I miss him already.

Rob McDill was one of my favorite people.

I'll believe it when...

This is in reference to these stories:
this-a-one and that-a-one

I first found them both at Fazed.

Git! Git! Git! Git them Duke Boys!

I have a feeling that this training does not include too much book larnin'.

Dot Commmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I arrived at David Carradine’s house ten minutes late, but I waited in my car for another thirty before he came out. While I waited, I got to know his dogs a little bit. He has a Golden Retriever and some kind of St. Bernard-type dog. If a man’s dogs’ personalities are any indication of his own disposition, then David was going to be friendly, aggressive, and may try to mount me. His wife came outside to tell me that he was throwing down some coffee and would be out in a minute, so I sat in my car and ruined my outlook on sports by reading Game of Shadows. I wonder if I can get human growth hormone in Mexico. I want to try steroids. Just once or twice. Just enough to get these guns going.

David came out and practically had sex with his wife just outside my car. As they embraced, they were enthusiastically joined by the Golden, but I think the St. Bernard gets a little turned off by PDA. Eventually, David made his way into the passenger seat of my Sentra, didn’t shake my hand, and we were off.

As far as celebrities go, David Carradine is a nice guy. He was very gregarious the whole drive to the studios. This is in direct contrast to John Larroquette who spent the first five-plus rides with me in brooding silence before eventually opening up…some. David owns a Ferrari, and he loves to talk about it. He has also owned a Mazarati and a convertible Cadillac of some kind, but he did not enjoy them nearly as much as his 1993 Ferrari. I asked him if he takes it anywhere and opens it up, but he does not. “I don’t like talking to cops,” he remarked. “It’s not like it used to be. I used to get a ticket for going 140mph and my agent knew someone in the Hall of Records who would take care of everything and it only cost me 100 bucks. Now they take you to jail.” I hear that. I never drive my Sentra more than 120mph for that very reason.

Immediately after sitting in my car, David lit up a cigarette. He didn’t ask if he could smoke in my car, and I didn’t tell him he couldn’t. He’s a celebrity. This is what they do. They can be as rude as they want whenever they want. For most of their life, people have catered to all of their eccentricities and demands so much that they no longer are capable of seeing others as equals. Could I have told him that he can’t smoke in my car? I suppose…and he probably would have obliged. But, then you can count on word getting back to my dozens of bosses that I was not courteous to David Carradine, and soon I would be jobless. Hey, at least it wasn’t Dennis Hopper. He lit up two cigars in another Production Assistant’s car. Would you ever get into a stranger’s car and just light up a cigarette without asking? Think about that. It is so brazen!

I’m sitting in my car outside of KNB Studios where they do prosthetics and anima-tronics. David’s getting a rubber head cast for the film. Inside the studio there are examples of some of their work. Aslan the Lion greets you as soon as you walk in the door, and David was immediately taken by him. He patted and groped and basically manhandled our Feline Lord right in front of one of the technicians. The technician had a look on his face like some celebrity had just lit up a cigarette in his car without asking. At least David was complimentary about the lion. He really loved it as opposed to the Boar/Warthog creatures which he called "just a joke"…in front of the technician...who probably made that boar himself.

Celebrities are funny. Here are some pictures I took at KNB.

These jokes were in Chronic (what?) cles of Narnia.

Oink

Don't let this guy hold your baby.

Frankenstein started the whole jacket-with-no-tie look.

I'm sad because I have nobody in my life. No body.

The blog entry to end all blog entries! Part III

So back on the road I went. I should seriously consider becoming a long haul truck driver. I love driving!

The trip to California started off with an important decision at a Southern Indiana pit stop.


















It actually wasn't that tough of a decision. One of these places doesn't exist in California, so it was time for one last hurrah.



I'm having difficulty coming up with anything interesting to say about my trip. Maybe nothing happened. Or maybe my brain isn't working right now because my officemate is pelting me with a constant barrage of Elton John and Tori Amos. Are you reading this, Lisha? Stop it. Stop it now.

So, I hit some bugs on the way.



I arrived in Tempe, Arizona a little after noon the day before the Last Comic Standing auditions.



I didn't see anyone in line, yet. Sweet. I could relax, find a nice spot to camp out, play some guitar, work on some new knock-knock-jokes, and wait for tomorr--whoa! What was this behind the club?

Comics

More Comics

Comics with Tents

Comics with Ass Cracks

A Plethora of Comics

There were over 100 comics already in line, and a lot of them appeared to have been there for a looooong time. It was clear that I wasn't going to get to audition. Now what?









Off to Vegas I went. It was my first visit since I started playing poker, and I wanted to see what the atmosphere was like. Small. The poker rooms are tiny compared to the Commerce Casino in Los Angeles. I was really surprised. I hate talking poker on here, since I get the feeling that this is when my average reader tunes me out. Blah blah blah sat at 1/2NL table at MGM blah blah blah played for about 5 hours blah blah blah won $200 blah blah blah saw Antonio Esfandiari playing a guy that might have been David Sklansky at the Bellagio blah blah blah.

And now I'm in Los Angeles...and there are stories to tell already!

The blog entry to end all blog entries! Part II

Grooming is a situational activity. I participate in varying amounts of self-maint-enance (external) everyday, and somedays, like the days where I play Madden all day long, that means no grooming at all. When more major events come along, like dates or auditions for Last Comic Standing, I do a full upkeep. I break out the razors, tweezers, loofahs, power washer, and turpentine. When you are getting detailed, you learn a lot about yourself, and I'm not going to qualify that statement as purely physical. Your mental makeup has a direct relation to your physical appearance. This means that somewhere in the recesses of my mind there is a part of me that is oblivious to things that normally should be noticed more quickly, things that should be corralled, things that should be contained, specifically things that should be tweezed. Oh yes, whilst performing a full body inspection I found an anomaly that my conscious self cannot allow, something that shook the foundations of my vanity, something that made me question the very direction of my life! I found a rogue hair growing out of the top of my ear.



That sucker was over a half inch! How long had it been there? It surely didn't just pop out over night! Have people been secretly referring to me as Hairy Ears? Or just Harold? Needless to say, this was a pretty disturbing moment. Evolutionarily speaking, how could this giant hair on the top of my ear ever benefit me? Warmth? Wind protection? Help in finding a mate outside my species? What am I? A Hobbit?? It had to go and was immediately plucked. Since this moment, I have been making routine inspections of the tops of my ears. There are some tiny hairs there, but nothing out of the ordinary. I feel like they are waiting for me to let my guard down. Someday, not too far off in the future, I may wake up to find my entire head wrapped in a cocoon of ear hair from which my cranium will emerge in a couple weeks with giant ear wings with which I will fly off to the Isle of Misfit Boys and live the rest of my days in freakish splendor.

I arrived at the comedy club for the Last Comic Standing auditions a little after 3am on the day of the auditions. It was cold. This is Minnesota, remember. It was f'ing fucking cold. And windy. F'ing fucking windy. And cold. When I got there, a few people were sleeping in sleeping bags, but the line was not very long. I counted about thirty people. I froze at the end of the line for about twenty minutes when I realized that the line wasn't getting any longer. I could go sit in my warm car and wait for more people to arrive before jumping back in line, which I did. At about 5:30, more comics began to show up, so I got back in line in the exact spot I was in before.

After freezing for a couple more hours, someone in line near me asks, "Did you sign the list?" List? What list? There's a list? Whose list? There is no one from the show here with a list. I ran to the front of the line where there was a comic with his own makeshift list. This jackass starts off by telling me that everyone is honoring the list and then proceeds to sign me in...as number 154! There weren't even fifty people in line! This isn't even an official list! The guy with the list was number four! I was pissed. Instantly fumingly enraged. Apparently, the local comics at this club had been signing up their friends and whoever else, and these hacks all went home and slept all night while a few of them stayed in line. "This guy's been here for two days," the comic says as he points to a dude in a sleeping bag who gives me thumbs up. "Two days?" I ask. "You better be fucking funny." And I'm certain he wasn't. None of them were.

No one in that line made me laugh all day. 99% of that crowd didn't even have more than three minutes of material. How were they expecting to even do the show without material? Jerry Seinfeld wants to know who are these people! So, I didn't get to audition. I got windburn, sunburn, and lost a nipple, but I did not get the pleasure of having Ant (pictured) tell me I'm not funny. I did however get to do some jokes for a couple reporters from the Minneapolis Star Tribune, which you can see right here. I'm the guy at the beginning and end. Oh, and please notice that I'm wearing every article of clothing that I own, because MINNESOTA IS A GLACIER.

Pictures!

Well, Minneapolis wasn't the last stop for Last Comic Standing auditions. They were going to San Antonio in a couple days and Tempe in a week. I realized that Tempe was on the way to Los Angeles, and I was planning on moving back in a couple weeks anyway. Why not move my trip forward a little bit and stop in Tempe for the audition on the way? That's a great idea! Let's do that! Check back for Part III where I say goodbye to Indiana and hello to a tightly packed Nissan Sentra.