New Video: The Best Medicine

This is a tough video to describe, but it has magic, and also Jared Stern. What more could you want?

Why I Love Baseball

Yesterday the Phillies had Hula Day -- a Hawaiian-themed promotion built around the Shane Victorino dashboard hula doll. Victorino is the right fielder and is the first native Hawaiian to make the major leagues. Despite the tropical theme it was disgusting and rainy the whole game.

After clawing back from a 7-3 deficit to the Giants and taking an 8-7 lead, the Phils blew it in the top of the 9th by giving up the tying run. It was overcast and raining and the stage was set for a really heartbreaking loss. Except ...

In the bottom of the 9th Victorino comes up second. After doing nothing at the plate all game he hits what was probably the first opposite-field homerun of his career. Phillies win.

You could not write a better one-game story. This kind of stuff happens at least once a year. I love baseball.

No Comment

What is the point of commenting "first!" on a YouTube video, or funnyordie.com video, or any kind of online comment-enabled site? Honestly, I do not know. If you understand please e-mail me.

Actually, what's the point of making any online comments? If you care enough to make a lucid and well-structured argument for or against something you probably aren't the kind of person making comments on videos or articles. You're busy living your life. Read some comments on a popular YouTube video -- we're not talking about Socratic dialog here. It's one-sentence statements followed by people calling eachother morons or worse based on those one-sentence statements. Yee.

I am preachy today.

Three Amigos ...

... is a seriously underrated movie. The canteen scene is on right now and I can't express how brilliant this is. "Lip balm?" Priceless. "You shot the invisible swordsman!" Dear lord this a great movie, and it's not the booze talking.

I am getting worn out on movie comedies built around fake improvised dialog. I have crappy, sort of funny improvised dialog with my friends every day -- I don't need to see it on the big screen. I don't think those kinds of pics ever cross the line into brilliance ... they top out at "highly entertaining," at least for me. I think you need some really tight scripted stuff to put some stank on a comedy and make it memorable ... "Stranger Than Fiction," "Three Amigos," "Annie Hall," "Hot Fuzz" ...

They just gave El Guapo the sweater. Great stuff.

It's Good to Be the King

NBA Finals TOMORROW! I don't care about basketball, and I don't care who wins, but I want the series to go seven games. Why? Because I want to see how many more "King" metaphors sportswriters can squeeze in when writing about LeBron James. We've already seen "coronation," "court," calling Daniel Gibson "the Prince" ... those are the gimmies.

I challenge you, America's sportswriters. Let's get stories featuring the following:

• Noblesse oblige
• Having to marry a cousin
• Constitutional monarchy
• Divine right
• Being excommunicated by the Pope
• Jus primae noctis

Not easy, I know. But good writing seldom is.

This Makes Me Happy

Injuries from roller shoes. I can't explain why, but whenever I see a kid in Heelys, I want to tackle them. Like walking isn't good enough for them? In my day, we walked through the mall food court with our parents. On a flat surface -- BOTH WAYS!

I Doubt I Am the First Person to Say This ...

But this playground is going to have a very high body count. Sweeping folds of fiberglass imagination should be awesome to play on.

In general, playgrounds these days suck. There was a playground down the street from my home in Lansdowne that rocked, by which I mean that most of the devices could easily kill you, and on top of that most of the play was unsupervised. Everything was made out of rotting, splintery wood, held together with rusty metal chains and bolts. There was one giant contraption that featured a wood bridge about four feet high, over top of woodchips. There were no guard rails. I think the point was to do flying jumpkicks off the top onto your unsuspecting friends below. If there was another use I never saw it.

But today's playgrounds? It's very hard to be a pretend ninja warrior on today's crappy, low-slung plastic castles. And so I ask you, where will our next generation of ninjas come from? FRANK GEHRY, THAT'S WHERE. Do it for the dark lords, Frank.

Fun and AAAAAAAH!

I am willing to consider the possibility that playgrounds are OK, and it is in fact kids that now suck. There is a playground across the street from my house, and the most popular game seems to be "Scream like you are being either sexually assaulted or mauled by a gang of something that is not human." I am not exaggerating. If you get a group of five girls together on that playground, within two minutes they will be running around the lot, saying the following:

"AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAH!"

This would, in fact, be one of the shorter sessions of "Scream like you are being sexually assaulted or mauled by a gang of something that is not human." The game can last upwards of half an hour. You win by getting someone in the neighborhood to yell, "SHUT THE HELL UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" angrily from a second-story window.

Me, I prefer kickball.

These are the people in your neighborhood

I met the mysterious blogger from Poofygoo at a party the other day ... if you need an inspiring tale of humanity, be sure to check out her June 5 account of a stroll through Meridian Hills park. Loyal readers will remember that this is the park where I saw a photo shoot on a Sunday afternoon that featured a man in a metallic gold vest dry humping a woman in a black minidress on a park bench. The entry is right here.

Plan your next park outing at Meridian Hill. You won't be sorry.

Movie Review: 28 Weeks Later

If you only see one movie this year in which a pilot tries to attack homicidal zombie-like virus victims with the blades of a helicopter, go see "Grindhouse." But if you have it in the budget for TWO movies this year in which a pilot tries to attack homicidal zombie-like virus victims with the blades of a helicopter, then also go see "28 Weeks Later."

It was highly entertaining. For about the first 40 minutes, it seems like they're trying to build up some characters and explore the emotional impact of an entire country being destroyed by a biological disaster. But then the filmakers come to their senses and it's mostly a solid hour of people running through London and getting partially eaten.

All in all, it left me eager for "28 Months Later," or maybe "28 Fortnights Later," which they can get away with because they're British.

For Fans of Me

I will be in Philadelphia this week at Helium comedy club. I am performing once again with Tom Wilson, of "Back to the Future" fame. We are both from the Philly suburbs. Some would say that's too much Philadelphia for one week of shows. I say IT'S NOT ENOUGH.

The Joy of Sitting on Your A** Watching 'The Joy of Painting'

Howard University television is running "The Joy of Painting" at 12:30 on weekdays. I cannot express what a great show this is. If you are in a bad mood, Bob Ross makes you feel good. If you are in a good mood, Bob Ross makes you feel great. If you are in a great mood, Bob Ross appears before you as a creature of pure light and reveals the fundamental harmonies of the universe, and also shows you short video clips of an injured woodchuck that he's taking care of.

It is even better if you eat a sandwich while watching.

Please note that I have never been inspired even once to buy art supplies by the show. It simply has tremendous therapeutic value. I'm pretty sure that airing "The Joy of Painting" on Palestinian and Israeli TV once a day would clean up the whole Middle East thing, quickly. We would run the risk of starting a new religious sect with Bob Ross as its central figure, but I don't think that such a sect would do anything too wacko. They might paint the Wailing Wall, but to be honest, that is a very depressing name for a holy site, and I think we can all agree that it would be more appealing with some happy little trees on it.

THERE ARE NO MISTAKES

There are merely happy little accidents. Maybe the best part of every "Joy of Painting" is where Bob is basically finished with a decent, motel-quality masterpiece, notices that there are about two minutes left on the show, and paints over 50 percent of the what he just did by slapping an enormous evergreen tree in the foreground. He does this about fifty percent of the shows. He probably has to fight the urge to do it on seascapes. ("Well, maybe in our world, someone planted a 300-foot pine on a floating raft ...")

I have tried to figure out if there is a stand-up comedy equivalent to this technique. If there is, I am going to use it. I think it would involve telling a fuzzy, five-minute Cosbyesque anecdote about family -- maybe a cheerful romp about getting attacked by ants at a picnic. Then, once the story is over, out of nowhere: "And that night dad popped mom in the jaw. Man that guy could drink."

New Video: Good Directions

You know you would totally pay for this feature.

Talkin' Baseball

Can we stop calling no-hit games "No nos"? I don't know if this is an honored tradition, but it sounds borderline retarded. That is all.

Last Comic Standing

If I appear on this show, it will be during the debut tonight (New YOrk City auditions). WATCH AND PRAY!

Greetings New Visitors!

If you are here for the first time after seeing me on Last Comic Standing, welcome to my crappy blog. If you are bored at work, or in your daily unemployment ritual, why not check out the stuff listed on the A/V page of this site? There are lots of links there to comedy projects I've worked on in the last 18 months, both videos and MP3 audio sketches. I love them all, but here's one of my favorite older videos, featuring me and my brother:

I am an International Television STAR!

Many thanks to the people who messaged after seeing me on the opening episode of "Last Comic Standing." I figure a movie deal and coke habit should come down the chute within the week, and once that happens, I'll be too big to correspond with the plebes. But for now, thanks!

I was pleasantly suprised to see how much camera time I got -- there were a LOT of good comics at that audition and they had enough footage that (as a non-winner) I easily could have ended up on the cutting room floor. So huzzah NBC for your good (bad?) judgment, and also for finding camera angles that never once showed a fat roll on my chin. And thanks for removing my goiter, CGI dudes. You guys are WIZARDS.

Three regrets: 1) I wish I had smiled more. Orthodontics is one of my strongest selling points. 2) At the end, when they were announcing the winners, I was shown biting my finger as though I was unbelievably nervous. Even my mom said this looked "really gay." What you don't know: The producers asked us to look extra anxious, so I was pantomiming a lot of really, really stupid stuff for around two minutes. They actually managed to pick the half-second that made me look like I had an ulcer exploding in my stomach. The moral of this story: NEVER PANTOMIME. 3) I hope no one at The Washington Post thinks I was bored of my job there. I love the Post -- the "rut" I was referring to had to do with my night work digging graves. Hah! No, seriously, I love The Washington Post, and I fully intend to come back there on my knees when showbusiness finally crushes my spirit. Stay beautiful, Writers Group.

Sweet Dreams

I usually have no memory of my dreams, but on Tuesday night I starred in the first half of an original musical. My brain made up music and lyrics for a good hour, along with some snappy comedic dialog. I can't remember the details of the plot, but I do know that I sang at least twice, and that Cory and Jake, two guys who were in my stand-up comedy class last year, also had roles in the musical.

Here's the best part: backstage during the intermission, the director came around to give everybody notes. I was told to "turn it way up" and act like my character "is a guy who has had LOTS of sex." He was not happy with my performance.

My brain went to the trouble of creating an entire musical, put me in a leading role, and then gave me a terrible review.

My brain is a jerk.

Rerun

"Last Comic Standing" reairs on NBC this Sunday at 9 ... WATCH! WATCH! WATCH! I know with the help of this blog's readers, we can make me the savior of NBC's summer schedule. Go forth and WATCH!

And Then There Was One

Basketball: done. Hockey: done. It's baseball season, baby.

I had the great fortune to grow up watching a guy some people consider one of the finest players of all time: Mike Schmidt. Everyone wanted to be Mike Schmidt -- a great fielder at one of the toughest positions, a power hitter, a guy with a righteous moustache. When you played as a kid, that was your fantasy.

I could field pretty well, but in three years of kid baseball I did not get a single hit. I was not Mike Schmidt. I was Steve Jeltz:

You would think the Jheri curl is a bad hairstyle for any sport that requires wearing a hat and playing hours on an astroturf field where gametime temps usually top 100. And you'd be right. But that's the magic that is Steve Jeltz.

I love baseball.

Cleveland

I'll be attending the Phillies/Indians game today, and therefore I will not have much time to write blog stuff. But ...

The Melting Pot

Given that 1) I am cheap and 2) I like to complain about things, I would still like an explanation as to why 3) it costs $50 to eat at The Melting Pot.

I would like to open my own BYOF fondue place, called O'Melty's. You pay a $10 flat "melting fee" and bring your own food -- anything you want melted. Go crazy.

My other great idea: a restaurant with a Foreman Grill at every table. Then you pick out various small cuts of meat and grill them RIGHT AT YOUR TABLE, BY YOURSELF! For $5 extra per person you can get a grill with the special bun warmer built into the lid.

The Jake at the Mistake by the Lake

The Chris White Somewhat Bombed-Out Industrial Cities of the Great Lakes Region Tour 2007 is now underway! Last night I rolled into Cleveland around 5:30 to take in the Phillies/Indians game at Jacobs Field. If you don't understand why it's important to visit different baseball stadiums whenever possible, please stop reading and go back to Russia. We cannot be friends anymore.

Location: B. The Jake is smack dab is right off all 48 of the Interstates that meet in Cleveland, so getting there is easy. It's surrounded by a lot of fun-looking bars all within a block or two, and the downtown skyline is practically on top of the outfield. It doesn't top Pittsburgh, which has a funkier skyline AND a bridge and a river in the outfield. But it's nice. It would be an A, but the stadium still happens to be in Cleveland.

Food: C. There's nothing bad about the food, but nothing really screamed "Cleveland." A guy in the team store recommended the hot dogs, but calling the hot dog your specialty food is like having "My Girl" as the first dance at your wedding. You're better than that. Prices were reasonable. Please note I deducted a full letter grade because the sodas do not have lids. This is a disturbing trend in stadium concessions -- why can we not have lids and straws? I'm guessing the answer involves a teenager with a mullet trying to stab someone with a straw, or playing frisbee with a lid near a railing, and then suing based on the results. Liability: the answer to all of life's dumb questions.

History: C plus. There's a nice miniature team hall of fame (a few plaques in a circle), but it doesn't really compare to the Reds Hall of Fame or the hellacious displays at Comerica in Detroit. The Indians have been around for more than a century, so it was a little disappointing. There was a Bob Feller statue, but where was the Willie Mays Hayes shrine? Fun Indians history fact: in the early 20th century, to honor player/manager Nap Lajole, the team was called the Naps. This would never happen today, but if it did, I would like to see the Diamondbacks honor All-Star pitcher Randy Johnson. Arizona Johnsons jerseys would sell HUGE.

Seating: A plus. Good sightlines from everywhere. It reminded me a lot of Camden Yards in this way.

Scoreboard: C. Nothing spectacular. The presence of Chief Wahoo on the scoreboard would improve this to an automatic A triple plus.

Fans: B. This grade is earned almost entirely by one guy in the bleachers with a drum (like the guy in "Major League" but without a costume). He did more to get the crowd clapping than any music cues or scoreboard videos, which by the way are huge factors in the death of sports fandom in America, but let's not go down that road right now. Drum guy played the whole game. I salute you, sir. The other fans at the game were pretty decent (and not abusive to Philly fans), but there were only 22,000 or so. Yes, it was a Wednesday, but the weather was PERFECT, the Indians are in first place, the Phillies are a pretty intriguing team to watch, and basketball ended last week. The place should have been packed. The Indians once sold out 455 consecutive home games, and now they can't get half capacity? IT'S CLEVELAND. What else do you have to do, people? Drink booze and eat fried food until you die young? If that's your thing, you can actually do it while watching baseball. Multitask.

Overall: It's a little bit plain when you stack it against the newish stadiums in Detroit, Pittsburgh, Philly or Baltimore, but the point of stadiums is to watch baseball, and this is an excellent spot to see a game. However, the Phillies lost 10-6, so I am forced to give Jacobs Field an F minus minus. It should be burned to the ground and the ashes dumped in the Cuyahoga River. Then the Cuyahoga should be set on fire, AGAIN, to destroy the ashes. All this can be done while Lenny Kravitz's "Rock and Roll is Dead" blares from speakers on my private helicopter.

Peg, It Will Come Back To You

Great moment in the bottom of the 8th inning: Geoff Geary on the mound for the Phillies, Indian catcher Whatshisface McGee on first base. Geary decides to try a pickoff move, but 1B Ryan Howard does not get the memo and remains planted 10 feet off the line behind the bag. As Geary turns to throw, McGee breaks back to the bag. Howard's not there to catch the ball, so Geary drills McGee in the midsection with the throw. After an umpire conference, it is somehow determined that McGee cannot advance a base. I don't have the rulebook in front of me, but apparently it's OK to peg a baserunner if you make it look like an accident. I have been watching baseball my entire life and I cannot remember anything remotely like this. Never leave early!

On a side note, Geoff Geary shaved his goatee, but he still looks like a sketchy dude. Fifty percent of the Phillies roster looks like trailer trash. If you are a pudgy white guy with a) a weak chin, b) facial hair suitable for K-Fed's entourage, or c) both, you just might play for the Phillies. YEE HAW!

He Hated Mondays (and Saturdays)

In 1880, a nation desperate for four more years of Rutherford B. Hayes (and his awesome beard) found its heart broken. Hayes swore as part of his 1876 campaign to serve only four years, and he was a man of his word. OR WAS HE? Consider this:

Rutherford B. Hayes was a Republican born in northeast Ohio. His father died at a young age and he was incredibly close to his mother. He studied law, and when the civil war broke out he left his wife and kids to lead a volunteer regiment in the Union army, rising to the rank of general. While in the field, he was elected to the House of Representatives. He was a compromise nominee for the GOP nomination and won a very close election. He collected walking canes, had a monster huge beard and wanted to retire to a farm.

James A. Garfield was a Republican born in northeast Ohio. His father died at a young age and he was incredibly close to his mother. He studied law, and when the civil war broke out he left his wife and kids to lead a volunteer regiment in the Union army, rising to the rank of general. While in the field, he was elected to the House of Representatives. He was a compromise nominee for the GOP nomination and won a very close election. He collected walking canes, had a monster huge beard an wanted to retire to a farm.

You never see Hayes and Garfield in the same place at the same time, because THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON. Here's where it gets freaky:

From 1831-1838 northeast Ohio (Kirkland) was the headquarters of the brand spankin' new Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. MORMONS. Joseph Smith got run out of town, because he was Joseph Smith, but you have to figure he left some kids behind, because he was Joseph Smith. Hey Chris, when was Garfield born, anyhow? Funny you should ask! November 1831. Furthermore, we ALL know that Fundamentalist Mormons have adopted a very specific attack plan to avoid persecution: taking over the government.

Hayes/Garfield's actual name was Birchard Abrams, and he was the son of Joseph Smith. He remained in Ohio when Smith fled (or "died"), and as an adult he hid his polygamous ways by assuming various identities (including the older "Rutherford") throughout the state, much like the long-haul truckers of our era. You could do that sort of thing pretty easily back then; all you had to do was grow a huge beard to hide your face, then throw around a few bribes. There was no Google to stop you. He was president twice and would have served out his entire second term, but upon getting shot in 1881 he saw a graceful way to wrap up loose ends. Having already appointed enough secret Mormons to government posts, he let the Garfield identity die and lived out the rest of his days as Rutherford B. Hayes in Fremont, not far from his second family in Mentor, where he undoubtedly got some on the side during long weekends.

So chill out about Mitt Romney, people. We've already had a Mormon president.

They refused to confirm my theories on my visit to Lawnfield, but what do you expect? The place is crawling with polygamists. They're trying to keep a low profile. I'll say this much: Birchard Abrams had taste. Lawnfield is a really nice spread. The Garfields bought it in 1876, and it was a working farm. The renovations done in the next four years and after Garfield's death left a very snappy looking mansion -- the inside is beautifully decorated and furnished. Garfield's widow installed an expansion which included a special library for Garfield's books and papers. It's a very pretty room and I'll get the pics up once they're developed. The style (including some of the stained glass windows) reminded me a lot Hayes' Spiegel Grove. I just read that last sentence and it's truly a miracle that I have ever had any girlfriends.

If you stop in, be sure to check out the outbuildings -- the gas house is sort of cool. They actually took a natural gas well on the property and used it to light the house. I haven't seen a setup quite like that before. Also, there's a small building that served as Garfield's campaign HQ in 1880 -- it's where he got the telegraph telling him he was president. Ironically, the only super important part of the house is the least fancy: the front porch. Garfield is sometimes credited with running the first ever "front porch" campaign; he was the first presidential candidate to really advocate on his own behalf, and he did it by speaking to reporters from his front porch. A band would play, then they put out a Slip-N-Slide. Each session ended with Garfield firing a shotgun in the air five times and yelling "get off my lawn." (I know I've used this joke before. Sue me.) Someone needs to try this again. If you are Ron Paul, or Joe Biden, or Tom Tancredo, what do you have to lose? NOTHING. Go home, sit on your porch in a bermuda shirt and give speeches to whoever shows up. Set up a web cam. You will be an overnight media sensation. Put some fun ceramic decorations on your porch and you will easily carry most of middle America and Florida. If you drink Miller Lite during your speeches, and wear sunglasses, then I promise you that you will become the 44th President.

FUN BIRCHARD ABRAMS (James Garfield identity) FACTS!

• As a young man, he swore never to look for any job, but only to take the opportunities that were placed before him by providence. Garfield's resume: led mule teams on the Erie Canal, minister in the Church of Christ, classics professor and school president at Hiram College, lawyer, Ohio state senator, Civil War general, 9-term U.S. Representative, head of the Appropriations Committee, House minority leader, U.S. Senator-elect and U.S. President. And for the magical summer of '47, clown at children's parties. So remember kids: Don't try.
• The only man in history to go from the House of Representatives to the White House, until Kucinich gets sworn in next January.
• His marriage was a disaster in its early years, and at one point he called marriage a "living grave." He also called Abraham Lincoln a "second-rate Illinois lawyer." Now that's candid.
• Nominated for the Ohio senate after a three-day series of 20 debates in which he defended creationism from a well-known athiest. This is what passed for entertainment before television.
• The last U.S. president born in a log cabin, but the 14th to live primarily in a house of lies.
• Studied law on his own and passed the Ohio bar just after getting into state politics. He argued the first case of his legal career in front of the U.S. Supreme Court (Ex Parte Milligan) and won. He had no military training before forming the 42nd Ohio, but he taught himself by reading about Napoleon and was eventually promoted to general. At the time of his death, was halfway through T.A. Winthrop's classic, "How to Remove a Bullet From Your Own Spine."
• He went to the Republican convention in Chicago in 1880 allegedly hoping to see John Sherman (Gen. Sherman's brother) nominated for the White House; Sherman was his friend and he gave a speech on his behalf. On the 34th ballot, Garfield's name started appearing; he won on the 36th ballot over U.S. Grant, Sherman, and James Blaine, all of whom were really pissed off about the whole thing until Garfield got shot.
• Reporters named Garfield's farm "Lawnfield." The Garfield family, however, called it "Fort Fantabulous."
• As president, he had to personally meet hundreds of people hoping to land choice government jobs. In this capacity, he actually met his future assassin, Charles Guiteau, whom he rejected for an overseas job in Paris. And that is why we invented HR departments.
• Guiteau shot Garfield twice on July 2 while the president walked through a Washington, D.C., train station. The shooter did not run; he thought that Vice President Chester Arthur would reward him with a job once sworn in. Present at the shooting was Robert Todd Lincoln -- Abraham Lincoln's son and Garfield's Secretary of War. Alexander Graham Bell devised a metal detector to find the bullet in Garfield's body, but it got thrown off by the metal frame of the bed where Garfield was resting (no one realized this at the time). It is widely agreed that Garfield died mainly from horrible and unsanitary medical care in the 80 days between the shooting and his death. It is known to smart people like you and me that he actually lived and retreated to his Mormon wives in northeast Ohio.

Take Him From Detroit

I'm back from Detroit, and I was not shot at once. I feel cheated of the "complete" Detroit experience, but there's always hope of a return visit next year. Many thanks to the Comedy Castle and the fine people of the Motor City for a fun weekend.

The Castle is an excellent club, but with a name like that it should probably have a murder hole. I have a lifelong dream of living in an actual castle, and this is the primary reason why. Even if you never used it, it would be nice to know that you have the option of dumping flaming pitch on anyone who comes through your front door. In the case of the Comedy Castle, they could use it on bachelorette parties.

There's a story here. On the Saturday late show, a bachelorette party of about 35 showed up. They were drunk before they got in. During the show they were talking very loudly, making it tough for the rest of the crowd to focus and stepping on the timing of a lot of jokes. I asked (politely) for the gals to keep the noise down, and the rest of the crowd applauded to show support. The ony response from the bachelorettes was screamed: "F**K YOU." That should be a fun wedding.

Now, many bachelorette parties are well behaved. But why do bachelorette parties come to comedy clubs in far, far greater numbers than bachelor parties? If you're going out for a world-beating last hurrah with your closest gal pals, why would you want to spend two hours in a place where you will not be able to talk or even interact much without getting yelled at? Because 65 percent of the women in a bachelorette party hate each other and actually do not want to socialize. If men stop liking each other (hey, people change), they generally cut ties and leave it at that. For reasons that no man understands, women will stay "friends" with someone that they hate. They will do this FOR YEARS. And every time after they hang out and play nice, they will then complain to their significant others about how horrible the other girl is. The guy will pretend to be totally on his lady's side, but we are actually thinking that you're nuts. N-V-T-S nuts.

That is all.

Cruisin' in the ATL

Attention ATLiens: I will be at the Funny Farm on Sunday (Sunday Sunday) July 15 as part of Comedy Central's "Open Mic Fight" competition. Please come out and enjoy the show -- if it looks like I might lose the contest, I promise I will take the "Fight" part to heart and apply a Kimura lock to my nearest opponent. Please note that the gig will be the last stop in a 3,000-mile road trip, so I might be foaming at the mouth and wearing animal pelts at that point. It's Thunderdome, baby.

Get On the Bus

Germany has paid ad money to have D.C. Metrobuses repainted, so that they are now rolling advertisments -- ads to congratulate Germany on holding the rotating presidency of the European Union in 2007.

No, seriously. I was trying to think of a good adjective to describe this campaign, and the only one that works is "German."

There Can Be Only One

I meant to mention it last week, but the mascot for the Cleveland Indians is awful. They have Chief Wahoo for a logo, but I guess they don't want the headache of actually running a guy out there in a horribly racist costume. Instead, they invented "Slider":

The Philly Phanatic isn't exactly pretty, but Slider looks like sombody ate a bunch of strawberry yogurt, vomited it up in a dumpster and then let it grow mold. Sad.

What makes the Philly Phanatic great is that he's an excellent plush children's toy, but he also uses pelvic thrusts as a primary means of communication. We should all be so eloquent.

Trivial Matters

What is sadder: a) the massive team that has assembled EVERY WEEK over three years to constantly win bar trivia in my neighborhood; or b) the fact that I really want to obliterate that team?

Today's Theme: Chris is a Snob

But you already knew that.

Thou Shalt Not Hype?

I like knowing what's cool, so I read the Comedy Central insider blog about once a week. If you don't have the time to read it yourself, here's a summary: anything that's faux intellectual, vaguely anti-Republican, has semi-improvised dialog and is ironically bizarre with little to no concern for the laughter of the audience is AWESOME. AWESOME, I SAY! Liberal recent college graduates are the ULTIMATE ARBITERS OF TASTE!

Anyhow, they've been drooling over The Ten for about six months now. I just watched the trailer over at IMDB. Am I missing something here? Maybe it was just tough to cut a decent preview for this kind of flick, but I didn't really even smile ... Wait and see, I guess.

In the meantime, can someone bust out their checkbook and finance "Dirty Work II"?

Glass Eye

Speaking of faux intellectuals ... I was watching "Frasier" reruns (on Lifetime, because I'm confident in my manhood) and I noticed the bowl in the middle of his condo is a Dale Chihuly. Makes sense, because Chihuly is a Pacific Northwest guy. If you live in DC You can actually see some Chihuly goodness at the outdoor garden attached to that greenhouse thingy by the Capitol. There's a rowboat filled with colored glass in the middle of a shallow pool. Purty stuff. Go stare at it and revel in your metrosexuality.

Discuss

There's a fine line between smart comedians and comedians who think they're smarter than you. Discuss.

Enjoy

If you're looking for a pretty funny web series you could do worse than Clark and Michael. I'm really not a huge fan of the "everything is improvised" feel, but they're both pretty good actors for that style. It's like "Arrested Development" but it's not dense enough to be truly great -- the whole show is a slow burn. Still, it's free and it's online. Fun.

Stuck in the Moment

Here's why I don't get the pseudo-improv kick the comedy world is on right now: When you're having a argument with someone, when do you think of the perfect comeback? About 10 seconds after the argument ends, outside of the moment. Scripted dialog isn't "real," but it's high-impact -- it lets you pick the absolute funniest lines and slot them one after the other. When you improvise a conversation, if everything goes great, you'll come up with one great line for, say, every seven total. Every time you reshoot the conversation, you're just going to move the brilliance around, not increase the overall quality. If you're watching live improvised performance, yes, it's very impressive to see what people can do on the fly. But if the final product is a recorded and edited scene, why wouldn't you want the absolute best? I would bet that good actors can achieve the "improv" feel even with every word being totally scripted. I don't think every other line in a scene has to be hilarious -- it's important to develop character in subtle ways, too. But I never really get the impression that pseudo-improv is being done with character development in mind. Most of the time people are just fishing for a semi-respectable punchline.

If you think I'm dead wrong about this please let me know why. I think this is a very interesting topic.