I hate award shows. I don't watch them. It's comparing apples to oranges. The premiss is ridiculous. How can you quantify if Eminem raps better than Taylor Swift publicly humiliates her exes? I also think they are boring. I find them to be liken to watching a sleepy, middle-american high school graduation with better clothes and each graduate getting to make a minute valedictory address. Ug. Is The Good Wife on?
So I only heard about what Kanye West did after the fact. It makes my skin crawl on so many levels. Look. I get the feeling of getting jipped; ripped off. "It's not fair." is a huge part of my vocabulary. But who the hell are you to decide a guy with a dozen albums, who plays as many instruments is less talented than a singer who stole choreography from Gwen Verdon and Bob Fosse? All while sitting next to a woman whose latest claim to fame is catching champagne on her ass. Please.
Speaking of that bubbly-assed woman. Isn't she you wife? Maybe if you love Beyonce more you shouldn'thave put a ring on it. Beyonce is a big girl. She can stick up for herself. Then next time you want to give an award away, two things: 1. Make sure the award is - YOUR OWN. 2. Give it to a fireman, a cop, or a teacher.
Because they are the ones who get played with everyday with disrespect and genuine danger. Plus they can't drive the Porche to the mansion and lick their wounds in Evian baths and Hermes blankets. Don't worry Kanye. Beyonce has been rewarded enough…and so have you.
Dear Uncle John,
Thank you for all of the fun things you did with me when I came down to South Carolina to visit you and Aunt Mitzie. I remember that the first time I was ever on an airplane was to come and see your family when I was about six or so. I threw up. But I was amazed at the red dirt, your awesome Boston Terrier Chomper (who slept with me every night), and your gaggle of eleven cousins to play with. Yes. Our family is Catholic. I also remember sitting on your lap and you trying to explain to me the stock market. I don't have a portfolio to date. So I guess that never sank in. Thanks for trying.
Thank you for picking us up in Charlotte even though you lived in Greenville. I am assuming that was because we got a cheaper flight. I did not make the travel arrangements that year. Thanks for always picking up the check. I got you once though at Ron's pizza shop. You were ticked. But I had an extra travelers check from my trip to Europe and I moved fast back then.
Thank you for taking me to Chimney Rock and teaching me all about Sassafras trees and the King of the Hill hill climb. You will be happy to know the house I bought here in South Jersey has a "root beer" tree in the back yard and I identified it from this memory. I had just finished my freshman year in college then. Suffice to say I was not as much of a Rush Limbaugh fan as you were. But our battles were fun. Although I clearly brought a knife to a gun fight.
It is hard to believe that the next time I stain my shoes with Carolina dirt you will not be there to greet me in your black rimmed glasses and your short sleeved dress shirts that time forgot. Clearly you will only accept a seat on the right hand of god. When you get a minute between debates with JFK, Reagan, and maybe even your brother Potsie, (If he made it up there. I remember having to sit in between you two in a car and he kept punching me in the arm the whole way. That can't be the worst of it.), please send me a sign that the Republicans are right about global warming, gay marriage, and socialism. And please ask god to reconsider if that sign is Sarah Palin.
It is amazing how the hours can get away from you. I am trying to get in the habit, as of 2015, of blocking out my time each day. However these little habits take time to develop. Because I had blocked out time in the morning to blog today and it's 4:00p.m. and I am just starting this post.
But things happen. Yesterday I got a last minute private gig out of town and didn't get home until 2:00a.m., I had to do a favor for a buddy this morning, and I am still recovering from the generous offer of the host of the party last night to "Help Myself" to the Knob Creek included open bar. Hey, I didn't want to insult the guy!
What my life could use is a good old musical montage. You know the like the one in Rocky IV. Where in the time it takes John Cafferty to sing "Hearts on Fire" Rocky gains all the strength stamina, and confidence he needs to defeat the steroid-laden, eighties-haircut wearing Russian. Who is training in a state of the art gym while the Italian Stallion is doing torso twists with an oxen yoke around his neck in an old barn. How great would that be? Anything you wanted to do; remodel a house (Point of No Return), sew a prom dress, (Pretty in Pink), or learn a sport, literally a-n-y sport can be done in under four minutes.
Now THAT is something that I wish my iPhone could do. "Directions to." "Where would you like to go?""To the Olympics for the uneven parallel bars via 80's movie musical montage." "Getting directions to the uneven parallel bars." Don't worry. I would put my medals up in The Cloud for safe keeping.
You can always find someone to have a drink with you. You can always find someone to talk to. You can always find someone to help you change that flat tire. Hell you can even find someone to drive you to the airport. There are people everywhere who can keep you connected. I mean who among us hasn't told their entire life story to a total stranger in a long line at the grocery store? Huh? No. Me neither. That would just be creepy.
But then there are those times that you can only call those closest to you. The friends you consider family. Your tribe. I got a call from one of my tribesmen today. I answered that call. Because that is what you do. Because that is what unconditional love is. It's like a hangnail. You know. It hurts when you play with it. But it also feels kinda good. And sometimes you just pull that piece of skin up to your elbow. I remember seeing a comic do that hangnail bit on Johnny Carson. I don't know his name to credit him. A quick Google search warranted nothing but Johnny telling his own hangnail jokes. I hope his career took off. Or at least has the cult following of Pauly Shore. Every comic at least deserves that.
I'm pretty sure that I have been a hangnail to many of those around me. I know I have been as obnoxious as Pauly Shore. But boy oh boy have I got a great tribe now. I have people who travel after work in twenty degree weather to cram into a crowded party room to hear me tell my yuck yucks. Like my nine buddies who cam out last night and filled a huge table up front in West Jersey. I have a ton of doors all over the country that would open and let me in if I needed out of the cold. Like my pal Jennifer who always has a futon for me on the Upper East Side when I get stage time in New York. And according to Shawn Achor, a Harvard researcher who studied happiness, the only thing in common with happy people over all socio-economic lines is their connection to their community. Check out his Ted Talk:
http://www.ted.com/talks/shawn_achor_the_happy_secret_to_better_work?language=en
It's good. and find your tribe. That's good too.
We all know the old adage "Choose a job you love, and you will never work a day in your life." often attributed to Confucius. Which I personally doubt was coined by him. To me it contains a modern English turn of phrase. Plus back in the 5th century you really didn't get to chose your career path. For the record, I also don't think he said "He who farts in church sits in his own pew."
But what do I know about translating ancient Chinese? About as much as Sarah Palin knows about, well, geography and teaching ten-agers about contraception. "I can see Russia. But I can't see Levi sniffing around my daughter." Boy that never gets old. Maybe it does. Nobody has spelled potato wrong for a laugh in a while. Time heels all idiots.
Anyway, no matter who said it. I believe it is true. With all due respect for the folks who do work often seven days a week for life at cleaning toilets and picking up garbage and what not. I have a great job. I often realize it on days that I am planning material for a new gig. Today I am at "work" deciding if I should rip my sister-in-law or my yoga instructor a new one in front of a group of total strangers. Obnoxious? Yes. Cathartic? Yes. Slander? No. Jackpot.
I know what you are thinking: "1. How can I do this? & 2. Why is she mad at her yoga instructor?" The first answer is "no." The reasons being is because you are sane, you are polite, and you don't want to live in your friend's basement. The second answer is because I freakin' hate yoga! I wanna like it. I do. I've got the yoga pants people. But every move just hurts. I can't stand all the students that take yoga either. Who sit around in the same poses that prisoners at Abu Ghraib were put in. But only with smiles on their faces pretending that it doesn't hurt in the same way that aged Floridians pretend it's not hot or the way Republicans pretend Fox News is fair and balanced. But that's just me. And maybe yoga is more relaxing for skinny people who boobs don't poke them in the eye when strike a pose. Whatever.
So in conclusion I will say it again. "Choose a job you love, and you will never work a day in your life." Unless you sign up for a yoga class. Or you watch Fox News. Or you have a nice sister-in-law. Then you are screwed.
