At the gym today, I bench-pressed ten pounds less than I normally can.
My first thought? I have a cancerous tumor that is beginning to sap my strength.
Harris
Showing posts with label sweating the small stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sweating the small stuff. Show all posts
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
21
I went with the Mrs. and some friends to The Borgata this weekend. I only play blackjack (video blackjack if I'm gettin' killed, as you can play for less).
Now, I'm smart enough to know that no matter how poorly the other people at your table play, your own odds aren't affected (I actually find it odd how many really smart people think it does affect your own odds). However, I am easily annoyed, and like most, very annoyed when someone doesn't play the "right" way. Though again, I don't even know why it annoys me as I know it has no bearing on how I am going to do.
It just does.
So there I was, sitting next to two crew-cutted twenty-something's, who were hitting on 15 when the dealer was showing 4, sticking on 15 when the dealer had a 9, etc.
I was gettin' more and more pissed off (as were the other people at the table, judging by their head-shaking and death glares).
One of the crew-cuts asked me what I did for a living. I told him and then, asked him what he did.
"I'm a fighter pilot, about to be deployed to Iraq."
For the next minute or so, I felt really bad about silently cursing him.
That's when he hit on 18.
Harris
Now, I'm smart enough to know that no matter how poorly the other people at your table play, your own odds aren't affected (I actually find it odd how many really smart people think it does affect your own odds). However, I am easily annoyed, and like most, very annoyed when someone doesn't play the "right" way. Though again, I don't even know why it annoys me as I know it has no bearing on how I am going to do.
It just does.
So there I was, sitting next to two crew-cutted twenty-something's, who were hitting on 15 when the dealer was showing 4, sticking on 15 when the dealer had a 9, etc.
I was gettin' more and more pissed off (as were the other people at the table, judging by their head-shaking and death glares).
One of the crew-cuts asked me what I did for a living. I told him and then, asked him what he did.
"I'm a fighter pilot, about to be deployed to Iraq."
For the next minute or so, I felt really bad about silently cursing him.
That's when he hit on 18.
Harris
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Off The Deep End?
My love of dogs is well documented. I much rather hang with them than the vast majority of people, and I think that anyone who kills a dog should get the same punishment as someone who kills a human. And I'm not even kidding.
So, it may not surprise you that the other day, when it was pouring, and I saw two dogs chained to a post outside a convenience store, howling for the owner, I felt the need to stop and share my umbrella with them. The only part I'm embarrassed to admit, is that I did hesitate before stopping.
At first, the dogs looked at me curiously, while wagging their tails. I didn't want to pet them as I didn't know how they took to strangers (especially those with umbrella weapons). Eventually, their attention returned to the door of the convenience store and started howling again. And I just stood there, thinking people who passed by musta been wondering, "Why doesn't he tell his dogs to shut up already?!?"
Then I wondered what the owner was gonna say, and what I was gonna say to him. To be honest, even I would feel like a bit of an idiot telling him/her that I felt bad for your dogs getting wet. So, I needed something else to say. I figured I'd say, "I was waiting for my wife anyway," while nodding towards the store, so I thought I'd keep these lil guys dry" The only problem with that is I'd be stuck waiting till the guy was out of sight or he'd see my explanation was some sort of ruse.
I was still thinking what to say when the guy came out. He looked at me for a second, then unchained his dogs from the post, and walked away. Not even a "thank you" for being a man-servant for his dogs!
Man, I hate people.
Harris
So, it may not surprise you that the other day, when it was pouring, and I saw two dogs chained to a post outside a convenience store, howling for the owner, I felt the need to stop and share my umbrella with them. The only part I'm embarrassed to admit, is that I did hesitate before stopping.
At first, the dogs looked at me curiously, while wagging their tails. I didn't want to pet them as I didn't know how they took to strangers (especially those with umbrella weapons). Eventually, their attention returned to the door of the convenience store and started howling again. And I just stood there, thinking people who passed by musta been wondering, "Why doesn't he tell his dogs to shut up already?!?"
Then I wondered what the owner was gonna say, and what I was gonna say to him. To be honest, even I would feel like a bit of an idiot telling him/her that I felt bad for your dogs getting wet. So, I needed something else to say. I figured I'd say, "I was waiting for my wife anyway," while nodding towards the store, so I thought I'd keep these lil guys dry" The only problem with that is I'd be stuck waiting till the guy was out of sight or he'd see my explanation was some sort of ruse.
I was still thinking what to say when the guy came out. He looked at me for a second, then unchained his dogs from the post, and walked away. Not even a "thank you" for being a man-servant for his dogs!
Man, I hate people.
Harris
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Cutting Off My Nose
Last week, I went to my favorite empanada restaurant for take out. It's really loud in there and wasn't sure the waitress heard me correctly. Sure enough, when I looked at my receipt, she had charged me for four beef empanadas and not four chicken ones.
When I told her of her miscue, she said, "I'll change it but you told me beef."
Now, I know I didn't say beef. Though I normally do order beef, I was ordering for me and my wife and decided to go the healthier chicken route with her.
My guess is when I said "four baked chicken empanadas," she heard "beef" instead of "baked." (Though you'd think she'd have asked what are beef chicken emps?")
Anyway, I'm not sure if I was angry cause they keep it so loud that I'm not shocked that these mistakes occur or cause the mistake was a small one and the waitress should've just employed the "Customer is always right" rule, but I wanted to I got indignant and decided to win the argument.
I said, "I know I said chicken. I haven't eaten meat in over twenty years!"
And that was that.
Ba-Daooowww!!!
I win!!
Of course, now every time I go there, I have to see if she's there before ordering my usual beef empanadas.
D'oh!
harris
When I told her of her miscue, she said, "I'll change it but you told me beef."
Now, I know I didn't say beef. Though I normally do order beef, I was ordering for me and my wife and decided to go the healthier chicken route with her.
My guess is when I said "four baked chicken empanadas," she heard "beef" instead of "baked." (Though you'd think she'd have asked what are beef chicken emps?")
Anyway, I'm not sure if I was angry cause they keep it so loud that I'm not shocked that these mistakes occur or cause the mistake was a small one and the waitress should've just employed the "Customer is always right" rule, but I wanted to I got indignant and decided to win the argument.
I said, "I know I said chicken. I haven't eaten meat in over twenty years!"
And that was that.
Ba-Daooowww!!!
I win!!
Of course, now every time I go there, I have to see if she's there before ordering my usual beef empanadas.
D'oh!
harris
Friday, August 15, 2008
I Need A Ruling
When should you hold a door for someone?
Or, more specifically, how close should they be for you to deem in necessary to hold the door?
I actually find it really annoying when someone holds a door for me when I'm like ten, fifteen feet away. It makes me feel obligated to speed up since I feel bad making them wait.
Yup..I'm easily annoyed.
Rock on,
Aitch
Or, more specifically, how close should they be for you to deem in necessary to hold the door?
I actually find it really annoying when someone holds a door for me when I'm like ten, fifteen feet away. It makes me feel obligated to speed up since I feel bad making them wait.
Yup..I'm easily annoyed.
Rock on,
Aitch
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
We Heard This is How Brad and Angelina Hung Their Pictures
Though I've lived in my current apartment for over a year, I never bothered to hang any of my pictures. When Josie moved in, we never bothered to hang our pictures.
Then, this happened.
Fearing that America would think we just moved in, we decided to hang our pictures the night before the cameras arrived (though in retrospect, who cares? I mean, so, if they ask, I say we just moved in....but I digress...).
Not only did we wait till the last minute, but I got a last second spot at a club so we didn't start till around 10 PM, which helps to explain why the pics over the sofa look like this...
In fact, they are so far off from each other, that we decided to leave them as they were, and tell people that we did it on purpose...looks kinda artistic, actually.
Rock On,
Aitch
p.s. those are original movie posters from The Sting and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Then, this happened.
Fearing that America would think we just moved in, we decided to hang our pictures the night before the cameras arrived (though in retrospect, who cares? I mean, so, if they ask, I say we just moved in....but I digress...).
Not only did we wait till the last minute, but I got a last second spot at a club so we didn't start till around 10 PM, which helps to explain why the pics over the sofa look like this...
In fact, they are so far off from each other, that we decided to leave them as they were, and tell people that we did it on purpose...looks kinda artistic, actually.
Rock On,
Aitch
p.s. those are original movie posters from The Sting and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
If Anyone Finds A Banana in Midtown, It's Mine
The other day I was starving but only had a buck in my pocket, so I walked to a street vendor selling fruit to buy a banana. The dude was selling them for 50 cents each!
I remember when bananas were like five fer a buck (I miss the good ol' days).
Though I was pissed, I was also hungry, so I bought two. After finishing one, I reached into my pocket to retrieve the other.
It was gone.
Then I was really pissed.
Rock On,
Aitch
I remember when bananas were like five fer a buck (I miss the good ol' days).
Though I was pissed, I was also hungry, so I bought two. After finishing one, I reached into my pocket to retrieve the other.
It was gone.
Then I was really pissed.
Rock On,
Aitch
Thursday, January 17, 2008
I Could Climb Trees With Those
Went to the doc today to have her check out my chronic knee pain.
She asked me to take off my pants, shoes and socks. I really wish I realized last night that she'd wanna check out my feet...or at the very least, I wish I carried around nail clippers.
Rock On,
Aitch
She asked me to take off my pants, shoes and socks. I really wish I realized last night that she'd wanna check out my feet...or at the very least, I wish I carried around nail clippers.
Rock On,
Aitch
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Addendum
You know you're spending a lot of time (and money) at your dentist when your office moves locations and you get flowers from her, congratulating me on the move (as if I had anything to do with it).
Rock On,
Aitch
Rock On,
Aitch
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Trip to the Dentist
I've run out of dental insurance for the year (it's been a bad year for my teeth), so when I went in with a bad toothache, I told my dentist, "Just patch it up best ya can... we'll do something longer term in January, if need be."
Of course I knew need would be, but I still had some hope.
ANYWAY, she looked at the offending tooth, and proclaimed, "Wow, that's big," and then made the "tsk, tsk, tsk" sound.
I knew she meant the cavity, but I had to fight to keep from saying, "That's what she said."
And she kept saying it...and I had to keep fighting my urge to say it. When I started sweating, I swear, I don't know if it was cause of the drilling, or my battle my inclination to embarrass myself with a stupid joke.
btw - Instead of some form of Muzak, she plays "sounds of the forest" to relax her patients. Why would I find it soothing to have my teeth drilled while I think a jaguar may be bearing down on me? She brushed up against my leg, I thought I'd gotten bitten by a mongoose.
Rock On,
Aitch
Of course I knew need would be, but I still had some hope.
ANYWAY, she looked at the offending tooth, and proclaimed, "Wow, that's big," and then made the "tsk, tsk, tsk" sound.
I knew she meant the cavity, but I had to fight to keep from saying, "That's what she said."
And she kept saying it...and I had to keep fighting my urge to say it. When I started sweating, I swear, I don't know if it was cause of the drilling, or my battle my inclination to embarrass myself with a stupid joke.
btw - Instead of some form of Muzak, she plays "sounds of the forest" to relax her patients. Why would I find it soothing to have my teeth drilled while I think a jaguar may be bearing down on me? She brushed up against my leg, I thought I'd gotten bitten by a mongoose.
Rock On,
Aitch
Sunday, December 9, 2007
There But For the Grace of Whatever....
As anyone who reads my blog knows, hanging with my girfriend's family, while fun, usually makes for a good blog post (or even a bit for my act), as you can plainly see here and here. Oh, and here.
I was fully expecting yesterday to be no different as we were going over to bake cookies (no, I'm not kidding).
I pictured dropping a tray of cookies that Josie's three-year-old niece had just made. Or maybe knocking over their Christmas tree while trying to put up the final ormament (as it turned out, they didn't have one up). Or at least sweating up a storm when her niece asks why I don't celebrate Christmas.
But none of those things happened.
I thought my Post For the Day would present itself when one hour into our visit, I had to use the restroom, and I didn't wanna use the one downstairs (IF ya know what I mean). I chose to wait as I really didn't wanna feel everyone looking at me when I walked back down the stairs.
It turned out to be the best move I've made since I decided to stop answering e-mails from wealthy Nigerians.
About a half-hour later, Josie's brother, disappeared upstairs. He came down about twenty minutes later with a sheepish grin.
"Ummm, where's the plunger?"
"Why?"
"The toilet's overflowed."
It turned out to be a really "good" overflow too, reaching the hallway. He came downstairs a few times with wet (ugh) towels to be put in the washing machine in the basement.
He may've thought I looked a little too happy that it happened, but not really. I was just happy, and quite frankly shocked, that it wasn't happening to me.
Rock On,
Aitch
I was fully expecting yesterday to be no different as we were going over to bake cookies (no, I'm not kidding).
I pictured dropping a tray of cookies that Josie's three-year-old niece had just made. Or maybe knocking over their Christmas tree while trying to put up the final ormament (as it turned out, they didn't have one up). Or at least sweating up a storm when her niece asks why I don't celebrate Christmas.
But none of those things happened.
I thought my Post For the Day would present itself when one hour into our visit, I had to use the restroom, and I didn't wanna use the one downstairs (IF ya know what I mean). I chose to wait as I really didn't wanna feel everyone looking at me when I walked back down the stairs.
It turned out to be the best move I've made since I decided to stop answering e-mails from wealthy Nigerians.
About a half-hour later, Josie's brother, disappeared upstairs. He came down about twenty minutes later with a sheepish grin.
"Ummm, where's the plunger?"
"Why?"
"The toilet's overflowed."
It turned out to be a really "good" overflow too, reaching the hallway. He came downstairs a few times with wet (ugh) towels to be put in the washing machine in the basement.
He may've thought I looked a little too happy that it happened, but not really. I was just happy, and quite frankly shocked, that it wasn't happening to me.
Rock On,
Aitch
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
I Have to Stop Thinking
I live in the same building as the owner of one of NY's best comedy clubs. I've seen him a few times, always when one of us is getting into the elevator while the other is leaving. Naturally, I'm never prepared to meet him, so I end up saying something like "Hey XXXX, how's it goin'?" though I guess what am I supposed to say?
The other day was one of those times, and then I saw him at the club later when I was MC'ing a show. I had no reason to walk up to him during the show so I figured I'd just hang out and watch the comics and if I saw him after, I'd say, "Hey XXXX, we're gonna start seein' each other in our dreams!" and we'd share a hearty laugh.
As the show progressed I stopped watching the comics and started practicing what I was gonna say...
"Hey XXXX, we're gonna start seein' each other in our dreams!"
...over and over again.
Then I thought he might think that's a weird thing to say.
He may respond, "No offense Harris, but I don't think I'll be thinking of you in my dreams."
Then, I'll have to come back with, "No, of course not...I meant that I would dream of you in my sleep...not that I do...dream of you, or anything like that.... I mean, I do think of you sometimes at home...ummm, by 'think' I mean in a professional manner, you know, you as the owner of the club and, umm, yeah..."
I ended up walking past him, saying, "Hey XXXX, how's it goin'?"
Rock On,
Aitch
The other day was one of those times, and then I saw him at the club later when I was MC'ing a show. I had no reason to walk up to him during the show so I figured I'd just hang out and watch the comics and if I saw him after, I'd say, "Hey XXXX, we're gonna start seein' each other in our dreams!" and we'd share a hearty laugh.
As the show progressed I stopped watching the comics and started practicing what I was gonna say...
"Hey XXXX, we're gonna start seein' each other in our dreams!"
...over and over again.
Then I thought he might think that's a weird thing to say.
He may respond, "No offense Harris, but I don't think I'll be thinking of you in my dreams."
Then, I'll have to come back with, "No, of course not...I meant that I would dream of you in my sleep...not that I do...dream of you, or anything like that.... I mean, I do think of you sometimes at home...ummm, by 'think' I mean in a professional manner, you know, you as the owner of the club and, umm, yeah..."
I ended up walking past him, saying, "Hey XXXX, how's it goin'?"
Rock On,
Aitch
Sunday, November 4, 2007
It Always Feels Like Somebody's Watching Me
Went to dinner last night at Josie's parents' house. Nothing fascinating to report, other than when her mom asked if I had tried the brussel sprouts, her dad said, "Yes, in fact he took seconds!"
Huh?
Rock On,
Aitch
P.S. Remember when I first met them for dinner?
If you don't...
Well, I thought I got out of the whole "saying grace" thingy but then The Niece says she wants to say grace after we were finished eating.
Ugh...
I went with "I'm thankful I'm not sweating."
Rock On (again),
Aitch
Huh?
Rock On,
Aitch
P.S. Remember when I first met them for dinner?
If you don't...
Well, I thought I got out of the whole "saying grace" thingy but then The Niece says she wants to say grace after we were finished eating.
Ugh...
I went with "I'm thankful I'm not sweating."
Rock On (again),
Aitch
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Different
As y'all know, I've had two-three day stubble for the last seven/eight years... problem was it made Josie's face look like she had just kissed sandpaper after a night with me. Though I argued that it was as if I was merely brushing away her dead facial skin like a good exfoliant, she chose not to see the forest for the trees, and though she didn't ask me too, I shaved it off.
Mike, the dude who sits next to me, said I look much younger... cool...younger is good, I guess. Thanks Mike!
Last night, I met Josie for dinner. Waiting for me in front of the restaurant, I walk up to her...she kisses me, feeling my face and says...
"It looks... different."
"Thank...huh?"
She claims that it was meant in a good way (I guess it would be like "Yo! Tha' shit is DIFF'RENT!!") -
Maybe I'm a victim of my upbringing, but all I could remember is sitting at the table and mom asking me and Rich what we think of her orange marmalade enthused spaghetti sauce and Rich going, "Umm, well, it's different."
So seriously, what do you think? Does Josie have a leg to stand on here?
I didn't think so...
Rock On,
Aitch
Mike, the dude who sits next to me, said I look much younger... cool...younger is good, I guess. Thanks Mike!
Last night, I met Josie for dinner. Waiting for me in front of the restaurant, I walk up to her...she kisses me, feeling my face and says...
"It looks... different."
"Thank...huh?"
She claims that it was meant in a good way (I guess it would be like "Yo! Tha' shit is DIFF'RENT!!") -
Maybe I'm a victim of my upbringing, but all I could remember is sitting at the table and mom asking me and Rich what we think of her orange marmalade enthused spaghetti sauce and Rich going, "Umm, well, it's different."
So seriously, what do you think? Does Josie have a leg to stand on here?
I didn't think so...
Rock On,
Aitch
Monday, July 23, 2007
Oh, Good Grief...
So I did the early show at Gotham this past Friday night (went lousy, thanks... I'm in my first slump since, well, since I started getting decent) and mom came, along with Deeanna, her friend Roy, and Josie.
Deeanna's live-in boyfriend, Ronnie, is a drummer. He couldn't make it cause he had a gig. After the show, we're outside talking about how Ronnie travels sometimes for work. Mom said (and no, i'm not joking)... "You know he's probably cheating on you."
"Mom!"
"Well, he is...that's how musicians are."
"Oh, good grief." I felt a weird sensation in my stomach as I could actually sense the lining peel away.
Rock On,
Aitch
Deeanna's live-in boyfriend, Ronnie, is a drummer. He couldn't make it cause he had a gig. After the show, we're outside talking about how Ronnie travels sometimes for work. Mom said (and no, i'm not joking)... "You know he's probably cheating on you."
"Mom!"
"Well, he is...that's how musicians are."
"Oh, good grief." I felt a weird sensation in my stomach as I could actually sense the lining peel away.
Rock On,
Aitch
Friday, July 6, 2007
I Almost Punched Out A 90 Year Old Man
So my dog run has two sides...one for lil dogs, and one for big ones. For the last couple of days, they've been fixing the big dog part, so it's been closed. There is a sign at the front gate, informing big dog owners that there's another run about a block away. But yesterday, when I brought Stewie to the run in the morning, there was a big dog in the small run (and no other dogs). When I opened the gate, Stewie growled at him.
As many of y'all know by now, I'm a bit of a lunatic when it comes to my dog, so I spotted the owner, a guy who may've fought in the Civil War, I tersely said, "Ya know, ya not supposed to be in here with big dogs."
He responded, "I'll go wherever the fuck I want."
It was on.
"What?!?" I practically shrieked, "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!!" I followed him as he started back to the bench he was sitting on.
"You heard me!" He replied over his shoulder.
"This isn't your fuckin' run!"
"Quit fuckin' following me!" He answered, sitting down.
"I can go wherever the fuck I want! Sound familiar?!?"
"I'll get the cops!"
"Go ahead. Get the fuckin' cops. Please do!" He was seated and I was standing over him.
"Keep this up and I'll kick your fuckin' dog!"
"Go ahead. Try to kick my dog... I fuckin' DARE you!"
"Just get away from me! What are you, some sort of fag?"
"Yeah, I'm a fag."
Eventually, he shut up and I retreated to a bench on the other side.
Then he got up and started again.
"Oh, look at me, a fag with my little faggy dog," he squealed in a high pitched voice, while prancing around with one hand floppy (the International symbol for gaayness). He obviously figured that would push my buttons, but watching this 90-year-old guy skipping back and forth in the dog run for a minute, I only wished I had a video camera. He continued to try to bait me, asking me if I wanted to kiss him, etc, but I could no longer take him seriously.
His dog, who was laying down the entire time, limped over to me. I petted him. Stewie then brought him the ball that I was tossing to him.
After a couple of minutes, the guy walked up to me.
"Sorry, I'm sorry about all that. You can't take me seriously, I'm insane."
"That's all right. I was wrong too."
"I gotta go, but I'm Jeremy."
"Harris."
"Nice to meet you.. take care."
And then Jeremy left.
If this was a TV show, there'd be a voiceover in the end with the narrator saying something like, "Women sometimes derogatorily refer to men as dogs, but in light of today, maybe they should rethink their metaphors."
Rock On,
Aitch
btw - I wish this wasn't a true story... but it's not even exaggerated at all. The lesson is threaten my dog at your own peril...and I'm insane.
As many of y'all know by now, I'm a bit of a lunatic when it comes to my dog, so I spotted the owner, a guy who may've fought in the Civil War, I tersely said, "Ya know, ya not supposed to be in here with big dogs."
He responded, "I'll go wherever the fuck I want."
It was on.
"What?!?" I practically shrieked, "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!!" I followed him as he started back to the bench he was sitting on.
"You heard me!" He replied over his shoulder.
"This isn't your fuckin' run!"
"Quit fuckin' following me!" He answered, sitting down.
"I can go wherever the fuck I want! Sound familiar?!?"
"I'll get the cops!"
"Go ahead. Get the fuckin' cops. Please do!" He was seated and I was standing over him.
"Keep this up and I'll kick your fuckin' dog!"
"Go ahead. Try to kick my dog... I fuckin' DARE you!"
"Just get away from me! What are you, some sort of fag?"
"Yeah, I'm a fag."
Eventually, he shut up and I retreated to a bench on the other side.
Then he got up and started again.
"Oh, look at me, a fag with my little faggy dog," he squealed in a high pitched voice, while prancing around with one hand floppy (the International symbol for gaayness). He obviously figured that would push my buttons, but watching this 90-year-old guy skipping back and forth in the dog run for a minute, I only wished I had a video camera. He continued to try to bait me, asking me if I wanted to kiss him, etc, but I could no longer take him seriously.
His dog, who was laying down the entire time, limped over to me. I petted him. Stewie then brought him the ball that I was tossing to him.
After a couple of minutes, the guy walked up to me.
"Sorry, I'm sorry about all that. You can't take me seriously, I'm insane."
"That's all right. I was wrong too."
"I gotta go, but I'm Jeremy."
"Harris."
"Nice to meet you.. take care."
And then Jeremy left.
If this was a TV show, there'd be a voiceover in the end with the narrator saying something like, "Women sometimes derogatorily refer to men as dogs, but in light of today, maybe they should rethink their metaphors."
Rock On,
Aitch
btw - I wish this wasn't a true story... but it's not even exaggerated at all. The lesson is threaten my dog at your own peril...and I'm insane.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Just wanted to share a little tidbit from last night....
I was sposed to meet Deeanna at a bar (Campbell's Apartment) in Grand Central - I arrive early - get my Apple Martini and people watch...
I, seeing a more open spot, move to the other side of the bar - Deeanna arrives, gets a Grey Goose Martini...
We drink, and we're ready for another - since we're at a different spot - hence a diff bartender - than when I ordered my drink, I tell the bartender...
"She'll have another grey goose martini and I'll have an Apple Martini"
"An Apple Martini?"
"Umm, yeah, apple martini." He sniggered and got our drinks.
Deeanna, who's a regular there, said - through tears of laughter - its the first time she ever saw him smile.
I was half-expecting him to come back with my drink with a lil dainty umbrella in it
I'm surprised that never happened to me on a date
btw -
snig-ger 1.n. - a disrespectful laugh
2.v. - laugh quietly
Just so ya'll know, i'm in the midst of writing the tale of my writing class - it's gonna be looooong (like novella size) - dunno how good it'll be but we'll see - here are some excerpts so you don't, don't, don't don't, don't you...forget about me. Like most movies though, these are prolly the only funny parts. Anyway, it'll begin thusly...
Mem-oir n. - 1. An account of the personal experiences of an author. 2. An autobiography. 3. A biography or biographical sketch. 4. Personal essays written by someone who thinks their life is just so damn fascinating that he or she thinks others will want to stop living their own lives to read about the writer’s life.
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I can see me at my book signing in a Barnes and Noble that they would have to close to the general public due to the huge throng of my adoring fans. In fact, extra security would have to be brought in – with stun guns – yes, stun guns after The Incident last week at the Borders in Binghamton signing
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WEEK ONE (I smell trouble...or is it me) – I walked into the classroom a half-hour early to see seven people already seated. I looked in one middle aged woman’s direction and asked loudly enough for all to hear “Is this for genital herpes or all herpes?”
“Excuse me?”
“This support group…is it only for people with genital herpes or for all herpes sufferers?” I asked.
She stammered while looking around for help, “I…think…you’re…in the wrong room. This is a memoir writing class.”
“Oh wait, I’m sorry. Today’s Thursday, isn’t it? Oh wait its Wednesday…silly me. No, I’m in the right place, just had my days mixed up. Sorry.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I scanned my thirteen classmates to size them up and immediately realized one thing – I can beat them all up. Sure, there were about seven or eight women in the 30-44 range, three to four in the 45-60 range, two gay men - trust me, they were gay - and one other guy who was about 50, but still, it was the first time I could ever say that in a classroom. If anyone was going to threaten and fleece classmates of their lunch money in this class, it was going to be me.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn’t help but think I was in the wrong class. I thought of Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin pulling aside her commanding officer to explain that she didn’t sign up for this army – no, she signed up for the other army. I think I was supposed to be in the other memoir writing class, you know, the one with the people who knew basic English
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was sposed to meet Deeanna at a bar (Campbell's Apartment) in Grand Central - I arrive early - get my Apple Martini and people watch...
I, seeing a more open spot, move to the other side of the bar - Deeanna arrives, gets a Grey Goose Martini...
We drink, and we're ready for another - since we're at a different spot - hence a diff bartender - than when I ordered my drink, I tell the bartender...
"She'll have another grey goose martini and I'll have an Apple Martini"
"An Apple Martini?"
"Umm, yeah, apple martini." He sniggered and got our drinks.
Deeanna, who's a regular there, said - through tears of laughter - its the first time she ever saw him smile.
I was half-expecting him to come back with my drink with a lil dainty umbrella in it
I'm surprised that never happened to me on a date
btw -
snig-ger 1.n. - a disrespectful laugh
2.v. - laugh quietly
Just so ya'll know, i'm in the midst of writing the tale of my writing class - it's gonna be looooong (like novella size) - dunno how good it'll be but we'll see - here are some excerpts so you don't, don't, don't don't, don't you...forget about me. Like most movies though, these are prolly the only funny parts. Anyway, it'll begin thusly...
Mem-oir n. - 1. An account of the personal experiences of an author. 2. An autobiography. 3. A biography or biographical sketch. 4. Personal essays written by someone who thinks their life is just so damn fascinating that he or she thinks others will want to stop living their own lives to read about the writer’s life.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I can see me at my book signing in a Barnes and Noble that they would have to close to the general public due to the huge throng of my adoring fans. In fact, extra security would have to be brought in – with stun guns – yes, stun guns after The Incident last week at the Borders in Binghamton signing
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WEEK ONE (I smell trouble...or is it me) – I walked into the classroom a half-hour early to see seven people already seated. I looked in one middle aged woman’s direction and asked loudly enough for all to hear “Is this for genital herpes or all herpes?”
“Excuse me?”
“This support group…is it only for people with genital herpes or for all herpes sufferers?” I asked.
She stammered while looking around for help, “I…think…you’re…in the wrong room. This is a memoir writing class.”
“Oh wait, I’m sorry. Today’s Thursday, isn’t it? Oh wait its Wednesday…silly me. No, I’m in the right place, just had my days mixed up. Sorry.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I scanned my thirteen classmates to size them up and immediately realized one thing – I can beat them all up. Sure, there were about seven or eight women in the 30-44 range, three to four in the 45-60 range, two gay men - trust me, they were gay - and one other guy who was about 50, but still, it was the first time I could ever say that in a classroom. If anyone was going to threaten and fleece classmates of their lunch money in this class, it was going to be me.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn’t help but think I was in the wrong class. I thought of Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin pulling aside her commanding officer to explain that she didn’t sign up for this army – no, she signed up for the other army. I think I was supposed to be in the other memoir writing class, you know, the one with the people who knew basic English
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
I Missed a Spot
So I had a date Sunday night. Since one of my fave comics, Dave Attell, was performing at Gotham, I figured we'd meet for a drink and then see him.
Here's my new favorite thing about being a comic - Management at Gotham actually treated me like a bit of a big deal. Waiting on line, one of the assistant managers walked over to me, shook my hand, and asked if I was getting comped.
"I dunno."
"Here." He pulled out a couple of free passes. "If they don't comp you, give them these, and they will."
"Thanks!"
When we got to the front of the line, the guy who figures out where to seat people recognized me as well....
"Hey! Harris Bloom!"
"How's it goin'?"
"Good," He said, giving me our seating assignment. "You're both comped."
"Thanks!"
When we ambled over to the dude who actually seats us, it was more of the same...
"Mr. Bloom, how are you?"
"Good."
Imagine if I really was somebody.
As we got closer to our seats, I knew I had to make a decision. There were already two people sitting at our table. They had The Good Side... basically, facing the stage. My decision involved whether to sit on the outer-most seat or the one closer to the stage. Here's the dilemma: The outer-most seat is prolly more comfortable, so I'd normally give it to her. BUT, I had given myself a haircut (using a razor) earlier, and I knew there was razor-burn, but also, since I no longer have anyone to ask, I worry about missing spots. So I was worried about me looking like some kinda missing link as she stared at a few patches of hair on the back of my head for the entire show.
I ended up giving her the outer-most seat and remained self-conscious for the duration. And I know she was staring at it, cause every time I turned around to say something to her, she was looking at me. So yeah, I know.
btw - Rachel's claim to match.com fame is that she's the ONLY person I think I've ever met who under "turn-offs" had clicked on "thrills."
Come again?
Upon cross-examination, she claimed she meant horror movies, which contrary to popular belief, isn't a big deal for me.
Though she agreed to have dinner after the, I'm not sure she was diggin' me as by the time I got home and logged in to match to tell her that I had a good time, her profile was gone.
Ack.
Rock On,
Aitch
Here's my new favorite thing about being a comic - Management at Gotham actually treated me like a bit of a big deal. Waiting on line, one of the assistant managers walked over to me, shook my hand, and asked if I was getting comped.
"I dunno."
"Here." He pulled out a couple of free passes. "If they don't comp you, give them these, and they will."
"Thanks!"
When we got to the front of the line, the guy who figures out where to seat people recognized me as well....
"Hey! Harris Bloom!"
"How's it goin'?"
"Good," He said, giving me our seating assignment. "You're both comped."
"Thanks!"
When we ambled over to the dude who actually seats us, it was more of the same...
"Mr. Bloom, how are you?"
"Good."
Imagine if I really was somebody.
As we got closer to our seats, I knew I had to make a decision. There were already two people sitting at our table. They had The Good Side... basically, facing the stage. My decision involved whether to sit on the outer-most seat or the one closer to the stage. Here's the dilemma: The outer-most seat is prolly more comfortable, so I'd normally give it to her. BUT, I had given myself a haircut (using a razor) earlier, and I knew there was razor-burn, but also, since I no longer have anyone to ask, I worry about missing spots. So I was worried about me looking like some kinda missing link as she stared at a few patches of hair on the back of my head for the entire show.
I ended up giving her the outer-most seat and remained self-conscious for the duration. And I know she was staring at it, cause every time I turned around to say something to her, she was looking at me. So yeah, I know.
btw - Rachel's claim to match.com fame is that she's the ONLY person I think I've ever met who under "turn-offs" had clicked on "thrills."
Come again?
Upon cross-examination, she claimed she meant horror movies, which contrary to popular belief, isn't a big deal for me.
Though she agreed to have dinner after the, I'm not sure she was diggin' me as by the time I got home and logged in to match to tell her that I had a good time, her profile was gone.
Ack.
Rock On,
Aitch
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Take My Mom...Please!
So last Friday semi-evening, I hosted a show at Gotham - mom came, and so did Lynda, chick I'm seeing - after the show, I introduce them, and after telling mom that Lynda writes novels, I make a joke about the type of stuff (chick-lit) Lynda writes...let's listen in, shall we?
Me - Yeah, her last book was called "Women Wear Shoes."
Lynda - It was not!
Mom - So what do you write about, like fashion?
Lynda - Does it look like I write about fashion?
Mom- No! It doesn't!
Me - Good night, everybody! You've been great!
Rock On,
Aitch
Me - Yeah, her last book was called "Women Wear Shoes."
Lynda - It was not!
Mom - So what do you write about, like fashion?
Lynda -
Mom-
Me - Good night, everybody! You've been great!
Rock On,
Aitch
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The "C" Word
Being Jewish and all, I'm always worried about being classified as "cheap." Nothing's worse than being a cliché (though I wouldn't mind being yet another wealthy Jew...so I guess I just don't wanna be a negative cliché). And I don't think I am (cheap, that is); but apparently Tara (girl I'm seeing) disagrees.
I had a spot at a bar last Friday night at 10 PM. I also had dinner plans with Tara at 7. I told her that we'd have dinner, I'd run to do my spot and then I can meet her back at her place, or I could just go home (we had plans for Saturday anyway). When I was about to leave, she suggested going with me to the bar.
"Ummm..."
"What? You don't want me to go? I thought I was being nice and supportive."
"You are, it's very cool of you to wanna go. The only thing is that if you go, I gotta take a cab, both ways."
"So?"
"Well, if you ALWAYS accompany me to me spots, that's gonna cost a lot of money."
"You're joking, right?"
"I should prolly say 'yes' here, right? I also don't want you to wait with me...I dunno when I'm gonna get on."
"THAT I could buy, but that isn't your real reason."
"It could be?"
"But it isn't."
"No, it is!"
"Whatever."
That's when she dropped the "C" word on me. Indignant, I carried on the conversation for several minutes; long enough so that fearing being late for my spot, I took a cab to my gig. Solo, natch'.
I walked home to partially make up the difference.
What?!?
Rock On,
Aitch
I had a spot at a bar last Friday night at 10 PM. I also had dinner plans with Tara at 7. I told her that we'd have dinner, I'd run to do my spot and then I can meet her back at her place, or I could just go home (we had plans for Saturday anyway). When I was about to leave, she suggested going with me to the bar.
"Ummm..."
"What? You don't want me to go? I thought I was being nice and supportive."
"You are, it's very cool of you to wanna go. The only thing is that if you go, I gotta take a cab, both ways."
"So?"
"Well, if you ALWAYS accompany me to me spots, that's gonna cost a lot of money."
"You're joking, right?"
"I should prolly say 'yes' here, right? I also don't want you to wait with me...I dunno when I'm gonna get on."
"THAT I could buy, but that isn't your real reason."
"It could be?"
"But it isn't."
"No, it is!"
"Whatever."
That's when she dropped the "C" word on me. Indignant, I carried on the conversation for several minutes; long enough so that fearing being late for my spot, I took a cab to my gig. Solo, natch'.
I walked home to partially make up the difference.
What?!?
Rock On,
Aitch
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