That doesn't look like Mr. Phillie

Not that I don't think he's an awesome looking mascot, but am I the only one who gets the impression that when the Mets made Mr. Met their mascot they were under the impression that everybody in the league was supposed to create a mascot named Mr. (insert team name here) with a baseball for a head and the team's uniform on, and then when no other teams did it the Mets just decided to keep Mr. Met cause he was kind of cool anyway? Kind of like if you show up to a regular party in pajamas because your dickhead friends told you it was a pajama party, and then once you're there, rather than feeling bashful about being pj-clad, you just go about your business partying and having a grand old time. That's kind of how I view Mr. Met.

Meanwhile, I just decided that I want to name a child PJ and have it stand for Pajama. Shortly thereafter I decided that it's high time I try to dupe a friend into showing up to a non-Pajama jammy jam or other type of costume party in PJ's or other type of costume.

One other quickee. Not too long ago I saw former Full House star Bob Saget on Conan O'Brien. During the interview Saget said that when he and good friend/fellow former Full House cast member John Stamos-a.k.a Uncle Jesse- go out together they amuse themselves by talking to each other when they are in the bathroom about (Full House characters) Michelle and D.J. so that other people in the bathroom overhearing their conversation get all confused, as if the show was real. I hate to rain on your and Stamos' parade Bob, but you're not fooling anybody. Most people are familiar with how television works. Nobody thinks Full House is a reality show. You guys might want to go ahead and think about another zany way of entertaining yourselves. Also, stop peering over the top of the urinal divider to look at Stamos' lil' Elvis.

Ah...ah...Ah-Tuesday! I just sneezed.

Status Whoa!

Happy new week. So when last I wrote I mentioned that The Rejection Show got nominated for an Emerging Comics of New York award for best comedy/variety show. Well holy hypocrisy, we won! It’s been a whirlwind of crazy parties, unprecedented access to the cities most exclusive clubs and restaurants and lavish after-hour gatherings in hotel suites. Who knew how much clout carrying around an ECNY would have? How many times in a weekend can I tell the Olsen twins I’m not interested? Seriously you two, take a hint. I was thrilled to take in sunrise after sunrise from various penthouse roof-decks with my Rejection Show brethren Matt Diffee and Jon Friedman. Rich Zeroth also got in on the non-stop action thanks to his ECNY for his one-man show, Swollen Head. And when I find out which one of you sons of bitches stole the copious amount of designer drugs I accumulated this weekend, I’m going to get you. By the by, I’ll swing by and pick you guys up in the Stretch Hummer tonight en route to our VIP area table at PRONE. Can you say “Shaq and Paris’s annual Wimbledon quarterfinals blowout bash?” Don’t forget to bring your ECNY’s.


If I had to choose a problem to have it would probably be dry contacts because I think I would take a lot of comfort in solution being the solution.

This Thursday I am part of a star-studded line-up at a hilarious comedy/variety show called The Hot Tub. Here is information about the show:

HOT TUB a wet jubilee, hosted by Kurt Braunoler and Kristen Schaal
Thursday, June 30th, 10 pm
The PIT , 154 W. 29th St. Between 6th and 7th Ave


Here are the other people besides me that you will get to enjoy if you come:

Todd Barry is a hilarious stand-up comedian who headlines across the country. I guarantee he will make you laugh out loud on multiple occasions during his set.

Paul Scheer of VH1 Best-week Ever fame brings high comic energy and an outrageously inventive act every time he takes the stage.

Jason Jones does not have a web-site but he was the host of a show called Craft Corner Death Match. Only the most religious readers of this blog might recall a post back in January when I worked one day at Craft Corner Death Match. My role? You guessed it, stand-in for host Jason Jones. Expect the tension between us to be palpable.

Miss Ruby Valentine is a classic burlesque dancer. I’ve never been involved in a show that included both joke telling and burlesque dancing but I’ll be glad to not be able to say that come Thursday night. I imagine following Miss Ruby Valentine might be difficult but make no mistake, I’ll perform naked if need be to avoid being upstaged.

And co-host Kristen Schaal? Forget about it, she’s so funny she deteriorates your memory. As for Kurt, well I’ve never seen him perform, but if you don’t count the hyphen, which you shouldn’t because it’s clearly not a letter, then Kurt and I both have nine-letter last names and I think we all know how that translates to the stage.

I’ve promised myself to unveil at least one super gut-busting, brand spanking new, previously-unheard-in the-history-of-the-spoken-word joke for Thursday, so don’t miss out on that.

See you later incubator (baby who survives premature birth without any future medical complications)

Now you say: In a while pedophile (who has reformed his ways and is a productive member of society and feels horribly for past actions but can’t seem to shake the label)

But it’s cool to pick on those reptiles? Think about it.

Ripe with Comedy

You know a peach is too old when it can grow a full beard.

I wish more people asked me for advice on buying produce. I would abuse the trust that people placed in me by instructing them to do ridiculous things to determine the freshness of assorted fruits and vegetables like so:

PERSON SEEKING MY ADVICE
“Oh Adam, he who possesses great wisdom about Kiwi ripeness, how might I go about selecting the best Kiwi from my grocer’s produce bin?”

ME
“Kiwis, like plants, enjoy being talked to, however, kiwis have a devious side. They actually prefer being scolded. Take a kiwi in your palm and give it the reprimanding of its lifetime. The more detailed your tongue-lashing the better. Make that piece of exotic seed-filled fruit wish it had never been pollinated. Something along the lines of ‘Oh you think it’s cute to doctor photos of people's family members and post them on the internet do you? Well we’ll see how cute you feel when I shove you down the garbage disposal and leave it on until the gears jam. Yeah, that’s right, we’re not in your indigenous Southwest China anymore, are we? No sir-kiwi-bob!’ might work. As your putting a serious scare into the Kiwi, you’ll notice the velvety red hairs coating its skin will stiffen. The stiffer the hairs the more responsive the kiwi and the more responsive the kiwi, the sweeter and juicier it will taste.”

Here is a second example:

DIFFERENT PERSON SEEKING MY ADVICE (WEARING A CAP)
“Hey Adam, rumor has it you’re the guy to ask when it comes to selecting the best cucumbers. What’s the trick to it?”

ME (NO CAP)
“I’m glad you asked. A lot of people rely on the shade of green and firmness of cukes. Others simply grab whatever is there and don’t give it a seconds thought. But if you truly want to feast on cucumber as it’s meant to be feasted upon you must find the most reactive one. I can already predict you’re asking ‘reactive to what?’ well hold your horses friend, I’m going to tell you. Take this car battery. Go ahead, take it. As you can see it’s a Die Hard, don’t ever use a generic brand. Now, all you need to do is bring this battery, one jumper cable and a thermos full of warm- not hot -water and you’re good to go. Simply affix the cable to the battery, clamp onto the cucumber at the point where its circumference is greatest and squeeze three drops of warm water from the thermos onto either end of the cucumber- I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to bring a baster for that part. The cucumber that absorbs the water the most slowly is the one you want to take home with you. I know the battery and cable may seem extraneous, but believe me, they are most essential to this process.”

I agree, I should have quit after the kiwi example. Actually, I wrote the cucumber one first and the kiwi afterwards and switched them around because the kiwi one was infinitely better, but I didn’t have the heart to delete the cucumber one. There’s your little peek into my creative process you peeping tom.

The Rejection Show is up for an Emerging Comics of New York award tonight in the Best Comedy/Variety show category, but even if we win, we don’t get to accept the award on stage. If the event was televised perhaps the camera would pan to us in the audience, but it’s not, so I don’t know what we’ll do. Stand and curtsey? Wave and curtsey? I don’t really know for sure, but I’ll be damned if I don’t curtsey.

Bidding you adieu with a curtsey so graceful and elegant you just shat yourself.

Internal Snooze Button

You know you’re exhausted when you stare at the blaring alarm clock with your eyes wide open for a good fifteen seconds before you can figure out what’s going on. It’s as if your body reacts to the sound but your brain sneaks in a quick press of the snooze button and after your initial jolt into awakening you are then strangely paralyzed by the dreadful drone of the alarm. This morning I volunteered for the city council campaign my friend Grego is working for, and the alarm went off, as set, at 6:30am. Apparently I stood up when it sounded but then fell into a brain snooze and stared blankly at the offending clock while Alison wondered which step in the turning-off-the-alarm process all of sudden seemed to confuse me so. I imagine the post-alarm sound, pre-fully functioning semi-conscious eyes open state is an entertaining one in which to observe somebody.

I don’t want to say I deserve all the credit if the city council candidate I volunteered for wins (I’m protecting her identity in case any of the views expressed on this blog might jeopardize her candidacy) but I do think that my contributions at minimum warrant a shout-out in the acceptance speech. You try collecting three signatures in an hour. That’s roughly one every 20 minutes- and not everybody is used to signing autographs for the masses so their signatures can take almost as long as printing their names (and they have to do both!)

FYI as I’m typing this, the sky is getting frightfully dark and lightening bolts are flashing like flash cards for a kid who really knows his stuff. There’s an apocalyptic air in the air. If this is some elaborate War of The Worlds mega-promotion, I think they’ve gone too far. If this truly is the apocalypse, I’ll never forget those of you who believed the hyphen.

Does anybody know any good sauce recipes that would compliment ravioli well? Alison and I are cooking tonight- provided the apocalypse scare is not legit.

There is a new New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest. Upon first glance, and at the risk of trying to be too clever, I think a good caption for this week’s cartoon could be:

“I’d like to shake your hand and I have a tail.”

You really have to think about it. Speaking of which, a slogan I’d like to have attached to a comedy show that I’m a part of is this:

“The Comedy Show that Adam is centrally involved in in some way- be it writing for it, performing on it, hosting it, etc; Unpretentious Comedy You Couldn’t Even Begin To Fully Appreciate.”

If executed properly there are big changes that that show could bring about for me. I don’t really mean that. In fact I only wrote that sentence two sentences ago because I wanted to have instances of using the same word consecutively in consecutive sentences. It’s amazing how given the proper circumstances, the smallest of accomplishments can feel like a victory.

I forgot to wish you a happy summer. Is it me or should there be less uncertainty as to when the first day of each season is? Some people claim the 21st, others the 22nd. It reminds me in a really shaky comparison type of way, of the fact that film companies can’t master getting a precise number of exposures onto a roll of film. It says 24 but sometimes you get 27, other times 25. Hey Kodak, why not hire somebody to get on that. I mean, thanks for the free pictures, no complaints over here.

Bye.

Mr. Ethical-Kelly

If I ever become a journalist I’m going to pride myself on having no journalistic integrity when it comes to honoring “off the record” comments. My sources may get furious with me, but they should know better than to reveal something they don’t want made public to a journalist who so easily could’ve been crossing his fingers when he said “I assure you , this is off the record.” Do you think it makes a witness look suspicious when while testifying he or she asks “are we on or off the record?” before answering a prosecutors question? A friend of mine used me as a reference when he applied for a summer job with the State Department of Justice, and I got a call from some government official asking me about his loyalty to the US etc. It took all of the minute amount of will power I posses not to ask if we were on or off the record before I responded.

The Sunday Times magazine has a section called The Ethicist, where people write letters to Randy Cohen seeking advice on their ethical quandaries. Inspired by Cohen, I decided to solicit my friends’ ethical dilemmas hoping that once I weighed in on the issue they would have a clearer sense of how to proceed. Enjoy the first installment of Ask Mr. Ethical-Kelly

Dear Mr. Ethical-Kelly: At my apartment building the mailboxes are too small to fit a newspaper, thus the residents who subscribe must collect their paper from a pile outside the main entrance. Often papers are left unread well into the evening, and sometimes for several days. I realize that the papers aren’t mine, but at what point can I safely assume that the rightful owner of the paper isn’t going to collect his or her paper and that there is no sense having it go to waste?

Sincerely,

Donnie Newshound

Donnie: How fucking cheap are you? Either subscribe to the damn paper yourself or if you want to pinch pennies read the on-line edition, which you can probably access from the high-speed connection you illegally spliced off of your neighbor’s roadrunner wiring. Take it from the good book: Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s periodicals. You disgust me.

Oozing disdain,

Mr. Ethical-Kelly

Feel free to write into the comment with your ethical hang-ups and Mr. Ethical-Kelly will address them in an upcoming edition.

Time to go for a run and steal a copy of today's Times from in front of my building for the subway ride over to the East River Path. Anybody know of any fun 10K’s in the coming months?

Putting the Boston in the I just got back from a weekend in Boston

Happy belated father’s day to all you baby’s daddies out there.

Here are some idears I had over the weekend while visiting Boston.

1. I should start a funny plunger business. Imagine how well Yankees plungers would sell in Boston, where toilet-clogging Red Sox fans could rejoice as they made the Yankees eat shit. The possibilities are endless. You could personalize a plunger with a picture of anybody and then anytime you had the misfortune of clogging your toilet you’d have the pleasant distraction of dunking your enemy in doo-doo to temper the disgusting nature of the task at hand.

2. When you come up with a brilliant idea like personalized plungers, you should take whatever steps necessary to explore the feasibility of such a business venture rather than presenting it on a blog where anybody can read it and steal it.

3. When traveling between New York and Boston if you have the choice of taking the bus or the train, realize that there is no choice. The train is the only way to travel. But isn’t the train significantly more expensive than the bus? Yes, but in any circumstance imaginable the difference is worth it. I don’t care if you’ve been collecting money in New York so that you can pay for your spouse’s time-sensitive, potentially life saving operation and you only have enough extra money to take the bus. You keep collecting until you have enough for that train dammit. If your spouse doesn’t understand than the ungrateful whorebastard doesn’t deserve to live anyway.

4. Every once in a while unnecessarily breaking up your blog post into numbered points makes for a welcome change of aesthetic pace.

5. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice, I swear you were using a different can of nuts the first two times. I don’t remember it being yellow. No, I agree the snakes were the same, I just could’ve sworn the first two cans were like a blueish color. Well I’ll be.

6. No matter how many hours you debate how many Dunkin Donuts munchinks equal one donut, you’ll never truly care enough to stop into a store and inquire.

7. I’ll open my stand-up set at the Comedy Studio in Cambridge on Saturday night by wishing my dad a happy father’s day. Then I’ll offer him a heartfelt thank you saying “thanks for banging mom back in ’79.”

Ignore all the “this is the week the jherri-curl makes a glorious comeback” whispers you might hear. I promise they’re unfounded.

Drawing Conclusions

My non-post yesterday can be attributed to the fact that I spent all day drawing five wannabe New Yorker cartoons, which I revealed at the Rejection Show last night-thanks for coming by the way (interpret as sincere or sarcastic depending on whether you were there or not.) I used to think people who took art classes in high school and college and had long periods of time to work on their projects could just save it all for the last minute and then throw some shit together and pass it off as some abstract creation they toiled over. However, after spending several hours just to make four barely respectably drawn cartoons (the fifth one only took a minute as it involved stick figures-a clever move if I do say so myself) I finally realized that all art isn't entirely a crock. I'm just kidding, I never thought that, but I certainly gained greater appreciation for people who are sweet at drawing things. I would have said drawers, but then it might have been unclear whether I was referring to people who draw or to a storage space that slides in and out and often houses utensils or clothes. Here is an example to further illustrate/complicate what I mean: today I was a silverware drawer-in this instance I say this because I sketched a fork for one of the cartoons not because I had a bunch of cutlery in me. I wish I could upload my cartoons for your viewing amusement. Unfortunately I have neither a scanner nor the drive to go to whatever other lengths it would take to get those drawings online.

I am willing to go to great lengths for some things but only if we're measuring in centimeters. I know what you're thinking, the unit of measurement doesn't affect the length, it's the same distance regardless. Well guess what, nobody asked you to think that and make me pick up on your completely legitimate corrective thoughts, so just, just take a chill pill. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to react like that. Maybe I should take a dose of my own medicine and pop a couple chill pills myself. In fact I think I will. I'm tossing them up in the air and catching them in my mouth. I hope I don't get any lodged in my esophagus. One, num num num num, two num num num num, three, num num num num num, four, num num num num. Notice how while I was taking my chill pills I was all like both Count Dracula and Cookie Monster like mixed into one, like Count Monster or better yet Cookie Dracula. Man, I think these chill pills have expired. I only say that cause I just did 800 jumping jacks for no reason. And now my oven timer just went off and apparently I baked a casserole, but I don't even remember doing it. Going to sleep may prove challenging. (I just taught myself fluent Mandarin)

Check those chill pill labels (anybody want a 9000 piece circular puzzle? I don't need mine as of thirty seconds ago)

I'm gonna make like a discount and take off. (so that’s how you whittle a detailed globe out of wooden cube)

Raising Funds or Raising Hell

Sometimes on the streets and even more frequently on the subway in New York there are kids trying to sell candy bars to “raise money for their basketball team.” Many of the kids selling these candy bars (usually brilliantly selected peanut m&m’s) look too old to be playing youth basketball or don’t exactly look like ballplayers. Point being it’s often questionable that the money being raised is actually for a basketball team. Picking up on the skepticism of the masses a new generation of subway candy sellers has emerged. These kids are straight shooters. When they speak to the crowded cars full of commuters they keep it real: “I’m not selling this for any basketball team or anything, I’m just trying to make a little money to keep in my pocket to keep me off the streets from hustling.” Is it profitable for these new school entrepreneurs to call-out their rival “basketball team fund-raisers?” Should people feel more compelled to buy a pack of peanut m&m’s at upwards of 200% store value because at least these kids are being honest about the fact that they’re not doing this for any cause other than to raise some money to keep them out of trouble? Is it possible that these kids who are trying to invalidate the time honored basketball team routine are players who got cut from their youth basketball teams and are consequently not only stealing their team’s fund raising technique but also trying to cast a cloud of suspicion over their team’s legitimacy? I guess it just seems funny to me that there are these two groups of people trying to do the exact same thing as a means to raise money and that one group goes out of their way to call into question the authenticity of the other. Maybe I wouldn’t be as surprised if I’d read Adam Smith’s 'A Wealth Of Nations' more closely, particularly the chapter on subway candy selling ethics.

Upon re-reading that paragraph it is way less funny than it is though provoking and it’s not even that though provoking. That’s okay, at the dinner table tonight-since most of the people who read this sit down to family meals every night-I encourage you to discuss from which group you would be more likely to purchase peanut m&m’s. Diffusing awkward mealtime silence one juicy discussion topic at a time. If I had to come up with a slogan for my blog today, that would have been it.

So Michael Jackson got off yesterday-poor choice of words. I’m proud to be the first person to have ever made that joke just now. I heard he had a big party to celebrate his acquittal… a slumber party that is. That’s not right, to be fair I feel a bit badly for Jackson because even though he won, when you face child molestation charges… again, regardless of whether you win or lose, you pretty much lose.

I think more people should go the Cedric the Entertainer route and return to the days when one’s name indicated their profession. If nothing else it would make for much better local news promos. The most trusted team in news: Joan the Female-anchor and Bob the Male-anchor, Don the Weatherman with the weather and Tony the Sports Guy on sports.

Signing off, I’m Adam the Straw Grabber

The White Glove But The Wrong Idea

Apparently the jury has reached a decision in the Michael Jackson trial and now we must await the announcement with bated breath. I think Certs should make bated a breathmint flavor. It would be a sweetish minty flavor with a hint of fruitiness-either that or butterscotch.

I'm not sure if this was the prosecution's closing statement in the Jackson trial, but it should have been:

"Ladies and Gentleman of the jury, I leave you with this, which I believe explains a central flaw in Mr. Jackson's logic and subsequent behavior: A gloved hand does not a proctologist make. I repeat, a gloved hand does not a procotologist make." (The second time would be spoken in a very deliberate, dramatic tone and would undoubtedly hammer home the certainty of his guilt.)

Caught a minute of Good Will Hunting yesterday. My question is this: After Will dazzles Minnie Driver with his humiliation of the pompous grad student, why is she not totally turned off by his "or we could eat a bunch of caramels" response to her "Maybe we could get a cup of coffee sometime" offer? When his caramel comment confuses her, he explains "think about it, it's just as arbitrary." I think at that point she would screen his phone calls and theretofore refer to him as caramel boy to her friends. And while admittedly, such a plot twist might have derailed the main storyline of the movie, sometimes you have to sacrifice plot development in favor of realistic reactions to bizzare caramel related responses to coffee offers. I mean look well that philosophy worked in the Godfather films.

Friday afternoon I cleaned my room. While cleaning I found a piece of paper with the phone number of a bartender I met over a year ago. His roomates father knew some people in the comedy world and I thought it could be a worthwhile connection to pursue. Then, as wild coincidence would have it Friday night I ran into this very bartender working at a different bar than the one at which I had met him more than a year ago. We both recognized each other but it took us a second to place one another. Then he took a stab at my name: "Jeff, right?" The funny thing was I had just thrown away the piece of paper with his name and number on it earlier that day and I could have sworn his name was Jeff. I replied "actually, it's Adam. But wait, isn't your name.." to which he interrupted "Yeah, I'm Jeff." Hmmmm? That's quite strange. When it doubt just guess that people whose names you can't remember have your name? I regret that I reminded him that we met when he worked at Tribe because I would have been interested to see if he had asked me: "didn't we meet when you were a bartender at Tribe?" Perhaps he has some rare disorder where any fuzzy memories of his related to other people get filled with memories of himself as those other people. That would be fascinating. The important thing though is that he gave me a couple of free beers. Thanks Adam. (Looks like it's contagious!)

Make sure to start this week off by putting your best foot forward. If you don't know which is your best foot just jump forward with both feet together until you hurt one of your feet from all that jumping and then put the non-injured foot forward because at least for now that one is probably your best one.

Why aren't there more children here?

It's worth clarifying whether your friend is asking "do you want to go see Cinderella, man?" or "do you want to go see Cinderella Man?" Not that your answer shouldn't be yes to both, it's just that when you get all pumped up to see a remastered Disney classic, a Depression era boxing flick comes as somewhat of a shock to the system.

May you be fortunate to view both films this weekend.

Dustin' material off like my name was...uh, Dustin.

On this sweltering day I thought I’d leaf through some of my joke/idea notebooks and share some ideas that either never made it to the stage or only made one appearance and then were (prematurely? you be the judge) retired…until now:

I like the word ostentatious because it kind of personifies itself. Anybody who uses it is making an ostentatious display of their own vocabulary. (And yes I realize I’m being a hypocrite.)

I tried to feed my parking meter yesterday but apparently parking meters don’t like coleslaw. I even tried to entice him with the fork airplane delivery, but he was stubborn, so I gave him stupid filthy change and ate the slaw myself. Your loss, meter on Mott Street. (That last sentence was brand new, did it read fresh?)

H and H bagels claims to have bagels like no other bagels in the world. I don’t want that. If they served me what looked, felt and tasted like a crowbar, that would be like no other bagel in the world. How about a bagel similar to other bagels in many ways only it tastes way better?

Hey car dealerships, nobody knows what apr financing is so stop yapping about it on your commercials, capiche?

No matter how shitty a day a left-handed person may be having, I bet when he/she gets home and starts cutting things with their comfortably fitting left-handed scissors, suddenly things don’t seem so bad.

I think instant win lotto tickets should be scratch n’ sniff, because nothing softens the blow of not winning money like the artificial scent of root beer.

I’ll leave you with a simultaneously earth-shattering and mind-blowing thought:

I think it’s time for a new Weird Al for the next generation andI think he should call himself Peanut Eminem. I bet that would really irritate Eminem, particularly if he has a peanut allergy. I’ll have to look into that.

June 9th 2005: She’s only here for a day people, why not show her a good time?

Mother Nature must have a fever

It’s absurdly hot out today. It’s so hot, Hot 97 blazin’ hip hop and R&B changed their name to Moderate compared to today’s weather 97 and tepid R&B. It’s so hot that I tossed a box of spaghetti into the east river and in six minutes, it was ready to serve-indescribably disgusting filth aside. It’s so hot ants are burning on the asphalt without sadistic kids holding magnifying glasses overhead. It’s so hot if I had to choose whether to adjust the temperature to a slightly warmer level or a slightly cooler level, without hesitation I would opt to lower the temperature. Seriously, I wouldn’t even deliberate. It’s so hot that when I tried to put on some anti-perspirant earlier today it just laughed at me and said “I’m not getting paid nearly enough to work this damn hard.” It’s so hot that the heat index is actually the heat middle finger today, meaning fuck you, that’s how hot it is.

If you ever find yourself in the unenviable situation of having somebody tell you they love you when you don’t feel the same way, rather than crushing them with a lack of reciprocity, tell them you love them too. Then at a later time, ideally when both of you have had a couple of drinks, tell them that when you said “I love you too,” you meant love in the tennis scoring sense. They’ll probably get confused and or upset depending on their familiarity with the game of tennis, but hey, that’s your mess to figure out. I already got you out of the initial I love you predicament- you’re on your own now.

I want to produce a spin-off of MTV’s show Room Raiders called Womb Raiders in which 3 guys judge single pregnant women solely based on the condition of their womb. I figure that would make for better television than Womb Raiders was about abortions.

How many people buy Brita's thinking, sweet! Nice cold, purified water anytime I need it. Then it comes time to change the filter and you go to the drugstore or supermarket and you see that those things cost like $15 bucks a pop and you just say fuck it, tap water isn't going to kill me. Me too.

Yesterday I interviewed with a guy for a new show on ESPN classic. He used the phrase the whole megillah thrice in the ten minutes we spoke. That was three more times than I had previously heard the phrase in my entire life. I wish I had found a way to smoothly incorporate the whole megillah into my thank you email because it’s important your employers know you “speak their language.” Alas, I’m not sure I get the whole gestalt of the meaning of the whole megillah.

Also yesterday I went to one of my favorite area comedians Andres Dubouchet’s weekly show. I planned on attending and asking Andres afterwards if I could perform sometime in the future. Five minutes after the show’s scheduled start time Andres approached me and asked if I would want to perform. Apparently a booked guest did not show. I agreed to fill in and gave the crowd six minutes of not so well disguised prepared at the last minute material. All things considered it went pretty well. I am going to return and perform a more polished set on July 26th. Mark your calendars. Anyone ever looking for something fun and free to do on a Tuesday night ought to check out Andres and co. show. It’s delightfully silly. Here’s that info.

As long as you’ve got your pen out to mark your calendars, put a little some sumpin’ for next Wednesday, the final Rejection show before a little summer hiatus.

Here’s wishing you speedy relief from your sweat-drenched (groin area) discomfort.

p.s Happy Birthday Cookie!

p.p.s. I don't actually use anti-perspirant. It makes my pits feel awful, all suffocated and dry yet simultaneously sticky. I hate it.

Devouring The News

On the New York Times website they have a self-promotional ad that begins by showing a picture of a delicious looking egg sandwich on a croissant with the text “$2.90 a day” above the warm, buttery and flaky sandwich. Then the graphic switches to a picture of an issue of the Times with a text that reads “as little as $2.90 a week.” So what you’re telling me is that rather than eating my delicious French pastry, egg and cheese breakfast, I should just subscribe to your newspaper? Newspaper is hardly part of a balanced breakfast. I don’t know that I’m convinced that you’re looking out for my best interest. Granted the croissant egg and cheese would be a high cholesterol breakfast if I had it every day, but your prestigious paper is hardly an adequate substitute. Besides, if I’m on the Times webpage, I’m already getting my fix of news. As much as I long for the newsprint on my fingers, I think I’d prefer the grease of the buttery soft croissant. Breakfast is arguably the most important meal of the day. Don’t discourage me from starting my day off with a little protein. If you want me to spend $2.90 a week to subscribe to your paper, fine, but maybe you should suggest I cut out something from my budget more relevant to buying a newspaper than breakfast. Something like a picture of an electric company bill with the text reading: “$1.42 to watch just the local news every day for a week.” Then people realize for just over twice as much a week they could get the same information plus crossword puzzles. So maybe that wasn’t the best example. All I’m trying to say is stop encouraging eating disorders New York Times. In your ideal world nobody would spend any money on food and they would just buy your paper instead and then with any extra money they save up they would get the Sunday Edition which costs something like $20 per issue (at least.)

This isn’t the way to solve our obesity epidemic. Stop trying to brainwash the masses. In a radical shift I must admit though that newspapers have to be the best value out there, especially a quality local paper not in New York City which typically cost a quarter. 25 cents for hours of reading material. What a bargain! That reminds me of the last paper I bought for a quarter. It was the Akron Beacon Journal. On the front page of the Arts section they had dual movie reviews of Will Ferrell’s Kicking and Screaming. The first review, penned by their featured movie critic, described Ferrell as a “general all-around” something or other twice within the short article. The second review, which landed on the front page of the section too was written by the featured movie critic’s 10 year old son. And it’s not as if the boy is a prodigy. I guess sometimes you get what you pay for. I’ll try to dig up the paper in my room tomorrow to dish out some quotes. Until then you’ll just have to use your imagination.

In Jamaica on Mondays do men drink free?

That W. Mark Felt Good

As an aficionado of 1970’s adult cinema, I felt cheap, dirty and betrayed earlier this week when former FBI agent W. Mark Felt admitted that he was the real Deep Throat. How the makeup artist for that film didn't win an Oscar for his/her transformation of Felt into the enchanting Linda Lovelace is baffling to me. Then again, the academy has historically shied away from recognizing work in the realm of hardcore porn. Nothing like two day old topical comedy.

I enjoy approaching people at say a supermarket or a clothing store, who based on their appearance clearly don't work there, and then asking them questions as if they do. Why not go up to the elderly woman shopping with her granddaughter at the Gap and ask "Do all the relaxed fit boot cut jeans come with a button fly, or are there others in the back that zip?" It's an innocent mistake.

There's nothing quite like the mixture of embarrassment, pride, amusement and surprise one feels after simultaneously sneezing and farting, or snarting if you will.

Wishing you a snart filled weekend.

Can I have the definition and my childhood back please?

How bout those walking talking Oxford dictionaries over at the 78th annual Scripps national spelling bee? I bet those kids would dominate on my old Speak ‘n Spell. Remember those? The final two spellers were a cocky 11 year-old 6th grader named Samir Sudhir Patel and a collected, consistent 13 year old 8th grader named Anurag Kashyap. What, were you expecting a Jimmy Smith or something? Perhaps former NYPD Blue star Jimmy Smits? People stereotype Asians as being excellent at math, but a blanket statement like that is misleading. Rather, we should be more specific, starting with this: Southern Asians can flat out spell. Samir appeared unbeatable as he cruised into the final two. On several of his turns, when only four spellers remained, Samir shouted “yes!” excitedly when his word was announced, indicating that he knew the word. Another time when he was given the word ‘onychophagy,’ he asserted: “habitual chewing of the nails, right.” Two years ago as a nine year old, Samir finished third in the competition. When I was nine I spent countless hours trying to catch leaves as they fell from tree branches. (My friend Erik and I actually kept a tally of the leaves we caught over the years, and in third or fourth grade we nabbed our thousandth, which we caught together and saved in a plastic baggy.) Shockingly, Samir stumbled in the 18th round when he moronically thought the word roscian-meaning of, pertaining to, or involving acting (duh?)- was spelled rossian. How laughable is that? Anurag then nailed appoggiatura-a sweet melody (sorry to insult your intelligence) and ran off the stage, tears of euphoria streaming down onto proud father’s shoulder. The AP just posted an article about the competition and in the second paragraph they inform you that Anurag is a straight-A student. You don’t say? I would have thought that the fact that he is disciplined enough to spend 8 hours a day memorizing the dictionary, not to mention he can immediately recognize root words from countless languages of origin would translate into a solid C+ average for Anurag. Shows how much I know.

I’m definitely going to place a bet next year in Vegas on Samir to hoist the ’06 trophy. I’d encourage you to follow suit, but then you’d be taking away from my winnings with your odds manipulation. So don’t even think about it. Seriously, that’s not cool. Get your grubby hands off my cash.

On the subway yesterday somebody posted several homemade fliers advertising employment opportunities for Spanish speaking workers. ($300/wk part-time and $600/wk full-time, first car on the manhattan bound L train if anybody other than me is interested.) One of the fliers was taped over a panel featuring an advertisement for HIV prevention or testing or information- I couldn’t tell because the flier obscured a crucial part of the advertisement. I couldn’t help but think that whoever put up the homemade flier really must think the work they are hiring for is awfully important to cavalierly post over an HIV related ad like that. Either that or the person putting up the fliers no hablad ingles. Hablad is spanglish past tense meaning spoke. However, I’m pretty sure since HIV is VIH in Spanish, the eager employer could’ve put dos y dos together. All I know is that if I ever make homemade fliers to post on the subway, I will make sure that any ads I’m posting my fliers over are for diseases less serious than HIV. And that’s a promise.

Did you know if you rearrange the letters of Thursday you get R Thy Sad? Plus you have an extra u leftover and that’s just for you. Fun with words. Neat, huh? I bet thee isn't sad anymore.

Dop It Like It's Hot

Well, well, well if it isn’t my old friend June. I grew up with a girl named June. I think it’s interesting that some months are deemed acceptable girl’s names, while others don’t make the cut. I’d like to meet an October. I’d even settle for an Octubre. I’ve met a January, plenty of April’s and June’s, probably a May or two, but I think that’s it. I know Summer’s too. Maybe they just go by Summer but their real names are July or August, or the beginning of June or the better part of September. If my parents named me September I think I’d probably go by a catchy nickname like “30 days hath” or something.

If any of you guys ever find yourself invited to roast musical artist Seal, feel free to use this: You’ve been kissed by a Rose, eh? Looks more like you sucked face with the whole thorny bush. But seriously, this guy’s mug makes the moon’s surface look smoother than a Colt 45. Why don’t you do us all a favor and jump in a tank at Sea World and start balancing a ball on your nose with your kin. Not to worry, I’ll look after Heidi for you, if you know what I mean (double pelvic thrust.)

I don’t really have any beef with Seal. I realize what with the name and the complexion he’s an easy target, but the man is rich and famous and married to Heidi Klum, so there’s no need to feel overly protective of him.

I call Dop Kits Dop Kits, not toiletry bags or whatever else people call them. Be that as it may, I must admit that I don’t know what dop are. Logic would dictate dop is a synonym or slang word for toiletries. I think it’s pretty cool that dop is plural. From now on when I’m making a checklist prior to packing for a trip I’m going to list dop on there. Maybe it’s shorthand for toiletries. I don’t know anybody who knows shorthand. Is it a code or just an abbreviated version of words as they are? So I checked it out on the worldwideweb and apparently shorthand is sort of a combination of codes (curved line to represent th sounds, dashes for vowels, different length lines mean different things etc.) and phonetic abbreviations (gh, ph and ff would all be signified by a single f.) Apparently in 1922 somebody wrote 350 words per minute over two minutes writing in shorthand. I want to read a book or take a course or something. The skills section on my resume could stand to be padded and I can’t imagine any more sought after qualification in the workforce today than a creative young man who knows his shorthand.

Shouldn’t popsicle sticks be made out of a less splinter-friendly material? Why not use fragile glass instead, dumb popsicle-making jerks? Why is Microsoft telling me to capitalize popsicle? It’s not happening.

When they made the print alphabet wouldn't it have been easier just to make all the lower-case letters smaller versions of the capitals? If exercising creativity was so important, why aren't all the lower case letters unique? I wish I could draw my proposed new versions of lower case c,k, m, n, o, p, s, u, v, w, x, and z but I don't have blogger sketch pad downloaded. Rest assured though that they are all pretty awesome.

Don’t forget to turn those calendar pages, pay that rent and never stop being the best you that you can be.