Author: Chris

I went to check Shadowbox last night with my pals, comedians Dan Swartwout and Bill Arrundale to see our friend and comic Nickey Winkelman.  It was the Killer Blues show, great music and some funny and slightly weird bits.  It was a good time, except the 40 year old teenagers behind us who decided, after intermission, to use their outside voices.  I wrote “Bar’s outside” on a napkin I wanted to throw, but restrained myself.  Bill stepped up and told them to shut up, which gave me endless gratification.

Check out their podcast, also (The Bill and Dan show) – very funny, especially the two I’m in.  http://billanddan.libsyn.com/ These guys have well over 100 podcasts you can check out – and it’s legit funny.  My episodes were fun, but apparently my deviated septum breathing can be heard because my stupid self was too close to the mike.  Still worth it.

Sketch comedy is very different.  I personally don’t really enjoy doing it because obviously I don’t like working with others.  There’s a fine line between being nice and critical.  That’s what’s ironic about stand up.  Ask most people in America who their favorite comic is and they’ll name an actor 95% of the time.  That said, I am a horrible actor, can’t sing, and am not 5’6″, so I’ll probably never act.  Guess I’ll stick with stand-up – the pay sucks for either at this point.

– When you wake up and have to poop, it’s going to be a horrible day.

– People that litter in my parking lot.  Litter on the highway like a normal person.

– When my dog goes to poo and smells 14 spots, rolls around, and then circles an hour.  It’s 34 degrees out and only my ass is covered in hair.  Hurry up, Bean.

– New comics that say, “What’s tough about being a comic is…”  This is your 3rd show ever.  Shut up.

– Hippies.

– People that want attention at all costs.  I used to work with a guy who wouldn’t talk to anyone, but would go to funerals and act like he knew the deceased.  He’s dead now.  Karma, you sicko?

– People that don’t agree with me 100%.  You’re clearly wrong, just admit it.

I had a Halloween party this year.  I generally don’t like having parties, mostly because people bring other people I don’t know or like who steal my DVD’s, flip cigarette butts and beer caps around my place like they’re hiding Easter eggs, or in one case, jump off my balcony.  I bought some liquor for it, though.

Party went well, although Kroger’s sliders look nothing like the bag, unless you consider grey meat the same as the delicious looking brown it was supposed to be.  Plus, as a bonus, I decided to avoid mixing Jager, gin, and bourbon this year, so I held my stomach contents in, which was nice.  Ah yes, I managed to keep the creep rolling by being Jesus Quintana, aka “the Jesus” this year.

I had a lovely day at the BW3’s near my place.  For some inexplicable reason, the NFL decided to schedule the Browns, Bengals, and Steelers at the same time, which covers 89% of Ohio’s football fanbase.  Thank God, though, at one, they aired the Miami/New York Giants game, for the hordes of people who needed to see that.  So off to the bar…

I went to the bar while I waited for a table to open.  The guy at the bar was a Ravens fan.  He felt it was necessary to clap after every positive play.  After a three yard gain, 12 claps, very loud.  This was always followed by a “Let’s Go!  Let’s Go Baltimore!”  Thoughts of violence went through my brain, not because I hate the Ravens (I do), but because of the loudness.  His claps pierced my ears and my blood pressure was up.  Finally, as I got to the point of saying something, my buzzer went off.  I sat on the other side of the bar, but I could still hear him.

My table was between a guy who looked like Lurch from the Addams Family, an asexual person (my bet?  Man, but not with much confidence), and a guy with those lobe stretcher things in his ears.  At that moment, I realized my experience would be so much better if no one else was there.  I resolved to start working on accelerating the zombie apocalypse, but then surmised sports would be first to go.  Damnit, zombie disease.  I guess I’m stuck with the clapping guy for at least one more week.

My friend from out of town called me up recently and we had a nice conversation…until the end.  He said, “You seem to be dong alright now, much happier.”  What?  Based on when I was living in my car?  Weird thing to say to someone whose situation is largely always the same.  Then he said, “I’ll be home soon.  Don’t book any shows that week unless they’re close.”  Of course!  Why make money?  I’ll just tell my agent (I don’t have an agent) to set up my central Ohio tour that week.  If it were that easy, I’d be doing shows every night 15 minutes from my house.

I was talking to a couple pals the other night.  Some guy to my right said, “If Brandon Phillips doesn’t win the Gold Glove, I’m blowing up stadiums.  I’m starting with Busch Stadium.”  Fellow comic Joseph Ivan said, “The terrorists’ demands sure are dropping.”  Genius.  The drunk then looked at us and said, “I’m dead serious.”  No, no you’re not…but we’ll never hang out.  That’s true.