My buddy Justin was in town for the Q benefit Saturday (quincyconnerfoundation.com). It was a great event and the kids on the board helped raise $18,000 for Quincy’s daughter’s college fund, plus two other scholarships. I did about 50 minutes of stand up and got to see a lot of old frat brothers and great friends from the Muskingum days. Before the show, Justin told me he had turned on a couple co-workers to my site. Awesome. Justin: “One girl I work with loves your blogs. She said you are a good writer.” Me: “Sweet.” Justin: “She likes your writing, but watched your clips and said you sound like a drunk hillbilly.” Me: “Your friend is very astute.” That’s right, chriscoencomedy.com. Come for the intelligent writing, stay for the drunken blathering of white trash.
As a comic, everyone has to do bad rooms and open mikes. Enter the backhanded compliment. I love them. When a comic sucks and he/she approaches me, “How did I do?” You had great ideas! (Translation: You had no punchlines.) “What did you think of my set?” You had awesome stage presence! (You took your bombing like a man. The crowd hated you, but you kept your shit together, in spite of NO laughter. Good work.)
I have received these also. One chick told me after the show – “I loved your joke about dancing! The other guy sucked!” I didn’t do a dancing joke. I am the other guy. Please don’t wreck on the way home! (Oh God, please wreck…).
I agreed, stupidly, to play in an alumni football game August 27th for Maysville Panthers against the John Glenn Fighting Muskies. Ironically, I played my freshman year in college fot the Muskingum Muskies (in the same town). BTW, a Muskie is a big ugly fish. My hammies are tighter than bowstrings still, our last “practice” was Sunday. One guy blew his knee out 10 minutes into our practice by jumping. No contact, just regular ol’ jumping.
I loved HS football. My wonderful parents paid my car payment for three months so I could train for my senior year. I worked out four hours a day, five days a week. I could, at 185 lbs., squat 455 lbs., bench 280 lbs., and play every snap. I was named all league and won my team’s leadership award for my efforts. Then came college…
I started pounding beers like a champ and began smoking my senior year. When I got to college, I was weaker, slower, and less motivated. I wanted to get to 200 lbs., so I ate Whoppers every day (on sale for $1/each, sans cheese that glorious summer) and drank MGD and Icehouse to put on weight. I got up to 201 for the program, but I was done. We had “three-a-days” where practice started at 8 am and more or less lasted until 9 pm. I remember a particular douche who got in my face and said, “DO IT FOR THE SENIORS!” “I don’t know who the seniors are…” He was not pleased.
I made through the year as a D3 O-lineman on the reserve team. My highlight was against nat’l champ Mt. Union. Our fatbody left tackle gave up three straight sacks and we relented for the punt team. My offensive coordinator grabbed my facemask and said, “Are you trying to kill my QB? You’re a piece of shit (technically, I was a center)!” Well, I never took criticism well. As he turned, I said, “I didn’t give up those sacks, you fucking piece of shit. I am going to cut your fucking throat! Turn around and look me in the eye, you fucking bitch! Turn around, you whore!” I never played another snap again, but that scumdick never turned around. 14 years later, I will take that rage out on someone. If not legally, I will cheap shot my way to redemption. John Glenn? No, I see Coach T. You will die this day.
My niece’s bday party is coming up soon, so naturally a party is pending. For some reason, my sister asked me to play guitar and sing some Justin Bieber songs for the enjoyment of my niece. A few problems -
1. I don’t know any Justin Bieber songs. Not one. I have never consciously heard a Bieber tune in my life. The newest album I bought on iTunes was Disturbed’s newest one.
2. I can’t sing. I have a deep voice, so I can half-ass some outlaw country. That’s about it. Plus, I can’t really play guitar beyond some grunge riffs and basic chords and my skills are on the decline. Lastly on this, Bieber doesn’t exactly have a lot of acoustic riffs.
3. If Bieber had six testicles, I would have a deeper voice.
4. If I walk into a kid’s party dressed like Bieber, someone is calling the cops, and rightly so.
I can only logically assume someone has kidnapped my sister and replaced her. Please help immediately.
I did a 15 minute set tonight at the Columbus Funny Bone for a benefit for Julie Speer, a friend of Jake Iannarino that just had major surgery. The lineup was great (Vince Morris, Mike Malone, and Anthony O’Connell in addition to me and Jake) and the crowd was packed. As usual, my favorite moments were after the show. One guy said I was funny, but I should smack my stomach instead of rub it on one joke. Even better, my frat brother Drew wanted a picture after the show and said, “Let’s get this hot chick to take it.” Me: “That’s my sister.” Drew: “She’s a Coen? No way.” I don’t know what that means, but it was hilarious.
My show last Friday was in Parkersburg, WV. They put me up in a Red Roof Inn, very acceptable, plus they allowed pets so stupid Bean came with me. This was one of the few shows that picked me up at all, but definitely the first that sent this.
Yes, a limo. Like a boss. From the Red Roof Inn. We then cruised past a high dollar trailer park near the river and went to the show. In a limo. The room looked fine, but the show was only half-full. I wonder why? Oh, probably because THERE WAS NO AIR CONDITIONING! It was a great night to wear grey, it barely showed the sweat (it showed all the sweat). It was at least 85 degrees onstage. I sold one DVD and one t-shirt, which means it was a great night for merchandise. I don’t know what I’ll do with all this profit. Maybe finally pull the trigger on that original Albrecht Durer woodcut I’ve had my eye on.