Friday, April 30, 2004  

Now I Remember

Oh, yeah...THAT'S why I don't like contests.

Thanks for the support, everyone. I had a strong set, but didn't advance in the BCF contest. Costaki Economopolis and Tony Boswell, did, though. Both funny guys, and although I didn't talk to Costaki, Tony was a hell of a nice cat. Best of luck to both of 'em.

Red Sox; Blueberries; Northeastern Burrito

So I'm sitting at Boston Beer Works, watching Curt Schilling positively rape the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, and drinking a large, dark beer that had, for reals, a fistful of blueberries floating in it, and I'm wondering how exactly my plans to check in on the Boston Comedy Festival have gone so haywire. It should come as no surprise that Sam Walters was the culrpit, having decided in true Waltersian fashion that my recon mission was "proposterous" and that I was "wound way, way, way too tight" and that scalped tickets for bleacher seats would cure whatever nerves and ennui were eating me before tonight's preliminary comedy contest round.

So I find myself on the Green Line, clickety-clacketing towards Fenway, jammed up against a woman who smelled like raspberries and who was a very real reminder that there's nothing sexier in this world than a chubby girl in a Sox jersey...except maybe a chubby girl in ONLY a Sox jersey. At each stop it gets more crowded with excited fans, and I'm pressed so tightly against my raspberry ladyfriend that I'm making a point to thank Jesus for each and every lurch in the B Line. Then suddenly I'm in a crush of people heading up into the sunlight of Kenmore Square, and Sam's there, making me eat some more McDonald's. We plot the Bush administration's downfall over Big Macs and then it's off to the park, where we have exactly zero luck finding tickets. The scalpers, most of whom are so shady that you get the impression they might have actually scalped somebody at some point, are asking 40 bucks a pop for bleachers in THE THIRD INNING.

We turn up our noses on general principle and make a mental note to rekindle our friendship with Danny Kischel. Then we head to the brewery with the blueberry beer, which is in-fucking-credibly delicious, so we have lots of them. An old comedy friend is there, and he gives me a textbook LA brushoff on his way out the door, but it doesn't matter, because Curt Schilling is God and Sam and I are buzzing and chomping on lager-soaked blueberries. When the game ends, we realize that we can still make most of the BCF contest at the Charles Playhouse, so at Sam's insistence, we walk from Fenway to the Charles. Sam claims it will take 10 minutes. Spatial awareness is not Sam's strong suit.

We get there much later, in time to hear that Danny Bevins and some other guy have won, and then it's over to Remington's. We pass a beautiful Kelly Macfarland on the way, who's coming home from her contest set, which apparently didn't end with her moving on, which is clearly a travesty by any reckoning. We have a couple more beers while I blown off by a Canadian manager of someone's, and then Nicole Luparelli drives us to Sam's car and then Sammy gets me home in time to sack out. Luckily, Jude's night terrors seem to have taken the night off, so I can crash guiltlessly, the sweet sounds of Coast to Coast lulling me to dreamland.

I dreamed that my wife and Paul Day were married, and that somehow I still had to pay all their bills. Sam and this woman I know that has cancer were also in the dream, and he and I moved sod around her hard while she whipped nickels at us. I blame the blueberries.

So here I am, chomping on a Harvard Breakfast Burrito, trying to soak up some beer and keep myself busy until my contest set tonight. Sam was right; I feel better about life and about comedy than I have in a long time. His combination of pep talk, tough love, and Dionysus seems to have been exactly what I needed. I'll go do some jokes, and forget about the rest.

God, this burrito is good.

Elton John Says 'American Idol' Vote Is 'Racist'

Elton John Says 'American Idol' Vote Is 'Racist'

For once in my life, I agree with Elton John. Well, okay, twice. Saturday night IS all right for fighting. Anyway...I guess I have to confess to being a pretty big fan of this show. Didn't mean to be. Sat down last year at the season premeire, notebook in hand and ready to write some killer satire. Ended up hooked like a junkie; I guess that makes Seacrest my dealer. That would explain his suits.

I feel especially bad because Brian Dunkleman is an old, old friend, and the show pretty much treated him like a wet food stamp. Too bad, Bri. I can't stop watching.

But last week's vote totally floored me. They voted Jennifer Hudson off, while the red haired kid who sings like a regular singer that's been kicked in the throat wasn't even in the bottom three. It's pure, unadulterated bullshit.

It has, however, made me understand why we have an electoral college.

Tech Notes and a Reminder

Hey, all...

If you've visited the site in the last few days, you'll notice that the picture from the Boston Comix photoblog is missing. Without getting too technical, this is basically due to the fact that Textamerica is a totally bullshit company that sucks in ways heretofore unimagined by humankind. I posted some shots from the naked show I did on Saturday (which rocked), and they ran afoul of Textamerica's Terms of Service. So they deleted the pictures. And the entire blog. And my account. Without notice.

They point out in their terms of service that they're "strictly PG." Yeah, clearly. So I made a new account, and Paul Day and I posted to their discussion boards asking about this discrepancy, and got our posts AND accounts deleted, without notice, yet again.

Clearly, their business is being run by tiny-dicked lawyers and Comminists. I think I heard they support the Taliban. And they kill puppies for fun!*

Seriously, tho. What a bullshit way to do business. That's why the NEW photoblog is hosted at Moblog UK. Once I figure out the code to get the pictures posted back over here at reverendtim.com again, we'll be golden.

So one more time, for Google: Textamerica sucks!

And now the reminder: Thursday, 8:00 pm, The Vault. I'm competing in the Boston Comedy Festival contest, and I'd sure love any and all support people could come on down and give.



*I get to say this because I'm a comedian. I'm pretty sure they're neither terrorists nor Communists. I have 20 bucks that says their dicks are tiny, though.

Boston Comedy Festival Contest Handicapping

Hey, all...

Local comic and Campbell's Soup Kid gone bad Sean Caufield has made his predictions for this year's BCF contest:

Preliminary Contest #1 a.k.a "The Kaelin-Murphy Bud Light Invitational":
I have Santorelli coming out. He's a #1 seed in my book. I also have the over/under of Ben Boime pacing back and forth during the entire show at 300.

#2 a.k.a "D.J. Hazard's on the show so why even bother" bracket. of coruse, D.J. is winning this one, although I have Dan Sally coming in at a drunken 3rd, behind a 22 ounce of Heineken.

#3 a.k.a "The most comics on one show during a Tuesday, ever" bracket. I like Howell and Hunt as sleepers, but I think Teddy Bergeron will do a 'Jack Nickalus winning the Masters at 50' in 1986, and he also shares a name with the host of the semi-final show, so I have him coming out on top in this one.

#4 a.k.a "The One-Liner" bracket. I have Lazarus as the favorite, but I have Tom Clark coming out of this one.

#5 a.k.a the "Kelly is on the show so why even bother unless you don't want to miss how many people Dick Doherty can offend as a headliner after" bracket.

#6 a.k.a the "Tommy Morello Pro-Am". A strong field, but I have Rick Younger coming out on top.

#7 a.k.a the "Isn't it funny that Tim McIntire, the comic with the worst luck in the world, is in the hardest bracket!". I have you coming out on top, but dude - I know and like 6 of the 10 comics on there. Even the open mikers are good! You just can't win, can ya Tim?

#8 a.k.a the "Comics with long names" bracket. Stebbins is an early favorite, but then, in mid-set, a dead hooker comes out of no where killing him, so I like James P Connolly in this one.

So, there you have my Elite Eight: Santorelli, Younger, McIntire, Kelly, D.J, Bergeron, Connolly, and Clark. The winner? Santorelli, avenging what happened last year to him at the BCF. Unless Jordan Knight judges again.