The Wooden Anniversary

Five years ago, I sat opposite my friend in his car coming back from the airport (the details of why I was at an airport are unimportant to this story, but let's just say it was my cousins Bar Mitzvah). I asked him quietly that if I wrote a blog every week, would he read it? He said yes. (He said "YES!" It was so romantic.) All of my other friends said yes, too. So that Wednesday, I wrote my first post, an introduction to blogging, where blogging could be replaced by masturbating. I was dying to write some of my funny ideas down in little paragraphs, since none of my college engineering classes offered that outlet. Now, here we are today, five years later, and I'm still writing a blog, but none of my original friends read it (as often as they did before). I'll get the ever popular "oh is it new today? I'm like three weeks behind." And thats fine, because it's reached a much larger audience over the past five years, as my number of friends on Facebook has probably doubled.

A lot can happen in five years. That was like, more than one black Presidency ago. We are now electing a new president, not because we want to, but because we have to. And I'm a different person too. I've fully embraced my funny side and gone from timid and depressed architect/engineer to performing improv, writing/performing sketch, and even performing some of the pieces I've written on here. The one thing that hasn't changed is the reason why I do this. It's good to be able to freely post something that I think is funny every week, pretty anonymously, because that way I get the practice, and some people get two minutes of enjoyment from something I've written. Practice makes perfect after all. So what really bugs me is when, much like the last couple of months, I miss a week's post. When I'm apologizing to you, I'm more apologizing to myself. You don't care. I care. I set a discipline and couldn't stick to it. That's not cool. So that's not going to happen anymore. I promise.

Now, on to lighter and happier notes. The fifth year anniversary is the wood anniversary. Google recommends a mountable, romantic wood carving. That doesn't quite apply to this. Better luck next time Google, ya dumb piece of shit. However, if any of you want to send me small scraps of wood, I would welcome it. I can add it to my pile. I make my own zen gardens. I actually find that to be the relaxing part, so then I throw out the zen garden. Once an unconventionalist, always a person who does things differently from others. So there's that.

What else? I guess what's different this year is that you can see me running all over New York doing comedy and delivering food. And I'm involved in a lot. Like I'm about to start directing my own sketch comedy show that I've written. So that's cool. But that's in January. So we will work up to it slowly.

Something I've been knocking around for a while is a hacky sack. Also, the idea of publishing a book of some of my favorite posts on here, with little comments throughout, so it's different from this but the posts are the same. Like anytime Stephen King releases an updated and expanded version of The Stand. I fall hook, line, and sinker for that shit. So maybe some of you will too. We'll see. I'm going to start that manuscript this week. I'll let you know about the process as it happens.

I'm doing improv, taking a sketch acting class, working a full time and part time job, and living life dollar to dollar. But that's New York for you. It's the city that doesn't sleep (because it can't afford rent anywhere either). Actually, New York does sleep. It dozes off on the train like the rest of us at 3:00 am. Now you know.

Here's to the next five years and the five years after that. I would light a cake but the smoke detector in my apartment would go off, and also I can't afford cake. Can somebody pay me to do this please? Please? No? OK fine. See ya next week then!

P.S. I found an about the author section for that book about blogging that I was writing. I've included it below:

Charlie Shulman used to live in New York but now resides in Brooklyn. He continues to blog in his free time because it's a good way to waste a couple of minutes. He has blogged all over the U.S. and even internationally. Blogging will always be his first love. His hobbies include civil engineering and tying cherry stems into knots with his mouth. He has two cats, but doesn't exactly know where they are.

Hallo"why?"

Well, it's here again. That's about as excited as I get for Halloween. Although, ever since I learned that Halloweentown fan fiction exists, I've moved up to a moderate "Oh wow," like an everyday Owen Wilson discovering that he has eggs left in the fridge. The thing is I don't genuinely enjoy dressing up or putting real work into the art of a Halloween Costume. Some people I know start planning now, this current Halloween 2016, for future Halloween 2018.  I can't do that. The most planning I do is trying to figure out how to go to work and, at the same time, show up to Chipotle in costume to secure the ever elusive "Boo-rito." That's a Halloween thing. 

You would think, even though no one asked you to think, that I love to dress up, as I'm a comedian and I do characters sometimes. Not the case. It just doesn't interest me. All of my friends feel differently, but that's ok. They are allowed to feel that way. Like I wouldn't even dress up to go see The Rocky Horror Picture Show, a show that I love. I would just show up with a top hat and pray to God that I was accidentally wearing enough sparkly things to pass as a Transylvanian. You know how I do.  

Halloween parties are a thing. News flash, though, you can't show up to them four hours after they start. I mean you can, sure, it's your life or whatever, but I'm just saying that everyone will be drunk off of who-knows how many Hell-O shots, or black and orange themed Jell-O shots. And least that was my finding this year. Even if you have a sweet costume, it'll only receive a drunk "Wow!" like a drunk Owen Wilson realizing he has one more Corona in the fridge. Then no one will ever remember it. You may get a text, a few years later, from one of your alcoholic friends working through the steps trying to make amends that says "I was wrong, your costume was the best." but that's wishful thinking at best. At best.

Now, I did manage to do a Halloweeny type thing yesterday. I went to the New York Haunted Hayride out on Randall's Island. Honestly, it was a little scarier getting there than actually going through the attractions, but that might just be me not liking sketchy areas. It was pretty cool. I was excited for the hayride, cause those are always silly and fun. It's hilarious to watch other people get scared. The dark maze was a different story, I close my eyes and try to run through that stuff. Again, I don't like scary things. I was a little scared. I don't scream or nothing (yes I do). Shut up, me! Anyway, that was fun.

Have a very happy and safe Halloween. Please experience something cool. I'd love to live vicariously through your stories, be they a quiet night in watching movies or a heavy metal concert where Gwar is playing. One of those two options. Nothing else.

Next week is the 5 year anniversary of this blog. I'll have stuff to say. Look forward to that. Also, below is a picture of the best costumes this year:

Fox Mulder and Dana Scully - X-Files

That's Debateable

Oops! I did it again. I missed another week. But this time I have a really good excuse. I was trying to recover from the second presidential debate, which I didn't so much watch as I bothered a bunch of people who wanted to watch it and laugh at the same time. Let me explain what I mean. I was part of a show that took place during the debate, wherein I had the debate streaming to my smart phone and was supposed to recite what the candidates were saying as they said it, doing an impression at the same time, switching between the two candidates with other performers. If it seemed complicated, that's because it was. Even the premise is one big run-on sentence. 

Now, here comes my arrogance again. I've never had the audience leave while I was on stage, except for the one time my dad left during my 201 improv show. (In his defense, he'd seen the show before.) Usually, they stay the whole time. But not this time. It was a trainwreck, except people could look away, and they did, because I saw them leave. The audience was pretty big when the show started. Press was there (see below) and even a camera guy. When the camera guy left, though, I knew something was up. I'm not Mel Gibson, but even I knew that was a sign. I imagine the audience must have felt like the candidates during the debate, each thinking "If I get up and leave now, will anybody notice." Trump even tried it, but it just came off as creepy. But if you don't act on an idea in the moment, you miss it. That's Trump's motto: Carpe Diem by the Pussy.

Here's what would have fixed the show.  You have the debate streaming on the wall, with sound. Now we all can hear it and don't need to worry about bad internet connections or weak WiFi. Those who want to watch it can do so. Now, you have a panel of comedians watching on stage, and they basically riff on what's being said. Microphones are a must. It's rifftrax, MST3K, whatever this overplayed, outdone idea is, to perfectly represent this overplayed and outdone election. 

The mess of a show on stage left nothing but devastation and caused people to leave the room (like a Trump Presidency) and lied to the audience from the beginning (like a Clinton Presidency). It was abysmal. And don't just take my word as someone who had to stick out the whole, take the word of the press/reporter who also had to stick out the show. I apologized to her, but that didn't stop her from writing an article about me. Take a look below (scroll all the way to the bottom).

 http://nycitylens.com/2016/10/new-yorkers-take-on-the-second-presidential-debate/ 

Anyway, tonight is the final countdown. After this, it's up to us. Let's make and informed decision. That's the only way anything will be accomplished. You can watch this one in peace, don't worry. I'm not performing anything like that ever again. Ever.  

Youthful Arrogance

In honor of SNL this week, I finally did something that a lot of people my age have done multiple times: I lost my H-card and listened to Hamilton. So you can all stop screaming virgin at me, Ok? Please stop screaming virgin at me. And much like your first time, I couldn't figure out how to rap it or what to do with my hands. I lasted a while though, as it's a long play. The words moved so fast that I thought I was listening to Eminem: The Musical (which if no one is actively pursing yet, now is the time people!). And the whole time, I sat there thinking, "Wow! I could've written this."

Ah yes! There it is. My youthful arrogance. Although, maybe it's just straight up arrogance. You see, my arrogance is young, scrappy, and hungry. It can make me do insane things and think things that are even insaner (like that using "insaner" is a good idea even though I know it's not a word). You don't even know how conceited I can be. I do. And it's great. I love me.

Let me clarify something. I could not write Hamilton. It's masterfully crafted by a very talented writer/performer named Lin Manuel Miranda, although, if you ask me, he's more of a Lin Manuel Samantha (I'm not the first person to make this joke. SNL did it in the promos for this week. But I thought of it on my own, first, I swear.) That being said, there is a recurring beat and lyric in a song where at the end of every line it says something like "...Aaron Burr, sir?" And I've just been rhyming to that the whole week. I have a whole new story concocted about a woman's purse and needing to be reimbursed. And her purse is over ther, and stuff about a cat's purr and Aaron Burr, sir? At one point, I even speculate on any familial relation to Bill Burr. It's great. That's what I've been doing for fun recently. All just for me. And for one brief second, I'm just like, I could do this. I could write Hamilton. I'm not going to throw away my shot.

Anyway, the country is in the toilet and we're voting for whichever plunger we think can unclog the drain. That's what I've decided. Fair!? Fair. It's what's in everyone's minds, these debates and all. I don't know. I just don't know. I'm not very political, even though I just wrote a post about Alexander Hamilton (Alexander Hamilton!!). Let's get him in office. No more ten spot for you, now it's the country spot. That would be nice. But alas, [Spoiler Alert] he's dead. And Burr won. #I'mWithBurr

Catch Me in the Fall

Well, it's one of those weeks again. You know the one. Where I'm really busy and stuff, sleeping 5 hours a night. That sort of thing. Anyway, don't worry, I'll be fine. But I just wanted to do one of these monthly wrap-ups that I've been doing this entire year.  

Saturday Night Live has been making big moves all summer and now that it's coming back, the host game looks just as strong. We've got new cast members, new writers, and hosts that will make you wet yourself with joy. I'm probably going to wait in the standby line this season a good amount. Also, at the request of my mom, I'm going to write Lorne Michaels a letter, merely stating that I enjoy the show and that I'd like to write for it one day. I know this is a bit unorthodox, but I don't care. Let's do it! Look for that in the coming weeks. 

I'm still looking into the idea of a book for this blog. I want to make a book of my favorite posts or some fan favorites and write a few behind the scene notes to go with each one. Again, if anybody knows anybody, please let me know. Publishing is not my forte. Will Forte isn't even my forte, for some outside perspective. 

In other news, I was on TV. If you watch TruTV's Comedy Knockout, the episode entitled Broke Black Mountain, you can see my smiling face get roasted by three comedians.  It's TruTV presents the Roast of Charlie Shulman. Give it a look. It's the latest episode of Comedy Knockout on TruTV. And I got paid $50 for it. Not a bad night, huh?

Have a good week! Let's power through September and into October. We can do this!

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

2. Be a guest on someone else's podcast. (Completed)

3. Release more episodes of my own podcast. (Completed - 5th is being released whenever)

4. Write a TV show pilot. (2 in progress)

5. Write a play.

6. Take sketch writing classes. (Completed 2)

7. Join an independent improv team. (Completed)

8. Join an independent sketch team. (starting one very soon)

9. Write my own sketch show. (75% done)

10. Act in a sketch show. (the one I'm writing)

11. Host an open mic.

12. Do a feature set of stand up.

13. Attend a live taping of Saturday Night Live. (Completed - Hell Yeah!!)

14. Release a book. (this blog? someone help me do that!!!)

The Grapes of Trash

On Friday, I bumped into the fruit guy. And not so much "bumped into" as "deliberately went to buy stuff" on my way to improv practice. Now, you're wondering what a fruit guy is. This is the guy who used to sell me fruit every other day when I lived in Manhattan. He's still there, but I've moved to the crawl space of terrible building in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. And you're probably saying "Charlie, you hang out at theaters. Aren't all of the guys 'fruit guys?'" Haha, that's very funny but also bigoted and uncalled for. Shame on you. Topple the Fruitriarchy. 

Anyway, I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine. We just conduct business under the code names "Fruit Guy" and "Boss or Brother or Big Man." He hugged me, he chatted with me, and he shoveled over 5 pounds of grapes and 2 peaches into a plastic bag for $5. Record scratch!!!! Wait, what? Yup! I had more grapes than a Napa Valley winery, all for $5 dollars. Now, I didn't want this many grapes, but I guess he had to go or something, and so he pawned them off on any sucker with a wallet and sweet tooth, or in other words, me.

Now I've got a bag full of grapes, which incidentally is the name of my Smashing Pumpkins cover band. So I'm asking everybody that I see "Hey! Do you like grapes? Cause I have a couple." Really burying the lead, you know, because you show up with a bag of grapes and people get ansy, like "What else does this guy have in a bag? Bodies?" Nope, just 2 peaches and a ton of grapes. 

Cut to me eating a few. They're good, I think to myself, not even making a dent in the bag. You may have guessed this, but no one wants these f@&$king grapes. So, they come with me, and I carry them the whole night,until finally putting them into the refridgerator, where most of them meet their untimely demise. 

But one lucky ziploc bag full of grapes (trademark pending) made it with me over the weekend. Upon opening it, I smelled a smell that kind of told me that these particular grapes were like a husband and wife that just let the babysitter in: on their way out. I didn't eat them. I screamed "I'm privileged!" and threw them away in a NYC trash can. Naturally, they exploded.

Seriously, though, I watched something beautiful happen. A homeless man (that's not the beautiful part) walked up to the trash can and started to rummage through it. He found the grapes, as they were not concealed well, and began tearing into them with the ferocity of someone who enjoyed edible trash (still not the beautiful part). I was a little annoyed at how messy he was being with my trash, but I guess it's that old saying of how beggars can't be choosers of how messy beggars who can't be choosers are with their food. But he was enjoying the food (that's the beautiful part) and for that I was glad.

Grapes were everywhere. It really did look like the trash can exploded. Only the ziploc bag remained, full of grape juice and regret. Regrape juice. But it made someone's day. So, all in all, I couldn't really be sad. I could only be happy that I fed a homeless man for $3, $5 minus the $1 each for the two peaches. Why am I explaining this to you? I don't know either. All I want to say is everybody loves grapes and they are underrated. Eat more grapes. And when they get too big from the popularity of this viral post, that's right when we can Topple the Graptriarchy!

Joke of the Week

I've been receiving good feedback about the past few posts on here from you, the readers, you know who you are (Hi Mom!). So thanks for that. This week, I'd just like to take a few minutes to tell you about a really cool story that I heard. It goes like this: 

There were these two cephalapods hanging out in the ocean, right by the Great Barrier Reef. Cephalapods are naturally social creatures, so the one cephalapod says to the other "Can you help me set up my party Friday night? The whole school [of fish] is coming. I'm evening thinking about shoaling up with Jessica and her friends."

The other cephalapod replies "Oh wow! Big plans, huh? Sure, I'll help. Should go pretty quick. You know what they say, sixteen tentacles are better than one!" 

"Thanks, dude. You corral (rock)!" Says the first cephalapod. The second one then pauses and says "But wait. But wait! I'll only help you if you help me too. I need a math tutor. You would think having eight tentacles would make math easier, but I'm struggling." 

The first cephalapod replies "I can help with that, bro. Come over tomorrow." The second one then asks shyly " You would do that? You don't mind?"  The first cephalapod thinks for a moment and then says "Not at all. I like how we help each other out. I love doing things squid pro quo!"

                            🐙FIN🐙 

Fantasy Football

Well, it's that time of year again. As we wave goodbye to summer with one hand, we catch a football, throw a football, and drink a beer with the other hand (that's our more dominant hand, anyway). Why do we do this? Because, much like school, football is back in session! It's time to gather up your jerseys and start wearing them to work and on the weekends. And also, it's time to join a fantasy football league.

Fantasy football is like an onion to me. It has too many layers and it makes me cry. Also, there are too many players and that makes me cry too because I don't know what I'm doing. But when the guys at work ask me to join their league, what am I supposed to say? This could be my only chance to make work fun. I can't pass that up. (I briefly considered doing a page of football term/team name puns but that would be a GIANTS mistake.) So I'm going to pick in the draft tomorrow, or at least auto draft and live with the consequences while pretending that I made each choice. "I know I chose Kaepernick. He's doing great things, I think?"

I guess we will just wait to see how this goes. I'm not much of a sports watcher, although I successfully fooled a focus group into thinking that I was, so I'm actually a good liar. Ever since I got to college and found out that on Sundays people go out and do things besides watching sports, I just haven't been able to go fully back to watching sports. It doesn't do as much for me as it does for anybody else who you ask. I see people paint their faces and crush beer cans on their heads and I wonder if that hurts or not?

And I don't know the first thing about football players. I don't know their stats, their hopes, their fears, their dreams. I just know the teams (and honestly there's room for improvement there too). So who knows how this will go. But it's a new experience and I'll probably lose money. I've never lost money this way before, though, so there's your silver lining's playbook. Ooh! Playbook! That's one of them sports things, right?

Walk it Off!

I'm a walker. No, this is nothing related to The Walking Dead or Game of Thrones. I just think cars are expensive, unlike the people in The Walking Dead, who find them lying around, and unlike the people in Game of Thrones, who don't know what cars are. Plus, I live in a huge city with plenty of public transportation. So long story short, I walk everywhere.

Walking in New York City is one of the most dangerous things that you can do, right behind moving to Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. It's a whole set of acrobatic moves that are, well, when you think about it, pretty instinctual. It combines all of those walking rules that you learned in elementary school (single file, eyes in front, hands to yourself) with some new ones (don't give money to beggars, just keep walking, ew! Don't touch that! It's a used condom). Especially at night and in Times Square.

I forget what level of Dante's Hell Times Square is based on (seems like maybe level 7, violence), but it's one of those places in New York where you have to go if you've never been, but if you live here you never ever go. It's a really scary experience, even scarier than moving to Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. There are so many people, all walking at different speeds, taking different paths, and looking at their phones. It's obnoxious. And it becomes very frustrating when I want to get around these people and I have to dodge a swinging arm or two.

Why do we, as humans, swing our arms when we walk? Hold on while I use The Google... Ok. It's called Arm Swing, and the definition is all physics. "Swinging arms in an opposing direction with respect to the lower-limb reduces the angular momentum of the body, balancing the rotational motion produced during walking." All it's saying is it helps us balance. I knew there had to be a reason.  Because for me right now, walking in New York City is one giant game of trying not to get sucker punched in the dick.

I'm five 5'9", 5'8" sopping wet. My height is such that it positions my balls at direct hand upswing level. Like hitting a golf ball off of a tee. Whack! So, I'm constantly using my high school dodgeball skills too and quickly dodging nut slaps. If this were high school, they would be out for hitting me in the balls, unless the gym teacher didn't see it, in which case I would be out and in pain. That happened a lot. Damn you high school!!!! But really, though, it's tough. Whenever I try to pass someone, I make a jock protector out of some cardboard that I find on the street and charge full force into their swinging hand, in one last ditch attempt to hurt them too. This. Is. For. Sparta! And Athens! The one on the left is named Athens!!! It usually works out pretty well.

All in all, my intact balls and I have been getting to where we need to go, which is unfortunately Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. And I don't do the arm swing thing. If I fall over while walking, that just means that I need to get better at walking. Simple as that. So be careful out there. Protect yourself. And if you end up getting hit, just walk it off.

"No"Stalgia

I just finished the 8th Harry Potter "book." I put "book" in quotes because it's a play. It's a long play. He's the boy-who-lived-through-4-acts. Before that, I caught a Pikachu. 

"I just finished Harry Potter" and "I just caught a Pikachu" are two phrases that I thought I would never say again, much to the chagrin of my parents who spent so much money on both. But this time, I paid my own way into the past as these relics from my childhood resurfaced with the vengeance of a thousand Voldemorts and like ten zubats. Now, I was able to do both of these thing s because we exist in the future but live for yesteryear, when Donald Trump was the "You're fired!" guy and not the "You're hired!" guy. Also, if it worked once, why not do it until is breaks, huh? 

Why does the old stuff work so well? What can it teach us? I think that the new, original content coming now is as good as it's ever been. However, and I hate to be the contrarian here, do we need to "revive" Pokemon or resummon He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Can't the new craze be Poke Bowls instead of PokeBalls and legal pot instead of Harry Potter? I don't know. And haven't we seen Hilary and Donald before too? When does it end? When does yesterday stay yesterday? Let's be new and inventive right here, right now. That's really all we have, isn't it? I thinks so.

Anyway, that's enough rhetorical questions for today, don't you think? Ha... Ha... Ha... (Walks into the ocean, never looking back...)