CHRIS COEN

I had my 15 year reunion last weekend.  This was the first one I involved with planning, so needless to say I wanted to get a time machine and punch 15 year old Chris Coen for running for class president.  There is a level of annoyance supreme to all others when people complain about something you’re doing free for their behalf.  The venue wasn’t well known, it was too hot (luckily I have Superman’s ice breath for that one…oh wait, no I don’t), the music wasn’t loud enough, the music sucked.  I realized after 20 minutes however, they had bottled Busch Light and all of the sudden I didn’t give a damn!  Amazing!

In all seriousness, though, nothing crazy happened.  My mom told me some chick did a couple guys under some bleachers at one of her reunions.  I can’t make fun of her school, unfortunately – we both graduated from the same school.  We did have a quiz/survey thing with questions like who has the most kids and who traveled the farthest.  The most competitive competition though?  Most days in jail.  That’s right – heated and razor thin margin for error, our winner was a grand 191 days in jail since high school.  In fairness, I think some others might have higher totals, but alas, they’re currently in prison.

I had a good time once the actual money collecting and whatnot was done because I got to catch up old pals.  Here’s how about every conversation went.  “What are you doing now?”  “Oh I’m working at ____.  You?”  “I’ve been at ____ since 2009.  Married?”  “Yes/no.  You?”  “Yes/no.  Hey, I almost came to one of your shows, but I couldn’t get a babysitter.”  “Cool, you’ll have to check one out.  Well, I’m gonna grab a beer.”  “See you.”  Repeat.  Oh, except my buddy who said my shirt was too small, so I made fun of his hairline and white socks.  Friends are friends forever…but if you went to Maysville, your friends are probably sarcastic dickheads.

Another open mike, more lessons of comedy.  My pal Anthony emceed last night and there were a few newbs, so you never know what to expect.  One guy, a white stonerish looking fellow, with a bleached blonde hair I can only describe as cotton-like walked up to take the stage for the first time ever.  He turned towards Ant and said, “Let’s give it up for the Pillsbury Doughboy!”  Oh no he didn’t!!!

What happened next was sweet justice.  He bombed so hard, he actually quit early AND apologized to the crowd for not being funny.  Then Anthony took the mike and dripping with venom, proceeded to fake laud his hilarious set.  “Good thing he opened with that great joke!  Too bad he forgot I’m up here 20 more times tonight!”  It warmed my heart, or at least that hole where my heart should be.  I hope the newbie tries that on me.  I’ll probably say something snappy like “Go fly a kite, sir!” or “Take a long walk off a short pier, my good man!”  BURN!

The Olympics suck me in every year, but yet one consistent boo goes out to the media.  I’ve expressed my annoyance with Bob Costas’s over the top human interest BS.  What really gets to me, though, is the up and down.  Let me explain.

Jordyn Wieber was “supposed” to the win the overall gold.  She didn’t qualify, so the sports media went nuts about how heartbreaking it was when two of her teammates made it in.  Oh God, the travesty.  Then the USA won the overall gold.  “Redemption!” was the headline.  It was all better.  Then she lost the floor exercise.  “Disappointment!” was the next one.  From the sound of it, this poor chick was manic depressive.  How about the USA won, she lost individuals…then, hold it…ask her what she thinks?  Of COURSE she’s dissapointed, then move to the next one instead of projecting emotions on to a 15 year old.  (I honestly have no idea and who cares).

The recent hubbub was when Ms. Maroney didn’t win the gold in the vault.  Well, after four days, I was convinced, by the announcers, that she was Wonder Woman and couldn’t lose unless someone shot her in the leg with an AR-15 pre-jump.  Then she lost, after being in the lead, because she fell down.  No shit, she’s pissed, but when she made a face on the podium, the internet exploded with criticism…from the same people that said if she didn’t win, every newborn this year would be taken by the avenging angel of the Passover.  Fuck you, overly dramatic sports reporters – in one more week when the Olympics are over, you are as useless as the dingleberry on my dog’s ass hair.  Someone get me scissors, that thing is horrible.  Let’s face it, USA medal = kiss my ass China.  That’s what really matters.

December 2007 was a big event for me.  I had been doing comedy about six months and got w/ my pal Camp to put on our own show for the first time ever at the Zanesville Elks Lodge.  As fate had it, there was a stupid ice storm so bad one of the comedians on the show wrecked and couldn’t make it.  We still had over 100 show up, including my Grandma.  My act is not exactly family friendly now, but back then I only did jokes where the punchline was about bodily fluids or sex.  After the show, she handed me a prayer devotional book – “You need this.”  You know I’m not going to read it, Grandma.  “Just take it, I’ll feel better.”  So I took it (I never did read it).

Despite this, I got a little less offensive and Grandma kept coming out to my shows in Muskingum County.  (Saying I am less offensive is kind of like saying getting shot with a Glock 9mm is WAY better than a shotgun blast to the gut)  She was hard to miss – white hair, big purse and every single time – a Chris Coen comedy t-shirt saying “Blah Blah Blah – chriscoencomedy.com” right in the front row.

I remember two shows a lot, I was doing a real shitdive with Iannarino and Uncle Larry – my best joke of the night to the crowd was when I called a guy a pussy for only having one DUI.  They were a little too excited…but I digress.  Larry decided to grind on my Grandma while playing the guitar and she didn’t blink, but did find time to insult him after the show, much to the enjoyment of all (including Larry).

Memory #2 was recently when my buddy Golak did a joke about heaven.  The premise was how your idea of heaven might be Grandma’s apple pie, but hers might be hooking up w/ Clark Gable.  As fate would have it, she is from Clark Gable’s hometown.  My mom pointed this out, to which Golak replied, “Well, apparently Coen’s Grandma hooked up with Clark Gable.”  She then retorted, “I ain’t saying nothing.”  She has better timing than I do, damnit.

A couple weeks ago she had a minor heart attack, gambling of course, but still told all the nurses at the hospital to check out chriscoencomedy (she couldn’t remember the .com), which is amazing considering she wouldn’t let us give her a free computer.  Why?  She heard that if you had a computer, people could get in your house and steal your identity.  Never mind the fact she didn’t have the internet…details, details.

Well, due to that heart problem, she passed away unexpectedly last week and it has not been a fun couple of days.  Somewhere, a third world country’s economy is about to collapse over the lack of cheap, noise making toys that will never be bought by one Eunice Donaldson.  I just hope the family burns her self-titled diary “The Old Desperate Housewife” because I read three pages and she ripped the shit out of half the earth.  I find this hilarious, but then again, God knows what she had in store for my stupid ass.  If you go back to the first show she attended, there may be a “Judas Priest!  My grandson is filthy, filthy!”  (She loved to say things twice)  For some reason, she was proud of me and I’m sure she is in heaven now, cooking way too much food and letting people (Clark Gable and God knows who else) know what she really thinks about them.  Love you Grandma and put in a good word for me, I am going to need it.  The good news is that no one can stand a guilt trip from Grandma, so I think I’ll be OK.

http://www.thisweeknews.com/content/stories/canalwinchester/news/2012/07/30/comics-use-everyday-observations-in-routines.html

Enjoy – show is Tuesday.

If I have a bar someday, I’m putting karaoke and beach volleyball in first day.  I did a show at a bar last week on a Saturday – 15 people showed up to benefit our military.  I went to the same bar – 250 people on a Thursday after 10 pm.  Amazing, and kind of sad.  My comedy act isn’t that bad, am I right?  Ha ha!  (Punch self in face)

I didn’t want to play, but I showed up.  Out of six, two others made it.  Great.  We got two strangers to play and it was on.  I am above average in volleyball, but you can’t really hold a beer and play, so it’s not my favorite.  Luckily, our sixth teammate rolled in about 1/3 of the way through the first game.  Thanks for being punctual!  Of course, none of the guys said anything, because she was pretty, which meant when she stood and watched as the ball bounced right in front of her, all she got from the single guys was “It’s OK!  You were close!”  Yuck.  I wanted to spike it at my own team after about three of those.

We lost, which didn’t bother me since I was subbing anyway, but on the way home some idiot was texting while driving and careened into the concrete wall.  Normally, not an issue, except thanks to the fourteen year highway project going on, I was stopped three miles from my house for almost a full hour since everything is single lane.  No worries, in thirteen more years when I’m 46, I won’t have to worry about that at all!  Hopefully, we’ll have flying cars, but knowing how fucking stupid people are, someone will be playing Dance Dance Revolution and flying their space car into a median, holding me up for three days when the plutonium leaks out.