Thursday, December 30, 2010
I logged into MYSPACE for the first time in like a year. I went through some one blogs and found one from February 12, 2008. what better way to ring in the new year than to go back in time to a random date that doesn't mean a goddamn thing...
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
I could care less what language you speak or how well you speak it, as long we have a basic understanding of each other. If I’m on fire and you can relay that message to me without us being able to discuss why I felt The Tourist was a piece of crap in detail, that’s fine with me!
I live in the US, so I am used to people speaking or understanding English (or American?) but again, doesn’t matter to me one way or the other…with some obvious exceptions.
If I’m in an emergency room, in say…New York City. I’d like to believe, that the surgeon and I will have a basic understanding of each other. Sure he went to school to speak a language I will never comprehend (“give it to me in plain English doctor”), but I’d like to think when it comes to words such as…oh, I don’t know…maybe “amputate,” we both have a CRYSTAL clear understanding of what that word means. If he says “bandage” and I say, “works for me!” I’m going to be might pissed off, if I wake up forced to live out my days as a lefty!
There aren’t any other situations where I demand perfect communication…except concerning my FUCKING FOOD! I’m not talking about fast food. Let’s face it, it’s probably better that we don’t fully comprehend the transition in those establishments any way. After all, none of us wants to know what’s in the crap we’re eating at Taco Bell. I’m talking about restaurants of a more “upstanding” caliber.
Last night I was really in the mood for Italian. Some angel hair pasta with a light butter or even lemon sauce would have been nice. I NEVER get a hankering for Italian! Just doesn’t happen. Maybe it’s because I’m Irish. Maybe it’s because I dated a bombastic Italian chick in the past. No matter the case, it was a bit out of the ordinary…
..so Julie, Kerry & I end up at Harvest. Nothing Italian about it. In fact, not much in the way of a vegetarian to eat. “ALL of our food is organic.” Always strikes me as strange when the bulk of the menu is FUCKING DEAD!
But the wife deemed it as one of her favorite restaurants.
*Side note – I have never been to or even heard of this place before.
Harvest is an up scale restaurant in Glen Eagle. Everyone is dressed rather “fancy.” This also surprises me with regards to the lack of vegetarian options. I shouldn’t say there was nothing for a veggie to eat, there were like 2 or 3 meals to choose from. But in a hip establishment like this, I expect a little more selection than your run of the mill FRIDAY’s.
So we look over the menu and I immediately give up the idea of ordering Italian. I do see a goat cheese app for $5.00. That’s not bad at all! Keeping in mind the rest of the prices are a bit high. There’s a cheese platter app for $14.00. Julie is a full blown vegan so she’s not eating either of these dishes. But Kerry and I can split it. We decide to spend the nine additional dollars instead.
The waiter came over and tells us tonight’s specials. Not ONE of us understood a word he said. No big deal, as for the most part, I can’t do a special because they are normally meat dishes overstocked in the kitchen. They are trying to get rid of this “on the verge” RANCID MEAT! The waiter finishes by saying in his broken English, “All dishes are under 500 dollars unless otherwise noted.” He meant calories, not dollars. I had already read that in the menu.
We order, though he seems really confused by everything. Julie will say at one point later in the night, that he seemed really let down by everything we ordered and didn’t order. It’s important that I tell you he was NOT French.
When our food finally arrives we are given the goat cheese instead of the cheese tray. I told the waitress who brought the food (our waiter seemed to have disappeared, probably spitting in our entrées) that we ordered the cheese platter. She asked if we still wanted that or wanted it instead. Kerry & I were starving so I said this was fine but to make sure the cheese platter is removed from the bill as I don’t want to pay an additional nine bucks for something we aren’t getting. I know it’s gauche, but it’s my money so fuck you!
BLAH BLAH BLAH
The end of the night, the bill comes. I never looked to see if the mix up was rectified. I just look at the total which is $68 and some change. I pay with a credit gift card and tip with cash - over 20% which I had serious reservations doing, but I figure “what the hell” it’s the Christmas.
This morning, I go to you the card and am told I have insufficient funds.
I checked to see what happened to the card, thinking my math was off somewhere.
That little cunt charged my card $82 dollars, not the $68 that I actually signed for! That means he ended up with about a 40% tip when he earned just about a fourth of that.
Before you ask let me say these 2 things:
1. No I did not keep the receipt. I never keep the “customer copy.” So shame on me I suppose.
2. The fact that the additionally added amount was $14 was not lost on me.
Sunday night, I was playing roughly with my cat, Mac. She has great control over her claws which keeps Julie & I from trimming them...EVER. Our other two cats (Lupin & Mia) are beasts whose nails are trimmed once every couple of weeks. The rule of thumb at our house is, if we can hear them "tick, tick ticking" across the hardwood floors, they need to be cut.
This is a good time to answer a question running through the minds of the non cat owners and, well the shitty cat owners. No they have NOT been declawed. For those of you unfamiliar with what declawing entails, take a look at your hand. Now imagine trimming your nails...by completely removing your finger to the first knuckle. There ya go champ. You've just been declawed.
Instead, Julie and I hold the cats down and trim their nails while they scream BLOODY MURDER! It's all a show. The cats are in no pain. However we are, as often times they scratch the shit out of us during the procedure. It's quite the bonding experience.
Sunday night, Mac reach out and nicked my finger. I quickly grabbed it and said, "It's not your fault." She stopped playing and cocked her head to the side indicating she knew she hurt me. I have never met an animal who could communicate as well as this cat. I repeated to her "it's not your fault," adding "I shouldn't have been playing so rough." At this point blood is everywhere, as a kitty can cut deep!
I cleaned it up and put a band-aid on, all while Mac supervised to make sure I was ok. I went downstairs and she followed me. She didn't leave my side until I went outside to shovel snow.
For some reason the new band aids we have aren't very good at covering a finger tip. They won't stay secured, especially in a snow glove. I have replaced the band aid 4 times in 2 days. That seems excessive. Today at work, I gave up on the band-aid all together. I'll bleed on my keyboard if I must.
A piece of skin was hanging from the cut and was annoying when I'd type, so I decided to remove it. I pulled it (which is never a wise medical technique) and the skin seemed to go on FOREVER. I figured if I continued it would have gone up my arm, under my pit across my chest and down the other arm. Instead I stopped and grabbed a pair of scissors from my desk. The same scissors I used to open my mail (yes I have a letter opener, but who actually uses them?).
As I cut the excess skin a couple of things occured to me, first..."I am performing a minor surgery right here in my cubical," and second "this is not exactly sanitary!"
My finger is completely find now, which means the procedure was a success.
I am thinking of opening my own practice with some of the tools I got for Christmas. Any of you assholes who have had your cats declawed, come on over. Finger tip removals begin at 5:00 pm.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
This is a delicious cookie, I made for my little brother Erick.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
One particular scene, which is a warped take on "The Gift of the Magi", damn near made me wet my pants. Sure the Rum & Nog had something to do with it too...but still...
You can also see James Kassees & Tonya "TS" Baynes, both of whom also appear in The League. If you enjoy this clip I encourage you to do a few things:
1. Check out The League @ www.theleaguetv.com
2. Go see "Reckless" at City Theater in Wilmington, DE. Buy tix at www.city-theater.org Jim & Kerry can be seen in that as well
3. Support "Small Arts." Local Theater, Local Bands, Independent Web Series. Transformers 3 will make $ and thus turn into Transformers 4 whether you see it or not. But small arts such as local theater and indy web series DEPEND on people like you to watch and spread the word...otherwise you better get used to the Transformers Franchise, because it's all that will be left...
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
I now feel like I have joined a Frat.
This Sunday I start my first “formal” improv class in Philadelphia. I have been part of a short form group for the last 16 months, though we’ve been on hiatus for about the last 12. Where I learned from a very skilled improviser and have read a ton on the subject! I also have trekked into Philly to participate in what can only be described as a “Jam.” This is when people just get up and improv with strangers.
But now I have paid my dues and like the Boogers, Blutos and whatever Brandon Frasier’s name was in School Ties, have done before me…I will take my paddling and grateful ask for another.
I am lucky enough to be joined by some people I already know. My fellow pledges. Jim Burns, Andrew Mitchell & Ron Ozer. I am hoping we’ll get nicknames.
God I miss Improv!!!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Recently my friend Melissa referred to "Baby It's Cold Outside" as "the date rape Christmas Song." I simply had to analysis it.
I have always found the song a bit off-putting, especially the duet version I have with Frank Sinatra and Jimmy Stewart…which is either about a "homosexual date raping" or a festive "gang raping session." You decide:
I really can’t stay (Baby, it’s cold outside)
So far we're in the clear…after all it simply sounds like a guy laying the ground work for what may turn into begging for sex.
I’ve got to go ‘way (Baby, it’s cold outside)
Persistency is key.
The evening has been (I’ve been hopin’ that you’d drop in)
"Drop in" a bit on an innuendo perhaps...?
So very nice (I’ll hold your hand, they’re just like ice)
OK. This is all very romantic. Nothing forceful. Just a couple (male/female, male/male, female/female whichever you're into) saying some flirtatious good-byes.
My mother will start to worry (Hey beautiful, what’s your hurry)
Way to bring down the mood by mentioning your mom.
And father will be pacing the floor (Listen to that fireplace roar)
Slow down slim. Daddy owns a shotgun. Maybe be grateful for the handy you got while waiting for the apps at Red Lobster earlier.
So really, I’d better scurry (Beautiful, please don’t hurry)
Wait, is he literally holding her back here?
Well, maybe just a half a drink more (Put some music on while I pour)
She caved! You're in like Flint dude. Flint from GI Joe. And this chick is Lady Jane!
The neighbors might think (Baby, it’s bad out there)
I assume this means they live in a bad part of town.
Say, what’s in this drink (No cabs to be had out there)
Whoa dude. Did you slip her a roofie? Not cool!
I wish I knew how (Your eyes are like starlight now)
She's fucking ODing! How much did you give her!!!
To break this spell (I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell)
Ew…hat fetish! Run lady. He's making a replica fuck doll equipped with real human hair!
I oughtta say no, no, no sir (You mind if I move in closer)
She said "no" 3 times. That'll even hold up in Beetlejuice court. You're now 100% in rape territory.
At least I’m gonna say that I tried (And what’s the sense in hurting my pride)
She just told you she's going to "say that" she tried to stop you. That's gone in the DA's opening statement.
I really can’t stay (Oh baby, don’t hold out)
This is her last ditch effort.
Oh, but it’s cold outside
He doesn't wish to be "outside." We have penetration.
I simply must go (It’s cold outside)
The answer is no (Baby, it’s cold outside)
Again, she's adding the counts to the case.
The welcome has been (So lucky that you dropped in)
That's sweet. Or she knows something's up. They call this "bargaining."
So nice and warm (Look out the window at that storm)
Holy Shit man, you gave her room temperature beer? You knew you were having company, you couldn't put the Pabst in the fridge? Or on the porch? You've been bitching about the cold weather all night.
My sister will be suspicious (Your lips look delicious)
I knew it. You're banging her sister too.
My brother will be there at the door (I ain’t worried about your brother)
Initially I thought that meant the brother is a perv who is videotaping, but now I figure he's tied up in the trunk of this dude's car. He covered ALL angles.
My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious (That ol’ biddy, she ain’t gonna bother me)
Oh snap! He killed the aunt
Well maybe just a cigarette more (You don’t need no cigarette, it’s smokin’ plenty up in here)
Nice. She won't get cancer. Just raped with a chance of AIDS.
I’ve got to get home (Baby, you’ll freeze out there)
The walk of shame.
Say, lend me a comb (It’s up to your knees out there)
A knees reference? That means "blowjob." Also, the comb…that's how he collects the hair.
You’ve really been grand (I thrill when you touch my hand)
"Grand?" What is this 1936?
Oh, but don’t you see (How can you do this thing to me)
Wait…she might be safe. I think she left him with blueballs. Of course now he's angry.
There’s bound to be talk tomorrow (Well, think of my lifelong sorrow)
She means "other people will gossip." He misinterprets as "pillow talk" but he gets an idea from her use of the word "bound."
At least there will be plenty implied (If you caught pneumonia and died)
Holy Shit! Now he's planning to get rid of the evidence (i.e. kill her and dispose of the body). He's got a back story and everything.
This reminds me, NEVER go fishing with Scott Peterson at Christmas time!
I really can’t stay (Get over that hold out)
He's totally going to bang her dead body.
Oh, but baby it’s cold outside
So there you have it. It wasn't about "date rape," but rather raping a corpse.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Recently I had egg nog for the first time in my life.
I'm not exactly sure how I made it to 35 without ever having tried the stuff.
Growing up, however my family never drank it.
So I suppose I saw no reason to search it out.
Egg nog is a dairy based beverage, thicker than your standard milk product.
Made with milk or cream, sugar and beaten eggs. It is flavored with ground cinnamon & nutmeg.
Various liquors such as brandy, rum or whiskey can be added to give it a more "adult kick."
It's a staple for many during the winter holidays, especially Christmas
Perhaps it is this reason my parents have always referred to it, as "Elf Cum."
Also probably the reason it never found purchase in my family's icebox.
"You expect me to keep elf cum next to the meatloaf?" Dad would ask.
It was a rhetorical question that could only be met with the aversion of one's eyes and a slight giggle.
As I got older I wondered, did my parents really believe a magical, midget's masturbator expulsions were the ingredients to this traditional holiday drink?
Clearly the masses, who find same sex marriages to be against "God's plan," wouldn't stand for actual "elf cum" to be sold by the gallon at their local Walmart's comfortably nuzzled between fabric softener and Trisha Yeargood's new album.
I assume my parents were strictly using hyperbole to describe their lack of affinity towards this winter concoction.
While adding the "elf" part to give a more festive feel to the description.
Otherwise, why reference an elf at all? Why not just simply, "cum?"
Are they under the belief that an elf's cum would taste differently than that of a regular person's?
I'm sure dietary differences could influence the flavor of the fluid.
Such as the difference between someone of Irish decent's cum tasting like Bailey's versus say…an Italian's tasting of Alfredo sauce.
But I believe, having never had elf, human or any other brand of cum mind you, that there isn't much difference between them.
Unless you take into account the magical qualities possessed by an Elf.
Still, if one had magical powers, I think the last thing they'd care about is the taste of their cum.
Seriously, if you're trucking around with flying reindeer and have the ear of the king shit elf himself, Santa Claus…
…I'm thinking you can get your dick sucked, even if its widely known that your cum tastes like battery acid.
So this holiday enjoy a delicious glass of yuletide egg nog safe with the thought that it is neither elf nor anyone else's cum.
But, you might want to add rum to it just in case. Cause after all, once you've had 5-6, who gives a shit what's in it!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
I have been hosting writing sessions for a new sketch comedy show, tentatively titled, "Joe's Unclipped Cock: (we're working on it - the tile, not getting Joe to alter his parts).
Tonight I pitched a piece called "Noah's Ark." It's not done, but I wanted the guys to get a feel for what I was working on. I think Joe hated it, but was taught at an early age not to talk with his mouth full. Brendan didn't seem to have any opinion other than, "Can we insult more religions?" And Anthony...well Anthony didn't know what "mead" was.
I thought he was kidding, but he wanted to "test audience" the word. So I told him to text 8 of his friends and I would texted 8 of mine and ask simply "what is mead?" We learned quickly, not what mead was, but who has the more informed friends. All but one of mine texted back with the correct answer. A variation on "a honey wine" or "a sweet beer" were given as answers. Anthony's friends however missed the mark a bit. Also he texted me as part of his sampling which definitely didn't help his cause, but made me laugh.
In the end the line stayed...but we realized also that Anthony & Joe don't know who Mary Jo Kopechne was. Do you? I'll give you a hint...Ted Kennedy + Mead =
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I was fortunate enough to meet Leslie Nielsen when he was making the rounds for his Bad Golf Made Easy videos. I was with my brother Erick & the great Jim McCabe. This was back in my quieter days (yes they existed). I was too shy to shout what I felt needed to be shouted, so I'd ply Jim with line.
Nielsen came in and everyone cheered. I whispered to Jim to yell "It's Enrico Pallazzo" which he did to many laughs. Even though I didn't say it, I felt a sense of accomplishment as the writer (even though I wrote nothing, just had a friend quote a line from someone else's screenplay). It was an odd day.
My favorite part of the day was Jim asking Leslie Nielsen to sign his photo: "To my snoogie lumps, Jim." Nielsen laughed and said "OK Jim." After we got out of line Jim looked and he wrote the same thing he wrote on Erick's & mine, "Lucks & Laughs, Leslie Nielsen." Jim was pissed!
Where ever you are tonight sir, I wish you lucks & laughs...and I hope NO ONE Dares call you Shirley.
Friday, November 26, 2010
You may want to read the two previous entries above for some back story...
Wednesday night Julie and I went out to Pizza By Elizabeth's in Wilmington, DE to wish our good friend Brian (who is moving to San Francisco) a "bon voyage." It's a cute pizza place where the theme is ALL things Elizabeth. Famous Elizabeths throughout time adorn the walls and even have pizzas named after them. It was a very enjoyable evening. Afterwards, everyone in our party seemed to be going to a local watering hole, Public House for more festivities. I assume that means drinking. I wasn't feeling right and decided sleep would be the best thing for me, so Julie and I decided to head home. A quick and quiet 20 minute drive saw us pulling down our "one way" street. It was then that we both saw the brake lights in front of our house.
"A little late for visitors," I spoke out loud. Julie asked me if I was expecting anyone.
I joked, "Well, tomorrow is the Macy's Day Parade."
Just then the door opened to a vintage, blue truck, with the California tags. I saw a boot step out of the drivers side and knew I wouldn't be sleeping this night. Scott stepped out, turned around and threw his arms up in the air. Kind of like he was hugging us while we were still in the car. For a split second I thought of ramming him. I pulled the car up and stopped. I rolled the window down as he walked to my side of the car.
"I thought you were sending a limo." I said as it dawned on me Scott had told me a couple of nights ago he'd be sending a limo to pick Julie and I up. I had completely forgot, or blocked it out of fear. Scott reached out something in his hand. It was only now I realized he had been holding a couple of cups of what appear to be Wawa coffee.
"I didn't think you'd come if I sent anyone else." He has his father's charm, but is definitely his own man. There's something about him that keeps me from being able to say "no" and making it stick. He pushes the cup towards me. "I don't drink coffee." I say smiling slightly, figuring I might have derailed his plans just a little bit. His smile grows wide and he pushes the cup a little more forcefully. "Hot Chocolate champ. It makes any situation easy to handle." I take it and drink it while softly saying, "You suck." Because he's right. He's always right.
"This is Izzy." Scott tells Julie and I as her we realize there is someone else present also holding a pair of coffees.
She hands one to Julie. "Scott says you're a vegan too. I used soy milk."
I am two parts shocked. The first part, that Scott knew Julie went Vegan in April, and the second that Izabella Miko from Coyote Ugly is standing in my driveway along with Scott Caan. But since it was the night before the Macy's Day Parade, I shouldn't have been surprised at all…and for those keeping score at home, Izabella is a Spanish Variant for the name Elizabeth.
We pile into Scott's vintage Ford Truck (which only seats 2 comfortably) and we head to NYC.
The drive seems to take no time at all. We get out and it's a little past 1 am. We are met by Scott's right hand man Leo. I still have never gotten Leo's last name. To be honest, I'm not sure his age or his ethnicity. But he reminds me of Q, the guy who makes weird gadgets for James Bond. That is, if Q looked exactly like Inspector Poirot from Agatha Christie. We were quickly ushered up to the ritzy penthouse at the SOHO Grand. Scott informs me his apartment was being sublet while he has been off filming Hawaii 5-O over the past 4 months.
Izzy takes Julie off to a corner of the room where I swear Kylie Minogue is standing.
"Kevin Regan," Scott's booming voice brings my focus back, "This is John Piper, vice president in charge of Macy's Parade." I shake hands with the executive.
"Mr. Regan. You're the one who caused all the trouble back in 2005." Piper smiled. But I think that was just because Scott was standing there. Otherwise, he'd probably be spitting venom. 5 years earlier, Scott lied and told everyone I was a balloon wrangler. That lie resulted in a rather "hairy" incident at the parade. It's been well documented if you'd like to look into it.
"Yes. I have stayed far away from all balloons since." I tell him somewhat embarrassed.
"This is Matt Hannifin. He'll be leading one of our prized floats this year." I notice the way Piper says "floats." It leads me to believe my use of the word "balloons" has not endeared me any more to this stuffed shirt.
Matt puts out his hand, "Buzz Lightyear."
"Uhhh….Kevin…Regan?" We shake.
"No," He laughs, "I mean, I'll be handling Buzz Lightyear."
"Oh! That makes more sense."
Once outside it starts to snow and I hope I'm dressed warm enough.
I am one of 56 people on Matt's "Buzz" crew. I am holding onto my reign as if my life depended on it, which based on Piper's earlier attitude, it did. I feel something slip into my back pocket. Scott whispers to me, "Hold on to that. I'll need you later." I turn as much as I can to see where Scott is going while the Pixar icon forces my motion forward. I lose Scott in the crowd. I have no idea what Scott slipped in my pocket, and I don't dare remove my hands from the reign to find out.
About two hours into the parade down 34th St, a fellow named Manny relieves me from the reign. I quickly pull out my camera and shoot the site I have been enjoying for much of the day.
As I attempt to bring my arms down, I realize they are almost floating away. I'm not in pain, but find it difficult to actually bring my arms to my side.
I see Matt give orders to the other wranglers and we make eye contact. He smiles and I know I did okay this year. He nods to me as my pants begin to vibrate. I pull my phone out to answer it and realize its not ringing. However my pants continue to vibrate. I stick my hand in my back pocket having completely forgotten that Scott stuck something in there a couple hours ago. It's a cell phone. I answer it.
"Yo Philly! Get to Taxi Cab float ASAP!" The voice commands.
It's not Scott and it's not Leo. I've met SO many new people today (as is always the case with Scott) but I can't place the voice. "Piper?" I ask. But the line is already dead.
I see the Taxi Float which has yet to start it's route. I make a bee line for it cutting through the crew wrangling the Smurf Float.
I take a quick shot since I still have my camera in hand. I am careful not to bump any of the wranglers as I seem to be throwing a perfect game with the floats so far.
"Kevin!" I turn camera in hand and snap off a shot of the person who just called my name. it's Jimmy Fallon.
Weird! I slowly walk towards him thinking he must be talking to someone else.
He shakes my hand and says, "We need you to keep an eye on him. He's a handful, but Scott says you can keep him in line."
I'm star struck but also curious as to what the hell the Late Night host is talking about.
"Who?" I turn as Jimmy points.
Oh. Hell. No!
"Seriously, he was going on earlier about how Santa Claus hates black people," Jimmy says. I can't tell if he's kidding or not. But he doesn't laugh or even break a smile.
"How the fuck do I keep Kanye West in line?" I ask.