Tuesday, January 31, 2006

I Am Chita Rivera

At the National Comedy Theatre there is a game we play every show called 5 Things. One of our teammates will leave the room so they can't hear what's going on and the ref will get 5 activities from the audience (Olympic sports, team sports, extreme sports, household chores, etc). After getting those 5 activities the ref will then go back to the audience to get substituions for those activiities. For instance, a suggestion we get a lot is Football. And instead of the ball, we will ask for something completely unlike a ball, not even sporting equipment. For example, a toaster. Then instead of playing against a football team, the ref might ask for a famous group of people to replace the football team. And we'll get crazy replacements like that for each of the five activites. The player who left the room will then return and the rest of the team has to get the player to guess all five activities, with the replacement suggestions, but we can only use pantomime and gibberish to get the ideas across. So, we would have to get the person to play football but instead of a ball they're using a toaster and they are playing against N Sync and the Rolling Stones. Oh yea, and we have to get the person to guess all five things in three and a half minutes.

It's fast and furious, but it can be done. This week was a great week for 5 Things. I had a blast with it and surprised even myself at times. Friday night Chis and Virginia were on my team and Virgina was guessing. I'm not sure if I have the activity correct, but I believe we were trying to get her to guess that she was playing chess, the chess pieces were teeth, and she was playing against CHITA RIVERA. I don't know how in the world I got her to guess Chita Rivera (no one thought she'd figure it out) but Virginia came through and she nailed it. During the same show, Chris and I had to get her to figure out she was playing soccer and she was playing against the Mormons and the Amish. Chris and I were working like madmen and Virginia got that, too! It was a blast.

Saturday night I was playing on a team with Amy and Isaac. Isaac was guessing and Amy was trying to get him to guess "Liza Minelli." I had no idea how she was going to do it, but Amy did a great impression of Judy Garland having a baby and it was hilarious. Of course Isaac got it correct.

If you are in the NYC area on a weekend you should definitely swing by and catch a show. The upcoming schedule is listed on the front of my profile. There's also a Valentine's Day show coming up on the 14th and if you'd like to take some workshop classes they are coming quickly as well.

Saturday was my 20th performance with the team (I've been playing every Friday and Saturday night for a little over a month now) and I'm having a blast. Good times. :)

Monday, January 30, 2006

Oscar, Oscar

Today on my way to work I passed by this display advertising the upcoming announcement of Oscar nominees tomorrow morning. And in the window was a case FULL of Academy Awards.

It was glorious!

Sunday, January 29, 2006


It's funny how, when you're married and walking around in the big city you're surrounded by people walking around, chatting, drinking coffee, or sight-seeing.

And then when you're single again and walking around in the big city you're surrounded by couples walking around, chatting, drinking coffee, or sight-seeing.

Isn't it weird how your position in life alters your perspective?

"The Colorado Kid"

I just finished reading "The Colorado Kid" by Stephen King. King had come out a few years ago announcing his retirement but deep down I think all of his fans knew that was never gonna happen. As difficult as the writing process can be, when you have so many stories to tell I think it's harder to not tell them.

"Kid" was published by Hard Case, a crime-story book publishing company. If you think you know Stephen King, then this is proof that you don't. No gore. No guts. No demon-posessed anythings. Just the tale of two old newspaper men passing on to their new colleague a mystery that's had them stumped for 25 years.

A dead man was found on the beach of their small New England town and that's about all that is known for certain. Who was he? Why was he there? How did he get there? There are a lot of questions going into it and just to give you fair warning, King doesn't supply many answers. The story is less about the mystery than it is the relationship of the two men telling the story and the young reporter they are telling it to.

Because answers are so few and far between, I would have been upset had this been the standard 700-page King tome, but this story weighs in at a slim 184 pages and can easily be read in a weekend (or afternoon if you're really making good time). It's an easy read (most King books are) and he still knows how to tell a good story and draw you in. So sure, I'll recommend this one. Just know going into it that this book is a mystery, and mysteries are called that because not all of the answers are there.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

"Which Lie Did I Tell?"

I just finished reading Which Lie Did I Tell? More Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman. Much like the previous book I read, Truth by Al Franken, it's one of those books for a select demographic. If you're into politics and current events, you'll probably enjoy Truth. If you're into movies and how they get made, then you'll enjoy WLDIT.

The author may not be a household name, but you know his work. He wrote The Princess Bride (the book and the screenplay), Marathon Man (ditto), Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, and the screen versions of Misery, Absolute Power, and Maverick.

The book is broken up into three sections. In the first part, Goldman talks about each of the scripts he wrote and what he was doing/going through when he wrote them and the process he went through to see it made into a film. He's very honest about who he liked working with (Mel Gibson, Rob Reiner) and who he didn't (Val Kilmer) so if you're into Hollywood gossip you might enjoy that as well. It's a really interesting look at what goes on behind the curtain of the great Hollywood machine.

In the second part, he reprints scenes from various movies (the zipper scene from There's Something About Mary and the orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally) and deconstructs them. Why did they work? What could have been different? What shouldn't have? He also interviews the authors of those scenes and tries to get into their headspace as well.

In the final section, Goldman presents you with an almost-complete new movie script he has written. He sent the same script to some fellow screen writers and asked them to "critique the shit out of it." He then reprints their comments, both good and scathingly blunt, and it's interesting to see the different point of views people come away with.

If you're into the whole movie world and behind-the-scenes scoop, you might want to give this a read. If, however, it's not your cup of tea, then don't feel bad about skipping over this one.

I had started reading Wicked by Gregory Maguire (yes, the book the big musical of the same name is based on) but to be honest, I'm finding it hard to get through. I'm not a big fan of the writing style and, quite frnakly, I'm bored. I've only just started it (I'm currently on page 55) but so far I don't care what happens next. I'm not eagerly devouring the pages. I'm just not hooked. I'm going to give it a break and try it again later. In the meantime I will be reading something else and hopefully when I come back to it with fresh eyes I'll be able to jump in with both feet.

As always, I will keep you posted on my literary adventures.

What I Almost Stepped In 2

[Ed's note: This blog is not for the weak of stomach. Don't say I didn't warn you]

Today I almost stepped in vomit. Three times.

I think.

I know the last time was definitely vomit. The first two I'm still not sure of.

This morning on my way to work I was crossing Broadway at 40th Street. As I got to the opposite sidewalk and was stepping up onto the curb I looked down into the gutter and saw this huge...the only word I can think of is mass. It was just an amazingly incredible amount of, of something. Which is the reason I doubt it was actually vomit. It was an actual pile. Regardless, I still took care to walk around it.

On my way home from improv rehearsal I came across suspicious speciman number two. As I got closer, I realized it may not have been vomit but actually was chili that someone didn't want and threw to the ground. At least, I told myself it was just chili. But I'm still not sure.

The last incident was right outside of Port Authority and this, my friend, was the real thing. Real vomit. And how do I know it was real? Because rats were eating it.

True story. Welcome to New York!

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Hey buddy, can I get one of those?

I'm not a smoker. And living in New York has given me yet another reason to be glad I'm not (you know, besides not having the emphysema).

Countless times I've been walking behind someone smoking and they are approached by a stranger and asked if they can have one of their cigarettes. I'm sorry but that's just another hassle I don't need.

How rude is that, anyway? If I see someone enjoying a Cafe Mocha or a candy bar, I don't go up to them and just ask if I can have some. Call me crazy, but I think that's just polite. You know, to not expect strangers to give me what they have just because I want some, too.

But for some reason, it's ok to approach strangers for a cigarette. I get enough people asking me for money every day, I don't need to start giving people another excuse to throw off my walking rhythm.

Monday, January 23, 2006


Walking to work this morning, I approached the corner of 43rd and 7th. Across the street is a Starbucks, and the big STARBUCKS COFFEE sign is curved so that it wraps around the corner.

Combined with the angle I was approaching, the curvature of the signage, and the signs and posts in front of the building, some of the letters were blocked and it spelled out UCK OFF.

I giggled.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

The Truth...with jokes (Book Review)

I just finished reading The Truth (with jokes) by Al Franken. I hadn't read either of his previous books (Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot and Lies...and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them).

I'm not sure why I decided to read this book because I'm really not into politics and it's a subject that I find boring and tiresome. I guess I was just that desperate and hoped that it would at least be good for a chuckle or two.

I already pretty much knew what I was going to read. Franken is a pretty outspoken liberal, so I guess it was the usual anti-Bush & Co. stuff you hear. I suppose it was somewhat interesting because I actually read the whole thing, but when it comes to that kind of stuff, you never really know who to believe, you know?

Actually, reading the book kinda reminded me of being back in Indiana working with dad painting houses. One of the guys who worked with us always brought a radio and had it tuned to talk radio. I never would have chosen to listen to talk radio but because it was within earshot, I listened to it. Reading this was kind of the same thing. It was there, so I read it. It was basically the book form of talk radio and if that's your thing, then maybe you'll like it as well.

Me, I prefer something you can move to.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

The Reading Railroad

I actually did a lot of reading last year. Or at least, more than usual. So I've decided to make a late New Year's Resolution and that is to read more books than I read last year. To the best of my recollection, I read 27 books last year (a little more than two a month). I think I can do it. God bless the library.

And if you were wondering, here's my list from 2005:

1. The Pleasure of My Company – Steve Martin
2. Frankenstein: Prodigal Son – Dean Koontz
3. Rebel Without a Crew – Robert Rodriguez
4. Life of Pi – Yann Martel
5. The Stupidest Angel – Christopher Moore
6. Haunted - Chuck Palahniuk
7. Wizard and Glass – Stephen King
8. Wolves of the Calla – Stephen King
9. Torture the Artist – Joey Goebel
10. The Dark Tower – Stephen King
11. Dead and Dying Angels – James A Mangum
12. Kiss Me Like A Stranger – Gene Wilder
13. Fletch – Gregory McDonald
14. Fletch, Too – Gregory McDonald
15. Fletch Won - Gregory McDonald
16. Fletch’s Fortune - Gregory McDonald
17. Carioca Fletch - Gregory McDonald
18. Confess, Fletch – Gregory McDonald
19. Saturday Night: A Backstage History of Saturday Night Live – Doug Hill
20. Live From New York – James A Miller
21. The DaVinci Code – Dan Brown
22. Deception Point – Dan Brown
23. The Greedy Bastard Diary – Eric Idle
24. Fight Club – Chuck Palahniuk
25. Why You Crying? – George Lopez
26. Lamb – Christopher Moore
27. How We Are Hungry – Dave Eggers

Tuesday, January 17, 2006


July, 1982.

It was one of those days when everyone was outside. Every kid in the neighborhood was out riding their bike in the cul de sac where I grew up (AKA The Circle). Some grown-ups were out encouraging their lawn to grow by watering it; others were doing their best grass-growing discouragement by mowing it. Some were laying out getting a tan and others were just hanging out and enjoying a cold one, talking about everyone else.

The point is, everyone was outside.

You know when you think back on a perfect summer day and the sky is blue and everything is good and there is love in the air? This was one of those days.

And it would soon be changed.

Eastwood Court was not a place where perfect harmony stayed around for long. Eastwood Court was where perfect harmony came to visit and we would take it around the back and beat the crap out of it.


I remember how happy I was. I was 11 years old and I still remember it like it was yesterday. I felt great. It was an awesome day outside, everyone was riding their bike, and my relatives were in town.

We have a family reunion every year, but it's only every few years when the ENTIRE family from all over the states comes into town. This was one of those years, and I was so excited to see my cousin JP from California.

And Aunt Alice was coming in from Idaho. Idaho!! (Once Alice gave me a little pin that was shaped liked a tiny potato and IDAHO was written across it. The tiny eyes on the pin were made of little indentations and I remember running my finger across it so I could feel the little grooves. Idaho!)

My cousins from Chicago would be there, too. My cousins who frightened me. My cousins who grew up speaking English and Spanish and listened to rap music before our little corner of Indiana had ever been exposed to it. My cousins, who spoke really loudly and talked a lot of trash and spoke to each other in code-in Spanish!-and were always laughing and poking fun and chasing and hitting - they hit! - and whom I always steered clear of. Lalito and Roberto. I had to keep an eye on them.

Everyone would be there tonight when we all gathered together for the first time in years.So things were good. I was excited and happy and nothing could go wrong.

Until Benny Jo Hideout cut off my sister on her bike and made her fall and he laughed.I couldn't believe it.

My little 5-year-old sister was riding her bike in front of me and mean ol' Benny Jo Hideout came up behind us on his bike and slammed into her. She lost control of her bike and managed to crash land in the Sattison's front yard.

Benny Jo Hideout!!

That of course, wasn't Benny's real name. He got that name the only way kids get their nicknames. From other kids who are really reaching.

Benny never had a chance. If Benny was a character in a book (and I suppose now he kind of is) or in a movie, you'd be able to see how his life ended before it happened. I've never been a fan of clichés, and when they happen in real life, it's just weird. Because clichés aren't actually supposed to happen. They're clichés.

Benny was a couple of years younger than me. I think I had only been in Benny's house once and I remember it smelled of bacon or some other food that required a lot of grease in which to cook. I also remember realizing it was nowhere near breakfast time, so their house must always smell of cooked grease.

Their floor was dirty.

The TV was on and turned up really loudly. No one was watching it.


I don't' remember why I was in Benny's house, but I do remember running away and swearing never to return.

Benny's dad was named Charlie. He was a really skinny guy with a big moustache and glasses. We never saw or heard much from Charlie except after he'd been drinking. We would be outside playing and then hear the screams and shouts. We would try to sneak up to the house to see what was going on, but were never successful.

And when Charlie would yell, he was usually yelling at Benny's mom, Ann. Or, as we called her, Big Fat Ann. Which soon got shortened to just Fat Ann. Fat Ann, Fat Ann, Fat Ann, we would chant and soon even that became shortened to "F'dann" and it became a sound effect that we would use when imaginary bullets ricocheted around us when playing cops and robbers. F'dann! F'dann!

Don't feel bad for Fat Ann. After all, she was fat. It's not like we were saying anything that wasn't true. But you see, F'dann was worse than big or fat. She was MEAN, and if you don't want chants made up about you by the neighborhood kids, then don't be mean.

F'dann was mean and she yelled. But most of all, she hated us. She hated all of us non-F’dann kids because we lived in The Circle and we were all good kids. F'dann could see the future as well as anyone; she wasn't blind. And she knew what was going to happen. She knew that we were going to grow up as good, nice people. She knew we were going to move out of Eastwood Court and live good lives. We were going to get married to other people who had grown up to be good people and were going to continue breeding and reproducing other good people.

F'dann knew that she and Charlie had not produced good people. They had produced two offspring who had taken the worst traits from their parents and put them on display.

They had produced DeeDee, who was basically a miniature version of F'dann. She was 7 years younger than most of us on the block and had already inherited her mother's propensity for food and yelling. Most of the time DeeDee was just ignored or left behind (which wasn't hard to do; she simply wasn’t a fast waddler).

And Charlie and Ann had produced Benny Jo Hideout, who would use his girth and size to try to intimidate the other kids. Benny Jo Hideout, who although did indeed have girth and did indeed have size could not intimidate the other kids because he was a pinhead. Benny Jo Hideout was a bully who didn't know how to bully.

Sad, really.

And, I realize now, they were hillbillies.

It's not uncommon to find Southern accents in the lower part of Indiana, but up where we were at, only about 40 minutes from the Michigan state line, you didn't find a lot of that.

Benny's family had southern accents. Their backyard was a veritable treasure trove of all things hillbilly. A vast assortment of barbecue grills that had rusted reddish-brown. A riding lawn mower graveyard. The standard Pile of Wood With Rusty Nails Sticking Out Of It.

And, standing tall and serving as the ultimate Hillbilly Beacon--the sketchy clubhouse. The clubhouse that Charlie had made for his children that reached high into the sky with supports that couldn’t come close to holding the weight of his children (let alone the heavyset Gradeless kids who would also climb into the clubhouse with them).

Charlie was neither an engineer nor an architect, and it only took a week or so for the tiny 2x4s holding up this wooden deathtrap to wave the white flag and send the entire construction leaning at an angle that would make the Leaning Tower of Pisa appear to be square and plumb.

There was a commercial on at the time for cereal that had a catchy little tune that featured kids in a cool clubhouse and would end with the rough scratchy singer pleading for kids to “Come to the Honeycomb hideout!” Being the Saturday morning cartoon junkies that we were, we heard this song countless number of times, and it was ingrained in our psyche.

And soon, the catchphrase was adapted by us to become “Come to the Benny Jo Hideout” (”Jo” of course being added not because it was part of Benny’s name, but because we needed to make sure our song had the same number of syllables as the commercial).

And thus Benny Jo Hideout was born.

Because of all of this, plus the fact that his heart had about as much feeling as a Bundt cake, on that beautiful day when nothing could (or should!) go wrong, Benny rode his bike up to my sister and forced her off of the street and made her crash.

I didn’t even think.

You know on the Bugs Bunny cartoons when Daffy Duck would get upset, and to signify how enraged he was, the cartoonists would draw his feet red and then the redness would slowly climb up to his duck bill like a thermometer? That was me. Had I actually thought about what I was doing, I probably would have stopped to help my sister instead of trying to take on someone who had 80 pounds on me. But I wasn’t thinking.

And besides, come on. This was Benny Jo Hideout.

I put my bike into high gear and tried to catch up with Benny. He was still laughing. That high-pitched rat-a-tat laugh that echoed through the neighborhood and made small children weep and small birds fall dead from the sky. It wasn’t unlike Judge Doom from Who Framed Roger Rabbit at the end after he’d taken off his mask to reveal the maniacal toon that he was.

Benny laughed like that.


The Gradeless kids were there, too, riding their bikes, and had seen the whole thing. They laughed because they were also evil (They were kind of like the Crabb and Goyle to the sinister Draco Malfoy, if you follow Harry Potter at all).

They were all cackling and howling and my sister had started to cry on the side of the road. Todd had stopped to make sure she was OK. I was in hot pursuit. I was going to catch up with Benny and be the hero. I was going to catch up with him and punch him in the face and send him reeling with a How Do You Like That right hook. I was going to make Benny fall with my powerhouse punch and make him cry. I was going to make Benny pay.

And guess what?

I did.

I don’t know how it happened. It all happened so fast, but it happened.

Somehow, the whole scenario I had pictured in my head played out just the way it was supposed to. How often does that happen? Believe me, I was as shocked as you are now.
I caught up beside Benny Jo Hideout and it was picture perfect. Benny was too busy laughing to notice me creeping up and when he turned to his left to see me riding alongside him, he had no time to react. I swung my tiny skinny-boy arm and connected to his jaw with my little angry fist.


And Benny cried.
He didn’t fall like I had wanted, but by God, Benny cried like the big baby he was. And justice had been served. Eddie Style.

The look on his face was priceless. I still see it in slow motion as his face morphed from that devilish laugh to a look of shock and awe. His mouth went from a huge smile to a stunned “O” and then went plastic as I socked him.

And Big Benny Jo Hideout rode his bike back to his end of the spoon-shaped cul-de-sac, crying all the way. The Gradeless kids, not knowing if they would meet a similar fate for laughing, followed Benny home to regroup and presumably eat and get even more dirt in their never-clean hair.
Children cheered. People whooped. The marching band showed up and the celebratory music was enjoyed by all.

Soon, kids were rushing inside to spread the good news.

“Eddie hit Benny!”

“Benny pushed Jaime down and Eddie hit him!”

“Eddie made Benny cry!”

Parents ran outside throwing streamers and confetti and paparazzi came from the bushes to take my picture and post it in the Daily News.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. I did hit Benny. And Benny went crying home.

My parents, who had seen the whole thing, were smiling and proud, waving from the front yard. Their son, The One Who Never Hit, had stood up for his little sister and by God he had won.

It was a beautiful day indeed.

I rode my bike in circles in the spoon and was on top of the world. Todd and Brian and Jake were all telling me “Good job!” My sister was back on her bike and OK, and shouted thank you’s my way.

You’re welcome, little sister. You. Are. Welcome.

All this was going on around me and I was flying high.

Which is why I didn’t see Charlie come running down to the circle to get me.

He came out of nowhere and grabbed the handlebars of my bike, jerking me to a stop.

What the--

And suddenly everything changed. All of a sudden my day went from celebration to utter horror. It happened too fast for me to even register what was going on.

Suddenly I was stopped and Charlie had his hands on my bike and I couldn’t get away and he was leaned over and yelling at me for hitting Benny, the gnawed end of his pipe being jabbed at my nose over and over again. I don’t even remember what Charlie was saying, I was so caught by surprise. I was so preoccupied trying to fathom what was going on that I didn’t register the Hillbilly rambling he was spewing at my face.

I finally looked up at Charlie and he went pale and suddenly took a step back.

I turned.

Dad was coming.

Charlie knew he screwed up.

Just like I had seen what happened to my sister and made it all good, Dad was watching this odd turn of events that unfolded before his eyes and was about to balance things out.

Dad wasn’t about to stand by and let some guy scream and yell at his 11-year-old son, holding him prisoner on his bike while shoving a pipe in the aforementioned son’s face.

Dad told Charlie to get away from me.

Charlie stepped back again, a mix of surprise and seething redneck anger twisting his face into a comedic scowl. (Have I mentioned my Dad is a Golden Gloves boxing champ? That would account for the priceless look on Charlie's face.)

Charlie told Dad that I had hit his son and I had it coming.

Charlie grew testicles and took a step toward Dad.

Dad told Charlie that’s what his son got for pushing over a little 5-year-old girl on a bike.

I slowly began to roll my bike backward. I’m outta here.

Charlie waved his pipe in Dad’s face and said to stay out of it.

Dad told Charlie to get that pipe out of his face.

Charlie waved the pipe closer.

And Dad reached up and smacked the pipe out of Charlie's hand.

The world stopped.

Time froze.

I heard a choir of gasps from all around me.


Charlie couldn’t believe it.

None of us could.

It took all of us a second to realize what happened because it happened that fast. No one saw it coming, especially Charlie.

Point. Whap. Tink!

All Charlie knew is that suddenly his pipe was on the ground and he couldn’t wrap his mind around how it got there.

Dad didn’t move.

Dad was cool.

And then Charlie flipped out.

He bent over and got his pipe and again began yelling. How dare you and you’re in trouble and on and on, arms flailing to accentuate his point.

And Dad just stood there.

All I saw was Charlie yelling in slow-motion, his tobacco stained teeth and black gums moving at 90 miles an hour and I wondered what his breath smelled like.

And then, in a move of such bravado I still don’t know where Charlie found the guts to do it, he began waving his pipe in Dad’s face again.

Look how calm Dad is. He is a Ninja.

As Charlie continued ranting and waving, Dad calmly told Charlie to get that pipe out of his face or he was going to smack it out of his hand again.

Dad was like Clint Eastwood; like Steven Seagal. They weren’t badasses because they intimidated people by screaming and yelling. They were badasses because they intimidated by talking quietly.

Charlie should have known.

And that is where Charlie’s bravery turned to sheer idiocy.

He took that as his cue to shove his pipe even closer to dad’s face. How he managed to avoid poking out one of Dad’s eyes I’ll never know, because that pipe was close.

Charlie punctuated his backwoods tirade by popping the pipe in his mouth and leaning in to dad to put the butt end next to Dad’s nose.

And before Charlie could blink, Dad smacked the pipe again.


Right out of Charlie’s mouth!

I still hear the “clack” of wood against teeth as the pipe was again hurled into the air.

A sea of cheers and laughter erupted and Charlie knew he had lost. He had been shamed. Charlie was the Loser.

He turned, snatched the pipe off the ground, and like his son before him a few minutes earlier, retreated home. Only this time instead of a wail of sobs accompanying the journey, it was a wail of shouts and swearing and threats of being arrested.

I sent Benny home crying, and Dad took care of Charlie.

This really was a beautiful day.

Shortly afterward, the entire neighborhood had convened in our yard to congratulate Dad.

Way to go.

to stand up to him.

That was great.

Good job.

I think Dad was a little embarrassed. He hadn’t gone out there to show off or put on a show, he had gone out there to make sure this guy (this grown-up!) wasn’t going to try to do anything to his son.

Soon after we all returned to our respective homes. An uncle who had flown in that day came to visit us before we had to leave for the bigger gathering that evening at my Aunt’s house and I tried to recapture the glory and magic of what had happened. I was talking a mile a minute when The Cops arrived.

Garrett is a small town where everyone pretty much knows everyone else, and The Cops knew my dad. And they also knew Charlie. They talked to Dad for a few minutes and they all got a good laugh out of it. I think one of them gave Dad the thumb’s up and told him good job.

When they left the house without Dad in custody, Charlie (who was waiting at the end of our driveway to witness his final I’ll-Get-You-All triumph) couldn’t believe it.

This was a travesty. An injustice. Arrest that man!

It was obvious that, in the time between calling The Cops and The Cops arriving at his house, Charlie had thrown a few back, and he was fairly intoxicated. The Cops tried to explain why they weren’t going to arrest my dad and everything was OK now, but Charlie wouldn’t have it. And soon The Cops were the target of Charlie’s rage.

And The Cops put Charlie in the squad car and drove away.

I like to think that Charlie was taken to jail where he was promptly raped and sodomized, but I have no proof to back that up.

But you never know.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

The Toilet Paper Championship of 2006

When a group of people are forced into a confined area for a set amount of time, it's pretty amusing the games that will be created to keep everyone entertained.

At the National Comedy Theatre, the cast members stay downstairs in the basement before each show. It's a pretty big and open space. Our call time is 6:30 each night, so we're usually down there about 30-45 minutes before the show starts. Most of the time the guys play soccer while the girls yell at the guys for accidentally kicking the ball into their heads while they sit on the sidelines.

Last night our first show was canceled/postponed (depending on who you talk to). Chris was scheduled to be the referee for the 7:30 show and JT was on the schedule to ref the 2nd show. Because Chris claimed the first show was canceled and since JT was scheduled to ref the 9:45 show, he claimed JT should be the ref. JT claimed that the first show was only postponed and since Chris was to ref the first show, the 9:45 was technically the first show and so Chris should ref.
And what better way to settle the dispute than a good friendly competition. The rules were simple: The two guys stand at opposite ends of the basement. One of them is blindfolded and given a roll of toilet paper. The other chooses a spot and must stand there while the toilet paper roll is thrown at them. If they're hit, then they have to ref.

Pure and simple. Sure, it's a bit juvenile and what-have-you, but that's how guys settle things. There was no question about it, Chris won fair and square. The rest of us had a good laugh as they continued to go back and forth blindly throwing toilet paper at each other and all was well in the universe.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

My Dumb Camera

I was having a lot of fun fulfilling friends' requests of "Things They Wanna See Ed Do." I grabbed my trusty camera to continue the fun picture taking and all of a sudden it's not working. I turn it on, and all I get is a black screen, like the lens cap is on (but it's not. Trust me, I checked). The digital displays and icons on the LED screen are still there, just no picture. And the dumb thing is only like two years old. Great. I guess that's what I get for taking it all over with me and actually using it.

So until I get the money for a new camera, the requests will be out of commission for a bit. Say it with me:


Wednesday, January 11, 2006

That Really Good Feeling

You know that feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and as soon as you get up, you know you've slept in? And you look at the clock and you're like I was supposed to be at work an hour ago!! And that panicked feeling rushes in and you can feel the adrenaline start slamming?

Today was just the opposite.

I got up at 7:00 and started to get myself around. I hadn't really started to wake up when I re-checked my calendar and found out I had today off.

Wow, that ROCKED. I piddled around for a while, never quite waking up, checked and double-checked to make sure I was right, and then went back to bed.

What a great way to start the day!!

Thursday, January 05, 2006

The Lowering of Our Standards

Something is seriously wrong with the universe. I was watching Bravo tonight (or, as I refer to it, The West Wing Rerun Channel) and saw a promo for the upcoming season of Inside the Actor's Studio. Imagine my surprise to see a line-up that included such talented and compelling actors as Queen Latifah, Dave Chappelle, and Martin Lawrence.


Now bear in mind, I have nothing against any of the aforementioned actors and being into comedy like I am, I'm a huge fan of Lawrence and Chappelle. But I'm also fairly realistic. This show isn't Inside the Famous People's Studio or Inside the Who's Hot Now Studio. What's going on here? I suppose gone are the likes of Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, Richard Dreyfuss, and Jodie Foster.

So I turned the channel and landed on AMC (American Movie Classics. Classics, people!). And much to my chagrin, the movie they were playing was Kindergarten Cop.

I weep for the future.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Improv Debut Photos

My good buddy Paul just sent me some photos he took of my debut performance at the National Comedy Theatre .

Thanks, Paul!

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Happy New Year!

Wow. Really. Wow.

That's the only word that comes to mind. It was an amazing show last night at the National Comedy Theater's New Years Eve Comedy Spectacular. It was a sold-out show and there were even reports of a few people trying to sneak in to see the show.

As far as the cast goes, it was the biggest cast I've gotten to play with (3 against 3 with a DJ and a ref) and we all had a blast. I was in red once again. Kevin was our captain and we also had Adi on our side. We played against JT, Tyler, and Virginia in blue. Chris was the DJ and Kramer took ref duty.

The show began at 9:30 and we were off and running. The crowd was amazing. They were all truly happy to be there and every time someone sent them into a wave of laughter (and it happened quite a few times!) it was incredible. During the game of "185" I got an overwhelming response to a joke I didn't think would go over very well and it caught me by surprise. I'm still not sure why people went nuts over it but I'm not complaining. It was a fun moment.

Faithful readers of my blog are probably tired of hearing me going on and on about how great my fellow cast members are, but I don't care. They deserve every bit of credit and last night's show was a model of how great they are.

After the show there was catered food and we had about a half hour to wait to ring in the new year. It was fun mingling with the people who came out to see the show and at the stroke of midnight, we all yelled and whooped accordingly.

It was a great way to start off the year; doing what I love to do with people I love doing it with.

Greetings, 2006. Let's dance.