April is Collin McNamee Day.

The other day, my friend Collin McNamee, pointed out that I've NEVER entered a blog posting in ANY of the months of April. At first, I was honored someone would delve so deeply into my ramblings as to notice such a thing. Soon though, my pride turned to shame; posting so sporadically was no way to treat such loyal readers.

In recognition of trying to get me and my blog back on track, I hereby proclaim every April as Collin McNamee Day! Collin, I'll present you with a proclamation and the Key to the Blogosphere next time I see you.

Let's learn more about Collin: He was with me when I popped my Disneyland Cherry. Here he is sitting next to me on Space Mountain (that's our buddy Sean behind him). That's right, cynical ol' Jeff went to Disneyland; I figured I should check it out before moving out of SoCal. And you know what? It's the fucking happiest place on Earth. I didn't fret about our diminishing economy and culture one time during the whole day!

As you may know, the park is laid out in different sections: FrontierLand, FantasyLand, AdventureLand, etc. One keen observation Collin made was the only place we couldn't get cell reception was in TomorrowLand. We were dropping calls well into the next millennia.

Of course, there were thousands of children there, but one particular kid stood out to me. This one had his name and phone number written on a square piece of paper and taped (heavily) onto his back. Sure, I guess this is a way to help prevent your child getting lost. But to me, it just seems like a pedophile's wet dream. Now he's got your kid's name AND number. (Billy, call me.)

In all seriousness, thanks Collin for being so supportive of my writing, and for the book you gave me to jot down my thoughts. Hopefully, I won't have to dedicate May to someone else just to get my ass in gear.

Immaculate Infection.

About a week ago, I started experiencing incredible pain when taking a piss. (going wee wee, for our more sensitive readers). The feeling was a unique blend of passing broken glass and fire.

I went to the doctor, thinking it might be an STD of some sort, which would have been weird since I haven't been getting any lately. Turns out it's an urethral infection, the celibacy-transmitted kind apparently.

Another odd, though slightly less painful sensation, was this being the first time my doctor was younger than me. I imagine I'll have many years to get used to this.

Irony and Defeat

My friend was telling me how the Anthony Robbins self-help CD's made a real positive difference in his life. It's a multi-disc set, but he burned one particular disc for me, thinking I could get a lot of use out of it.

I figured it would be a good thing to listen to in the car. Turns out, my car's CD player can't play writable discs, and kept rejecting it.

Which disc did my stereo keep rejecting? - Overcoming Fear of Rejection. I shit you not.

When did I become old?

Yaz, the 80's British pop group created by the founder of Depeche Mode and Erasure, are reuniting after 25 years and will play a few shows in America. I was psyched to get tickets for their LA performance, since they used to be on my record player all the time.

I asked one of my younger co-workers if she had heard the news about Yaz, and she said "Yaz? You mean the birth control pill?"

Yes, I'm going to see the birth control pill in concert.

Who says women can't do the same job as men?

Hey, we went dutch on the popcorn shrimp!

I recently read a news story about a young man accused of date-rape. He was convicted. Good. But I don't get it. Why didn't he just say they weren't on a date? That's what I'd do.

"Your Honor, that was NOT a date. We were just "hanging out." If it had been a date, I would have taken her someplace nicer that TGI Fridays.

JUDGE: That's commendable, but according to her, that was your third date.

"No. The first time we hung out, we went to the mall, and I was going there anyway. Not a date. The second time, we went to the movies, but with seven other people. Not a date. And the last time we got together, it was so she could help with my website."

JUDGE: Not a date. Case dismissed.


Simple.

Held up at badge-point.

Airport security agents are doing nothing more than robbing us blind. Snatching our shaving creams, lotions, and moisturizers. All that's missing is a firm "put your hands up!" Oh, wait, they do say that, if you're lucky enough to get waved by one of their magic wands. It's as if every kleptomaniac in the country had been given a uniform and told to report for work.

I'm for airline safety as much as the next guy, but it's not our planes that are being hijacked, it's our dignity and toiletries. Why nothing more than 3 ounces? Do explosive or combustible liquids only come in 3.1 ounce jars and up? Think of the waste! There must be landfills piled high with hand cream, cologne, and KY jelly. Here's an exchange I had a few months ago when flying home to LA from Ft. Lauderdale:

A TSA agent approached me and said, "Sorry sir, you can't bring this on board." The biological danger he was referring to was my St. Ives apricot facial scrub. Maybe he thought my plan was to exfoliate the entire plane to death.

"Don't you watch the news?" he continued. "No, I read the news," I replied. I then explained there had been conflicting reports over the easing of flying restrictions, and that I had flown in from Los Angeles with the very same container. The guard countered, "Well, I don't know how they do things in Los Angeles, but you can't fly with it out of here." "Exactly," I said. "You don't know how they do things in Los Angeles. That's the problem. If this is a federal rule, then it should be consistent amongst all airports. If it's not, then it's a joke."

"Are you calling airline security a joke sir? Because if you are, we'll get the Head of Security down here and HE can decide whether you can fly today or not." I'll go you one further," I said. "It's not only a joke, but it puts us in even greater danger. What you're doing here, sir, is theater. You are putting on a show. You're making it 'seem' as if there's a system in place to keep us safe. That's dangerous. It lulls people into a false sense of security. A false sense of security keeps people less vigilant and less prepared. Just like we were on September 10th.

"Don't call security a joke, sir." (Apparently, he was still stuck on that.) I replied, "but you know it's a joke. I know it's a joke. The woman behind me taking off her Easy Spirits knows it's a joke. Even my apricot facial scrub knows it's a joke. We all know it's a joke"

Some applauded. Others just threw sour faces at me. The head of Security came. I no longer called their efforts a joke. Instead, as I grabbed my bags, I told the guard he should be ashamed of himself for participating in such silly efforts during such serious times.

"Why put up a fuss?" you might ask. I guess, in the back of my mind, I thought if we all put up a fuss, something would be done. My rational side knows that's not going to happen. Maybe I wasn't really angry with the security rules that day at all. Perhaps I lashed out because I felt emasculated. I mean, the only thing more emasculating than carrying apricot facial scrub around is having another man take it away.

Trade offs.

I had someone in New York who loved me, and who I loved. And now I have things. And I have Los Angeles. Beware of things and Los Angeles.

Florida

I recently went down to Florida for my father's 75th birthday. While it was great to see my family, they drive me crazy. In all fairness, I drive them crazy too. But in Florida, there's never a dry crazy. Or a breezy crazy. It's just one long hot and humid crazy.

I find each time I go down there, I stay a little less than the time before. 4 day visits gave way to 3.5 day ones. Then I was down to 3 days flat. This last visit was 2.5 days. I expect, eventually, I'll just meet them on the tarmac, wave, and get back on the plane.

Ahhh, family visits. Smothered with attention, unable to lash out. Trapped in Florida. I know how this gator feels.

Happy birthday Dad. For real.

Stockholm, USA

Stockholm Syndrome: a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger (or at least risk) in which the hostage has been placed. A famous supposed sufferer of Stockholm Syndrome was millionaire heiress Patty Hearst. After two months in captivity, she donned an automatic weapon and actively took part in a bank robbery orchestrated by her abductors.


I personally believe the United States government was complicit in, if not directly behind, the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. Yes, yes, I know. I sound like some looney toon conspiracy theorist. But let's put all that aside for the moment and take a look at some undisputed activities our government has been involved in:

The outing of America's CIA operatives.

Completely ignoring both the warnings, and the destruction, of hurricane Katrina - leaving dead bodies floating in the streets of New Orleans for days.

Engagement in warrantless surveillance of our own citizens.

Removal of judges who don't fall in line with the Executive Branch's views.

Using our tax dollars to fuel the occupation of Iraq, a once sovereign nation, while our schools and bridges are literally falling apart.

Not providing adequate armor for our soldiers who've been sent to occupy Iraq.

And, most likely, the hijacking of at least one election.

So, even if you don't agree our government allowed 9/11 to happen, it's clear they have placed our citizenry in danger. Not only that, but we're paying for the privilege when we pay our taxes. Where is our money going? It certainly didn't go towards protecting NYC, DC, New Orleans, or even our soldiers. It appears our tax dollars are going to fuel an agenda diametrically opposed to what would make us a safe and strong country. You might go as far as to say they're holding us, or at least our money, hostage.

I used to be surprised when I heard other Americans making excuses for our government's behavior. I was astonished I didn't hear more voices of resistance from my fellow citizens. But now I see America must be suffering from a certain psychological trauma. One in which they've developed a loyalty towards their oppressors, and developed a bond with the very institution doing them harm. One could argue, by fueling this administration with their tax dollars, Americans have become willing participants in the crimes committed against themselves. It all smacks of a psychological sickness. One called Stockholm Syndrome.

Can you find him? (click to enlarge)

(Which is more offensive - using the events of 9/11 to make a joke, or using it as a pretext to create a war-for-profit, and circumvent our civil liberties? Choose what you're offended by wisely.)

Turned 37.

Went to Vegas with my friend Nic. He came out from NYC for my birthday (July 3rd). Vegas was 116 degrees one of the days were were there. So, we spent much of the time indoors. Here's a brief summary of the trip.

Lost.
Lost.
Won.
Won.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost a lot.
Saw the Cirque De Soleil "O" show.
Won.
Won.
Lost more than I won.
Cooled off in the pool.

Overall, a great trip.

Please don't watch this if you work for Child Protective Services

Here's the latest episode of Baby in Danger, my friend, Ryan Iverson's, web series. Yep, that's his real baby. I wonder how many he can make before someone comes for his little bundle of comedy joy.

Two Pronged Plug:

Saturday the 9th, I'll be a part of two comedy shows in Hollywood.

For most of the day, I'll be writing for The Upright Citizens Brigade Theater's monthly Sketch Cram show. It's a sketch show written and produced all in one day. This will be my second time writing for the L.A. version of the show. I had a terrific time writing for it last time, and am psyched to be a part of it again. Come check it out - midnight - at The UCB Theater. Here's a link to show details/reservations.

While we spend all day writing the Cram show, I'll be taking a break at 9:30 to head on over to The Second City Theater for a performance with The Engagement Party, the improv group I recently joined. We're opening for Second City Alumni group, Edmund Serves Coffee. Here's the blurb you'd find if you visited secondcity.com to learn more. See, I do all the hard web surfing for you:

9:30pm: Edmund Serves Coffee: An Alumni Invitational
Each week, Alumni from Second City’s resident companies in Chicago, Cleveland, Denver, Detroit, Las Vegas, and Toronto improvise onstage together. With opening act The Engagement Party performing from 9:30-9:55. $10 at the door, call (323)464-8542 for advanced tickets .

Pick a card.

I got locked out of my apartment the other day. After seeing it done in movies, I tried to open the door by sliding a credit card between the latch and the door jamb. It didn't work.

I soon realized why; I was using a Discover Card. Those things don't work anywhere.

A piece of my childhood, found on YouTube. Watch it while you can.

This was produced a few years before I was born, but I had seen it on television a few times in my early youth. It left quite an impression on me. I looked for it from time to time on YouTube, but it was never there. It seems someone posted it there almost 6 months ago. I hope it doesn't get taken down. It's beautifully and artfully executed. Enjoy.

Race relations.

Hoax alert.

The Mars landing was filmed on the Moon.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous.

I've put a couple of posts up before about my growing collection of people with psuedo-sexual surnames oddly linked to their professions. Well, I've found another one to put up on the mantle.

60 Minutes recently ran a piece about the determiners of sexual orientation. One of the research doctors they profiled was able to grow "gay" rats by altering their hormone levels while they were still underdeveloped. And what was the name of the doctor breeding rats that like to engage in same-sex activities?

- drum roll please -

Doctor Breedlove. (see for yourself - link)

It's as if that great scriptwriter in the sky is just phoning it in when it comes to naming characters in this short story of his.

Here are links to the other items in this collection:

one

two

Call your mom.

Happy Mother's Day.