Non-epic post #1

February 4th, 2008

Alright, so a while back I told you all to be watching the blog for something new that I will be doing. You’ve also probably noticed I stopped posting so much even though you could not fathom how I couldn’t possibly come up with some random, ridiculous junk to talk about. I figure I will spill the beans now since the can of beans is over-flowing and my intake of legumes this week is making me freak out every time I think about ANY kind of bean…including the kind made of jelly or L.L. Cool J’s dad - L.L. Bean.

Anyway, tonight I make my debut at stand-up comedy. I’ve been writing since about June or July (hence the thin blog material) and, well, hopefully someone else thinks I’m funny too.

Naturally it’s an open mic so no doubt it will be rough and there’ll be lots and lots of uncomfortable silence - but lucky you, I’ll be posting the mp3’s of any sets I do on here so you have your choice of either laughing at me or laughing at me. No, that isn’t a typo, and, surprisingly, was the only way that sentence made sense(tence).

Props beforehand to Brewer, the man with whom most people think I share a brain, for helping me do some editing.

I promise nothing as there is a butt-load of stuff I need to work out and revise, and as I’ve never done this before. Anyway, wish me luck. Maybe one day I will post where I’ll be so you can come and see how tight my butt is in real life (stalker).

Full Circle

January 29th, 2008

As things in the world are seemingly coming full circle yet again for myself, I can only tell you the following:

I am returning to my roots by creating an epic post.

Rest assured, you probably won’t get it.

Finally, in other spherical news, I’d like to welcome back The Brewer to the blogging scene by saying “Your blog is terrible.” Anyway, you can peep his new blog entitled “Noige Tit” there.

Oh 2006, how I missed you.

It is that kind of day.

December 20th, 2007

The kind of day where I wake up, take a deep breathe and calmly pound my alarm clock into smithereens. It’s cold outside. It’s cold inside. Brushing my teeth is just scratching my gums for all I can tell and the shower water isn’t quite as scorching hot as I’d like it to be. Maybe it’s the ice water running through my veins, who knows?

Morning television fluff that I watch every morning seems softer than usual - cancer survivors, “talented” children, how to dress for holiday parties. My brain just writhing in it’s own cynicism and spewing garbage at me already.

Walking to work is uneventful but surreal. So many people. Everywhere. Everywhere! I’m not walking faster than any of them today. My brain is on auto-pilot. Actually, it’s on Metheney-pilot. “Secret Story” is really helping me appreciate the city today in its hugeness while part of me hates that someone is that good at playing guitar that they are able to help me realize things. To me those people are separated. And I hate that I am not separated - not for money or fame, but I want to be that good at something too.

I just don’t know what.

So it is that kind of day. The wholeness and completeness of not knowing what. Ever. Why even bother going to work? It’s so stupid. What I do, what my friends do, maybe what you do. So very, very stupid. Even fun is stupid. It’s ridiculous! No hunting, no gathering, shelter’s easy enough…so what else is there? Sales reports? Don’t make me barf.

Find someone! Commiserate with someone else who doesn’t know what the hell is going on. That’ll help! Have a baby! Project things onto it so it, too, can one day not understand what the point of being so very, very stupid is. No thanks.

Then I saw a puppy. A lab puppy. Maybe it didn’t click when I smiled just from seeing it but it certainly clicked at some point (or maybe it clacked). Just be stupid and try to have fun enjoying smelling things and walking around.

If you need me, try my cell phone. Chances are I will be wandering around smelling things…after I get these sales reports done anyway.

First impressions: And now, a chicken!

December 6th, 2007

Last night at Rafifi during a quick interlude between stand-up sets, I got up to refresh my beer. I stroll into the bar area after deciding that merely walking was no good. After all, there were countless hipsters about trying to tussle their hair so it was purposefully messy - I wanted to make a good impression.

As I made my way to the bar and got out my wallet, a girl stood to my left, and shortly thereafter a dude stood behind her. The bartender, pretty hot but pretty not-so-great at bar tending speed, came over and gave the three of us the “who’s next look?”

I tried to be nice and indicate the lady should go first, she tried to be nice and motion that I had the primo place in line, and during this nonsense the guy behind us goes ahead and orders his drink:

Andy: Uh, what?

Girl: Did that guy just cut BOTH of us?

Andy: Oh, Jesus, you’re cut? (checks himself for lacerations) No, no I seem to be okay…thank God!

Girl: What?

Andy: I can’t get cut, I am too pretty. You are…well you’re about a 6. Probably would just add a little intrigue.

Girl: That is quite possibly the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Andy: Wow, I find that hard to believe.

Girl: Asshole!

Andy: Kiss me!

Girl: Ew no! I’m leaving!

Naturally the conversation didn’t really go like that. But long story short, she turned down me buying her a drink after essentially chatting me up. How weird is that? From now on, my first impression will just be to cluck and flap my arms like wings.

Your worth to me is directly correllated to the amount of time I have known you…at best.

December 4th, 2007

I can understand why people like being nice to each other. Because they have a lousy self-image of themselves and need people to like them. What I don’t understand is the need for giving gifts to someone you barely know for something that anyone can do, or for something that inconveniences you.

Like baby showers. Oh wow, you had sex and got pregnant, and now you’re forcing people to throw you a party and give you gifts because you’ve taken on a parasite that, for at least 18 years, will do virtually nothing but spread germs, cause things to break, and make you tell me boring stories about how proud and amazed you are of it for carrying out tasks that every other child in this history of the world has completed. Oh, and it costs you an assload of time and money.

Like graduations. Oh wow, you managed to stop drinking long enough to get a C- in poly-sci and can grill me on French Monarchies from 100’s of years ago. You are also now qualified to speculate about modern politics and rhetoric, just like every other ho-ho who learned how to speak.

Like Christmas. Oh wow, you pretend you love Jesus for a day.

Just kidding. I don’t mind giving people gifts on Christmas. That makes sense to me. It’s a time when you tell a person “You know what? You are cool and I have known you for a long time. You are my friend, and you deserve to have something cool for it.” It’s true gifts are all about the effort, I have learned that time and again. Anytime I have spent a decent amount of time looking for something for someone it has worked out well - despite the fact it was a huge pain in my Kenny Roger’s Roaster. But I do that for friends and family.

What I don’t understand about Christmas gifts is where we draw the line. For instance, my sister’s boyfriend is coming to our house for Christmas. My SISTER has known this guy for…I think about 6 or 7 months, and they have been dating. I have met this dude twice.

He is a good guy and not awkward, weird, stupid, ugly, or any of those things as far as I can tell. But I have met him twice. And probably have spent no more than a couple of hours around him. I can tell you vaguely what he looks like, roughly how tall he is, and where he is from. In other words, I can give you less information about him than a $1 magazine can about your favorite celebrity.

So there was an email from my mom the other day asking for what my sister and I wanted for Christmas. My sister decides to ignore this question completely, and instead tell us what her boyfriend might like.

Uh. What?

You tell me. Am I really obligated to get this guy a present that isn’t a punch in the face? He’s going to be staying at our house, and I have to tolerate awkward conversation with a stranger, an extra dish to set, clear, and wash (because guests don’t do anything at our house), and pretend to be interested in his response to whatever questions my parents decide to ask him. Isn’t that a gift enough?

I’ll have to invite him and my sister to do stuff, and even though they won’t come, if I don’t think to invite them, I will catch hell for it.

I do not expect this kindly fellow to get me a gift. In fact, I would much prefer that he didn’t so there is no need for me to open something and then feel awkward for one of a few reasons:

1) His gift was more expensive than mine - dude, I get it. You make like 3 times my salary. Despite the fact that it might be nothing to you to spend $20-$50 on something for a stranger, the fact that I could spare maybe $10-$20 makes me feel like garbage. The higher the dollar amount, the larger the mound of trash that I feel like becomes.

2) His gift is in the right price range, but altogether unusable and unlikeable - now I have to pretend I like something (awk-ward!) and then keep it around just in case we’re in each other’s presence in the future and he says “Hey, how’s that Barry Manilow poster I got you?” And I have to go “Oh, I didn’t throw that away at all! I have kept it in my bedroom! Come and see! It has not caused me to be laughed at and has not spoiled many-a-night of making out with a hot girl.”

3) His gift is in the right price range and I think it is awesome - this is possibly worst-case scenario. Because I know for a fact that nothing that I can afford to get this guy could be remotely as good. It won’t be well thought out, it won’t be expensive enough to be worth returning. It will at best be something that is moderately useful for a week or two, and then gets stored away or thrown away, depending on where he rates on the Jung-Myers-Briggs scale.

My sister has disposable income. My parents have disposable income. This dude has disposable income. I have credit card debt, student loans, and late commission checks that are used to pay off the former and later because my paychecks are roughly enough to keep me alive and occasionally drunk.

Now, I know what you’re thinking - “Man, this kid is an asshole. Just don’t get him anything.” Yeah. Right. There are a couple things that will happen if I go the Grinch route.

1) My sister or parents will get him something “from me.” And I will have to take credit for it - ruining the principle on which I based not getting him a gift in the first place, forcing me to pay close attention on Christmas Day so I don’t say “oh that’s cool, now who was that from?” or potentially getting him something he doesn’t like which is like the double whammy.

2) Number 1 doesn’t happen and he ends up getting me a gift as above. That just makes me a terrible person in everyone’s eyes - now not only does he have more money and get me cool stuff, or crappy stuff that I pretend is cool, but I didn’t get him anything.

And there is no way around this. I am forced into an awkward situation because my sister has liked someone for 6 months.

My question to you is, I know very little about how most people would deal with this situation. What would you do - and what is the non-asshole course of action?

Franklin’s Back!

November 30th, 2007

Check out Franklin Talk! for Episode 7, I promise it’s somewhat entertaining.

Celebrity Sitings #2

November 29th, 2007

Just when you thought there couldn’t be any more excitement in your trivial, useless life. Yet ANOTHER celebrity siting! Only this one, this one my friends was not sited in New York, but in the rather remote location of State College, Pennsylvania!

Let me paint the picture for you:

It’s a dark night the day after Thanksgiving. People are beginning to gather at a local bar. Though it’s run down and smells of old pirates, people enjoy it as the beer is cheap and the wall decorations are cheaper. Townies are gathered from across the U.S. to check each other out - weight gain, baldness, hotness - who has changed since high school? Yes it was a post-Thanksgiving night like any other…only not!

Why was he in State College? Why was he at a bar there? Why was he sitting alone by a pillar? It’s a mystery to me - but I suppose, that the reason he was there, was a mystery for him as well!

What I don’t get is who he’s on the radio/bluetooth headset with. Watson maybe? Good luck Mr. Holmes. By jove, if you don’t solve the mysteries of State College, no one will.

Celebrity Siting #1

November 27th, 2007

There are a lot of famous people in New York. Tons. They are everywhere. Under desks, behind lamp posts, why just the other day I went to my office water cooler and found Phillis Diller behind it! But some celebrities are harder to spot than others.

Take, for instance, Spiderman. A lot of people don’t get the opportunity to see Spiderman. “Oh it’s just a big phony-baloney movie!” they say. Well my undying faith in comic books tells me that if you want something bad enough, and live close enough to dangerous chemical plants or mad scientists, anything is possible. Like havin’ 3 ding-dongs!

Many of you think that seeing Spiderman is just as likely as running into a tricockular man, but it isn’t. And if it is, well, you ladies may want to start beating the streets in search of your fork-ed friend. Behold, Spiderman captured by yours truly on my iPhone’s camera phone:

Oh, oh, you can’t SEE him there?! You think I’m lying?! Here’s a zoom-in for those of you with a case of the crusty-watchers:

As soon as I saw him I shouted “Hey! You up there! Spiderman!” He just looked at me, put one finger up in front of his lips, and then shot a spidery-web from his wrist and took off!

People near me looked but it was too late, so now they all think that I am crazy. And whenever I see them on the street they just walk by thinking “there’s that crazy guy with three ding-dongs!”

But it’s okay. I live my life like I always have, searching for a set of hot triplets.

Role-models?

November 12th, 2007

I am sliding down the slipperiest slope ever to slant. And it’s happening really quickly. But it’s not my fault! You see, due to the amount of ridiculous happenings in my life including grey-area situations, not-so-grey area situations, and things that are downright rude, I am starting to hate pretty much everyone because they are selfish jerks.

The show Curb Your Enthusiasm makes me shake my head and feel sorry for the Larry. I feel like Seinfeld is kind of the same way - he really just tells people what he thinks and if he doesn’t want to do something or thinks it’s stupid, he doesn’t participate. The only real difference is Jerry doesn’t explain why. But I love those two guys because they understand something that I am just beginning to - no one cares about anything but themselves and what they do, so why bother to make time for them and do things for them?

I have been ignored, stood-up, insulted, and walked all over recently because I was trying to help people out or do them favors or be a good person. I am slowly learning that doing people favors only wastes time and money that I could use to be doing things that I want to do. Chances are if you’ve even made the slightest attempt to be cordial with me, you are safe. Everyone else? Blow.

Sunday I went to brunch with two lovely ladies, and they showed up on time. And I thought, “wow, this is awesome. Someone actually showed up where they said they would at the time they said they would.” And Friday night someone was nice enough to text me to tell me they’d be late.

I really like those people now. Not that I didn’t like them before. And not that I dislike those other jerks but if I get two phone calls and one is from them and one is from someone else, chances are someone else won’t hear back from me.

I don’t really mind being like the (e)(a)rrys. They’re funny after all, and successful. The point is…don’t expect me to wait for you anymore if you are late. Don’t expect me to come to things I don’t want to come to. Don’t expect me to want to meet your friends or help you out. And don’t act surprised if you ask me to do something and instead of me just saying “sure” I say “you know what? I don’t really care about that.”

What are you gonna call me?

October 30th, 2007

I love that joke. It is so stupid and barely fits but whenever someone says “I’m gonna call my mom/friend/chimp” my response is almost always “what are you going to call them?”

Well I imagine that lately when someone turns to their friend to utter those words about me, the conversation goes more like this (by the way, hasn’t it been just too damn long since I’ve done a dialogue?):

Andy’s Friend: I’m gonna call Andy.

Friend of Andy’s Friend: No! Don’t!

AF: Why not?

FoAF: Poison!

AF: Uh, yeah.

FoAF: Don’t call him!

AF: But–

FoAF: NO! Chickens! DANGER!

AF: That doesn’t even make sense!

FoAF: Doesn’t it?!

AF: No it doesn’t. It makes just as much sense as me coordinating doing something with Andy, and then not calling him.

FoAF: You’ll just have to take that chance.

AF: The…chance….of…calling..?…him?

FoAF: I don’t think you get it. He wants you to call!

AF: …right…

FoAF: But there’s poison!

AF: But I told him I–

FoAF: NO!

AF: So if I call Andy…

FoAF: Right…

AF: There will be poison?

FoAF: Right.

AF: And Chickens?

FoAF: Correct.

AF: And if I don’t call?

FoAF: Balloons! Clowns!

AF: Now you’re just listing things at a carnival! This is ridiculous.

FoAF: You’re not going to call him though, are you?

AF: Of course not. You’ve talked me out of it with your rigorous logic.

FoAF: Monkeys.

AF: Soup with gravy in it!

FoAF: …gross.

It just doesn’t make sense. No one is calling me, texting me, no one is doing anything in order to contact me these days. It’s like I’m Samuel Morse and everyone in the world is friends with Alexander Graham Bell. And he’s all like “Dude, peep this phone-sie!” And they’re all “Yee, Boy-eee!” And I’m like “But yo, the code! Don’t forget the code!” And then they’re like “…” (that’s them giving the peace-out sign as they walk away).

So.

What are you gonna call me?