Blog.
It's been awhile.
Let's not make this awkward.
Recently, I opened an e-mail* and was promptly donkey-punched for my efforts. Not literally. That'd be weird. I mean, think about it, why would I stop to check my phone if I was involved in a situation where I could possibly be donkey punched? Also, I don't involve myself in situations where I could possibly be donkey-punched.
The e-mail informed me that Tony n' Tina would finally be able to take their honeymoon. This was surprising, as previous non-donkey punch e-mails indicated there was going to be a nice, healthy, thirty show fall extension. Which was true, if by "thirty" you meant "five," and by "extension," you meant "Desperate Hail Mary pass."
Around that same time, our rarely inhabitable state was struck with an unseasonable blizzard, enraging the passive aggressive citizens, and delighting only Eric Webster. And while Minnesotans make merry sport of bitching about the weather no matter what it's doing, I was one of the select few that had a legitimate bitch, as the cold snap cost me many a'shift at ya old Bunker Hills golf course. Apparently, the die hard golfers are so close to death, they can't risk it when the temps dip below thirty.
Essentially, I was out of both jobs in the span of twenty-four hours. And while I knew this day was coming, both were limping towards the finish line, I was positive I had another two months at both as well. God sensed my confidence, and intervened.
In the meantime, I've been scrambling to find whatever employment I could procure, the only guideline being "If I have to go back to temping, I'm going to slit my wrists and make it look like a paper cut!"
It's a widely known fact that my main motivator in life is spite. Ask any dick that's pissed me off. However, this experience has taught me that an equally powerful motivator is being out of options.
Here are some results that sprang up as I entered the "Well, Let's See if THIS Works..." phase of my life:
* The Minnesota Timberwolves called me. And they asked me if I enjoyed drinking. I answered with a positive sounding grunt, as I was quite toasted. They asked if I enjoyed hanging out with unattainable women. I sent them a twitter pic on my upper arm, which is where I cut myself, just to make sure I can still feel pain. And they said, "How would you like to essentially bar-hop before every home game, with a few of the dancers, giving out t-shirts, tickets, and generally just being the loud guy at the bar, but also getting paid for it?
So, yeah, that's how I became the Loud Guy before all 41 home games of the MN Timberwolves season. You want yourself a free t-shirt? I am so far down, I'd have to clear that with several people. WOOT!
* Creatively, I approached the BLB asking them what dates they had available. They told me. I told them I have a show. They said, "Great! Sign this legally binding contract!" I signed it. I said, "Just kidding about having the show." They shrugged and said, "Whatever, either a show or you give us money."
And that's how my upcoming sketch comedy show was born! Therefore, opening Jan. 7th, is "The Wedding Party presents 'And That's When Things Got Weird..."
The Wedding Party being myself, Andy "Ricky the Caterer" Kraft, John "Dominic, the other groomsmen" Zeiler, Emily "Connie, the preggo Maid of Honor" Hansen, and Maria "Donna, the other bridesmaid" Stukey. All of displaced interactive theatre performers, all of just a little bit off in what we think is funny. Which at every rehearsal thus far has just been body noises we think are funny, however only during intercourse.
* Another development is still kind of a secret, so I'll reveal to you what I can: Remember when [FOND MEMORY DELETED]? Well, [IDENTITY OF NOUN DELETED] enjoyed it [LEVEL OF ENJOYMENT DELETED] that [PRONOUN DELETED] said [DIALOGUE DELETED] So I should [SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION DELETED], and it works [IDEALIZED FORECAST OF FUTURE DELETED] until it falls off?
What do you think? [COMMENTS DISABLED]
*Which I can now do from anywhere now, as I have a new fancy phone. Cause I'm classy. Bet you didn't know that
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Josh Learns the Secret to Peace
4th of July at the Moen Family Cabin has become somewhat of a tradition for me. (By tradition, I mean something I happened to do twice) And even though there were no fiery acts of death defiance that would inspire a popular line of t-shirts that I would ultimately only kinda' pay for, everyone had a perfectly lovely time. Which would make a shitty t-shirt.
However, this year, a new addition was the Moen Caste System.
Your placement was dependent on which Moen you were affiliated with.
There are three:
Katie - the sassy young go-getter. A modern day Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore swore and every picture of her looked as if she were Asian and/or recently punched in the face.
Jim - the recent college grad, currently employed as a mini-Robert Langdon by a lonely, rich man in Edina who pays him to hunt treasure and dance.
Susie - the oft unseen, possibly rumored, third Moen. Unseen largely because she was in high school, and Katie was all "Oh, what the, hell no!" So, she was kept hidden, not unlike Blanket Jackon or a Sexy Bigfoot. Now, she's a college sophmore, so game on holmes!
(There were also parental Moen's, but they kept to the deck and the grill, and interaction was limited to calling people by the wrong name, and telling the exact same story several times in rapid succession)
The age breakdown was as follows: The Katie Group had all the 25+, The Jim Group 21-24, and the Susie group had the 18-20's.
The age gap may appear slight, but the differences were vast.
For instance, the Jim group brought various cheap beers and lots of 'em. Busch Light, PBR, something with an umlaut. Some in the Katie group brought travel Shiraz. And virtually all in the Susie group pretended that Mike's Hard Cranberry was a real drink, and they could play grown-up like the rest of us.
Location wise, the Katie group lounged on the deck, while the Jim group took over the land. Just to be different, the Susie group set up lawn chairs in the water, cause they had to be all all conceptual. Damn kids.
The Jim Group was the rowdy group. They would yell and push each other alot. They invented some sort of game where a can of beer would be placed between the feet of a participant. Across the circle of death, a challenger would throw a dart, the objective to hit either the beer can or not-skin. If the beer can was struck, the person would have to lift up the beer can and shot-gun the rest of that beer. And then it started all over. It was not clear if there were any winners or losers in this game.
Though only in their late-twenties, the Katie group quickly became the grumpy old voice of reason, yelling at the Jim group to slow down! Stop throwing darts at each other! Get off my porch! Ironically, just after we accepted the fact that the youth of America were destined to put each other's eyes out, the only injury stuck only a member of the Katie group. She fell down while walking. That's it.
While all this was going on, the Susie group was waving, trying to get our attention, maybe one of them got hurt too, who the hell knows -- I mean, it's the third kid, right? Who cares?
Despondent over the ability of Jim's group seemingly being able to have fun with a stick they found on the ground, the Katie group decided we'd take an adults only boat trip. Sounds sexy right? "Adults Only" indicates that there'll be boobs galore and unspeakable vulgarity. In truth, there was taxes, tips for back pain relief, and a debate over which local meteorologist was the least Child Molesty. (Oddly enough, Jonathan Yuhas)
Just when it seemed all hope was lost, and there would forever be division amongst all the sexy, young white people, a wonderful game designed to make you forget the fact that you're binge drinking paved the way to peace. That game? Flippy Cup.
(Yes, Flippy Cup. It's called Flippy cup. Not Tippy Cup. You're a damn fool if you say Tippy Cup. The objective is to flip the cup. If you tip it, you lose. Why would they name a game after something that only happens in defeat? Seriously. You got a lotta' growing up to do)
Members of all groups assembled on either side of the dock for the most unevenly matched tournament of Flippy Cup in existence. What followed was pure joy. Laughter. Singing. (Seriously. I think the Jim Group made-up some sorta' spiritual that would be sung upon the winning and/or losing of a round of Flippy Cup. I'm not sure if it was an existing song, or based off of a t-shirt). Instant camaraderie.
Flippy Cup had saved us all. We didn't even care that we were drinking from a plastic cup that was previously upside down atop the grimy deck, and in some cases, plucked out of the lake water. Though, that would explain my dysentery.
I think we all learned a valuable lesson here today kids. Binge drink. For yourselves. And America.
Then light things on fire.
However, this year, a new addition was the Moen Caste System.
Your placement was dependent on which Moen you were affiliated with.
There are three:
Katie - the sassy young go-getter. A modern day Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore swore and every picture of her looked as if she were Asian and/or recently punched in the face.
Jim - the recent college grad, currently employed as a mini-Robert Langdon by a lonely, rich man in Edina who pays him to hunt treasure and dance.
Susie - the oft unseen, possibly rumored, third Moen. Unseen largely because she was in high school, and Katie was all "Oh, what the, hell no!" So, she was kept hidden, not unlike Blanket Jackon or a Sexy Bigfoot. Now, she's a college sophmore, so game on holmes!
(There were also parental Moen's, but they kept to the deck and the grill, and interaction was limited to calling people by the wrong name, and telling the exact same story several times in rapid succession)
The age breakdown was as follows: The Katie Group had all the 25+, The Jim Group 21-24, and the Susie group had the 18-20's.
The age gap may appear slight, but the differences were vast.
For instance, the Jim group brought various cheap beers and lots of 'em. Busch Light, PBR, something with an umlaut. Some in the Katie group brought travel Shiraz. And virtually all in the Susie group pretended that Mike's Hard Cranberry was a real drink, and they could play grown-up like the rest of us.
Location wise, the Katie group lounged on the deck, while the Jim group took over the land. Just to be different, the Susie group set up lawn chairs in the water, cause they had to be all all conceptual. Damn kids.
The Jim Group was the rowdy group. They would yell and push each other alot. They invented some sort of game where a can of beer would be placed between the feet of a participant. Across the circle of death, a challenger would throw a dart, the objective to hit either the beer can or not-skin. If the beer can was struck, the person would have to lift up the beer can and shot-gun the rest of that beer. And then it started all over. It was not clear if there were any winners or losers in this game.
Though only in their late-twenties, the Katie group quickly became the grumpy old voice of reason, yelling at the Jim group to slow down! Stop throwing darts at each other! Get off my porch! Ironically, just after we accepted the fact that the youth of America were destined to put each other's eyes out, the only injury stuck only a member of the Katie group. She fell down while walking. That's it.
While all this was going on, the Susie group was waving, trying to get our attention, maybe one of them got hurt too, who the hell knows -- I mean, it's the third kid, right? Who cares?
Despondent over the ability of Jim's group seemingly being able to have fun with a stick they found on the ground, the Katie group decided we'd take an adults only boat trip. Sounds sexy right? "Adults Only" indicates that there'll be boobs galore and unspeakable vulgarity. In truth, there was taxes, tips for back pain relief, and a debate over which local meteorologist was the least Child Molesty. (Oddly enough, Jonathan Yuhas)
Just when it seemed all hope was lost, and there would forever be division amongst all the sexy, young white people, a wonderful game designed to make you forget the fact that you're binge drinking paved the way to peace. That game? Flippy Cup.
(Yes, Flippy Cup. It's called Flippy cup. Not Tippy Cup. You're a damn fool if you say Tippy Cup. The objective is to flip the cup. If you tip it, you lose. Why would they name a game after something that only happens in defeat? Seriously. You got a lotta' growing up to do)
Members of all groups assembled on either side of the dock for the most unevenly matched tournament of Flippy Cup in existence. What followed was pure joy. Laughter. Singing. (Seriously. I think the Jim Group made-up some sorta' spiritual that would be sung upon the winning and/or losing of a round of Flippy Cup. I'm not sure if it was an existing song, or based off of a t-shirt). Instant camaraderie.
Flippy Cup had saved us all. We didn't even care that we were drinking from a plastic cup that was previously upside down atop the grimy deck, and in some cases, plucked out of the lake water. Though, that would explain my dysentery.
I think we all learned a valuable lesson here today kids. Binge drink. For yourselves. And America.
Then light things on fire.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Josh Emerges From the June Rubble
The dust has settled on a particularly active June. A June that that successfully created the illusion that I had a life. Well done June. Here's why June was busy:
1. I MOVED!
I successfully escaped the land of Perpetual 1986, aka My Apartment on 3213 S Holmes. The new apartment is 2715 S Dupont*, which is not exactly directly next door to the Green Mill like I had my heart set on, but close enough.**
I'm most proud of the fact that I lived in Perpetual 1986 for ten months, and I only did the dishes once. That was the day I left. Because they were the landlady's dishes. One of them was from September. It was covered in some sort of black goo I can only assume was alien symbiote that got on my skin and will eventually turn me into Venom, or a Gay-Emo. A Geemo.
I am least proud of the fact that I was living at the new palce for two weeks before I realized I needed more toilet paper. You needn't know how I survived. In completely unrelated news, Magers and Quinns used book policy is completely lax.
2. TONY AND TINA MOVED!
Tony n' Tina's Wedding has moved to the Mall of America for something called "The Summer or Love," despite the fact there are several gigantic yellow stand-ups declaring this summer as "The Summer of Spongebob" Don't think there won't be a war.
Fitting the show into a new space has been a lot of work, but people still seem to be having a good time, which means I'll continue to get fake drunk for the rest of the summer. Just, you know, in Camp Snoopy.
Also, when I was in seventh grade, I wrote a story about how great it would be to live inside the Mall of America. Now that I spend a majority of my time there, I can tell you that story was wrong. Of course, also in that story, I witnessed a mob hit, and Joe Pesci tried to kill me, and I ended up winning the heart of Cindy Crawford.
Just like in real life.
3. TONY WENT GAY!!
By far the most rewarding part of June was the revamping of Tony and Tina's into "Tony and Timothy's Wedding" for pride weekend*** The show was a fantastic experience through and through. The final l product ended up being hilarious, sweet, and as well brief brushes of poignancy.
I was still Barry, the best man, though this time, I'm the only straight guy at an all gay-wedding. So I got to play uncomfortable and squirmy, which the gougars found ADORABLE! Oh, what's a gougar? That's a gay cougar.
They also got my shirt off several times. Apparently, unshaven furbie-like appearance is in amongst the gays. If I ever switch teams, there'll be no shortage of dating opportunities.
But, the busy has now subsided, and once the busy goes away, I'm left with with a new apartment with no furniture. Still a hammock though.
Always the hammock.
*Devotee's of The Carson Daily (All both of yous) may recall my past admonishing the very idea of living on Dupont. Well, my words are delicious, thank you very much.
**I learned that because whilst stumbling home, I called someone to protect me from getting raped -- Rapists don't want to interrupt your phone calls. You could be paying a bill -- and the conversation went as such: "I just left the Green M-- HEY, I'M HOME ALREADY!" ::Click::
*** Pre-pride weekend actually. Trying to get gays to come to a pride-themed show on pride is like trying to get Jesus to show up to your place for Christmas dinner.
1. I MOVED!
I successfully escaped the land of Perpetual 1986, aka My Apartment on 3213 S Holmes. The new apartment is 2715 S Dupont*, which is not exactly directly next door to the Green Mill like I had my heart set on, but close enough.**
I'm most proud of the fact that I lived in Perpetual 1986 for ten months, and I only did the dishes once. That was the day I left. Because they were the landlady's dishes. One of them was from September. It was covered in some sort of black goo I can only assume was alien symbiote that got on my skin and will eventually turn me into Venom, or a Gay-Emo. A Geemo.
I am least proud of the fact that I was living at the new palce for two weeks before I realized I needed more toilet paper. You needn't know how I survived. In completely unrelated news, Magers and Quinns used book policy is completely lax.
2. TONY AND TINA MOVED!
Tony n' Tina's Wedding has moved to the Mall of America for something called "The Summer or Love," despite the fact there are several gigantic yellow stand-ups declaring this summer as "The Summer of Spongebob" Don't think there won't be a war.
Fitting the show into a new space has been a lot of work, but people still seem to be having a good time, which means I'll continue to get fake drunk for the rest of the summer. Just, you know, in Camp Snoopy.
Also, when I was in seventh grade, I wrote a story about how great it would be to live inside the Mall of America. Now that I spend a majority of my time there, I can tell you that story was wrong. Of course, also in that story, I witnessed a mob hit, and Joe Pesci tried to kill me, and I ended up winning the heart of Cindy Crawford.
Just like in real life.
3. TONY WENT GAY!!
By far the most rewarding part of June was the revamping of Tony and Tina's into "Tony and Timothy's Wedding" for pride weekend*** The show was a fantastic experience through and through. The final l product ended up being hilarious, sweet, and as well brief brushes of poignancy.
I was still Barry, the best man, though this time, I'm the only straight guy at an all gay-wedding. So I got to play uncomfortable and squirmy, which the gougars found ADORABLE! Oh, what's a gougar? That's a gay cougar.
They also got my shirt off several times. Apparently, unshaven furbie-like appearance is in amongst the gays. If I ever switch teams, there'll be no shortage of dating opportunities.
But, the busy has now subsided, and once the busy goes away, I'm left with with a new apartment with no furniture. Still a hammock though.
Always the hammock.
*Devotee's of The Carson Daily (All both of yous) may recall my past admonishing the very idea of living on Dupont. Well, my words are delicious, thank you very much.
**I learned that because whilst stumbling home, I called someone to protect me from getting raped -- Rapists don't want to interrupt your phone calls. You could be paying a bill -- and the conversation went as such: "I just left the Green M-- HEY, I'M HOME ALREADY!" ::Click::
*** Pre-pride weekend actually. Trying to get gays to come to a pride-themed show on pride is like trying to get Jesus to show up to your place for Christmas dinner.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Josh Has Adventures
Here are things I did last week:
GHOSTS OF GIRLFRIEND'S PAST: First, shut the hell up. Secondly, romantic comedies can be fun and enjoyable. You know they are, and if you disagree with me, how do you explain that lost Sunday afternoon with back-to-back-to-back Sandra Bullock's on TBS' Movie and a Makeover? Yeah, that's right. I saw you watching it! Even Two Weeks Notice! You watched Two Weeks Notice! Sandara Bullock has never even seen Two Weeks Notice! Finally, this movie, the one where Scrooge can't stop humping everyone* - viewed with the bar set so low it was actually underground - was ass. Complete and total ass. It was an extremely well-cast final project in some godawful "Intro to Filmmaking" course at the Learning Annex. You fail Matthew McCoughnawhatever.
STAR TREK: I have never given a shit about anything Star Trek. So I had nothing riding on this movie. That being said, I enjoyed myself immensely. It was fun, funny, extremely well-cast, and a tad ingenious in it's ability to be both a prequel and sequel. You win JJ Abrams. You win.
And now it's Monday. What new adventures await me? I don't know, but I'll bet there's a dragon.
*Now THAT'S a movie!
- Shot a Vikings commercial. More accurately, I moved a couch for six hours, and occasionally, people took pictures of it. During my time in LA, I held multiple a PA job wherein my specific duties were to move couches, because the more power you yield on a filmshoot, the less heavy shit you have to pick up. I finally get in front of the camera, and it's back to couch moving. Just goes to show you...something....I guess.
- Had my teeth cleaned. Then I was convinced I should have my wisdom teeth out, because leaving them leads to Tooth Aids. I then whined and fretted and whined and cried and whined and RAGED and whined. Then, at the last possible minute, the oral surgeon was unable to see me. I then started whining about that. Next week, I'll be whining about the Tooth Aids.
- In the company of Ms. Lauren Anderson (NAME DROPPED!), rode all the rides at Camp Nickelodeon. There were fairly odd coasters, a steep plunge from the top of the MOA roof (Which had footprints on it! Why!?! What possible reason could there be?!), and a broken blaster making me incapable of blasting all the ghosts. Lauren's blaster was not broken. Then, as I attempted to flip a penny into the wishing pond, it flew in every direction but the pond. That penny was broken too.
- Attended my first bonfire of the year. I then met up with the boys for a movie, and I still smelled like bonfire. There should be a cologne. We'll call it BONFIRE! Or, you know, just go to a bonfire and don't shower afterwards.
- Kicked off the Summer Movie Season. Here's what I thought of these movies:
GHOSTS OF GIRLFRIEND'S PAST: First, shut the hell up. Secondly, romantic comedies can be fun and enjoyable. You know they are, and if you disagree with me, how do you explain that lost Sunday afternoon with back-to-back-to-back Sandra Bullock's on TBS' Movie and a Makeover? Yeah, that's right. I saw you watching it! Even Two Weeks Notice! You watched Two Weeks Notice! Sandara Bullock has never even seen Two Weeks Notice! Finally, this movie, the one where Scrooge can't stop humping everyone* - viewed with the bar set so low it was actually underground - was ass. Complete and total ass. It was an extremely well-cast final project in some godawful "Intro to Filmmaking" course at the Learning Annex. You fail Matthew McCoughnawhatever.
STAR TREK: I have never given a shit about anything Star Trek. So I had nothing riding on this movie. That being said, I enjoyed myself immensely. It was fun, funny, extremely well-cast, and a tad ingenious in it's ability to be both a prequel and sequel. You win JJ Abrams. You win.
And now it's Monday. What new adventures await me? I don't know, but I'll bet there's a dragon.
*Now THAT'S a movie!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Josh Launches Apartment Hunt '09
My time in the in 1986 Apartment is nearing its end. True there was a brief flirtation with escape back in December, but then Minnesota couldn't choose a senator, which somehow effected my living situation. (Growing up, I always knew that Stuart Smalley would somehow f me over.) However, come May 31st, BatShit Crazy moves back in for two months before she dupes another poor soul into paying to house sit for her.
And thus, Apartment Hunt '09 has launched. Apartment Hunt '08 was conducted a bit hastily, hence a land-lady who lets herself in whenever she wants, suggests I sleep in a hammock instead of a bed, and makes me read her mail, so in order to remedy the next nine-months to a year of my life, I'm gonna' lay out some ground rules:
CUT BACK TO 2009:
JOSH: What is plasma? Do you need plasma? I'm pretty sure you don't need plasma.
Mainly I'm writing this missive to ask you sexy readers a questions: What has two thumbs and needs a room for about 650-700 in the Uptown-ish area -- maybe Linden Hills, maybe Nokomis -- by June 1st? THIS GUY!
Also, if you own a building and I call you to rent in that building, I want to rent in that specific building. I don't want to live on Dupont. No one wants to live on Dupont! Ask anyone living on Dupont what's the best part about living on Dupont, and they'll say "Knowing one day I'll no longer be living on Dupont."
And thus, Apartment Hunt '09 has launched. Apartment Hunt '08 was conducted a bit hastily, hence a land-lady who lets herself in whenever she wants, suggests I sleep in a hammock instead of a bed, and makes me read her mail, so in order to remedy the next nine-months to a year of my life, I'm gonna' lay out some ground rules:
- While I do love Uptown, I think my time here has come to an end. Uptown tenants thrive on either being edgy and non-conformist, or desperately pretending to be edgy and non-conformist. Ergo, they don't go to bed ever. Also, they steal my mail. I may just be basing this off of my downstairs neighbors who don't go to bed, and steal my mail. (Turns out, this was sanctioned by BatShit Crazy when she thought either I, or the post office themselves, were stealing her mail. None of this was resolved through conversation) (And don't worry, I got my revenge on the downstairs neighbors by accidentally breaking into their place twice, once while they were in their underwear. Which was probably made of hemp.) Anyhow, I like quiet. I'm old damn it. I can't take rock and rolling all night, but I like partying everyday. I just want it to stop at seven or eight. Hello St. Paul!
- I think I need to have a roommate. A roommate makes me (somewhat) accountable. Because if there's no one around, I'm very happy to set shop in my own mess, and have been know to forge pillows and beanbag-ish chairs out of dirty laundry I take off and leave on the floor whenever I feel like it. You know that song "Someone to Watch Over Me?" I think while it's primarily sung by females, it's really about males. Specifically me. I think Gershwin at one point knew that Josh Carson would exist, and he'd be "Not Great" at it.
- Money's a little tight. I don't know how that happened.
CUT BACK TO AUGUST OF 2008
CUT BACK TO 2009:
JOSH: What is plasma? Do you need plasma? I'm pretty sure you don't need plasma.
Mainly I'm writing this missive to ask you sexy readers a questions: What has two thumbs and needs a room for about 650-700 in the Uptown-ish area -- maybe Linden Hills, maybe Nokomis -- by June 1st? THIS GUY!
Also, if you own a building and I call you to rent in that building, I want to rent in that specific building. I don't want to live on Dupont. No one wants to live on Dupont! Ask anyone living on Dupont what's the best part about living on Dupont, and they'll say "Knowing one day I'll no longer be living on Dupont."
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Josh Has Six Months To Live
There are worse things in this world than turning thirty. Turning forty for example. However, none of those things are currently happening directly to me, though rest assured my bitching shall not be silenced when they do.
Actually, turning thirty isn't even happening directly to me. Not just yet. April 7th marks the halfway point. Or the final countdown if you will. (And that's not me being negative. As soon as someone writes a rock anthem called "Halfway Point," I will be happy to just reference that)
I have an important decision to make this day: Do I spend the next six months adultifying my life -- activities including being able to pay for bills, not using various floors in my apartment as a hamper, and having more in my fridge than a leftover piece of veggie pizza even though I consider veggie pizza the same thing as Epicac Pizza? -- or do I just enjoy the hell out of twenties and hope things will work themselves out somehow?
I think you'll see the route I went with as I present my "Six Months to Live" list:
Unless thirty's the new twenty-five. It can't be the new twenty. Thirty was the new twenty five years ago. So, you know. Math applied.
Actually, turning thirty isn't even happening directly to me. Not just yet. April 7th marks the halfway point. Or the final countdown if you will. (And that's not me being negative. As soon as someone writes a rock anthem called "Halfway Point," I will be happy to just reference that)
I have an important decision to make this day: Do I spend the next six months adultifying my life -- activities including being able to pay for bills, not using various floors in my apartment as a hamper, and having more in my fridge than a leftover piece of veggie pizza even though I consider veggie pizza the same thing as Epicac Pizza? -- or do I just enjoy the hell out of twenties and hope things will work themselves out somehow?
I think you'll see the route I went with as I present my "Six Months to Live" list:
- First of all, I've spent the first six months getting back into regular acting gigs. Coincidentally, that's also when I started going broke again, but whatevs. Being a part of Tony N' Tina's Wedding has fulfilled many list items, as its been the most fun I've had doing a show since college, and at the risk of being over sentimental, become a part of a family that I know will be around long after the show suddenly closes next weekend -- an unlikely occurrence we're constantly reminded could occur at any moment.
- Jump out of an airplane - Either sanctioned or while making a daring get away from bad guys.
- Run one or multiple 5K's - Some people say this should be a marathon, but F that. I still adults shouldn't run. Ever. Have you ever watched an adult run? It's unnatural. Like a dog playing pool.
- Water Park Vacation - Water parks are the best. As I can't afford too extreme a vacation, it'll likely just be a two day trip to Noah's Ark this summer. Who's with me?
- Start Writing Again - This is an ongoing quest for me, one which I will write about at greater lengths later. This is the one I'm taking the most seriously. Not that jumping out of a plane shouldn't be taken seriously.
- Meet my future pet, Pug Jack Bauer.
- Create a bidding war at a bachelor auction.
- Save the economy - This is one is just selfish, because I'm sick of everyone blaming the hard economic times for everything, including speeding tickets and infidelity.
- Crash a parade -- Actually, I can check that one off. St. Patrick's Day
- Become someone's favorite person.
- Lock myself out of my apartment twice. -- Again, check. Again, St. Patrick's Day.
- Win the hand of an unlikely lady love in an extremely public forum, ala every Adam Sandler movie. The music of Journey will also be involved.
- On a very separate occasion, be at an event, blare Journey's "Any Way You Want It" with the intent that yes, indeed, we are all gonna' get laid.
- Learn to cook something other than Chef Boy R Dee and hot dogs. Apparently, you can't live off of those.
- Get married on the clock tower at Universal Studios. That's really more of a life goal.
Unless thirty's the new twenty-five. It can't be the new twenty. Thirty was the new twenty five years ago. So, you know. Math applied.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Josh Makes the Commitment
I'm always delighted to receive a phone-call from the first lady of Twin Cities comedy, Lauren Anderson. She is a great conversationalist and I most assuredly will be introduced to a new series of nonsense noises or randomly linked words that express both joy and frustration (eg. Killah Aramadillah!) The latest conversation would prove both statements to be true.
It's not uncommon for Lauren and I to start the day with a walk around Lake Calhoun (Being an actor and/or comedian means we usually have most mornings, days, and evenings free to devote time to this habit). However, we generally stick to the warmer six months out of the year. I tend to whine in the cold. And extreme heat. And when it's "too nice."
However, instead of asking "Do you want to walk around the lake in the morning?" Lauren asked, "Can you commit to walking around the lake with me in the morning?"
This was brilliant phrasing. Because here is how Josh's brain will respond to both questions:
QUESTION: Do you want to walk around the lake in the morning?
JOSH'S BRAIN: Sure. I want to. And I'm able. But, will I? It depends on the weather, how hungover I am, whether or not I wake up at my apartment. I'll say yes now, but give me some wiggle room, in case of emergency and/or laziness. I won't even have to call to cancel. That's why text messaging was invented. And, you know what else? Boobs are friggin' fantastic.
QUESTION: Can you commit to walking around the lake in the morning?
JOSH'S BRAIN: Shit. She's onto me. She knows the second I make a promise, I immediately begin to figure out a way to safely break that promise! What kind of game is playing? Who is she working for?! If I say yes, I have to to do it. If I say no, she can rightfully call me a pussy. Oh, well played Anderson. Well played. And, you know what else? Boobs are friggin' fantastic.
Lauren's phrasing adds instant accountability to your promises and actions! It also gives you instant guilt, which is second greatest motivator. (The first is spite)
And, I ended up walking around the lake. Ergo, I've decided to start phrasing my goals and to-do lists a bit differently. We'll see how long that lasts before I find a loophole.
WHY THIS WEEKEND SCARES ME:
My mom wants me to go see Last House on the Left with her this weekend. She was an avid fan of the original, watching it over something like twelve times at the Drive-In near her house (And then not remembering a thing about it thirty-seven years later). Now, I'm usually a fan of horror movies, but something about this movie makes me feel like it's not the "fun" kind of horror movie. It's the "Wow, this is overwhelmingly horrible and disturbing and just plain awful" kind of horror. And I've also been reading the reviews, and I wonder if I want to be sitting next to my mother as I watch an "uncomfortably lengthy and gratuitous rape scene."
YOU KNOW WHO NEEDS TO BE DONKEY PUNCHED?
Taylor Swift. Specifically for her song Love Story. For the following reasons:
It's not uncommon for Lauren and I to start the day with a walk around Lake Calhoun (Being an actor and/or comedian means we usually have most mornings, days, and evenings free to devote time to this habit). However, we generally stick to the warmer six months out of the year. I tend to whine in the cold. And extreme heat. And when it's "too nice."
However, instead of asking "Do you want to walk around the lake in the morning?" Lauren asked, "Can you commit to walking around the lake with me in the morning?"
This was brilliant phrasing. Because here is how Josh's brain will respond to both questions:
QUESTION: Do you want to walk around the lake in the morning?
JOSH'S BRAIN: Sure. I want to. And I'm able. But, will I? It depends on the weather, how hungover I am, whether or not I wake up at my apartment. I'll say yes now, but give me some wiggle room, in case of emergency and/or laziness. I won't even have to call to cancel. That's why text messaging was invented. And, you know what else? Boobs are friggin' fantastic.
QUESTION: Can you commit to walking around the lake in the morning?
JOSH'S BRAIN: Shit. She's onto me. She knows the second I make a promise, I immediately begin to figure out a way to safely break that promise! What kind of game is playing? Who is she working for?! If I say yes, I have to to do it. If I say no, she can rightfully call me a pussy. Oh, well played Anderson. Well played. And, you know what else? Boobs are friggin' fantastic.
Lauren's phrasing adds instant accountability to your promises and actions! It also gives you instant guilt, which is second greatest motivator. (The first is spite)
And, I ended up walking around the lake. Ergo, I've decided to start phrasing my goals and to-do lists a bit differently. We'll see how long that lasts before I find a loophole.
WHY THIS WEEKEND SCARES ME:
My mom wants me to go see Last House on the Left with her this weekend. She was an avid fan of the original, watching it over something like twelve times at the Drive-In near her house (And then not remembering a thing about it thirty-seven years later). Now, I'm usually a fan of horror movies, but something about this movie makes me feel like it's not the "fun" kind of horror movie. It's the "Wow, this is overwhelmingly horrible and disturbing and just plain awful" kind of horror. And I've also been reading the reviews, and I wonder if I want to be sitting next to my mother as I watch an "uncomfortably lengthy and gratuitous rape scene."
YOU KNOW WHO NEEDS TO BE DONKEY PUNCHED?
Taylor Swift. Specifically for her song Love Story. For the following reasons:
- It's the kind of "pop" song that should only exist in an eighties comedy during the end credits, in which every character becomes animated and sums up the movie we just watched, so we really hammer home the point that she was a human the entire time, so it was okay for Andrew McCarthy to have sex with the mannequin.
- The first couple of times I heard the song, I thought she was saying "See the lights/See them party with ball gags." The actual lyric is "See the lights/See the party, the ball gowns." Taylor Swift either needs to enunciate or commit!
- The following lyrics have not been altered: That you were Romeo/You were throwing pebbles/And my daddy said stay away from Juliet - So, okay, he is Romeo, but your dad wants you to stay away from Juliet? Who is Juliet? Is there a third person in this scenario? What's going on? Who are we talking about? Who are you talking to? If this guy is both Romeo and Juliet, maybe you should be staying away from him. And later on, when you call yourself "The Scarlet Letter" -- have you actually READ any of the things you're thinking about? You just called yourself a whore, and if you're in some kinda' sick twisted three-way with a couple of your art-house friends, I'm not entirely sure you're wrong.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Josh is Introduced to Interactive Theater
The past weekend was the culmination of the rehearsal process of Tony N' Tina's Wedding, which basically consisted of about six performances of the show. Which, I know, would technically mean we've already opened the show since there's paying audience, but it's more like a soft opening, with the hard opening being still on the 15th*
I've been asked if I've ever done interactive theater before this, and I've always replied with a reluctant yes. After this weekend, the reluctance can finally grow a pair and be confident with its reply. Up until that point, however, occasionally teasing an audience member or bringing some lucky (And, let's be honest, probably hot) girl in the audience for a little extremely structured comedy (And direct rejection afterward) has been audience participation, not audience interaction.
And there's no real way to rehearse that, since a rehearsal audience is a real audience.
And after my first (soft) weekend with TnT, here's what I've learned:
* We gradually began to bring the audience into the mix. Our first official preview was on Wednesday, but Monday and Tuesday before, we brought in a quaint little crowd (About 15 or so both nights). It was extremely useful, however, I feel kinda' bad for those fifteen since the audience-starved cast was so eager to interact, we essentially comedy-raped them.
* There are two types of audience members at these shows: One that is more than willing to play along with the environment (They tend to skew older. And, even then, occasionally, the eager-to-play lady is actually horribly confused why people keep calling the wedding a show) and another audience member who feels it's their personal mission in life to reveal that everything around them is pretend, like they're Laurence Fishburne uncovering The Matrix to the rest of the audiences Keanu Reeves.
* The "Mascot Rule**" firmly applies here. I can do anything with these people, and they will clap and ask for more. Hit on wives in front of their husbands, blatantly ogle, rub your face all over their mullet, challenge their masculinity via beverage choice, use a strand of their hair to make yourself a mustache with them still attached.
* Just because I'm at a pretend wedding reception, it doesn't mean I have to use wedding reception voice. Wedding reception voice doesn't lead to Voice of Tomorrow voice. (Though, an interesting vocal tidbit I picked up from my last show is that if you're able to meow, your voice is good enough to perform. I have my own way of meowing, which is an impression of my friend Loran's girlfriend, demanding that he locate her some skittles post-haste. Several of you immediately know what I'm talking about.
* And finally, my ass and junk have never been molested so much in my entire life. I was warned this might occur, and of course I made the joke that that such interaction would be no problem with me at all. That's before I met social worker Trista, whom not only snuck a flask into the ceremony, whom not only needed to lean on me to prevent the floor from moving, but when I told her it was time for her to get her dinner, she saw that as her opening to plummet her hand down my pants. Apparently, she was REALLY hungry. Hey-O! Anyhow, long story short, I'm engaged.
All that being said, I am, of course, having the most fun I've ever had in a show since college. Not to get all mushy, but this show is wall-to-wall some of the most talented performers I've had the pleasure to work with, and our only purpose is to ensure the audience has a great f-ing time.
And somehow, we end up having a great f-ing time as well.
*Soft and hard. hehhehhehheh
** Please refer to the time I got beat up by all the NHL Mascots at the All-Star game in 2004 in front of a thousand cheering patrons.
I've been asked if I've ever done interactive theater before this, and I've always replied with a reluctant yes. After this weekend, the reluctance can finally grow a pair and be confident with its reply. Up until that point, however, occasionally teasing an audience member or bringing some lucky (And, let's be honest, probably hot) girl in the audience for a little extremely structured comedy (And direct rejection afterward) has been audience participation, not audience interaction.
And there's no real way to rehearse that, since a rehearsal audience is a real audience.
And after my first (soft) weekend with TnT, here's what I've learned:
* We gradually began to bring the audience into the mix. Our first official preview was on Wednesday, but Monday and Tuesday before, we brought in a quaint little crowd (About 15 or so both nights). It was extremely useful, however, I feel kinda' bad for those fifteen since the audience-starved cast was so eager to interact, we essentially comedy-raped them.
* There are two types of audience members at these shows: One that is more than willing to play along with the environment (They tend to skew older. And, even then, occasionally, the eager-to-play lady is actually horribly confused why people keep calling the wedding a show) and another audience member who feels it's their personal mission in life to reveal that everything around them is pretend, like they're Laurence Fishburne uncovering The Matrix to the rest of the audiences Keanu Reeves.
* The "Mascot Rule**" firmly applies here. I can do anything with these people, and they will clap and ask for more. Hit on wives in front of their husbands, blatantly ogle, rub your face all over their mullet, challenge their masculinity via beverage choice, use a strand of their hair to make yourself a mustache with them still attached.
* Just because I'm at a pretend wedding reception, it doesn't mean I have to use wedding reception voice. Wedding reception voice doesn't lead to Voice of Tomorrow voice. (Though, an interesting vocal tidbit I picked up from my last show is that if you're able to meow, your voice is good enough to perform. I have my own way of meowing, which is an impression of my friend Loran's girlfriend, demanding that he locate her some skittles post-haste. Several of you immediately know what I'm talking about.
* And finally, my ass and junk have never been molested so much in my entire life. I was warned this might occur, and of course I made the joke that that such interaction would be no problem with me at all. That's before I met social worker Trista, whom not only snuck a flask into the ceremony, whom not only needed to lean on me to prevent the floor from moving, but when I told her it was time for her to get her dinner, she saw that as her opening to plummet her hand down my pants. Apparently, she was REALLY hungry. Hey-O! Anyhow, long story short, I'm engaged.
All that being said, I am, of course, having the most fun I've ever had in a show since college. Not to get all mushy, but this show is wall-to-wall some of the most talented performers I've had the pleasure to work with, and our only purpose is to ensure the audience has a great f-ing time.
And somehow, we end up having a great f-ing time as well.
*Soft and hard. hehhehhehheh
** Please refer to the time I got beat up by all the NHL Mascots at the All-Star game in 2004 in front of a thousand cheering patrons.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Josh Already Picks Up on the Theme of 2009, or Josh Changes the Format to his Blog Titles
We're only three days deep into this 2009 bitch,* yet already, a theme has emerged:
The Date: August 8th, 2009
The event: The wedding of Andrea Carson and Peter Osswoski
The Relation to Me: I'm Andrea's cousin, haven been all my life. I was alerted to my plans for the eighth day of August in the year twenty 'aught nine a year before the day was to happen. My plans are simply this: Be the drunken cousin that attends this joyous union, drink everything that I can, hit on as many bridesmaids and/or single ladies (They'll be easy to spot, as Beyonce orders them to put their hands up) because they're twenty-three, pass out and/or puke on someone that can direct me up into my hotel room.
The Date: January 15th, 2009 ongoing through every weekend until question mark.
The event: The fictional wedding of my fictional best friend Anthony Nunzio to his fictional sweetheart Valentina Vitale.
The Relation to Me: I'm the fictional best man, Barry Wheeler, alongside my nine-month preggo maid of honor, Connie. My duties are various and entertaining and tickets to said event can be ordered at www.actorsmn.org and this wedding will forever change your life.**
The Date: October 10th, 2009
The event: The wedding of Jacob Carson and Destiny Anderson
The Relation to Me: Jake's my brother! You can tell because whenever I see him, I say "Hey brother!" Ergo, instead of being paid to a pretend best man, I'm going to be using all my pretend Best-Man money to be a real best man. Yay!
The Jokes I Plan To Use In My Toast Regarding Jake's Fiance's Name: "I knew this wedding was going to happen. I mean, after all, it was destiny." "If you guys ever have a kid, we can call it Destiny's child." "Jake and Destiny are each others density. I mean, destiny!" (I encourage you to come up with your own that I will later steal.)
The Irrational Reaction: Notice anything about that date? It's around the same time as Joshtober Fest 30, which we all know is the Joshtober Fest that's going to take us to Vegas or some exotic port of call. Has anyone seen my thunder? I have reason to believe that it's been STOLEN!
The Date: January 9th, 2009
The event: The dual weddings of former best Friends Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway, whom accidentally book their weddings on the same day at both girls dream venue. The brides are currently at war with one another, engaging with cruel pranks that are supposedly funny to everyone who isn't them. Though they hate each other now, early speculation leads us to believe they will eventually learn lessons that'll make them better people, and then dance during the credits.
The Relation to Me: None. Avoidance as if it were to give me some sort of mutant AIDS. Although, at least every teenage girl in the country is learning that the only thing that they should ever desire is to have a wedding, regardless of happiness or partner.
*Maybe by the time you read this, it's the fourth or fifth day. And instead of a bitch, maybe it's an effeminate dude.
** Better get used to me plugging this show every chance I get.
The Date: August 8th, 2009
The event: The wedding of Andrea Carson and Peter Osswoski
The Relation to Me: I'm Andrea's cousin, haven been all my life. I was alerted to my plans for the eighth day of August in the year twenty 'aught nine a year before the day was to happen. My plans are simply this: Be the drunken cousin that attends this joyous union, drink everything that I can, hit on as many bridesmaids and/or single ladies (They'll be easy to spot, as Beyonce orders them to put their hands up) because they're twenty-three, pass out and/or puke on someone that can direct me up into my hotel room.
The Date: January 15th, 2009 ongoing through every weekend until question mark.
The event: The fictional wedding of my fictional best friend Anthony Nunzio to his fictional sweetheart Valentina Vitale.
The Relation to Me: I'm the fictional best man, Barry Wheeler, alongside my nine-month preggo maid of honor, Connie. My duties are various and entertaining and tickets to said event can be ordered at www.actorsmn.org and this wedding will forever change your life.**
The Date: October 10th, 2009
The event: The wedding of Jacob Carson and Destiny Anderson
The Relation to Me: Jake's my brother! You can tell because whenever I see him, I say "Hey brother!" Ergo, instead of being paid to a pretend best man, I'm going to be using all my pretend Best-Man money to be a real best man. Yay!
The Jokes I Plan To Use In My Toast Regarding Jake's Fiance's Name: "I knew this wedding was going to happen. I mean, after all, it was destiny." "If you guys ever have a kid, we can call it Destiny's child." "Jake and Destiny are each others density. I mean, destiny!" (I encourage you to come up with your own that I will later steal.)
The Irrational Reaction: Notice anything about that date? It's around the same time as Joshtober Fest 30, which we all know is the Joshtober Fest that's going to take us to Vegas or some exotic port of call. Has anyone seen my thunder? I have reason to believe that it's been STOLEN!
The Date: January 9th, 2009
The event: The dual weddings of former best Friends Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway, whom accidentally book their weddings on the same day at both girls dream venue. The brides are currently at war with one another, engaging with cruel pranks that are supposedly funny to everyone who isn't them. Though they hate each other now, early speculation leads us to believe they will eventually learn lessons that'll make them better people, and then dance during the credits.
The Relation to Me: None. Avoidance as if it were to give me some sort of mutant AIDS. Although, at least every teenage girl in the country is learning that the only thing that they should ever desire is to have a wedding, regardless of happiness or partner.
*Maybe by the time you read this, it's the fourth or fifth day. And instead of a bitch, maybe it's an effeminate dude.
** Better get used to me plugging this show every chance I get.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Here we go again. Again.
Hello Blog. It's me.
Listen, I'm gonna' cut right to the chase here, I've been ignoring you. But not anymore. We're going to bring this bitch back to the glory days. No, screw that, the new days are gonna' make the glory days look like the last days of Pompeii!
And I realize I make this declaration at least once a month, and we're at the starting line of a new year, and everybody makes lofty, idealized goals that flat line before the hangover's lifted, but this time I mean it baby! Let's make this work again!
This is Josh at the start of 2009:
I still reside in the Perpetually 1986 apartment. There was hope of escape, but some prick named Dean Barkley ran for senate and yadda-yadda-yadda, Josh can't leave 1986 until the end of May. My landlady aka Sgt. Coo-Coo Bananas is still Coo-Coo Bananas. She's in town for the holidays, and she's been letting herself in when I'm not here and, among other things, cleaning and turning down my heat.
My show "Casting Christmas" ended its run on New Years Eve. If the show were Bruce Willis, then the final weekend was Hans Gruber shooting the glass forcing the bare-footed badass to limp his way to the finish line. A majority of the cast was stricken with SARS, rendering me the best singer in the entire ensemble. (Keep in mind on opening night, the director suggested I "forget" to turn on my mic during the songs) One-by-one, all the cast was infected, culminating in our lead child actress to puke herself out of the closing show, forcing a mid-show Bewitched switch. In the end, I was the only cast member to be uninfected. I credit my health to Airborne and excessive drinking, which kills germs AND brain cells, neither of which I need.
Tony N' Tina's Wedding opens in a week and we are currently in intensive all-day rehearsals. It's a strange process because the audience is the final and most important cast member, and they've yet to show up to rehearsal. What I do know is that in my previous show I only appeared in a fourth of the show, but this one I'm out there for the full two and a half hours, and I have a song that the mic will be turned on for. If "Cha-Cha Slide" counts as a song.
All right blog, admittedly, I brought my C+ game to this missive, but you know what? It doesn't matter. Cause I'll be updating you again soon. Still not daily, but soon.
Listen, I'm gonna' cut right to the chase here, I've been ignoring you. But not anymore. We're going to bring this bitch back to the glory days. No, screw that, the new days are gonna' make the glory days look like the last days of Pompeii!
And I realize I make this declaration at least once a month, and we're at the starting line of a new year, and everybody makes lofty, idealized goals that flat line before the hangover's lifted, but this time I mean it baby! Let's make this work again!
This is Josh at the start of 2009:
I still reside in the Perpetually 1986 apartment. There was hope of escape, but some prick named Dean Barkley ran for senate and yadda-yadda-yadda, Josh can't leave 1986 until the end of May. My landlady aka Sgt. Coo-Coo Bananas is still Coo-Coo Bananas. She's in town for the holidays, and she's been letting herself in when I'm not here and, among other things, cleaning and turning down my heat.
My show "Casting Christmas" ended its run on New Years Eve. If the show were Bruce Willis, then the final weekend was Hans Gruber shooting the glass forcing the bare-footed badass to limp his way to the finish line. A majority of the cast was stricken with SARS, rendering me the best singer in the entire ensemble. (Keep in mind on opening night, the director suggested I "forget" to turn on my mic during the songs) One-by-one, all the cast was infected, culminating in our lead child actress to puke herself out of the closing show, forcing a mid-show Bewitched switch. In the end, I was the only cast member to be uninfected. I credit my health to Airborne and excessive drinking, which kills germs AND brain cells, neither of which I need.
Tony N' Tina's Wedding opens in a week and we are currently in intensive all-day rehearsals. It's a strange process because the audience is the final and most important cast member, and they've yet to show up to rehearsal. What I do know is that in my previous show I only appeared in a fourth of the show, but this one I'm out there for the full two and a half hours, and I have a song that the mic will be turned on for. If "Cha-Cha Slide" counts as a song.
All right blog, admittedly, I brought my C+ game to this missive, but you know what? It doesn't matter. Cause I'll be updating you again soon. Still not daily, but soon.
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