Category Archives: Comedy

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My David Duchovny story

I know everyone has one so I am boring.  I have also noticed my more personal posts, even ones where I am not torturing readers with tales of my wonderful childhood (ps. I really didn’t mean to torture anyone, sorry), get more hits than my brilliant political analysis so I am going to write more.  Plus the more I write, the more I want to write (in terms of variety) so that’s a win-win for me and my stalled screenplay/sitcom pilot.

When I was packing my crap yesterday, and it is all just so much crap, I found my X-Files watch.  Yep, I was one of those people.  Now, I was not a follower from day one, nor did I refuse to go out on nights it was on (even back then we had ways to record shows when we weren’t at home).  I really actually got into it after my first presidential campaign — Clinton/Gore ’96.  Indeed, the Crypt Keeper and I are twins.  In my months of stressed-out unemployment before I went to work for RCA Victor, I stayed up late into the evening watching Fox Mulder and Dana Scully trapse around the country looking for aliens and whatnot.  It’s a good thing I am a fiscal liberal because in hindsight, that does seem like a wasteful government program if ever there was one.

It is true that I found the subject matter interesting.  It is also true that my roommate came home one afternoon and told me had his hair cut like Duchovny.  There is no connection between the two.  Just felt it should be said.  It is equally true that I had a major crush on David Duchovny.  If you have not heard the Bree Sharp song, I highly recommend it.  Now, this is partly because I read a quote of his about how his parents’ divorce impacted his view of love.  Without looking it up, I believe he said something to the effect of “It introduced the idea that love can leave and changed the way I view it.”  Now, if there was a more succinct way for me to explain my commitment phobia better, I haven’t found it.  But this isn’t about that. At the end of the day, however, I just thought he was hot.

The next year, I found myself working in NYC at RCA Victor as a publicist.  One night, I went out with some friends and played some pool and drank some beer (not a ton but enough) and when I got home, Saturday Night Live, was on.  David Duchovny was hosting.  For the record, I am no stalker and have had issues with people stalking me so  I take that very seriously but… I thought it was silly for him to be in NYC and me to be in NYC and for us to not meet.  I mean, really!  So, I pulled out a phone number for SNL that Darrell Hammond had given me (story for another day) and called it.  Darrell, they said, was on stage “saying goodnight” (it was on TV, I knew they weren’t lying) — why didn’t I just pop into the cast party?  Where is it?  I asked.  They told me.  And it was on.

My pool playing clothes weren’t gonna cut it.  Threw on a tight dress, did my hair and makeup, called a car service and I was on my way.  While the lovely woman at the entrance went to check if my name was on the guest list, two security guards asked Why are you on that side of the desk and we’re on this side?  To which I said, You tell me.   I was in.

Before 30 seconds, I saw there was a VIP area.  Of course there was.  What to do, what to do… I walked over and talked to the person there. Listen, one of my clients is in there and I just need them to know I didn’t leave without letting them know.  I am super tired and just want to go home — can you give them my card and tell them I will call on Monday?    To this day, I have no idea where that lie came from.  The woman told me she could not leave the desk and wasn’t sure she could let me in but she clearly believed me.  Lucky thing number two happened just then.  Jim Brewer was in the VIP area and he said, Don’t worry, I know her, she’s fine.  That part wasn’t a lie, we had met at several record company things in the months before this.

To recap:  In under and hour I went from a bar in Brooklyn to the VIP part of a SNL cast party.  This was clearly as far as this Icarus was going to make it.  I was fine with that so I did a few shots of what, I’ll never know.  That was a bad idea because that’s when I met David Duchovny.  Standing there, feeling Ke$ha tipsy, I felt a tap on my shoulder and a man extended his hand to shake mine:

“Hi, my name is David.”

“I believe you.”  Then I turned brain dead and went into auto-pilot.  I always have some canned response for when I meet a famous person so I can avoid saying things like, nice tie.  Instead I went with, “There are four people on earth who make me starstruck and you are one of them.”
“Who are the other three?” (For some reason, Fight Club dialogue seems appropriate here, we have just lost cabin pressure…)“Uhhh…. President Clinton, VP Gore and Hillary Clinton….” EPIC FAIL.

The conversation didn’t last too much longer than that.  I went home with my tail between my legs and couldn’t look at his picture for at least six months without wanting to vomit.  The only upside was I did tell myself that I had been an idiot in front of the one famous person I really had a crush on and the sun still managed to rise the next day, thereby giving me licence to be stupid in front of all sorts of new and exciting people.

And now, it’s just a fun story I tell.  Hope you enjoyed it.

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Ahhh…. college

Oh, so that's liquid nitrogen pouring on me, then?

Certain events this week have me thinking about college.  And, don’t worry, this is a personal post but nothing sad or depressing.  I am not sure how interesting this will be to anyone who wasn’t there but I hope it makes you laugh, Ali.

The various pictures are all from the site: www.stonytbrooksucks.com and are undoctored photos from around campus.

I was back at Stony Brook for homecoming last fall — which was my first Stony Brook homecoming ever, I didn’t even go when I went there.  A lot has changed.  The bridge to nowhere is gone, which makes me sad.

First up:  Dumb things Stony Brook did.

Stony Brook University is supposed to be known as one of the best SUNY schools and have excellent science and engineering departments.  Yet the following statements are all true:

  1. The hugely expensive sports complex cannot be used, as promised, for sports events like track because the track is six inches too short. 

    Attack of the crasher squirrel!

    (Similarly, the pool, also built for outside events, was built backwards.)

  2. For years they had a ‘bridge to nowhere’ that was supposed to connect the library to the student union, one is across the street from the other but it failed to do so.
  3. One university president, in his desire to make the school more like USC, wanted a bell tower with a clock to chime throughout the day but the school had no money so he played a recording of chimes, complete with static, on the hour, each hour.  Stay classy, Stony Brook.
  4. Although hurricane season occurs every year at the same time, major roof repairs were done to many of the dorms in August.  Yes, one struck Long Island and yes, those dorms flooded.
  5. Two quads were listed as “G” and “H” on diagrams for the school during its construction, not being clever enough to think of real names, they stayed that way for more than 30 years.
  6. People always get lost in the library because when they wanted to expand it, they just build a new one around the old one.
  7. When I was in the student government, I was on a panel to improve the quality of our food.  We were asked to discuss our most memorable experience with the food (seriously, not “what was your best food?” but what has your most “memorable experience with the food” — well, that time we…).  Mine was when they offered us veal patties.  Being curious about how a state school was serving veal, something which I have not eaten since I was 10, I asked for one.  It was empty.  Fried air.  That’s where those crack engineering minds were spending their time.

Next up: dumb things I did:

These are the things that should comfort me whenever I think it is early senility or my most recent head injury causing me to forget something (like the time recently I ran into get my checkbook and ran out with my remote control).  I should take heart; I was always this absent minded.  When we were roommates (side note: my name is Alyson, my roommate’s name was Alison and one of my best college friend’s name was Allison, you can imagine how interesting that made things), I thought our outgoing dorm voicemail should be one of those “I am sorry, can you please speak up…?” deals, so I recorded one.  My idea and my voice and yet it still managed to fool me at least five times.  All of the roommates (we were in a six person suite), thought it was hilarious that I set my alarm clock ahead by several minutes to trick myself.  A few joked they were going to change it to screw with me more and one did — rather than being 15 minutes ahead it was somewhere in the range of 90.  For more than a semester I showed up everywhere more than an hour early. (In my defense, that was only mornings when I had something early.  Against me, I was in the student government that year and clearly, no job on earth carries the importance of that, so I did go into “my office” pretty early most days.)

Remember Gina’s ‘heap of hope?’ (Gina was not the most tidy suitemate and had a pile roughly the size of Everest on her bed.)  Yes, that remote control we lost for several months was in there.

How about Misha the cat from hell? Or how she kept leaping from the balcony?  Or how we had to hide the cats in the shower when they did room inspections?  Or Randi’s birds that shit everywhere.  

Not sure why, but back in college I liked to walk around singing the Ivory Soap commercial.  Not kidding.  One day I was in some building on campus and ran into Iowa (another suitemate) singing it.  She swore me to promise never to tell anyone but I think the statute of limitations has run its course on that one.

Anyway, when I went back, there were a lot of changes.  I don’t know what this says about me — maybe nothing, the olfactory system is supposedly one of the most closely connected to memory — but when I walked down the stairs of the union building it was as if not a moment had passed since you and I were there.  The smell brought it all back: The Rainy Night House, that student government scandal my campaign nearly caused (ironic and sad) and how lucky I am that we were roommates.

Love you.

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For Dariana

Dariana Verdi

In February 2011, four year old Dariana Verdi was diagnosed with a very agressive brain cancer.  On February 16, she lost her battle with the disease.

To honor her, a great line-up of Washington, DC area comedians will perform on Friday, March 2nd at the Velvet Lounge at 7:00 pm.  Tickets are $10 but if you are inclined to give more, we won’t say no.  All proceeds will go to Dariana’s family and the Live for Today fund that helps other children and their families going through this.

 

 

The entertainment:

  • Emily Ruskowski
  • Tyler Richardson
  • Valerie Paschall
  • Mariya Alexander
  • And, of course, Alyson Chadwick (Should I start talking about myself in the 3rd person? No?  Didn’t think so.)

So what are we talking about?

Fundraiser for Dariana
Friday, March 2nd at 7:00 pm
The Velvet Lounge, 915 U Street, NW, WDC

Please note:  Dariana was my college roommate’s (Alison Koslow) daughter.  Ali and her wife Sue are two of the kindest people on the planet.  This is a very personal event for me so I am going to ask you all to spread the word so we can really celebrate Dariana’s life and the type of kindness these two wonderful people inspire through example.

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Things that make me rowdy enough to be pepper sprayed

It seems like every day I read about someone doing something that gets ’em pepper sprayed.  Maybe they’re peacefully protesting proposed tuition hikes and the police overdose them on the stuff.  Maybe they’re just trying to get a little Black Friday action when a fellow shopper douces them with the stuff.  This morning I saw some shoppers looking to get new Air Jordans were the most recent pepper spray victime. (Read story here.)  I can’t speak for you, but nothing gets me quite as rowdy as sneaker shopping.

This whole thing got me thinking about my behavior. Do I do anything that might warrant a pepper spray?  What gets me upset?

  1. The Mets.  If you say you are a Met fan and they don’t get your ire up, you are lying about being a fan.  It is impossible to watch them — on the field, off the field, having breakfast somewhere — and not want to punch someone.
  2. Fresca — nothing gets my knickers in a twit like when Safeway is out of the stuff.
  3. Glee:  Man, if I forget to set my DVR and miss an episode the fur does start a flyin’.
  4. DC Metro.  It sucks.  Every year the tourists descend like locusts on the city and try to hold the metro doors open during rush hour.  They force the doors open and everyone has to get off the train.  I would not be the pepper sprayee in this scenario.
  5. People who think I do things for sympathy.  I don’t need your sympathy.
  6. Inappropriate apostrophe usage.  On a business trip my colleagues wanted to go to a restaurant with a great happy hour.  I refused to go because of the sign they had out front.  Unless there was a woman there named Margarita and she was having a personal special, I was not going.  Seriously, plural words do not need an apostrophe.  There won’t be enough pepper spray on earth for how irate this gets me.

More to come…

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For me, silence is not golden

Is this the universe's way to tell me to STFU?

Anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE to talk.  I talk all the time.  I talk to my cats.  I talk to inanimate objects such as the TV (news & sports mostly), the newspaper (same topics), my computer, my iPad.  I have even been known to talk to myself if I have to (it’s worse when I am writing but that is often because I read my stuff out loud when checking for typos).  So not being able to talk feels like a fate worse than death.  Well, not quite that.  But I HATE it!

I was whining about my quandary on Twitter last night — I have just recently begun to feel comfortable on stage when this happens, not fair! — and someone suggested  I use my iPad.  There’s an app — Speak It! — that converts text to speech.  You can save phrases and play them back or convert them to sound files and email them.  To make it more fun, I chose a British woman’s voice.

These are the first phrases I saved, you know the ones I use the most often:

1. How the fuck would I know?
2. What are you, on crack?
3. Let’s go, Mets! (seriously, I am an idiot)
4. Fuck you, Fred Wilpon.
5. What-EVER!
6. Motherfucker!
7. That is soooo random!
8. Hello
9. Thank you. (See I can be polite — we all need to say this and the next entry more often.)
10. Please.
11. Did you watch the debate?
12. Herman Cain is awesome.
13. Michele Bachmann should run for president every four years.
14. Have a nice day.
15. Do you have any Fresca?

But then I got to thinking about some other things I like to say (remember: imagine these coming from a British woman):

1. Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. Grab my glasses, I am out the door, gonna hit this city. Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack. ‘Cause when I leave for the night I ain’t comin’ back.
2. You just come around here to eat our food and fuck our mother. You motherfucker, you food eater. (Best movie line EVER. Delivered by Keanu Reeves in his first movie, River’s Edge.)

The last one I did was: I have completely lost my voice so I am using this to communicate.  In my new, and hopefully temporary, reality, I have decided to be British.

Part of me thinks this is the universe’s way of preventing me from screeching along to Glee or belching out random Katy Perry songs at all hours of the day and night.  I am sure my neighbors love this development and hope it lasts a good long time.

I know I am being incredibly self-centered and whiny.  I just had a great trip to NYC and want to tell people about it so I keep going to pick up the phone but it’s just not an option today.  Dang!  I want my voice back and I want it now!