CHRIS COEN

I moved out of my condo a few months back, but just moved the important stuff at first.  Now, my buddy is moving in and the clock is ticking, so I spent a good part of the week getting the rest of the stuff out.  Holy shit, did I accumulate some BS in just under a decade.  Here’s things I found.

– I had 12 towels.  I don’t I had ever used nine of them.  In fact, other than the shame of people knowing, I would’ve used the same one until it disintegrated on my body in an act of fabric suicide.

– I had three sleeping bags.  I’ve camped maybe four times in my life, excluding a four day country concert I go to frequently.  Three?  Apparently I liked to get black out drunk and go to Gander Mountain.

– I had three trash bags full of Christmas decorations to pitch.  This is strange to me, as I have never once put up any Christmas crap ever.  Other than a wreath, and technically my mom put that up.  One more bag and I could have opened a holiday store as a side business.

– Most interesting to me was the cupboard of lost and forgotten liquor from the ghost of Halloween parties past.  I had a whole bottle of vermouth.  I would rather drink monkey piss than vermouth.  I also found a bottle of drive-through gin with a $4.25 sticker on it.  I’ll see you at rock bottom, friend.  It will be a dark day indeed when the knock off gin is poured.

Long story short, most of the crap I used to value is in a dumpster on the west side.  I would tell you to pick it up, but I have no doubt hordes of white trash have already descended upon the scratched up TV stand and uneven kitchen table like a stray dog covets a fresh bone.  Luckily, I was able to find a lot of important stuff.  I can practically hear my girlfriend squeal with joy when I show her the huge box of collectibles I can display in her house.  Would the George Washington bobblehead look better next to the bald eagle stuffed animal or the Captain America replica shield?

Tonight I’m doing a show called “15 and Killin’ It” in town.  It’s a great idea – every comic that performs on the show gets 15 minutes, then the jokes are logged and can never be done again (at that show).  Kudos to Justin Golak, Laura Sanders and Sumukh Torgalkar for putting it on.  The “killin’ it” part is the curveball for me, not the time.  I have a lot of jokes, just not that many that kill it.

I have done some weird shows – comedy and burlesque, wedding anniversaries, high school reunions, and once even a show where I was in a field 50 yards from anyone after a band of 15 year old boys just rocked the 20 family members that came to see them.  That said, my favorite show of the year is the Halloween show at Surly Girl Saloon.  Basically, comics dress up like other comics and mock them, or do one time acts based on movie characters which are usually great.  With this theme in mind, I have decided to pull the trigger on a show idea I had (to be done with other comics) called “Mother Goose is drunk.”  My friends in high school called me Mother Goose for my ability to remember and tell stories…and never shut up.  I thought it would be cool to do a show rotating comedians, sharing stories from the stage (and off).  Details soon!

After about six years, and I hope I never find out how game hours, my PS3 took the proverbial shit last night.  I was watching Game of Thrones because I love to watch shows about three years too late.  About ten minutes into a scene I’m pretty sure was going to show boobs or murder (this show is really great), I heard a beep and it was over.  No more games?  Who now will close the Oblivion Gates and stop the cult of Mehrunes Dagon?  Tis truly a dark time in these lands!  (The only dark time, apparently, was with my love life…I played a lot of games)

One thing I learned last night was never to look online for tech support.  According to several sites it was definitely a lost cause…or it was merely dusty…or needed to cool down…or rotated…or I could grab a glue gun and remount the internal hard drive – just watch this simple 15 minute how to video on You Tube!  Crap.  Looks like I’m paying Playstation to fix it.  Now I have to watch TV.  I’m currently watching a woman on My Crazy Obsession showing off her 4000 outfits.  Not for her, but for her pet squirrel Sugarbush.  4000 outfits.  Her husband (yes, she has one) has three jobs to pay for his housewife’s squirrel outfits.  Time to pay for express delivery.

Tonight will be the debut of open mike night comedy at Rehab Tavern.  Rehab, as in the decor, not everyone there quit drinking.  That would be dumb, having a bar full of sober people.  Open mikes are key for comedians, since you can’t exactly practice your craft in front of your dog or cat.  Well, you can, but then you’re not a comedian, you’re a whack job like David Berkowitz.

I haven’t ran my own show for quite a while.  I’ve put together several gigs, mostly in my hometown of Zanesville, but due to bars going out of business or the person I dealt with going to prison, those have all ended.  It should be good, plus I think I will mix it up for the crowd – perhaps like making the worst received act of the evening slice off a finger or toe.  People like violent entertainment.  One nut job that did comedy several years ago proposed doing a toughman competition with comedians.  I don’t know what happened to that guy, but he’s probably in prison with my former contact from the last show I ran.  I hope so.

 

Another open mike, another hilarious run in with newbies.  They say public speaking is the biggest fear people have.  This must be true, because the new comic the other night was a former crack addict and prostitute.  Really.  Yet, despite having sex with strange men regularly, she did about three minutes and froze up.  She then ran off stage, meaning as emcee, I had to sprint to the mike.  Public speaking may be rough, but I think I’ll take that over sex with strangers for crack money.  Just my thoughts on the issue.

Of course, almost as great was another new guy who decided to do bit on showering with other men in the locker room.  “I saw a lot of dicks.”  Then he lost his place.  He stopped, pulled out his notes, read them quickly.  “I remember now, I saw a lot of dicks in the shower.”  I haven’t seen a lot of penises in my day, but I don’t need notes about it or have any desire to write “Remember the dicks” on a sheet of paper someone can find.

I had a market research study yesterday.  We got into groups of three to do a little meet and greet to loosen us up to later spill our guts about their product.  The first guy was pretty normal, the second not really.  Dirty jeans, a neck tattoo that I couldn’t figure out what it was, and a couple of rotten teeth.  How did I know about his teeth?  He volunteered that info pretty quickly.

He asked me what I did for fun.  I decided to try and be a little humorous so I said, “Drink.”  Not that this is untrue, but whatever.  He replied, “I like to play with my kids.”  That’s nice.  “Do you have any kids?”  Nope.  “How old are you?”  34.  “You should look at settling down, man.”  At this point I was infinitely annoyed, but played along.  How many do you have?  “Three kids.  With three women.”  I scanned his countenance for a hint of sarcasm, but none was to be found.  Ah, settling down, I see.  Thanks for the advice, stranger.  Any investments I should look into?  Since I am talking to such a distinguished blueblood, I figured I would take some sound counsel.