DMG at Source for Seasonal Disorder!

This month I'm performing in two shows with DMG - my long-form improv troupe. Both shows are at Source (1835 14th Street, between T and S). 

The price is $10 for the show but if you say that you want a "student ticket" then the price is $5!  Even if you're not a student, just say that you want a "student ticket."  I'm really sorry for the confusion on this.  I have been shamed.  ::hangs head::   "PAY WHAT YOU CAN," which means you can be give us a dollar for the entire show.  "Pay what you can" means exactly that!  It's up to you!  Make a decision already!

More details:

• Thursday, Dec 10th, (click for the FB event page)
• Thursday, Dec 17th, (click for the FB event page)
• We'll be doing around a 20 to 25 minute show, total show time is no more than an hour because,
• We'll be joined by the super fun troupe The Entitlement League,
• Source serves beer and wine now,
• We hope to see you there!

It's improv, so both shows will be different!  Come to both and get a free high-five from me!

Come on universe, I'm trying to stay angry...

I get angry. I'm not sure the frequency of my anger and I've never been certain of the trigger. I realize how stupid that statement sounds because if I knew that, for example, "kittens" pissed me off, then I would avoid the hell out of the Humane Society, Pet Stores, and adorable children standing in front of a box labeled "Free Kittens" where the "R" is written backwards. After writing that sentence I actually feel pretty cheerful, as if my words were made of Zoloft. Just to dispell any potential rumors; I love kittens*.  (*with the obvious caveat that they're not my kitten(s) and said kittens are cute.)

Lately, whenever I get angry, I find it hard to continue hating on whatever I'm frustrated about. It's as if the universe, karma, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, is denying me the palpable dischord that fuels my tiny Grinch heart. Recently, it has happened twice, so I'm looking forward to rounding out this trilogy so I can start hating again.

A few weeks ago, I was angry as I left work. As I started towards my car I passed a day care center. Inside there was a little girl, dressed as a fairy princess, laughing, and finger painting. There is no way you could look at this and not smile. I dare you!  I double dog dare you!

Another 20 feet past the cute tot, I spotted a little pug puppy out for a walk. Pug dogs are my anger kryptonite. I don't know why, but both things in such rapid succession made my heart melt and my anger fade away.

The second event again involved a dog and a kid.

I was in a hurry to go somewhere and probably pissed off at my own lack of preparation/planning. I got to the elevators in my building and the following people got on the elevator with me; a mother with her 7 or 8 year old son, and a woman with her french bulldog puppy. The following magic then happened:

Kid:  "I really like French Bulldogs."
Mother:  Smiling to the dog owner, "It's true. He's always loved French Bulldogs. Why do you like them so much?" With such sincerity as if she never thought to ask her son until now.
Kid: "I like them because they have a difficult time swimming."
Dog Owner: "That's actually true. Because their heads are so big they a little top heavy."
Kid: Pets dog and laughs.

Who the hell is this kid?! He's like Jonathan Lipnicki's character from Jerry Maguire! Who knows this kind of random "the human head weighs 8 lbs" factoid!  Why is it so cute?!  My heart exploded at the genuine and heartfelt sentiment in this conversation.

Two themes that I want to point out:
1. puppy dogs,
2. children.

Neither of which I'm ready to deal with at this point in my life. I wish there was an option to "rent to own."

I hate being an adult

This is a story of why I hate being an adult.  I honestly blame Harry Potter for this entire series of events.

As a kid your parents typically shielded from complicated interactions with other adults. Your parents provide a buffer because they are fully aware that dealing with adults, and their incompetency, can be an arduous task, and on occasion can feel like a full-time job. Your parents do this in an effort to preserve your innocence for as long as possible. At some point you begin to resent your parents because you feel that they’re denying you these social interactions with other adults. Your goal; to grow up, put on your big boy/girl clothes, and receive the same respect that you FEEL all adults take for granted. Oh how your youthful exuberance wilts when you quickly find out that a majority of adults are assholes.

This story starts with my wife, Nancy Drew, making a trip to the library and picking up the audio-book “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” We had both previously read the book and I chided her for the selection until one day when I was bored with the current CD’s in my car. I used to have a 45 minute commute and I would listen to the same CD’s repeatedly. Plus, the voice actor on the Harry Potter CD’s, Jim Dale, is amazing and he honestly turned my “commute time” into a daily “story-time.”

Around this time I was getting an ipod attachment installed in my car. This is where everything goes downhill. After Myer Emco installed the ipod cable in my car, I went out to inspect the work and despite the new audio capability in my car, I just wanted to listen to the final six discs of Harry Potter housed inside my dashboard CD changer. I found it odd that I couldn’t find the Harry Potter discs in my car nor could I eject/insert any new CD’s.  All six discs were stuck in the CD player.

The mechanic/installer examined the CD player, you know, to double check his work, and then told me the following:

“We’re not sure what’s wrong but we believe you that it was working when you got here. You don't look like the kind of guy that would try to scam us. You’ll have to contact your dealership."

I really want to see “the kind of guy who WOULD try to scam them,” just for the visual reference. Does this mystery person have a pencil thin mustache, furrowed brow, nervously caress his hands, and speak like Vincent Price? Phew! Thankfully they believed me.

The mechanic had left the installation instruction guide on the passenger seat. I picked it up and noted that step number one read, “Remove all CD’s from the CD player before being the installation.” Insert an angry comment about how the mechanic can’t follow instructions and/or read!

Nancy Drew and I immediately went to the library to explain the situation. The librarian made notes related to the discussion in Nancy’s account to prevent threatening library fine notices. They were very cool about the whole thing and said it happens more often than you would think. (So, I guess everyone goes to Myer Emco for car audio debacles?)

I called the car dealership and made arrangements to have them extract the CD’s but quickly found out that their solution is to completely remove the CD player unit and swap it with another one. The old CD player is sent to a warehouse where they have the power to remove stuck CD’s! This process can take up to four weeks but they told me it would take two weeks tops.

Two weeks later and no one is sure when the CD’s will arrive. The library start getting finicky and sends Nancy nasty letters saying that they’re seeking payment for the total value of a Harry Potter audio-book, which is around $90! Then they send Nancy Drew a threatening letter about how they're going to take her to collections.

Another two weeks into the future and I've been calling the car dealership to see when/where the CD's are located. No answers until finally after playing phone tag for a week, I get a straight answer. The CD’s had been removed and delivered to my apartment.....(William Wallace) wait for it....10 days earlier!

Our apartment complex never gave us a ticket letting us know that we had a package. Finally last week I returned the CD's to the library and shelled out the whopping $10 for the fine.

To recap on all the communication disconnects:

1. The mechanic/installer couldn't read/follow the instructions,
2. Despite assuring us that it wouldn’t be a problem, the library of Alexandria will still send you mean notices,
3. The rules that my apartment complex has in place for receiving packages is a total cluster-fuck.

Had these adults, starting at the beginning, taken the time to read thoroughly and follow instructions, I wouldn’t have had to spend five weeks tracking down a lost Harry Potter audio-book, especially since it’s wasn’t my fault that it got stuck in the CD player in the first place!

Next edition will discuss what happens when H&R block doesn't do their due diligence in processing your 2007 taxes.

Can you tell me how to get...

I'll never get get used to NYC being so sticky.

I honestly think that you could be sitting outside during autumn, with an ice cold beverage in hand, while holding a fan, and you would still be sticky.  It hangs on your body like a marshmallow film. There's something about this new skin that's enjoyable and energizing.    At this point I'm just trying to sound smart for the sake of sounding smart.  In summary: NYC is amazing.

I went up last weekend for a whirlwind tour and had a great time.  Don't believe me?  It's cool.  Sometimes I lie but then again sometimes I have proof.


This convinced me that I need to buy my own muppet from FAO Schwarz.

I got to hang out with some awesome friends, see some great improv, but it's all over shadowed by muppets.
Yaaaay!

File this under "I'm an idiot"

I have a very difficult time conveying a sense of fear on stage while performing improv. Out of the four basic emotions (i.e. happy, sad, anger, fear) fear has always been a challenge for me. Maybe it's because I'm a product of the Information Age and thanks to the Internet and shock sites nothing really phases me anymore. Maybe I need to deploy some Stanislavski-esque "magic if" technique where I create dire circumstances for myself. Regardless, whatever I do always seems fake to me. I usually only get scared when I leave the apartment in the morning and can't find my phone, wallet, and/or keys. It wasn't until recently that I had a horrifying experience that was completely my fault.

A few weeks ago I returned home on a Friday, utterly exhausted from the week. I had every intention of going out that evening but I knew once I changed out of my work clothes that all bets where off. I crossed the threshold into the apartment, dropped by bags, and very absent mindedly let the door swing behind me.

My wife was gone for the weekend and I crashed on the couch watching It's Always Sunny on DVD, telling myself I'd just take a quick nap. I slept for about 3 hours, woke up, watched another episode of Sunny, and immediately passed out again another half hour. (I really need to get more sleep during the week) I finally woke up, sprawled all over the couch with some odd hunger pangs. I made some food and then began a several hour horror movie fest including the movie Dead Girl and ending with Quarantine.

If you haven't seen Quarantine, it involves a group of first responders and a two person news crew getting trapped inside an apartment building with its residents. Spoiler, everyone quickly finds out that a super strain of rabies is turning residents into crazed zombie-like infected. It's a pretty awesome movie.

I finished my horror movie marathon around 4am and begin my apartment lock-down procedures fueled, in part, by my OCD. I begin turning off lights and went to lock the deadbolt on the front door...the door had never fully closed when I absent mindedly let it swing behind me as I initially entered. Why didn't I confirm that the door was in fact closed after I walked through it the first time? Holy shit, the door has essentially been open from the time I got home and now 8+ hours later and it's still open! Panic (room) time!

I immediately locked the door (ya know, what I should have done in the first place) and proceeded to march through the apartment, turning on all the lights as I went. I never bothered to stop and pick up anything for self defense. It's just me taking huge stupid strides through each room with my fist clenched and raised at eye level. Ready to meet an unknown invader.

Nothing.

I opened every closet, drawer, and cabinet. I turned on all the lights. I marched through the entire apartment and I found nothing except my own paranoia. I feel asleep that night with the lights on and my bedroom door locked.

Thanks to my own neglect I can now freak myself out whenever I want. I don't suggest trying this at home as results may vary.

Casper

I hate it when someone gives you constructive criticism and they are dead on.

It's not the criticism that I hate, as I really appreciate it when people are honest with me. It's the fact that I've been aware for quite some time of the reason or "thing" that I'm being criticized about. I'm making this out to be much more than it is. In fact, I was more complimentary that criticism.

I just thought that no one else noticed this "thing." I'm terrible at being secretive and in most cases I'm completely transparent, except for this bullshit blog post. This is the vaguest thing I've ever written.

I went to the Comedy Spot for Jake Young’s last show before he moves up to NYC and inevitably the Moon. I said goodbye to Jake in my own special way. If the video from last night turns out well I'll post it here. That's RIGHT; I'm staring at you Hampton. (He'll never read this. Deep sigh.)

Marathon

This past Sunday I cheered on Nancy Drew as she completed the Marine Corps Marathon. It was a inspiring experience but I still don't think I'll ever run a marathon. Here's a brain dump of the whole ordeal.

Marathons start really early. I'm not a morning person but I was responsible for getting Nancy Drew and our friend Danille to the starting area. We left at 6am and dropped the car at Pentagon City. Nothing interesting to report.

In order to accomodate all of the runners and the runners nerves, they put about 100+ port-o-pods in the Pentagon parking lot, which is great because it makes the entire places smell like bathroom chemicals and poop. FYI - before you run 26.2 miles, you really don't want to inhale that aroma.

I saw two people down by the metro tracks between Crystal City and the National Cemetry taking a dump. Just dropped running shorts, asses out in the air, not a care in the world as if this was the norm. Evidentally, if you have a marathon number or "bib" on your shirt, it gives you a license to do your business anywhere at any point during the race.

People will run in any clothing that they own. I saw an old guy with a Rip Van Winkle beard, a wife-beater undershirt, and a trash bag around his his waist. Please spent the $20 at Target to get some technical running gear. If you can't afford the $20, then how did you afford the $65+ entrance feed to even run the race? In the future, don't run the race and a cotton tshirt is not your friend (see below).

I saw someone with bloody nipples. I had heard rumors from Alaina but it wasn't until I was standing at the finish line, that I saw this marvel. This guy was crossing the finish line and it looked like he had a face crying blood on his chest. I was not prepared for this and now I'm unable to see it.  This is why you don't run a marathon in a cotton tshirt.

Marathon runners come in all shapes and sizes. Kudos to anyone who runs the race. That being said, now I'm going to hate on people. I was in better shape than some people and that messed up. Nancy Drew trained for six months for this race and it STILL takes a lot out of you! Some people looked like when they were present with the option to either training for the event or eating McDonalds, they chose the Golden Arches each time. And yet, these Dollar-menu-aires showed up and ran the 'thon. I'm done hating and congratulations to everyone. If this is the event that you picked to kick start your weight loose program, good for you but did you not realize the severity of this event?

I'm really white. I forget that point a lot but after spending 8 hours outside I was reminded that I require sun screen.  I did make use of my hoodie and covered myself but then I was self conscious that I looked like the uni-bomber. I'm a creep.

Finally, if you yawn loudly while watching people run, then you're worthless. Also, if you get a blister on your feet from standing all day while watching people run, then you're double worthless.

I am officially double worthless.