Walk it Off!

I'm a walker. No, this is nothing related to The Walking Dead or Game of Thrones. I just think cars are expensive, unlike the people in The Walking Dead, who find them lying around, and unlike the people in Game of Thrones, who don't know what cars are. Plus, I live in a huge city with plenty of public transportation. So long story short, I walk everywhere.

Walking in New York City is one of the most dangerous things that you can do, right behind moving to Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. It's a whole set of acrobatic moves that are, well, when you think about it, pretty instinctual. It combines all of those walking rules that you learned in elementary school (single file, eyes in front, hands to yourself) with some new ones (don't give money to beggars, just keep walking, ew! Don't touch that! It's a used condom). Especially at night and in Times Square.

I forget what level of Dante's Hell Times Square is based on (seems like maybe level 7, violence), but it's one of those places in New York where you have to go if you've never been, but if you live here you never ever go. It's a really scary experience, even scarier than moving to Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. There are so many people, all walking at different speeds, taking different paths, and looking at their phones. It's obnoxious. And it becomes very frustrating when I want to get around these people and I have to dodge a swinging arm or two.

Why do we, as humans, swing our arms when we walk? Hold on while I use The Google... Ok. It's called Arm Swing, and the definition is all physics. "Swinging arms in an opposing direction with respect to the lower-limb reduces the angular momentum of the body, balancing the rotational motion produced during walking." All it's saying is it helps us balance. I knew there had to be a reason.  Because for me right now, walking in New York City is one giant game of trying not to get sucker punched in the dick.

I'm five 5'9", 5'8" sopping wet. My height is such that it positions my balls at direct hand upswing level. Like hitting a golf ball off of a tee. Whack! So, I'm constantly using my high school dodgeball skills too and quickly dodging nut slaps. If this were high school, they would be out for hitting me in the balls, unless the gym teacher didn't see it, in which case I would be out and in pain. That happened a lot. Damn you high school!!!! But really, though, it's tough. Whenever I try to pass someone, I make a jock protector out of some cardboard that I find on the street and charge full force into their swinging hand, in one last ditch attempt to hurt them too. This. Is. For. Sparta! And Athens! The one on the left is named Athens!!! It usually works out pretty well.

All in all, my intact balls and I have been getting to where we need to go, which is unfortunately Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. And I don't do the arm swing thing. If I fall over while walking, that just means that I need to get better at walking. Simple as that. So be careful out there. Protect yourself. And if you end up getting hit, just walk it off.

"No"Stalgia

I just finished the 8th Harry Potter "book." I put "book" in quotes because it's a play. It's a long play. He's the boy-who-lived-through-4-acts. Before that, I caught a Pikachu. 

"I just finished Harry Potter" and "I just caught a Pikachu" are two phrases that I thought I would never say again, much to the chagrin of my parents who spent so much money on both. But this time, I paid my own way into the past as these relics from my childhood resurfaced with the vengeance of a thousand Voldemorts and like ten zubats. Now, I was able to do both of these thing s because we exist in the future but live for yesteryear, when Donald Trump was the "You're fired!" guy and not the "You're hired!" guy. Also, if it worked once, why not do it until is breaks, huh? 

Why does the old stuff work so well? What can it teach us? I think that the new, original content coming now is as good as it's ever been. However, and I hate to be the contrarian here, do we need to "revive" Pokemon or resummon He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Can't the new craze be Poke Bowls instead of PokeBalls and legal pot instead of Harry Potter? I don't know. And haven't we seen Hilary and Donald before too? When does it end? When does yesterday stay yesterday? Let's be new and inventive right here, right now. That's really all we have, isn't it? I thinks so.

Anyway, that's enough rhetorical questions for today, don't you think? Ha... Ha... Ha... (Walks into the ocean, never looking back...)

Poor Soles

I know it's not possible, and correct me if I wrong, but are my feet shrinking? Be straight with me. I must know. Are they? Because every time I go to the shoe store, it seems as though the last size was too big. I know different shoes run "big" or "small," but what gives? Do I have some weird foot disease where my feet shrink proportionally to the growth of my body? In other words, do I grow and they shrink at the same rate? Like air flowing from one side of a balloon to the other? All I'm aware of is a small amount of athlete's foot and bunyan so big that it would give Paul a run for his money. That's it! Please, I need to know. I can't keep guessing.

And you're probably thinking "Oh small feet means small..." And yes, you're right. All of my socks are way too big. I can fit two feet in them for crying out loud. It's insane. You can't just buy one sock at the store either. They are sold in pairs, as if to say "Hey Charlie, we know you just need one, but here's two, cause you're weird." I don't like it. I even asked the shoe store attendant if I was walking wrong. She said "No" and the changes her mind to "Yes" when she saw me start hopping.

The point is are all my clothes that I wear too big on me, right/left down to my shoes? The answer seems like "yes" but I can't hear any of you because technically you're not real. All I can do is dunk my feet in hot water and hope they expand. Wish me luck! Actually, I don't need your luck because I always carry my lucky rabbit's foot with me, both as a good luck charm and a model of what size I aspire for my feet to grow to. So that's where my luck will come from. And it's a good thing too, because I have a feeling that this will be no easy feat...

La Cucaracha

As some of you know, I recently moved. I left the comfort of my swanky midtown New York apartment and moved over to the border between Bedford-Stuyvesant and Bushwick, deep in the heart of Brooklyn. People say that the area there is getting better every day. I don't know. Like many of the other Borders that I know, this one looks run down and out of business too. But, as of now, I'm open to seeing what it turns into. All it needs is a touch of hipster and maybe a full series run of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition: Brooklyn Edition, you know, if ABC is looking for a good Sunday lead in to 9:00. But enough about that. I'm not a tv executive... Yet!

Let's move onto the main reason I'm here. Some 320 million years ago, around when the dinosaurs were jerking each other off, there existed the first ever cockroaches. These guys have evolved like Pokemon over the last 320 million years and now reside as the pests we see today. This new apartment that I live in has so many cockroaches. I mean, I thought dinner was going to be made and on the table tonight when I got home. They are usually playing cards in my room. I join when I can. Anyway, these guys need to go. I don't like cockroaches. Only bugs I can't stand. Well, I don't like bees very much either. Silverfish, however, fascinate me. How do they have that many legs? Ants are so smart. Cockroaches serve no purpose and can just go die. 

Now, I thought they were confined to my apartment. So imagine my surprise when I moved my keyboard at work and I found one the cockroaches scurrying around. There is no way to prove that it was a Brooklyn cockroach and not a Queens cockroach, except for the fact that it was wearing oversized white sunglasses and a fedora. I couldn't let it get away. Which is why when I saw it trying to make a call on my work telephone, I knew I had to act. Whack! Looks like you forgot to dial nine first. Your buddies can't help you here. The entire rest of the day I thought thousands of them were going to come streaming out of my backpack and attack me. And then they would eat me, and I would turn into a human made of a swarm of cockroaches.* Ew! 

Luckily, that didn't happen. They bigs ones are still at home, biding their time until I come at them with the can of Raid again. That's an effective way to get rid of the ones I can see. But it's all about those ones that you can't see. That's your metaphor for this week. Sometimes, in life, our need to treat the problem at the source, not the surface. (free therapy)

I think I'd make an OK exterminator, don't you? I already were clothes that are way too big on me, and I don't enjoy office work. Plus, I like meeting people and killing roaches. Yeah, I'd make a great exterminator. I'll create that business soon. So, if you need an exterminator, hit me up! **

Ooh, look, there's one now. Gotta go! 

* I recently read Prey by Michael Crichton and I'm fascinated by swarms of insects and nanoparticles right now. The technology is out there and very dangerous.

** Do not contact me. 

Gotta Catch 'em All (Up to Speed)!

I wanna be the very best/ blogger there ever was/ to write well is my real test/ to entertain is my cause...

I will make up some crazy stuff/ joking all the time/ in each blog post to understand/ the funny that's inside...

Monday Blog! (gotta post 'em all)/ It's me and me/ I know it's all just for me/ Monday Blog!, oh, you're my friend/ in a world we must up end/ Monday Blog! (gotta post 'em all)/ Always half true/ My language will pull me through

You write me and I'll write you/ Monday Blog! (gotta post 'em all)/ gotta post 'em all/ Monday Blog!

I know that that doesn't make up for me missing numerous weeks of posts the past two months, but wasn't it whimsical and fun? August I'm back on track, for sure. I was busy, and I mean really busy, Comedy, jobs, and moving my life from Manhattan to Brooklyn really got the better of me. But I'm emerging from the ashes like a Phoenix in heat, and by that I mean bird dick forward. You'll see. It's all going to work out and be alright.

So what if my new apartment is hot, smells weird, and has more roaches than Snoop Dogg's house? We have a woman currently running for president, so what a time to be alive! I, like the rest of America, will be guided out of the darkness by the light of her pants suit. You'll see. Anyway, I'll end with New Year's Resolution updates. They are good and very updateable, which is my favorite NBC show about computers who own a bar. So here you go! Next week is new, I promise. Pokemon Go enjoy your week!

1. Make a sweet Catch Me If You Can reference. (Completed)

2. Be a guest on someone else's podcast. (Completed)

3. Release more episodes of my own podcast. (Completed - 5th is being released whenever)

4. Write a TV show pilot. (2 in progress)

5. Write a play.

6. Take sketch writing classes. (Completed 2)

7. Join an independent improv team. (Completed)

8. Join an independent sketch team. (starting one very soon)

9. Write my own sketch show. (75% done)

10. Act in a sketch show. (the one I'm writing)

11. Host an open mic.

12. Do a feature set of stand up.

13. Attend a live taping of Saturday Night Live. (Completed - Hell Yeah!!)

14. Release a book. (this blog? someone help me do that!!!)

Odd-Jobs and Even-Jobs

Well, it finally happened. I lost track of time. My commitments, my decisions, and my alarm clock all got the better of me. I have really been slacking with these posts for the past two months. This is something that has never happened, and I really don't know what to make of it. I want to apologize, but I don't know how to accept my apology. Let me just say this; I've been really busy, and doing so much at once.

You know, it's funny. It's entirely possible to being doing so many things and getting nothing done as a result, and I feel like that's what I've been doing. I've been going around in circles, like "Have I passed this tree before?" and then realizing that yes, I have, and it's the correct path to take. Well, I'm sorry. I'm leaving the woods. Getting out of the weeds. Taking my medicine, as they say in golf and Mary Poppins. (The two are not dissimilar, something to do with big umbrellas, I don't know.) I demand better of myself. And that's what I'm attempting to do from now on. I was so busy chasing that extra dollar and the stuff that doesn't matter that I really ended up bothering some people, myself included, and for that, I apologize.

Speaking of chasing that extra dollar, Webster's Dictionary defines "odd-jobs" as "a job requiring little training or skill." Webster's Dictionary defines "even-jobs" as "no definition found" because I made that term up for the sake of a clever title. If I had to define it, I would define it as those jobs that make you square, or even. You know the ones, like an office job, where you're a building bitch, a workplace whore, a cubicle c$&@. You know what I mean, squares. I've recently realized that I'm not cut out for that life. I want to do odd-jobs for a living.

 "But you went to school, Charlie, and amassed hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt." You sound like everybody that I've ever mentioned this to. "You're not thinking clearly." But what if I am? "You can't make a livable wage doing odd-jobs." Challenge accepted. Ever heard of TaskRabbit? Postmates? Lux? These are things that I could do, easily and feasibly, on a schedule that makes sense to me, which is whenever I god damn well feel like it! Oh, I have nothing to do from 5 pm to 6 pm? Wrong! Mary needs her green juice brought to her on a golden pillow. I can do that. I can be your errand boy.

I'm a little errand boy, plain and simple, which was the original lyric to  the first line of the children's song "I'm a little tea pot," before they changed it so that kids wouldn't figure out that you don't need college to be happy. For me, all it takes is a set of instructions to follow. The happiest I've ever been was when I would show up at work, inbox like 30 computers and computer accessories, alphabetize them by the user's name, wait for old computers to be dropped off, perform step-by-step laid out computer commands, and then go install them at a cubicle desk. That's the only job that I've enjoyed so far.

Currently, I'm doing something similar in my free time. I'm basically working as an Uber for food. Foodber, the helpful Gremlin. It allows me to be carefree with my schedule, and I'm fully qualified to do it. Jobs that you know how to do are much easier than ones that you don't. That's just simple physics.

So we all do what we do to get by. But I want to challenge you try to break out of your comfort zone because it's just that. Not everything is as it seems. Discomfort is wonderful sometimes. Like when you trade a midtown New York apartment for one in Brooklyn. But more on that later...

Millenial Management

I have a confession to make. My name's Charlie... and I'm a millennial. Most you reading this are millennials too. I hate that word. It pains me to even think it right now. But wait, there's more. My name's still in Charlie, and I'm still a millennial, and also... I'm addicted to my cell phone. There, I said it. It's out. Oh, it feels so good to get that out of my pocket. You're probably reading this through your cracked cell phone glass right now like "Wow, me too!" That's good. Just admit it. Admitting it, that's the first step to recovery. The second step to recovery is "Did you try turning it off and turning it on again?" True story. 

Now, most millennials are addicted to their phones. It's in the definition, I think. Or if it's not, it should be. I treat my phone like its my 6th limb, right behind limb number 5, my dick!! (#FratMove) It's not literally right behind my dick, there's too much moisture there. Who wants to keep buying rice every week? But figuratively, it's like a part of my body. It's my identity. It connects me to all of the dumb crap that my friends do. Never before in history have we been able to connect on such a superficial level with so many people. It's mindblowing.

But here's the catch.  People who are older than millennials, say, the baby boomers, don't get it. They don't have blogs to update, Facebooks to read, and unnecessarily mean comments to leave anonymously on terrible YouTube videos. They just go about their day and when they need to, they call someone. Yuck! I sweat like a Texas Snowman when I'm on the phone. If you thought I stuttered in person, then you better w-w-w-watch out, cause it gets worse. It's crazy.

But, they don't have this problem. They gab and gab and gab like its no big deal. I love texting! (That might be the most millennial thing I've said yet.) It's just a more instant way to message people and you can't hear my sweaty, stuttering body. It works great for me. Carpel tunnel don't scare me at all. Well, maybe a little bit. But we'll cross that achy bridge when we come to it. 

Sometimes, I think about not always being on my cell phone. But then I shove that thought away and murder it and tell no one. What I don't like is when it gets me into trouble at day care, I mean work. But my problem is that everything happening on my cell phone is infinitely more interesting than what's going on at work. Even the junk emails. I like knowing that Walk-inTubOutlet is offering affordable luxury. That spa life is appealing. Anyway, I'll talk more about this later. Don't worry. I'll always be a millenial at heart. (Published from my cell phone.)

Del Close, but No Cigar

First of all, I'm sorry. I'm truly, madly, deeply sorry. You know it's bad when I have to make a Savage Garden reference to apologize. I missed last week's post, and this week's is late already, and for that, I will never forgive myself (immediately forgives himself). This schedule is important and I haven't taken it seriously. For that, I'm really sorry. I've been very busy.

Now that that's over, let's talk about this past weekend. It was basically [insert music festival here] for improv comedy in NYC. That's right, it was the Del Close Marathon (DCM). The Del Taco-Glenn Close Marathon sponsored by Seeso (if you want an ad free blog, pay me!) was one of the most fun things I've ever been to. Never before have improvisors elicited deep, belly laughs from me. I really enjoyed myself. I thought 56 straight hours of improv would be scary, tiresome, and hilarious. It was all three and more. I got very little sleep, watched comedians (some more famous than others) do improv, and I even managed to perform in a show at 5:10 on Sunday morning. It was mind blowing.

I'm a bit of a celebrifile (wins understatement of the year award!) which is a term I made up that means that I'm obsessed with celebrities. I get really, really nervous around them, though. Like I fist bumped Jason Manzoukas in passing and spent the next five minutes trying to stop sweating. But when you're there, and Amy Poehler passes by with her children, you just have to remain cool. Don't freak out. Everything is fine. Slow your heartrate down. Don't throw a book at her like "Here, sign this!!" Play it cool. They're just people.

I've talked about improv on here before. It excites me and confuses me and I love watching it done well. And getting to watch it done by people you only know through your television and ear holes is pretty cool. But with great star power comes great restarsibility. The toughest part is the lines. If you thought coming up with lines on the spot was tough, try waiting in them! (Ba dum tissss)

Now, I'm no stranger to waiting in line (re: SNL waiting) but wow, when you're missing one thing to maybe get into something else it's tough. First world problems, I know. But that's the reality. That's the base reality that has been established. And we all just have to say "Yes, and!" (Turns and winks at no one!) 

Was it worth it to not sleep and run from theater to theater in NYC. You bet your sweet sweet ass it was. I didn't get to see everything, but what I did see was fun and original and awe inspiring. It's an interesting feeling to be on the cusp of emerging into this established world that so many people flourish in. Or pretend to flourish in. Improv is tough. Everybody I watched made it look easy. Watching it was quite the experience. It felt like a wild, mini-vacation. I didn't really feel it until I went back to work on Monday. Umph!!! What a punch in the gut! I couldn't focus at all, which partly has to do with my being tired and partly has to do with my interest in what I'm doing. 

I got into the festival for free. I know, right? All you have to do is volunteer to help out. I'm of the "I'll help anybody" mentality because if you help people, they remember you. And when you need help, they come to your side if you've done a good job for them. So I worked at what's called the Party Space, which is like an art gallery turned into a makeshift party. There was a dance floor on the photo shoot space. Makes sense, right? But I worked the closing shift Saturday night, 11:45 pm to 4:00 am Sunday. That's a wild time there. I couldn't drink, but I lived vicariously through the partiers leaving there drinks on every surface, ledge, and floor. It was hard work and consisted of me throwing out soupy piles of trash soaked in beer... and also my shoes, but I would do it all again if I could. 

Now that I've done it once, DCM will be so much easier next time. I'm already planning out next year's activities. I should probably get in line now if I want to get a good seat. There's probably like 3 or 4 people in line at UCB Chelsea. I'm gonna go do that. Let's talk later. 

Idle Hands and Eye Contact

Today, I want to talk to you about eye contact. I realize that the title gives that away immediately. I'll try to work on burying the lead next time. Now, as we all know, eye contact and idle hands are the devils play things. That's just a fact. Personally, I like the devil. I'm not a satanist or anything, I just like the color red... and fire... and pagan virgin sacrifices. Ok, I might be a satanist. Anyway, to borrow a popular phrase from the English language, my point is this; Eye contact will make or break you. Let me mansplain this to you.

A lot of the time, eye contact is a sign of aggression. Like when you look at a dog (dog reference #1), stare at people on the subway, or stare at people in prison. Also, much like in prison, don't call people bitches (dog reference #1.5) on the subway. Very scary! 

I want to speak about the happier side of eye contact, though. Eye contact is one of the most intimate ways to get to know someone, aside from sniffing their butt like a dog (dog reference #2). Eye contact can creat amazing connectivity, be it on stage during improv or in the bedroom during sexprov. Eye _______ (whoops! My contact fell out...). Eye contact tells you things about people that they can't tell you about themselves. It's like looking into their soul and trying to create a scene off of the suggestion "the zoo!" Too many sleeping cats. 

Finally, I believe that there is another type of eye contact. That's the type of eye contact that you make with the outside world. One of my life mottos is "see and be seen." I'm about to give you the only tip that you will ever need to get into show business. If you don't have a pad and pencil or your mouse at the ready, then you aren't hungry enough. If you are hungry, go and make yourself a success sandwich. A success sandwich is just bread, tomato, turkey, coleslaw, bacon, success, and a second piece of bread. That's more of a success club deluxe, but you get the picture.

Ok, here is the real advice. If you want to be seen by the world, the world needs to see you. Make eye contact with it, if you will. Leave your room, your apartment, your house. Go somewhere. Cause the world won't find you at home. Go out, look people, dead in the eyes, and help them. They will, in turn, help you. That's all I can say. If I haven't seen you, I don't know who you are. Sometimes, even if I have seen you, I still don't know who you are, but that's only because I bad with names. I'm bad with names is my way of saying I'm selfish.

Have a good week, and I hope to see you somewhere. Let's make eye contact, then love. Then do improv. Yes, and eye contact. See what I did there?

The Case of a Penny Found v. A Penny Earned: Part 2

Change is everywhere. (Thanks, Obama!) All you have to do is keep your eyes open. Pennies are a dime a dozen. Actually, they are 12 cents a dozen. There I go leaving out my two cents again. Nickel for every time that's happened. Quarter. But, you're probably asking me, "Charlie, what types of coins will I find most often on the ground?" I'm glad you asked. Pennies. Lots of pennies. Dimes are less frequent, but still popular. Nickels are rare. Not quarter rare, but rare nonetheless. Of course, it all depends on where you look.

Let's step back for a second. I said that I conducted an experiment. I'm now legally referred to as Science Charlie. I changed my birth certificate. Anyway, the experiment is this: How much money is on the ground of New York City at any one time, or at least everyday? What I did was keep track of how far I walked and how much money I found for 10 days. I can show you the entire chart, but that seems boring to me. Let me go over the averages. I averaged approximately three miles of walking and $0.21 per day. And Google says that New York City in 304.6 square miles in size. But how do I get my distance traveled to become square miles traveled? I assumed my field of vision, the amount of ground that I can accurately pay attention to, to be 10 feet in either direction, or 20 feet wide. The conversion becomes 0.00379 miles. So, 304.6 divided by (3 multiplied by 0.00379) multiplied by 0.21 equals............. approximately $5,600.

So, everyday, there is about $5,600 dollars on the ground of NYC. That's good money. I mean, honestly, it's my main source of income. You're telling me that on the ground of New York City, there is approximately two Hamilton tickets worth of money? Sign me up. That's a lot of Tubmans.

Now, back to where to look. I'm going to give you the low down on where to find money that's down low. Here's where to look: grocery stores, subways, post offices, malls, convenience stores, and Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins/Subway stores. So now you know the secrets. But hey, this is my thing. Don't you dare ruin this for me. Seriously. 

All of this is to say that money is out there. Free money. It's broken up into tiny metal pieces, but it's there. Seriously, though, there is a large amount of money on the ground, just waiting to be picked up. It's not possible for one person to get it all, but like, say, 100 people could get a lot and then donate it to a charity, I think. Or maybe I could start my own charity? Anybody want to do that with me? Let me know. And I'm totally willing to look more into all of this. You just have to pay me first!