Friday, June 26, 2009

Please Keep Your Chair in an Upright and Locked Position. Atleast Until After We Crash.

I used to be a good flyer... until I got old enough to realize that the same men who wear Lee jeans are the same men who are responsible for putting my plane together. Actually, I think I realized it in college when I was dating an engineer from France who worked for Airbus, and when he made me Coq au Vin, a popular french dish and it sucked I thought if he can't even get chicken right... how is he going to get the structure of a plane right?

Like I said, I used to be a good flyer. But now I'm a wreck. The only way I make it 30,000 feet in the air is with some heavy doses of Tanqueray. Otherwise I'd have to be restrained in a straight jacket and beat over the head with some middle aged woman's carry-on that CLEARLY should have been checked. I don't drink all year until I get on a plane, then suddenly I turn into Chelsea Handler (with out the successful comedy career of course).

But my biggest beef lies with the people I like to call "Poker Faced" Flyers. They're sitting there so calm, so uninterested like they haven't looked out the window and seen that we are 30 THOUSSSANNDDD FEET above ground and if they have looked out their window they are so above it all because they think "Hey, we are humans, we are foolproof, we are GOD." Listen, confident humans, homosapians have walked the earth for 250,000 years and within those 250,000 years out of all the things that they've known to be natural, being 30 THOUSAND FEET above ground is not one of them. I have had moments where I'd like to stand up, turn around and shout (from first class of course) "Have you people not noticed that we are 30 THOUSAND FEET above ground???!!! Have you all gone mad???

But, despite my terror I get on a plane and I go... because I live 3,000 miles from my family. And don't think I haven't thought about driving all the way from California to New York to go to a cousins wedding for a weekend and then turn right around and drive back 3 days later.

But enough about me, I want to get down to business... I'd like to address one type of person, and you know who are. I'm talking you "Person Who Reclines Their Chair Before the Crew Says You Can." The last time I flew the guy sitting in front of me was clearly an asshole. I knew this because he had a lot of gel in his hair. But not only did he have too much gel in his hair, he had his seat reclined before I even sat down. Which is not only inconsiderate for the person trying to settle into their seat, it's against federal aviation law (yes, I am the federal aviation law police). And despite the crews failed attempts, he was a sneaky bastard and when we took off, his seat was reclined. Hey, inconsiderate dude, please just keep your seat up until they say you can put it back - in an emergency, I highly doubt your seat 2" closer to my face is going to make or break my chances of survival but AT LEAST give me the courtesy of knowing that I will have .1 second more time before I bash my head into the video screen in front of me. Listen, I am a considerate person so I know that if I recline my chair before the crew gives me the go ahead, I will make the guy behind me very uncomfortable because he is probably following the rules and will just be stuck REALLY close to his tray table until he feels it is socially and lawfully acceptable to put his seat back. On one angelic occasion I had a guy actually ASK me if he could recline his seat. It was adorable. He turned around, his little eyes peaking through the crack in the seats and he asked really nicely "Heyyy, do you think it would be okay if I put my seat back?" I was so taken aback by his consideration that despite his bald spot I thought for one brief second, I was in love. Maybe his consideration for other human beings comes from the humility of being a bald guy... who knows?

With in the past year there have, unfortunately been been a string of airplance incidents that have made my fears soar to great heights (or greats depths depending on what way you look at it). But, the biggest tragedy in recent months was the crash of AirFrance Flight 447 where 280 lives were lost. So, maybe I was right? If you can get Coq au Vin right...

Thursday, June 18, 2009

My Idea of a Good Plumber Ad

This is a print ad I did while at Chicago Portfolio School. ... maybe this is why I chose stand-up comedy instead.

I'm Not a Bitch, I'm an Asshole.

Rappers, pleassse… Keep on rapping about “bitches.” I don’t mind…

I don’t consider myself a bitch so I am really not all that offended at your lyrics (is that even what you call words in a rap song?). I am offended however, that all women just tend to get all jumbled up and clumped together into that one word, bitch. And don’t worry this is not going to be one giant “bitching” session that men are the enemy or that rap music needs to reassess it’s terminology. It’s going be the complete opposite actually because Dr. Dre, I’m with you. Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks.

To our credit, not all of us women are bitches. Some of us are “assholes.” Believe me, as a teenager who was picked on by a bunch of bitches I can tell you there’s a difference. No offense to you women out there (even my own lovely mother included) but we are at some or most points in our lives either one or the other. Now, I am not saying that even Mother Theresa was a bitch or an asshole but what I am saying is that her Sisters probably were.

If you are a woman reading this, do you remember at some point in grade school or high school feeling threatened by another girl? If so, you probably acted in 1 of 2 ways. 1. You either said something about her behind her back and had your friend say it to her face for you or 2. You said something about her straight to her face but because she took it like a man, you became life-long friends. If you chose action #1, that means you’re a bitch. If you chose action #2, congratulations, you’re an asshole.

See, asshole women are like gay men. They’re funny, they’re loud, they’re opinionated and most importantly, they’re honest. And I would befriend any woman who’s an asshole in a heartbeat. A bitch? Not so much.

See, Bitches have pink cell phones and small dogs. Assholes have regular cell phones and German Shepherds. Bitches call you “sweety” and “hunny” while assholes call you by your last name or even better, a creative and witty nickname that hits upon your worst quality. Bitches only talk to you if other people are talking to you, assholes talk to you whether anyone else includes you or not, even though they may be telling you your bald spot is starting to show. A bitch would lie to you and tell you your outfit looks good because she wants to look better than you while an asshole would say “bitch, go change your clothes. You’re not walking next to me in that.” A bitch would snicker at your lack of a “name brand education” and tell her friend what a loser you are while an asshole would make a joke about your worthless associates degree but still bank on your success.

Sounding a bit harsh? It’s called honesty and unfortunately the lack of it is beginning to show up in your friend’s wardrobe and your sister-in-law’s new patio furniture. But, fortunately for you, I’m an asshole telling you the truth; get rid of your pink Blackberry Pearl and little shitzu, because it is making you look fat.