The Blog Rises

Hello, ‘Redheads… It’s been too long. I apologize for my dormancy and I can only hope that you can find your way to pretend to care about my musings again. I realize those muscles have atrophied in the year and change of my negligence. It’s 2013, and with a brand new year I figured why not resolve to bring back the blog and give my imaginary fan base a chance to once again splash around in the refreshing waters of Lake Me. I’m going to be taking baby steps, so this installment will be to serve the main purpose of rehashing some of my pithier Facebook statuses as a half-assed year in review. I promise to provide fresher blog innards as we move forward… If we move forward.

Before I get to that, how about that ‘Skins/Seahawks game? The story of that game was downright Shakespearean. Two rookies carrying their teams to the playoffs. The ‘Skins started off quickly, gutting the vaunted Seahawks defense for two quick scores. Then the Seahawks managed to hobble RG3 and they began to creep back into the game. By halftime, the score was nearly even, with the momentum in Seattle’s corner. The legendary sports surgeon, Dr. James Andrews was on the Redskins sideline and I was hoping he’d be able to clap his hands together and pull a Mr. Miyagi on RG3’s knee. The final turd in the Redskins’ playoff punch bowl came when RG3 fumbled when he twisted his knee on a muffed snap. The Seahawks picked up the ball and scored on the ensuing possession. Kirk Cousins came in, but he just didn’t have the juice to bring Washington back. Fittingly, Seattle took a knee to end the game. I’ll be rooting for Seattle to beat Atlanta in the next round, so the NFC Championship game will hopefully be a rematch of the replacement ref debacle with the Green Bay Packers. If I can’t have Peyton Manning vs. the Colts, please let me have this.

Ok, as half-heartedly promised, the best of me (as judged by me) from 2012:

I’m trying to make more adult decisions, like going to the gym, but it’s hard to feel like an adult when I see Bullwinkle Moose in the sweat stain on my shirt post-workout…

Just had lunch at Five Guys… On my soda cup, one of the accolades reads, “Voted Best New Restaurant in Cincinnati”… I think that says more about Cincinnati…

I’m confused by Paula Deen’s Diabetes diagnosis because I thought she WAS Diabetes, the buttery 5th horseman…

Irony: Getting trapped inside your Ford Escape…

Irony: Filling up your TiVo with episodes of Hoarders…

I have a friend who’s a mystery writer, but to pay the bills, he works for a pharmaceutical company… He wrote a twist ending to the side effects on a bottle of Tylenol… “Wow… Violent diarrhea… I did not see that coming…”

Someone asked me why there’s no Russia-themed casino in Vegas… I’m guessing the roulette…

Here’s my idea for Fajardo, Puerto Rico’s new tourism slogan: Hey, who Fajardo?

Encyclopedia Britannica has announced they will cease production of hard copies… Someone should update their Wikipedia page…

Today, I’ll be getting a Spaceman Spiff t-shirt and a Muppets lunchbox… Age is relative and, right now, that relative just happens to be my 5-year old nephew…

Someone at my show last weekend commented that my comedy was “top drawer”… I keep my underpants in the top drawer, so that’s a fairly accurate description…

Now that Andrea and I are engaged, there are some serious decisions to make… I’ve been giving it a lot of thought… I think we’re going to register at SkyMall…

A friend of mine said he saw Kathleen Turner on Californication and that she “looked terrible”… I told him, she didn’t look terrible, she was just drawn that way…

I wish I figured this out before I ordered my current batch of comedy business cards, but I know what I want on the next batch: Jared Stern, Antidepressant…

Just got done with a Mother’s Day mini-bbq on the roof deck… As my parents were leaving, my mom said, “Thanks for having us.” No, Mom… Thanks for having me…

A headline in the Washington Times reads “Woman Killed in Love Quadrangle”… So, that’s four people involved… I think I would’ve gone with “Love Rhombus” or “Para-love-ogram”… Maybe if two of the people were in a long distance relationship, it could be a “Love Rectangle”…

North Carolina has voted to further amend their constitution to redefine Words With Friends as Words Between a Man and a Woman…

Robin and Maurice Gibb are gone and Barry is living with the irony of the group’s biggest hit…

The Department of Education has announced that all History textbooks will now contain the phrase, “Spoiler Alert”…

Toyota has announced a recall for all Highlanders… Except one…

I’ve run into so much road construction lately, it feels like Orange Cone Pride Week… I saw a big orange “END ROAD WORK” sign and assumed it was a protest sign…

There’s a place in Bethesda called Stop Aging Now that offers “natural solutions” to halt the aging process… I can think of one natural way to stop aging and I’ll only charge half of what they’re asking, but I’m gonna need that money up front…

Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise are getting a divorce… That’s what happens when your storybook marriage is written by a crappy sci-fi author…

So, we’re packing up the tent and the sleeping bags and other equipment, and I remarked to Andrea, “That’s a lot of stuff, honey”… She replied, “Well, we want to be comfortable”… THEN WHY ARE WE GOING CAMPING?

Harrison Ford is 70 today… HE BELONGS IN A MUSEUM!

When I get really bored, I like to go to the Hirshhorn museum, put an empty McDonald’s cup against the wall, then sit back and count how many people try to interpret it…

I read a study that said mothers can pass on neuroses to their children… I have a friend who’s pregnant that’s claustrophobic… That kid must be going nuts…

Man, it’s hot outside… I walked past the outdoor display over at Madame Tussauds… Abe Lincoln looked like he opened the Ark of the Covenant…

Kids are growing up too fast these days… The other day, I saw a little girl doodling in a coloring book called 50 Shades of Crayola…

It’s getting late and cut and paste carpal tunnel is starting to set in, so I’ll leave you with an audition video that my buddy Joe and I made for a food challenge show last year. Bon appetit…

  

Advertisements

Wide World of Sports

Hey there ‘Redheads… I’m not sure I’m ready to accept the fact that it’s a week deep into December. Time is flying like a clock in a catapult. The evidence was overwhelming on Saturday, when we got our first bit of snowfall. Luckily, I made sure to stockpile the essential bread, milk, and toilet paper before the big storm the Mayans tried to warn us about touched down and made the streets all damp. It wasn’t even good snowball weather. All it left me with was a minor inconvenience and a hankering for a milk and toilet paper sandwich.

I’d like to thank Tiger Woods for filling the void with plenty of salacious slush to frolic in. I kind of feel sorry for Tiger, mostly because of the many double entendres that exist in golf terminology. Por ejemplo, there’s no fair way to tell just how deep in the rough his balls are, but he needs to improve his lie with so many holes left to play. And it’s only too perfect that there’s nine strumpets (I’m bringing that word back) claiming he left a divot in their sand trap. Most women I’ve talked to seem to agree that the best word to describe him: Putz. Then, of course, there’s the obvious cat pun that I haven’t heard anyone make yet, so please pardon me while I make it here. He should probably change his name to *deep breath* Cheetah. I’m here all week. Try the veal.

If Tiger’s travails weren’t enough for you, then maybe you got a kick out the latest schadenfreude exhibition put on by the Washington Redskins, who outplayed the undefeated Saints for all but about two minutes of regulation. They had a chance to go up by 10 points with 1:52 remaining. Here’s a reenactment of what happened next. Viggo Mortensen represents the Saints, William Hurt represents every Skins fan watching, and the henchman with the chip shot chance to seal the deal represents Shaun Suisham

I suppose the other henchmen represent the many missed tackles of LaRon Landry… And after that, the Skins once again failed to succeed or succeeded at failure, and for all of that effort, they got squadoosh. I know the team is embroiled in a legal fight to change their name. After this loss, may I suggest they change it to the Generals. If you got trigger happy with your remote during the game, hopefully you were able to catch this infomercial gem that was on Channel 7 during the first half…

Wow, Bachelor of the Arts Baracus hawking cookware to a paid studio audience of fools not even fit for his pity… I’m pretty sure even Dirk Benedict would’ve turned that gig down. Mr. T’s street cred shouldn’t be swayed by this tiny pock mark. After all, he got past this…

Big doings in sports that don’t exist, too. Of the four teams that I helmed this fantasy football season, a whopping one of them, The Minnesota Vicarious, was able to back into the playoffs, while another, The Most Humble, has an outside shot. As for the other two, I’m starting to come to grips with the fact that my fantasy just might be mediocrity and crippling disappointment. I’ve got it that good, apparently.

Speaking of reality, do yourself a favor and check out my comedy compadre, Ryan Conner’s breakdown of the televised collision of two trains carrying a load of douche nozzles known as Jersey Shore. Click here to feel better about yourself.

To be continued…

Running Lapse

Hey there ‘Redheads… As per usual, I started off this month with the best of blogging intentions, but apparently I couldn’t procrastinate more if I had a flux capacitor. It can’t be helped. It’s who I am… It’s what I do…eventually. Let’s not focus on the moments that’ve been frittered away. Let’s live in the now. At least momentarily, until I start telling you about the crap that happened during this most recent lapse.

The holiday season has descended upon us again. Here’s a holiday fun fact: Going to the grocery store for incidentals the week of Thanksgiving is the worst idea in the long sad history of bad ideas. Glaciers move faster than the checkout line I got stuck in. The lady at the front of the line was paying in food stamps. Behind her was a lady who was paying by check, then asked for cash back. I half expected the next person in line to make the transaction in wampum. I don’t mind wasting time, but when it’s being leeched from me, that’s when I get ornery. In the spirit of the impending Turkey Day, I offer a cornycopia of mild amusement. Giblets, at least.

This is one of my favorite times of the year for sports, when pro football and college basketball overlap. Unfortunately, this give my teams twice as many chances to stick a fork in my heart and twist. I just turned off the TV in disgust as the Terps got done making Cincinnati look like the alien team from Space Jam. We’re all crust and no cheese to stop up the middle. It’s early in the season, but this was our first test and we overslept. And, this just in, the Redskins still suck. They are to sucking what I am to procrastinating. It’s a gift. Light cannot escape them. It doesn’t help that their injury report is getting thick enough for Dan Snyder to use as a booster seat. Here’s a video from the ‘Skins sideline during the Cowboys game…

Last night, I had the weirdest dream. I was a contestant on Project Runway, and the challenge was to make an outfit out of Legos. Should it bother me that my dreams are about reality shows? I’m hoping tonight I can get on Top Chef and show off my mad George Foreman skills. Speaking of Top Chef, I got a medium rare opportunity to dine on some four star quality grub cooked by one of the final four cheftestants. If you find yourself in Frederick, MD, do yourself a favor and treat your taste buds to Chef Bryan Voltaggio’s restaurant, Volt. I was auditioning for the show Top Boyfriend and took my funny little honey there for her birthday. It was, top to bottom, one of the best meals I’ve ever had. I would’ve happily walked the green mile after dessert. If you’re a fan of Top Chef, then you have some idea of the intricacy that goes into preparing each course. This is not the kind of dining experience where you ask them to put the sauces on the side or leave something off the plate. Place your trust in the chef and let him guide you through a gastric wonderland. Then pack your knives and go.

Here’s a new bit of eye candy for you to suck on. When is comes to Muppets, I’m an old school guy. Not much, since Jim Henson left us, has captured the madcap glee of the past. This made me smile…

Before I sign off and prepare for my food coma, I need to congratulate my good friends, Chris and Allyson, on their engagement…and you know it’s real commitment when it gets posted on Facebook. Way to go, you crazy kids.

Happy Turkey Day, ‘Redheads… To gluttony! And to be continued…

Two Fiddy

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to this blog’s 250th installment. Any other blog of this kind would have about 3 times as many, but I’ve never been about the quantity…or the quality, now that I think about it. Here’s to 250 more chances to mildly amuse you. I’m altering my usual blogging habits for this post. Usually, I wait until about 11:30 or midnight to milk the blog teat, succumbing to eventual exhaustion as I type into the wee hours of the morning. Today, I’m fresh as a daisy and will have one less excuse when this blog barely passes for mediocre.

I’m back from a comedy road trip that took me to Comedy Zones in Kentucky and West Virginia. The hills had eyes and they were smiling in my general direction. This was my second time back to these two clubs, and the shows went better than the stereotypes of the region might suggest. I had the pleasure of working with two time New Orleans entertainer of the year, Mutzie. Mutzie is a cool guy with an interesting look to him that I can only describe by putting it in old school pro wrestling terms. Imagine if George “The Animal” Steele talked like Dusty Rhodes. I’m glad the shows went well, because the weather stunk out loud. I had a 7 1/2 hour drive on Thursday. I didn’t rain for about 15 minutes of the trip. I didn’t see the sun until my drive home on Sunday. The sky was a depressing blanket of clouds…an AIDS quilt of clouds for the entire weekend. In order to at least simulate sunlight, I decided to make a return trip to the Eastern Kentucky Science Center to check out the afternoon planetarium show. I’m sure you’re asking yourself what you might find at the Eastern Kentucky Science Center… Does it house Col. Sanders’ top secret 11 herbs and spices? Well, here’s one item on display…

Luckily, they also have a planetarium which, just like last time, I had all to myself. The program they had this time was about the Hubble. Nothing too fancy. It was like looking into a giant ViewMaster that’d been left in a hot car. Afterwards, I was treated to a complimentary laser light show set to some of today’s crappiest rock hits. I was kicking myself, because one of the choices I was offered was Laser Praise. If there’s one thing lasers have yet to fully convey, it’s irony.

Onward to the next exotic port of call, Charleston, West Virginia. When I got to the hotel, I made the discovery that there was a casino with a poker room about twenty minutes away. Let’s see… Idle time? Check. Extra cash? Check. Horrible judgement? Check. I’m not going to get into specifics, but I’ll throw a quick stat at you. My average per minute in the casino was -$4. From my hopeful entrance to my shameful exit, I lost $100 in 25 minutes. Actual poker table time was more like 5 minutes. I can’t even say I played horribly, because what I did doesn’t qualify as playing poker. I got played. I was a goddamn slot machine with a sweatshirt on. Rather than buy back in to try and win my dignity back, I sulked back to my car, went back to my hotel room, and watched a marathon of Bully Beatdown on MTV2.

As bad as I got beat, at least I could rest easy knowing that I had a sure bet that paid off on Sunday. Go ahead and check the last installment…I called the Chiefs over the Redskins. Two field goals against the worst defense in the league. This team is so inept at scoring, they can barely get in a 3-point stance. I expected to see Snyder fiddling while the fans burnt FedEx down. The Native Americans that are suing the team over the name can just site the last six games as exhibit A that the Redskins are offensive. I do feel bad for Jim Zorn. He’s like Wallace Hartley, bravely trying to make some music while the Titanic sinks into the drink. On Monday, he had his play calling duties forcibly stripped from him, and I’m pretty sure he had his credit revoked at Eastern Motors.

If you haven’t heard yet, there’s a huge comedy festival descending on the DC area this weekend. Tig Notaro and friends brings us The Bentzen Ball. 50 comics, from Patton Oswalt to Sarah Silverman to a cavalcade of local comedians. I’m not one of them. Don’t let my veiled bitterness keep you from checking it out.

To be continued…

Me Olde

Hey there ‘Redheads… We’re on the back end of September, which seems like it’s only a week long. With time on an out of control rocket sled toward the future, I find myself reflecting on my life and a piece of it that I’ll never get back. That’s right, I just got done watching The Jay Leno Show. Wow, what a clunky pile of dreck that thing is. I realize it’s only in its second week, and it may still be looking for its comedy stride, but holy crap. It’s tough to find your stride with a charlie horse in one leg and polio in the other. His guest on tonight’s show was Pee Wee Herman. Nice to see Jay burnt through his celebrity Rolodex in the first week. They talked about when he got bit by the acting bug, and then he made Jay a salad. I wish I was kidding… I wish they were kidding… I almost euthanized my TV.

Speaking of finding your stride in the second week, howabout them Redskins, huh? They sputtered through another 60 minutes of football and narrowly beat the hapless Rams 9 to 7. And they were roundly booed by the home crowd. I can’t imagine why. It’s week two and your punter has more touchdowns than your starting running back. To the Redskins, the endzone is a mythical place, and the two members of the team that’ve crossed its magical threshold tell the tallest tales of the creatures that frolic there. I’m not one to boast about my athletic prowess but, through two weeks, I have comparable stats to Redskin wide receiver, Santana Moss. I only have 5 fewer catches, 41 fewer yards, the same number of touchdowns, and I haven’t fumbled. I’m expecting a contract offer from the team any time now. I’m no Cowboy fan either, but that monstrosity of a stadium that Jerry Jones built is pretty impressive. That place is so huge, the bathroom attendant is a Minotaur. After they lost to the Giants, I expected Jerry’s withered visage to show up on that massive jumbotron, give the thumbs down, and release the lions to eat Romo. By the way, Jerry Jones should never ever be in HD. He looks like he chose the wrong grail.

By the way, Happy 5770 to everybody. That’s right, Jews control show business and time travel. Wow, 5770…shit’s crazy. Anyone else think we’re way overdue for…

Keeping with the theme of lost time and wasted potential, it’s my birthday on Thursday. I’ll be 34…17 again…the 13th anniversary of my 21st birthday…the combined maturity of 17 two-year-olds. At some point this week, I’ll be plunging a candle into the blow hole of Fudgy the Whale. I’m not treating 34 like it’s old or anything. You’re only as old as you feel, so I’ve been 80 for a couple years now anyway. I got a small taste of life’s fragility earlier this week. I hit a bird with my car on my way to work. It just flew right out in front of me. What a way to start the morning. Just my luck. It didn’t have insurance and it didn’t speak English…

On the off chance any of you were thinking about buying me a birthday present, allow me to drop this subtle hint…

Huge show coming up this Saturday, in the DC Improv Comedy Lounge

Jason Weems
Steve Coltrain
Doug Powell
Erin Jackson
…and me.

Even if you’re sick of me, this show is gonna be awesome. Miss it at your peril. Click here for tix.

To be continued…

Four… Score.

Hey there ‘Redheads… This introductory part of every installment, where I apologize for not blogging in awhile, then make a few witty self-deprecating statements designed to lower your expectations, while piquing your curiosity to read further… Yeah, I’m having some trouble with that. Let’s just take it as a given and move on, shall we? There’s alot to get to. Where to start? Didja see those VMA’s? Howabout that rabble rousing upstart, Kanye West ruining poor Taylor Swift’s big moment, huh? Wow, and then Beyonce graciously giving Taylor a chance to finish her acceptance speech. Oh, and howabout anybody still giving a shit about MTV? Really, people. Get a hold of yourselves. Arguing over who is more deserving of a video music award is kinda like arguing over who would be faster in a race, if they were both gerbils. It’s arbitrary and irrelevant. And it was probably staged anyway. If this incident proves anything, it’s that Kanye West doesn’t care about white people. I think my feelings can best be expressed in song…written and sung by Adam Dodd

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, on to stuff that matters… Like fantasy football. I went 2-2 over the weekend. My four fantasy teams had me crunching numbers like Rain Man on meth. Again, I won’t bore you with all the statistical minutiae, but the Minnesota Vicarious are going to be a hypothetical force to be virtually reckoned with this season, with a passing attack that includes Drew Brees, Randy Moss, Reggie Wayne, and Santonio Holmes. Just sayin‘…

In real NFL goings on, I’d like to thank Jake Delhomme for his 5 turnover performance on Sunday, because it gives me an excuse to trot out one of my favorite lines… *ahem* I’ve seen fewer balls thrown away in a dog neutering facility. And scene. Howabout those Redskins, huh? That offense is a garbage fire. If you go into halftime and your punter has scored your only touchdown, I think it’s time to stop basing your game plan on a previous night’s bar bet. The defense didn’t do much better. I’ve heard of the bend-but-don’t-break defense, but this squad did the kind of bending that is usual reserved for Cirque du Soleil. It’s a long season, and this was just the first game, but the ‘Skins appear to have more holes than the Penthouse Invitational golf tournament.

The inevitable zombie uprising got a little more rhythm, as we lost Patrick Swayze yesterday. He finally got put in a corner by pancreatic cancer. Of course, he’ll be remembered for his iconic roles in Dirty Dancing, Ghost, Road House, Red Dawn, and Point Break, but I’ll always remember him for this little number…


Swayze, we hardly knew ye…

For those of you who give a crap and are curious about this installment’s title, today (or yesterday now) marks this blog’s 4th anniversary. I started this exercise in self importance shortly after moving in to Stately Stern Manor. Thanks for reading…and for not impeaching me.

To be continued…