It’s been a long, long time since I last posted a blog. So long in fact that it took me a day of sorting through old emails just to figure out my username and password to log onto the site. I’m ashamed. I’ve been as absent as Patrick Swayze’s pancreas donor. It won’t happen again.
As many of you may know, a big reason for my neglectfulness of seanssabbatical is that I moved to Brooklyn. After spending over two blissful years in Roselle, Il, we packed up our things and moved to the land that Forbes Magazine labeled “The Exact Opposite of Roselle, Illinois.” The planning, the apartment hunt, the job search… all of these things made it difficult to keep up with blogging. But those days are behind me. Mama’s home.
I have been asked by many people about what it is like in New York City. While I think there are many similarities to the city of Chicago, here are a few things that I’ve noticed during my first three weeks in the Gigantic Apple.
More Things Smell Like Pee
Don’t get me wrong… there were many times that I was downtown Chicago and got a whiff of some prime homeless man’s urine. But apparently the homeless here have bladder infections, because the pee smell is everywhere you go. New York is like being in a living room the morning after a third grade slumber party, but without a stained sleeping bag it’s harder to figure out who peed.
Accents Aren’t Always Sexy
Thick New York accents are funny, but they’re not sexy. I’ll giggle when I hear a New York accent because they’re so foreign to me… but the other day I heard a woman scream, “Come ahhhhhnn, get a fagggin hit Jeeetah!” during a Yankees game and it almost turned me gay.
The Term “Go Fuck Yourself” Gets Thrown Around More Frequently
I’ve heard this used multiple times from people around me who are describing past conversations they’ve had, and sometimes they use it very haphazardly.
For example, today I walked by two girls and overheard one say, “then he tells me that I don’t look Romanian, so I told him ‘go fuck yourself!’” That confused me. Granted, I only caught a portion of their conversation, but is that really an appropriate ‘go fuck yourself’ moment? Maybe I don’t know much about Romanians, but I’ve never heard that they are extraordinarily good looking or notoriously hideous. If someone told me that I didn’t look Romanian, I’d respond, “oh… who does?” I guess I just don’t know what Romanians look like.
This is the stand up routine that I wrote. I have yet to perform it anywhere because I don’t like my current haircut, but after it grows out I plan on performing this all around the country. I added notes in parenthesis to remind myself what to do while I’m on stage.
Enjoy.
(Walk out on stage. Don’t worry about your hair. Your last haircut grew out and now you look like you could be related to Matt Damon. Maybe as a cousin or something. Begin routine)
Hey everyone, it’s great to be here. (Pause) Sike! (Pause for laughter. Resume)
So I’m from a suburb of Chicago. Why are there so many suburbs? Does Chicago have diarrhea? (Pause for laughter. Take a sip of water to moisten your pallet. Resume)
So I was born in 1981. It’s better than being born in 2001. (Pause for laughter. If none, explain joke) You know, cause of 9/11 and everything. (Pause for laughter. If no laughter just move on cause it’s a dull crowd and the joke is way over their heads. Resume)
Has anyone ever noticed that peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth when you eat it? (Pause for big laughs. Crowds love observational humor. Resume)
But seriously. I noticed that there was a full moon out tonight. (Take out wolf mask and put it on) HOOOOWWWWWWWLLLL! (Run off stage and chase people around like you were a wolf. People laugh when they’re scared. Just like you did when Uncle Charles beat you with a tire iron. How could he do that to you? It was your first Christmas. Block out the painful memory. Come back on stage when laughter is at an all time high. Take a couple of deep breaths. Resume)
Have you ever noticed that your pen always runs out of ink when you need it most? (Pause for another big laugh. Make this your last observational joke. You don’t want to be known as an observation comic. You’re a shock comic that knows no boundaries. You’re fearless. Resume)
But seriously. Christmas is coming up. My great aunt asked me to give her a gift, so I got her a grave site. (Pause for laughs. Don’t think about how your great aunt has been gone for a while and you’ve always blamed yourself for her death. Hold in tears. Take a moment if you feel them coming. You miss her dearly and will never forgive yourself. It’s a painful memory, but you’re a shock comic. You’re fearless. Resume)
So, is anyone here from out of town? (Wait until someone says they are from Cuba. There’s always one) Cuba? Why don’t you put an ice Cuba in my glass of water. (Pause for roar of impressed laughter. People are shocked with your improv skills. Your family was wrong when they said you’d never make it as a comic. It was a good thing that you told them to go fuck themselves at Easter mass. You can finally stop feeling weird about that. Congrats. Resume)
Has anyone watched that Webster show? He doesn’t look anything like his parents. (Wait to see if anyone has an explanation for this. It always confused you. Maybe you should have watched the first episode… but I doubt it explained anything. Resume with the routine. If anyone has a problem with you asking a question with no punchline, it doesn’t matter. You’re a shock comic. You’re fearless. Resume)
Oh, I forgot to mention, tip your waitress. (Pause) Tip her over and throw her to the ground! (Pause for laughter. If people appear frightened, continue joke) Cause that bitch owe me some money! (Pause again for laughter. If still none, go for the hail mary) Because she’s my ho and I’m her pimp! (Laughter guaranteed here. Way to stay with the joke. Persistence is the name of the game. Enjoy the payoff. Resume)
So a couple of weeks ago I had to go the mechanic because my brake light went off. Why don’t they make the brakes out of the same material that they make the black boxes out of? (Pause. Did you tell that joke right? Don’t contemplate. No time. Resume)
I’ve noticed that vampires are the new big thing with teenagers. It’s too bad that I wasn’t a teenager now. I used to love drinking blood. (Pause for laughter. They have no idea you’re not kidding. Now go there) I still do actually! (Bravo. It’s funny to you cause it’s true, and it’s funny to them because it’s shocking and you went there. Check to see if anyone peed their pants from laughing so hard. If so, improvise) Save some of that pee for me! (You own this club. Look around to see if a crowd of people want to carry you off stage like they did at the end of Rudy. If so, end routine and retire from comedy at the top of your game. If not, resume)
Speaking of kids these days, what’s with the emo kids? What do they have to be so depressed about? It’s not like they have cancer. (Pause for giggles. Deliver) Unless they do have cancer. (Pause for loud laughter. The club should literally be shaking by now because people are jumping up and down. Improvise) Auntie Em, it’s a twister! (At this point the club should have collapsed and people will be stuck under the rubble, laughing and struggling for their lives. In the unlikely occasion that this doesn’t happen, give them one more zinger. Make it topical)
My time is about up here, but I have one more joke for you. Why did the chicken cross the road? (Pause while audience says things like “why?” “here it comes!” and “fasten your seatbelts! this is going to be good!” Resume) Because the economy was better on the other side! Thank you and good night! (This is the best moment of your life. Enjoy it. Walk off stage and sign autographs. Now call all your ex girlfriends and inform them how they’ve destroyed you. Then brag about your current success and hang up on them. Before hanging up make sure none of them want to get back together. If they do, accept their offer. You’re lonely. But don’t let them know that. Play hard to get. But not too hard. In fact, don’t play hard to get. Go back to them as soon as they offer. You’re lonely)
As is common in the Chicagoland area, the winter and early spring of 2006 was extremely cold. For citizens of the Windy City, it’s like every year we’re sentenced to a two and a half month prison term, where going outside for more than a minute at a time is just not an option. The end of January and the early part of February are the worst, and I’m guessing that it’s around this time that most people find themselves watching more television than usual. Me and my girlfriend Jackie are no different…
At the time, Jackie and I didn’t have a particular show that we found ourselves routinely watching. We were like television orphans. Then one night we decided to watch American Idol during one of their audition episodes. The decision to watch the show wasn’t anything outrageous for either of us. Although neither of us were very big fans of American Idol, the audition portion always offers up some quality entertainment. No one proves that better than this guy…
But once the audition portion of the show was over, we would typically stop tuning in. This year however, Jackie had declared that not only was she a fan of the gray haired gentlemen who auditioned in Vegas, but he was also going to win.
The more I watched this guy, the more I became a fan as well. Since no one else on the show struck our interest, we decided that we would watch American Idol every week until he was eliminated. Because I’m a Cubs fan I have no faith in anything that I root for, so I was sure he wouldn’t make it into the top twenty. But he did.
Even though he made it to the top twenty, I was sure he wouldn’t make it to the top ten. But he did.
Even though he made it to the top ten, I knew there was no way he’d get to the finals. But he did. I was shocked. All the disappointment training that I’ve gone through over the years was not being put to good use.
Because we had invested so much of our time rooting for this guy, we became very passionate about him winning the glorified karaoke contest… so passionate that I would vote for him multiple times via text message, even though I didn’t have an unlimited texting plan. I was slowly but surely turning into a fourteen year old girl.
The night of the finals we had our own little party. I actually had butterflies in my stomach, which is when I knew this obsession was going a little too far. At the end of the American Idol Season 5 finale, the winner was announced… and to our delight, the founder of the Soul Patrol was declared the winner. The man I’m referring to is none other than Taylor Hicks.
One Night In Taylor: Our Meeting With an American Idol
Two and a half years later I found myself in front of my computer at work. Jackie and I were still together and neither of us has tuned in to an episode of American Idol since. Our entertainment preferences had matured immensely, and the shows that we now favored watching were much more geared towards adults, i.e. The Hills and Laguna Beach.
Christmas was soon approaching, and I was struggling to come up with a gift idea for her. After going down many dead ends, I decided to check the Ticketmaster website. Nothing they had on their homepage really struck my interest… I knew Jackie wouldn’t want to go see The Chicago Bulls play the Toronto Raptors, or attend the DePaul Gymnastics Expo. But before I left the website, I decided I would toss a Hail Mary and see if by chance Taylor Hicks was coming to town anytime soon. I don’t know where the idea came from, but I rolled with it. Low and behold, the former American Idol was putting on a small concert in Chicago on January 17th.
He was going to be performing at a bar called Martyrs. Martyrs is a good sized bar, but it’s not too big where it would be difficult to see the stage. I knew that if we got there early enough we could get a pretty good spot. So I bought the tickets, and a month later we were off to see our American Idol.
When we got to the venue, we positioned ourselves very close to the stage. We also positioned ourselves very close to the bar. That night in particular there was a $2.50 special on MGD cans, which is an unheard of price at a concert in the city, especially on a Saturday. Needless to say we took advantage of the deal, and when we cashed out four hours later we had racked up a $55 bill. When you do the math, that is way too much beer to be consuming in a four hour period, especially since we had already been drinking heavily beforehand. However, if it wasn’t for that beer special, we would have never met The Man.
At around 11pm, Taylor hit the stage. He was about eight feet away from us during the show, and we were having a blast. After two hours of singin, dancin, and playing cowbell, him and his band said goodnight and exited stage right. Jackie and I thought the show was over. After we had already gotten our coats on, someone informed us that he would be coming back for an encore, a thought that MGD prevented us from having. So we went to put our coats back and return to the performance area.
When we were hanging up our coats, a member of the band walked out of the bathroom and through a swinging door located right next to the coat hangers. That’s when MGD made the first of many bold choices for us that night: we would follow him.
We walked through the swinging door and found ourselves in an empty kitchen. Confusion spread through our brains. How did this guy disappear? Were we in a labyrinth? After a few moments of investigation, we noticed a stairwell that went up. MGD gave us another great idea: we should go up these stairs.
As we ventured towards the upstairs area, we couldn’t stop giggling. We knew this was getting ridiculous… but we had yet to be stopped by any sort of security, so we ventured on. That’s when MGD helped my brain come up with a flawless alibi. If anyone were to ask me why we were backstage, I would tell them that my father was the president of the Maxwell House Coffee Corporation. That way, I would sound distinguished and worthy of being in the backstage area. I loved the excuse so much that I wanted to get caught so I could use it.
When we got to the top of the stairs, there he was. Taylor Hicks and his entire band stood before us, and they were getting ready to go back downstairs for the encore. As they descended towards the staircase, me and Jackie wished them all luck. Taylor was the last to pass us, and as he walked by I wished him luck as well. “Thanks man!” he said, and then gave me a masculine fist bump, a gesture brought to us by the Obamas.
We couldn’t believe it! Because of MGD, we had mustered up the courage to sneak back stage and meet Taylor Hicks. It was amazing! But at that point we found ourselves in an awkward position… we were alone in Taylor Hicks’ dressing room.
All of his entourage had followed him, and we were all by ourselves. So we did the one thing that any star crazed fan would do in a celebrities dressing room: we started eating the free food. We snacked on humus, carrots and celery, and washed it down with bottles of water. I must say, I was a little disappointed in the spread, but I was in no position to complain. At this point I should have been arrested.
As we chowed down on the free grub, we could hear the encore below. It sounded great, but we didn’t care. We were VIP’s courtesy of the Maxwell House Corporation and loving every second of it. After about ten minutes the music below us stopped. We realized the show must be over, but before we could plan our next move our favorite American Idol walked back into the dressing room and sat right next to me.
We were both in a state of shock. In all of my years of drinking MGD, nothing productive has ever come out it. Yet here I was, sitting next to Taylor Hicks while an assistant fanned him down. It was like sitting next to Cleopatra.
As he sat there catching his breath, I decided to make a move. I said to him, “Great show!”
He replied, “Thanks man! What’s your name?”
“I’m Sean.”
“Hi Sean, I’m Taylor.” Then he shook my hand. He went through the same routine with Jackie.
So here we were… hanging out illegally in Taylor Hicks’ dressing room with him sitting next to me, stealing his food and beverages, and struggling to think of something to talk about. After a few moments of silence, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
“You know, I spent about seven dollars and eighty cents in text messages voting for you on American Idol.”
That was the only thing I could think of saying. Fucking MGD.
After making this comment, Taylor looked at me for a moment. Then he asked, “Was it worth it?”
I looked him in the eyes, and in a more serious tone than I’ve ever taken with anyone in my life, I replied…
“Absolutely.”
I believe it was me telling the winner of the most popular show in America how much in text messages I spent on him that made his assistant realize we weren’t supposed to be there. I also ruined my alibi, for if I was a real Maxwell I would probably have an unlimited texting plan. Either way, that’s when his assistant said that we should probably leave. We were in no position to but up a fuss about his request, so we complied. We said goodbye to Mr. Hicks and he told Jackie and I that it was nice meeting us.
Walking out of the backstage area made me feel like a genuine groupie. Tons of women were by the door as we walked out, all asking if we knew Taylor… to which we replied, “Of course.” I’m sure they thought to themselves, “They must be associated with the Maxwell House fortune!”
We gathered our coats and left the bar, stopping only so Jackie could buy a Taylor Hicks t-shirt.
Romanian?
