Month: June 2013

I ran in my first real 5K race last weekend.  I did the Hell Run, which was basically a run with obstacle courses and drunk people in costumes, so I don’t know if I can count that one.  The race I just got into was called Color Mania.  It was a race, but with color!

As I got into it, I found out they just throw powered color dust on you.  There was supposed to be some back story connected to the Hindu religion, but it was just jackasses throwing pink, orange, purple and green dust in my face as a ran.  The dust entered my lungs, got in my eyes (which I couldn’t wipe, because my arms had the shit on them also), and and put a weird taste in my mouth.  The packet said “edible” on one part, but on the other?  “Non-edible.”  Well, I may have stomach cancer and I look like a unicorn jicked all over me.  God forbid I just run in a normal race.  Thanks for the cancer.

I did a show recently on short notice.  Usually, when you promote a show, or someone else is pumping up your short and miserable resume, they ask for some things.  Here’s how that breaks down –

Head shot.  I hate smiling for photos…or in general.  Maybe it’s my crooked tooth, but probably it’s my dark, dark soul.  I got my head shots the morning after a show w/ no hotel room.  The headliner got into a fight onstage with a drunk, the pay took forever and on the way home a train broke down.  My head shot is one of five salvaged pics from the 100 she took that don’t show the bags from four hours’ sleep.

Bio.  Every comic has to flop their head into their own lap and write a bio.  It stinks and you feel dirty afterwards putting such a self serving description on paper in third person.  “Chris loves to make people laugh!”  See?  I feel like a douche, and that was me joking around about writing a bio.

Then you get the weird stuff.  The booker the other night asked me to describe my act in one sentence.  My DVD is called American Drunk…how about that?  “No, more descriptive!”  We went back and forth, he asked me what jokes I told, where I was from and then he said something and the call dropped.  By the time I got back to him, I was known as Chris Coen, the Appalachian Sensation.  Motherfucker.  Someday I won’t have to put up with this shit.

I walked into the show Monday night and it was pretty packed.  Most of the crowd was there to see a new comic who had written his entire set list on his arm.  It beats someone reading out of a notebook onstage, I guess.  The focus, however, went to a guy with a greaser haircut and his very drunk ladyfriend.  I would say they were ruining the show, but like complete hillbillies, they thought they were helping.

I introduced myself to start the show and Johnny Rockets yelled, “What are we doing?”  I don’t know what you’re doing, other than destroying my opening, but I’m about to tell jokes.  Over the next 40 minutes, the woman got into a screaming match over her cell phone, they yelled “Eastside!” or “Westside!” about a dozen times, and he mumbled incoherently while she bellowed answers to comedy questions.  The last part is the ultimate sin.  There’s nothing worse than asking, “So anyone like movies?” and having someone yell, “Actually, I enjoy sci fi!  It’s cool that Star Trek came out, but I really hope they get the Kahn character right…blah blah blah…”  OK, WE GET IT.

Mercifully, they left, which made me angry at the comics that didn’t have to deal with them, but thankful for the silence.  I knew it was getting out of hand when a comic said something about white power and the guy cheered a little too loud, like he wasn’t laughing, but about to start the meetin’.  Thanks for reinforcing a stereotype, white trash.

I rolled into my alumni football game last Friday and was shocked that I was earlier than everyone else…then I found out we only had 22 people playing and I was last.  There goes the pipe dream of taking it easy.  I went out onto the field and saw our rival had 15.  Apparently everyone’s wives had stepped in and prevented most of the old asses from suiting up.

The announcer was doing a fine job, but kept referring to our game as “the titanic struggle” between Maysville and Philo.  As the game advanced and neither team scored, I began to realize he was mocking us and with good cause.  Philo’s first first down came when their punter kicked the ball into the back of the upback, caught the ball, then threw a pass for about 20 yards.  It was the second biggest play of the entire game.

After a missed field goal, we went into the half still locked at zeroes.  Some guy turned around and slapped his gut.  “Been letting myself go!  Class of 2010, ain’t young no more!”  I almost spit in his face, but my neck was too stiff from the High School Harry that drilled me on a block in the 2nd quarter.  Lightning hit and the game got cancelled early in the fourth quarter and I went off to drink beer, since that’s what pros do after a titanic struggle.  I need to stick to jokes.