Monday, October 31, 2005

Oooooooh Scaaaaaaary...Blah

First, a spooky 'Ween to all... May your toilet paper fly freely, your pumpkins splatter, and your bags of dog poo burn like beacons in the night. Favorite costumes so far: Martha Stewart (complete with handmade ankle beeper)... George W. Bush as the Hamburgular... and, my favorite, the Ghost of Tara Reid's diginity and self-respect...may it only possess her once a year.


I've recently been faced with the horrors of being a homeowner. I'm getting used to the subtle nuances that make my new place "special"...retarded special, not extraordinary special. My apartment drools. Or it did, anyway. The second time I ran the dishwasher, it almost flooded the kitchen. And, recently, when I ran my dryer, it rained in my den. I've discovered that I'm handier around the house when faced with using an umbrella indoors...
Yesterday, standing on a chair to wipe off my ceiling, I found that the top of my dryer was cloaked in a blanket of lint and dust. Apparently, this was keeping the heat from venting properly, and creating a tropical depression in my den. I yanked it off, a la Ghostbusters (and the flowers are still standing...) and the problem has subsided. This goes a long way toward correcting a theory that I formulated when I was 5 years old...clouds are not made of cotton candy...they're made of lint. Somebody call Sesame Street...get me Oscar the Grouch on the phone.
I need to be careful, though...just because I can use a Swiffer doesn't exactly make me Bob Vila. When some real shit goes down, I doubt I'll be able to correct it with a paper towel.


Oh...speaking of coming back from the dead (sorry for alienating any non-DC comedy folk here)... Raise your hand if you remember Joe Springer...ok...a few of you... He was a fixture of the DC scene back in '02-'03, when there was still comedy at Chief Ike's and Zoo Bar. Chris White and I ran into him on the streets of Adams Morgan while barking for a Staccato show...and that was the last anyone ever saw of Joe Springer. *POOF* And like that he was gone. Underground. Nobody has ever seen him since. He becomes a myth, a spook story that open-mikers tell their kids at night. "Tell a cancer joke, and Joe Springer will get you." And no-one ever really believes... The greatest trick Joe Springer ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.
Well, a couple weeks ago, out of the blue, I get an email from Joe. No explanation of where he's been. Like he was swallowed by a wrinkle in time and, to him, it's only been a week. Odd. Freaky. Just to me? Got it. Move on? Ok.


I'll be making a rare appearance at Topaz on Thursday. The room is always tons o' fun. There promises to be a stocked roster of talented comics...and me *sigh*


To be continued...

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