LIKE SEX ON TOP OF MT. RUSHMORE

Let me clarify something: I don't give a shit about sports.

I've never really even bothered to learn the rules, or the jargon, or even some of the more revered player's names. In fact, if I know an athlete's name, it's safe to assume that he was probably arrested for trying to rape someone. This sets me apart from not only my friends who happen to be dudes, but also the entire city of Chicago (a place where you have to swear allegiance to either the White Sox or the Cubs, just like you have to join a prison gang to survive in jail).

Now, with that in mind, consider the following:

This Tuesday, the sketch comedy group I'm in will be performing a show about the Super Bowl.

Here's the nonsensical sports sketch I contributed this week in preparation for the big show. I feel confident posting it here, because let's face it, there's no way it's going to end up getting performed.

Characters:

David (Colts fan)

Scott (Saints fan)

Ben (new guy, also Colts fan)

Lights up on DAVID’S Super Bowl party. DAVID, SCOTT, and BEN are settling in, waiting for the game to start. DAVID and SCOTT are sweating, sniffing, and acting agitated; unbeknownst to BEN, they’ve just finished having a coke party. This is never addressed in the sketch.

BEN: David, I gotta thank you again for inviting me over to watch the game! It’s gonna look so much better in HD.

DAVID: Anything for a fellow Colts fan!

SCOTT: Ahh, he just invited you over cuz he’s gonna need a shoulder to cry on when my Saints take the big win! Saints, bay-bee, Saints!!! Yeah!!!

DAVID: HA! Good thing they’re Saints…cuz they’re gonna need a miracle!

Everyone laughs uproariously at this.

BEN: So, you guys wanna make it interesting and put some money on the game?

DAVID and SCOTT get very quiet and very serious.

DAVID: Um, actually Ben…we can’t do that. Scott and I both have serious gambling problems.

(beat)

BEN: Oh God, I feel awful. I’m sorry, I really didn’t know. I just, ah, thought…

DAVID and SCOTT begin to laugh again.

SCOTT: Ahh, we got you! We got you good!

BEN: Oh my God, you guys had me fooled! I thought you were both really addicted to gambling!

DAVID: We really are! That’s not the part I was kidding about!

SCOTT: We’re both really, really addicted to gambling! If I ever set foot in Vegas again, the Mirage Hotel will cut my balls off and feed them to german shepherds!

BEN: What? But you said…

DAVID: What I said was we can’t bet on the game…because we already did!

SCOTT: Yeah, we’ve both already got a lot riding on this!

BEN: Oh nice! How much money did you guys bet?

DAVID and SCOTT laugh at this.

DAVID: Ben, Ben, Ben…we’ve both been addicted to gambling for years! Betting money just doesn’t deliver the thrill that it used to!

SCOTT: We’re both seriously addicted to gambling. Can’t stress that enough.

BEN: So…what kinda bet did you make?

DAVID: We didn’t just make one bet, David. We calculated every possible outcome of the Super Bowl, every single possible way the game could end, and we made bets on all of them.

BEN: Really? I know I’m new to all this, but there must be thousands of possible outcomes for the game…

DAVID: Seventeen billion. We crunched the numbers and there are literally seventeen billion ways this game could end…and we’ve placed a bet on every single one!

SCOTT: I know I’ve mentioned it, but I should say it again…we’re dangerously addicted to gambling.

BEN: That sounds incredibly complicated.

DAVID: Oh, it is! That’s why we had to write all the bets down in this. (holds up a massive three-ring-binder the size of a huge phone book)

SCOTT: It’s pretty simple. We made pretty mundane bets on the more likely outcomes of the game. And for the weird, highly unlikely ones, well, we made some pretty crazy wagers.

DAVID: Like, for example…if the Colts take the Saints down 27 to 14, then I have to wash Scott’s Escalade for an entire year. Pretty standard.

SCOTT: But if the Saints beat the Colts by two hundred points, then I have to beat a Clydesdale horse to death with my bare hands.

DAVID: If the Colts shut the Saints out and win 14 to 0, then I have to wear a dress to work. No big deal.

SCOTT: But if the Saints somehow manage to score a negative amount of points, then David gets to have sex with my wife on top of Mt. Rushmore. No questions asked.

DAVID: If Saints Coach Sean Payton gets a cooler of purple Gatorade dumped on him after the game, then I have to take six shots of Captain Morgan Tattoo. Gross.

SCOTT: But if a talking cooler of purple Gatorade somehow becomes the coach of the New Orleans Saints, then I have to tattoo a crude image of Captain Morgan on my infant son.

TWO HOURS LATER:

BEN, DAVID, and SCOTT are all watching the last minute of the game. They’re all understandably tense.

ANNOUNCER: …and he’s at the thirty yard line…the twenty…the ten…TOUCHDOWN! Reggie Bush scores and the New Orleans Saints win Super Bowl 44 in a huge upset! Final score: Saints, 259; Colts, 0! I can honestly say that this is the strangest game of football I’ve ever seen! I for one am glad that I didn’t make any outlandish bets on this, what is perhaps the most bizarre spectacle held on the gridiron, because those very bets would probably have gone awry!

DAVID turns off the TV in a daze. SCOTT is consulting THE HUGE THREE-RING-BINDER containing the bets.

DAVID: Well…what was the bet we made for 259 to 0?

SCOTT reads the page, gulps, and passes it to BEN and DAVID.

SCOTT: Well, a bet’s a bet. I guess I lost.

SCOTT reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a revolver. He slowly raises it to his temple, sobbing a little, when suddenly…

BEN: Wait! These pages were stuck together! You had to play Russian roulette if the score was 258, not 259!

DAVID: Well? Spit it out! Who won the bet?

BEN: (reading) None of us did. Since the score was 259-0, we all have to dance to an awful song about the Super Bowl while this sketch ends.

“The Super Bowl Shuffle” comes on, and William “The Refrigerator” Perry springs out of a trapdoor in the stage and begins to do the Super Bowl Shuffle. He does not sing, which is curious, because you’d totally expect him to sing. But he doesn’t.

It’s going to be difficult to get the real William “The Refrigerator” Perry to appear in the show. It’s going to cost a lot of money, but it’s essential to the integrity of the sketch. Thank you, and God bless America.

IT IS A SHAME...

...because, in approximately four hours or so, I need to get up to go to work. On a fucking Saturday morning. I'm actively dreading sleep because I'm so exhausted, the aforementioned sleep will be heavy and dreamless and only shallowly fulfilling, and then I'll have to wake up at depressing o'clock and make myself get up in order to earn (what will inevitably be) a small amount of money.

Tonight was supposed to be my night to get things done. I meant to write two sketches (the first, about a sommelier; the second, about a secret agent). Once this was completed, I was going to write (for fun) about time machines and angry fat people and (coincidentally enough) depressing jobs.

Instead of actually working on these things, I wasted a large portion of my evening watching a reality show about horrible cooks who are competing to become the worst chef in America on a show that's appropriately titled, "The Worst Chef in America." Like, all of them were sweating bullets, afraid that they'd be deemed "too good a chef" to be allowed to stay on the show to keep committing culinary abortions. A dude boiled a whole chicken, and then put swiss cheese all over it. It was profoundly depressing.

I need to work on time management.

FOR EXAMPLE: A week ago, a somewhat rhetorical question arose: if my friends in Chicago were actually the Wu-Tang Clan, who would be who amongst the nine generals? After a while, the question stopped being rhetorical, and people started asking me for answers (because in Chicago, I'm the closest thing to a Wu-Tang scholar on hand, I suppose).

Obviously, pondering this question has consumed 85% of my free time.

Like, what characteristics should be taken into consideration? Personality? Verbal dexterity? Delivery? Overall appearance? If we're basing it on voice alone, Lauren would be ODB, because Lauren and ODB have the most distinctive voices in their respective groups. But Lauren cannot be ODB. Stacey kind of arbitrarily assigned the role of Dirt McGirt to Kyle for some reason; this depressed him, because he thought we were implying that out of all of us, he's going to die first.

I kind of want to make myself Ghostface, but do not feel qualified enough to act as his proxy. Stacey wants to be the Rza because she just read his book and now considers herself an expert in such things. Kevin wants to be Gza because he read a Wikipedia article, and feels like this was enough research to justify his conclusion. And Lauren? Lauren keeps calling Raekwon "RaeShawn" and it bothers me much, much more than it probably should. It makes me want to assign her U-God as punishment.

This is such a gargantuan hypothetical scenario; it will take me months to fully reflect upon and work to a satisfying conclusion. The gang will not be happy with this, but they don't understand the importance of the task at hand. This rhetorical question ain't nothin' ta fuck wit.

For giggles, here are the last 10 things I google-searched (according to my browser):

1. Independence Day Speech

2. Chicago Sports (how did that one get there?)

3. MF DOOM

4. Paula Poundstone molester (awesome)

5. ASU schedule 2010

6. The Ninth Gate

7. Fat Ryan Gosling

8. Mark McKinney

9. Wu-Tang (mentioned previously)

10. Upside Down Dogs

MY NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

-Stop giving fake MedicAlert bracelets to senior citizens that read: "Allergic to All Forms of Medicine."

-Take down the dozens of poster-sized pictures of a shirtless Wolf Blitzer that wallpaper my condo.

-Stop sabotaging other people's New Year's resolutions. (Sorry I helped you fall off the wagon, Uncle Tommy! Hope you're trying again this year...no more gin in 2010!)

-Spend more time with my family. Especially my other family in Ohio. My secret, illegitimate family.

-Stop doing the "(Crank Dat) Soulja Boy" dance to show off at funerals. (even if the recently deceased really liked Soulja Boy, because Grandma sure did!)

-Stop writing fake Craigslist personal ads. Seriously. The eleven replies I got were all really, really depressing.

-Sell my treadmill; hire terrifying homeless vagrants to chase me for miles instead. (Good cardio!)

-Start seeing a hypnotherapist, so hopefully I'll stop screaming "DAT MY BABY DADDY!!" in my sleep.

-Stop being so awesome. Donate some of my surplus awesome to charities, like March of Dimes (only sort of awesome) and Bibles for Babies (not awesome at all). See if awesome is tax-deductible.

NERDY IN '09

In the spirit of 2009-related nostalgia and year-end wrap-ups, here's a list of the books I've read over the course of the last year. After reading, feel free to beat me up for my lunch money and/or break my glasses and steal my inhaler.

The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen

Wicked, by Gregory Maguire

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, by David Sedaris

Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris

When You Are Engulfed in Flames, by David Sedaris

American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis

Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman

Kissing in Manhattan, by David Schickler

Lunar Park, by Bret Easton Ellis

Naked Pictures of Famous People, by Jon Stewart

My Custom Van, by Michael Ian Black

The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson

The Fountainhead, by Ayn "These are believable characters, right?" Rand

Terrorist, by John Updike

Sharp Objects: A Novel, by Gillian Flynn

Sin City: The Hard Goodbye, by Frank Miller

Ex Machina (Volumes 1-6), by Brian K. Vaughn, Tony Harris

Scott Pilgrim, by Brian Lee O'Malley

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers

Demonology: Stories, by Rick Moody

The Ice Storm, by Rick Moody

The Wall of the Sky, The Wall of the Eye, by Jonathan Letham

Requiem for a Dream, by Hubert Selby Jr.

The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold

Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer

Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith, by Jon Krakauer

Nine Stories, by J.D. Salinger

Geek Love, by Katherine Dunn

The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, by Michael Chabon

How to Be Alone: Essays, by Jonathan Franzen

The Shining, by Stephen King

Watchmen, by Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons

Gifted (Astonishing X-Men), by Joss Whedon, John Cassaday

Transmetropolitan (Volumes 1&2), by Warren Ellis, Darick Robertson

High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby

How to Be Good, by Nick Hornby

Lullaby, by Chuck Palahniuk

Snuff, by Chuck Palahniuk

The Harry Potter Series, by J.K. Rowling

Killing Yourself to Live, by Chuck Klosterman

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto, by Chuck Klosterman

The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

Addendum the First: This list is maddeningly incomplete. I read so many books at my old job in Arizona, remembering them all was virtually impossible. I just spent twenty-five minutes trying to remember the name of a book that centered around a cabinet, a watchmaker, and a mechanical man; it may sound intriguing, but it probably wasn't, since I can't even remember the title.

Addendum the Second: While researching this list, I discovered that I currently owe twenty dollars in late fees to the Chicago Public Library. Goddamn it.

Addendum the Last: Highly recommended books from the list are as follows: The Corrections, Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith, Ex Machina, Scott Pilgrim, and The Road. Nine Stories, Geek Love, High Fidelity, and American Psycho are also highly recommended, but they're all books that I read at least once a year as sort of an annual tradition, and therefore were not new in 2009. But still...read 'em. Read 'em hard.

To ring in the new year, I'm rereading Carter Beats The Devil. It's been so long since I first read it; I'd completely forgotten how effortlessly charming and wonderfully cinematic it is. But other than that, I've got nothing on deck to read...any suggestions for 2010?

THE HORRORS

A pleasant side-effect of my trip to Phoenix: I was finally able to bring (a portion of) my DVDs back to Chicago.

I've been hyping this for quite a while. "Just wait'll I get all of my movies out here...then we'll have something to watch!" I'd say, usually to no one in particular. "Well, it's a boring night and nothing is on television, but boy, once I bring my movies out, that'll change everything!" I anticipated weekly movie nights, jocular discussions amongst bowls of popcorn and ice-cold colas. However, after browsing through my collection, I've realized that most of the movies I love are generally unwatchable to my peers.

I own an almost-embarrassing amount of horror movies. Trashy so-bad-they're-great horror movies, like Phantasm and From Dusk Till Dawn. Foreign horror movies, like The Orphanage and Battle Royale. Horror/Comedy hybrids, like Evil Dead 2 and, um, every other Sam Raimi movie. If it has awkward, stilted dialogue and a gruesome dismemberment, chances are, I love the shit out of it.

But it's hard to organize movie nights around a film that features a dude literally mowing down zombies with an upturned lawnmower. Normal people don't habitually watch John Carpenter movies that feature Keith David because, lets face it, most normal people aren't aware of who John Carpenter and Keith David are. Attempting to describe the genius of Jeff Goldblum's performance in The Fly to my roommate resulted in silence and vacant stares. And no one (no one) has been willing to sit through the movie Audition, because Audition is one of those movies that you have to provide a disclaimer for; a movie that you have to dare the other person to watch. When you invest in films called Slither and Dead Alive, you're basically announcing, "I have peculiar taste, and do not mind watching films alone!"

When people confess to me that they can't stand horror movies, I hang my head in honor of all the things they're missing out on: the "uno, dos, tres" sequence from The Orphanage, the slow-burn tension of The Descent, the underwater scene from Let the Right One In, and every single goddamn minute of Army of Darkness....all should be enjoyed in the dark, again and again, by everyone.

Here are some trailers for movies I'm rather excited to re-watch soon; they're all appropriately ridiculous.

FROM HOTH TO TATOOINE, AND BACK AGAIN

I had the distinct pleasure of spending the last seven days at home in Phoenix.

The phrase "distinct pleasure" should be italicized (or at least given a crazy font, for emphasis) because I never imagined I'd use the phrase to describe time spent in Arizona. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I suppose. And, cold medicine. Cold medicine makes the heart grow fonder. I drank a lot of cold medicine while I was in town. Like, a lot.

Before I left, I worried about how it would feel to be back. Would it be awkward? Would I feel disconnected? Would I feel like a stale, bygone relic and immediately miss Chicago? Or would I enjoy myself too much, and not want to board the plane home?

These worries melted fairly quickly. Yes, it was a bit awkward to be back, but no more so than the rest of my life (i.e. considerably awkward). Sure, I did feel a bit disconnected, but that's to be expected when you've been gone for six months. Most of the friends and family I saw seemed to be healthy and happy, and many of them seemed to have improved their lives in the interim since I left. This is huge.

Stacey seemed especially worried that I wouldn't want to come back to Chicago. I didn't necessarily know what to expect in that regard, but after spending three or four days in Phoenix, I was ready for the Midwest again. Arizona is nice, and time away gave me better perspective regarding its merits, but let's face it...it's still Arizona. Beneath the pleasant temperatures and the sprawling vistas and the opportunities to reunite with old chums, it's still just Arizona. A nice place to visit.

Time away also afforded me a better perspective regarding my relationship with my parents. The second day I was home, I asked my mom what she wanted to do while I was in town. She responded by saying she wanted to watch episodes of Fringe, which is a ridiculous television show about shapeshifters and parallel universes and the other ludicrous sci-fi tropes that I will always and always love the shit out of. We half-watched an episode about a teenager who could control others with the power of his mind, but spent most of it talking about various bullshit going on in our respective lives. The fact that my mom wanted to spend time together watching a high-concept television show about aliens and werewolves instead of wasting time going to Zoolights proves that I am indeed her son.

The trip ended wonderfully with the show we did with Marvin's Room (which, incidentally, I did not want to participate in (and almost backed out of) due to time constraints and a wicked sinus infection). But, it went swimmingly. The crowd was dauntingly large: enough people were in attendance to form several angry mobs, a militia, and/or a modest riot, but thankfully, they never became surly enough to form any of those things. In fact, they were wonderfully appreciative of our set and the Marvin's set that followed. And we got to perform in a movie theatre! (By some bizarre twist of fate, we made a really dated Snakes on a Plane joke in the very theatre that I saw/was duped into seeing Snakes on a Plane. There is a God, and he loves reminding me of my terrible taste in movies). Anyway, performing with Marvin's room (and just performing in Tempe in general) made me feel all nostalgic, as well as being stupidly proud of the fine people I had a chance to share the stage with.

During the course of the week, I drank vodka from tiny bottles. I walked with Alex through the Hayden Square parking lot where both of us were mercilessly beaten, and concluded that the beating was not the end of an era, but rather the rocky beginning of a better one. I got to meet my brother's girlfriend, which made me feel old, but also made me feel proud and happy (even when my mom ominously and depressingly referred to his girlfriend's parents as "future in-laws" for no reason at all). I only had one minor meltdown in the bathroom of an italian restaurant, but it passed quickly, and was followed by an excellent meal. All in all, things went wonderfully.

Now, I realize that I probably did not get to spend enough time with you while I was in town. I'm deeply sorry. You must understand that it was difficult to see anyone at great length. It's like I don't like you or anything (except if you're Barry...if you are, then I'll see you in hell, motherfucker). All I can say is that I desperately wished I could have extended my trip for a few more days, but since that wasn't an option, I'll be returning to the desert in mid-spring/early summer. Let's hang.

HEADED TO LAKESHORE

It's Friday night and I'm walking to Kevin's place for rehearsal. Winter totally isn't having it.

"Oh, you're getting a little cocky now, are you?" Winter says. "You've walked through snow a couple of times and you think you're hot shit? You think you can roll with me?" And then, as if to prove a point, Winter suddenly belches all kinds of sleet and snow and rain, and it's like I'm in a snow-globe held in Michael J. Fox's palsied hands. I trudge on, inching my way down Belmont with a newfound respect for Eskimos (who do this solely with whale blubber, instead of my finely manufactured clothing). I would have spit in Winter's metaphorical face, but my lips were way too cold to actually do that.

As one of my friends predicted, I've started treating winter like a video game. Each time I gracefully avoid a slippery patch of black ice I get +500 experience points. Buying a new sweater or obtaining an additional scarf is tantamount to upgrading my armor, and when I eventually slip and fall onto my ass, I'll lose a life and it will sound like this.

The previous day was brutal. I'm told that it reached -20 degrees with the wind chill factored in; I cannot even begin do fathom this. I'm told that when it reaches similar temperatures, it's actually too cold for snow to happen. Wha? Surely you jest. At this point, you could arbitrarily make up things about winter, and I'd accept them as truth.

YOU: "Hey Brian! Did you know that when the temperature dips to twenty below, your bones freeze and turn into sugar crystals inside your body?"

ME: "Oh shit! I better buy some bone-heaters!"

But, yeah. I'm halfway down my lengthy jaunt down Belmont towards Kevin's apartment, and signs of the rough weather are everywhere. The river is warmer than the air, and as a result, rolling waves of steam swirl ominously above the water. Icicles grow like malignant fangs.

And there are dead Tauntauns everywhere. They're just piled up in the street, bellies slit from top to bottom, complete with homeless people snoozing comfortably inside their rib cages amongst the steaming organs. I'm stepping over dead Tauntauns left and right, one after another, and occasionally a homeless hand emerges to beg for change. The Mayor has been trying to do something about it, introduce some kind of Tauntaun Reform, but they're much cheaper than cabs so it'll never go over with the voters.

About three quarters of the way down Belmont, there is an ethnic hair salon with a gigantic purple neon sign that says "GREAT HEAD." I giggle every single time I walk past, and tonight is no exception.

Just as I get to Kevin's building, he texts me, saying that he's still on the bus and will be a little late. I take the opportunity to linger outside and stare menacingly at the doorman, but I'm wearing a jaunty blue scarf, so I can't really manage the menace. The doorman nods off.

Then Kevin arrives and we head upstairs.

HEY! HERE'S A REALLY OLD SKETCH THAT I WROTE

Stumbling across this after hours of pointless internet browsing kind of redeemed the evening.

I'm just pretty stoked that a copy of the video still exists...the corporate evil that is Viacom International had it removed from youtube, even though it's a parody, and shouldn't fall under the umbrella of copyright violation. (Actually, we did use real audio and music from the show. Whoops! Sure hope Viacom doesn't read this!)

Anyway, it's a parody of that old show "Legends of the Hidden Temple" that we did like, three years ago or something. Big ups to everyone involved, including Kevin, Craig, Brian, Tyler, Lauren, Keith, and childhood nostalgia. I apologize for the poor image and sound quality; the sketch was recorded on an old-timey camera that had to be cranked by hand (not really).

Re-watching old sketches is bizarre. I tend to overanalyze, cringe at all the mistakes, and wish that I'd done one more goddamn revision. But boy, this was fun to do.

HOLLA.

WINTER IS HERE (GO AHEAD AND GET FAT NOW)

Back in August (when extended travel outdoors was still comfortable and carefree) Joe and I went to IO to watch free improv. He introduced me to someone he'd met the previous summer, and once I informed her that I'd recently moved to Chicago and had yet to experience one of the city's Hoth-like winters, her face became grim.

"Oh, you're going to die," she said.

"You're going to be wearing every article of clothing you own, and it still won't be enough. You won't be able to breathe. You won't be able to take a shower before you leave in the mornings, because your wet hair will instantly freeze in the cold. You're definitely going to die."

She nodded, and turned back to her beer. Nice to meet you too, I thought.

Her dire prophecy chimes in my head like a coda each time I notice a sign of winter's arrival. What's this? Sunsets happen as early as 4:45 instead of 8:30 or 9? I'm going to die. The trees are suddenly skeletal, and their leaves are now crunching underfoot like fortune cookies? I'm going to die. Jets of steam accompany my every exhalation? I'm going to die.

And yet despite all that, I'm still looking forward to winter.

On Thursday, when I mistook the first snowfall for drifting ashes from a nearby housefire, I realized that I've never seen snow in the air before. I've only seen dirty banks of it besides highways and trails; the kind with the crunchy, razor-like crust on top that's been melted and refrozen so many times it hardly counts as the real thing. It's sad I've only read about this kind of shit in books and am just now getting around to experience it.

I'm excited for silly winter hats, and for being able to use the phrase "hot toddy" not just to sound elegant and old-timey, but because I'm actually drinking one. I'm not feeling too much trepidation regarding the large amount of time I'll be spending indoors, because I'm pretty much a reclusive shut-in already, and hours of free time necessitate worthy activities to pass them with. Big, chunky books are a must...I'm thinking David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, and probably House of Leaves again, just for good measure. Also, probably going to go all in and purchase an Xbox 360, and go back-to-back-to-back with Dead Space, Resident Evil 5, and Bioshock (you know, because survival-horror games are just the thing to brighten up a drab winter).

I'm also considering picking up a hobby: card throwing. You know, like Ricky Jay? The magician that can slice watermelons in half with playing cards? Once March rolls around, I'm gonna be one card-throwing motherfucker. Seriously. Watch out. Gonna throw cards atcha.

Or, I'll go Nicholson-crazy before March arrives, and will be be found dead in the middle of an ornate hedge-maze clutching an axe in my curled, frozen hands.

One can never tell.

LIGHT-UP RINGS AND A TINFOIL HAT

I arrived at Martin's about an hour before last night's show to hide my spacesuit and make a tinfoil hat; by that time, the drunk girl had probably been there drinking rum and diet coke for hours.

She was dancing to a Shakira song while the rest of the bar silently watched. "Hey, are you the comedy show?" she slurred to me. She had the same hoarse, throaty voice that seems to be prevalent among a good number of women who are really, really wasted. I shrugged, walked backstage, and attempted to memorize lines while making the previously aforementioned tinfoil hat (although the memorization was severely hindered by her intermittent yelling in the adjacent room).

Meanwhile, sponsorship happened. Our old stage (with its unstable, shifting panels and awkward hole I've repeatedly fallen into/tripped on) had transformed into "The Budweiser Comedy Stage." It was just the old stage, rearranged in a less awkward spot, without the pratfall-inducing hole. The new position allowed me to jump from the stage onto a perpendicular half-staircase, so I was sufficiently amused.

From here on out, Budweiser will graciously be paying for our flyers and marketing material. This is totally aces. They also courteously provided some bizarre promo items for us to give away: two lime-green footballs, and a bucket of rubbery, light-up rings (if you guessed that I thought up dozens of Green Lantern jokes but didn't actually say any of them, go to the head of the class!). You wouldn't believe the impromptu melee that occurred when Kevin tried to pass the rings out. They were in full effect throughout the show; it was surreal to see the dozens of them blinking in the audience during the dark interims between sketches.

Budweiser also gave us lots of free beer to drink (and to give to the audience), so, hats off. Give me that t-shirt cannon and silly megaphone and I'll be set.

By the time the show started, the drunk girl (who's name was Lily or Lillian or Lila, definitely an "L" name) was sitting front row center. When I walked onstage in my sketch, she shouted something like, "Oh, this guy's my favorite!!" At this point, I had not said anything aloud, nor had I interacted with her besides the shrug.

But, I was wearing a spacesuit. And an ornate tinfoil hat. Complete with tinfoil horns. And tinfoil antlers. Needless to say, the hat was a lot better than the sketch it was created for.

Stacey sang a song in one of the sketches, and when Drunk Girl attempted to make it a duet, Stacey stopped the sketch and told her that she could handle the singing by herself. I laughed aloud. Drunk Girl also loudly spilled an entire beer a foot away from the stage during the opening line of Kyle's sketch, and Rob (the owner of the bar) mopped it up while the scene was going on. I laughed aloud again.

After the show I briefly talked to Lily or Lillian or Leelu outside while her boyfriend pulled the car around. She yelled the following tidbits at me without context: 1) "My boyfriend likes to play football!!" 2) "I love my boyfriend, but don't know how to tell him!!" 3) and "Your hair!! And your beard!!"

Her boyfriend drove around, and through the passenger window, I saw that he was holding one of the lime-green promotional footballs. "Hey, tell him that thing I told you!!" she yelled to me as she stepped inside the car. I considered informing him that he likes to play football, but I leaned over and said, "Hey...your girlfriend loves you, but she couldn't find the right way to say it. One thing is certain: me telling you is probably the least impressive and least romantic way it could have gone down."

Then, I doffed my tinfoil hat, and disappeared.