Month: November 2014

This week, I pulled in and saw the trash and recycling had picked up and we missed it.  This was strange, as Veteran’s Day was Tuesday, which is supposed to push back collection one day.  I called.  “Sir, you missed your day.”  I thought Veteran’s Day was Tuesday, did I imagine that holiday?  “The city doesn’t observe Veteran’s Day as a holiday.”  You gotta be shitting me.  I looked it up.  The county observes it, not the city.  Columbus Day, however, is official!  A day where ol’ whitey found some Caribbean island and introduced smallpox to the Western Hemisphere, but not a day honoring our vets.  My bad, how stupid of me to think the 15th largest city in the United States bothers with taking a minute to honor living and deceased members of our armed forces over someone who never got within 900 miles or 300 years of the founding of our city.  Guess I’m dumping my trash at the closest city park.

I then ordered flowers for my wife.  Irony, her office was closed for Veteran’s Day.  Not a big deal, they’ll just send them tomorrow, hopefully.  I tracked the package and somehow it didn’t deliver.  I called.  “You weren’t there, so they didn’t leave the package.”  I wouldn’t be there, it’s for my wife.  “No one was there.”  That’s funny, because she works in a building with a hundred people.  “The suite number was missing.”  No it wasn’t, but you also said no one was there.  Are you just reading answers off a sheet, hoping I will be appeased?  “No sir.”  I gave him the address again (keep in mind I had to do all this myself, no one emailed or called me).  “So, will you be there to sign for them, Hope Coen?”  Yes, dipshit.  My name is Hope, I just smoke 3 packs of non-filtered Camels a day to get this deep voice.  My parents were very cruel in naming me that name.  THEY’RE FOR MY WIFE!!!  They arrived the next day, in less than ideal condition.  The label had the correct address AND the suite number.  These things happen in threes.  Looks like a fun weekend.

Tonight I’ll be hosting a semi-final showdown in the Open Mike Talent Search at the Columbus Funny Bone.  It used to be called the Funniest Person in Columbus, but I was at a show where five current/former Funniest Persons were present and the emcee intro’d everyone that way.  It was awkward, so the judges changed the name, but it’s still the same concept.

I like hosting these a lot, mostly because there is zero pressure on the host, but the 12 competitors are usually ready to vomit.  Comedy competitions are stressful affairs, I think I’ve been in 11 of them.  The common theme is that almost everyone that gets knocked out thinks they got ripped off and usually hates the winner secretly, or in some cases openly.  My former college roommate Camp beat me in the first one I got in and used to bring it up when we were drinking.  I considered murdering him, but usually passed out before I could set my plan in motion.  Unfortunately, science hasn’t developed a Funnyometer, so the debate over who is technically funnier will rage on.

One thing I try to do at shows with multiple comics is make a short joke referencing something they talked about during their set.  Partially to entertain the crowd, mostly because I’ve done shows where the host says “This next comic does clubs and colleges all over the USA” when it’s clear they have probably done a couple bars and a Halloween party.  The other ol’ standby line as an emcee is “This comedian is a close, personal friend of mine.”  The drawback here is that in a comedy contest, you never know what will come out of the person’s mouth.  Nothing is worse that saying that, then having your close, personal friend talk about bestiality with their opener.  Time for a new friend!

When I first started comedy, the golden geese were “corporate” gigs and college shows.  There was a rumor that these shows paid well, but the irony was that most people (like me) that coveted them were too dirty or unfunny to sniff either one.  Well, now that I’m more experienced and hopefully somewhat more funny, I have done some college and corporate shows.  They’re just like normal shows, but the crowd is usually more sober.

Last weekend I did a show at the Ohio State Student Union.  I didn’t know where it was, much to the surprise of one of my pals.  I didn’t know because 1) I didn’t go there and 2) I don’t go to check out freshmen/ have to register when I move, creep.  I found it, though.  It was pretty nice.  The bar, Woody’s Tavern, is nicer than 85% of the bars I go to myself, but the show was in a meeting room.  I was glad for this, since younger, sometimes drunk college students are not known for their mammoth attention spans.

The show went very well.  My favorite part was when some late comers arrived.  We were happy to greet them, but found out they were looking for the Ebola fundraiser.  They stuck with the Ebola fundraiser.  Damn socially conscious college students.  It was fun though – and I didn’t even throw in a “you kids these days” reference, although I’m probably less than a few years away from having to.

There are four seasons in America.  1) Christmas is over, I’m depressed  2) Summer 3)Football and 4) Christmas.  Number four is here.  Crappy Christmas music has already started on the radio.  As much as I hate it, if I’m going to hear it, it had better be Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby.  When I hear Jessica Simpson or Clay Aiken singing holiday tunes, I want to hang myself with tinsel.

I also know it’s Christmas because my wife is getting 3 catalogs a day.  I didn’t know they still made catalogs.  If Montgomery Ward sends one, I’m circling the toys I want!  Unfortunately, they’re all geared to women – 97 pages of clothes and 12 of home goods.  BOOOOOOOO!!!  They should make a men’s Christmas magazine.  It would look like Skymall, but with drinking games and melee weapons.

I try to focus on the good things about Christmas – online shopping so I don’t have to interact with strangers and circle snow covered parking lots for six hours to find a spot seven miles from the store, freeze, then walk into a shop that has the heat on 86, making me regret wearing a coat.  Other good things too, like eggnog.  When else can you drink alcohol milk products?  Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

I host a show every Monday at Rehab Tavern.  The format is “open mic (or mike)”, so anyone that shows up and signs up gets stage time.  The audience gets free jokes, or at least our attempts, and the comics get to practice/get much needed attention to fill the hole inside.

This week the show started and an idiot was making a bit of a ruckus, trying to heckle me, but too wasted to say anything coherent or witty.  As I was monitoring the time for the first comic, the drunk and his two friends approached me.  The woman, reeking of smoke, spoke first.  “My friend did stand-up in Kansas City and wants to go up.  He needs to go next though, not last.”  Already, I’m agitated.  One thing I’ve learned in comedy – when someone says they used to do comedy in another state, they’re full of shit.  Second thing, you’re the last person to approach and you HAVE to go now?  We will see about that, jerky.

Then the tall one in the group held out some cash.  Suddenly, I was ready to oblige.  “He needs to go now.  Here’s $20.”  I can’t put your friend on now.  “Why not?  I’ll give you $100.”  He can’t go now because I just saw him go to the bathroom.  Unless you want me to stretch the microphone to the bathroom, it ain’t happening.  “OK, next after that.”  Before the cash disappeared, I snaked the money like a viper.  Money trumps principle.

The sauced rube hit the stage after this back and forth.  “You mf’ers stole my identity.  I got my identity stolen.  They gave it back, I guess it sucked.”  Then he stood there for a full minute murmuring he couldn’t think of anything else to say.  “This is hard.  You guys aren’t laughing!  I’m done.”  He walked off.  $20 for 75 seconds of human excrement.  Good job, now go get a DUI like you do every Monday.  His performance actually inspired two regulars to hit the stage and they didn’t do half bad.  Of course, they had personalities and some level of sobriety, so that helps too.

My honeymoon wrapped up in Rome.  I got to see some really cool stuff.  I saw the Colosseum, where men fought to the death for the entertainment of thousands.  Thank goodness we have moved on past that – as long as you don’t count TV.  My favorite shows are Game of Thrones and Walking Dead.  I get pissed if 30 people don’t die each week.

We also saw the Vatican, where the art of Raphael and Michaelangelo was on display.  I was looking at the ceiling in St. Peter’s so I missed the Pieta, my favorite sculpture, but I did get to see School of Athens.  It’s my favorite painting, mostly because it’s on the cover of Guns N’ Roses’ Use Your Illusion albums.

After seven nights, we finally craved Mexican food.  Rome has about five Mexican restaurants.  We found one and it wasn’t bad, but try speaking English and ordering Mexican food off an Italian.  They made a solid Margarita, but you can’t really drink too much – not that we were driving, but trying to figure out the Roman bus system is hard sober during the day.  The first bus we got on called out each stop.  The next six didn’t.  We took the subway once also.  My wife said she felt like she was being violated because it was so crowded.  We couldn’t have been closer to strangers if we were on Human Centipede.

We finally flew back.  There was a Euro who smelled like Chili Cheese Fritos and BO who made the flight extra tasty.  At least there was free wine.  I call it even.  Our airline lost one bag and TSA broke a bottle of olive oil inside another, so I lost some clothes.  Welcome back to America!  At least here, the only pickpockets are our politicians – American’s hands are too fat to pick shit out of our own pockets.