It has come to my attention...

...that some of you have not been reading very carefully. While I appreciate that you are reading at ALL, I stated very clearly in the post below that said post would, in fact, NOT be rife. Not with anything at all. I had hoped it would be rife. I strive for rifeness. I once received a merit badge for rifery. Well, it was more like a sandwich. And I received it only after, you know, ordering a sandwich. Impressive? No. Rife? Not even close. Sexy? In it's way.

 

My point is this, I don't want to hear any of you bastards complain about my lack of rifitude when I clearly already explained that it wasn't there. Especially when said dearth of rifosity was due (as it was in this case) entirely to my own laziness. Don't you think I'm ashamed enough without you pointing out the truth?

 

Brusquely,

 

-the management

 

p.s. I'm sorry, audience. I didn't mean it, baby. It's only because I love you. I promise I  will never hit you that hard again.

Notes from the bunker...

I'm writing this secretly from work. Or maybe I'm writing it from work, secretly. I leave the grammar and usage concerns to you, the public. I've got no time. Either way, it's a secret. And I'm not telling. Not anyone. Not even you, me bloggees.

 

Actually, this is a bit of a test. I'm testing out the process of e-mailing this directly to the blog. Normally a post such as this would be rife with hilarity, but this one is just a test. Rife, I says. Rife as holy hell. It really would be. Rife, I'm saying. I always wanted to have something of mine be rife with something else. I guess I'll have to settle for typing the word "rife" enough times that it loses all meaning. Rife. Yeah, I'm in no way convinced that's a word anymore.

 

Rifely Yours,

 

-the management

One o' these days...

I'm gonna figure out how to blog more regularly. Or less regularly, but with more regularity. I'm not all that grammatical. But I knows what I likes. With me, good grammar is like porn was to that horny old senator who said that he didn't know how to define it, but he knew it when he saw it. And some people probably masturbate to good grammar as well. Or to bad grammar.

"Oh yeah, baby. End that sentence with a preposition! Dangle that participle! Dangle it, you whore!"

I'm sure that happens all the time. Why wouldn't it? In New York City, if you can think of something disgusting that someone might do to someone, there's probably a whole section for that right on craigslist.com.

I thank you and good night.

Thankful

I like to tell strangers what I'm thankful for on days like these*. Terrible grammar in that sentence notwithstanding, I've decided that YOU are the proper strangers to tell. There are no other strangers in my vicinity. Not that you wouldn't be my first choice anyway, dear readers. Which brings me to the first thing for which I, Jeff Mac, am thankful.

• You, the common bored person. Thank you for reading this blog. I really do love that you all are out there, reading this nonsense. I am confident that you DO read this, and that's why I know I can thank you for doing so. If you didn't read this blog, you wouldn't be reading this blog today. Check and mate.
• Turkeys. You guys are wicked delicious. I know that can't be awesome for you, but that doesn't really change the fact that I used the words "wicked" and "awesome" in my thankblurb re: you. If I could only find some way to work in "choice" and "decent" I would account for about 40% of my teenage vocabulary. Which, if you think about it, is totally gross. Seriously, turkeys, thanks so much. Special shout out to the specific one I ate today. That guy was real good.
• The Empire Strikes Back DVD. Thank you for being owned by me so that I can now watch you as the perfect Thanksgiving day movie to watch.
• The Fabric of Space and Time: I am especially thankful for you today, universal law. If you weren't as you are, my Mom might have been in town, expecting me to take her to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. That would have made me poke my eyeballs out with a stick. Some people have told me that I should take my Mom to the parade because after she's gone I'll feel badly that I didn't take her. That might be the case, but I think that my sorrow that I never brought her to the parade will be in some small way alleviated by the fact that I never had to GO to it. It's all about the give and take, people.
• Friday Off From Work: Even though I am not getting paid for working during you, Friday, I surely do appreciate that you aren't making me go for a hard day of work at the building with the ties.
• Again, You. Thanks for reading all the way through to the end. Even if you just read the boldface bulletpoints and skipped down to this, I'm confident that you will go back and read the rest when you have time. And in all fairness, even I didn't read the whole thing**.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! And to all of you who live in the terrorist nation of "not America," uh...hi there! I hope you are enjoying...Thursday.

*i.e. days like holidays designed specifically for being thankful. And for murdering injuns. Either or.
**I learned to write as a child, but I never learned to read.

Google Search: "Spanked to Tears"

As is my wont, I was checking the web stats on this site to see where people have been clicking from. Someone got here because they were looking for the phrase “spanked to tears.”

 

Two things. Firstly, even though I know you didn’t find what you were looking for here…well, to tell you the truth I have no idea what you were looking for so I can’t really say that. All I can say is that I don’t really understand how this nonsense website could possibly have helped you. Not in the way that, say, a prescription for Thorazine might have at least. For that, I apologize.

 

And secondly, I was only spanked to tears once in my adult life. I don’t feel that I deserved it, either. That was what really hurt. That and the really, really hard spanking. Luckily, it happened onstage for all to see. Because if I’m going to tear up as a result of receiving a child’s punishment, I’d like to at least get the laugh.

 

I feel dirty.

 

Sincerely,

 

The Management

Hosting that crazy show AGAIN! TONIGHT!!!!

Ok, last week I told you guys about a show I was hosting where there are people from all over the world in crazy numbers? Well as it turns out, last week's permutation was 2 people from California, 4 women from Ireland, 3 ancient Scottish soccer players who used to be famous, and 14 people of Afghani descent who were from all over the world. Seriously. And those Afghanis had some serious fun. I guess when you come from Afghanistan, pretty much anything besides exploding is fun.

Anyway, I'm hosting that one again tonight (info in my calendar on the right). Couple of great comics on the show. Jesse Joyce, Rick Younger, Blaine Perry. Come on down and see the inspiration for the cantina scene in Star Wars!

Come on down tonight!

Hey all. Sorry for the slightly irregular blogularity, but my new job does not grant me internet access. Apparently I don't "need" it for my "work". Well, I'll figure something out.

In the meantime, why not come get your fix at SWEET tonight. It's at 8:30 at Ace of Clubs, which is at the corner of Lafayette & Great Jones. I think it's Tom Shillue, Jess Wood, and Michael Showalter, with Seth Herzog hosting. Only $5 for all of that. Come by, won't you?

Darryl Hall Lyme Disease 2005

Ok, I have gotten more than a few Google hits from people using that title as the search criteria. Like, kind of a lot of them. I thought I should give these seekers some information -- you know, just a little something for stopping by. Now, I haven't really done any research. And I don't think that it is funny that Darryl Hall has lyme disease (if he does, which I think he does, and Darryl -- seriously -- sorry.) But I do think that people who would say that it's not funny ARE funny. So here we go.

• First of all, there is NO truth to the rumor that Darryl contracted Lyme disease from unprotected sex with a deer tick. None whatsoever. He has filed and won several lawsuits to that effect.
• Also, there is ZERO truth to the rumor that the tick - from which Darryl did NOT contract Lyme disease - was, for a time, seen around town with the gerbil that has NOTHING to do with Richard Gere. None of that is either true or untrue. Get over it. Both of them died eating pop rocks and drinking Coke. Plus, they don't even exist, so that's the end of it.
• The real truth is that he in fact contracted the disease by receiving a tick transfusion to counteract a congenital deficiency he has. A deficiency of tick...juice. It's medical, ok? You look it up.

Seriously, though. I love Hall & Oates, and lyme disease blows, and I hope he's ok. We're pulling for you, Darryl. Our private eyes (pow) are watching you (pow pow).

Whew!

Ok, I figured out the problem from the last post. Apparently a certain blog doesn't like it when you have 35 exclamation points in a title. Well, we're all back to normal now. And please, feel free to come on out and see some comedy. Don't leave me alone with the Norwegians. I'm feeling very vulnerable right now, and their stoic nordicism will shatter me like an ice sculpture of King Olaf. Of Sweden. Check and mate, my friends.

What the Fudge is Going on Around Here?

I was minding my own business, reading my own blog to check and see if I was still adorable (p.s. that's a big 10-4). And what did I see? The sidebar -- including my wonderful calendar -- is WAY down at the bottom of the screen. Why is this happening to me? Why, God? Is it because of the multivitamin? I haven't stolen any office supplies from my new office job yet. But I'll start. I swear I'll start. Just please, please put my lovely standup calendar back up where it belongs, and I promise I'll pretend to start believing in you. Amen.

And if you're looking for a reason WHY I want that sheeyot up here with you, the viewer, it's because I'm doing a couple of really fun shows this weekend. I'm hosting a show on Saturday night that makes me so afraid, I can't begin to describe it. You never know who is going to show up. Could be a great crowd. Could also be a table of 3 Norwegians sitting across from a family of Klanspeople from the Ozark mountains. You should all come on down and have fun with me.

The Day Job: Day One Post Mortem

Ok, first of all, as I was getting dressed this morning, I looked good with the dress pants and the tie. I mean really good. And it wasn't just about sexual attraction to myself (although I totally wanted me.) But I also hearted me.

When I got there, I was brought to my office, which is only temporary until they can find me a place in the maze of cubicles, or "pubicles" as I like to think of them. In "my" office, I put my feet up on the desk. Just for a second, but I wanted to have that feeling once in my life. Wasn't that great, I have to be honest with you. Not that fun.

It has been a long, long time since I was in an office environment. I was like Tarzan being brought back to civilization after those long years when he was a consultant in the jungle. He never really intended to end up in the jungle in the first place. After acting school, he just came here and...well, it's a long story.

I spent part of the day imagining that I was Clark Kent on a really slow villain day, so I had to pretend to be working. I also imagined that I was in an alien prison that was constructed from the innards of my mind to look, feel, smell, sound exactly like a real office. But it's really all a trap. I spent some of that time thinking things like, "My God, it's just like any office back on Earth. You'll never break me! Do you hear me, you seven headed freaks!! NEVER!!!"

I am gonna go absolutely apeballs in this job.

Marathon Man

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The New York City Marathon was yesterday. And I, your humble host, watched it. No, no. No congratulations are necessary. I didn't do it for the praise or recognition.

I would love to run a marathon. And by that, let me just say that no, no, in fact I would not at all love that. I would hate it like I hate getting fire pushed into my underpants by angry toddlers. It happens, people.) What I WOULD like would be for people to cheer for me and shout my name and say, "Good job!" like they do at the marathon, while I was doing something easier than that.

I think I could do a marathon if I didn't have to do it all at once. And I didn't have to run it. And I could just do it in little pieces, like between my bed and my bathroom. At work, between the desk and the bathroom. Basically if I could count my trips to the bathroom towards a marathon, and I get there when I get there, I'm totally in. In fact, I feel very confident that I could start the race tomorrow, and I would never get tired of it. Actually, I know myself a little better than that. How long would it be before I had talked myself into peeing my pants at the desk to avoid training?

The point is this: our bodies were not meant to run that far, and by that I mean that MY body is not INTERESTED in doing so. My brain is. I want to be a badass. Who doesn't? We all want to be a fucking warrior who just motors through this thing. But most people don't get there. Why is that? Because, and I want to be clear about this, it's hard. Like, physically. I've tried to train for a marathon twice. First I hurt my knee, then I pooped myself a little. (I'd recommend the first, if you have the opportunity to make that choice. Word to the wise: choose your sports drink carefully.)

If I was going to run a marathon, I'd want it to be highly publicized. And since I'm not very fast or old or infirm or anything newsworthy like that, I'd probably have to spontaneously combust during the race. And I'm willing to do it. In fact, if I knew I was going to die, and I could pick, "Bursting into flames as I cross the finish line at the NYC marathon" you know I would do it. I'd do it for you, people. Actually, I DO know I'm going to die. Someday, I'm sure of it. I'm almost positive that I read that somewhere. Hm. Well, I guess I'll have to wait until next year, but it sounds like FUN, doesn't it? Sure it does!

Kaboom!

It Worked.

I start my new job on Monday. Apparently, all of my shenanigans worked perfectly. But then, shenanigans often do.

Now I have to decide how to be secretly subversive on a regular basis while I'm there. I don't think it should all be about my naughty parts as I feel that I've mined that territory a bit already. (Although, I am slightly interested in having a weekly feature on the blog called, "What's-in-my-ass Wednesdays.")

I'm thinking that my riskless risks could take any number of forms. Maybe it could be to say a slightly strange word or phrase to every single person in the office over the course of the day. Like, "Howdy, pardner" or "Cry me a river." Or to take one person in the office and treat them as if they are a serial killer, and get really, really terrified every time they walk by or talk to me. You know, pick the sweetest, most quiet person in the office and shake uncontrollably whenever I speak with them.

Then again, this job is only on a provisional basis until the end of the year. Only after that will they decide to hire me for real. So I'll leave the really weird stuff until I'm more ensconced. For now...

God, I wish I had a superhero unitard that I could wear like Spiderman or Superman did. Just under the clothes so, you know, in case the shit goes down I'm ready. But I would think that they would get really, really overheated in that stuff. So many layers! Ah well, I guess that's the cross they have to bear. That and getting punched by villains. Couple of crosses.

No Word Yet

I haven't heard anything yet from the job interviewer-type people (see below). I really hope I did the right thing by putting a vitamin up my ass. I know, I know, everyone hopes that. But it's not just a cliche for me this time. I really mean it.

I've read things that indicate you can get too much of certain vitamins. I might not have even read that -- I might have just half heard it and IMAGINED that I read it. Which is way worse. Maybe I got too much B12 and gave myself a goiter. Or a thyroid. Those can kill. Or at least hurt your feelings. No, like, bad.

The only moment in the interview when I may have choked was when he asked if the job sounded like it was something that I would be interested in. And I know I blinked. I had not prepared to feign interest while I was talking. Had we been playing poker, that would have been a class A "tell." The elk-in-the-headlights* look must have said, "Oh god, I've never been interested in ANY job, sir. I just need money for food."

I don't know if I'm even going to take this job. Like those magnificent bastards over at Cheap Trick, I just want them to want me.


*I don't like that it's always deer. So passe. I bet there are plenty of other dumb animals that watch with interest as you crash into them.