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.

Yub Nub

Hey there, 'Redheads... Happy Star Wars Day to one and all. See, it's May the 4th... May the 4th be with you... Get it? Sort of a Dork-o de Mayo. Celebrated in basements around the world. Dorks in brown bathrobes swatting at Death Star pinatas with a lightsaber. If you're going to celebrate properly, remember to include a moment of silence for those lost on Alderaan. Or, if you favor the dark side, pour some Correlian Ale on the ground for the Imperial forces that perished on the Death Star...

Ok, here's some fun obscure Star Wars stuff to quench your nerd thirst. Like Richard Pryor as the bartender in another intergalactic bar...

Or maybe a bad ass lightsaber fight is more your speed...

Or maybe you want to know what if Lucas had a French existentialist influence...

Remember, Han shot first and Jar Jar kicks puppies...

See you Thursday...

Jared Been Bloggin'

Hey there, 'Redheads... Sorry once again for the bump in the blog road at the end of last week. I had to take a couple sick days because nature was trying to kill me. The air was so full of pollen, it was almost chewy, and my body was not ready for the aerial assault. The mucous in my lungs was driven by rage and pursued by an investigative reporter. So, what's going on in the world? Oh, there was the Royal Wedding on Friday, with all of its pomp and circumstance. It seemed only right to give something but, unfortunately, a shit was not on William and Kate's gift registry. It's the thought that counts. Needless to say, I avoided that particular royale with cheese like the plague.

On to the big news that broke last night.

'Twas the night before Monday, and tucked in my bed, I flipped through the channels with a pain in my head.

I was feeling quite groggy, so NBC I did click, to Celebrity Apprentice, to hear Trump be a dick.

But the news broke in before Donald could fire, to tell us Obama had a statement most dire.

What could it be? The economy? A new war? My mind raced with guesses galore.

But before I could figure it, as I lay in my bed, Obama told us that Osama was dead.

I was actually kind of pissed at the various news outlets, because it would've been a massive bombshell if Wolf Blitzer and the other pundits didn't spoil it for us before the president even took the podium. The guy's been sitting on this top secret operation for months, people. Let him have his moment. So, yeah, it's been almost ten years, but we finally figured out where Osama bin hidin'. And it wasn't in some spider hole or a dank cave. He was kickin' it in the Pakistani Real World house. So, we sent in a super elite team of Navy SEALS to dictate his last words to him. In my mind, this squad was made up of Jack Bauer, Chuck Norris, and Black Dynamite. America put a bullet between the eyes of the most recognizable face of terrorism. Are we any safer for it? Maybe. But at least he won't be doing the terrorizing anymore. And the next guy better think twice, else we send another covert ops team in for a visit. Let them run scared for a change. When Obama told us that we had, "they killed Osama bin Laden and took custody of his body," I half expected them to wheel him out, encased in carbonite. After the announcement, people took to the streets in celebration. Some say that death should not be celebrated, even if it cases like this. As Clarence Darrow once said, "I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure."

See you Tuesday.

Randy Jackson Presents: America's Next President

Hey there, 'Redheads... As most of you know, I rarely get political, mostly because I'm not that well informed and it makes my head hurt. I think that's what keeps a lot of Americans in a state of blissful political ignorance. This, however, forces certain fringe elements to focus on superficial stuff to try to get the stupid masses something shiny to latch onto and feel like they're being political (it makes sense in my head). We're a culture that's fueled on superficial gossip and pseudo-celebrity.

I bring this up because I simply can't believe that President Obama felt it necessary to give a moment of his attention to the walking comb over, Donald Trump, and his bluster about where Obama was born. In any sane society, this guy would have as much traction as a greased up Nissan Sentra on an ice rink, but because he's rich and he's on TV, people are actually listening to him. So, the president gave a statement this morning to the press and produced his Hawaii birth certificate. If you didn't hear it, allow me to paraphrase, "I don't have time for this bullshit. Here it is. Now, shut the fuck up."

If Trump is actually going to run for president in 2012 (as the Mayans predicted), I think we should just cut the bullshit and just turn the presidential race into a reality show. Hell, more people vote for American Idol than they do in a national election. Have Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul moderate the debates, then have each candidate compete in weekly political challenges to win electoral votes. I also think that Trump should be forced to have the winner of Celebrity Apprentice be his running mate. I'm pulling for Busey, myself.

See you Thursday.

Pollenized

Hey there, 'Redheads... I'm getting the blog out of the way early today because I'm pretty sure my brainbox will be completely congested with pollen by the end of the day. My head feels like it's in geosynchronous orbit with my body. Every breath has to labor through a cloud of the crap that's in my lungs. I'm tempted to cram a dustbuster up my nose, flip the switch to high, and suck out the offending particles, and if some brain matter goes with it, so be it. Anyway, I've got some random crap to tide you over until I can unclog things. Basically, whatever comes up in the lottery popper of my brain is coming out here. And away we go...

Bacon is a meat shrinky dink.

I'm fascinated by the recent viral videos of babies laughing at various things landing those babies on morning shows. Like this one...

Sure, babies are cute and you have to be an inhuman monster to not at least smile when they laugh, but there's no reason to make YouTube celebrities out of these kids. It's not fair for their 15 minutes to be up before they can even walk. Besides, they don't know what their laughing at. I'd like to make one of these videos with a baby laughing at a TV, then have the camera pan around to show that it's laughing at 2 Girls, 1 Cup.

As I drive around the DC area, I see signs that indicate three levels of traffic enforcement. There's "Traffic Photo Enforced," "Traffic Radar Enforced," and "Traffic Strictly Enforced." With the first two, you know what your getting, either a camera or a speed trap nearby. But what are you getting with "strictly enforced"? I picture a cop with a disappointed look sternly wagging his finger as you drive by. And if you do get pulled over, "Sir, please turn off your car and hand me the keys. You're in time out. You can have these back once you've learned your lesson."

See you Wednesday.

Leggo My Ego, Part Deux

Hey there, 'Redheads... Sorry for the minor hiccup in postings. As I mentioned last time, my schedule was going to be hectic and the streak might suffer. Technically, it got snapped when I went to Mardi Gras, so I'm not too worried about it. Anyway, I'm back and I've got a heaping helping of me to go around.

Roughly two weeks ago, I did a professional photo shoot from a Groupon that was about to expire. Almost makes it sound like I got glamour shots done at a local mall, but this was a real deal on-location photo shoot in Glen Echo park, with the hopes that it might produce some dynamic promotional photos to replace my almost nine year old black and white headshots. Well, I got the pictures over the weekend and I'd like to run my top five of the batch past you to maybe get some feedback. Besides, I do enjoy looking at pictures of myself. As Al Pacino said in Devil's Advocate, "Vanity is definitely my favorite sin." So, put on your water wings and let's take a dip in Lake Me. In no particular order, here are a couple of my favorites of the bunch...
This is my answer to Zoolander's Blue Steel. Note the combination of the smirk, slight squint, and smolder.

I brought a prop with me on the shoot. An empty bottle of a wine called "Irony." No, it's not a chardonnay and no, there wasn't a fly in it.

That's right, folks. I'm a rebel, but I'm also lazy. I'm breaking rules, but I'm not climbing stairs.

I'm a big fan of this shot, because of the lines created in the blurry background. Really makes my nose pop right out at you. Also, as my friend Mia put it, it makes me look, "wry, but also approachable."

You can find the rest of the pics on my Facebook fan page, conveniently located on your right. Please feel free to give some feedback. In case you haven't guessed, I enjoy a compliment.

See you Tuesday.

Oblogatory

Hey there, 'Redheads... This one is just to keep the streak alive. Not sure what's going to fill the space, but I'll come up with something. I'm typing this from the third floor and heat rises. I'd like to think it's just the heat and not that I'm horribly out of shape that's making me break a sweat while I type. Speaking of being a sweaty tub of goo, I stepped on a scale for the first time in awhile and I saw a one in the hundreds place. That gypsy curse is starting to pay off. Looks like having three flights of stairs in my house is having a positive effect. I can't lose too much weight, though. If I start looking svelt, I lose five good minutes worth of fat jokes. It's a delicate balance I'm trying to maintain. I want to be in shape, but my self-deprecation needs to be believable. As my buddy Jerry Thomas always says, "Verisimilitude."

Tomorrow, I'm going to be reminded of how old I am too. I'm going to the 15th anniversary show of Sketchup, UMD's sketch comedy group that I was a founding member of back in 1996. What's really going to make me feel ancient is the after party. Nothing makes 35 feel like 70 like attending a college kegger. I'll have a full recap at some point. I hit the road for a gig in Warwick, Rhode Island on Friday, so my blogging schedule will be all screwed up.

'Til then. See you Thursday.

Streak Free Sheen

Hey there, 'Redheads... The circus is in town, as Charlie Sheen's Violent Tirade Of Drug Addled Catchphrases Tour has wrecked its train in DC tonight. It's been roughly three weeks since he concocted this tour and the novelty of Sheen's ramblings have worn off. We're all coming to the realization that Charlie is no Gary Busey. I host a trivia night in DC on Tuesday nights and a couple people in the bar were pre-gaming before the show tonight. They said that the start time had been pushed back an hour to 9pm because Charlie had to be at a custody hearing in L.A. today. It's 10:45 right now. I've got five bucks that says the show hasn't started yet. When he does finally hit the stage, there's only a couple things that I think will hold the attention of the gawking masses. Either he juices a live tiger, then does a keg stand over the carcass, or he does a staged reading of Major League. Otherwise, people will make their way to the ticket counter and demand loudly, "Refunding!"

Apparently, Charlie's whack-job antics have rubbed off on other celebrities recently. Nicolas Cage was recently arrested for disturbing the peace at a tattoo parlor in New Orleans. That's so unlike him. Really, I'm shocked that Nicolas Cage would do such a thing...

See you Wednesday.