Blisteringly Funny

A blister. A pen. An airplane delayed for de-icing.

A puppet is born.

Toilet Humor

Really? In that order?

In Tuition, part. 2

It seems the headmaster at this particular private high school hadn’t approved of some of our material. We couldn’t imagine what he was referring to, since we go out of our way to clean up shows for younger audiences, replacing every “shit” with a “crap.” Turns out he didn’t like our material about him.

After all the dangerous ad-libbing we’ve done in our career (making fun of Southern accents in the South, patronizing boisterous audience members who later turn out to be mentally challenged), I couldn’t believe this was the chicken that had come home to roost.

All we’d done was compare the headmaster to a very popular Hollywood actor. One who most people consider to be attractive, charismatic and successful, except for a recent suicide attempt. It paled in comparison to the time we made fun of the president of Vermont Technical College, only to have him stand up from the audience, walk on stage, and eat a marshmallow off the floor that had just been in my nose. And if anything from the show had been offensive, it should have been when Seth made a wacky exit through the empty baptism pool behind the altar that served as our stage.

We apologized. He said it was “too late.”

However, it was not too late to print up T-shirts of his face photoshopped onto the actor's body, and to then send a few hundred to the boy’s dorm. We didn't, but we might as well have. Having gone to private school, I've learned that all you have to do to make amends with the administration is to donate something with your name on it. Late Night Players wrestling team codpieces, anyone?

In Tuition, part. 1

If we also did shows for the government and health food co-ops, you might think that we pick our venues based on who we’ve personally given the most money to.

For instance, we used to pay to go to college, and now colleges pay us (an embarrassingly small portion of what we gave them) to come back.

We've also started doing the occasional private high school show for institutions much like the one I once went to. Such schools often solicit funds from alumni, figuring that graduates must make at least as much money as they used to pay to go there. I in turn solicit funds from the schools to have us come perform, knowing that they’re right about most of their graduates (besides me) and therefore have lots of money (to give to me).

Of course it sometimes feels a little funny being back on a private high school campus after all these years. It always gets my goat that the students dress better than we do and do tons more coke.

After one such gig, we were asked back to the headmaster’s office to claim our check. We thought it was funny being called to the office at age 27. But it wasn’t funny at all; we were in fact in a lot of trouble.

No Country for Little Girls

I recently attended a friend's princess themed birthday party. It being her third ever, I felt a little out of place, or "tall." Noticing my discomfort, the girl's mother said that she expected the experience to end up on my blog. I smiled politely, my mind already racing for humorous titles (The Princess and the Pee in the Pool? Go Shorty, It's Your Birthday? It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To Because I'm a Toddler?). But deep down I didn't really think it would make the cut. Deep down I also felt queasy from pink cupcakes.

A week after, I found myself house and dog sitting for the same family. Coming back to the large, empty, dark house after a matinee showing of No Country for Old Men, I fully expected to meet some horrible fate inside. It was then that I found this:



Once part of the birthday cake, it is now part of my nightmares.

A Midwinter's Day Nightmare, aka: Shakespeare vs Family Guy (part III)

I was caught. I love Shakespeare, but to be honest, some episodes of South Park have made me laugh harder than I’ve laughed at many versions of the Dumb Show. Wanting to stick to my guns, earn their respect, and stay truthful all the same time, I said the following:

“I’ll admit that some episodes of South Park are funnier than some of Shakespeare’s plays, like for instance... Macbeth.” I thought I was off the hook, but by mentioning something that they couldn’t watch on YouTube, I had only confused them. So I decided to fight fire with fire, and pulled out the classic middle school closing argument: insult.

Me: “This stuff can be funny. The problem isn’t in the writing, because I’ve seen it done well. So if it’s not funny, it’s your fault.” Shocked that a man with just a post-it note would be so daring, they conceded.

I said this knowing deep down that the fault was probably my own. Still, I had to create a climate in which they wouldn’t stab each other with pencils, which they kept trying to do. Surely William Shakespeare thought the same of Lord Chamberlain’s Men.

In the end, I couldn’t help but feel that these kids were unknowingly being true to the impish spirit of the play. Puck, who brags about removing a peg from an old woman’s stool and watching her fall, is not that different from an adolescent boy. While teaching, I felt something like the confusion and terror the Lovers experience while fleeing through the haunted Athenian wood, their world turned topsy-turvy. And true to Shakespeare, in the end, amends were made and order triumphed over chaos. Half human, half ass, the young troublemakers had to stay in the forest, living out the rest of their awkward years, while I got in my car and drove away, paycheck in pocket.

A Midwinter Day's Nightmare, aka: Shakespeare vs Family Guy (part II)

The continuing tale of my trying to convince twelve year old boys that they like a four hundred year old play about fairies.

When I was in seventh grade, I observed that many of my peers were bad at school, but great at picking on me. Like dogs, it was as if they could smell that I was afraid. Unlike dogs, they would then use English to publicly ridicule me about whatever it was I dreaded most.

Worried that I had bad breath? They’d tell me I did. Worried that I didn’t have enough hair on my body? Oh, I’d hear about it. Worried that I had too much hair on my body? Even worse.

Today’s middle schoolers seem to have retained this trait, because one in my class said exactly what I didn’t want him to:

“This stuff’s not funny anymore! Maybe it was funny back then, but it’s not now. It’s stupid. What’s funny now is Family Guy. Do you really think this is funnier than Family Guy?”

I did think it was funnier than Family Guy, because I hate Family Guy. So I simply said “I’m not a good person to ask, because I don’t really like Family Guy to start with.”

When he regained his composure, he continued: “Then what about… South Park?”

The other students gasped, and drew back.

A Midwinter Day's Nightmare, aka: Shakespeare vs. Family Guy (part I)

Having run out of passes, the principal of a local high school fashioned this badge for me out of a post-it note. The line between being a creepy interloper and a visiting teacher had never been so paper thin.

I had accepted a desperate plea to help direct a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I say desperate because the dictionary, by which I mean a website, defines “desperate” as “reckless or dangerous…extremely bad; intolerable or shocking.” And that’s exactly how the students behaved.

Teaching children’s martial arts classes taught me to discover my inner harsh disciplinarian; conversely, I’ve learned to be warm and encouraging while directing youth theater. This time, I had to do both at the same time.

Me: Okay, now try a little something funny. How about a funny bow after you say your line?
A Seventh Grader: I don’t want to. (puts on I-pod ear buds)
Me: You have to. Is that clear? Excuse me? I asked you a question.
A Seventh Grader: This is stupid!
Me: Do it or go to the office. Do a funny bow.
(He does so, glaring.)

The scene was what Shakespearians call “The Dumb Show.” While I have seen, and directed, renditions in which enterprising actors can save the piece with outlandish physical comedy, I’ve also always secretly thought it was a little, well, dumb. Let’s just say there’s a lot of eggcorn humor.

I Go "Gee" for Goji

Being on the road is hard. And the hardest part is that sometimes it's tough to brew a nice cup of tea.

A loose tea drinker, I've tried bambo strainers, stainless steal tea balls, and little individually wrapped puehr cakes, but it's always messy. Hence, I must sometimes use a tea bag. I know, it makes you want to vomit, right? Well, if you accidentally swallow the string and tag.

My sister knows my plight, so she gave me the box of tea featured in the photo above. It contains Goji berry, which, much like it's predecessors, the acai berry and electroshock therapy, is currently considered healthy.

The box claims that you will "feel fresh and recharged with every sip." They add that one should drink three cups a day, which I'm sure is helpful in recharging their bank account. It looks like they also promote bowing to the floating head of Yogi Bhajan.