Saturday, November 22, 2008

Off to the Horneymoon, Slumdog Millionaire

Off to Mexico in a couple of hours. Leaving to pick up the Cipro medication (however that's spelled) and maybe buy some new socks.
All my white socks have escaped. I have no idea what's happening, it's either the maid, the butler, or the house-sitter.
You just can't get good help these days.

Speaking of millionaire lifestyles - check out the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It is a masterful work of story-telling. Funny, dramatic, heartwarming.
I don't think I can say enough about how good this movie is on almost any level that you'd want to rate a movie. It deserves a best picture nod from the Academy, and it will be a travesty if it doesn't get it.

Nutshell version:
India's Who Wants To Be A Millionaire has a slumdog (orphan from the streets of Mumbai) about to win 20 million rupees. Nobody can believe he's one question away, and foul play is suspected. Over the course of the movie, his tale is told by flashbacks related to the questions he answered to climb the money ladder. The juxtaposition of India's stunning beauty (even in the poor areas) tied to the ugly side of that poverty is stunning.

I'm not going to say anything else; I went in tabula rasa, and I'd recommend doing so if you can.

Thursday, November 20, 2008


Well, it's been a long time since I've posted any kitty-related material (as far as I know, I don't read this blog) so let's give a teensy update on the cats.

Our cats have split into factions. Sylvester merely tolerates me, and I would be 100% unsurprised to find some sort of Doomsday Device in the basement designed to kill me so he can replace me as Andrea's lover. Whenever she's in bed and I'm out of the house, he'll jump into bed with her and aggressively snuggle. This has consisted of nuzzling her neck as hard as he can, putting his paws on her face and ears, and biting her in the head once. I think it's a kitty kiss, and I'm jealous. He occasionally sneaks into the bed when I'm there too, lays between us, and rests his paws on Andrea's face. It's very very cute. She hates it because she has some sort of a problem with kitty litter paws near her eatin' hole.

Lady, on the other hand, loves ME. Which is sort of depressing, since Lady's the foulest cat I've ever laid eyes on. Her hair has grown long and looks very much like a persian. Had we suspected her of being a long-haired demon, we never would have picked her. She was very malnourished in the shelter, however, and actually looked like a short-haired cat. The long hair is pretty, and I really don't mind brushing her or sweeping up the hairballs that accumulate in the corners of our house. What I do mind are the. . . well there's really no delicate way to put it. . . dingleberries. Little bubbles of turd that cling to her legs, hoping to escape into the wild and raise a family of turds somewhere in Utah. (that's where most turds flee, and then convert to mormonism)

The first time we discovered this foul little trait of hers was one evening in the fall. I was petting her, and ran my hand under her tail to make her butt stand up because I'm a sicko. Anyway, I run into a bump which I assume is a hairball, and begin (without looking) to attempt to tease it out. This breaks the outer cookie shell and an odor most vile escapes. I realize what I've been touching, stupidly smell my fingers to confirm, and throw up a little in my mouth. I'll spare the gritty details of the initial cleaning attempts and sum up with: Lady hates baths, and at one point grabbed both sides of my face with her claws and attempted to pull herself out of the sink. Fortunately the claw marks didn't scar.

Our current policy is this: she KNOWS she's got a dingleberry, and she will take the steps to clean it by licking it until it falls off, hopefully into her filthy mouth.

Her other hilarious (to me) trait - she loves to sleep in the bed where Andrea sleeps. Like Sylvester trying to replace me, I suspect Lady wishes she were a poop-hanging version of Andrea. The wife is completely grossed out by her and made me promise to not tell people about how disgusting our cats are. (I'm assuming she meant onstage and it's totally cool in blog form)

Two nights ago her worst fears (and my happiest hilarious moment) happened: the discovery of a hairball on her side of the bed, wrapped tightly around what was probably a dingleberry.

She swore at the cat, I stifled my laughter and tried to suggest to her it was a gift and she should save it.

The only irritating part about all of this - our gross kitties have not deterred her from wanting babies.
Which are basically hairless kitties that you can't litter train.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Nuke a Gay Whale For Jesus

Lieberman keeps his seat in the Congress.
It gets harder and harder to ignore the "Consipiracy Theory Spider Sense" that keeps on tingling these days.

As Bill Burr said on Opie and Anthony a week or two ago - the American Revolution was also started via conspiracy. They actually do exist.

To paraphrase from Bill Hicks:
There's no fucking hope in Clinton Obama. . . he's part of the same groups at the same trough.

My bitter disillusionment is targeted more at Congressional Dems than Obama, but he was part of that group on Saturday.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

The comedy train slows to a stop

Whew. What a weekend! 4 Real Shows, and wrapping up tonight with a couple new bits at Schuba's.

Good times indeed.
So the recap:
  • Thursday - small, bloodthirsty audience. The world's pain and misfortune was their sweet sweet martinis made of children's tears. They loved me more than I had a right to.
  • Friday - large liberal audience. Not humorless; they laughed at many jokes by other comedians, and even laughed at a few of mine. Most of them hated me with a white-hot passion by the end of the night, assuming I was a sexist racist homophobe. I've never been boo-ed before at a show, so I'm feeling pretty proud of that First. My largest regret was not plugging my website at the end of my show . . . I think that would have KILLED. But what do I know.? NOTHING!
  • Saturday - back to back shows. Tiny audience at the Sarcastic Squad, and because I was double booked I didn't get to see the remainder of the acts. Disappointing, but I'm sure when I return I'll get more time to savor the flavor. Accountants of Homeland Security had a nice sized audience and a well put-together show I was thrilled to be a part of. Stayed out drinking with that crew until 3 AM. America, Fuck Yeah.
December's going to be pretty low-key. I plan on hitting up Schuba's on a weekly basis but that's it - the rest of my time will be spent on tekmology shite - updating (moving to Ruby on Rails as a platform, reworking most of what's there to support a more robust interface) and working on Secret Projects to free myself from the drudgery of the current day job.
I'll still be here, writing away.

One last thing - I Fucking Love Comedy. End of story. Even Friday night's show was uplifting, basking in the rage of liberal hate.
I have to figure out a way to spend most of my time performing. I must.

Kisses and love all

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Ah, comedy

Well, we're halfway through the Comedy Marathon that is this week.
Two shows down, two shows to go.

As my Twitter status says (when I write this), I flew right into a cliff face tonight.
Same set (basically) as last night. Huge difference in audience.

I was offered a dilemma roughly a minute into the set: my current twelve is slightly mysogistic. My body of work as a whole, not at all. This specific 10 minutes, a little bit. Nothing awful. Nothing unwarranted. You could argue that "embezzling all over her tits" is a misogynistic line, objectifying women as a balance sheet.
NOBODY wants to be treated as an object. A balance sheet is ten times worse than a generic object - it's boring and feels used with all those hidden subtractions.

Anyhow. About 10 (of 40+) people showed up (and paid money) to see me. These are My Fans. They are people who above all I want to please. There's another 30 people in this audience that I genuinely hope like me. I want them to like me; part of my body genuinely needs them to like me in a manner that is neither endearing nor pitiable. Just gross.

Quickly in the set I realized that of the 30 who didn't know me, 20 of them were hard core feminists. A percentage of them were also lesbian. Typically, I wouldn't have to qualify any sentence with that (unless of course - sex scenes. Totally would tell you) but in this case, I open with two slightly homophobic jokes bookending an entreaty to protest against Prop 8 tomorrow. Not Fans Of The Jokes.
They weren't horrible - I'm an honest supporter of gay rights. My opener I have second thoughts of telling all the time.Yes, its premise relies upon "gay" as a pejorative,  but it's fucking funny. I understand that the idea of "gay" and "faggot" as negative relies on the idea of gay being  "wrong". It's a faulty premise.
But here's the thing - the joke stands with accepting it as a faulty premise.
It's a classic bait and switch joke masquerading as "I'm a douchebag". It starts out as "this guy's a douchebag", then "oh he's an idiot", then the realization of "oh he's and idiot and a douchebag".
 Or you go "haha gay is bad!" and you're a fucking ape, but I tricked you into laughing anyway.

So. The reaction isn't favorable to the first couple of jokes. Here's the dilemma:
  1. Do I cater to the 30 people who haven't seen me, aren't fond of me so far, and will hate the next 8 minutes I was planning to do
  2. Do I "option" to a bunch of safe shit that I know would work and kill the room, but disappoint the fans I already have by hearing shit they've heard
It's sort of lose-lose. My friends would forgive me - they'd probably laugh at jokes they've heard, and not think twice about doing it.
But . . . this is my new material. A lot of it is strong. It's not nice. It's not PC. It's honest. It's who I am. And it is very, very funny.
But fuckin' a, they hated me. Booed! TWICE! I loved it.

My wife is furious at me right now. Since the joke's basically dead in a couple weeks anyway, here it is:
"Sara Palin's so stupid even her babies are retarded"

My wife is mad at me because she thinks I might jinx our own baby chances.
The gods of retarded babies would grant us only retards or something.
Not going to happen.
They can test for that shit in advance nowadays.
Put it this way: when a shark is born, if it's deformed, the other sharks tear it apart.
We're not sharks. We're more humane than that.
We can do it with a snip snip.

The chances are high that it's a perfectly healthy baby in the first place.
So don't get up in arms,  my pro-life fans.

So I guess I offended basically everybody tonight.
Barry 1 - Everybody 0
Your move, Everybody

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

A clarification on the earlier post

I should clarify what I meant now that I'm not tired and hungover.

I don't despise improv as an art form; that was lazy writing to express a complicated topic.

All live performances are ephemeral - there's always that potential for magic, be it stand-up, or a play, or improv. Improv embraces the ephemeral. Nothing is redone.
Stand-up's on the other side; you attempt to recreate the ephemeral in the nooks and crannies of material. You slot in new material in between two established bits and see if it works. You're still live. . . but you've got a structure.
Improv has none of that, and as a result the experience is different from what I seek out for live performance.
I won't boo, or be an asshole. I'll even yell suggestions! (and not shitty hack ones like "SIXTY NINE!" and "DILDO!")
Let's see what you fancy improv-ers can do with "Rickets" as your suggested emotion.


Last night's show at Ginger's Ale House went well.
I have a complicated relationship with improv; I despise it as an art form but absolutely love improv-ers as audience members.
You're allowed (nay, encouraged) to "go off the rails" and just pursue ideas like a hound. They're so used to improv that not only will they hang in with you, but will give you the payoff you desire when you hit your punchline.

Here's my two things about improv that I don't like:
  1. Even the masters kind of suck. Whose Line Is It Anyway sometimes films for 3 hours for a 30 minute show. It's all smoke and mirrors; they WORK at making it so funny. This isn't so bad - stand-ups work hard at appearing to be "off the cuff" with painstakingly crafted material. But if an improv scene is awesome, well  . . . it's awesome once. If you do it again, it's no longer improv but a sketch.
  2. Watching ONE person bomb onstage is awkward (though sometimes cruelly hilarious) - watching a group of 3 bomb onstage. . . the cringe equation looks something like x^n with n = number of performers and x = base cringe level. 
That said, I'd leap at the chance to perform in any improv show; they really are the most awesome crowds.

If you're in the Greater Chicago area, I'm all over your face and tits this week. Check the schedule on the right - Thu, Fri, 2 shows on Saturday. . . . one came courtesy of the Comcast OnDemand slot I did.
No material from said show will be repeated I think; it's something like 85% new and 15% stuff that fit with the new so I get to do it some more.

The forever-wish is "I hope to get it online" but no promises. Come out to a show.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Apparently from the results

Election results are in.

Bad news, folks: we're still a bunch of fucking assholes in this country.

OK so we're not as bigoted towards blacks as we once were. But if he's a gay black, let's fucking kill him!

Prop 8 in California banned gay marriage.
Same stuff happened in AZ and FL.

Ahhh well. Bittersweet irrelevance I suppose, since I'm neither gay nor black.

But seriously. We should beat up people who beat up faggots.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

holy shit on a shingle

As seen on Meme Party

So funny.

My workspace is not ergonomic at all

I need to rework my entire space at my place of employment. It's not ergonomically correct. Here's a picture:

As you can see, the backless chair causes my posture to suffer a bit, and the desk is a little small for the laptop. Additionally, the toilet gets dirty and spotted very quickly. I don't know if you can tell, but there's no seat on it. Very unacceptable.

I'd like for someone to invent the cubicle hammock.

Take that you lazy pieces of shit.