Buy Your Tickets to Drink at Work's BARELY FAMOUS Now and Save!

Drink at Work is back with a vengeance for a great night of stand-up and sketch comedy at Comix! And if you buy tickets now either online or through the box office you can save $5 with our discount code: DAWWEB.

Click here to buy tickets now

See you a week from tomorrow!

New Video Blog on ComedyNet

Sean Crespo Really, Really Loves Coffee

I'm Only A Man, Part 19: My Life in Boxes

This isn't going to be a full-fledged column; just wanted to write a brief something about the state of my life and also touch briefly on the strange case of Bob Saget.

Since I moved to New York, I've worked at four different publications: Business Week, Mutual Funds Magazine, This Old House and, most recently, Field & Stream and Outdoor Life. I've been a graphic designer/art director in the marketing department at all of these places. Each time I left a job, I packed up boxes and had them messengered to my new office. Today I am packing boxes that will be sent to my apartment to accompany all of the other boxes of stuff from old apartment. Tomorrow morning I will sleep in, and when I wake up I'll try to figure out how the hell to fit my entire life and work into a one room studio. I'm pretty sure a trip to the Container Store will be involved.

I've been wanting to leave my day job for years now and I anticipated my last day on the job to be a happy one. After all, I'm about to take a great leap; forge a new career for myself as a writer, comedy producer and manager. In other words, I'm about to start chasing dreams for a living and I've got a slight financial cushion that will allow me to do that. I should be dancing a jig right now. I'm not.

This is, of course, as frightening as it should be exciting. But that's not what's bugging me. I work well under pressure. (That's probably the reason I procrastinate so much...what's the point of getting a jump on something that's due next week when I could do it just as well in a panic the night before?) I have to prove myself over the next few months and, frankly, I don't doubt that I can.

I think what I'm afraid of is being alone with me. For the first time in my life, my time will pretty much be at my discretion. No home room bell, no basketball practice, no 8:00 AM lecture, no 9:00 AM meeting, no husband or boyfriend waiting for me at the end of the day. Just me, all the things I've wanted to do but couldn't because I didn't have the time, and all the things I left behind because I didn't have the heart. Leaving this job is the final nail in something; I'm just not sure if it's a coffin or the door to the past.

The other day I saw a poster for "Farce of the Penguins" with Bob Saget's name above the title in big letters, and I thought, "Oh, Bob...why?" Bob Saget. The man best known for the reprehensibly awful "Full House" and the absurdly hacky "America's Funniest" series. I saw that sign and thought, "Oh, Bob...come on, this is beneath you." Why? Because of The Aristocrats. Comics who know him know Bob Saget as a funny, off-color guy with a good heart. America knows him as a squeaky clean schlub. I took the brief portrait of him in The Aristocrats very seriously and in my head he has become this tragic character (a very wealthy tragic character). I wanted him to come out with something raw, absurd and provocative after that. Something that would scream, "I'm an artist! Now go fuck yourself!" But that would be career suicide for him. Even in The Aristocrats his entire telling of the joke was peppered with anxiety and apologies.

As they say in The American President, "politics is perception." But it's not just politics, it's life itself. How other people see you defines you more than how you see yourself. But I'm about to enter a stage of my life where for much of the time, I'm alone. I'm not sure how that will change me.

I wanted to walk out of here in a blaze of glory, Remo Williams-style, with a match tossed over my shoulder and a quip on my tongue. But I've found myself walking away from so much lately it's hard to have a real sense of where I'm going. When your life has for so long been about endings, how long does it take to morph into being about a beginning? A day, a week...years? I know there are some people who look at me as constantly walking away from things, while I've been of the mind that I was always moving forward. But standing here right now, in this one moment, with my toes kissing the edge of something vast, I'm not sure if I'm about to fall or leap, and whether it will be forward or backwards.

All I know is (and all I have known is) something has to happen. Choices are inevitable. Either you make them or someone makes them for you. I have made mine and I have the boxes to prove it. How I feel about it, I suppose, probably doesn't matter as much. This isn't Groundhog Day; I don't get years and years to get my life right, to figure out all the angles and plan out my choices by taking into account the impact of the lightest breeze. I had an idea of what I wanted my life to be and I have risked almost everything for it and removed almost everything that wasn't it. That was a painful process and not just for me. I know that.

I suppose that's why I'm not excited for my last day at work. All the times I imagined it I anticipated my friends and family being proud of and happy for me; I imagined being proud of myself. Instead I just feel like, "Ok...what's next?" Perhaps that's for the best.

Tomorrow morning I'm making biscuits and eggs and coffee. That sounds like a beginning.

I Can't Stop (It's Like Chips)

Music video featuring Carolyn Castiglia and some of our other favorite NYC comics. I think they are both keepin' it real and kickin' it old school in this...but I don't know a ton about rap, so I could be wrong. All I know is, Sara Jo's shakin' ass at 2:25 is the bomb!

If I Could Be 17 Again...

So it's taken about a week to figure out just what the hell happened to me in Houston...

For those of you who are new to the site, or, like me, have the attention span of a kitten on meth, I'll give you what my MBA-toting friends like to call "the elevator speech" version.

(Of course, if you're just killing time at work and want the "stairwell to the 47th floor" version, you can always thrill to the original!)

As George Washington and/or Abraham Lincoln would have wished, Presidents' Day weekend found me headed to Houston, Texas, for the wedding of my girlfriend's friend, a woman who always went out of her way to make me feel small, depressed and/or annoyed at the world.

(Before I start a mad e-mail frenzy, yes, I'm referring to my girlfriend's friend, not my girlfriend - otherwise, I'd be describing a life that eerily matches the lives of those aforementioned MBAs!)

Actually, that's pretty much the crux of the story from last week.

That was a quick elevator ride, no?

I'd re-hash my sidebar rant about The War on Freedom, but it's Sunday evening and I'm still hungover from Thursday, so I'm trying to keep to the point...

The whole trip found me out of sorts.

I'm not much for most weddings - there's something so fake about them, people spend too much on them for all the wrong reasons (wait - I forget - is showing off, just to one-up someone, a good reason?), and they tend to be over-produced, cookie-cutter ceremonies with underwhelming, shortened versions of Pachebel's Canon in D.


Yep. That's the one. Let that song finish, dammit!

I was even strangely edgy about going back to Houston.

Don't get me wrong; I lived in Houston for a couple of years and really enjoyed it.

It's where I learned stand-up comedy (before all the comics left, the clubs began to be managed by meatheads, and the scene collapsed in on itself), it's where I came to appreciate what separates the men from the boys at a bar-b-q cook-off (before I realized I had gained 40 pounds in the process), and it's where I had a good run as a young energy trader (before that whole Enron "thing" demoted energy traders to "peep show squegee guy" status).

Yep, I pretty much left as all the shit was hitting all the fans, but from what I'd heard since then, the fans had cleaned up quite nicely and there wasn't a piece of flying shit in sight.


By all rights, I should have been psyched about the trip, and by all objective accounts, we had a hell of a time.

The open bar withstood the crush of a crowd full of comics, we ate Tex-Mex food seven times in two days, and in the end, there was no shortage of fine Bud Light cans littering the hotel, from our floor to the pool to the hot tub, probably for days after we left.

The wedding itself did not disappoint.

There was that reading from Corinthians about love.

You know, how it doesn't matter if you get burned alive, because love makes up for it...

And the drinking buddy of the groom who was asked to speak about "the eternal value of love" in the ceremony? He went above and beyond the call of duty. He Googled "love."

Guess what he quoted?

If your answer includes "Wikipedia," you win a tasty sandwich!

Best of all (unless you're Jewish), the ceremony broke from the cliche and finished with some Wagner.

Yes. Wagner.

I can't make this shit up, people.

On the plus side, the Norse gods, who had been dormant for so long, did make sure that I was unable to put my drink down for the entire reception...

Hell, the wedding even had this guy!


The grandfather of the bride.

I love that picture, because regardless of what the other guy's saying to him, he's clearly thinking, "Well that ain't good at all... Joe-Bob, you git my rifle and hide the women-folk!"

Even at the reception, he was all action.

Seconds after this picture was taken, I'm willing to bet he did three shots of whiskey and punched a man for bad-mouthing his horse.


Wait, no, that was me.

Like any sane people, we bailed on the reception to roll out to the Houston institution Spotlight Karaoke, where the incredible Mr. Lee holds court every night.


That's Mr. Lee with my girlfriend Niki.

If she left me at that very moment, I would humbly accept my fate...

Mental note: invest in sweet medallion.

As you can see by that smile that simply lights up a room, Mr. Lee should have been able to cure everything that ailed us, but, alas, Spotlight Karaoke was mobbed to the gills, so we couldn't get on stage.

The ensuing lull (preceded by my incessant Shiner Bock consumption) led to my calling it an early night.


Of course, any early night after a beer-fuelled day is always followed by an early morning and a creeping sense of dread.

So, naturally, I went for a walk around the hotel's neighborhood to scare up a breakfast taco.

It was on that walk that I started to figure out what was getting to me...

If you've never been to Houston (or Texas, for that matter) it's hard to imagine just how much space there is, even "downtown."

There's space everywhere. Everywhere!

I mean, THIS is what Houstonians consider an "alley":


In New York, some guy would find a way to charge people $600 a month to park 900 cars in that same space while selling kebabs from a trailer in front.

The whole city is spread out, so much so that no one bats an eyelash when they all decide to drive 45 minutes to "check out another bar" on the other side of town - and no one bats an eyelash when everyone drives themselves.

Of course, you put your beer in a koozie to keep your hand from getting cold while you drive...


The thing is - it's not enough for everything to be so spread out.

Everything also needs to be huge - shit, there's all that space to fill!

In Houston, it makes sense for a mother of two-and-a-half (on average) to drive an H2 while her husband cruises around town in a Ford F550 with No Fear, CCA and Don't Mess With Texas bumper stickers - because everyone knows the F350's for pussies.

You want a giant skyscraper in the middle of nowhere?


Bam!

Go ahead, put some giant silver arches over the roads that lead to it.

Hell, oil's $60 a barrel again!

You want a strip club? Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!... There you go - no sense driving an extra mile-and-a-half (why would you walk when you can drive?) to get to another one.

And "gentlemen," don't worry as you leave your "club," there's a church a quarter a mile away, right next to the gun shop and the liquor store.

What's zoning, again?

Yep. It hit me this past weekend:

Houston is the town that a bunch of 17-year old boys would build if they had an unlimited stream of money.

Now before the Texans in the crowd start firing off e-mails and challenging me to "take it outside," I'm not getting holier-than-thou on H-town.

Lord knows, I certainly had my fun while I was living there (and Lord knows he's sending me to hell for it), but the whole thing just seemed strange when I came back.

Huge trucks, random skyscrapers, and so much space!

I got agoraphobic just stepping out of the Marriott to see the nearest building 100 feet away across a highway...


And what's the point of it all?

To have all that shit and all that space, so you can work an average job but still air condition a 5,000 square foot house that takes an hour and a half to get to from work - in a truck that gets 7 miles to the gallon?

I know.

Hell, The Lord knows it's a great way to live. I'm sure it's in the Bible somewhere.

But it doesn't seem right to me any more.

That's what's getting to me: Houston was a really comfortable place to live - to the point it's hard to believe.

Houston is TOO comfortable.

I mean, at some restaurants, it's cheaper to go out to eat than to make the food yourself at home, the beer is ALWAYS cold, and your day-to-day interactions with people never involve disagreement.

In fact, to a fault, everyone's really laid back, and, frankly, that makes me nervous.

I don't think we're supposed to be THAT comfortable.

I know I've got a whole bunch of issues myself (this blog entry is probably one of them), but Houston just seems like so much yin without the yang.

Is the average person supposed to live in a gigantic house with three cars (excuse me - I mean, two trucks and a Lexus) and a hot tub?

Maybe I'm missing something, and the whole point of life really is getting a giant truck and regaling your co-workers in sales with stories about your kids' baseball games.

But I'll say this much...

I wasn't back in New York for a day before I missed a train and had to squeeze myself onto the next one, at lunch I paid too much for a tiny sandwich, and on my ride home someone gave me a good "fuck you" for no apparent reason.

I just smiled at the old lady who said it and thought, "it's good to be back."

I know.

I know...

It's so maddening to realize I'm only a four hour plane flight from $2 beers, awesome Tex-Mex and champagne rooms that are 20% of the New York price.

But I can't shake the feeling that there's a hidden cost in there somewhere.

For now, I'll be right next to you as the deli guy screams at us.

And it'll all be worth it.

Fitzy's Wicked Pissah Webcast 2/23/07

Fitzy's Oscar Preview and Prediction show. BYOB.

So that happened...

Margot Leitman interviewed me for her column "What Is Sexy?" on Hello Hilarious. I wasn't sure I was qualified to answer that question, but I gave it a shot anyway.




What is Sexy? By Margot Leitman

An Apology from the Creator of Mutatron

ComedyNet.com has begun featuring vlogs by some of our favorite local comics, including Andres du Bouchet and Ophira Eisenberg. They've just added DAWer Sean Crespo to the mix and his first video is up. Take a look and check back often for more.

An Apology from the Creator of Mutatron

Pela on Veronica Mars

Ha! Pela's "Lost to the Lonesome" is played (almost in it's entirety) starting about a minute and a half into this clip. Woohoo!

Everything wrong with America in one photo!

Above: a poster for the "Morning Show with Mike and Juliet"

We could sit here and spend hours picking apart the people in these photos. The bright neon tie chosen by focus group, the desperately careful pose meant to suggest comraderie and ease between the two hosts, the smiles meant to convey nothing more than the reflection of a tv studio's vapid topicality.

We could do all this and more, but we won't. Why? Because it's the process of creating shows that brought these two people to this point, not vice versa.

I urge you to check out the website for this show however. It opens with a little Flash movie of Mike and Juliet sharing their high school yearbook calibre thought bubbles with us.

Ok now that your eyes are bleeding, let's move on.

Trying to discover the appeal of this show...I delved yet further into the wikipedia entry reserved for it. Yes, it has a wikipedia entry. Whoa whoa, don't get yourself in a tizzy about this. What's wrong with a blip-on-the-screen receiving its own wiki space? Every spirituallly bankrupt morning show surely deserves its own chapter in the hallowed store of mankind's common knowledge, which is increasingly wikipedia and none of the more reliable, less wiki-oriented "pedias." And why not?



Hell, even Matthew Lesko has an entry.

A further look at the bottom of the Morning Show's wiki page reveals this completely candid and unbiased assessment of the show's strengths that was absolutely not written by someone who works for the same show.

Social Critiques of Hosts
Television critics have noted that the program is unique in having two single hosts, who openly play up their marital status, seemingly abandoning traditional dictates that television morning hours be limited to "family values and sanctimony".[5] Thus, the hosts' on-screen personas ("a man who, because he loves the ladies too much or not enough, shuns long-term relationships, and an attractive over-30 woman who has pursued her career rather than marrying and regrets it") are designed to appeal to single viewers who have previously been uncatered to in the morning.

WAIT! Your eyes have stopped bleeding you say? Well, let's get that flow a-goin' again. Go to this page and watch the two hosts dance for their network paychecks, literally through hoops, in a photo-by-photo flash animation.

Did you watch? Haha, yes, they're just such free spirits aren't they? Look, it's so funny! They were both playing around with hoola hoops and then... woooooopsypoopsydoodlydoos! They got all tangled up in them! What a couple of morning themed cards, they are! I wonder what utterly meaningless, terrifyingly safe hijinx they'll get into next. LOL and HAR HAR and :), and a few more ! ! ! ! !'s.

I don't know what television critics have been noting the uniqueness of this morning genocide on brain cells, but it's not those "critics" referenced below (two of which are just links to the show's own related sites), none of whom even discuss the show's content. Note: I was not able to access Miss Heffernan's review from my desk computer at work, so in some likelihood, the referenced critique could be in her column. But one critic hardly qualifies the statement that "Television critics have noted that the program is unique..." One critic MAY have noted that. Many more however are probably just now cleaning off the dried blood from their recently self-excavated eye sockets.


CRITIC REFERENCES
^ Offical Website :: About the Show
^ Official Website : Where To Watch?
^ TVWeek.com : Twentieth Clears "Mike and Juliet" in 70% of Country
^ Official Website : Where To Watch?
^ Virginia Heffernan, "We're Not Dating" : A Morning Show With Sex on the Brain, New York Times, February 8, 2007

Blah blah blah...Anway, there's a lot to dislike here. But nothing new, especially from the Fox News family. If you live in NYC, you will have seen the posters on just about every subway platform. They're about as convincing a sell as Con Ed's relatively hilarious and now infamous ON IT ad campaign.



One can only pray that The Morning Show is as "On It" as Con Ed is. If we're really lucky, it'll be about as likely to endure as Texas House Appropriations Committee chairman Warren Chisum in a game of HOW OLD IS THE EARTH AND DOES IT REVOLVE AROUND THE SUN?

If that's the case, this particular turd won't be floating around in our zeitbowl for too much longer before getting a good, healthy Erroten.

Auf Wiedersehen THE MORNING SHOW...I hope.

Comics of the Week: Brandy and Sara

Not only are these ladies hilarious on stage and party animals off, they are also incredibly savvy and prolific. Hardly does a week go by that you can't find some show they've had a hand in producing. From their signature delight, The Kissing Booth, to their movie night at Otto's Shrunken Head, these two women are a driving force behind the new sense of community in the comedy scene. They also happen to be, along with other brave, brassy comedy divas like Giulia Rozzi and Margot Leitman, putting the final nail in the coffin of "there just aren't that many funny women out there." Smart writers, great performers and scene entrepreneurs to boot, Brandy and Sara never fail to delight and always leave you wanting more (and not for a lack of trying). And what's more, for all the insanity, drinks and debauchery that are the mainstays of their shows, these women are all class through and through.

Check out The Kissing Booth THIS SATURDAY at D-Lounge, 101 East 15th Street at Union Square East- BASEMENT LEVEL of the DR2 Theater. Doors open at 9pm, $5 cover.

Brandy Barber
Her Blog
MySpace

Sara Jo Allocco
Her Blog
MySpace

Barkeater Lake Book Release Party

If you find yourself lost in Portland, ME tonight... Well, if you're really lost in Portland, then you probably lack the mental capacity to enjoy what I'm about to say, but nonetheless... If you are lost and bored in The Land of Ports, stop on down to Gritty McDuff's on Fore Street from 6 to 9pm. We'll be raising a glass in celebration of Corey's first comic collection, "Welcome to Barkeater Lake". There'll be beer and books for sale, with Corey ready to ruin things with his autograph.
Hope to see you all there!

"Welcome to Barkeater Lake" Book Release Party
6 to 9pm
Gritty McDuff's
Fore Street
Portland, ME

Barkeater Lake website
Purchase "Welcome to Barkeater Lake" online

Fitzy's Wicked Pissah Webcast 2/16/07

A quick video about Sox pitchers and catchers reporting before next week's awesome Oscars preview.

Remember When Letterman had "Mike, the Bubble eating Dog?"

Is your dog bored? Has he lost interest in that plastic Osama bin Laden head or the rotting Peanut Butter in his Kong™?

Worry no longer, faithful dog owner! You can bring that spring back in your pooch's step with the new Fetch a Bubble Machine! Simply load the premixed Fetch a Bubble™ into the candy colored device and watch your pampered pet pursue chicken flavored bubbles for hours on end.

Soap is good for your dog! Chicken soap is the Holy Grail of all dogdom!

Things to do with bacon when you're in the remote Adirondack Mountains without cable

Drink 16 beers and throw raw bacon against the wall to see if it sticks. Repeat until dawn.

Strip naked, slap raw bacon to your face and make a fire in the middle of the living room. Chant whenever you here a snowmobile.

Cook three pounds of bacon, build a snow store front at the end of the road. Collect mad cash.

Use a black magic marker to scrawl "Kevin" across bacon packaging. Proceed to crack yourself up for three hours by exclaiming "I'm one degree from Kevin's Bacon!"

Remove bacon from package, cook it. Eat it.

Prank call your Dad all evening asking him if he has Prince Albert in a Can. Reward yourself with a B.L.T., holding the L and the T.

Get drunk, sob at the test pattern on the TV and slather raw bacon all over the screen while repeating, "Seasoned pork peace to all the world..."

Remove bacon from package. Cook it. Feed it to neighbor's dog. Eat neighbor's dog.

Love the bacon, caress the bacon, and marry the bacon in a civil ceremony performed by an online Shaman with birch bark lamps as witnesses.

Sean Crespo stand up now at COMEDYNET.COM

Recently I taped a set for comedynet.com. It was magical. Check it out.

Also stay tuned for my new video blog or VLOG or VIDLOG or VIDEBL or VB or VIDEOBLO or EOOG. Any of those well known nicknames. They start going up at ComedyNet Monday February 19. Be there or be a pear.

Which I like anyway. They're crisp and delicious.

Sorry, I'm just no good at establishing high stakes.

The Friday DrinkPod Download

I'm Tired by Field Music

Deceit by Lolita Bras

Red Comes Ringin by The Press

I'm Coming True by The Muggabears

You can check out The Muggabears live at this cool show tonight:

I Used to Live in the Future

So I'm sitting here, packing my bags for my girlfriend's friend's (you still with me?) Texas wedding that "Society" says I need to attend...


(I hope Texas' "Society" is also forcing THAT guy to attend, so Tex and I can hang out at the bar, do tequila shots with Shiner longneck chasers, and talk shit about everyone doing the Chicken Dance...)

Like any Good American, I'm packing all my shit into one blatantly oversized carry-on, which, upon boarding the plane, I will insist fit above the seats "last time."

And I will MAKE it fit, because I care so little about this wedding that I'm not worried about crushing and wrinking my nice duds before I even get there. As a matter of fact, I'm already balling up my suit and pouring Jack Daniels on my shirt - to cut out the middleman.

But a single, overwhelming, pre-flight thought hits me as I fill tiny 3.7 ounce containers with my smell-good shit and toothpaste, look frantically for a quart-sized clear Ziploc bag to hold it all, and stare, first at my menacingly deadly nail clippers, then at my fingernails, wondering just how much they're going to grow in the next 48 hours and whether I'll need to smuggle the clippers on board in my shoes...

Yep. It hits me like a board between my eyes:

I used to live in the future.

I remember the future like it was the year 2000, and man was it awesome.

I know it's hard to picture in these troubled times, but, seriously, the future was great.

Look at my ordeal today, for example: in the future, you could get to the airport ten minutes before your plane was going to take off with shit falling out of your bag as you fell out of the taxi, and the flunkies in security would just laugh and say, "you'd better run!"

In the future, you could sit in the emergency exit row of the plane and get shitfaced and laugh about how glad you were to have all that legroom, because if an emergency DID happen, you were going to need a little help.

In the future, you could joke about this shit without getting on some government watchlist, like I will in a few seconds...

Oh, and the great things about the future weren't just limited to airplane observations (which, as any student of the future knows, were hack even back then).

No, the future was really, really awesome, for a lot of reasons...

In the future, our leaders had worked through most of the major international and domestic challenges of the day. In fact, things in the future got to a point where the biggest social issues were interns without gag reflexes, and our rock stars were so bored that even Metallica decided to give up on being angry and cool - and got bored enough to start harassing 17-year old kids for downloading crappy live versions of Welcome Home (Sanitarium) from Napster.


(Come on Lars, like you expected someone to pay for that WHOLE album?!? There's an eleven minute guitar solo on there!)

THAT's how much free time we had in the future.

The future was also a great time to see the world.

I'm glad I took advantage of the future when I had a chance!

I could bore you with stories from the future, but a good example from April of 2000... My Jewish friend and I had one too many puffs of a Bedouin's "peace pipe" at the Dead Sea, and we took a wrong turn into a rough Palestinian section of Jerusalem as we sped home in our now-beat-up rental car. We were lost, it was getting dark, and all of the street signs were in Arabic...

And you know what happened to us? A tall, attractive British lady in yellow spandex jogged up to our car out of nowhere, knocked on the window, and gave us directions back onto the highway - after complimenting my friend's hair and recommending a place for us to grab a beer to chill out first!

Man, the future had it all - Bedouins, cheap rental cars, and hot women in spandex who would show up to save you in the nick of time...

Shit.

Forgive me.

Here I go, rambling on and on about the future, like some old cliche.

Thanks for humoring me.

I can only hope that when I tell my kids about the future, they'll believe me.

I'll tell 'em, back in the future, I used to drive a super-efficient Volkswagen Golf, but nowadays I'm driving an SUV that barely passes its emissions test...

They won't believe me.

The future was THAT good.

Well, no sense in getting all nostalgic for the future. For now, I'm just hoping my flight is delayed less than 3 hours and I make it to Houston in time for at least one drink at the reception's open bar...


I hope your future was as good as mine, because things aren't getting any better any soon.

I'll save you a beer.

The Quilt Story: Now on NBC's DotComedy

Irony comes in many forms, not the least of which is quilted. While nothing can really compare to seeing this thing in person, NBC's DotComedy did a pretty awesome job of bringing lightning rod Sean Crespo's tale of woe to life via an answering machine message and a few photos. Pretty sweet...BITTERsweet.

Check it

Photos: The Rejection Show and After

These are really more of the after party than the show itself. All I can say is...we found the wig room. And I have a mad hangover. Click the photo for the full archive.


Brandy Barber giving a moment to her fans.

Comic of the Week: Jon Friedman

I was a little late to the party on Jon Friedman. I'd seen his name around a bunch and had heard great things about The Rejection Show, but I hadn't seen him perform until a couple of months ago. I liked him right away: he's genuine and charmingly sheepish, a clever writer who can make you laugh and squirm in the space of a one sentence, and he exudes a warmth that is often hard to come by in the comedy community. I saw him perform at Liam McEneaney's Tell Your Friends on Monday and last night was my first time at The Rejection Show...and oh what a bonanza of humiliation it was. Of all the great moments in the show, my favorite was the very beginning: Jon's opening credits/short film. It floored me. I've seen a bunch of shows that use short films created specifically for that evening, but this was a little cinematic masterpiece on loneliness and how the desire to find love is sometimes circumvented by the desire to just say, "fuck it" and be an asshole yourself. It was beautifully shot and Jon's dialogue-free performance provided one of the giddiest pleasures I've had at a comedy show.

Check him out...he's important!

Jon's Web site

Jon's MySpace Profile

Portrait of Release

Above: Cupid and Psyche


The classics...they never get old.

An Important Message from Pela, the band that love made

Dear Friends of Pela,

From Feb. 13th until the April 24th launch date of our album, we shall unveil one song each week on a nifty little E-Card at www.pelamusic.com

Go to our website, click the E-Card link, and enjoy the first track on the album, "Waiting on the Stairs". Check back next Tuesday (the 20th) to discover the next song on the album!



"Anytown Graffiti" will be our debut full-length on Great Society, and its been a long time coming. Many of our online friends have already heard some of the songs from the album... But perhaps you haven't heard the final, perfected versions that will be making it to CD.

We originally started recording the songs in November 2005. By February 2006, we had recorded all over the place - Atlantic Sound Studios, Great City Studios, friends' basements... We took the demos and we thought we were ready to go, but a nervous twitch led us back into the studio in summer 2006 to re-record "Lost to the Lonesome", remix 'Anytown Graffiti' and put 2 brand new songs to tape - "Waiting on the Stairs" and "Your Desert's Not A Desert At All". We recorded and tracked straight to 2-inch tape, but took advantage of Pro Tools for the mix. These sessions were at Head Gear in Brooklyn, where TVOTR and YYYs also recorded.

We were so excited to have these songs down and there was excitement building online so we sent out unmastered versions to some of our favorite blogs. Finally, with World's Fair behind us, we were able to get the album professionally mastered, by none less than Steve Fallone, reknown for mastering records by The Strokes and other known NYC bands.

So please check back every Tuesday, as we share each precious song one at a time with you to get everyone pumped for the album launch! You can forward the E-Card to friends as well as sign up for our newly revived mailing list. Stay in touch for tour dates across America, special announcements, surprises, giveaways, remixes, the whole 9 yards!

It's gonna be awesome, thanks for listening...

With love,

The Lovely Lads of PELA

----------------------

All I can say is, WOOFUCKINGHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

You can check out the boys this Friday at Mercury Lounge...the DAW crew will be there as will my brother, Birmingham celebrity Chris Hartsell.

When Did Everyone Start Drinking at Lunch Again?

One time - that's a novelty...

Twice - a coincidence...

But every day I make the walk from my "cozy" desk to the little sandwich shop around the corner, I pass a bar full of otherwise ordinary business types (some still working on their laptops) who are inevitably throwing back beers and enjoying drinks with umbrellas in them.

Did I miss a memo?

Reclaiming the Meaning of Citizenship

Does anyone else have chills and serious happy days over Barack Obama's announcement speech? We here at Drink at Work are in a tizzy. A presidential candidate who is a scholar, an orator, a thinker, an idealist and a gentleman? Please don't wake us...we're dreaming of a better America.

Oh, and the guy is wicked savvy, too. Visit his site. This campaign is going to harness the power of the Web like no other. Obama '08!!!!!

Fitzy's Wicked Pissah Webcast 2/11/07

This week Fitzy recaps the Super Bowl and wonders what he's gonna do with himself from now until Opening Day of baseball.

"People With AIDS Plaza": It's real, people.

People With AIDS Plaza.

It exists.

I work a block from it.

Perhaps it's time to retire Political Correctness?


LOOKING TO VISIT SOME OTHER NOT-SO-FAMOUS LANDMARKS IN NYC?

Try these out...

Koalas with Spyroketes Shopping Mall

The Cyberorganic Hedge Funds with Attitude Bridge

Invisible Bakeries with Rickets Stadium

The Statue of Homeless Veterans of Foreign Wars with Bad Knees--the one in the East River!

and of course...

Staples


New York is what you make of it. Even, and apparently especially, AIDS-themed places to stroll.

A Toast to Your Friday Night!

Since we're all about to enter a weekend filled with enough bad jokes to stop a soul's ascent, I'm sending this one out to Anna-Nicole Smith.

Lolita Bras tonight at Europa!

Go. See. Hear. Love.

The Friday DrinkPod Download

In putting together today's DrinkPod I came across something that made me absolutely giddy. Now, I'm not the most savvy person when it comes to music and art; I have no idea what's "new" on "the scene." But today I found this online magazine that I'm going to go ahead and assume is new. Trampoline House is a media company based in Brooklyn and their online magazine is just about one of the coolest things I've ever seen. I mean, it's really cool. Like, Time Inc. better watch it's ass cool. It has a slick, cheeky interface and covers local music, art, writing and more. I always get excited to see DIY pubs like this (Ken Carlson's The Comedians has me over the moon lately, as you know.) Vanguard magazines like AdBusters and Stop Smiling, have reset the bar for integrity in editorial content at the same time that the larger publishers are weeding out the remaining old-school editors who prize real content over marketing synergy. So seeing these scrappy little publishing entrepreneurs coming up with their own way of bringing their passion to a waiting audience using the medium of journalism...well that's just about enough to make a girl whip up some biscuits and send them over to Brooklyn with a Thank You note on nice stationary.

And now your DrinkPod...enjoy!

Starting Five by Dios

Punch Drunk by Imaginary Johnny

Sorry by Youth Group

Wendy by Ollie Byrd

Follow-Up

After posting on Matt McCarthy I got an email from Dustin D'Addato, who runs a terrific show with fellow comic Nick Turner called People I Like. Dustin and Nick have recently started a podcast on downtown comedy shows and last week they featured the anniversary show of Matt's show MAX. It's a fun little film and features a lot of cool comics. Next week, Dustin and Nick will be filming our show! Woohoo!

Comic of the Week: Matt McCarthy

Matt McCarthy is irresistible. He's one of those fearless performers who invests every muscle and movement in a bit. Whether performing stand-up, sketch or one of his bravado-drenched, creepy characters, McCarthy is always fully present and in perfect form. Hell, even his myspace profile shows how committed to a gag he can be; take a look at his Top Friends:



He's also one of those guys you just like having around when he's not performing. Endlessly playful and supportive of his friends in the comedy community, Matt is someone you think of when you find yourself pondering where New York comedy is going (you do often find yourself pondering that, don't you...it's not just me...).

If you haven't seen him before, good news! Matt hosts a weekly show called MAX in Sadie's Lounge at Mo Pitkin's every Wednesday at 8:00. Plus, you can regularly see him perform at shows like The Kissing Booth at D-Lounge (with Brandy & Sara, two of our other favs) and The Drink at Work Show (no plug intended). He also writes and performs sketch comedy with the charming Katina Corrao in The Matt and Katina Show.

So check out Matt McCarthy and be a winner. He gets the DAW seal of authenticity.


Matt's Links:

Matt's Blog

Matt on Myspace

MAX

Me and stinky onion garbage

Gather 'round children, I want to tell you a story. A story of a journey. A broken journey...

We begin at the rental car counter at the sunny Portland, ME International Jetport. That's right, I said "Jetport". No propeller powered aircraft in Southern Maine, no sir. This isn't the 1946 post war USO show extravaganza staring Bob Hope and Miss Bim. No, this is 2007 mid war Wednesday... uh.. staring me and, well you.

Where were we? Ah, yes... the rental car counter. I had been thrifty last month and found a dog-gone-done-good rental car deal on that Captain Kirk cheap site. I was proud and in control. I had my confirmation number, I had my driver's license and my credit card... WITH an available balance. I tell you my friends, I was ROLLING. After presenting all I had to offer, the gruff Mainer behind the counter blurts out "a Ford Fusion or a Jeep Liberty?". This was perfect. My trip was to the remote mountains of New York State and a Jeep would be IDEAL for the snow covered locals that await. "Jeep Liberty, please." I said, quite patriotically. And just like that, I had set the wheels of the best ever rental car fit for my trip in motion .

Until...

"$15 extra per day will be charged to you credit card." The Mainer mumbled. Say what? SAY WHAT, SIR? Captain Kirk got me the best deal for my car. You can't ruin that now. I told Kirk my price. He accepted it. Captain Kirk said.... KIRK! KIIIIIIIIIRRRRK! The man just stared at me. Probably because all that was in my head and all I got out was "Um... no. No thanks".

As I shlepped my crap out into the biting Maine air, I slowly walked by my precious Liberty to my crummy Ford. It was red, which was cool. I guess. It drove alright and had a CD changer (More on that later), so I guess I was gonna be okay. Earlier I had a call from the friend I was to pick up in Boston on our way up to the Mountains. He would be at South Station at 4:25, so I would leave the land of ports around 2ish. I packed more crap into the Ford Fusion, which by name you'd think would have a flux capacitor, but it don't. Just a boring gray interior and an over-abundance of cup holders. I decided I'd stop for coffee and cash on the way, so I was off.

The Fusion was fast and I felt pretty good about driving it. I was over the Liberty. I was ready to sit back and take in the drive. I had burned some CDs for the trip and tried to pop one in. It don't go. Captain Kirk! It don't go! I pushed and poked it so hard, that I broke the CD clean in half. Great. I start wishing for the Liberty again. So, I started fiddling with the CDer thing... at 85mph.... and I see a button for "load". Ahhh... It's a CD changer. Sweet. I could load them all at once. See ya later, Jeep Liberty! Warp 27.8, Mr. Sulu!

Halfway to Boston, I stopped for my coffee and sweet cash from an ATM. At ATM, my jeans rang and the lady next to me looks immediately at my crotch. I pulled out the cell phone and gave lady a stern "Get your own man-crotch" look. On the phone was my friend. He had been delayed longer than he thought an was now arriving at 6:25. Super. I would be in Boston at 3:30. Now, I apologize for the next thing I'm about to say... I Fucking Hate Boston. I'm sorry Crespo, sorry everyone from Boston. I'm sure you are all lovely people, but your city rubs me the wrong way. From your messed up "T" system and it's miriad of tokens, cards and passes printed on crackers, to the dead end streets leading to nowhere. Don't even get me started on "Red Sox Nation". I'm a New York man, through and through and that's how it's gonna stay. So, needless to say, the idea of spending a long waiting period in Beantown sucks for me.

So I successfully navigated the "Big Dig" and parked at South Station. The parking lot is attached to the BUS terminal. You have to walk a mile, some outside, to get to the TRAIN terminal. At the trains, I just wanted to sit, get a coffee and do some work on the old laptop. I finally got a table, opened up the computer to a dead battery. I remembered shutting off the damn thing earlier so I'd have battery. SHIT! I quickly scanned the room for an outlet. The only one I saw was near the door, behind a trash can and next to an insane yelling man selling trips to Bermuda. That can't be the only outlet... I scanned more... DAMMIT.

Sighhhh....

So now, as I type, I'm sitting on marble floor, near a door to the frozen outside, smelling onions and rotting milk.



I sit, type and wait. Maybe the Bermuda man has something warm and Febreezey to say.

I am so sick of the liberal Medea in this country!

I am so sick of the liberal Medea in this country. So Medea, this left wing feminazi, murders her two kids and instead of going to jail, she becomes a celebrity when the New York Times and the ACLU get behind her "right" to abort her kids at the 43rd and 39th trimesters respectively. Then what does she do? She flees the country in a dragon-pulled chariot provided by her grandfather. And just guess what he does for a living.

Yup. He's a Sun-God.

Nepotistic Deus Ex Machina, anyone?

This country needs to get back to its core values of wrestling, defending tiny mountain passes against incredible odds, and creating the Olympics.

Until we do so, we may as well be a bunch of Cretans.

The Drink at Work Show TONIGHT: Bob Powers, The Shark Show and MORE!

Want a quick primer on the best in downtown comedy? Then come to the DAW Show TONIGHT wherein we feature the kick-ass comics behind some of our favorite shows. We've got the brilliant Bob Powers from How to Kick People, Greg Barris straight from The Heart of Darkness, Maura Madden and Rufus Tureen from Two for the Show and hometown heroes The Shark Show! Plus, DAW favs Jon Lang and Dan Allen and your bartenders, Sean Crespo and Craig Baldo. Arrive early and get one free kiss from Carol*.

The Drink at Work Show
Tuesdays, 8:00pm
Rififi
332 E. 11th St. (btw 1st and 2nd)
$5


*Offer will probably not be honored.

Red, White, and Drool

Over the weekend, I was sent a link to one of those clips where some interviewer from another country talks to a (hopefully not but highly likely) random sampling of U.S. citizens and asks them a series of idiotically simple questions along the lines of..."Which of these is not a primary color: red, blue, or muffins?"

This interviewer is usually then richly rewarded with such stunning gems as "Wait, what kind of muffins?"

Always depressing, but no more so than if you went to any number of other opulent countries and asked their lowest common denominators the same basic set of questions. Unfortunately we happen to have a disturbingly higher number of lowest common denominators. If you weren't aware, and you probably aren't if you're living in America right now, this nations's denominators are hovering between the "very low" to "Mariana's Trench" levels.

It's a serious problem, one which, if our politicians as well as our numerators don't get on top of by giving our educational system a boost, might eventually be our ultimate downfall as a superpower. Case in point, if asked to name other superpowers, I wouldn't be shocked to hear responses from my fellow Americans such as "laser eyes" or "super stretchiness."

Yes Yakov, what a country.

Perhaps I'm a little spoiled by the company with whom I grew up. My family's intelligence--barring the crazy Jesusy portion of them--tends to reside in, if not the highest eeyrie of brainpower, at least at upon a very healthy upper-mountain jutty of rapid-fire neurons. My older cousin Josh Frost, who is more of a half-brother really since his mother and mine are twins, is a good example. I probably spent every day of every summer up and through our mid teens at our grandmother's pool with him and my other cousin Bobby.

So I know the guy pretty well.

Since he was a little boy, all he wanted to do was to become a math teacher. Well, that worked out for him because, guess what he teaches? That's right. He teaches French Woodshop. (I set my sights a little higher however. Sadly, my goal of becoming Spiderman has yet to manifest itself. YET!)

But he's not just any math teacher. He's the kind of math teacher you wish you'd had. Teachers like Josh are the only reason every child isn't getting 'left behind' these days. If a kid's stuck on a problem, he stops and walks him through it. Alternately, if that kid's a math whiz with no time for the basics, well, he'll take the time to challenge his gifts. The guy's good at what he does and it shows. He won a presidential award for teaching in 2005. His N.H. math team mopped the Granite State's floor (ironically it's marble) with the competetition for almost 10 years, and even after moving back to the much more densley populated Massachussetts a few months ago, his new team still came in second last week, with a chance to take the state championship later this year. By the way, I'm pretty sure one of the kids on his team is a robot and just pretending to lose once in a while. Josh took umbrage with me however when I tried to test this theory by throwing magnets at the kid and asking him unsolvable riddles and waiting for his head to explode. (it didn't)

And oh yes, Josh also scored an 800 on his math SATs.

(I'm sure he did fine in English too. Thank you very much.)

Anyway, that's Josh.

So after weeping into my hands for a full minute or two, I forwarded the link to this video to him, an unspoken offer to partake in some company for that particular piece of misery. "Who better?" I thought.

After we both agreed that a good place to start would be by creating a list of Americans to sterylize, basically anyone who can't score above 115 on an IQ test--I further contended that fans of ACCORDING TO JIM be placed on this list automatically, regardless of test results--Josh suggested that perhaps a country with such an aloof interest in the education of its own citizens may no longer be up to the task of voting in capable, worthy politicians.

I happen to agree, and two terms of the worst president in history makes this tragic case for us. Don't panic though. We have an answer to this problem.

Well, Josh does. It is simple, fair, and effective, and I urge the thousands upon thousands of politicians who read my blog daily to act upon this idea. The Frost-Crespo Voting Act of 2007 could turn this big lug of a country around. And it would pretty much cripple the Republican Party until it got its head out of its own ultra-conservative-pandering ass, which would probably be never. So either way, America wins. And while Josh is himself not a comedian, his response to this video was filled with enough malaise, I felt it warranted posting.

And thus...

FROM JOSH:I agree that all presidential ballots should be computerized but not facilitated by 3rd party companiues with a vested interest in particular candidates. There should also be a paper trail, but most importantly, before voting I think citizens should have to answer 10 randomly generated questions (logic, geography, current events) to at least 70% accuracy or their vote doesn't count.

Sample pre-vote test:
1) Who is the current VP?
a) George W Bush
b) Condeleeza Rice
c) Dick Cheney
d) your mother

2) Which of these countries is closest to us geopraphically?
a) United Kingdom
b) Califoria
c) your mother
d) Canada

3) If seven chickens weigh 56 pounds, how much does each one weigh?
a) 8 lbs
b) 5.6 lbs
c) 10 lbs
d) your mother

4) Whose face is on the quarter?
a) Ben Franklin
b) Bill Clinton
c) George Washington
d) your mother

5) Which country is York in?
a) New York
b) your mother's country
c) England
d) Pennsylvania

6) What is the other baseball team in New York City called which is not the Mets?
a) Dodgers
b) Red Sox
c) Yankees
f) your mother the car

7) Which of these weigh the closest to the same as a pound of steel?
a) 5 lbs of wood
b) 2 lbs of dirt
c) 1 lb of feathers
d) 7 kg of grass
e) Yo-Yo Ma

8) Out of these, who was the worst president of the U.S.?
a) Osama Bin Laden
b) Adolf Hitler
c) George W Bush
d) Geena Davis
e) George W Bush
f) George W Bush
g) George W Bush's mom

9) Fifteen minutes is what fraction of an hour?
a) one half
b) one third
c) one quarter
d) muffins

10) Given a choice, whose side would you have fought on in the United States Civil War?
a) North
b) South
c) East
d) West

NOTE: If they answer b for number 10 the floor below them should then open up and drop them into a pit full of pissed off alligators and ACCORDING TO JIM blooper reels.


We are a family of many opinions. Fortunately for you, all of them are correct.

The Johnny Show - The Sure Cure to the Mid-Winter Suicide Blues

Feeling sad? Feeling depressed, cold and alone? These are the dog days of winter my friend. Short days, long nights... Temps that make a Yeti reach for the thermostat. Yes, this time of year certainly makes it a lot easier to contemplate a permanent vacation via the gas oven.

We at the Johnny Show understand.

That’s why we’ve gone and assembled yet another all-star comedy cast for something we like to call the One More for Johnny Freestyle Comedy Show. This time, we’re live without a net, no guide wires... Very few lines or order. A free-for-all comedy night that lends itself to utter chaos and free-form nonsense!

So take off the noose... Get out of the oven and pull yourself out form under the bus –if you’re still able– and head to the Johnny Show at the St Lawrence Theater, tomorrow night at 7:30 pm. It’s Just the thing for those winter suicide blues.

One More for Johnny Freestyle Comedy Show

Featuring:

TOM WALSH
COREY PANDOLPH
FELON O’REILLY
TONYA DALHAUS
DAN BERNARD
MISS ERIN CYR
TROY PENNELL
SEAN A.X. CARR
FRANCESCO MARCIULIANO

Music by longtime local favorite picker and grinner, “Hawk”. With his special guest, “Hawk’s Brother”.


One More for Johnny Freestyle Show
Tuesday, February 6th @ 7:30pm
St. Lawrence Theater
76 Congress St. Portland ME
$10 at the door

Tickets and venue info: http://www.stlawrencearts.org 207-775-5568
And here: http://www.liveimprov.com

I'm Pretty Sure It's Not You...

Yep. I'm pretty sure it's not you...

Oh, I'm sorry.

I have a nasty habit of responding to rhetorical questions, and when the drunk twentysomething in the train loudly proclaimed "Who's the best daddy in the world?" while he jammed his pinky up his napping four year-old daughter's nostril (and his buddy giggled like a schoolgirl), I felt compelled to answer.

To myself at least.

I know, I know, I took the easy way out. But our modern day Ward Cleaver in a Giants Jersey was already threatening to pop someone in the jaw for shooting him a dirty look when he tripped wheeling his one-year old daughter onto the train and screamed at his four year old (as well as his buddy Joey) to, and I quote, "hurry the fuck up."

Where was I? I was headed into the office on a Saturday and saw no point making a bad day worse by getting into a "you talking to me?"-off after suggesting that this guy just might not end up on the podium at the SuperDad Winternationals.

Plus, I was like three doors down from them.

But seriously, when you are so drunk you can hardly stand up, The Man has decided that He has the right to take your keys - hell, even the whole car in some states - away from you.

As all Good Americans know, our Dear Leader decided long ago that if he was going to start putting his Grand Vision for Freedom into action, he was going to have to publicly declare that he would never drink again (despite the occasional Washington rumors to the contrary).

Somehow, though, not only are We The People not allowed to shoot this guy a dirty look, and not only did he walk idly by our fine Boys in Blue stumbling drunk and dragging his crying daughter with nary a second glance, but we all had to sit there and listen to him proclaim that he was the World Champion of Fatherhood.

Now I know it's a little hypocritical to go on this mini-rant about drunks on a site called Drink at Work, but I'm pretty sure even the most amoral of my compatriots here aren't sneaking off to day care centers with plastic bottles of Zhenka vodka stashed under their trenchcoats to help the centers' adults get through another episode of The Wiggles...

I mean, I've spent the better part of the last decade fucking up, fixing things, and then fucking up at something else. I've wandered the earth, from bar to tavern to pub to delightful natural wilderness, back to bar, unsure of what I wanted to do with myself.

I know, I've been a mess.

Guess what? I've waited to have kids, until I felt like I had my shit together, until I felt like I was actually in a place where it made sense to take some responsibility...

Apparently, based on what I saw today, I was really over-thinking things.

Oh, I still don't want kids right now.

And I definitely think that it sucks that we live in a world where you need two references, a credit check and two and a half months' rent in advance to get 300 square feet of drafty apartment - but only one "happy accident" with an off-brand rubber to become the patriarch of a new, not-so-noble line.

But this guy's self-declared title came at an important time for me.

Yep, you guessed it - the day after I saw the National Arm-Wrestling Championships on ESPN2.

Those events, clearly meshed by the Fates themselves for my benefit, made me realize that while neither he nor I deserve the Best Dad In The World title (both for obvious reasons) and my unfortunate "I can just punch through the door and unlock it from the other side!" wrist injury twelve years ago forever ended my competitive hand grappling career, there just has to be some obscure championship I could win.

I can feel it!

Oh, and don't drink and drive.

A Toast to Your Friday Night!

The Friday DrinkPod Download

This one may prove a little melancholy, but so be it:

Down Here by All Night Chemists

Bad Feelings by The Robot Ate Me

You Can Step On My Toes, Please by The Ocean Floor

In Camera by Otterley

Office Overhearsions™

Guy on elevator to woman on elevator:

"Yeah, yeah...he's a little, you know, out there. He drug tests his kids. Yeah. Every night when they come home from being out with their friends he makes them pee in a cup. Meanwhile, you know, he's hammered."