We posted our reel. It's pretty crazy to see all this work mashed together. There are so many behind-the-scenes stories crammed into this tiny highlight reel. It makes my head spin with lots of emotions.
Twitter Haiku
6 years ago
Friday, May 14, 2010
Fox Hunt Fail Follow-up
I was at Chez Nora in Covington last night and this piece of art was in the men's bathrooom. No joke. What are the chances? 
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Fox Hunt Fail
I think I might be an idiot.
Yesterday I went to a conference in the city of strip malls (Columbus, Ohio). Around 4:45pm I went on a fox hunt. "What's a fox hunt?" you ask. It's a euphemism for going #2 which is a euphemism for a bowel movement. For a couple years now I've been unsuccessful in getting this euphemism to sweep the nation. It works like this if you want to start incorporating it into your BM proclamations.
"I'm going on a fox hunt." You announce.
"What?" Your friend asks.
"Gotta release the houuuuuuuuunds!" You elaborate.
"You're so clever and amazing." Your friend realizes.
(euphemism side note: I'm not so sure I love this euphemism as much as I used to now that I own an actual hound.)
ANYWAYS, back to me being an idiot. I walked around looking for the restroom. They were kind of tucked away around the building. I saw the door to the women's bathroom and kept walking another 50 feet. I saw another door and went in. I had the whole place to myself which is great because I prefer hunting fox in complete privacy. So as I sat there, pondering life's mysteries, someone walked in and sat in the stall beside me. She was having an intense conversation on her cell phone. My inner conversation went like this:
Why is this woman in the...OH, MY, FROG! I'm in the women's bathroom. That's why there were so many stalls in here. Now it makes sense. I gotta get out of the women's restroom before any more women come to the restroom. Can she tell I have men's shoes? Should I lift them up? Can she tell my #2 smells like a dude's? Do dudes' #2s smell different? What if other women come in and I have to walk out and apologize for making their hall-of-stalls smell like male turds? The next session is ending right now, they're coming, you need to hurry up. I wish I could disappear. I could just hide here until night fall. I wish she would hurry up. I'm gonna get arrested. Is she gone? Jump up and look over at the sink area. Ok, yep, she's gone. Run. Wait. Flush. Now run. You're exiting, act cool. Act like you go into women's restrooms all the time. No, that's pervy. Just walk. Walk fast and don't make eye contact with anyone. Just go to your bathroom and wash your hands. It's the one with urinals, idiot. Is anyone looking? I don't know, I'm scared to look up from my dude shoes. Just walllllllk, there's your sign, the one without a women in a dress. You're safe. Exhale, you're safe.
It was a very unpleasant fox hunt yesterday at 4:45pm. Very unpleasant. When I made it into my restroom and saw those beautiful, white capped urinals, I felt like the Von Trapp family crossing over to Switzerland. The urinals were alive with the smell of men-music. (That's a euphemism for #1 which is a euphemism for urine.)
The end.
Yesterday I went to a conference in the city of strip malls (Columbus, Ohio). Around 4:45pm I went on a fox hunt. "What's a fox hunt?" you ask. It's a euphemism for going #2 which is a euphemism for a bowel movement. For a couple years now I've been unsuccessful in getting this euphemism to sweep the nation. It works like this if you want to start incorporating it into your BM proclamations.
"I'm going on a fox hunt." You announce.
"What?" Your friend asks.
"Gotta release the houuuuuuuuunds!" You elaborate.
"You're so clever and amazing." Your friend realizes.
(euphemism side note: I'm not so sure I love this euphemism as much as I used to now that I own an actual hound.)
ANYWAYS, back to me being an idiot. I walked around looking for the restroom. They were kind of tucked away around the building. I saw the door to the women's bathroom and kept walking another 50 feet. I saw another door and went in. I had the whole place to myself which is great because I prefer hunting fox in complete privacy. So as I sat there, pondering life's mysteries, someone walked in and sat in the stall beside me. She was having an intense conversation on her cell phone. My inner conversation went like this:
Why is this woman in the...OH, MY, FROG! I'm in the women's bathroom. That's why there were so many stalls in here. Now it makes sense. I gotta get out of the women's restroom before any more women come to the restroom. Can she tell I have men's shoes? Should I lift them up? Can she tell my #2 smells like a dude's? Do dudes' #2s smell different? What if other women come in and I have to walk out and apologize for making their hall-of-stalls smell like male turds? The next session is ending right now, they're coming, you need to hurry up. I wish I could disappear. I could just hide here until night fall. I wish she would hurry up. I'm gonna get arrested. Is she gone? Jump up and look over at the sink area. Ok, yep, she's gone. Run. Wait. Flush. Now run. You're exiting, act cool. Act like you go into women's restrooms all the time. No, that's pervy. Just walk. Walk fast and don't make eye contact with anyone. Just go to your bathroom and wash your hands. It's the one with urinals, idiot. Is anyone looking? I don't know, I'm scared to look up from my dude shoes. Just walllllllk, there's your sign, the one without a women in a dress. You're safe. Exhale, you're safe.
It was a very unpleasant fox hunt yesterday at 4:45pm. Very unpleasant. When I made it into my restroom and saw those beautiful, white capped urinals, I felt like the Von Trapp family crossing over to Switzerland. The urinals were alive with the smell of men-music. (That's a euphemism for #1 which is a euphemism for urine.)
The end.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
K-Strass: fake yo-yo master
In my opinion, there's not much worse than local news. So, I love what ole' K-Strass is doing. He's on a tour scamming local news shows and doing the impossible: making the shows even more awkward than they already are.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
P.O.V.
The other day I was thinking about my time in Boston, Mass. My last stint there was a truly great period of my life. I lived with three good pals, worked in the North End, ate Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwiches every weekend, and went to "Chapel" every Friday night. We were very religious. Chapel was held at a dive bar on the edge of Boston College's campus called Mary Ann's, the last stop on the Green Line's C train. It was a veritable oasis that we piously trekked to after a long week of work for the sacraments of pop-a-shot and $1 beers. The place reeked of puke, cologne- soaked polo shirts, and spilled beer. It had the look of a 1983 bar inspired by a leaf-peeper's 1967 dining room. Browns, buttery golds, burnt oranges all twisted together and mixed with neon beer signs. It was holy.
One night, after lots of sacraments, my pal Tyler noticed a few pretty girls drinking bottles of Coronas. He approached them. I trailed behind a step to witness his game. As something awesome blasted from the jukebox, something awesome blasted out of Tyler. "You guys much really like Corona." He swayed (accidentally in beat) waiting for their reply. They didn't have one so he elaborated. "Cause these are a buck!" He raised his glass so they knew what he was talking about. They turned around and we went back to pop-a-shot.
Whenever we find ourselves around a campfire we retell this story (and many more). I thought about this the other day and wondered what'd it look like if the Corona girls also retold this story when they get together. I know they don't. But I wanted to play around with the same story from a different point of view. So here goes.
Anna is a medical sales rep and her two friends (Mandy and Eric) are moms. They're at a spa, chatting about old times.
"Remember Mary Ann's?" Anna says.
Mandy rolls her eyes underneath her cucumbers. "That place was a hole."
"Remember the jello-shot night?" Erin says. "Junior year?"
"Yeah. It was after our spring fling. You puked in the bathroom." Anna recalls.
"Everyone puked in that place. That bathroom?!! Sick." Mandy doesn't wax nostalgic like her friends.
"Remember Buck?" Anna asks Erin who nods as she sips her wheat grass smoothie.
"Who's Buck?" Mandy doesn't remember Buck.
"You weren't there that night. Buck was this guy who looked like a...I don't know, how would you describe him, Mandy?"
"He looked like Nick Lachey."
"Yeah, but a beat up version."
"He was cute!"
"Yeah. Until he talked."
"What happened?" Mandy asks.
"He and his buddies were obsessed with that basketball game." Erin explains.
"And Busch Light." Anna chimes.
"Yeah. They weren't BC guys."
"Which is why we were interested."
"Yes. We were...but..."
"He talked." Anna concedes.
"Right. Buck came over to Anna and made fun of her for drinking Corona."
"He was wasted." Anna defends Buck to Mandy.
Erin continues, "He goes, "You guys must love that Corona. Just point blank. And he just stood there."
"That was his line?" Mandy asks.
"I guess?" Erin says. "Then he lifts his Busch Light and goes, "Cause these are a buck!"
"I almost pooped." Anna laughs. "And he was dead serious."
"Why would he say that?!" Mandy asks disgusted.
"Who knows? Cause he was drunk. We turned around and ignored him." Erin explains.
"Did he say anything else? Mandy asks.
"Nope. He and his toady friends went back to playing miniature basketball." Anna says.
"And drinking Busch Lights for a buck!" Erin adds.
"Sweet Buck." Anna reaches for her drink. "Nick Lachey's poor cousin."
The Corona girls laugh and go back to relaxing in their terry cloth robes, sipping their cleansing smoothies and tapping their pedicured feet to the soothing sounds of Enya.
One night, after lots of sacraments, my pal Tyler noticed a few pretty girls drinking bottles of Coronas. He approached them. I trailed behind a step to witness his game. As something awesome blasted from the jukebox, something awesome blasted out of Tyler. "You guys much really like Corona." He swayed (accidentally in beat) waiting for their reply. They didn't have one so he elaborated. "Cause these are a buck!" He raised his glass so they knew what he was talking about. They turned around and we went back to pop-a-shot.
Whenever we find ourselves around a campfire we retell this story (and many more). I thought about this the other day and wondered what'd it look like if the Corona girls also retold this story when they get together. I know they don't. But I wanted to play around with the same story from a different point of view. So here goes.
Anna is a medical sales rep and her two friends (Mandy and Eric) are moms. They're at a spa, chatting about old times.
"Remember Mary Ann's?" Anna says.
Mandy rolls her eyes underneath her cucumbers. "That place was a hole."
"Remember the jello-shot night?" Erin says. "Junior year?"
"Yeah. It was after our spring fling. You puked in the bathroom." Anna recalls.
"Everyone puked in that place. That bathroom?!! Sick." Mandy doesn't wax nostalgic like her friends.
"Remember Buck?" Anna asks Erin who nods as she sips her wheat grass smoothie.
"Who's Buck?" Mandy doesn't remember Buck.
"You weren't there that night. Buck was this guy who looked like a...I don't know, how would you describe him, Mandy?"
"He looked like Nick Lachey."
"Yeah, but a beat up version."
"He was cute!"
"Yeah. Until he talked."
"What happened?" Mandy asks.
"He and his buddies were obsessed with that basketball game." Erin explains.
"And Busch Light." Anna chimes.
"Yeah. They weren't BC guys."
"Which is why we were interested."
"Yes. We were...but..."
"He talked." Anna concedes.
"Right. Buck came over to Anna and made fun of her for drinking Corona."
"He was wasted." Anna defends Buck to Mandy.
Erin continues, "He goes, "You guys must love that Corona. Just point blank. And he just stood there."
"That was his line?" Mandy asks.
"I guess?" Erin says. "Then he lifts his Busch Light and goes, "Cause these are a buck!"
"I almost pooped." Anna laughs. "And he was dead serious."
"Why would he say that?!" Mandy asks disgusted.
"Who knows? Cause he was drunk. We turned around and ignored him." Erin explains.
"Did he say anything else? Mandy asks.
"Nope. He and his toady friends went back to playing miniature basketball." Anna says.
"And drinking Busch Lights for a buck!" Erin adds.
"Sweet Buck." Anna reaches for her drink. "Nick Lachey's poor cousin."
The Corona girls laugh and go back to relaxing in their terry cloth robes, sipping their cleansing smoothies and tapping their pedicured feet to the soothing sounds of Enya.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Bad News Brown
I'm pretty sure the harmonica (also known as the french harp, mouth organ, lickin' stick, Gob-iron, tin sandwich, Rhythm stick, sidewalk Stradivarius, blind harp and slide harp) has never looked so cool. I did a little research and put together an abridged history.
The "harmonica" has been attributed to being invented by the emperor of Japan over 2,000 years ago. Currently, it is the peoples' instrument of China and is annually the most sold instrument in the world. It has retained this elite status since 1922, when the popularity of Borrha Minovitch and The Harmonica Rascals brought it to prominence starting in the French Quarter in New Orleans. Blues players in the city picked up the Gob-iron and started "bending" notes into their unique sound through changes in air pressure. Then Bob Dylan happened. And now Bad News Brown. The future is unclear. But I'm certain The Harmonica Rascals are thrilled with the mad beats of this video.
Also, Mr. Bad News makes me wanna buy a new hat. Now I'm going to research that.
The "harmonica" has been attributed to being invented by the emperor of Japan over 2,000 years ago. Currently, it is the peoples' instrument of China and is annually the most sold instrument in the world. It has retained this elite status since 1922, when the popularity of Borrha Minovitch and The Harmonica Rascals brought it to prominence starting in the French Quarter in New Orleans. Blues players in the city picked up the Gob-iron and started "bending" notes into their unique sound through changes in air pressure. Then Bob Dylan happened. And now Bad News Brown. The future is unclear. But I'm certain The Harmonica Rascals are thrilled with the mad beats of this video.
Also, Mr. Bad News makes me wanna buy a new hat. Now I'm going to research that.
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