Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Onomatopoeia As Representation...

This piece is entitled

Onomatopoeia As Representation Of The Frustrating Limitations Of Early Adulthood Employment Opportunities And The Depressing Nature Of Menial Entry-Level Duties:


Thank you.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Site Comic Book Fans Should Check Out

I was going to write a super-pessimistic post about how life sucks and comedy sucks, but instead I'm entering positive-attitude land.

If you are a fan of Marvel Comics and wanted to know who was that guy with the funky golden armor and red codpiece from Captain America #268 1/2, check out Marvel Universe Appendix. I have never seen such dedication to minutiae of details - and it's totally awesome! If you only know Cyclops or Iron Man . But if you want to know about the Brass Bishop (who?) Kulan Gath (huh?) or Chtylok (kraw!), you should peruse the place.

Whatever, let me have my nerd-gasm. But support them, they're very nice!

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Dear Roommate, I'm Weird

Okay, so I was sitting in my room, watching Family Guy with no pants on and I heard the door open in the hallway. And then I hear footsteps come towards my door. And I get all freaked out so I yell "Ah! I'm not wearing pants." And my roommate says "I wasn't even going into your room." Now I think she thinks I'm masturbating. Which is gross! Dude, a man needs to have the right to not wear pants and watch television without being paranoid. Bachelors who live in studios are lucky. Dude, they could just live however they want. Fucking not shower for a couple days.

That's just sad that that's my dream life. Sitting on a couch with no pants eating quesadillas and a bowl of cereal and a bowl of carrots and raisins. I'm eating a crazy ridiculous meal. It's like "How many items from the food pyramid can I cram into one dinner?"

Anyway, dear roomie, I like tighty whities and I will continue to wear them, behind closed doors. But no penis touching.

What? That Old Thing?!

Oh right, it’s Last Comic Standing today. Yesterday I had to make the choice of whether I should go to an interesting job, or miss a whole day’s pay to stand outside in the elements in a crazy outfit so that I can be ripped apart for 2 minutes by inordinately bitchy judges – assuming I even get seen.

WTFever. I'm so over that.

The whole LCS thing is such a crock. I understand the idea behind it, but it’s so dishonestly done. I know there are comics who are great and don’t get their due and it’s great to give them a showcase. I wish the producers would market it as “Hey these are awesome people doing great things you’ve never heard of. Check them out!” Instead, it’s all “Holy mackerel, can you believe that these are average Joes with all this talent???!!!!!111one Holy crap, we discovered these gems!” No bigwigs, you didn’t discover them. They’ve been around for YEARS. There are so many people on the show who’ve had television and movie deals, headline across the country and make more in a night than I do in 6 months. At best, the people who appear in the shows promos (i.e. that 2 minute teaser) are being plucked out of (relative) obscurity, but the people who make it to the finals…they really don’t need a handout. Honestly, that like having a Best Superhero contest and introducing Batman as someone who “just appeared on the scene and seems to be doing some cool things.” Puh-leeze. Now if Tigra or Stingray were on that show, grrrrrr (and sensible – I bet none of you even know who either of them are).

I wish everyone who waited in line the best of luck. As for me, I’m going to sit in a cubicle, blog and bask in the warmth of job security.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

College Procrastination

I don't think I ever posted this article. This is from the days when I was a serious college journalist. Some of you guys may be familiar with my Worst Week Ever column (where I basically got an 800 word column to discuss whatever I was feeling miffed about). Man, those were the days, when peopel used to listen to my opinions. Those were also the days when I produced comedy shows with colleagues who actually respected each other and the audience was always 50+. This article is set in a mythical place called Wesleyan in a faraway land called Connecticut, where the trees stay green and the argyles are always dry cleaned.

Without Further Ado: College Procrastination Redux...

Worst Week Ever 2: If I Only Had More Time...

For this column I am writing on-site from the computer lab. To either side of me are students with frazzled hair, twitchy from downing Red Bulls and Starbuck's double shot espressos, trying desperately to finish their papers. The day is a Sunday, the time is 11:57 p.m. and I have both this column to write and a paper to finish. I have joined the rank of these sleep-deprived procrastinators and, needless to say, I am not pleased.

Why do we do this to ourselves, frittering away our free time, only to save the heavy work until the last minute? Now I know what you're thinking: "Procrastinators are just lazy; they're not having the worst week ever." Tut tut, disbelievers. Allow me to flowchart the course of a procrastinator's week so you can understand how we end up so screwed.

Monday: The teacher assigns the essay. She tells you that the essay is due next Monday - no excuses for lateness. She warns, "The questions may seem easy, but they require thought and a close reading of the text." You make a point of highlighting the assignment, adding a note that says "Remember to go home and start the paper. You'll regret it when Sunday rolls around and the paper isn't started." As soon as class is over, go home and take a nap. Mutter "I have all week to get a jump start on the paper." Cue ominous music.

Tuesday: Today is jam-packed with hours of class. It is your heavy day and you are too tired to look at the planner. Have a long dinner with friends. Gossip about the events of last weekend. Someone in your class will approach you and ask, "Did you start the paper yet?" Shake your head no and laugh; in your head you think, "We have all the time in the world." A small seed of fear implants itself in your mind.

Wednesday: Who are you kidding? Wednesday is bar night/bong night. And even if it wasn't, you won't commit yourself to anything academic at the hump of the week - please!

Thursday: The fear has grown into a seedling. That deadline looms over your head like a sword of Damocles. You question your values: "Where is that book I need to read? Shouldn't I at least have an outline for this paper?" As punishment, you do not allow yourself to go out, even though you heard about that raging party at Home Avenue. Do you get the work done? Of course not, because you're far too busy doing a crossword, getting your laundry done, and checking away messages.

Friday: While cleaning your room, you spot the book you need to re-read on the floor. This is the most physical contact you have made with the book so far. Read a couple of the pages, place Post-Its on an important passage. You're getting into being proactive - and then your phone rings. A friend tells you about a birthday party and you drop the book, hit the showers, and get ready to waste time.

Saturday: Even though you set aside a specific block of time to work on the paper, you decide it's okay to pave over those good intentions and watch some inane VH1 shows while surfing Facebook. Your housemates/bad influences drag you out to dinner where you sit for hours and discuss all the work you have to do. Instead of moving from the talking phase to the doing phase, you go back to your room, stare at the clock and think: "Can I start pre-gaming now?" Begin drinking at 10:00 p.m. sharp, continue onward until 2:00 a.m., and fall asleep on the bed fully clothed at around 4:00 a.m. Right before bed, you think "I'm going to get up at 10:00 a.m. and do this paper."

Sunday: After wiping the dried saliva off your cheek, you squint at the alarm clock. It flashes 3:30 p.m. Take a thirty-minute shower, pack your bag and go to the library to get stuff done. You are primed, an essay-writing machine - but the lighting in the room is so dreary and dull and then - you pass out. At 7:00 p.m. wake up, take an hour long dinner and get back to work. Your fingers are poised at the keyboard; the book is open in your lap. And you realize, "I don't even know how to start this paper." The fear plant is now a redwood of despair. Get angry at the teacher. How dare she expect you to write something? How is a week enough time? Type up some notes, erase a paragraph, and add in a huge quote. Think: She didn't warn you about how challenging this paper was going to be. She knows better than to screw you over like this. Bang out a couple of pages. Adjust the margins. Look at the time; it's 3:00 a.m. The paper is sprawling mess of quotes and half-finished thoughts. Go into perfectionist mode ("This paper looks so bad I just can't finish it") then bargaining mode ("Oh God, please help me get this done; I'll never do this again") then settle into defeatist mode ("I could just drop out of school right now and then I won't have to do this paper").

And then that Monday rolls around. Your face is greasy, your wrists hurt from the non-stop typing, your eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep. The paper is finished, incoherent but complete. In your unattractive and anemic condition, you drag yourself to the classroom, drop the paper on the teacher's desk and pass out in the back while she prattles on about deconstructing the state.

Don't you see? We need help - perhaps a PowerPoint presentation on the importance of being timely. Perhaps, we just have a genetic predisposition to wasting time. Or maybe there aren't enough hours in the day. I know there's a solution to the procrastinator's dilemma out there somewhere and I plan to find it - but I'll get to that in a couple of weeks.

Monday, February 04, 2008


!oo! is my new sign for victory. The !’s represent the index and little finger of championship and the o’s represent the knuckles of bad-ass-itude. Alternately, they also symbolize a football goalpost. Convenient Super Bowl segue…

I’m not a big Super Bowl fan by any means, but I did get to watch with a couple of friends, a lot of Domino’s Pizza and a Blue Moon. Here’s my cheers and jeers.

CHEERS: To the New York Giants winning! (Obviously!) I’ll be honest, I had doubts. Okay I had virtually no hope. I was optimistic, but my glass was 10% full. Go Eli Manning, maybe now people won’t call you “Peyton’s brah.”

JEERS: To the incredibly racist Bud Light commercials. Seriously, advertisers, a commercial making fun of South Asian accents? Of course that makes me want to buy your beer. Because beer should be American. No foreigners allowed. They might drop malaria and SARS in the barley. Disgusting. Oh and Carlos Mencia was part of it. Carlos Mencia – king of joke thieves, jack of all stereotypes, master of none. Majorly disgusting!

CHEERS: To Tom Brady getting sacked. Over and over again. I hope Gisele dumps you, Tom. She needs a winner, not a whiner. Tom Brady?—more like Tom “Throws Like A Lady.” Ohhhh, you got hosed on a blog read by 3 people!!!

JEERS: To that BS: “Everyone off the field, we have to play that :01 left in the fourth quarter even though the Giants are up AND have possession on the ball.” Sore losers, much?

CHEERS: To that really cool Coke commercial when Charlie Brown gets the soda. I would have shed a tear, but he’s an inflatable representation of a cartoon character.

JEERS: To another Geico caveman commercial. Go away cavemen! Go the way of the woolly mammoth and become extinct.

That’s all really. In conclusion, yay Giants. !oo!