I'm having a sort of vacation from my blog forced on me. Jen and I are getting our internet, telephone and cable through one service provider and they told us that it would be anywhere from 2 weeks to a month before we get service at home. So please, read a book. I am.

I am in Des Moines right now. I am staying at my friend Shawn's house with his wife Trish and their son Luke while performing with Shawn and my old comedy troupe at the Iowa Fringe Festival. I assure you Des Moines in July is every bit as glamorous as it sounds!

I initially waffled about where to stay when in Des Moines. A couple of different friends offered me spaces at their place and I even briefly entertained the notion of getting a hotel room, but I'm glad I chose what I did. My decision can best be summed up in six little words: Black and Decker Cordless Power Pack!















On the ledge right next to the bed in the guest room I have complete access to a Black and Decker Cordless Power Pack! I never even knew I wanted one until now. But now that the option is on the table I can't help but think that I will be doing a little late night woodworking. How impressed would they be if I refinished their deck while they slept?

Before you ask, let me assure you that this picture has not been doctored in any way. This is an actual iPod accessory called the iCarta. It features four waterproof speakers and an "integrated toilet tissue holder." According to the official sales pitch the iCarta, "makes it easier for people to listen to tunes from an iPod while using the bathroom."

Now aside from the obvious naming problem (Sadly iPoo was already taken by a GPS toilet locator. I shit you not!) don't you think that people who need to be in the bathroom long enough to hear all of The Beatles White Album have bigger problems than their speaker's fidelity?

The other day I saw this little girl with a tee shirt that had her elementary school crest on it. Above the crest and were the words, "Elementary School Council." I guess it's never too early to introduce your children to the boredom of parliamentary procedure and horrors of light typing and filing.

I'd love to see that agenda.

"I call this meeting to order. First order of business, Billy? We've noticed that the paste we ordered a month ago is still not been shipped. I don't care if it's been back ordered. The fact is there are first-graders going hungry Billy and if we don't act fast we'll have a mutiny on our hands. Can't we get them some glue sticks to munch on in the meantime?"

It's all about expectations I suppose. Most people grow up wanting to be a doctor or a lawyer or dragon...well, maybe not a lawyer. But no one ever dreams of a life as a low level functionary. No one strives for middle management. Nobody sets out to become an appointment-setter. But now they can. And the Elementary School Council is the best way to start down that path.

The sooner they get used to spending 40 hours a week chained to a desk churning out brilliant ideas for people who are too stupid to recognize them, the less disappointed they will be with how their lives inevitably turn out.

And now, just in time for you to do nothing about it whatsoever, here is a performance update. I will be hitting the road Thursday and performing in the Iowa Fringe Festival with my old improv troupe The Brink. We will be doing 5 shows between Thursday and Sunday.

Monday the tent show rolls up and heads back to the windy city of Chicago where I will be performing in the 2nd annual move-a-thon with my wife Jen. The preliminaries will be held on Monday followed by a thrilling single elimination round on Tuesday. Beds will be moved, temperatures will soar and new swear words will be invented as The Chris and Jen Show moves to its new location on the west side of Chicago.

Then Wednesday Jen and I will be competing in the Second City Dance-Stravaganza where we will be doing the Consolation Conga and the Faux Pas Foxtrot. We will also be premiering a new modern dance piece called "Reconciliation and Remembrance."

If you don't manage to see our performances in July, be sure to catch us when we come to a couple's therapy session near you!

My favorite birthday story is not even a birthday story.

When I was unemployed I had to call into Workforce Development once a week and tell them the number of people I sent resumes to. On one of my first calls I had to give them all my personal information, including my birthdate: 7/17/1975. When I gave those numbers to the person at Workforce Development, a person who works with surly, unemployed people all day long mind you, she said to me, "All those sevens? Must be lucky."

"Yeah," I answered, "Um...you know I'm unemployed, right?"

"Oh. Right."

There was a family here at work yesterday that was from New York. They were in town on vacation. And while in Chicago they decided to do some uniquely Chicago things: they saw the New York Mets play the Chicago Cubs and then came to The Blue Man Group.

I told this story to our co-worker Will who said, "And soon they can also go downtown to Macy's." It's not long before they will have the New York Reality Tour of Chicago complete with muggings and random people pissing on the sidewalk.

The last two days Chicago has been under a heat advisory. And while I hate the heat, I've always loved the advisories. Invariably they tell you that, with the humidity, the temperature will feel like it is above 100 degrees. Then they warn you to keep hydrated and to stay inside. This is advice that I do not need, but I appreciate having a licensed meteorologist legitimize my sloth.

"Oh, I'd love to come over and see your wedding pictures but I can't. Meteorologist's orders."

My favorite part is when they warn about how the heat might effect different demographic categories.

"The heat is especially hard on the very old and the very young." In Iowa they would always throw in "and cattle" into the warning too. Old people, young people and cattle. That's some pretty prestigious company, huh? Old people, young people and cattle. Basically, if you shit yourself, stay inside.

As some of you may or may not already be aware of (how many more qualifiers can I cram into this sentence?) I am in an improv troupe that performs at The Playground Theater. I perform with the embarrassingly titled Cobra Death Snake, the improv troupe that thinks it's an action movie. And as even fewer of you may know(is that more or less qualifying?), we had our last show together as a troupe last night. We have all decided to go on and see other audiences. Better audiences. Married audiences.

As sometimes happens in comedy, there was a bachelorette party in the crowd. This happened a lot more frequently when I was working at the Funny Bone in Des Moines. What happens is that a group of women all get together to "celebrate" one of their friends getting married. Somehow that always involves copious amounts of alcohol, an embarrassingly adorned veil and a six foot inflatable penis. (Which, somehow, no one seems to be embarrassed about!) The women who planned the party are usually single for some reason (I'm sure that has nothing to do with their proximity to a 6 foot inflatable penis!) and they are mad at their friend for finding someone to spend the rest of her life with...and for making them all buy $300 dresses they will never wear again. So these women want to humiliate the engaged woman all night long. That is usually where the comedians (and the alcohol) come into play.

Well, last night's bachelorette party was a little more subdued. There were 5 bridesmaids attired in matching baby blue tee shirts that said, "bridesmaid" across the chest. The shirt was somewhat unnecessary because they were all with a women in a veil and white tee shirt that said "bride." I think we could have pieced that puzzle together ourselves.

But this is no ordinary veil. No, no, no! This is a veil festooned with condoms. As it was explained to us and anyone else who would listen, the bride was on a scavenger hunt for condoms. As they said, "for all the great sex she is going to be having." To which one of our improvisers, Holly, said, "Well I hope you're having a lot of great sex now. Gotta test drive the car before you buy it." I believe that it should be mentioned here that Holly is engaged right now as well so she knows of what she speaks. However it turns out that the bride is not much for test driving. And if I had to hazard a guess, I would say she doesn't even have a learners permit. When Holly inquired about her "great sex" the bride just shook her head and looked at the floor.

So who are the condoms for? Her husband or the groomsmen she's planning on driving cross-country before the big day? So many questions, so few answers.

I was typing away on a blog posting last night when I was quite rudely interrupted by an inexplicable noise. I was so startled by the noise that I inadvertently typed " t32fsdz" when what I meant to type was "Iowa." (Although most people would be hard pressed to tell the difference.)

It sounded like a dog barking. I had recently installed a program on my PC called WinPatrol that alerts you when a program is trying to attach itself to your start menu. The program's mascot is (for no apparent reason) a little Scotty dog. When it needs to alert you of some imminent threat the dog barks...and scares you senseless.

As I told my wife, "It's supposed to tell you when to change your software, but it really only let's me know when to change my pants."

Dear all y'all-

I am making some pretty drastic changes to the blog's look and functioning right now. Due to some fairly major snags you may find that you have trouble navigating the site. I know this is happening and I am working to make sure that it won't last long. The changes we are implementing should be very beneficial if we can work out the kinks. Rest assured that I have my best team of monkeys working on this problem around the clock. If this doesn't work, we will return to our regular schedule of smoke signals and carrier pigeons.

Thanks for your patience.

-Chris

The latest reality series to hit the internet is called STS-121 Discovery. It's about a plucky bunch of misfits who are forced to work together under impossible circumstances (space) to overcome incredible odds (public apathy towards manned space flight.) So far, its two standouts are Mike Fossum and Dr. Piers Sellers.

Lead spacewalk officer Tomas Gonzalez-Torres was quoted by CNN as saying, "'They are definitely jokesters,' Gonzalez-Torres said, noting the British-born Sellers has an unusual sense of humor that sometimes needs translating. 'They are so much fun.'"

That's kind of faint praise for people who are supposed to be repairing and restocking the International Space Station isn't it? No one's asking about their scientific credentials. No one is questioning the validity or scientific necessity of the space program. The mission fact sheet has more information on the flight crew's hobbies than on their qualifications. And now we find out that the two spacewalkers are just like you and me, but with a wicked sense of humor?! Is Rosie O'Donnell running this PR campaign? All of a sudden the NASA press has all the authority and journalistic gravitas of a People Magazine expose on the horrors of a bad haircut. (Mission Specialist and crossword enthusiast Lisa Nowak reviews the new crossword puzzle movie Wordplay. Plus, Commander Steve Lindsey and Pilot Mark Kelly battle it out in a hot oil pit to see which one is sexier! The winner? The American Public!)

This is CNN's reporting on the hilarity that was the spacewalk:

"Everyone can hear you scream," Fossum said at the beginning of their orbital excursion. It was a twist on the tag line from the movie "Alien": "In space, no one can hear you scream."

Sellers retorted: "About the time I get outside, I'll put on my alien costume."

An Alien joke? Timely. As if ripped from todays headlines. What other hackneyed bits are we going to be taking for a stroll? The difference between New York and LA? Why do men leave the toilet seat up? "You think airline food is bad? Try the shuttle. This stuff is so awful I walked out on the flight!" Be careful with those jokes boys, they're antiques.

They would make Fossum "a sparrow," Sellers cracked, making up a nonexistent award.

Man, the hits just keep coming! If only there was a wacky neighbor!

When a cover for the pump module enveloped Fossum's head, he said, "I just threw a sheet over my head."

Missed an obvious Klan joke there. You could also go with a safer Casper reference. Scooby-Doo also comes readily to mind or possibly a crack about the "sheet's" threadcount being higher than the shuttle is right now. Those are just a few things right off the top of my head. I'm not even trying here!

Then the duo turned their tongues at Discovery commander Steve Lindsey, teasing him for being overly caffeinated.

"Just keep him away from the chocolate-covered coffee beans; he's probably vibrating by now," Fossum said.

I think this letter is pretty self-explanatory, but I'm usually wrong. So here's a little background. My wife, Jen, along with most of the rest of her accelerated bachelor of science in nursing (ABSN) class at Loyola University, missed a "mandatory" luncheon where program evaluations were handed out. The program evaluations are used to keep the Loyola nursing program accredited. So when over 90 percent of the class missed the luncheon, the faculty threw a hissy fit. Dr. Sheila Haas is the dean of the school of nursing and, apparently, the grand marshall of the passive-aggressive parade. Anyway, I wrote the following letter defending my wife's honor in the whole mess. Enjoy.

*****************

Every year on the 4th of July (Independence Day for our readers in other countries...you know, like that crappy Will Smith movie) there is a hot dog eating competition held on Coney Island in New York hosted by Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs. Well for something like the last decade or so the competition has been won by this guy...




















Takeru Kobayashi. He is a 27 year old, professional competitive eater from Nagano, Japan who weighs a scant 132 pounds.

Now, I've said it before and apparently I have to say it again, why can't the fattest country on earth win a hot dog eating contest? I guess Kobayashi is just a smaller, more efficient eater than the lazy American fatties, is that it? Why can't America win a competition that combines it's favorite things: sloth and shiny trophy belts.

Have we lost the competitive spirit? Have we outsourced everything? I say no. The answer is purely American and so obvious I don't know why someone hasn't proposed it already. The American entrants in the hot dog eating contest? The homeless. In purely competitive terms, they are hungrier and they want it more!

So next time a homeless man approaches you on the street asking for money tell him, "Brother I'll pay your entry fee." Then hand him a brochure for the hot dog eating contest and tell him, "I'll see you on the 4th!"

I'm not a big sports fan. I've tried to watch them, but they just never took. I 'll watch it if it's on somewhere, but I can't tell you what's going on from moment to moment. When I was in college I used to spend a lot of time in a sports bar in Ames, Iowa where I did stand-up. Every time I was in there I wanted to ask them why they paid thousands of dollars for all the fancy televisions and the best cable package if all they were ever going to watch was ESPN. But I wanted to keep that job, so I just faked interest.

"Hey, you watching the big game?" I'd ask.

They never caught on because they didn't want to look like they didn't know which big game I was talking about. They'd just immediately go to the programming guide and look up whatever sport was being televised at the moment.

"Hmmmmm...I guess he's really into Australian Rules Dwarf Bowling."

The other night I found myself in a deli near work where everyone was watching the NBA draft. I had NO IDEA this was as big an ordeal as it's turned into. Every now and again Commissioner Stern would walk out onto a lavish little stage and read some grand pronouncement like, "In the 24th round the Utah Jazz pick Maurice Smith from Eastern West Virginia State Technical College, Heating and Cooling Division." Then announcers would come on and discuss that person in minute detail as a highlight reel of their playing career flashed on the screen.

"Smith is a star center for the Eastern West Virginia State Fiery Furnaces. He leads the team in rebounds, assists and date-rapes. His lawyers say he should be disease free and out on parole by training camp."

Then things got a little weird. They started talking about the side deals and back room trades. Teams would trade draft picks for other draft picks, that's not news. The ones that got me were when teams would trade the right to a player. I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds illegal.

"Maurice, you play for the Jazz now, but you can't vote anymore."

"That's cool, I never voted anyway."

That's when it struck me that the NBA draft is very similar to another cultural phenomenon that we don't see much of anymore. Think about it. There is a big gathering of (mostly wealthy white) owners and a big gathering of (mostly poor black) talent or, in more precise terms workers. The owners are trying to get the best workers for the least money. The workers themselves have very little say in what is going on in the lottery. They just sit patiently and wait to find out which team is going to buy them.

Where have I seen that before?




















By the way, today is the anniversary of the slave rebellion on the Spanish ship La Amistad.

Jen and I went to a hideous excuse for a movie last night, but you know what made it better? Free popcorn. That's right, free popcorn.

We went to the Music Box Theater's midnight showing of Motel Hell. It's a ridiculous movie from 1980 about a brother and sister who run a motel AND a farm AND a smoked meat business and probably do a little chartered accountancy on the side for all I know. (Their day planner must just be PACKED!) They kidnap motorists, plant them in the ground and fatten them with special herbs and spices. Then they kill them, smoke their carcasses and use their meat to spice up Farmer Vincent's Smoked Meats. All while running a hotel and evading the local police who, luckily, happen to be related to them. It's part Psycho, part Texas Chainsaw Massacre and part Sweeney Todd, but still finds a way to be uniquely horrible in a new and laughably uninteresting way.

Anyway, the theater was also showing The Rocky Horror Picture Show in its main theater last night. So when we showed up wearing more than just our underwear it was patently obvious which movie we were there to see. A tall, slender black man in a tuxedo saw that we were not with the herd of overweight high school girls in merrywidows and asked us which movie we were there to see.

"Motel Hell," I said.

"That's the magic words. You get free popcorn," he replied.

I had no idea what was going on. I assumed he was an angel sent from movie heaven to sweeten the experience of an otherwise tasteless movie. A metaphorical spoonful of sugar to make the cinematic medicine go down easier.

"Our website is buying popcorn for this show," he said.

Whatever. Make with the popcorn already. Honestly, at this point he could have signed me up for Scientology or Amway or any other cult if he wanted to. Turns out I can be bought and REALLY economically. Luckily all this guy wanted was to advertise his web site. And I'm more than happy to help...as long as the popcorn keeps flowing!

Sci Fi Horror Chicago