That Reminds Me, I Need to Book More Whirligigs

Before we get down to business, here’s an excellent link for wide grins.

So this past weekend I was in and around Carrboro, North Carolina again, but this time for improv hijinks with my groups, Jinx and Jackie.

Jackie only had four people able to attend the show out of our team of seven. Look at our new family photo, recently taken! (Courtesy of Steve Swaney, Colin Murchie, and Franklin Pig.)

Here are some North Carolina Comedy Arts Festival photos from the Jackie show below courtesy of Kevin Thom.

We were buying people over the Internet in this scene…
Accusation! Point of order!
Oh gawsh, will this show never end?!
In which I am a monkey…
Still a monkey!
It was all a very good time indeed despite a few stage hiccups on my part.

Most importantly, I got to try blueberry beer! In case you were wondering, it smells like a muffin and but tastes like a beer.

Oh wait, I almost forgot, I also attended the 7th Annual Fearrington Folk Art Show, which is a town proximate to Carrboro via tram, auto, or hayride.

There were zany cars…
Including Miz Thang‘s whimsical ride…
Fearrington’s animal is the (happy) cow!
A chair made out of wrenches. How handy for sitting and fixing things!
I love robots! This one is tall, shiny, and handsome.
And doodly critters! Friendly little guy.
And another robot wearing a turbine, the prototype for a turban (*groan*).
No folk art fair is complete without the quintessential bottle tree!
Take that, corporate America! Get with the folkin’ program.

Cell Phone Cameras Continue to Document Thin Shreds of Reality

This weekend was pretty crunked out, and no, I do not use that term loosey-goosely. It was extremely cranked up, pumped to the max, as far as weekends go, whoa whoa.

First, Halloween occurred but I had to double-time it with the dress rehearsal for the Saturday Bolly dance-stravaganza. However, costumes still happened, natch.

I was the Internet phenomenon, Spaghetti Cat! Well, technically, I was the cat and boyfie was the spaghetti (I cooked real noodles!). Low-maintenance is our mantra. Photo shoot ensued.

Original Spaghetti Cat:

First take, Spaghetti Cat:

Second take, Spaghetti Cat:

Third take, Spaghetti Cat Contemplates Noodles/Life:

Paparazzi Shot #1, Spaghetti Bat(?):

Paparazzi Shot #2, Spaghetti Cat—Up Claws and Purrrr-sonal:

Paparazzi Shot #3, Boyfie Bewitches While Maintaining Privacy:

Paparazzi Shot #4, Boyfie Is Mysterious Stranger:

Then, all of Saturday, dance show happened! It was insane, off the chain, in the membrane! Thank you so much to everyone who came out to see it! I currently only have one photo documenting a final dazzle pose, but use your imagination and/or patience to fill in the rest.

Then I detoxed on Sunday by watching The Omen, a scary movie, in which, well, for lack of a better way to put it, shit goes down. I am unclear exactly how much watching this movie actually realigned my chakras, if at all.

In retrospect, I am pretty mad that Julia Stiles got on the tippy-top of a stool to hydrate roses when she was clearly going to fall several feet after her demon child ran into her with his Razor-esque kick scooter (totally not meant for indoor purposes, btdubs, even if you are the Antichrist). She did go to Columbia after all! She’s no dummy.

If you have a nanny, especially a creepy Mia Farrow nanny, you can also afford a no-nonsense maid, a la Mr. Belvedere or Geoffrey from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. He can water those pesky flowers and prevent inconvenient hospital bills! Yeah, I’m sorry too that I’m trying to transpose logic over a movie about the son of a jackal and his reign of kinder-terror.

In conclusion, yesterday, while perusing a book vending institution, I found the following: Sock Monkey in a Box!!! You’re welcome.

What I Should Have Said Was Something

Yesterday night, I did a stand up show. I went up right after the host, which was delicious, and rightfully so. He had warmed the crowd to a nice, golden crisp, and they were primed and ready for my joke droppings.

I wanted to start off with something I thought up right before I went onstage, which is always a gamble. (Does that make me a gambler? I can only hope!) I asked another comedian for a confirm on the premise a couple minutes before I went up, and he was all, “That has never happened to me. I have no idea what you are talking about. You might as well be speaking in tongues.”

But, against my better judgment and his, I decided, It’s settled, I’m doing it. I mean, I am in the prime of my relatability, ladies and germs!

So I get onstage and I try out the newly devised bathroom bit, complete with “Am I right, ladies?” and requisite twirl, and it gets a hearty reaction. I become overpumped and launch headfirst into my set.

It is going smoothly, more or less, and that’s when I spot one Mr. Frowntown USA in the front row. Most of the crowd was not visible due to the bright lights, but he is a beacon of glowing despair, front and center. He is sipping a drink and looking altogether removed, though his intense stare conjured up ideas of committed hatred and stark enmity at first sight.

I tried to continue as if nothing had happened but something, a very real something, had occurred. His stony countenance (Lisa Fine would later, without irony, comment, “He could’ve been a face on Mount Rushmore!”) bored itself into my brain like a night demon, and amid the scattered laughs and yelps of joy, it was all I could see.

He didn’t laugh, let alone smile, not once! If anything, his stare got more frigid, his demeanor more dissatisfied. And those eyes! They still visit me in my most vindictive daymares.

He was such an angry statue!
photo courtesy of Flickr and victoriapeckham

I tried to just coast through the remainder of my set. Make it all go away, but the memory haunted me even after I relinquished the now clammy microphone back to the host.

I had to leave the show right away for another engagement, but when I followed up with my comedic colleagues, they all avouched the same. That one guy, perhaps a visitor from beyond, testing our mettle, making us question ourselves with his presence. He hated me, they all said, echoing my own sentiments. I couldn’t crack him, was recalled with shuddering, acute flashbacks.

I realized, in retrospect, that what I should have done was addressed the gentleman at hand. Sidled up, crablike and cocky, to his table and proclaimed, “Why so serious?” (Dark Knight reference! Trust me; it works). And then launched full throttle into, “Do you wanna know how I got these scars? Emotional scars, I mean!” A cheap parlor trick, but what else can one do in the face of impending doom? Besides crying, I mean.

It could have been worse, this could have been the audience…completely unreadable!
Ghost audience! Scary!
photo courtesy of Flickr and peasap

Well, good people of the Internet, there’s a happy ending to this story, believe it or not. Apparently, after the show, said member of the audience, we’ll call him Staid McSomberpants, approached a few assorted comics, and said that he greatly enjoyed the entire show and, in fact, loved everyone on it (and he wasn’t kidding*). How do you like that? I wish I had gotten my picture with the man whose smile is a frown.

*I mean, if we can establish anything, it’s that this guy is serious about his sense of humor. *rim shot* Wakka Wakka!


I made this, in honor of the election:

original photo courtesy of Wikipedia

This picture makes me laugh. It is the ultimate in sibling rivalry; baby sister stands helplessly by while toddler takes over stroller.

One Reason Why Office Doors Exist

Today I stood up and danced while I did some of my work. Not small moves either. Really big full-body type actions wherein I was getting some kind of point across, though I’m still not exactly sure what it was. It was techno music if that helps the mental picture at all.

But guess what? The dancing helped.

(Don’t roll your eyes at me!)

No significant incidents occurred except that my headphones flew off my head at one point, but that was to be expected seeing as how they were plugged into the computer’s hard drive.

Here we go now, here we go now…
photo courtesy of

Also this…

The statue right outside the National Community Pharmacists Association* is a respectable-looking male pharmacist pouring some type of medicine/pills into a jar while an onlooker, in the form of a small lad, gawks at him (to the extent of covering his tiny mouth with a scarf…now that’s classic old-fashioned gawking for you).

How truly excellent. It must have been made back in the time when pharmacists were considered everyday superheroes! That’s the thing though. They still are!

*If you dig this trade association, you might also enjoy:

  • The Snack Food Association
  • (if you like chips)

  • The National Council of Nonprofit Associations
  • (if you like redundancy)

  • The National Association for Year-Round Education
  • (if you hate vacation)

  • The National Association of Sand, Stone & Gravel
  • (if you like road materials)

  • The National Association for the Self-Employed
  • (in case you feel left out of being in an association)


    Here we go down memory lane! About a year ago, my cousin Rahul and I went to the recreational park on the outskirts of Hyderabad in India. Among other things, we drove around a racetrack in surgical caps so we wouldn’t get helmet hair (didn’t work), but other hijinks also ensued. He took some pictures. A year later, I had them genetically enhanced.

    photos courtesy of Rahulio.

    photo editing courtesy of Ham.

    photo editing courtesy of me.

    Also Hillz tipped me off to this great photo site.

    DO IT!

    It’s Friday. That’s good enough. Be swell.