Oh yeah! Larry is a comedy legend. You've seen at least one movie that he's been in, and even if it was a bad movie, you thought Larry was really good in it. Trust me!
I was pretty geeked to talk to him, and as it turns out, he's a very nice guy -- he has an enthusiasm for his work that clearly comes through after about 30 seconds of conversation. I figured we'd just have a quick chat (he'd had a really long morning of press events before arriving for the podcast, but as it turns out he stuck around for 45 mintues.
This also reminds me of a fine copy editing story, in which the Environmental Defense Fund, or EDF, dropped the "Fund," and was ADAMANT about shortening the initials, too. Just horrible, horrible marketing.
When monsters fight aliens, the only true winners are the viewers.
Or at least that's that the theory that inevitably led to "Monsters vs. Aliens"! The plot revolves around monsters fighting aliens, or more specifically one alien that clones itself. The monsters have been held as military prisoners, often for the better part of a century, but instead of having uncontrollable rage toward humankind, they're pretty much fancy free and raring to save the world. Probably because they were TORTURED! Enhanced interrogation: it gets results.
The chief monster is a woman named Susan, who was hit by a meteorite which imbued with amazing powers, like the ability to not be crushed by a meteorite. Also, it makes her 50 feet tall and improves her self-esteem. The movie never addresses the most serious issues, like the personal hygeine demands of a 50-foot woman, but instead focuses on Susan using cars like rollerskates and beating up giant robots. And the whole thing is in 3D, which has the amazing effect of making some scenes sort of blurry and harder to watch, but at the end of the movie you do own a great pair of glasses that make you look like an 80-year-old Jewish retiree.
Grousing aside, this was pretty enjoyable, if a little disappointing. The writing just wasn't that sharp. There are a bunch of little sci-fi references tossed in, and some of the character design is cutesy, but the whole 90-minute movie didn't have many more laughs than one 22-minute episode of "Futurama." There are a few brilliant touches -- the alien's mandatory plot exposition speech is great. But overall ... just not much more than a few smiles. Pixar spoils us all.
Supreme Being
I hereby throw my hat into the ring for the opening on the Supreme Court. While I have no "qualifications," my dad is a lawyer, I live in walking distance of the office, and I would very entertaining. I'd write all my own opinions! And I'd be sure to cite "The Golden Girls" as the foundation of my most of those opinions, especially any episode where they had to watch Dreyfuss for Harry.
Civil service, baby!
I would also like to take this space to say David H. Souter can bite me. He once described his life as having the "best job in the world in the worst city in the world." David H. Souter apparently has never partied in downtown Grozny, maybe because there IS NO DOWNTOWN GROZNY, because it's a rubble pile. I submit that Grozny is therefore worse than Washington, D.C., and I move that perhaps we should revisit any Supreme Court decisions where Souter was the key vote, as he clearly has horrible judgment. And call me old fashioned, but I like good judgment in my judges.
Are you a loser who feels the need to show off your iPhone by using it for regular tasks that no one has ever needed an iPhone for since the dawn of time? There's an app for that.
Five-o de May-o
Fiesta! Kiss a Mexican pig without your surgical mask. I haven't had swine flu, but I have had some kind of cold all week, and so I've been getting lots of great looks with every sniffle. Then I whistle the Mexican hat dance, and rub my nose on my sarape. I haven't had to share a seat on the subway all week.
When we all do succumb to Biblical pestilence, I sincerely hope it comes from something more impressive than swine. I don't want to think that Western civilization was ended by pig sniffles. For example, scorpions probably don't get flu, but "scorpion flu" is an acceptable name for a disease that kills 95 percent of the world's population. Ditto "scorpion gout" and "scorpion herpes." Hamster flu? Unacceptable. Giraffe colitis? Borderline. Kitten scabies? Now we're talking ...
Hey ...
I wasn't following it too closely, so could someone let me know if I was drafted by any NFL teams last week? I know I threw my hat into the Supreme Court ring, but I'll pull it back if an East Coast NFC team drafted me as a tight end.
What better way to say, "I don't love you anymore," than through the
media!
Yes, it's a story about William Lacy Clay, a congressman from Missouri, who apparently filed for divorce without actually telling his wife of 17 years. Without knowing any of the specific details, this looks very, very bad on paper, and so I am predicting that William Lacy Clay will win at least 68 percent of the vote in 2010. You read it here first.
We put so much thought into wedding proposals, but so little into divorce. And don't we all deserve that divorce notification of our dreams?
At a break between the 3rd and 4th innings, a couple appears on the Jumbotron, with the chyron, "I want custody!" As she runs off in hysterics, the message changes to "She said no!" And the crowd goes wild.
Things have been rough, what with the long hours at the office. So why not spruce up their day by sending a strip-o-gram to work? And tucked neatly into the G-string are the papers.
What parent wouldn't appreciate a homemade Mother's Day or Father's Day card? Help your 3-year-old spell out "Divorce Pwease!" in macaroni letters. If you have the time teach them a song to go with it. But no dance. That would be cruel.
Initiate reconciliation with a recreation of your first date. Get them drunk beyond belief at dinner, stumble to a tattoo parlor, then have the request written in Olde English script as a neck band.
If all else fails, go with the classics: at the bottom of a glass of champagne, a picture of you having relations with one of their relatives. Or broken glass. Whatever gets the message across best.
Our national mission to recreate the last days of the Roman Empire continues! We make fun of social conservatives, but I think you could make a pretty good case for home schooling, or regularly beating your children with a Bible, after reading this article about "sexting."
In Fairfax County, a teenage boy sent out a text message asking girls to send photos of their breasts. Word got out at his high school, police said, and when authorities tracked the teen down, they discovered a cache of naked images on his phone.
Oh, those nutty high school days! We didn't have phones or texting from 1991-94, but I feel confident that had I canvassed my peer group for boob shots, I wouldn't have gotten much in the way of results. But then again, I was in the marching band.
The world is most definitely going straight to hell, in that our grandparents once would have had to rely on specialty stores to get partially nude cheesecake shots, and now middle schoolers can watch streaming hard-core pornography on hand-held phones that their parents are paying for. Back in the day, if you were a pervert or a tramp, word of mouth might skunk your high school experience, but you always had the option of transferring to a new school. Now the evidence follows you forever on the Internet! So many kids have seen their dreams of one day running for a county zoning board vanish in smoke before they every really got started, because now they are child pornographers. Who will plan the mixed-use town centers of tomorrow? WHO?
If Obama names Bo the Portuguese water dog to the Supreme Court (ethnic minority, not from a federal appeals court, no objectionable or disqualifying political stances -- he fits the profile), I'm joining a monastery in the mountains somewhere.
Hang It Up
There is a great argument in here for kids not having cell phones. The general premise is that a cell phone is for "safety" or "peace of mind," and yet, somehow, just about every human on the planet over the age of 30 managed to make it to adulthood without having a cell phone. And people once knew how to make lunch dates without a special GPS locator app indicating where their friends were at all times, but that's a story for another day.
To sum up, things aren't like they used to be, and music these days sucks, and I can't believe that the younger generation is so rude. What really hurts is the lack of respect, and if you'd visit me and your mother more then maybe I wouldn't have to spend every visit complaining about these things. You ingrate.
We get a nice variety on the DC Improv podcast. Last week, Larry Miller, this week ... almost his exact opposite. Brian Posehn! Most people probably know him as Kevin, the mail room guy from "Just Shoot Me," or as one half of the nice gay couple on "The Sarah Silverman Program."
But stand-up fans will know him as one-fourth of the "The Comedians of Comedy." He's a power nerd, and in this chat we get into a few of his passions -- heavy metal, Dungeons and Dragons and comic books. Plus some thoughts about his impending fatherhood. Once things get going, it's a pretty fun discussion. Check it out! (And check him out at the Improv May 7-9).
They're closing Guantanamo Bay, and Congressmen are lining up to pass laws banning any Gitmo prisoner from ending up at a prison in their district. Like somehow enemy combatants are going to end up released on American soil. It's not like Taliban foot soldiers are going to end up doing a work release program at your local supermarket, but that's how they're selling it. Who knows? Why not set up something like the sex-offender registry and let them go? "Hey, sorry to bother you, but I just moved here, and by law I have to let you know that I used to be part of a fundamentalist sect that wanted to see your entire nation burn in the fires of eternal damnation. But I swear I'm totally past that now."
Sadly, no one in Congress has a truly crative mind, because there's an obvious solution here. Drop these guys in Yucca Mountain.
Any true student of the human condition watches a lot of Game Show Network. My roommate and I, some evenings, decompress from our awful, salt-mine days by taking in "Lingo," which serves, at the very least, as proof that Chuck Woolery is probably a robot. I think he could actually host the show in his sleep, and I'm not entirely convince that he isn't. Chuck might, in fact, be a creature willed into existence by our collective conscience for the sole purpose of hosting game shows. He doesn't age.
More important, however: I'm pretty sure that "Lingo" is the gayest gameshow on television. As in, at least half the contestants are gay. They're either gay couples, two gay friends, or a gay guy with his best female friend who secretly wishes he was straight. Watch it and tell me if I'm wrong. Either the producers do all their contestant recruiting in gay-friendly L.A. neighborhoods ... or gay subculture has made a conscious decision to take over "Lingo." But why? Because they love irony? Because they love kitsch? Because they love Chuck? Was it pressure from the religious right that led to the end of "Lingo"?
I need answers.
By the way, they have another new version of "The Newlywed Game," but judging from commercials, I think they left out the best part: the euphemism "Makin' Whoopee." Next time you are in the throes of passion (with a partner), do me a favor: yell out "WHOOPEE!" Then e-mail me afterwards to let me know what happened next.
I need answers.
It's Harder Than It Looks
When people find out I am a comedian from D.C., they always ask if (or assume that) I do political jokes. I don't, because it's not something I generally laugh about, and also, because it's a lot harder that it looks.
A few people are raking Wanda Sykes over the coals for her gig at the White House Press Correspondents Dinner. I actually saw her set live -- the night before, when she stopped in for a practice run at the D.C. Improv. In a comedy club setting (you know, where you would find comedians), most of the jokes went over just fine, and nothing made the crowd uncomfortably silent or hostile. I'll put it this way: I'm a Republican, I can be sort of pissy about it, and I still wasn't offended by anything.
But swap out a comedy club audience for a bunch of reporters, politicians and super-hyper-sensitive people in the public eye, and you get the awkwardness. Political comedy (or even just jokes about politics) is almost IMPOSSIBLE to do to a broad audience -- if you want to make everyone happy, you have to be so bland that it's not really worth writing the joke. But if you say what you think, you're basically going to lose huge swaths of the crowd. That's why, if you watch something like, oh, a Margaret Cho show, it's more of a rally -- no casual observers, just likeminded people -- and therefore a complete puzzlement to anyone not sharing those views.
Plus, if you're smart enough to write a joke about a political subject, then you're also smart enough to know why your point of view might be wrong ... which sort of kills a lot of internal logic of your joke. Anything beyond "Bush is dumb" or "Clinton is horny," and the limb you're on starts creaking. Etc. etc. and so forth.
Basically, it's REALLY HARD to do well. And so the greatest mystery, to me, is why event planners have no concept of what they're signing up for. The White House Correspondent's Dinner had Steven Colbert a few years back, you may recall, and then quite a few people were horrified when he ... acted like Steven Colbert. Same deal this year with Wanda Sykes. These people aren't unknown commodities. A comedian hired for a gig has some professional obligation to bend toward the demands of the event, but at the same time, if you want someone to mow your lawn, do you pick they guy with the lawnmower, or the dude holding two samurai swords?
OK, bad example. Of course you'd pick the sword guy. But you catch my drift.
Every time they find a serial killer, someone is waiting next door to tell a reporter how the killer was so kind, so polite, so clean, and that it is very hard to imagine that such a fine young man who could have the severed heads and arms of 14 dead sex slaves arranged in the shape of a pentagram in a secret sub-basement. Assuming, for the sake of argument, that not every next-door neighbor is a horrible observer, I offer unto you ...
WHITE'S THEORY OF EVIL!
Questions regarding the inherent nature of each individual's character are irrelevant. All men have within them an identical capacity for evil, and this capacity will inevitably be satisfied, though each individual has choice over how to achieve this satisfaction.
Meaning, we have an evil quota!
Let's say that in the interest of mental harmony, you have to score 100 "evil points" a year. Think of it as a release valve for all the pressure, stress and anger you build up trying to obey unnatural (i.e. societal) rules, or by watching "The Hills."
Most of us let it out slowly. For example, say you are walking, and someone in a car yells at you for directions. Even though you know the directions, you tell them to go the wrong way. That's one evil point! Or maybe you bake cookies for the office, and you are sure to add peanuts, because you really hate the one lady in the office with a peanut allergy, because she never shuts up about her cat. You don't SERVE her the cookies, but every time you make something for the office, you make sure it has peanuts in it. One evil point! And so, through small actions like blowing your nose on the back of your friend's couch pillow while your friend is in the bathroom, then flipping the cushion over, you reach 100. In most cases you know what you're doing is wrong, but you get some kind of perverse satisfaction out of it, and in the end no one died (unless you told the guy in the car to drive into gang territory).
Now, consider the person who does not let it out slowly. They are clean, unfailingly polite and helpful in countless small ways. They do not screw people over for no reason, or commit random selfish acts. They stay stuck at zero evil points, and the pressure builds. And builds. And builds. And then, one day, before every vein in their forehead simultaneously explodes, they have to find a quick and effective way to score 100 evil points, pronto. From a time management standpoint, the easiest thing to do is kill a hooker, eat some of the remains for dinner and then make a collage of the Ascension using pictures you cut out of "Hustler Barely Legal." Bingo! You're at 100. And then it's right back to helping old ladies find their way home, after some jerk out for a walk told them that west was east.
So the next time you're wondering if it's OK to take one bite out of a grocery store apple while you shop, then hide the rest of the apple in the ice cream freezer, of COURSE it's OK. If anyone asks, you're doing for the hookers.
I overpaid my cable bill by $780 the other week. This is a lot easier to do than you might think. I use online bill paying, "Citibank" is right next to "Comcast" on my screen, and presto! One absentminded click later and Comcast gets my credit card payment. Completely my fault.
It didn't occur to anyone at Comcast that people don't usually pay their bills 14 months in advance, so I first discovered the error when Citibank informed me I had missed a payment. (And also, that even though I had not missed any payments or in fact carried a balance in 10 years of having a credit card, they were raising my interest rate because of this. Thanks, guys!) Once I figured out what had gone wrong, I decided to call Comcast, because I need my $780 more than they do. At the very least, I could be earning up to 7 cents more of interest per month with that lump stashed in my sweet, sweet checking account.
Once I got through to an operator at Comcast (strangely, there is no "ask for $780" option on their automated phone system), it took about five minutes to explain that I had overpaid. When I finally got the guy to look at my balance, his exact words were, "WHOA." And then, "And you'd like some of the money back?" A for effort, sir. He "put in a refund request," gave me a ticket number and that was that.
A few weeks later, I was still aabout $780 short of having my $780 back, so I thought I'd call in. The new operator informed me that no request had been made, or that the request was done improperly, or something. The gist is, I didn't have $780 heading my way. But as it turns out, HE could help me transfer the funds DIRECTLY BACK TO MY BANK ACCOUNT! No checks, no weeks-long wait. Just a few days, and the money would be there. We talked it over, and I decided, "why not leave money in there to cover the next payment? It's almost due anyway." I asked for $700 back.
Looking at my bank account this week, they refunded the full $840 original payment. Meaning that they returned even the $60 they should have deducted for my bill two months ago.
I have decided I am not calling Comcast again. If this magical experiment ends with me getting PAID $60 because of my own stupid mistake, then my faith in customer service, so beaten down by years of vacant Washington D.C. cashiers, will be restored.
I'll keep you posted!
Bear With Them
I try not to yell at customer service people, because THEY didn't cause my problem. But lately any troubleshooting call involves the person saying "I do apologize ..." about 50 times a minute, or "please bear with me" every time they have to look something up on their computer.
If you apologize every sentence, it's not exactly sincere. If you ask me to "bear with you," it's because you're somehow convinced you're doing something wrong that requires my patience.
I hereby propose that "bear with me" be replaced in the call center playbook with the phrase, "Encyclopedia Brown is on the case!" Also, "I do apologize" should be dropped in favor of "Heads will roll sir, I promise you that." Neither phrase should be used more than once per call.
Hello from Detroit, the city that never sleeps, because if it did, its stuff would get stolen. I love this town!
I'm at the Comedy Castle (one of the nation's best and oldest comedy clubs) this week with John Pinette, who is a walking premise. For most comics, that would be all, but John is also a really great performer. If you have the chance, go see his show. Just not this week in Detroit, 'cuz it's already sold out.
This is something like my fourth or fifth trip to the Motor City, so I need something fresh to do. That doesn't cost $25. If you have any suggestions let me know!
Old Faithful
Here's a fun story about two guys peeing in Old Faithful. And so we must all ask ourselves: if you could pee on any iconic piece of Americana, which one would you choose?
I wouldn't take Old Faithful, for sure. I love Yellowstone, and I don't see the need to make it any more yellow. Plus, if it turns out that the Yellowstone supervolcano erupts and kills all life on earth, I don't want my last thought to be, "I wonder if my pee set it off." I'd rather spend that time screaming, or converting quickly to a new religion.
Instead, I'm going with the Liberty Bell. It's one of the most disappointing tourist traps you'll ever see, it's a tribute to shodddy craftsmanship and it has almost no actual historic significance. Coming in close second: Niagra Falls. Mostly for the experience -- I'm pretty sure you'd need a helicopter to do it right. There are the important things I think about during 9-hour drives.
The first thing I remember from my visit to Old Faithful lo those many moons ago was that it wasn't all that faithful. It spouts pretty often, but thanks to earthquakes, it's not something you can set your watch by. The second thing I remember was the marmots that lived under the boardwalk leading to Old Faithful, and the large and numerous signs saying NOT to feed the marmots, and the many fat people in shorts feeding the marmots. One fat guy was encouraging his fat son to feed the fat marmot cheese puffs. It had orange cheese powder all over its fur. It made me pretty angry when I was 11, so I imagine I'd have a small stroke if I saw that today. Every day I'm closer to being the guy who tells you in public what a crappy job you're doing raising your kids. Once I reach that point, punches to my face should follow close behind! I think we're all excited about that.
It got me. I made fun of Detroit too many times, and as punishment, the universe took my wallet. Here's the timeline:
I had my wallet. I got in my car. I drove to beatiful Belle Isle for a jog. I think I left my wallet in the car. When I got back from my jog, the wallet was gone. Since the doors were locked and my video camera was still in the car, I'm pretty sure it wasn't stolen.
There are two, and only two, possibilities. First, I somehow dropped my wallet getting out of the car to jog, and someone scooped it off the ground. Second, crime levels in Detroit are so high that my wallet just dematerialized on general principles.
Since one of those options involves me making a mistake, I think we have to go with dematerialization. And I don't mind losing the money so much as I do mind gaining a trip to the DMV. No one should have to suffer that fate.
Abe Lincoln gave millions of Americans a great reason to avoid live theater; it was his parting, and perhaps greatest, gift to the nation.
Ford's Theater was closed for a few years as they finally took down the 1860s police tape, but it's open for business again! Last week I got to see a Lincoln-themed presentation there, as two actors recreated the Lincoln-McClellan relationship through the art of dramatic reading (it turns out McClellan was a jerk). Then, the historian who wrote the presentation gave long-winded answers to questons by people who have built elaborate fantasy scenarios that start with them asking a question at a presentation, then end with the historian as part of their wedding party. It was like experiencing the magic of "Book TV" on C-SPAN 2, without being able to flip to VH1! I enjoyed it thoroughly.
And most important, it gave me a chance to eye the famous box by the stage, still draped with bunting and now adorned with pictures of Lincoln. It's one thing to know that John Wilkes Booth jumped from the box to the stage; it's another thing to actually see what that drop would have been like. It probably hurt. A lot. Not as much as being shot in the head, but still ...
Six days later, I had gone from the place where it ended for Lincoln to the place where it all began for Buchanan:
That's the Buchanan Birthplace, just outside Cove Gap, Pa. The sun was going down and signs were hard to read, but my general understanding is that Buchanan was NOT born in a pyramid, and instead that structure just marks the spot where his dad's cabin once stood. He'd probably be slightly more intriguing with his internal organs in jars, but no one is perfect.
In the late 18th century Cove Gap would have been the boondocks -- a trading outpost standing on the edge of some very scary (for white settlers, at least) Indian country, surrounded almost entirely by thick wilderness. Lincoln's family home in Kentucky was on the frontier and farther from the urban hotspots, like Lancaster, that Buchanan had easy access to. But both guys came from pretty simple beginnings, and yet one is considered the worst president, while the other might be the best. Lincoln gets lecture series in his honor; Buchanan gets some signs at an 18-acre park trying to explain why he wasn't as bad as you think.
God willing I'll need those kinds of signs one day ...
We made it through a year of Happy Hour Trivia! And we celebrated by ... well, playing trivia. Why mess with a good thing. After a (brutal) worksheet round (matching captains to ships -- of a possible 20 points, the average score was 3.5), we got into the anniversary theme. "Give Till It Hurts" had questions based on the traditional annual anniversary gifts, "Happy Anniversary" (video) had people identifying the years of various famous events, and "Team Effort" was inspired by some of our favorite trivia team names over the last year.
The Golden Triangle Gun Club came out in force and recaptured the magic that earned them three straight first-place finishes back in 2008 (32 out of 52). Three of the four members of Sqizzle were stuck in traffic at the start, but the guy with the beard held down the fort until their arrival, resulting in a very impressive second-place finish (29 points). And "Three Guys, a Jewish Republican and My Neighbor" filled out the podium (27 points). Oh, and as a special treat for the anniversary, all teams got a signed Chris White headshot. Swank, huh?
Here they are in order of finish! And a special thanks to everyone who came out to play trivia over the last year. And super special thanks to Allyson and Improv for giving us a home.
Jeff was the second ever guest on the DC Improv Podcast, and about one year later he's back! This time out we talk about his exacting standards for friendship, the trauma of having his baseball cards stolen and his magical adventure to Salt Lake City.
On a side note, this is roughly the one-year anniversary of the DC Improv Podcast ... in a year, we've had more than 30 interviews with all kinds of comedians. It's been a fun project, and one I hope you've enjoyed. If you have any suggestions on how to improve things, don't hesitate to e-mail chris@dcstandup.com.
I'm back! Where have I been, you may ask? Well, I've been editing a textbook. Because my 30s are every bit as crazy as I had imagined.
It was actually a pretty sweet gig. The book is a profile of every memeber of the 111th Congress, so after three solid months of reading, I now know almost everything you would ever want to know about the good men and women who carry on our proud, world-changing tradition of democracy. For example, did you know that ...
Rep. Louise Slaughter of upstate New York, though born in the 1920s, appears to be about 50. Because she is a VAMPIRE.
Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. of Illinois rides a Segway, because the pioneering work of his father made it possible for black men to act like white nerds.
Rep. Bart Gordon of Tennessee has had the fastest time of any legislator in a Washington, D.C., charity race 20 years in a row. Because he is a VAMPIRE.
Rep. Aaron Schock of Illinois is the youngest member of Congress, and as a prize, he gets to spend his late 20s hanging out with mostly middle-aged fat white guys in suits.
Rep. John Hall of New York was the lead singer of Orleans, and as such has the most embarrassing picture of any sitting member of Congress (google their album covers).
Rep. Jean Schmidt of Ohio was hit by a car while jogging and SHOOK IT OFF. She should probably be our emperor.
If you include his service in the Continental Congress, Sen. Robert C. Byrd is the most-senior legislator in American history. His legendary ability to direct federal funds home to West Virginia over the last three decades have made that state ... uh, one of the poorest in the nation.
Sheila Jackson Lee of Texas and Joe Sestak of Pennsylvania have the reputation as being the meanest bosses.
The representative with the best name is Marcia Fudge.
Statistically speaking, 33 percent of Congressmen are jerks.
Movie Review: Dance Flick
There are so many fine summer movies out now, and I'm happy to report that, with all those options, I recently saw "Dance Flick."
I could go on for hours about the artistic and intellectual merits of this amazing and profound piece of American cinema. But instead, I will let you know that I laughed about five times, which was five times more than I was anticipating. There are 10 or so Wayans siblings, and many of them now have adult-aged children, and so we finally have movies where not only the principal characters but also the extras have the last name of Wayans. They're like the black Barrymores, without the acting ability. God bless them.
Ralph and I have a lot in common. First, we were both on "Last Comic Standing 5," and second, we're both from Philly. Only he was on the show for most of the season, not two minutes, and he's actually from Philly, not Delaware County. And he's black and I'm white. But other than that, we're practically twins. In this (very pleasant) episode, we talk about all sorts of stuff, especially what it was like for Ralph to grow up as one of ten kids in a rowhome. And to think how sullen I was to share a bedroom with my brother to age 12 ...
If you aren't hovering near death or a golf course, it's not cool to wear plaid pants. But spring has sprung, and you may have noticed it's now douche chic to wear plaid shorts!
There has to be an explanation for this. Possibility one: all problematic areas of all pants reside from the knee down, and by cutting off any pants at the knee, all the objectionable areas are removed. This does not work for leather pants / shorts, so we're throwing it out the window.
Possibility two: the majority of men wearing plaid shorts have such awesomely sculpted calves that displaying those calves blinds the viewer to all other below-the-waist areas. This does not work, based on evidence gathered in a 5-minute subway ride today.
Possibility three: plaid shorts aren't cool. Tempting. But we clearly need more data before making any definitive conclusions, and so I ask half of this blog's readers to go out tomorrow wearing a plaid button-up lumberjack shirt. The other half, wear the same shirt, but cut off to show your abs. Report back here tomorrow and we'll crunch the numbers.
Legal Stuff: If you have questions about this Web site, why? You should spend your time questioning the moral nature of any god who would let Chris White exist. But anyhow ... copyright 2009, Chris White Sucks Inc.
August 2009: Jefferson.
Fall 2009: comic interviews on the podcast. 
