Homicide Trifle: Ain't Nothin' But A G-Thang

Get this straight: I'm at work and I don't want to be here. I'm coloring in spreadsheets, cutting and pasting so much I'm high on e-glue fumes. BUT, I also have amazing job flexiblity, so much so that I can regularly kiss my own ass and take a day off.
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Last night was the "Suicide Pie" show for Meghan Hounshell's travel fund. She is heading to San Fran for a comedy competition and needed a little extra fundage. Meghan's a friend and I hope she goes down there and kicks ass in the comp. Comedy comps are usually like the third self-pleasure of the day: Pace yourself and it's a good time, otherwise you're gonna hurt. I've seen people in the finals of comps who truly suck, pulling hack joke after hack joke out of their hacksides. But when you're judged by people who go priapic (look it up) to know that "King Of Queens" is in syndication, "comedy" is simply an umbrella term. I wish the best to Meghan, and I was happy to perform at her benefit show. She better not f*ck it up.

The entire night was fun but odd. The audience was up & down more than a sophomore on Prom night. RIMJOB! SHOT, RIMSHOT, sorry. Anybuns, it was hard to tell what they'd laugh at, but that's good. Don't pander by tailoring to a room full of people when Meghan's getting all the money. I did a great set in the back-half of the night in front of a room full of Seattle pseudo-smarties and lez-biguous sandal soldiers. I think if people, person by person, just went ahead and took a few hours a day to skip out of work and go do what they say they would do if they had all the free time in the world, those people would realize just how full of crap they are. They get a free weekend, no weddings to drink at, rooms to paint, indie coffee-filled mugs run manicured digits rim-side. They could do whatever they want. Every time I see a group of people picketing to get America out of Iraq I make a wish that a truck on the way to a food bank would drive by and a pallet of Del Monte Cling Peaches would slide out the back and mow them to their hips. It's soccer parenting without the kids. All this, and I think I had one of the best sets of the show, so you can feel my love affair for Seattle. This probably would have been better off in another blog. The line to blow me forms in front of the Queen Anne Starbucks. (stepping down off soapbox)

Everyone had solid sets last night, I can't think of one where somebody just sat down with a spoon and a bowl of shyte and ... oh wait... the MC wasn't getting the laughs he deserved, that's fo' sure. But he wasn't eating crap as much as he was taking one for the team. So yeah, everyone did well. Top to bottom, that was a solid, funny show.
I'm pretty free on stage lately. I do little else than take a topic with a few points in my head, stand on stage and begin to talk, to allow myself to take the right or left fork or just plow through the brush. It's a little exhilirating at times, not knowing where on earth it's coming from, but I can feel my brain open up, like the third eye is reading from a different list than my jokes reside on. My props to all who performed. Meghan, seriously... do not f*ck up.
My gawd, I am really good looking.

Last night I had a convo with my most-recent ex, with whom I am still on good terms. At one point we were ribbing each other about how we viewed our friendship in its current light. And she told me that one of her friends wasn't being totally honest with themselves, causing a lot of drama elsewhere. That's usually how it starts. I told her that I value honesty above all else among my friends, because a person's ability to be honest with you shows a certain level of reality and respect. Sometimes Honesty plays the Devil's Advocate, which is vital for balance. Truth is truth. Everything else is a misperception, and some folks like to swing wildly with their perception of the world around them. For some people, the word "drinking" means "getting drunk." To others it means "have a drink or two." To me it means "bored on Tuesday." Perception vs. Truth. They really need to get together and do it, if ya know what I mean. I can't remember how my ex and I got to it, but I reminded her that, being the ex boyfriend, if any "bullsh*t" starts flying, I won't be targeted. Got no need for it, and I deserve better. Truth is my shovel. But in my honesty/perception, you should never have to take BS from anybody, unless the BS truck is outside and it's got your order for 18 linear feet of manure ready for dumpage. (read: repeating self-destructive behavior over & over. grow up)

Apparently quite a few of her friends ask about me, which is flattering. It's funny to be a step back from the whole picture and be free to see people as they are, not in their "roles" in a scene. At 30 years old I have done a fair amount of "highlighting the hair of my soul" in the past few years. This isn't a license to judge folks, but it gives me much more empathy for people who seem to live in emotional and social chaos. Of course, that's just my perception. I could be right. Or wrong. But as I step away from any situation I see some people who take no responsibility for their own integrity, and therefore look only to fill an emptiness in their lives through the approval of others. (yes, I stand on stage in front of strangers and tell jokes, it's not lost on me, but I know why and choose to. I like me plenty)
Who should I date? Am I ready to date? It's just a date, right? It's just coffee, right? It's more than just coffee, right? Or should we just do it? Should I go back to school? I hate school, I should learn a trade. Screw it, I'll quit everything and become a comic, that's what all my friends have done. Just ask them, they're all in my living room asleep on the couches. Or maybe I should...
We all have something called Gut Instinct. It's the weight of your Conscience, wrapped in your own ideals and upbringing. What's good to you? What's right and wrong? What's important? Answer that for yourself and you may never find yourself food-injured while picketing a cause that needs not be picketed for.

If I have one lesson to share, it is this: You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but then you'd sticky and fly-covered.

Off to Watch Whales in the San Juans!

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Take Me Home

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Why I Should Be Able To Drink At Work

1. Dipsh*t behind me is whistling a lot. Actually, a LOT of people are whistling a lot today. Imagine what kind of stock price this place would have if people, you know, actually planned and thought their way from pointless meeting to pointless meeting? "Let's see, today, instead of making superfluous noise, I'm going to think of a business-affecting agenda item to keep up with that kiss-ass Geoff Lott, who seems to think we never bring anythiTWEEE TWOOO TWEEEEEEEEEEE, TWEE WEE WEE, WOO WEE WEEEEEEEEEE WOO WO-EE-EE-EE-EE-EE. Oh good, Cheryl's got more candy at her desk!"
2. Allergina, my cube neighbor, recently returned from surgery on/to/in her sinus cavities and general nasal passages. She needed it because she had her head up her butt. I kid. For the past year that I have sat next to her, I have endured a daily report of her health. It's a pissing match of who hurts more when they pee. Sinuses, back, shoulders, scalp, skin, moustache wax-burn, chapped lips, bloating, gas, whatever it is that can annoy but (sadly) cannot kill a person, she's got at least an undiagnosed trifecta of ailments on any given day.
   So I'm hearing her explain her surgery to a number of people throughout the day, and it's f*cking FOUL. She'll use the building-wide e-mail to ask who took her advertisement for silk flower arrangements off the 3rd-floor bulletin board and send out a "totally the NSS Team!"-related Dilbert cartoon, but gawd forbid that Bubble Girl get a blog to recap the atrocity that has been her mucosa nervosa. I've heard the words "blood, dribble, drips, stint, shunt, blockage, widen, white-ish, thick, pus," and "saline nasal douche" in various combinations throughout the morning. I'm leaving at 2pm.
3. Today is my 6th Anniversary at this hole. With two giant headaches as aforementioned tripping me up, I think I should be able to show folks what it means to be truly annoying. I have allergies to half a bottle of Jager. I will be THAT GUY who crapped in Boston Rahn's garbage can, I gar-own-tee it.

Good times, good times.

Take Me Home

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Oh For the Love Of Christ...

My work neighbors are having a religious discussion based on their in-depth knowledge and hours of enmeshment in "The Da Vinci Code." Oh my dad, this is what it's coming to. We're back to some old fashioned values here. People are talking war and religion and politics in the work place. "The Passion Of The Christ" is the new "Greatest Story Ever Told." Boston Rahn is the new J. Edgar Hoover. The people in the discussion just NOW both said they purchased "The Passion" on DVD. Thank you Jesus for dying in digital surround sound. Yep, religion, politics, sex, money, it's all coming back around, all the old fashioned values. Finally, we're back to a time when a professional athlete can rape a woman and not go to jail. Don't groan, that's the best Kobe Bryant joke you'll ever read.

Oh good, now it's time for a Japanese prison camp story from the shooting/peanut gallery. There's nothing quite like being in the middle of the crowd and hoping that somebody in the rafters had a bad day on the TIG-welder and is loading their rifle. Wing me if you must, but please remove these dipasses.

Notice, dear reader, that this is my first day back at work, and how it's changed my blogs. The following blog was written late last night... I need a new dogma.

Give It Up For Giving It Up

This weekend I had 4 great sets and one so-so set. One of the highlights was having about 20 minutes to hang out with one of my favorite comics, Marc Maron, who popped in to Giggles after his sets and Bumbershat. He was there in support of his wife, the funny and porcelain-cheeked Mishna Wolff, who was doing a guest set. Maron got there and stood near the door to the show room... near his f*cking HEAD SHOT... What kind of ego does that take? YOU'RE A NEUROTIC COMEDY JEW. I couldn't stand to see him loiter for attention any longer so I waved him over to where the comics were all sitting. He seemed to calm down a bit once Mishna gave him some taffy. Actually, it was a few seconds later that I mentioned to Marc of his original proximity to his headshot and he said something to the effect of "You wanna die? Keep talking, Gentile." Don't cross him.

Honestly, Marc Maron is stellar. Funny, intelligent, and flying just under the radar enough to stay truly funny. Mishna was also really funny with some good sarcasm, magazine-cover bone structure, and staying far enough away from the "Men suck" jokes that ripple through ovarian comedy like so much body shame. She was wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt, proudly. A REAL one, not a Hot Topix, pierced tongue- in -pierced cheek knock-off. Marc Maron & Mishna Wolf; the Jay-Z and Beyoncé of comedy. I got 99 problems but notoriety ain't one.

The so-so set was Monday at the Undergrind's Open Mouth extravaganza. I went first with the intention of doing the new stuff and getting out at a decent hour. I stuck around to see Shoogs and The Professor, whom shall be named later perform. Shoogs was doing newer stuff, had a good set. The Professor returned to the stage after 5-ish months and had a great set, great new jokes. I'm happy he's back, he's one of my favorite people, on-stage and off... if ya know what I mean, in a juvenile/homo-hint kind of way.

Interspersed were sets from The Commander who, I thought, had well-written material. The crowd was in & out for it, but he's got something very Commander going on, and if he sticks with it he'll be under a blanket crying soon, and that's on a good day. I look forward to his set on Wednesday Night, which you will attend because it's gonna be rad. Also caught the set of The Safecracker, who has the ammo to blow bricks out of the walls. Funny, ascerbic. Like a verbal middle finger.

Then came giant bowls full of hack crap. Wow, jokes about fat strippers (whaaa?), wearing diapers when you don't need them, and being anti-gay marriage (but not for the reasons we would think, see, because those would actually be, you know... FUNNY), and it just kept spiraling from there. People were asked to give it up for the troops. There's at least one waitress who does on a reg'lar basis, thank you, I'll be here all blog. I guess I've seen enough comedy to wonder if other industries have the same intra-critiquing as comedy. I'm gonna leave it at this: I'm sure at some point in their history, Hemingway read Pound and refused to wipe with the pages of Ezra's passages, so as not to sully a good dump. (if you're counting, that's a literary shit joke. I'm taking the rest of the day off)

I have moments where I watch open mics and hear things that make me wish I'd never learned to clean my ears. I know those performers tell people they "do comedy," and I used to turn violently ill at that thought. But I had to let that go. I'm sure someone thought that of me at some point. Also, it's up to me, each time on stage, to do my best for the crowd and my own pride. At the same time, I hope that those who base their humor in or near a restroom, will invite friends to see their "comedy doings," or "doo'ings," as they are. I want their friends to get perspective as to what stand-up is, in all its forms, and make up their own minds. If they like me and my friends, great. If the hack's friends don't dig on us, or me, perhaps that's even better. I wouldn't want to be part of any group that I would rather sit outside of and ridicule.

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now. Have a good Tuesday. "Yo, Scott Weiland!" will return tomorrow.

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Take Me Home

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What It Feels Like

Lately I've been doing jokes about things you're probably not supposed to joke about. My father's condition, for one. I simply must find the humor in it, or I'll find a lot of booze in me, and that's simply numbing myself to reality. Humor is my way of handling it. Much healthier, and much more timely, as the Boomer generation gets on in years and neurological disorders become more prevalent. If you get a chance, check that blog out.

I've also been writing jokes about bi-polar disorders, cancer jewelry, and spousal abuse that are, somehow, making connections with crowds. My sentiments expressed in these jokes are truly sarcastic. But it's working. I've hit on something that makes my delivery of these jokes work. OH RIGHT, I know what it was: I DID NOT WRITE THESE JOKES, I PERFORMED THEM. These are my jokes, mind you, my set-ups and punchlines, but I just could not sit down and write them in some mechanical, joke-bot format that stole all the soul from them. I made myself go on stage with the idea in mind, slow down, and let myself be "in the moment." It's been really liberating, freeing, confidence-building. And sexy, wow. I'm a hunk.

This Wednesday I'm partaking in the Suicide Pie Comedy Showcase/Benefit. 8pm, $8, and the majority of the proceeds go to help my friend Meghan Hounshell's trek to the San Fran Comedy Competition. If you're going to see one comedy show this week, let it be this one! The money goes to a good person, if not a good cause, and you'll get to hear my jokes about cancer bracelets, cat kicking, and lover-punching.

I'm short-stacked coming into the big blinds, and I just drew Q-J on suit. Flopped a 10, K, 8. 9 or an A, baby.
All motherf*cking in.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.