There's a guy you should be reading in the Blogosphere. Well, if you're interested in comics and gaming and screenwriting and (some) politics. His name is John Rogers. John graduated from high school in my Freshman year, and went up to Canada to college and began doing standup comedy there and here in Boston in the late 80's. From there, he went to writing for television (most notably Cosby and Jackie Chan's Saturday morning cartoon), and is now a successful screenwriter in LA (American Outlaws, The Core, Catwoman, etc). He's very funny, quite informative (especially if you're an aspiring writer), and as soon as I figure out how to have a link tree on the side of my Blog like he does, I'll post a permalink over there for him, because he's a nice guy.
Some people's lives are so empty, they have to resort to telling you they look like someone on the tee vee. Here's a gallery of a bunch of just such self-delusional folk. I dare you to tell me that any of these idiots actually look like celebrities. The Nathan Lane guy? Looks more like a bouncer at the Glass Slipper.
And the Selma Hyek lady bears a disturbing resemblance to a lunatic who thinks she looks like Selma Hyek.
So, after 35 years of Democratic politics and liberal activism, after all the cranky little rants (yeah yeah, the title's ironic, geddit?) and ad homenim attacks made on this very 'Blog, after all that, I find myself in a situation that flies in the face of anything I thought would ever happen:
Oh goody. After all the talk about we're going to make sure this election's fair and no one's vote doesn't get counted and everyone has access to adequate polling places, etc. etc. etc., we have these lunkheads going out and slashing tires on vans that the GOP was going to use to take people to vote. Nice. Thanks for letting down the side, boys.
What could he possibly have been thinking of that made him commit that "slip of the tongue?" Seriously, there had to be something going on in his head or in the office that put the words in his mouth. Things like that don't just slip out, especially in today's broadcasting business. I wonder if Michael Powell will have anything to say about this. Considering it's not Really Famous People on a network, prolly not.
So how cool is this? A couple weeks ago, I'm checking out one of the local comedians message boards, when I see a post asking me to get in touch with the fashion editor of the Improper Bostonian magazine. Last year, they did a fashion issue with Boston comics, including several friends of mine. The shots came out great, and one of my friends, Sam Walters, actually used his picture as the front page of his website (he's since changed it, but trust me, they made even HIM look pretty good). So you can guess my excitement at the prospect of getting really cool, professionally produced pics that I can maybe wrangle into a new headshot, and I don't have to pay for it! Sweeeeeeeeeet!
I called Samantha, and she told me that this year, the spread is going to be even better than last time. Hot Damn! I can't wait to hear this. So this time, they're going to pose us all as classic comedians, people like Lucy and the Marx brothers and such, and she thinks I'd make a great Oliver Hardy.
That was my first reaction. You know, because of the whole goofy-looking-fat-guy-in-a-Hitler-mustache thing. I was thinking glamour shot (shut up), and they were thinking wacky shenanigans.
Okay, well, I calmed down and came in off the ledge, and had a great time doing the shoot, which will be featured in the February 9th issue (Free on most any street corner in Boston. Sorry, Indiana!). It was a ton of fun, and I got to wear clothes from designers I've never heard of, which naturally means that I couldn't afford them in my life, so that was a bonus. Plus we got free pizza and beer. Beats working.
So thanks to Samantha House for calling me, and to whomever it was that suggested me for the shoot in the first place. I'm looking forward to people almost recognizing me on the street.
So I dial up the Boston Globe website and find this story about a guy who built a shrine 'cause he was told to by Jesus' Mom. Okay look, I was a devout Catholic for many years, and even though, for my own reasons, I've left the Church behind, I do recognize that, as many bad things as they have done, they still provide some people with a sense of well-being and spiritual peace. That's fine, and those people deserve it. Probably. But where do you draw the line between religious freedom and having a chip on your shoulder? Stuff like this strikes me more as a way for people to get attention than show their devotion, no matter who they say came to them in a dream. And while we're on the subject, why would the Virgin Mary tell someone to put up a mural? Why not tell them to work at a food bank, or spend some time with an invalid, or give your old coats to a shelter? It just doesn't jibe with me that any religious icon worth his or her billing would ask someone to put up a big, obnoxious, lighted cross in their back yard. Does Jesus really want your neighbors pissed at you? Most of the world's dieties (and their subordinates) strike me as the type that don't like to get too showy here in the modern age.
This, by the way, is the same reaction I have to people who decide to create their own personal singing Iwo Jima in the driveway, or a 24/7 Winter Wonderland three inches from their neighbor's bedroom window. It's not tribute, it's obnoxious. It's "Look at me, I care more about Jesus/America/Christmas than you!"
So congrats on the victory, sir. I guess. But if you were really that devoteld to the Bible, you would have rendered unto Caesar and applied for the permit.
Sit back, my chillen's, and let me tell you 'bout how the NYPD's finest had their hands full with your li'l ol' pal on the eve of 2005...
Okay, well, I'm no Uncle Remus, but sit back anyway, this might take a while. So, as previously stated on this very webpage, I was to be in NYC for the Black 47 show at Connolly's, and ringing in the new with my new pals from my Ireland trip. I was told by certain folks at an employer who shall remain nameless that it wouldn't be a problem for me to scoot early, as the day was sure to be slow. RAWK!
Well, the day WAS slow, but for some reason, my hall pass never materialized. So not only did I not get to leave early, but due to the inane rule of Everyone Stays Until All the Work is Done, I had to hang out and extra 15-20 minutes, even though my work was done hours before. Great, so I'm already in the hole, timewise, before I even leave Boston. But God was on my side, chillen's, because traffic was virtually non-existent, and I managed to beat Mapquest's estimated ETA by about 20 minutes.
Now, my buddies had left the hotel much earlier, because I didn't want anyone to have to wait around for me, so I got to the room at right about 9pm, just missing the 9 o'clock shuttle into the city. Okay, I'll have to wait for the 10, fine, I can freshen up and start drinking (btw, unbeknownst to me, several members of my entourage were pretty pie-eyed by this time, and I counted a sizeable pile of empties in the adjoining rooms we'd rented for the night). So, 10pm comes around, and myself and several other would-be revelers pile into the hotel shuttle for the trip through the Lincoln tunnel onto 41st and Dyer, not all that far from my destination of 45th and 6th. From what I'd been told, as long as I had my e-ticket for the show, I shouldn't have too much trouble finding a sympathetic cop to let me through the police barricades. And it's only about 10:15. Sweet!
Not sweet. Not sweet at fuck-all, because only one cop let me past the barricade, at 46th and 8th, only for me to be turned back at 46th and Broadway (that would be Time Square proper). For the next 13 blocks, I tried as best I could (to the point of almost getting the ol' bracelets slapped on me) to persuade someone to just let me walk FOUR BLOCKS OVER, so I could get to my show. I ended up at 59th and Central Park South, making my way back down the other side, so I could finally get to 6th avenue at 58th street. Awesome, only 13 more blocks to go.
By the time I finally made it to Connolly's (three songs into the show), I was exhausted. My feet hurt, my back was killing me, and I was almost too tired to drink. Fortunately, my friends would not let me use that as an excuse not to, as they began pouring the Guinness down my gullet with gusto. Lemme tell you something: that stuff has magic powers, I swear it's true. The night ended up being great, and even better, I didn't have to stand on a stage and try to talk over drunks with noisemakers for so-so money (which is what usually happens to me on NYE). So I've decided, I'm officially retired from performing comedy on New Year's. Unless someone wants to offer me huge bucks, I'm just going to spend it like normal people do: getting drunk and enjoying myself. No pressure, no having to wait for the event organizer to take his hand out of his secretary's blouse long enough to pay me, no more bullshit. I resolve to enjoy myself or go down swinging for every 12/31 henceforth. Ya heard me!
No kidding, I really haven't been able to keep up with all the "SS Crisis" stuff in the media, and now I know why: I wasn't supposed to. You know, it's discouraging enough when the media goes to sleep on the issues, but when members of the media actively try to discourage public participation in those issues? They might as well start selling the Victory Gin right now.