Taking a Stab at the Onion

This is my attempt to write an Onion article. If you are unfamiliar with the Onion, it is a satirical news source written by snarky millenials. "Write" up my alley!  Enjoy!

Shia Labeouf Spends 24 Hours in an Elevator, Claims That Fart Smell "Wasn't Him" 

This past Friday, notable actor/performance artist Shia Labeouf spent 12 hours inside an elevator before and after a speech at Oxford University in England. Students and spectators were allowed to cozy up to him and ask him their burning questions about film, television, and his career. Most ended up getting on the elevator and staring at their phones in silence. "It was relaxing," said a hungry and tired Labeouf. "I feel like it represents my career very well, you know, a lot of ups and downs."

This event comes comes just after he sat for 24 hours and watched all of his films in reverse order, all the way back to Even Stevens, arguably his best work. That event went so well that he decided to grab a coveted spot in an elevator and connect with fans. He made small chat, hugged them, and even slapped one in the face. Typical Labeouf. 

One moment, however, almost through a wrench in the entire demonstration. About halfway through the second 12 hour shift, Labeouf let out a little "LePoof." There's no denying it; it was caught on camera as everything was being recorded. He tried to cover it up by blaming it on an unsuspecting sophomore looking for an autograph, but no one bought it. "Ultimately, my Holes (starring Shia Labeouf) got the better of me and I passed gas. It's not the first time and it won't be the last," said a groggy, hungry Shia. 

Most students stayed clear of the elevator after that. "Celebrity farts are gross," said a super senior on his way to class. "I wouldn't be caught dead there longer than I need to." Labeouf's crowd diminished and he exited the elevator as scheduled, quickly ran to the bathroom, and then got food. "It was gratifying," he said. "I would do it again." As Shia exited the school, he took the brown paper bag that his lunch came in, dumped out the trash, placed it over his face, and got into a stretch limousine. Students and faculty will look fondly upon this day and remember it for what it was: a mild inconvenience. 

Tinder? I Hardly Know Her!

Kids, have I ever told you the story of how I married your mother? Really? I haven't? But you're like 13. It's never come up? Hmmm. Weird. Anyway, here it is, I guess, for the very first time.

It was a cold night in January. I was at home, in my bed and about to go to sleep, when I got the idea to swipe a couple girls left or right on Tinder. You've heard about Tinder in the audio textbooks, right? It was this old app that actually forced people to talk and then meet somewhere. You would see another person's picture and then swipe left or right, based solely on attractiveness, pure primal drive. Well, eventually, your mother's picture showed up, and I thought Sure, I'd fuck her, so I swiped right.

Well, unbeknownst to me, she had also swiped right, so we matched. Now, I'm not saying it was love at first swipe. Ha ha ha. We didn't know each other at all. I mean, I jerked off to her photo like six times before I even dug up the courage to message her. But we started talking, and you know, the rest is history.

Internet history, that is, because I scoured Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and even LinkedIn for any type of profile I could find on this woman. It's hard when you only know a first name. It really limits the online presence. I didn't even know her full name until we signed the marriage papers. It just never came up in conversation, and I never thought to ask. 

Our first date was a little weird. Have I told you about this? I guess I haven't. Well, I was a little low on funds at the time, and since I didn't even know the woman you now call your mother, I suggested that we split the bill. We're going Dutch, I exclaimed. Better call me the Flying Dutchman. She was not amused, but I got her back on my side with hours of more witty banter on Tinder. What a great app for witty banter!

All-in-all we managed to defy the public opinions of our friends and family and have actually stayed happily married, as you kids are aware. She said she was outdoorsy in her bio, and I said I was open to trying new things. It seemed like a perfect fit. She also said no hookups, as if every guy wants to hook up with her right away, but after getting to know her, methinks the lady doth protest too much. 

Well, I've successfully bored you kids for the last five minutes. That feels like long enough, doesn't it? Ha! Could you imagine if I did this for nine seasons at 22 episodes a season? Alright kids, go to bed. Happy Valentine's Day!

I Couldn't Curb My Enthuiasm

The three of you who actually read this blog every week may remember that about two months ago I waited in the Saturday Night Live standby line overnight for tickets to the dress rehearsal for the Tiny Fey/Amy Poehler/Bruce Springsteen show. I was 10 to 15 people short of getting in. And that overnight, outside, cold, on the street experience is grueling, to say the least (props to the homeless who do it daily). No logical person of their right mind would want to subject themselves to that again. Luckily, I'm neither of my right mind nor logical. So when I heard that Larry David was hosting SNL, I said "What do I have to lose?"

As it turns out, the answer is nothing. I waited for significantly less time than before, a mere 6.5 hours. The temperature was comparable to last time, maybe slightly colder. If I've learned one thing from all of the waiting that I've done, which is a lot because I used to caddy at a golf course over the summer, it's that the first six hours are fine. It's that last 30 minutes where I get ansy. But I did it, and I was 45th in line for the live show. 

At 11:00 pm on Saturday night, when I was standing in line at the NBC Experience Store and the NBC pages announced that they were taking the first 50 standby tickets, my heart sounded like a Dave Grohl solo. "This is it," I said, quoting the late Michael Jackson. I went through security, which I'd done before, only this time it was a little more strict because the secret service was there. Secret service? What? Is Bernie Sanders here or something? Next, I waited in a round room while they slowly let people into the elevators in groups of 10. Then, they let me in. I kept pinching myself and asking "What's happening?" Next thing I know, I'm out of the elevator walking down a hallway of SNL photos. Then, they sat me down in the theater. 

The Saturday Night Live theater is small. And they film different sketches in different sections of the theater. A small part of me kept thinking that it's almost better to watch it on TV, because that way you have a good view of everything. I strangled that part of me and threw him out of the 8th floor window of Rockefeller Center. There are cameras, people, and actors moving everywhere at all times. It looked like Penn Station, if Penn Station was a long running televised sketch show. 

As it turns out, Bernie Sanders was in the show, and much like his politics, his sketch was shot in the leftmost space in the studio. I mean, his sketch was so far left that everybody temporarily had free health care when they were in it. (Look! I'm a regular Bill Maher doing political comedy. Speaking of political comedy, the Republican Debate.)  

Overall, the show was brilliant. Seeing it live was very cool, and it was nice to breathe the same air as all of my idols. (Written down, that sounds creepy. What I think I mean is I want to hold them all hostage for days in my basement. Less creepy!) Anyway, I had fun. After seeing the show, for about an hour, I thought that I was just 'up,' and never going to sleep again. That turned out to be false. Wishful thinking. 

The cast is nice enough to take pictures with those who wait around afterwards. Waiting is my specialty (see above), so I got some good photos. That was pretty cool. And that's about it. 

Oh, and Super Bowl 50 was yesterday. Strange game. I haven't seen balls change hands that much since my last orgy, but hey, I'm not one to kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, and tell.  The halftime show was amazing, including Coldplay. I like Coldplay. Lady Gaga sang a rousing rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. It's pretty much hacky to talk about how she dresses, so based on yesterday's look, I'll say this. Lady Gaga: voice of angel, face of a lizard. Congratulations Denver!!

What Am I Doing Here?

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I'll say it now: I like to write. Sit me down with a computer and your favorite writing program, or a pencil and piece of paper, for that matter, and I'll be content. (If you don't know what a piece of paper and pencil are, ask your parents!) It's so much fun because there are no rules and endless possibilities. That kind of freedom is what life is all about, I think. Don't you?

That brings me to this. What am I doing here? Is this a very funny blog that a rotating handful of people read, or is this my online journal that a handful of people are privileged to read for free? I think that it's more of a weekly online journal that one day the "right" person will read. But what if I'm the "right" person, and it's not some Hollywood guy (I'm picturing Judd Apatow)? I think that might be what's going on here.  

Life is about a serious of risks that people take to try to achieve success, whatever that is. If you don't feel like at any moment everything around you could come crashing to the ground, then you aren't doing it right. That's what I think. 

I'm staying busy, which I like. Friday was my birthday. I'm now 24. If it sounds young, it is. If it sounds like I'm whining, I am. It's all of that jazz. Young, fearless, invincible. That's me. Dont forget to write and stay present. I'll talk you later, whoever you are.

Digging Out and Catching Up

If you're reading this on the East Coast, then you've survived the blizzard. Congratulations! If you're reading this on the West Coast, then you've had nothing to deal with this weekend and you are fine. Go enjoy your 70 degree weather. But us East Coasters are digging out from a massive blizzard that dumped upwards of two feet of snow onto us in about 24 hours. That's over an inch an hour, for those of you who can't math well. That's a lot of snow. A lot of fresh powder. That's a bring down a roof amount of snow, and a lose your small child amount of snow. Scary.

For much of the time that it was snowing, the blizzard created white out conditions. I mean, the East Coast is so white right now that it is being nominated for an Oscar. It's so white that Jada Pinkett Smith refuses to be here. It doesn't help that meteorologists gave the storm the whitest name ever, either. Jonas. Oh brother! Had it been named something like Jayquellin, then maybe it would have been better. But I don't know. I'm not a meteorologist. I'm just a Key and Peele fan.

I stayed in this weekend and tried to tackle the insurmountable mountain that is all of the television that I watch. I'd say that I climbed up halfway. Sunday, I ventured outside and walked around Central Park in the snow. That was nice. There were so many kids and parents playing in the snow.  People were doing everything that you could do in the snow (skiing, sledding, snowboarding, football, peeing, etc.). It was a really nice sense of community. Not much was plowed, but hey, I like exercise.

I think I'm gonna wear my boots to work this whole week. There is no dress code, so far as I can figure, so I should be fine. Hello, casual Tuesdays!

Oh, and one more thing. It's the end of the month, so let me catching you up on my list of New Year's Resolutions. Remember these? If you thought I was messing around, I wasn't. Here's what I've done so far.

1. Make a sweet Catch Me If You Can reference. (Completed)

2. Be a guest on someone else's podcast.

3. Release more episodes of my own podcast.

4. Write a TV show pilot.

5. Write a play.

6. Take sketch writing classes. (Completed)

7. Join an independent improv team. (Sort-of)

8. Join an independent sketch team.

9. Write my own sketch show.

10. Act in a sketch show.

11. Host an open mic.

12. Do a feature set of stand up.

13. Be to a live taping of Saturday Night Live.

14. Release a book.

Have a good week. Keep on digging out.

Late to the Internet

I'm not a hypochondriac, but what are the symptoms because I think I may have something. Now, normally, I'm the first person to think that that cut on my finger is cancer. I don't need Web M.D. to confirm that (although they do so without a doubt every time). What I need to do is just relax. Don't yell at me, it's harder than it sounds. To be able to fully relax, that's the goal one day. One day I'd like to be so relaxed that even my handwriting looks like it went to sleep. 

I really want to try meditation. All I need to do is just sit somewhere and focus on my breathing. Not on like a crowded train, but more like by myself in my bed room. But then are a lot of different things that I can do in my bedroom to try to relax. I could just sit and blog for hours.

Speaking of that, I was cleaning out my room at home this weekend, and I found a lost paragraph in my book about blogging. I've included it below, and will add it as an addendum to the book, which is not yet published. Here it is: 

Blogging: Part 4

You know, when I first started blogging, I actually didn't know what I was talking about. I didn't have much experience. I'm what you would call "late to the internet." But since then, I've done it every week, sometimes multiple times a week, and I love it. It's really helped me release some things. And I think people like it when I do it. They like to look at what I've made, ruminate on it, and share it with the world. Their is no greater accomplishment than spreading your seeds of knowledge, wit, and ideas into the world. Now, I will say this; A lot of what I blog goes right into the trash can. But that's part of the process. One day, some idea will stick and the world will change forever. But alas, that is not today. But when it comes, it will be "oh so good!"

More Powerball

Well, I didn't win the Powerball jackpot this past weekend, so that meant that today I had to go into work and apologize to everybody that I flipped off and cursed out. When I think about how personal I made the attacks, I get sick to my stomach. Anyway, they were good sports about it, and I can't wait to do it again on Thursday when I burn all of my bridges on Wednesday.

For most, playing the lottery is the exact definition of insanity: doing something over and over again and expecting different results. With the jackpot so large (1.3 gabillion dollars!), everybody and their brother thinks they have to play and grab a piece of that action. This makes everyone everywhere talk about the Powerball. News stations won't shut up about it, math professors teach it in school, and gambling addicts throw their life savings at it (but to be fair, they do that anyway all of the time, so they don't know any different.) I mean, people have actually stopped talking about Making a Murderer to talk about the Powerball. Now that's dedication. I'm even talking about it right now to you!

What does all of this mean? That's a big question I'm not qualified to answer yet. Oh? You mean the Powerball? It means that many of us are encountering the numerous stereotypes that emerge from the downtrodden woodwork to take a small shot at too much money to fathom. (What is 1.3 billion? I can't picture 1.3 billion of anything, let alone cold hard cash.) Let me describe them to you, although I'm confident you've already bumped into most of them.

The Virgin: He (or she) is someone who's never played the lottery before and is being roped into it at work for some stupid pool. He (or she) puts the money in reluctantly and keeps asking "How does it work?" while refusing to understand it each time you explain it.

The Know-It-All: They have all of the facts about the lottery, right to the down to when it was very big the last time and who won, what the odds of each outcome happening are, and how many things you could buy with all of the money. Nobody likes a know-it-all.

The Cynic: This guy thinks the lottery is just a tax placed on stupid people, only because he's never won it before. He's tried and lost once or twice, and that was enough to sour him on it for good. He'll never participate in your silly office pool. He's too smart with his money for that.

The Planner: This person knows exactly how they will spend the money, right down to the last penny. And they aren't shy about telling you either. Don't worry, they are giving some to charity. It's just not enough to make you stop asking "Are you selfish?"

The Way-Too-Enthusiastic Girl: This girl has enough energy to make the lottery balls bounce around in the machine. She wants to know every number your playing and why you're playing them. She's not playing at all, she just wants to live vicariously through you. (and, of course, split the money!)

There you have it. As the great Christopher Walken once said, "I've got a fever. And the only prescription, is more Powerball."

Please play responsibly.*

*Gambling problem? No, I have no problem gambling.

New Year, New Elements

Happy New Year!!!

Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to get technical, if I may (not actually asking your permission, it's just a saying). I've been known to enjoy the sciences every now and again (this is just the first you are hearing about it). I'm a fan of mathematics, physics (regular and quantum), biology (macro and micro), geology (big rocks and small rocks), astronomy (big stars and small stars), astrology (big mediums and small mediums), but the one I've always rebelled against is chemistry. I mean, I'm more of a rebel than Rebel Wilson. I'm more of a rebel than Anakin Skywalker in a room full of little padawans. I'm more of a rebel than a positive electron in a room with another positive electron. (Wait! I'm being informed that the "correct" word is 'repel.' Ugh, but if I change it, then the whole joke is ruined. So I'll leave it in, and I'll let the two people who read this every week attack me anonymously over the internet.) See, I know chemistry!

But what I want to share is actually not my doing at all. Scientists in Russia, Japan, and America have discovered four super-heavy chemical elements to finally complete the seventh row of the periodic table. (How heavy are they? They are so heavy, it takes four body builders to lift one element onto the lab table. They are so heavy, Joel and Ethan Cohen are writing a movie about them. They are so heavy, when they sit around the house, they sit "around" the house. It's pretty impressive to see that, even in 2016, we are still filling in the periodic table and making the education of our children more complicated. (Back in my day, we only had to worry about a couple elements on our walk to school: cold and heat. And it was uphill both ways!)

And speaking of impressive things, I'm so glad that scientists are considering more modern names for these elements. It's about time we have elements with names that we all understand. Don't believe me? I'll share the names with you below:

113 - Ununipadium

115 - Ununadeleium

117 - Ununstarwarsium

And of course 118 - Ununtrumpium.

And just remember, these elements only last for a split second before decaying into other elements. 

New Year, New You

Well, it's almost New Year's Eve (©Ryan Seacrest), which means 2016 will be upon us faster than Donald Trump on a Muslim. And with New Year's Eve (©Ryan Seacrest) comes the new year (a leap year, in fact). And with the new year comes New Year's Resolutions. I've made them. You've made them. He, she, we've made them. But this year is different (that's what I said last year). This year I'm making a list (and checking it twice... whoops! Wrong holiday!) and I'm going to stick to it. Some of the goals are simple, some are not. That's the fun part. It will be exciting, full of surprises, like when a man with a guitar steps onto the subway car. You don't what's gonna happen. Can he sing? Does he know the words? Where did he get that guitar? You'll just have to wait to find out.

My aim is to try to accomplish as many of my goals as I can. If you would like to help out in any way, please do not hesitate to do so. If you would like to hinder my process in any way, please hesitate to do so. I do not need haterz (©Taylor Swift). You can all "Go flog yourselves," as Tom Hanks says in the TV version of the movie Catch Me If You Can.

I've listed my goals below, and will be posting monthly updates about my progress towards them. Here they all are:

1. Make a sweet Catch Me If You Can reference. (Completed)

2. Be a guest on someone else's podcast.

3. Release more episodes of my own podcast.

4. Write a TV show pilot.

5. Write a play.

6. Take sketch writing classes.

7. Join an independent improv team.

8. Join an independent sketch team.

9. Write my own sketch show.

10. Act in a sketch show.

11. Host an open mic.

12. Do a feature set of stand up.

13. Be at a live taping of Saturday Night Live.

14. Release a book.

This list will be updated throughout the next year. Check back in with me. I plan on really going for things. Have a safe, happy, and healthy New Year. Let's bring in 2016 right!!!

Saturday Night Line

This past Friday/Saturday, I did something that I've only seen and heard about, but never experienced. I tried to get a ticket to see Saturday Night Live by waiting in the standby line from 8:45 p.m. on Friday until 7 a.m. on Saturday. It was the Tina Fey/Amy Poehler/Bruce Springsteen holiday episode. Are you curious how it went? If you are, don't worry, I'm going to explain everything. If you're not, stop reading now and have a Happy Holiday Fun Time (which is my politically correct version of Merry Christmas!)

I started my young Padawan journey by doing some recon when I got off of work on Friday. I went to Rockefeller Center and spent 30 minutes trying to find the line. The line was harder to find than Waldo in a Where's Waldo puzzle. It starts at about the Nintendo Store on 48th Street, between 5th Avenue and 6th Avenue, and extends down 48th Street towards 6th Avenue. If you're not familiar with the area, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree can be seen from standing at the Nintendo Store and looking perpendicular to 48th Street. So it's a busy area. It's busier than a Where's Waldo puzzle. Its even busy when the tree's lights are turned off at 1:00 a.m. I talked with the first people in line, who showed up on Wednesday. That's commitment. I wish I could do that, but I have a job, and also I can't take time off for another three months. Then, I talked with the last person in line, affectively covering my basis. He seemed like a tool. The line at that point was at the intersection of 48th Street and 6th Avenue.

I went home and got some stuff ready (a sleeping bag, blanket, pillow, book, food, water, etc.) and I headed out. My friend was supposed to meet me there, but she got there about an hour and fifteen minutes later than me. It's amazing that the people behind me let her in line. But anyway, when I got there, the line was on 6th Avenue moving towards 49th Street. I was told that I was 124th in line. That doesn't seem exactly right to me, but I was probably like 100th to 120th. Get it right!! And so I began to wait, making friends with everybody around me in line during the process. Nice people, good folks. My friend showed up (finally) and we hunkered down to wait on the street, homeless person style. I looked at is as practice for when I'm broke in a couple of months and I have to sleep on the street anyway. 

Now, it is a well known fact that people love lines. You're a person reading this right, right? You know what I'm talking about. You love lines. (The only lines that people like are lines of cocaine and lines from movies/tv.) What I'm trying to say is that everybody and there mother (brother, sister, and father) will come up to you and ask "What is everyone waiting for?" It took some real constraint not to screw with people and say stuff like "that inevitable last moment, same as you" or "to use the bathroom" or "a blood drive." And when you tell them that it's SNL, they say "Oh? Who's hosting?" And when you answer that they go "Oh?! Bruce Springsteen! Wow!" Bitch! We are not here to see Bruce. Tina and Amy are hosting!!! But whatever. The homeless people walked by and just glared at us, probably because we stole their spots or something, I don't know. I managed to sleep a good deal, like 3 hours or so, just by lying on the cold hard ground (cue 'goat scream'). It honestly was not as bad as I thought it would be. 

At 6 a.m., they woke us up and made us pack up our things. Then, they condensed the line and we stood until 7 a.m. After that, NBC pages came out and started handing out tickets. Now, they wrote them from the front of the line and the back of the line, because it doesn't matter what ticket number you are, jut the order that you're in. When they get to you, they force you to make the most important decision of your life: Poehler or Fey? Nah, they do ask about Live or Dress Rehearsal, though. There are perks to both, but I chose dress, for the better chance of getting in and the more sketches and Weekend Update jokes. We got numbers and we were told to be back by 7 p.m.

-----SLEEP!-----

We got there before 7 p.m. because the early bird gets the worm (I'm the bird, a seat is the worm). Next, we were packed like sardines in a winding queue that was tighter than Tuco's meth on Breaking Bad. Then, at about 7:30 p.m., they let 20 people through, then 20 more, then 20 more. I was in that last group of 20. We we're brought to some security guards and a metal detector to make sure we weren't carrying any backpacks. Finally we were about 10 people away from going up a staircase when a man who looked like a fat James Bond came down and said they just seated the last five people. Aww, rats!!!

So, it turns out it was all for naught. But, it's an NBC Experience, and not just because we were in the NBC Experience Store, but because it taught me what to do now. When I do it again, I won't be such a line baby (that's a phrase in trying to start, get it trending).

This is what I leave you with. Next week is the last post of 2015. Can you believe the year is over? I can't. It feels like just yesterday it was last year. Maybe not. Happy Christmas!!! (That's my un-politically correct way to say Merry Christmas!)