'round Midnight

Hey keyboard. Its been a while...I haven't known how to bring this up but I cant take it anymore and I have to ask...what happened between you and me? We used to be so close in the MSN days. I feel like all this texting has distanced us. Before I used to be with you all the time so it was a lot easier for us to write things together. I’m not saying I cant write things with my phone, but its not as easy and fluid as it was with us. We were such a good team. I want us back. I want everything to be the way it was again. You and me and MSN and notepad. Remember notepad? And your beautiful arrow keys...when was the last time anyone touched you there. Now I cant even see the letters “WASD”. Back in the good days I used to go to town on your arrow keys. Remember that? And I would flick your space bar just like this in the Double Dragon days. Now look at us. I’ve let this younger generation come between us. I miss you. I miss the shortcut buttons you had for “volume” and “internet” and “search” that didn’t do anything. Hhaha we would stay up all night and I could never get them to work. I even miss the yellow hue your mother took on near the end of her life. She was beautiful. With the backwards “L” shaped return button and those deep keys...they don't rattle like that anymore, I can tell you that. I used to make your mother purr if I typed on her just right. Now the keyboards are all touch screen. They don’t make a sound. You cant even feel them. How can you have a relationship without feelings? They disappear until you need them and just pop up for you to use them like some cheap, desperate whore making a booty call. I don’t want that. I want you. We can get a desk together and you can have your own permanent space, and you can be as loud as you want. I need that. I need that feedback. I need that response from you....I need you keyboard....I need you to listen to me when I want to pour out about my day. Not the cheap embrace of a touch screen keyboard on a tiny screen on the subway. You. Your keys and warm rattle in the privacy of my own room, where we can stay up until three in the morning again, just like old times. But you’re a dying breed...and its getting harder and harder to hang on. I’m worried that by the time I’m old you wont be around anymore, and that scares me. I’m sorry I haven’t given as much attention to you over the past couple of years. I’m sorry I let it get to this. I love you keyboard. You’ve always been there for me to listen without judgement and I love you for that. You’re the best friend I ever had and Ill never let you go again. 

-Alex

Parental Disclaimer

Choosing to be a comedian, like any other form of art, is like choosing to have a terminal illness. You're bound to lose weight because of it, your friends will stop giving a shit about you and your parents actually mourn for your situation. When someone asks my parents how their son is doing, they change their tone of voice and look at the floor.
 "...Alex?...Alex isn't doing too well...He's decided to become a stand up comedian. We just don't know what to do..." Then my father wraps an arm around my mother as she bursts into tears. This is accompanied by condolences and many generous offers by relatives to send one of their successful sons or daughters over to try and help me be more like them. The similarities aren't across the board, however.
See, if I really was sick, when they came to visit me in the hospital, they would bring gifts and flowers and tell me everything's going to be okay. They might not know if I actually will be okay, but God damn it they'd lie and hope for the best cause that's what family does. Instead, I'm a comedian, so its the equivalent of my family coming into my hospital room, pulling a chair up next to the heart rate monitor, taking my cold, limp hand into theirs, and, as they stare into my tired and weary eyes, saying ".....how long to you plan on living like this?" in an "I know better than you" tone of voice. Then I flat line and they say, "I told him he wouldn't make it."
Its not so much about family telling you you're going to fail, as much as it is about family not telling you you'll succeed. If I told my parents I was a going to be a doctor, Id have so much support I wouldn't even need to study. They'd do it for me. I could live at home as long as I need. Money for school? Car? Gas? They can make adjustments to the families spending. When I told my parents I was going to be a comedian though, all I got was....."Well...you can do whatever you like." As in "You can develop a serious drug addiction if you like. Im not saying you should or you shouldn't. Im just saying you can." Its more of a disclaimer really. In case it all falls through, it wouldn't have been their fault for pushing me in this direction.
What I want to know is how come parents don't feel bad after spending all their college savings and pushing their children into a field like teaching where they go through years and years of school with nothing to show for it but a part time job at Shoppers Drug Mart and a Masters Degree for when the toilet paper runs out?

Iron Man 3 and some spoliers I think

Coming out of Iron Man 3 I’m reminded of a straight A student who begins the year with so much potential but slowly lets it all fall apart by graduation after letting their potential success get to their head and partying too much.

The writing in the movie seemed lazy to me. The lackadaisical attitude that was built in to Tony Starks character has now become the lackadaisical attitude of the writers showing through Tony Stark. Theres a fine line between a well scripted lazy character and just plain a lazy scripted character. There were too many “I got nothing's” and “You got me's” and “whatever's”. Yea these are funny, but thats not what i expect from the third iron man movie. Its like watching stand up comedian go up and just play off their own failure as a writer, which is a very important skill to have for when you try and fail as a writer, but nobody is ever going to want to pay to see someone talk about how lazy they are for not writing anything clever. This is where i feel Iron Man abused the trust of the people that payed to see it. Did most people like that movie? Of course. But most people also liked the first movie and it wasnt because the writers swung from one main stream reference to another. It was because they succesfully merged a superhero with that douche bag from highschool you secretly loved, despite his arrogance and ego. The ending also left me a little confused. At the end of Return of the King the cast didnt collectively take off their costumes and stop larping in the countryside, but thats all ill say. Lastly i just want to say that theres a scene where the Iron Man suits glove pulls Tony Stark to safety. This is totally a knock off of the part in Aladdin where genie saves Aladdin from drowning.  

The Powers That Be

Do I believe in the powers that be. Well, no, not really if I’m being completely honest. Do I believe that there is a greater power governing the universes happenings? No. Cause that would take the fun out of those few little times where something super unlikely happens and I’m such a good sport about it. Instead, I believe that it takes a special kind of person to see the humor in life. For example, anyone else last night would have been annoyed, angry, confused, or any other sort of weak, girly emotion. But i find it funny that we would run into eachother. Its been so long since ive seen you that i almost didnt recognize you last night. Sure, youve looked better, and you were with some other guy when i got there, and I'm sure you didnt expect me to show up, but it happened. Its also strange that on a night where i invite some of my friends who had helped me through some of the tougher times in my life, i also happen to see you. Friends like Christina or Matt, ryan and francesco, friends who youve been in the presence of and know pretty well. My biggest concern, however, wasnt my friends, but the fact that you were in the same room as my girlfriend. In retrospect, that was a pretty risky situation, cause i could have ended up looking like a fool in front of everyone. Luckily, it didnt get to that point. You minded your own business and i minded mine. At one point i thought things were really going to fly off the handle when i accidentally got ketchup on you. It didnt seem like you noticed though. Thank god for that. You just sat there calm and cool. To be honest, i admire you for that. Part of me wished you had done something to grab my attention, but that part of me wasnt there last night, and the other part of me definitely didnt want that. The last thing i need is you getting sauce all over my shirt anyways because i wanted your “attention”. In the end it was nice seeing you again, and although it was tempting to get saucy with one another like we used to, I’m glad things were as dry as they were. At least that way we could avoid any sticky situations if you know what i mean. I guess what I’m trying to say is that i missed you, and seeing some other guy with his lips all over you made me realize just how long its been since ive had you in my mouth.
I love you chicken wings. If youre reading this, last night was last night, and today is today, and for both of our sake, i think thats the way we should keep it. Ill have a beer to that. And also, heres to not writing something depressing for once.

P.s. You were a lot fattier than i remember.

Heres What Happened...

Issue #1

Youre walking downtown late at night, maybe in chinatown, looking for somewhere to just get a drink. Maybe you want a coffee or a beer, but you think to yourself, "i always have coffee or beer." Just then you here a childish, but friendly voice from your right say "thats why you should have this juice were making" You turn to your right and in the narrowest crack in the wall you see a space. Not quite small enough for a door but not big enough for a window. Instead theres a small space. maybe ten feet wide, if that, and six feet deep. Leaning back on the hind legs of his chair is a white guy, in a huxtable-esque sweater, and a brooklyn hat that would make Mars Blackmon proud. Hes got a beard, wispy and white, like an old karate master and hes playing with it. Stroking it, looking deep in thought, or at least trying to. And as you stop and look at him wondering how he knew what you were thinking, his face lights up. "Hey Alex!", he yells, "I got one! I told you it would work eventually." Behind him theres a kitchen and the back of a guys head. Before his hair hes about six foot four, plus his hair its about seven two. Toiling over a tiny cutting board with a tiny knife and some tiny ingrediant, the giant yells out "Fine here." and, without turning his head, slaps a five dollar bill down on the counter behind him. You continue to stare not quite sure what he means until he explains. "Oh, i bet my friend in the kitchen that if i kept saying "thats why you should try this juice were making" to everybody walking by eventually it would line up with someones thoughts and they would stop. Ive made my money for the day. Time to close up shop. You want the juice by the way?" You ask whats in it, and the giant yells in a monotone voice, "Oyster and Peanut Butter" The guy in the hat smiles and knods his head, the sound of the drink satisfying his ears. "Really?" you ask. "Of course not" says the giant, "You want the drink or not?" You order the drink, and at the same time the guy in the hat says "ill have one too." as he slaps the same five dollar bill down on the counter. They bid you goodnight and slide down a great big, worn out garage door. The door was all covered in graffiti that must have been at least 30 years old from the looks of it. As the door hit the ground it was as though the shop didnt exist. No one would think it was an active space walking by it. As you walk away you sip your drink. It tastes like...peanut butter.....and oyster. Less concerned with the drink, you spend the rest of your night wondering who these two guys were, what they were doing there, and why the giant was blending oysters and peanut butter in the first place.