Wednesday, April 30, 2003
I don't develop many celebrity crushes, in fact I don't develop many crushes period. I guess it's because I've alwaysknown the likelyhood of any woman - especially a celebrity, though - being creeped out if I told her I liked her. I remember I once had a crush on a girl in Junior HIgh School that everyopne thought was pretty - my fantasy was that she had been kidnapped an forced to work in a brothel. I rescued her Indian Jones-styla, and then she was able to see that despite what I look like, I was still a good guy. Yes, that's right, I fantasized about women seeing my inner beauty.
Here are some celebrity crushes I've had over the years:
* Mary Astor, from the movie Maltese Falcon. Golly was she beautiful, and she was a bad woman. This was around when I was 10 or so.
* Winona Ryder from the poster for Welcome Home Roxy Carmichael. It's weird, I've never actually been into her when I see her acting, but in junior high school I saw the poster and was smitten.
Ryder - and the fact that she's a crazy shoplifter only enhances her in my eyes
* Erin McKean - but I promised her publisher I wouldn't write about her if she sent me an autographed book.
* Audrey Tatou - see Amelie and tell me if you can resist her whimsical charm.
Not the Tatou who shouted "Da plane, boss!"
* You. Yes, I have a crush on you.
Artist's conception of what you probably look like.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
I hate when movies end with the phrase, "The End . . . ?"
I'm like, "You just spent a lot of time and money making this movie. You'd better know if it's over."
I always expect the closing credits to start, and then the director to jump out:" Wait! I forgot to tell you something! I almost forgot the best part!"
I HAVE A NEW ROOMATE
And I had to explain to her a few of the rules of my house:
* No smoking.
* I am very territorial. I don't mean this metaphorically. What I'm saying is that if I pee around the toilet, don't clean it up. I want other comedians to know my scent.
* Sometimes I have ladies over - heh heh - for lovemakin'. So don't be surprised if there's a lot of loud apologizing coming from my room.
* The bathtub is currently a crucial part of a very long experiment to cross-breed various types of mildew to create a super-deadly strain. Therefore, all bathing must be done in the kitchen sink.
* Don't worry if the apartment is invaded by deadly ninja assassins; they're just trying to collect a student loan debt.
* I'm currently in the process of staging a musical version of The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies that I have adapted, choreographed and scored. Until I can afford studio space, we're going to have to rehearse in the living room. UNtil four in the morning.
* Sometimes I do miss the toilet, which is why I take it with me whenever I leave the apartment. Please make arrangements for your own toilet.
* Ass gas or grass, nobody rides for free.
Monday, April 28, 2003
I was reading a magazine article on how to please women in bed, and one of the tips they gave was that you should surprise her once in a while.
So the other night I brought a woman back to my place, and we were - you know - "doing it."
And halfway through I turned on the light, and 30 of her friends and family jumped out with a cake: "SURPRISE!!!!"
That was hot.
She smacked me, but the look
on her face was priceless.
When you're single after dating someone for a while, it's easy to forget how unattractive you are.
Like, I'll be talking to a woman at a party and I'll be like, "Hmm, we seem to be getting along, maybe I should ask for her number."
And then I accidentally get a look at myself in the mirror and I'm like, "Oh yeah, I forgot for a second that I looked like that."
"I forgot I looked like this. Sorry."
Saturday, April 26, 2003
Make sure you check out the trailer for Legend of the Rings!
If I were to have a sitcom, a good name for it would be "The Boy Next Dork."
This page comes up.
Don't ask me why.
Friday, April 25, 2003
But there's these guys holding NY comedy awards. Why not vote for this blog as your favorite site? If you do, I promise to send someone to refuse it on my behalf (true!) - and hey, if you wanted to vote me as your favorite comedian, I wouldn't stop you either:
Emerging Comedians of NY Award Nomination Form
At the Gershwin Hotel
7 W. 27th Street (btwn. 5th & Madison Aves.)
10:00pm * $5.00
Christian Finnegan (as seen on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and "Chapelle's Show")
Leo Allen (writer, "Saturday Night Live")
Dan Cronin ("Late Night with Conan O'Brien")
Becky Donahue ("Premium Blend")
RULES FOR SEEING LIAM IN PUBLIC:
* Please, don't touch Liam.
* Don't make eye contact with Liam.
* No flash photography. It will trigger one of Liam's "ragelepsy attacks."
* Please don't act "familiar" with Liam.
Liam has divided his friends into two categories - "plebians" and "Industry Super Friends." "Plebians" are the friends of Liam's whom he feels he has outgrown, but owes a social duty to anyway.
"Industry Super Friends" are the people that Liam either feels has reached his level, or are capable of helping his career.
Liam will let you know through his behaviour which category you fall into.
If Liam acts like he doens't know you, please don't try to talk to him. He first must make sure the room doesn't contain any "Industry Super Friends" before he can talk to you.
If you absolutely MUST speak to Liam, in case of an emergency (such as a fire or a robbery), you may send a written request to Melinda, Liam's personal assistant.
* If you feel you must make "small talk" with Liam, please feel free to call his office and schedule an appointment. (August is free - FOR NOW!)
* You may have noticed that Liam refers to himself in the third person. This is to avoid the appearance of familiarity with himself. Please feel free to follow his example and also refer to Liam in the third person. You will receive written permission to address him directly, when and if this becomes necessary.
* Liam's home phone number has been changed to a 1-900 number. Liam feels that conversation with Liam is a privilege, and therefore something to be paid extra for. In-person conversations will be billed accordingly (please see the above guidelines for more information).
* Liam is convinced that the FBI, as well as several hostile foreign powers, are tapping the phones of Liam's friends and professional acquaintances to get dirt on Liam. Therefore, Liam requests that whenever you talk about Liam on the phone, you must refer to Liam by the code name, "Cutey McFun-Fun."
Liam will change the code name from week to week to keep Liam's enemies on their toes.
* Also, whenever you talk about Liam when he is not around, you will be required to fill out a "conversation log," detailing exactly what was said about Liam and when. This will let Liam know exactly what people are saying about him, and will allow Liam to adjust the rankings of his friends accordingly.
* Please do not seem "poor" or "uninteresting" around Liam. Liam feels that those whom Liam chooses as his friends reflect on him personally, and therefore requests that you dress and behave your absolute best (but not more interesting than Liam!)
* Remember that Liam's friendship is a PRIVILEGE and not a RIGHT!
* Whenever Liam feels graces a show with a performance, the following conditions must be met:
1) There must be two dressing rooms - a room painted white for "meditation" purposes, and a room painted blue for the purpose of receiving visitors backstage.
1 a) The "white room" must be equipped ONLY with white satin pillows, with silk white pillowcases.
(Please note that Liam is EXTREMELY sensitive, and can tell the difference between genuine satin and so-called "soft wool.")
1 b) The "green room" must be equipped with comfortable chairs, and a banquet table with:
- Exactly twenty-three (23) cans of Diet Coke, chilled
- Three (3) bottles of Moet champagne.
- One (1) 2-liter bottle of Welch's grape soda.
- Three chilled crystal goblets
- A platter with exactly twenty-three (23) pieces of each:
- carrot sticks
- zucchini sticks
- cheese blintzes from Yonah Schimmel's
- KFC drumsticks
- pate foie gras
- ridge-style potato chips (brand unimportant, as Liam will not eat them)
- plum tomatoes
- Ritz crackers with Skippy peanut butter
- chocolate dog biscuits
These items must be placed in "patterns pleasing to the eye, not including concentric circles."
2) In addition, Liam will need someone to dogsit his incontinent Schnauzer, Roscoe. Roscoe has been incredibly flatulent lately, which causes him incredible personal embarassment.
Therefore, anyone dogsitting Roscoe will need to sit alone with him in a small, dark, warm closet.
3) Liam will also need a Bose home theatre system with various CDs by whatever artists are in the Billboard Top 100 THAT WEEK. (Due to what is referred to as the "Binghamton incident," Liam's CD collection WILL be checked for timeliness.)
Thank you, and please join Liam tonight for what is sure to be a rollicking good time.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
ASK "THE WHITE MAN"
Clayton Smith is the head of the "Secret Ruling Council," the organization of white Christian billionaires who run the world.
Now you can ask him anything about the world and why it's run the way it's run..
Clayton Smith, white man.
"Why did my daddy lose his job?"
- Gretchen S., Seattle
Because he was on the verge of knowing too much.
"Why do guys think farts are funny?"
- Joan R., Kansas City
The same reason guys think the Three Stooges are funny - it really annoys women.
"Is there a God?"
- Mike F., Astoria
Yes. He's on the board of Halliburton.
If you want to ask Clayton Smith a question, e-mail him at McEneaneyL@aol.com
IT'S THE MOVEMENT, MAN
If you're a long-time reader of this blog, then you know that last month I went to the anti-war rally. My problem with the rally was that I am anti-war, but I'm even more anti-the other people at the anti-war rally.
I found myself chanting things like, "The people, the people, the people have the power. But you should, you should, you should go home and shower."
It's just hard to be at a rally with 500,000 other people and saying things like, "Yeah, I'm not with these guys. I don't know, I just came down to the park and they showed up."
Seven of these people have showered.
DRAWING ON EXPERIENCE
I recently had someone sketch a portrait of me, and she asked me for a critique. And I couldn't give her one.
I realized today that the reason I couldn't critique it was that she had drawn me as too good-looking. I didn't want to give advice like, "No no, my nose is way bigger, way more pronounced. Now accentuate my double chin. Good, it should look more toad-like."
Now honey, try not to look so ugly this time.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Did you ever have a drunken hookup, and then recognize them three months later as if they were a celebrity?
"Hey, aren't you Shana from Liam's Christmas Eve Fear of Being Alone?
"I loved the sequel, Where Am I and Who's That In Bed Next To Me?"
"Uh, this never
DOMESTIC ABUSE IS WRONG
I don't believe in it. In fact, I refuse to continue dating any woman who will let me hit her. It just isn't right, you know?
I BROKE UP WITH A GIRL
And I should have been happy that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. I mean, it was nice that there weren't that many tears, but did she have to laugh so hard?
I just think that buying a round for everyone in the bar was a little much.
You know what's awkward? After you break up with a girl, and running into her friends.
Because you never just break up with a woman - you break up with her whole social network.
And all I can do is imagine the shit her friends say about me; you know that they've just been saving up months' worth of cattiness for when you fuck up.
Liam's ex-girlfriend and her support group.
I mean, it's one thing to know a woman can do better than you; it's another to know that she's also discovering that, via her friends' angry denunciations.
DON'T DO IT
When your friend breaks up with their girlfriend, don't ever start badmouthing her to make him feel better.
Because the worst thing is getting drunk with a friend and saying, "Man, what you need that crazy bitch for? You want a crazy girl, I'll take you to Bellevue. They're just happy to be taken anywhere."
And then three weeks later running into them, and they're together again - "Hey, Liam, Linda and I worked it out."
Because you know he's going to tell her. Tell her everything. Nobody cracks under pressure like a man in love. You want to break a Colombian druglord, don't bring in the CIA, don't play good cop/bad cop.
Just bring in an angry girlfriend. In ten minutes, he'll be like, "Im sorry baby, I know you told me not to hang out with those guys, but I wanted to buy you a new car."
Shit, a man in love will give terrorists nuclear secrets if it means he doesn't stop getting pussy.
And even if he doesn't tell her, you never know that 100%. So you can't look her in the eye. If she seems slightly annoyed, you're like, "Oh shit, does she know? He said he didn't tell her, but how do I know?"
And so she leaves you twisting for six months, and one day out of the blue, she's like, "Pete and I are having a barbecue, but you don't want to go - there's going to be a lot of my crazy bitch friends. We're opening the doors at Bellevue."
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
I recently lost 50 pounds.
Don't worry, I found them again.
Apparently they were at the bottom of a Doritos bag.
MY RELATIONSHIPS ARE A LOT LIKE BAD '80s COMEDIES
* It's often a case of nerds vs. bullies.
* Every ten minutes, I find myself muttering, "I'm too old for this shit."
* And just when it seems like things can't get any worse, in walks Whoopi Goldberg.
Who wants to make out?
It's weird when you're making out with a girl, and you do something, and then ten minutes later she does the same exact thing to you.
I find myself saying things like, "Man, quit ripping me off. Get your own moves." Um, but I don't say that out loud, of course, because I'm not an idiot.
On the other hand, if you're making out with a girl, and you do something to her, and then ten minutes later she does the same thing to her best friend - that's pretty awesome.
Monday, April 21, 2003
Why are there so many beautiful women in this city???!!! It's not fair. You don't see me going around being all "attractive," now do you?
Also, why have people stopped reading this blog?
Saturday, April 19, 2003
As a comedy writer, Chris Reagan won an Emmy and a Peabody for his work on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.
By the way, the Daily Show with Jon Stewart is on Comedy Central every weeknight at 9pm.
As a stand-up comedian, Reagan has appeared on Comedy Central's Premium Blend, and as an actor he has appeared in a Korean action movie.
Q: Thank you so much for doing this interview Chris. I guess my first question - and you must get this a lot - are you related to former President Ronald Reagan?
A: No, in fact, my last name is spelled Regan. Chris Regan. I write that out so that at least one person doing a web search will make it to this web page. My middle name is Ronald though. Seriously. It makes for annoying visits to the DMV.
Q: Now, as a writer for The Daily Show, which is one of my favorite shows I might add, what is your schedule like? How do you write?
A: We work Monday through Friday, 9:30 to 6:30 or so. In the morning, our very capable production people show us all the videotape we have to work with, we scan the papers, and we try to figure out what to cover. There's been a lot lately about a war.
Q: Are there certain topics that are "off-limits"? Topics that even The Daily Show won't make fun of?
A: Yes. In fact, it would be in poor taste for me to mention those topics even now. I'm appalled you asked me such a question during such a difficult time for our nation.
Q: What is Jon Stewart like to work with?
A: it's not really so much as "work," but "play." And he is VERY fun to play with.
Q: What would you say that you got on that show that you are most proud of?
A: "...The Daily Show will be right back after these important messages." That was a kneeslapper. A lot of rewrites, though. Still, I like to think that a lot of Chris Regan was still in it.
Q: Now, as a comedian - some comedians have crazy nicknames or stage names, like Jimmy "J.J." Walker, or Jackie "Moms" Mabley, or "Carrot Top," or Gallagher "Too." What is your crazy stage/nickname?
A: Gallagher Too. And I am indeed...mad as hell, but in a smaller, more intimate 100-200 seat venue kind of way.
Q: What's it like going on national cable television? Were you scared? Did you know what material you were going to do beforehand?
A: I was scared. I suffer from stage fright occasionally, even in smaller venues. I like to have a drink in my hand when I perform. Unfortunately, that was a no-no for the cable folk.
Q: We're about halfway through the interview right now. Why don't you plug an upcoming shwo or something.
A: I am doing a show with my Daily Show colleague Eric Drysdale at the UCB theater on April 26th, and Portable Comedy at The Gershwin Theater on May 2nd. I try not to work too hard or too often.
Q: What's in Chris Reagan's CD player right now?
A: The last Wilco record. I am still trying to listen to it to see if I like it as much as all the critics did. So far I'm not. I will toss it on my Strokes and White Stripes pile, right beneath The Hives.
Q: A lot of my friends, and relatives, tell me that I'm funny enough to be a writer for The Daily Show. Like, someone was telling me that Bush's nickname is "Shrub," and I said, "Well, he's not smart enough to be a whole tree!" Or I was watching that Saddam statue getting pulled down, and I turned to my friend Mike and said, "Looks like a revolution of art critics!" LOL! By the
way, don't steal that for the show.
A: Um. No. I won't. The "Shrub" stuff is strong, but we try not to get too preachy. We prefer a "check-your-brain-at-the-door" kind of vibe. Our audience sits on pillows.
Q: Anyway, my point was, how would I get a job on the Daily Show as a writer? Would you have to recommend me, or would I need an agent or something?
A: You would definitely need an agent. A high-powered one. You can find them in the phone book.
Q: Seriously, if I wrote some jokes, could you tell Jon Stewart to take a look at them or something?
A: I would hate to interrupt one of our play sessions with work talk.
Q: What about if I wanted to be a correspondant? I bet I could do that. How would I get that job?
A: A degree from the Columbia School of Journalism is a plus. I'm assuming...you don't have that kind of degree. Right?
Q: Okay, we're almost done here. Why don't you plug one more thing:
A: A film I wrote and starred in and that the abovementioned E. Drysdale directed, "Sanford Van Johnson: A Life Near the Theater," will be shown at The Chicago Improv Festival in May.
Q: Chris Reagan, thank you so much for doing this interview.
A: It's "Regan." Chris Regan.
For the Todd Barry interview, click here.
Thursday, April 17, 2003
What do you think, can I even find something less user friendly?
I can certainly relate to that story - where Dr. Bruce Banner turns into his raging monster alter-ego every time he gets mad - because I have a very similar condition.
Only my alter-ego is The Incredible Nerd. And I turn into the Incredible Nerd whenever it seems like a woman is interested in me.
I'll be like, "Oh you like Dylan? Me too. In fact, I belong to this Dylan website and recently this guy from the message board sent me these awesome bootlegs - it's like all these outtakes from the Traveling WIlburies sessions and - ARRRGHHH NERD COCKBLOCK!!!! Wait, where are you goin?"
Don't get me horny. You wouldn't like me when I'm horny.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
* The Absent-Minded Cardiac Surgeon
* Herpe the Sex Bug
* The Incredible Mr. Simpley's Incredible Magazine Collection
* Twist & Shout: The Epilepsy Seizure Rock Opera
* Trapped Into Being a Parent
* The Crapple Dumping Gang
* The Junkie's Uncle
* Tim Conway Rides Again
* The Boatniks
is awesome. Finally, with all the stench of the cigarettes gone, I can smell how bad the bar actually stinks.
A bouncer got stabbed a few days ago as he was escorting a smoker out - and the killers got away with it. Now people are saying that this is because of the smoking ban, and if they don't repeal the ban then more people are going to get hurt.
And I say, okay, they can repeal the smoking ban as long as nonsmokers are also allowed to carry knives.
Because when some asshole lights up a cigar, I want to be able to gut him like a fish.
By the way, now that we have a "No Smoking" ban in NYC, can we also get a "No Talking Loudly About Your Uterine Infection" ban?
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
I used to have a job as a writer at the Humor Network for Joke-of-the-Day.com.. My job was basically to sit around all day and write jokes, lists, stories, whatever they wanted.
I guess I did a good job; a lot of my jokes still pop up all over the Internet, especially this one and this one - which my then-boss told me I shouldn't send out because "no one will know who *N Sync is."
But I think my favorite joke was a godawful pun, which everyone hated - including, apparently, poet Rod McKuen.
McKuen shares Bungle in the
Jungle with fans in concert
I found this on his website (everything below is taken from McKuen's website):
ATTACK OF THE TERRIBLE PUNS
"You may have already seen this.... ," writes Coral. No, My Love, and I hope I never see it again.
BUNGLE IN THE JUNGLE
In 1873, a team of German explorers and their three dogs decided to penetrate the heart of the South American jungle. After twelve years, they had set up a fort in an Incan town, the centerpiece of which was a large idol with a huge ruby for an eye.
The German church had sent out their best man, Friar Wilhelm Werks three times to check on the progress of the fort, and each time the appearance of the idol had sent him into fits of screaming, complete with shouts, curses, and rending of garments. Each time, he screamed so loud that he sent the dogs running for cover. And each time, he left with a warning that the next time he visited, the idol had better be torn down.
The commander of the fort, Hans Brickner, received a message that Friar Werks would be coming to visit again in a fortnight. He quickly called a meeting with his top commanders. All five agreed that the Friar would explode when he saw the idol still standing.
"But," said Commander Brickner, "there's nothing to be done. If we take down the idol, we will anger the local tribe, and without their cooperation we're dead."
His second-in-command, Herr Kommandant Wagner said, "In that case, we'd better make sure we put the dogs away."
"You know how scared the dogs get when Friar Werks goes off on the Fort of Jewel Eye."
By the way, the punchline for this joke can also be found as part of an otherwise unreadable piece of Sailor Moon fan fiction.
Monday, April 14, 2003
About the Author
The author is a 36 year-old male who has been described as an "American man of letters" by the head of the Cambridge Literature Department, and "an American man of numbers" by the head of the IRS Tax Fraud Department. By the time he was 20 years old, his collected Letters to Ann Landers had attracted the attention of critics all over the country. The Lansing, MI, Pennysaver gave him a front page profile when he wrote "the most poetic 'Car for Sale' ad in this publication's history."
His poetry was originally put into a limited edition collection by famous editor Judith Regan and placed at the bottom of her parrot cage. That cage has recently fetched eighty-three thousand dollars on eBay. eBay is Pig Latin for "Bee," the famous playing-card company that buys literary artifacts for too much money.
The author first achieved international prominence for suing himself over his own unauthorized autobiography, a publicity stunt that turned ugly when he ended up divorcing himself in 1997. The author has worked as a file clerk, a security guard, and a chicken sexer if you believe the rumors - which we do.
The author's brow does not protrude; he is able to walk upright, is intelligent, and able to use his hands to manipulate primitive tools. He may be modern science's long-awaited link between homo sapien and the more primitive Cro-Magnon man. He can talk to ducks, although they do not understand what he's saying.
He has recently completed an album titled For Lovers Only, which has sold poorly mostly due to his insistence that all customers must provide photographic proof that they are lovers before being allowed to purchase the album. He named his dog Skippy after his grandfather. His grandfather had named is "Fido," then the author thoguht it would be funny to rename the dog and confuse everybody. His hobbies include going into pet stores and teaching parrots to swear.
He is the lead singer for Weird Science, the Oingo Boingo Tribute Band. He won a National Book Award for his checkbook, which the New York Times called a "masterpiece of twisty-turny narrative fiction," and NBC-TV's Joel Siegel called "a roller-coaster thrill ride for the summer." It was an Oprah's Book Club selection. It was then turned into Overdrawn, a hit movie from Warner Brothers now on DVD.
He was discovered by Norman Mailer in 1989. Norman Mailer's wife swore that was they only time she'd slept with the author. The author spun such a fantastic story about what he was doing in the scuba gear, that Mailer turned it into a short story titled But I Was Only Checking a Leak in the Tub.
The author lives in Manhattan, New York, with his wife and their goldfish. He maintains a summer home in Cape Cod, ME, with his other wife and their two kids. He keeps a weekend apartment with his mistress, and a part-time Florida shack with an unidentified man who answers to the name "Franco." Winters he lives under the bench in the Visitor's bullpen at Shea Stadium. For two weeks in the fall, he owns part-share in the Congo exhibit at the Bronx Zoo, which he claims to have picked up for Peanuts. "Peanuts" being the name he gave the Filipinno orphan boy he has adopted.
His first novel is expected "some time next Spring."
Sunday, April 13, 2003
I know we have to support our troops fighting overseas, but what about those three National Guardsman keeping watch over the Times Square McDonald's?
It is nice to know that Mayor McCheese has an honor guard.
Saturday, April 12, 2003
For more information, see the big celebrity interview down in the April 4th entry.
i realize that i misread your "allot" question. i thought you had misspelled
" a lot." please put an update.
Friday, April 11, 2003
Here's a reprint from May 3, 2002. It's a long story, but you'll have all weekend to digest it.
TODAY IS NOT EVAN SILVERMAN DAY
But I well tell you a story about him, anyway:
We went to Francis Lewis High School together. He was in a not-so-great band called You Be You, and one night they performed at a place called "The Village Vault," which was located, obviously, in Whitestone, Queens.
Where's Whitestone in relation to where I live? You know how, in old madrigals and folk tales, you hear of a perilous journey to a land so far away that it's populated by dragons and fairy folk? Whitestone would have been three stops past that on the bus. So my dad drove me out there, and dropped me off. Nothing like arriving at a rock gig with your dad telling you to call him if you can't get a ride home. I think he might have handed me a bag lunch and an apple. At least my mother didn't dress me in a sailor uniform (that would have been a different Village Vault. Anyway).
So the shows go on and it's over, and everyone drifts away. Eventually it's just Evan, his bass teacher (James? I forget. I think I'll call him "James"), and myself. His bass teacher's going to give us a ride home. When we hit Queens Boulevard, somehow the plan becomes, "Let's go to a strip club!"
I'd never gone to a strip club before, and I was somewhat nervous. What if the strippers refused to take their clothes off for me? What a horrible form of rejection; they take their clothes off for anyone!
So we get to the strip club; one of these holes-in-the-wall, not one of your big fancy clubs with the DJs and the lights and chrome and the mirrors, but just a dark bar with a big stage in the middle, mirrors lining the walls, bottles of Bud for five bucks, and two attractive women dancing at once, and it's a good time, more because I'm with my buddies than anything else. I find strip clubs to be somewhat depressing to be honest with you; I know there's no chance in hell the strippers are going to be into me, so it's just a matter of watching naked - albeit attractive - women who I can't touch. That's what Skinemax is for.
So every time a new stripper comes out, I just start joking with her. It's two am on a weeknight, so it's not like the joint is jumping, and the strippers are actually somewhat friendly, not least of all because I wan't exactly the most threatening-looking guy in the bar. How unthreatening am I?
I've still got an ID from that time that I use to prove I'm over 21, withdraw money from the bank, etc. One day I went to my local Dime branch to get forty bucks (my ATM card didn't work) and the teller looked at my ID and said, "I can't give you money."
"This is your mom's ID."
There's one stripper in particular, very very pretty, a little older, maybe in her thirties, but in a good way. She's wearing one of those dominatrix hats, and I make it a point ,when I'm giving her a buck, to tell her it's a bus driver hat. She asks me what do I mean? and I explain it's the same hat Ralph Kramden wore on "The Honeymooners." She laughs, and whenever it gets slow she comes back over to where we're sitting and dances for us, and talks to us.
At one point, a sleazy guy with glasses came in, sat down. She threw her hat to him, it was filled with money. He watched her, and at some point the money in her hat disappeared. Evan had to explain to me that he was probably her dealer. Such was my naivete.
So she's done, and she came to where we were sitting and starting talking to us. I couldn't even tell you what the hell we talked to her about, but she must have liked us because when closing time came up, she suggested we all have breakfast together.
Now, I'm not a regular of strip clubs, but I'm guessing that this doesn't happen to often, strippers asking a group of customers out to breakfast. But again, I wasn't exactly the most threatening guy in the world, and you add in the fact that as a group, we were two seventeen year-olds and a happily married older guy, and I guess it just looked like a recipe for a free meal.
I'll tell you one thing; having breakfast with a beautiful woman you just saw naked is a great experience, and one that I do not get to repeat as often as I'd like, believe me. Her name was Jade, probably not her real name, but she changed the subject every time I brought that up.
She told us that in addition to stripping, she also deejayed at Club USA on Wednesdays. Evan - who was instantly smitten - promised to go down there the very next week, an idea she greeted almost warmly. She told us about her boyfriend, a drummer in a rock band, and how they lived together.
We saw her to her car. Now I don't know if this is creepy or not - Evan and "James" insisted it wasn't, but we followed her back to her place to make sure she got home okay. To be honest with you, I think she just stopped in front of a house randomly to get rid of us; that's what I would have done.
Anyway, Evan then called the strip club, whose name I forget, every week asking, "Is Jade there tonight?" And they would say "Yes," because I'm guessing at any strip club across the globe on any given night there's going to be twenty-three "Jades," seventeen "Ambers," and at least one "Misty."
And then he would call me and say, "Hey Liam, Jade's at the place tonight, let's go." And since i lived with my folks at the time, and my dad was always about three feet away, I'd say something like, "Uh, yeah, that's great, but, um, I think I can't hang out tonight."
One night we went back together, thoguh, and Jade wasn't there. It was just a dark hole-in-the-wall with a surly clientele and working girls who just wanted to earn a buck and be left the hell alone.
So we tried another strip club for the hell of, also on Queens Boulevard, but we got carded and had to get out. We ended up in a dive out in Ozone Park, a place the owner told us was closing in a week. Working there was a woman in her forties, overweight, and a young woman so zonked out on drugs that we watched her finger herself on the floor for fifteen minutes.
I've gone back to strip clubs a couple of times since then, but I've never really enjoyed myself again.
Thursday, April 10, 2003|
To celebrate this blog's anniversary, here's an entry from May 10th, 2002.
ONE THOUSAND SOLD!
Yesterday, this little Blog had its thousandth visitor!
I don't know who it was, other than that their domain is Motorola! Congratulations, Motorola, for providing us with our one-thusandth user! and to the workers of Motorola: GET BACK TO WORK, YOU!
AD HOCKED POEMS
There is a new generation of young bohemians who consider themselves too "intellectual" to be taken in by beer ads. So I've been hired, as a representative of this generation, to design ads to appeal to these young people, using classic poetry. Let's see what you think:
I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: A vast and trunkless leg of aluminum
Stands in the desert. And on its pedestal these words appear:
"I am Budweizymandius, King of Beers:
Look on my malted barley hops ye mighty and despair!"
Nothing beside remains, except further on the beach,
Several young women, their asses bare,
And six-packs within easy reach.
THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED ROLLING ROCK
Let us go then you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a coed half-drunk upon a couch;
Let us go, through half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
To this cool bar I know.
Oh do not ask "What is it?"
Instead enjoy the crisp cool taste of Rolling Rock.
In the room, the young women come and talk,
Of how much they love that Rolling Rock.
For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the jocks, cheerleaders, bikini teams, thugs,
I have measured out my life with beer mugs.
I know the voices drinking with a drinking fall
Beneath the hip-hop music from a cooler room,
So how should I presume?
Shall I say I have gone at dusk through narrow streets,
And watched the smoke that rises from the exhaust pipes of my cool red sports car, very expensive.
And hunky men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .
I grow horny . . . I grow horny . . .
I shall tell my jokes all corny.
And the bikini girls come and drink Rolling Rock,
And speak of how they love my enormous -
(A WASHED-UP RAPPER LIKE L.L. COOL J. JUMPS INTO THE SCENE, SURROUNDED BY HOOCHIE-MAMA BACKUP DANCERS)
Yo! What up! I ain't Prince Hamlet!
I just want cold refreshment damn it!
We lingered in the chambers of the sea, y'all!
With B-girls wreathed in weed, y'all!
Till human voices wake us and we drown, y'all!
In a pool of ROLLING ROCK!
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
MORE ANNIVERSARY STUFF
Today's post originally ran June 11th, 2002. It was written after news broke that one of the reasons the September 11th attacks occurred was because all the different national security agencies were refusing to share information.
RIDDLE DI DEE!
Q: Why do cannibals like New York cabbies?
A: Because cabbies are always giving them the finger!
WHY THINGS HAPPENED THE WAY THEY HAPPENED
Below are a series of true memos exchanged between a certain CIA official and an FBI bureaucrat. In order to protect my sources, the names of the officials have been replaced with "FBI" and "CIA." Enjoy:
RE: Guess what?
I know something you don't know.
Wouldn't you like to know?
Something I know that you don't know.
What do you know?
Boy oh boy, is this huge. Shocking.
You know what? I don't even care.
Really? That's too bad. You would have found it interesting, too.
So what is it then? Stop being a dickcheese and just tell me.
Well, if I'm such a dickcheese, you definitely don't want to know.
Fine, you don't want to share your intelligence (very ironic)? I just hope it doesn't have anything to do with -
Wait. "Anything to do with" what?
No, don't worry about it. Probably a different group of guys.
What group of guys?
Nothing, man, don't worry about it. It's probably nothing, but boy oh boy -
"Boy oh boy" what? You know you have to share everything with me.
No, you have to share everything with me.
Says your charter, dipwad.
You're the dipwad, 'cause my charter says I don't have to do anything I don't want to.
I guess you must want to act like the biggest A-#1 A-hole on the face of the Earth.
No, my charter doesn't say I have to act like your mom.
You mean your mom.
No, your mom.
TO: CIA, FBI
Hey guys, what's going on?
TO: FBI, NSA
TO: NSA, CIA
FROM: CIA, FBI
TO: FBI, CIA
Ha! now neither of you can speak until I say your name. Too bad, I wanted to tell you guys something important. Oh well.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
This week marks my anniversary - sorry, our anniversary.
Yes, it's been a year since I started this blog. A full year of typos, self-indulgence, and illegally reprinted pictures.
So for the rest of the week I'm going to be reprinting stuff from the past year that I've particularly enjoyed writing.
I have a friend who believes that the best kind of writing is autobiographical, so this is a post from November 21st, 2002, all about me:
I've had plenty of InstaCrushes. You know what I'm talking about; you're walking down the street, through the park, supermarket, whatever, and you see someone, and for some reason, in the back of your head it just *clicks* and for a second you have a sudden flash about your future relationship with this person, all the good times ahead for you as a happy couple (usually it's a movie montage scene, with a walk hand-in-hand through the mountains seguing seamlessly into a love scene on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, accompanied by a swampy guitar on the soundtrack). And then you keep walking and never see this person again.
I have three stories; two are about InstaCrushes I've had recently, and one about why you should probably never actually try to pursue it outside the realms of fantasy:
STORY ONE: DISARMING LOVE
I was walking down First Avenue over the summer, around 42nd St. across the way from the UN. I was, as I most often am, completely lost in my thoughts and paying little attention to the world around me. Luckily, I am a large and unfriendly fella, and people tend to make way for me when I am in these walking trances. Anyhow, I look up and see two women walking ahead of me. One was somewhat unremarkable-looking; pretty, but not pretty enough to take special notice of. The other woman, though, was cute; she had red hair that looked like it could have come out a Jell-O box. She was dressed in the way that women can in the summer; somewhat gaily and yet at the same time in a way that was designed so that you would take her seriously. She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse, and I remember noticing that specifically because her left arm ended at her elbow.
To me this made her more beautiful; she had clearly come to grips with this handicap uyears ago, and wasn't going to let it ruin her otherwise happy day walking down First Avenue with her friend, chappting about whatever they were chatting about as she discreetly checked herself out in the windows of the stores she was passing.
I had a brief vision of myself, loving her - not in spite of her handicap, but completely ignoring it. After all, it's the strength of character that really sealed the deal for me. I pictured myself getting into a drunken bar brawl at one of the dives I perform at with some dude who thought it would be funny to make a joke at her expense. Even though I probably would have gotten my ass kicked, that wouldn't be as important to her as the fact that I got my ass kicked for her.
And during our inevitably messy and acrimonious break-up, during the bitter and drawn-out argument that would end it all, I would, even in the heat of anger, take the high road and not bust her chops about her missing arm even once. And she would later realize that, and respect me for that, if nothing else.
Then they stopped at red light and I, being a native New Yorker, ignored that and plowed ahead past them.
STORY TWO: HOT MAMA
Earlier in the Fall, I was walking up 9th Ave. in Chelsea and I spotted a beautiful woman in her early thirties. She was dealing with her four year-old son. As I walked past, I noticed she had no ring on her finger. A single mom.
Before I could say anything, her son darted off away from her. Without even thinking, I darted after him, into the middle of the street. I yanked him away just before he got hit by a cab.
The cab driver took one look at what almost happened and sped away.
I gave the child back to the mother, who was on the verge of tears. She grabbed her son and said, "Look what almost happened!" And then she hugged the kid close to her for a long minute. I excused myself and was about to walk on when she yelled, "Stop!"
I turned around and she walks up to me. "I'm sorry, I didn't get a chance to thank you." She sticks out her hand. "My name's Sam."
"And this is Tommy."
"He's a cute little boy. I'm just glad he's okay."
By this time, little Tommy was hiding behind his mom, clinging to her, peeking at me from behind her leg.
"Yeah, he's a lot to handle. His father ran off on us, and it isn't easy, you know - ?"
She explains that they were about to go to a diner to get something to eat, and would I like to join them? I say I would actually, and afterwardsw we agree that the three of us would go to the Met museum the next weekend. She's using the child as a shield to keep from getting hurt by another guy, and I can't say as how I blame her.
Our third date involves us going to the movies together, sans Tommy. As we sit in the dark theatre watching another shitty Reese Witherspoon monstrosity unfold, her hand rests on mine, and I realize that I am happier than I've ever been in my life.
And I keep walking past them, sad that reality will never live up to that scenario.
STORY THREE: POETRY IN MOTION
It's the summer again. I'm on the E train, on my way from Queens into Manhattan. Getting on at Roosevelt Ave. with me is a tall Asian woman, very pretty. We sit on benches diagonally opposite from each other. We play eye hockey; the game where you look at someone kind of out of the corner of your eye until the look over and catch you. Then they look at you until you look over and notice them looking at you. It's a proud subway sport.
We both get off at West 4th St., which is awkward for me because I'm never sure if a woman who's caught me looking at her will think I'm following her and then run to the nearest subway cop and have me arrested.
I do a show at 7:30. I have another show at 9:30 in the same neighborhood and two hours to kill. But I've come prepared with my notebook; I'm going to sit in Washington Square Park and plow ahead with writing my one-man show.
An hour later, my pen ran out of ink. I decided that that meant I should go get dinner. So I went into an area falafel store.
By the way, the following part of the story is true:
I walk into the falafel store and place an order. I look over and next to me standing at the corner is a vaguely familiar-looking Asian woman. Im about to try one of my patented Liam McEneaney Socially-Retarded Ice-Breakers, when she looks at me and says, "Hey, you're the guy from the subway, right?"
We end up talking and she tells me that she's the hostess at an overpriced neighborhood jazz bar. I tlel her that I'm a comedian. She says, "Oh really, do you make a lot of money?" Which is code for, "Can you afford to maintain my tastes?"
I reply, "I support myself," which as we all know, means, "No."
"Oh." We talk about life in Queens and she tells me a story about how she likes to go to clubs and drink champagne and dance all night.
I give her a flyer for a shwo I'm doing and she asks if I'm not going to give her my phone number. I do, but don't ask for hers in return, and we part ways never to see each other again.
So you see, an InstaCrush can be fun, but it can be an InstaCrushing situation as well if ever borne out in reality.
Monday, April 07, 2003
On AOL, there are role-playing game rooms, where you assume a D&D-style character. And there are sex chat rooms, where you hook up with people and have cybersex.
Then there's the saddest kind of room, the role-playing game sex room.
This is copied directly from a real chat room transcript, cut n' paste.
Everything is exactly as it was written in the chat room, any typos are strictly the participants'. But: In a chat room, so much is going on at once, that it isn't always in chronological order, and conversations get mixed up, due to varying typing speeds. So some of the dialogue has been reordered in a more consecutive conversational way, to make for easier reading.
Whenever a sentence is placed between colons (::) it means that an action is being described. For instance ::Liam rereads the blog entry and then cries, wondering what he's doing with his life.::
OnlineHost: *** You are in "Arts and Entertainment - Rhydin Pleasure Tubs". ***
McEneaneyL: ::walks into the room::
McEneaneyL: ::nods to pleasure drones::
McEneaneyL: Hello all.
XAprilmoonX: ::walks over to a unoccupied tub slips off her shorts making a blue bikini completly visable
XAprilmoonX: ,and slide in to the tub::
McEneaneyL: ::completely naked::
Golden Eyed Drow: * leans back against the side of the tub and chuckles as she glances about *
McEneaneyL: Hello April
SharonLoganX: ::cupping her hands,she takes water in her hands and splashes it on her neck,letting it run
McEneaneyL: What brings a girl like you into a place like this?
XAprilmoonX: i was bored....
SharonLoganX: over her covered breasts.The material soaking up the water::
McEneaneyL: Sorry to hear that. Care to join me in my tub?
McEneaneyL: ::takes a dump in his tub::
McEneaneyL: There's plenty of room, and it's warm.
Arin Tirent: ::a sigh of relief from her breast as she walks into the steam
Arin Tirent: filled room, slow liesurly gait and the tail of that white robe
Arin Tirent: flying behind her, exposing lightly tanned smoothen legs::
Golden Eyed Drow: * she shakes her head a as she reaches into her pack she placed beside the tub and brings
Golden Eyed Drow: out her book of elven runes and begins to study it *
AeNaRionRE: ::he sighed as he sat on the bench alone, waiting for someone to notice him::
McEneaneyL: ::eats his own feces::
XAprilmoonX: um..no im fine over here
AeNaRionRE: ::he looked about the room, glancing at everyone and a few tubs::
Jester26MN: :::hopes that's chocolate McEneaney is eating:::
McEneaneyL: You dont know what youre missing, babe.
XAprilmoonX: ::mutters:: i dont think i wanna know......
McEneaneyL: Hey Golden. What are you reading?
Jester26MN: ::::a tall handsome man enters the room, wearing a red fur cape...just for show:::
Jester26MN: ::::takes off his cape, revealing his chiseled torso, broad shoulders, muscled chest:::
Arin Tirent: ::a thin line skin patched with colors of a tropical sunset
Arin Tirent: where her bikini lies against her::
Golden Eyed Drow: * slides down in the tub untill the water reaches her chin as she continues to read her
Golden Eyed Drow: book*
Jester26MN: ::::thinking he looks quite dashing thank you very much:::
Veshara: ::she enters, her luscious lips curved in an innocent smile, her eyes blinking as she g
Veshara: glances around::
XAprilmoonX: ::looks over to Jester, then leans back in her tub and closes her eyes::
MimiTachikawa17: ::walks in in a blue bikini with sparkles on it::
McEneaneyL: ::soaps up, letting his loofah sponge run over his chiselled muscles::
Jester26MN: :::sees Veshara enter, appreaching her luscious lips in a not that innocent smile:::
AeNaRionRE: ::he smiled at Veshra as she entered, he sat on the bench::
McEneaneyL: ::begins masturbating::
McEneaneyL: HI VESHRA!!!
SharonLoganX: ::::watches the room with her green eyes::
Veshara: ::has to go dang it::
McEneaneyL: Veshra, wait!!!
MimiTachikawa17: ::walks to an empty tub::
McEneaneyL: Hi Mimi
Lrd Pyrne: (::Just... Sits here and observes::)
MimiTachikawa17: ::slides inside::
Arin Tirent: ::as she passes a the pegs on the wall, that robe is shrugged
Arin Tirent: off and tossed carelessly onto one, lushous curves in all the
Arin Tirent: right places, and her hips sway gracefully with the movement
Arin Tirent: of those long legs::
McEneaneyL: ::his golden locks drape to his elven face, creating a soggy halo::
Jester26MN: :::notes Arin's long luscious legs and womanly hips::::
AeNaRionRE: ::he turned his head and looked to Arin and smiled to her, hoping to catch her gaze::
Jester26MN: ::::wondering where the ice water is at::::suddenly needing to chew ice:::
McEneaneyL: ::waves his 18 inch penis at Arin::
McEneaneyL: Hey Arin
Golden Eyed Drow: * tries not to laugh at all the men in the room with their mouths dropped open as they stare
Golden Eyed Drow: all the girls who walk in the door.. then goes back to reading her book*
McEneaneyL: Check this out
AeNaRionRE: ::he aproached Arin with a light smile:: Hello
McEneaneyL: ::begins sucking his own 18 inch penis::
Arin Tirent: ::long dark lashes fell over those oceanic blues not once,
Arin Tirent: but twice as she smiled to the patrons of the room::
SharonLoganX: ::shakes her head slowly at the spectacle::
Lrd Pyrne: ::A somewhat shaky entrance was made by him as he weaved bacd forth through the doorway, dan
Lrd Pyrne: gerously unbalanced.. Legs meanding in either direction, he manages to dazedly take up a sea
Lrd Pyrne: t on the edge of a tub, shaking his head with a small sigh::
SharonLoganX: ::pushes her hair back,layes her head on her hair as a pillow::
AeNaRionRE: ::he stood before Arin:: How are you m'lady?
Arin Tirent: ::a bemused glance at the poor guy fiddling with his dick and
Arin Tirent: then she retied the thin strings on one hip::
McEneaneyL: ::stands up, walks over to Golden::
Arin Tirent: very well and ye m'lord?
BlueMist713: ::and she made her way to the door, kneeling slowly:: May this slave girl enter?
Lrd Pyrne: Come in.
McEneaneyL: ::slaps Golden in the face with his 18 inch penis::
Jester26MN: ::::takes out his rubber duckie at his hip::::
AeNaRionRE: ::he sighs:: not to well I suppose
McEneaneyL: You like that, Golden?
Jester26MN: Says to BlueMist. Hey...slave girl. You may enter but come over here!
Jester26MN: :::waving her over:::
SharonLoganX: ::looks at Lrd:;
Golden Eyed Drow: * looks up from her book as she is slapped and chuckles* maybe if it was a little bit
Golden Eyed Drow: bigger .. *goes back to reading her book*
Arin Tirent: oh, whys that? ::her attentions switched to the other hip
Arin Tirent: making sure those were also secured::
McEneaneyL: ::jumps into tub with Golden::
BlueMist713: ::she looked to jester, making her way over to him::
McEneaneyL: ::puts his arm around Golden, throwing her book into the water::
AeNaRionRE: I have been lonely all night
Jester26MN: :::smiles up to her:::: So are you anyone's particular slave girl?
Jester26MN: Because I have been looking for a slave girl for a while now.
BlueMist713: No.. My lord.
Lrd Pyrne: ::A msall mutter as arms were raised above his head and fingers locked together, the joints
Lrd Pyrne: popping audibly as he groaned nuder his breath::
Lrd Pyrne: *Small
Jester26MN: (i.e. since birth)
Jester26MN: MmmmHmmm. Well why don't you jump in and begin your duties by giving me a back massage.
Golden Eyed Drow: * looks to the one who seems to have made himself at home in her tub * can I help you with
Golden Eyed Drow: something
McEneaneyL: Golden, let's "do it"
XAprilmoonX: ::adjusts the top off her blue bikini::
McEneaneyL: And I mean that in the Biblical sense
Arin Tirent: oh, im sorry ::her gaze wandered to the open tubs::
McEneaneyL: April, you can join us
XAprilmoonX: not if you payed me
BlueMist713: ... ::she nodded::
Golden Eyed Drow: * lokos at him and bust out laughing* not if your life depended on it .. Now get out of
XAprilmoonX: net even if you payed me*
Arin Tirent: ::laughs::
Golden Eyed Drow: my tub
Golden Eyed Drow: looks*
McEneaneyL: ::Farts, creating his own personal jacuzzi.::
AeNaRionRE: ::he laughs lightly:: yes you, you seemed like a you would be a pleasure for company
McEneaneyL: ::the smell of his personal jacuzzi wafts over the room::
XAprilmoonX: ::looks away and closes her eyes::
McEneaneyL: So APril
McEneaneyL: Do you enjoy "doing it"?
Arin Tirent: ::shrugs as it still is and moves to dip a toe into the water::
XAprilmoonX: dont talk to mr
AeNaRionRE: My name is Isaac by the way :;he bows his head in respect::
Arin Tirent: hmm can tell that just by looks?
Golden Eyed Drow: * grabs her things and hopps out of her tub and moves to another one not carring if it has
Golden Eyed Drow: anyone in it or not *
MimiTachikawa17: ::closes her eyes::
Arin Tirent: a pleasure Isaac...I am Airianna
McEneaneyL: My name is Lord Leppy
Crimson Chimera: ::a red-skinned chimera enters and moves into the shadows, as per usual::
XAprilmoonX: good for you
SSC McCAFF: ::Slides into a nearby tub::
McEneaneyL: ::urinates on the chimera::
Jester26MN: :::looking up as Sharon stands, admining her bikini -- more to the point...her body dripping
Jester26MN: with water:::
Lrd Pyrne: ::A glance right and a glance left before he pushes away from the tub he'd been leaning agai
AeNaRionRE: ::he raises a brow:: that is a lovely name you have
SharonLoganX: ::steps out,grabbing a towel::
Katala Aarym: ::braides her long brown hair, a few strands fall beside her eyes::
McEneaneyL: ::gets out of the tub, walks over to April::
Katala Aarym: :;she walks out::
McEneaneyL: ::gives her a big hug::
Friday, April 04, 2003
The Liam McEneaney Experience nabs an interview with Todd Barry
Todd Barry is an incredibly accomplished comedian: Not only is he a Lower East Side alternative comedy institution, he is a touring headliner who appears all over the world. His many credits include a Comedy Central Presents half-hour special, numerous appearances on the Late Night with Conan O'Brien show, The Late Show with David Letterman, Dr. Katz, The Howard Stern Show, and on and on. He has appeared several times at the Aspen Comedy Festival, where he was judged Best Comedian at the Festival in 1997.
He runs a consistently sold-out show, Tinkle. with fellow alt. comedy faves David Cross and Jon Benjamin.
A: i won that award in aspen in 1998, not '97.
Q: Thanks for doing this interview, Todd. First question: What are you wearing right now?
A: i'm wearing the same crisp brooks brothers shirt and gray corduroys i wore last night.
Q: You've been a comedian for about fifteen years. What was the first real success you had that made you say, "Wow, I'm a real comedian now, I'm finally making it"?
A: any sign of success is tempered by the fact that i'm doing an interview for a blog.
Q: What is the craziest act you've shared a bill with?
A: the beatles.
Q: What's the Todd Barry writing process like? Do you sit down and allot a certain amount of time for writing, or do you just jot down ideas as they come to you?
A: is that how you spell "a lot?" oh, my writing process. i just jot things down as they come to me.
Q: How has your act changed since you first started?
A: not a bit.
Q: What was your worst road experience?
A: working with you at catch a rising star in princeton, new jersey.
Q: We're halfway through the interview, so why don't you plug something right here:
Q: What's in Todd Barry's CD player right now?
A: imperial teen -seasick
Q: I have a friend who wants you to know that she's ugly and has a crush on you. What do you look for in a special lady?
A: i dig ugly chicks. i dig them.
Q: What would you say is your catch-phrase? (ie, Seinfeld has "What's the deal with...?" and Jimmy "J. J." Walker has, "Kid Dyn-o-mite!")
A: my catch phrase is " leave me alone,liam."
Q: Do you have any plans for a sitcom?
A: no plans.
Q: The reason I ask is I had this idea for a show called "Todd-Da!," where you play a detective who has to go undercover as a magician on cruise ships to solve crimes. Kind of like "Murder She Wrote" meets "The Love Boat." Is this the kind of thing that strikes your fancy?
A: wow. now i DO have plans for a sitcom.
Q: Are you a dog guy or a cat guy?
A: i've never owned a dog. i like cats. they're all cute and shit. i like to scratch their little kitty heads.
Q: At www.toddbarry.com, you're selling your album, "Medium Energy." I enjoyed it a lot, but tell the readers why they should buy it.
A: they should buy it because you like it. LOL!!!!!
Q: Thanks again for doing this interview.
A: fuck off.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
I used to think I wanted a threesome.
Now I realize that all I want is to be able to tell my friends that I had a threesome.
I don't want two women to sleep with me, I just want two women to corroborate my story.
A lot of women are cool with going Dutch on a date; splitting the costs of meals and stuff.
One kind of woman who youshould never suggest that to: a prostitute.
"but baby, you enjoyed that handjob as much as I did."
I work hard at improving my comedy, and I'm known to maybe dozens of people across the country.
There's a guy who is known to millions of people across the country as "Sal the Stockbroker" because he has the ability to call the Howard Stern Show every day.
A guy started a sentence the other day with the phrase, "So I was talking to my buddy about Sal the Stockbroker the other day . . ."
The only thing I would hate more than talking about Sal the Stockbroker, was if the person I was talking to was Sal the Stockbroker.
311 IS A JOKE
No really, it is kind of a joke.
The NYPD now has a Quality of Life hotline - 311.
How does that phone call go?
"311, non-emergency line."
"Calm down ma'am."
"Yes, there's a nightclub down the street whose patrons are very noisy."
"OK ma'am, well have a car there in two or three weeks."
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
(I can't think of a good title.*)
Follow a lane, through the brush and trees'
Green and growing branches, with the humid breeze.
Now find this cabin built of wood
In the grave of a former holy grove
Where once a cove of oak trees stood.
Around, in a grass-and-flower-strewn clearing,
Where once there had been no human hearing,
The birds singing as through green leaves they fly,
To hanging branches dangling low
Outside the window of the bedroom where we lie.
Our cabin is three rooms, six windows made of glass,
Walls of timber from the neighboring pass.
And standing guard over my only treasure - She
Who makes a prince of a soul this poor -
There stands a door that was once an old oak tree.
The air is cotton-thick, and soon swells damp.
She crosses the room to light a lamp
As the sun fades into a dark and thwarted moon.
Now comes an angry rumbling just beyond hearing,
To cleave the clearing; a storm coming soon.
Now arrives a soft, persistent rain,
Tip-tip-tapping with its fingernail upon the pane.
And knocking upon the cabin door;
That stalwart knight made of massive wood,
Of oak that once stood guard over the forest floor.
The air turns thicker, starts to swelter,
Birds quit singing, fly to shelter,
The wind through the hissing forest prowls
Like a hungry wolf on its hunting paws,
Throws open its foaming jaws - and howls.
We huddle beneath this blanket hand in hand,
As the rain's angry fists pound the land.
Glass windows with the wind are humming,
And singing with a scared refrain.
The tattoo of the rain on the wood roof drumming.
The window glass screams as it takes a lashing
From angry leaves sharp and slashing.
The loud guns of thunder with a smoking crack,
The loud guns of thunder with a god's light flashing
A pine tree crashing to die upon its back.
And in reply, the wind gives a raging moan,
Trees scratch with bare branches of bone,
Like demons to drag us to the depths of hell.
Demons with clashing, desperate hands,
But still the oak door stands - a lone and lonely sentinel.
Pine sap flows into the ground like blood,
Angry fists punching into the mud.
And grab these wooden walls, begin to shaking,
Now come to collect what they have lost,
Thunder tossed will now be taking.
The drumming and the thunder and the wind a' shrieking,
And in this sanctuary no space for speaking.
These walls wrenched by mighty hands.
But through this bloody banshee call,
And through it all, and through it all, the oak door stands.
And we, under our blanket, sit afraid,
Until the howls and the drumming and the fury fade,
Until a ray of sun peeks through the glass,
And the wind's fierce pounding fades to patter
And the birds chatter as they, flitting, pass.
* An argument could be made that I can't think of a good poem either.
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
"The barred owl is not a little bitch like the spotted owl, and it can take a few loggers walking around here and there without keeling over and dying."
There are people who engage in master/slave relationships - one person makes another wear a collar and barks orders and humiliates them.
The thing is, when you're a slave in a relationship like that, it must be really awkward when you have to break up with your master:
"Yeah, I don't know, it's not really you, it's just that you're making me feel good about myself. Like when you made me crawl in front of your friends and eat out of a dog bowl, it just didn't make me feel bad. That time you made me cum on a piece of bread and then eat it, it just felt right, you know? I didn't feel bad at all, you know? It made me happy."
Do you think that when people are in that kind of relationship and they get into a fight, they try to make each other happy?
It's like, "Did you just call my mom a bitch? Well here's some chocolate ice cream and a soft pillow. Oh no, you're going to get a backrub and like it, asshole."
And what constitutes a "problem" in a relationship where one person is bent on humiliating the other? Like is there going too far, like, "Oh no you didn't just try to put a flea collar on me. A studded leather collar, yes, because I'm a dirty little worm, not infested."
I actually was in a relationship like that, but my girlfriend was only into emotional humiliation. She was always saying things like, "All right, now be seen in public with me."
It must be really confusing when you're a couple that's into that, and you also own a dog.
You're always saying things like, "No! Don't eat out of that bowl! That's a people bowl! You eat out of your dog bowl."
When you get the order to "Beg!" and you're dog does it too.
I WISH I WAS KIDDING
This is my idea of an appropriate way to end a date:
"I had a really good time. I'd love to do this again."
"Really? You'd go out with me again?"
"Seriously? You would go out with me again."
"Yes I would."
"Okay, so what you're saying is that you - an attractive, interesting young woman - would go out with me - Liam McEneaney - again."
"Uh, I think so."
"Okay great, I'll give you a call. *God I'm such a fucking idiot. Why did I do that?*"
"Liam, I'm still here."
"Oh - heh heh. All right, well, have a great night. *God I'm an idiot.*"
"Liam, you're still talking out loud."
"Hi I'm Al Michaels."
"I'm Keith Hernandez."
"I'm the Mad Dog. And for the next three-and-a-half hours we're going to review Liam's date."
"We'll look at it play-by-play. I must say, this was really one for the blooper reel."
"And we'll be taking your calls at (800) 660-WFAN."
"Doris from Rego Park, you're on."
"Liam hasn't produced since his rookie year. He should be traded for that Korean kid from San Francisco."
"Uh, Liam, what's going on?"
"You seem to have gotten stuck inside my head."
"Liam, why is the inside of your head an episode of Inside Schwartz?"
"I'm not a very original thinker."
"CHEERS to CBS' Dan Rather for maintaining a grave demeanor during recent newscasts, avoiding the almost fetishistic glee infecting so many wartime newscasters. JEERS to Liam McEneaney's tortured subconscious for using a tired device that takes the most hackneyed, unentertaining parts of Inside Schwartz and Herman's Head, and somehow ruin them."
"Liam, TV Guide's Cheers & Jeers section is reviewing you personally?"
"Actually, Tom Shales gave me a good review in the Washington Post - "
"Liam, stop this blog entry right now."
"All this meta-comedy is annoying. Why can't you just create normal characters and situations?"
"What do you mean 'meta-comedy'?"
"You know, the way you're using this blog entry to comment on itself more than advance an idea or joke."
"That's not fair. I'm just taking something that's true and heightening it."
"No you're not. You're using me to comment on the fact that your 'joke,' as it were, is similar to a sitcom that wasn't very good."
"No, it's annoying. I mean, everyone got the point four paragraphs ago. Instead of taking six seconds to find a logical ending, you've just extended this further than necessary."
"Don't worry, no one read past the S&M jokes."
"See? You're doing it again."
"Okay, so how do I end this gracefully?"
"What you need is a punchline."
"Uh-oh. We passed the point of a punchline a long time ago."
"Okay, I really hate to do this, but it seems like I've got no other choice."
"Now don't do anything crazy."
"I've gotta do it."
"Okay. Let me just brace myself. *inhale, then sigh* OK, just get it over with."
"Here we go. Ahem. Knock knock."
"Don't cry, I didn't mean to scare you."
"Excellent, nice punchline. You know, I think this turned out pretty well, all in all. Would you like to do another blog entry with me some time?"