I shamelessly stole these from Mary Rambin’s blog.
Author Archive | Alison Rosen
I did stand up!
And I won the contest. I’m New York’s Funniest Reporter! How does it feel, you may be wondering? Well, for one thing, now I’m only going to be funny onstage. From now on when I feel the urge to make a joke I’m just going to pull a little pad out of my back pocket and jot it down with a golf pencil, or perhaps dict it into the dictaphone that I also plan to start carrying around. Yes I know dict isn’t a word. And what will I do with the cravat that I plan to incorporate into my wardrobe? I’ll wear it around my neck, silly. What else would I do? Also, now that I’ve been anointed professionally funny I will cease laughing at other people’s jokes. Should someone crack a joke around me I will merely grunt as a way of acknowledging while I make sure a pained expression flashes across my face. I’ll probably start crying for no reason, not just once a month but around the clock, because life has been exposed to me as a veil of tears and a sham. Speaking of shams have you guys seen the commercial for ShamWow? It’s the chamois that’s super duper absorbent or something? Like if you could clean with a maxi pad? Well why would you put the word “sham” in your product name? I mean really.
Also I’ve noticed that bits of my set are popping up on people’s blogs but they’re popping up with slight inaccuracies and I’m fighting the urge to email the people to correct them because really, what kind of asshole am I considering being?
I should have a tape in a week or so and once I do I’ll upload!
A couple pictures? Okay then!
Here I am with my comedy mentors (each reporter was paired with professional comedian mentors) Ray Ellin and Leighann Lord.
And here’s a shot from when I did Red Eye in California that I meant to post previously. This was during a commercial break.
Things I'm just having fun with
Wendy and I have thrice updated our page so I hope you’re all up in that shit.
Also, tomorrow when I do stand up I’m going to “just have fun with it.”
And then I was thinking, is there really anything in life that you shouldn’t just have fun with?
And then I was thinking that I guess you shouldn’t just have fun with heart surgery.
Although I think the doctors on Grey’s Anatomy just have fun with most of their surgery, but that’s TV and not real life and plus they’re really shitty doctors, I know this because they left a towel in that one woman. Remember?
Oh and by the way now that I’m doing stand up I expect a whole bunch of hackneyed observations to start flowing out of me like, like, what’s a standuppy metaphor? Like herpes out of Paris Hilton, am I right?
I hope you’re as excited about this new turn of events as I am.
Okay then.
Oh, also: earlier I was at the Starbucks inside Barnes and Noble which is doubly offensive to Brooklyn since it’s all mom and pop around here but there I was, lining the coffers of Big Coffee Beans and Books and there was a pastry called something like “Flaky strawberry fruit purse” and I was thinking that it would be funny if it said “with real quarters baked inside.” But it didn’t say that, because it’s a pastry, not a comedian.
Wendy and I updated our chat page!
We did, we did! Because I told her that our readers demand chatting. In fact, when she was in New York she came to the rooftop and we had this conversation:
Alison: We should update our tumblr.
Wendy: Yeah.
And now we’ve gone and done it! Check it out!
The Debate
I just want to rip my skin off and throw it at the television. Also: what kind of hairspray does she use?
love, pickles, scallops
This site—Dear Old Love—is amusing, and it even made me feel some emotion which is kind of unusual these days since I think my heart is tucked away under a thick covering of protective frost. It’s not intentional, it’s not like I’m making sure my whole chest cavity is kept refrigerated lest I feel something, it’s more like it’s tough for me to feel certain things right now (“right now” being for about three years). This is after a lifetime of feeling too much and everything though, so maybe I’m just calibrating.
Or maybe I’m just taking inventory after almost dying at the hands of Vlassic last night?
I did a whole bunch of work today on deadline AND I made two scallops. Aren’t I so fancy? I think so.
The tragedy that almost happened in my kitchen
So I’m in my kitchen eating gherkins which are sweetened with Splenda (Vlassic makes them, I didn’t invent this combination) which many people including my mom have informed me sounds gross however I like them, and while we’re at it I also like the new Heinz ketchup that’s sweetened with Splenda, in fact I would like to sweeten my water with Splenda except I don’t drink water because it’s filled with disgusting H20 molecules. The Hindenburg anyone? The hydrogen atom bomb? Are you just going to forgive all that? Just because the hydrogen atom’s all like “no, I’m different, I’m stuck to another hydrogen and traveling with an oxygen atom?” I don’t think so.
Anyway, I’m eating pickles when suddenly a particularly slippery one kind of gets ahead of itself and starts sliding down my throat and I sort of try to dislodge it and for a second it goes down further and my sad life passes before my eyes as I imagine the pickle getting stuck in there and not being able to get it out and what would I do, would I go bang on my landlord’s door, begging for the Heimlich, what if they didn’t hear me, what if I die in my kitchen choking on this pickle. It’s amazing how fast that can go through your head. Meanwhile I did something which I can only describe as “hoarking” which isn’t really a word but whatever it was, it worked because the pickle shot out of my throat and rolled across the kitchen floor. I’ve since outlined it in chalk, just in case.
But seriously, how do people who live alone not choke to death more often?
Now I have a terrible headache but I think it’s from the panic.
UPDATE: I just choked on my own saliva and started coughing. What the hell is wrong with me? I hope it’s that I’m compromised from the pickle incident as opposed to losing motor skills.
If I drew cartoons for the New Yorker
I’d draw one of a guy in the middle of a labyrinth or maze and the caption would be “I’m getting a little tired of staring at these same 37 walls.”
See me, hear me, love me, snuggle with me
I updated that junk on the right side of this here page to reflect tomorrow’s radio interview on Devore and Diana and the stand up which I’ve been talking about so much it’s like, lady, shut up already. You know?
Also, I bought some green beans today at the store because the quirky and whimsical placard said “Give your sous chef the night off,” with these pre-cleaned and trimmed and ready-to-eat beans. I don’t even have a sous chef but if I did he’d be named Henri and I’d never give him the day off because he’s a slacker and I’m thinking of firing him anyway. These water spots on my silver? Unacceptable, Henri! And is that a chip in my fine bone china which was made from ground down parakeet bones and purchased in China when I was sent overseas as part of a military gravy boat buying mission? The Audubon Society never let me hear the end of it.
I'm home
I’m home! And I was worried that I was going to feel weird in my Brooklyn apartment since I haven’t really had all that much time to make it feel like home but I don’t. I feel normal in it. So: hooray!
On the plane I watched a couple episodes of House. I never really got into that show, perhaps because I can’t get past my disbelief that anyone’s last name is really HOUSE, but it was pretty entertaining. Now I’m going to go not unpack.