Friday, December 19, 2003  

See? SEE?

Check out this article for something truly remarkable organized by those gifted dudes over at Penny Arcade.

Go team!

Post Studio Blues

A hell of a night last night. A hell of an early morning today. A little drinky-drinky, some dun-dun noodles, and a truly insufferable crowd at the Studio combined to give me a throbbing head and a total lack of motivation. It's a hangover trifecta.

Place was packed, but it was packed with people there to support one of two new comics. Crowds like this are always dicey, because more often than not, they're only there out of a sense of obligation to their buddy, so they treat everyone else on the show like a wet food stamp. My post-bourbon thick-lippedness probably didn't help, but goddammit, I had some new bits that I was excited to try, and I wanted 'em to meet me halfway.

Night ended with a conversation with Rick Jenkins (shouted over the din of the Hong Kong second floor, natch) where he was either telling me that he understood my current artistic angst or that I should quit hosting Thursdays. I don't know which.

Pre-show, though, the MOST AMAZING THING EVER happened. While having the aforementioned drinky-drinks at the Cellar in Cambridge (my new favorite bar), I became actively involved in...and kept up with...a 20 minute conversation about the Red Sox. The phrase "but I hear the comissioner may approve the deal and force it to arbitration" came out of my mouth. MY mouth. There was also a guy there who may or may not have been Ralph Nader.

Damn You, Irony!

Even as I was posting about the show, my agent was calling to let me know that the Shenanigans show is off. I don't think I've been this disappointed since my exploding gall bladder fucked up my Conan audition. I was all set to try to trade CD's for lap dances (a feat I've pulled off once before, as the now defunct Jesters was across the street from a club full of naked comedy fans).

Catch-Up

Okay, so I realize I haven't written in a while. Luckily, no one seems to have realized it, so rocking good.

In no particular order, in recent days, I have written my first tech column for MensRights.com, which I gather is looking to kind of be a little smarter online version of Spike TV (which, I am loathe to admit, I fucking adore). I believe the site goes live in January, so hopefully you'll see my writing on how to avoid ATM fraud then. It's funnier than it sounds. I hope.

I also just finished the final draft of my story for my fiction writing course at the Harvard Extension School. It was a terrific class, and I must say that having your work read out loud by your classmates is about a million times scarier than standup has ever been.

It looks like there's a good chance that the Weekly Dig will do a cover story on the Geek Council, the timing of which is more ironic than I should explain here.

I will not be performing on Tony V's Christmas Show this year, because I will be performing for the good folks at Shenanigans in White River Junciton, VT. Sounds awful, don't it? It ain't. Strippers need comedy, too.

Just In Time For Christmas

Hallelujia!

I have FOUND MY BAG!!!

Parental Advisory : Music Censorship in America

I have been way too lazy to write lately. Blame a falling barometer and the exhaustion of being a daddy to a 2-year old.

But this site is both interesting and galling.

Goddamn you, Tipper Gore. God damn you to big-hair hell.

More Complaining

Okay, I realize I'm in grave danger of drifting into "cranky old comic" territory here, and I really don't want to just blog about my opening acts, but dear sweet lord above, did I have a doozy this weekend.

I was gigging at Goodfellaz, a perpetually rowdy sports pub in Agawam, Mass. It's something of a hell gig, but it's usually a fun hell gig. And I had John Curtin in the feature spot, who did a bang up job, especially considering the hole our opener dug for him.

Our opener's big bit? "I don't understand why motherfuckers gotta be fucking each other in the ass. It's just gross! If I was ever in jail and some motherfucker was going to fuck me in the ass, I'd smear shit all over my ass so he wouldn't want to fuck me in it. I wouldn't shower, man. Crazy motherfuckers and fucking people in the ass."

Imagine 25 MINUTES OF THAT to open the show, and you'll get a picture of why this business wants to make me hang myself sometimes. I mean, there has to be a basic level of competence, doesn't there? You can't book yourself as a musician and then just go up on stage and start hitting a piano with a hammer. You at least have to be able to play a little...but comedy's got no screening process, man. No filter. So any dipshit can go holler about buggery and claim the title of comic. No wonder we're so far down the entertainment food chain (only thing lower is snuff films).

I guess if I was smart, I would've given him the number for the Plum Island Chamber of Commerce. Sounds like a match made in heaven.