Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Here's a New Year's Thought:
I'm not a very cultured person. In fact, I believe that "Beat Poet" is a really good idea.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Click here for my on-line calendar of upcoming shows.
"Took an untrodden path once,
Where the swift don't win the race.
It goes to the worthy,
Who can divide the word of truth.
- Bob Dylan, I and I
"Florence, if dating didn't suck,
No one would ever get married."
- Florence Yoo, If I Ever Fall In Love Again
Actually, the story of how I tried this joke out last night is way funnier than the joke itself:
I don't go on blind dates. Because blind dates are really a reflection of how your friends see you.
It's like your friends are saying, "How desperate and lonely is this guy? I bet Liam's sad enough to go out with the bearded lady."
And you have to be nice about their friends the next day:
"Jen was really nice. And that third arm came in really handy carrying popcorn at the movie."
I wrote this joke last night at the Bowery Poetry Club waiting to go on. Now, working the door at the Bowery Poetry Club was a man I recognized as Eek. Eek's an interesting cat - a huge guy with tattoos all over his body, he works at the Coney Island Sideshow during the summer as the Strongman and the Human Blockhead and other myriad sideshow attractions. I've actually seen him at work. Nice guy, and I'm not just saying that because he could rip me limb from limb if he chose.
As an aside: If you have to have someone working the door at the club, make sure it's the sideshow strongman. Lord, I've never seen anyone keep rowdy drunks quiet in the back quite like that guy.
So I'm onstage, and I'm telling the above Classic in the Pantheon of American Humour in the Tradition of Twain and Irving, and as I'm getting through the second line I realize, "Oh shit, there's actually a friend of the Bearded Lady in the audience."
And sure enough, when I get to that punchline, he takes noisy and angry exception. Now, I don't know if you've ever been heckled by a Strongman before, but I advise that you handle it by politely and quickly ignoring it and not really getting too confrontational.
It was cool - afterwards he apologized. I wasn't really that mad; it was a perfect entry in the annals of "Liam Creates An Awkward Moment Onstage" history.
for other people
No need to thank me - I'm just lookin' out for ya:
* If I have a job that requires me to be within fifteen feet of other human beings, I will bathe and launder my clothes on a regular basis.
- In addition, I understand that wearing a lot of cologne or perfume is not an appropriate substitute for bathing.
* If I am having relationship problems, I will leave them at home. This is especially true if my job involves serving the public. No one wants to have to console a crying woman before they can have dinner.
* AIDS jokes are never funny in groups larger than three. I will remember this at parties.
* Performing comedy is not a substitute for therapy. Performing comedy is not a substitute for therapy. Performing comedy is not a substitute for therapy. I will spend money on a therapist.
* If I call someone five straight days in a row without hearing back from them, they will probably not start replying to my e-mails.
* Just because I am nuerotic and hate my parents does not mean "I'm really Jewish inside." I will accept that many Jews find this an insulting idea and not try to argue them out of it.
* If I own more than two cats in an apartment, I will recognize that it is sad, and will only mention it in conversation as a cry for help.
* If I am more than twenty years older than my girlfriend, I will not complain about getting odd stares on the street and expect a sympathetic response. I am considered sreepy because I am creepy.
* If I have been naked on The Howard Stern Show, it is because something went wrong with my life. I will not try to impress people in bars with this.
* If I'm dating a stripper, I can go three sentences in a conversation without mentioning this fact. I know I haven't, but I'm going to give it a try.
* Everyone loves my little kids. Except in these situations:
- At an 11:00 pm showing of a scary movie. I will hire a babysitter.
- At the office. I will hire a babysitter.
- Answering the phone. No one has ever ever ever called a house to talk to a seven year-old kid; it's a little hard to carry on a conversation. If I'm not home and the kid is allowed to answer the phone, I will fire the babysitter.
Monday, December 29, 2003
This New Year's Eve, I'm going to do what I do every year -
Go to a party and wonder who's out there having a better time than me.
Every year, I go to a party and think - "Okay, who got invited to a better party and didn't tell me?"
And I stand there, going, "Oh God, let's see, Chris is here, Dan's here, Bob's here - Jim isn't here. Where the hell is Jim? He's at some model's house ight now having a better time with stronger drinks and cooler people! Sone of a bitch. Son of a bitch. I thought we were friends. That son of a bitch. I knew he was holding out on me. Son of a bitch. Next time I see him, I'm going to really let him know exactly what I think of him, that son of a bitch."
Then a few days later, I run itno him: "So JIm, how was your New Year's?...You had the flu huh? THANK GOD! Whew! That's the best news I've heard all day. Thank you thank y - I mean, that's terrible. I'm sorry to hear that."
Q: What did the nurse say when the doctor performed surgery on his own gallbladder?
A: Suture self!
A couple of nights ago, I was walking through Lower Manhattan - the fashionable Soho/Tribeca district - when I was set upon by a trio of confused, would-be scenesters:
GUY: How do we get to Broadway?
And I got to reply: Practice.
WOMAN: Practice what?
ME: Practice getting to Broadway.
WOMAN (nodding as if she understood): Oh.
Friday, December 26, 2003
Remember to always be unfailingly polite as you show utter contempt for those around you.
Also when talking to old people be loud, slow, and patronizing.
Preach virtue even when the woman everyone knows to be your mistress is in the room.
A wide smile doesn't have to mask hostility. Rather, it can enhance it.
And always remember:
If it was a good idea, you would have thought of it first.
When I was a kid (in the '80s) my parents has HBO. This was back when they owned about four movies and played them all the time. You could turn on HBO day or night, and be guaranteed to either say "Hey Wholly Moses is on again, I've only seen this twenty times" or "Hey CHUD is on again, I've only seen this twenty times."
One of the movies they always showed was Runaway. Runaway was the movie with the brilliant premise: "How much cooler would Blade Runner have been if it starred Tom Selleck instead of Harrison Ford?"
Anyway no matter when I turned that movie on it would always be at the scene where the lady with the big bazoombas would be taking a topless shower. I thought it was the greatest movie ever.
In fact looking back on it, I suspect that HBO only played that shower scene over and over again.
Other HBO movies:
The Making of Return of the Jedi
Behind the Scenes of Wholly Moses
A Look at CHUD
The Making of Midnight Madness
Behind the Scenes of the Making of Return of the Jedi
Behind the Scenes of Runaway
Emmit Otter's Jugband Christmas
Thursday, December 25, 2003
The director of my one-man show last year. He never actually came to see the show, but he always made sure to ask how it had gone.
He made a very funny video, Monster in a Wheelchair. Enjoy it, especially the letterbox format which - I'm guessing - preserves the aspect ratio of its original theatrical release.
I got tix to see 42nd Street through my friend Kambri's promotional company.
Kambri isn't convinced that I can scare up a date in the month before the show. I don't know what's sadder - that even my friends believe that about me - or that they're right.
So ladies, who wants to be my arm candy?
My mom made turkey and duck for Christmas Dinner, and about a ton of bread.
Work was about as bad I suspected it would be. Apparently yesterday was Christmas Eve. I didn't know that, but luckily all the people I called were more than happy to tell me.
One woman was really angry, she actually asked me, "Why do you want to work on Christmas Eve?"
Gee, I guess because with my family background, it isn't a holiday unless people are yelling at me and making me feel bad about myself.
In fact, this isn't really a job for me, it's a haobby. I don't get paid to do this. I had to call all over the city all morning until I found a place that would let me call folks and ask them about their urinary problems on Christmas.
Also, my landlord doesn't give me a "holiday discount" because I don't feel like I should have to work on Christmas.
Actually, I did say that thing to her about the landlord and the holiday discount, and she got quiet and said, "Oh, well you can call back another day."
Yes! I got a a woman to feel guilty about my shitty job! All right!
Because that's what the holidays are really about:
Guilt, family, pretending to care about those less fortunate than yourself.
...And that's - one to grow on.
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Here's a random non-holiday thought:
Did you ever talk to an old person and halfway thorugh you realize that they are not senile, but they were probably just as dumb when they were younger?
This guy sitting next to me at work apparently has all these ideas for making bumper stickers.
It made mthink of what I would write if I was creating my own bumper stickers:
* I stink, therefore I am lonely.
* Don't blame me, I voted for hairy Bush.
* My other car has an identical bumper sticker.
* WARNING: Driver probably peeing into bottle.
* Official Douchemobile of the 2008 Summer Olympics.
* Objects in windshield may be closer than they appear.
* Merry-Go-Round operators do it with little kids.
* Dead hooker on board.
Monday, December 22, 2003
I'm currently holding a day job as a market-research interviewer, calling people at home and asking them survey questions. I need the money.
You can imagine how unhappy people are to hear from me.
Well, I just found out we'll be working Christmas Eve.
I smell "Worst Christmas Ever!"
Why child, they come from people too lazy to think of something new to do.
In that vein, I present my annual holiday tradition:
'TIS THE SEASON
Have you ever listened to the song "The Twelve Days of Christmas"? It tells quite a little story:
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.
Gee, honey, a tree. Just what I needed in a one-room apartment. Oh, look, a bird. How nice. Did you get me a cage for it? No? it just lives in the tree. How darling.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtle doves.
Oh, look, more birds. O boy . . . I love birds. Great. Did you happen to buy me bird food? No? How about something to clean up all the partridge poop?
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three French hens.
You know, I love chicken, it's delicious, but how unique. You didn't uh, dress it, or clean it or anything. They're still alive as a matter of fact. Mmmmm, maybe you could - oh, they're pets. How great. No, of course I love my gifts.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, four calling birds.
Goddammit, these fucking birds are loud. Did you happen to buy me some bird food - no? More birds. And these are so noisy I won't be able to sleep. Let me tell you something asshole, if I get any more birds from you, we're through.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, five golden rings.
Oh honey, I love you.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, six geese a'laying.
Great, now I've got these goddamn geese in my computer paper laying eggs all over everything. And if I get near tyhem, they attack me.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me, seven swans a swimming.
Jesus H. Christ, are you out of your fucking mind?!!! There's birds in my bathtub. What the hell is it with you and these - I know I told you I liked birds! I meant on a pattern, or maybe a canary. Get out of my house! Get out of my life!
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, eight maids a'milking.
Hello, is Jim there? Jim, this is Charlene. Yeah, I'm calling about this last present you sent me. Look, why are there eight women with cows squirting milk all over my living room? You know I"m lactose intolerant. What do you mean I can't get rid of them? What do you mean, you ordered them from the Phillipenes out of a catalogue? I don't care, just get rid of them right now!!!
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, nine ladies dancing.
I don't care if I wanted you to take me to the ballet, this is ridiculous. Let me tell you something, my lawyer and I are going to court today to get a restraining order. And as soon as I can figure out a way to get the Bolshoi Ballet back to Russia, my borthers are coming over there to break your head!!!
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, ten lords a' leaping.
First of all, the judge said that your trafficking in human slave labor is illegal and disgusting. Second of all, if you send me one more gift, you're going to jail. Third of all, I guess you know who I expect to pay for the repairs to my ceiling from all these lords jumping all overt the place on their trampolines and cracking their heads.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me, eleven pipers piping.
Dear Mr. Bronson;
My client, Ms. Charlene Anderson wants it known that you are hereby ordered to cease and desist your pattern of aggravated harassment. Mr. MacCullogh, and His Scotland Pipers, though they have been ordered out of her apartment, continue to play outside her window at all hours, quote, "Bicase, that iz whut wi've bin paid fir, and that iz whet wi're ginna do." Enclosed is another copy of the restraining order placed against you ...
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, twelve drummers drumming.
Jim, I must thank you for sending over Mbutu and His South African All Stars. We are to marry at once, and take this crazy menagerie of animals out to Virginia, where we will start a farm using the money from them rings I pawned yesterday. Thanks for the present, and I'll send you a postcard to let you know how we're doing.
Saturday, December 20, 2003
After months of feuding and compromise, architects David Child and Daniel Liebskind submitted a design guaranteed to please no one. What bugs me about the design:
* It sucks. It doesn't fit in with the rest of New York's architecture schemes at all. It looks more like something some stupid Midwestern housewife would put on her mantlepiece next to her Precious Moments figurine.
* Those don't look like buildings. They look like Ghost Buildings; the souls of departed office buildings. It's creepy.
* What happens when they get dirty, as everything in New York does after a while?
These almost make me hope they're the target of terrorist attacks.
God do I hate these building designs. Boo.
Long live Garfield: The Movie!
From the terrible "Frisky Business" pun to the Elvis impression (seriously, someone got paid a half-million to sit at their computer and think of that), this looks like a movie so terrible I must see it on opening night a la Kangaroo Jack.
It's like someone said, "Hey, Garfield was an icon of the '80s. Let's create a vehicle for him recreating the worst movie excesses of the that time!"
Also, if you're going to create a CGI version of a cartoon dog, why do you feel the need to go for realism? Heck, why not make it just a little, well, cartoony?
Check out New Yorkish.
It has lots of cool stuff - humour, news, random stuff to read.
Friday, December 19, 2003
A couple weeks ago, I got out of work at midnight and decided to blow off some steam.
Luckily, I remembered that Tropix - the bar in my neighborhood - had hung a very classy sign in its window; a piece of bright orange construction paper, written in black magic marker the words: "KARAOKE TUESDAY! HOSTED BY JONNY JINGLE!"
Well, even if you can resist karaoke's siren song (sung by a drunken businessman), how can you resist karaoke hosted by Jonny Jingle? I can't?
Tropix is a nice little bar, dark with exposed brick and pretty bartenders. Apparently, the owners decided to forgo the usual Queens Boulevard "dark stains and seven depressed neighborhood guys watching a sports game while drinking Buds" motif that characterizes most Queens Boulevard bars.
I walked in, bought a drink, sat down on a stool, opened the songbook. I am immediately engaged in conversation by my neighbor to the right - a doughy middle-aged woman with a big brown wart on her lip. I'm assuming it was a big brown wart, as I didn't want to stare hard enough to make it out in the dark of the bar.
It took me about six seconds to realize that she had been drinking quite a bit. Quite a bit. Then she started hitting on me:
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm going to sing karaoke."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"I'm (I FORGET HER NAME. SORRY). What's your name?"
"That's an Irish name."
"Yes it is."
That's when I resorted to the desperate-to-engage-an-audience-member-comedian's best conversational tool:
"What do you do for a living?"
"You'll think I'm lying."
"Okay, forget it."
"I'm a counselor in a rehab center."
"You're kind of a bad role model for your patients."
"Because you're drunk."
Then she decides to start a conversation with the guy seated a stool away form me. She she reaches over me and taps him on the shoulder and starts talking across me. After a minute I realize that she's trying to make me jealous.
He kind of breaks it off with her, which is lucky for me, because now she can concentrate her conversation on me when I come back from giving Jonny Jingle my song selection.
"Have you ever been with a black guy?"
"What? Have I ever..."
"Been with a black guy?"
"Uh, no, why?"
"It is? Why?"
"Do you want to kiss me?"
(beat) "Uh no, sorry."
"Oh. Well, I'm going outside to smoke now."
"Okay, have fun."
"I'm going to smoke outside."
I go sit down on a couch. When she comes back from smoking, she sits down next to me, trying to engage me in conversation. I stare into middle distance until my song is called. (Desperado.)
When I'm done, I go back to the couch. She's gone to smoke again. I sit down on the couch, and put my hand down on it. My hand lands in a small sticky puddle. I withdraw my hand, then gingerly put a finger in to make sure I hadn't imagined it (I'm only human, give me a break.)
I stood up and my foot slipped in anotherp uddle on the floor under the cushion my hand had landed in that puddle in.
I go sit at the bar. She comes back in and joins me:
"What's your name?"
"Uh, my name's Seamus. What's yours?"
"I'm (I FORGET HER NAME. SORRY.). Nice to meet you."
"Uh, yeah, nice to meet you too. What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a counselor at a rehab center."
"Wow, you're kind of a bad role model for your clients."
Then I get up and wander away and sit at the other end of the bar. After a minute she follows me:
"So, are you going to buy me a drink?"
"Because I don't want to enable you."
"I live around here."
"Yeah. Right around the corner."
"Yeah. Real wacky."
She starts talking to two guys on her other side, and they buy her a shot to get rid of her.
Then I do another song and get the hell out of there.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
About being both Jewish and Irish. Poeple actually approach me after shows and say, "You know what would be funny? If you said, my mom is Jewish and my dad is Irish. I drink wholesale!" And then look at me waiting for the laugh. It's like that scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen is staring at the comedian doing the "French routine" and hating himself for not being able to tell the guy off.
Well, I've written one to get those guys off my back. Here goes:
My mom is Jewish my dad is Irish. Which is cool, because it means that I'm both depressed and suicidal.
The Jewish side wants to pay a psychiatrist ninety dollars an hour to listen to my problems.
My Irish side says I can save money by calling him my drinking buddy and buying him a beer.
The best gift of the night, in my opinion, was a pair of boxer shorts from this store.
Yes, a lucky guy received a pair of boxers with a picture of me looking like a psycho.
Santa got me a Jew's Harp and an Irish Whistle. (Because I'm Jewish and Irish.) Which is very cool, because finally I can fulfill my dream of being a hobo. I already have the clothes.
Numbered so you can easily rate them!
1) I don't really get on-line dating. I live in New York. If I need to find someone to murder me, I don't have to go to Match.com - I can go up to the South Bronx.
2) Why spend money to meet people I'm going to hate? I see them every day at work.
3) I want to start a dating site and call it something like www.beergoggles4u.com. How it would work is, you would sign up and post your photo and profile, which would immediately be replaced by a centerfold and questionairre from Playboy.
4) How do these couples who met online plan to explain to their kids how they met?
"Well honey, once upon a time there was a woman named Pamela Anderson, and daddy was tired of looking for new pictures of her. Mommy had a history of finding men who hit her, and wanted to meet a man who shared her passion for sitting at and staring at a tiny screen for hours at a time..."
5) Internet dating is just sad. It's like window-shopping at the Salvation Army. The quality of choice is a tad poor, but it is in my price range.
6) They say there's a nut for every bolt. But online, there seems to be nothing but nuts.
Monday, December 15, 2003
BUSH TEAM SOLVES CRISIS BUSH TEAM CREATED
"Just in time for the election cycle? What a craaazy coinkydink!" exults John Ashcroft
Who wants to invite me to a party???
1. Tori Amos - Me and the Gun
2. Elton John - Goodbye English Rose
3. Coven - ONE TIN SOLDIER (The Legend of Billy Jack)
4. Sinead O'Connor - Untitled Rape Poem That Ends 'I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got'
5. Neil Young - [Four Dead In] Ohio
6. The Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo de Silos - Ritmo: Puer natus in Bethlehem (modo i)
7. Soundtrack - Dr. Who Theme
8. Joe Locke - Suicide is Painless
9. Dylan Thomas - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
10. "Weird" Al Yankovic - Nature Trail To Hell
Why don't I get invited to more parties?
Sunday, December 14, 2003
Okay, it was Jerry Springer. My excuse: It was what was on the laundromat TV.
Anyway, it had a commercial for Massage Therapy school. And one of their selling points was: "Be a respected medical professional!"
Are massage therapists really "respected medical professionals?"
I have a lot of respect for cardiac surgeons, but I don't think a heart doctor's ever offered to "top off" a bypass with a "happy ending" for forty bucks extra.
I think that if you want to be a respected anything, you shouldn't call a number sandwiched between an Ambulance Chaser and Refrigerator Repair courses.
"How'd you get into Harvard Medical School?"
"Funny you should ask. I was watching Blind Date one night when I saw this ad. The next day, I quit my job telemarketing for Sprint and signed up!"
Warning: Boring pontificating ahead!
And by the way, if you ever want to see me full-on crying, sit down with me and watch this movie all the way to the end. Sure, constant reruns through the '80s made this movie boring and cliched, but it's still one of the best damned movies ever made.
But it's impossible to watch on network TV. Every time you really start to get into the movie, BLAM! You're hit with commercials. And there's no greater jarring feeling than going from the world of It's a Wonderful Life to the world of commercials. Because Capra's movie is all about how sometimes a man can make a difference, that through selflessness and self-sacrifice and a commitment to community, you can make the world a better place - not just for yourself, but for everyone around you. Even if it means giving up the material goods that make life a little more comfortable.
And then of course, it goes from that into "GRAB LIFE BY THE HORNS! DODGE!" (Actually, at first I thought it said, "Grab life by he horns - God!" As if they were selling God to us that way. Scary.)
The people in the world of commercials are shallow, crass, unfortunate people who can only be made happier if they get MORE THINGS. More tings to buy, more things to weat, more women to fuck, more more more, all in that awful snarky, one-liner style made popular by bad sitcom writers who replace insults with wit.
I couldn't watch it. (To be fair, I also had to leave to go see a play.)
I know I'm going to be completely 100% original and not-at-all trite when I say this: Fuck commercialism, man!
Friday, December 12, 2003
Not because I exercise, but because I try to sacrifice a virgin to it once a month.
Also, because it's constantly being raided by treasure hunters. Too bad my family jewels are protected by a curse: The Curse of the Irish. HEL-lo!
When I write that kind of joke, all I can say to my audience is: YOU'RE WELCOME!
Are now called "Tribute Bands."
They changed their name, because I guess "Cover Band" was too associated with cheesy music, and "Three Balding Guys From Accounting Desperately Cling To Their Adolescence" was too honest.
What I want to know is, what kind of tribute are you paying to Kiss when you have some fat middle-management guy from Massapequa yowling "I Wanna Rock n' Roll All Night (And Party Every Day)" to his drunk(er) friends?
I'm not an alcoholic. Not because I have amazing willpower, but just because I can't afford to be. Alcoholism requires a serious financial commitment that I just can't make right now.
You have to be ready to sit down each and every night of the week and throw down fifty bucks a night. And let's be honest, I've got other financial priorites. Like those crack whores I patronize.
I know what you're going to say, "Liam, you shouldn't patronize crack whores, it ain't healthy."
And all I can say is, if I'm not allowed a superior attitude towards crack whores, I'm not allowed a superior attitude period.
Again: YOU'RE WELCOME!
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Click here to learn all about me.
The chorus went:
"Tonight I'll be rewarded for my sorrow and my shame shame,
My drinking friends elected me to the Alcohol of Fame."
It's called "Alcohol of Fame," by Stonewall Jackson. He also wrote "Pint of No Return" and other classics. Viva la Self-Destructive Behaviour!
I enjoy drinking because it removes my wall of shyness and allows people to see the real asshole inside.
"My friend So-and-So called me the other day and told me, 'Girl, I almost died. I was walking by the road last night and I saw my ex-boyfriend. He told me to come into the woods with him, but something told me not to. The next day, I heard he killed his wife and kid in the woods. I came so close to dying'."
A couple of questions:
A) When, if you are walking alone at night, is it ever a good idea to just casually drop into the woods with a guy. Even if you dated him, when is it bright to just srop what you're doing and take a stroll through the woods?
B) Is that really "coming close to dying"? I mean, I understand it's a bit chilling and all, but it's not like I can say, "Man, I almost was rich but decided not to buy a lottery ticket."
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Who thinks that Paris Hilton isn't "hot?"
She's kind of sallow.
I like that phrase, "falling in love." Because it is a very accurate description.
Because any time you fall into anything, there will be that point you hit bottom hard.
Is awesome. Because I can't tell you how many times I've said, "Man, I really want to meet someone who fits my high high standards, but I just don't have the time to hang out at a Greyhound station."
And Internet dating sites ask all the personal questions like hobbies, job, favorite book.
It's great; it's like you can just skip the part of the date where you lie to each other.
And the photos are good too. But only because I'm into old photos that look nothing like the actual person.
TIP TO THE LADIES: I'm going to actually meet you in person you know. I'll figure out that was an old photo. And I will say something like, "Man you were a lot thinner back when you were helping the Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk."
This is a ROUGH FIRST DRAFT -
We are in a psychiatrist's office. A PATIENT is lying on a couch. A PSYCHIATRIST sits, writing on a pad.
PATIENT: So then I guess I hurt her feelings -
PATIENT: So she asked me, "How do you feel about what I said?"
PSYCHIATRIST: Right right.
PATIENT: So I said "I'm not sure..."
PSYCHIATRIST: Okay. Now you do me.
PATIENT: Uh, what?
PSYCHIATRIST: It's my turn.
PATIENT: Your turn for what?
PSYCHIATRIST: I've been listening to you for what now, a half-hour?
PATIENT: Yeah, but...
PSYCHIATRIST: And some of that was pretty hard going, I tell you.what. That whole thing about your mom...
PSYCHIATRIST: If I hadn't started drinking this morning, I might have gone batshit.
PSYCHIATRIST: That's what we call crazy people behind your back. Anyway, we've got about fifteen minutes left in this session so you do me.
PATIENT: But I'm not a trained psychiatrist -
PSYCHIATRIST (carelessly): Oh, who is?
PATIENT: You are?
PSYCHIATRIST: Uh yeah. Right. So anyway, let's switch places.
PATIENT: But - I - don't -
(The psychiatrist gets up and pulls the patient off the couch. He lies down on the couch, the patient looks around, shrugs, and sits in the psychiatrist's chair. He picks up the pad, looks at it, turns it around. It's completely blank.)
PSYCHIATRIST: I killed a man.
PSYCHIATRIST (ignoring the Patient): Whew, that felt so good to say. I can't tell you how long I've been holding that in. It seems so silly now, but isn't that always the way? (laughs)
PATIENT (standing): You killed a man?
PSYCHIATRIST: He - just - wouldn't - listen.
PATIENT (sitting): Uh huh. Then what happened?
(During the next monologue, the Patient grows more and more uncomfortable. looking desperately around the room. He puts his head in his hand.)
PSYCHIATRIST: It all started when I was just relaxing poolside at the Holiday Inn in Boca. You know, I go to Florida for the holidays, which is why I guess I go to the Holiday Inn ha ha ha. Anyway, my parents live down there, they're retired. Down with the rich old Jews, ha ha ha. Of course, my whole childhood it seemed, we were just migrating. Wandering the wilderness you would say. Not that I want to make it sound so Biblical. I mean, my dad's no Charlton Heston, believe you me ha ha ha. You know, now that I think about it, I've always had this aversion to - I guess you would call it - cold water. I always make sure I get a hotel with a pool, but I never actually use it. I just always end up poolside, not pool-in. I guess, in a way, that's a metaphor for my whole -
PATIENT (looks at his watch): Oh gee, our time is up. So sorry.
(The Psychiatrist jumps up excitedly.)
PSYCHIATRIST: Oh yeah? That's too bad.
(The Patient stands up. The Psychiatrist shakes his hand.)
PSYCHIATRIST: You know, I got to thank you. You really helped me out.
PATIENT: Well, it's your time...
PSYCHIATRIST: So I'll see you next week.
PATIENT: Um, sure.
(The Psychiatrist heads for the door.)
PATIENT: Wait a second.
PSYCHIATRIST: Thanks again.
(The Psychiatrist leaves. The Patient stands there confused for a second, and then sits back down. The Phone rings. The Patient hits a speakerphone button.)
PATIENT: Excuse me, but - ?
RECEPTIONIST (VO): Your ten o'clock is here.
RECEPTIONIST: Mr. Johnson. He has the ten o'clock appointment.
PATIENT: Oh, uh, I guess send him in?
(Another Patient enters.)
PATIENT: Look, I have to tell you something...
ANOTHER PATIENT: I know, I'm late, I'm sorry I got held up in traffic. But if I don't talk to someone I'm going to go -
PATIENT: Batshit crazy?
ANOTHER PATIENT: Exactly.
PATIENT: Look, I have to tell you something -
ANOTHER PATIENT (lies down on the couch): Don't worry, I'll pay you for the full session. Anyway, I had a fight with my girlfriend.
PATIENT: Now hold on a second. (picks up the pen and pad) Okay, go ahead.
(Lights fade to black over next two lines.)
ANOTHER PATIENT: Like I said, my girlfriend. She called me the other day.
PATIENT: Uh huh.
Monday, December 08, 2003
Why, from blogs like this one child...
Feel free to e-mail these to friends and soon-to-be-former friends:
Q: What kind of therapy is Arnold Schwarzenegger going to for his women problems?
A: Grope therapy.
Q: Did you read the novel about the Schwarzenegger family heading west?
A: It's called The Gropes of Wrath.
Q: What kind of villain/hero is Schwarzenegger unlikely to play now?
A: The Term-Limit-Nator
Q: What do you do when you're able to rattle off jokes like these endlessly?
A: Kill yourself.
People say New Yorkers are tough and brusque, or that we "just don't care."
Not true. It's just that we have one standard for judging any behaviour or situation:
"Is that guy in my way?"
* Sure, an epileptic fit in the middle of the sidewalk is tragic, but I'm really late to work. Is that guy in my way? If i can't step over him, I'd better call an ambulance.
* Homelessness is a tragedy, but does that guy smell so bad that I can't sit on the same bench as him? He doesn't? Then I guess it isn't really a problem.
* Sure I respect the elderly, but if I'm trapped behind a slow-moving group on the sidewalk, meaning that I'm going to get to my destination ten minutes early instead of fifteen - the fuck the elderly. They're in my way.
And so on.
Friday, December 05, 2003
Did you ever call someone on the phone hoping they wouldn't pick up?
Even if it's a good friend, you sometimes just don't want to talk, you just want to leave a message.
Sometimes I find myself listening to the phone ring, going, "Don't pick up don't pick up don't pick up don't pi - oh hey, I'm so glad you picked up. You've just turned this fifteen second message into a fifteen minute conversation!"
Conversely, sometimes I'll see someone on my caller ID, and I'll let the phone ring, and just when it's about to go to voice mail I'll say, "Ahh, itm ight be improtant, let's see what he has to say."
Oh, your cat just did something hilarious? Wow, I sure am glad Iput movie on pause, and stopped eating dinner for this."
I saw a refrigerated truck driving. On the back it said: MUNDO "MEAT"
I'm not sure why you have to make the distinction "MEAT." But I kind of wanted to follow that truck just to make sure I never bought anythihng from any store it serviced.
ME: Hey Jim, this is great.
JIM: Oh yeah, you like your "hamburger?"
ME: What do you mean?
ME: By "hamburger."
JIM: It's "hamburger." It "tastes" really "good."
ME: I think I'm gonna throw up.
JIM: Oh that's probably just the "food poisoning."
I got an e-mail from a woman complaining that I don't put my upcoming shows on this blog.
So here's my weekend picks:
FRIDAY Dec. 5th - 7:30pm
Rififi @ Cinema Classics
Amy Botelho welcomes Liam McEneaney, Bob Powers, Joe Rocchia, and others.
SATURDAY 12.06.03 - 8:00pm
Boston Comedy Club
82 West 3rd Street
between Thompson & Sullivan.
A/C/E/F/V to West 4th St.
N/R to 8th Street
Rich Vos (NBC's Last Comic Standing)
Reggie McFadden (Letterman)
Liam McEneaney (Premium Blend)
Clayton Fletcher (The Ricki Lake Show)
JUST ADDED!! Judah Friedlander (Meet the Parents, Zoolander,
American Splendor - one of the most original comics working today)
SUNDAY, Dec. 7th - 6:00pm
Grand Central in Brooklyn
659 Grand Street between Manhattan Avenue & Leonard Street in Williamsburg
Take L train to Graham Avenue. Exit the right hand staircase. Walk 4 blocks south on Graham Avenue to Grand St. Take a right on Grand, and walk one block to
Manhattan Street. It's just beyond Manhattan on Grand Street
THE CHEMISTRY SET: A Casual Evening of Comedy & Music in LiviaLand
THIS SUNDAY, DEC. 7th @ Grand Central
659 Grand Street (btwn. Manhattan Ave. & Leonard St.) in Williamsburg
From 6pm-ish to 7:30pm-ish
BECKY & NOELLE: Caroline’s, Eating It @ Luna Lounge, The Fringe Festival’s
critically acclaimed Investigating the Bucket
--MTV legend Kurt Loder says they’re “Hilarious… I’m frightened.”
OPHIRA EISENBERG: Finalist- Laugh Riots, Sweet Paprika, & (as of 12/8)
Eating It @ Luna Lounge.
--She’s a real Canadian star!
LIAM McENEANEY: Premium Blend, Backstage's "10 Standout Standups Worth
--Has a beauuuuutiful singing voice.
PAUL SULLIVAN: Producer- The Daily Show, Animal Planet, Director- The
upcoming feature film, “First Time Caller” with Fred Willard & Chris
--Plus he knows lots about baseball & is a lovely dancer!!!
LIVIA SCOTT: MEAT, Caroline's, “First Time Caller” w/ Fred Willard, a nurse
on “As the World Turns.”
--I’m the hostess!
Monday, December 01, 2003
"The Absent Minded Professor left me Flubber-gasted!"
I found out that last night a friend of mine called in sick to a bar.
And no, it's not a bar where she works.
That is a sign that you need an intervention, if you have to call in sick to your bar or else they'll miss you. I spell that "D-R-I-N-K-I-N-G-P-R-O-B-L-E-M."
When you call in sick to a bar, you're going to call in drunk at work.
you know what I'm talking about - it's nine in the morning, you come in from a hard night of drinking, and you're like, "I can go into work okay." Then you stand up and the room goes FOOOM! spinning around your head.
So you call your boss - "i am so dru-er-sick this morning. I don't know I just woke up with a headache. Cough." And yes, you say the word "COUGH."
When you call in sick to a bar, that is a serious relationship you have with the bar.
That's the kind of bar where you feel guilty for going to another bar, like you just got caught cheating.
"I heard you were at McSwiggan's last night."
"No, no I swear."
"Then why does your shirt smell like cheap bourbon?"
"Okay maybe one drink with the guys, but that's it I swear. They have dirty men's rooms."
"It's like I don't know you any more!"