Self-Proclamation

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you were able to hunker down in your fort made of bread and toilet paper and weather the Blizzard of 2016. I think it’s a little early in the year to be handing out titles like that, but it is accurate. It is, so far, the one blizzard of 2016. I’m finally dug out from the wall of crusty brown blech that my car was plowed behind. It’s a good thing too because I have places to be. I got a call out of the blue from my friends at the Arlington Drafthouse and I’ll be featuring for one of my comedy heroes this weekend, Emo Philips. His sing-songy absurdism spoke to me in the formative years of my sense of humor. His voice, harmonized with the monotone of Steven Wright, made beautiful comedy music. I’m really looking forward to sharing a stage with him. And you can experience it live and in person, simply by clicking the link on your right. Speaking of convenient link clickage, please to click on the big pink button and cast a vote for me (@FunnyJared) as DC’s Best Twitter Personality. Validate my ego’s parking.

You may think this blog is just an exercise in self-importance, and you pretty much hit the nail on the head. Good job. Here’s a cookie. However, I am not nearly as self-important as the guy I encountered yesterday, while walking down Connecticut Ave. I had my earbuds in, so I could pretend to be listening to music, while actually listening in on out-of-context snippets of the conversations of passers-by. You should try it sometime…

“I’m just not warming up to Lisa like I thought I would.”

“Have you thought of getting it lanced?”

“We need to motivate the team. Go buy chocolate.”

It’s just a wonderful tableau of the extra ordinary (note the space). So, I’m getting some juicy non-sequiturs, when suddenly, I hear a piano playing behind me. It was on a street corner, so it could’ve been an enterprising busker. I turned to see a guy, maybe in his twenties, with a JBL speaker around his neck, pumping out the stirring classical jams. It wasn’t music that anyone could rightly complain about but it was loud enough to cause people to take notice. He figured a charge of disturbing the peace wouldn’t stick because the disturbance was so darn peaceful. It was simultaneously inspirational and obnoxious, motivational and rude, tasteful tastelessness. This guy was forcefully providing the soundtrack to my stroll. Listen, buddy, I’ve got the chorus of voices in my head for that sort of thing. Take your joyous jangle elsewhere.

And if I am self-important, at least I’m not self-proclaimed. I was talking to a buddy of mine who deals with booking guests on a radio show. He was telling me that one upcoming guest was billed as a “self-proclaimed sexpert”. He said, “She gives blowjob classes.” To which I replied, “Is there a recital?”

Think of the power of self-proclamation, though. Just because she says she is, she’s now a sexpert, whatever that is. She was probably sexhausted of sexplaining herself without sexaggerating, so she made a sexecutive decision to sexceed everyone’s sexpectations. Steve Miller says that some people call him a space cowboy and no one really believes him, but if he was a Self-Proclaimed Space Cowboy, then get this guy some spurs and a space helmet. On my taxes I’m going to list myself as a self-proclaimed religious institution. Let me make one thing clear. Any claims made about me should be made by someone else on an amateur level.

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It Begins…

Hunker down, people. Brace yourselves. Batten down the hatches. Gird your loins. Katy, bar the door. May the bread, milk, and toilet paper be with you, because a storm is coming. Not just any storm, mind you. A historic storm. That’s right, it’s going to be histormic (I’ll let myself out). Death awaits ye, one tiny flake at a time. The truly historic storm will be the massive flood of crappy “Winter is Coming” and photoshopped AT-ATs on the highway memes that will sock in social media. Personally, I think all of this hysteria was cooked up by the Sliced Bread Lobby. Best thing, my ass.

The official name for this two day swath of doom dandruff is Winter Storm Jonas, which would be a great name for an albino pro wrestler. The agreed upon hip name for it is Snowzilla. That’s the best the hive mind could come up with? Here are some alternatives:

Eddie Blizzard
White Privilege
Snowlestra
Ice-IS
Cold Slither

Before I go any further, I’d like to call your attention to the giant pink button on your right. You’re going to want to click on that button and cast a vote for me (@FunnyJared) as Best Twitter Personality in the Washington City Paper’s Best of DC 2016 Reader’s Poll. I don’t care if you don’t read it. I don’t care if you live in DC. I want to make Twitter great again. So please to vote for me and validate my narcissism. I came in second last year and I’d like to claw my way to the summit of the mountain of your support. You are the wind beneath my wings.

Also, I wanted to give a shout out to my buddy Chris White over at the DC Improv. He’s a giant history nerd and he’s embarking on an ambitious project to find the funniest POTUS ever, called Headliner of State. I’m the silky voiced announcer for this project, so please listen as we begin our search. New episode every Monday.

Speaking of… speaking, I recently got hired to be a part of another cool project that you can consume. I’m going to voice an audiobook, a suspense thriller called “The Watershed”. I’ve finished recording the first chapter and I’m very excited to read out loud to you. If I can get paid for reading out loud, maybe I can get some cash for chewing with my mouth open. This is a big step for me, not only because it’s professional voice work, but I normally fall asleep when I read. Thank goodness I’m standing up in the recording studio. The big challenge is trying to affect a woman’s voice without sounding like a Monty Python sketch.

See you after the world ends.

All Work And No Blog…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Greetings from beyond the frozen tundra. I hope everyone has dug out and are now able to go about their business. The pandemic of cabin fever around town made The Shining look like a documentary. A lot of people were excited about the snow. I call these people Eskimos. Here’s the sad truth about getting older and more practical. Snow no longer means care free frolicking. It’s a horrible inconvenience. Businesses shut down because no one can get anywhere. Luckily, I didn’t have a comedy gig this weekend, because it would’ve been cancelled. And the mere forecast of snow sends the populace into hysterics. People pile into the grocery store and ransack the aisles like they may never see sunlight again. God forbid you have to buy something simple, like toothpaste, because you get stuck in the express line behind 15 yahoos who have enough loaves of bread in their cart to build a fort out of pumpernickel. By the way, here’s a helpful shopping tip for the panic stricken masses: If the store is sold out of toilet paper, just buy extra bread. So, it’s a huge hassle for anyone who has plans that don’t involve crawling inside an animal carcass for warmth.

Such was the case for my parents and I, who needed to get up to Philly on Sunday for my as yet unnamed nephew’s bris. As of Saturday afternoon, we weren’t going to risk the trip, since we were one man short of a capable bobsled team. We decided to wait until early Sunday morning to see if the road crews made any headway. I got the call at 6am on Sunday that we were a go. I expected the trip to be a reenactment of the Donner Party. Turns out, we had a pretty clear shot up to Philly. So, without further ado, may I introduce my new nephew, Asher Yosef…
Nicknames abound for this kid. The obvious one, of course, is Ash. Until the bris, everyone has been calling him Sting because of the blond hair. Then, there’s the timeless classic, Scrunchyface McPoopypants.

And now, a tale of two trailers. When I saw Ninja Assassin recently, I saw this trailer for the upcoming comic book flick, Kick-Ass

I was mildly interested, but not terribly impressed. It looked like a pretty tepid, kinda funny, smirk at the recent flood of superhero flicks. Today, I saw this trailer for the same movie…

HOLY. SHIT. This movie looks amazing. Take away the purple costume and this is what Natalie Portman’s character in The Professional could’ve become. Consider my ten bucks spent.

The balcony is closed. I’m going to bed. May you have a very merry and a holly jolly…

To be continued…