Okay, drumroll....
My least favorite people on earth are...
(And remember, this includes an earth with George W. Bush, Karl Rove, and the producers of "Farmer Wants a Wife")
... the subscribers to The Onion's "Personals" section.
I don't read personals as I'm married and am therefore dead inside, but from what I understand about them, they're usually reserved as a last resort for sad people desperately looking for other sad people to share their holiday depressions with. I'm fine with that. Seriously, in this world, connect with people however you can.
The Onion personals are not regular personals though. Because I read The Onion I get a daily glimpse into the kind of people who are looking for love via headshots and pithy paragraphs. Here's why I hate them:
1. They're all basically attractive people. I've yet to see one fat Onion personal, one ugly Onion personal, or one pock-marked Onion personal. Why do these attractive people need to advertise for love on the internet? It doesn't make any kind of sense to me.
2. They're all hipster-ish. Approximately 98% of the people featured in the Onion personals are wearing Buddy Holly glasses. this shatters the hipster douchebag scale established at the Hipster Summit (held back stage at a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah concert in 2007).
3. They're all desperate to prove how cool they are. One of my least favorite things is the "five things I can't live without" phenomenon, where the text accompanying the headshot is just a list of hipster douchebag essentials. I guess this is a quick way to show others insight into your alternative (yet affluent) lifestyle. Example: Five things I can't live without: The latest album by [insert obscure yet recognizable band name here], My favorite copy of Camus' The Stranger, my cat Angry Sam, my lucky fedora, and a good bottle of [insert little-known brand of Japanese soda here].
Why do these people need the power of the internet to find love? Can't they just walk into the alternative bar in whatever city they're living in and find their perfect someone to share an overpriced loft with? Why am I subjected to their artistic black and white headshots every goddamn day?
So, you know, let's do something about this. And by "do something", I mean a lazy blog entry. There, I've done MY part.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Cleveland, the environment, Kurt Vonnegut, Fannie Mae, Screenplay
So it goes.
I reread The Avclub's very excellent article entitled "15 Things Kurt Vonnegut Said Better Than Anyone Else" today. Vonnegut was the first person that made me realize that sad-eyed and cynical secular humanism wasn't something that I invented when I was 15. Apparently, he had been doing it a lot longer than I had.
"So it goes" has probably been the title of about fifteen billion livejournal posts from emo kids who "found" _Slaughterhouse Five_, so I kind of hesitate to make too much of it now. That said, it really helped to get me through the day. The mounting evidence that we might be facing the worst economic collapse of my lifetime coupled with ongoing reports that everything man has ever made is both toxic and creating greenhouse gases really got me down.
I've always been the type to worry about these things. I remember in '87 when the stock market went kablooey, I went to school the next day with a stomach ache. I couldn't understand why all the other kids weren't upset. Didn't they realize that we were all about to be turned into chimney sweeps and pickpockets by nefarious cockney ne'er-do-wells? I mean, when the economy collapses, that sort of thing happens.
Now that I have a son, the worrying is worse. My connection with the universe - always pretty tenuous - was increased against my will when he was born. I now have to not only think about myself, I gotta find a way to feed and clothe that little bastard.
It's a common complaint parents make, but god, I had no idea how powerful the emotions were.
Every day, I read more and more reports about how everything is spiraling out of control: the economy, the environment, the war in Iraq. I try to imagine what my son's life will be like. If things are as bad as the people posting on Digg and the Drudge Report make them out to be, he won't even have apples to sell when the next depression hits. If I had a nickel for every time I've shuddered at the thought at where we're headed, I might be able to buy a gallon of gas.
So, rereading Vonnegut's phrase came at a very necessary time for me. So it goes. There's nothing I can do about it, and the greatest achievement I can hope for as a human is to just accept things. I won't lie to you, I'm still scared to death, but thinking about that phrase - even saying out loud, like a prayer - helps just a little bit.
It's cheaper than drugs, I guess.
I'm in Cleveland right now working with D.L. Hughley. He's a great guy, a class act, and a hell of a comedian. It's nice working with a celebrity who doesn't act like an asshole. It's not a common thing.
(And, as a super-awesome side note, his bodyguard/manager/brother-in-law was Jaxx in the Mortal Kombat games. Yes, you read that right, I got to hang out with Jaxx this weekend. Comedy might be a scary game and I might never make it in this business, but shit, I got to meet Jaxx. That never would have happened if I was teaching still.)
The second draft of the screenplay is out and being read by the fine folks at Mandalay. Let's hope they love it as much as Brian and I do. It'll make next week a lot nicer if they do.
All right kids. I'm off to sleep.
I reread The Avclub's very excellent article entitled "15 Things Kurt Vonnegut Said Better Than Anyone Else" today. Vonnegut was the first person that made me realize that sad-eyed and cynical secular humanism wasn't something that I invented when I was 15. Apparently, he had been doing it a lot longer than I had.
"So it goes" has probably been the title of about fifteen billion livejournal posts from emo kids who "found" _Slaughterhouse Five_, so I kind of hesitate to make too much of it now. That said, it really helped to get me through the day. The mounting evidence that we might be facing the worst economic collapse of my lifetime coupled with ongoing reports that everything man has ever made is both toxic and creating greenhouse gases really got me down.
I've always been the type to worry about these things. I remember in '87 when the stock market went kablooey, I went to school the next day with a stomach ache. I couldn't understand why all the other kids weren't upset. Didn't they realize that we were all about to be turned into chimney sweeps and pickpockets by nefarious cockney ne'er-do-wells? I mean, when the economy collapses, that sort of thing happens.
Now that I have a son, the worrying is worse. My connection with the universe - always pretty tenuous - was increased against my will when he was born. I now have to not only think about myself, I gotta find a way to feed and clothe that little bastard.
It's a common complaint parents make, but god, I had no idea how powerful the emotions were.
Every day, I read more and more reports about how everything is spiraling out of control: the economy, the environment, the war in Iraq. I try to imagine what my son's life will be like. If things are as bad as the people posting on Digg and the Drudge Report make them out to be, he won't even have apples to sell when the next depression hits. If I had a nickel for every time I've shuddered at the thought at where we're headed, I might be able to buy a gallon of gas.
So, rereading Vonnegut's phrase came at a very necessary time for me. So it goes. There's nothing I can do about it, and the greatest achievement I can hope for as a human is to just accept things. I won't lie to you, I'm still scared to death, but thinking about that phrase - even saying out loud, like a prayer - helps just a little bit.
It's cheaper than drugs, I guess.
I'm in Cleveland right now working with D.L. Hughley. He's a great guy, a class act, and a hell of a comedian. It's nice working with a celebrity who doesn't act like an asshole. It's not a common thing.
(And, as a super-awesome side note, his bodyguard/manager/brother-in-law was Jaxx in the Mortal Kombat games. Yes, you read that right, I got to hang out with Jaxx this weekend. Comedy might be a scary game and I might never make it in this business, but shit, I got to meet Jaxx. That never would have happened if I was teaching still.)
The second draft of the screenplay is out and being read by the fine folks at Mandalay. Let's hope they love it as much as Brian and I do. It'll make next week a lot nicer if they do.
All right kids. I'm off to sleep.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Not Really Producing
Well, that's not exactly true -- I've been producing tons. Between my stand-up, my screenplays and teleplays, and my blogs for TV Squad, in the last three months I've written more that has actually been read by real, actual people, than at any other comparable three month span of my entire existence.
Here's the problem: It's not as much as it should be. I've got more free time than anyone this side of a Hilton sister. I always imagined that when I was finally set free from the day-job shackles that my response would be to fill both house and hotel room with eight hours a day, six days a week of gentle click-clackings from my keyboard. It's been close to a year now; I should have a novel or two finished. I should have enough blog posts to shut shut down the single ISDN line that all of China shares. I should have five more screenplays that my agent can't sell. I should have 30 more minutes of stand-up that my old friends don't laugh at (but that strangers, strangely, do).
But I haven't done it. I've filled the time with digg.com, endless replays of movies that I've seen more times in my life than I have my cousins, and enough masturbation (both mental and physical) to piss off even the hard-to-piss-off gods (like Budha).
I just got back from a gig. I've spent the last three hours in my hotel room doing the following: one poop (enormous and well deserved), one hour watching Sportscenter (and on a Wednesday during football season no less -- we're talking 20 minutes of _hockey_ highlights), and one hour and forty five minutes watching the last one hour and forty five minutes of Fight Club (while I read about Fight Club on wikipedia).
I am officially useless. If I even wrote one page an hour, I could be three pages closer to finishing the screenplay I promised my partner I'd have done by the 17th. If I had written 150 words an hour, I'd have another post for TV Squad finished and some extra spending loot in my pocket. If I had worked on my act, I'd by icrementally funnier for the drunks and punks I'll be performing for this weekend.
What do I have to show for it? Nothing at all. I mean, other than a sexual confusion over my feelings for Brad Pitt's torso.
So, I decided to creep over here to the one semi-public piece of writing that I have that truly doesn't matter. I mean, it matters if you're reading it right now, but my feeling is that no one is reading this, so, you know, it doesn't matter.
It's good. It's gotten the ball rolling. It's allowed me to entertain the idea of sleeping without the usual two doses of self-loathing that I've been bringing with me lately to bed time.
Maybe I'll get off my ass now and write something worth reading.
Here's the problem: It's not as much as it should be. I've got more free time than anyone this side of a Hilton sister. I always imagined that when I was finally set free from the day-job shackles that my response would be to fill both house and hotel room with eight hours a day, six days a week of gentle click-clackings from my keyboard. It's been close to a year now; I should have a novel or two finished. I should have enough blog posts to shut shut down the single ISDN line that all of China shares. I should have five more screenplays that my agent can't sell. I should have 30 more minutes of stand-up that my old friends don't laugh at (but that strangers, strangely, do).
But I haven't done it. I've filled the time with digg.com, endless replays of movies that I've seen more times in my life than I have my cousins, and enough masturbation (both mental and physical) to piss off even the hard-to-piss-off gods (like Budha).
I just got back from a gig. I've spent the last three hours in my hotel room doing the following: one poop (enormous and well deserved), one hour watching Sportscenter (and on a Wednesday during football season no less -- we're talking 20 minutes of _hockey_ highlights), and one hour and forty five minutes watching the last one hour and forty five minutes of Fight Club (while I read about Fight Club on wikipedia).
I am officially useless. If I even wrote one page an hour, I could be three pages closer to finishing the screenplay I promised my partner I'd have done by the 17th. If I had written 150 words an hour, I'd have another post for TV Squad finished and some extra spending loot in my pocket. If I had worked on my act, I'd by icrementally funnier for the drunks and punks I'll be performing for this weekend.
What do I have to show for it? Nothing at all. I mean, other than a sexual confusion over my feelings for Brad Pitt's torso.
So, I decided to creep over here to the one semi-public piece of writing that I have that truly doesn't matter. I mean, it matters if you're reading it right now, but my feeling is that no one is reading this, so, you know, it doesn't matter.
It's good. It's gotten the ball rolling. It's allowed me to entertain the idea of sleeping without the usual two doses of self-loathing that I've been bringing with me lately to bed time.
Maybe I'll get off my ass now and write something worth reading.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Observations from Columbus, OH
Well, I'm in Columbus! The Paris of Ohio! The city of (a) light!
I had a gig last night in a place called Tiffin, OH. Tiffin is between Columbus and Toledo, yet hasn't been able to absorb any of the high culture that both of those cities are known for.
That being said, it's a nice little town and the gig was fun. Since I'm pressed for time before my flight leaves, I wanted to drop just a few quick observations about life in Ohio:
1) I'm seated next to a Wendy's. The Wendy's has a very cheap cardboard cut-out of a guy with a Wendy's wig on (if you've seen the relatively obtuse commercials that Wendy's has been running of late, you know what I'm talking about). There's a hole where the guy's face is supposed to be, with the idea that people can put their own head through the hole and become a part of Wendy's marketing scheme. I scoffed when I saw it, being under the impression that even retarded mutants wouldn't be so irony free that they'd actually put their head through the hole.
Welcome to Columbus! At least three different couples have laughed and taken pictures of themselves with their heads in the hole in the last hour. Seriously. The end is nigh. Sell your stock and head to the Bunny Ranch.
2) Almost all of the restaurants and stores at the Columbus airport are outside the security checkpoint. If you want to experience American Mall culture, you have to do it before you get screened by the (ahem) qualified and highly trained TSA agents. After the checkpoint? It's like a Turkish airport.
Why is this? I suppose the terminal was built pre-9/11, but guys, it's been six years. Can we either move the checkpoint up or put a goddamn store or two after it?
3) We're still on orange alert. That's high, for those of you keeping score at home. It's been this way for as long as I remember. Eurasia is at war with Oceania. It's always been that way, right?
Okay, that's it. Gotta catch a jet plane.
I had a gig last night in a place called Tiffin, OH. Tiffin is between Columbus and Toledo, yet hasn't been able to absorb any of the high culture that both of those cities are known for.
That being said, it's a nice little town and the gig was fun. Since I'm pressed for time before my flight leaves, I wanted to drop just a few quick observations about life in Ohio:
1) I'm seated next to a Wendy's. The Wendy's has a very cheap cardboard cut-out of a guy with a Wendy's wig on (if you've seen the relatively obtuse commercials that Wendy's has been running of late, you know what I'm talking about). There's a hole where the guy's face is supposed to be, with the idea that people can put their own head through the hole and become a part of Wendy's marketing scheme. I scoffed when I saw it, being under the impression that even retarded mutants wouldn't be so irony free that they'd actually put their head through the hole.
Welcome to Columbus! At least three different couples have laughed and taken pictures of themselves with their heads in the hole in the last hour. Seriously. The end is nigh. Sell your stock and head to the Bunny Ranch.
2) Almost all of the restaurants and stores at the Columbus airport are outside the security checkpoint. If you want to experience American Mall culture, you have to do it before you get screened by the (ahem) qualified and highly trained TSA agents. After the checkpoint? It's like a Turkish airport.
Why is this? I suppose the terminal was built pre-9/11, but guys, it's been six years. Can we either move the checkpoint up or put a goddamn store or two after it?
3) We're still on orange alert. That's high, for those of you keeping score at home. It's been this way for as long as I remember. Eurasia is at war with Oceania. It's always been that way, right?
Okay, that's it. Gotta catch a jet plane.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Red ring of death or just red ring?
Sometime in the mid-eighties every news report in America seemed to carry something about Lyme's disease. Apparently if you caught it your brain could melt or some such (as I write this, it occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea what happens to you if you catch Lyme's disease. Is it bad? Do people die from it? Perhaps nothing happens at all except that your blood all of a sudden takes on a delightful and refreshing citrus flavor.)
All of the reports said to look for the same thing: a red dot with a red circle around it. "Like a bullseye" the mid-80s TV reporter would say with gravitas.
I never worried about Lyme's disease because like any sane person who grew up in the era of air conditioning and cable, I never went outside. Like Ronald Reagan thought that AIDS was punishment for the sinful lives that gay people led, I too felt that any idiot that spent enough time outdoors that he had to worry about ticks got exactly what he deserved.
Now, thouogh, I finally understand how those people must have felt!
See, I have an XBOX360 and today I saw a red dot surrounded by a red ring. A bullseye that might as well have been pasted over my heart.
I turned off the machine and turned it back on and it booted up just fine, but now the idea is planted in my head: this XBOX360 mght be on the verge of death. I just spent 3 weeks in May without an XBOX360 because of an incurable red ring and... well, I just don't think I could go through that again.
It would break my heart. Like a disease. Like a Lyme's disease.
I'll keep you posted on whether or not the 360 lives or dies. I'm going away to Pittsburgh for a few days and maybe the time away will cool the machine down so much that any hint of a problem will simply disappear.
I don't have high hopes.
All of the reports said to look for the same thing: a red dot with a red circle around it. "Like a bullseye" the mid-80s TV reporter would say with gravitas.
I never worried about Lyme's disease because like any sane person who grew up in the era of air conditioning and cable, I never went outside. Like Ronald Reagan thought that AIDS was punishment for the sinful lives that gay people led, I too felt that any idiot that spent enough time outdoors that he had to worry about ticks got exactly what he deserved.
Now, thouogh, I finally understand how those people must have felt!
See, I have an XBOX360 and today I saw a red dot surrounded by a red ring. A bullseye that might as well have been pasted over my heart.
I turned off the machine and turned it back on and it booted up just fine, but now the idea is planted in my head: this XBOX360 mght be on the verge of death. I just spent 3 weeks in May without an XBOX360 because of an incurable red ring and... well, I just don't think I could go through that again.
It would break my heart. Like a disease. Like a Lyme's disease.
I'll keep you posted on whether or not the 360 lives or dies. I'm going away to Pittsburgh for a few days and maybe the time away will cool the machine down so much that any hint of a problem will simply disappear.
I don't have high hopes.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Gibbstown -- The place comedy went to die
I'm going to preface this by saying that I think the people in Gibbstown are good people. I mean that -- they all shook my hand before and after the show and I think none of them would intentionally stab a newborn.
That being said -- holy shit! If there's a center of fun in the universe, Gibbstown is at the point furthest from it.
Here's what I don't get: it wasn't a free show. The people who were there tonight had to pay a fair bit for their tickets. Many of them, I imagine, had to plan to be there (meaning they had to get babysisters or at least put food in their children's cages). So why would they choose to make the show unwatchable by getting so drunk that they wouldn't have paid attention to me if I was on fire? Why would they all talk on their cellphones constantly? Why would they shout and scream at each other during the show?
This would be like renting a movie, then drinking yourself into a stupor in your kitchen, only sort've half listening to it in the other room.
Why would you do that? Why not just set fire to your money? At least that way, I don't have to come to your town and have to go through the motions of putting on a show!
I wondered to myself on the way home if I'm getting too much of an ego. In the old days, I would've blamed the poor quality of the show on myself. I would have taken a sad bath and recommitted myself to becoming a better comedian and looked forward to being invited back to Gibbstown so's I could show 'em how good I really am.
Now, though? I was angry at them for wasting my time. Maybe I need the humility.
I don't think I'd be so mad if it wasn't for the following reasons:
1) I would have had more sleep this week if I was in a Turkish prison.
2) I'm still getting minor headaches and am having problems concentrating. Because my MRI says I don't have a tumor, I'm convinced now that I've given myself some kind of brain damage brought on by continued use of Simply Sleep (tm).
3) I have an audition tomorrow that's kind of a big deal. The last thing I needed was a thorough soaking of my ego in some small-town acid.
4) When I came home, my wife and brother-in-law were watching America's Funniest Home Videos and wouldn't change the channel (because it was the finals).
So, anyway, that's where I am right now. If I were a teenager, I'd try to figure out how to give this blog a mood rating. Somewhere between "grumpy" and "suicidal". Because I'm an adult (and a father!), I think my response will be to watch Sportscenter... angrily.
That being said -- holy shit! If there's a center of fun in the universe, Gibbstown is at the point furthest from it.
Here's what I don't get: it wasn't a free show. The people who were there tonight had to pay a fair bit for their tickets. Many of them, I imagine, had to plan to be there (meaning they had to get babysisters or at least put food in their children's cages). So why would they choose to make the show unwatchable by getting so drunk that they wouldn't have paid attention to me if I was on fire? Why would they all talk on their cellphones constantly? Why would they shout and scream at each other during the show?
This would be like renting a movie, then drinking yourself into a stupor in your kitchen, only sort've half listening to it in the other room.
Why would you do that? Why not just set fire to your money? At least that way, I don't have to come to your town and have to go through the motions of putting on a show!
I wondered to myself on the way home if I'm getting too much of an ego. In the old days, I would've blamed the poor quality of the show on myself. I would have taken a sad bath and recommitted myself to becoming a better comedian and looked forward to being invited back to Gibbstown so's I could show 'em how good I really am.
Now, though? I was angry at them for wasting my time. Maybe I need the humility.
I don't think I'd be so mad if it wasn't for the following reasons:
1) I would have had more sleep this week if I was in a Turkish prison.
2) I'm still getting minor headaches and am having problems concentrating. Because my MRI says I don't have a tumor, I'm convinced now that I've given myself some kind of brain damage brought on by continued use of Simply Sleep (tm).
3) I have an audition tomorrow that's kind of a big deal. The last thing I needed was a thorough soaking of my ego in some small-town acid.
4) When I came home, my wife and brother-in-law were watching America's Funniest Home Videos and wouldn't change the channel (because it was the finals).
So, anyway, that's where I am right now. If I were a teenager, I'd try to figure out how to give this blog a mood rating. Somewhere between "grumpy" and "suicidal". Because I'm an adult (and a father!), I think my response will be to watch Sportscenter... angrily.
Friday, July 27, 2007
What it's like to be a father (week one)
Remember when you were little and you'd get sick? The days were okay -- you'd eat toast with jelly and watch the Price is Right. The nights, though, the nights were terrible. Lonely, wheezing -- just you and your humidifier.
That's what fatherhood is like for me so far. The days are great. Keane swaddles up and gets so cute that sometimes I hear God Himself up in heaven going, "Holy shit, that kid is cute!"
But at night? I catnap while keeping one ear on radar duty, every little fuss the potential harbinger of screams. My TiVo is straining to keep up with the crap television I require to get through the nights, but even it eventually runs out of Mythbusters or X Play.
It's not a ringing endorsement, I know, but it's hard to write about the flood of emotions you drown in after becoming a father without sounding like you're writing another 200 pages of Mitch Albom style claptrap. I thought I'd give you the physicality of the experience, you know, just to keep you coming back for more!
(Speaking of which, is anyone reading this blog? I'm not publicizing it except as a link from my website and I don't expect it to grow but slowly. I'm just curious: if you're out there, write me!)
That's what fatherhood is like for me so far. The days are great. Keane swaddles up and gets so cute that sometimes I hear God Himself up in heaven going, "Holy shit, that kid is cute!"
But at night? I catnap while keeping one ear on radar duty, every little fuss the potential harbinger of screams. My TiVo is straining to keep up with the crap television I require to get through the nights, but even it eventually runs out of Mythbusters or X Play.
It's not a ringing endorsement, I know, but it's hard to write about the flood of emotions you drown in after becoming a father without sounding like you're writing another 200 pages of Mitch Albom style claptrap. I thought I'd give you the physicality of the experience, you know, just to keep you coming back for more!
(Speaking of which, is anyone reading this blog? I'm not publicizing it except as a link from my website and I don't expect it to grow but slowly. I'm just curious: if you're out there, write me!)
Thursday, July 26, 2007
I suck at Fifa '07
A quick story: World Cup '06 was wonderful, soccer seemed interesting, my favorite sportswriter Bill Simmons decided to follow the EPL as a result, and I wound up a soccer fan. I even got the Fox Soccer Channel and a Robbie Keane shirt and am thus completely on the other side of the soccer douchebag fence.
So in February when EA Sports released Fifa '07, I bought it the first millisecond it was available. I played approximately nine hundred hours a week and became, I thought, an unstoppable Fifa force. I imagined myself like the Christian Bale Batman, studying bad-assery in the far off reaches of Asia, readying myself for a triumphant reveal to the online community.
When my Xbox died in June, Microsoft was kind enough to replace it and send along a free month of Xbox live. I thought my training was complete and it was only a few weeks before I was atop the leaderboards and a feared whisper among the other players. "I played jayblackcomedy yesterday. My thumbs are still bleeding."
Uh, no.
I'm getting my ass kicked so severely and regularly it's actually affecting my offline self esteem. I feel like a case study in a bleeding edge psychology journal. These people are crazy good and my single player experience lied to me!
There are two major emotions at work when I play, both of which I'm very familiar with. The first is the "I need to get better at any cost" emotion. This is the feeling where I want to abandon my wife and child, quit my career and become one of those people that do nothing all day but play video games (i.e. college students). The second is the "Who gives a shit" emotion where I want to embrace life and love in a fit of sour-grapes superiority over the people who are better than me at the game.
I'm probably too saddled with Irish guilt to follow the former path, but I don't know if I'll be able to overcome my addiction to the game to follow the latter. It's the major dilemma of my life right now.
So in February when EA Sports released Fifa '07, I bought it the first millisecond it was available. I played approximately nine hundred hours a week and became, I thought, an unstoppable Fifa force. I imagined myself like the Christian Bale Batman, studying bad-assery in the far off reaches of Asia, readying myself for a triumphant reveal to the online community.
When my Xbox died in June, Microsoft was kind enough to replace it and send along a free month of Xbox live. I thought my training was complete and it was only a few weeks before I was atop the leaderboards and a feared whisper among the other players. "I played jayblackcomedy yesterday. My thumbs are still bleeding."
Uh, no.
I'm getting my ass kicked so severely and regularly it's actually affecting my offline self esteem. I feel like a case study in a bleeding edge psychology journal. These people are crazy good and my single player experience lied to me!
There are two major emotions at work when I play, both of which I'm very familiar with. The first is the "I need to get better at any cost" emotion. This is the feeling where I want to abandon my wife and child, quit my career and become one of those people that do nothing all day but play video games (i.e. college students). The second is the "Who gives a shit" emotion where I want to embrace life and love in a fit of sour-grapes superiority over the people who are better than me at the game.
I'm probably too saddled with Irish guilt to follow the former path, but I don't know if I'll be able to overcome my addiction to the game to follow the latter. It's the major dilemma of my life right now.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I piss off the Lactating Lady
So, if you didn't know, they have about a million consultants that show up after you have a baby. My personal favorite was the "Shaken Baby Syndrome Specialist" whose job it is to tell you not to shake your baby. I'm of the opinion that if you need to be told that, you might as well go ahead and shake your baby and get your genes out of the pool altogether.
The one I managed to upset was the Lactating Lady. She comes in and shows your wife how her nipples can be used to keep your baby alive. As the husband, you watch as your wife is shown proper technique as you slowly realize that the part of your wife you loved the most is no longer yours anymore. And they say women sacrifice during childbirth.
Anyway, I sit nicely during the entire nipple-manipulation presentation and play the part of the happy and supporitve husband. As she's leaving, I figure I'll make some small talk and I say: "Hey, what do you think about those whackos that breast-feed their babies until they're like 3 or 4?"
Apparently, I'm an asshole.
This woman getsall huffy about how that's an ignorant and stupid way to look at the world. It takes me approximately half a millisecond to realize that this woman obviously breast-fed her babies well into their forties. I probably should have surmised that from the fact that she's made a career out of being the Lactating Lady, but I had just become a father and my brain wasn't working properly.
I try to apologize. She says: "You know, in 3rd word countries, the average age of weaning is 5 or 6." I say, "Oh, well, sure, I didn't know that." And she says "Yeah" in that way that people do when they're suddenly on the moral high ground and enjoying every second of it.
Now that I've had a day to think about it, here's my feelings on the subject:
1) I still think that people that allow their kids to titty-feed into their tweens are nutto. Maybe it's the fact that I was raised in a prudish, puritanical nation, but the only time a person should be able to vocalize their need for boobies is when they're fourteen and in their girlfriend's basement.
2) From now on, I don't care how many liberal arts colleges you've graduated from, you're no longer allowed to use the third world as a reason for us in the first world to do anything. If you're doing something because third world villagers do it, you also have to poop directly into your fresh water supply. Because, you know, the third worrld doesn't have any concept of the germ-theory of medicine, because they're, uh, purer than we are.
3) Motherhood is a glorious and wonderful thing. In all honesty, watching my wife become a mother has been magical. That being said, people that try to extend the experience beyond when it's appropriate are doing it not because they love their kids, but because they want to continue being the all-giving MOTHER that they were when their child was completely dependent on them. It's about maintaining their own power. A self-respecting woman maintains her power not from the milk that exits her boobs, but from the cleavage those boobs make when they're strapped together in a too-tight push-up bra. At least that's what my good friend Betty Friedan always used to say.
Alright, all that being said, I have to go get my wife nipple-soothing cream. Yeah, baby, sexy.
The one I managed to upset was the Lactating Lady. She comes in and shows your wife how her nipples can be used to keep your baby alive. As the husband, you watch as your wife is shown proper technique as you slowly realize that the part of your wife you loved the most is no longer yours anymore. And they say women sacrifice during childbirth.
Anyway, I sit nicely during the entire nipple-manipulation presentation and play the part of the happy and supporitve husband. As she's leaving, I figure I'll make some small talk and I say: "Hey, what do you think about those whackos that breast-feed their babies until they're like 3 or 4?"
Apparently, I'm an asshole.
This woman getsall huffy about how that's an ignorant and stupid way to look at the world. It takes me approximately half a millisecond to realize that this woman obviously breast-fed her babies well into their forties. I probably should have surmised that from the fact that she's made a career out of being the Lactating Lady, but I had just become a father and my brain wasn't working properly.
I try to apologize. She says: "You know, in 3rd word countries, the average age of weaning is 5 or 6." I say, "Oh, well, sure, I didn't know that." And she says "Yeah" in that way that people do when they're suddenly on the moral high ground and enjoying every second of it.
Now that I've had a day to think about it, here's my feelings on the subject:
1) I still think that people that allow their kids to titty-feed into their tweens are nutto. Maybe it's the fact that I was raised in a prudish, puritanical nation, but the only time a person should be able to vocalize their need for boobies is when they're fourteen and in their girlfriend's basement.
2) From now on, I don't care how many liberal arts colleges you've graduated from, you're no longer allowed to use the third world as a reason for us in the first world to do anything. If you're doing something because third world villagers do it, you also have to poop directly into your fresh water supply. Because, you know, the third worrld doesn't have any concept of the germ-theory of medicine, because they're, uh, purer than we are.
3) Motherhood is a glorious and wonderful thing. In all honesty, watching my wife become a mother has been magical. That being said, people that try to extend the experience beyond when it's appropriate are doing it not because they love their kids, but because they want to continue being the all-giving MOTHER that they were when their child was completely dependent on them. It's about maintaining their own power. A self-respecting woman maintains her power not from the milk that exits her boobs, but from the cleavage those boobs make when they're strapped together in a too-tight push-up bra. At least that's what my good friend Betty Friedan always used to say.
Alright, all that being said, I have to go get my wife nipple-soothing cream. Yeah, baby, sexy.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Keane Robert Black
Keane Robert Black (or Keano as he will be known to his legions of fans in the EPL or KB as he will be known to all the girls that will have crushes on him or Keane Bean as he will be known in our house until he is old enough to complain) came firing into this world at 3:42 PM today, July 22, 2007.
He's already fed for the first time (he enjoys both boobs and food, just like daddy) and he's now resting comfortably waiting for whatever the world has to offer him.
By the way, to any comedy bookers currently reading this blog, Keane assures me that he's got a tight 5 that's PG-13 but can be cleaned up for church shows. He usually features, but he's willing to emcee just his once.
More to come...
He's already fed for the first time (he enjoys both boobs and food, just like daddy) and he's now resting comfortably waiting for whatever the world has to offer him.
By the way, to any comedy bookers currently reading this blog, Keane assures me that he's got a tight 5 that's PG-13 but can be cleaned up for church shows. He usually features, but he's willing to emcee just his once.
More to come...
Waiting for my wife to pop
So, I'm currently in the waiting room of Virtua Hospital in Voorhees waiting for my wife to give birth to our first child. A couple of things:
1) Thank god for drugs. Drugs are wonderful. Drugs take a screaming, unhappy woman and make her a weepy, thankful woman. Why would anyone give birth without them?
2) We were originally supposed to have all of this filmed by "A Baby Story", the TLC show. The hospital decided that no, they didn't want the camera crew here because it would "be a disturbance." But, when we got here this morning there were two scary-looking union guys taking up tile in the main hallway. They were using what sounded like helicopter engine to do this. Now, let me ask you how are cameras a disturbance and that engine not? I mean, I'd be okay with the hypocrisy it if the tile-scraping engine could get me some cheap publicity.
3) The whole birthing process is completely inefficient. Seriously, we've been here for like 5 hours and we still have like 5 hours to go (not to mention the eighteen or so years of actually raising the child). Why can't she go, "Ooh, that smarts a bit", head into the bathroom and pop out a kid? Wouldn't that make more sense from a design perspective. I hope I'm not coming off as too much of an Apple fanboy here, but I think that we should let Steve Jobs and Jonathan Ive design Woman 2g.
4) But at least the hospital as WiFi, which is nice, even though they have a block on pornography. I don't know this because I tried to look at it, but because there's a big message that comes up telling you that you won't be able to surf for it. I understand that they don't want an open access point to be used for prurient interests, but there are a lot of guys in this hospital on their deathbed. They should get a special password that lets them get access to the porno. They're dying! Let 'em see a little pink before they see the white, you know?
All right, I'm back into the birthing room now. Hopefully, the next time I post, I'll have some pictures of my son to show you!
1) Thank god for drugs. Drugs are wonderful. Drugs take a screaming, unhappy woman and make her a weepy, thankful woman. Why would anyone give birth without them?
2) We were originally supposed to have all of this filmed by "A Baby Story", the TLC show. The hospital decided that no, they didn't want the camera crew here because it would "be a disturbance." But, when we got here this morning there were two scary-looking union guys taking up tile in the main hallway. They were using what sounded like helicopter engine to do this. Now, let me ask you how are cameras a disturbance and that engine not? I mean, I'd be okay with the hypocrisy it if the tile-scraping engine could get me some cheap publicity.
3) The whole birthing process is completely inefficient. Seriously, we've been here for like 5 hours and we still have like 5 hours to go (not to mention the eighteen or so years of actually raising the child). Why can't she go, "Ooh, that smarts a bit", head into the bathroom and pop out a kid? Wouldn't that make more sense from a design perspective. I hope I'm not coming off as too much of an Apple fanboy here, but I think that we should let Steve Jobs and Jonathan Ive design Woman 2g.
4) But at least the hospital as WiFi, which is nice, even though they have a block on pornography. I don't know this because I tried to look at it, but because there's a big message that comes up telling you that you won't be able to surf for it. I understand that they don't want an open access point to be used for prurient interests, but there are a lot of guys in this hospital on their deathbed. They should get a special password that lets them get access to the porno. They're dying! Let 'em see a little pink before they see the white, you know?
All right, I'm back into the birthing room now. Hopefully, the next time I post, I'll have some pictures of my son to show you!
So, I don't have brain cancer
According to my neurologist, I'm clean as a whistle.
In case you didn't know, a few months ago, I went to the neurologist complaining of headaches. He said it could be one of three things: my sleep apnea, a poor glasses prescription, or a giant, pulsing, tomato-sized tumor in the center of my brain.
I went to the sleep doctor and she said: yes, I do have sleep apnea. I trusted her, even though she was a woman, because according to science women and men are equal.
I went to the eye doctor and he said: yes, I do have a poor prescription.
Finally, I went to get an MRI and my neurologist said: no, I don't have a giant, pulsing, tomato-sized tumor in my head.
I'm disappointed about this for a few reasons:
1) I'm a drama queen. Imagine how much sympathy I could elicit with an inoperable brain tumor. Seriously, I'd never have to worry about a social misstep again ("Oh, I'm sorry that I made a retard joke and your brother is 'special' Larry, but, you know, I'm dying from brain cancer, so it's a little hard for me to worry about being politcally correct, okay!?")
2) There's always the chance that the brain tumor isn't just a kill-you kind of cancer, but that it's a Phenomenon type cancer that gives me super powers before I die. I mean, we all have to die, but how many of us get to die knowing that we learned Portuguese in a truck ride or that we were able to name mammals alphabetically with Brent Spiner?
3) As many of you know, I'm about to become a father. Dying of a brain tumor is a hell of a lot easier than packing for Mexico and it doesn't even look like you're shirking your responsibilities.
4) I'm not that attached to being alive anywho. I've already reproduced. I leave behind a legacy of like 3 unmade screenplays and about four thousand handjob jokes. What more can a man ask for in a single lifetime? I mean, I don't want to be greedy.
Of course I say a lot of this with my tongue firmly in my cheek -- I have to put that caveat because it's likely my wife will read this blog and she takes this shit seriously, so if I ever want to have her tongue in my cheek again... well, you understand.
So, if you were worried, you can stop worrying. I am upping my cell-phone usage though. There's always next year.
In case you didn't know, a few months ago, I went to the neurologist complaining of headaches. He said it could be one of three things: my sleep apnea, a poor glasses prescription, or a giant, pulsing, tomato-sized tumor in the center of my brain.
I went to the sleep doctor and she said: yes, I do have sleep apnea. I trusted her, even though she was a woman, because according to science women and men are equal.
I went to the eye doctor and he said: yes, I do have a poor prescription.
Finally, I went to get an MRI and my neurologist said: no, I don't have a giant, pulsing, tomato-sized tumor in my head.
I'm disappointed about this for a few reasons:
1) I'm a drama queen. Imagine how much sympathy I could elicit with an inoperable brain tumor. Seriously, I'd never have to worry about a social misstep again ("Oh, I'm sorry that I made a retard joke and your brother is 'special' Larry, but, you know, I'm dying from brain cancer, so it's a little hard for me to worry about being politcally correct, okay!?")
2) There's always the chance that the brain tumor isn't just a kill-you kind of cancer, but that it's a Phenomenon type cancer that gives me super powers before I die. I mean, we all have to die, but how many of us get to die knowing that we learned Portuguese in a truck ride or that we were able to name mammals alphabetically with Brent Spiner?
3) As many of you know, I'm about to become a father. Dying of a brain tumor is a hell of a lot easier than packing for Mexico and it doesn't even look like you're shirking your responsibilities.
4) I'm not that attached to being alive anywho. I've already reproduced. I leave behind a legacy of like 3 unmade screenplays and about four thousand handjob jokes. What more can a man ask for in a single lifetime? I mean, I don't want to be greedy.
Of course I say a lot of this with my tongue firmly in my cheek -- I have to put that caveat because it's likely my wife will read this blog and she takes this shit seriously, so if I ever want to have her tongue in my cheek again... well, you understand.
So, if you were worried, you can stop worrying. I am upping my cell-phone usage though. There's always next year.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
monday night football (enough already!)
alright, i realize that the saints coming back to the superdome is (kinda) a big deal and (sorta) symbolic, but enough with the artificial pomp!
i mean, let's be real: the saints were never really all the important to the city of new orleans. in fact, you can make the argument that the girls gone wild videos were a better representative of the city than the saints. certainly, they captured the spirit of the city better (saints: a long history of apathy and losing. ggw: boobies).
so the fact that they're back... well, okay. i suppose that means something to the sixty or so _actual_ saints fans.
as for the deeper meaning that espn is trying to wring out of this with the same desperation that the alcoholic tom hanks played in family ties tried to find something to drink when he finally realized he had a problem (or the desperation that i just showed in trying to come up with a simile)? it's just not there. sure the NFL threw tons of money at getting the superdome ready for some football, but new orleans itself is still knee-deep in its own shit. it's hard to get excited for a city's rebirth when there are still cars hanging in trees!
and that's the thing that really irks me. espn has always been particularly at fault when it came to creating drama where there really wasn't any, but this situation is a bit different. you have so many storylines collapsing into one place: the superdome, new orleans, reggie bush, espn getting monday night football, michael vick -- it was, pardon the pun, a perfect storm of overhyped sports bullshit.
the first half of this game has _reeked_ of faux pious "news" about the rebirth of the city. they even brought in spike lee to... what? plug his documentary? talk about the power of sports to revitalize the cit? show off his circa-1981 elton john glasses? i dunno. even spike didn't seem to know why he was there. i kept rooting for him to pick up a trashcan and throw it at joe theisman, do the right thing style.
i could be wrong. maybe there are people out there watching this game and wiping tears away from their eyes as they think about man overcoming tragedy. believe me, i'm not against a few non-ironic throat lumps (i got misty recently listening to the replay of howard stern's 9/11 broadcast!) it's just that espn's whole approach to this game has had the taint of opportunism. it just feels like when an unpopular kid dies suddenly and all the kids suddenly "need" to go to his funereal. everyone knows that they're just trying to get the day off, but no one has the guts to say it.
best,
--jayblack
(PS i've written this quickly and in the middle-stages of a simply sleep (tm) coma, so i'll be anxious to re-read this tomorrow and see what it looks like!)
(PPS did anyone else notice in tonight's parade prior to the game, the first responder who was pushing past 400 lbs? the guys a hero and all, but do you really think that a guy that big should be a _first_ responder? i'm just saying that i'm sure it would take a _long_ time for him to get from the ambulance to wherever the problem is... but, you know, as i think about it, i guess a 400 lb EMT is exactly what you want during a class 5 hurricane. NOTHING is moving that dude)
i mean, let's be real: the saints were never really all the important to the city of new orleans. in fact, you can make the argument that the girls gone wild videos were a better representative of the city than the saints. certainly, they captured the spirit of the city better (saints: a long history of apathy and losing. ggw: boobies).
so the fact that they're back... well, okay. i suppose that means something to the sixty or so _actual_ saints fans.
as for the deeper meaning that espn is trying to wring out of this with the same desperation that the alcoholic tom hanks played in family ties tried to find something to drink when he finally realized he had a problem (or the desperation that i just showed in trying to come up with a simile)? it's just not there. sure the NFL threw tons of money at getting the superdome ready for some football, but new orleans itself is still knee-deep in its own shit. it's hard to get excited for a city's rebirth when there are still cars hanging in trees!
and that's the thing that really irks me. espn has always been particularly at fault when it came to creating drama where there really wasn't any, but this situation is a bit different. you have so many storylines collapsing into one place: the superdome, new orleans, reggie bush, espn getting monday night football, michael vick -- it was, pardon the pun, a perfect storm of overhyped sports bullshit.
the first half of this game has _reeked_ of faux pious "news" about the rebirth of the city. they even brought in spike lee to... what? plug his documentary? talk about the power of sports to revitalize the cit? show off his circa-1981 elton john glasses? i dunno. even spike didn't seem to know why he was there. i kept rooting for him to pick up a trashcan and throw it at joe theisman, do the right thing style.
i could be wrong. maybe there are people out there watching this game and wiping tears away from their eyes as they think about man overcoming tragedy. believe me, i'm not against a few non-ironic throat lumps (i got misty recently listening to the replay of howard stern's 9/11 broadcast!) it's just that espn's whole approach to this game has had the taint of opportunism. it just feels like when an unpopular kid dies suddenly and all the kids suddenly "need" to go to his funereal. everyone knows that they're just trying to get the day off, but no one has the guts to say it.
best,
--jayblack
(PS i've written this quickly and in the middle-stages of a simply sleep (tm) coma, so i'll be anxious to re-read this tomorrow and see what it looks like!)
(PPS did anyone else notice in tonight's parade prior to the game, the first responder who was pushing past 400 lbs? the guys a hero and all, but do you really think that a guy that big should be a _first_ responder? i'm just saying that i'm sure it would take a _long_ time for him to get from the ambulance to wherever the problem is... but, you know, as i think about it, i guess a 400 lb EMT is exactly what you want during a class 5 hurricane. NOTHING is moving that dude)
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Poughkeepsie with Pescatelli Tomorrow
Hey boys and girls,
Just wanted to let you know that I'll be performing TWO SHOWS tomorrow night with the lovely Tammy Pescatelli (of Last Comic Standing Fame) at the Bananas in Poughkeepsie, NY. If you're in the area, please stop on by... (I'm there all weekend, but Ms. Pescatelli is only there Friday).
Best,
--jayblack
(PS -- the screenplay has FINALLY landed. Brian is going to do a final polish this weekend and then, next week, well, we'll see how the studios like it. If they like it enough to buy it, I'm considering changing my name to "Hollywood Jay Black").
Just wanted to let you know that I'll be performing TWO SHOWS tomorrow night with the lovely Tammy Pescatelli (of Last Comic Standing Fame) at the Bananas in Poughkeepsie, NY. If you're in the area, please stop on by... (I'm there all weekend, but Ms. Pescatelli is only there Friday).
Best,
--jayblack
(PS -- the screenplay has FINALLY landed. Brian is going to do a final polish this weekend and then, next week, well, we'll see how the studios like it. If they like it enough to buy it, I'm considering changing my name to "Hollywood Jay Black").
Friday, September 16, 2005
Bananas
Hey kids, just wanted to let you know that I'll be performing at Bananas in Hasbrouck Heights, NJ tonight and tomorrow. Shows are 9:30 tonight and 8:00 and 10:30 tomorrow. If you're in the area, come on out and say hi!
All the best,
--jayblack
All the best,
--jayblack
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Waterville Opera House
This is the beautiful Waterville Opera House. Forgive me if I went a little overboard posting pictures of it, but it was just such a joy to perform in. The accoustics were wonderful -- you could hear a stage whisper in the back row of the balcony without a mic! It was a wonderful time and a great show.
No more updates for at least three days -- I have to go into overdrive to finish the movie script!
All the best,
--jayblack
Thursday, September 08, 2005
TCNJ Show post-game
The Signal, which is The College of New Jersey's newspaper, is running an article about last week's performance. This is the picture they ran with it and at first I was a little upset (figuring that college kids would no doubt mock that bulbous head of mine), but then I realized that the picture was pretty much as good-looking as I'll ever be. It was then that I became _very_ upset :)
The write-up was great, though. If you're interested in reading it:
Check back later tonight for the first new podcast of the fall!
Best,
--jayblack
(PS The article does not mention our emcee for the night, Harris, who I thought _rocked_.)
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Animator Wanted!!!!
Hey kids,
First off -- my set at Stand-Up went great. It was a younger crowd and they were ultra-warm.
Second off -- I'm looking for a flash animator who would want to work with me on creating some really screwed up flash cartoons. If you're interested, please drop me a line.
I'm off to bed!
Best,
--jayblack
First off -- my set at Stand-Up went great. It was a younger crowd and they were ultra-warm.
Second off -- I'm looking for a flash animator who would want to work with me on creating some really screwed up flash cartoons. If you're interested, please drop me a line.
I'm off to bed!
Best,
--jayblack
New York City
Hey all -- this is just a reminder that I'll be appearing at Stand-Up NY tonight at 9:10. If anyone is in the area and wants to see the show, please stop on by!
All the best,
--jayblack
All the best,
--jayblack
Monday, September 05, 2005
Japanese Salaryman
I'm scanning all my old baby photos into my Powerbook and I came across what might be the very first instance of the Japanese Salaryman face. For those who know me, this will be hilarious. For those who don't, uh, please ignore this picture.
Best,
--jayblack
(PS Check out my Dad smoking away right next to little baby me. Ah, the seventies, what an innocent time!)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
