I really am a good sexual harrasser

Last night I got to host a non-profit comedy show. Nice people. The organization’s mission was to end sexual harassment of LGBT students K – 12. I’m all for that. Two thumbs up. Let them get married too. Support the troops. Ok, now, the second part of this story requires you to know that I’m also working my showcase set every chance I get. My showcase set is the 8 minutes I’m going to use to audition for the Vancouver Comedy Festival in a couple weeks. I’m trying to lock down the jokes and the order that they go in, so I try not to change things much. I open the show, introduce myself, and launch into my first bit.

The problem, which I realized after the first punch line, was that my opening joke was on how great of a sexual harasser I am in the workplace. I’m doing a bit on how good I am at sexual harassing people in a room full of people trying to end sexual harassment. Oh this is going to be good. I finished the first tag, “cause I’m really good at it…” and looked out into the audience. It was a mixture of horror and people thinking “that is funny, but I can’t laugh at that right now.” Oh, it was awesome. My best laugh of the night was me apologizing for being such a retard to open with that joke. I assured the audience that my harassment was always straight man against straight woman. I think someone booed after that one.

The funny thing was, the leaders of the organization where laughing the hardest. Everyone, LOOK AT THEM, they are laughing, you can too. Its like telling a black joke; if the black guy laughs, go ahead and let it out yourself! They were a good audience though. No hecklers, no one talked, no one laughed either, but what can you do. Make a set list that makes sense. Oh ya, that!

I was kind of bumming that my stellar performance last night, so I polished off a pint of ice cream and watched two episodes of Stargate SG-1. Yes, I’m watching a sci-fi show from the 90s, but I blame Hulu and all the other good shows ending for the season. Don’t cancel “Chuck” please! Also, don’t go thinking I’m a tuby for polishing off that ice cream. I’d been working on that pint for a couple of weeks. I have constraint, it takes me a while to finish one of those. That, and I think I’m becoming lactose intolerant as I get older. I blame heredity. My mom loves milkshakes. When I was little I would offer her some of mine. She would reply, “oh honey, I would love some but they don’t agree with me.” I thought that was the dumbest thing I had ever heard. If you like something, eat it, it doesn’t matter what it “does to you”. God has an interesting sense of humor.

We support a fun work environment?

So even though I don’t talk about it in my act, I do have a day job. Its a programming job. The job doesn’t suck, which is great for many reasons and bad for two. Its bad because I probably won’t quit it to pursue comedy any time soon, and it usually doesn’t give me anything to write material about. Programming isn’t that funny. It’s not retail, its not fast food, I don’t work with people. People are funny. Computers, not so much.

Regardless, I sometimes have a hard time leaving comedian Brian at home, or at the very least, out of the office. This is exacerbated by two other things here. One, my bromance friend Matt sits about 15 feet from me, and two, he thinks I’m hilarious. Because of this situation, if you worked at my office, you would have gotten to hear this today.

Brian: Matt, do you want some of my peanut butter cookie?
Matt: No, I don’t like peanut butter. Actually I like peanut butter, but just not peanut butter cookies…
Brian: That is stupid…
Matt: If I had some peanut butter right now I would even lick it off… (makes circular motion across pectoral area as if he had breasts, then quickly points away to) … that whiteboard.
Brian: Nice save… You should really like peanut butter cookies, it tastes just like peanut butter but better.

(pause) Enter comedian Brian

Brian: I mean, it’s YOUR dog.
Matt: What?!?
Brian: It’s not cheating if its YOUR dog. Right?
Matt: LOL
Brian: Man I love “Road Trip”
Matt: That was from “Road Trip”?
Brian: Ya, they were talking about cheating with reference to area codes and then the one guy mentions peanut butter and says “its not if its YOUR dog”.

At this point, the 3rd iteration of “YOUR dog”, the office behind me says, “Matt, please be quiet!” and rolls her door close (we have those retarded rolling doors here). She probably would have said “Brian, be quiet” if she knew my name, but she doesn’t, so Matt gets double blame. Ha ha!

I mean, this place SAYS they promote a fun work environment. So you can see how I would be surprised that as soon as I quote a movie line which details a dog licking a peanut butter off of his master’s penis, three times at an elevated volume, that I would get yelled at. Fun environment, sure. All the fun that silent Nazi-regimented programming can evoke. Tell the Jew to shut up and get back to work, I should complain to HR.

Brian: Ya, so I was talking about peanut butter penises and then this lady tells me to get back to work. She should probably be reprimanded, or at the very least, that retarded ass door removed.
HR woman: Brian are you coming on to me? You should. I think you’re really attractive and muscular and I love peanut butter.
Brian: You’re place? 7pm. I’ll bring the wine. You bring those comment cards and that sassy mouth of yours. HR woman: Your office fantasies are so HOT!

Crow on Crow Violence

I bike into work on most days because its cheaper than driving my car, reduces my carbon footprint, and keeps me from blowing up into a giant fat person. That being said, one of my favorite things about riding my bike is being able to take in a lot more of my surroundings while I’m riding around. Sometimes this is good, sometimes this is bad. Other times, like this morning, its fucking disturbing and forever alters the way I perceive the world.

The short version of the story goes like this. Today, I saw two crows gang up and murder another crow by positioning it on the street in front of oncoming traffic.

So, here’s the longer version. I was biking down the street when I heard this loud “cahwing” from trees above. Then three birds fall out of a tree, right into a street. I had been riding in front of traffic, so all the cars were behind me. I began thinking, “man, if those birds don’t move, they are going to get hit by a car. Don’t they know they are in the street.” Then I realize that the two birds were actually attacking the third bird, and the bird on the bottom looked upset. A few seconds latter, the two birds fly off the third, and it’s just lying there, obviously hurt and pretty pissed off for being shoved into the street. Then a Cadillac runs over him! Holy shit! That wasn’t a coincidence. Those other two birds placed the other right in front of the car tire knowing full well that a car was going to hit him. Now, I know that animals rummage through our garbage, or swim in our pools, or occasionally are violated sexually in towns only tens of miles away from Seattle, but I have never once seen an animal use human technology to kill another animal. This is crazy!

So, this is really fucked up and for some reason I’m having a hard time dealing with it. It kind of rocks my whole perspective of the animal kingdom. Now when I see roadkill I’m going to have to ask if it was a suicide or homicide? I mean, if crows are plotting to get other crows run over, what else are they thinking? When pigeons shit on my car, do they do it because they really had to go or because they openly hate Volkswagens? Does the woodpecker who is trying to get into my chimney do it not because he is stupid, but knows its the loudest way to wake me up at 6am? Ok, maybe it’s just birds. Maybe birds are the problem. Wait, when did it become me against the birds. We’re still just dealing with crow on crow violence. I guess that’s ok. I’m not a crow.

Still, it makes you wonder. Was the flight that ended up in the Hudson a coincidence, or like the avian equivalent of a Jamestown massacre for some crazy bird cult? Ya…

Opened at Harvey’s Comedy Club in Portland

Last Saturday, my good friend Joe Larson (very funny, check him out if you’ve never done so) calls me up telling me there is an opening for a hosting spot at Harvey’s Comedy Club in Portland that night. So beyond my own expectations, I hop in the car and make the 3 hour drive down to that fair city to the south. By “fair”, I mean “hippy utopia”. Harvey’s is an amazing club. Sits over 300 when full, and it was packed for both shows. I’ve done crowds that size before, but it hadn’t gone that great (thanks Tulalip casino), so I was pretty nervous for the first show. Needless to say, I did well, thanks to about a year of practice since eating it in front of a large crowd. Still, I wasn’t so much presenting my jokes as I was saying “hey audience, here is my joke, hope you like it.” Not where I wanted to be. My jokes are good enough to say, “hey audience, here is my joke, its fucking awesome and you’re going to love it!” That was much more the way I ran the second show, and I knocked it out of the park. It was only 10 mins, but I could get used to that wall-o-sound laughter that came at me after some of those new tags. Thanks Portland for two awesome shows!

I’ll say this, Portland does know how to do Sunday brunch pretty well. The only problem with that is that EVERYONE goes out for brunch. There is no good time to go outside of 10 – 2 for brunch on a Sunday, and who gets up before 10am on Sunday!?!? Actually, despite my ranting, we didn’t have to wait that long. Most places have coffee to drink as you sit as well. To top it all off, our eventual server could have been a stand in for Matthew McConaughey. You want some eggs? Alright, alright, alright…

I ended up getting the biscuits and gravy. It was hidden on the bottom of the menu, I almost got the chorizo scramble, which would have been equally as good, mostly for the sour creme. I’m still chasing the amazing biscuit I had in Bend, Oregon at the West Side cafe, which is why I switched. If you’re ever in Bend, go there, that thing was freaking amazing. This one though, not too shabby. The eggs held together much better than the fiasco in Reno. Those biscuits were pretty money, and the sausage gravy on it was perfect. Not to heavy, not to salty. But you know what can make even the best gravy better? JAM! Heaps and heaps of purple jam. What kind of jam was it Brian? Who the hell cares, it was delicious. It looked weird, tasted even weirder. But you know when something tastes so weird it actually tastes good? That’s what the jam on the gravy tasted like. I’m like one of those people that puts a pickle in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Mind you, I’ve never done that, those people are weird, but I can empathize with them. Good breakfast “Genies” in Portland, you done well.

Reno Trip, complete with Breakfast!

Last weekend I had the pleasure of visiting Reno, Nevada for some training for my other, “real” job. That isn’t important. The important thing was that I was in Reno getting paid to work. Jealous yet? You will be (but probably not). Here are my takeaways from Reno:

  • I’m a very well put together, attractive, skinny, young 25 year old male compared to many of the people I came into contact with in Reno.
  • OMG, seriously, the best steakhouse in Reno, is still very crappy.
  • If you stay downtown you get a lot of crackheads. If you stay out of town, you can replace crackheads with old people and its about the same thing.
  • If Las Vegas wouldn’t host your shitty event, Reno will. That same weekend there was a quilting expo, bowling tournament finals, and a tow truck convention. I was there for warehouse training so its not like my excuse was any better.
  • Blackjack dealers learn your name, which is kind of creepy when they are calling it out the next day as you walk by the tables. Its bad enough that I’ve got an itch to play, but do you have to cup my junk while I do it?
  • Free drinks is one of Gods many gifts to men. Fortunately, my money is also a gift for the casino, so you’re welcome.
  • No matter how gay sounding a slot machine is, it could still make you the biggest winner of the weekend. My friend won $200 playing a game called “Kitty Glitter”. He got a double super Persian cat bonus on a 30 point spin, whatever the fuck that means. End result, he won $200 and we laughed hysterically as he proclaimed, “look at all the kitties!”.
  • Apparently you can cheat at the midway games at the Circus Circus and as long as no little kids are playing, the operators couldn’t give a rats ass how you won.
  • Yes, you will get to go to Circus Circus against your friends wishes if you “accidentally” lead them there somehow.
  • You will smell like cigarettes regardless, so you might has well smoke while indoors.
  • Don’t go head to head with a cabbie on how disgusting you can talk about a subject, especially having sex with midgets. He will win, ALWAYS.

But do you want to know the real reason I get to talk about this trip? Because, I got breakfast! Hooray. The coffee shop at the Peppermill here I come. A recreation of the Peppermill coffee shop from its previous location (not always in a casino), it had a 40s dinner charm, if that 40s diner charm was located in the Mad Hatter’s dinning room from “Alice in Wonderland”. I really wish I had a picture of the dining room. Lots of purple and pink lights with a fake cherry tree in the center. So unbelievably awesome yet trashy I didn’t know whether to be disgusted or aroused. But yes, I’m getting behind myself here, the breakfast!

Corn beef hash and eggs. One of my more favored breakfasts. Corned beef hash, if you don’t know, if crubed corned beef and usually potatoes. If you’re good you put a little bit of onion and green pepper in there, like the best parts of a Denver omelet. Unfortunately the light in this picture isn’t that great (blame the purple neon), but I don’t know if it would have looked that much better regardless. It’s a little sad looking now that I take a second look. I was really tired that morning, as it was our last, and this was the only real breakfast we had our 3 days there. Maybe that’s why I was so excited.

If the eggs look like they are ready to bust out of there, its because I asked for them “over easy”. At the Peppermill coffee shop, this is apparently too easy. As soon as I grazed the top of one of these bad boys, the entire thing burst open and fell apart. It was a sloppy mess, like a flooded New Orleans. I had my two dikes of meat and potatoes to keep it contained to at least one part of the plate. Thank god we left the pumps on! Good thing they gave me all the bread on the left too. Its like the R(i)ed Bread Cross ready to swoop in and clean up the neighborhood. Looks pretty dry and ready to soak up some of that eggy mess. But this is before it was reveal that it was actually, (duhn duhn, da!) a butter sandwich Where was that in the description of my meal. Poor planning. Looks like everyone needs to make their own way into the Superdome, which is what I’m calling my stomach from now on.