THE NEW YORK SHOW (now with snazzy graphics!)

Just a quick 'ELLO! And a poster for Saturday's show:

COME SEE ME LIVE (IN CAPITAL LETTERS!)

Hey there, person I knew when I was growing up in New York! Do you wonder what it would be like to watch me perform a comedy show in the town I grew up in? Have you longed for a chance to hear me talk about things that I find funny and annoying?

WELL LOOK NO FURTHER!

I will be performing comedy at THE RELIEF PITCHER on Saturday, Feb 28th at 9pm.

Here are some Frequently Asked Questions for you to read!

1- Hey Ryan! When is the show again? And where?

Please go back and read this post from the beginning.

2- Hey Ryan! Who else is performing with you?

Tony Liberati, an old friend who got me the gig and who is funnier than a room full of ping pong balls; also your headliner will be an incredibly funny guy named Jamie Lissow. He's got a Comedy Central special! I have a joke about playing tricks on blind people. HOORAY!

3- Hey Ryan! Is it cool if I bring my 6 year-old kid to a 9pm comedy show in a bar?

Certainly! By all means! Especially if they enjoy hearing stories about Paris Hilton's libido and how fun it is to play tricks on the blind! What a great idea! While you are at it, bring Grandma along!

THE RELIEF PITCHER is at 197 Conklin Ave, Binghamton. The show will start at 9. Tickets are available at the door. I have no idea how much it will cost, but if you show up I will probably buy you a drink.

A Major Life-Changing Announcement...

I got married in '04, but I have known My Lovely Wife™ for a lot longer than that. I personally blame her for why I never went through a Heat-N-Serve period in my life.

I shall explain.

In high school, most of my meals came out of a can, or from my mother's kitchen, or from the handful of restaurants I was employed at. In college, if I wasn't eating Ramen Noodles or cans of Spaghetti-O's, I was enjoying whatever they prepared for students in the local Commons. After college I spent a great portion of my time back at my folks' house, and later when I made a (very meager) living as a Radio DJ, it was always a question of fast food. I think in the 2 years that I spent doing radio, I ate a home-cooked meal once. And THAT was only because my roommate was trying to sleep with me and she thought if she made a casserole it would get me hot and horny for room-on-room action. It did not.

After I met My Lovely Wife™ I learned to cook. I pretty much had to. Ask her, she'll agree that if I didn't cook on a regular basis, we'd starve. Wonder why I am so fat now? It's because I am a damn good cook.

But as a result, I missed out on living the life of a "just throw it in and heat it up" kind of existence. I went from "cook it for me" to "I'll get it to go" and straight on to "All you need is a saucepan, some paprika and a good vegetable-chopping knife".

In short, I never fully experienced the majesty of existing solely on TV Dinners.

There is something about the TV Dinner that fascinates me and captures my whimsy. Perhaps it's because they always looked so horrifyingly delightful in old commercials. Maybe it's because the concept of Salisbury Steak just plain sounds funny to me. Maybe it's the 'fried chicken' sitting on a tinfoil square that perfectly captures the notion of "Suburban Bliss" to me.

I'm sure that quite a bit of it has to do with the stereotypical image of a shiny foil tray sitting comfortably on a thin metal folding-tray in front of a 12-inch TV screen. There is something truly wonderful about the idea of coming home, pulling off your shoes, grabbing an inch-thick block of prepackaged edibles out of the ice box, popping it into the oven for twenty minutes, and sitting down to watch The Beaver with a glass of beer and a full meal at your knee. I have a tremendous aversion to network television, and despite the fact that I have scarfed what amounts to roughly 60 tons of pizza, wings, ribs and chips in front of my home theater; I have never actually sat down to a hearty ready-to-eat meal while enjoying the fine programming that Burbank California has seen fit to expose me to.

For whatever reason, I have decided to undergo the following experiment.

Starting on March 1st, 2009, and continuing though the entire month, my evening meal shall consist of nothing but TV Dinners whenever I eat at home, and they shall all be consumed on a tray while enjoying a television show of my choosing.

I call it the:


Yes indeed. For the entire month of March I have decided to forgo "cooking" anything for my nightly meal. Instead, I will indulge myself by luxuriating in whatever the good people at Swanson, Hungry Man, Lean Cuisine, Stoeffer's and the rest of the gang have deemed fit to consume for my supper.

Naturally, I will provide reviews, descriptions, photos, and breakdowns of the experiment. And because I am a stickler for details, here are a few important ones to consider:

1. I will not pass up an opportunity to eat at a restaurant. My TV Dinner consumption is regulated to remaining at home and having my dinner in the evening. To that effect, I will not have a TV Dinner for lunch, breakfast or snacky time. Because it's a TV Dinner, dammit.
2. As I have a long-standing hatred for reality TV, and I am not able to cope with the vast amount of "Stunt Programming" that modern-day TV has to offer, I will occasionally be watching DVDs of TV shows in the place of regularly-scheduled programming. I have several seasons of Classic SNL to get through, and I recently purchased the complete Addams Family series. Plus there is still my collection of Miami Vice, Alien Nation and Firefly to get through. In short: I will be watching TV shows while I am eating my TV Dinners, but they might not be the TV shows featuring Stars Who Dance.
   
3. Some field research has revealed that there is now a very thin line between "TV Dinners" and "Single-serving piles of frozen pasta, cheese, meat and veggies" designed to make you feel like you are getting thinner. For the sake of my experiment: A TV Dinner shall be any meal that requires me to heat it in order to enjoy it properly, and must come in a sectional tray consisting of at least two sections that separate the content. Sadly, this means I will NOT be enjoying Michelina's pasta entrees or very much from Weight Watchers. It also means no Pot Pie. Sacrifices MUST be made.
4. As I cannot imagine doing so without one, each meal will be consumed accompanied by an ice-cold bottle of Rolling Rock Beer. It just feels right, people.
   

I plan on kicking this odyssey off on March 1st. In preparation I have already purchased a few delightful-looking standbys like the Hungry Man Turkey Dinner (the box proudly proclaims that it is MOSTLY white meat, and stands by its' boast by displaying a photo with 3 slices of pink turkey and one very gray one soaking in gravy).

Wish me luck, and send me Tums. I have a feeling we will all become stronger from this experience.

The Joaquin Phoenix Thing

Knock it off.

I'm talking to YOU. You are sitting there at your computer and you are reading this because you are interested in discussing The Joaquin Phoenix Thing. You want to talk about how he is melting down in public, how he has lost grip with reality, and how he's all "crazy" now. "Wha the hell is goin' on?! Mabel! Come lookit this! That feller who done the Johnny Cash is nuts! Look!"

No he hasn't. He's fine. This isn't a hoax or a ruse... it's more of a gambit. And he wants you to get all "goon show" about it. Let's discuss.

Of course I suppose that by discussing it, blogging about it, debating it and watching and re-watching it on YouTube is providing exactly the kind of publicity that Joaquin Phoenix is hoping to gain with his spate of recent stunts in public. The Beast gets fed no matter what. That's not the point of this writing.

The point of this writing is intended to discourage the public from engaging at this particular time in the schadenfreude of watching a celebrity experience a meltdown. Because he's probably not.

For the uninformed, I will briefly explain the situation.

A few months ago, a haggard-looking Phoenix gave a red-carpet speech to a reporter where he publicly announced he was no longer going to pursue acting. Instead, he was interested in developing his musical career. The reporter naturally took it with a grain of salt, which was exactly what Phoenix was looking for, so he used it as an excuse to walk away in disgust (but only after flashing the words "good" and "bye" backwards on his knuckles) and acting like 'yeah, I expected as much' from his interviewer.

His publicist confirmed it the next day, which gave the Media a happy little celebrity news blip. And then the public promptly forgot about it, because nobody gives a shit about Joaquin Phoenix. Except, of course, for Joaquin Phoenix.

A couple of weeks ago, another video clip surfaced on the web; this time it was footage of a very furry and stiff-looking Phoenix appearing on stage in Las Vegas, where he was attempting to perform a hip hop song. Naturally, he makes a fool of himself but refuses to acknowledge that anything off-kilter is occurring. Even after prat-falling on his ass.

Last night Joaquin Phoenix appeared on national television on Letterman, where the self-indulgent and only marginally-talented actor decided to act as if he was above being interviewed, and more than that, acted as if he wasn't all-there. The chances that you have seen the clip, either when it aired or almost immediately afterwards on about 50 websites, are huge. I won't go into details other than to say that he went above and beyond in his attempts to make something out of nothing. Pay attention to how he responds when Dave slices into him. Letterman has an inkling of what's going on here, and he isn't impressed. A guy who is that far-removed from reality wouldn't break out in a smile and attempt to shift the focus back to distant melancholy the way that Phoenix does. Letterman jokes that he owed an apology to Farrah Faucet, but at least Faucet stayed in character.

I could be very wrong about this. There just might be a chance that Joaquin Phoenix is legitimately unhappy with his lifestyle and that he wants to center himself back into a personal, non-superficial reality. But I doubt it. There are two reasons why I doubt it...

Kristen Stewart appeared on Letterman a couple of months ago. The attractive and down-to-Earth actress has publicly admitted being bedazzled by the amount of attention she has received for starring in the teen-heartthrob-laden TWILIGHT. During her interview you witnessed a young woman who was uncomfortable with the superficiality and distanced-from-reality world she has been in, and while avoiding eye contact and actually taking moments to think about answers that Letterman was asking her about- she managed to come across as someone who is unhappy with the accolades and attention. The interview wasn't awkward as much as it was steeped in a more direct and non-bullshit-laden tone. Dave even seemed impressed at her capacity and honesty.

I mention her in full-knowledge that as of late, Stewart has been exposed by the press as a pot-smoking hippie stoner-girl who might not serve as a role-model for young women who are flocking to see her get seduced by a diamond-shiny vampire in a shitty Hollywood movie.

With that comes even MORE reason to believe that a person under the influence of narcotics is able to function when he or she is asked to participate in a televised interview.

The second reason I have for believing that Joaquin Phoenix is making the choice to act like a spoiled brat instead of being genuinely affected: the mere fact that he appeared on the show AT ALL.

After the weeks and weeks of booking, agents, publicists, pre-show rehearsals, discussion-point cards and everything else, only a guy with an AGENDA to act like a compete and utter tool would be able to actually appear on a show and get away with acting the way that he did.

I'm not saying that Letterman himself was in on it. He certainly didn't act like he was, and he fabulously refused to play into any of Pheonix's attempts to derail the moment. It was a prime example of "I think I see what's going on here and I don't think you have the stones to pull it off, buddy."

All in all, the consensus with doubters seems to be that if this IS a stunt that is being perpetrated for the purposes of a mockumentary, it's not going very well. And in addition, I would go as far as to say that it is a fucking waste of time and talent to even try to pull this off. It's been done before, and by smarter participants.

See? It's NOT just me, dammit!

I admit it. I'm nitpicky. I pick at nits. My OCD is set to eleven. Being a slave to my own preferences for having things just-so has cost me friends, relationships, and many a delicious meal at a local eatery. My cross is heavy, but I bear it well, and you must admit, the wood is wonderfully polished and thumbprint-free.

And I am not alone.

At least, not in all things. I might be the only one who gets physically nauseous when the Idiot In Front Of Me doesn't pull far enough ahead at the drive-thru to give me ample room to be face-to-speaker when I come up. I stand alone in my belief that a person over the age of 60 shouldn't comment on my vegetable selection at the check-out counter at Publix. And I dare say I am the only person at my workplace who has a problem with the concept of talking at the top of your lungs with your fellow salesman in the bathroom while someone (me) is trying to take a quick dump.

But when it comes to parking, it looks like I have found a comrade.

Let me set the scene:

The building I work in isn't as crowded as it used to be. I'm in a 5-story behemoth that can accommodate approximately 1600 persons at a time, according to the information in the janitor's closet (don't ask, I drink a lot, okay?)... currently I estimate there are only about 200 employees scuttling about in the four separate businesses occupying the property. It's big and it's pretty empty, and I like it that way just fine.

The layout of the parking lot is a sight to behold. Aside from the spaces right against the edge of the building, there is no such thing as a "close spot". Oh, it LOOKS close when you are parking 20 yards from the smoking area... but you have to work your way around 30 additional yards of shrubbery and ornamental mulch in order to actually get to the door. It's annoying, but tolerable, to a degree, because as empty as the building tends to be, it means there is ample parking as long as you don't mind getting mulchy once and a while.

With so much parking space, you'd think that everyone would know about "the empty parking lot rules".

The Empty Parking Lot Rules are not sacred, and they aren't as revered in song and legend as, say, the Bro's Before Ho's Rules... but they are still pretty much self- evident. You KNOW when you are violating them, even if you have never seen them listed out.

Here's an abridged list of some very well-respected Parking Lot Rules:

1- If you are over 200 pounds and you are walking to/from your car through a parking lot, move the fuck over, because people are trying to drive past you.

2- If you are headed back to your car with packages at Christmas and a car is following close behind you, it is your job to let them know if you are leaving, or if you are just dropping off our load of packages and meeting Your Lovely Wife™ for an Orange Julius. That way they don't follow, at a CRAWL, watch you dump your stuff, then wait until you go back in the building so they can key your car.

3- Anyone who thinks their car is so important that they need to park SIDEWAYS across TWO OR MORE spaces is just asking for a broken tail light. Seriously. I mean it, unless your fucking car is dipped in gold and the Dali Lama is in the back seat waiting for his slice of Sbarro, don't park like a fucking retard.

And the most important Parking Lot Rule ever?

4- When there is ample space in a big, empty lot... SPREAD THE HELL OUT.

It's really annoying when you don't. I can't tell you why. But look at any lot at the mall on a Tuesday afternoon in Spring and tell me you don't see the pattern: Up close to the doors? Lots of clusters of cars, in space after space... but the further out one goes, the more space opens up between cars. By the time you get to the Logan's it's a desert of asphalt. It's the way that God intended things.

In the miasma of strange and difficult-to-access parking zones at my building, a handful of employees have taken to a semi-empty patch of concrete on the East side of the place that I like to call East Jesus.

Up until 2 weeks ago, only 4 cars have found a permanent place in good 'ol East Jesus. And we have all lived in harmony, faithfully obeying Fourth Law Of Parking Lots... we have spread out. Sure, we all want to park as close to the door as possible, but we still know the rule, and each car has courteously left a parking space open on either side of each other. And sure, we trade off actual SPOTS from day to day, depending on who shows up on time and who doesn't, but the entire mood has been friendly and accommodating to each other. It's a fine system! See:

What I mean to say is- This WAS a fine system. Until a week ago. When THE RED CAR showed up.

THE RED CAR has been seen before. It has been closer to the door in other parts of the lot, but for the past few days, THE RED CAR has taken up residence in East Jesus. And all hell has broken loose.

THE RED CAR has started parking next to other cars. We are in the middle of nowhere and THE RED CAR wants to snuggle. We don't even know who THE RED CAR belongs to, but that doesn't deter it from abandoning all reasonable etiquette and parking it's ass right next to the other cars in East Jesus.

What does this mean for the rest of us? It means we have to over-compensate and park even further from the building, which wouldn't be such a hassle except that it is, goddammit. And it's all THE RED CAR's fault. It shows up and fucks up the whole layout of cars by parking itself right NEXT to other cars in an empty part of the lot.

And all this would mean nothing, other than being of minor annoyance to me, if it weren't for what I just saw on my way back in from lunch today.

See, as much as I complain and nitpick, I'm a realist. I know that these things really only bug me, and if I complain about things on my little bloggity-doo, I can usually cope. I assumed that the existence of the touchy-feely RED CAR would be something only I would have trouble with, and that it would never even escalate to becoming a blog-worthy consideration.

But then I discovered something wonderful, something as delightful as discovering that your brand new college roommate also digs The Housemartins or that your mail-order bride is also into light bondage.

I discovered a fellow East Jesus resident ALSO has a problem with THE RED CAR.

Getting out of my car after lunch (3 spaces down from where I would normally park, thanks to that crimson bastard) I noticed a piece of paper was attached to THE RED CAR's wiper blade, flapping in the breeze.

Curiosity overtook me and I wandered over to the windshield to see what it was.

Someone left our scarlet offender a message. And as God as my witness, I could not have invented such a wonderful note if I tried.

It was just a simple piece of paper with black Sharpie and it read, in block letters:

HI, NICE CAR, CAN YOU PLEASE STOP PARKING OUT HERE LIKE AN ASSHOLE? THANKS!

Thank you. Thank you, fellow Parking Lot Rules Abider.

I am not alone.

I GOT IT

I THINK I HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT!

So all in all, here is what it seems like we got:

IN THE BEGINNING there was an island with incredible magnetic powers that probably slows down time or something or other, and people on the island are kind of like living in the Garden of Eden, maybe. Or something.

Then in the 1950's a douchebag America decided to test a nuke called Jughead on the island, but the 'original inhabitants' fucked all that up. So they buried the bomb about 15 minutes from the shore.

Then the Dharma Initiative showed up and made a bunch of stations around the island. They somehow harnessed the energy of the hydrogen bomb and put The Swan over it, and after Ben wiped out the Dharma guys they set up some super-science stuff that tapped into the magnetic powers of the island and caused the whole island to "stop" in time... literally to loop every 108 minutes as long as someone pushed a button. Or something.

But some Scottish guy ended up forgetting to push the button right when an airliner was traveling OVER the island, and since the island was becoming "unstuck" in time, it freaked shit out and caused a crash. But Desmond punched in and reset the loop again just in time so now the airline passengers are stuck on the island as it cycles through an 108-minute loop.

At least until Locke shows up and let's the whole thing go kerflooey... but at the last minute, before the nuke nukes the place, Desmond hits a 'fail safe' which probably jumps the island OUT of it's loop and back into the normal time flow. Jughead blows up, but at a different point in time, so everyone is safe. The bad news is that the island is now back in 'normal time'.

The bad guys (Widmore, who left the island when the Dharma kooks started taking over and driving the "original Others", including Richard, away) can find the island now, as long as they follow the right magnetic bearing to get into that crazy island. Or something.

But Ben 'moves' the island as an emergency last-defense. Which is a lot like bumping a record on a turntable, and now the needle is bouncing all around the record, and it can't find the right 'groove' because all the ingredients aren't in the bowl like they should be.

They only have a short amount of time to get back to the island, because the island will kind of do like what is going on in Juliet, Miles and Charlotte's heads. And since the island is basically the world's brain, the world will start bleeding out of it's nose and flopping around in the solar system.

Who's with me?

I hate this fucking show.

Um... Hi... 'Sup? Um... I made you a mix tape...

I realized what sucks about modern mix tapes: They don't exist any more.

If someone makes you a mix nowadays, you get a playlist. Playlists suck. If I send you a playlist, all you are going to do is listen to the stuff you like and not follow through on listening to the whole thing. There's no fun in that at all. "Oh... you made me a mix... how nice... let me just zap through this weird Peter Gabriel section and get right to the Soundgarden."

Screw that.

Here's the thing... when you got a mix tape from someone in high school- you earned that shit. Most of the time what you got was a damn 60-minute Maxell Cassette tape with hearts and smiley faces drawn on the label with a felt-tipped pen. You didn't have a CLUE what was coming on that thing, and all you could do was pop it in and listen to it with your headphones on and pray to god that nothing sappy would make you cry in front of your little sister.

So this afternoon I was experiementing with some new software I have 'aquired' and I decided to put it to use. I made you a mix tape. Yup. A real-life, true-blue Totaly Awesome Mix Tape. Just for YOU, my loyal blog-reader. It's a full hour of delicious 80's goodness, and it is 100% FREE of nightmarish pop bubblegum-laced crap from the era. You get 17 of the coolest songs in the world, and ZERO Madonna.

And you gotta listen to them all, because it's one long track, dammit.

LISTEN TO IT HERE (or better still)

DOWNLOAD IT HERE (MP3) unzip it and enjoy.

Come on. You'll love it. And to sweeten the deal:

I offer hearty prizes galore to whomever is able to list a full ARTIST and TITLE of each song, and send it to me as a reply to this post. Extra points if you can name the title of the film that the song comes from, if applicable.

When was the last time someone gave you a mix tape.

Come on. Will you go out with me or not?