CHRIS COEN

They say youth is wasted on the young.  I got a text from my pal Don, who was hosting a bunch of my fraternity brothers at his place for a reunion/mancation.  They were watching old videos from college and screenshotted me.  It wasn’t a picture of me doing donkey kicks on the roof, shirtless and smashing bottles, no it was much worse.  It was me playing guitar.

Oh God, I had blocked that part of my life out.  I haven’t worn a baseball cap in about 10 years (look at Trump wearing one with a suit at his rallies, that’s what I feel I look like with hats now).  The necklace should serve only one purpose – to choke me out from behind when I started singing whatever song I had learned that day.  The frat shirt screams “Stay away from this guy, he’s probably drunk and thinks his 20 year old opinion is important…and he says curse words in front of children.”

I showed my wife and she said, “Who’s that?”  Me.  “You were skinny once?”  Thanks, my dear.  Back then, I drank 60 beers a week and ate all my meals off an industrial grill that was soaked in the cooking oil called Whorl.  I weighed 190 on a bad day.  Now I ate tuna packs for lunch and run several times a week.  If I have one shitty meal, I go pants shopping.  I couldn’t grow facial hair then; this week I found a white eyebrow hair that was over two inches long.  I used to bitch if I had a term paper or exam in a given week; now if I have 35 minutes of uninterrupted time without a chore, house project, dirty diaper or unattended responsibility, I tell people it was “a nice relaxing day.”  I want to go back in time and wait until that young obnoxious jackass says, “I’m bored!” and beat him unconscious with that B.C. Rich acoustic like the Honky Tonk Man used to do to Macho Man Randy Savage.  At least everyone in the Phi Tau house 1998-2001 would have been spared hours of half assed Alice in Chains on a poorly tuned guitar.

To put this all in perspective, when I was in college our pledges had to interview us to get to know the actives.  One popular question was “What’s your favorite beer?”  My answer?  “I really like the Plank Road beers.”  Yes, the famed microbrewers Plank Road, makers of Red Dog dirty 30 packs and Icehouse, liquid crack beer.  “Does it come in a 30 pack for $9 or have 5.9% ABV?  Then that’s the finery I demand from my lager.”  Of course, now there’s a 52% chance I’ll still say Busch Light, so maybe things haven’t changed too much.  No, looking at that picture, they have.

With so much seriousness, I thought I would ask real questions to help lighten your load from the onslaught of political propaganda being slung at you daily.

– How many Super Tuesdays are there?  I feel like there’s been at least 12 by now.  Can we come up with some new names?

– I don’t think I can “FeeltheBern” – that’s sexual harassment.  I don’t even know him.

– I have seen the following articles, blogs and social media posts: Ted Cruz wants to imprison women for having abortions and set up a Christian theocracy in place of the US Government; Bernie Sanders is a racist, then a sexist; Hillary Clinton is a racist and a right winger; Donald Trump needs to show his birth certificate because he’s Scottish and John Kasich is still in the race.  Oh wait, the last one is true.  Long story short, you may want to reconsider some of the things you read online.

– Why are some states winner take all and others proportioned?  It’s like they gerrymandered their own primary system.

– Whatever candidate offers to watch my daughter the weekend Captain America: Civil War comes out will show their true patriotism and likely get my vote.  I’m looking at you, “The rent is too damn high” guy!

One of the big misconceptions with stand-up is that shows are only at comedy clubs or theaters.  There are plenty there, but a lot of work comes from bars, assembly halls, fraternal groups and even private events.  I’ve worked high school reunions, wedding anniversaries, private parties and even a bike rally.  They’re great and I always appreciate any venue that is willing to have comedy, but sometimes you get some curveballs.

I worked with my pal Dan this past weekend at a small town show to raise money for an athletic team.  I guess you could say we were athletic supporters!  HAHAHAHAHA.  I have to shower after that joke.  We were told to be clean, which makes sense for the fact it was a fundraiser.  We rolled in and scanned the room.  Good ceiling, stage was nice, lighting looks great, seven year old girl in the crowd, sound check…wait a minute, rewind that.  Son of a bitch.  Clean is one thing.  No F word, tone down any sex references, so on so forth.  “Family friendly” is a whole other animal.  No sex references at all, limited drinking jokes – forget any drug references, no F word becomes no four letter words at all.  I went back the car and grabbed my old notebook and began scanning for joke ideas.  For the first time since probably 2010, I had to sneak a set list onstage.

 

It actually went well, but I did take about ten minutes to really get them going.  That may be because it was a dry show.  Drinks loosen up laughs like a ticklefight.  It also would’ve helped me not give a shit about doing jokes in front of a seven year old girl.

Having a child is a magical experience.  Rewarding, fulfilling, and incredible…usually.  The other night my wife wanted me to put air in the tires of our new fancy jogging stroller.  Why was there no air in the tires when we got it?  No idea.  Last I checked, air doesn’t weigh very much.  So it was decided I could get a lovely jog in and fill the tires.  Multi-tasking!

I began running with our new stoller, aka half a day’s pay, when I realized they don’t roll that well with flat tires. Or when you’re horribly out of shape.  I got there and prepared to air the tires.  I looked – how much is air these days?  Surely a quarter at most.  HOW ABOUT A DOLLAR.  Well, I’ll be damned, I grabbed 75 cents.  Son of a bitch.

Luckily, I watched an episode of Extreme Cheapskates once and there was a guy who used to dig for change around payphones.  I started scrounging around in the dirt and cigarette butts.  Oh blessings of liberty, I found a quarter!  I have a rare skin disease, probably, but I have the quarter!  I popped them in and stuck the nozzle on the tire.  The tire valve immediately sunk into the tire.  It was impossible to put air in tire.  Ah, that’s terrific.  And then the pump closed off after two minutes, not four.  Mocking me with its silence.

I pushed the flat tired stroller back, in the dark, while two guys that looked like they from Sons of Anarchy stared me down while curse words poured from my mouth.  I’m sure the rest of the week will go well – I highly doubt some toy manufacturer put five screws in the battery case.  Who would do that and ruin my week?  OH WAIT THEY ALL DO AND YOU NEED A SCREWDRIVER THE SIZE OF A SPAGHETTI NOODLE.

2000’s Chris – “I don’t know why in the hell you would buy IPA beer.  It tastes like someone is dumping hops down your throat.  Might as well lick a 9 volt battery, it’s so bitter.”

Now Chris – “Oh God, I have time to drink one beer tonight, maybe two.  Do have anything that has 30.5% alcohol?  IPA?  $22 a six pack?  SOLD!”

2000’s Chris – “I got a new video game, I’m going to hammer down some beers and play until 3 am.”

Now – “I got a new video game.  I am going to drink a beer..”  (Wakes up three hours later in dark, on chair, neck cocked to side and in tremendous pain, game still on start screen, beer almost completely full and warm)

2000’s Chris – “I had five beers and have to pee?  I must have broke the seal.”

Now – “I smelled a beer from across the room.  I’ve pissed nine times in the last 54 minutes.  I’ll probably be hungover tomorrow also.”

When I die, I think the title of this blog will be etched on my headstone.  I went to get my haircut because I was a quarter inch of hair length away from looking homeless.  I’m OK with that, but I was getting close to mullet/ponytail zone and that just can’t happen in 2016.  Or ever.

The lady that cut my hair yesterday was a little eccentric.  No, I don’t go to the same place, I have man parts so I go wherever is closest that doesn’t have a line.  My wife drives 90 minutes and wouldn’t go anywhere else if you threatened to waterboard her, as does nearly every woman I’ve met.  I had my buddies do it free until the guard fell off once and I had a reverse mohawk.  That’s too much risk post-college.

I don’t know if she was foreign, but her accent was a little off.  “You want to not look like shaggy wolf so your missus lets you in home?”  Um, sure.  I wouldn’t word it like that, but sure.  Make me look less like Tyrion Lannister with a beard, how about that?  Somehow the conversation turned to high school, which was weird because I wasn’t really talking.  “No one asked me to prom.  I was too drabby.”  I don’t know what that means, but I think I can figure it out now.  I didn’t really know what to say.  Sorry?  No, I’m not really.  Hell with that, drabby is the new cool, whatever that word means.  Nope.  So I did what I do best.  I stared into the floor in a nearly catatonic state and then murmured, “It’s supposed to get cold tomorrow.”   There was a pause.  “I think we’re coming out of an Ice Age and polluting the Earth with pollution.”  Sigh.  I’ll just shave my head next time.