Jukebox Results

I took third. The prize:

• $45
• a short guest spot on Friday, 9/2
• a couch dance from "Tiffany" at Fantasy Land next door, courtesy of the three degenerates I took with me.

I went up first out of 10 comics, and the 1st and 2nd place winners were pretty good, so I am happy with the results. The judges were Travis Lipski, Brett Erickson, Matt Hall, and a couple folks from an area rock station and newspaper. Had I known three of the judges would be the same as the first round, I might have done some different material, but I went with what worked before, and it worked well enough again. The prize money will more than cover the cost of dry-cleaning my suit, which is now covered in glitter.

Crackers

After last night's open-mic at Crackers, Matt Holt invited me to emcee the August 2 show. This will be my first emcee gig and my first 10-minute slot. I've done longer sets at my local music open-mic before, but I didn't time them.

Last night's set went well, and I got several compliments and handshakes afterwards, but as usual I spaced a couple lines and my mike-hand shook a bit. Luckily, according to all accounts, no one could see that. I would have sworn I looked like Michael J. Fox up there.

Last night before bed I listened to David Cross' It Isn't Funny, the first full-length show of his I've heard. I was surprised that I didn't like it more. I'm on Cross' side of the fence politically, for the most part, and he has a bit of a "cringe" factor, but for some reason his stuff just didn't nail it for me. He does a bit on electric scissors being advertised during The Simple Life, which is right up my alley, topic-wise, but for some reason I didn't find it funny. Then again, the CD is called It Isn't Funny, so maybe the joke's on me.

I think my problem with this CD is the same one I have watching Bill Maher - I agree politically but at the same time don't want to hear what I already think for an hour. One of my primary goals with my own work is to get outside the politics completely and see how ridiculous those arguments are when looked at objectively.

You know, in the grand scheme of things.

Which doesn't exist.

The new web site is delayed for reasons that would bore you to tears, but it is coming. Until then, I'll continue posting my worthless thoughts here. Today being Sunday, I have no thoughts, not even worthless ones.

This week I have nothing but an open-mic at Crackers in Indy and Friends & Co. on Wednesday. Next week is Friends again and the finals at the Jukebox annual contest on the 28th. I'm looking forward to that - good crowd, newspaper and radio folks, a bunch of comics. Should be fun.

thin the herd

moron 1
moron 2

It never ceases to amaze me how incredibly stupid we humans can be. Actually, now that I think about it, that's not true. It does cease to amaze. It's the stupidity itself that never ceases.

Now I know the native Americans have a high rate of alcoholism, but drinking half a case of "the Beast" before giving birth? Having a baby enter the world with a .21 BAC?

That's dedication.

As for the horse-fucker, I know bestiality is not as uncommon as we'd all like to think, but a farm that caters to these freaks? How much do you have to charge someone to fuck a horse to make it more lucrative than racing? And for god's sake, if you're going to fuck an animal, try one that can't kill you.

Fuck the cable company

I just sent a letter to Mediacom telling them they have received my last payment. Frequent and inexplicable interruptions are the main reason. The second reason is that frequent calls to tech support and at least three visits from Mediacom geniuses have failed to resolve the problem. I hate talking to some "expert" on the phone who is unable to do anything but politely regurgitate page 87 from their manual. The third reason is that I have unlimited high speed access where I work, in my own office, so home access is a luxury anyway. And last but not least, the internet slowly but surely consumes too much time that could be spent otherwise. Reading becomes a toilet/bedtime activity. I've spent more time researching and ordering books online than I have reading them. The TV/internet total comes to over $100/month. Screw that. My contract is six months from completion, but my paying through the nose for shit I don't need and that pisses me off is over as of right now.

In case you underestimated the extreme right.

What?

How do terrorists - in a city that supposedly has devoted a lot of time and resources to identifying and monitoring such persons - manage to board several busses and subways and plant timer-activated explosives without anyone noticing?

For the past 5 hours or more, kids on my street have been setting off their stupid but loud over-the-counter fireworks, threatening every house on the block with a roof fire and generally irritating the fuck out of me. Maybe their parents will get the opportunity to learn a lesson in natural selection before the night is over. It just supports my long-held belief that most people are monkeys who are easily entertained. On a related note: more evidence that the folks out in La La Land are thoroughly out of touch with reality.

In the interest of full disclosure, I myself got sucked into a program about UFOs on - of all stations - the History Channel, which over the past few years has spent more time on conspiracy theories and less time on history. I know comedy gold when I see it, and a subsequent web search led me here. And I have to admit I was intrigued by the video of the press conference available on the site. Not that any of the speakers presented any hard evidence that little gray men are among us, but they seemed like honest folks. If they aren't, every Oscar in every category in 2002 should have gone to them.

I have never seen a UFO or had my butt swabbed by lizards from another planet, so forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical. But I'm more than willing to believe they exist if someone could just provide one irrefutable piece of evidence. And I don't mean a cow with its ass cored out like an apple or an old piece of paper run through a Royal with lines blacked out. Show me a living, walking bug-eyed Kate Moss-looking freak from Zeta Reticuli already. I'm tired of this horse shit.

So I ordered the book. I felt a wee bit dumb doing it, but I justified the purchase by telling myself that it's a win-win situation. If the book turns out to be poorly written, unsubstantiated crap, I can mine it for comedy material. If it turns out otherwise, I can mine it for material that will allow me to write a conspiracy-theory book and go on Larry King.

Here come the jesters, 1 2 3...

First, another dissenting view of Live 8.

The late Allan Bloom, in his The Closing of the American Mind, faulted contemporary pop/rock music concerts for luring audiences into what he called "the illusion of shared emotion," that heady sentimentality that permeates, say, a U2 show. What's illusory is not the emotion - music is emotional, even if it's sappy, self-righteous blather - but the feeling that it has meaning, a feeling that makes cause-rock events like Live 8 unbearable. Which brings me to the point of today's worthless post:

Rock sucks.

This is not to say there are no good rock and roll bands. I've seen them. I know they exist. But the bands that dominate the charts and video channels and bloated self-congratulatory festivals are not them. Most of the "rock" vomited up by pretty-boys with big label contracts is self-absorbed, self-centered, solipsistic, narcissistic [insert your own redundancy here] whiney bullshit that makes Motley Crue look like classic rock.

I turned 12 the year Reagan took office, and I'll be honest, I feel a little gypped. Yeah, the 70's had its overstuffed prog-rock titans (ELO, Yes), gooey pretty-boy bands (The Bay City Rollers), and disco, but at least the idea of Rock as a party was still in effect. In the 80's the party was surrendered to hair metal, and everything else was lame pop and whiney gay men from England's industrial towns. Like most teenagers in the 80's, I was sucked in. I even saw The Smiths. Twice.

The 90's were not much better. Say what you want about Nirvana reviving the genre, but we have Kurt Cobain to thank for all the tortured-artist posturing we've had to endure for the last 15 years, and in the end even he couldn't take it. This decade hasn't produced much that's very promising (with the exception, perhaps, of bands like Kings of Leon), unless some of the non-major-label acts I've seen can save the day (Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band, Bad Wizard, Broken Teeth...).

But I don't think it's going to happen, not soon. The culture has changed since 1980 in ways I've only been able to get my mind around in recent years (since I was just a polyester-wearing, pre-pubescent twit in the 70's). Anything and everything that seems a challenge to the status-quo is quickly absorbed by the market and sold as just another fashion statement. Rebellion is no longer something you do - it's something you listen to, something you wear, something you buy.

If you were hoping for a punchline, I'm sorry, I don't have one. Live 8 only serves to remind me what a corporate-driven culture we currently wallow in. Fuck Bob Geldof and his Rock and Roll fantasy.

1. My new hero, David Stubbs.

2. The man behind the curtain.

Brooke Shields just rose to the top of my MILF list.

I haven't been onstage since last Thursday in Peoria, though I had intended to go up at Friends & Co. on Wednesday - until I had a couple of gin and tonics and a Jager and said "screw it." I'm hardly a "bad drunk," but alcohol is obviously not my friend when it comes to writing or performing. I was never able to drink and write, which is probably why I'm not a full-blown 24/7 alkie. Today is the first day of a renewed attempt to get on the wagon and stay there. Besides, I just got my first ever property tax bill, which equals about 30 nights worth of drinks.

I am currently working on my seventh screenplay. They say that on average a screenwriter writes seven screenplays before selling one, and I hope that's true. I deserve to sell one and to be paid handsomely because I am a talented, funny motherfucker with a larger than average penis and a smaller than average salary. If any of you three is an agent or studio exec, you suck, but you can suck less if you do the right thing and email a request to read my stuff.