Dumpster Bear

It was the day after Valentine's Day, and I was taking the dogs outside to do their business.  I walked them back by our condo dumpsters, because that is where we have the most open space, and it is where the dogs like to run ahead, and eat anything the raccoons pull from the dumpster.  As I approached the dumpster, I noticed there was something on the ground.  My initial instinct was that it was a bag of trash that was discarded by dirty men after being serviced by the working girls of our ghetto community.

As I got closer, it was revealed that it was a stuffed teddy bear that was in pristine condition.  As I picked it up, I noticed it still had the original tag.  A red tag, attached to his ear, indicating it was $5.99 with the purchase of 3 Hallmark cards.  The other half of the tag indicated this was Hallmark's Kiss Kiss Cupid Bear, and the instructions read "Press bears together, hear them kiss, and watch his wings flutter!"  I love the exclamation on the end.  It signifies some magically display of action will be shown if two of these bears are touching.

But I could not help wonder the journey of this little bear.  I don't think it is a coincidence that this item of affection was found on the ground, in front of a dumpster, the day after Valentine's Day.  Possibly put there as a result of a poor heave by a scorned lover?  Maybe the receiving girlfriend saw the price of $5.99 with the notice of 3 Hallmark cards, and wondered, "who are the other skanks that might be receiving cards?"  Perhaps she thought the bear gesture was not enough to win her love.

And where is the other bear?  This bear is clearly not something you buy just one of, and leave the store.  You have to buy two, otherwise, what is the point?  You cannot give this cute bear to someone, and have them be disappointed there is not two of them to hear the kiss and see the wings move!  This bear was an only child, I know because I looked in the dumpster.  If I would have found the other one, I thought, only for a fleeting moment, that I could pass this off as my own purchase and give it to Shannon.  But I am sure she would have been suspicious when one of the bears smelled like spoiled meat.

These bears are clearly for the first time love birds.  Those individuals that clearly have a difficult time showing emotion.  Once you give one of these bears, you have to leave them both with your significant other.  How weird would it be to bring your bear every time to go over to your girlfriend house, just to put them together and watch their wings move.  Afterwards, you take it home?  Seems creepy!

I wish I knew the answer to the mystery bear at dumpster's doorstep, but I am just going to have to speculate. A small token of affection discarded like Taco Bell wrappers at 3:00 AM.  But I was happy it was left there.  Now my dog has a new chew toy, one from which he can tear the innards out and leave quilt batting all over the house.  So for that, I say....

Thank you douchey boyfriend!

Leave your thoughts on how that bear found its way to the dumpster in the comments below......and thanks for reading!

Ohio State Shoes - WTF!

I work until I cannot stand the hunger anymore.  I never really plan on lunch, but lunch plans on me. It plans on me getting out of the office, and venturing around and spending money. Today, it was a Jersy Mike’s day.  As I was eating, I could see the running shoe store. This is the store where I purchased my previous running shoes, and thought, I probably should get a new pair. I knew it was probably close to a year since I purchased a new pair, and I felt good about myself today. 

A couple of fleeting moments of enthusiasm, and excitement filled my mind as the thought of me running a marathon again filled my head.  My excitement got the best of me, and on impulse, I hurriedly finished my sandwich and Cheetos, attempted to get that pesky yellow residue from my fingertips, and walked quickly to the store.

Without haste, I walked swiftly to the counter and, “I would like to purchase the same things as the last time.”  No trying on the shoes, no looking at the colors, just wanted her to grab my size, and let me walk out the door.  It was a safe action.  I was in a hurry, and I have worn the same size shoe for years without incidence, and my previous shoes felt awesome!   She looked up my name in their computer, walked to the back, and presented me with a shoe box.  After paying I grabbed the box, and tossed them in the back of my Hummer.

When I got home, I realized, I had just bought a pair of running shoes that displayed, out of all the color combinations in the world, those of Ohio State University. I am hoping my color blindness is causing me to see these shoes wrong, but I am pretty sure these are scarlet and grey.

As an alumni of the University of Michigan, I was devastated!  How could I wear these hideous things out in public?  My thoughts turned to; how I can hide the fact I am wearing these things?  Running at night?  Wear some oversized sweatpants?  Spray paint them?  Put an old sock over them?

Then I thought, if I think of these as Ohio State shoes, I won’t feel bad about cheating on my future workouts.

The Comedy Condo

It has been a while since I was on the road being a comic. To have a week of comedy where you have to travel to a location more than 3 hours away, and have to stay in the “comedy condo” is what most comics strive for, if not just for the stories to tell at a later date. This week, I am in the Cleveland area working with one of my favorite “Road Dogs” Thaddeus Challis.

We traveled to the club to get the condo key, and then headed over to see what our dwelling conditions will be for the next five days. The door was on the side of a small strip mall, and was made of steel. Only three address numbers from the dollar section of the hardware story revealed this secret passage. No window, no signage, just simple numbers. As we took the stairs up the darkly lit stairs, the steel door closed behind us with a distinctive bang. Air whistled around the gaps in the door jam, the little lit the open door provided, cause instant darkness. The dark stairwell, and creaky steps provided a heightened level of anticipation and possible disappointment.
The room was clean, and I was surprised the stench of stale beer, and pot was not left from the last comics staying here. Thad and I chose our bedrooms, and began to settle into the surroundings. This must be an old building because the wiring for each of the outlets is noticeably traveling around the baseboards and up the walls. Almost as if a building inspector told the owner he needs to upgrade the wiring, and running conduit up the side of the walls was the simplest solution.

Being above a small dental office, behind a steel door, with only one side of the condo having windows, it almost feels like I am in the witness protection program and this is the safe-house.
We were sitting around the kitchen table, and I grabbed the stack of magazines that were nested in a small alcove. I didn’t read the title of the first magazine I picked up, and was very surprised and the first picture I saw. It was a naked man, on a beach posing for a picture with a naked girl, while several other naked people were casually standing around. I quickly closed the cover and read the title---Naturally Magazine? Apparently, this is the magazine for nudists! And there were two copies of this magazine at $9.95 per edition! (Click here to see their Facebook page). Who would pay that much for old man balls and 1970’s un-kept pubic regions?
Immediately I tried to think of the past comics that were in this condo, and thought about who might be a nudist. No one came to mind, but maybe it was a comic that was just too embarrassed to buy a Hustler, or didn’t have a computer for the internet. Both copies of the magazine looked like they had been left in the rain. All of the pages were wavy, and stiff, and the sound of paper being peeled from itself was present while thumbing through it! After realizing what this magazine might have been used for, I immediately threw it toward the back of the recessed space only to let another unsuspecting comic soil his hand through the pages.

Another creepy surprise came when I pulled back the curtain of the one window in the bedroom. Behind the glass, was a storage room that was totally dark, but in several of the panes of glass were small, bloody handprints and blood splatter. A little unsettling, but based on the small size of the hand prints, I am guessing it was Brad Williams.
The bathroom is crazy small! The sink is strategically place directly in front of the toilet. If you sit on the toilet, you need to position yourself at a 45 degree angle, and put one leg in the tub.
But to be doing something I enjoy, with Thad, a guy I love like a brother is so worth it all!
#WouldNotChangeAThing

Valentine’s Day Flowers

Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching, and I know many woman are expecting flowers from the their significant other.  My wife, the lovely Shannon, reminds me all the time that she would love flowers at work.  She mentions this every time I send pictures of flowers via text message, and asking if these flowers brighten her day.
So instead of waiting until February 14, I ordered flowers to be delivered on Monday, at her work place.  When they arrived, she called to remind me that Valentine’s Day is on Friday, not Monday, and her co-worker thought I was an idiot for sending them early.

But here is the method to the madness.  Girls want to get flowers no matter what day of the week, year, or holiday. And they want to show off their flowers, in their office, to the their co-workers, and clientele. So why would I wait until Friday to send flowers when I can maximize their effectiveness by getting them delivered on Monday?

By getting them delivered early, they can sit in her office all week, everyone gets to see them, and make their comments, and I look like a hero.  Versus sending them on Friday, and they either sit unnoticed all weekend, get neglected and wilt, or she brings them home, and I get to watch my expensive gesture rot on a coffee table.
In my mind, Monday was definitely the best choice!

Late Night Lake Staring

It is 4:10 in the morning and between my stomach issues and Shannon slowly inching her way diagonally across the bed, I am awake. My sleeping area at the head of the bed has shrunken to half of my pillow due to Shannon's tossing and turning. She has positioning herself to maximize the amount of  sleeping area by utilizing the Pythagorean formula to become the long side of a right triangle.  Now that I am unable to roll over without crushing her face, I slowly slide out between the covers and find myself sipping my baking soda water on our deck overlooking Twin Lake in Michigan.
 

There is no moon, but the sky is providing a lightning show that gives up a quick glimpse of the surroundings in sporadic intervals. No rain yet,  but you can feel a storm on the way.  The wind is picking up and the distant sound of thunder is getting louder. The wind and air have that certain smell that reminds me of my childhood when I would watch a thunderstorm roll across Lake Michigan.

I love it here. On a peaceful lake in my home state with the smell of the surf, and the sound of an incoming storm. I feel at home and my environment is filling my head with distant memories.

A lightning bolt just hit near by and I am on a second floor deck.  Time to head inside and push my C-squared woman to the bed's edge and enjoy the passing rain.

Punishing Life's Good Deeds

They say that no good deed goes unpunished, and after tonight, I am inclined to agree. Sunday night I took a comic home from the Funny Bone, and when I dropped him off, he mentioned he had no electric, or food. After watching him enter a dark apartment, knowing he was going to be sitting in the dark, and would have to find a soup kitchen the next day to eat, I felt compelled to help.
A small post on Facebook, a few direct emails and before I knew it, I had raised $350, and bought $50 worth of groceries. It made me feel good to help someone out, and bask in the kindness of others. I worked late and wanted to get my energy back from working 12 hours, so I strapped on my running shoes and headed out at 9:00 pm for a Price Hill run.

Now, I have not been taking very good care of myself, and one of the reasons was an Achilles injury that kept me sidelined most of the summer. But the doctor cleared me to finally get back on my feet and allowed me to run. So this run, being only the second one of the summer, was painful, and reminded me my endurance is only slightly greater than a fat guy climbing stairs. I was wheezing, coughing, trying to catch my breath, as I stumbled from block to block. Walking was part of the process of getting home.

I am approximately 1 mile from my condo, feeling I should stop and rest, when some kids are yelling from a dark corner in Dempsey Park. “Hey man, I want to axe you a question, slow down man. We need to axe you something.” With each statement, I kept running, trying to quicken my pace. But the more I tried to increase my pace, the  quicker their steps became.  Faster and faster, until eventually, I turned and saw 5 kids, around the ages of 15-17 running virtually at full speed right behind me. I don't really count the 13 year old in the total.

What happened next, I cannot explain. The vision of this confrontation played in my head before it happened, and I felt my actions were completely reactionary. I had been running in the street, but found myself running to the park railing when I saw the mob moving closer. I was afraid that they would get behind me somehow, and I didn't want to be surrounded on all sides. The railing helped keep them in a semi-circle where I could see most of them, and as I stopped to confront my pursuers, I knew someone was going to throw a punch. A quick survey of the crew gave me a pretty good indication who, out of the 6, was going throw the first blow. A kid, about 17, wearing a black pseudo-tuxedo shirt, with nappy hair. Taller and older than the rest, he seemed to have an agenda in his eyes.

After stopping, I turned and kept my back to the park railing, as they formed a semi-circle around me. When everyone was relatively still, a smaller member of the gang made a statement I don't remember, but I found myself saying, "OK, ask your question." The oldest one, standing just off my left shoulder winds back and throws a right hook toward my face. I knew this would be the guy to throw the punch, so I ducked under the sweeping blow. His fist barely grazing the top of my head, and I found myself lunging toward my attacker. My crouch gave me some pretty good momentum, as I instinctively lurched up, and toward him.  My fist connected with the bottom of his lower jaw and I could see his eyes get wider as it landed.  I don’t believe he expect a counter attack. My momentum was carrying me into him, and I was afraid both of us would crash to the ground, leaving an open invitation for the others to jump in with little risk.

In an attempt to control my balance, I threw a left elbow toward his head. We were too close to land a full on punch, and we were falling into the street. The elbow connected to the side of his head, and swept his ear. It was enough to slow my forward progress, but we were both still falling. I managed to get both hands on him, push off, and throw him into the street. The action was just enough to create some space for me to sprint away from the pack.
I was running full bore down the street, and some of the younger ones were trying to get in front of me to corner me again. I took a 90 degree, hard left turn, down some stairs. The stairs were narrow, and crumbling, and I struggled to keep my balance. But this evasive maneuver help me separate the pack a little. Two of the kids missed the stairs and ran past the stair opening. Two others must have lost their footing on the steps, and I could hear them crashing down the stairs behind me. That left the one person who took my punch and fell into the street. It was enough of a delay that he could avoid the hazards and see my running pathway.

I hit the bottom of the stairs and took off in a dead sprint into the park. The park was dark. Very dark, and I kept thinking if I let these punks catch up to me in this park, no one will find me until morning. But I knew that the District 3 police station was straight ahead, and that is where I was going. So my legs, which have never run a full sprint in over 3 years, found the energy, after 3.5 miles, to carry me longer and faster than I have run in a long time. My lungs burned with each breath, but my legs were filled with so much adrenaline I could have beaten Usain Bolt to the cop shop. Behind me, I kept hearing "kick his ass" and "get that mother f*&cker." But they seemed so far away I didn't feel that concerned. One comment I heard was "God damn, that f*#cker is fast."

Eventually, I found some light at the end of the park, and quickly turned on my heels to confront any pursues. The only one was the kid I punched originally. He had a look of redemption in his eyes that was a little frightening, but it felt more like embarrassment than rage. Perhaps he was upset he got jacked in front of his friends by some old, white cracker. Whatever the case, I stopped, squared up, and said "You better make this one count." We locked eyes, realizing it was just him and I, he turned and ran into the darkness to meet his posse. I turned and ran to District 3 to report the incident.


When I reported what had just happened, the police officer said, "Oh, we had another guy report the same thing about 7 minutes ago." If that was the case, where were the cops? District 3 is at the end of the park.

I believe I was very lucky. The mob’s only intention was to inflict bodily harm on someone, and I was able to get out of the situation with nothing more than a throbbing hand, which actually feels very satisfying.

I am also glad this did happen to me, and the outcome was favorable. I cannot imagine how this would have turned out had I chosen to execute another option, or if someone else would have stumbled on these low life wanna be pieces of gangster shit!

Just Being Awesome!

It was a cold December and I was on a road trip with my good friend Dave to perform a week of stand-up comedy at in a Funny Bone Comedy Club near the east coast. After 10 hours in the car, we arrived at the club with only a couple of hours before the show - just enough time to get our bearings, check into the comedy condo, and wind down a bit before the crowd would begin to push through the doors looking for a place to get warm and enjoy some cocktails and laughs.

It was a Wednesday night and there was only one show scheduled. It was a small crowd that only filled the first two tiers of the club, but a crowd that came prepared to enjoy the art of live comedy. I was the MC and Dave was the middle act, supporting a headliner that I soon found out, was both arrogant and demanding. He gave me his intro and the facts he wanted me to mention. While I was introducing him on stage, I looked over to see him shaking his head in disapproval. As he shook my hand and I was turning over the stage, he leaned in and said “Not even close!”

I was bothered at first, and wondered what I forgot to say. The 20 second segment of the show played over and over in my mind, and I could not put my finger on why my introduction was met with such dissatisfaction. Luckily my confusion and concern was removed from my mind after the show as the wonderful club patrons treated us all like rock stars. We were all signing glasses and shirts, and shaking hands with people who said it was the best comedy show they had attended. It was awesome to be appreciated.

When all of the audience left and only comics and staff remained, the headliner let me know exactly where I had strayed with his introduction. Apparently, the introduction he provided was not just snippets of information from which I could use my poetic license to glean highlights and communicate them to the masses… Oh no… This was a script that was written to be performed in the exact fashion in which it was written. According to the headliner, each word was ‘given careful consideration and the order of each word, sentence, and phrase, was designed to show he was in demand and exceptionally brilliant’.

The rest of the week was what you would expect from a person who has an over-inflated view of themselves. As the MC, and a comic who was just one step up from an open mic-er, I was treated to limited conversation. a couple closed door meetings between Dave and ‘Mr. Ego’ – where he promised Dave some road shows with him. I was not to know because the headliner didn’t think “I was not ready.” This statement really didn’t bother me because he showed up at the club every night AFTER I performed my set, meaning HE NEVER SAW ME PERFORM!

After only the second show, this headliner involved the manager of the club to inform me the headliner didn’t think I was doing the MC job very well and she was letting me know I was getting fired for the week. Eventually this turned out to be false, after about an hour, and it was just a funny joke (to him). He was nice enough to “let me finish out the week” but was informed later I was in fact NOT in jeopardy of losing the job. I guess this was just one of the many methods he uses to prey on the weak subconscious all comics’ seem to process.

But this behavior taught me a valuable lesson in the art of stand-up comedy. Sometimes, it is not about being funny. Sometimes, it is about being able to push through the mental barrier of self-doubt, and insecurities and to believe you are great. I tried to put myself into his mind and wondered what it would be like to see yourself so positively.  To believe in yourself so strongly that you think every joke you write is hysterical must be exhilarating!! To possess such arrogance that all outside distractions are trivial, and any advice given by other comedians ‘must be created out of jealously and spite’ must be awesome! To be so rigid that you scoff at the methods of others, and dismiss their successes as a ‘blind squirrel finding an acorn’ must feel amazing! But I didn’t feel any of these things when I can see how they affect those around me.

So I don’t believe I will ever embrace the values shown to me by the headliner’s conceitedness. I choose instead to write better comedy, help my fellow comics, and enjoy the company of everyone around me. Because in the end, the goal is to entertain the masses, and when a joke falls flat, or our timing is off, and the laughs do not present themselves, our insecurity can be a powerful negative force that can lead to destruction of confidence. And while standing on stage with nothing but a microphone, one needs to feel as confident as possible. It’s a scary place to be. And ultimately it will be our friends and those around us that will put us back on the path that we, as comics, were meant to travel. And I shall enjoy the journey – and the company of those who travel it with me.