Archive for April, 2005

Tuesday, April 12th, 2005

(http://photos1 NULL.blogger NULL.com/img/100/4443/1024/Bvaughn NULL.jpg)
Jim Kelly (http://www NULL.amazon NULL.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/6304981635/qid=1113347790/sr=8-1/ref=pd_csp_1/102-7539652-0251310?v=glance&s=dvd&n=507846) here I come.

This is Not Nice

Sunday, April 10th, 2005

No seriously. This is not nice. If you are easily offended, read no further. I’m about to say some stuff that’ll probably truly disturb you. I’m gonna say some very vulgar stuff. It’ll maybe shake you up about an all too familiar whipping boy of these here continental United States. That’s right I’m talking about…Michael Jackson (http://www NULL.msnbc NULL.msn NULL.com/id/7432724/).

Ok. Now. Here’s my thing. I’m starting to feel shame every time I listen to a Michael Jackson song or think about how much money I’ve spent on related material. I’m like “wow…have I been inadvertedly funding child molestation since 1990?” (some people feel the same way about a tithe) Its like the PSA that was on long ago with children giving testimonials about how they “crash planes into buildings” because they bought pot and thus funded terrorism. This time its me holding copies of Thriller and Off The Wall going “I fondle child actors. I molest cancer patients.”

Michael is truly a brilliant performer. He has defined what it means to be a pop star and his live concerts in the 80s and 90s were nothing short of genius. There is a thin line between genius and insanity. If you’ve ever seen footage of him talking about his plastic surgery, he adamantly denies ever having more than 2. 2? 2! Most people find that very hard to believe, but when he says it you can see he does. He believes it wholeheartedly. The same belief shines through when he speaks to people’s issues of his spending time with boys and the sharing of his regal bed “Its not impure. Its about love. Its not about sex. Why would I do that?” Hmm…

Michael may very well have a split personality. There’s Good Michael and there’s Bad Mikey.

Good Michael is the one who invites kids over to play all day long with llamas and Ferris Wheels.
Bad Mikey is the one that serves kids wine at night when they are exhausted. He allegedly called it “Jesus Juice.”

Good Michael invites kids into his studio to listen to music and watch him dance.
Bad Mikey watches kids dance with the help of a strategically placed pole in a studio back room.

Good Michael shares pies, cakes and assorted sweets with kids while they all get messy with yummy goodness.
Bad Mikey sticks his fingers in little boys like they’re bowling balls when they crash from the sugar.

Then in the morning Michael wakes up and thinks all was good and pure, but the children sing a different story.

There’s a part of me that wants an overwhelming amount of evidence to be found just so the damn thing is over. I mean I hope Michael is innocent (false hope?), but there’s a part of me waiting for a former employee to come forward and tell the court about the Lair. Then the police will find a dungeon beneath the ranch with naked missing Boy Scouts chained to the walls with bruises on their bodies. When the police start to release the poor scouts who are barely concious, echoing screams of “No More Love!” will reverberate throughout the dungeon. Suddenly, a drum starts to beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Kids will start climbing down walls and appearing in corridors like the Orcs in Lord of the Rings. They start shootings arrows and throwing boomerangs and dildos while proclaiming “Leave them be! They defied Messiah Jackson!’ It will then escalte to a Waco – Koresh like standoff between Jackson and the police.

And when I see it on the news and hear them refer to the “Jackson Compund,” I’ll think to myself “Finally. Some Closure.”

Commercial Success

Friday, April 8th, 2005

I did an AOL Commercial. Everyone has seen it. I know that because they show it all the time plus I’ve gotten calls and emails from everyone that has ever known me. EVER. I’ve gotten recognized on the Subway once. The guy looked at me and asked if I was in “that commercial.” I said yes. He said “say the tuna line.”

Of course, my favorite one is my dear mother. Who (when the commercial started airing) would call me ev’rytime she saw it leaving me a captain’s log of voice mails.
“8:31: they aired it on Survivor. Ok, bye. 9:02: its on The Apprentice. Ok, bye. 9:15: during Desperate Housewives. Love you, bye.”
(Does anyone else find it disturbing that their mother loves Desperate Housewives??)

Now don’t get me wrong, I love the attention. I’ve also made it my mission to return every call. Its just I have that classic fear of not being able to live up to the expectations others have for me. Yeah, that’s some real shit right there.

Commercial auditions are strange. More so than film and TV, its all about types. I go out for things where they are looking for a
Dave Chappelle (http://www NULL.davechappelle NULL.com/) type. Chris Rock (http://www NULL.chrisrock NULL.com/) type. A funky, urban, fast talking, streetwise, sorta jazzy, urban, hip hoppy, kinda funky, urban Chris Rock-y type of fast talking – Chris Rock sky diving! Chris Rock wrestling an alligator! If Chris Rock had an alligator in a headlock what would he say? And ACTION!”
Its just as Robert Townsend (http://www NULL.imdb NULL.com/gallery/hh/0958430/HH/0958430/FAUSTA NULL.JPG?path=pgallery&path_key=Townsend,%20Robert%20(I)) so brilliantly illustrated in the 80s (when Rock and Chappelle were coming up) in the film Hollywood Shuffle (http://www NULL.imdb NULL.com/title/tt0093200/) with actors auditioning for a Eddie Murphy-esque role.

A friend of mine went in for a mortgage and loan commercial the other day. (the company rhymes with Ashmeriquest). They were looking for a Black SoccerMom. So they called her because they had her “sassy” headshot. And if there are Black SoccerMoms, I guarantee the other SoccerMoms find them very very “sassy.”
(*note: Black SoccerMoms is a good name for a band.)
I found that hilarious so of course I wrote a script for her audition.

SOCCER MOM: Because I have less than perfect credit, (let’s just say my son’s nickname is collateral) I can’t always make my mortgage payments. I mean McDonald’s pays well and all, but I want the appearance of status that would get me approval from White America.

INTANGIBLE VOICE: You’re in luck! At Ashmeriquest we will work for you! We realize your people are put upon and need a leg up once in a while. And we like the fact we’ll technically own you for the rest of your life. So help is on the way
Ashmeriquest: Debt is the New Slavery.

I like that “Debt is the New Slavery.” Its funny cuz its true.

I went for an audition the other day for a soft drink product (sounds like Shmepsi). The premise was me walking into a store to get a drink. The clerk had two live chickens in a cage on his counter. I see them and as a joke I say to the guy “got any chickens?” He asks which of them I want and I put the drink to the cage. Both of the chickens wanna go home with my drink oblivious to the fact that I, a black man, plan to kill and eat them Down-home style. So the chickens have a Kung Fu battle and the one left standing goes home with me. You guessed it. Its hyper-realism. Now after one take, we get directions to really see those chickens fight. It’ll be CGIed in later, but we really have to react. Okay. So I lean in and look as the casting woman shouts out narration “They’re bowing to each other! Now they’re kicking! One is doing flying kicks! One is knocked out, you can’t believe it!” You’re right I can’t believe it. I just wonder who that guy is who grew up on a farm that saw chickens fight that could really drop in to reality of that moment.

I can’t wait to see it.

Mwah Ha Ha

Tuesday, April 5th, 2005

This is a brief conversation between Steve Hofstetter and myself.

ME: Yo.

STEVE HOFSTETTER: Can’t talk now. Doing taxes.

ME: Haha! Right. And I should know better than to interrupt a Jewish man during tax time. Also known as “Financial Shiva.”

STEVE: Jerk.

Moment of Clarity #3

Tuesday, April 5th, 2005

You know what, Jackson 5? For people with dyslexia, ABC is not as easy as 123.

I’m Not Fooled (Pop Culture Reference)

Monday, April 4th, 2005

What a beautiful day it was in New York City. It was sunny, there was a nice temperature and people seemed happy.

I’m not fooled.

The weather has been treating we citizens like an abused wife. Enticing us with lovely days and then turning on us unexpectedly. Its like the weather is Ike Turner and we citizens are Tina Turner.

IKE WEATHER: Tina, baby, I’m sorry. I love you, baby. Here. Here’s an 80 degree day, baby. I’m sorry.

TINA CITIZENS: I don’t know, Ike. I mean its been so cold for so long. Its April, Ike. I mean come on! I don’t know if I could ever forgive you.

IKE: Baby, I said I’m sorry! Why you gotta hate me? I’m trying.

TINA: I don’t know Ike.

IKE: Well, fuck you then! How you gonna be like that? Fine…here’s some snow, bitch! Haha and you’re not dressed for it either.

TINA: Oh no, Ike, its so cold! Please…I’m freezing!

IKE: Oh baby I’m sorry. Ike loves you Tina Citizens. Here’s some sunshine. And a cool breeze, but not so cold you have to wear a coat. And here’s some birds chirping.

TINA: No, Ike I’ve had enough. I’m gonna go somewhere warmer until you figure out what your deal is. Like Florida or Cali.

IKE: Baby, no! Why!? Floridas got Hurricanes and Calis got Earthquakes. Baby, don’t leave!

TINE: Ok, I’ll stay.

IKE: Haha, bitch! Now I’ma make you pay for them nasty things you been sayin’!

…And so on and so forth until we make it to June.

Just Enough for the City

Monday, April 4th, 2005

I hate moving.

Nobody really likes it and anyone who does has serious emotional problems that they should look into. No seriously. They should open the door to their feelings, look around and say “Wow, I gotta lotta baggage in here.”

I went over to my new old apartment and packed up some stuff and helped the new guy Erik put together his bed. Putting together a bed is one of the most rewarding things you can do. After all the frustration and irritation you can then take a well deserved nap. “Finally got that damn thing put together. I’m tired now….hey, a bed.”

While we were putting it together we had to use an Allen Wrench aka Allen Key and Hex Key. Erik and I found it quite funny these things even exist and he jokingly asked who the hell came up with this idea in the first place. A guy named Allen of course. However, I did want to find some real evidence so I Googled it and went to the Library of Congress and did some research. What I found out may be shocking and disturbing….

Once upon a time in a land called Fixitwithtoolsia, there was a village called Assembleityourselfville. It was ruled by a gentle peaceful man named Freddie Flathead who supplied his citizens with a generous amount of screws and screwdrivers. The townspeople liked the ease of using Flathead products and found it so gentle and peaceful when assembling some sort of bed and/or bookcase of which there were many in this particular place. Everyone in the village loved Flathead and referred to him with such gentle and peaceful words like “gentle” and “peaceful.”

One day an evil warlord named Phineas Phillips saw this domain and did not like that it was gentle and peaceful. He wanted people to use his products so that he could rule over Assembleityourselfville with an iron hand. So one night, while the village rested, he snuck into Flathead’s shop and changed all the screws. They now had a cross on them. Flathead awoke and sent his shipment as usual oblivious to the fact that his screws were screwed. After a while, he began getting phone calls about how people were supposed to use these screws, but Phillips had all calls fowarded to his phone and he told people to see him and he would give them Phillips head screwdrivers. Thus Phillips took over the town.

After years of evil rule, a wizard named Allen the Argonaut rode into town. He saw the misery on the faces of the people of Assembleityourselfville and was very surprised. This was not the behavior that Frommer’s said these people would have. The guide described them as “gentle” and “peaceful” and as “having one of the hottest nude beaches in Fixitwithtoolsia.” Allen the Argonaut had been to many nude beaches and new that if the natives were this miserable, it would be unlikely that people were going to the beach. Especially 19 year old girls. He went to the beach and he was right: empty. Not a nubile body in sight. Something had to be done.

Allen quickly realized that there was a connection between the misery of the people and the tools they used. If he was ever going to have fun, he new he had to get rid of Phillips. After consulting the Oracle, he tracked down Freddie Flathead who was now living on the outskirts of the city as a hermit. He was hurt and confused to how the people of the town could be so easily influenced by Phillips. Allen understood that the screws had to be changed to restore order. Phillips had the screws heavily guarded day and night knowing that someone could easily do to him what he had done to Flathead, but Allen was a wizard. This meant that his powers could only be used for good and there is no greater deed than reviving a nude beach.

Allen teleported into the warehouse and put a hex on the screws. The shipment went out and in each sack of screws was a key from Allen. Instantly, the town began to feel better. The nude beach was full and all were happy. Phillips’ stranglehold was becoming looser and he wasn’t going to go out without a fight. He found Allen one day in the middle of town and the men began to battle. It was a fierce match up. Phillips would give a one two. Allen a three four. Phillips a 411. Allen a 227. Phillips a 666. Allen an 867-5309. Then out of nowhere Flathead jumped into the fight and the 3 men battled so voraciously that a tornado formed and spit the 3 men into places far far away. The Tornado ripped through the town mixing up bags of all 3 kinds of screws. It disappated when it got to the beach for there were nude 19 year old girls present. The heavens swallowed up the twister for the Gods knew these bodies must be enjoyed not destroyed.

Assembleityourselfville now had all different kinds of screws. When the villagers wanted to put something together, they never knew if they were going to need a Flathead, a Phillips head or and Allen Key. And it has been that way ever since.

THE END…..No really, its true. Google it.

Moment of Clarity #2

Sunday, April 3rd, 2005

I think it was the ancient Babylonians that believed vaginal secretions equaled the nectar of youth. Remember that the next time you make a remark about how young Dick Clark looks.

Stereotypes….the sequel

Saturday, April 2nd, 2005

Its quite jarring when you see someone who is a walking talking stereotype. Even when its a lesser version. For instance, I was just walking down the street enjoying a delicious frosty class of orange soda (Crush for you aficionados) and I wondered to myself how many white people are seeing me do this and thinking “I knew it”? I know at least one did because he came up to me, stuck his finger in my face and exclaimed, “I knew it! You people love Orange Soda!” Then he threw a chicken wing at me and ran away laughing with glee. It does bring up an interesting question though. What happened to all the Stereotypers? I mean there used to be a lot of people who acted in a particular way which is where the type came from, but then they kind of faded into the fold. Maybe its that I live in New York and so I’m used to certain types and don’t question them and the ones I’m subconciously looking for don’t appear as often. Maybe its that I’m conciously thinking about my subconcious which doesn’t make it sub anymore and I tune out to my immediate surroundings. So I’m not thinking about those types until they magically appear…and when they show up? Hoo Doggies!

I was walking down the street with some friends of mine and then one of the gayest men I’ve ever seen walks by. He had the swivellenest hips I had ever seen and the patented gay lisp. He sounded like they transposed Will and Grace for a partly snake audience. My friend looked at him and said “What a Faggot.” Now here’s the kicker: my friends were gay. Last time I checked gay men don’t really use “faggot” like black people say “niggah.” Sup my Faggot? Faggot, puh-lease! But apparently my friends felt this man was doing gay men an ill service.

I can relate. Everytime I see a black guy walking down the street with a chicken wing in one hand and a half eaten watermelon in the other with 3 illegitimate kids walking behind him fighting over a glass of red Kool Aid until one of them drops it prompting the dad to say “I told ya’ll to share Dammit!” simultaneously yelling at his baby’s mama over a cell phone “i been looking for a job all day” I think to myself – Dammit! He’s ruining it for everyone else.

OR

When I see a 65 year old Republican guy driving down the street in a yellow HumVee with an “I Love Bush” bumper sticker next to a “Fuck Iraq” sticker blasting the hits of Lawrence Welk + Foreigner while his wife sews doilies and complains about their renegade son who’s turned into an environmentalist bleeding heart pussy while the man throws Columbian babies out the car window denying any knowledge of sweat shops over the phone while his pockets grow $20 bills that he uses to light illegal Cuban cigars until he pulls over and jumps out his car to shoot his guns in the air like Yosemite Sam – everytime I see that I say “I knew it.”

Recap of a Convo

Friday, April 1st, 2005

A few weeks ago, there were headlines (at least there were online – I don’t trust things written on paper) that read “King Tut Mystery Solved.” The following is a conversation between Leo Goodman and myself.

BARON: Finally they figured this out!

LEO: Thank God. I’ve been in stitches waiting to hear what the outcome was. I mean its been what? A few centuries? That’s a lot of magazines in the waiting room if you know what I mean.

BARON: Really though. They talk about it with this urgency like they are out of breath or something “Hey guys! We figured it out. He wasn’t murdered!”

LEO: What’s it say?

BARON: It says that the “myth” of Tut dying from a blow to the head is false because there was no evidence of trauma. Although they found that one of his legs was broken and may have become infected which caused him to die.

LEO: Couldn’t somebody have broken his leg?

BARON: That’s what I’m saying!

LEO: I mean there are other ways to kill a person besides a blow to the head. Or so my mother would say when she tucked me in at night!

BARON: Oh, Leo! (sitcom moment)
So they just dug up his body and did tests? What about the curse?

LEO: Maybe someone made up the curse because they didn’t want people to know how he died.

BARON: If it took them all this time to find out about Tut, that means we’ll never find out about Tupac and Biggie. There’s no hope.

LEO: Maybe they are related.

BARON: Yeah. Maybe that’s all part of the curse.

LEO: Maybe people killed Tupac because they found out he was related to Tut.

BARON: Maybe some people who hate rap went back in time.

LEO: Maybe some country bumpkins invented a time machine.

BARON: Maybe.

LEO: Maybe.

BARON: Maybe they tried to hit Tut in the head but he was getting away so they threw a boomerang at his leg.

LEO: How’d they get a boomerang?

BARON: If they can have a time machine, they can have boomerangs.

LEO: Bumpkins are a resourceful people.

BARON: So they come back to the future and…

LEO: It didn’t work. Tupac still existed. So they had to take matters into their own hands.

BARON: They kill Biggie to make it look like a conspiracy. Which it was: just not the one people think.

LEO: Yeah because they already killed Nefertiti in their time journeys because they found out she was an ancestor of Biggie Smalls, but that didn’t work.

BARON: So they kill them both, but then they find out someone overheard their plans and went back in time and somehow fixed the damage they did. Which is why things were the same when they came back to the present.

LEO: So then the bumpkins face off in a battlefield called Time against a rogue bandit who stops their evil plans.

BARON: And that man is…

LEO: Suge Knight.

BARON: Oh my God. Call Miramax.