Cynicism

Now, I know what you're going to say. "Mr. Charlie, how are you going to make cynicism funny? This is going to be awful." Please, call me Charlie. The Mr. Is an optional prefix. Secondly, don't be so cynical. Just because spell check has corrected almost every one of my attempts to spell cinycal, doesn't mean that this post will be bad. Also, I'll try not to ramble.

Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I am cynical sometimes. I suffer from cynicism, which at first I thought was the disease that lets you hear colors. Turns out that's called synesthesia. Cynicism is when you can hear and see the darkness. It's actually become my defense mechanism for disappointment. You see, when you expect the worst, the outcome is either what you expected or better than what you expected. It's foolfproof. 

Why am I telling you about this now? Well, I saw the word yesterday in a book I was reading and asked "Is this anything? Can I write about this? I don't have an idea yet for the week. Will this work?" I was expecting it to not turn out that good (Cynicism!), but so far, it's not half bad. (Foolproof!) I'm going to go with it and see what happens. Life's funny that way and so am I. I've already written stuff about pessimism, I think, so this is just the root of that idea. 

Look at that. I accidentally started to ramble towards the end. Goddammit!! I can't do anything right. This is all going to Hell in a hand basket. Come on, Charlie. This isn't working. I'm sorry. I'll be back next week with more of the same. Ugh. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You Can't Find Me in Da Club

I did something Saturday night that goes against everything that I'm used to; I went to Atlantic City without my mom and grandmother. Don't worry, I stayed at the same hotel and ate at the same restaurants that we usually do. I'm not an animal. I was there with my brother and his friends for a "guys' night out on the town." So where do you expect to find a bunch of single twenty somethings in A.C.? The answer is not the penny slots, as I rudely found out. The answer is a nightclub.

Now, if you're me, you feel socially awkward in a nightclub... or any other place people are, for that matter. But try convincing a bunch of EDM crazed young men that pumping a progressive Wheel of Fortune machine full of money is more fun than pumping their fists to the first part of every popular song mashed together. You'd have more luck trying to win big at Blackjack. And similar to a casino, the 3lau haus always wins. So, when in Rome, go to Caesars.

There was no cover charge to get into the club. If you are unfamiliar, a cover charge is something that bars and clubs charge to enter in case you don't drink, there is live music, or just because they can. It's basically a bar tax. Taxation without inebriation! Anyway, we walked in past the bouncers, had our I.D.s checked, and entered the gates of Hell. 

Hell looked different than I originally pictured. I had only seen artists' renderings and movies. Hell is actually a place full of flashing strobe lights and bass so loud that I couldn't hear myself think, a true and fitting punishment if there ever was one. Now, as you know, I'm usually all about that bass, 'Bout that bass, no treble. Except not down there. Not in the belly of the Inferno, or Dusk, whatever the club was named.

That's when we ran into Lucifer. He was laying down the sickest beats, despite the fact that all of the songs were doctored. I felt myself saying "This is very impressive." Nobody heard me because the base was so loud, but it's whatever. 

At this point, I was having no fun at all. It's just not my scene. I don't get the appeal of five guys standing in a circle with drinks while sound makes it hard to breathe. And does a girl really want a guy with a raging boner grinding behind her? No, I don't think so. I danced a little, if you can call what I did dancing. But I'm too shy to ask girl to dance and too devastatingly handsome and intimidating for one to ask me. There's a catch 22 for ya. 

My brother and his friends looked like they were having a good time, from what I saw in between the strobe light flashes. They looked happy. But me, I was looking for any excuse to leave. It was 2 A.M. and I was about to fake a seizure when I saw my brother's friend motion that he wanted to leave. I yelled "Really? Ok!" and bolted up the steps into a fully operational casino, a rarity in Atlantic City. I sat down at a slot machine, turned three dollars into thirteen, and then lost all of that. My brother's friends eventually found me, and we left exhausted. If I didn't know any better, I would say that that's how you do AC.

(But I do know better, and it's most certainly not, so don't judge me. A dance club isn't my scene. My scene is a comedy club.)

The Leather Anniversary

Can you believe that it's been three years since my mom started reading this blog? Wow! Time flies when your writing puns. Traditionally, year three is the leather anniversary, although a more modern gift is crystal or glass. I'd definitely prefer a jacket over a ring. Or maybe a glass wallet? Nah, that's not so practical. Anyway, this blog has definitely grown over the past year, most notably into a full website. It has everything that you want, plus a lot of things you don't want. I added a Podcasts tab and added one episode of Mono A Monotone and two episodes of Story Time. I added a Videos tab and will be populating it more in the future. I added a tab called Tour Dates, which is TBA right now. Stay Tuned for that. The about the author tab is funny and informative. As it should be.

And like I say every year, this is mainly just practice for me to hone my craft. Not everything is funny; comedy is subjective. That being said, I'm hilarious and you are so lucky that you get to witness it each week. For free no less. I wish I was you (No I don't!).

Say, do you remember me telling you about the time that I made a pitch for a television sitcom to NBC? You don't? Well, I did, and sadly they have gone a different direction, citing things like "not funny" and "we can't pay you one million per episode." So, I will not be moving on in the competition. That's OK, because the show was based off of a book that I have not written yet. So guess what? I started to write that book and want to finish it by November 31st. Ambitious, I know, but doable. 

So that's where I'm at. Three years in and still trying new things. Because that's the secret to life. Try new things; don't let new things try you. (That's either rambling nonsense, or I'm a genius. I'm a genius. L'chaim!)

Shocktober

Can you believe that Halloween is actually on a Friday this year? It's shocking, not just because I'm dressing up as a thunderstorm by gluing cotton balls to myself and walking around with only a pair of socks on, but because it affords everyone ample time to party on Halloween. Parents are going to have to wait until really late for their kids to go to bed so they can go eat all of the candy. Personally, I wouldn't be caught dead Trick or Treating this year. (Wait, wouldn't I?) That's why I'll be inside, throwing the candy at each kid who comes to the door like it's their Bar (or Bat!) Mitzvah. That'll shock the parents and the kids. Also, Mischief Night on a Thursday just seems wrong, you know, like drinking beer through a straw. Mischief Night should be on a Sunday, or some holy day of the week. Wednesday sounds good. Nevertheless, enjoy Halloween this year. It'll be real spooky, I'm sure. Carve a pumpkin. Dress up like a slutty houseplant. Do whatever you want. You do you. 

It might seem like I was rambling this week, but i actually meant to write this. Now there's a real shocker!!

Prime time Blocktober

TV is back and it's better than ever. Just like the Hess truck at Christmas time. There is something good on every single night. And since I have no job, I have plenty of time to watch every show. And since I have no job, I have to watch them all before the cable shuts off. Listen, I'm not here to tell you which shows to watch; I'm just here to make sure you watch something. I don't want Nielsen to have to lie about their ratings again. #Selfie should not be the most watched show. It should be Red Band Society. I'm currently watching Gotham this Monday night, and I really like it. It's the before Batman story that nerds have only read about in the comics. So it's a good show. That's all I'm saying. You need to watch something and enjoy it. If that doesn't tickle you, why not watch The Big Bang Theory, which will be on for three more seasons. Or if a sitcom isn't your thing, why not watch political pundit John Oliver tear up the news like a dog being house trained? It's political comedy with a purpose. See, something for everyone. Let the binge viewing commence!

Soft Rocktober

Are you familiar with the radio program Delilah? For those of you who don't know, a radio program is something that your grandparents used to listen to when it got too dark to read. What Delilah does is she gives relationship advice to callers of all ages. Then, she attempts to match a soft rock tune to each person's problem. The advice is good if you don't think about it too hard. And the songs match perfectly if you look past the fact that every song on her predetermined list of songs is about love or relationships. She doesn't actually choose songs; they just all end up working. That becomes apparent at Christmas time. That's when it really becomes clear that she is just a middle-aged woman in a recording studio wearing headphones and drinking tea for a living. Because a 10 year old will call in and she'll answer compassionately:

"Hello. Who's this?"

"Hi Delilah. I'm Jessica."

"Hi, honey. What's your dilemma?" 

"Well, my best friend and I aren't talking anymore."

"You're not?"

"No, and I'm sad."

"Let me ask; Is it because of a boy?"

"Yes."

"Uh huh! Uh huh! I thought so."

"What do I do?"

"You need to go over to your friend and say, 'Hey best friend, no boy is stronger than what we have.' Ok?!"

"Ok, Delilah."

"Alright. I'll find a song for you..."

"Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad, Prospero Aсo y Felicidad..."

Knock Knocktober

Let me tell you a story. I was at home last week, catching up on every television program ever made, when suddenly I heard...

(knock) (knock) 

Startled, I asked "Who is it?" 

A very raspy, whispering voice replied, "Ya." 

Hmmm, Ya... Ya... I pondered, trying to see if I knew a Ya. I didn't, and asked "Ya who?"

"Google is better," it hissed slowly.

I opened the door, but no one was there. "Ya?" I asked, my word fading into the cold fall air. No response. I closed the door, and sat back down to a paused episode of Modern Family. I was about to press play, when again, I heard...

(knock) (knock)

"Who is it?" I screamed, sounding slightly terrified. 

"Doctor!"

The word rolled off its tongue like a cement brick. Now, I was afraid. I could probably use a doctor right now, I thought. But wait! My mind was racing like a banana wielding Donkey Kong. Which doctor? The family doctor? The heart doctor? The nose doctor? "Doctor who?" I questioned cautiously.

"The Time Lord," it hissed.

With that, I perked up. "Oh, I love the show. I'm a big fan." I swung the door open eagerly, with a pen and piece of paper, ready to get me an autograph. To no one's surprise, no one was there. "Show yourself!!" I screamed. The response was underwhelming. I closed the door, feeling like James Bond in a tornado: shaken and stirred.

I decided to leave for a while, to get away and hope my problem wouldn't follow me. So here I am, writing to let you know what's going on. I just hope that...

(knock) (knock)

"Who... who is it?"

"Boo." it hisses

"Boo who?"

"Don't cry, it's only a joke! Ha... ha.... ha..." Devilish laughter fades into the darkness. 

"Too late," I sob.

HAPPY OCTOBER!!

Hashing Things Out

After a long discussion with my family, I think we've all decided what we would like to do next; we are going to open a Mom and Pop Weed Shop, or a Mom and Pot Shop. We could call it "Pot and Things... OK Just Pot." There has been so much talk about the issue recently, and I think it's high time we opened one.

Once marijuana is legal for more people than just doctors and Doug Benson, we will be able to achieve our goal. You see, dealers wouldn't want to sell something that is legal, because stores could sell it cheaper. That's our plan, to corner the market on a street corner. Now, I'm no business man, but I do look good in a suit, and the plan sounds good to me. We might need to open a bunch of them because, unlike a Starbucks, you would need one on every corner since weed smokers would never remember where the last one that they went to was. It would also probably be good to turn it into a bed and breakfast, or more appropriately a bed and snack fest, you know, with couches to "crash on," complete with vacuums in between the cushions to suck up the Doritos crumbs. We'd call it the Hempton Inn. I'm picturing a fancy hookah bar, with exotic paraphernalia to smoke anything, anyway you want to.

This could be the next big cash cow, I mean hash cow. Picture this: Bob Marley on the radio, every Cheech and Chong movie on the TV, including Tin Cup and some photographs of Chong in prison. Everything would be weed themed, right down to the center pieces made of dandelions, ivy, and crab grass. Sounds great, right? Don't get too excited; we are just trying to hash out our ideas right now. The idea could literally go up in smoke. I don't mean to be so blunt, it's just that I don't know what the future holds yet. But if we can get this idea up and running, I might finally be able to get my money troubles out of my hair. That would be much better than my usual technique of waiting a month to get things out of my hair.

I'll let you know how it turns out, if I can remember to do so through the haze of life. If I don't, well, that stinks!

Networking is Not Working

This past week has been nothing but net... working. I've bumped elbows with the rich and famous, and then quickly apologized for bumping elbows with the rich and famous. Well, maybe it was just the rich. You see, I need a day job. Life costs money, and I need to be able to support myself for more than a couple of months. Just a day job, that's all I'm looking for. That way, when people tell me to not quit my day job, I'll have one to not quit. It all makes sense. And you would think that people who know people could connect me with the people that they know, but you would be as stupid as I am. 

I'm a believer (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeaahhhh) in the saying it's not what you know, it's who you know (And it's not what you do, it's who you do...), but what do I know? I could be wrong. When I tell people that I want to be a civil engineer, they believe me because I'm a good liar. They also rack their brains and try to think of anyone that they know who might know civil engineers. I usually get a response similar to this: "You know, (takes a long puff on a cigar) my wife's friend's brother is a contractor. He might be good to talk to." Ok, sure, but does he have an open position I can fill? And also are they any jobs at his company? There comes a point when trying to network does not work. 

The only networking that I like is social networking. You know, Friendster, MySpace, that sort of thing. I don't much care for LinkedIn. It's like the job world right in your hand. Which doesn't make sense to me, because I've never been handed a job. Speaking of hands and jobs, if you know of a way to make money during the winter months, I'd love to hear it. I've considered stealing the presents that parents leave out for their children on Christmas, but it's kind of a niche market and one guy has it covered already. There's got to be a job out there that I can do. Maybe with comedy, writing, or civil engineering. I could be a touring conference entertainer, you know, and bridge the gap between the three. But who knows, maybe I'll wait for something a little more concrete. 

Survey Says...

I take surveys online for money (Hey, 47 cents is 47 cents.) Back in the day, say 2009, business was booming. I was on several different survey sites at the same time, really over exerting myself for a 25 dollar Amazon or GameStop gift card every few months. Those several sites were UTalkBack, Zoompanel, and MyView. Since then, UTalkBack has become E-Rewards, Zoompanel has gotten worse, MyView has disappeared completely, and I have joined a new site called InboxDollars. So, I'm still on three survey sites, but I've adjusted for the times. It's not glamorous. It's not lucrative. It's not quick and easy. But, I've been doing it for years, and I've saved on video games, Amazon products, and movie tickets for one. 

You may be wondering what all of these fascinating surveys are about? Well, fine reader, they range from grocery shopping to television programs to everything in between. They generally take about 20 minutes to complete, but can be done in 15 if you click the bubbles in a fun design without actually reading the questions (I usually do diagonal lines, like a zigzag). You have to answer age, ethnicity, zip code, state, household income, and gender at the beginning of each survey (and also the end for some strange reason). Some surveys involve video watching, but most are just tedious and annoying. 

Are you sold yet on joining a survey panel? Because if you are, I can get you a deal where when you sign up, I get a little kickback on the side. Spoiler alert; the deal is for me. But I would hold off on joining for a second, because sometimes the surveys are a little strange and a little too personal. 

One survey that I recently took started with following questions.

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Hold up! What? When I read this, I literally sat up in my chair and screamed "I NEED AN ADULT!!" How can it ask me this? It got even weirder when the next page asked me to turn my head and cough.

My final response to the survey was "No. Why? Should I?" This was more awkward than the time that a survey straight up asked me if I was racist. Yes, one survey asked me how I felt about black people on a scale of 0 to 5. What? That's racist. (That's the last time that I fill out a survey for KlanPanel.com!) Listen, I'm no doctor, but I don't think any of these options are good. Lumps, bumps, bends, oh my! This is more of the type of stuff that I would discuss with my physician, not a survey on the computer. It turns out that I didn't qualify for the survey (I don't know anyone who would), so there's 50 cents that I won't be seeing. This isn't the first time that my lump less penis has cost me money, but that's a story for another week.