A Two-for-One Holiday

This year, Passover and National Sibling Day fall on the same day. Today. Now, you non-Jewish folks (or as you refer to yourselves, regular people) may be asking "Why do you bring this up, Charlie? Why is this night different from all other nights?" Well, on all other nights, we eat leavened... oh wait, hold on, we are talking about siblings. I bring it up because the plague of utmost importance in the Passover story is none other than the slaying of the first born. This implies that there are other borns, so it's in very poor taste, poorer taste than the bitter herbs. I mean, this is the most controversial thing to happen to the Jewish people since Woody Allen married Soon-Yi, who I believe was his first born? (Aww, too soon? No, that's too Soon-Yi.)

What are the odds of this happening? They are literally astronomical, right? I mean, the Jews could sooner flee Egypt than have Passover and National Sibling Day fall on the same day. The Jews could bake bread with all the ingredients more easily than have Passover and National Sibling Day fall on the same day. Woody Allen could divorce Soon-Yi and put her through college more readily than have Passover and National Sibling Day fall on the same day. (She is college age, right? I don't know, I'm just getting around to these jokes now. I'm sure they have a lovely relationship that will last a lifetime. A lifetime is also what you get if you subtract Soon-Yi's age from Woody Allen's.) 

Let me think on this some more throughout the holiday and get back to you. It just seems really ironic to have the two days fall together. I know it's possible, but what does it say about the faith? What does it say about the religion? "Enjoy your siblings today while you've got 'em cause we are gonna slay that first born in a few minutes!) Luckily, I'm not the first born, even though I'm a twin. My brother was pulled out before me: It's ok, don't worry. I send him sheeps blood every year around this time. Helps ward off the spirits and makes others think he crazy. Elijah still comes around, that freeloading drunk. You ever liquor up a ghost? This ain't no Casper situation, let me tell you that. But, maybe that's for next week, I don't know.

For now, I'm gonna do what Jews are supposed to do on Passover: get wine drunk and think about stuff. (Sips his dry Pinot Grigio) Ahhh, dry white wine, my favorite (said no one ever). But it's Kosher. And if it's Kosher it's ok in my book. Now, you gonna eat that egg or just dip it in salt water? (Adds that question to the list of four question, making it five.) 

Senate and Chill?

The government, am I right? It seems like they are going through a bit of a rough spot. I mean, this side says this, that side says that, the third side goes "Moooo!!" I can't keep track. And neither can they, I don't think. So that's why I'm proposing a new model for our Governemnt. They need to bring a little fun back into their lives. Everything is so tense, so serious, so Fox. I believe that it doesn't have to be.

That's why I'm going to go out on a limb (branch?) and say that I have a solution. We need to have the government follow some easy, fun ways to make working there a piece of cake. I've outlined new terms and definitions below that I would like the government to pass into laws, however that's done. (I honestly don't know; I slept through most of School House Rock in elementary school.)

Here we go:

1. Fili-Dave&-Buster's - This would be when someone on either side is trying to filibuster, the court immediately stops. Then, each party collectively goes to Dave & Buster's, and whichever side walks away with the most combined tickets, they win the ruling and also like an XBOX plus five keychains and eraser toppers.

2. Executive Law and Order - Before every Executive Order, the President must watch an episode of Law and Order and if he can not figure out who the murderer is within the first 30 minutes, the Order doesn't pass.

Let's start with these two and see what they do with them. Now, does anyone know how to get these to the government?  Do I call my local congressman? Don't forget, I fell asleep during School House Rock. Let me know.

Radia-shunned!

As some of you may know, I spent this past weekend like the good people of Chernobyl spend all of their time: being radioactive. I mean, I was more radioactive than someone trying to call into B101's Best Christmas Ever. (Oh wait! No, that's radio active; that's different. And yes, I called it B101. I know it's called 101.1 MoreFM, now, but I deliberately choose to remain a loyal B101.1 fan.)

You may remember that I had cancer. (How could you forget, when everything I say reminds you of it?) In order to make sure that it doesn't come back, I had to get two shots and swallow a radioactive iodine pill, which essentially unleashes radioactive iodine on some iodine loving cancer cells, destroying them once and for all. It's that age old saying: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, I'm going radioactive on your ass."

The shots were for raising my levels of thyroid forming cells. I got each one of them in the couple of days prior to my taking the pill. When I went in to get them, I rolled up my sleeve and told the nurse to "do her worst." She then told me that the shot doesn't go in the arm and instructed that I bend over. I said "Two shots in the butt? But it's not Saturday?..." 

It wasn't uncomfortable at all, being radioactive, I mean. I actually felt right at home, not just because I was lying in bed at home, but because I used to live next to a nuclear power plant. It brought back a lot of fond memories of being exposed to minimal amounts of radiation all of the time. It's probably where I got the cancer in the first place. How's that for a taste of it's own nuclear medicine?

My doctor seemed downright lacksadasical about the entire process, waffling on all of the rules he gave me in the handout. I could eat whatever I wanted, do whatever I wanted (inside my room), and drink whatever I wanted. The big things were that I couldn't be around children and needed to not put everything in my mouth. I could even be around people for the last bit of the weekend, I just couldn't put any of them in my mouth. It was boring, to say the least. I peed most of the radiation out, so if there's a few more radioactive monsters in the NYC sewer system, you'll know why, and it'll be my job to get them out of there. Cowabunga!

One thing I was told to do was to buy sour candy to suck on, so that the radiation didn't get caught in my salivary glands. Man, I was walking around bragging that the doctor "prescribed me Sour Patch Kids" the entire weekend. Of course, nobody heard me cause it was around my empty apartment, but still. 

Another thing that I had to do was use the same fork for the entire weekend, wash it separately, and then stick it and my toothbrush in a plastic bag and keep them in the back of my closet for three months. I said "Whoa, doc! I don't have a closet." He said keep it somewhere dark and cool, at which point I bent over and...

All in all, it's impossible to tell if I did everything correctly and who knows how many innocent bystanders I've infected? What I will say is I hope it worked. I'll get a scan this week and find out. I don't think I could do it again. If I'm not out and doing stuff, I get restless. You can't tame this creative beast. So, I think I'm good now. Just don't point a Geiger counter at me. 

'Has Spring Sprung?' And Other Myths Debunked

Well, as the snow (ice) from last week melts, you can be sure of one thing: it's springtime (for Hitler (Donald Trump)). On this first day of spring, I'll be doing some topical joke notebook cleaning, so enjoy these several zingers that will feel oh so relevant to exactly right now, this moment. 

1. Eric Trump and Lara Lea Trump are welcoming a new baby boy to the family. Lara wanted a girl, but all of the men in the family told her hat it wasn't her right to choose.

2. Some people are upset at the fact that the new Beauty and the Beast features a gay character. I'm not that upset because I realized that he only starts out as a bear. He eventually becomes a straight prince again.  

3. Metrocard fares in New York have recently risen to three dollars per ride. The MTA says they are using the extra money to "at least buy each passenger dinner" before screwing them. 

4. Rachel Maddow released the first and last page of Donald Trump's 2005 tax returns last week. This week, she plans on releasing an old Wendy's receipt that she found in the dumpster behind Trump Towers.

 5. The Big Bang Theory has been renewed for two more seasons and a spin-off. I had a feel that that universe would be forever expanding.

Next week, I'll have a lot to say, as I am taking radioactive iodine on Friday to finish off this cancer for good. I'll let you know if I develop super powers, multiple arms, or anything of that nature. It'll be a glowing review of the process, I bet. Hehe. See ya next week. 

Snow for Dayzzz

Alright, folks, this is it! We've got a storm on our hands... and soon our streets and lawns. Winter storm Stella is supposed to make this city so white that it could pass as a Trump supporter. Because if you ask me, white out conditions are what Donald Trump's wet dreams look like (aside from the other wet dreams where women pee on him).

The city of New York is shutting down like a Windows 95 computer; unexpectedly in the middle of the night. And I for one am so happy to have an adult snow day. (Adult Snow Day is also a porno film I'm working on, where men do coke off of the women.)

A snow day as an adult is the best because you don't have to worry about homework or nothing. Just straight up watching TV and jerking off... er, I mean blogging. This is what my wet dreams are made of (literally). Anytime I don't have to go to work, I'm as happy as the government when they are looking at us through our microwaves.

Wow, I'm feeling political tonight. Maybe that's because all nonessential government employees are supposed to stay home tomorrow. That's me!! The day they do anything to make me  feel like an essential government employee is the day Donald Trump gets impeached! (Shit! I forgot peaches at the market. Ehh, they probably didn't have them anyway...)

All markets are swamped with bread and milk buyers. Cause that's the important stuff. Trader Joe's was so cleaned out I thought they were going out of business. I said Trader Joe's? I hardly know her... Joe's. That's a stretch, which is exactly what I was doing as I reached for the last red onion on the shelf right as an elderly woman swiped it. (P.S.A. Check on the elderly tomorrow. They may have onion breath, but it's the right thing to do.)

Trains are already messed up. It doesn't take much for the MTA to say "Screw it! You do it!" and walk out of the train. It's like the weekend over here. We got A's where Q's go and F's where J's go. Utter alphabet nonsense. (Alphabet Nonsense is my improv team, doing sold out shows right on the street corner of 33rd and 8th. Look for us!)

I'm all stocked up for a huge snow day, so I'll await my Stella like I told my friend "Get whatever is good at the bar." This is supposed to be a good one. And if anyone is against snow tomorrow, I hear there's a rally march on the 20th that will do a world of good. #notmysnowstorm

Anyway, as the snow comes down in sheets, I'll be three sheets to wind (I have a lot of alcohol at home.) See you on the other side of the storm. #AngelicaElizaandStella (Hire me Lin!) Stay safe everyone. You got this.  #HowStellaGotItsSnowBank

Ticket Brain

I guess I'm really into handing out diagnoses all of a sudden. I wonder why. Anyway, you can trust me; I'm a doctor. Actually, I'm not. But I know a couple, and they won't tell you this is a real disorder, so I will. Whenever people go to a theater to watch a show, but have to buy tickets beforehand at the door, they develop, for a very brief moment, a condition known as ticket brain.

Ticket brain is the condition of walking up to a box office or ticket window and instantly being dumbstruck to the point of not recognizing simple phrasing that you would normally be able to respond to. Things like "Hi, what are you here to see?" and "What's your last name?" and even "Can you tell me who my real dad is?" OK, that last one is a trick question, but I still use it as a third question cause it's funnier if people don't know the answer to three questions. Science!

I really think working the box office of any theater is doing God's work. In fact, that's my main view and picture of God. Just a man with white flowing everything sitting in a  box office selling dead people tickets to the greatest comedy show of all time, as performed by every dead comedian, or tickets to a theatrical adaptation of Hitler's Mein Kampf, performed in sign language by every dead deaf actor. Heaven and Hell.

Because the conversations at the box office between attendant and patron are so cyclical that ratio of how long they last and the information exchanged is 3.14159265359. (That's a math joke. Let me save that til Pi Day next week, actually.) it goes something like this:

Hi, what are you here to see? 

The 7:00 show. 

We have two; which one? 

Ummm........... the improv one. 

They're both improv. 

Ummm........ Josh is in it. 

I don't know who that is. 

It's at this theater. 

Yeah, you're in the right place, just tell me which show. 

It's improv at 7:00. 

No, I know. We covered that. Just which one? 

Let me text him.... it's this show (holds up phone). 

Oh that's actually at our other theater. :( 

See what I mean? Ticket brain. No treatment, no cure, as of yet. But I donate to the Mayo Clinic everyday. Cause if there's is one thing I believe, it's that Mayo cures everything. Just spread a little on and you're good. 

I've got a sketch show written and directed by me taking place on Sunday at the PIT Loft at 9:00 pm in Midtown. Come watch it!! It's really good. We've got special opening acts and everything. The works! It'll be the best. That's all. See ya next week!

Knife Elbow

I wouldn't normally talk about this kind of stuff, but it's now happened to me three times. By law, I have to address it (That's a pun, you'll see why below, laugh when you get it). Because I tend to think about things like this; once is an occurrence, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is pattern. So I'll admit this out loud. I don't just have cancer, I also have a condition known as knife elbow. 

What is knife elbow, you ask? It's the condition where an unexplainable rip forms at the elbow of your dress shirt. Think of it like if Edward Scissorhands tried to slip you shirt on over his scissorhands. My left elbow is cutting through my shirts like a warm knife through butter. It's the only reason I'm not rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. I'd kill them. 

Knife elbow is actually a lot like tennis elbow, except that chefs get it most commonly. At first, I thought it was some elbow eating moths in my closet, but the exterminator assured me that I "don't have a closet."  

Anyway, it's very frustrating. I wish that my left elbow was as dull as my right one. Come on left, you backwards. I'm sanding it down currently, but this hurts more than helps, in my opinion. Wikipedia was no help; didn't even know what I was talking about. WebMD says that I have elbow cancer, so I'm going to get that check out tomorrow. What are the odds, though? Can lighting strike twice? (Remember, thrice is a pattern!)

Some good did come out of it all. I've written a short film. It's a sequel to My Left Foot called My Left Elbow and stars Daniel Day Lewis as the titular elbow. You'll see it at next year's Oscars, guaranteed! 

Its the end of February, so I'll share my resolutions with you again, with some additions and updated statuses. Enjoy! 

1. Stop breaking out into Miley Cyrus songs (Complete)

2.  Have a recurring sketch show at a New York Comedy theater, with new sketches every time. (1/2 Complete - doing my show again!)

3. Craft a solid 10-15 minute set of stand up.

4. Perform regularly with 1 or more improv teams. (Complete)

5. Write a few episodes of a television show. 

6. Develop a late night television packet.

7. Write a play.

8. Release a book.

9. Attend the ever popular play 'Hamilton.' (Complete)

10. Begin regular classes doing pilates, tai chi, or yoga.

11. Join a bowling league. 

12. Get a new job. (1/2 Complete - promoted at work)

13. Beat Cancer (3/4 Complete)

😎 So far, so good.  😎

P.S. Knife Elbow, my new improv team, has 100 shows this month. Come see us!

Don't Panic

I want you to do something for a minute. Try to picture me having a panic attack. Go ahead, I'll wait. Can't do it, can you? You know why? I don't get panic attacks. I'm so mellow all of the time. I mean, I'm so mellow, weed has no effect on me. So when, on Tuesday, I had a panic attack at work, I thought, 'Hey, this is odd.." and "Is there a way to crawl out of skin?" No answer yet, but I'm still looking into it.

I'm going to walk you through how a panic attack hits me, or atleast the way this one did, cause it's very personal, embarrassing, and probably funny. It reminded me of tenth grade. Tenth grade is when my psychological problems really took off. I'm me because of them, but they really got-to-steppin' around that time.

In tenth grade, I took chemistry. Pretty innocuous start, right? I learned the word 'innocuous.' Everything was great. But every so often, I'd be terrified to speak in class. This is because I was convinced that when I would open my mouth, I would say the c-word. Not cancer, I was a long way from that. The other c-word. Cunt. That word. (I've written it, not said it. Don't ground me, Mom!) Now, as you can well imagine, for the teacher's pet to be unable to speak in class, well, that is a level of Hell even Dante missed. I couldn't talk. Every answer was the c-word. It was as if the classroom was transported to Britain, Dr. Who style. It terrified me. 

Cut to Tuesday. Valentine's Day.  I had to go to a meeting that I didn't know was happening. It was in front of the guy in charge of everything at work. I was presenting. I hadn't felt that kind of pressure since tenth grade, when I did that chemistry experiment where the thing built up pressure. Anyway, I got nervous in the meeting, and a word took over my head. It wasn't the c-word, though. It was... the n-word. Now, please understand that I had no intention of using or being disrespectful with that word. I'm not even allowed to use it. My friends at work said I could say 'ninja,' but I don't even want to do that. Anyway, there I was, desperately trying to not make it sound like Richard Pryor came in and edited our presentation. My coworker was presenting before me, and at one point, I couldn't even talk. I tried to form words in my head and nothing happened. I took my pulse multiple times, and it was definitely high, unlike me, because as I've said, weed has no effect on me. I managed to make it through the presentation, speaking slowly, and that's slowly for me, because I'm already a slow speaker. I was sweaty, scared, and acutely aware of how many African American coworkers were in the room. Again, similar to tenth grade, I was terrified. 

The rest of the day was a struggle, cause the world didn't feel right, and I was alert from the aftermath of my panic attack. It's impossible to describe that feeling, so I'll just say that it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. I couldn't focus, eat, sleep. Everything hurt, but in the weirdest way. I fell asleep in my clothes, after running from dinner to bed and hiding under the covers. I was peering out at my girlfriend with one eye asking "What's happening?"  Or my finest moment. 

I'm ok now. What caused it? I think it was the hormones, as it was the first day that I took thyroid hormones since my body doesn't have one of those anymore. So basically, I was raging with hormones, like the teenage girl that I'm slowly becoming. I seem to be adjusted now. It caught me off guard though, and ruined Valentine's Day. So there. Something personal. I opened up. Cause life's  short. Here's to a better Tuesday tomorrow than the last one!

A Pain in the Neck 2: Enecktrik Cancerloo

If you haven't read last week's post, please scroll down and read it, mom! (JK, i know you did.)

It's called papillary thyroid cancer, and it's rare in men my age. It's more common in women of child-bearing age.  That's not me yet, but it could be. #imwithher #iamher #iamonewiththetumorandthetumoriswithme

When I first heard the news from the doctor, I excused myself, went into the bathroom and punched a dent into the towel dispenser. That hurt a lot, and I'm on a simple repayment plan to cover the damages. Oh, the things Breaking Bad doesn't tell you! It was quite a shock to hear, but I quickly decided to do whatever was necessary to get rid of this cancer. I wanted to ditch this tumor like the annoying coworker at a work function. I was told a complete thyroidectomy was in order. "Don't I need my thyroid?" I asked. "Yes, but it's riddled with cancer. We need to remove it, ma'am, oh, uh, excuse me, sorry. It's more common in women... I thought you were a woman." Luckily, my "girl cancer" can be cured with some surgery and a pill. 

Surgery was fun. The anesthesiologist gave me some sweet medicine. I haven't been that high since I partied with Billy Rubin back in Hebrew school. I only remember a little soft rock playing in the operating room. Then, it's lights out.

Lights up on the recovery room. There I am wizard-of-ozing my family and friends. "I dreampt that I had a thyroid. And you were there, and you were there, and you were there too! "They monitored me over night, feeding me less than fulfilling rations of food. My calcium, much like everything else about me, was perfect. I was quickly discharged, like a cell phone running PokémonGO. From there, it's just your average major surgery recovery plan: $9.99 a month, no hard foods, percocets (which I'm high on right now), and some well deserved rest. Oh, yeah, and in a couple weeks I'll be radioactive, sound good?

I went back to work. I acted in a TV show pilot reel, I ate Chipotle. I'm becoming me again. Also, John Malkovich a little bit. Side note; my improv team, A Bit of Malkovich, has shows lined up at Triple Crown all this month. Recovery is going well. I'm being put on thyroid medicine as I write this. It'll be good. I'll be good. There will be more fun cancer updates soon, but for now, I think regular activities and rest are good for me. So, I'll end this the only way I know how. Praise, Beyoncé!!

A Pain in the Neck

Some of you keen readers may recall a long time ago when I spoke about my neck on here, comparing it to the love child between Kathy Griffin and a giraffe. I still stand by that, but my neck seems to have taken great offense to it, I assume, because recently it tried to kill me. Let me explain.

About two years ago, I caught strep throat (for the first time), or streptococcus bronchialsauras, as it's more technically known. Ever since then, my throat would get hot and scratchy, like a cat on fire. I didn't know what was wrong. Then, at the end of last year, my immune system got quite bad, like real bad. I caught colds and multiple stomach bugs. I almost listed "sick" as one of my professional skills on my resume. It was bad and I didn't know why. Then, my right lymph swelled to three times its normal size. Now, they tell me size doesn't matter. In this case, it does.

This enlarged lymph node worried me. I began wondering if my ego had gotten so big that I started to grow a second head just to contain it. Turns out it wasn't a second head, it was simply a big-ass lymph node, one that didn't respond to antibiotics. That worries me even more, so I ultrasounded it like a twelve week old fetus. Since then, I've had more ultrasounds than most girls my age (combined!). I managed to confuse a couple of doctors and get some sweet inner neck pics in the process (Do you think this node makes my neck look fat?) What I didn't expect to find was a nodule on my thyroid.  

That could be anything, we thought. Maybe my thyroid wanted to get 'swole' like my lymph node. The doctor disagreed and had me biopsy it, just to be safe. That's some halfway through the TV show "House" shit, like at 9:31 when someone starts bleeding from somewhere. But it was necessary, to make sure that it wasn't something more serious. Because, in an earlier test, my bilirubin was very high, which could mean cancer. I said "I haven't been this high with Billy Rubin since Hebrew school," but this was something different, the doctor told me as the results came in. That's when I found out that I had cancer. I said "Cancer? I hardly know her!"

To Be Continued............