Monday, January 29, 2007

I Hope It Looked Like I Was Taking Notes

OK so last week I had things to do at work. And by "things to do" I mean "hiding in the warehouse so that I don't actually have to do things." I did attend a lot of meetings where I learned that breakroom coffee tastes like burnt popcorn and lowered expectations; that your department doesn't find it entertaining when you announce that your personal goal is to grow a tail; and that it is generally frowned upon to refer to someone in upper management as the Nasty Pee Demon, even though she leaves a bathroom stall looking like she clung to the purse hook on the back of the door and took aim at the toilet from there.

I also spent a lot of time writing the items below but didn't have a chance to post them. UNTIL NOW. Yes, you're supposed to read those last two words in the voice of that movie trailer guy.

On Tuesday night, my favorite attorney (MFA) and I went to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers in Charlotte. Being a fan of good lyrics over good music, I’m a reluctant fan of the Peppers. Anthony Kiedis is one of the few artists who has earned a free pass to write shit like

Doo doo doo doo dingle zing a dong bone
Ba-di ba-da ba-zumba crunga cong gone bad

which are actual words from “Soul to Squeeze”. My dream concert is to see him reunited with his sister, Nell.

It’s only recently that I learned their actual names, having previously known them as The Hot One, The Former Addict, Flea, and The Drummer. Obviously those definitions make Anthony Kiedis and John Frusciante interchangeable.

We had stellar floor seats and were sitting across the aisle from a twenty-something guy who must have been moderately famous for something. Before the show, other audience members kept stopping him to pose for pictures with them, which he did while throwing hand signs for his gang that--guessing from his Rainbow sandals and popped collar--was Abercrombie and Crip. People never take pictures of me. Unless it’s for the office scavenger hunt and the Sales and Marketing Team is trying to find someone the entire department hates.

Here are some pictures that don't involve me:

Even though he was there with a girl, about ten or eleven zumba crunga congs into the show Semifamous Guy went concert gay. I looked across the aisle to see he and his boys all had their shirts off and their arms around each other. I'm pretty sure he wanted their dingle zing a dong bones, if you know what I'm saying. If they saw this happen at a bar, they’d go Isaiah Washington on the participants, but since it occurred while they were there to watch four other men sing, sweat, and, uh, take their shirts off, it’s totally cool, brah.

Wednesday night, I had a show in Raleigh at Goodnight’s. I would like to thank the drunken rednecks who took a break from watching Mama’s Family reruns to come out and harass several comics by shouting racial epithets during the show. Thankfully, they took my set as an opportunity to go empty their spit cups and perhaps place a burning cross on someone’s porch. Hopefully, Goodnight’s will use this as a learning experience and will deny entry to anyone who, when asked which section they would prefer, responds “whites”.

Before the show, I was talking with a couple other comics and learned that a friend of mine will be opening for Dave Coulier next month. He’s working with Uncle Joey! I could barely conceal my jealousy, because when I saw Uncle Joey’s name on the schedule I just assumed that Mr. Woodchuck would be the opener. I begged my friend to use Alanis Morrissette’s “You Oughta Know” as his intro music. I’ve always heard that she wrote that song about Dave Coulier, which upon rereading the lyrics, is disturbing on so many levels. I imagine their breakup involved exchanges like

Alanis: Did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?
Joey: (as the Wizard of Oz Scarecrow) If I only had a brain...
Alanis: I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner.
Joey: (as Popeye) I'm strong to the finach, cause I eats me spinach! Toot toot!
Alanis: Would she go down on you in a theatre?
Joey: (as Bullwinkle) Would she pull my rabbit out of its hat?
Alanis: Jesus. Forget it. You're a dick. A DICK.
Joey: (as Mr. Woodchuck) Is it made of....wood?
Alanis: I knew I should've screwed Bob Saget.
Joey: Oh, now cut. It. Out.

At least the infamous ‘go down on you in a theatre’ moment couldn’t have occurred during one of his movies. They were all direct-to-video.

The game MASH came up today. I must’ve spent the equivalent of two days playing that game and trying to predict my future…and that was just last week. For the uninitiated (or those of you who went to private schools where you and your spent recess posing for oil paintings, playing with your Sheltie, and wishing that Mommy would hug you more), MASH was a game that was supposed to predict your future husband, job, location, and number of kids, among other things. It’s amazing how many people can still recall what was foretold by a piece of looseleaf snapped into their Trapper Keeper. I’m no exception; I was supposed to remain unmarried, have nineteen children, live at the Y, and drive a Greyhound bus. I grew up in West Virginia. We learned to manage our expectations.

My contempt for my job is no secret. I’ve recently started updating my resume and by updating I mean ‘not writing it in crayon on the back of a Bennigan’s kids menu’, because that didn’t work last time. I made the mistake of telling my mother that I was looking for a new job so she’s taken it upon herself to send me upwards of forty career ideas a day from Monster or HotJobs or You’reObviouslyNotGoingToMarryASaudiPrinceSoYou’dBetter This morning’s batch was led by an opening for an “Online Edition Webmaster” at my local paper. The requirements for the job were C++ certification, experience using a Gutenberg printing press, and a purple heart. Regardless, that doesn’t stop my mother from writing “This is PERFECT for you! Just go to the paper and apply!”

First, I don’t have any of those things. Second, I don’t even read the newspaper unless I think that Hugh Laurie is going to be in Parade magazine, and even then I steal my neighbor’s copy and toss everything but Parade and the Target ads. Third, there’s no point in explaining any of this to her because tomorrow I’ll have 18 more items, starting with “LaQuinta Seeks Chief Housekeeper/Poop Chute Cleanser”.

Of course I’m not doing very well at finding new employment on my own. I applied for a job online with a sports marketing firm (OK, it was Dick’s Sporting Goods. Just so I can ask potential customers ‘Hey, do you like Dick’s? Because I love Dick’s!’) and after outlining my qualifications--things like surliness, a commitment to leaving work on time, and experience with PowerPoint,--I tried to wrap up with a whimsical paragraph about my love for sports. My closing sentences were something like “My attraction for baseball extends far beyond nine innings on the diamond. Like my license plate says, there’s nothing better than ‘BOSTNSEX’. I reread those words in my sent items folder and realized that yes, I had written BOSTNSEX instead of BOSTNSOX. I hope to God there’s not an official Boston sex act that involves tea or quill pens or disappointment. And I also kind of hope that I don’t get that job.

Ba-di ba-da ba-zumba crunga cong gone bad, indeed.


Scooter said...

Very suspicious that I read your post and then find this link in my local alt newspaper blog on the very same day - Name the Band from the Band Members' First Names. Red Hot Chilli Peppers was an option for the second question I was asked.

Dave O'Gara said...

Heard Goodnights sucked this last week as well. It's a beautiful club I just wish it wasn't next to a college that offers courses in "squeezin' cow tits". I did a sho in Ohio a few weeks ago, It's an almost magical experience to work outside the south once you've grown immune to it. As far as the peppers go, that new song is so masturbatory it should end with a money shot.

J-Money said...

C'mon Dave, if you attend that particular university, you're already well-schooled in squeezing cow tits. You go to that college to get your masters in horse insemination.

And thanks for making your comments more entertaining than my actual blog post.