The Governor's Mansion

I've always been puzzled about Governor's Mansions; especially when you are taking it over from an incumbent politician. You may have criticized how his administration misused government funds for person benefit, but then again, he installed this fantastic wet bar that is just ultra classy.

I know each new residence I've moved into has its own quirks. Most times the landlord is completely blind to it and of no help. Yet the former resident can always give you tip; like how Fonzie could start the jukebox with his elbow, except with how to make the hot water work.



"Aye, I got that dimmer switch to work."

But there is something that would be odd with a recently defeated rival, in an especially tempestuous race, calling their former rival.

"Yeah, sorry for stealing that election from your party. Why are all the "W's" missing from the keyboards?"

"Hey sorry for that whisper campaign about your supposed illegitimate child. Should the walk-in closet's tie rack be going so slow?"



"That's behind us now, want to work for my campaign?"

Happy Holidays!

I Bought A Single Ticket To Les Savy Fav.

One of the best concerts I've ever seen was Les Savy Fav at The Catacombs in Madison. Leadman Tim Harrington went off on what the Catholic Church was hiding in their catacombs, ran outside of the venue and shined a flashlight through the window.

If that wasn't cool enough, Hilary gave me whiskey in a coffee cup.

Well, my fantastic experience seeing them in a church has come full circle and I'm seeing them at another church, though this time by myself.

I'm rather particular about the music I enjoy and, for whatever reason, don't keep company with people who share similar musical tastes. Maybe that is how I'll know my soulmate, someone that digs Ronnie Spector, Les Savy Fav and George Gershwin.

Until then, I will continue to buy single tickets to concerts I cannot miss. Sometimes the only company you need is music, but I prefer seeing bearded men kick ass over crazy guitar riffs.

The Wheel of Destiny

Prior to leaving Madison, Mike Schmidt and I were interested in starting a variety show/open mic either titled "Digital Underground Sex Packets Gut Fest '89" or "Hoopla"; I think "Hoopla" works better on a bill. Here are some random ideas culled from that session. Most of these categories were on the "Wheel of Destiny". Basically, you spin the wheel and accept your fate. The more detestable things happened to the resident comics.

"Guess Who Is Naked"
An audience member comes on stage and has to guess who is naked underneath a blanket being held up.

"Everybody Hug!"
The host brings everyone together in an embrace.

"I Want To Cut Myself with Sylvia Plath"
The entertaining aspects of this one have been lost in the ether.

"Cat Food or Vegan Cuisuine"
One of the resident comics is fed some form of pâté and must figure out what it is.

"Norwegian Joke of the Week"
An audience member is stuck reading three Norwegian jokes from an Ole and Lena book.

"Everyone Chants Your Name"
Instant fame.

"Let's Make an Excuse!"
We paint an audience member's face with a bruise or a severe looking cut so they have an awesome story to bring to work the next day.

"Convert A Sinner"
Pull over a person from the gay bar next door and have them kiss a member of the opposite gender; free drink.

"iPod Dance-offs"
A random song plays and you dance for fabulous prizes and free drinks.

"We Both Know What A Stripper Feels Like And We Should Share"
This will remain Mike's idea.

"Magician's Assistant"
Mike puts Chris Waelti in a bag and proceeds to pour in terrible things (rocks, grape Jell-o, two pounds of Carp). Towards the end of the jerkiness a perfunctory magic trick, completely unrelated to what was poured in the bag, is performed. Waelti continues accession.

I had a dream featuring Mike Schmidt

(Scene: We are sitting at the end of breakfast in a diner. We have both finished our meals and are prepared to leave.)

Mike Schmidt: Oh, and I had sex with your Llama...but it was consensual. See ya.

Casey: Wait. You had sex with my llama?

Mike: (making a point) But it was consensual.

Casey: How can sex with a llama be consensual? Llamas don't talk.

Mike: He nuzzled me.

Casey: Nuzzled?

Mike: He rubbed his nose against my crotch.

Casey: (turning away) Jesus!

Mike: Casey, this isn't happenstance. Nuzzling is meaningful.

Welcome to Chicago, Mr. Brownbear

Greetings-

This is the first in what will begin to be regular posts on my blog. Why the long stretch since my last post? I was wasting all of my prose on Missed Connections on Craig's List and an ill-conceived novel about this night I accidently took mushrooms and spent all day at Steve's Tattoo. Apparently, there is already a book about that called "The Illustrated Man" by Ray Bradbury and his text isn't just pages with the word "Funyuns" written ad nauseam interspersed with pictures that are just pen circles where the ink eventually tears through the paper.


So much wasted time.

I recently moved to Chicago after spending far too long in Madison. But my purpose in moving here wasn't simply for a change of scenery or fantastic live music venues. It was to do something incredibly silly that I throughly love: making people smile.

I've wanted to train at Second City since I was but a wee brave. I remember turning on my television long after my bedtime on Saturday, making sure to turn the volume down, so I could watch SNL. It was my comedy catechism: I would spend hours in front of my mirror recreating Dieter's awkward facial expressions; being a fat kid in middle school, I related with the mix of humor and pathos Chris Farley imbued in his characters; and I still find Wayne Campbell's sly, uncouth intelligence utterly brilliant.


You captivate my mind.

I thought this humor just happened, but further inquiry led me to the Second City style of comedy. Almost all modern sketch and comedy finds its way back to this institution. After trying my hand at sketch comedy in Madison with a modicum of success (The Onion AV Club said we "may very well be the most consistently funny comedy act in Madison"), I was encouraged enough to relocate and hone my craft of poop jokes and old-timey puns.


Delightfully vulgar

I'm young, I have no dependents (that I know of), and have medical and pecuniary support (Pina gigi, Great Red Father). Also The American Indian Center of Chicago is interested in hiring me in a position that I best see fit. The AIC is an intertribal community space that offers a variety of services and events as well as educational support for young Natives. I'm really excited to have the opportunity to be a community organizer in an urban setting, its going to be a lot different than the work I've done in the past with the Ho-Chunk Nation and Wunk Sheek at UW-Madison.

But most of all, my hope is that this training will take my gross-out doody jokes and turn them into subtle scatological humor. One can dream.

-CB

PS: I assure you this will be the last serious blog for quite some time.