And already I’ve fallen asleep on it and nearly lost the remote control in its butt, or whatever the appropriate furniture term for seam between the cushions is.
Also, I know the couch is much older than eleven hours but I choose to ignore the life it led before we crossed paths.
Also, unrelated, I don’t like video chatting. I just don’t. No thank you, gmail.
Note: sometimes I come up with terrible jokes, the kind that make you groan. It’s getting worse as I get older, though my allergy to cats is getting better as I get older. I don’t know what to make of this. Eventually my sense of humor will deteriorate to the point where the only kinds of jokes I can make are truly embarrassing and at that point I’ll know it’s time to have kids.
Anyway, to the joke, and I use the word “joke” loosely:
Woman: It’s an occasional table.
Man: Well, what else is it? (maybe this should be: What’s it when it’s not a table?)
Or maybe it should be “What’s an occasional table when it’s not a table?”
But then I don’t know what the answer is.
You know when you call someone and it rings four or five times and then it rings a sixth time and you think the ring is about to stop but then it redoubles its effort really rings like it means it and then goes to voicemail? What is that? Is that the ringer giving up? Or is that the ringer giving you attitude? Like “FINE! Have it your way! I’ll put you through to voice mail.”
This is not to be confused with the ring that lets you know you’re interrupting someone’s call: That weird high pitched tone at the end of each ring which makes you think maybe you should hang up because you know they’re on a call and they know you know.
Anyway, if I ever do stand up comedy again perhaps I’ll make the above funny. Has anyone done anything on phone rings? Am I ripping off Seinfeld? I’d really rather not be.
Wait, I have one more thing to say about rings and ring tones. I had to change all my phones to regular sounding ring tones and my alarm to a beeping sound because my brain is an evil sponge which grasps a few bars of melody and then replays them over and over and over and I couldn’t stand my personal soundtrack being “Calypso.” It was like I was trapped in a Girls Gone Wild commercial. I think maybe I already wrote about this? Well, it’s still true though.
I’ll be talking about internet dating. You know you totally want to hear that. http://www.wor710.com/pages/46370.php
I don’t normally complain about physical pain, being that I prefer to complain about deep psychic wounds and stuff, but yesterday I dropped my wallet on my foot and was convinced I broke my toe. This is not a sign that I am so full of money that my wallet is a weapon. It’s a sign that I need to clean out all the assorted crap that I’ve been keeping in my wallet for so long because when I get a piece of paper, I like to file it in my wallet.
And then last night I was reading in bed and somehow I did something because my neck hurts so bad today I can only move slowly and melodramatically. I should probably start sighing.
Maybe I need to drop my wallet on my other foot to knock everything back into alignment?
Blog readers, I have some bad news. Fred the Jade Plant has left us for the great garden in the sky. In fact, he shuffled off his mortal coil a few weeks ago but I haven’t thrown him out yet because I’ve been thinking I need to take a picture so I can make a touching tribute video highlighting the impact he’s made on our lives. But I don’t think I’m going to get around to doing that. So basically a very dead Fred has been sitting on my kitchen table for three weeks getting deader and more shriveled with each passing day and instead of giving him a proper burial I just look at him and think “Huh, I should do something about that.” What kind of monster am I?!
But I choose to remember Fred as he looked in his youth.
Fred as a young houseplant
I wish I’d taken photos at the next place I went last night–WOR studios—because that was priceless. I was the youngest person there by about sixty years and everyone there was crazy in this very entertaining old timey showbiz kind of way, made more surreal by the fact that it was two in the morning.
Well maybe not sixty. Forty. Thirty five? Well, you get what I’m saying.
So I’m doing Red Eye tonight and then I’m jetting—in a car—downtown to be interviewed on the Joey Reynolds show on WOR 710. The interview will air live at midnight in NYC and 8AM in the 220 other markets that carry it or where it airs or something. Anyone know what that means? I don’t speak radio. I do have a radio-ish voice though, so the irony cuts deep as you can imagine.
Anyway, for some of you that means you can hear me before seeing me on Red Eye. Like the opposite of thunder/lightening!
But not like that at all.
For others there will be a five hour wait time during which I hope you’ll reflect on important things involving me.
Thank you.
Should you be considering enjoying shoestring eggplant in vinegar marinade which you probably wouldn’t consider eating anyway—I have a thing for weird foods in jars which few of my fellow humans share—but anyway should you be making this bold lifestyle choice I beseech you to make sure you do not have any cuts or broken skin in your mouth because the eggplant will get in there, get into your bloodstream and then turn you into an eggplant. It’s how eggplant works! One minute you’re trying to introduce Mediterranean cuisine into your diet, the next minute you’re an eggplant. Some of my best friends are now purple.
Wait, come back, that’s not what I meant to say.
See, I bit my lip a couple nights ago so I have one of those things inside my lower lip where it feels like the skin is puffed up to the size of a marble but then I look into the mirror and really it’s much smaller. So I stupidly decided to try this shoestring eggplant because hell, why not? I wasn’t even put off by the strange lack of color, as if Bunicula had gotten to it (anyone?). It looked like bits of pre-chewed albino vegetables, so I decided to dig in. Anyway, the vinegar marinade went straight into my cut and hitched a ride through my face and then shot straight into my brain. “Oh my God!” I yelled at no one, pawing at my lip. “Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God” I said, jumping around. I’m surprised I didn’t start drooling. Maybe I did but I didn’t notice because there was an eggplant-borne vinegar hole in my brain? It’s possible.
Very emotional night. I haven’t seen this many tears since…. the last election.