Powerblog

Happy Belated New Year, or bloated New Year, if the post-holiday weigh-in at my gym is to be believed. My trainer gave me a body mass index test and it told me that I'm 30% body fat. That's like and entire leg made of fat. That's a problem. What's an even bigger problem is that an entire leg made of fat sounds delicious to me right now. It's a never-ending cycle. My fitness goals will be even harder to hit thanks to my recent introduction to another scrumptious obstacle: Strawberry Pretzel Salad. Stop making that face and let me explain. It's a Pittsburgh delicacy made using strawberries, Jell-O, Cool Whip, and cream cheese, with crumbled pretzels as the outer crust. So far, it's my favorite stretch to the the definition of "salad".

The new year is about new beginnings, and what better way to clean the slate for 2016 than to win the Gross Domestic Product of Burundi. The Powerball lottery jackpot is a staggering $1.4 billion at the time of this writing. Your odds of winning are slightly less staggering, but only in the way getting hit by a piano from ten floors up is less staggering than getting hit with a piano from twenty floors. I do not care. My disregard for the odds is Han Solo-like. All I know is that somebody has to win, and why can't it be me?

When the lottery gets to Scrooge McDuck swimming pool levels, people who focus on the astronomical odds will take the sour grapes mindset, "I wouldn't want to win anyway, because that kind of money would ruin me." Well, to those people I say that kind of money could ruin a person, but it could also turn them into Batman. Listen, I get that money doesn't buy happiness, but with that kind of money you can afford to make everyone else around you miserable, making you seem happier by comparison. It's all about perspective. I saw a piece on the news at a local liquor store filled with hopeful people. One woman was asked what she would do with the money. She said, "I would buy a new car and pay off some debt." SOME debt? How many payments do you have left on your space station, lady?

I worry that whoever does win the jackpot won't have the imagination to properly enjoy it. Obviously, some of it goes in the bank, so you can live the life that Hans Gruber was denied at the end of Die Hard. He just wanted to be, "sitting on a beach, earning 20%." The cash payout for this jackpot is going to be roughly $800 million after taxes. Even if you put half of that away, you still have $400 million to play with. So, for the imagination impaired, I have some suggestions for what to do with the money...

1.  Tila Tequila thinks the Earth is flat because she can't see the curve, so you can use part of your winnings to shoot her into space, thereby solving two problems.
2. Hire a mobile orchestra to follow you around and perform your theme song that you contracted John Williams to compose for you.
3. Reboot Titanic.
4. The Playboy Mansion is for sale for $200 million. The only problem is that Hef conveys and he gets to live there until his Faustian contract is up.
5. Interstate zip lines.
6. Pizza party.

Just a couple ideas I've had floating around. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the passing of rock icon, David Bowie. I will admit to not being familiar with a lot of his music, but he had a hand in shaping my childhood as I'm sure he did with many of you as Jareth, the Goblin King in Labyrinth, the modern (in 1986) muppetational take on The Wizard of Oz. The soundtrack to that movie was one of the first albums I ever owned, and I have a special place in my heart for movie characters that have my name (Jareth was close enough when I was 11). I think I speak for everyone when I say, "Fuck Cancer." Maybe whoever wins the jackpot can funnel a couple hundred million into eradicating it, but they'll probably just buy a car. Ziggy, we hardly knew ye...

The Man Called Tomorrow

Hey gang... As time continues its inevitable march toward the new year, I wanted to give you something to distract you from the holiday doldrums. I'm writing from my mother-in-law's apartment in sunny Florida. Although, that isn't much of a brag considering that most of the eastern seaboard currently resembles L.A. without most of the self-delusion. Why do I bother spending the holidays in Florida if I can't shove it in the numb shivering faces of friends and family back home? Oh well. Enjoy frolicking in shorts and sun dresses in December. Mother Nature will balance the scales with a blizzard in March that will sock everyone in for a week and a half. The toilet paper aisle at Harris Teeter will make Black Friday at Best Buy look like Arbor Day at Radio Shack. It doesn't make sense now, but trust me, the metaphor holds up.

I'm always amazed at the interesting lives led by other people. As the selfie-obsessed ego-maniacs our society has evolved into, we all think that our lives are in the top percentile of interesting. If you take the time to listen to other people and what they've done, you realize maybe that fifth picture of the linguini you had last night wasn't the culinary game changer you thought it was. I attended the Christmas party in my mother-in-law's building last night and met a couple people who might be the most interesting I've met all year, possibly in the last five years. The first guy worked for the Air Force. His job? Packing parachutes into pilot ejector seats. What was my first question upon hearing this? "So, how accurate was the ejector seat scene from Die Hard 2?"
His answer, unfortunately, was that it's total bullshit. That type of plane had no canopy, and when pilots need to evacuate, they jump out of the side door. I then proved I knew what a canopy was by referencing Goose from Top Gun. Thank goodness movies provide us with a universal language for describing real life. I felt like I was in that episode of Star Trek:TNG telling him about Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra. I love talking to people about stuff that I will never do. He has also flown a jet and worn a G-suit. Here's something I never knew, the G-suit squeezes your body, so that your blood doesn't all plummet to your feet while you are pulling multiple G's. Anyway, I found it all fascinating. The second guy I talked to was in a motorized wheelchair. He wore a Harley Davidson t-shirt, a Harley Davidson necklace, and had Harley Davidson tattoos on both arms. The guy was brand loyal. As I got to talking to him, he told me that he rode a 1000 miles a day on his motorcycle, and his goal was to ride 1,000,000 miles. It was cut short at about 600,000 when he fell asleep at the wheel while riding in Alaska, paralyzing him from the chest down. He still rides, though. He's having a trike built so he can pick up where he left off. He owns 14 motorcycles, including a Harley from 1912. He's also a member of the oldest motorcycle club in Brazil. Think Sons of Anarchy, but with more plantains. He also told me about breaking one of his legs and not realizing it until someone pointed out that the bone was poking through. Two things about me: 1) I've never ridden a motorcycle. 2) I've never broken a bone. I was enthralled by his zest for life and was made very aware of the distinct lack of zest in my risk-averse life. When I asked him his name, he told me it was "Tomorrow". It's actually Tomauro, but he got tired of explaining the pronunciation to people. Anyway, I could've talked to him all night.

I should also share my thoughts on Star Wars: The Force Awakens, since that is now the dominant focus of popular culture. It's mildly ironic that, until recently, Star Wars was just the culture of unpopular people. Well, I saw it, thoroughly enjoyed it, then thought about it, and realized it was pretty much just a retelling of the first movie. Oh, sorry, SPOILER ALERT. I'm legally obligated to put that in front of anything that might give you a hint of what might happen in the movie. It's been out for a week, people. Don't get me wrong, it was everything it needed to be. It felt like a Star Wars movie, it had heart, the new characters were engaging, the old characters weren't just there for nostalgia's sake, everything fit together nicely. But, it's another droid with an important message for the rebellion dropped off on a desert planet, discovered by an unlikely hero who doesn't realize they're a part of something much bigger, being pursued by a draconian military force with a giant frickin' laser that can destroy a planet. I liken it to the 2006 reintroduction of Superman to movie audiences. A beloved franchise that newer audiences might not be as familiar with because the last installment, which stunk, came out almost 20 years ago. Superman Returns was pretty much an exact retelling of the first Superman: The Movie from 1978. The folks at Disney wanted to ease the new audience that was raised by parents that grew up on this stuff into the basic story of the franchise. That's being generous. It could also just be lazy storytelling on the part of J.J. Abrams, who wasn't above milking original Star Trek nostalgia to make his reboot seem more palatable. Either way, I liked it, I plan on seeing it again to try and catch stuff my teary fanboy eyes might've missed the first time.

One last thing. I'm getting back on the comedy horse and I've been booked to play a show on New Year's Eve. So, if you happen to be in the Harrisburg, PA area, I'll be at the Harrisburg Comedy Zone on Dec. 31st and Jan. 2nd with none other than Dustin Diamond, Screech from Saved by the Bell. See you there.

Have a very merry and a holly jolly. I'll see about getting one last installment up before year's end.

The Blog Awakens

Hello neglected readers. Again, the perfect storm of procrastination, distraction, and general malaise has lead to blog atrophy. Since I'm no longer encumbered by a day job, I figure there's no time like the present to put off the job search and give you something to wrap your eyeballs around.

The big day is on the horizon. The newest installment of Star Wars will be forcing itself on the movie-going public in a matter of days, shattering box office records and re-branding just about every consumer product in the known universe. Before it gets here and sets the new standard by which all seventh movies in a franchise will be judged, I thought we should take a moment and figure out which movie series is the current holder of the title: Best Seventh Movie. Obviously we're not going to use any objective metric like box office gross or award nominations. In many cases, except for a couple of the ones on this list, any franchise that has gone that long is at the point of self-parody by plucky number seven. Let me point out that I haven't actually seen all of these, but don't let that dampen my expert-sounding tone.

7. Diamonds Are Forever (James Bond) - I've never been a James Bond guy. Sure, Sean Connery is the definition of cool, but when I was a kid I was more drawn to his turns in Highlander and Time Bandits. Awesome as being a super spy was, I wanted to be immortal and time travel with a group of British midgets. So, this belongs in the category of "haven't seen," but since this is the first major franchise to have a seventh movie (besides the Bob Hope and Bing Crosby "Road to..." movies), I figured it deserved a mention.

6. Wes Craven's New Nightmare (Nightmare on Elm St.) - While I wasn't much of a James Bond guy, I am a die hard Freddy Kruger guy. I've seen all of them. The recent reboot, like most recent reboots, is sacrilege. With franchises that run this long there is a general rule of thumb as far as quality. With the Nightmare on Elm St. movies, it's the odd numbered ones that stand out. This first is a classic, Dream Warriors is fantastic (with a cast that includes Lawrence Fishburne and Patricia Arquette), and Dream Child is one of the campiest entries, with Freddy at his catch-phrasiest. Which brings us to the New Nightmare. This was Wes Craven's attempt to make Freddy relevant again by rooting him in the "real lives" of the people who made the original film. Freddy has now transcended the screen. He's pissed that the series is over and the only way to stop him is for Wes Craven and Heather Langenkamp (Nancy) to make another movie. They try to up the creep factor by making Heather's son, who looks like he just came home from the Overlook Hotel, the conduit for Freddy's reemergence.
It mostly pays homage to the original movie and tries to recreate some of the iconic deaths. Even if it's not close to as scary, this was the precursor to Wes Craven's Scream series about a "real life" horror killer that you have to follow a set of cinematic tropes to take down.

5. Star Trek: Generations - Like I mentioned earlier, there's a general rule of thumb when it comes to any long-running franchise. With Star Trek, it's the even numbers. Wrath of Khan, Voyage Home, and Undiscovered Country are all varying degrees of awesome. The only redeeming quality of Search for Spock was Christopher Lloyd as the lead Klingon... funny that they ended up time traveling in his ship for the next movie. Anyway, Generations had a tough legacy to overcome. Not only that, this movie was to be the bridge between the decaying original cast and the new class of Federation heroes that would carry the torch. Obviously, in order to do that, time needed to be rendered irrelevant. So, we're introduced to the Nexus, an extradimensional realm which allows those who enter to experience their pasts over again, whenever and however they choose, to ultimate and unending ecstasy. Kirk is stuck there and Picard must convince him to leave so they can team up to stop Soran, Malcolm MacDowell, from chewing the scenery into oblivion. It's a fun romp and we get to see Kirk get one last hurrah before taking up the mantle of Priceline Negotiator.

4. Furious 7 - This goes into the category of ones I haven't seen. I take that back. I have seen the first Fast & Furious, so I've technically seen them all. Cars, guns, bad-assery, and combinations of all three jumping out of planes, crashing through skyscraper windows, and ignoring any basic laws of physics. Not a complaint, mind you. Movies like this are about spectacle and this one bugs the viewer's eyes out like the love struck wolf in a Tex Avery cartoon...
Plus, now that I'm looking at the cast, you've got Tony Jaa as a henchman. Holy shit. If you don't know who Tony Jaa is, allow me to enlighten you...
Long story short, do not fuck with this man's elephant. Furious 7 also features the emotional goodbye to Paul Walker, who died doing pretty much trying to rehearse for the movie. Again, haven't seen it, but I plan on giving it a looksee.

3. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 1 - The first half of the last in the Harry Potter series finds Harry and his pals on a quest to destroy Voldemort's horcruxes. I think that's the plural of horcrux. The plural of vortex is vortices, so maybe it's horcuces. I'm not going to try to parse the grammar of made up words. I'm just glad it's not a damn emoji or something. This movie marks the first time in the series where it wasn't super creepy to look at Hermoine in the way that most creeps were doing since The Sorcerer's Stone. This was also the first movie in the series that broke from the formula that was established in the first one: Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts turns out to be a tool of Voldemort, Harry figures this out, wins a Quidditch match, uses whatever object happens to be in the title to beat back Voldemort, rinse, repeat.

2. X-Men: Days of Future Past - The X-Men franchise has been spotty. It's got two real quality entries, X2 and X-Men: First Class, and two that are widely regarded as two of the worst comic book movies ever made, those being X-Men: The Last Stand and X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Days of Future Past, much like Star Trek: Generations, serves as a bridge between the original cast (again with Patrick Stewart) and the prequels that have rejuvenated the franchise. Wolverine, who is basically just walking sinew at this point, is sent back in time to prevent the cataclysmic future that the X-Men are currently facing: Sentinels that can adapt to their mutations to take them out. This movie hinges on two great set pieces. The first is the prison break of Magneto with the mutant Quicksilver. Since Marvel and 20th Century Fox both technically have rights to the character, both decided to include him in their respective sweeping super storylines. This is the superior handling of the two.
The second awesome set piece is Magneto picking up RFK Stadium and dropping it on the White House lawn. The action in the movie is great and Michael Fassbender does a great job lending gravitas to a role that was previously inhabited by one of the best actors of a generation.

1. Creed (Rocky) - If you haven't seen Creed, GO. SEE. CREED. When I mentioned that many franchises that go this long become a parody of themselves, this was where the Rocky franchise had gone. People forget that Rocky won the Oscar for Best Picture. Rocky II was a good movie. Rocky's III and IV are 80s cult classics, but they're cartoonish as hell. I need to go back and watch the boxing sequences in the first two movies, because watching the matches in Rocky III and IV, it's a wonder how any of those fights went longer than 30 seconds. They just pummel each other in the head with no thought of defending. The fifth and sixth in the series are hot garbage. Creed brings the respectability back to Sylvester Stallone that makes you all but forget Stop or My Mom Will Shoot! Google it. It follows the story of Apollo Creed's illegitimate son, Adonis, who seeks out Rocky Balboa to train him. I mentioned the boxing from III and IV, well they actually make the boxing look and feel real this time. The only thing that was missing was a dream sequence that could've brought Carl Weathers into it somehow. Sort of like in Happy Gilmore. Or maybe as a ghost Jedi.

Thanks for reading. I hope I can make a regular go at this again, but I'm easily distracted...

Stupid People Are People, Stupid

Hey gang... Again, I've neglected you. Just when I thought I was in a good bloggy rhythm, I went on vacation, got distracted, then just plain got lazy. Before you know it, I'm a week away from going 0 for April. So, in the hopes of getting back on track, here I am for your mild amusement. A quick update before I get started.

Thank you to everyone who voted for me in the Washington City Paper Best of DC 2014 Reader's Poll. If you look to your right, you'll see the fancy new widget declaring my runner-uppery. I'm winded from running up. My nipples are chafed. It was a long race. So, the pressure is off this year, since I'm only "one of" the best comedians in DC for 2014. Congrats to my buddy, Jimmy Meritt for taking the top spot. Next year will be the tie breaker.

Onward to my pithy musings...

I saw on Good Morning America that people are getting plastic surgery so they can look better in selfies. These people apparently have low selfie-esteem. Plastic surgery isn't going to fix the problem because they're flawed on a deeper level. Since they'll be under anesthetic already, why not take a melon baller to the part of their brain that gives a goddamn about selfies? I don't understand the obsession with selfies, probably because I'm old. Maybe they think because artists paint self-portraits that their duck-faced vanity is a form of expression. I think these people would be much happier with themselves if they had friends to take pictures of them.

Another thing I saw on GMA was a segment with chef Emeril Lagasse. They had viewers tweet him the leftovers in their fridge so he could find creative ways to "kick it up a notch". The stuff people were sending in didn't take a master chef to figure out what to whip up. The one I saw was basically, "Brace yourself Emeril. I've got eggs, bell peppers, mushrooms, swiss cheese, and flour tortillas. I can't wait to see what you do with that! I'm uncreative and I'm starving." I want to see what he does with the contents of the average American refrigerator, "I've got day old bologna, half a tuna fish sandwich, a six pack of Miller Lite, a box of baking soda, and I heard a voice say 'Zuul'." If he can come up with something besides the number for Poison Control, then color me impressed.

For the love of all things holy, please peel the stickers off of your baseball caps. I don't care what race you are, you look like a moron. You might as well leave the price tags on your clothes and make a boutonniere out of the receipt. Congratulations on your purchasing power.

As I was washing my hands (I know, "Stop bragging."), I noticed that the soft soap had directions on the back of the bottle. They read, "Use to wash hands as you would use any liquid hand soap". Listen, if you're going to assume that someone is dumb enough to need directions to use your soap, then don't assume they've used any other soap. Your apparent target audience is a feral wolf-boy who has only recently entered civilized society. You can't use the word you're trying to define in the definition. It's lazy and if it was genuinely meant to instruct someone to use soap, then give them a three step method or something. Shampoo does "Wash, Rinse, Repeat". Don't you guys have the same writers?

Thanks for indulging me. To be continued...

Big Money, No Whammies

Hey gang. I'll pretend you both noticed and cared that this entry is late and apologize accordingly. I just got back from a fun show at the Bucks County Playhouse in quaint New Hope, PA. I had the pleasure of working with my good buddy and frequent comedy co-star, Kelly Terranova, the funniest comedian in his price range. A good time was had by most.

Everybody dreams about having a dump truck full of cash emptied in front of their house. Sure, earning money is fine, but we're a nation of dreamers, and dreaming takes no effort. Over the past couple weeks, I've missed out on a possible $1,400,001,500. Let me break that figure down for you. Many of you may have heard that Warren Buffett has offered up $1 billion for anyone who can fill-out a perfect bracket. Through the first four days of the tournament, only one bracket is still eligible for the prize. Some guy named Biff Tannen. That guy has a bright future.

I filled out a bracket, hoping to take my 1 in 9.5 quintillion shot at the contents of Scrooge McDuck's couch cushions. My chances disintegrated after the first game, when Ohio State lost by one point to Dayton. $1 billion out the window. I'm horrible at picking these games. I had a couple 12 over 5 upsets, but those are easy to pick when 3 of the 4 5-seeds crap in their hat and get bounced. The tournament is great theater. The plucky underdog vs. the national powerhouse, over and over again. Once my brackets got busted for gambling purposes, I just started rooting for chaos. If I can't be right, let's see if I can be the least wrong. And sometimes it's great to be wrong. I had Duke getting out of the first round and I've never been happier to watch my incorrectitude. The sun shined just a little bit brighter after the Duke, the Cobra Kai of college basketball, took a crane-kick to the mush and got ousted by a 14-seed. Yeah, so what if UMD didn't even make the NIT? Shut up!

One digit down from the billion, the $400,000,000 was the size of the recent MegaMillions jackpot. I'm starting to think the numbers you get from fortune cookies don't mean anything at all. And it turns out the numbers of my anniversary and my birthday aren't that special after all. It's hard to maintain a sense of self-importance when the universe seems so oblivious to your demands.

A couple zeroes down the line was my most realistic missed opportunity to cash in. I meant to bring this up in the previous entry. A couple weekends ago, I got a call from a comedian buddy of mine. Someone had cancelled last-minute for a show at a synagogue and he thought I might be a good fit. Unfortunately, I was already booked that night, so I told him I couldn't do it. His reply, "That's too bad, because they're paying $1500 for 30 minutes."
"Give me the number," I said. "I'll find a way to make it work." I gave the lady organizing the event a call and, unfortunately, they had just filled the spot before I got to her. I was still in disbelief, so I asked her, "How much were you offering again?"
"We have a $1500 budget. Why, how much do you charge?"
"Significantly less," I said. I told her to keep me in mind for anything they have going on in the future. Congrats to the lucky bastard who snagged it. It's just crazy how much people outside of comedy think our services are worth is in stark contrast to the money we get at actual comedy venues. Just sayin' is all.

 For those of you who enjoy pro-wrestling, do me a favor and mark June 19th on your comedy calendar. I'll be opening for the hardcore legend, Mick Foley when he comes to the DC Improv. The stage will be surrounded in barbed wire. Have a nice day.

Inbloguration

Hey there 'Redheads... It's cold outside. The kind of cold that makes people deny global warming because they're personally freezing. Remember kids: Think Globally, Bitch Locally. I don't even need to step outside to know it's cold, because everyone on Facebook is instagramming pictures of their thermostats with captions like, "Wow, that's cold!" Kind of an Ansel Adams by way of Topper Shutt. C'mon, people, show me, don't tell me. Snap me a picture of a bobsled on the beltway or a penguin migration down Pennsylvania Ave. Your numbers are not interesting. Snow is in the forecast for Friday, which will no doubt send people screaming frantically to loot grocery stores for necessities, lest they never see the sun again. A word of advice for those of you who plan to ransack your local Harris Teeter for bread, milk, and toilet paper. If they're out of toilet paper, just buy more bread. I'm not easily fazed by the idea of snow, since my gal left town for a business trip, I've been playing a ton of Skyrim, so 3 to 5 inches isn't terribly impressive unless I'm absorbing the soul from a dragon husk.

This past weekend, I took my first comedy road gig of 2013 up to scenic Harrisburg for a slate of shows at the 2nd St. Comedy Club. I had the privilege of working with Caroline Rhea, who could not have been nicer. It's rare when a big name headliner takes a genuine interest in the feature's set and offers advice in a non-condescending (nondescending?) way. She was also very gracious to the 4 sold out crowds that came to see her, taking pictures with half the population of downtown Harrisburg... and me...



I also had another unexpected brush with celebrity. Apparently, Caroline met up with a friend who she hadn't seen in 10 years who now lives in Harrisburg. That friend was none other than Terry Farrell, who played Dax on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine...

This sent a Trill down my spine...

While I was sitting in the downstairs lounge between shows, I took a moment to check out the pictures of some of the comedy greats they had adorning the walls. There was Steve Martin, Rodney Dangerfield, Bill Cosby, and there was this curious picture...

 

At first glance, it didn't seem out of place. That's Richard Pry...oh, wait. Yeah, whoever decorated their lounge thinks Smokey Robinson was hilarious. They probably think he was the star of Smokey and the Bandit. He did sing Tears of a Clown, so maybe that's the connection. Either way, I'm sure none of the drunk Harrisburgers noticed.

 

Before I sign off, I'd like to call your attention to a couple things that are very me-centric. First, please VOTE FOR ME FOR BEST COMEDIAN IN DC in the CityPaper's Best of DC 2013 Reader's Poll. It was an honor just to nominate myself, really. Please feed my ego. It hungers.

 

Also, I've got a very cool show coming up on Feb. 2nd in the DC Improv Comedy Lounge with three hilarious friends of mine, Tim Miller, Rob Maher, and Jon Mumma. Do yourself a favor and get your tickets now. 

One Way

Hey there, 'Redheads... As you can see, the resolution to resurrect the blog is 1080p. As for content, a babbling stream of consciousness will do for now.

Andrea and I are looking at potential caterers online for our impending nuptials. As much as I enjoy eating food, reading about it is a bit tedious. To make things more interesting, I started reading fancy menu items out loud in the shrill Monty Python Old British Woman voice. BURMA!

I've got the 1960 version of Ocean's Eleven on in the background while I'm typing. Despite having the Rat Pack in it, it's not quite as slick as the remake. A bit more musical too. Also, I noticed that Mr. Roper from Three's Company is in it. And Cesar Romero a.k.a. The Joker from the old Batman TV show too. He's taller than I remember.

Spotted this walking through DC...

Better than seeing a Dead End sign in front of a funeral home, I guess...

The Blog Rises

Hello, 'Redheads... It's been too long. I apologize for my dormancy and I can only hope that you can find your way to pretend to care about my musings again. I realize those muscles have atrophied in the year and change of my negligence. It's 2013, and with a brand new year I figured why not resolve to bring back the blog and give my imaginary fan base a chance to once again splash around in the refreshing waters of Lake Me. I'm going to be taking baby steps, so this installment will be to serve the main purpose of rehashing some of my pithier Facebook statuses as a half-assed year in review. I promise to provide fresher blog innards as we move forward... If we move forward.

Before I get to that, how about that 'Skins/Seahawks game? The story of that game was downright Shakespearean. Two rookies carrying their teams to the playoffs. The 'Skins started off quickly, gutting the vaunted Seahawks defense for two quick scores. Then the Seahawks managed to hobble RG3 and they began to creep back into the game. By halftime, the score was nearly even, with the momentum in Seattle's corner. The legendary sports surgeon, Dr. James Andrews was on the Redskins sideline and I was hoping he'd be able to clap his hands together and pull a Mr. Miyagi on RG3's knee. The final turd in the Redskins' playoff punch bowl came when RG3 fumbled when he twisted his knee on a muffed snap. The Seahawks picked up the ball and scored on the ensuing possession. Kirk Cousins came in, but he just didn't have the juice to bring Washington back. Fittingly, Seattle took a knee to end the game. I'll be rooting for Seattle to beat Atlanta in the next round, so the NFC Championship game will hopefully be a rematch of the replacement ref debacle with the Green Bay Packers. If I can't have Peyton Manning vs. the Colts, please let me have this.

Ok, as half-heartedly promised, the best of me (as judged by me) from 2012:

I'm trying to make more adult decisions, like going to the gym, but it's hard to feel like an adult when I see Bullwinkle Moose in the sweat stain on my shirt post-workout...

Just had lunch at Five Guys... On my soda cup, one of the accolades reads, "Voted Best New Restaurant in Cincinnati"... I think that says more about Cincinnati...

I'm confused by Paula Deen's Diabetes diagnosis because I thought she WAS Diabetes, the buttery 5th horseman...

Irony: Getting trapped inside your Ford Escape...

Irony: Filling up your TiVo with episodes of Hoarders...

I have a friend who's a mystery writer, but to pay the bills, he works for a pharmaceutical company... He wrote a twist ending to the side effects on a bottle of Tylenol... "Wow... Violent diarrhea... I did not see that coming..."

Someone asked me why there's no Russia-themed casino in Vegas... I'm guessing the roulette...

Here's my idea for Fajardo, Puerto Rico's new tourism slogan: Hey, who Fajardo?

Encyclopedia Britannica has announced they will cease production of hard copies... Someone should update their Wikipedia page...

Today, I'll be getting a Spaceman Spiff t-shirt and a Muppets lunchbox... Age is relative and, right now, that relative just happens to be my 5-year old nephew...

Someone at my show last weekend commented that my comedy was "top drawer"... I keep my underpants in the top drawer, so that's a fairly accurate description...

Now that Andrea and I are engaged, there are some serious decisions to make... I've been giving it a lot of thought... I think we're going to register at SkyMall...

A friend of mine said he saw Kathleen Turner on Californication and that she "looked terrible"... I told him, she didn't look terrible, she was just drawn that way...

I wish I figured this out before I ordered my current batch of comedy business cards, but I know what I want on the next batch: Jared Stern, Antidepressant...

Just got done with a Mother's Day mini-bbq on the roof deck... As my parents were leaving, my mom said, "Thanks for having us." No, Mom... Thanks for having me...

A headline in the Washington Times reads "Woman Killed in Love Quadrangle"... So, that's four people involved... I think I would've gone with "Love Rhombus" or "Para-love-ogram"... Maybe if two of the people were in a long distance relationship, it could be a "Love Rectangle"...

North Carolina has voted to further amend their constitution to redefine Words With Friends as Words Between a Man and a Woman...

Robin and Maurice Gibb are gone and Barry is living with the irony of the group's biggest hit...

The Department of Education has announced that all History textbooks will now contain the phrase, "Spoiler Alert"...

Toyota has announced a recall for all Highlanders... Except one...

I've run into so much road construction lately, it feels like Orange Cone Pride Week... I saw a big orange "END ROAD WORK" sign and assumed it was a protest sign...

There's a place in Bethesda called Stop Aging Now that offers "natural solutions" to halt the aging process... I can think of one natural way to stop aging and I'll only charge half of what they're asking, but I'm gonna need that money up front...

Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise are getting a divorce... That's what happens when your storybook marriage is written by a crappy sci-fi author...

So, we're packing up the tent and the sleeping bags and other equipment, and I remarked to Andrea, "That's a lot of stuff, honey"... She replied, "Well, we want to be comfortable"... THEN WHY ARE WE GOING CAMPING?

Harrison Ford is 70 today... HE BELONGS IN A MUSEUM!

When I get really bored, I like to go to the Hirshhorn museum, put an empty McDonald's cup against the wall, then sit back and count how many people try to interpret it...

I read a study that said mothers can pass on neuroses to their children... I have a friend who's pregnant that's claustrophobic... That kid must be going nuts...

Man, it's hot outside... I walked past the outdoor display over at Madame Tussauds... Abe Lincoln looked like he opened the Ark of the Covenant...

Kids are growing up too fast these days... The other day, I saw a little girl doodling in a coloring book called 50 Shades of Crayola...

It's getting late and cut and paste carpal tunnel is starting to set in, so I'll leave you with an audition video that my buddy Joe and I made for a food challenge show last year. Bon appetit...

   

Shiva H. Vishnu

Hey there, 'Redheads... The internet is a strange wonderful cornucopia stuffed with all kinds crazy crap... That metaphor kind of lost steam there, but trust me, the guys operating the "Batshit Crazy Video" chute at the Internet Factory have churned out a glorious nugget of awesome. Enjoy...

I, for one, welcome our new Indian overlords. It's like someone took Blue Man Group, Jackass, and the cast of Slumdog Millionaire, put them in the Street Fight match between Shane McMahon and Kurt Angle at the 2001 King of the Ring (google it). The sheer terror on the female judge's face looks like she got a glimpse of the Ark of the Covenant. Speaking of which, the only thing that would've made this video better is if this happened at the end...

Bravo, Internet... Bravo...

Blog Friday

Hey there, 'Redheads... I've got no good excuse for not updating this thing for five months. So, in order to reward you for your zen-like patience and to put an end to my zen-like neglect, here's a meager entry to hopefully get me back in your good to mediocre graces and back into some kind of blogroove for the homestretch of 2011.

I hope everyone had a Thanksgiving that left you plump and docile, unable to defend yourself in case of a ravenous zombie or alien attack. Ever vigilant, people. After getting home from the live human taxidermy demonstration of a meal we had at my parents' house, I thought my night of consumption was done. Then my girlfriend dragged me out of my tryptophan haze to go spectate the running of the bullshit. People waiting in line to crash through the doors of Best Buy or Target or Eddie's Bail Bonds for all of the great Black Friday deals. She loves the pageantry. So, I was forced to put on pants and go root for a trampling.

I'd like to interrupt this blog for visual proof of how awesome my girlfriend is...As I'm sitting here, typing words for your (mostly my) amusement, my awesome girlfriend brought me this masterpiece. A leftover turkey and egg sandwich with hot sauce on Darth Vader toast cut into the shape of the Millennium Falcon. Yes, I'm five. Ok, back to the blog already in progress...

The sight was pretty insane as we approached Best Buy with t-minus 5 minutes left before someone answered the Geek Squad's riddle and the gates magically opened. The line stretched for as far as the sleepy eye could see. We stood across the parking lot from the entrance with other eager gawkers, who were not from here apparently. They sang soccer cheers as they waited. I could just imagine what they must've been thinking as they looked at these people ready to run over their fellow man for every American's God-given right, a bigger TV. It was probably, "Remember when we used to stand in lines like this for food? Or to be killed? Good times." Or maybe it was, "In our country, door busts you!" Anyone remember when a doorbuster deal was just called looting?

As the midnight hour drew closer, and I was looking at these idiots who look like they arrived too late to be in Jerry Springer's studio audience, I was struck by the words of Obi Wan Kenobi, "Who's the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?" America's renewable energy = stupid. When the doors finally opened, we were crestfallen with how orderly everything went. Not even a simple shove. These were obviously not deals worth dying for. I wanted my money back, which I could've gotten with the coupon in the circular.

Insert Title Here

Hey there, 'Redheads... Spring is over and Summer has arrived. The year is halfway over and it's about this time I try to take stock of what I've accomplished so far. Well, thanks to my buddy, Chris White, I was able to accomplish something big right before the equinox. Last weekend, he recorded his new CD and I opened the show for him. Since he was gracious enough to have tape rolling during my set too, I ended up recording a new album as well. Not sure what to call it yet, but I'm hoping to have something consumable for my dozens of rabid fans soon. Ok, maybe not rabid. My slightly interested fans. Stay tuned.

The big news this week is the death of jackass of all trades, Ryan Dunn, perhaps best known for putting a toy car in his butt for our amusement. Jackass is one of my guilty pleasures. I used to pretend I was above it back in their heyday with MTV, but then my housemate sat me down and made me watch the movie and I sharted, I laughed so hard. It's always a shock when a 34 year old is cut down in his prime, but considering his line of work, this one wasn't that big a surprise. He got paid to reenact Wile E. Coyote cartoons with his friends. In our morbid heart of hearts, I think we all knew one of them was going to die young, but I just thought it would be on set. I guess the only thing shocking about this senseless tragedy is that it wasn't more senseless. It was just a car wreck. A spectacular wreck, but I would've expected him to meet his end covered in peanut butter on a pair of rocket skates or something. There was a headline that ran on AOL today that read, "Ryan Dunn's Cause of Death Confirmed." That really took a medical examiner a day to figure that out? The only way this qualifies as news is if the coroner says, "Yeah, turns out it was complications from pneumonia." And now comes news that the Westboro Baptist Church is going to picket the funeral. Good. This is the wrong group of mourners to fuck with. If they don't get a septic tank full of angry bees dumped on them, I'll be disappointed. Ryan, we hardly knew ye.

I'm getting back into mash-ups recently and I found two good ones for you to stick in your ear holes. You get videos too...

See you soon.

Sporting Chance

Hey there, 'Redheads... Wow, two blogs in a row. Don't get excited, I'm going to try to kick things back into the blogularity I spoiled you with for the first couple months of the year but, as usual, no promises. When I left you last night, the second half of Game 6 of the Mavs/Heat series was just getting started and it turns out all of the star wattage on the Heat burnt itself out. Here are some sample headlines I was hoping for in the Sports section this morning...

Heat Stroke

The Agony of the Heat

Mavs Take Talents to South Beach, Take Title

Dry Heat

Decision Made: Mavs Win

With the storyline that played out in the NBA, with the Cobra Kai of the league getting crane-kicked in the face, the schadenfreude is rampant among fans and analysts who were galled by LeBron and the pomp and circumstance of his "Decision" last summer. People are happy that the flashy superstars got taken down by the Johnny Punchclocks. Good triumphed over precieved evil. Roll end credits. Once hockey concludes, that interminable dead zone of sports will fall over the land. Normally, we'd have the happy distraction of off-season NFL speculation, but with the lockout, who knows how long we'll have to suffer meaningless baseball and women's soccer. What will fill the void? I'm hoping this catches on...

That's Botaoshi, or Japanese Pole Toppling. Rugby meets Iron Chef meets a Walmart on Black Friday. And don't act like you wouldn't watch it, either. That's the alchemy of ratings gold, my friends: the spirit of competition, the hint of controlled chaos, and flailing foreigners. Game on.

I was going to regale you with tales of my weekend gig in North Carolina, but my laptop crashed and I don't feel like retyping it right now. So, maybe tomorrow. Just in case I don't get back to the blog this week, I wanted to let you know about a great show on Saturday in the DC Improv Comedy Lounge. My buddy, Chris White is recording his new CD and I'll be opening up the show and getting some stuff recorded too. Click here to get tickets and provide us with the necessary rousing live crowd atmosphere.

See you soon.

Sunday Bloggy Sunday

Hey there, 'Redheads... I'm back from whatever arbitrary hiatus I imposed on myself. Thanks for pretending to care. I'm sitting on the couch, watching the Heat/Mavericks game. I'm not usually a big NBA guy, but it doesn't take much to get me interested in a potential championship-clinching tilt. Besides, I'd be lying if I told you I haven't gotten caught up in the manufactured villainy of the Miami Heat. LeBron took his talents to South Beach, now the heat are the Legion of Doom. It's halftime right now and Dirk Nowitzki is apparently trying to rebuild the Berlin Wall with all of the bricks he's putting up. I'll give you my favorite stat in situations like this: Dirk has only made one more shot than me. If the Mavs end up winning, I want a ring. Y'know who else should get a ring? Ted Leonsis. There are three former Wizards on this Mavs team. Washington knows how to build a championship team, just not theirs.

I'm torn about who I want to win. It's mostly a question of which NBA fossil I'd like to see win a championship before they retire. I always root for professional athletes who are older than I am. Juwon Howard was drafted when I graduated from high school. His defensive technique is mostly just yelling at the younger players to get off his lawn.

Just to see a Game 7, I'm rooting for the Heat to win this thing. Ok, back to game. I'll have another blog tomorrow to recount my weekend getting laughed at. Again, thanks for pretending to care.

A New Blog

Click and enjoy...

Post Apocalypse

Hey there, 'Redheads... It's Monday and the world is still spinning. Instead of literal hell on Earth, we just have to deal with the figurative purgatory of punching the clock and spending the day in a tiny cube. Us reasonable people were proved right and those kooks were mindless morons. They were sheep and the fire they should've been warned about was the one inside the kiln that the crackpot they were following was baked in (stay with me). But let's hold our four horses for a second. Allow me to play devil's advocate for a moment. What proof do we have that the Rapture didn't happen? We're still here? That's pretty arrogant to think that any of us would be worthy enough to make the cut. I'm no theological scholar, but I'd have to think that the standards are pretty strict. Think about it, sure, our society has advanced in it's values and technology over however many thousands of years since biblical times, but for God, that time has been the blink of an eye. He probably still goes by the ten commandments he gave to Charlton Heston. And everyone has broken one of 'em. Even the big one, "Thou shalt not kill." Everyone has swatted a fly, stepped on an ant, killed a hooker... These are all God's creatures, people. Commandments aside, there's also the seven deadly sins. Trust me, Facebook alone violates the vanity clause for everyone on it.

If anyone was vaporized by Jesus, it was probably a conclave of nuns, closed off from the outside world, who gave up all of their worldly possessions and eat one crumb of bread a day. Who's to say Jesus didn't return on Saturday? He might've just appeared in Detroit and thought, "Wow, somebody beat me to it." And this was just supposed to be the beginning of the end. We've got six months before a giant marshmallow man crushes us under his fluffy heel. Just sayin', is all.

Enough of that claptrap. As I mentioned in the last blog, I spent the weekend bringing mild amusement to dozens of people at the Comedy Zone in Myrtle Beach, located in the Hilton Resort. This was the view from my hotel room...

I'm not usually a beach guy, but I figured I shouldn't let such a prime lounging opportunity escape me. I stretched out poolside and sipped an Arnold Palmer made with sweet tea vodka while I charged up the pasty solar panel I call a chest. The sun and I have an understanding. If I promise not to take my shirt off more than an hour at a time, it won't use me for kindling. The last time I soaked in too many rays, I got burnt so bad I should've gotten super powers. Overall, good times.

On the drive to Myrtle Beach, I got a call from my girlfriend telling me that Randy "Macho Man" Savage had died in a car accident. He was one of my favorite wrestlers when pro wrestling had captured my 10 year old imagination. I found a tribute on one of my go-to nerd blogs, Topless Robot, that echoed my sentiments almost exactly. Allow me to share...

I don't know if I can really express how sad I am that Savage is gone. He's just one of those people who have given me so much entertainment and pleasure in my life that I find myself genuinely upset now that he's gone. I was only into wrestling a bit as a kid -- a couple of years, although I was terrifyingly obsessed with it during those two years -- but even after, I was always a Macho Man fan. Maybe it was just his journey from evil wrestler to good wrestler -- and WWF champion -- hit me at just the right time, where I was totally enraptured. Maybe it was because unlike Hulk Hogan, Macho Man was actually a genuinely great wrestler. Maybe it was because Macho Man was flawed and weird and dangerous and batshit insane and somehow just more fascinating to me than all the other wrestlers. Everyone had their one shtick, but Macho Man was only ever Macho Man. Let me put it another way: if Hulk Hogan was Superman, Randy Savage was Batman. Watching Hogan fight was fun but predictable; watching Macho Man do anything was always exciting, and always awesome.

I can't say that Randy Savage had a direct influence on my professional or personal life, but I can say now that he's gone, a part of my childhood is gone, too. Thanks for everything, Macho Man. Seriously.

See you soon.

And I Feel Fine...

Hey there, 'Redheads... I wanted to squeeze in a quick blog before I hit the road tomorrow for a gig at the Comedy Zone in Myrtle Beach, SC. I'm bringing a laptop with me, but those things tend to fritz out on me when I try to connect to the interwebs. If I do manage a connection, I'll be happy to give you a beachfront update when the ocean starts boiling and turns to blood. That's right, folks. The end of the world begins on Saturday at around 6pm. Apparently, the Bible has a "dates to remember" section in it. Here's an idea of what's in store...

According to one wingnut and his band of followers, the Rapture begins on Saturday. Expect the Backpedal to begin on Sunday after absolutely nothing happens. I'd love for the world to turn into a zombie movie, but I'm betting you'll still have to drag your ass into work come Monday instead. I'm not a very religious guy. I'm a Jew who can't live in a world without bacon. It is my firm belief, however, that if Jesus was to return, the same thing would happen to him that happens to everyone else who claims to be him. Some nice men in white coats will have a little chat with him, then he'll be on a thorazine drip for the rest of his life. We're so jaded and cynical that no one would take him seriously. If Jesus wants to make his grand return, he better do it on YouTube, "Hide ya kids. Hide ya wife. Hide ya husband. Cuz everyone's gettin' Raptured up in here." Seriously, Lady Gaga has 10 million followers on Twitter. Get in line, Jesus.

See you on the other side, Ray.

Catching Up

Hey there, 'Redheads... My streak of regular bloggery is sputtering through May. If I was smarter, I would've taken advantage of my usual monthly stunt blogging and called it "I May Blog", but I'm not, so I'm just going to chalk it up to a general May-laise. For now, I'll just blog when the mood strikes. It just takes awhile for the mood to strategize. Anyway, I hope everyone had a fun weekend. I got to check out the Anti-Social Network Tour, over at Constitution Hall on Friday. The combined forces of Jim Norton, Bill Burr, Jim Breuer, and Dave Attell formed a bitter Voltron of comedy. Local comic done good, Seaton Smith, opened up for them. I was very jealous and very impressed. Top to bottom, it was a great show in front of a packed house of about 2500 people. Before the show, I got a chance to hang out backstage for a meet and greet with the guys. They spent a few minutes glad handing and posing for pictures. I always feel like a jackass asking for pictures, but I was able to get one with the most approachable of the group, Jim Breuer...

Of course, the big news that fell from the sky today, like a gift from the comedy gods, is the revelation that Arnold Schwarzenegger fathered a child with one of his house staff ten years ago. Start filling sand bags and brace yourselves for the flood of hack Sperminator jokes and shitty Ahnold impressions that'll come from this. I wish I could take credit for it, but my favorite joke I've heard so far came from Marc Unger, who wrote, "And the child's name is John Conner." I'm not condoning his actions, but I can't blame Arnold for straying from Maria Shriver, who's so bony, it must be like having sex with a wire hanger. Hey, Maria, those aren't rock hard abs...that's your rib cage. I wouldn't be shocked if they were sleeping in separate places, him in his bedroom and her in her sarcophagus.

That's all for now.

Never the Twain Should Meet

Hey there 'Redheads... Sorry about the blog drought. While I want to keep up the regular posting, I also want to make sure I actually have content for you. Well, I don't say this often, but thank you to Will Ferrell for providing. It was announced yesterday that he'll be the recipient of the 14th Annual Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. You read that right. Will Ferrell. I've made no secret that I'm not a fan of Will Ferrell. As a comic actor he is one-note, and that note is stupidly loud. So, rather than launch into a biased tirade about it, I'm going to hand things off to my comedy buddy, the reasoned and insightful Randolph Terrance, and allow him to retort...

On October 23, 2011 at 7 p.m The Kennedy Center will present the 14th Annual Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. This prestigious award "recognizes people who have had an impact on American society in ways similar to the distinguished 19th century novelist and essayist best known as Mark Twain. As a social commentator, satirist and creator of characters, Samuel Clemens was a fearless observer of society, who startled many while delighting and informing many more with his uncompromising perspective of social injustice and personal folly. He revealed the great truth of humor when he said, 'Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand.'" Last years recipient of the prize was Tina Fey. Most of you know how I felt about her getting it, if you don't go back and read the note that I wrote about it. This years recipient is Will Ferrell. Will Ferrell. When I found this out the first thing I thought was "Here we go again." Will Ferrell does not deserve this award. Not yet. Not by a long shot. This is not to say he is not funny, of course he is. Anything he is in is made better by his presence. Sketch. Movie. Stage. Interview. He is the goods, and he DOES NOT deserve this award anymore than Tina Fey did. Go back and read what this award is supposed to be about, "...recognizes people who have had an impact on American society in ways similar to the distinguished 19th century novelist and essayist best known as Mark Twain." This is directly off the website by the way. Are we to HONESTLY believe that Will Ferrell has had that kind of impact yet? "Samuel Clemens was a fearless observer of society, who startled many while delighting and informing many more with his uncompromising perspective of social injustice and personal folly." Again, right off the website. Is this what Will Ferrell was doing when he was running down the street naked in "Old School"? Playing the cowbell on SNL? Or that time he went on Conan in his underwear?

"A fearless observer of society, who startled many while delighting and informing" and yet Chris Rock doesn't have one yet. Nor does Mel Brooks. Or Dick Gregory. Or Jerry Seinfeld. Or Larry David. Or Rosanne. Or Carol Burnett. All of these people changed comedy in ways both big and small. Dick Gregory was the first black comedian to talk directly to a white audience. It wasn't allowed. He changed it, and by doing this he changed all of show business. Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David created one of the most successful and iconic sitcoms in history. Larry did it twice. Mel Brooks came up with ground breaking movies dealing with topics and themes like racism, WWII, and the persecution of Jews at a time when people were running away from any of these topics. Carol Burnett and Rosanne were ground breakers who paved the way for damn near any woman involved in comedy on television right now. This is just a small sampling of people who have changed comedy and society and haven't received this "prestigious" award. I could name more but what good would it do? Some of you reading this do not agree with me. You would be wrong. For this man to receive this award at this time cheapens it. I said this last year when Tina Fey received it and many people said to me "But she is funny for my generation..." So what? Without the people whom I listed she wouldn't even been here, and neither would Will Ferrell because those others, and many more, are the inspiration that make all of this possible. I say again, who gets it next? Tracy Morgan? Alec Baldwin? Sandler? Everyone is on the table.

See you Monday.

Big Fish

Hey there, 'Redheads... Welcome back from an eventful weekend. I'm waiting on some pictures so I can fully convey the spirit of adventure...and also so I can pad the blog. In the meantime, I have a quick bit of bloggage for you. Today, I spotted this bumper sticker on my way to work...


Is there a lox lobby I'm not aware of? Now, I did not check to see if the driver was a bear. I can only assume the driver was not a bear because A) bears don't drive and B) bears do not have the right to vote...they only have the right to bear arms. Whoever they are, the driver does think their vote carries enough weight to sway any major fissue. It's nice to see there's a middle ground in the partisan red fish/blue fish world we live in. If you're voting based on a candidate's opinions on fish, then I'm curious about your position on Roe vs. Wade. If I had to bet, I'd say they have pretty strong opinions about spawning.

That's just about all of the political fish puns I can think of.

See you Tuesday.

Post Sportem

Hey there, 'Redheads... Happy Cinco de Mayo to one and all. It's always nice when it falls on May the 5th. I hope everyone is enjoying your day with a hint of lime. Just please don't squeeze that lime into the paper cut that has been sliced between the fingers of the DC sports landscape these past two days. It is turning into a monumentally shitty week for DC area sports. First, the Caps, the city's only hope for a championship, laid a giant turd on the ice and got swept out of the playoffs by a hockey team from Florida. Florida? I'm not sure they even have ice in their arena. It's just cold plexiglass. Their zamboni is a guy on a tricycle with a bottle of Windex. It's kinda like getting beat in beach volleyball by a team of Eskimos.

Now, word has come out of the University of Maryland that not only has their best player, Jordan Williams, decided to jump ship for the NBA, but coach Gary Williams is retiring. That's a Williams a day. As a Terp for life (I have a key chain to prove it), this sucks out loud. When I saw the news on the ESPN crawl, I was so despondent I almost set fire to my couch. I understand that Gary was probably getting tired of the game that college basketball has become, trying to squeeze everything he could from players that didn't have what it took to leave early and go to the NBA. I'm actually curious which came first. Did Gary decide to retire because Jordan left prematurely or did Jordan bail because he found out Gary was leaving? Either way, it's a bad scene for the Terps.

For as long as I was there (and I was there awhile... just short of tenure), it was Garyland. The students fed off of his fuming energy. It won't be the same without him chewing out the bench when a player on the floor makes a dumb mistake, threatening to cut off a pinky if they do the same thing. Not only is this bad for UMD, but it's catastrophic for his dry cleaner. I hope that guy doesn't have any gambling debts, because that business is going under. He probably bought a 40 foot racing sloop and named it Gary's Pits. When Gary Williams broke a sweat, they had to sand bag the sideline. One of those kids with the mops just followed him around during the game. Hopefully, the school will do the right thing an build a commemorative fountain, with the water cascading down his back. We'll miss you, Gary. Thanks for the memories, for the tirades, and for the title.

See you soon. Maybe not Friday, but soon.