I was telling Christine, one of our camera operators and baker of the victorious vanilla bean buttermilk version, that I always try to pronounce scone the way Europeans do — so that it rhymes with “John.” Mainly because it makes me feel fancy in Starbucks, but also because I think the originator (or language of origin) of a thing or a brand is who/what should determine its pronunciation. Like Nike. Or Porsche; the car is named after a real dude. We can’t just decide to change the pronunciation of his name because we want to:
“Well, where I come from, we say it like “Porsh.”
Shut up. No one where you come from has a Porsche. Y’all don’t get a vote. Continue reading →
I see this commercial about shingles all the time. So glad my dad was wrong and I don’t have it. It sounds like a terrible condition. The reason I bring it up is because at the end of this commercial, the guy says, “The rash, the itching, the burning that I experienced on the side of my neck and my shoulders, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
Yeah… whenever I hear someone say that, I think to myself, “You suck at enemy-ing.” Wishing painful things on each other is what enemies do. It’s literally in the definition:
1. One who feels hatred toward, intends injury to, or opposes the interests of another; a foe.
You think after losing his family, being made a slave and having to fight a tiger, Maximus wouldn’t have wished a little shingles on Commodus? That when Lex Luthor had that Kryptonite all up in his face, Superman didn’t wish the tables were turned?
But I digress. What kind of things do these people wish for their enemies? Do they wish painful things on them, but just not as painful as shingles? Do they draw the line at broken limbs maybe? Kidney stones? Or are they just awesome people who abide by the “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” scriptural philosophy…? And if it’s the latter, how can I swap out my current enemies for ones like them? Because I know for a fact I’ve got some folks out there wishing their horrible sh*t and their mama’s on me.
With enemies like dude in the video, who needs friends?
1 :one who encourages another to persist in self-destructive behavior by providing excuses or by making it possible to avoid the consequences of such behavior.
Rather than use it in a sentence, I have opted instead to offer a visual explanation. Please check out this video clip and the photo below and meet me on the other side.
You see all those people cheering in the audience? Jersey Shore Ronnie sitting on somebody’s shoulders? And all the other artists giving Wayne dap? I’m talking especially to YOU — Khaled, Rick Ross… They have enabled this once-clever lyricist to the point where he now thinks everything he does is hot — including running around the stage bare bird-chested in leopard pajama jeans and Ronald McDonald shoes, singing R&B and pretending to play electric guitar.
Part of the problem is that once anyone gets super famous like Wayne, a “yes” bubble forms around them.
WAYNE: Yo, y’all think I should rock these jungle print footie pajamas to the MTV Awards? THEM: If we say no, you still gon’ pay our rent? WAYNE: No. THEM: Then, yes.
Or maybe it’s just the drugs. I mean would a clean Wayne — even if surrounded by an army of “yes men” — do some of the things he does? I think if he actually has some people in his life that really care about him, they should call the folks over at A&E and get dude on an episode of “Intervention.” All they’d need to do is get him halfway sober and show him his VMA performance from Sunday night. The show would only need to last 4 minutes. Just get everybody in the room, turn on the DVR, put him in the limo to the rehab, roll credits. Cause I mean, really… What more is there to say?
So it’s Easter Sunday — the most colorful Sunday of the Baptist Church calendar. This morning I sat in my seat and marveled as all the women and kids in their beautiful Easter outfits and hats came in and got settled. There was a lady a few rows in front of me wearing the most GORGEOUS hat I think I’ve ever seen. I’m sure the three people whose views it was obstructing felt a little differently about the hat than I did…
But I digress.
I was sitting next to what I like to call a Pew-varotti. It’s a werge (word merge) I coined myself:
1 :The person sitting next to you in the church pew who takes his/her vocals a little too seriously and sings The Lord’s Prayer and/or congregational hymn as if they’re headlining a show at Carnegie Hall — à la Luciano Pavarotti
Yeah. Pavarotti in an Easter crown. I really took the time to do that.
Moving past that… you guys know what I mean, right? We’ve all had the privilege of sitting next to these folks. They sing in full voice while moving their head and shoulders like they’re conducting a symphony… I always wonder — especially when they actually have great voices — why they don’t just join the choir. I like to imagine there was a big fight at choir rehearsal one night over who got to sing the solo at pastor’s anniversary celebration, and he/she was voted out and now has no place to showcase their skills except for in the pews during service. Sure it’s probably more likely that the person is in a different choir than the one that’s singing on that day, or they don’t have the free time in their schedule to join and attend choir rehearsals, but I prefer to assume drama, and then work backwards from there.
Like my new werge? Then use it, pass it on and make mama proud.
(eks’ tra jok a sīt is) n. 1. taking a joke or conversation one joke past the funny.
My friend Angela tells me all the time that I have extrajokasitis… and I don’t disagree. But I think that’s a pretty good quality to have as a comedian. I mean, taking an average everyday concept and stretching it to the point of absurdity is the definition of what we do. It’s what makes great comics great, and I wanna be great one day. Now, that said, outside of comedy, there are very few situations in which extrajokasitis is beneficial. Everybody loves funny people, but I don’t know how many times I’ve been at work or some other random place, written or said something I thought was hilarious, gotten a blank stare or e-mail crickets, and then had to ask, “Too far, huh?” It stinks sometimes, but I hope I never lose that. Because once I stop thinking one joke or one obscure reference ahead, I’m done. And really it’s the only way to know when you’ve gotten as much as you can out of a joke… So cheers for extrajokasitis! May they never find a cure.