Does Anyone Remember Laughter?

Soon... I will be one of them.

The Upright Citizens Brigade, that is. You know... these guys:


Yes, yes, yes my minions. Tomorrow is my first class at the Upright Citizens Brigade theater. I'm extremely excited!!!!

It's a sketch writing class (click HERE to learn more about it), so I'll be learning how to write a scene like you'd see on Saturday Night Live (except funnier, I hope) or Mr. Show (except no way that funny) or maybe like the Kids in the Hall (but less Canadian). Maybe like the State (but without all that "I wanna dip my balls in it" nonsense).

Who knows.

Maybe it'll be something different altogether. Maybe I'll get there and it will really just be an elaborate trick to get me to teach an ESL class to Mexican immigrants. Hell, that could be pretty funny actually! I hope it's as least as funny as that.

I wonder if I'll start having that dream where you go to class and suddenly you're naked and everyone's staring at you?

Hmm. That would be a funny way to start the class...

But probably just for me.

And actually, not really even that. I haven't been to the gym in a while.

The Axis of Evil Just Got A Little Bigger...

Ladies and germs, it happened.

I still can't believe it.

I'm still kind of reeling, to be very honest...

I think I may have found... oh god, this is hard...

I think I may have found a blog that is EVEN MORE USELESS than this one.

There, I said it. Oh, it hurts.

Despite my best efforts to bring you the most microscopic modicum of entertainment, "information" or opinion... somebody went and did something even more amazing.

I present to you, without further delay: Stop Peter, Bjorn and John

Wait, what's that? You don't know who Peter, Bjorn and John are? Well, that puts you on par with about 99% of the rest of the world. Please allow me to explain a bit.

Peter, Bjorn and John (or PB&J, for short) are a Swedish rock band that was recently "discovered" on the internets and has been gaining some recent notoriety in the "indie scene." What I mean by that is, somehow, they've been endorsed by that upper echelon of indie trendsetters as the next coming of the messiah (I'm looking at you, Arcade Fire). It's that moment where, for a few minutes, a band gets overwhelmingly and astonishingly adored beyond anyone's possible imagination, and certainly beyond the boundaries of reality. What this equates to is guaranteed sellout concerts when the band plays in New York City and a prominent position at the Austin, Texas festival South By Southwest.

And that's about it.

I'm sure the band, like so many others before it, will be mostly forgotten soon enough and then will have to rejoin the ranks of the proletariat bands again.

BUT WAIT.

Suddenly, a voice cries out in the darkness. This, it howls, this I WILL NOT ABIDE.

And so, a blog is born.

Yes, the above mentioned blog's sole purpose is to diffuse any and all publicity generated for PB&J, because... well, I don't quite know why. But this dude is intent on making sure they do not become popular for some reason. He really, really means it.

I guess I'll have to find some new way to be useless, because this dude takes the cake. He takes the cake, opens a newspaper to an article about the Iraq war and says, "I have to stop a Swedish indie band from becoming popular today!"

Or what? What is going to happen, exactly? I'm all ears.

(By the way, PB&J is a decently talented band, who sound somewhat like a cross between Superchunk and the Strokes.)

THESE MEN MUST BE STOPPED (Look how dangerous looking they are!)

You Might Be a Douchebag If...

So, dilemma:

You want to look cool, but the trouble is, how?

Tattoos are great, and although still associated with masculinity, even girls and emo kids can get them nowadays. You'd love to get a whole gaggle of tattoos, but who has the time? And what if you want to get a real job some day? Or what if you already have one? Man, if only there was some other way...

Well look out world! Here is the solution, available to you in one easy $80 credit card transaction!

Introducing SLEEVES, Inc.!

It's a t-shirt company that makes shirts for the aspiring badass, that allow you to have full sleeve tattoos on your arms, without all those needles, the bleeding or the ever-present threat of hepotitis! Check out the goods, bro-hymn! (Notice that peculiar line where the tattoos stop? Interesting.)

I mean, wow. Why not just grow a pair and get some real ink? This is the lamest thing I have ever heard of, and I used to listen to Shelter.

Dudes, if you get this shirt, even your mom is going to make fun of you. And she'd be doing you a favor if she did.

Oh, and ladies, you didn't think it was just for the fellas, did you? Helllllllls no. Check this shit out:

Soooooo attractive.

I Call My Brother "Sun" Cuz He Shine Like One

Hey!

What are you doing on a computer? It's beautiful outside.

Why not go out and take a walk?
Ride a bike?
Soak up some rays?

The sun is shining, get off the internet!

One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other

Today, I was sitting in a 2 hour meeting and I thought to myself:

"I wonder if anyone else here listened to Black Flag on the way to work today?"

Hmm. Probably not.

In fact, I'd be surprised if any of my coworkers have even heard of Black Flag. Pleasantly surprised, I might add. They're all much too nice though.

I really like the people I work with.

Hehe. I didn't think I'd ever say that again in my life.

Rise above,
D'Artagnan

Hey Baby, What's Your Sign?

Wow, "Zodiac" is an amazing film. Check it out ASAP.

A quick head's up: You might want to wear an adult diaper. There are some downright creepy scenes in this flick. I know this site reaches people of all demographics, so maybe you already wear one anyway. In that case, just keep it real.

Time Out New York called it the first film since "Silence of the Lambs" that actually feels like it was written by a serial killer.

Good times!

Patton Oswalt, I Adore You

Yes, my minions, I've been away for a while again. Sue me, I got a new job and although it's great, it's making me very tired. And when I'm tired, more typing is the last thing on my mind.

At any rate, let it never be said that I don't love you.

To prove it, I'm going to introduce you to one of my favorite things in the whole galaxy: the comic mind of Patton Oswalt. This man is wonderful. He can make me laugh at so many different things, in so many ways, I'm continually astounded at his talent. Whether he's ranting about the various ineptitudes of the Bush administration, or about how pouring water on a midget turns them into Sleepy-Time tea, he really is a delight. So, I've borrowed the below post from his own blog, just to help spread the gospel.

You can check out more about Patton HERE (if he ever gets his site up and running again).

Or HERE, you can be his Myspace friend.

Without any further ado, Enjoy!


UN-EDITED GIANT MAGAZINE RANT

I wrote this for -- what issue was it? Well, I wrote it for GIANT Magazine last year. Or maybe late in 2005. Now I can't remember.They made me re-write it and, in the processm, de-fanged it.

Here's what I originally turned in:

Nothing Like That First Cup of Coffee at 2:17 p.m.
or
Why the Republicans Are Winning

I know it's cultural suicide for me to admit I can't stand the noise anymore. I have friends within kissing distance of their mid-40's who've decided, out of personal desperation and a childish fear of death, that they're 22 years old FOREVER. They want the music loud. They want the conversation shouted. And they want the silent moments, when they're alone with their thoughts, kept at bay.

Idiots. I can't wait to be an old man. I am an old man. Forty years ahead of my time. I'm in revolt against my own youth, because I don't want to hear it.

I don't want to hear the inane half-conversations on people's cell phones. I don't want to hear the inane full conversations when the dimwits get together. Strung-together catch phrases and punchlines from TV shows and movies. God bless the iPod. It'd be fine if people knew how to talk on cell phones at a conversational level. Or if people knew how to have conversations anymore. People scream when they talk. They bray and whine and bark as if there's a boom mike recording their every word, and a hidden camera capturing the amazing Indie Film That Is Their Lives.

And no, you smug dumbass, I'm not anti-cell phone, or anti-Starbucks or anti-anything you're "anti" about 'cuz you heard Cameron Diaz bitching about it on MTV. I like technology, progress and convenience. And so do you. Please get over the Myth of Yourselves, hipsters, 'cause no one's writing your biography.

I can't tell you how many friends I have who "apologize" for having a cell phone or "over-explain" all of the internet time they log in. Guess what? No one cares. You're not that interesting or unique. You're not the cultural touchstone for anything. Stop over-thinking every vintage concert T-shirt you wear, or wondering what kind of "statement" you make if you wear Nike ACG's or Chuck Taylors. We're a generation of narcissists, and no one's paying any attention to you." I know what you're thinking. Yeah. Heh. Me – with a cell phone!" Yeah, dude, we're really through the looking glass now.

Or how about this gem: "Oh yeah, I mean, I only saw it to remind me how crappy Hollywood movies are. I mean, I went with a bunch of friends, and we were all on e." Thank God! I thought the sun my universe orbited around had sold out, maaaaaaaaaan. "Well, I watch the O.C. 'cause it's…" Everyone, all together now: "…so bad it's good!' William S. Burroughs on a biscuit, you're blowing my mind with the paradoxes!

Stop defending your integrity. You didn't have it to begin with. Selling out is the new street cred, anyway.

How did the Republicans pull it off? Oh wait, they didn't. We fumbled it.

In the early 90's, the non-chain coffeeshop was a den of revolutionaries. Or, at least, people with revolution on their mind. People would sit, fueling themselves on paint thinner java – writing, reading, getting informed, getting active, getting focused to get rid of George I.

Okay, maybe I'm looking back through rose-colored glasses. Come to think of it, I literally am, since I'm writing this in my Dame Edna costume.

I had the misfortune, last month, to kill a Sunday in the Abbott's Habit coffeeshop in Venice, California. Never again. The counterculture's in permanent red shift. Double-chinned ex-heroin addicts, balding hipsters and saggy-armed ex-rave chicks ("flappers", now that I think of it) sitting around, scowling at the "Calendar" section of the L.A. Times. Sneering at how bad TV and movies and music and President Hilton are. Checking their e-mail and seeing if anything's been updated on salon.com. Doing the Big Disdain.

Know what the Enemy's been doing? They've been awake since 8am, pumping away on the treadmill and taking Krav Maga classes and not being hungover and getting ready to carve up the world for themselves.

The Republicans stole rock 'n' roll and outsider status. Now they've seized the entire goddamn day right out from under us, The Too Cool to Care. We're doomed.

Here's a scene from a screenplay I'm finishing up right before I blow my brains out:

INT.
– HI-TECH PENTHOUSE - IRVINE, CA
– MORNING A sweaty, toned REPUBLICAN DOUCHE-NOZZLE is on his cell phone.

We split screen, and he's talking to a BLOND CONSERVATIVE TWAT.

REPUBLICAN DOUCHE-NOZZLE: Hey Cindy, it's 6:30 a.m. Just hopped off the elliptical trainer. Let's get some egg white omelets and buckwheat pancakes before we continue ruining everything for everyone!

CONSERVATIVE TWAT: I hate fags!

CUT TO:
INT. – SHITHOLE APARTMENT
– SILVERLAKE, CA
– DUSK

A 41 year-old pretending he's still a 23 year-old skateboarder is sprawled on a second-hand couch, talking on a cell phone which he almost never uses 'cuz people who own cell phones are assholes. Old copies of the L.A. Weekly are piled on a T.V., which he watches constantly to remind himself what a lame-o wasteland TV is, especially shows like Jerry Springer, The O'Reilly Factor, According to Jim and The Simple Life, which he and his friends can't believe get such huge ratings.

PATHETIC 41 YEAR-OLD: Hey man, you up?

SPLIT SCREEN with an EVEN MORE PATHETIC 39 YEAR-OLD, in his equally crappy Los Feliz apartment. The 39 Year-Old is currently finishing up a lengthy myspace.com blog entry (his 11th) about how lame Paris Hilton is. He wears, in a really cool ironic way, a faded Journey concert T-shirt which cost $85.

39 YEAR-OLD: Uh, yeah.

41 YEAR-OLD: Same shit, different day, huh?

39 YEAR-OLD: (with brilliant, self-mocking cynicism) That's hot.

41 YEAR-OLD: Gotta make this quick before my piece-of-crap cell phone gives me brain cancer.

39 YEAR-OLD: Did you read that thing in The Baffler about how Cheney and Halliburton own a huge stake in the MRI industry, which gives them a direct incentive to keep cell phones on the market and give people brain cancer?

41 YEAR-OLD: A friend of my brother read it and told him about it and he told me.

39 YEAR-OLD: Fuckin' idiots out there.

41 YEAR-OLD: Fuckin' sheeple.

39 YEAR-OLD: You know what we should do? Let's do the mall, check out some of the sheeple, and then go see Monster-in-Law, to reinforce how lame and hollow Hollywood is.

41 YEAR-OLD: Sounds like a plan. Did you Tivo that re-run of Saturday Night Lame last night?

39 YEAR-OLD: Ashlee Simpson's a moron.

CUT TO:

Mel Gibson being elected Pope.



UPDATE: Here is an amazing picture of Patton and Ms. Florence Henderson, aka Mrs. Brady. This picture is pretty sunny, as in sexy and funny. Look at Patton in his cardy!? Look at Mrs. B in her silver pants!? This is outstanding work on behalf of both artists.

Luca Brazzi Sleeps With the Fishes

I may not have mentioned this before, but my bedroom does not receive any sunlight (there's a joke there somewhere, but I'm too tired). I have a window, so I can get fresh air in the room when I want to, but the window faces and interior sort of courtyard (but imagine the least fancy courtyard possible). I'm on the ground floor, so there is hardly ever any light visible through that window.

As a result, I tend to sleep very late, unless I set my alarm, because at all times, it feels like the middle of the night, unless I have a light on or I open my bedroom door. Otherwise, it's eternal midnight.

Case in point, today, I slept until 2:00pm. 2:00pm!!!! I wasn't even up that late last night. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't suffering from insomnia (for a change). Nothing. But, every time I woke up this morning - and I did wake up a few times, by the way - it was so dark in my room, I just passed out again.

And now, half of my day is gone. Awesome.

I guess I gotta start setting my alarm on the weekends. Otherwise, I could miss half my life!

Huff Po: Truly Truly Truly Outrageous Since 2005

Oh, Huffington Post, you make me laugh!

So Congress grew a pair finally (finally!) and voted against the proposed troop hike that Georgie boy has been clamouring for these many months. Good one on ya, Congress!

But I mean, look at that front page! It reminds me of a fantastic Metallica album.

Eschewing bias, transcending mere opinion, HuffPo bravely forges ahead and just presents one hilarious headline after another, journalistic integrity be damned!

Oh, I kid the Huffington Post. I love them. They know I kid. But wowee zowee, are they ever heavy handed from time to time.

By the way, this is wonderfully astounding news, no doubt about it. But that's also one astounding start page!

Ricky, Don't Lose That Number

Oh, this is rich. Nay, this is wonderful!

Apparently, Ricky "La Vida Loca" Martin flipped the bird in reference to George W. Bush during a recent concert. I guess there's a lyric in on of his songs that refers to having "a photo with the president." When singing this lyric, the Rick-dog apparently let it fly and the crowd went wild.

Things have really gotten bad, ladies and germs, if Ricky fucking Martin is getting political. Read about it HERE.

But, let's not lose sight of one important, fantastically ironic piece of information: Ricky Martin performed at W's inauguration! How do you like them apples?

The best part of all of this, however, is undoubtedly the comments left on the news site linked above - from fans and foes alike. It's a real meeting of the minds. Here are a few tidbits that float my proverbial boat. I've added comments and underlined certain phrases for emphasis. Wow!

Ashamed (gotta love that name!) wrote:
Ricky, regardless of your opinions concerning Bush, that was a tasteless gesture on your part. I thought you had more class than that. It disappointed me to read this about you.

S. Bryan Gonzales wrote:
Ricky, why did you do it? What’s gotten your goat so badly that you’d resort to that behavior?

ihatenazis (again, phenomenal name) wrote:
Ricky shows that a real man is not afraid to stand up to fascism. It is a shame that after the Dixie Chicks this gesture is actually considered daring. Please! What happened to all of the rebel musicians? Stop being sheeple and stand up on your hind legs already! (Remember, we're talking about Ricky Martin here.)

Tolo wrote:
Let’s all sides calm down and agree that probably no one cares what a one hit wonder from the late 90’s thinks of anything. (Oh, I beg to differ, Tolo!)

Anthony wrote:
All commentators that are shocked, dismayed, befuddled, disgusted, angered or feels superior in disagreeing with “the finger”. You are in the minority, most Americans, and even more foreigners find a bond with Mr. Martin in his gesture. Whine all you want, it represents the tail end of an enivitable change coming. (Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Tony.)

jfalo wrote:
Ricky speaks the truth. Bush is bankrupting the country with this bogus war.

dave wrote:
Bush got what he deserved!!! (Did he? I'm of the opinion he deserves just a smidge more than this.)

Emily wrote:
Go ricky go! So hot. (Emily, no one can say you're ignoring the real
issues.)

Cid wrote:
He should have done it sooner. Like when he performed at Bush’s inauguration, that would have been good. Pick a side Ricky… (Yes, Ricky, there's a lot hinging on
your decision! Please, take a stand.)

And last, but certainly not least (in terms of idiocy anyway):

Bill wrote:
bush
xxx
xx xx xx x
x xx xx x xxxx
x x xx x x xxx xx x x
x x x xx x x x
x x x x xx
x xx x

And this concludes our latest session of "Meet the Morons."

Good night, and good luck.

When Rad Things Happen To Good People

I'm ecstatic, ladies and germs.

Remember when I told you there was going to be a new Elliott Smith collection released this spring?

Well, it's been officially announced! Check it out HERE on the P-Fork. Best story they've posted in months, in my opinion.

It's called "New Moon" and it's going to be a double cd of songs from Elliott's self-titled and Either/Or sessions (circa 1995-1997). It will also have a vinyl release.

Super geeks like me already have most of these tracks on bootleg, but I can't tell you how stoked I am to have these in official release with full stereo sound! Plus, for my fellow nerd completists, there's one never before released track on there called "All Cleaned Out." That's reason enough alone for me to buy it.

And on a day like today, when New York is blanketed in white, I think it's quite appropriate that the first track on the collection is the lovely song "Angel in the Snow."

Goodbye Blue Monday

I start a new job tomorrow, my droogs.

And you know what? I actually have a good feeling about it, which is a pretty new concept for me.


Thanks to everyone I know for putting up with my crappola the past year or so. With any luck, I'll be shutting up about all that soon.

I'm excited to see what the rest of this year has to offer. So far, things are off to a solid start.

Some Kind of Wonderful

Remember this moment: I'm at a loss for words.

Amigos, did you ever have an evening where all your friends completely blew your mind with how cool, funny and god damn beautiful they are/is/were?

Well, holy shit and stop the press - I just had such a night.

Thanks friends. And friends of friends. You're more important to me than you probably know. Far more than I'm capable of expressing, that's for damn sure. Keep fighting the good fight. And thanks for making me feel like my existence actually means something in this fucked up world.

Sincerely,
That one guy that you know

Uncle Fester Is Licensed to Drive

Wow.

I just got back from the DMV and I'm completely aghast. I was getting my driver's license renewed.

I mean, everyone has a picture taken of them once in a while that they don't like. But this... somebody take away my shoelaces and any sharp objects. Know what I'm sayin?

To say that I despise my new photo is tantamount to saying that the war in Iraq may have benefited from better planning.

I feel horrible. I'm going to put the song "It's Okay" by Dead Moon on repeat and cry myself to sleep. And it's only 4:30 in the afternoon on a Friday.

Batman Needs A Cat Nap

So, it's 3:15 AM. I can't sleep.

So, I flip through the channels and what do I find? The Machinist. A movie about an anorexic insomniac that slowly loses the last shreds of his sanity.

3:15 AM - Thanks HBO, the irony was not lost on me.

Just replace hair loss for weight loss and we're practically telling the same story.

Just A Minor Threat (Or a Threat to Minors?)

Ian Mackaye (from Fugazi, The Evens, Minor Threat, Embrace and a million other awesome independent music-related projects, including Dischord Records) recently spoke out about a proposed ban on All-Ages access to events in the Washington, DC area.

I'm not sure what the original issue was that prompted this to occur, but I'll update this story with a link if and when I find out.

I wanted to post this, however, because from my perspective, it's just refreshing to see someone sticking to their guns and standing up for what they believe in, even 25+ years on. And all causes should be so lucky as to have a spokesperson as eloquent and thoughtful as Ian Mackaye.

Check it out, you can watch it HERE.

A Lot of Rumors on the Internets

Not to borrow too many catch phrases from Georgie boy (heaven knows he's got enough, but people will begin to think we're buddies), but I would like to add , for the record: Mission Accomplished.

I am now officially back on the Internets. Great success!

Watch this space. It's sure to be filled with even more useless crap in the coming days.

Ross The Boss! (Or Maybe, Ross the Employee?)

My friend Ross, one of the funniest lads I've ever met, is going big time, baby. He just appeared in a series of ads for Careerbuilders.com (I should have looked into their services months ago), and the damn things aired during the Superbowl! I mean, wowee, that's like the Olympics of advertising!


Anyway, you can view Ross in all his commercial glory HERE.

If you don't know who Ross is, you can go HERE (www.myspace.com/brokeandjewish) and learn some more. But you'll only scratch the surface, I'm afraid. The guy has more personality than all five boroughs of New York. In fact, he even has alter egos, but I'll leave that for you to discover on your own.

I hope the guy gets his own TV show, pronto. Every time I've ever seen him, people are paying attention. Can anyone out there get him in a room with David Geffen or some shit???

Congrats, Ross!!! Keep the hits coming. Don't stop till they put your face on a box of Lucky Charms.

Santori Time

Well, this weekend marks the beginning of my week of rest and recuperation. I can’t wait.

The last 9 months have been nothing short of exhausting. Exhausting and almost totally oppressive. Put upon - you ever feel that way? I guess I had before, but never like this. It was an uphill battle in a spiritual war, and this lil' Injun done ran outta arrows.

As my good friend Robert Zimmerman once said, “When something’s not right, it’s wrong.” And this shit was seriously wrong. Almost from day one.

So, I am glad to have washed my hands of it. Things have been on an upswing for me lately, so I’m just going to roll with it, brothers and sisters. Shine on. Why the fuck not.

I have a good feeling about this new gig. Time will tell, of course, but all the signs point to a good outcome. So, I will start that next leg of the trip next Monday.

For now, I’m going to focus on getting my head clear and getting some R&R. It’s about damn time. I’m gonna try to look at some apartments this week too. That’s another piece of the puzzle, to be solved at a later date. Maybe I’ll get a gym membership squared away too.

For now, I’m watching a movie and my usual Monday morning alarm is as good as dead. Let’s hear it for small miracles.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out, Kid!

I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!

Unbelievable. These guys have some balls.

Why don't they ask for a pony too?

IMPEACH.