Go Away

This is Reeve Aleksandr Pierson. I don't know if that's really how his name is spelled, but it's how he has it on Facebook, so there you go. Reeve is a brat. I sort of work with him at the Huntington, and by sort of, I mean, I don't really. Reeve used to work in the box office, but now he just flitters around the lobby and in the many theatres at the Calderwood Pavilion telling ushers what to do, and selling cheap wine and over priced snacks. Reeve has a superiority complex, or maybe he's just too gay for his own good. I chose this picture because if you look directly into his eyes, it is almost certain that you will turn to stone. Reeve puts on a very cold, snarky, bitchy, judgey facade, however, he's really a... no he is those things.

ACTUALLY, I have had 2 very pleasant and endearing experiences with Reeve. The first took place last summer when Reeve and I were stuck in the tiny basement phone room of the BU Theatre. The very same tiny basement phone room that Bobby Kennedy almost had a nervous breakdown. Anygay (a Reeveism) this day was the day that Reeve just suddenly decided to try to quit smoking. So close quarters + lack of nicotine = weird animal noises? Yes, Reeve proceeded to squawk and squeal and frighten me all day. He kept telling me buy him cigarettes and I refused, because I am a humanitarian, and I wanted to support his 1 day attempt at health.

My next sweet moment with Reeve was in New York City, the Big Apple, the Center of the Universe, the...City That Never Sleeps...I knew I could think of one more. So Reeve just HAPPENED to be there the same weekend that Patty and I were there. So we met up one night for drinks at a posh gay bar called Therapy, and Reeve was already d-r-u-n-k, so Patty and I just talked to Austin. When we left, Reeve decided to take his gin & tonic with him. The next day we met them for a little brunch at a quaint diner style restaurant, where they were both dressed very nicely. Austin, because he had to work, and Reeve, well because Reeve enjoys appearing to be better than everyone. Oh and he's gay. In fact, if Reeve lived on any street in NYC city, he'd live on this one:
So after we dropped Austin off at work Reeve walked around with Patty and I, although he just wanted to go to gay bars, gay bookstores, gay grocery stores, gay pharmacies, gay monuments, and pretty much gay it up to the 9s. Patty and I however were just the average tourists, doing tourist things, and he wanted nothing to do with that. I mean...gayness?...GROSS SIN SODOMITES!...excuse me. It was a very nice time with him though.

Did I mention he was gay?

Alright, I will put a face shot up of him, but DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, LOOK INTO HIS LITTLE GAY EYES!

Ready?...

Ok here it is:
It's small enough to avoid his gay stare.

Bobby For President

See Bobby. See Bobby judge. See Bobby answer phones. See Bobby talk through bullet proof glass...

Alright so I don't have pictures of Bobby doing all of these things. Regardless, this is Bobby. I work with Bobby. Yesterday, at the end of the work day, Bobby said something about shock and hate if he ever saw that I blogged about him. So, naturally, I am. Bobby is a writer. Although I've never read anything he's written, or seen him act, or seen anyone perform his words, I am sure that he is talented. At least he looks like a writer. Bobby graduated from BU this May. He is originally from Chicago, and he is currently there visiting family and getting interviewed for some Chicago jobs. Apparently he doesn't plan to make box officing his life's work. Bobby lives close by to one of my favorite young women, named Kathleen. Kathleen used to work with me, but she left. She's a rock star.

Enough about Kathleen, this is the Bobby Blog. Probably single most interesting thing about Bobby is his name. He's named after a famous politician that was assassinated. Give up?!?!?!... Bobby Kennedy!

What else about Bobby? Oh, his girlfriend loves to fondle his hair. He has a tan over coat for the winter and I referred to it as an Anne Taylor Loft coat... for that I apologize. When we work at 264 he gets angry at the patrons and refers to them with expletives after hanging up his phone. Then he showed me a video of a guy in an office that flipped out and starting breaking things and threw a computer monitor AT a woman and this frightened me because I thought that maybe he would flip in this tiny little room that we work in and I would have no where to run from his wrath.

But I don't think Bobby would do that. Bobby's a good, quiet, funny, judgey, skinny, play-writing man-boy.

ENJOY YOUR TRIP IN CHICAGO BOBBY!

Thank You, and Good Night

One of my favorite, and most respected comedians of all time, George Carlin, died Sunday evening at the age of 71. This album above was the first album of his I listened to, and there was rarely a moment without stomach crunching laughter. His death was one of those sudden random over night deaths that takes the world by surprise. He apparently went to the hospital with chest pains, and then died of heart failure. George wasn't exactly one to take extra special care of his body, and has struggled with addiction for the past 40ish years. If you've seen any of his most recent shows, he looked a lot older than 71, and his life of addiction shows on his face. I saw him in Boston and was surprised by the morbid theme of his material, but I'm grateful to have seen him live.

Just a few days before he died, I caught one of his old HBO specials, and he was doing a bit about death. He talked about how it's the act of dying that we're afraid of, and that actual death is great because we get to find out what happens after life. He then talked about how a comedian never wants "to die" in front of an audience. Comedians want to "kill em," a good set is referred to as "I killed em tonight." George clearly has never been afraid of death, considering the things that he's done in his life.

As a comedian, he will always be one of my idols, despite the extremely uncomfortable places he started to go towards the end. Although when you think about it, he was just keeping up with the uncomfortable societal topics of the 21st century. Like auto-erotic asphyxiation and not caring about hurricanes and or hurricane victims. His 7 dirty words routine was highly controversial, he was brought up on charges, or something, went to the Supreme Court, and then broke through and became the highest paid stand up of the time because of that industry changing bit. This bit was however, in my opinion, one of his simplest acts. George's observation on human nature went so much deeper than simply saying the 7 words that were not supposed to be said on television. His ability to dissect simple concepts like vaginal farts, to controversial and complex concepts, like religion was uncanny. It was genius. To see someone with the capability to make fun of anything with intelligence and precision is so intimidating, and George had that gift. George also writes out his shows pretty much word for word, which as far as I know, is not something that most stand-ups do. It's certainly not something that I do as a an improviser.

Last night, I dedicated our show to him, and actually had my best performance in this series of orientation shows.

So thank you George for everything you have done.

Thank you, and good night...

Model Rockets and Training Wheels

That's my grandfather when he was 25 years old...handsome fella, right? Well the other night, I had a dream of all the things my grandfather used to do with me when I was younger. He would take me fishing at Rocky Pond, where I would get SO excited if he would spring for shiners as bait instead of worms, because worms would never catch diddly. He taught me, eventually, how to ride a bike, after several weeks of riding it down the small hill in my yard. Progress included falling, but after having been upright for several more feet each attempt. Finally, something that he did, only with me, was build model rockets. This was the most vivid part of my dream, probably because it was something that I didn't have to share with my brother. Rockets were just for Papa and Nick. Aaaaaawwww.
Yes, that's me... the baby... older guy sleeping is my grandfather. Ok.

I grew up living next to my grandparents, and after my parents divorced, my brother and I spent our days with them while mom put her business pants on and brought home the bacon. So my brother and I, I feel, have the closest bond with them, maybe closer than any of the other grand kids, but that might just be me wanting that. Anyway, the larger part of my childhood was spent with my grandparents, and my grandfather always had a sometimes cruel way with words. He liked to tease, and get under people's skin. Made me cry a couple times, but it was nothing terrible. He was, however, rather cruel to the adults in my family which I later found out as I got older, particularly to my father.

Well, now that he's almost 80, he has become far more cruel and crotchety, but only in person. When I call from here in Boston, or from another country, he's particularly sweet and flattering and complimentary. He tells me how proud he is of me, and even says I love you, at the end of the conversation. This phrase I have never heard him say while I'm standing in front of him.

In person, he has more and more cruel things to say. Far more than I have ever heard him. His newest thing is people's weight. He's ragged on my mom, who is far from over weight, for some time now, but lately it's become over bearing. The last time I was home, he asked ME if I put on weight. Ladies and gentlemen, I don't mean to brag, but I am a size 29. He just seems to think that no matter who it is, weight is always a sensitive subject, so he goes for it. He made this comment at my brother's graduation party, and I was convinced that he did it because no one was really paying attention to him. Regardless, I understand that he's getting older, but I guess these dreams, and thoughts are my desire to have that young and innocent connection with my grandfather again. I think that when I'm with him in person now, he sees me as an adult, and maybe doesn't quite know how to talk to me, and maybe that's him ALSO wishing we could go back to catching small mouth bass, taking training wheels off, and counting down, to launch 1 foot tall rockets.

NO!

Do you have a minute to save the entire planet?...umm...ONE minute?...no, no I'm sorry I do not. Does this make me a bad person? Where would my cash donation go? If I ever did stop to talk to one of these people something tells me that they wouldn't ask me to help plant trees on Rt. 1. No no no, they are more than likely getting donations for SOME organization that will take 20 minutes to discuss. If I am going to do something for Mama Earth, it will not be giving a sophomore in college a 20. What if he's really just a crack head?! Ok, so he's probably not a crack head, BUT, my contribution to ANY organization is action, not money. Money is too easy, and who knows what it is used for. I recycle. I reuse. And I freakin' reduce. Well... I don't exactly know what I reduce...I guess I try to reduce electricity? Anyway, stop trying to delay me from where I'm going. I have a busy schedule, and I do not have time to listen to a 30 minute lecture that will inevitably result in me having to give money. Ok?! Great.

Embarrassed To Be Lovin' It

I swear it isn't often, but sometimes I do get an itch to eat McDonald's food. It's usually a craving for their crispy chicken classic sandwich with fries, and now they have authentic sweet tea. So today I had that craving for my lunch while I was at work. I asked my coworker if he would judge me for that decision, I don't know why. I then thought to myself that if I walked past better food options, I would then perhaps lose that craving, and make a better decision. This did not happen. So, I walked into the familiar fast food restaurant on Massachusetts Avenue, and ordered exactly what I was craving. It came with a barrel size cup for the authentic southern sweet iced tea. As I walked down Massachusetts Avenue back to 264 Huntington Avenue, I felt like everyone looked at me, looked at the bag, and judged me. Is that vain? Paranoid? Or just the part of my brain that knows I shouldn't eat McDonald's? Also, the McDonald's really didn't match what I am wearing today. Is that gay? To think that even my food should match my outfit? Yeah? Ok. Well anyway, I couldn't get back to the underground phone room at the BU Theatre fast enough. Once I reached my safe haven, I enjoyed my greasy lunch, and took solace in knowing that I won't crave this food again for quite some time... or until I get drunk.

Oh, and I just recently found out that this man:
named Jeremy B$#@%...will be moving in with me for the remainder of my lease. You might recognize him from Improv Asylum, or Patty Barrett's blog. He was my director, and is currently re-employed by Improv Asylum. My actual roommate, Nick W, moved out sometime ago to live with his lady, but still paid rent at our place. Make sense? No? Well anyway, Jeremy was soon to be homeless, when Nick swooped in to pick him up off the streets, and placed him into my loving and humble apartment. I look forward to the time that we will be "living" together, because Jeremy is funny and considerate and keeps odd mysterious hours. And I know that it will make Patty a little jealous. Jeremy promised me a pie and a 4 bean casserole. He's great.

That's all.

Oh wait! I was also in Italy for the last 2 weeks, but there really isn't much to say about that. It wasn't very pretty, the food was awful, the people were mean/unattractive, and I get all the Italy I need in the North End of Boston.

KIDDING!