Guys isn’t it SO GREAT that we’ve become a culture that doesn’t know how to not be sarcastic all the time? Isn’t it SO GREAT that we choose to comment a little more than experience things? Cuz experiencing something means i have to like use all these senses i was given and that’s just like so exhausting. i mean that why i listen to my iPod everywhere i go so i don’t have to hear anything i don’t like. that’s why i wear my sunglass so i don’t have to see anything i don’t like. or at least it dulls it.
that’s why i’m so happy there are so many dumb people to talk about all the time. that way i don’t ever have to express a geniune emotion or original thought that I have. you can understand who I am by what i have to say about Angelina Jolie. She’s hot. See? Now you know a lot about me. Maybe even too much. That’s why i’m always gonna be awkward around you and like construct this persona that never let’s you in. cuz i’ve been hurt in the past. never again.
jeez. saying how i really feel about something is just SO EXHAUSTING. thank god i can be ironic. and thank god i’ll deliver it in the same monotone voice that i always communicate with. that way no one can ever say what they think i believe or don’t believe. so i can never be pegged for this or that. totally. i can have an identityless identity. awesome.
i mean caring is so BLAH. see? that’s all the description it deserves. hating everything makes the world so much easier to deal with. you’re dumb. he’s stupid. and its such a burden that i’m the only one who sees it. if anyone ever tries to talk to me about anything. i’ll just say WHATEVER and leave. then i don’t have to be responsible for anything. awesome.
(http://4 NULL.bp NULL.blogspot NULL.com/_ojyahdSAHtg/RpcEAAWiBLI/AAAAAAAAAAM/4kGEdGPon-8/s1600-h/0045 NULL.jpg)I said to a friend today when i get writer’s block or can’t think of what to write about, i write about not being able to write. its always loosens something up. shakes some sort of idea out of my head while ruminating on the absence of ideas.
Sine i’m starting with nothing, it somehow allows me to just make statements. things i wish were true about me or the world around me. Let’s explore this process.
I got nothing. Nothing. Nothing. A teacher once said to me “I think you’re afraid to look inside because you’re afraid nothing is there.” Of course this statement exploded my 19 or 20 year old head. Now i think its the opposite. I’m afraid to open up cuz i know its so much in there.
It seems to be the situation in New York. It can be very hard to stay sane and balanced with the overwhelming energy of this city. There’s a lot of tunnel vision going on around me. Especially when i feel like i’m trying to get people to care about coming to a live show. There’s so much to do here that there’s nothing to do here. People have to block out all the options. You have to have that tunnel. “No thanks…I Tivo’d Desperate Housewives.” Its very hard to get people to do something outside their own routine. So the days become the same.
What i love about new york is that its a city fll of people that mostly feel lonely. The biggest city in the most powerful country in the world and not a lot of people know each other. I’m always amazed at mysel in that respect. I try to keep contact with friends. But i get stressed about spending my free time doing something that i usually decide to just sit and stare or sleep. I live in the same city, in some cases the same neighborhood as people i care about, and still it take me months to return phone calls. Pitiful.
Its one of the only citys where friendships start to become burdens. That attitude of “aw man I really need to call so and so but i’m afraid they’ll be angry with me because of my lack of contact so i’ll put it off until later.” On and on until connection is lost.
SIDETRACKED Just heard one of my favorite bands’ music in a Reese’s commercial. Chromeo “Needy Girl” Part of me feels like the song has been cheapened since its in a commercial. The other part is happy that they’re getting some money so they can keep doing music and touring. I’ve been in commercials myself, who am I to judge?
break ups. iPhone. world gone to shit. oh wait, that was already happening.
I sit now in an apartment owned by Zanies Comedy Club in Chicago. A club i’ve never played in a city I’ve never been to.
I am EXCITED. and a little nervous. I’ve done an hour before plenty of times, but that was to college students. This’ll be a mix of people. I’ve performed for a mix of people plenty of times. But not for an hour.
can you see what i’m doing? I’m looking for a reason to be nervous. i don’t need it. i’ll be fine.
so the iPhone. i saw two of them. one in a box belonging to Trevor Moore of the whitest kids. I made a big deal about it and made a show of disgust much to the dismay and delight of Timmy Williams (i wrote their names in cuz i KNOW they google themselves).
the iPhone is just another brick to help me build my conspiracy theories about Jobs. i don’t know. Both times i held it i felt the urge to own it and to do damage to toddlers. if you want karate chop toddlers in the head, then yes, by all means, go get an iPhone.
with all the iProducts out of the market that people just “have to have” i’m waiting for that moment when Jobs pushes that button and everyone that owns one is held slave to Kajagoogoo on loop.
They shall build monuments to him.
They shall wake up one day in excruciating pain and look down to see themselves birth a giant metal spike covered in furr.
so the Bay-Ron (that’s me) has been on the road a lot the last few months. Going back and forth to NYC. this is the first FULL week I’ve had in the city in a few months. feels nice having some down time.
i’m doing a lot of research right now to write some new jokes. Does that makes sense? Any at all? I mean I’m a guy who refused to write research papers in high school. Refused! (hence my lack of knowing how to put ideas into words – even this parenthetical is flawed! i don’t know where the punctuation goes!)
I failed an English class because the paper was a huge part of my semester grade. I didn’t want to write it. I mean, come on, there were reruns of the Simpsons on! (ended a sentence with a prepostion) Now, when faced with making drunken people that don’t really know how to deal with their own existence laugh, I’m like, “I best hits them books!” …And by books I mean the internet.
–i watching a movie right now called Running Scared – here’s the info from cable… 3 stars. ’88. Two cool Chicago undercover officers try to put a drug lord permanently out of business. Starring Gregory Hines, Billy Crystal, Jimmy Smits, Steven Bauer, Darlanne Fluegel, Joe Pantoliano, Directed Peter Hyams– Does it SOUND like there can ever be a better movie?
My relationship with stand up is tumultuous at best. Right now we’re having some issues. I’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately, but that STILL doesn’t seem like enough. I just want her to be good to me sometimes. I know she has been and will be, but right now it seems like she wants me dead.
Its pilot season people! I, Baron Vaughn, actor, have been going out for a lot of audition as of late. With that comes reading a lot of scripts. Since I’ve started to write more and more of my own stuff the structure and tricks of a script are more apparent to me then they’ve ever been. Especially if I keep seeing the same thing used in the same way.
Me: in every sciprt EVER there’s someone that’s a high powered something whether its a man or woman and they’re trying to be a good parent and they ALWAYS promise their son/daughter i’ll MAKE it to your recital kid goes “you sure mom/dad?” yes, yes i am. why do all these kids base so much of how they love their parent on coming to recitals? don’t they watch movies in movies? it never works out. you fucking can’t play the violin
why is it important to you for rich dad to see you suck
Me:i’d be like please DON’T come i don’t know how to tune this thing go make money and buy me something so i’ll feel better about how much i suck
Me:Ice cream and a car can take away the pain of playing the theme to Jurassic Park off key
I said it onstage for the first time the other night. Originally I thought it needed something else, but people get it. Well, at least the ones who are gonna get it get it. Everyone doesn’t. But that’s ok.
I know you all can tell by looking at me, I’m related to Thomas Jefferson.
So i’m doing this little tour with American Eagle right now in which I’ve gone to a few colleges. Tonight I was at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA. I heard there’s a Purina factory near here and it usually smells like rotted chicken. It didn’t tonight. That’s a good sign. Driving thru the snow on the way to Kent State tomorrow. Blog? I’m back. I guess.
(http://photos1 NULL.blogger NULL.com/x/blogger/1255/960/1600/280467/953513031_m NULL.jpg)I got a phone call about 11:30 on friday night. “Baron?” “Hey!” “I’m in Vegas.”
For those of you who do not know, Las Vegas is my hometown and I’m here for the holidays. I was chillin out maxin, relaxin all cool and all shooting some b-ball outside of the school when I got this call. A friend of mine, the lovely and talented Tracie Thoms was on her way back to Baltimore from LA with a connecting flight through Vegas. Her flight was 45 minutes late getting to Vegas thus she missed her connecting flight home. The next flight wasn’t until 4:30 the next afternoon.
I stayed on the phone with Tracie while she narrated her journey on the shuttle from the airport to her “hotel.” The Super 8 Motel. Now when you’re in Vegas and you hear the word hotel, you might get a little excited. This was – how do you say – a kick to the balls. Yeah that seems to capture it. Needless to say, tracie was taken aback by how “real” everything was. Oh Indeed. That was the word she kept using “real.”
(http://photos1 NULL.blogger NULL.com/x/blogger/1255/960/1600/732381/00382 NULL.jpg)She went into the casino next door to the Super 8, Ellis Island, which is a small place right behind the strip. Behind the Bally’s And Caesar’s Palace. Its a part of Vegas that lives in the shadows of what you see on TV and in the movies. For a reason. Tracie narrated her journey into Ellis Island continuously reiterating how “real” everything was. There were a lot of bikers in the bar singing karaoke. By the way, when I say bikers, the stereotypical image you had in your head? Worse than that. Tracie decided not to stay and sing her showstopping rendition of “Free Bird.”
Tracie found something in her room that was very telling. They gave her a care package of pills that prevent hangovers called Chasers, eye drops to prevent red and skin conditioner. Not Soap. Skin Conditioner. Apparently it’s a post shower cream to put on your skin. Yeah, it was confusing to me too. Its somewhere between soap and lotion. With those items the hotel is assuming a lot about why you’re there.
“Hey come on in! So we got you some things for the reason you’re probably here. That’s right!! we got you Chasers to cure the hangover you’ll get from your current drunken daze, drops for those weed soaked 4am eyes, and skin conditioner so your wife won’t be able to detect the smell of that street skank whose bottom lip you’re chewing on. Leave a tip!!”
(http://photos1 NULL.blogger NULL.com/x/blogger/1255/960/1600/416956/1013128332_m NULL.jpg)Tracie is on the rise. She’s a dynamic performer that you may have seen on TV in “Cold Case,” and the hilarious but short lived “Wonderfalls.” She’s currently working on Quentin Tarantino’s new movie, was in “The Devil Wears Prada,” and played Joanne in the movie version of Rent. She’s a focused individual on and off stage and can only be described as a force. I mean the woman went to Howard and Juilliard so she got the chops. Razor sharp.
So you 6 people that read this. Go and support Tracie.
Oh yeah…Check out this video. It’s like a messed up Rat Pack. Its the brainchild of Trevor Moore from the Whitest Kids You Know.
(http://photos1 NULL.blogger NULL.com/x/blogger/1255/960/1600/217135/KFC%20Logo%20High%20Quality NULL.jpg)OK OK OK. This is my favorite new commercial. Really people, watch commercials. You will learn so much about where our interests as a culture lie. Or at least you’ll see what the “big wigs” think we care about which most of the time become true since we were told they were. (end diatribe). In a KFC commercial, a black family (you know they just looove their chicken) passes around a bucket at a dinner table. The youngest son sitting there overshadowed by his older brothers and parents watches them take out pieces of chicken and says to himself, “Don’t take the drumstick.” He says it again hoping that someone, anyone will leave him that most coveted part of the foul. Of course, he sees someone take out the 2nd drumstick and deflates with defeat. The bucket gets to him moments later and his mother pulls out (wait for it) a DRUMSTICK! She places it on the boy’s plate and he exclaims with happiness “Another drumstick?!” He. Is. Dumbfounded. His mother smiles as if to say I got your back and says, “Special Bucket.” Something like that. OH FRABJOUS DAY! CALLOO CALLAY! He chortled in his joy.
HA! My first thought was don’t eat that! That came from a MUTANT chicken with 3 legs!! You were right! There should have only been 2 drumsticks, but no, that bucket is special. Knowing the practices of KFC, I’d be relieved if it was a 3 legged chicken. That would be the least altered thing they have on their farm/factory/slaughterhouse/laboratory. Most likely the leg came from a genetically altered chicken that was nothing but legs. Just a meaty legged deformity with limbs coming out all sides making it look like a feathered tetrahedron. No head. No wings. Just legs. Eyes embedded in one of the legs and a slit that works as a mouth. It makes only one sound and its not a cluck by any means. Just a shrill high pitched shriek. A sound akin to a bomb dropping in a cartoon, or a imprisoned banshee locked in a withered castle 2 miles north of Glasgow, or a shitty car with a shitty engine driving down a ghetto street at 3am making everyone sit right up in their bed thinking their time has come. When the noise of the “chicken” hits the ears of any other being it makes them think “My God! Hell is on earth and I am burning!”
After a week of rolling from limb to limb questioning its own existense after having realized that it looks nothing like any thing else around (they’re all aberrations – veritable snowflakes of malformation), it sees something its never seen before. A man. Towering over the mutant in red boots and a red apron. Both of which did not come in the color of red. Oh no, they turned that color in time due to his line of work. And what’s that in his hand? Its oh so shiny…and thin. CHOP. Suddenly the prism of drumsticks line up. After the leg that functioned as the head is separated and fed to the 5 winged chicken breast sloth which sweats sugar, the other pieces are shipped away to be served to the complacent public.
Its just a wild guess, but when the word Special is uttered, make sure to get a very clear definition.