The Joe Donatelli Column and The Second Column Podcast

What do you get when you get two writers around bar food? Jalapeno Poppers and great conversation, that's what happens.

Meet Joe Donatelli. That is what I had the pleasure of doing the other day. He gave me lots of great advice for going forward with a writing career. Joe used to write a humor column for Scripps Howard News Service that appeared in newspapers across North America, including the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Orange County Register and Chicago Sun-Times, lucky guy. Currently, he is an editor for Break.com and brings you tons of funny material in his podcast called Second Column Podcast.

I advise you to check him out. I also advise you to stay away from Jalapeno Poppers.

Receipts Getting Longer?

Has anyone else noticed that receipts are getting longer and longer? This is usually the length when you spend $200 on groceries. Embarrassingly, I didn't stock up on groceries, instead I bought a single fish taco and diet coke. And, this is how long the receipt is. It almost makes buying this for my lunch all the more embarrassing.

Feeling Ugly? Conjoin the club.

Some twins are identical, differentiated only by small details such as a freckle or a dimple. And sometimes, they’re fraternal, being told apart by the giant difference in their head size.

It is one thing to be a bad-looking individual; a singular person without a twin. It is another thing to have been hit with the ugly stick while your twin brother or sister was sprinkled with fairy dust. This person is with you from birth; standing right next to you in all of your family photos as a flashing neon sign saying, “Look at what you could have been if the Zygote chose differently.”

There are many things in life that aren’t fair: Why do men bald? Better yet, why do some women bald? Why are wives usually twice the size of their husbands? Why did the Buffalo Bills lose four Super Bowls? Why when I shave my legs does the hair grow back immediately? Why is Snooki famous and getting to travel the country doing appearances while I’m sitting here in my apartment all alone with a giant bouffant and nowhere to go?

There are no answers to nature’s cruelties, no justification for our lots in life. The bottom line is that sometimes Mother Nature can be a Biznatch. (I have some resentment toward her for the lazy eye and colossal gap between my front teeth – which have since been fixed if you’re wondering).

So, we’ve admitted that sometimes a twin wakes up on the wrong side of the fallopian tube. Now, I'll tell you that there is etiquette involved when it comes to dealing with the less attractive twin; etiquette that should be used from the time she is born.

I advise you to be sympathetic toward her, but do it subtly. She is going to have a tough road ahead. We need to strap love to her little webbed feet so she can walk the road of life with the confidence she deserves.

Etiquette Rule #1: Do not put your twins in equally cute clothing if they don’t have equally cute faces. It just gives the better-looking twin the opportunity to shine. If the twins are pale skinned females, I suggest dressing the ugly twin in colors that will flatter her skin tone such as dark blues and purples et cetera. The attractive twin should be put in colors that aren’t as flattering to her skin tone: yellows and oranges. *The key here is not to make the attractive twin look ugly; it’s to tone down her beauty so the contrast in looks become less obvious.

Etiquette Rule #2: A rose by any other name doesn’t smell as sweet. If the difference in looks is obvious from birth, give the less attractive twin the cooler name. Take me for example… My Mother admitted that she wanted to name me ‘Summer.’ And, when I was getting benched from the softball game with 5lb glasses drooped at the edge of my nose, ‘Summer’ would have given me that cool edge that I needed.

And finally…

Etiquette Rule #3: Santa should forget that Sarah likes pink but remember that Summer likes green. For example, if you are going to buy your twins iPods, the unattractive twin should receive the one with the hip, trendy color while the attractive twin still gets an iPod, it's the boring black one. (Listen, she’s lucky you’re not getting her a cassette player.)




*Any questions or suggestions on Twin etiquette can be sent to my much more attractive sister. She's works as my assistant in a broom closet opening all my fan mail.

If You Don't Wash Your Hands You'll Contract Ridicule.

On a recent excursion to a public restroom (and I use the word "excursion" quite literally), I was disgusted to find a middle-aged, well dressed woman waltz right out of the freshly flushed bathroom stall and back into a restaurant with out washing her hands. I thought, wow, the nerve it takes to see a person standing right there and say to herself "You know what? I'm not going to wash my hands. This person can like it or lump it."

Maybe in a perfect world this woman didn't even use the toilet, maybe she just had to change her clothes or perhaps she just needed some privacy for a moment. But, even so, she has the social duty, relieved or not, to wash her hands. I understand if she was in the restroom alone without any witnesses and she just said "screw it, I better get back out there, my pasta is getting cold." But to be so brazen, so bold that she can just walk right past a person without feeling slightly obliged to wash is unnerving. If she's not washing in front of people, I can't imagine what she's doing in private.

Perhaps she was in a hurry and didn't have time to wash her hands. But nothing is so urgent that she can't just do me the favor of even fake washing her hands. Just to show me that she cares. The issue here isn't about germs. It's about appearances.

Let me clarify, this post is not about touching soap to hands. It's about fulfilling the unwritten (and sometimes written) social rule that we need to wash our hands after using a public restroom. She didn't even really need to wash her hands to make me happy. I would have been satisfied with a fake wash... just turning on the water and placing her hands near it. Just some effort to show me she respects social etiquette.

Of course we all should wash our hands after we use the restroom. Especially a public restroom. But, I will admit there are times when I just don't feel like washing my hands for a couple of reasons. 1. My sleeves are long and washing would result in wet discomfort. 2. I'm in a hurry to get back to the movie. 3. Having maneuvered my way around the bathroom with my elbows, washing my hands would almost be redundant.

But, as a respectable member of society I will ALWAYS, I mean ALWAYS wash my hands when someone else is present in the restroom, long sleeves or not. And, if there is a person in the stall, unable to see me while I'm at the sink, I will turn on the water just to ease their minds.

Catching Swine Flu, or T.B., or Lady Gaga isn't what motivates myself and other kindred spirits to wash our hands in a public restroom. What motivates us is social pressure. It's like recycling: You don't always do it because you want to. You do it because someone's looking.

The woman who just couldn't wait to get back to her pasta may have not contracted H1N1 but she has caught something far worse, flack from Kristen Carney.

I'm Makin' Some Cop--ies of an Email I Was Sent from the Radio Hosts Who Interviewed Rob Schnei--der.

FM Radio is bad no matter what time of day it is. Morning, noon, night... I don't want to hear the music that is played nor the hosts that play it (except for Adam Carolla of course, whose since gone to iTunes).

However, morning radio programming is particularly bad. Not just bad. It's cheesy; unfunny prank phone calls, arrogant deejays who wear seashell necklaces (even though I can't see them I just know they are wearing seashell necklaces), contests of who can drink the most water without peeing (which just killed a woman) and giveaways to the saddest person in a cubicle.

But, do you know what else is cheesy? Florida. Specifically West Palm Beach, Florida. And even MORE specifically, a radio station in West Palm Beach called WiLD (yes, it's a lowercase i) 95.5 FM. And if you can believe even more cheesy than that? West Palm Beach radio hosts Kevin, Virginia and Jason.

If you haven't heard or seen the misleading headline "Rob Schneider is a Jerk" referring to an interview he had with three of the most annoying, insecure morning radio hosts, it's time I fill you in. The predictable Kevin, Virginia and Jason interviewed Rob Schneider in what may be the worst interview of all time. These comedic geniuses just don't get it. They just don't get it. And if you are sitting there wondering what "it" is they don't get, that means you don't get it either so just stop reading now.

If you do, let's proceed but not before you watch the interview.

You'll notice that Rob Schneider several times says "Nah, forget about it. I'm just kidding around." But these dummy hosts become defensive. One of the radio hosts goes as far as to say "I'm so sick of this crap. Every time we have a comedian here you think you are bigger than life." Now, if I may, I want to interpret what this guy just said. He more or less said "I'm so sick of not being as funny as you. Every time we have a comedian here I realize what a bad sense of humor I have."

I rarely take action against injustice but this was an exception. This interview made me so mad. Madder than when people don't signal. Madder than someone cutting in line. Madder than when people talk at the movies. That said, I had to write an email to the radio hosts expressing my feelings. And, to my surprise I got a response. However, what didn't surprise me was the lack of thought that went into it.

I've copy and pasted it for your viewing pleasure...

My email read:

You wouldn't know funny if The Three Stooges were sitting next to you watching Marx Brothers videos while reading Jerry Seinfeld's book AND listening to George Carlin's audio book.

I thought this was quite witty and paid homage to our comedy heroes.

...And this is what I got back. A clear demonstration of why again, I don't listen to morning radio. Unoriginal, tacky, unfunny FM radio.

Your opinion matters so little to any of us! You are a douche, and you have no idea what you are talking about. You are emailing someone based on bad info... Go jump off a bridge, and hit a few metal pieces on the way down. Dumb ass!


You suck,


Virginia

Funny Virginia. Because that's exactly what I wanted to do right after I listened to your radio show.

Hello Dead Person. Nice to Meet You. My Name is Insincere.

There is a time and place for all types of behavior. Sincerity. Crying. Lying. Frustration. Even telling Knock Knock Jokes about a Mexican and a Jew. A wake or funeral, specifically is a time and place appropriate for all of the above just mentioned. There are a lot of reasons why this behavior would be appropriate in such a setting.

1. Sincerity; maybe for once you really actually liked this person.

2. Tears; you've come face to face with just how unflattering black is for your skin tone.

3. Lies; the dead guy used to talk incessantly at the movies so you couldn't stand him but you couldn't say that to the grieving widow, of course.

4. A knock knock joke about a Mexican and a Jew may be just what the group of police officers in mourning need.

5. Frustrations; someone just finished the rest of TownHouse brand half cracker/half pretzel hybrid you've been dying to try. Excuse me, meaning to try. 

Sound politically incorrect? Good. It should. Politically incorrect can fly at a funeral because we're human and death is scary, or at least it is for us Catholics. We've got to get through it some how. And, if telling off-color, insensitive jokes is what your little stone heart desires at a funeral, so be it.

But, there is one thing you should never ever do when it comes to death. And, that is go to a wake/funeral just because EVERYONE ELSE IS GOING.

Years back, when I was in high school a fellow student died a very tragic death. And I felt terrible. Genuinely terrible. But I didn't go to his calling hours because 1. His death turned into a popularity contest and popularity has never been my thing. 2. I am not a disingenuous person.

Deciding whether or not to attend a funeral service should be a much bigger decision than deciding to show up at the high school dance or a homecoming football game.

When this student's calling hours took place there was a line down the street for hours. This would have been nice if everyone was there to celebrate his life. However, most people were there to celebrate their own lives and how many more parties they were going to be invited to following the service.

The bottom line is if you're going to use someone's funeral to better your social situation, chances are you're not meant to be very popular in the first place. There are plenty of other things that can make you look cooler than attending a stranger's funeral.

Perhaps work on your personality?

Some people may argue they'll look like jerk if they don't go. I say you look like a jerk if you do go. If you didn't know the person don't go to the wake, don't send a card. And please oh, please don't post your condolences in a Facebook update.

Cops Risk their Lives... Every Time they Drive Home Drunk.

A few months ago on a week long stay in my home town I got stuck playing a game of cards with some of the locals. One of these locals happened to be a town cop. And I knew things were off to a bad start when I said "I would respect small town cops if they spent more time fighting crime and less time planning their next softball game."

But I understand, in a small town like mine, there isn't much crime to fight. Really the only dangers are overweight women in spandex. And to give cops a little credit, that can be quite scary.

And, I don't think I'm overstepping my bounds by saying that small town cops aren't the most open minded folk around (and I use the word "folk" very literally). They are often confused by art, insightful humor, people who live in big cities and to put it politely, black people. And nothing says "I played football in high school" like becoming a small town cop.

And, as many of my fellow stand up comedians would agree, it's better not to tell people you are a comedian because you will get the inevitable "Oh yeah? You're a comedian? Tell us a joke, comedian." My response to this is usually "I don't think you have the intelligence level to understand my jokes... they're not Knock Knock Jokes." And they usually respond by saying "I have this friend who's really funny. He told me this joke the other day. It was something like.. oh how did it go. It was hilarious. Oh I know what it was.. So a Mexican and a Jew walk into a bar..." Then I sit and fake smile at their lack of understanding what a joke is. It's very awkward.

Anyway, to my UNsurprise, the cop, out of everyone said that exact thing. "Oh yeah? You're a comedian? Tell us a joke, comedian." And to him I responded "You're a cop? Now if you were to spell the word 'you're' would you spell it Y.O.U.'R.E or Y.O.U.R.? This is a very telling way to discover someones intelligence level. And, if he chose correctly, I would have thought about possibly telling him a joke. But we never got to that point because he hated me immediately. Which was fine with me, except for the fact my car's license plate was highly visible from where we were sitting.

Now, it's been a while since this incident so I can't remember what happened next. I'm guessing the word fagot was thrown around lightly as well as the 'N' word, and the cop probably crushed about 5 or 6 beer cans on his forehead and once I had had enough I got one more jab in before I left... I said. "Hey Mr. Coppy... Are you going to drive home after you're finished with your 24 pack of Keystone?"

Then I ran like hell..

Now, I don't think all cops are bad. I have respect for the ones who really deal with the big bad guys. But, my respect went down a few notches last weekend when I was pulled over for my first time by the LAPD.

[Note: the following paragraph(s) to come contains all the things I would've like to have said to the cop but I didn't have the balls to so I didn't... The following are responses I wish I could have said but instead I was a sissy]

It was a Saturday, and as usual I wasn't doing anything too exciting. I was just on my way home from dinner when I saw a cop move over three lanes to get behind me. So, of course, I knew what was coming... He got out of his car and shined that ridiculously bright flashlight in my eyes. I said "Sir, please. Remove that flashlight from my eyes so I can see the man I have to fake attraction to."

Typically, he said "license and registration." I was like "yeah, nice line. Really original." And I gave him my license. He starred at it for an unusually long amount of time, like he was looking for something to be racist about. He couldn't find anything (although I do look slightly ethnic in my photo). So, he told me I had a break light out and I said (fake concerned) "Oh, no. Really?" (Which I thought was weird he said that because I had recently got both break lights changed)... And this was his EXACT quote "I wouldn't lie to you." I thought "Wow, what a stand up guy... he wouldn't lie to me. I should date that one."

So, a day or two later I go to get my break light fixed and the guys at the shop are like "Nah, miss yer break lights are werkin' jus fine." (that's how all mechanics speak, even the Mexican ones). So, the cop lied to me. Ridiculous because he said "I wouldn't lie to you." Like he made a point to lie and then made a point to say he wouldn't lie.

But anyway, when I was at the shop to get my break light fixed I figured since I was already there I should just get a quick inspection of my car... it's starting to age slightly. It's weird in Los Angeles cars aren't even allowed to age. So when they inspected it they found that my actual breaks were worn down to about nothing and they were about to go.

So, thank you Mr. Cop for misleading me. If it weren't for your lies, dishonesty, crookedness, deceit and flimflam, I probably would have been killed when my breaks failed on me. You're the reason I'm still alive. You are my untrustworthy hero.

I'll come thank you at your next softball game.

Background Actors are Unintentionally Hilarious. But When You're an Extra for a Yogurt Brand's Webisode it's No Longer Hilarious, it's Depressing.

I moved to Los Angeles about two years ago. And, like thousands of others, I had dreams of stardom. But, as my drive started to dwindle, so did my savings account. One day I made these struggles known to a stranger at an audition. They recommend I look into doing non-union background work. One week later I arrived on set for my first day of background acting. Little did I know, that would be the day I will remember as the day I lost my soul.

I used to believe that mankind was good. But that silly assumption came to an end when I started waiting tables. But it REALLY crashed and burned when I started doing extra work (Note: I purposely don't capitalize "extra." It might give the impression that it's a respectable job).

These extra casting agencies have more applicants than they know what to do with. They lure in suckers like myself using tag lines like "Jump start your career!" The only thing I'm jump starting after doing extra work are thoughts of suicide.

When signing up for background work first crossed my mind I thought "Well, it can't be that bad - flexible schedule, free food, the opportunity to hang out on movie lots and see first hand the way television is made." Doesn't sound bad, right?

Wrong. I'll translate my assumptions into reality for you.

Flexible schedule means 6:00 a.m. call time and 1:00 a.m. release time. Free food means eat away the pain of being a nobody. Hang out on movie lots means don't even think about going near the Star trailers. (And I quote) "you're not part of that world and you're not invited into that world." Stay in holding with the other plebes. And lastly, see first hand the way television is made means witness how music and editing makes these actors look talented.

Once you're on set, no one tries to hide how much background work sucks because the names used for the job: wranglers, holding, extras, background.

For those of you who have never have done extra work or been on a set, a "wrangler" is the person in charge of the extras. But, do they really have to call them wranglers? If I'm not mistaken, an actual "wrangler" is a ranch hand who takes care of the saddle horses. To the director and producers and to everybody who matters, you are the human equivalent of a saddle horse. And believe me, they'll shoot you if you break a leg.

The word "holding" isn't so charming either. While the principal actors are in their heated trailers, extras are set up in an empty building that is in no way made to support human life: no lights, heat, outlets and only a few metal folding chairs for the extras lucky enough to get one.

Finally, the terms "extra" and "background" are used in their most literal form. We are nothing more. We're extra. We're extraneous, inessential, superfluous, unused, unnecessary (thank you to thesaurus.com for that self-esteem bash fest).

As if the terminology isn't dehumanizing enough, extras aren't allowed to eat at the same table as everyone else. Even the P.A.'s get to enjoy their lunch at the table's with salt and pepper shakers and pretty center pieces. Walking with a plate full of food back to holding is the ultimate walk of shame. The people who matter get to watch you slither away back to your black hole of failure with a plate full of macaroni and cheese. It's humiliating.

But what blows my mind most of all are the extras who are more than fine with their position in life. Who are you people? Do you not feel? Do you not cry? Do you not want? Do you not dream? Come on, WAKE UP! Don't let other people treat you like this. Do something more respectable like, stripping.

Doing extra work doesn't make you feel like a loser. It makes you a loser. Until you get cast as the principal actor, stay away from movies, television, commercials and worst of all, webisodes.

Dun dun dunnnn. Webisodes... I just worked as an extra for a webisode for a yogurt brand. Talk about no standards. It's one thing to be on a set with award winning actors. It's another to be on a set of actors worse than you. It'll drive you mad. These crummy actors are the first to walk around with a giant chip on their shoulder, too. "No fraternizing with the extras (animals), we're big time now. We're in a webisode for YOGURT."

All of this is all the more painful because I have, in my short stay in LA, been lucky enough to be cast in a few print ads and television things as featured or principal so I know what it feels like to be on the other side. Until I can be on that side consistently, I will stay away from the Slave-like treatment. (Note: I capitalize Slave-like because comparatively to extra work, it really doesn't sound so bad).

Hey Subway Stop Trying to be Classy. Your Employees are not "Sandwich Artists"

I eat Subway all of the time and I do so because I am not creative enough to think of any other place to grab a quick bite. And also because my Dad is a firm believer in mediocrity...

And, I'm there so often I know what to expect; turkey with random brown spots, tomatoes with white, unripe centers and bread that smells like my brother's hamper. I'm cool with that.

What I'm not cool with is the fact that you, Subway, try to get away with calling your hourly, minimum wage, ex-convict/illegal immigrant employees "Sandwich Artists." Let me say that again for those of you who didn't hear me. Subway calls their employees "Sandwich ARTISTS." Both you (Subway) and I know that when you call your employees "Sandwich Artists" you really are just insulting your customer's intelligence as well as taking away whatever dignity your hourly employees have left.

I understand you pay for what you get. 4 bucks for a sub, I expect $4 quality. But I also know that if these sandwich artists were actually "artists" they would know that sandwiches should not be made like a hotdog, with the meat and fixings directly straddling the bread so when you fold it in half the insides don't lay flat. My life would be so much easier if I had large breasts and if these "sandwich artists" could just slice the bread all the way in half, pile everything on the lower half and then just cover the sandwich with the other slice of bread so I don't have to eat it like a giant wiener dog. (Please see photo attached for a phenomenon I like to call "The Hot Dog Effect")

Real "Sandwich Artists" come from places like France or Italy or the Culinary Institute of America, not Torrance, CA. Like we let Rachael Ray slide with not being an actual trained Chef but you, Subway are pushing it way too far with this serious title your just so casually tossing around. I think you, Subway, just need to be comfortable and confident with the fact that you are not classy, and you never will be classy. You're like that girl who shops at Forever 21 but walks like she shops at Neiman Marcus.

So, please take down the glamor shots of aged cheeses and aromatic basil from your walls and replace them with pictures of like NASCAR and Shaq. I think people would respect your company a lot more if you just admitted that you're a mediocre fast food joint. And please, change the name of your employees to "Cold Cut Slingers" or "Lucky to Have a Job at all." Remember Subway, if you strive for mediocrity you will never have to feel the pain of failure.

Your Cat is not a He or a She. It's an it.

I can't remember who I was speaking with recently (conveniently for the purpose of this blog post) but I do remember our conversation and the moment that they became incredibly annoyed/offended that I got the sex of their cat wrong, which is absolutely ridiculous. Unless I get the sex of your 15 year old son wrong, relax.

Your cat/dog isn't going out for the football team or signing up for ballet classes so the sex of your cat/dog is useless. They don't have feminine/masculine traits that differentiate themselves from one another so how am I expected to know? It's not like the male cat has a deeper meow or has to shave for work in the morning.

The Sex of a human barley matters anymore, how could it possibly be relevant in the animal world? If the WNBA can exist, gender is clearly no longer pertinent and yet, "(Clearing throat) Sparkles is a HE." "Oh, really? Well, if you didn't give him such a gay name maybe I would've known that." The only way I differentiate gender is by cat and dog. Cats are the girls and dogs are the boys (unless they are a little sissy dogs). So when I see a cat I just assume it's a she, since it's the weaker of the two. And dogs are the dudes clearly, because they are much cooler.

And it's not like the animal knows it's being called a boy when it's really a girl. It can't get offended or get a complex about it's gender. Like the cat says, "I knew my whiskers make me look like a boy, now I'm embarrassed to play outside, the other cats are going to make fun of me."

You may be surprised to find out that I do have a cat and I LOVE "it" more than words and "it" is adorable. My little "it" may have male parts but "it" acts more like a woman, very needy, sensitive and "it" cries a lot. And "it's" sex isn't relevant because I'm not planning on setting it up with the female cat next door to make more little "its". The only thing I and anyone else needs to know about "it" is that "its" adorable and sweet and loves when you pet "it's" chin.

The same person who gets offended when you get the sex of their pet wrong is also the person who gets offended when you get their name just slightly wrong - like really mad. "Umm, actually, it's Christine, I HATE the name Christina." Yes, I know it's a different name but only by one letter.

I don't mind if someone calls me Kirsten when my name is Kristen. Actually, I'd prefer it. It makes me feel like I'm someone else for a few short sweet minutes. Yes, I AM Kirsten, I am strong, confident and cool unlike Kristen who is weak, depressed and scared. I'll take the different name and it's okay if you think my cat is a she.