People say TV sucks now. They’re wrong. There are more channels than ever, which means the percentage of crap is around 95%, and yes, I am including live sports. However, due to the pure math, there are some great shows. I am currently a week off of my DVR and my Netflix isn’t helping. I have to finish Dexter or give up and go full on Breaking Bad. I have yet to catch up Game of Thrones, but the Walking Dead is on. Oh, and I have an overdue movie from Blockbuster right now… If I was a tenured college professor, like I wanted to be at 22, I could take a sabbatical and catch up. As it is, since I have no time off work, I guess I’ll have to hope some foreign country hits us with an EMP that somehow exempts my personal home and electronics. Please no one mention any more cool shows or I am done.
The Penn State scandal
This story is all over the news. Here’s my thoughts, because clearly you’re all dying for them. As for the graduate assistant that caught Sandusky in the shower with a young boy, why didn’t he beat his ass right there? “Oh God, what is going on in here? This is inappropriate…I had better tell the head coach!” If my conjoined twin was diddling kids, I would cut our bodies apart and beat him to death. (I don’t like pedos, FYI. I had a neighbor that offered kids a quarter to show privates. He never got my quarters, so hold the comments.)
Second, someone along the line should have called the cops. ANYONE. “Hey, let’s all get together and give him a good shunning! That’ll learn him!” Hmm, I just saw a co-worker murder someone. I should probably tell my shift supervisor. Yes, good idea. Sorry, PSU, you dropped the ball on this one. Time for a new crew.
Comedians are not rock stars
Axl Rose is probably my favorite singer of all time. Guns N Roses first four CD’s rock, I even love the Spaghetti Incident. Let’s face it, though, he is a complete dick. He used to show up hours late, fight people in the crowd, kick people out of the band, etc. People put up with his bullshit because the band was so kick ass.
I have never been late to a gig ever (I missed one once, after the guy cancelled the monthly show the month before and never called me. I drove 45 minutes…Ooops! No show! No pay! I don’t exactly feel bad about missing the next month’s laughfest.) I showed up 35 minutes early for my show last week. Me: “We start at 8, right?” Barkeep: “No, 9.” Me: “The email said 8.” Barkeep: “Oh, we know you guys can be late, so we told you the wrong time so you were early.” Me: “Of course, thanks.” If I was Axl Rose, I would have spit in her face and smashed the jukebox in with a chair. What did I do? I sat down for 90 minutes and tried to read “Cyclin’ Times”, the local motorcycle publication without my reading glasses (I couldn’t read it.)
Stupid comparisons
It drives me absolutely nuts when people make dumb comparisons. Anyone for a little “Baby Jordan”/Harold Miner? No disrespect to Miner, but his career started this idiotic rash of toupeed NBA commentators desperately looking for another Michael. It never ended. Just because he shaves his head and won a dunk contest, not exactly Jordan. Hell, not even the next Mitch Richmond (underrated and yes, a blatant mention of the greatness that is Mitch – see NBA Live ’97).
To change gears, I heard some jackass reporter saying a cold front hitting NYC was the Occupy Wall Street’s “Valley Forge.” Sigh. I have largely tried to ignore OWS, but this pissed me off. I just finished Almost a Miracle by John Ferling, about the Revolutionary War. Thousands of soldiers, without shoes in the snow, losing limbs to frostbite over months apparently equals college kids with namebrand sneakers having to sleep in a tent for a few nights…oh wait, most go home for the night. The homeless have it worse and this intrepid douchebag makes no mention of their plight. Yes, Valley Forge, ravaged by starvation = having only one vegan burrito for brunch. Typhus and mutiny or misplacing your earbuds and running out of TP in the restaurant across from Zuccotti Park? To this reporter, the same thing! These are the times that try men’s souls.
Superman went down
I was on the road with comedian Troy Hammond and I remembered a story from 1st grade that made me chuckle. Yes, some odd conversations occur after six hours in a car. I had a slow kid in my class at the time. He was at least six inches and 20 lbs. bigger than every other classmate, due to good genes…or the fact he was nine. We always made him be the bad guy when we played superheroes.
One day, I saw a kid named Mitchell who had an awful rat tail (Appalachia, mid-80’s, what else do you expect?) run up to ol’ Ronnie. “I’m Superman! You’re Lex Luthor!” He then made a heat ray vision noise and exclaimed, “I win!” Ronnie grabbed him, tossed him off the Big Top which was 15′ in the air, breaking Mitchell’s collarbone. “Lex Luthor wins!” Yes, Ronnie – sometimes Lex wins. Especially when he is already growing hair in new places and Superman still has a night light.
Pay the man his money
Hanging out with Bill and Dan (http://billanddan.libsyn.com/) the other night reminded me of a story. Almost every comic has been screwed on pay before at least once. Not me, but close. Here’s how it went down.
This guy showed up at an open mike and found out I was the emcee. He then asked what number I was…I told him first, third, fifth, etc. He didn’t get it, but asked me to emcee his room 35 miles from my house. He wanted me to do it free, but me, being a ball buster, demanded $50. I am useless. Unbeknownst to me, he booked nine comics to do 15-20 each. Disaster ensues…
The show sucked, he pulled a lot of newbs who had no business doing that much time. We got through it, but afterwards he pulled me aside post-show. “Bad take tonight, I couldn’t pay my bodyguards.” Excuse me? “Well, here’s how it is…” He talked in circles as my hate grew like a cancer inside. After several minutes of bullshit, he told me he couldn’t pay me. I said, “You made two mistakes. One, you told me you didn’t pay your bodyguards. Two, don’t fuck with a hillbilly!” I then two hand choked him violently. He dropped to his knees, begging for quarter, but none was given. As his eyes bulged, one hand trying to break my grip, the other hand produced a fifty dollar bill. I grabbed it as he felt the sweet air filling his burdened lungs. As my rage relented, I realized he was probably going to shoot me, so I ran out and threw gravel with my spinning tires. My favorite moment was when the comics behind me asked, “Are we getting paid?” Me: “That’s a you problem.” Remember this, bookers and rogues – No one fucks Chris Coen. Chris Coen does the fuckin’!