NatTopping.com

Friday: Still Bitching...

2012-01-20T10:34:00.000-08:00

...about SOPA and now the weather. This is what we do here.

Chicago, I know it’s cold out now and that people are more likely to stay indoors, cuddle up next to a fire with their loved ones and sing songs about love and warmth. That said, we’re a big city and he have certain obligations. So naturally, when I see articles like this claiming that we went an entire 24-hours without a reported shooting or murder? We’re not holding up our end of the bargain. In Rio de Janeiro, someone is being brutally murdered in a favela right now as you’re reading this. Why do you think they’re getting the Olympics?

I’m not saying, I’m just saying.

Anyway, what’s going on with the Internet?

I’m glad you asked. Are we doing a Friday Jaunt?

Yes, bold type. We’re doing our first Friday Jaunt Around the Internet of the New Year. Little known fact: one of my resolutions this year was to suck at blogging.

This is different from last year?

Silence. This week’s is entitled: Death, Devotion and Desert

SOPA PIPA. Isn’t that a Mexican desert? That’s Sopapilla and it’s delicious.

I already harangued people (Isn’t that also a desert? You’re thinking meringue) on Wednesday about this, so just another word: I’m just continually shocked at how politicians are a bunch of asshats. Republicans are supposed to be against regulations, and Democrats are supposed to be progressive about this sort of thing. So it only makes sense that, the one time they try to do something in a bipartisan manner, it completely conflicts with both their ideological interests.

And of course by “continually shocked” what I mean is “not surprised remotely.”

Only in America. Latin America. On Fox Latin America, no less.

I find when I’m confronted with mouth breathing bigoted assholes, the answer to most weighted questions they might ask is “the Jews.” Let’s see if it applies to this specific case…

“Christmas Special is coming to Nat Geo… Who do you think responsible (sic) for the death of Jesus?”

Yup. Mouth-breathe away.

The choices the people of Latin America were given were “Pontius Pilate; the High Priests; the Jewish People.” If I were writing these questions, I would add “Nails and a cross” or “a bunch of people that died a long time ago” or “God” since this ‘fulfillment of a prophecy’ thing was God’s idea in the first place. But whatever. I’m just some guy in Chicago. What do I know?

Speaking of Religion: The iDoll. Now available in gold. Check that, bold type. No lifelike doll of Steve Jobs for you. The Chinese toy company slated to start manufacturing them has decided against.

You’ll have to confine your Apple worship to standing in line for the newest iPhone and then ranting and raving about it ad nauseum, or taking a pilgrimage to Budapest, Hungary where apparently there’s a bronze statue of Steve Jobs. It is absolutely terrifying:

FOUR! FOUR DEAD CHILDREN! AH AH AH!

Steve Jobs was always known for his creepy alien fingers and lack of thumbs.

And Finally, Etta James Rest In Peace. On a more somber note, one of the great voices in soul has passed away. Here’s a nice article from CNN detailing her life. Here’s the obligatory Youtube club (most likely pirated) for your enjoyment:

Letter to my Reps Re: SOPA and PIPA

2012-01-18T11:02:00.000-08:00

I blog, so I figure I would weigh in with my Senators and Representative. If you don't know anything about these web censorship acts working their way through Congress, here's a good article from the Washington Post that sums up everything, as well as wikipedia articles about SOPA and PIPA.

By the way, Internet, don't shoot me for linking other sources.

Ahem...

Dear Representative/Senator/Elected Official,

I am a blogger and a sketch comedian living in Chicago. I link to other webpages and occasionally use images from other sources (with attribution), but what I write is my own. I’m not concerned for my legal safety. If worst comes to worst, I can always not link anything, not use any images or just not blog in general. Obviously, enhanced piracy laws would inhibit my ability to express myself freely, but I’ll find other ways to do that if I have to. People always do.

Besides, I hope that someday someone will actually pay me to write things and, once that happens, copyright will become my friend. I’m not against copyrighting or making money off of products that cost money.

I am, however, concerned that the Stop Online Piracy Act and the Protect IP Acts would negatively impact many web services that provide people with an outlet for expressing themselves. I’m worried for the people who, like me, generate their own material and share it through sources like Youtube, Flickr, Vimeo and the various blogging platforms (Blogger, Tumblr, etc.) and web hosting sites used by countless creative people to express themselves. Removing the safeguards allowed these sites to deal with abuses and giving the DOJ to simply remove these sites from the DNS registries could be tantamount to a death sentence for all of us that use these services to share our own work. For instance, if Youtube were completely taken down because someone shared a movie trailer illegally, my own video that I wrote and made myself should not be punished at the same time. That’s punishing me for someone else’s crime, as well as depriving other people the chance to see me do something stupid on the internet.

And requiring these companies to actively police everything people link to? Really? I can’t begin to imagine the burden, financially and physically, this kind of requirement would be for these companies.

I understand the challenges of an expanding Internet and that there need to be protections allowed to businesses that make their money through content generation. I would only ask that Congress act in such a manner that does not negatively impact those of us that generate our content for no monetary gain, and that they act in the best interest of everyone involved.

I appreciate your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

-Nat Topping

Mitt Romney Speaks French?! Quel Dommage!

2012-01-13T10:17:00.000-08:00

More political news from the "We're betting you're so dumb that this actually matters to you" camp that causes me such agony (as previously evidenced here and, I'm sure, elsewhere).

It turns out Mitt Romney speaks French.

!!!!!!

I know, you're freaking out because heaven forbid a Presidential candidate speak anything other than AM'RKIN, but it's true. We know this because a certain Republican Presidential candidate, seen here posing next to his Lego doppelganger...

Also the Lego incarnation of Andy Warhol.

... put together an attack add. Embedded below but, be warned, you'll have to sit through pretty much the whole ad to get there. Oh God, the humanity!

"Bonjour! Je m'appelle Mitt Romney?!" Who is this man?! Next thing you know, he'll be telling us his name isn't Mitt Romney!

Having a French speaking President would (I'm sure) be an insult to our fore fathers who (I'm sure) would never stoop so low (I'm sure) as to speak the language of those filthy, cigarette-smoking, capitalism-hating, freedom-destroying muckety-muck Frogpeople! I'm sure of this!

Oh wait, did you have something to say, Thomas Jefferson?

For fun, compare this picture of Thomas Jefferson with the above picture of Newt Gingrich!

Why sir, that stern and disapproving glare leads me to believe that you disagree with something that I may have just typed. And lo, after a quick review of the American History that I only half learned because I was too busy thinking about boobs in class to pay attention, it seems like we owe a lot to the French. Including a lot of the enlightenment ideals that permeate our Constitution, or the military assistance that the French lent us during the Revolutionary War, or the Statue of Liberty, or the design for Washington DC's city plan, or any number of other things the French directly or indirectly gave to us.

In fact, if Benjamin Franklin weren't so busy sleeping with the ghosts of French prostitutes he'd probably be here as well, casting disapproving glared in our general direction.

And so, America, to sum up: don't be as stupid as Newt Gingrich wants you to be.

REVISED Performing Schedule - January/February

2012-01-10T13:02:00.000-08:00

Ok, change of plans. I feel like ass today, so the wonderful SketchTest lady, Sherra, is letting me move back a week. Also, added a show for Crassus in February! Hooray!

TUESDAY, JANUARY 17th and 24th, 7:30 PM

Me (just me) @ SketchTest

Pub Theater at Fizz Bar, 3220 N Lincoln in Chicago

Tickets: FREE. Just show up.

I’ll be doing some Reality Fairy songs that I’ve been working on and refining. I get 12 minutes in the lineup, which is kind of a work shop environment, but if you’ve ever wanted to see what sketch looks like before it’s a completed piece, this is the place to see it. Plus, you’ll get to watch a grown man in a tutu sing children’s songs about real life!

MONDAY, JANUARY 23rd, 10 PM
Me (again) opening for Williams and Martinez
The Playground, 3209 N Halsted in Chicago
Tickets: $5
Doing aforementioned Reality Fairy songs while opening for two fine, funny ladies. There will also be another act or two thrown in for good measure.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 25th, 7:30(ish)
CRASSUS opening for Old West Family Photo
Underground Lounge, 952 W Newport in Chicago
Tickets: FREE
Geoff and I return to the site of last month’s show, which was a blast, to do some more stuff. Much fun was had last time, and so shall it be again.

WEDNESDAYS in FEBRUARY, 9:30 PM
Me (one last time) helping out for Patrick Raynor’s Come On! We’re All Adults!
Annoyance Theatre, 4830 N Broadway in Chicago
Tickets: $10
This is my good buddy Pat’s one man show, but I’ll be helping out with music and even singing a Reality Fairy song for that too! I’ve seen Pat’s stuff and it’s very funny, so I plug this in good conscious.

ADDED
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23rd, 8:30CRASSUS at Jerry's Comedy Night
Courtesy of Gulp! Productions
Jerry's Sandwiches, 1938 W Division in Chicago
Tickets: FREE
20 Minutes of Comedy Bliss from your friends in Crassus (Me and Geoff).

Performing Schedule – January

2012-01-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

For those of you interested, below is a list of shows that I’m doing. It’s nice to actually have stuff to do, after something of a drought last year. Anyway, the below is for the foreseeable future (read: January and February).

SATURDAY, JANUARY 7th, 7:00 PM
Robot vs Dinosaur @ Chicago Sketch Comedy Festival
Stage 773, 1225 W Belmont in Chicago, in the Thrust theatre
Tickets: $15 (or FREE if you’re a SketchFest participant)
All new stuff, for a show we’re working on for the Spring. Really excited to see how the material plays. Plus, I mean, there's nothing better than Sketchfest.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 10th and 17th, 7:30 PM

Me (just me) @ SketchTest

Pub Theater at Fizz Bar, 3220 N Lincoln in Chicago

Tickets: FREE. Just show up.

WEDNESDAYS in FEBRUARY, 9:30 PM
Me (one last time) helping out for Patrick Raynor’s Come On! We’re All Adults!
Annoyance Theatre, 4830 N Broadway in Chicago
Tickets: $10
This is my good buddy Pat’s one man show, but I’ll be helping out with music and even singing a Reality Fairy song for that too! I’ve seen Pat’s stuff and it’s very funny, so I plug this in good conscious.

So there you have it. Hopefully I can keep up some semblance of that pace, and will post updates accordingly. Smooches.

Upcoming Events for 2012

2012-01-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

The new year offers us all a fresh start: another chance to make the same mistakes we made last year, and the tantalizing possibility of adding some new ones! This year (2012, genius) particularly has special significance. For starters, it’s the first year to have two ‘2’s in the number since, like, 1922. (I feel like I’m missing one in there…) Attach to that fact what significance you will.

As a means of helping you plan for this seminal moment in history, I humbly offer the following list of major events for the upcoming year accompanied by a brief explanation for why you should care. These are just some of the pivotal events you all have to look forward to:

2012 Summer Olympics, London UK – It seems like only two years ago we were making fun of the Canadians for their bizarre opening ceremonies. Imagine those same ceremonies with twice the silly clothing, three times the pomp and half the hemp! The Olympic games celebrate the spirit of peace and fellowship among nations with spirited and sometimes violent competition over precious metals. The country with the most medals wins crude oil! Expect Queen Elizabeth to compete in women’s shot put.

2012 World Expo, Yeosu South Korea – Yes, they still have World Expositions. Unlike the expositions of the late 1800s to mid 1900s, nobody really cares anymore. But that shouldn’t stop you from having a good time! This year’s topic is ‘The Living Ocean and Coast,’ which, whoah. Sure, it’s no Devil in the White City, but the living ocean? Excitement, am I right? AND, Yeosu is located on the coast of South Korea that is farthest from North Korea, so if shit goes down you should be able to swim to Japan!

Turing Centenary Conference, University of Cambridge UK – this… centenary conference… honors… Turing, who… was… a ah hell who gives a damn?

Presidential Election, United States of America – didn't we just do this? With the nonstop corporate sponsored election cycle, it certainly feels like it. Nevertheless, the ceaseless march of primaries, debates, gaffes, panderings and speachifying rolls on, and it won't stop until everybody hates everyone. Personally? I plan on finding a third party candidate and expounding on the virtues of throwing your vote away to anyone who will listen. So, you know, look for that.

End of the World – For this year’s end of the world, the computer programs will all reset to the year 1900 because computer programmers never thought that… wait a minute…

End of the World v2 – at least, according to the ancient Mayans. At least, according to the people who speak for the ancient Mayans. You know, the people who sell books! Does the Mayan Calendar really predict the end of the world? Or did the calendar carver just get tired of carving? Or is it like a regular calendar that just starts over once you get past December 31st? The answers to these questions? Who cares? This is more fun anyway. With the end of the world looming over our heads (again) we get to live life like there’s no 2013. Until, of course, we make it to 2013, at which point we’ll realize we miscalculated and that the end of the world is really in 2015.

Kim Jong Il: Dead

2011-12-19T07:14:00.000-08:00

Kim Jong Il “was believed to be 69.” His son, Kim Jong Un, is in his twenties. You know you’re a paranoid country when you won’t even tell people your birth year.

Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re not hearing it here first – I hope you frequent more legitimate websites that have actual information on them instead of, you know, this shit – but Kim Jong Il is dead.

The diminutive, fabulously coiffed, nattily dressed despot of your favorite insane little corner of Asia has passed away. According to the much lauded North Korean state media, he died of “overwork” and suffered “great mental and physical strain.”

When I first read these symptoms, I was worried I too might have Kim Jong Il disease. Then I read the “overwork after dedicating his life to the people” part and knew that I was probably safe. Also, I guess he had a heart attack too. But be warned kids: ‘dedicating your life to the people’ and ‘heart attack’ makes a brutal recipe for dead dictator.

I’ll always remember him as he appears in this picture:

Hello Grandma! (Source)

Like an elderly woman with a hilarious dye job waving goodbye to her uncaring grown children from the balcony of her nursing home, her disdain for them evident in her steely gaze.

Kim Jong Il, you will be missed. Not because you were a good leader, or because you helped better the lives of your people of the economic and social conditions of your country, or because you were a valuable member of the region, or because you shunned privilege yourself to be an equal among your own populace, or because you shunned your nuclear program so that you could concentrate on feeding your own people, or because you were dedicated to the advancement of peace, or because you were open and trusting and kept your word to the international community. No, you did none of these things.

Instead you will be missed because… you… er....

I take it back. You likely won’t be missed.
But hey, this was a good time, wasn’t it?

Clearly not amused by puppet sex. (Source)

Friday: Hurling Obscenities...

2011-12-09T10:02:00.000-08:00

...towards one Rick 'Fucktard' Perry.

Since last we spoke, I was headed off to my holiday party. I would like to give you an account of what all took place. Really, I would. Unfortunately, I can’t remember much of it. Funny thing about Manhattans, that.

So, in lieu of the recounting of drunken exploits, I humbly offer outrage and the outrageous in this week’s Friday Jaunt Around The Internet, which I have entitled:

Outrage, Frustration, Outstration

They can’t all be gems, people. Sometimes it’s just a rock, but you throw it anyway because you have to throw something.

MY PERRY POLEMIC

It’s official: Rick Perry, go fuck yourself.

I’m not going to embed the video here, because I don’t want that shit on my blog, but here’s the link. Go listen, and then come back. I’ll still be here.

Waiting…

Welcome back. Did you listen to that shit? I mean, what the fuck, Rick?

“You know something’s wrong when we allow sodomites to risk their lives in the service of our country to protect the freedoms and liberties we hold dear, while kids are not forced to pray in school because of one of the founding principles of our country (SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE) which I’m conveniently forgetting about right now. I should add, though, that we’re all still allowed to freely celebrate what has become a multi-million dollar industry in this country on our own time, while those same sodomites are marginalized by jackholes like me.”

War on religion? Show me one piece of legislation Obama has recommended to Congress or one executive order that has had a meaningful, impactful effect on freedom of religion in this country. You can’t do that, Rick, and you know why? Because you can’t even remember key parts of your own platform, like what State Departments you would get rid of, you dumb piece of shit.

And the worst part about this? Rick may or may not even give a damn about prayer in school or gays in the military. But he’s counting on you, the voting public of America, to be so fucking dumb and pigheaded and ignorant that you’ll think ‘gays’ and ‘public displays of prayer’ and ‘ignorance’ are important enough issues to be worth a vote. Because he’s cynical, and is willing to play on evil shit so that he can hopefully weasel his way into a position of sucking personal gain out of the most important and powerful job in the country.

If there's any justice in this world, Perry has pretty much written himself out of ever occupying the Oval. Unfortunately, as anyone who's lived on this rock for a while can tell you, the world can be pretty unjust.

When I pray (and I do; I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a Christian, albeit a poor one who seldom practices), I pray God that my God is not the same God to which Rick Perry prays.

For what it's worth, I’m pretty sure they’re different.

YOUR MITTEN IS HAND-ICAPPED!!

Many, many years ago, Michigan went to war with Ohio over the rights to Toledo. Yes, at one point in time, Toledo was considered something of a prized jewel worth fighting over, instead of being, like, Toledo.

Granted, the combatants were likely drunken lumberjack types with little else to do when not jacking lumber, but still. Sometimes you have to stand up for your state. And no, Toledo is not part of Michigan now. But as a reward for making a big deal out of it, Michigan was given the entire Upper Peninsula to largely marginalize and ignore, until such time as copper and iron was discovered. And thus, the Mitten came out on top for their troubles.

But now apparently the very Mittenness of the Mitt is being questioned. By Wisconsin, of all states. That cheese eating, sausage loving, fish frying, beer swilling (note: none of these are insults; I love all of those things) bunch of Green Bay Packer fans dare question the supreme handiness of Michigan?

Can't you just let us have our anthropomorphisms, Wisconsin?!

Yes, Wisconsin, your state does look like a mitten. Provided that mitten accommodates a grossly deformed pinky the size and shape of a cauliflower. However, for those of us without fingers that bulge off at weird angles from the rest of our hand, it’s Michigan. I mean, let’s take the arbitrary state lines out of the equation here and just look at the geographic facts, dudes:

The proof is in the part where it says "PROOF!"

The gigantic red swaths of land that miraculously spell out what’s what with arrows and letters are something of a geologic miracle.

At the end of the day, and in the spirit of our forefathers, I would be willing to concede Mittenhood provided we are promised the entirety of Canada or a gigantic load of free sausage. Your move, Wisconsin.

NEW MEMES!!

And oh God how I love new memes (talking about my God, not Rick’s; Rick’s God probably has a sense of humor limited to farts and patronizing ethnic jokes). The newest meme comes courtesy of meme-master Casey, who is like my technologically savvy nephew. Except he’s my age. I guess what I’m saying is, he’s good at the internet and I’m already an old man. Regardless, here’s this:

Other brilliant pieces of photoshopped wit reside here, including one for the Corpse Bride that I don’t want to ruin for you.

Friday: Prepares to Get Christmassed…

2011-12-02T07:33:00.000-08:00

…meaning of course to drink a ton in front of coworkers, likely make an ass out of myself, possible get in a fight, and then spend the rest of the weekend aching and smelling like death.

You know. Like baby Jesus would have wanted.

Now that Thanksgiving is out of the way, it’s time to get into the Christmas spirit. Sure, it would be easy to get jaded about the rampant commercialism and the fact that December 24th is just an arbitrarily assigned date, that Jesus was likely born in November, that we’ll probably be forced to see a bunch of people we don’t like, that we’re expected to get the perfect gift, that the quest for the perfect gift will likely end in disappointment, that it will all end in a pile of discarded wrapping paper and stuff that will all eventually fall apart anyway, but… what was I saying?

Oh yeah! Fahoo fores: it’s Christmas, y’all!

It's okay. In this instance, fear should be your natural reaction.

Don’t worry. The closer we get to the date and the further we get from Thanksgiving, the less bitter I become and the more likely I am to be in the Spirit. Hopefully, the Spirits at the company Holiday Party will help me get there a little quicker.

Now that we’re done with that, let’s take another quick Friday Jaunt Around The Internet, which I hereby dub:

Help Doing Everyday Things… Righteously

GET THAT PROGRAM A TALK SHOW ON AM RADIO GALDARNIT!

You know, from the first moment I heard about Siri I knew there was gonna be trouble. I mean, the last thing I need is the device I carry around in my pocket telling me what to think. I already have one of those.*

Well now apparently Apple has taken it upon itself to pass judgment on young women and the various mistakes they may or may not have made involving Chad at the office function the other night. Probably wasn’t the best idea ever, but now here’s Siri telling us all we should go see an anti-abortion counselor instead of a Planned Parenthood clinic? I mean, Siri, have you met Chad? Do you have any idea how much of a mistake it would be to carry that kid to term?

HOW CAN WE BE EXPECTED TO LET TECHNOLOGY RULE OUR LIVES IF TECHNOLOGY WON’T TELL US WHAT WE WANT TO HEAR?!

I jest, of course, but there are legitimate questions here: Should we let a program pass judgment on a user’s life choices? Should we be relying on a stupid program in the first place to answer simple questions for us? Can’t we use the phone book? Or Google? Do we really need to dumb everything down so much that we need something to ‘help (us) do the things (we) do everyday?” Can’t we just do them, like back before we had smart phones? Are we all so sensitive and dumb that we actually make a big feckin’ deal out of this? Seriously?

I believe we have the answers to those questions.

DETROITERS: GO TO DETROIT

Interesting post at Huffington on, like, actually spending time in the city you’re supposed to be from.

I’ve actually found this sentiment in Chicago, too, though it’s certainly more prevalent in Detroit, which is this: the city is to be avoided at all costs. In Chicago, you are allowed to take the Metra down for a Cubs game, some culture, and maybe the occasional restaurant. Otherwise, why bother? There’s just as many Giordano’s in the suburbs as there are in the city!

I don’t know if it’s our obsession with safety or what – we do, after all, practically beg people to grope us now before entering an airport, even though one day we’re still all going to die, but whatever I digress – but ‘the city’ still has a pretty bad rep. That goes double, possibly triple, for the D.

I was driving home about two weeks ago with a friend of mine to the Mitt to go see what turned out to be a glorious football game. It was about midnight and as we were passing Ann Arbor he asked if we could go downtown and have a look at it. Detroit has this reputation for being a wasteland of urban decay and coney dogs (which I love anyway), and he wanted to witness it first hand, so we drove our asses down Woodward at one in the morning and surprisingly were not shot. In fact, there were even people out at the bars. There were lights on. There were structures in Campus Martius that were not shacks for vagrants but rather appeared as though they were meant to be there.

There’s actual stuff down there! Detroit: you want righteous? St. Andrew’s Hall, Electric 6 are playing the Friday before crissimass. Be there.

DEBBIE FROM ACCOUNTING

This is the article from whence the creepy cult-like lead photo originated. It’s a wholly unremarkable post about how to handle yourself at an office party (AMATEURS I SAY!), and under normal circumstances I would ignore this completely except I find the use of Debbie from Accounting as the paragon of poor office behavior and sluttery to be quite funny. Obviously, the writer has never met the accountants here.

HOUSE CLEANER CLEANS HOUSE

Next Wednesday, 8:00 PM at the Underground Lounge, Geoff and I will be doing our thang as Crassus with the folks at Old West Family Photo. Address: 925 W Newport, at Clark. We will be performing ‘Bag of dicks,’ for which I am very excited.

Also, SKETCHFEST! Robot vs Dinosaur makes their glorious and long awaited (by me, at least) return to the stage on January 7th at 7:00. More pluggery to follow, I’m sure.

I’m also working on putting together some fun for next year too: a full RvD show, a full Crassus show, some Reality Fairy goodness, and possibly another special project.

Aright, I’m off to buy a ludicrously large bottle of Gatorade and some comically gigantic pain killers. I have plans, people, and they involve hangovers.

*This is a not-so-veiled reference to my penis.

Happy Thanksgiving: To The Ear on the Other Soup Can

2011-11-23T12:24:00.000-08:00

The annual Thanksgiving Post. Enjoy:

In my day-to-day life as a working drone, I spend an exorbitant amount of my time talking to India. This is what happens when companies outsource everything to another country. I talk into one soup can, which is attached to a string that runs all the way across the country, through a tube under the ocean, past Hawaii, past Indonesia, through more ocean, back onto land, and over to Bangalore or Mumbai or Calcutta, and it attaches to another soup can. Next to that soup can is a strange and foreign ear listening to me blather, an ear that under normal circumstances would never concern me in the least. And likewise I'm sure.

Such is the marvel of the global economy. This can be a good or a bad thing. Obviously, there's the potential language barrier. There's the residual 'they're stealing our jobs' angst hammered into me from a lifetime of Buy American. And of course there's the general xenophobic distrust of foreigners.

But sometimes it makes for an interesting conversation. Sometimes you get the tech who has a semi-confident grip on the language and he starts asking you questions: 'Do you know Pat? I worked with Pat over there once. How is Pat?' As though Pat were some long lost friend from his youth. Stolen from the cradle, tossed into a wicker basket and left afloat only for Pat to one day wash ashore in middle America.

The question I received this afternoon was 'What is this Thanksgiving Day you have?'

I was taken aback for a moment. Sometimes you ask them to repeat their question because of the call quality or the accent (which can vary widely), so I did and he repeated himself.

‘This holiday you have tomorrow, what is this? Thanksgiving Day.’ A slight pause and then, offered as explanation, ‘I’m in India.’

I’m not accustomed to explaining the significance of holidays. Mostly I take them for granted. Sometimes, I’m not even sure what the point even is of a particular holiday. Flag day, for instance. It’s a day to express appreciation for flags? To celebrate the feast of St. Flag, and his innumerable contributions to the wellbeing of flagkind everywhere?

So I started, awkwardly: ‘It’s like a harvest festival.’ They have harvests in India, right?

‘What does one do to celebrate Thanksgiving?’

‘Well, mostly eat. Turkey. And watch football.’

I imagined his thoughts: This is what they celebrate? A chance to eat even more than they already do and watch sports? This constitutes a holiday in America? And how does one eat an entire country? So I explained further.

‘I mean, it’s like an opportunity for people to get together with one another and share food. And, you know, give thanks for stuff. Like being together, or, I don’t know. And watch football. It’s got a history to it: basically it marks the day the first settlers exchanged food with the natives. Native Americans.’

Can I say ‘Indians’ to an Indian? Probably not. And yes, the story was an oversimplification, I know. I’m not going to explain the intricacies of shoe buckles, nor am I comfortable going into the socio-political ramifications of the event, nor the irony, nor any of the rest. But I couldn’t leave it at that. I love Thanksgiving. It’s one of my favorite holidays. So I continued to blather.

‘It’s good. It’s a good holiday. I mean, it’s just a chance to get together with your people and celebrate being together and I guess just give thanks for having each other.’ I took a short breath, then added, ‘And to watch football.’

‘I see’ said the mouth attached to the ear on the other end of the string. I think this answer was acceptable to him. Or he was tired of talking about it. I hope he has something similar, though. The idea of celebrating closeness with family, with friends, with other people is universally important.

No it is not the sexiest holiday (Mardis Gras, obviously). It’s not flashy and cheerful like Christmas. It’s not explosive and bombastic like Independence Day. Thanksgiving Day is just a meal with your friends, your family, your loves. And occasionally one or two people you don’t like or don’t know as well, but whom you can certainly tolerate for an hour or two.

Happy Thanksgiving,

-Nat

A Letter to The Man Regarding Internet Anonymity

2011-11-16T10:07:00.000-08:00

Dear The Man,

I understand that you are not in the business of being any fun. You’re The Man. Your job is to make everyone else’s lives miserable. I get that.

So, The Man, if you want to kick a bunch of hippies and unemployed people out of a park, that’s fine. If you want to fire a revered 75 year old teacher/ordained minister for something minor like masturbating behind his podium while teaching algebra, that’s fine too.
But for the love of God, don’t take my Internet anonymity away from me!

Apparently, your friends in the Department of Justice are asking Congress to make lying on the Internet a prosecutable offense.
I mean, if that’s the case then they may as well remove the Internet from being on the Internet. The whole point of the Internet is that it’s a lawless no-man’s-land of pornography, vice and convenient banking. If you take the lying away from that, all we’ll have left is pornography! Which is fine – pornography is great – but we’re really not making the most out of this wonderful tool of deceit.

We’ll all have to get our lying fix by lying to each other’s faces. That’s no fun! What if someone punches me? Next thing we know, you’ll try taking sports commenting away from us, and then what will we have?

To sum up, The Man, you can be a dick all you want. Just don’t dick around with my Internet.

Love,

Reginald L. Cummerbund III
From The Internet

P.S. That is a real picture of me. For serious.

Friday: We Celebrate Veterans Day...

2011-11-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

...by wasting time on the Internet. Just like all other holidays. And all other days in general. Generals are in the military. The military is where veterans serve. We've come full circle.

You're welcome.

Underappreciated Holiday Today:

Happy Friday and Happy Veterans Day to all of you people who are veterans or know somebody serving in the military. Normally, this is where something dumb or jokey or sarcastic would go, but I’m just going to skip it today and just say thanks.

But now that we’re on a different paragraph, let’s take our quick Friday Jaunt Around The Internet. I hereby dub the following…

“Exercises in Uselessness”

Yes It’s Tiny, But It Gets Great Mileage

That’s what… she… nope, I stopped it. I stopped the joke.

Scientists are capable of some great things: space exploration, smart phone wizardry, the creation of gravity (how did things stay down on the ground before Newton?!). Sometimes, though, they do things like create the tiniest car ever using nanotechnology, and you’re left wondering what the point was of that. Unless, as I’ve suspected for a while, science is simply trying to create a real life TRON. Which I’m pretty sure is almost completely fact.

The molecular car will make it a lot easier to take trips to the nano-supermarket, as well as for subatomic nuclear families to bond by taking road trips to the other side of the needle head.

Does This Bunting Make Me Look Fat?

Yeah, probably. It's either the bunting, or you're just fat. What? Did I say something?

Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a big problem in this country, and that problem is the Christmas tree. Specifically the public image thereof, at least according to a new Federal government mandate that’s imposing a 15-cent Christmas tree fee on the sale of fresh cut trees. The mandate is meant to help “enhance the image of Christmas trees and the Christmas tree industry in the United States.”

This article treats it like a Christmas tree tax imposed specifically by Obama because he hates America. It’s not really a tax though, just a fee that Christmas tree sellers are paying specifically to promote Christmas tree sales. Whatever. Of course, the flip side of the coin is, does the Christmas tree really need an image makeover?

I didn’t think so initially, but then I went and visited my local neighborhood Christmas tree and, well…

Oh no tennenbaum!

Things aren’t going so well I guess. I mean, I can understand the heroin and the moonshine, but cigarettes, Mr Tree? Cigarettes?!

Behold: Our New Numberical Overlord!

And yea, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year, a child turned eleven. Naturally, I hereby pledge my undying allegiance to our new overlord. All hail John Biscaro, master of numerology and amateur flautist. Submit or be destroyed.

Had enough? Good. Go enjoy your weekend!

Bachmann Level: Yellow!

2011-11-07T15:51:00.000-08:00

For those of you concerned, or looking for a forecast of the amount of Crazy we can expect this week, the national Bachmann Level is YELLOW!

As you can see:

Level YELLOW is also Level WEEE!! ARROW THROUGH HEAD crazy.

During these conditions, you can expect Michelle Bachmann to wield the term 'Socialist' like Joe McCarthy's old school dropping the beat and spitting out the red scare rhymes. You know, back before Communism got commercial.

Suggestions: wear your protective headgear to keep out the shrill when in public, and avoiding looking pant suit wearers in the eye at all costs.

Friday: The Blog Returns From The Dead...

2011-11-04T09:45:00.000-07:00

...to hump you, or at least offer, and smoke a cigarette while it steals your beard.

Preamble to the Preamble to the Preamble:

Well, Patriots, this November is election season, when all Americans of voting age head to the ballot box to elect the next President of the United States.

Oh wait, that’s next year? Then why the hell have there already been, like, nine debates already?! Do these people not have anything better to do?

Turns out, the answer to that question is ‘nope!’ Although I suppose Herman Cain could go back to denying claims of naughtiness, or film making!

The smoking actually doesn’t bother me at all. The wide eyed crazy and the complete and total lack of anything specific does, though. The smoking is just lovely nicotine icing atop a cake made of bizarre. “Let’s do this shit! Who’s with me? What are we doing? Something about nines! Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em and cue the music!”

The Republican Primaries, or The Search for Someone Who Isn’t Creepy or Crazy.

So, I guess, hey: only one more year to go!

And now, a quick Friday Jaunt Around The Internet. I hereby dub the following...

“Rural Ribaldry”

Pornographic Poltergeists:

Do ghosts get it on? Apparently they do in Euclid, OH (the ghost sex capital of the Midwest!), where four year old pornographer Kimora caught two apparitions in flagrante delicto deceased. Personally, I’m glad to see that the corporeal urges stay with us post corpse. Although, I’d like to think I’d wait until the four year old with the camera phone isn’t snapping pictures of me and my pasty white ghost ass in someone’s nasty living room.

I actually wrote a comedy sketch a couple of years back about a masturbating ghost. Turns out, it wasn’t perverted after all! It was just prescient!

Pretty sure a ghost had sex in this chair. Probably not safe to sit...

As a side note, God bless you local news! In Chicago, we get a bunch of incredibly horrendous crimes, but elsewhere in our fair country you get some pretty entertaining attempts at killing broadcast time.

Speaking of local news and incredibly old things having sex…

If You Got It, Grampa, Flaunt It:

This one ties into pretty much everything we’ve talked about so far. Politics? The dude’s running for city council, so check. Incredibly old/possibly dead things? 83 years old, so check. Kind of out in the middle of nowhere? Centerville, Iowa? Check.

Hanky panky? Well, attempted at least. Pay attention to the verbiage of this:

“Ben Clifford Dawson, 83, of Centerville, was charged with prostitution and assault with the intent to commit sexual abuse after he allegedly offered to let a 33-year-old woman repay part of a $7,000 loan by allowing him to perform sex acts on her.”

Again, read the “by allowing him to perform sex acts on her” and now let your imagination run wild.

Romantic, right?

This is akin to the bank coming up to you and saying ‘look, I know you still owe tens of thousands of dollars on your loans, but how about we forgive all that and I give you a nice BJ?’

(The Simple) Life Imitates Art

You think the masturbating ghost was prescient? How about Amish gang violence? First, Life:

“Troyer believes that he and his wife were lured into a cult made up of breakaway members of the larger Amish community near Bergholz in rural eastern Ohio. He said it was – and still is – ruled with an iron fist by his former father-in-law, Sam Mullet, a man who Troyer and others say is anything but a typical Amish leader.”

Now Art:

Compare and contrast. Please show your work.

Texas Rangers Fan Club

2011-10-10T22:54:00.000-07:00

Yes, it has come to this. Yes, someday I will write about something else. But for right now, this is what you're stuck with because I can't stop thinking about...

TEXAS RANGERS PLAYOFF BASEBALL!

Yeehaw and hot damn! It's that time again, and there's nothing I would love more than for the Texas Rangers baseball team of Texas to make it to win the American League pennant and make it to this year's World Series! Because Lord knows, it's not enough to make it to last year's World Series!

Here's Nelson Cruz! He plays baseball and he's good!

These two love each other! The one you can see is called Colby Lewis, and I hope he has many excellent innings of hit free baseball pitching in the near future, along with the rest of the Texas Rangers Baseball Club's excellent stable of fine professional baseball pitchers!

Oh boy! Texas Baseball Rangers of the MLB!

My Homage to the Yankees

2011-10-05T14:16:00.000-07:00

If you need an explanation why, here it is.

If there's one thing I want in this world, Internet, it is for the New York Yankees baseball club to win their next game and take on the Texans for the American League pennant.

This is Ivan Nova. He is a starting pitcher for the New York Yankees baseball club, and I wish him a successfull, error free and strike out filled next outing.

This is another very famous, very well paid New York Yankees baseball playing Yankee, for whom I wish nothing but the best.

May this stadium be filled to the brim with jubilation, and not become a pool for Yankee fan tears.

Hot Sex Air Balloon

2011-09-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

After five months, I now have a TV again. One thing I'm enjoying right now are the ridiculous commercials I've missed so very much. I sometimes like to write explanations of the action going on during the drug commercials, and how they relate to the drug. The below is for Cialis.

There’s a sexy lady standing in front of a mirror in her tastefully decorated middle class bedroom. She’s going out to probably get some coffee and run some errands maybe, and she’s fixing her hair or something flirty like that. She’s got one sexy number on – a sweater jacket so hot it’ll melt your face off. But oh no, her collar is turned up and she hasn’t noticed yet. Who’s going to help her?

Boom, enter her husband. He takes one look at her, and he sees that sweater jacket, the one he bought her for Sweetest’s Day because it looked so good on her and he can’t control himself. He knows exactly what to do. He saunters over to her, stands behind her, and flips that collar down where it belongs.

Their eyes meet, and guess what? Sexy lady just wasted her time getting dressed because someone’s had his Cialis, and now it’s time for sex.

Before you know it, they’re hugging and looking at each other and getting all touchy feely. The camera’s losing its mind too, doing turns and stuff around the two as they’re getting busy. The husband’s running his hands up and down that form fitting sweater jacket and, holy shit, what’s happening? The bedroom walls are falling down and suddenly they’re in a gigantic basket. What the hell happened?

Who cares? It’s about to get kinky.

They’re lifting off. Suddenly they’re in a hot air balloon. And that air balloon is looking pretty hot, kiddies. It’s a sex balloon now, and our happy couple is getting off the ground real quick. They’re up in the mile high club now, floating over a warmly lit country side, high on Cialis and feeling good. So good that the sexy lady takes one look at the camera and starts listing off some naughty little side effects.

And the husband can’t help himself, he’s gotta get in on this crazy action. And before long he’s spouting of side effects too. Holy shit, they’re talking nasty, nasty shit right now – talking about how long your erection lasts and whether or not you gotta go see that doctor and get your check up.

Hell yeah, Cialis in a hot sex air balloon. Make that sex, crazy sex kittens in the sky.

How's that for horrifying?

Jean-Philippe's Love Corner, or I Have An Agent Now! Let's Celebrate!

2011-09-19T05:25:00.000-07:00

Hey! Guess what? I have an honest-to-God voice over agent now!

BOOYEAH!

They're called Talent Group! More information on the Voice Over / Audio Goodness tab!

To celebrate, here's a little piece of audio fun I made! It features me doing a silly French accent! More exclamation points than are reasonable!! Enjoy!

JEAN-PHILIPPE'S LOVE CORNER - EPISODE #1: CHAD

If you would like your letter read and responded to by Jean-Philippe Emomonton, please email me

(nat [dot] topping [at] gmail [dot] com) with the subject 'JP's Love Corner' and, who knows, I might actually get around to making more of these.

Proposed Solution to the Memorial/Labor Day Problem - And Yes, This is a Problem

2011-09-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

I have this problem, which is that I can never keep Labor Day and Memorial Day straight. Inevitable it gets down to the end of August and I say something along the lines of ‘Hey, Memorial Day is next weekend,’ at which point other people point out that I have the wrong day and they all start laughing at me.

AND I HATE BEING LAUGHED AT!!

Well, at least when it comes to my general inability to remember widely known calendrical details. In my own defense, though, they are basically the same holiday. Yes, I know that one is about celebrating Labor and one is about celebrating Memory. But I submit the following as evidence:

Both are on a Monday
Both mean a three day weekend
Both mark an important milestone for Summer
Both heavily involve barbecues and drinking
Both involve the availability of public swimming pools
Nobody knows what either is actually celebrating

They are therefore proven to be the same exact day. Quid pro quo. That’s a term, right? Did I use it correctly? Should I have used Cogito Ergo Sum? Anyone know Latin out there?

I can only assume, since I’ve had so much trouble with this throughout my entire lifetime, that most everyone else secretly has the same problem. Oh sure, they might deride me whenever I make the dreaded date faux pas, but deep down they’re thinking ‘Wait, is it Memorial Day or is it Labor Day? I myself am so confused that I feel the need to displace my anger onto another person, one who is incredibly handsome and good natured but naïve in the ways of holidays.’

In fact, I’m certain that’s what you’re thinking right now.

And so, I would like to propose the following: we ditch the two different names and combine them into a holiday that happens twice a year: Membor Day*. It’s nice and inclusive: everyone’s a Membor! And, you won’t have to worry about remembering which is which; you can just enjoy yourself and go “cook sausages,” “play bags,” drink “tall boys” and do other suspiciously phallic sounding things. There might be an issue if people are trying to plan parties for both early Membor day and late Membor day, but if that’s the case then to hell with you; Membor Day is about last minute barbecue plans, not planning ahead.

Contact your senator. Lord knows, they’re not doing anything else worthwhile right now.

*It’s either Membor or Lamorial Day. We can take a poll if you want, but I’d rather just move ahead with Membor if it’s okay with y’all.

2011-08-31T10:16:00.000-07:00

The Insane Clown Posse. Two grown men, hip hop 'artists,' and creators of the most parody resistant song ever in the history of parody resistant songs, Miracle.

Jack White. Half of the group The White Stripes, modern day guitar legend and producer.

Mozart. He was Mozart.

Together? One of the most unholy of songs ever created in the history of man kind.

It is not safe for work. Not safe for pretty much anything. It is a horrible, vile, disgusting song about licking ass.

And I love it.

"Mozart: dope for the most time,
Respected, 'cause he knows art."

More info can be found on the Third Man Records website.

REAL HISTORY

2011-08-26T13:15:00.000-07:00

By Matthew Bucholz, by way of Serial Optimist.

The Most Beautiful Place in America

2011-08-17T09:59:00.000-07:00

Prepare for some rampant Michigan homerism. And... GO!

Whenever I try telling someone from elsewhere in the country that Michigan is a very pretty state, they inevitably look at me like I’m crazy. For most people, ‘Michigan’ conjures images of Detroit, urban decay, civil unrest [looking at you, MSU fans…], the decline of the auto industry, poor governance and the Michigan militia (a group recently called ‘goat-raping rednecks’ by my very own kin).

People don’t normally think 'pretty' when they think of Michigan, but for a lot of the state that’s exactly what it is: pretty. Growing up, I was lucky enough to have parents who appreciated that and recognized the importance of passing on an appreciation of their home state to their kids.

And I’m telling you people, from Sault St Marie to South Haven, it’s very, very pretty.

Nearly every summer we would take that trip ‘up north’ to that corner of the lower peninsula; normally we would camp, though sometimes we’d stay in Traverse City – the land of cherry pies, beaches and pirate themed mini-golf. But without fail, we would always take a trip over to the Dunes and to tiny Empire, Michigan.

Here is a picture of Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lake Shore:

The Dunes

According to legend, a mother bear and her two bear cubs went running into Lake Michigan. The two cubs fell behind the mother, who reached the shores of Michigan only to find that her children had drowned in the lake. The mother bear waited on the shore, and eventually she waited for so long the sand covered her over and she became the dunes. The children became the Manitou islands off the shores of the dune.

It’s a sad story but a beautiful one in its own bittersweet way, and the natural beauty of the Dunes reflects the timelessness of the legend perfectly. For countless centuries people have come to the Dunes to witness the beauty, reflect on the peaceful atmosphere and to simple enjoy the lake shore.

As little kids, though, we didn’t really care about legends or timelessness or any of that. In fact, we usually wouldn’t even make it far enough to see the beautiful vistas, to hear the gentle crashing of the waves against the shores or smell the aroma of that Great Lake. Instead we would spend hours climbing and tumbling back down the glorious mountain of sand. We played in an enormous sandbox, where any falls were cushioned by the sand and where the wind picked up your kites and carried them high above the Dunes for all the other children to see. By the end of the day we would be too tired to walk to the water, too covered in sweat and sand after climbing up and down the mother bear’s back for anything other than a nap.

After leaving the National Park, we would always drive over to Empire and have dinner there in an old inn. Afterwards, we would walk over to the Empire beach and swing on the swing set or take a dip in the water.

The beach at Empire.

What brings this up? Sleeping Bear Dunes was just voted by viewers of Good Morning America as the most beautiful place in America. I’ve seen many a beautiful place in America, but what can I say? I’m biased.

If you ask this Michigan ex-pat, though, I will tell you it’s worth the trip.

Forever Marilyn, (re)Visited!

2011-08-15T06:44:00.000-07:00

So naturally once you've made fun of a gigantic statue for being an excuse to show off plaster panties, it only makes sense to go on a pilgrimage to that very statue, no? Is the statue as gauche and bizarre in person as it appears to be in the photographs? Let me answer that question with ANOTHER PHOTOGRAPH:

Shadier than the shadiest tree!

As you can see, not only does Forever Marilyn titillate and arouse, it also provides much needed shelter to families and middle aged couples alike. Looking at this picture, I like to think of the original movie and imagine that beneath real Marilyn Monroe was a lilliputian army of pervs staring up her skirt. But hey, that's my hangup, not yours.

The question on my mind, though, was 'What do all of the other sculptures in the area think about Forever Marilyn?'

I had a chance to catch up with Jack Brickhouse, seen here practically salivating. Obviously, a Forever Marilyn fan.

Insert sports related double entendre here, followed by broadcaster catchphrase! Hey-hey!

Nathan Hale?

"I only regret that I have given my life to my country for this."

Not so much.

The Devil's Post!

2011-08-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

I have figured out why I haven’t blogged lately.

Is it because I’ve been busy? No. Is it because everything seems to be falling apart around us? No. Is it because the city of Cleveland and their professional baseball team is deliberately trying to ruin my summer? No. Is it because of issues in my personal life, combined with general existential malaise? No, probably not. You’d think I would be blogging more if that’s the case.

No, my inter-friends, It’s because of post 666.

That’s right! The devil’s post!

This is a 100% real and true picture of something that exists.

My last post was post number 666, which is the purported mark of the beast and also just a naughty number in general. No wonder, then, that I’ve been struck by a lack of insight, inspiration, and various other positive words that begin with ‘in!’ It’s the devils fault!

I’m now working to exorcise the demon. Step one was post 667. Following this, I’ll be putting myself in touch with a priest, buying some sage brush, learning Latin and eating angel food cake.

Hopefully more to come. I still have to clue you all in on my pilgrimage to Forever Marilyn, let you know how incredibly awesome Cowboys and Aliens was, talk about food, and then possibly weep. I’d say check back periodically, but I’ve said that before and I’m running low on the will to apologize, so if you like you can subscribe, put this on your Google Reader or what have you, check Facebook occasionally, or wait for carrier pigeon notices.

Ok. Back to fighting the devil.

Obligatory Excuses Post #428

2011-07-28T11:12:00.001-07:00

Hello minions of the electronic realm,

As you can see from the scant posting this week, I’m in a bit of a posting lull. This is a combination of a couple of different things. First, work has been ass busy, so the traditional ‘avoiding doing work, writing a blog post’ thing been happening. Second, the fall back posting times have – late at night – have been filled with trying to sleep, which I’ve been having trouble doing properly for a couple of weeks. Also, I’ve been actually doing things in my evenings – a writers meeting, a callback and some Reality Fairy goodness the past couple of days, and an ‘industry party’ for voice over people (apparently I’m industry despite not yet having an agent, nor having been paid yet for anything) happening tonight. So yeah.

But I do have stuff planned – specifically some actual pictures of the Forever Marilynn statue that I took last week but have to get off of my phone – so I’ll try to get that out to you people at some point.

Just know that I love you. That’s all I really wanted to say.

How to Survive a Bike Ride in 99 Degrees Heat

2011-07-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

Not Chicago, but damned if it doesn't feel like it.

Yes, it is July and much of the nation is in the throes of a heat wave so intense, it borders on the comically ridiculous. Forecasts festooned in red warnings litter the weather.com and (I can only assume) the television. Ideally, in such instances, all travel would be suspended and people would just stay where the air is properly conditioned and life can move on in semi-comfortable circumstances.

Unfortunately, life is anything but ideal. I submit as evidence the aforementioned comically ridiculous heat wave.

For those without a car, this leaves the options of either taking public transportation or biking. Both options are sweaty and uncomfortable in their own special way. Either way, you will spend significant amounts of time out in the sun and the heat. The question is, do you want to be standing there, crammed in next to a bunch of other sweaty people, or do you want to physically exert yourself during one of the most dangerous times to be physically exertive?

If you have decided, like I did just yesterday, that you prefer option number bike, then here are some suggestions to help you cope with your ride.

1: Resign yourself to the likelihood that you are embarking on possibly the worst ride in the entire history of bicyclized transportation. First, better to set expectations incredibly low so that, if anything, you will be surprised that you made it. Second, because this might just actually be the worst ride of your life.

2: On a related note, don’t die. If you feel yourself dying, or as though you might be edging in that direction, stop. This is a good general rule of thumb regardless, but deserves to be restated. Don’t die.

3: Stop for ice cream along the way. Not only will ice cream cool your overheated body, but it will also raise your morale. I like to stop multiple times and will often choose my route home based on the number of ice cream parlors along the way.

4: Do not start screaming unintelligibly. Trust me, it won’t help you. If anything, screaming just disturbs everyone around you – motorists, pedestrians, other bikers, police officers – making your situation more awkward and potentially dangerous. If you feel you have to scream, scream intelligibly.

5: Also, no crying. Crying saps your body of much needed moisture. In addition to that, the evaporation of your tears only adds to the humidity, which in turn heats up everyone else. This may cause people around you to start crying as well, which in turn adds to the humidity and thus creates a snow ball effect. Only, no snow.

6: You can pray to God but it likely won’t help. God most likely will be sequestered away in a cooled portion of heaven and will be unable to hear your cries over the drone of the AC unit.

7: Remove as much extraneous clothing as possible. No, it might not be pretty. You know what else isn’t pretty? A sweat soaked shirt on a panting gorilla-man riding down the street on a piece of metal.

8: Cover yourself in mud. If it works for pigs then it likely works for humans too. Lost that pesky pride.

9: If all else fails, give up. Park your bike on the side of the road, and then find a taxi willing to pick up a grown man, naked except for what caked mud has not yet come loose, crying and blathering unintelligibly about how his ice cream cone melted.

Stay cool!

Forever Marilyn: Like Transformers, but Sexier

2011-07-20T11:15:00.000-07:00

Well, I don’t know what you Chicagoans have done while I was away, but I returned to my fair city only to find it in the grips of a dreaded heat wave, choking its way through the thickly humid air. And now, we have Marilyn Monroe’s gigantic panties to deal with.

Oh, what? You haven’t heard about this?

Yeah apparently there’s a ludicrously gigantic statue of Marilyn Monroe holding down her skirt on the Magnificent Mile. The sculpture, the product of descendant of the Johnsons of Johnson & Johnson fame and (apparently) artist J. Seward Johnson, reproduces the iconic moment from ‘The Seven Year Itch’ which has titillated old men for many decades now. Here is a picture of the iconic moment:

And now, contrast it with this 70 foot tall monstrosity.

Look how far out the skirt goes in the back:

There's no denying it: this sculpture is about seeing and having your picture taken with panties. Gigantic plaster replica panties.

I can't believe she's been outside this whole time. I'm worried for her. It's been so humid out, I hope she doesn't end up with a SEVEN YEAR ITCH.

(Pause)

SEVEN YEAR ITCH, ladies and gentlemen.

(Cough)

Anyway, leave it to a man named Johnson to take an incredibly sexy moment from classic cinema and make it absolutely terrifying. I mean, who could ever hope to satisfy gigantic Marilyn Monroe? Perhaps a cross between Kennedy and the Jolly Green Giant? Gargantuan Transformer Arthur Miller?

But now that I know it’s there, I have to see it. I mean I just do. Why? Because once I actually had this very same nightmare. I was a 70 foot tall Marilyn Monroe, except with my face, and my skirt kept blowing up and every time a gust of wind would blow another Japanese tour group would come by, snapping photos and nodding their heads.

I eventually sold my gigantic pair of panties to one of them for 8000 Yen. Arigato, perv.

Links to: Kuriositas for pictures of Forever Marilyn (flickr users credited through Kuriositas), sewardjohnson.com, filmforum.org and, of course, wikipedia.

A Modest Proposal to Remedy the Child Obesity Epidemic Ravaging the World, Making Life Uncomfortable for the Rest of Us

2011-07-13T11:13:00.000-07:00

People, we have a problem in this world and the problem is Fat Kids.*

Yes, Fat Kids the primary social illness of the modern era. I don't know if you people know this - if you've been outside of your fancy condo or incredibly expensive home lately or taken a walk during your lunch hour from your high powered job, you've noticed that there is a preponderance of Fat Kids out there loitering around in front of the convenience stores. They sit there, frantically shoving Little Debbie baked goods into their face and refusing to exercise.

Oh my God, there are Fat Kids everywhere, and it's making it difficult for us to enjoy our delicious Starbucks bakery treats and highly sugared espresso drinks while we check the Wall Street Journal app on our smart phones during our breaks.

How did Fat Kids become such an overwhelmingly threatening threat that threatens the very threatlessness of our lives? Simply answer, their parents. While not responsible necessarily for teaching their children manners, thoughtfulness, morals, community mindedness or tact, parents are responsible for ONE THING: at least make sure your kids aren't Fat Kids.

Yes, they can be self-centered assholes and wastrels, but at least let them be thin.

You have one goal, parents: make sure your kids aren't Fat Kids. Because when you have Fat Kids it's a little uncomfortable for the rest of us.

A few well intentioned but misguided researchers from Harvard (HARVARD!!!) have recommended that obese children be taken away from their obviously incompetent, uncaring and just frankly evil parents, and placed into the custody of foster parents. Foster, as we all know, is Australian for fixing a child's life.

The idea is that the act of Child Fatening is tantamount to child abuse, which places it on par with such nasty acts as beating one's children, forcing one's children to live in a cage, and abusing one's children in ways that are more vile and horrendous than anything we could imagine.

You see, parents must provide their children with four things: food, clothing, shelter and safety. We know that when a parent fails to provide an adequate amount of these things, that they are harming their children. What most people don't know is that providing too much can be harmful as well. Too much food? Obese children, disgusting! Too much clothing? Imagine a class of children running around with eight sweaters on! Too much shelter? How many roofs do you propose to put over these childrens' heads, sir?!

Too much safety? Well, we know that's impossible. You cannot shield a child enough from such things as pain, failure, disappointment, disillusionment, inadequacy or any of the other less desirable emotions they will repeatedly be forced to deal with their entire adult lives. Better for them to be horribly surprised than have a non-perfect childhood.

It is certainly true that children must not be allowed to become obese, as that condition leads to many adverse side effects. People must be kept alive for as long as possible, so that they can buy more radioactive phones, inhale more car exhaust fumes, bake longer in the tanning booths, alter their appearance more to become attractive to other people, and purchase more energy drinks; in short, to live a longer and more productive and enjoyable life.

But will taking these Fat Children from their parents and placing them in the custody of foster parents really solve anything? After all, by the time these children have been saved, they will already be fat. Aren't these unreasonable expectations to place on foster parents? Make these fat children unfat? Can you even do that?

For this reason, I would like to propose another method to remedy this highly undesirable situation: obese children are to be taken away from their parents, and placed in a battle dome with an entire zoo's worth of predatory animals. Their lives will be then monitored by television cameras, which will broadcast the Fat Dome to people around the world for their viewing pleasure.

Most of you Readers are right now nodding in agreement. This is, you say, the most obvious answer to this problem. However, we live in a "democracy" so some of you have a differing opinion on the matter. And so, I will now convince you.

Have you ever seen an unfit gladiator? No. That's because gladiators must battle constantly for their lives, and in doing so they (a) get a lot of exercise, and (b) eat only what they have time to eat in between battles with tigers. This also satisfies our society's Darwinian belief that only the strong survive. While normally 'the strong' constitutes 'rich kids with parents that buy them everything' in our modern era, the Fat Dome method allows Fat Kids to achieve their own unfatness and, in doing so, their freedom.

In this way, these children are given something that even perfect children on the outside are not given: actual physical exercise. Not that the lack of good playgrounds or competitive sports at young ages are detrimental to the development of modern children - after all, kids are to be protected from cuts, bumps, bruises and scrapes at all cost - or that this societal obsession with safety and it's preference that kids just play video games might possibly in some small way effect the healthiness of children in the first place. I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying, it's different.

And of course the real boon here is that we, the rest of society, get to watch the Fat Dome play out on television and really just enjoy this blood sport for everything it is. Yes, some of the Fat Kids might be eaten by wild animals or be forced to kill other Fat Kids just to make it out alive. But hey, they were probably going to develop diabetes anyway. This way is a lot more fun for the rest of us.

Now, the call to arms: dear Reader, instituting the Fat Dome is the only logical way to solve this problem. I can only do so much - after all, I'm just a shadowy figure with a blog who makes mostly snarky comments but who SOMETIMES writes entirely sincere prescriptions to remedy societal ills - and what I am capable of I have already done. It is up to you, friends, to spread the word and help make this happen.

Write your congresspeople! Convert your friends! Don't listen to those naysayers out there who would call you an animal, a shallow asshole and an idiot! If you must, send them the link to this post if it will help convince them. But we must not fail in this endeavor.

If it were up to this guy, we would just eat the Fat Kids.
Of course, he would say that. He looks a little pudgy himself, no?

Fat Dome. Let's make it happen.

*Please note, this entire post is facetious.

California: Chasing the Sunset

2011-07-11T17:54:00.000-07:00

I took a quick break from reading the magazine I bought in the airport terminal to take a look out the window. I don't remember what the captain said our cruising altitude was, but we were up above the clouds. A field of puffy white mounds stretched out in every direction and over in front of the plane somewhere the sun was setting. Our plane was chasing the sunset.

Not a bad way to start a vacation, that. Of course, nobody planned this little bit of loveliness; it's not like the airlines said, "Let's schedule a flight for this time; the trip should be really really pretty." No, it was very much by accident. I don't think many people noticed - a lot of them were watching Jane Eyre or whatever nonsense was playing on the in-flight movie - but I saw it and I loved it.

That's pretty much the theme so far: I saw it and I loved it.

When my Dad took a job outside of Los Angeles almost a year ago, the immediate thought was 'that's so far away, when are we ever going to see him?' But now that I'm on vacation (and sweet lord did I need a vacation) it has worked out nicely. I'm staying in Laguna Beach, a place I have no business staying, for a little over a week, and I've loved every minute of it. Here's a picture:

It was cloudy at the time of that picture. It's even more beautiful when the sun is shining.

I'm trying to take it easy as much as possible and just enjoy being somewhere nice without trying to do too much. That said, I've already been up to the Sunset Strip, out to Rancho Cucamonga, down to San Juan Capistrano, over to a slightly shady part of L.A. for some Karaoke and then back down to Laguna Beach and I've been here, what, three days now?

My friends Rachel and Mike, who is eating a microphone.

That's a lot of driving. What can I say? Can't help myself.

A couple of things I've learned about Los Angeles so far:

This is a driver's city. As near as I can tell, you drive everywhere. There is some mass transit to be seen, but it's generally scarce. The vast majority of the bikers I've seen are the snob bikers who wear the biking outfits and are hardcore about biking. Contrast that with Chicago, where you can abandon your car for weeks and never need it.
I love how traffic behavior generally reinforces my stereotypes about the locals. It seems like drivers here are aggressive, now laid back, now self-involved, now irritated but accommodating.
Everything blooms here. There are flowered plants everywhere. The cold, dead part of my Detroiter/Chicagoan soul - the part that must steel itself for the cruel winter - says 'ah for god sake cut it out,' but I'm on vacation so it's nice.
When people ask where I'm from and I say Chicago they all go "Oh what I great city! I love that place!" I think there's a bit of that grass-is-always-greener thing going on.

Californians - at least Southern Californians - like their abbreviations. Pacific Coast Highway? No no no, my friends: PCH. San Juan Capistrano? Wrong again: SJC. You couldn't get away with that in Chicago. If you were going down town along Lake Shore Drive, you wouldn't say 'I'll take Lake Shore.' You would have to say 'I'm taking LSD.' And that means something entirely different.

'Where you at right now, honey?' 'Oh, I'm on LSD.' 'Well, don't let me bother you. And drink lots of water.'

One thing I've done since here, just to appease the comedy nerd side of me (as opposed to the other side: just plain nerd) is to go see a show at The Comedy Store. Here's my fat head in front of the building:

Thanks, folks! I'll be here all week. Literally, I don't leave until Sunday.

So yeah, that's where I am. I'll try to continue to blog, but I'm not promising anything.

Soft Selling a Caveman on Cable

2011-07-06T10:58:00.000-07:00

The other night at the bar, following the concert of a friend, I found myself approached by a mutual acquaintance who worked for Comcast. Had I been smart, I would have immediately vomited on him, but I didn't. I'm too polite. So instead, I mentioned that while I don't work in cable I do work in telecom and 'what do you do?'

Salesman. Suddenly: I'm trapped.

'I really love it, too, just because the product is so great. I mean, I'm selling TV! How great is that?! Speaking of...' salesman's soft sell segue sonofabitch... 'do you have cable?'

No, says I. Oh man, he's salivating now.

'What do you have, Dish? Rabbit ears?'

No, none of that.

'Well, what do you watch?'

Nothing. I don't have a television.

A look of shock and horror on his face. 'What do you mean you don't have television? Like, you just don't have one?' Like, I have a horn in the middle of my face?

Oh no, not like that. I have a television, it's just broken such that it flatly refuses to turn on under any circumstances and, as a result, is just a big hulking piece of plastic and glass sitting in the corner of my room taking up space. It's actually a huge sore spot for me. I have no idea what's going on anywhere. I've started talking to myself. I read all the time. I spend a lot of time crying. But yeah, no TV.

A good sized pause. 'Well, how about phone and internet?'

I have that, I say, holding up my cellphone.

'No landline? What do you use for internet, by the way?'

My phone.

'Don't you have a laptop or something?'

I do. My cellphone is a hotspot, so I use that periodically. Or I go to the coffee shop.

Another pause. Possibly appalled, he's searching for something, anything, from his sales training to help him deal with this.

I offer: I lead a very low-tech existence, as you can tell.

'Yeah, no kidding. Well, look, we have to get you a TV or something.'

Oh yeah, I agree.

'Like a nice flat screen HD TV.'

That would be great. Do you run a charity that hands out flat screen HD TVs to people? Because I would sign up for that right now, if you would send me a free flat screen HD TV.

'Do you have any plans to buy one?'

Not anytime soon. I'm actually a very stubborn person, if that makes any sense.

'Well, I mean, tell you what, once you get that TV... you know what? I'm sorry. I'm going to stop soft selling you. I'm sorry man.'

Hey, you gave it your best. This just isn't going to work out. Don't beat yourself up about it.

'I know. It's just hard to stop.'

Here's the Comcast guy, installing my new Comcast Xfinity!

I would argue that conversation was more entertaining than the last episode of America's Got Talent. Not that I would know any better.

Transformers 3 Review: HOLY $H#!!!

2011-07-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

Holy shit, dude, Transformers 3! I mean, shit dude! I never seen so much shit blow up before. It was insane! I mean, if you saw Transformers 1 and you were all like 'Whoah holy shit that's a lot of explosions,' then this is like that but like I mean damn. Explosions everywhere!

Never saw Transformers 2. Didn't matter. Did not effect my viewing pleasure one bit. And Shia LeWhat didn't even piss me off too much!

There was this part where they blew the shit out of Chicago - like the whole city - for like an hour just blowing shit up. Like, buildings that you see walking down the street. Not the buildings walking, smartass, but like you're walking and you see all these buildings. Well, in the movie it's the same buildings only there's robots flying around busting shit up and setting everything on fire or exploding everything.

I mean shit, dude. Transformers.

OH SHIT, Shit's about to get real.

And then, we like we left the IMAX, which is at Navy Pier, and we walked outside and there were all the buildings again, not on fire. It was like 'no harm no foul' right? But man, it was awesome.

Granted, the purported conceit of the movie was a bit routine and lacking in clarity, given that the supposed quote unquote lesson was a jumbled mess of loyalty, freedom versus tyranny, and naturally a 'love story' element that at its best was unobtrusive however at its worst was distracting in its cliched construction, but, like, DUDE.

Shit blew UP.

(Seriously, though, it was a lot of fun.)

Fourth of July Rambling

2011-07-04T10:46:00.001-07:00

It's Independence Day here in America, which means barbecue and explosions in the sky and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Kaboom!

It's a great country, full of great people that do great things, and it's important to remember that from time to time.

But tonight, when you all get home from Navy Pier or wherever it is you're going tonight to watch the fireworks, and you're so jacked up from what a great day you've had and what a great country you live in, and you need to go to sleep but you need to calm down first, would you do me a favor and read this?

This is an article about how, hey, separation of church and state was actually a real thing that people, like, intended to exist when they started this great nation of ours. Not only that, but there's actual proof.

You would think this is something that everybody knows already, but apparently it's not. See, there's a growing contingent of 'patriots' out there who would have you believe that America is supposed to be a Christian nation. It's not. It's not supposed to be affiliated with any religion whatsoever.

But there are so many people out there who don't know a damned thing about this country and its history, let alone why it's special and needs to be safeguarded. And because of this, you have people like this telling people that John Quincy Adams was a founding father (his father was a founding father) and praising a town in Iowa for giving birth to John Wayne, where in reality he was born elsewhere and the aforementioned town was actually just where John Wayne Gacy started sexually assaulting people.

Side note: Michelle Bachmann wants to live in John Wayne's America. Given that most of John Wayne's movies were set in the wild west (People being shot in the streets? Outhouses? Hello?) or on a battlefield somewhere, I would decline that particular future thank you very much.

And yet, this is an elected official. People elected this person. People went to a ballot box somewhere and said, 'Yes, this person should be in charge.' And it's not even the same people who elected Sarah Palin - she of the infamous Paul Revere jumble of stalling and buzzwordy nonsense - those people were in Alaska.

People: this kind of foolishness is embarrassing. To have public officials who don't know their history, don't know the difference between a movie star and an infamous serial killer, and believe we're a religious nation where the government was set up by a bunch of Christians SPECIFICALLY TO BE A SECULAR INSTITUTION; I mean, this is a poor reflection on all of us, no?

So next time you run into these people, suggest that they read a history book. Or at least suggest that they go out and rent 'John Adams' and watch it on the T.V. It's a democratic republic, so we're all in this shit together.

My New Illinois Driver's License

2011-07-02T11:07:00.000-07:00

When you don't have a car - in fact when the loss of said car is still something of a sore spot for you - it's very easy to forget about such things as 'renewing your driver's license.'

This week it dawned on me that my Michigan driver's license expired on my birthday this year. My lovely little sky blue Michigan driver's license, one of my few remaining physical pieces of evidence that I came from the Great Lakes State, is no longer valid.

So recently I waded through the quagmire that is the Chicago office of the Illinois Secretary of State and took their written driving test. Here is a sample question, for you soon-to-be Illinois drivers:

Q: The light at an intersection turns red. You must:
(A) Speed up to get through the intersection as quickly as possible before anyone catches you,
(B) Check for traffic and then ignore the red light, speeding through the intersection as quickly as possible
(C) Bring your car to a stop, and then scream obscenities at nobody about how poorly timed the lights are on Halsted, I mean for Chrissake this is a major city - it's supposed to be a world class city - why can't people get their heads out of their asses and make this work, what the FUCK?!
(D) Bribe someone.

Of course, the worst thing about getting a new driver's license is the photo session. I am apparently incapable of taking a driver's license photo without looking sweetly deformed or drunk. In my latest venture, I've managed to do both.

Nothing boosts your self esteem quite like a driver's license picture.

I don't have a scanner on me, but using state of the art graphics imaging software (Microsoft Paint) I have recreated it for you.

Note that one eye is significantly smaller than the other and that I look sunburned. I look like a drunk Ernest Hemingway who's had the left side of his face bashed in with a mallet.

So, every time I get pulled over by the Illinois State Police (which hopefully shouldn't happen too much given the lack of car) they can expect me to look like that.

Food Poisoning of the Spirit

2011-06-29T20:01:00.000-07:00

And to think, I was on a roll there for a while. But alas, I relapsed into non-posting laziness, and now here I am again. Writing the same apology sentence that I do every time.

Meh. You all have been around these parts for a little while. You know what to expect. I'm not too upset about it.

What I am upset about (other than incredibly well thought out transitions...) is food poisoning.

It sucks.

That's what I did with my day today. I spent the early part of it unable to keep water down, followed by several hours of sleeping, followed by a couple of hours of feeling achy and that I generally wasted an entire day on something ridiculous.

So, yeah. I don't know what to say other than 'fuck you, food poisoning.' Same to you, leftover Chinese food that I probably left out for too long before refrigerating. And also, fuck me for eating it in the first place.

This is where I heave a sigh, and then promise to write something less bitchy and dumb tomorrow. Or at least sometime within the next week. Or month. Or at least I'll put up another picture of a puppy.

Monday to the Rescue with a Puppy

2011-06-20T11:05:00.000-07:00

So you say you’re in a bad mood because it’s Monday, and Mondays always suck – unless you have a Monday off, in which case Tuesday is now Monday which is even worse – and you don’t know how you’re going to make it through the day without trying to three-hole-punch your face off or staple yourself to death.

Well guess what, grumpy pants? I’m here to rescue you, and here’s how:

Boom! A picture of a puppy:

You might be allergic to dogs. You might hate dogs in general. But I defy you to look into this puppy’s eyes and tell it that you’re going to strangle yourself with your phone cord. Let that puppy’s adorably mussed hair and loving disposition warm your heart. Hey, you know what? Monday’s not that bad. Because even at the beginning of a most likely awful work week, even puppies still exist.

Puppies exist, and they love you.

(/takes very long drink of Jack Daniels on the rocks from a water bottle sitting on my desk, grimaces and then sighs)

Yup. Today’s not so bad after all.

Friday: Disgraceful Public Figures Disgraced

2011-06-17T10:31:00.000-07:00

Remember when we used to do this every Friday? We'd all gather 'round the blog on a Friday afternoon and just link a bunch of things we haven't been able to get this week?

Yeah. Why?

Let's take that walk down memory lane, shall we Bold Type?

You got it buddy.

Do it up.

Who Saw This Coming? And When I Say ‘Coming,’ I Mean… That… Er… That’s Inappropriate, Sir!

In a move that was simultaneously inevitable and dumb, New York representative Anthony Weiner – best known for living up to all of the schoolyard taunts about his last name - resigned his post. Presumably, he will now focus on his true passion: photographing himself in little to no clothing and then using the internet to disburse his Sexy.

I’m not sure why this is confusing for so many people: The Interwebs are not private. Anything you put on The Interwebs will be seen by someone, and if it’s embarrassing and you’re a public figure you can bet your ass it’s going to show up on the news. This is the way of things now.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/anthony-weiner-to-resign-thursday/2011/06/16/AGrPONXH_story.html?hpid=z1

In related news, I have no plans to resign from blogging.

You Know Who Can Fix That For You?

And of course any time a public figure gets caught being naughty somewhere, inevitably someone offers the greatest panacea: Jesus. This time, it’s Albert Mohler. Because if there’s one thing Jesus probably knows all about, it’s how to keep your junk off of Twitter.

I like to imagine Representative Weiner sitting down with Jesus and then asking his advice. Jesus just looks at him, and then says, ‘Here’s an idea: don’t do that.’ And that’s it.

Can we please just leave Jesus alone and let him concentrate on important things?

Speaking of Disgraced Public Figures…

I love it when people smile for their mugshots.

Remember when that guy could have been President?

And Finally…

James Franco is either some sort of super genius who has figured out a way to get away with literally anything, or he’s insane. Although really, can’t he be both?

This time, he’s figured out a way to sell a tiny card as a piece of ‘Non-visible’ art. Brilliant commentary on the art world, or attempt at duping people out of large sums of money? Who knows? Who cares! He’s James Franco!

Vancouver: What the Hell?

2011-06-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

If stereotypes are to be believed – and generally speaking they should be until such time as they shouldn’t – Americans are a loud, independent-minded, obnoxious and selfish people. The Irish are drunkards, the Scottish are cheap, the English are effeminate and the French smoke a lot and get kicked around on the battlefield.

But Canadians?

Words like ‘Polite,’ ‘Diplomatic,’ ‘Peaceful,’ and ‘Good People’ come to mind. Until such time as they’re not.

How many do you think we could fit in the penalty box?

So when the rest of the world woke up this morning and began surfing the web instead of actually doing their jobs (cough), they were shocked to find that a riot broke out last night in Vancouver. Most of the world forgot about Playoff Sports after the Big Three of Miami were summarily destroyed by a team from Texas – and of course by a certain SPORTS CURSE, MWAHAHAAA!!! But no, a game 7 was played last night in a little sport called Hockey.
And when the Bruins, one of many loathsome sports franchises from Boston, beat the Vancouver Canucks by a score of 4 to nothing, everything went to hell and suddenly your local, friendly neighborhood Canadian was flipping over a police car, looting and setting shit on fire.

The crazy thing is this isn’t the first time either. In 1994, Vancouver rioted when they lost to the New York Rangers.
In 1886 Vancouver rioted when they lost to a team called ‘The Chinese.’
Vancouver: the East Lansing of Canada (ZING)?

Brah!!

Why so much ANGAR? Yes, Hockey is the national sport of Canada (along with Lacrosse, but who plays Lacrosse other than privileged preppy brahs from private schools?), and yes it sucks to lose to Boston in anything, but holy hell Vancouver, it’s just a game. This is not Egypt, or Tunisia, or Syria. This is the Pacific Northwest, the land of seafood, coffee and chilling out with nature. I mean, you just hosted the Olympics. What the hell?

And this is coming from a guy who goes into a pouty funk anytime certain teams from a certain city (also known for rioting) lose a game, to Boston or to anyone else for that matter.

On Birthdays and the Passage of Time

2011-06-15T11:45:00.000-07:00

Diary-type post. Good Lord, run for the hills and hope for something funny soon!

When last you read anything new on these electronic pages, your humble host was a mere 28 years old. He is now, through the magical processes of time and over the course of a scant few days, one whole year (365 days) older!

A magic trick? An act of time travel or accelerated aging? Or simply the passage of an arbitrary date which people use as a measure of progress?

At what moment in life are people capable of driving a car? At what hour does one suddenly develop the ability to handle a large metal piece of machinery and use it for transportation and not for running into curbs, mailboxes, parked cars and bushes?

At what second does one instantly mature to the point where one can be trusted to responsibly intoxicate oneself?

(At what point will the questions stop and an actual definitive sentence be written in this godforsaken post?)

Presumably, only once a clock somewhere strikes midnight is one suddenly transformed from a caterpillar into a glorious beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking, car-driving, draft-dodging, all-knowing butterfly.

There is a template out there somewhere in the collective consciousness that from time to time we lay across the course of our own lives, and from this template we expect to measure our advancement. At X I am supposed to graduate from college; at Y I should have made a certain amount of progress in my profession; at Z I ought to have a spouse and a certain amount of children, etc. Have I met X,Y and Z? If so, am I happy? If not, am I unhappy? How’s my 401(k) lookin'?

I don’t know what we expect, really: to turn 30 and suddenly, like a shiny new driver’s license, we are presented with a a promising career, a young family and a guaranteed retirement by no later than 60. The longer I live, though, the more I believe life isn’t lived from milestone to milestone, not from year to year, but from day to day and moment to moment.

I’m not sure exactly what to do with this revelation/delusion. I recognize that I’m rapidly approaching the point where the aforementioned template is supposed to become a very real gage of progress. I’m not entirely certain I really care (yet). Given the most recent passage of an arbitrary milestone, as well as an expansion of ‘alone time’ I’ve spent, it seems as good a time as any to reflect.

Man, if this is what you get at 29, imagine what will happen when the clock strikes 30!

POEM: Process Change

2011-06-10T08:49:00.000-07:00

And now, to finish the week out with another poem. Been reading a lot of Horace lately, so I probably just have that on the mind. Enjoy.

I’m glad you’ll be working with us.

I’m really excited about

Your potential and your future.

We’ll have some fun; we’ll do some work;

We’ll live our lives.

Anyway,

You’ll just be nailing in this board.

You just place the board, take some nails,

And then you pound the nails in there

So that the board is stuck in place.

You should probably use a hammer.

Real simple, shouldn’t be too hard.

Just let me know when you’re done, k?

Hey man, how are you adjusting?

You’re doing some real strong pounding

Really getting those nails in there.

Everyone has been really pleased.

So, Process Change: going forward,

Could you communicate with me

Every time you complete a step?

You grab a board, just let me know.

You get some nails, just let me know.

You hammer them, just let me know.

When you’re done, just let me know too.

No big deal. Just a process change,

To help us monitor the change

In the process. So, keep it up,

You’re doing some really good work,

Let me know about those milestones.

Hey there brother man, how are ya?

Doing good? Happy? Productive?

Good, good, good. Hey, so, Process Change:

Higher ups want a paper trail

To track when each milestone is met,

And at what time, and so that way

We can track when milestones are met.

Make sense? So, just, every time

You do anything –grab a board,

Grab the nails, hammer in those nails,

Et cetera – fill out a slip.

Write the time and date and sign it.

And everyone will be happy.

Sound good? Good deal. You’re doing good.

Keep up the good, my good buddy.

What’s up excellent coworker?

My team player? You doing well?

Guess what? I have a gift for you!

Technology has just arrived,

And it’s going to make life easy.

We’re canning the ticket system

And we’re going electronic.

There’s a new system we will use:

It’s like a website. You log in,

There’s an entry for every board,

And you update every entry

The way you were before BUT

Instead of writing the stuff out

You just type it. So, you log in,

Mark that you grabbed yourself a board,

Mark that you grabbed yourself some nails,

Mark that you hammered them all in,

Tell me you finished, then mark it.

This Process Change really pulls us

Into the industry’s future:

Leading the charge in advancing

Unique board pounding services.

Hey, buddy. Things going okay?

Yeah? Listen, we’ve noticed a dip -

I don’t want to say ‘a dip’ – no,

That sounds worse than it is. A lag,

Yeah, better, a lag in your times.

Your productivity is down.

You used to bang board twice as fast.

Not sure what changed, something must have,

Could be your personal life, or

Something of that nature, but DUDE

You have to step it up for me.

I know you do really good work

I know that, but the higher ups,

Well, they’re looking to improve things

Across the board. No going back,

You know. It’s just not possible

To lead when you’re falling behind.

Also, while I’m here, Process Change:

We now have separate fields to use

When noting the system note fields

So that we can delineate

Between the notes about the boards

And the notes that you send to me.

And include the exact amount

Of nails utilized for each board

As well as the size of each board

And weight to the nearest kg.

All this info should assist us –

Well, at least the procurement peeps –

In keeping our costs down so that

Profit continues to increase

Despite across the board laggage

In our board poundage department.

Anyway, keep up the good work,

Look for ways to improve your times,

I am still really excited about

Your future.

And keep an eye out

For future Process Changes.

POEM: Angar

2011-06-08T14:26:00.000-07:00

"I Am ANGAR!!!

“AAAARGH!!!

“WHY ME SO ANGARY?!

“YOU! YOU WHY ME SO ANGAR!!

“ME WANT YES AND YOU: NO.

“NO?!

“NO IS ME ANGAR NOW!!

“I NEED HAVE YES NOW!!

"NOW!!

“GIVE ME YES, OR GIVE YOU ANGAR!!

“ANGAR!!!

“ME SO ANGARY!! WHY?!”

Your Weekly Reminder: Sarah Palin is Woefully Inadequate

2011-06-06T13:33:00.000-07:00

I don’t particularly like politics.

Oh sure, I love to make fun of politics. But I have problems taking a serious discussion of it seriously. You see, beneath my cheery exterior lies the dark soul of a cynic. Where other people see ideological differences between Republican and Democrat, I see a difference of branding.

As a result, I am not deeply surprised when an anti-war President continues the policy of fighting several wars at once. Nor am I surprised when the party in power during the gigantic subprime mortgage nightmare tries to blame the subprime mortgage nightmare on someone else. With precious few exceptions, they’re all vying for the same campaign money and the same votes. The rest is just noise.

It’s all part of the shell game that is democracy in the age of mass media.

However, as deeply cynical as I am, there is one that I simply cannot abide under any circumstances: flat out stupidity.

Sarah Palin is one of those instances of flat out stupidity.

Recently, Sarah Palin was asked to expound upon Paul Revere’s heroic ride through Massachusetts – and by expound, I mean ‘just tell us very simply what he did, you know, like a grade school student could do.’

Her response was this:

Wait, sorry. Wrong video. Let’s try that one:

Oh no, that’s the Beastie Boys. This song is almost as historically accurate as what Sarah Palin actually said, which was this:

Yeah, play that back again real quick and soak it in. This could have been our Vice President. Which, granted, Biden spends about half of his day asleep. But at least he’s not saying that. I mean… come on.

Of course, once the spin cycle kicked in, we get articles like this claiming that while perhaps not the most eloquently put statement ever made in the history of, well, history, it is technically sort of kind of factual.

Apparently, when captured, Paul Revere bragged to the British that five hundred Americans were on their way to kick some ass. Whether or not he said ‘We are gonna be secure and, ahhhh… we are gonna be free” is up for debate. Although, considering Paul Revere was Paul Revere and Sarah Palin is Sarah Palin, I’m willing to bet the “ahhh” was added at the very least.

But go back and replay that third video. And ask yourself ‘Is Sarah Palin trying to share with us a little known fact about the American Revolution? Or is she just trying to bullshit her way out of not knowing the most basic facts of the single most important period of time in the history of her own country?’

Although, she did get that he rode a horse. So hey, that’s something.

So America, please: if worse comes to worse and she’s on the ballot at any point during the whole election process, DO NOT VOTE FOR SARAH PALIN.

Please.

Twitter: 100% "Nat Topping's Junk" Free

2011-06-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

Given the recent media storm currently bearing down on Rep. Anthony Weiner for what may or may not have been a picture of his man-junk, which may or may not have been posted on Twitter by the Representative himself depending on who you ask and which phony-baloney news stations you frequent, I thought I would take a moment to clear the air.

Like Rep. Anthony Weiner, I am also a Twitter user. Also like Rep. Anthony Weiner, I have man-junk.

But I would like to give you my word: my Twitter account is a Nat's-penis-free zone.

Go ahead: follow NatTopping and you will find 140 character complaints about the weather, bus service, 'those damn kids' and other observations that are best made by a 75 year old man. What you will not find, my friends, are digital pictures, lithographs, wood-block representations or any other depiction of my penis - covered with fabric or au naturale.

If you do find something on the twitter claiming to be my penis, know that it likely is not. But that, if it is, I most certainly will recognize it.

For those of you disappointed by this (I'm sure hundreds of thousands are you are gnashing your teeth), here is a list of places where you can find depictions of my penis:

The Harold Washington library
My shower
The Lincoln Park Zoo
In the courtyard next to the Starbucks at Sheffield and Diversey
Facebook
Next to The Bean
Your rear view mirror
In an airplane flying above rural Iowa
The Detroit Symphony Orchestra, back row balcony on the left aisle
The Double Tree in Denver, CO
Wherever you like, provided you give me enough advanced notice and are available by email, text message or fax
Hot Doug's. I love that place. But it tries to get there early because the lines get a little hectic.

If I'm missing anywhere, please let me know in the comment section so that I can be sure to notify everyone.

And you thought new look = more professional, huh? Silly you.

June = Changes

2011-06-01T07:53:00.000-07:00

Being the observant readership to which I've grown accustomed, you might have noticed a couple of things are different 'round these parts.

Your eyes are not bold-facedly lying to you. The colors are different, and there's a big ass picture of my name in a speech bubble at the top of the page.

Have I sold out? No. That would imply that I've been paid anything; I haven't.

No, instead I am trying to sell myself.

June means 'time to get myself an agent and start trying my hand at voice over stuff.' Because, contrary to popular belief and as much as I "really love" my day job, I would much prefer to make money doing things that I actually, you know, really love.

One of those things happens to be the possibility of stepping into a booth, talking at a fuzzy thing, and then getting paid moneys.

So, here I am. I've made a voice over demo. A family friend by the name of Pete Moreau made me a logo of sorts. I've put together a 'Voice Over' page (on which I will eventually place things). I'll be calling (begging) agents shortly.

So yeah. That.

For those of you freaking out right now - OH MY GOD, I USED TO RELY ON HIM BLOGGING ONCE EVERY MONTH AND A HALF, DOES THIS MEAN HE WON'T BE WRITING NONSENSE ANYMORE, I MIGHT HAVE TO GO TO ONE OF LITERALLY MILLIONS OF SITES ON THE INTERNET FULL OF USELESS NONSENSE AND SCHLOCK TO GET MY BI-MONTHLY RATION OF USELESS NONSENSE AND SCHLOCK!!! - first of all, take yourself off of caps lock.

Second of all, I will still be writing the same inconsistently produced drivel for your enjoyment. It's just, well, you'll have to get used to seeing my name in a speech bubble when you show up.

Hope y'all like it. Suggestions? Complaints? Random angry statements? Please leave them in the comments.

Natmobile No More

2011-05-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of my poor, poor car.

Ah! Memories...

It didn’t start out as my car. It was originally my sisters, then became my parents, and then was given to me as a sort of graduation gift from college so that I could commute back and forth to the Purple Rose and, well, it has been with me ever since.

About a month and a half ago, it died by the side of the road on a freeway heading to Barrington. Luckily, a tow guy managed to be driving by at the time (I otherwise might still be sitting out there) who helped me take it to the nearest Ford dealer where it was promptly diagnosed with a completely destroyed transmission. The cost of replacing the transmission was more than the car is worth and so finally, after weeks of putting it off, I’ve cancelled my insurance and mailed off the title to a junk yard to take care of the poor thing.

It is an inglorious end for a car that has served me well, despite years of being dinged, scraped, whacked and generally abused in the various neighborhoods of Chicago. Let it be known that my Ford Escape carried me across country on countless trips between Chicago and Detroit, a trip or two to Wisconsin, two trips to Stratford, ON and innumerable commutes to and from work during the cold, snowy winters in the city.

I have no plans to replace it right now. I need time to mourn. The ‘Nat-Mobile’ as it was affectionately called (by me and nobody else) will always be remembered for its trustworthiness.

And I know that, when the time comes and I decide it’s time to move on, I need only become a star played at Ohio State University* and I’ll have all the cars I need.

*'The' has been intentionally left off because it's dumb.

Sports Curse: Miami Heat

2011-05-27T07:38:00.000-07:00

I've dreaded this moment.

For a long time, I've been trying to hold this back. I try not to interfere in the matters of the world, and let nature take it's course. However, the time has come to act. For justice, peace, and the American way.

As some of you may know, the Miami Heat just beat the Chicago Bulls to make it to the World Series, or whatever it is they call it for Basketball. I am no friend of the Chicago Bulls, through circumstances of birth and hometown allegiance. However, the entire concept of the Heat (read: buying a bunch of superstars and assembling a Basketball Juggernaut that MUST NOT BE STOPPEED) is diametrically opposed to what I love about Basketball. You know.

And so, I must now invoke the Dread Sports Curse!!

For those of the faint at heart, avert your eyes!

MIAMI! A city so hot, they named their Basketball team 'The Heat!' Other teams in the NBA have one superstar or *GASP* no superstars!! In Miami, they have three!

Look how serious they look! They look that way because they are being paid serious money!

Despite having several sports teams, Miami is best known for their fish heavy diets, for being the setting for 'The Bird Cage' starring Robin Williams and Nathan Lane, and for this:

"If you can't stand the Heat... [putting on sunglasses] get out of Miami."

YYYYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

So here's to you, Miami Heat! The true paragon of NBA success! May you have an enjoyable sweep through the Finals!

Grab Your Shotgun! It's Biking Season!

2011-05-26T09:28:00.000-07:00

It’s late May in Chicago, which means that warm weather is ALMOST AROUND THE CORNER!!! Which in turn means that I’ve taken my bike out of the dank dungeon-like basement/laundry room of my slowly crumbling apartment building and have started schlepping my ass to work biker-style.

Biking has always been dangerous. Even with the addition of sensible sized wheels, you're still likely to end up on your ass.

And let there be no confusion. By biker, I do not mean motorcycle, hog, crotch rocket or whatever else the kids are calling it these days. I’m talking about the rickety, rusty piece of metal that I chose to hop on and pedal around as though it were a legitimate means of transportation.

Hey, gas prices/lack of working car and all that. What else am I going to do? Take the CTA?!

I’ve always felt (since finally getting a bike about a year ago. N.B. “Always” = “One Year”) that bicycles are like the dolphins of the streets. Hear me out. Larger than the tuna streaming through the crosswalks, but definitely smaller than the whales, who pose a constant and ever-present threat to the dolphins’ well being, bikers are also highly intelligent (read: hipsters) but highly fragile.

And, because of this constant and ever-present threat, I’ve developed my own bike related paranoias. Which I will now list for you. Because I like lists:

If it’s a windy day, the wind is always blowing in my face. Doesn’t matter the time of year, type of weather, position of the stars in relation to the moon, anything. Always in my face.
If there’s a chance of rain and I decide to ride my bike, it will inevitably rain.
If there’s a chance of rain and I decide to take the bus, it will inevitably be the nicest, most bike conducive weather imaginable.
Bus drivers are always trying to side swipe me. I’m convinced of this.
If I am passing a taxi that is stopped to let people out, I know that the passenger will try to hit me with the door. Or throw a bottle of coke at me. Or shout while I pass by. Or any other number of douchy things.
It's almost always better to just blow through stop signs. If you try stopping for cars, you will inevitably just sit there looking at each other, gesturing for the other to go. This lasts as long as five minutes and always ends with you both going at the same time anyway. Better to just get hit the first time around.
Everyone is always looking at my ass.

Any other bikers out there? Care to share your paranoia? This blog is a blog of healing. For one post only.

Shark vs Surfer. Who Wins? Putin, That's Who.

2011-05-24T14:27:00.000-07:00

With all this talk about the end of the world (or lack thereof) you would never even know there's an election coming up.

That's right, next year. A Presidential election, where the forces of Good and Evil collide, Righteousness does battle with Corruption, and the Candidates match wits on a national stage inside of a Russian octagon of doom full of bears and weapons grade plutonium.

I'm talking, of course, about the Russian presidential election.

This upcoming year's election will likely pit former President and current Prime Minister, Vladimir Putin, pictured here staring into your soul and seeing that thing you did on the playground when you were twelve that you've aways regretted...

Against Twitter enthusiast, noted technogeek and the current President, Dmitry Medvedev. Pictured here:

The question is as old as time: old and authoritarian versus new and cuddly. Kremlin versus Zeppelin. Tiananmen versus Twitter. KGB versus OMG. I could go on if I knew more Russian/Authoritarian nouns.

Okay, one more: Pol Pot versus iPad.

Anyone, I never claimed to be much of a prognosticator (unlike SOME people) but this is how I imagine it will play out...

...where Medvedev is the surfer, and Putin is the gigantic insane looking shark. You know Putin's not the surfer, because if he were that shark would already be dead.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: expect more nonsensical Putin posts in the near future.

Meditations on a World that Refuses to End

2011-05-23T11:09:00.000-07:00

The end of the world is naught.

Turned out to just be a cameo by 'Thing' from the Addams Family.

Six in the afternoon came and went around the world on May 21st, and as near as anyone can tell nobody disappeared. There were no massive earthquakes. There were no piles of neatly folded clothing left outside the door of Harold Camping’s home in Alameda, California. No throngs of sinners desperately trying to survive an earthquake, or wondering where that nice gentleman from IT went. There were just people: some confused, some disappointed, some exultant in the downfall of Religion everywhere - as though this was ever anything more than a couple of people with a bizarre interpretation of a really old book, Internet access and a lot of money.

But most people were just mildly amused as they went about their lives on a beautiful day – in Chicago, it was a lovely but unfortunately “rare” May afternoon full of sunshine and warmth with a nice breeze. It was certainly not the type of day you would expect for the beginning of Armageddon.

So, here we all are still. Billions of people on a rock floating around a very large ball of fire.

Personally, I’m quite happy with the way things turned out – of last week’s list I was only able to hit ‘frosting sock’ and only the partial destruction of my enemies – but I have no interest in rubbing people’s noses in the fact that we’re all still here, stuck together. It’s times like this when the militant atheists come out of the woodwork and make videos about how great life would be if there were no religious people in the world.

No, I feel bad for people like Robert Fitzpatrick. Not only was he not raptured, but he was subjected to heckling by New Yorkers (a group known for the voraciousness of their mocking abilities), lost $140,000 of his life savings – note: he’s retired – and to top it off became the subject of a snide New York Post article directly mocking him. These are the times that try men’s souls.

How do you console someone excited about the prospect of the world ending? It’s a strange situation. I don’t know what to say, other than ‘Hey, at least you were prepared.’

In some metaphorical way*, the world ends every day. Tragedy strikes, people die, lives fall apart, people are fired, relationships crumble, things do not go according to plan. It’s just as important to meet those little endings with resolve, with faith that everything will work out, and with the grace to handle those situations as they come up. Whatever helps you cope – whether it be conviction that the world is literally about to end, or the comfort of organized religion or some personal philosophy, or just the lessons of having lived life – use it and make the best of what you have.

I guess it’s just a moody Monday around here. I did, after all, get rained on during the bike ride in this morning. Comedy to return later this week, or whenever the muse strikes.

*Danger: waxing philosophical.

End of the World is Nigh! Where's My Double Down?!

2011-05-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

Holy hell, the world is ending on Saturday!

Nothing says 'Family Radio' like Judgement Day!

Yeah, I know that people have been saying this literally for thousands and thousands of years now. But this time, it’s for serious. In this instance, a guy on the Internet is using ‘rather sophisticated mathematical equations that are tied to one date… the date of the flood from Noah’s Ark.’

And we all know precisely what date that was. It’s such common knowledge that I don’t even feel the need to mention it to you right now.

Except, I was hoping that the world wouldn’t end at least until 2012 - the year mentioned by the Mayans, who inexplicably ran out of space to write more calendar entries on a finite piece of stone - so now I have a problem: I have so much stuff I wanted to do before the end of the world that I don’t know how I’m ever going to get it all done. Here’s a partial list:

Winning a Nobel Peace Prize
Overseeing the destruction of all my enemies
Performing my One Man Show entitled “Nat Topping: UnBearded”
Swimming in a pool filled with gold coins
Dressing as a pirate at Gasparilla 2012 (Y'arr)
Eating a KFC Double Down without vomiting literally everything I’ve ever ate in my entire life
Overseeing the destruction and humiliation of all my enemies
Visiting Denmark
Engaging in a ‘Mexican Halloween’
Climbing the mountain next to Mt Everest
Filling a sock full of frosting and then rubbing the sock all over my chest while running up and down Michigan Ave*
Living long enough to see the Robo-Cop Statue debut in Detroit
Overseeing the destruction and humiliation of all my enemies and their next of kin
Making a pineapple upside-down cake.

I have a day and a half. Possibly two, provided the world ends Saturday afternoon and not first thing Saturday morning. Who’s got some free time?!

*Hey, it’s my dream list. Don't judge me.

Monologue for Maureen: "Enchiladas"

2011-05-18T11:01:00.000-07:00

I wrote this monologue at the RvD writer's meeting for an exercise and ended up really liking it. I thought I'd share and see if any of you people who actually read this godforsaken blog have any feedback.

Maureen’s Monologue “Enchiladas”

By Nat Topping
First Draft – 05.16.2011

(MAUREEN is seated at a Mexican restaurant across from her sister.)

MAUREEN:

I don't know how you can sit there with that plate of enchiladas, Deb. I really don't. I mean, they look cold. Aren't they cold? They look rubbery, almost. Like play enchiladas. Like plastic play enchiladas for kids. Here, you want me to get the waitress? Because I'll get the waitress. I know you don't like making a fuss, but I will make that fuss for you. I will fuss it up right now.

(Beat) What do you mean, they're fine? Look at your face. You're clearly not happy; I'm not happy for you. Your enchiladas are making me unhappy. I'll tell you what: my chili relleno is excellent, but if my chili relleno was rubbery and cold and plastic looking, you can bet your ass that I'd have them take it back. I'd ask for a relleno so fresh they'd have to grow the pepper for me. Because I'm paying for it, and I deserve the best pepper I can get, and I guess what I'm saying, Deb, is that you deserve a better goddamn enchilada, and there is no excuse for you to sit there and settle for disgusting, rubber enchiladas. Not today.

Yes, I know I'm crying. I don't care. I just want what's best or you. You're my sister. I'm fussing now. You're embarrassed. I'll shut up.

(Pause)

Do you want another margarita? I'll get the waitress, we'll get you some new enchiladas and a couple of margaritas. Okay?

And end of monologue.

Since this is the Internet, the above is copyright Nat Topping, 2011. Naturally.

Doing Things

2011-05-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody!

Yes, I know postage has been on the light side, and in those few moments where it's happened it's been bizarre dream journals. I haven't forgotten about you. I promise.

Lately, I've been struck by a desire to start actually doing things. Not to say that I haven't been doing things; I have RvD; I have Crassus. So maybe what I mean is 'a desire to do more things.'

Two things spurred this: (1) doing the Crassus show in Rockford back in February with Geoff, and (2) finishing my voice over demo.

Thing the First was just a lot of fun. They treated us well out there, they paid us a nominal amount for our comedy, and it was just great getting on the stage and performing material that I love. It really gave me the desire to travel (I mean, who knows) and to work more on these scenes and to keep performing them over and over instead of letting them slip away.

Thing the Second was a culmination of a little under a year's worth of classes and coaching sessions, wherein I found a method of applying my talents such that I could potentially make some sort of money at it. No, it's not a company membership at Steppenwolf, or a role in a feature film. But if it can actually help me focus on doing things that I like to do, instead of working a job I don't particularly like and then trying to fit my actual passion around it, then hell it's worth a shot.

Thing the Third might be the fact that my Television just died over the weekend. I'm not willing to admit that yet, but general boredom in the apartment might be a factor....

So the following is stuff I'm working on:

(1) Getting a VO agent (preferably someone who also handles film/commercial stuff), so that I can start auditioning for spots. I'll probably add a tab to this site for the demo and other info.
(2) Auditioning for more plays, because I like them and miss doing them.
(3) Developing more Crassus stuff. Geoff's having a baby and is going on hiatus for a couple of months, but I work with his ass so we're going to keep writing and hopefull get back on stage in the fall.
(4) Developing some solo stuff - particularly some new Reality Fairy songs. I'm actually doing SketchTest tomorrow night and next Tuesday, where I'll be doing some Reality Fairy stuff.
(5) Write more actual plays. I've been quietly mulling over possibly going for an MFA in dramatic writing somewhere, so we'll see about that too.

And also to occasionally spit out a blog post's worth of drivel for general consumption.

I don't know, people. My 29th is coming up in June. If ever there was a time to get ass in gear, it's now.

Dream Journal 05.10.2011

2011-05-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

Here’s my dream last night:

I was trying to get to some sort of Robot vs Dinosaur function – I think it was a fundraiser dinner or something – but I was trapped on a conference call for work. So I sat and sat and sat until the function had started and I decided ‘I can’t miss this dinner, I have to go.’ I packed up a laptop and carried it to the dinner, where I took over a whole table and sat there, by myself, on my laptop and on my phone and worked.

People would come up to me wanting to talk, and I’d just smile and shrug my shoulders. What am I going to do? I’m working.

My girlfriend was trying to call me too. She was sitting at another table at the dinner. Couldn’t pick up. Really, really wanted to. Sorry! I looked across the room to where she was and smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

So I went back to the call and the laptop with all of this fun going on around me. And then suddenly my manager from when I was first hired showed up.

He asked me how things were going, and I just started in on everything. Complaining, gnashing teeth, moaning, wailing, etc. And Ray (that was his name) just smiled and nodded and smiled and nodded. Yeah, that sounds about right.

And then he asked to take a look at my laptop at as he was looking over my work emails and laughing I woke up.

That’s the closest thing I’ve had to a nightmare in a long, long time.

Bin Laden is Dead: Long Live Fake Reviews

2011-05-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

I hope that you don't come here for the news, but just in case you haven't heard Osama Bin Laden is dead. Here's a link to a real newspaper if you would like to read about it.

I could spend the next couple of paragraphs meditating on how important or unimportant this is to American life, culture and foreign policy. I could also reflect on the changes, good and bad, that have taken hold of our lovely country over the past ten years.

Instead of that, I will simply share a link to the 150+ (at time of posting) Google User reviews of the Bin Laden compound. Reviews range from the dryly funny to the racistly inappropriate to the scatological.

Por Ejemplo:

"Bob ‎ - May 2, 2011

Talk about a @#$% hole.. This place is "Abbottabad" as it gets! Waka Waka! "

ZING!!

It is a true testament to the undying sarcastic nature of the Internet, and it's perserverence over solemnity, gravitas and good taste.

A Letter From Elvis Presley Concerning the 'Birther' Debate

2011-04-28T11:36:00.000-07:00

Somehow, the following letter fell into my hands. This is not at all forged in any way, shape or form and is one hundred percent legitimate in every way imaginable.

From the Desk of Sven Torgesen
27 April, 2011
Necochea, Argentina

Dear Birthers,

My name is Elvis Presley. I am a 76 year old man living in Necochea, Argentina, going by the assumed name Sven Torgensen. I once had a very successful entertaining career in the United States before faking my own death and retiring here. This move was a product of both a desire to shun the limelight as well as the emergence of a very lucrative real estate deal with a firm of aliens from outer space.

I had hoped to live out the rest of my days here on the beach, honing my whittling skills and learning to play the guiro, until passing away peaceful in relative obscurity. However, due to your recent insistence in perpetuating so much nonsense State-side, I feel compelled to break my silence.

I know a hoax when I see once, sirs and madams. In fact, I am a hoax. I am currently living a hoax. I know hoaxes better than anyone outside of Adolphus Hitlersen, who lives five doors down the street from me.

Now, I know you want the Obama birth certificate to be fake. It’s not. It’s clearly a real birth certificate. Two newspapers reported his birth. He was born in Hawaii. I might not know much, but God gave me enough common sense to read an official valid birth certificate.

You will ask questions that start with “Isn’t it funny,” or “Don’t you think” or “Could it be” and the answer is no. No, it’s not a forged certificate. No, ‘Certificate of Live Birth’ is not different from ‘Birth Certificate.’ No, no, no and shut up.

I have no patience for this nonsense; even from thousands and thousands of miles away. I know that I once said that I don’t dig the intellectual bit, but neither do I dig abject stupidity. The man has been your President for several years now, and will be until such time as he is either (a) voted out, or (b) reaches his term limit. No amount of Trump’d up charges (See what I did there? The old dog can still turn a phrase.) will change that.

Frankly, perpetuating the myth that this is a 'hoax' is an affront to hoaxes everywhere. I know for a fact that the producers of the moon landing footage are very upset as well.

Talk about issues. Talk about policy. Talk about anything else you like, but it is horse manure like this that is slowly killing the political process in my old homeland, and is the kind of nutjob whackery that makes faking one’s own death and moving to South America so gosh darned appealing.

To sum up, quit wasting everyone’s time. Also, go to hell.

Sincerely,

Sven Torgensen
A.K.A Elvis Presley

Nat Topping is a Faking Faker

2011-04-27T09:03:00.000-07:00

This only goes to confirm what I have suspected all along: never trust anyone named St. James under any circumstances. Even the good Saint James the Just himself. Just my foot.

Also reinforced by the aforementioned article on the Chicago Tribune: don’t trust people on the Internet.

By now this should be common sense. Apparently, it is not.

Q: Some random Internet guy named “Jesse Jubilee James” fires up a conversation with you on a ‘Deadwood’ message board. He’s a firefighter who knits, grows llamas, writes poetry, and makes plaques out of logs after forest fires to commemorate his love for you. Is he,

A: Fake
B: Made up
C: A fake person, I mean come on; Jesse Jubilee James? Are you faking kidding me?
D: I don’t have the time for this fakery.
E: Ah hell, I'll just leave your husband and plan to move to Colorado, only to find out that Jesse has suddenly died, only to find out EVEN LATER that he was, in fact, A,B,C and D.

If you answered ‘E’ then I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. Don’t talk to strangers.

But alas, in 2005 there was no Catfish, a movie that dealt specifically with this issue. Not that it would have mattered, because very few people saw it anyway, despite it being a very good movie.

And thus you have confusion, heartbreak, betrayal, and a lawsuit. Again, don’t talk to strangers.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t mean to blame the victim entirely. However, I feel that criticizing St. James of Batavia would be hypocritical, given that I myself am fake.

ORGAN STING!

No, it’s true.* Up until now, you have known me as I have presented myself on the Internet: a late-twenties pasty white dude with a beard working at a non-descript job while trying desperately to get people out to see his comedy shows. It has all been a façade.

In truth, my name is Rebecca Flimingston. I live in Plum Springs, Ky with three cats and my husband Dan. Here is a picture of me:

As you can see, I am afraid of cameras. I also have a nice living room, an excellent pair of sunglasses that I use as a paperweight, and this is my favorite song in the world.

Since we’re being honest: my life is boring. There’s not much to do in Plum Springs, Ky and, while I could sporadically blog about taking trips to Bowling Green to visit the Historic Railpark and Train Museum, nobody gives a damn about any of that. Honestly even writing this now makes me want to claw out my own eyes.

So let’s just go on living this little lie, shall we? I’m Nat Topping. I’m a late-twenties pasty white dude with a beard, and I want to be your lover.

*And of course, by 'True' I mean completely made up. Now you don't know what to believe, do you? THE INTERNET IS USED FOR EVIL!!

St. Drunken's Day Pictures...

2011-04-20T09:26:00.000-07:00

... are on the RvD Blog. Go check them out!

Whoah.

St. Drunken's Eve...

2011-04-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

... is traditionally celebrated with the following:

Shots of Irish whiskey, and...

Eating from a tin of old black olives found at the back of your pantry.

This is following by setting one's alarm clock with just enough time to make it to the official St. Drunken's Day festival!

Huzzah! It's a miracle!

St. Drunken's Plug Day!

2011-04-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

Today is a very special day.
You see, today is St. Drunken's Plug Day! It's a holiday that is the Monday before St. Drunken's Day wherein the hosts plug their St. Drunken's Day festivities.

Joy of joys!

Activities today include putting the finishing touches on pageantry, eating lunch, and completely stealing the entire St. Drunken's Day post from the RvD blog!

And now for the wholesale copy and paste work:

Robot vs. Dinosaur invites you to attend a fundraiser celebrating: St. Drunken’s Day! A Holiday for the Drunken Masses

The event will feature the first-ever St. Drunken’s Day pageant, drinking games, drinking songs, a raffle for fun drinking (and non-drinking) related prizes, a silent auction of one-of-a-kind St. Drunken’s Day artwork and a host of other fun activities including a goodly amount of a certain beverage made from hops and barley.

The Details:

What: St. Drunken’s Day Celebration When: Saturday, April 16, 2011 from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. Where: 3036 North Lincoln Avenue, #2 Tickets: $20 in advance, $25 at the door (this event is capped so purchase your tickets early--don’t get left out of the celebration!)

To purchase tickets see any member of RvD.

You must be 21 to attend St. Drunken’s Day.

About St. Drunken: St. Drunken is the world’s mostly forgotten patron saint of drunks, inebriates, drinkers, imbibers and people who like to have fun. He is responsible for finding arbitrary reasons for people to get together, enjoy each other’s company, shake off the weight of the world, and drink alcohol (usually to excess).

All proceeds will go to help fund future RvD shows, not to buy beer for RvD. Mostly.

Indigo Wisdom

2011-04-07T11:11:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of my brother, Don. He is also known to a select few as 'Gib,' and since I've been around for a while, I've earned the right to call him that. That picture of Gib is also the cover of a book that my mother wrote called 'Indigo Wisdom.'

This might sound like a stupid thing for an actor/writer/comedian with a blog to say, but I'll say it anyway: I'm a very private person. I don't really like talking about my personal life or political views or religious beliefs in a public fashion, and on those rare occasions when I do broach those subjects, it's usually guarded by a veil of comedy.

I don't know why I'm like this. I just am. So apologies in advance if this comes across stilted. I'm going to try to be serious for a moment. Slapdash idiocy to return over the next couple of days, I'm sure.

But for my mom to write a book about raising my brother (and my sister and me) is, at least to me, doubly courageous - first in that it took a lot of courage and dedication and faith to raise my brother, and second because she's putting everything out there for other people to read.

To synopsize, my brother had myriad health problems and learning disabilities to contend with over the course of his childhood that my parents (and specifically my mom) had to fight through and, through their perseverance and faith and good old fashioned Topping stubbornness they were able to save Gib from a very different outcome then what many so-called experts had predicted for him.

It's a strange thing to have the story of your childhood written down for you to read. I had this sensation while reading of vaguely remembering all of these little snippets and suddenly being able to put them together into what was actually happening while I was growing up. My prevailing thoughts, though, were ones of gratitude and appreciation for my parents and just kind of how amazing they were and continue to be.

So this book Indigo Wisdom is their story, and it's just kind of an amazing thing to behold. If you were ever looking for evidence of where I came from, here it is. If you're looking for a story to hopefully inspire you, here it is as well. The book is available on Amazon in both print and Kindle format.

If you wanted a signed copy, I could probably get you one of those too.

Where I've Been! You'll Never Believe it!

2011-04-06T09:29:00.000-07:00

Oh my God. You guys.

I've been wanting to blog for a while now. Seriously. But I couldn't.

Because...

I was kidnapped.

No, it's true. I was kidnapped. And I just got back, literally like just right now, so that I could write this. Seriously, I'm going to call the police and the FBI and everybody as soon as I'm done writing this.

No, really.

So, my last post was March 15th about the Ides of March. And apparently, there's a group of terrorist secret cult people only in Europe, like from those Dan Brown movies, and apparently that song is like a huge piece of some super-secret that they've been keeping secretly for like two thousand years or something.

It's true. Benjamin Franklin and Charles Nelson Reilly were all part of the cult, so you know it's legit.

So, while I was on my way home from work the day that I posted that, this shadowy black van pulled up and they grabbed me and threw me in the back of the trunk and drugged me, and before I knew it we were on a boat crossing the Atlantic to their super-secret port in Switzerland - A LAND LOCKED COUNTRY, so that's how serious these guys are - and then they tied me up in a basement and forced me to tell the truth.

Which was, like, awful. Telling the truth all the time.

But finally I managed to escape because my two guards were Judge Reinhold and some lady I never saw before but was apparently in Supergirl, and I was able to seduce them with my eyebrow tricks (I can do tricks with my eyebrows, I swear. Ask me about it sometime, but not now I don't have time) and then they let me go.

Except, now I'm in Switzerland and I don't speak Swiss!

So I pretended like I was a travelling mime and made my way to France, where I managed to hop on a boat but then somehow I ended up off the coast of Libya and everything was exploding everywhere and the boat capsized so I swam all the way to Malta.

But once I got to the shores of Malta, there was this crazy old man that kept asking me a bunch of hard riddles, but I was able to answer them because they all somehow had something to do with my quest, and as a reward he gave me $794.07, which was precisely the price for a plane ticket direct from Malta to Chicago.

Except it was a Southwest fight - which I didn't even know Southwest flies outside of America, much less on Malta, but they do - and the plane cracked open and they had to land in Vermont, but I was able to find a canoe and paddle the whole way, by myself, along the St Lawrence seaway all the way though the Great Lakes, past Macinac Island (I did NOT stop for fudge) all the way down Lake Michigan, up the Chicago river and finally to here, where I am right now, typing this!

Except maybe I won't press charges, but I learned so much about myself during the journey that I'm almost happy it happened.

Yes, they are lessons I will remember for a long time, except I am now going to completely forget all of the details of my past near-month experiences, so if you ask me about them I might not remember them.

So yeah. That's where I've been.

Ides of March

2011-03-15T07:50:00.000-07:00

On this day a long ass time ago, a guy wrapped in a sheet was stabbed over and over again by a bunch of other guys wearing sheets until he was dead.

Why was he stabbed? Was it because he was the first of many many people to make France look like a bunch of snail-eating pansies? Was it because he nailed Cleopatra? Was it because everyone had to do what he said?

I don't know; I never made it all the way through that play. I mean, Shakespeare, right? Talk talk talk talk talk.

But I do know once thing, and it's this: The Ides of March presents Vehicle.

Nothing like a song about a stranger luring people into his car with candy to get you ready for the day.

Last Minute Plug: SHOW TOMORROW

2011-03-01T08:49:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone!

RvD is part of 'The Alternative History of Chicago Theatre' tomorrow at Chopin theatre in Chicago. WBEZ is putting this on.

Here are the deets!

WBEZ Dueling Critics Kelly Kleiman and Jonathan Arbarbanel will take the audience through memorable moments in Chicago’s rich theater history along with a panel of experts. Stitching the evening together, five local theater companies will perform a few of these moments with tongues firmly in cheeks.

To attend you must purchase tickets at wbez.org/events.

On stage:

...- Kelly Kleiman is a freelance writer on the arts, feminism, travel and social justice.
- Jonathan Abarbanel is theater critic for WBEZ and the weekly Windy City Times newspaper.

Also:

Critic Albert Williams, Broadway actor Kate Buddeke, and Victory Gardens' founder Dennis Zacek

With:

Sketch comedy group Robot vs. Dinosaur, spoken word troupe BoyGirlBoyGirl, fringe theater companies The Plagiarists and RoShamBo Theater, and southside educational theater company Tofu Chitlin' Circuit

Tickets

$15/general admission
$12/WBEZ members
$10/students (with valid ID)

More information: http://chicagopublicradio.org/Event_Detail.aspx?eventID=2099

Charlie Sheen: Now Made From 100% Bat-Shit Crazy

2011-02-25T13:26:00.000-08:00

Charlie Sheen is a poet.

An insane, coke-loving, prostitute-incarcerating, mouth-foaming poet. But a poet nonetheless.

Behold:

"What does this say about Haim Levine [Chuck Lorre] after he tried to use his words to judge and attempt to degrade me. I gracefully ignored this folly for 177 shows ... I fire back once and this contaminated little maggot can't handle my power and can't handle the truth. I wish him nothing but pain in his silly travels especially if they wind up in my octagon. Clearly I have defeated this earthworm with my words -- imagine what I would have done with my fire breathing fists. I urge all my beautiful and loyal fans who embraced this show for almost a decade to walk with me side-by-side as we march up the steps of justice to right this unconscionable wrong.

Remember these are my people ... not yours...we will continue on together..."

Oh that I were an animator. I would create Charlie Sheen's Octagon, a futuristic gladiator ring with a floor made platforms floating in molten lava. Inside of the Octogon, Charlie Sheen would do battle with various mythical foes and defeat them using the power of his awesome fire breathing fists.

Then he would fly away on the wings of a bat made of its own shit towards the setting sun.

Fly on, Charlie Sheen, you crazy bastard.

Get a New Ending Please K THNX

2011-02-21T14:53:00.000-08:00

I'll try not to ruin the play for you, but this just drove me crazy and I'm going to vent about it on my blog because that's what blogs are for. That and naked pictures of myself. But I'm not giving that away for free anymore.

Anyway, a week ago today I took the Greatest Baseball Girlfriend to Steppenwolf to celebrate (belatedly) Valentine's Day. We saw Sex With Strangers. Generally speaking, it was very good. I had a very good time. It was a good production of a good play with good acting and everything was good UNTIL the ending.

You know that ending where there's one character on stage and he/she/it is deciding whether to do one thing or another? Should I stay or should I go? Should I follow him or shouldn't I? You know that one, right? Of course you know it. It's everywhere now.

It seems like whenever I go see a play or a movie now, there's a 50% chance that it ends with this tacked on, schmaltzy ending. I know why they're doing it; they want that "OOOOOOOOOHHH!!!" ending; that "let's go talk about this in the lobby ending."

It was clever the first time, people.

The second time, it was still clever because I forgot about it completely the first time around.

Third time, fourth time, fifth time? Not so clever anymore. I mean, come on. Make a choice and just end the play.

Here is my recommendation: go see Sex With Strangers, but when you get about an hour and a half in, keep an eye out for what seems like it might be the ending of the play. Once you get to what seems like might be the ending, immediately stand up and begin to applaud. Do not stop applauding until they bring the lights down and go to curtain call.

Hopefully the rest of the audience will join in and the stage manager will end the play early.

Proof - Yes Proof - That Justin Bieber is a Robot

2011-02-14T10:26:00.000-08:00

Living in a cave bereft now of even the most basic of network television sometimes has it’s perks. Oh sure, I might not know what's going on in Egypt, or what sort of zaniness Charlie Sheen has gotten himself into (yet again, am I right?). But then, up until yesterday I knew very little of Rihanna and the insidious earworm “What’s My Name” spawned by her evil genius. Now I can’t get it out of my head.

Another instance, limited contact with this Bieber creation.

‘Who is this Bieber of which you speak?’ you ask. Are you not aware of the Bieber lore? Allow me to enlighten you.

It came to be one day in the eighth year of the new millennium that a man, whilst searching the Youtubes for electronic video of a singer long forgotten to the annals of time, stumbled upon video of the young phenom known as ‘Bieber’ singing soul music. The man tracked the ‘Bieber’ through the tretcherous twists and turns of the information superhighway, only to find a tiny Canadian boy, living in Stratford, ON.

The Bieber’s mother was intrigued by what the man had said, about how talented her boy was and how they could make a ton of money, however the man was Jewish and so it took some convincing. “God, I gave him to you. You could send me a Christian man, a Christian label! ... you don’t want this Jewish kid to be Justin’s man, do you?” quoth the Bieber’s mother. At least if Wikipedia is to be believed.

However, this being the recording industry, it was decided Jews would be unavoidable, and so off to Atlanta they went.

It came to pass that the Bieber met the great Usher, a man of angelic voice and devilish hip movement, in an Atlanta parking lot, and the sun shone down upon them and now we have My World 2.0 all over the goddamn place and this kid's face with it's perfect helmet hair is plastered all over the television.

At least, this is the version that the Music Industrial Complex would have you believe.

However, having watched the Grammys last night, I have come to believe more and more that Bieber is not, in fact, a little white kid from the Great White North, which an angelic little voice and devilish hip movement for a young person of his age. Instead I suspect more and more that Justin Bieber is, in fact, a robot.

Proof, you say? You want proof? Behold:

Exhibit A: Pictures from the Grammy performance. Note the use of sunglasses and the robotic mouth piece as an amplification device. He is also standing in a well known robot stance, which indicates that he is ready to accept further programming instructions from Usher.

Exhibit B: His singing and dancing abilities. Having been a sixteen year old boy (and then a seventeen year old boy), I can attest to the fact that no sixteen or seventeen year old boy has the requisite angelic qualities about his voice, nor the basic coordination skills necessary to perform the aforementioned devilish hip movement. The Bieber’s propensity at both reeks to me of complicated robotics and hydraulics, combined with flawless programming.

Exhibit C: The Bieber’s actions when not onstage. In a word, they were nonexistant. Presenter after presenter made light hearted Bieber jokes throughout the night; the camera would cut to his seat in the audience and they would see this:

This look is called ‘Standby Mode’ in the computing world. If you leave your laptop alone for long enough it will adopt a similar, albeit less human expression. If Bieber were indeed a human boy he would have at least flinched at the sheer unfunny qualities of constantly mining that Bieber-lode for a cheap polite laugh. But not a squirm. Why? Robot, that's why.

Now, can I be certain that Bieber is a robot and not what they say he is based on these three measly points? Is this evidence solid and irrefutable?

Yes, actually.

But, for those of you who still hold doubts in your Bieber-loving heart, I will endeavor to unearth yet more evidence that Justin Bieber is, in fact, an angelically voiced, devilishly hipped robot created to induce teenage swooning.

That is, of course, the Music Industrial Complex would rather silence me with outlandish bribes. In which case, Music Industrial Complex, please email me directly so that we can work out suitable payment for my silence.

Also, Lady Antebellum sucks donkey dong. No amount of Grammy trophies will ever change that.

Damn This Roast Chicken is GOOD

2011-02-11T11:35:00.000-08:00

Hot damn, people. If you're a meat eater, one of the greatest things you could ever possibly do is roast a damn chicken.

That's right, I'm holding your attention hostage and talking about roasting chickens. This should tell you how awesome it is. And it's so damn easy that I can't believe it's taken me until twenty eight years of age to learn this. I mean, you need a pot or roasting pan big enough for a chicken and a meat thermometer. That's the most complicated thing about it is having a pot.

Want to roast a damn chicken? Here's how:

First, go to the grocery store. Buy a whole damned chicken. Raw. Put that rotisserie chicken down; no cheating. Then, get a lemon, a bulb of garlic, and some twine. Do you have salt and pepper at home? If not, buy some. Otherwise, take all that shit home because you, my friend, are about to roast a damn chicken.

Second, pour yourself a glass of scotch.

Third, wash the damn chicken and pat it dry. Slice a couple cloves of garlic and toss them into the chicken cavity. Then poke some holes in the lemon and toss it in the cavity. Then, tie the legs shut, and cover the damn thing in salt and pepper. Both sides - top and bottom.

Fourth, throw your pot into the oven and preheat the sonofabitch to 425 degrees for a half hour.

Pour yourself more scotch.

Been a half hour? Throw that damned chicken in the pot, breast side up. You hear that sizzle? That means freaking magic is in your oven, and it's doing it's thing.

Wait twenty minutes. Then flip the bird (yeah I said it) and wait twenty more minutes. Have more scotch. Then, flip the bird again (said it twice!) and wait another twenty minutes.

By now, it's been an hour and you've had yourself a lot of scotch and you don't even give a damn you just want to tear into that bird. But don't do that yet. Put the meat thermometer in there and make sure it says "This damn chicken's not going to kill you" before you take it out.

Does it say "This damn chicken's not going to kill you" yet? No? Leave it.

How 'bout now? Yeah? Here's what you do.

Take that pot out of the oven and let the chicken chill out for a bit. Then take the damn chicken, which is now officially roasted, and put it on a cutting board.

If you know how to carve a chicken, you can carve the chicken. But, let's be honest, by now you've had a lot of scotch and you've been waiting for what seems like your whole life and goddamn it you got to get you some of that damn roast chicken. So tear into it. Tear into it and cover your face in crispy chicken skin and chicken juices and just eat.

Tear into it until you've lost your mind and you have no idea what time it is or where you are and you just want to sleep.

Then, in the morning, wake up and look around. Your kitchen is in disarray - there are pots and pans and knives and bones all over the place and you have no idea what happened, just that the scotch is all gone. For a brief moment, you think: 'I can't remember what I did last night. Oh God, what did I do? Did I kill again?'

But no, you didn't. You just made a damn roast chicken all on your lonesome, and you go to check the fridge and guess what? Three day's worth of chicken meat, neatly packed in Tupperware containers, and guess what? It's still delicious. And guess what? It's still cooked and not going to kill you. And you wonder how, in the name of God and all that's sacred and holy, did you managed to roast a whole damn chicken, without burning your hands and face off?

I told you how. Didn't you hear me say 'magic?'

Notes from Rockford

2011-02-08T10:33:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, I had a chance to do something that I've always wanted to do. I got to travel to another city and perform comedy. And then they gave me money.

Sure, that city was Rockford; it was only about an hour and a half away; and the amount of money was a mere $150 split two ways, but you have to start somewhere.

Here's how everything came about:

Just before RvD's Sketchfest show in early January, I received a random email from someone I didn't know asking if RvD was 'available for booking.' There wasn't much info in the email, but I had the blessing of the group to at least ask him what the hell he was talking about.

Rockford does this show called "First Fridays" where the first Friday of every month they put on a concert/comedy show/art show. They usually have a couple of standups, a band and then a local Rockford sketch/improv group. That sketch group wasn't able to do the February show and, since the people in that sketch group had seen RvD, they wanted to know if we would come out and do the show. They couldn't offer much, but they would feed us drinks and food afterwards.

Well, it's hard to get a group of seven people to drop everything on a Friday night to run an hour and a half outside of the city to do a show. Particularly when you would have to put that show together in less than a month. One would need to be crazy to bother with that.

Well, luckily I know two who are crazy enough.

And so Geoff and I put together some Crassus sketches we had performed previously and off we went to Rockford, our significant others in tow.

We showed up at the event. It was at a cool 250-300 seat theatre in downtown Rockford. The event coordinator people whisked us off to the backstage area, told us how excited they were to have us, let us know that we were actually headlining and then got us some water.

We performed the set. The house was about as full as our sketchfest show. The audience loved us. The event people were really thankful that we came out. They paid us. They took us next store to this cool bar called Kryptonite (which I would highly recommend if you are in Rockford ever - good atmostphere, live music, great freshly made foccacia) and basically treated us as though we deserved to be treated well.

You contrast that with your typical show in Chicago, where sketch comedy and improv is literally everywhere and you have to beg friends and coworkers to even come to the show. It's just refreshing.

So here's to you, Rockford. Thanks for having us.

Friday: Digging Out with Dancing Wrestlers

2011-02-04T07:11:00.000-08:00

And lo it came to pass that the city actually did get a ton of snow, and lo I did have a snow day on Wednesday, and I did eat a bowl of cereal and watch old DVDs, and lo yesterday sucked because we were all playing catch up, when even making it to work and finding a parking spot was a challenge.

But today is a new day, my friends. I have a show tonight in Rockford with Geoff (yes, half way across the state), and so to celebrate I share with you this piece of artistry:

Groovy.

Snowpocalypse II: Seriously, Guys, It Might Actually Happen This Time

2011-01-31T10:57:00.000-08:00

It's the end of January, which means it's time for your yearly SNOWPOCALYSE/Ain't-been-this-bad-since-'67/Chicken-Little call for a gigantic city-crippling blizzard.

Like clockwork, friends.

There is an informal rule regarding this type of pronouncement, which is: "Every time the media says something will be awful, it's inevitably not that bad."

It's only when something creeps up on you unannounced that it's actually that bad.

This won't stop us all from hoping and praying for an adult snowday. And hey, maybe we'll actually get the 20+ inches of snow that everyone seems to be convinced we'll get.

If that's the case, I have the following back-up plans in mind:

Wake up wearing my jammies, run to the window, survey the snow carnage and shout "Hooray! Snow day!"
Go back to bed and sleep until noon.
Make a big bowl of cereal and watch episodes of Arrested Development until 3:00 in the afternoon.
Run outside and make snow angels.
Fluff the beef.
Heat a frozen pizza and watch more epidodes of Arrested Development.
Go to bed after praying for another Tsnownami.

Come on, weather. Don't let me down.

Fluff the Beef

2011-01-26T09:44:00.000-08:00

A little cultural lesson: Chicagoans love their Italian Beef.

I make this blanket statement knowing full well that there are plenty of people in Chicago that don't like Italian Beef, that actually don't eat beef and might be offended to be lumped in with people who have a clear disregard for the rights of animals and for their own health.

To them I say 'tough.' Chicagoans love their Italian Beef. And I mean 'Love.'

Recently I enjoyed some catered Italian Beef from a local beef establishment. It came in a big box, lovingly packed full of delicately sliced beef and painstakingly prepared gravy. And it came with instructions on how to "fluff the beef."

If "Fluff the beef" sounds vaguely sexual and even pornographic to you, then know that you are not alone.

And since I have a microphone at my disposal, I went ahead and made an ode to Italian Beef, using excerpts from those very instructions. I submit the following, for your listening and fluffing approval:

P.S. A couple of notes, the words used in this actually appear in the printed instructions. I didn't make anything up. Second, I got the music from a royalty-free music site. Hooray Interwebs!

Cutting Ties

2011-01-25T10:40:00.000-08:00

Allow me to discuss sports, now that both teams I care about are out of the running (one only freshly out of it, and one probably out before last season started).

Say what you will about the Chicago sports fan, but they are passionate. Last Sunday's game, for example:

Someone from a certain other NFC North city would take a look at the Bears, the fact that their offensive line can't stop a three man rush, the fact that their quarterback spent the year getting sacked and sacked again, the fact that the defense is very old and their wide receivers are very young, and think "My God, it's amazing they got so far on so little!"

Yet as I drove home following the game (viewed in the suburbs with the greatest baseball girlfriend ever and her family), local talk radio had already declared this a "failed season." Playing in the NFC championship game at home, with a chance to tie in the fourth quarter with a third-string quarterback, and they're calling this a failed season.

Never mind the fact that nobody thought this team would make past third place in the division, let alone to win the division, let alone make it to the NFC championship.

This city demands excellence from their football team. And when excellence is not obtained, questions must be answered. Why didn't Jay Cutler play through the game on his injured knee? No, he wasn't playing well up to that point, and no they had yet to score a point while he was in, but if this city is going down with the ship then the quarterback is coming with us, grade II MCL sprain or no.

And this city demands excellence from it's fans, to the point where some guy got fired from his job as a car salesman for wearing a Green Bay Packers tie on Monday.

Man.

I like football as much as the next guy, but maybe I'm just so used to losing by now that this kind of thing seems bizarre to me.

Post Sketchfest Stuff

2011-01-19T10:45:00.000-08:00

Okay, Sketchfest. A random assortment of thoughts from Robot vs Dinosaur's Sketchfest show:

(1) There is a lot of merit to doing a “best-of” show. Mostly because you are performing pieces that you already know work. There should be no freaking out about whether or not people will laugh at the sketches because they have all been done before and proven to get laughs.

(2) That said, I will always freak out about whether or not people will laugh. Apparently this is just in my nature.

(3) I cannot be more pleased with the way our twist worked out. The concept for this show was that our “best-of” performance is interrupted by Nazis from the show that we are writing for the spring. At the end, the show is literally invaded by 20+ Nazis (some fantastic extras that Joe convinced to do the show) and a humongous fight ensues. It was an incredibly chaotic spectacle and was so much fun to watch during rehearsal; I can only imagine what the audience thought going from a ‘small’ show performed by six people to a gigantic mob of people.

(4) Also, we skyped in Greg from Florida to be our Nazi leader, projected onto a screen over the stage. This was the moving part I was most worried about and it came off beautifully.

(5) People like shouty scenes. People like their actors committing to the part. People like it when Scientologists get punched in the face.

I can’t wait to get the performance video from sketchfest. My girlfriend taped the beginning but unfortunately my camera ran out of battery, so I’ll comb through what we got and try to cut up some video for people to see.

Obligatory "Hey I Haven't Written Anything in a Long While" Post

2011-01-18T11:19:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know. I know.

Things I have done lately that should be talked about on this blog at some point in the near future:

(1) Trip to Arizona over the holidays, including a picture of ducks

(2) Chicago Sketchfest performance for Robot vs Dinosaur

(3) Any upcoming plans for RvD related stuff.

These three things will be talked about soon. I promise you. For now, here's a picture of this:

ROBOT VS DINOSAUR at Chicago Sketchfest!

2011-01-05T10:25:00.000-08:00

Let the New Year’s pluggery commence!

Next Friday, January 14th at 7:00 PM, your favorite Chicago sketch comedy group named Robot vs Dinosaur PERFORMS at Chicago Sketchfest!

Come spend an hour with us as we relive our short lived glory sketches in an ‘unplugged’ environment. There will be sketches and songs and even a staged reading of something too inappropriate to be staged. And as always the show ends catastrophically.

See? Unplugged! Like Aerosmith!

CHICAGO SKETCHFEST 2011

@Stage773

1225 W Belmont Ave

Chicago, IL 60657

Robot vs Dinosaur

Friday, 1/14 @ 7:00 PM

South Theatre

For more information and ticketing, go to www.chicagosketchfest.com/

New Year: Let's Do This

2011-01-04T15:15:00.000-08:00

Normally this time of year is for reflecting on the past year and making resolutions for next year, but to hell with that. I saw the Electric Six live in the D on 12/30 and I'm inspired. This year is the year of this:

Let's melt some faces off.

SONG: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (Home Wrecker)

2010-12-21T09:23:00.000-08:00

First, a Christmas gift, then an explanation. Have a listen:

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (Home Wrecker)
Arranged and Deformed by Nat Topping
12.21.2010

So, I've been taking voice over classes here in Chicago. I just finished up my second class and I'm looking into making a demo but, in the meantime, I decided I'd get a decent microphone so that I could practice reading stuff, tweaking my voice, etc. I wanted to put something together to kind of test the microphone and to fiddle around with free editing software and so on and this is what came out.

The voice is a character singing voice that I use when singing inappropriate songs for gravely male voices - like Dolly Parton's Jolene except I only know about eighteen words of the song. I need a name for that character voice, so let me know if you have any brilliant ideas in the comment section.

A Toast to the Persistent!

2010-12-20T12:58:00.000-08:00

A Toast!

To the persistent!

To those of us who refuse to give up!

To those who keep their eye on the prize!

To those who will bulldoze everything in their way to get what they want!

To those who will not jump through hoops or over hurdles, but who bulldoze through hurdles!

To those who are so fixated on the prize that they will ruin the competition, willfully disregard rules to comic effect, stumble gracelessly, impede the progress of others, and generally act the ass so that they can finish this race we call life not in first, nor in second, but certainly not last!

Cheers to you, second hurdler from the left!

Tip of the hat to my buddy Pat.

The Softer Side of Putin

2010-12-15T19:38:00.000-08:00

And no, I'm not talking about this:

I'm talking about a strange rash of pleasant Putin pictures and movies making their rounds about the interwebs. And sure, maybe by "rash" I mean "two," but still have a look at this:

Question: What the... wahuh? I... wha? Anyone? I mean... huh?

Who looks more unnatural in that setting? I would argue Putin, despite the fact that the other two people in the photo are (1) some sort of deranged snowman, and (2) a... hipster rabbit?

But even more disturbing perhaps (definitely) is this video of Putin singing 'Blueberry Hill' for charity:

In my best Russian accent: "Is terrible."

A couple of stray thoughts:

I love that everyone is forced to pretend that he's actually singing. And also, that the person who actually is singing sounds comically Russian.
Why are they playing a synthesized version of Blueberry Hill when there is obviously a full band of musicians behind him just sitting around.
Kevin Costner might be even more awkward than deranged snowman and hipster rabit.

This is what Karaoke with the boss is like, except in this instance the 'boss' is an internationally feared iron man who fights whales with crossbows and strikes fear into the heart of fear itself.

Is it possible that Putin is growing soft in his old age? That a new glimmer of warmth penetrates his cold icy gaze? Let's have a look:

Nope. Cold as ever.

The Seven Stages of Snow-cceptance

2010-12-13T09:28:00.000-08:00

Dear Chicago: you’re still Chicago. I know that you had a lovely summer and a nice fall and that the weather has been mostly tolerable if not pleasant but at the end of the day you are known for a few things: incredibly unhealthy local fast foods, constructive yet nonetheless corrupt political corruption (corrupt), and cold weather.

It should come to no surprise then that this weekend was ass cold and ass snowy. But it does; it does surprise every year. This morning, I woke up and it was ten degrees and when I stepped outside I thought to myself “OOOH!! OOOH GOD!!! AHH! OOH GOD NO!! AAAAH!”

Yes, Bill Belichick brought this upon us.

So yes time to get out those hats and scarves and snow shoes and bear pelts and dog sled teams and whiskey sweet whiskey because guess what Chicago? It’s going to be cold; it’s going to be unpleasant; it’s going to be a long time before everything is okay again.

But I think as long as you keep everything in perspective and remember the Seven Stages of Sno-cceptance (SNOWMANTEAU! Five bonus points for self-referrential linkage to me!) then at least you can rationalize the fact that you’re going through the exact same torturous process as every other poor bastard waiting on Halsted for a bus that might never come.

The steps are:

Shock: “What the hell is that? Is that snow? Already? What month is it? Sonofabitch.”
Denial: “There’s no way it’ll stick, though. Right? The ground is probably still too warm, so it will all melt and everything will go back to the way it was, right? Right?”
Pain: “Holy hell, it’s cold. Oh God, why is it so cold?”
Guilt: “I could have lived anywhere in the whole damned country. Why did I pick this godforsaken tundra? What’s the weather like in Miami right now?”
Anger: “ARRGGHHH! ARRGGHHH! WIND!! AAARRGGHHH!!!”
Bargaining: “If the snow can just hold off until I get home, I promise I’ll volunteer time at a shelter for homeless meth-addict puppies”
Capitulation: “I give up. I’m ordering Lou Malnati’s delivery and spending the next two months watching garbage network television.”

Remember, it could always be worse. You could be Minnesota. Commence gratuitous video of Minnesota’s football stadium collapsing in five… four… three… two… and…

Stay strong, my Chicagoan brethren. Stay strong and stay warm.

The Devious Patch

2010-12-08T11:15:00.001-08:00

I have a patch of hair on my beard that I am convinced grows faster than the rest of my beard. It’s on the right side of my face (your left if you’re looking at me) right where the beard meets my neckline, half way between my chin and my ear. If you ever need a map to that patch of unruly beard hair – in the event that my obsessive description wasn’t enough – let me know and I’ll draw you one.

I used to think that I wasn’t trimming the beard right. Somehow, I was trimming everything else on my face to the same length but was missing a patch. I’ve tried a new trimmer. I’ve tried trimming against the grain. I’ve tried trimming with the grain. I’ve tried trimming both with and then against the grain. I’ve tried trimming diagonally across the grain. I’ve trimmed until it looked like the devious patch had been trimmed into submission.

Ah, but appearances are deceiving. And within a few weeks, there are sprouts of uncooperative hair jetting out from my neckline, defying me and my desire to control my own beard.

So what is it with this tuft? Is it the manifestation of a defiant streak in my personality that has long been dormant? Is it proof positive that, no matter what I do I will always look like a disheveled lumberjack? Is it possible I’m just really bad at beard maintenance?

Slow Down! There's Thanksgiving First!

2010-11-18T10:07:00.001-08:00

Around this time of year, I am easily mistaken for a Grinch.

I can’t help it. I see the slow, methodical march of the Christmas decorations earlier and earlier into the year and I feel honor bound to say something. Usually, something whiny and crotchety and I probably just come off as some jerk who doesn’t like fun.

This may be true. I have a valid reason, though.

I know that people love Christmas and that Christmas is such a shiny, happy commercial success that the opportunity to begin festivities earlier and earlier can be extremely enticing. But there are holidays that come before Christmas, and I don’t want them glossed over just because some jag wants to sell you more wreaths, red bunting and plastic lawn reindeer.

I’m most concerned about one holiday in particular: Thanksgiving.

People, Thanksgiving is great. It is, perhaps, the purest holiday of all holidays. You need only do two things: eat food, and watch football. That’s it. Actually, someone also has to make the food. Three things. And for this, we are rewarded with a four day weekend every year.

There’s no buying of gifts, or running from house to house trying to see everybody you’ve ever known, or singing or going to church/mass/whatever floats your boat.

No. You go home to your family or you go find some people you like, you watch some football, and then you eat. You then have three more days off to contemplate Christmas or do whatever you like.

So dagnabbit, let’s not rush this, okay?

Robo-Putin!

2010-11-16T11:08:00.000-08:00

Some breaking news regarding Russia and their spy capabilities. It now appears that they are able to see through time, as evidenced by this picture of Vladimir Putin:

Putin is now capable of seeing into both the future and the past, which allows him the ability to glare at anyone who has ever lived. And, he looks incredibly stylish (in an early 90's sort of way) while doing it.

If your ancestors have ever had a dream where they saw the icy cold blue of a madman's eyes, it is because of this.

Get You're Education Hear, H'yaw

2010-11-12T09:40:00.000-08:00

Linky link to some general spelling and grammar guidelines. I know: the first thing you think of when you think 'grammar' is "ENTERTAINMENT!!" but I promise it's funny. Check it out, h'yaw.

freeze-taint

2010-11-03T08:41:00.000-07:00

freeze-taint
[freez-teynt]
-noun
The sensation of cold on one's grundle or gooch, often caused by the application of said grundle to a cold object, e.g. a bicycle seat or a bag of frozen peas.

Origin: Nat Topping

Use it in a sentence: "After riding back from work last night, I noticed I have a wicked case of freeze-taint.

An Excellent Use of Time

2010-11-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

If you like evidence of creativity among the unwashed masses (I have not showered today, nor do I intend to) I suggest taking a gander at the 55 Funniest Signs From the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.

My personal favorite is the first one up there:

I'm not sure which is worse, the Arabic or actual McDonalds.

A Fanciful Poem Concerning the Wind

2010-10-28T10:10:00.000-07:00

(I don my beret and my fanciful pants, procure a quill pen and a pot of ink and begin to write:)

Oh windy windy windy wind,
Whither, Windy, have you been?
I see that Autumn’s marching in
And winter’s on its way.

Oh windy windy windy wed,
You knocked the hat off of my head!
You make me wish I’d stayed in bed
And slept away the day.

Oh windy windy windy wike (?),
You make it really hard to bike!
A wall of wind, tornado like,
You cause me much dismay.

Oh windy windy windy wick,
Get lost, oh wind, you make me sick!
For wind, you’re like a tiny prick,
That shan’t be kept at bay.

Oh windy windy windy whoah,
How long, oh Wind, until you go?
Against my will you do me blow,
An awkward thing to say.

The Age of the Cripple Fight

2010-10-27T11:30:00.000-07:00

Last night, I witnesses a cripple fight on the corner of Ohio and St. Clair.

This is not a politically correct description, but this is what happened. A panhandler in a motorized wheelchair had swiped a cane from another panhandler out in front of the 7-Eleven and an elderly police officer was trying to break it up.

It was about as grotesque a scene as you'd ever want to see; something that in the right lense could be funny but instead was just sad and depressing.

Another person on the scene happened to have a video camera and managed to capture this video of the incident:

Oh, wait, I'm sorry. That was something entirely different. That was outside of a political debate in Kentucky. The lady you see in the wig is from Moveon.org, which is a "public policy advocacy group" devoted to irritating everyone but the most politically minded nerds. The people stomping on her head are a bunch of assholes.

Colossal assholes, that is.

My friends, allow me to step up onto the blogging soapbox for a moment. For with voting time creeping up, I feel compelled to stomp you all in the head with my opinion.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are living in the Age of the Cripple Fight.

Gone are the days of civility, distinction and grace in our political system. Those peculiar qualities disappeared along with wigs. Instead, there are only two cripples fighting over the same cane on the street corner. They swat at one another with attack ads, barbs, and now it has seeped down to their fanatical followers, scuffling in the streets like a bunch of children on the playground.

There is no place for headstomping in American politics. This is not the French Revolution. This is not Tiananmen Square. We are not fighting for our rights. We already have them.

All we're doing here is just picking between two jagoffs (and in many places only two jagoffs) who will do essentially the exact same thing, which is to be jagoffs inside of a gigantic marble building. They'll spend their jagoff time trying not to piss off too many people while simultanously campaigning (by acting like a jagoff towards newer, less experienced jagoffs) for their job two years or four years or six years down the line. The process repeats itself with two more jagoffs (sometimes one or both are the same jagoffs from last time) and so on and so on.

The above is not worth a headstomping.

And of course, the easy thing would be to say "Oh yeah, well, it's the Tea Party whose responsible for all of this and I HATE THE TEA PARTY SO MUCH!!!" But you know what? It's not, Moveon.org. It's not, all of you agitators behind the Bush = Chimp thing and all of the various other sundry barbs and jabs.

The fact of the matter is, if people voted for grownups who didn't spend their time shouting down people of the "opposite" party, then the people in power would be grownups who don't spend their time shouting down people of the "opposite" party.

So this upcoming election, I would urge everyone to grow up and vote for grownups.

JUST THOUGHT I'D SHARE

2010-10-22T12:02:00.000-07:00

"OH MY GOD, WHY IS HE SHOUTING?!"

HE'S NOT. IT'S JUST INTRNATIONAL (SIC) CAPS LOCK DAY! THE INTERWEBS SAY SO.

Ship is Sailing...

2010-10-21T09:28:00.000-07:00

Two more shows left in the saga of The Saga. Come check it out before it's gone forever.

(Please note: there are no cows in our show, The Saga of the Viking Women and their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent, as Performed by the Inmates of the Assylum of Charenton, Under the Direction of the Great Sea Serpent. I just picked this picture because I find the idea of Viking cows to be funny, particularly since cows aren't known for being aquatically inclined animals. But, all that being said, this show is about a bunch of lunatics putting on a play, so the possibility of a cow showing up in the show is not altogether impossible.)

(Also note: when I went to write 'impossible' my brain kept trying to make me type 'inpossible.' Which isn't even a word. What is the deal with that?)

(Also also note: please come see the show.)

Split Pea Soup

2010-10-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

A list of reasons why Split Pea Soup is great:

It is delicious
It is made with Peas, a vegetable, so you’re getting your vitamins
It is also made with Ham
Ham is delicious
It is warm and comforting
It is thick and hearty
Did I mention that it’s made of Ham?

Given the above, Split Pea Soup is great. FACT.

END POST!!

Letter Regarding Oyster Crackers

2010-10-15T11:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Food Service Establishment,

I am of the belief that if one is willing to commit the resources to purchasing a large container of soup to go, then at the very least the soup selling establishment should commit to providing no less than two small packages of oyster crackers free of charge.

Imagine my disdain, then, when recently I opened my white sandwich baggie to find a large container of soup and only one paltry package of oyster crackers.

This is poor form, Food Service Establishment. I find your single solitary small package to be woefully inadequate.

Pathetic.

Sincerely yours,

Irritated Customer

P.S. My jeans are too tight. I realize this is none of your concern, but I felt it necessary to share nonetheless.

Ball Cap

2010-10-14T21:23:00.001-07:00

I don’t want to get too specific because of the sports curse, so I won’t mention the team. Suffice it to say I was wearing a certain ball cap around town the other day. This is a dangerous proposition whenever you wear sports apparel from a foreign land. Particularly when every team you like is a division rival of the city in which you live.

An observation: when your team is winning – when your team is 5-0 – nobody wants to talk about sports. But the moment your team loses one game, suddenly ever random jackass sports fan from off the street wants to come around and talk.

“I got one thing to say to you,” said the random guy on the street to me, “Are you guys ready for the Hawkeyes this weekend? That’s all I’m going to say.” Like me and ‘the guys’ have been in the weight room all week getting ready for the big game.

To this kind of taunting question, I typically say something like, “Boy howdy,” or “Oh yeah, I’m really looking forward to taking in this game of football on Saturday and hope for an honorable display of sportsmanship.” I could also say something like, "Oh! I thought that 'M' stood for 'Mark!'"

But, of course, what I would like to say is, “Do I know you?”

I could refrain from wearing this ball cap. It certainly would make things easier from an ‘avoiding random jackass sports fan on the street’ perspective. I would make less of an obvious target, for sure.

But I don’t. Because I like my team. Even when they lose.

Monologues for Awful People #1: Histry

2010-10-13T11:11:00.000-07:00

And now a monologue based on the real story of an awful person.

"You gonna call me a monster then that’s fine. Sure, you seen me taunting a little girl who got cancer and you say I’m a bad person.

"Is it wrong to tell a little child I hope she dies a painful death? Yeah, maybe. Do I know I shouldn’t be using the MS Paint to put the no-smoking-circle or the skull-and-bones on top of a picture of her fifth birthday and putting it up on the interweb for the world to see? Sure. If them things make me awful, then I guess I’m awful.

"But you don’t know the histry.

"Yea that girl never done nothing to me, but her Gramma is Sadie Evans, and Sadie Evans never had nothing good to say about our family – never once. We always been getting weird looks around town ever since I was a little girl, and I’ll tell you why: it’s cause of that Sadie Evans and her whole family trash talking us - I know it - about how we’re low class, how we hold grudges, how we never let nothing go and how awful we are.

"I bet she called my grandmother a whore. No, I never seen Sadie Evans talking about us. That’s why it’s called ‘back talking.’ It wouldn't shock me, though. She’s dead anyway. Died of bone cancer. Served her right, too.

"But you gotta realize, Sadie’s brand of venom comes in the blood. It’s passed on from grandparents, to parents, to kids. It’s only a matter of time before that little girl grows up and starts badmouthing us too. Death to the whole lot of them.

"So go ahead and talk. I know what’s what. And I’m going to speak my mind. If you don’t like it, move to Canada."

Getting In Shape

2010-10-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

They say (the proverbial They) that the brain is a muscle that needs to be exercised or else, as with all muscles, you risk atrophy.

If this is true then from a writer’s perspective my brain has become the four hundred pound man that you sometimes see riding his mobile wheelchair along the side of the road on his way to Five Guys for a couple of burgers and a full bucket of fries.

There’s evidence of this wonton neglect everywhere – most notably, my use of the word “wonton,” which is what eggrolls are made out of, instead of “wanton,” which would be the correct Queen’s English*. Either way, the lack of substantive posting around these parts should clue you in on this.

I am now at the point where I’m struggling to write anything remotely creative. Business emails I can write without issue. They’ve become so routine after several years at the same place that even right now there’s some subconscious portion of my brain composing one by rote for no other reason than this is what it does now.

Well, I need to get back in the swing of more creative endeavors. There are shows to make, songs to write, and of course snarkery and general nonsense to spread across these interwebs.

And so, I call upon the original statement of purpose: “This venture is more an attempt to keep myself writing as much as possible. After all, if you want to be a writer then the best thing you can do for yourself is write. And that's what I want to be. So, if anything I write on this blog turns out to be amusing, bonus. If not, well at least I'm writing something.”

So, three more things to come this week. At some point. They will be of varying quality, although more likely than not they will be subpar, until such time as the writing side of my brain has caught up. We’re starting with the smaller, lighter weights – the ones that are purple or lime green – and then we’ll work our way up to barbells and Volvos. And thank God I looked up the proper spelling of Volvo because the way I thought it should be spelled is something completely different.

Talk to you tomorrow.

*As opposed to the incorrect Queen and her incredibly poor English.

"Bright Spots"

2010-10-05T14:50:00.000-07:00

Here’s a bizarre circle of psychological torment if I’ve ever seen it:

Bastard child of theatre complains how they never get any reviewers out to see his show; they keep begging the big boy reviewers that normally only do grown up theatre to see one of their bastard shows; finally, one of the big boy reviewers, who does not generally like bastard children, comes out and tells them that they are indeed a bastard child; bastard child then has to deal with the fact that they have been told by they are a bastard child by someone who dislikes bastards.

The result of this cycle of torment is something like this:

“Comedy troupe Robot vs. Dinosaur crosses Roger Corman's 1957 drive-in potboiler, The Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent, with Marat/Sade, Peter Weiss's 1963 play about a group of lunatics--led by the Marquis de Sade--who put on their own show about the French Revolution. Despite occasional bright spots, the production doesn't follow through on its premise: The characters of the inmate-actors are never developed, so we're left with a limp send-up of a cheesy old movie whose main attraction was its cast of scantily clad, soaking wet babes. --Albert Williams $15”

That would be the Chicago Reader.

Our fearless leader Joe takes some umbrage at the characterization of our show on his own blog. I will link to it because Joe charitable refers to me as ‘multi-talented’ and I’m a sucker for anything that might remotely stroke my ego.

Since I have a blog (albeit a scarcely used one) I now feel compelled to share my thoughts about aforementioned review:

Meh.

It actually doesn’t bother me at all; I think it’s a fair review.

I think it’s a fair review when you consider that the reviewer was Albert Williams, who “won the George Jean Nathan Award for Dramatic Criticism for his theater reviews in the Reader and is a two-time winner of the Peter Lisagor Award for outstanding arts criticism. He has written for the Reader since 1985, and his work is also published in the New York Times Book Review, the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Sun-Times, American Theatre, Entertainment Weekly, and The Advocate. He is also a Senior Lecturer in the Theater Department of the School of Fine and Performing Arts at Columbia College Chicago. A 2003 inductee into the City of Chicago's Gay and Lesbian Hall of Fame, he is listed in Who's Who in America 2010. He is also co-editor of the book Nothing Personal: Chronicles of Chicago's LGBTQ Community, 1977-1997, a collection of essays by Jon-Henri Damski, published in 2009 by Firetrap Press."

I took a quick look at what he reviews, and they are generally shows done at such no-name places as ‘Goodman Theatre’ and ‘Theater Wit’ and ‘Chicago Dramatist’ and ‘Victory Gardens.’

In short, this is a guy who sees the best, brightest, most theatrical Theatre with a capital ‘T’ in the entire city. I don’t believe he is accustomed to going out at 10:30 at night to see a quirky part-movie, part-play, part-sketch comedy, part-musical Frankenstein monster like our humble little show. I won’t pretend to know anything about his tastes in theatre, but if I had to guess I would guess that we’re not it.

And so if you value such things as character development, then yeah. This maybe isn’t the show for you. I will admit that.

I have a pet theory about our little group, Robot vs Dinosaur, and reviewers. I don’t know that theatre publications know who to send. We’re not an improv group and we’re not quite a traditional sketch group, so they don't send their comedy people, but we don’t do Eugene O’Neill either. Our shows tend to hover in a weird gray area that’s different from your typical sketch show but isn’t a full cohesive traditional play.

Yeah, I don’t know dudes. I’m just glad we made him admit there were bright spots.

About the only word in the review with which I disagree is the characterization as a “limp” show.

Ain’t nothing limp about this show.