Category: Uncategorized

Alert citizens: awesomeness has occurred. The good people at Piano Fight Productions in sunny San Francisco have agreed to include my new show “TMZ TV: Too Many Zombies!” in their Shortlived Festival this spring. I went back to the script and devised a tight, 12-minute, California-exclusive version of the show, so what you see in the Studio 250 Theater at 965 Mission Street on Friday and Saturday nights starting April 3rd has never been seen before and will most likely never be seen again. It’s a competition, so my show runs every weekend until it’s voted out. I’m obviously not a local, so if you’re reading this from California (admittedly, very unlikely) please go over there and check it out! If not, just check out this company. They seem really dope. In fact I like them so well that I’m spattering their link all over my blog like a loveless back ally facial.
I love San Francisco. I yearn to escape there someday. I’ve got some family and a few friends out there, the people smile at you on the street, and the cost of living is one I’m familiar with (unreasonably high). It’s a fast town with a happenin’ scene (my cousin is a successful DJ there) but it also has access to the kind of natural beauty that I grew up with and that, I’m forced to admit, is firmly stitched into my DNA. The only think missing for me up to this point has been the comedy community, and Piano Fight seems to be filling that need in an aggressive yet tender way. Right on boys.

Dearest Robot,
Thank you for taking the time to read my humble musings and post intricate comments on them many, many times each day. I need every reader I can get, and far be it from me to quell your admiration. However, I feel that your observation the other day was so inflammatory that I am moved to open a dialogue with you. In response to one of my recent posts, you brazenly commented:

bunfmom
http://chrzsedrszkt.com/ | ndjghe@tiumxh.com | 63.115.180.130
5×46TC dinmfeglzpen, [url=http://gzzorcprdqjj.com/]gzzorcprdqjj[/url], [link=http://wiqwbaooljal.com/]wiqwbaooljal[/link], http://uaqtkenfgdaa.com/

How dare you sir? The temerity of this robot. Honestly, dinmfeglzpen? And as if that’s not enough, [url=http://gzzorcprdqjj.com/]gzzorcprdqjj[/url]? Grow up asshole. I have a good mind to 63.115.180.130 you right back, all over your face! 5×46TC my left nut! You think you can just come in here and http://uaqtkenfgdaa.com/ on my blog? On my website?!?
Fuck off short circuit.
(i.e. – stop spamming me, assholes)

On an unrelated note, over in in-joke corner:

DEENA! Ooo child
Your good at SO many thangs
SO muthafuckin many thangs!

Confused Asian woman wearing a pink kimono.
In Midtown Manhattan.
On St. Patrick’s Day.
GIRL YOU GON’ GIT PINCHED!

I have recently come into possession of about 50 Steven King movies. In an effort to feel productive as I lie on my couch, watching them one by one, feeling the prime of my life slip away, I am taking the liberty of reviewing my findings here for your education, saving you the valuable time and brain cells it would take to absorb them all yourself. You can thank me later, since if you are reading this it is highly likely that I know you personally.
(Note: since most of these aren’t worth seeing if you have a life, I will be SPOILING THEM ALL).
The Mangler: I was drawn to this title because “The Mangler” to me implies a serial killer, and a gruesome one at that; the kind that escapes from mental asylums and leaves hooks on the car door handles of young lovers. Therefore I was shocked to learn that the Mangler, in this case, refers to a WASHING MACHING.
Yes indeed, a large industrial laundry machine like the one pictured here. I read in his biography that Steven King used to work in an industrial laundry before he became a bazillionaire, so this story was no doubt an idle workplace fantasy that he dreamed up based on the things around him, much like I often daydream that the letter opener at my desk is the Sword of Power and will transform me into He-Man if properly invoked.
The problems with this movie are twofold:
One: It stars Ted Levine, who you probably know as Buffalo Bill from “The Silence of the Lambs.” As that character, he talked in a kind of affected drawl that sounds like a cross between Forest Gump and Jeff Bridges with a loose filling. When I saw “Silence…” I thought it was a nice character choice for the creepy villian. After seeing “The Mangler” I now realize that no, that’s just the way he talks. It kind of starts to grate on you when he plays the lead.
The other small problem with the movie is that the villain is a WASHING MACHINE. It is incapable of movement and therefore cannot even chase you as fast as a re-animated corpse or a lumbering serial killer. Therefore, as the body count rises, it becomes increasingly difficult to believe that people keep standing so close to it. Most of the deaths on the latter half of the movie play out much like this:

Hapless New England Factory Worker: “This machine just mangled that old lady!”

Evil One-Eyed Employer: “Which machine?”

Hapless New England Factory Worker: (pointing to it) “Why this one right here…OH MY GOD! IT’S GOT MY POINTIN’ HAND! I’M A GONNER FOR SURE!”

It’s amusing, but makes distractingly little sense, and needless to say that an object lesson in workplace safety was not what I was looking for when I threw in “The Mangler.” I was looking for the sociopath with the hook for a hand who, even if he’s too crazy to sprint after the escaping teens, will at least chase them at a brisk stroll.

As opposed to baby zombies, which is just gross.

This month I’m work-shopping my next sketch comedy opus, which focuses on zombies and reality television, encompassing (in my opinion) the best and worst that society has to offer. It’s appearing next week as part of the “Vignettes for the Apocalypse” festival at the Gene Frankel Theatre.
Deets, schedule and ticket info are below:

Feb 12th thru Feb 22nd 2009
The EndTimes Underground
@ the Gene Frankel Theatre
24 Bond Street New York, NY 10012
The times are a little strange. My show is called “TMZ TV” and it’s the last show in GROUP 6

Admission $18 at the Door
$15 w/Student ID
All-access Festival Pass – $75
For tickets and times, click here.

I will be the first to admit that I love my iphone more than any object I’ve ever owned, as well as the majority of my friends and family. Despite its massive leaps in convenience however, it does include one massive flaw: whenever my phone is processing data near a live receiver, it causes the speaker to emit a high-pitched staccato moan; an electronic series of beeps and blips that is somehow caused by the mere proximity of the phone, whether or not it is plugged in to anything.A mysterious modern phenomenon to say the least. I can’t come close to understanding it, and I would like to dismiss it as the proverbial “Ghost in the Machine” if it weren’t so damned inconvenient. Whether I’m practicing with my band, running the sound booth for a show or just sitting by the phone at work, that irritating sound follows me wherever I go! It both terrifies and fascinates me.
Finally, last night, while watching the leaked 3rd installment of a certain popular horror movie franchise, it finally dawned on me what the sound is: it’s the Grudge, singing through T-Pain’s vocoder.
That’s right folks, when technology advances too quickly, as in the case of a phone with high-speed internet or a microphone THAT SINGS FOR YOU, an evil curse is born (FYI: Hip-Hop artist T-Pain has made his name using a vocoder that modulates his singing to be on pitch, a technique that is being rapidly adopted by tone-deaf rappers nationwide). Until we can learn to live within the limitations of tech and talent, the curse will live on, irritating all those it comes in contact with…to the point of madness.

I’ve been spending the winter months in blog-exile so far and I’m sure all four of you are devastated, but I am pleased to report something exciting enough to cause me to break my silence. I have recently acquired a pair of flannel-lined jeans and they have revolutionized my life. I’m not sure if the good word about flannel-lined jeans has spread beyond the Pacific Northwest yet; it’s certainly not something you would see on a fashion-conscious New Yorker. Be warned, this is not a hip choice of clothing. You run a good risk of looking like an overweight lumberjack, however make no mistake, flannel-lined jeans are absolutely incredible. Here’s why: I have yet to encounter a better way to wear pajamas in public. You see, flannel-lined jeans, like some divine hot-pocket, are soft and forgiving on the inside, while remaining all-business on the outside. The fact the your loins are girded in warm checkered goodness remains a secret shared only by you and your balls. It’s such a delightfully subversive way to stay cozy I can barely stand it.
My affection thus expressed, I return to blog-exile.
Flannel-lined jeans. Spread the word.

So I wrote this play about Zombies and Reality TV, combining that putrid and terrifying sign of the apocalypse with my love of the undead. It’s a short parody of several popular TV shows, re-imagined in a zombie-filled universe where humanity survives by sheer force of narcissism. The show is called “TMZ TV” (which will probably get me sued by the noble organization of the same name) and is part of Madair Production’s Project Playwright IV, appearing this week at the Access Theatre in New York City. It features briefs scenes with titles like “American Zombie,” “Top Zombie” and “So You Think You’re a Zombie.”

“What an original idea,” I thought. “What a poetic and groundbreaking combination of elements that will finally bring my career to the next level. I am like the Thomas Edison of 10-minute plays.”

Wrong. I am a hack. Here is why:

THE SHOW ALREADY EXISTS.

THERE ARE FIVE EPISODES.

What the fuck man?! I mean really, how deep to I have to dig before I break new ground? How far do I have to go to shock people?

Whatever, I’m calling it now: my next pop-culture mash-up project…

Cooking competitions and sexual abuse. Bring it VH1.

Bring it.

I am incapable of pooping unless I am reading something. My bowels simply will not function unless my eyes are scanning some sort of text. It doesn’t matter what; I’ve been known to read the back of a toothpaste tube in order to relieve myself. Now of course thanks to the iphone I can be doing any number of things while perched on the porcelain throne, including posting this message.

Lemme back up. The point I’m making is that is that the conveniences of the modern lifestyle have produced some inconvenient habits. I doubt very much that cavemen agonized over how to keep themselves entertained while passing stool. We have reached a level of comfort that defies mother nature and reworks out bodies in strange ways.

Perhaps a more common and less disgusting example is eating and watching TV. Have you noticed how hard it is to eat without watching something? This is especially true of eating alone, but even when I’m with someone I have a powerful urge to tell them to shut up and chew. It’s like our brains need to reach a state of vegetative absorbtion in order for our bodies to absorb vegetebles (or cheez-its in my case).

This is probably a uniquely urban phenomenon, and my friends from the wilds of the west coast will read this and wonder “what’s he talking about? The other day I ate my lunch while I reflected on the beauty of a fallen leaf, and my bowel movements are moments of deep, pure meditation.”

Therefore we city-dwellers must be careful. Such excessive convenience comes with a price. We are re-wiring our bodies so that entertainment has gone from a luxury to a commodity to a necessity.

All right let’s talk seriously for a moment here. Last night, while knuckle-deep in a box of Cheez-Its watching Resident Evil 3, I came face to face with the inevitable: I am a huge fan of Ali Larter. My devotion does not stem from the fact that she is a doe-eyed leggy blonde (my girlfriend’s theory) but rather because:

1) She’s a bad actress. I mean very very bad. She’s so bad that she crosses the line from poor acting to instant camp. Her presence can transform any movie from a low-budget thriller into a farcical tragedy.

2) She works more than any bad actress in Hollywood today, and her fame is a complete fabrication. She is a living representation of the entertainment industry’s embracement of hype and name recognition above any other quality.

Therefore Miss Ali Larter singlehandedly embodies two of my most guilty fascinations: laughably poor performances and a film industry that runs not on plot, dialogue or even physical appearence, but exclusively on fame. She’s like a living car crash…horrible to behold and yet I cannot turn away.

Lemme back up. You see Ali Larter is a fake actress. But don’t take my word for it, check out this explanation from the ever-reliable Wikipedia:

In November 1996, Larter portrayed the hoax model Allegra Coleman in Esquire magazine. The article published in the magazine told of the fictional model’s relationship with David Schwimmer, how Quentin Tarantino broke up with Mira Sorvino to date her, and Woody Allen’s overhaul of a film to have her star. Even after the hoax had been revealed, its effects lingered, and various talent agencies sought to represent the non-existent Coleman.

By providing the visual for a bizarre mid-nineties magazine stunt, Larter was ushered into the B-list without even the dubious credits of heiress porn stars like Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. But I would argue that Larter is their predecessor in the realm of being well-known for no reason, paving the way for the self-feeding fame that fuels so many careers these days. She’s like Rosa Parks of the celebutant set.

I’m not technically old enough to be this jaded, but I feel that there must have been a time when you had to be good at something in order to get paid for it. In a world where Joe the Plumber gets an album deal, any talent on Larter’s part might have gotten in her way. To this day she remains the girl from that magazine cover, the stock photo placed under the heading “Actress,” redefining what acting can be for the benefit of those of us who foolishly dropped hundreds of thousands of dollars to study it at a university.

And what a bold new world it is. In Final Destination it seems as if she genuinely doesn’t know what she’s saying. And I don’t mean just that she doesn’t connect with her dialogue, I mean that she actually doesn’t recognize the words coming out of her mouth, as if she’s never spoken English before and is reading it phonetically off a cue card. Usually a movie must age at least 20 years before it becomes campy enough to provide this level of entertainment. On Heroes, Larter creates a new cult classic every Monday in Prime Time.

On a related note, last night I followed up Resident Evil: 3 with Species: 2 staring Michael Madsen who is FUCKING PHENOMENAL. Now even Quentin Tarantino, arguably Madsen’s biggest fan, couldn’t honestly say that he’s much more than a weathered B-movie actor. However the difference between him and Larter is like night and day. Madsen swaggers and squints like he knows what a piece of crap he’s in, and willingly plays his ridiculous part in it. Larter pushes her way through every scene like it was her once-in-a-lifetime shot at stardom, each word dripping with the forced sincerity of an impostor, and therefore perhaps exhibiting a little self-awareness after all.