Viva, Part I

Hey there 'Redheads... I hope everyone had a cram-it-down-your-gullet Turkey Day. I made sure to designate someone I know and trust to maintain my haircut during my food coma...Bush is still president, right? The last 10 days have been pretty eventful for me, so grab the orange extender belt, and buckle in for a blog that'll more than fill your daily recommended allowance of Jared-centric shite. There will be videos. There will be pictures. There will be time that you'll never get back...ever.

We'll start with my least fuzzy memories, which takes us to Saturday night. Big thanks to the DC Improv and Comcast for putting on a great showcase and allowing me to take part. It was a hum-dinger of a line-up, including Toyota pitch-man, Justin Schlegel, Ziddio Lucky 21 finalist, Chris White (we'll get to that later), and Forehead Magazine's Man of the Century (his joke, not mine), Sean Gabbert. We were told to arrive early to tape interviews with the Comcast people that they'll be showing along with our 5 or so minute sets. I'm hoping they use exactly none of my interview. I'm never sure how to handle those interviews...treat every answer as a joke or try to be a smidge sincere? I waffled between the two and I don't think the result was anything that could be described as remotely interesting. But my set went well. And I knew it would. How, you ask? Because on my walk back to the club from by pre-show burger at Fuddrucker's, an omen fell from the sky and splatted on my jacket. A bird put the "turd" in my Saturday and shat on me (it was later postulated by Jimmy Merrit that it could've been a homeless guy doing his impression of Miggs from Silence of the Lambs from the grassy knoll, but I prefer the lone shitter theory). I figured that would be the worst thing to happen to me, and my set would compare favorably to getting a boutonniere of bird crap pinned on my lapel. I'll be sure to keep you posted on when you'll be able to find me On Demand.

Friday night, I got a chance to see a great concert at the 9:30 Club given by one of my favorite groups from my high school days, They Might Be Giants. I'm not very familiar with their recent stuff, but after this show, I'm gonna check it out. Keep an ear peeled for "The Alphabet of Nations", a bombastic bit of silliness that was a highlight of the show. They also peppered in a few of the better known classics like "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and "Particle Man", both of which I badly sang along with. I was worried I might've strained a uvula, belting out the whoa's on "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)". Part of their second encore was the theme to Malcolm in the Middle. Another bit of TMBG trivia that I wasn't aware of: they also do the opening music for The Daily Show. Long story short: awesome show...big fan.

I won't waste too much space detailing the sundry items that conspired to make my pants tighter on Thanksgiving. I was proud that I limited myself to one helping. However, that one helping included a Devil's Mountain-sized portion of mashed potatoes (it meant something) and enough biscuits to build a small fort. Starch-tastic. Moving on.

With this past week out of the way, we get to the meat of this installment. Vegas. Let's spin back the clock to a week prior to Turkey Day. It was downright dismal here in DC. Rainy, windy, dark...the weather was right out of a Tim Burton rough draft. If going to Vegas wasn't reason enough to hop on a plane, this dreck was.

Editor's Note: I'm more than a little distracted by the Patriots/Eagles game and I feel myself losing steam here, so I'm going to chop this installment off here and devote the next one to Vegas. I'd rather not half-ass the recounting of such a cool trip.

Before I go, here's a little something to brighten your day. It's a short video of my impossibly cute nephew discovering upright mobility...

All together now... Awwwwwwwwwww.

Part two coming soon.

To be continued...