September 2nd, 2009
Sophomore year at the University of Georgia I was driving in the car with my college roommates, Laura and Joanna. I was sitting in the back seat and came across Laura’s bicycle helmet. Of course I had to immediately put it on. Who wouldn’t? Then inside that protective headgear and even further inside my special brain, an idea was birthed: All massive head wounds could be prevented if people would just wear helmets at all times. AT ALL TIMES. I shared this with the girls..at first they laughed..then there was a short pause and then they simultaneously admitted, “You know, that’s actually a good idea.” Nice. Validation. Just what artists love.
Helmet wisdom has already been applied to obvious endeavors like hockey, motorcycling and football. But I’m certain that much pain and potential serious injury can absolutely be avoided if we wore them while we’re driving, having a bar brawl and participating in kinky sex. Sure doubt me. But don’t come to me bleeding after you were hit by an armoire that fell out of a window right as you were walking by. The benefits to permanent helmet wearing can positively alter existence as we know it.
Severe anxiety in the world of haircare will be obliterated. Guys. Suffer from male pattern baldness? Who cares. The hot girl that you’ve been eying in the elevator will have no idea. Ladies. Getting your roots done every 4-6 weeks? Now you have a 4-6 month grace period. Although you are still in the position of explaining why the carpet doesn’t match the drapes. Cross that bridge when you get to it.
Common dialogue will even turn helmet-centric. If you see a cute girl at the bar at TGIF , you can approach her with this “ he’s got game“ pick up line. “I couldn’t help but notice your helmet. It really accentuates your neck.” I guarantee that within three minutes you’ll be sharing potato skins. Within 3 hours you’ll be rubbing helmets. Within 3 months..married and pregnant with helmet wearing fetus. Baby is born. Visitor comes over and raves that the child “really has his father’s helmet.”
This trend will inspire never before seen risk taking. Crowd surfing won’t be limited to the more adventurous entertainers. Above our heads, we will be supporting the weight and passing the bodies of Barry Manilow, Obama and Betty White
Helmet mania will sweep the nation..the world. Every country can still excerpt their national pride through varying symbolic styling options. French helmets come with berets, Canadians with patches and maple leaves, Irish are equipped with convenient beer holder with a hose to their mouth. The Israeli Palestinian conflict will come to a resolution when they arrive at the peaceful reality that we are all just the same people..wearing helmets.
It’s just win win. Well, most of the time. There was one glitch when terminal helmet wearing failed us in the annals of history..Darth Vader. Having a protected head offered him a longer span of ruthless, dark and frowned upon hobbies. Word on the helmet blog was that this antagonist was spared severe head wounds after tripping on his cape and falling down a spiral staircase in his TIE fighter.
BUT overall, I hope that I have presented a convincing argument and we can initiate helmet permanency by all holding hands and running headfirst into a brick wall.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Day 24 - Part Time Model
September 1st, 2009
There are a few things that are perplexing me more than usual at this moment: Al Roker’s career, the pan flute and young women on Facebook/Myspace who post pictures that they have (poorly)taken of themselves. Along with Russian strippers, the population most guilty of the “lamest online portraiture on Facebook” are girls ages 18-23 who generally come from smallish town USA and are relatively new to urban living. You know who you are… the breed that still dots their I’s with circles, hearts and smiley faces, wears scanty outfits while passing out shots at a Stoli’s promotion. All while while claiming to be “models.” Girls. Some tough love here. You’re the Gary Buseys of the Nick Noltes of the modeling world. You’re not entitled to possess the term “model” as your own when your “agent” has an AOL address.
Let’s visit some lyrics from a poignant Flight Of The Conchords song - The Most Beautiful Girl In The Room
And when you're on the street
Depending on the street
I bet that you are definitely
In the top three
Good looking girls on the street
Depending on the street
Cause you're so beautiful
Like a tree
Or a high-class prostitute
You're so beautiful
You could be a part-time model
But you'd probably still have to keep your normal job
A part-time model
Ladies, I fear that you could be on the horrifically ugly road to diner waitress in 3 to 5 years. Getting by on your “good enough” looks without bettering yourself…bad idea. I feel as if I have some credibility in this area because I ‘ve lived in New York for 12 years and comedians are trained observers. Believe me, it never ends pretty. You might get a boyfriend who puts being with a “kind of hottie” at the top of his list of “what he’s look for in a special lady” attributes. But once you wear that inappropriate short dress that barely covers your ass with 6 inch heels to a wedding that his parents happen to be attending …he will have a smack of reality. There will be yelling and tears. I’ve seen it.
Sure, you might “claim” to have a talent like singing. But the sad reality is that girls prettier than you with worse voices and easier access to pre-recorded vocal tracks will get the job. Sorry.
But what disturbs me the most are these “self portraits” that you proudly post online. Features include: awkward closeup angle that emphasizes over glossed/lined exaggerated pouty lips, severe eye makeup and an expression that suggests that in high school you were voted “Most Likely to Get an STD.”
What breaks my heart even more is that it is implied that you don’t even have a network of family and friends to even take your picture. So sad. You used to surround yourself with fat girls so you’d be the “pretty one” and stand out..but even they grew tired of this below par image you seemed unjustifiably content with. You are alone. No one to explain Grey’s Anatomy to you.
Here is where I come in. Mom and dad instilled the importance of philanthropy in me and I think(as a relatively self aware girl) that I can shift this potential train wreck. I’ll say to you Lacey(Katrina, Ginger..) “Let me take you under my wing.” I’ll go to your apartment, scrub the paint off your face, say something like, “Young lady you are not leaving the house wearing that,” and then we’ll sign you up for some continuing education classes.You want to be a dental assistant? Fine. And before I set you on your newly directed path... I will take your Facebook picture.
As I leave shedding a tear, I am overcome with emotion and just tell myself, “If you love something…set it free.”
There are a few things that are perplexing me more than usual at this moment: Al Roker’s career, the pan flute and young women on Facebook/Myspace who post pictures that they have (poorly)taken of themselves. Along with Russian strippers, the population most guilty of the “lamest online portraiture on Facebook” are girls ages 18-23 who generally come from smallish town USA and are relatively new to urban living. You know who you are… the breed that still dots their I’s with circles, hearts and smiley faces, wears scanty outfits while passing out shots at a Stoli’s promotion. All while while claiming to be “models.” Girls. Some tough love here. You’re the Gary Buseys of the Nick Noltes of the modeling world. You’re not entitled to possess the term “model” as your own when your “agent” has an AOL address.
Let’s visit some lyrics from a poignant Flight Of The Conchords song - The Most Beautiful Girl In The Room
And when you're on the street
Depending on the street
I bet that you are definitely
In the top three
Good looking girls on the street
Depending on the street
Cause you're so beautiful
Like a tree
Or a high-class prostitute
You're so beautiful
You could be a part-time model
But you'd probably still have to keep your normal job
A part-time model
Ladies, I fear that you could be on the horrifically ugly road to diner waitress in 3 to 5 years. Getting by on your “good enough” looks without bettering yourself…bad idea. I feel as if I have some credibility in this area because I ‘ve lived in New York for 12 years and comedians are trained observers. Believe me, it never ends pretty. You might get a boyfriend who puts being with a “kind of hottie” at the top of his list of “what he’s look for in a special lady” attributes. But once you wear that inappropriate short dress that barely covers your ass with 6 inch heels to a wedding that his parents happen to be attending …he will have a smack of reality. There will be yelling and tears. I’ve seen it.
Sure, you might “claim” to have a talent like singing. But the sad reality is that girls prettier than you with worse voices and easier access to pre-recorded vocal tracks will get the job. Sorry.
But what disturbs me the most are these “self portraits” that you proudly post online. Features include: awkward closeup angle that emphasizes over glossed/lined exaggerated pouty lips, severe eye makeup and an expression that suggests that in high school you were voted “Most Likely to Get an STD.”
What breaks my heart even more is that it is implied that you don’t even have a network of family and friends to even take your picture. So sad. You used to surround yourself with fat girls so you’d be the “pretty one” and stand out..but even they grew tired of this below par image you seemed unjustifiably content with. You are alone. No one to explain Grey’s Anatomy to you.
Here is where I come in. Mom and dad instilled the importance of philanthropy in me and I think(as a relatively self aware girl) that I can shift this potential train wreck. I’ll say to you Lacey(Katrina, Ginger..) “Let me take you under my wing.” I’ll go to your apartment, scrub the paint off your face, say something like, “Young lady you are not leaving the house wearing that,” and then we’ll sign you up for some continuing education classes.You want to be a dental assistant? Fine. And before I set you on your newly directed path... I will take your Facebook picture.
As I leave shedding a tear, I am overcome with emotion and just tell myself, “If you love something…set it free.”
Monday, August 31, 2009
Day 23 - Dude Looks Like a Lady
August 31, 2009
I have an affinity for the men of good ‘ol manual labor. I’d buy the calendar. Years of being the recipient of some harmless whistles and shout outs”..in all reality, is a nice ego stroker. Once I got a “You look like you like to party.” And you know what? This one reflected for a minute..and realized that yes indeed, I did like to party. So perhaps Mr. Training to be a Welder knew me better than I knew myself. You can’t overlook these magical epiphanies. And just like the upcoming LOST series finale, all good things come to an end and I’m not deluded enough to assume such praise will go on forever. But for now, sure, bring it on.
But of course I have to dig deeper. What is the essence..the core of these heavy lifters? There is something to be said about putting myself in their shoes(or work boots contingent on the particular project.)
I can see the the appeal of venturing into the world of outdoor labor. Along with a paycheck, I’m guaranteed a built in strength enhancing workout and a rockin’ tan.
The possibility of working in this field is no dumber than my very first job in high school at “I Can’t Believe It’s Yogurt.” Quick side note: I did question if this severely processed high sodium dairy concoction really was yogurt. I was 15 and too young to have the sought after high powered job as “server.” So I was stuck in the back making waffle cones and cutting up Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
I hope for the following scenario to occur at some point in my lifetime:
You: Jacqueline, What do you do?
Jacqueline: Well (You), I work down at the docks.
I crave for the opportunity to verbally express that my income is based on my ability to operate a machine that lifts and moves cargo on and off ships. Bonus if I eat lunch out of a lunch box, (if I’m lucky) learn how to gut a fish and shoot the shit with a guy named Smitty
This certainly beats working indoor “cubicle labor” and reporting to some self righteous Ivy Leaguer who only hangs out in circles that consist of other rich white people. Although, I might have the unfortunate task of adding a reading room onto his 2nd home in Connecticut. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Today’s blog is about the appeal of income generating physical work. We’ll gloss over a few things. Stay with me
I’ll speak frankly. It would without a doubt behoove me to be more proficient in having some ability to fix things. Jews are not known for two things:
1)Being particularly skilled in the art of all things handy
2)Offering to help a friend move
So I salute me for thinking outside the box about a career that involves moving boxes.
I dream that at some point in my life that I will have chills run up my spine when I hear you say:
“You know Jax, I doubted you at first, but I have to admit that the glow in the dark vest, hard hat and yelling obscenities at male passerbyers …well, it just really suits you.”
I have an affinity for the men of good ‘ol manual labor. I’d buy the calendar. Years of being the recipient of some harmless whistles and shout outs”..in all reality, is a nice ego stroker. Once I got a “You look like you like to party.” And you know what? This one reflected for a minute..and realized that yes indeed, I did like to party. So perhaps Mr. Training to be a Welder knew me better than I knew myself. You can’t overlook these magical epiphanies. And just like the upcoming LOST series finale, all good things come to an end and I’m not deluded enough to assume such praise will go on forever. But for now, sure, bring it on.
But of course I have to dig deeper. What is the essence..the core of these heavy lifters? There is something to be said about putting myself in their shoes(or work boots contingent on the particular project.)
I can see the the appeal of venturing into the world of outdoor labor. Along with a paycheck, I’m guaranteed a built in strength enhancing workout and a rockin’ tan.
The possibility of working in this field is no dumber than my very first job in high school at “I Can’t Believe It’s Yogurt.” Quick side note: I did question if this severely processed high sodium dairy concoction really was yogurt. I was 15 and too young to have the sought after high powered job as “server.” So I was stuck in the back making waffle cones and cutting up Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
I hope for the following scenario to occur at some point in my lifetime:
You: Jacqueline, What do you do?
Jacqueline: Well (You), I work down at the docks.
I crave for the opportunity to verbally express that my income is based on my ability to operate a machine that lifts and moves cargo on and off ships. Bonus if I eat lunch out of a lunch box, (if I’m lucky) learn how to gut a fish and shoot the shit with a guy named Smitty
This certainly beats working indoor “cubicle labor” and reporting to some self righteous Ivy Leaguer who only hangs out in circles that consist of other rich white people. Although, I might have the unfortunate task of adding a reading room onto his 2nd home in Connecticut. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Today’s blog is about the appeal of income generating physical work. We’ll gloss over a few things. Stay with me
I’ll speak frankly. It would without a doubt behoove me to be more proficient in having some ability to fix things. Jews are not known for two things:
1)Being particularly skilled in the art of all things handy
2)Offering to help a friend move
So I salute me for thinking outside the box about a career that involves moving boxes.
I dream that at some point in my life that I will have chills run up my spine when I hear you say:
“You know Jax, I doubted you at first, but I have to admit that the glow in the dark vest, hard hat and yelling obscenities at male passerbyers …well, it just really suits you.”
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Day 22 - Nonchalant Observer -Installment # 1 Brooklyn Stoop
August 30th, 2009
I’m pretty certain that the charm and edge that once defined Greenwich Village has made a pilgrimage out to Brooklyn. I most definitely see it where I live in Cobble Hill. Located only a couple of subway stops from Manhattan, the hill that is cobble is filled with one-way streets, blue stone sidewalks and turn-of-the-century buildings. Many of the cafes and specialty stores seem to have a mom-and-pop feel that is so refreshing after witnessing the strip mall effect ripple through the city. Needless to say, I'm living in the right neighborhood for me.
This morning I woke up, took my coffee and notebook outside, sat on my stoop and nonchalantly observed all that crossed my path. I made detailed notes from 10:00am-11:00am on this Sunday August 30th, 2009. Prior to the play by play, I am going to go ahead bulk together what appeared in abundance:
• Jogger count - 12
• Biker count - 7
• Canine count - 6
• Walking while texting count - 4
The following is presented in “real” time:
10:01 – I see a young buff couple wearing matching jerseys. I fear that their entire relationship could be based on sports.
10:05 – Lincoln Town Car is struggling to parallel park and ultimately left in an awkward 45 degree angle. I’m about to judge and then I see an adorable elderly couple exit the vehicle. I let it go.
10:13 – Here is an African American man carrying a Met Grocery Store bag. He has a ponytail and wearing what appears to be 75 pounds of bling. I see that it consists of keys and hubcaps. I give him credit for combining decorative accessories with something practical .
10:17 – Young hippie couple saunters in my direction. The guy is wearing a shirt that says “LOVE.” Yet it appears as if they hate each other.
10:20 – A Subaru nearly hits Grandma and Grandpas’ poorly parked car. No contact. I’m relieved.
10:24 - A mommy is holding a little girl around 3ish. The toddler is holding a doll with a mangled arm and missing eye. It scares me. My mind wanders to one of the Twilight Zone's creepiest episodes, “Living Doll." “My name is Talky Tina, and I'm going to kill you."
10:26 – An Asian mother and two young children pass by holding books. I assume that they got them from a stoop sale down the block. I think of a literacy Public Service Announcement with a shooting star and/or rainbow that might go something like, “Because Reading is Believing.”
10:30 – I admire a cool bad ass mom with light pink blond hair with her two pretty preteen daughters. I imagine Amy Poehler in Mean Girls: "I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom.”
10:35 – My older Greek neighbor steps outside and just surveys the area with his arms crossed. I feel like I have bodyguard..and, I have to admit.. I like that. I feel safe.
10:40 – I see my neighborhood crush way in the distance walking his Wheaten Terrier. He intrigues me and we seem to cross paths more and more. I assume he’s a few years older than I am. Tall , tan, a touch of free spirit and a dog. Yummy. He waves. I blush.
10:43 – I sneeze and a teenager holding a pamphlet says “Bless You.” I wonder if she just came from Planned Parenthood.
10:46 – A mother is following a very fast walking 1 year old who appears to have just learned this skill 5 minutes ago. I’m thinking it takes a very special mom to encourage her newly walking baby to play in traffic. Good plan.
10:51 – A 30’s something woman with wet hair appears to be in a hurry and to have forgotten to put on a bra.
10:57 – Biracial gay couple is walking by with award winning posture and with a sense of urgency. I assume I’ll be friends with them soon.
11:00 - Observant tall blond with empty coffee cup and spiral notebook looks like she really has to pee. Mission accomplished.
I’m pretty certain that the charm and edge that once defined Greenwich Village has made a pilgrimage out to Brooklyn. I most definitely see it where I live in Cobble Hill. Located only a couple of subway stops from Manhattan, the hill that is cobble is filled with one-way streets, blue stone sidewalks and turn-of-the-century buildings. Many of the cafes and specialty stores seem to have a mom-and-pop feel that is so refreshing after witnessing the strip mall effect ripple through the city. Needless to say, I'm living in the right neighborhood for me.
This morning I woke up, took my coffee and notebook outside, sat on my stoop and nonchalantly observed all that crossed my path. I made detailed notes from 10:00am-11:00am on this Sunday August 30th, 2009. Prior to the play by play, I am going to go ahead bulk together what appeared in abundance:
• Jogger count - 12
• Biker count - 7
• Canine count - 6
• Walking while texting count - 4
The following is presented in “real” time:
10:01 – I see a young buff couple wearing matching jerseys. I fear that their entire relationship could be based on sports.
10:05 – Lincoln Town Car is struggling to parallel park and ultimately left in an awkward 45 degree angle. I’m about to judge and then I see an adorable elderly couple exit the vehicle. I let it go.
10:13 – Here is an African American man carrying a Met Grocery Store bag. He has a ponytail and wearing what appears to be 75 pounds of bling. I see that it consists of keys and hubcaps. I give him credit for combining decorative accessories with something practical .
10:17 – Young hippie couple saunters in my direction. The guy is wearing a shirt that says “LOVE.” Yet it appears as if they hate each other.
10:20 – A Subaru nearly hits Grandma and Grandpas’ poorly parked car. No contact. I’m relieved.
10:24 - A mommy is holding a little girl around 3ish. The toddler is holding a doll with a mangled arm and missing eye. It scares me. My mind wanders to one of the Twilight Zone's creepiest episodes, “Living Doll." “My name is Talky Tina, and I'm going to kill you."
10:26 – An Asian mother and two young children pass by holding books. I assume that they got them from a stoop sale down the block. I think of a literacy Public Service Announcement with a shooting star and/or rainbow that might go something like, “Because Reading is Believing.”
10:30 – I admire a cool bad ass mom with light pink blond hair with her two pretty preteen daughters. I imagine Amy Poehler in Mean Girls: "I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom.”
10:35 – My older Greek neighbor steps outside and just surveys the area with his arms crossed. I feel like I have bodyguard..and, I have to admit.. I like that. I feel safe.
10:40 – I see my neighborhood crush way in the distance walking his Wheaten Terrier. He intrigues me and we seem to cross paths more and more. I assume he’s a few years older than I am. Tall , tan, a touch of free spirit and a dog. Yummy. He waves. I blush.
10:43 – I sneeze and a teenager holding a pamphlet says “Bless You.” I wonder if she just came from Planned Parenthood.
10:46 – A mother is following a very fast walking 1 year old who appears to have just learned this skill 5 minutes ago. I’m thinking it takes a very special mom to encourage her newly walking baby to play in traffic. Good plan.
10:51 – A 30’s something woman with wet hair appears to be in a hurry and to have forgotten to put on a bra.
10:57 – Biracial gay couple is walking by with award winning posture and with a sense of urgency. I assume I’ll be friends with them soon.
11:00 - Observant tall blond with empty coffee cup and spiral notebook looks like she really has to pee. Mission accomplished.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Day 21 - Hi, I’m Jax and I’ll be Your Cruise Director
August 29th, 2009
Today seems to be turning out to be very HOST-CENTRIC themed. Tonight, I’m MC’ing at Gotham Comedy Club and it looks like a bi-weekly show that I’ve been wanting to produce and host (consisting of comedic and musical talent) has finally found a home at Meades Bar at the South Street Seaport. I truly enjoy (and if dare say, have a l’il natural ability for) hosting, Mc’ing and warming up audiences. Looking back, I think this is a skill that has been ingrained in me for quite some time.
Growing up in the south, children inevitably learn the ins and outs of the fine art of southern hospitality. Warmly welcoming visitors into our homes was an essential fabric to our upbringing. Plus OUR house had a swimming pool(although kind of not in tip top condition) and a giant basement(equipped with foosball table dartboard and bar.) What went "down" in the downstairs included the following; turning the space into a comedy club for my dad’s 40th birthday(a little foreshadowing perhaps?), having innocent pre-teen “rites of passage” moments and on the day of Super Bowl Sunday 1986 (while watching Space Camp on Beta Max) witnessing my older brother tackle Danny Silvers (resulting in a few stitches in Danny’s head. ) So yes, come to the Kabat’s basement. If you’re lucky, “There Will be Blood.”
My love for hosting continued into high school and to this day friends from my teenage years still shower me with accolades. “I don’t know what it was..but your parties were just the best.” One of my gathering’s success can be credited to throwing the party right after our school’s annual blood drive. Get it? Blood alcohol level works in the favor of getting wasted. Just wanted to be sure. I'm a giver. Memories include people hiking to my house during the snowstorm of 1993 to get to the good times, the stoners introducing marijuana to our yellow lab Honey and some drunk poor soul nibbling on cat food(Tender Fiddles.) The only negative recollection was when someone maliciously got hold of my mom’s CD’s and the horrific sound of Michael Bolton belting “Time, Love and Tenderness” made the party come to an awkward stand still. I think I had one of those slow motion cinema moments where I ran through the house(gracefully leaping over coffee tables and people hooking up) to turn off the music all while screaming that slow mo low muffled “Nooooooo.”
Similar successful parties followed in college and when I moved to New York. Sometime it’s fun to answer the door smiling wearing an oven mitt even when there are no baked goods to offer. It’s just a nice visual. My New York parties(that I threw at my Upper West Side apartment in my early years and later at venues for my annual Halloween Gilda’s Club Halloween party fundraiser) just seem to work. I think it comes down to having a random mix of friends who are all decent individuals. Good people get along with other good people. I get off on seeing my corporate lawyer friend hitting it off with my heavy metal friend. If I can set the tone of making them feel comfortable.. the bonding and good times seem to take care of itself.
What’s interesting is “making people look and feel good” is the essential rule to comedy improvisation(and in my opinion, it is also crucial to stand up and Mc’ing.) When I perform, host and teach, it kind of feels like my party. But it really isn’t about me. It’s about my audience and my students and making them feel like they are as comfortable as a Yankee in Dixie. Perhaps I should start handing out Mint Juleps. So it seems helping people have some fun while also providing some degree of comfort is in my genes. Most recently, this knack took me to the Good Morning America Studios. Here is 2 ½ minute clip of when I MC'd for a marketing campaign for eBay. At the ABC studios, I warmed up 15 audiences for a live game show called "LET'S MAKE A DAILY DEAL" that was hosted by Mario Cantone and Monty Hall.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyy7sxePQ2E
As much as I struggle to praise Miss Oprah Winfrey, she did(at some point pre-Tom Cruise destroying a perfectly good couch incident) say something rather astute.
“Find out who you are and do it on purpose”
Today seems to be turning out to be very HOST-CENTRIC themed. Tonight, I’m MC’ing at Gotham Comedy Club and it looks like a bi-weekly show that I’ve been wanting to produce and host (consisting of comedic and musical talent) has finally found a home at Meades Bar at the South Street Seaport. I truly enjoy (and if dare say, have a l’il natural ability for) hosting, Mc’ing and warming up audiences. Looking back, I think this is a skill that has been ingrained in me for quite some time.
Growing up in the south, children inevitably learn the ins and outs of the fine art of southern hospitality. Warmly welcoming visitors into our homes was an essential fabric to our upbringing. Plus OUR house had a swimming pool(although kind of not in tip top condition) and a giant basement(equipped with foosball table dartboard and bar.) What went "down" in the downstairs included the following; turning the space into a comedy club for my dad’s 40th birthday(a little foreshadowing perhaps?), having innocent pre-teen “rites of passage” moments and on the day of Super Bowl Sunday 1986 (while watching Space Camp on Beta Max) witnessing my older brother tackle Danny Silvers (resulting in a few stitches in Danny’s head. ) So yes, come to the Kabat’s basement. If you’re lucky, “There Will be Blood.”
My love for hosting continued into high school and to this day friends from my teenage years still shower me with accolades. “I don’t know what it was..but your parties were just the best.” One of my gathering’s success can be credited to throwing the party right after our school’s annual blood drive. Get it? Blood alcohol level works in the favor of getting wasted. Just wanted to be sure. I'm a giver. Memories include people hiking to my house during the snowstorm of 1993 to get to the good times, the stoners introducing marijuana to our yellow lab Honey and some drunk poor soul nibbling on cat food(Tender Fiddles.) The only negative recollection was when someone maliciously got hold of my mom’s CD’s and the horrific sound of Michael Bolton belting “Time, Love and Tenderness” made the party come to an awkward stand still. I think I had one of those slow motion cinema moments where I ran through the house(gracefully leaping over coffee tables and people hooking up) to turn off the music all while screaming that slow mo low muffled “Nooooooo.”
Similar successful parties followed in college and when I moved to New York. Sometime it’s fun to answer the door smiling wearing an oven mitt even when there are no baked goods to offer. It’s just a nice visual. My New York parties(that I threw at my Upper West Side apartment in my early years and later at venues for my annual Halloween Gilda’s Club Halloween party fundraiser) just seem to work. I think it comes down to having a random mix of friends who are all decent individuals. Good people get along with other good people. I get off on seeing my corporate lawyer friend hitting it off with my heavy metal friend. If I can set the tone of making them feel comfortable.. the bonding and good times seem to take care of itself.
What’s interesting is “making people look and feel good” is the essential rule to comedy improvisation(and in my opinion, it is also crucial to stand up and Mc’ing.) When I perform, host and teach, it kind of feels like my party. But it really isn’t about me. It’s about my audience and my students and making them feel like they are as comfortable as a Yankee in Dixie. Perhaps I should start handing out Mint Juleps. So it seems helping people have some fun while also providing some degree of comfort is in my genes. Most recently, this knack took me to the Good Morning America Studios. Here is 2 ½ minute clip of when I MC'd for a marketing campaign for eBay. At the ABC studios, I warmed up 15 audiences for a live game show called "LET'S MAKE A DAILY DEAL" that was hosted by Mario Cantone and Monty Hall.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyy7sxePQ2E
As much as I struggle to praise Miss Oprah Winfrey, she did(at some point pre-Tom Cruise destroying a perfectly good couch incident) say something rather astute.
“Find out who you are and do it on purpose”
Friday, August 28, 2009
Day 20 - It Hurts? That Means It's Working
August 28th, 2009
This is day 20 of my 365 day blog entry challenge. During my little free time, I wonder if I’ve gotten myself in over my head with this giant commitment. The thing is, I’m pretty anal about the quality of my writing and need to know that I have absolutely put forth my best effort before I click it away into cyberspace. I’m not self righteous enough to assume that all my work is beyond brilliant and publishers will be knocking on my door. I just adhere to high standards with all things creative so I’m taking this very seriously. And hopefully having some cathartic fun along the way. Rest assured that you won’t find a note on my blog or my forehead that reads, ”My brain has gone on sabbatical. Please check back in 3-5 business days . If it’s an emergency, you can find me painting pine cones in solitude in the wilderness.” Assuming that I have readers, it just seems more doable if I declare this assignment to them. To you. To me.
This is not the first physically or mentally effortful task that I have applied on myself. One includes doing Outward Bound when I was 18. Basically, I roughed it in the mountains of North Carolina for 3 weeks and ended up developing my sense of self, participating in challenging expeditions in the outdoors and learned that it is wise not to eat cheese out of a bag labeled “bulk.” Also, running the San Diego Marathon in 2005 was another partaking that I initially wondered if it really was within my reach. Signing up to participate 4 months in advance made the reality of a 26 mile run a necessity. I crossed the finish line, couldn’t feel my legs for a few days and now have a hard time even finding the strength to spell R-U-N. When my eye is on the prize, I seem to persevere. In my comedy work, my very first stand up show was booked several months before the actual event at Gotham Comedy Club. Knowing that there was something to work towards, I was forced to be constantly testing my material at open mics. I got through my 10 minute set and then Seinfeld made a surprise guest appearance and went on right after me. Perhaps the universe was rewarding me by not having him hit the stage prior to my debut.
So now its Project Writing. It helps me to get out of the apartment to get the words flowing. I generally set up my portable office at some coffee shop. The plus is feeding off the energy of other people. The downside is that many of us right brainers are susceptible to distraction. We tend to “absorb “ everything around us. I might have a little self diagnosed ADD..or as my more spiritual friend tells me..I’m just energy sensitive and it is a heightened form of intelligence. Someone who blows smoke up my ass= friend forever.
Here are some examples of what takes my fingers away from the keyboard:
1) A woman next to me was reading a People Magazine and I found myself earnestly thinking “I just want Jennifer Aniston to find love. She’s been through so much.” I’ve never met Ms. Aniston but I was empathizing as if she had really stepped up to the plate for me when I was going through some challenging times. And when Jen hurts...I hurt.
2)Behind me were two stereotypical suited up business men having what appeared to be a conversation that was clearly not meant to be overheard. They spoke in their “let’s keep this talk private and use our extreme indoor voices.” It was affective because I couldn’t hear a thing and yes, that did piss me off. As they headed out, man #1 gave man #2 a knowing “pat on the back” that seemed to indicate that they had arrived at some understanding. I was left to create my own script and it went like this, “Stevens, I’m glad that we agree that it’s best to keep the hookers and coke incident from Wilson’s bachelor party on the down low.”
3) Distraction #3. A car drove by blasting the Hall & Oates song "Private Eyes". Immediately, I started humming a medley of Hall & Oates songs. No reason in particular. It just started to happen. Then the fact that they were popular in the 80’s inspired a recent memory of seeing an old Huey Lewis doing karaoke to a Huey Lewis song. He was mediocre at best and wildly drunk. After that, the idea of inebriation took me back to being the designated drinker in High School . And then the writer in me came back to revisit my original Hall and Oates thought and imagined something along the lines of, “ I’d like to see Barry Gibb and Daryl Hall have a high falsetto voice off.”
So yes, such spirals do occur. Yet it is comforting to see that what initially drew me away from my writing eventually ends up in my writing. Happy Accidents.
This commitment has clearly been healthy for me and I don’t see any benefit of dismissing it now. I would feel it’s absence. I figure it would be like the time the letter “H” came off my keyboard. I didn’t realize it’s importance until it disappeared. In the past 3 weeks, I’ve created “space” and am very aware that positive circumstances are just knocking on my door. Very prolifically and very real.
I just have to trust that this 365 day project will take me to the next level…perhaps in ways that I can’t even anticipate. But I sense that I am guaranteed forward movement in some way(hopefully many ways.). At times like this, I really feel sorry for models who have to know that their career has nowhere to go but down.
For now, I’ll keep writing. Where do I get my ideas? From things that happen at places during times.
When I wake up on August 9th, 2010..the time will be here to commence my next seemingly outlandish adventure.
A few preliminary ideas:
• Climb Mount Kilimanjaro
• Conquer Niagara Falls in a barrel
• Win the July 4th Hot Dog Eating Contest..I can beat that smallish Asian man… I just know it!
This is day 20 of my 365 day blog entry challenge. During my little free time, I wonder if I’ve gotten myself in over my head with this giant commitment. The thing is, I’m pretty anal about the quality of my writing and need to know that I have absolutely put forth my best effort before I click it away into cyberspace. I’m not self righteous enough to assume that all my work is beyond brilliant and publishers will be knocking on my door. I just adhere to high standards with all things creative so I’m taking this very seriously. And hopefully having some cathartic fun along the way. Rest assured that you won’t find a note on my blog or my forehead that reads, ”My brain has gone on sabbatical. Please check back in 3-5 business days . If it’s an emergency, you can find me painting pine cones in solitude in the wilderness.” Assuming that I have readers, it just seems more doable if I declare this assignment to them. To you. To me.
This is not the first physically or mentally effortful task that I have applied on myself. One includes doing Outward Bound when I was 18. Basically, I roughed it in the mountains of North Carolina for 3 weeks and ended up developing my sense of self, participating in challenging expeditions in the outdoors and learned that it is wise not to eat cheese out of a bag labeled “bulk.” Also, running the San Diego Marathon in 2005 was another partaking that I initially wondered if it really was within my reach. Signing up to participate 4 months in advance made the reality of a 26 mile run a necessity. I crossed the finish line, couldn’t feel my legs for a few days and now have a hard time even finding the strength to spell R-U-N. When my eye is on the prize, I seem to persevere. In my comedy work, my very first stand up show was booked several months before the actual event at Gotham Comedy Club. Knowing that there was something to work towards, I was forced to be constantly testing my material at open mics. I got through my 10 minute set and then Seinfeld made a surprise guest appearance and went on right after me. Perhaps the universe was rewarding me by not having him hit the stage prior to my debut.
So now its Project Writing. It helps me to get out of the apartment to get the words flowing. I generally set up my portable office at some coffee shop. The plus is feeding off the energy of other people. The downside is that many of us right brainers are susceptible to distraction. We tend to “absorb “ everything around us. I might have a little self diagnosed ADD..or as my more spiritual friend tells me..I’m just energy sensitive and it is a heightened form of intelligence. Someone who blows smoke up my ass= friend forever.
Here are some examples of what takes my fingers away from the keyboard:
1) A woman next to me was reading a People Magazine and I found myself earnestly thinking “I just want Jennifer Aniston to find love. She’s been through so much.” I’ve never met Ms. Aniston but I was empathizing as if she had really stepped up to the plate for me when I was going through some challenging times. And when Jen hurts...I hurt.
2)Behind me were two stereotypical suited up business men having what appeared to be a conversation that was clearly not meant to be overheard. They spoke in their “let’s keep this talk private and use our extreme indoor voices.” It was affective because I couldn’t hear a thing and yes, that did piss me off. As they headed out, man #1 gave man #2 a knowing “pat on the back” that seemed to indicate that they had arrived at some understanding. I was left to create my own script and it went like this, “Stevens, I’m glad that we agree that it’s best to keep the hookers and coke incident from Wilson’s bachelor party on the down low.”
3) Distraction #3. A car drove by blasting the Hall & Oates song "Private Eyes". Immediately, I started humming a medley of Hall & Oates songs. No reason in particular. It just started to happen. Then the fact that they were popular in the 80’s inspired a recent memory of seeing an old Huey Lewis doing karaoke to a Huey Lewis song. He was mediocre at best and wildly drunk. After that, the idea of inebriation took me back to being the designated drinker in High School . And then the writer in me came back to revisit my original Hall and Oates thought and imagined something along the lines of, “ I’d like to see Barry Gibb and Daryl Hall have a high falsetto voice off.”
So yes, such spirals do occur. Yet it is comforting to see that what initially drew me away from my writing eventually ends up in my writing. Happy Accidents.
This commitment has clearly been healthy for me and I don’t see any benefit of dismissing it now. I would feel it’s absence. I figure it would be like the time the letter “H” came off my keyboard. I didn’t realize it’s importance until it disappeared. In the past 3 weeks, I’ve created “space” and am very aware that positive circumstances are just knocking on my door. Very prolifically and very real.
I just have to trust that this 365 day project will take me to the next level…perhaps in ways that I can’t even anticipate. But I sense that I am guaranteed forward movement in some way(hopefully many ways.). At times like this, I really feel sorry for models who have to know that their career has nowhere to go but down.
For now, I’ll keep writing. Where do I get my ideas? From things that happen at places during times.
When I wake up on August 9th, 2010..the time will be here to commence my next seemingly outlandish adventure.
A few preliminary ideas:
• Climb Mount Kilimanjaro
• Conquer Niagara Falls in a barrel
• Win the July 4th Hot Dog Eating Contest..I can beat that smallish Asian man… I just know it!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Day 19 - Canine Conundrum?
August 27th, 2009
A few weeks ago I headed to my favorite local Brooklyn coffee shop to buy an overpriced caffeinated beverage(an indulgence that I make no apologies for.) Along my trek, I passed a family with a dog in a stroller and a kid on a leash. Has the life of a dog gotten so stressful that the “masters” of man’s best friend feel obliged to provided wheeled transportation, “matter of factly” pick up feces and offer the four legged diva an impressive cocktail of antidepressants?
One of the biggest debates in urban canine circles is the following: With limited space and open areas, is it ethical to have a dog in the city? Well humans have certainly put in their two cents regarding this ongoing heated back and forth. I feel that the doggies are the center of this argument and should also have a say in which lifestyle is preferable. I interviewed a handful of dogs and got their thoughts on this logical argument. Yes, I am able to communicate openly and freely with pooches because I speak fluent Barkonese. Story for another time. I think you’ll find my research surprisingly enlightening.
My first interview was with Liam, a Wheaten Terrier that I met for a late lunch at an upscale midtown Irish Pub. After a few Guinness, my new furry friend really opened up. “It basically comes down to this.. I can’t complain. I like my life here in the city. I’m hypoallergenic, cute ‘enough' and pretend to like kids. I never lived in the country so I have nothing to compare my present situation to. No memories of running through fields filled with gourmet dog treats.” He was giving me great stuff and I was psyched to learn about this angle. Then Liam took a big chug of stout, stared off into the distance and quietly uttered, “Besides I just discovered that my parents were from the same litter so I have bigger problems on my plate right now.”
Wow. Liam had really been forthcoming. I was thrilled that I was able to get such an honest response. I left the bar pretty tipsy, hopped in a cab and headed to an off-track betting in the outskirts of Queens to meet Rusty the Chihuahua. He spoke so fast that I had to struggle to keep up with my notes. Manically he said, “I’m a little shit with bug eyes. I’m very much aware that I didn’t win the genetic lottery. My mom told me that I was just ‘special’ and then she was hit by a UPS truck.” Rusty just seemed so self-aware and really wore his heart on his paw. “ Truth is, I know that I wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else. With all its downfalls, New York does embrace those of us that are..unique. I just know that my method of ass sniffing would be frowned upon in other areas.”
I got what I needed from Rusty. In all honesty, he did creep me out a little because if eyes are the window to the soul, I was scared to dig any deeper. I headed back to Manhattan where I was going to meet Maximus, a beret wearing French Bulldog who finally stopped battling with his sexuality. He spends his days and nights at his master’s Chelsea art gallery that focuses on post modern abstract expressionism. He handed me a glass of a delightful Cabernet Sauvignon. We perused though the gallery and connected right away. Truth be told, we didn’t talk much about my research topic because we just became instant best friends. What can I say. Gay dogs love me. The only quote I can share with you..is about me. “You’re fabulous! Promise me that I can go shoe shopping with you and you’ll join me and some of my clubbing dog friends in Fire Island.” I think it’s safe to assess that Maximus won’t be leaving the city anytime soon.
Next I headed to a late night Kegger at NYU to meet a Shih Tzu named Oscar. He didn’t have a lot of time for me because he was the hot commodity at this party. His owner was a daddy’s girl who grew up amongst the Upper East Side elite. Oscar was with her at all times. Every drunk sorority girl couldn’t get enough of this little guy. The party was getting loud and crowded and Oscar only gave me 30 seconds of his time because bouncing from one female admirer to the next was way more intriguing than talking about the ethics of dog habitation. He told me, “I put up with the lame dog carrying bag, clothes and frilly bows because I’m surrounded by beautiful vulnerable women who let me lick them. I know I’m a Napoleon and New York is the only place where I can, quite frankly, get girls that are out of my league. I don’t want to give this up to live in the Midwest, eat processed Puppy Chow and piss on garden gnomes.” After this admission, he ran away and jumped on the lap of a girl who just finished a keg stand.
My last meeting was at midnight at a diner with Mollie, a sensitive and humble middle aged golden retriever. I’d guess around 7. She had just finished up with her late night shift volunteering affection in a nursing home. There was something very comforting about her. Wise beyond her dog years. She was quite candid. “There is a lot that makes the city appealing to us. I love sitting on the stoop with other dogs from my building and the smells are simply divine. So much ethnic restaurant garbage to sniff through. Although I do stay away from Chinese because..well you know.”
Sipping her chamomile tea, she was the first of my interviewees to express concern for her owner. “Although city living makes sense for me, I worry about him. Living in a small studio apartment and not being able to run freely…just doesn’t seem fair.
A few weeks ago I headed to my favorite local Brooklyn coffee shop to buy an overpriced caffeinated beverage(an indulgence that I make no apologies for.) Along my trek, I passed a family with a dog in a stroller and a kid on a leash. Has the life of a dog gotten so stressful that the “masters” of man’s best friend feel obliged to provided wheeled transportation, “matter of factly” pick up feces and offer the four legged diva an impressive cocktail of antidepressants?
One of the biggest debates in urban canine circles is the following: With limited space and open areas, is it ethical to have a dog in the city? Well humans have certainly put in their two cents regarding this ongoing heated back and forth. I feel that the doggies are the center of this argument and should also have a say in which lifestyle is preferable. I interviewed a handful of dogs and got their thoughts on this logical argument. Yes, I am able to communicate openly and freely with pooches because I speak fluent Barkonese. Story for another time. I think you’ll find my research surprisingly enlightening.
My first interview was with Liam, a Wheaten Terrier that I met for a late lunch at an upscale midtown Irish Pub. After a few Guinness, my new furry friend really opened up. “It basically comes down to this.. I can’t complain. I like my life here in the city. I’m hypoallergenic, cute ‘enough' and pretend to like kids. I never lived in the country so I have nothing to compare my present situation to. No memories of running through fields filled with gourmet dog treats.” He was giving me great stuff and I was psyched to learn about this angle. Then Liam took a big chug of stout, stared off into the distance and quietly uttered, “Besides I just discovered that my parents were from the same litter so I have bigger problems on my plate right now.”
Wow. Liam had really been forthcoming. I was thrilled that I was able to get such an honest response. I left the bar pretty tipsy, hopped in a cab and headed to an off-track betting in the outskirts of Queens to meet Rusty the Chihuahua. He spoke so fast that I had to struggle to keep up with my notes. Manically he said, “I’m a little shit with bug eyes. I’m very much aware that I didn’t win the genetic lottery. My mom told me that I was just ‘special’ and then she was hit by a UPS truck.” Rusty just seemed so self-aware and really wore his heart on his paw. “ Truth is, I know that I wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else. With all its downfalls, New York does embrace those of us that are..unique. I just know that my method of ass sniffing would be frowned upon in other areas.”
I got what I needed from Rusty. In all honesty, he did creep me out a little because if eyes are the window to the soul, I was scared to dig any deeper. I headed back to Manhattan where I was going to meet Maximus, a beret wearing French Bulldog who finally stopped battling with his sexuality. He spends his days and nights at his master’s Chelsea art gallery that focuses on post modern abstract expressionism. He handed me a glass of a delightful Cabernet Sauvignon. We perused though the gallery and connected right away. Truth be told, we didn’t talk much about my research topic because we just became instant best friends. What can I say. Gay dogs love me. The only quote I can share with you..is about me. “You’re fabulous! Promise me that I can go shoe shopping with you and you’ll join me and some of my clubbing dog friends in Fire Island.” I think it’s safe to assess that Maximus won’t be leaving the city anytime soon.
Next I headed to a late night Kegger at NYU to meet a Shih Tzu named Oscar. He didn’t have a lot of time for me because he was the hot commodity at this party. His owner was a daddy’s girl who grew up amongst the Upper East Side elite. Oscar was with her at all times. Every drunk sorority girl couldn’t get enough of this little guy. The party was getting loud and crowded and Oscar only gave me 30 seconds of his time because bouncing from one female admirer to the next was way more intriguing than talking about the ethics of dog habitation. He told me, “I put up with the lame dog carrying bag, clothes and frilly bows because I’m surrounded by beautiful vulnerable women who let me lick them. I know I’m a Napoleon and New York is the only place where I can, quite frankly, get girls that are out of my league. I don’t want to give this up to live in the Midwest, eat processed Puppy Chow and piss on garden gnomes.” After this admission, he ran away and jumped on the lap of a girl who just finished a keg stand.
My last meeting was at midnight at a diner with Mollie, a sensitive and humble middle aged golden retriever. I’d guess around 7. She had just finished up with her late night shift volunteering affection in a nursing home. There was something very comforting about her. Wise beyond her dog years. She was quite candid. “There is a lot that makes the city appealing to us. I love sitting on the stoop with other dogs from my building and the smells are simply divine. So much ethnic restaurant garbage to sniff through. Although I do stay away from Chinese because..well you know.”
Sipping her chamomile tea, she was the first of my interviewees to express concern for her owner. “Although city living makes sense for me, I worry about him. Living in a small studio apartment and not being able to run freely…just doesn’t seem fair.
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