Sunday, November 23, 2008

The Worst Thing That Could Happen To Me

This week the worst thing that could possibly happen to me happened.

I was covered in angry bees.

Nay! It was worse than that! I lost my beloved voice! Yes, the dulcet tones you picture as you read my profound prose was vanquished from my larynx via an infection caused by "acute chattiness."

Since we're all friends here I can honestly say to you that me without a voice is likea peanut butter and Cap 'N Crunch sandwich without the Cap 'N Crunch or a tranny without tuck tape or a pedophile without a mustache. Yeah, it's like that.

You wanna know the worst part of it? It caused me to become something I loathe...


A MIME! What becomes of a man who becomes what he detests most? No really, what's going to become of me, because I feel absolutely awful.

For those new readers to the blog, I have this thing -it's just a small thing- I HATE CLOWNS. While I apologize for the overuse of the caps lock function, this I'm only so limited in my options to share my frustration. Clowns are awful things that hide under your bed, steal your other sock, put the toilet seat up right before you go take a dump, and sell people into the sex trade. They are dregs of society. These parasites are the basest of human kind and, as I've often stated, must be stopped.

Given the mime's close relationship to the clown by virtue of awful make up, and propensity for annoying / upsetting behavior, I also hate mimes. We Americans may not agree on everything, but I think the one thing that I find universal is that no one fucking cares if that mime ever gets out if it's imaginary box. Frankly, I hope the box is made of steel and is placed out in the desert so that bastards bake -but that's just me, I think outside the box, I guess.

I have been fortunate in my life (knock on wood) to avoid most medical problems, aside from an injury-induced case of epididymitis & a tumor in my butt, but those are stories for another day. Because of this, I make for a positively awful patient. Compound this with the fact that I had lost that most treasured tool of the performing class, the natural voice.

In all honesty I never realized how much I used my voice until I didn't have it. The process went from mild frustration in not being able to communicate a story about the homeless man who opted not to stand up when the urge to urinate struck him to the total helplessness of not being able to say, "yes ma'am, I would like another Cinnabon, please." Before long I was complete relegated to the world of hand signals and striped, skin tight shirts.

Given my esteemed utterly useless, waste of a degree, I have a developed "sense of my body in the space." It wasn't long before I found myself using "my instrument" to better my day to day life whilst stricken with the affliction and embracing my inner, unwanted mime.

I know how much you kids like your bullet pointed lists, so here's an overview of where my miming took me:

  • Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home is a good movie. Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home as retold by me dressed as Marcel Marceau, using nothing but a tire swing, a tape of whale mating sounds and a little bit of Gumption is a great movie.
  • You know what is better than working from home? Miming working from home. The work is much easier and makes my brain less hurty.
  • I discovered my new love of suspenders. While I initially found that their support provided me with an unwanted cameltoe, I quickly discovered that simply adjusting the straps created a look that was both supportive and fashionable.
  • I had never gone repelling before for fear of falling and for fear of having to use my enormous, mostly cosmetic arm muscles. But I found repelling to actually be a delightful activity as a mime. There's no danger of falling off an imaginary cliff and I find fake rope to be far more gentle on my carefully moisturized hands.
  • People annoy me. I really just haaate the stupid shit people say. Do you know how to sidestep this problem? Befriend mimes. Don't like what their acting out? Much like your stages of early development, close your eyes and they cease to exist! Just like my first wife.
  • Performing in a cabaret has never been so liberating. As a cast member of the wildly received What's the Point??! (see the post below) I have felt a lot of personal satisfaction. However, like any performer, I too struggle with insecurities. Will I crack on this note? Will people like my interpretation of the song? Can I make sweet, sweet love to the hottie in the third row? You can avoid all these crippling questions by simply miming the song. And fellas, ladies love mimes. Fucking weird, but true. Just ask the hottie in the third row.
Oh, the places you'll go....

Fret not friends my voice is back and I'm using it to make up for all the dick & fart jokes that I could not communicate while rendered mute. So that's nice; you know, I feel like I'm giving back to the community that way. So on this eve of Thanksgiving weekend, I urge you to not take anything for granted. Depending on what you believe, God, aliens, and/or your mom provided you with a voice. Share your gift with the world. Who knows, tomorrow you could become a mime.

Monday, November 17, 2008

The Natural New Englander


Well-a good morrow to you, there. Fah from mah flat Ohio accent, ovah the ye-ahs, I have adawpted this hella New Englund accent, which is clearly wicked pissah.

Will i'a do this 'ere blawg entirely with this accent? No, I'm lazy.

As you may have noted from a lot of my past posts, I have been spending a lot of time lately sliding up into the nether regions of Boston & New England. To the loyal New York crowd you're probably thinking to yourself, "hey, what gives???!!!" Maybe your not thinking that, which causes me to think, "does that mean you don't think about me when I'm not around? Are you just using me for my blog? Something to read and then discard until next week? Well, is that it? Is it!? Well, I am not some word whore you can filaciate with your eyes and then throw in the gutter with sunflower seed shells, old US Weekly's and Stevie Nicks -I'M NOT!"

Sorry, it's that time of the month.

The reason for these trips are for strategic cultural exchanges between New York & Boston. You see the other night I was smoking a big fat joint (because I can) with cultural juggernaut, Boston's Chief Revolutionary War Reenactor, Dale "Camel Toe" Johnson, and he says to me, "Patrick, you're one wicked funny, dude." "Oh Camel Toe, you're just fucked up." I replied. "No man! I mean it, you're hysterical. What if I make you my Brigadier General of Lobster, dude!? My fucking Brigadier General of Lobster, man!!!"

It was at this point that I politely informed him that I was currently Ft. Atkinson, Wisonsin's Superintendent of Cheese, a role that I took very seriously. No, if I was going to take on a new civil service or fake military role, it would need to be a more passive position [insert joke here]. "Perhaps a Cultural Exchange Envoy?" I asked. "Done, now pass those fucking Sun Chips. I got the munchies SONNNNNNNN." And as Camel Toe housed a bag of French Onion Sun Chips, I began my preparation to be the Cultural Exchange Envoy to Boston.

What would the exchange be? Well, here's the deal: I do a bunch of stuff in Boston and surrounding areas and bring my unique formula for awesomeness to said activities. Sound awesome, Boston? It so is.

After the copious amounts of cannibus, I too was hungry. Where to? Why the Langham Hotel's Chocolate Buffet, of course.

When I was a kid, my parents would put me in the seat of a shopping cart and push it into a nice looking family, and then run away screaming, "you touched him last!" Aside from not being a very adulty thing to do, I developed some severe abandonment issues. As a result, I brought my Uncle Ray & Aunt Becky to help me partake of the chocolatey goodness. Relatives = safety.

The buffet was truly as sight to behold. Over (160) various forms of chocolate from indulgent chocolate cotton candy to the slightly misguided chocolate covered oil filter.

However, the cordial continuance of the chocolate confection consumption did not last long. Through yet another defect in child rearing I was quickly taken to task by the buffet mistresses.


Growing up, rather than eating at the dinner table we had to enter a cage match and fight it out like dogs. The winner of said match would then be served dinner. When a fellow consumer asked if I might pass her a custard cup, I instinctively began growling. When the buffet mistress came over and tried to reprimand me, I humped her leg, and was promptly whisked out by the scruff of my neck. "Stupid, uptight Bostonians," I concluded.

I wanted to get out of Boston. I wanted to see how REAL PEOPLE lived, not cotton socked Boston pansys. So I headed to Gloucester to document the real New England Blue Collar Experience, so that I could share the plight of the fisherman.

As Cultural Envoy, I can choose my own staff, so I selected noted Trail of Tears reenactor / hand model / photo journalist Salli, to help capture the majestic nature of the quaint fishing village. Below you'll find a smattering of our work:

THE UGLY GO DOWN: This thrillingly accurate portrayal documents the strength of the wives who lost their husbands to the temper of Mother Nature and her unforgiving seas. More specifically, it speaks to the wives willingness to drown their ugly and/or stupid children. Her outstreched hand gently says, "plese step back, the fugly one's gotta go."






THE MERCHANT MARINE: This could be one of our most touching works. The weathered face, sinewy muscular build, vintage leather blazer -this piece screams I make money throwing my line into great expanses.

Interesting fact: While these are lobster traps, they, much like my pants, are full of crabs.







WHEN I'M GOOD, I'M BAD: This installation hearkens back to Gloucester's more shadowy past. In particular this piece shares the tale of Tally, the most notorious hooker in all of Gloucester who would lure cute young things into her bordello with the promise of Battery Service -offering not only the battery itself but free installation as well. The little innocents never stood a chance against Experienced 'Ol Tally. No chance at all.


After conquering the cultural genuses of cuisine and photography, I decided I would press on to the the avant-garde world of guerilla street theatre. To do this I ventured back into Boston and staked out a corner of the T platform. No sooner did I get half way through my interpretive dance, "It's Just Sweat, Fatass: The Rise & Fall of Richard Simmons," I got stabbed in the eye by -of all things- a unicorn!!!

At this point, I resolved that perhaps Boston just wasn't the city for me, thanked Camel Toe for the rocking smoke and resigned my Envoy position.

Sometimes, people just aren't ready for all that awesomeness.

---
SHAMELESS PLUG:


Gay animals, Me with a Gun, Songs about Masturbation. Just another Friday? Perhaps, but this Friday is musicalized! Come see the refined What's the Point?! this Friday at the Laurie Beechman Theatre @ 7pm. Mention my name and they'll charge you full price!

For more info, visit www.WTPoint.com

Sunday, November 09, 2008

Repping Beantown

I am busy repping in Beantown and have limited access to blogging magic. So enjoy this picture until you can enjoy my tales. Enjoy.

Monday, November 03, 2008

On A Night Like This

Ya tie ti ti teee!

I'm so sorry that you had to start your Monday without my regular commentary, but I have a good excuse.

After a kick ass Halloween, the details of which are under lock and key for National Security reasons, I had a long day at the New York City Marathon.

Yes friends, Sunday morning I was up at 4:00am to make my way to the course to provide runners at Mile 18 with unsolicited Irish step dancing (pictured). It was a long day -what with all the shuffle hop step, hop, step, hop stepping, but it was a world event and I would not disappoint the race's 40,000 participants. They had trained too damn hard to let that happen. Ball change.

Consequently, when I arrived home I swaddled myself in 800 count Egyptian cotton, and settled in for a long winter's nap.

While yesterday, I couldn't close my eyes soon enough, this evening I find myself utterly unable to sleep.


When I was a kid there was one day that drew Christmas-like excitement to Garrigan kids -Cedar Point Day. If you are from Ohio, you're probably nodding your head furiously in agreement. Well stop, no one thinks your cool when you do that. For those readers not familiar with Cedar Point, it is the Roller Coaster Capital of the World, and a child's wonderland.

I remember being 10 or 12, and laying on the top tier of a bunk bed I shared with my brother, Brian, staring at the ceiling. Oh, how I could picture every magical moment: The second where the roller coaster skyline appeared like Brigadoon when we crossed the causeway, the smell of greasy corn dogs and sweaty people, and the parking lots littered with carcasses of seagulls, felled by Alka-Seltzer induced assassinations. Ah, memories...

There was this level of excitement, I thought I would never fall asleep. When I did fall finally asleep, I immediately peed the bed -much to the chagrin of my unfortunately placed brother. That's the kind of excitement / bladder control issues Cedar Point Day would illicit. Tonight, friends, on the eve of voting, I feel that same wet the bed anticipation.

Now, I don't know if it is all the amphetamines, the impending riots, or just a lil' case of pre-post-mortem depression caused by the death of the word, "maverick," but darn it all, I can't sleep. I'm too excited!!!

Never one to waste time, I've decided to use this anticipation-fueled energy to be productive. Why here's just a smattering of what I've done tonight:

  1. Taught myself how to tie a bow tie.
  2. Wrote and choreographed an evening of Judy Woodruff inspired haikus / interpretive dances.
  3. Bought a gun.
  4. Taped up my wrists and engaged in an extensive carpel tunnel stretching routine to avoid a voting lever-induced injury.
  5. Interstalked you on Facebook.
  6. Used Video Professor to take the mystery out of using the World Wide Web.
  7. Tidied up my underground bunker.
  8. Wrote blog post blaming Ohio / Florida / Pennsylvania for Obama loss.
  9. Wrote blog post celebrating Ohio / Florida / Pennsylvania for Obama win.
  10. One word: decoupage.
Yeah, so all this antsy-ness really hasn't been useful to any one. So, um, sorry about that. Anyway, don't forget to vote tomorrow. Kthxbai!

The Soon to Be Posted Post

I'm sooo sleepy. Wanna know why? I'll tell you. Later tonight after I get some sleep. Blogging like stew-making requires patience and a commitment to excellence. More soon.

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