I have a confession to make. My television gets over 300 channels, but I only want to watch one. After the wife and kids are in bed, I tippytoe into the living room and quietly turn to channel 314. Like most men, I’m drawn to the pay movie channels’ late night programming. Unlike most men, I’m watching a show about a couple of male (and fully clothed) folk musicians. In my defense, “Flight of the Conchords” is the fourth most popular folk parody duo in all of New Zealand (number three is a Flight of the Conchord’s tribute band).
The new HBO comedy series watches the Conchords (Bret and Jemaine) as they make the transition from mildly popular Kiwi band to struggling New York City based musicians. Their hapless manager Murray stalls their progress by refusing to get them nighttime gigs. “It’s too dangerous out there at night,” he argues. “Anything could happen…you could get murdered…or ridiculed.”
When Murray isn’t slowing the band’s development, a woman usually is.
First up is Sally, who used to date Bret, but drunkenly gives in to Jemaine’s dance moves and eloquent request for her to go back to his house so “we can feel each other up on the couch”. A sober Sally tries to get rid of Jemaine, who suggests that instead they take a break. “Break?!!” cries Sally, “No…there’s no relationship”. “Yet,” responds Jemaine, “Maybe we could start with a break”.
Next is Bret’s love Coco, who Jemaine constantly competes with for Bret’s attention. One show opens with a shot of Bret and Coco sitting on a couch tickling each other. Their apparent intimate moment is interrupted as the shot widens to reveal Jermaine sitting next to them. “Bret, how come you don’t tickle me anymore?” Jemaine wonders. “Seriously, you guys are just tickling each other and it might be nice to include someone else.” Coco (rhymes with Yoko) creates a wedge between the band members that may end up causing them to split.
Finally there’s Mel, the band’s fan. She doesn’t let her husband get in the way of fulfilling her duties as fan club president/stalker/sex-crazed lunatic.
The show’s characters are great, but what sets it apart from normal sitcom fare is the Conchords tendency to spontaneously break into song throughout each episode. Of Sally they sing, “You’re so beautiful. You could be a part-time model. But, you’d still probably have to keep your normal job.” These lyrics describe their financial hardship; “You know you’re not in high finance, considering second-hand underpants. Check your mind…How’d it get so bad? What happened to those other underpants you had?”
Summertime programming generally leaves fans of well-written comedy longing for the fall return of shows like “The Office” or “30 Rock”. But, HBO delivers a summer show that is worth watching, even if it has to be done in the wee hours of the morning, so that my wife doesn’t find out I’m every bit as obsessed with the Conchords as their other fan.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I'm a Professional
Ticket brokers. Most of us hate them. I know my wife does.
My ticket broker career began as a hobby. I had a real job, but used my ticket income to finance my annual pilgrimage to Wrigley Field, home of my beloved Chicago Cubs. I technically became a professional broker the day my former employer encouraged me to stop reporting to work.
My wife would like me to regain my amateur status.
In the past, I kept her happy by consistently making good money buying a handful of tickets to games that featured the Cubs biggest rivals (the White Sox and Cardinals)and reselling them on Ebay.
This year, however, I decided to improve upon my business model by buying more tickets to worse games. I didn’t really intend to, but had a friend from Chicago encourage me to buy tickets to a July series against the San Francisco Giants since Barry Bonds would have a chance to set Major League Baseball’s all-time home run record. I didn’t listen to the voice of reason (or was that my wife?) as it tried to explain the improbability of a 42-year-old hitting exactly 21 home runs in half a season. Within minutes of talking to my friend, the 0 tickets I had planned to buy for the Giants series turned into 48. That $2400 was just eating a hole in my credit card available balance anyway. I was sure to make it back 5 times over. I was, after all, a professional.
Five months later, Bonds isn’t close enough to the record for the tickets to be worth anything. But, that didn’t stop me from making the 8-hour drive yesterday from Kansas City to Chicago to try to maximize my profit.
I got to Wrigleyville about 5 hours before game time, and began my quest to sell the 12 bleachers tickets (face value $50 each) that I had for tonight’s Cubs/Giants game. The first broker I visited ripped the tickets from my hand and I watched in horror as he passed some of them to his buddy. I was sure I was about to get three-card montied out of $600 worth of tickets. Instead he peeled off six twenties. “I’ll give you $120,” he said. “$10 a ticket! Oh man am I screwed,” I thought as I calmly walked away.
Two hours later, my calm exterior had deteriorated into equal parts wild-eyed panic and back sweat. After inquiring at almost every ticket agency within walking distance of Wrigley Field, the highest offer I’d received was $20 per ticket. Lacking confidence, I pathetically told one last broker, “I’m just trying to get my money back. I’ll take $45 each.” I’m pretty sure I slobbered on myself when he offered $40.
With a little hard work I was able to turn $600 into $480. Not every ticket sale goes that well, but with a few more successes like this, hopefully my wife will stop asking me to get a day job.
My ticket broker career began as a hobby. I had a real job, but used my ticket income to finance my annual pilgrimage to Wrigley Field, home of my beloved Chicago Cubs. I technically became a professional broker the day my former employer encouraged me to stop reporting to work.
My wife would like me to regain my amateur status.
In the past, I kept her happy by consistently making good money buying a handful of tickets to games that featured the Cubs biggest rivals (the White Sox and Cardinals)and reselling them on Ebay.
This year, however, I decided to improve upon my business model by buying more tickets to worse games. I didn’t really intend to, but had a friend from Chicago encourage me to buy tickets to a July series against the San Francisco Giants since Barry Bonds would have a chance to set Major League Baseball’s all-time home run record. I didn’t listen to the voice of reason (or was that my wife?) as it tried to explain the improbability of a 42-year-old hitting exactly 21 home runs in half a season. Within minutes of talking to my friend, the 0 tickets I had planned to buy for the Giants series turned into 48. That $2400 was just eating a hole in my credit card available balance anyway. I was sure to make it back 5 times over. I was, after all, a professional.
Five months later, Bonds isn’t close enough to the record for the tickets to be worth anything. But, that didn’t stop me from making the 8-hour drive yesterday from Kansas City to Chicago to try to maximize my profit.
I got to Wrigleyville about 5 hours before game time, and began my quest to sell the 12 bleachers tickets (face value $50 each) that I had for tonight’s Cubs/Giants game. The first broker I visited ripped the tickets from my hand and I watched in horror as he passed some of them to his buddy. I was sure I was about to get three-card montied out of $600 worth of tickets. Instead he peeled off six twenties. “I’ll give you $120,” he said. “$10 a ticket! Oh man am I screwed,” I thought as I calmly walked away.
Two hours later, my calm exterior had deteriorated into equal parts wild-eyed panic and back sweat. After inquiring at almost every ticket agency within walking distance of Wrigley Field, the highest offer I’d received was $20 per ticket. Lacking confidence, I pathetically told one last broker, “I’m just trying to get my money back. I’ll take $45 each.” I’m pretty sure I slobbered on myself when he offered $40.
With a little hard work I was able to turn $600 into $480. Not every ticket sale goes that well, but with a few more successes like this, hopefully my wife will stop asking me to get a day job.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Letter to Bruce Willis
Dear Bruce Willis,
When I first heard that “Live Free or Die Hard” was coming to a Cineplex near me, I cringed. I assumed that Dick Cheney had followed Al Gore’s lead by putting together an Academy Award worthy PowerPoint presentation about the Pro-Life movement. I was relieved to find out that I would be watching you bleed for 90 minutes rather than the unborn.
And bleed you did. All that blood made me realize that you, like most members of the NYPD, have impossibly white teeth. I also realized for the first time that Detective John McClaine seems to have little interest in getting the girl. Live Free’s formula seemed to be: Boy meets boy. Boy kills bad boys. Boy gets boy? The viewer is left to wonder if your misgivings about Justin Long’s Matt Farrell character dating your daughter had anything to do with you wanting him all to yourself.
I can only hope that your life imitates your art. I’m taking a bit of a risk with this letter, but I’d love to reinvent the Hollywood power couple, by making you my better half. Technically we wouldn’t be the first same sex Hollywood pair, but our union would certainly generate a lot more buzz than Liza and David’s.
All that attention would do wonders for at least one of our careers. I’m not concerned that your star doesn’t shine quite as bright as it did when Demi Moore stepped on your receding hairline to reach $10M paydays. Honestly, I’d be happy to use your bald head as a mini-tramp to land a $10 a week gig as a humor columnist.
But, I wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn’t let you use me too. I guarantee that playing the role of my husband would do as much for your career as playing Vincent Vega did for John Travolta’s. Before you know it, you’ll be making gay biker movies with Martin Lawrence.
You’re already on the right track. It was a brilliant business decision to let the Die Hard franchise evolve in much the same way our country’s views have on an issue like homosexuality. In “Live Free”, John McClaine made it cool to kick serious ass by day and go home with that kid from the Mac commercials at night. You’ve given publicity to an often-overlooked issue, a man’s right to choose (with whom he spoons).
Now, the choice is up to you…will you marry me Bruce Willis?
XXXOOO,
Matt
When I first heard that “Live Free or Die Hard” was coming to a Cineplex near me, I cringed. I assumed that Dick Cheney had followed Al Gore’s lead by putting together an Academy Award worthy PowerPoint presentation about the Pro-Life movement. I was relieved to find out that I would be watching you bleed for 90 minutes rather than the unborn.
And bleed you did. All that blood made me realize that you, like most members of the NYPD, have impossibly white teeth. I also realized for the first time that Detective John McClaine seems to have little interest in getting the girl. Live Free’s formula seemed to be: Boy meets boy. Boy kills bad boys. Boy gets boy? The viewer is left to wonder if your misgivings about Justin Long’s Matt Farrell character dating your daughter had anything to do with you wanting him all to yourself.
I can only hope that your life imitates your art. I’m taking a bit of a risk with this letter, but I’d love to reinvent the Hollywood power couple, by making you my better half. Technically we wouldn’t be the first same sex Hollywood pair, but our union would certainly generate a lot more buzz than Liza and David’s.
All that attention would do wonders for at least one of our careers. I’m not concerned that your star doesn’t shine quite as bright as it did when Demi Moore stepped on your receding hairline to reach $10M paydays. Honestly, I’d be happy to use your bald head as a mini-tramp to land a $10 a week gig as a humor columnist.
But, I wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn’t let you use me too. I guarantee that playing the role of my husband would do as much for your career as playing Vincent Vega did for John Travolta’s. Before you know it, you’ll be making gay biker movies with Martin Lawrence.
You’re already on the right track. It was a brilliant business decision to let the Die Hard franchise evolve in much the same way our country’s views have on an issue like homosexuality. In “Live Free”, John McClaine made it cool to kick serious ass by day and go home with that kid from the Mac commercials at night. You’ve given publicity to an often-overlooked issue, a man’s right to choose (with whom he spoons).
Now, the choice is up to you…will you marry me Bruce Willis?
XXXOOO,
Matt
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
I'm a Recovering Accountant
I just finished a short humor writing class online through UCLA. It was a great experience....there were a lot of fun, talented writers in my class. Since, I've not written anything for a while on the blog, I'll post my columns back-dating them to when they were written.
I’m a recovering accountant.
I’m embarrassed that it was so easy for me to get caught up in that lifestyle. My English degree and I had no business accounting for anything, but before I knew it I was running around with a pretty rough group of accountants, who seemed hell bent on sucking the funny out of me.
I needed a way out.
My portal to a better life opened one day when a stranger bumped into me while I was standing at the urinals in the office restroom. That urinal bump instantly transformed me into a heavier, uglier version of John Stossel. In addition to the inexplicable desire to grow a creepy mustache, I had a burning urge to crack the urinal code.
At first, I found urinal law to be much more interesting than accounting, but I was completely unprepared for what I was about to uncover. The urinals at my office were in fact dangerously close together. What Jeffrey Wigand was to big tobacco; I was about to be to public toilets.
But, how should I blow the whistle without endangering my life? I emailed the city…the building manager…my lawyer. No one cared. So, I made a humorous video about the subject and posted it on my blog. I didn’t think it was possible that a group of people could take themselves more seriously than accountants…until my urinal video got the attention of two grumpy ladies from Human Resources.
They brought me into a conference room and peppered me with a series rapid-fire questions. “Do you have a website? Do you have a blog? Did you recently post a video on this blog? Did you film that video on company property without permission?” And, my personal favorite, “Matt, at one point in the video, were you in the women’s room?” That’s when I realized they’d actually watched the video.
At the conclusion of the meeting, I was told that I was being placed under formal investigation. Evidently there is not a crime more heinous in the accounting world than attempting to be funny. I was eventually found guilty of conduct unbecoming of an accountant and had my employment terminated. I’m proud to say I’ve been accounting free for eight months and am feeling funnier every day.
I’m a recovering accountant.
I’m embarrassed that it was so easy for me to get caught up in that lifestyle. My English degree and I had no business accounting for anything, but before I knew it I was running around with a pretty rough group of accountants, who seemed hell bent on sucking the funny out of me.
I needed a way out.
My portal to a better life opened one day when a stranger bumped into me while I was standing at the urinals in the office restroom. That urinal bump instantly transformed me into a heavier, uglier version of John Stossel. In addition to the inexplicable desire to grow a creepy mustache, I had a burning urge to crack the urinal code.
At first, I found urinal law to be much more interesting than accounting, but I was completely unprepared for what I was about to uncover. The urinals at my office were in fact dangerously close together. What Jeffrey Wigand was to big tobacco; I was about to be to public toilets.
But, how should I blow the whistle without endangering my life? I emailed the city…the building manager…my lawyer. No one cared. So, I made a humorous video about the subject and posted it on my blog. I didn’t think it was possible that a group of people could take themselves more seriously than accountants…until my urinal video got the attention of two grumpy ladies from Human Resources.
They brought me into a conference room and peppered me with a series rapid-fire questions. “Do you have a website? Do you have a blog? Did you recently post a video on this blog? Did you film that video on company property without permission?” And, my personal favorite, “Matt, at one point in the video, were you in the women’s room?” That’s when I realized they’d actually watched the video.
At the conclusion of the meeting, I was told that I was being placed under formal investigation. Evidently there is not a crime more heinous in the accounting world than attempting to be funny. I was eventually found guilty of conduct unbecoming of an accountant and had my employment terminated. I’m proud to say I’ve been accounting free for eight months and am feeling funnier every day.
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