yes, I'd "DeFriendstered" her. Some wounds never heal.
By the way, as you read the rest of this catty, passive-aggressive message, you'll see that she's "just kidding" about forgiving me.
The reason I DeFriendstered her, by the way is this story:
The day after our one and only date three years ago, I'm thinking about calling her, deciding whether or not to tell her I want to go out with her again. I didn't really have a lot in common with her (see below for that story), and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. So then she called me. I let it ring, she left me a voice mail, and I thought, "Okay, that means I have some time to return her message."
THEN a few hours later, she sent me an e-mail, reiterating what she'd said in her voicemail. It included a sideways smiley face, not ironically.
The next day, I decide that's a little too much communication, so I'm going to call her and tell her I had a good time but I'm not interested in a second date. That morning, she called me and left another message. That afternoon she left me another message. Then I got a Friendster message.
The third day, she restricted herself to a phone call and an e-mail. This continued for the next week, at the conclusion of which, she left me a sad voice-mail and an e-mail with quite a few frowny faces :-(
HER MESSAGE CONTINUES:
I just wanted to say hello and that I'm glad that you are doing so well.
Liar
SHE GOES ON:
Everytime I'm at a friend's house and we see you on television I get to tell the story of how I made out with you in a bar but then you never called me back because I like Ryan Adams.
LIAM INTERRUPTS TO EXPLAIN:
Okay, so here's the rest of the story. We're at the bar, and at one point, we have this conversation:
HER: What's your favorite band?
ME: Oh, that would be Bob Dylan.
HER: I don't like Bob Dylan, I can't get past his voice.
ME: Oh really. Who's your favorite?
HER: Ryan Adams.
ME: Ryan Adams?
HER: Yeah, I'm really into lyrics and he writes great lyrics.
ME: ???!!!!
A few months after our date, I decided it was safe to blog this conversation, exactly the way I did above, not including her real name or any identifying information.
THE NEXT DAY, she wrote a blog entry about what an asshole I was on our date, and what an asshole I was for writing the above in my blog. She used my full name, and provided a link to my blog. For the next few days, my comments section was hopping with hate mail from her crazy, bitter friends.
SHE CONTINUES:
I moved back to Memphis to become a music writer for SOME PUBLICATION I WON'T NAME BECAUSE I'M NOT AN ASSHOLE. I guess they figure I have a little bit of taste.
Meow! This kitten has claws!
Anywho, like I said, I'm glad you're star is taking off.
Your really glad? This message really confirms that, yeah.
AND SHE CONCLUDES:
I've always thought you were pretty hilarious, now if you could just work on those social skills.
LIAM CONCLUDES:
You know, I always thought that once I was on TV, I would be the one sending "Fuck You" messages to girls who'd once gone out with me.
Also, I haven't been on Best Week Ever in a while, which means she's been sitting on this message for a while, rewriting it, crafting it, really putting thought into exactly how best to convey a giant middle finger in the printed word.
Anywho, I think my social skills are - well, not great, but they were good enough to avoid taking out a restraining order against this lady, or starting a retaliatory angry blog link war.
I'm aware I may come off looking like an asshole here. Ah, well.
* "Laughing Out Loud, Crying Inside." That's stolen from Claudia Cogan.
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Speaking of man-dates (LOLCI*), three years ago I went out on a date with a woman. The first sign that it wasn't going to work out was that the date was on September 11th, 2002. I'm not a huge believer in omens and portents, but a relationship that starts on the first anniversary of a horrible national tragedy that scarred an entire city is not going to end with me telling my grandkids the "Here's how we met" story.
Now, this was a woman I'd met at a party who'd found me through Friendster.
Now, first of all, I didn't know she was the woman I'd met at the party, because her Friendster pictures looked way different than the way she actually looks.
We met at a bar, we talked, we made out a little bit, then, well, I'll tell the rest of the tale in a little bit.
What follows is a message she sent me through MySpace a couple days ago, three years after we'd gone out on our one date.
Her message is in bold.
My commentary is in italics:
HER MESSAGE BEGINS:
Hey
Even though you defriendstered me back in the day, I forgive you.
just kidding.
LIAM INTERRUPTS TO SAY:
Yes, I'd "DeFriendstered" her. Some wounds never heal.
By the way, as you read the rest of this catty, passive-aggressive message, you'll see that she's "just kidding" about forgiving me.
The reason I DeFriendstered her, by the way is this story:
The day after our one and only date three years ago, I'm thinking about calling her, deciding whether or not to tell her I want to go out with her again. I didn't really have a lot in common with her (see below for that story), and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. So then she called me. I let it ring, she left me a voice mail, and I thought, "Okay, that means I have some time to return her message."
THEN a few hours later, she sent me an e-mail, reiterating what she'd said in her voicemail. It included a sideways smiley face, not ironically.
The next day, I decide that's a little too much communication, so I'm going to call her and tell her I had a good time but I'm not interested in a second date. That morning, she called me and left another message. That afternoon she left me another message. Then I got a Friendster message.
The third day, she restricted herself to a phone call and an e-mail. This continued for the next week, at the conclusion of which, she left me a sad voice-mail and an e-mail with quite a few frowny faces :-(
HER MESSAGE CONTINUES:
I just wanted to say hello and that I'm glad that you are doing so well.
Liar
SHE GOES ON:
Everytime I'm at a friend's house and we see you on television I get to tell the story of how I made out with you in a bar but then you never called me back because I like Ryan Adams.
LIAM INTERRUPTS TO EXPLAIN:
Okay, so here's the rest of the story. We're at the bar, and at one point, we have this conversation:
HER: What's your favorite band?
ME: Oh, that would be Bob Dylan.
HER: I don't like Bob Dylan, I can't get past his voice.
ME: Oh really. Who's your favorite?
HER: Ryan Adams.
ME: Ryan Adams?
HER: Yeah, I'm really into lyrics and he writes great lyrics.
ME: ???!!!!
A few months after our date, I decided it was safe to blog this conversation, exactly the way I did above, not including her real name or any identifying information.
THE NEXT DAY, she wrote a blog entry about what an asshole I was on our date, and what an asshole I was for writing the above in my blog. She used my full name, and provided a link to my blog. For the next few days, my comments section was hopping with hate mail from her crazy, bitter friends.
SHE CONTINUES:
I moved back to Memphis to become a music writer for SOME PUBLICATION I WON'T NAME BECAUSE I'M NOT AN ASSHOLE. I guess they figure I have a little bit of taste.
Meow! This kitten has claws!
Anywho, like I said, I'm glad you're star is taking off.
Your really glad? This message really confirms that, yeah.
AND SHE CONCLUDES:
I've always thought you were pretty hilarious, now if you could just work on those social skills.
LIAM CONCLUDES:
You know, I always thought that once I was on TV, I would be the one sending "Fuck You" messages to girls who'd once gone out with me.
Also, I haven't been on Best Week Ever in a while, which means she's been sitting on this message for a while, rewriting it, crafting it, really putting thought into exactly how best to convey a giant middle finger in the printed word.
Anywho, I think my social skills are - well, not great, but they were good enough to avoid taking out a restraining order against this lady, or starting a retaliatory angry blog link war.
I'm aware I may come off looking like an asshole here. Ah, well.
* "Laughing Out Loud, Crying Inside." That's stolen from Claudia Cogan.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
JUST SOME RANDOM STIZZUFF
POLL QUESTION
Should I post the MySpace message I just got from a woman I went out on one date with three years ago, who has never seemed to forgive me for it? It's really wack.
Vote in the Comment Box now!
* * * * *
I just got a notice from CNN (brag! yeah, I hang with Wolf Blitzer) that said a worm has shut down comp[uters running Windows 2000 software across the US. My first thought was, "Hey, my mom runs her computer on Windows 2000 - I better e-mail her and ask if her computer's still running."
Then I realized how dumb that was.
Also, no offense to anyone who may run Windows 2000 and also gave birth to me, but if you're running your computer on 5 year-old software and a worm shuts it down, that's called "doing you a favor."
"Someone took the wheels off my 1979 Pinto!"
"Dammit! Who took the dial off my 1954 Philco television?!?! Now how am I supposed to enjoy this luxuriously huge seven inch screen?"
* * * * *
In high school, I wasn't much of an athlete. But due to a lawsuit, they had to find room for kids like me on all the athletic teams.
So while some kids ran the hundred yard dash, I lettered in the two yard asthma attack.
I was so uncoordinated, I was required to wear a helmet in the locker room.
Some kids ran an obstacle course - I ran an emotional obstacle course. I'd run ten feet, realize that no girl would ever want to date me, and break down sobbing in the middle of the track.
And so on and so forth. I promise to actually write some better jokes for this and repost.
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Should I post the MySpace message I just got from a woman I went out on one date with three years ago, who has never seemed to forgive me for it? It's really wack.
Vote in the Comment Box now!
* * * * *
I just got a notice from CNN (brag! yeah, I hang with Wolf Blitzer) that said a worm has shut down comp[uters running Windows 2000 software across the US. My first thought was, "Hey, my mom runs her computer on Windows 2000 - I better e-mail her and ask if her computer's still running."
Then I realized how dumb that was.
Also, no offense to anyone who may run Windows 2000 and also gave birth to me, but if you're running your computer on 5 year-old software and a worm shuts it down, that's called "doing you a favor."
"Someone took the wheels off my 1979 Pinto!"
"Dammit! Who took the dial off my 1954 Philco television?!?! Now how am I supposed to enjoy this luxuriously huge seven inch screen?"
* * * * *
In high school, I wasn't much of an athlete. But due to a lawsuit, they had to find room for kids like me on all the athletic teams.
So while some kids ran the hundred yard dash, I lettered in the two yard asthma attack.
I was so uncoordinated, I was required to wear a helmet in the locker room.
Some kids ran an obstacle course - I ran an emotional obstacle course. I'd run ten feet, realize that no girl would ever want to date me, and break down sobbing in the middle of the track.
And so on and so forth. I promise to actually write some better jokes for this and repost.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
YER CHEATIN' HEART
Know going into this that I'm aware that only about 50% of this is funny.
The other 50%? HILARIOUS!
I was in an open relationship with a woman once. Only problem was, she was the only one who knew it was an open relationship. It was quite a surprise to me.
It's funny how your mind won't let you see that she's cheating on you. Like, once I stopped by her house unexpectedly, and first of all, it took her ten minutes to get from her apartment on the first floor to the front door. And then she said, "Oh yeah, I've got a friend over. I met him at a clothing store a couple hours ago. I mean, you can come in if you want..."
And I was like, "Hey, you've got a guy in there with you, what's going on?"
And she said, "Oh nothing, we're just hanging out, talking."
And I was so dumb, I was just like, "Oh no no. I don't want to bother you two. Im just going to go have the word 'ASSHOLE' tattooed on my forehead."
And then it hit me later, like, "Wait a second. Why was she in a bathrobe? Oh my God! She must have spilled red wine all over every single one of her clothes! I'd better buy her a new outfit."
And then I figured it out, after a few months. And first of all, I was terribly confused, because I wasn't sure who I was going to kill first. I mean, if you kill your ex-girlfriend, then you know all her friends are going to be talking about you: "See? She was right to dump him. He couldn't even control his temper."
When your girlfriend cheats on you, you want is to see what the guy looks like. You're not sure whether you want him to be better-looking than you. If he's better-looking than you, then at least it's understandable. It's like, "Okay, she's upgraded. He's a good-looking guy. If I was gay, I might take a shot at him. So when I kill this motherfucker, he's going to leave a pretty corpse."
If he's uglier than you, forget it. You don't want to kill anyone but yourself. Because what is that? It's hard enough worrying about whether or not you can improve your physical flaws without having to wonder, "Why wasn't I born with a harelip? If only I'd had a hunchback, I could've held on to my baby."
And then, of course, you've got to engage in Revenge Sex. That's where you're like, "I don't care who I've got to fuck, I'm fuicking someone that' going to hurt this bitch. What's her daddy's number? Hello, Mr. Schmidland? You want to get together for a rink tonight? Well, i hear your daughter takes after you, and I'd like to see for myself."
You don't care. You'll fuck her dog, her TV, anything that'll get her mad. And when you're done, your first thought is, "Well, now we can get back together."
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The other 50%? HILARIOUS!
I was in an open relationship with a woman once. Only problem was, she was the only one who knew it was an open relationship. It was quite a surprise to me.
It's funny how your mind won't let you see that she's cheating on you. Like, once I stopped by her house unexpectedly, and first of all, it took her ten minutes to get from her apartment on the first floor to the front door. And then she said, "Oh yeah, I've got a friend over. I met him at a clothing store a couple hours ago. I mean, you can come in if you want..."
And I was like, "Hey, you've got a guy in there with you, what's going on?"
And she said, "Oh nothing, we're just hanging out, talking."
And I was so dumb, I was just like, "Oh no no. I don't want to bother you two. Im just going to go have the word 'ASSHOLE' tattooed on my forehead."
And then it hit me later, like, "Wait a second. Why was she in a bathrobe? Oh my God! She must have spilled red wine all over every single one of her clothes! I'd better buy her a new outfit."
And then I figured it out, after a few months. And first of all, I was terribly confused, because I wasn't sure who I was going to kill first. I mean, if you kill your ex-girlfriend, then you know all her friends are going to be talking about you: "See? She was right to dump him. He couldn't even control his temper."
When your girlfriend cheats on you, you want is to see what the guy looks like. You're not sure whether you want him to be better-looking than you. If he's better-looking than you, then at least it's understandable. It's like, "Okay, she's upgraded. He's a good-looking guy. If I was gay, I might take a shot at him. So when I kill this motherfucker, he's going to leave a pretty corpse."
If he's uglier than you, forget it. You don't want to kill anyone but yourself. Because what is that? It's hard enough worrying about whether or not you can improve your physical flaws without having to wonder, "Why wasn't I born with a harelip? If only I'd had a hunchback, I could've held on to my baby."
And then, of course, you've got to engage in Revenge Sex. That's where you're like, "I don't care who I've got to fuck, I'm fuicking someone that' going to hurt this bitch. What's her daddy's number? Hello, Mr. Schmidland? You want to get together for a rink tonight? Well, i hear your daughter takes after you, and I'd like to see for myself."
You don't care. You'll fuck her dog, her TV, anything that'll get her mad. And when you're done, your first thought is, "Well, now we can get back together."
Monday, August 15, 2005
OKAY, SO I'M LAZY
No comedy today. Tomorrow a joke I've started writing.
Also, later this week I'll unveil a fun new blog idea.
But for now, another poem I'm working on.
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Also, later this week I'll unveil a fun new blog idea.
But for now, another poem I'm working on.
Friday, August 12, 2005
LINKS FOR YOUR LONG-WEEKEND CLICKING PLEASURE
* Wanna see an octopus eat a shark? For extra fun, you'll want to watch this with the sound off while blasting Metallica's The Unforgiven. PBS kicks ass!
* Here's a music video compilation of the Bush Administration's Iraq war lies. Check out all the things Bush and Cheney deny ever having said - captured forever on tape!
* If you're as appalled as many folks with a junior high-level edumacation are by the President's insistence that local school boards teach the pesudo-science of "Intelligent Design", then you'll want to read this letter a fella sent to his local school board insisting they teach that the Universe was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster. Make sure you read down to the graph.
* This is a fun beer ad. (Thanks Bex!)
* Finally, here's a link to an online version of Puzzle Bobble (aka Bust-A-Move), one of the most addictive video games I've ever played.
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* Here's a music video compilation of the Bush Administration's Iraq war lies. Check out all the things Bush and Cheney deny ever having said - captured forever on tape!
* If you're as appalled as many folks with a junior high-level edumacation are by the President's insistence that local school boards teach the pesudo-science of "Intelligent Design", then you'll want to read this letter a fella sent to his local school board insisting they teach that the Universe was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster. Make sure you read down to the graph.
* This is a fun beer ad. (Thanks Bex!)
* Finally, here's a link to an online version of Puzzle Bobble (aka Bust-A-Move), one of the most addictive video games I've ever played.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I FEEL SAFE IN NEW YORK CITY
People ask if I'm afraid to live in NYC. When I ask why, they say, "Well you might get mugged."
And I say, "Excuse me, have you seen the way I'm dressed? I clearly have no money. What are they going to get, a dollar? If you're desperate enough that you're mugging me I'm happy to give you the money. You clearly need it more than I do."
I've had guys stick a gun in my face and say, "Here's twenty bucks. Buy a new shirt, fer chrissakes."
The only people I'm afraid of in New York are the homeless guys begging for change on the subway. And not because I'm afraid they might hit me, but because I'm afraid they might pee on me.
You know why? Because I would, if I were them.
What's going to happen? They going to get sent to jail? they going to be given a warm place to sleep and some food? It's a win-win for the homeless. Those lucky, lucky bastards.
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And I say, "Excuse me, have you seen the way I'm dressed? I clearly have no money. What are they going to get, a dollar? If you're desperate enough that you're mugging me I'm happy to give you the money. You clearly need it more than I do."
I've had guys stick a gun in my face and say, "Here's twenty bucks. Buy a new shirt, fer chrissakes."
The only people I'm afraid of in New York are the homeless guys begging for change on the subway. And not because I'm afraid they might hit me, but because I'm afraid they might pee on me.
You know why? Because I would, if I were them.
What's going to happen? They going to get sent to jail? they going to be given a warm place to sleep and some food? It's a win-win for the homeless. Those lucky, lucky bastards.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
FUNNY HOW I ONLY GET POLITICALLY AWARE WHEN IT'S AN ISSUE AFFECTING ME PERSONALLY
Allow me to put on my Will Rogers hat for a second:
You know, it's kinda funny; the folks in Congress what decided we taxpayers shouldn't have to pay for free Universal health Care Coverage, why they pretty much the same folks who got their health plan paid for by the taxpayers.
If they don't think folks deserve affordable health, that's fine. Let's start by cancelling your health plan, alright Mr. Senator?
I thought not.
I never met a man I didn't like . . .
* * * * *
Seriously, being uninsured sucks the big hard one. The next time you see some lobbyist on TV tell you that people don't need or want universal health care, tell them to go to the clinic I went to yesterday to get my strep throat checked out. I got there at opening - 8:30am to sign in. At 9am, the Adult Medicine floor opened. I was the third patient in line to be seen.
Now, the only problem was that there was only one nurse and one doctor to cover the entire Adult Medicine floor. Remember, I was the third person there at 8:30 for an office that opens at 9. I was seen at 10:15am. And I counted myself one of the lucky ones. I got seen while the doctor and nurse were still kinda sharp.
I think my favorite part of the visit was that I was diagnosed thusly: "You probably don't have AIDS."
That's a great diagnosis: Probably not AIDS.
Because first of all, when I walked in, I wasn't thinking "AIDS." You don't usually walk into a doctor's office like, "Hmm, my throat's a little scratchy. Feels like a touch of the AIDS. Or maybe the flu! Better get that checked out."
But now that that evil little thought has been firmly wedged into my brain, it would be nice to have a little further resolution than "probably not AIDS."
AIDS isn't exactly a raffle prize, or the winning lotto numbers; you want a little better than "probably not."
Here's some other, equally comforting diagnoses I could probably expect to hear if I hung out at the doctors office long enough:
* "Um, we're going to have to ask you to pay in advance from now on."
* "Wait a second, I thought YOU were the doctor!"
* "Nurse, get in here. You gotta see this! See what color that turns when you poke it?"
* "Okay, so now get dressed and then you do me."
* "Sounds like a case of the Mondays! Or tuberculosis! Take two Cathy comic strips and call me in the morning! LOL! But seriously, it's probably tuberculosis."
* "Looks like this brave little soldier's an angel-in-training!"
* "Hey, if you know so much about your sickness, why don't YOU tell me what you have?"
* "Okay, so the good news is that your teeth aren't going to be hurting you much longer..."
When I first got sick, a lesbian friend offered to marry me so I could be on her health plan. At the time I thought it was a funny joke, but now I'm wondering; how do you propose to a lesbian? "Hey, haven't you ever wanted a lifetime of sexless joylessness? Or how about joyless sexlessness? Why should we deprive our kids of the years and years and years of therapy WE enjoyed? Come on, it'll be just like an arranged marriage, except it'll be your decision!"
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You know, it's kinda funny; the folks in Congress what decided we taxpayers shouldn't have to pay for free Universal health Care Coverage, why they pretty much the same folks who got their health plan paid for by the taxpayers.
If they don't think folks deserve affordable health, that's fine. Let's start by cancelling your health plan, alright Mr. Senator?
I thought not.
I never met a man I didn't like . . .
* * * * *
Seriously, being uninsured sucks the big hard one. The next time you see some lobbyist on TV tell you that people don't need or want universal health care, tell them to go to the clinic I went to yesterday to get my strep throat checked out. I got there at opening - 8:30am to sign in. At 9am, the Adult Medicine floor opened. I was the third patient in line to be seen.
Now, the only problem was that there was only one nurse and one doctor to cover the entire Adult Medicine floor. Remember, I was the third person there at 8:30 for an office that opens at 9. I was seen at 10:15am. And I counted myself one of the lucky ones. I got seen while the doctor and nurse were still kinda sharp.
I think my favorite part of the visit was that I was diagnosed thusly: "You probably don't have AIDS."
That's a great diagnosis: Probably not AIDS.
Because first of all, when I walked in, I wasn't thinking "AIDS." You don't usually walk into a doctor's office like, "Hmm, my throat's a little scratchy. Feels like a touch of the AIDS. Or maybe the flu! Better get that checked out."
But now that that evil little thought has been firmly wedged into my brain, it would be nice to have a little further resolution than "probably not AIDS."
AIDS isn't exactly a raffle prize, or the winning lotto numbers; you want a little better than "probably not."
Here's some other, equally comforting diagnoses I could probably expect to hear if I hung out at the doctors office long enough:
* "Um, we're going to have to ask you to pay in advance from now on."
* "Wait a second, I thought YOU were the doctor!"
* "Nurse, get in here. You gotta see this! See what color that turns when you poke it?"
* "Okay, so now get dressed and then you do me."
* "Sounds like a case of the Mondays! Or tuberculosis! Take two Cathy comic strips and call me in the morning! LOL! But seriously, it's probably tuberculosis."
* "Looks like this brave little soldier's an angel-in-training!"
* "Hey, if you know so much about your sickness, why don't YOU tell me what you have?"
* "Okay, so the good news is that your teeth aren't going to be hurting you much longer..."
When I first got sick, a lesbian friend offered to marry me so I could be on her health plan. At the time I thought it was a funny joke, but now I'm wondering; how do you propose to a lesbian? "Hey, haven't you ever wanted a lifetime of sexless joylessness? Or how about joyless sexlessness? Why should we deprive our kids of the years and years and years of therapy WE enjoyed? Come on, it'll be just like an arranged marriage, except it'll be your decision!"
Monday, August 08, 2005
GOOD NEWS/BAD NEWS/GOOD NEWS
So the good news for you is that I am not posting a blog entry today.
The bad news is, I have strep throat.
But the good news, I'm getting penicillin for it, so I can fight my strep and my gonhor - gonnorh - gonoronoro - the clap with the same pills. YAYYY!!!
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The bad news is, I have strep throat.
But the good news, I'm getting penicillin for it, so I can fight my strep and my gonhor - gonnorh - gonoronoro - the clap with the same pills. YAYYY!!!
Friday, August 05, 2005
THE EVENING NEWS HAS GOT A LOTTA NERVE
They have the weirdest combinations of stories:
"More and more American teenage girls have eating disorders, and we can't figure out why! Anorexia, bulimia, is your child next? You'll want to sit her down and have her watch this show with you. Seriously, go get her.
"But first - is YOUR body ready for the beach? Let's look at footage of disgusting fat people, jiggling as they walk around. Eccch. Really, how do they live with themselves??!!!! An expert shares tips on how you can avoid looking so shamefully, shamefully disgusting."
or
"Racism in America. Why do people hate each other? It's the eternal mystery that may never be solved.
"But first, we'll take a shocking look at crime using file footage of almost-exclusively black and Hispanic criminals, with Charles Manson thrown in for laughs!"
or
"Coming up after this commercial: WHY IS AMERICA SO FAT? Can we even control ourselves? Luckily there's a new hormone injection YOU can use to trick your body into thinking it's full,* because for some reason, YOU can't stop eating, and scientists don't know why! After this commercial..."
Then the commercial: "Hershey's presents CHOCOLATE HEAVEN. Eighteen layers of rich creamy caramel, peanuts, fudge, mocha, all coated in a skin of pure, delicious cocoa-flavoured lard. Sound good? Why not have it for breakfast?"
* This is true.
Anyway, this joke came to me in a dream last night. True.
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"More and more American teenage girls have eating disorders, and we can't figure out why! Anorexia, bulimia, is your child next? You'll want to sit her down and have her watch this show with you. Seriously, go get her.
"But first - is YOUR body ready for the beach? Let's look at footage of disgusting fat people, jiggling as they walk around. Eccch. Really, how do they live with themselves??!!!! An expert shares tips on how you can avoid looking so shamefully, shamefully disgusting."
or
"Racism in America. Why do people hate each other? It's the eternal mystery that may never be solved.
"But first, we'll take a shocking look at crime using file footage of almost-exclusively black and Hispanic criminals, with Charles Manson thrown in for laughs!"
or
"Coming up after this commercial: WHY IS AMERICA SO FAT? Can we even control ourselves? Luckily there's a new hormone injection YOU can use to trick your body into thinking it's full,* because for some reason, YOU can't stop eating, and scientists don't know why! After this commercial..."
Then the commercial: "Hershey's presents CHOCOLATE HEAVEN. Eighteen layers of rich creamy caramel, peanuts, fudge, mocha, all coated in a skin of pure, delicious cocoa-flavoured lard. Sound good? Why not have it for breakfast?"
* This is true.
Anyway, this joke came to me in a dream last night. True.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
IT'S TOO DARN HOT. IT'S TOO DARN HOT
According to the Kinsey Report, every average man you know,
Much prefers to play his fav-o-rite sport when the temperature is low.
But when the thermometer goes way up and the weather is sizzling hot,
Mr Adam, for his madame, he is not.
'Cause it's too darn hot.
In case you didn't know, that's from Kiss Me Kate. yes, I quoted that from memory. No, I'm not gay.
Anyway, I haven't really written too many jokes, so no funny-funny today. SORRY.
What have I been working on, you ask?
For one thing, finishing this.
I'm not a fan of my own poetry, so you you don't have to tell me it's not great.
Alright, stay cool, and remember - I'd like to fool with my baby tonight
Break every rule with my baby tonight
But pillow you'll be my baby tonight
'Cause it's too darn hot.
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Much prefers to play his fav-o-rite sport when the temperature is low.
But when the thermometer goes way up and the weather is sizzling hot,
Mr Adam, for his madame, he is not.
'Cause it's too darn hot.
In case you didn't know, that's from Kiss Me Kate. yes, I quoted that from memory. No, I'm not gay.
Anyway, I haven't really written too many jokes, so no funny-funny today. SORRY.
What have I been working on, you ask?
For one thing, finishing this.
I'm not a fan of my own poetry, so you you don't have to tell me it's not great.
Alright, stay cool, and remember - I'd like to fool with my baby tonight
Break every rule with my baby tonight
But pillow you'll be my baby tonight
'Cause it's too darn hot.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
IT IS TOO GODDAMN HOT
I have a/c in one room in my apartment - but not the same room as my computer! So this post is gonna be quick.
I recently got to spend some time in a room with sports journalists - or as I like to call it, "forty pale guys angling to be next to the free buffet." Usually when you want to see that many stooped shoulders and thick glasses, you have to be checking out Old Timer's Day at the Salt Mines. What with all the pale, not-touched-by-the-sun, pasty skin, I thought I'd wandered into the Underground Lair of the Molemen for a second. And their suits are made out of the same materials they make nightmares from.
They say that history is written by the winners.
Well, let's just say that sports history is written by the biggest group of losers you'll meet.
* * * * *
I found an online account of one of the 1986 World Championship Mets' craziest games (and seeing as how wild that team was, it's saying something). You should read it here, as it involves Roughhousin' Ray Knight, a brawl, and some of the oddest fielding changes in the team's history, plus an angry pre-scandal Pete Rose.
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I recently got to spend some time in a room with sports journalists - or as I like to call it, "forty pale guys angling to be next to the free buffet." Usually when you want to see that many stooped shoulders and thick glasses, you have to be checking out Old Timer's Day at the Salt Mines. What with all the pale, not-touched-by-the-sun, pasty skin, I thought I'd wandered into the Underground Lair of the Molemen for a second. And their suits are made out of the same materials they make nightmares from.
They say that history is written by the winners.
Well, let's just say that sports history is written by the biggest group of losers you'll meet.
* * * * *
I found an online account of one of the 1986 World Championship Mets' craziest games (and seeing as how wild that team was, it's saying something). You should read it here, as it involves Roughhousin' Ray Knight, a brawl, and some of the oddest fielding changes in the team's history, plus an angry pre-scandal Pete Rose.
Monday, August 01, 2005
TODAY'S MY BIRTHDAY/JOKES I WROTE WHEN I WAS 17
For my birthday, I made myself banana/blueberry pancakes, and right now I am high.
Anyway, as a birthday treat for you guys, I'm pulling out my high school notebook and sharing some stand-up jokes I wrote when I was 17, when I would watch standup comedy on TV all the time and considered myself very much a part of the comedy world. I would've honestly hit an open mic, but I didn't know how you found those.
My parents abandoned me as a baby. They left me in a garbage dump outside of Newark. I never forgave them . . . for leaving me in New Jersey!
I would have died if the roaches hadn't taken me in. I was raised among their children, and accepted as one of their own. Years passed happily, as I learned the many different tricks of the wild roach. I learned to call and mount the wild rat, to scavenge for Twinkie wrappers, to travel under rusty appliances during the daytime.
Then one day, when I was six, a Health Inspector came to inspect the dump and found me licking a barely-cleaned Twinkie wrapper. He had me taken away and put in a foster home.
Side-splitting stuff, huh? You like that punchline, too? Here comes another one:
I used to be a professional boxer. they called me The Dead Drunk Kid. Not 'cause I drink. My drinking problem had nothing to do with it.
No, they called me The Dead Drunk Kid because I couldn't take a round without falling.
You know how people lose by forfeit if they don't show up? I used to lose by forfeit even if I did show up.
If I stepped inside the ring, the referee called a TKO.
I did almost win a fight, though. My opponent was 70 years old, and died of a heart attack in the middle of the fight.
The officials called it a tie,
And finally, here's some zingy one-liners:
If a hero ain't nothin' but a sandwich, what does that make a heroine?
Don't blame me, I voted for George Clinton.
Your mother is like the NY State Lotto. All you need is a dollar and a dream.
Believe me, there's lots more where this came from...
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Anyway, as a birthday treat for you guys, I'm pulling out my high school notebook and sharing some stand-up jokes I wrote when I was 17, when I would watch standup comedy on TV all the time and considered myself very much a part of the comedy world. I would've honestly hit an open mic, but I didn't know how you found those.
My parents abandoned me as a baby. They left me in a garbage dump outside of Newark. I never forgave them . . . for leaving me in New Jersey!
I would have died if the roaches hadn't taken me in. I was raised among their children, and accepted as one of their own. Years passed happily, as I learned the many different tricks of the wild roach. I learned to call and mount the wild rat, to scavenge for Twinkie wrappers, to travel under rusty appliances during the daytime.
Then one day, when I was six, a Health Inspector came to inspect the dump and found me licking a barely-cleaned Twinkie wrapper. He had me taken away and put in a foster home.
Side-splitting stuff, huh? You like that punchline, too? Here comes another one:
I used to be a professional boxer. they called me The Dead Drunk Kid. Not 'cause I drink. My drinking problem had nothing to do with it.
No, they called me The Dead Drunk Kid because I couldn't take a round without falling.
You know how people lose by forfeit if they don't show up? I used to lose by forfeit even if I did show up.
If I stepped inside the ring, the referee called a TKO.
I did almost win a fight, though. My opponent was 70 years old, and died of a heart attack in the middle of the fight.
The officials called it a tie,
And finally, here's some zingy one-liners:
If a hero ain't nothin' but a sandwich, what does that make a heroine?
Don't blame me, I voted for George Clinton.
Your mother is like the NY State Lotto. All you need is a dollar and a dream.
Believe me, there's lots more where this came from...
