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August 2008

August 29, 2008


Is he kidding? How can John McCain make the argument that Barack Obama isn’t ready to be president when he picks a running mate with even less experience than Obama to be his vice president? Is he actually retarded? When you are seventy two years old and attempting to undertake one of the most strenuous jobs in the world for at least four years, don’t you want to at least consider the notion that you might drop dead?

Memo to John McCain: you might drop dead.

Alaska Governor Sarah Palin has been a governor for two years, and before that a mayor for ten, the mayor of Wasilia (population 5,000). My brother-in-law was the Republican mayor of Waseca, Minnesota, which has about the same size population, and I can tell you with absolute certainty after playing foosball with him in his basement that my brother-in-law is not ready to be president of the United States of America. I’m not even sure that he’s ready to be president of his rotisserie football league.

For the last month, all we’ve been hearing about from the Republicans is that Barack Obama is not ready to lead this country. That he doesn’t have the experience or the judgment. Didn’t they just set the bar even lower by picking this chick? Yes, she’s a member of the NRA. Yes, she’s a former sports reporter which will be useful when conducting photo ops with members of whoever wins the Stanley Cup in 2010, but is she ready to assume the reins of the most powerful job in the world if John McCain should succumb? The question is rhetorical because anybody who isn’t on John McCain’s vice presidential selection team already knows the answer.


John_mccain Picture 2 

                                (McCain/Palin - Really?!)

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August 27, 2008

My Daughter’s First Day of School

The school year started in my little town today, and we sent our daughter off to her first day of kindergarten. She did not want to go. When I asked her why she told me that she was scared.

“You should be scared,” said. “Did you know that one out of three children reports being bullied in school?”

She wasn’t sure what “bullying” meant, so I called her a faggot and pushed her down the stairs. “That’s bullying,” I said.

(For the record, I didn’t push her down all the stairs. Just the top stairs that lead to a landing. She probably fell down, at most, five stairs.)

I also tried to explain to her the pressure her mother and I are going to start applying so that she can get into a good college on academic scholarship. Although she doesn’t have a firm grasp of money yet, she definitely understands that Daddy’s career is in the shitter because that’s what we talk about every night at bedtime. “Daddy’s career is in the shitter,” I say, as I plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good night.”

Continue reading "My Daughter’s First Day of School" »

August 26, 2008

I Hate Whatever Music You Like

People ask me all the time “what kind of music I’m into.” I hate this question because what they’re really asking is, “Are you as cool as me?” I can answer right now. No. No I’m not. No, I’m not into that twee British act you read about it in Gravesitter or Thunderfuck or Quiznuts or whatever obscure music magazine you read. No, I didn’t go to the Bohemian Shithead concert the other night in Williamsburg. No, I’ve never heard of them, and no I don’t want you to burn me a CD of their “amazing new album.”

What’s on my iPod? Your dick.

Asking somebody what kind of music they’re into is exactly the same as asking them what their sign is, an attempt to discern something meaningful from the meaningless. What possible difference does it make? What are you going to learn from me if I tell you I like U2? That I’m into debt relief?

And there’s just no good answer. Turning the situation around, if I ask somebody the same question, here’s what I’m thinking based on their answer:

Jazz – douchebag
Classical – douchebag
Metal – douchebag
Country – douchebag
Rap – douchebag
Pop – douchebag
Classic Rock – douchebag
Christian Rock – douchebag
Alternative Rock – JUST LIKE ME!!!

Not that people generally answer in genres. They don’t. People just tell you whatever band they’re mildly interested in who they think you will think is cool. So they’ll say, “I’m really into Feist right now,” when what they’re really listening to is that kickin’ new Jonas Brothers jam.

Or else they’ll say, “I’m really eclectic?” For some reason, this sentence always ends in a question mark. “Eclectic?” And then, without prompting, they’ll tell you all the “eclectic” music they listen to, “I like Frank Sinatra and the Clash,” in a tone that suggests “Can you believe how CRAZY I am???” Douchebag.

And yet, I like Frank Sinatra. I like The Clash. I like jazz. I like pretty much all of the music I just made fun of other people for liking. Liking music does not a douchebag make. Being “into” music does. If you’re much older than an adolescent and you’re still keeping up with what’s going on in the Bristol scene or wherever the fuck, then you’re a douchebag. If you even know that Bristol has a scene then you’re one, too. If you are older than twenty years old and any part of your disposable income is going towards concert t-shirts, then you are a douchebag. Or even if you find yourself referring to any rock band’s “early work,” you’re treading on some very thin, very douchy ice.

When people ask me that question, I just tell them I don’t listen to music. If they ask me why I tell them I hate it because music killed my dad. That usually ends the conversation. But if they persist in asking how music can kill somebody, I just say that my dad was Amadeus. Then they understand.

August 24, 2008

Lake Compounce

Because school starts next week, as an end-of-summer treat, yesterday we took the kids to a local water/amusement park. Lake Compounce is located in Bristol, CT (proud home of ESPN), and it was surprisingly awesome. Normally when I think “local amusement park,” I think “potential place to contract trench foot,” but Lake Compounce is clean and well-maintained. Even the floating Band-Aids in the wading pool were less pus-filled than normal.

The highpoint of the day came for me when my seven year old son announced he wanted to ride his first grown-up roller coaster, a wooden jobber called “The Wildcat.” It’s a very proud moment for a father when his son tells him he wants to brave a roller coaster. The low point came when we actually rode the thing, and I realized that while my son was thrilled, I was actually terrified. Those old coasters are absolutely brutal. After the first drop, I really thought I’d suffered whiplash. By the first turn, I was sure I had. When did I turn into one of those people who gets off a roller coaster concerned about whiplash? Answer: yesterday. Also of concern was damage to my spine, ribs, and spleen. I honestly felt like the roller coaster molested me.

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August 21, 2008

Clothing Optional Resorts

When I was writing about the beach yesterday I started thinking about clothing optional resorts. As somebody who is kind of a perv, I obviously like this idea, but the more I look at pictures from these places, the more I realize "clothing optional" is just a euphemism for "unattractive required." What is about walking around with with your flapjacks flapping that appeals to the out-of-shape set? Nudists always say their particular proclivity isn't about sex, but I think that's bullshit. What else could it be about? After all, playing naked volleyball is the same as playing uncomfortable volleyball; it's not the kind of thing you'd do unless you really wanted to see some seriously jiggly ballsacks.

Even if I didn't play any sports, I don't see how I could enjoy such a place. For one thing, I never want to place my naked buttocks upon any piece of wicker furniture where I know another set of buttocks has just been. Also, I simply don't see how I could use the dining facilities unless every person there were fully shaved (although going hungry is clearly not a problem for most nudists).

            (Nudists enjoying a little din-din in the raw.)

Some activities would be okay: swimming, for example. Skinny dipping is a time-honored tradition that is fun precisely because when you are skinny-dipping, your naughty parts are partially obscured by the water. The water feels good and if you play it right, you can give yourself an enema. By extension, naked snorkeling would also be fun although I don't know if wearing swim flippers would be a rules violation. If not, why would flippers which help you swim be within the rules, but sneakers which help you run would not?

What happens if you want to play basketball? That asphalt can get pretty hot. Don't you need sneakers to protect your feet? And if you're wearing sneakers, don't you need socks to protect yourself from blisters? If so, do you really want to be the guy wearing sneakers and socks, but nothing else? Because, trust me, that just looks stupid. Or what if you are highly allergic to poison ivy like I am? Or what if you wake up and decide to wear a phony zebra tail one day? Are phony zebra tails allowed?

Now I know that a lot of nudists who read this will say, "That's why it's called 'clothing optional!'" But I also know that when you go to these places there's a lot of peer pressure to take off your duds. From the moment you arrive, they're always like, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable if you took off your Ali Baba costume?" Try saying no and see what happens.

As I consider my end-of-summer vacation plans, I have pretty much ruled out clothing optional resorts. On the other hand, I do want to spend some quality naked time with strangers. The solution? Swingers clubs.

August 20, 2008

The Beach

This weekend was my wife’s birthday and so I did not object when she suggested spending the day with the kids at the beach. I do not like the beach. I do not like the beach at all. Why? For starters, sand. If I had to rank substances upon which to eat a fun picnic lunch, sand would rank near the bottom, right above lava. Sand and eating do not mix, and yet eating seems to be one of my family’s two primary beach activities (the other is complaining about the heat). No matter how much plastic wrap you swaddle your food in, it is pretty much impossible to avoid getting some sand in your mouth, which is roughly the same as putting a horseshoe crab shell in a blender and then eating the result. Plus, sand always works its way into my butt crack. My entire ass region has enough problems without adding sand to the mix.

Swimming at the beach is also terrible because of the disgusting saltwater. It hurts my eyes, it tastes terrible, and when I get out of it, I feel as if I’ve been brined. Plus, no matter how hard I try to keep it out, like sand, it always ends up in my mouth. Remember that old Reese’s peanut butter cup slogan: “Two great tastes that taste great together?” Saltwater and sand are not like that.

Then there are jellyfish. Jellyfish are God’s “No swimming” sign. People have no business swimming anyplace where stinging tentacles may come into play. In fact, I will go a step further and say that “stinging tentacles” and “summertime recreation” are mutually exclusive terms. Actually, tentacles as a whole are a category of noun that I did not want to interact with when vacationing. No vacation was ever improved by the presence of tentacles.

Also, I don’t boogie board. I don’t “boogie” anything.

Continue reading "The Beach" »

August 15, 2008

Did Chelsea

So I taped “Chelsea Lately” this afternoon. The interview went well, although she became surprisingly squeamish when I talked about “A Series of Letters to the First Girl I Ever Fingered.” Her boyfriend’s ancient parents were in the audience and so she was concerned about their reaction to my repeated references to finger blasting and finger popping, as well as my demonstration of said blasting/popping. I also went to some lengths to explain directly to the parents exactly what I was talking about, and later in the interview asked if they were “swingers in their time.” The audience seemed to enjoy it, but I might have quickly worn out my welcome on the show. The show will not air tonight; they said it might be a week or two before they get it on. (I just said “get it on.”)

The rest of my day was spent at my usual LA haunt, the La Brea Tar Pits, where I discovered a new species of dinosaur. This news was overshadowed by those guys in Georgia who have Bigfoot in their freezer. Talk about bad timing on my part! I finally discover a new dinosaur species on the same exact day Bigfoot is discovered! Typical.

Tomorrow I fly back to New York. Last time I flew back across the country, I was on JetBlue. The guy next to me was wearing “Reality Bites Back.” After halfway through he turned to me and said, “Is that you?” I think the way I said, “Yes” made it clear to me that I wasn’t interested in talking to him because he did not say another word to me the rest of the flight, even after I offered to share my Lorna Doones.

Annoyingly, the fact that I am flying tomorrow means I will miss the official Bigfoot press conference unless it is covered, as it should be, by all three major networks. For those of you who don’t know what I am talking about, I refer you here. Truly we are living in blessed times when the words “Bigfoot” and “news conference” can even be used in the same sentence. All I could think when I read about this was, “Please God, let Bigfoot be real.” Because if this is just another Bigfoot cock tease I’m going to be pissed.

August 14, 2008

In Los Angeles

Chelsea-handler I am briefly in Los Angeles for a stop on "The Chelsea Handler Show," which I think has a different name than that, but I don't know what it is, so I'm calling it "The Chelsea Handler Show." In addition to having a successful television program, Chelsea also has a New York Times best-selling book, which is even more popular than Tucker Max's book. And so, of course, I am probably going to challenge her to a fist fight. You might think I would have learned my lesson about challenging people to fights when I have no intention of following through, but you would be wrong to think this. After all, I have spent most of my career not learning lessons, and I don't intend to start now. Moreover, I think Chelsea could probably kick my ass about as well as Tucker. The difference? If she did it, I would probably enjoy the beating.

According to the photo I just found on the internet and pasted here, she has surprisingly big boobs. Not sure if that topic will come up in the interview or not, but if it does, I will be ready to ogle and grope. I have found that certain inappropriate behaviors are acceptable when done in the service of "comedy." For example, I once made out with Sarah Silverman in front of her then boyfriend Jimmy Kimmel when Stella appeared on that television program. Why? Because I thought it was "funny." So maybe I will get to second with Chelsea for the same reason. And if that's funny, just imagine how funny it will be if I make love to her mouth! Hilarious! If my wife or her boyfriend object, I can just plead comedy.

Also on the docket tomorrow, another interview on the Adam Carolla show. The last time I was on his radio program, we spent the interview discussing the fact that he thinks I'm gay. Since then, Adam has appeared on "Dancing With the Stars."

My how the tables have turned. Is that a unicycle between your legs, Adam, or are you just happy to see me?

That's pretty much it. The birthday last night was, as predicted, horrible. No mention of my whereabouts in any of the New York papers or even on the Chuck E. Cheese website. What's the point of having a birthday if it isn't covered by the tabloids? Honestly, what's the point of anything? So I turn a year older and for what? So I can be ignored? On the plus side, I did have birthday sex. On the negative side, it was by myself.

August 12, 2008

Heretofore Secret Details About My Birthday Celebration

Because I did not want the paparazzi to get wind of my birthday plans, I have deliberately refrained from printing any of my b-day itinerary. It was then pointed out to me that if I do this, the paparazzi might not show up. Therefore I have decided to “leak” my schedule for the rest of the day. As I type this, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon, and my birthday is about to go off the hook. Here’s how the night is going to break down.

4:00 Blog about upcoming evening.
4:30 Shower, powder, curl hair.
5:00 Call Jay-Z
5:01 Realize I don’t know Jay-Z
5:01:30 Pout about not knowing Jay-Z
6:15 Reapply ruined mascara
6:20 Check with wife to make sure she called babysitter
6:21 Get into a fight with wife about the fact that I thought she was calling babysitter, and she thought I was calling babysitter.
7:00 Call neighbors to see if they will watch the kids.
7:02 Call other neighbors to see if they will watch the kids.
7:05 Strap kids into car for trip to fancy restaurant with Mommy and Daddy.
7:15 Arrive at restaurant. Debate whether or not it will be safe to leave kids in car while Mommy and Daddy eat.
7:20 Decide it’s probably fine with us, but the “authorities” might feel differently.
7:25 Explain to maitre d’ that we will now be needing a table for four instead of two. Nod patiently will maitre d’ explains that they do not have a table for four, but one should be opening in the next half hour or so.
7:26 Listen to kids complain.
7:27 Listen to kids complain.
7:28 Listen to kids complain.
7:29 Listen to kids complain.
7:30 Decide to leave restaurant and go to more “kid friendly” restaurant.
7:45 Arrive at Chuck E. Cheese
7:50 Get a shitload of tokens. Tell kids to go crazy.
7:53 Romantic “champagne” birthday toast. Champagne = Pepsi.
8:00 Enjoy three slices of delicious Chuck E. Cheese pizza while being serenaded by person in skateboarding rat costume.
8:05 Ask strange man to tell his child to stop hitting my son.
8:06 Ask strange man to stop hitting me.
8:11 Exchange tickets for plastic spider ring and puzzle where you try to get metal balls in holes. Enjoy puzzle for a good long while.
8:13 Get back in car, drive home.
9:00 Arrive home, carry sleeping children to bed.
9:05 Decide to make love
9:05:10 Change mind.
9:06 Get on computer and surf Web looking for mentions of my birthday celebration.
2:00 Go to bed. Spoon with sleeping wife.
2:01 Reflect on life's happiness and blessings or lack thereof.

August 11, 2008

Hi Everybody

Sorry I've been in absentia (Latin for "on board a UFO") for the last week. Michael Showalter and I were taping our pilot for Comedy Central and I did not have any free time for blogging. How did the taping go? It was a disaster. Most of the problem had to do with the fact that we only had five days to shoot the entire thing. Ordinarily this would be enough time to shoot a half hour television pilot, but I stupidly scheduled a bunch of softball games at the exact same time that we supposed to be shooting. Big mistake. Obviously, the TV pilot should take precendence over some recreational softball games, but our team is in the hunt for the league title and I felt like the guys really needed my moral support (I spend most games on the bench because I am not "good" at softball). As a result of all this softball, we ended up shooting less than half of the script in our allotted time. So instead of a half hour pilot, we will eventually wind up with a thirteen minute pilot. Will this affect our chances of getting picked up? Almost certainly, yes.

On Friday, we taped the live portion of our pilot. This also did not go well, largely as a result of my freaking out on an audience member and storming off the set. What happened was this: in between takes, I noticed a girl in the audience whisper something to her friend which I interpreted by anti-Semitic. Why I interpreted her whispering in this manner I do not know, but I responded by calling her a "fucking Nazi cunt" and running away. In retrospect this was probably not the best reaction, especially because later I was told that the girl was asking her friend if she had a breath mint. The girl was understandably upset at my outburst and production shut down for a couple hours while members of the crew were sent out to find me (They finally did find me at a nearby diner where I was gorging on multiple vegan milkshakes.)

I recently went vegan, which has been absolutely fantastic. At first I was worried that it would be a difficult transition, but I've been pleasantly surprised at how smooth it's gone. For anybody thinking about going vegan, here's what I ate for lunch this past week:

Monday - grilled eggplant, basmati rice, fruit cup, jasmine tea.
Tuesday - steamed asparagus, tofurkey burger, flourless chocolate torte, sparkling water.
Wednesday - fried okra, small piece of grilled salmon, brownie, diet Dr. Pepper.
Thursday - spinach salad with bacon, organic beef medallions, vegan cookie, Dr. Pepper.
Friday - BBQ short ribs, pork loin with drippings, veal chops wrapped in veal, Death by Chocolate also wrapped in veal, jasmine tea.

A gentle reminder: those of you who promised checks to donorschoose.org please send them in. My teacher friend in Alabama told me that, although the fulfillment was completed, she cannot get her school supplies until the all the promised money has been received. School is already back in session, which means that every day that goes by without the promised money, another kindgergartner dies.