Year: 2011

I may indeed lose my mind today.  I just remembered I bought a mega millions ticket last week, now it is gone.  The chances of me even winning my dollar back are millions to one, but already my brain is racing with the possibilities of what I could do with the money.  Buy a house, invest, start a philanthropy…OK I would actually just build my own brewery/still, a lifetime supply of canned chili and disappear off the face of the earth.  A decade later, some news organization would hunt me down and find me, 350 lbs. and insane from lack of social interaction, probably living naked in a tree house.  Maybe I should stop looking for this ticket…

I remember when I first started comedy and someone told me “Women dig guys who are onstage.”  This may be true for singers, musicians, hell – even beat poets and auctioneers, but not comedians.  Onstage, I talk about every flaw I have; excess drinking, poor life decisions, my abundance of ass hair, and every personality hiccup.  Chicks usually shun comics like Muslims shun a woman’s ankle.  Not the best analogy, but whatever.  I do know, though, that fat drunk dudes love me more than George Lopez loves to raise his eyebrows and stare at the crowd.  “Can choo beleaf that?”  RAISE EYEBROWS AND STARE!  I could look like Brad Pitt and women would hate my guts – I can deal with that, but enough with the drunk guys.  “Hey man, my buddies say I’m hilarious.  Here’s why…”  15 minutes and five lost T shirt sales later, he finally goes into the parking lot to smoke weed.  Trust me, I’m an attention whore, but I don’t want to talk to Jim and his weave belted jorts for an hour after the show about the intricacies of his inner thoughts and why he should quit his job at the foundry to tell 80’s trucker jokes in his town of 3000 citizens.  Hey, there’s something shiny!  (Run to my car)

I broke my Maryland cherry tonight and did a room on the eastern shore.  Crowd was good, but the mike took a shit right out of the gate.  I did 30 minutes sans microphone, but luckily my voice sounds like two inbred grizzly bears mating through a bullhorn, so I survived.  After the show, I had this really young blonde chick ask for my autograph…then had me sign the other comic, Mark Poolos’s CD.  Thanks.  I feel like a champion now.  That said, it went well but I still had to hold the dead mike b/c I didn’t know what to do with my hands.  The whole show was me with a mike in the off position screaming to the club.  Could be worse, I could have a seven hour drive home tomorrow.  Oh wait, I do.  If my iPod runs out of juice, I may shoot up a gas station on the way back.

From time to time, I will discuss the great cinematic masterpieces with my friends.  Citizen Kane, The Godfather, part 2, Road House…all the classics.  I have just seen the trailer (www.marvel.com) to the soon to be greatest film of all time, Captain America: The First Avenger.  I long for this movie like a five year old dreams of Christmas morning.  This is, of course, because Captain America is the greatest.  My buddy said I had “an unhealthy obsession” with Cap; sadly, I cannot disagree.  Is it weird for a grown man to love a superhero, who probably doesn’t exist in real life?  I think not.  He loves freedom and America, people.  Of course, I had to buy that plastic replica shield and Captain America coin bank on eBay (and those t-shirts and join that fan site so I could get all the latest info).  I’m not even a comic book reader, but I think every man has a nerd thing (and a gay thing, but that’s for another blog – everyone’s seen a lumberjack looking dude drinking an Old Milwaukee with his pinky extended).  I would even go so far as to say I am overall a cool guy.  I am a former college football player, I was class president, ran the biggest fraternity on campus, and I do comedy and party more than any other two men with a job.  Yet, when it comes to my hero Cap, I might as well still play Magic: The Gathering with my guildmates when our internet goes down and cuts us off from Everquest for the evening.  I shsould just put on Giordi Laforge’s visor and try to pick up fat chicks at the local Star Trek convention.  I may be a dork, but I know this much -you Nazi bastards will get the red leather boot of liberty up your asses on July 22, 2011.  USA!  USA!  USA!

Lawrence Taylor just got out of jail time for getting caught with a 16 year old hooker.  Lindsay Lohan has violated probation and never served full jail time.  This list could go on for days.  When I was 19, I got a disorderly conduct for driving through high water.  I was once arrested while asleep.  In a bed.  At six in the morning.  I even was ticketed once for my buddy getting pulled over in my car.  I wasn’t driving.  Basically, my point is that I need to get famous.  Then I can pull a Big Ernie McCracken and buy my way out of anything.  My goal in life is to be wealthy enough to be able to pee in my yard and not be harrassed.  I set the bar high.

I have a nice group of people coming to see me perform soon.  No complaints…except these.  I was asked at least a dozen times in the last week what time the show started and if they should get tickets.  I also was asked what the drink policy was, how old you had to be to get in, if they had food, what was the reservation policy, what time was I on, would they all be able to sit together…meanwhile, the club has a website with all that info, plus a listed phone number and one guy even had a flyer from the club.  I can’t imagine this happens to musicians.  “Hey, Lady Gaga, it’s Chris Coen.  I was thinking about swinging by your show (this would never happen, but I heard you kids liked Lady Gaga).  What time does it start?  How much is bottled water?  Can I sneak in booze?  Who’s opening for you?  Ooh, I don’t like fill in the blank…what time are you going on?  Should I get tickets beforehand?  Have you ever sold out a show?  Hello?  Hello?  What a bitch!”  I’m a comedian, not a club owner, folks.  Plus you all have iPhones, internet access at work, and two minutes to reserve online or on the phone.  Oh yes, I almost forgot – thanks for coming.