Is this thing still on???

Just checking...

Is this thing still on???

Just checking...

Yeah so, I was on hiatus because...

I wanted to wait and follow up the post below with yet another story about missing out on hosting a talk show.

Yep, I was just waiting until that moment happened, as opposed to just being really lazy and unmotivated.

A few weeks back, a couple folks emailed me to say that Spike TV was on the hunt for a new late night host and based on what they were looking for, I was a highly qualified candidate.

Here's the deets:

SPIKE TV LAUNCHES A NATIONWIDE SEARCH FOR COMEDIC TALENT TO HOST NEW LATE-NIGHT TALK SHOW

New York, NY, February 25, 2010 – Spike TV will launch a nationwide search this week to find undiscovered comedic talent for a new late-night talk show. The series is being developed and executive produced by Thom Beers, owner of Original Productions ( “The Deadliest Catch,” “Ice road Truckers,” “Ax Men,” and “Monster Garage.”)

The new late-night entry will differ from the typical late-night chatter of movie stars and politicos and will seek out ordinary people doing extraordinary things. The host search will focus on the same types: undiscovered comedic talent who mirror the regular, everyday guys the show will target.

Casting directors will scour the country and hold open calls in New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Los Angeles, and San Francisco (times and dates tbd), seeking two males who appear to be in their late twenties to mid-thirties. The perfect candidate will have a likeable, regular-guy appeal with inherent comedic talent. Candidates selected will be flown to Los Angeles for a screen test with network executives.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the right individual,” said Beers. “We want that laid back guy with whom every dude wants to be friends. He drinks beer, loves sports, video games and is unassuming and approachable.”

So I went to the open call audition and had all of 30 seconds to bring the thunder and wow the casting directors.

From there, things progressed far enough that by the end of the next week I found myself staring down the barrel of an unprecedented third call back and showcasing for the show's producers and Spike TV executives. Apparently they had seen over 1200 people in their search. I was among the final cut of 29, a good chunk of which were fellow comics who I knew.

The showcase went well. We had tell a humorous anecdote and then add our own spin to a monologue they had written.

Unfortunately, I didn't make the final, final cut.

The week before, I not only met Rowdy Roddy Piper, I got to go ride bikes with 2006 Tour de France champion Floyd Landis (I don't think he cheated so much as got hosed by the French thank you very much).

As that week wrapped up, issued a dare to the cosmos to make the next week even better. It was amazing how close that came to happening and was one of those times that makes you take a step back and smile at how strange things can get. One day you're picking belly button lint to pass the time. The next, you're on the precipice of having your own TV show. Good times.

Anyway, here's me and Piper. He was awe. some.

Tossing and turning in the Craftmatic

Ken Ober died yesterday. And last night was more than a little rough.

When Remote Control showed up on the MTV, he instantly became something of a hero to me. There was just something so cool about being the host of a game show with questions that were not only good, but were questions a 12-year-old TV junkie could answer in a heartbeat. As an added bonus, the banter between Ken, the cast, and the contestants resulted in the learning of more than a few obscene gestures and sayings.

Much like the years I spent practicing the Grand Prize Game just in case I won the six-year-old's version of the lottery and not only got tickets to Bozo Show but got plucked out of the crowd to make a run at Bucket Number Six, I watched Remote Control every day after school so that if the day came, I would come away victorious.

In the years since Remote Control's heyday, I'll admit I never really gave much thought to Ken Ober until one day about three or four years ago when I somehow Forrest Gumped my way into being deep in the running to host a dating show destined for cable.

"It's either going to be you or Ken Ober. Of course they like him better but I'm really pulling for you."

After that sentence was seared into my brain, I had to fight the urge to tell the show's producer to not even bother with me. I'd pick Ken Ober over me. No question.

Unfortunately, that's as far as things went. That bombshell was dropped on me just before the holidays and spending a couple weeks trying not to feel inadequate turned out to be all for naught.

Right at the turn of the new year, some new peeps took over at the network and slew of works-in-progress, including that dating show, were instantly scrapped and that was that.

We are Motorhead and we play rock 'n roll.

Whoa. Really? It's been this long since I was around these parts? Maybe my dear mother was onto something when she called the other day to make sure I was still alive.

No matter. Got a story for you and it's a pretty decent one.

Last Friday my buddy Scott and I went to see Motorhead play. I've seen them once before and they were nothing short of amazing. In fact they were the first band I've ever seen that forced me to get ear plugs. Without question they're the loudest band I've ever seen.

On top of that, the whole concert experience was one of the strangest nights ever. We got the sweet hook up on backstage passes so what was supposed to be any old Tuesday featured sharing a couch and boozing it up with C.C. DeVille and his groupies, a visit to Motorhead's dressing room and having one of the weirdest conversations of my life with a couple members of the Vagos Motorcycle Club. To this day I swear they were just chatting me up to mark me as the murderee in an initiation ritual but lucky me a chunk of them were nabbed by The Man the very next day. (Hit that link, yo. It's all right there on the wikipedia.)

Motorhead had set the bar pretty high and the second time around didn't disappoint.

Here's a little recap.

Somehow we Forrest Gump'ed our way into VIP passes and were taken by a private elevator to the secret level which was full of the pretty people. The real kicker though were the seats. Second row balcony. Dead on balls center. We're talking serious Statler and Waldorf territory The best part was watching the strippers who's poached our seats plead with the usher but he wasn't havin' it and without mercy he banished them to the back with the rest of the riff raff.

There were no Vagos in sight but I did end up being on the receiving end of a one sided conversation when a young kid noticed my shirt (gotta look tough for Motorhead ya know)and proceeded to tell me a story about his experiences in Iraq.

YOUNG KID

Hey man, your shirt's badass.

ME

Thanks.

YOUNG KID
That dude's rockin' an M-60 but it's just like the 240 I had in Iraq.

ME

You were in Iraq?

YOUNG KID
I wasn't just in Iraq. I was deep into the shit. You know how things were tough in Baghdad? Well shit was a hundred times worse in Fallujah. And you know what's fucked up? I wasn't even supposed to be there. I was sent back home for three weeks of leave and I wasn't back home but for a couple days when I get a call from the Army telling me I'm needed back in Iraq. I was on a flight back there that night. Do you have any idea how bad that sucks? And on top of that they sent me to mother fuckin' Fallujah. Total bullshit. So I get there right and they issue me a 240 and have me post up on the top floor of some bombed out office building. I'm looking out over four city blocks and guess what my rules of engagement were? Kill. Anything. That. Moves. I squeezed off at least 1, 000 rounds that day. Best fucking day of my life. And here we are at Motorhead! Fuckin' A!

ME
Uh, I'm just glad you made it back in one piece. Thank you for serving our country.

YOUNG KID
No, thank you. Man, your support means a lot. You wouldn't believe how many people thought what we were doing was a bunch of shit. Thank you.

That last thank you was punctuated by the longest, most awkward hug of my life. Good times.

Once the show finally started, Motorhead brought the heat. When they took the stage, Lemmy said "We are Motorhead and we play rock 'n roll."

For the next two hours they proceeded to flat out kill it.

#2 is probably the greatest thing ever written on Twitter.

But before they did, there was a surprise opening act in the form of Tenacious D.



They opened with Iron Fist




They closed with Overkill and nearly everyone in the crowd had a strobe light induced seizure.



In case you've lost count Lemmy turns 64 this December.

Paul McCartney, you are a fragile old man.


Added bonus clip- Best. Way. To. Start. A. Video. Ever.

Some things just can't be unseen

I'm supposed to be swimming laps right now. The LA Triathlon is in a week and a half and I'm deep into the homestretch of trying to cram myself into decent shape but I can't bring myself to go to the pool tonight.

Last week I had the kind of horrific experience one can't easily forget.

I had finished my swim and all was well. It was when I entered the locker room that things took a turn for the worst.

For the record, I've been going into locker rooms for a good 25 years now and I like to think that I have mastered the art of locker room etiquette. For guys it's pretty simple. Always keep your eyes up and the chatter to a minimum until underpants are being worn.

I can only think of two previous times in my life where these long standing rules have been broken.

The first time was at a birthday pool party in the 6th grade. In the locker room of the YMCA it was discovered and pointed out by Mike Miguel that Chad, a kid who already stood 5' 7" and weighed solid buck fifty, had a full rack rack of pubes. What can I say? We were kids and we were in awe about standing next to a 12-year-old who was a full grown man.

The second time was in the 8th grade. A kid named Travis Schwager was not only the new kid in school but also the strangest freak of nature any of us had ever met. To this day, Travis is still at the top of my list of freaks. He was so strange he was amazing and I'm seriously at a loss of words for how to describe him. The main things you need to know right now is that Travis was so pale he was translucent, his bright red hair was crafted into a perfect bowl cut and the first day of 8th grade gym class he hit the showers with one hand holding a small towel to cover his gear.

In the shark tank that is an 8th grade locker room that was so not the smart thing to do and Travis really didn't help his cause by crying every time the water hit his skin.Even the most modest of growers now had somebody to pick on. We were all so intrigued about what could have been lurking under that terry cloth shroud that even our gym teacher got into the act by ordering Travis to scrub up with both hands. Somehow though, he managed to keep that towel in place.

Now let's go back to last week's locker room...

I'm walking out of the shower and encounter a doughy but rather flexible naked guy standing precariously on a bench bent completely over and rummaging through his bag. Right away I knew this was a sight I've never seen before and that would include the glimpse a foot and a half up his butthole. Seriously, it was the sort of gruesome thing that will someday break the internet and I wouldn't be exaggerating that much if I told you I saw the backs of his molars.

I wanted to say something but couldn't since my brain was trying in vain to remember the PIN number to its self destruct sequence.

The Rabbi who came out of the shower a few steps behind me (Scout's honor on that one) couldn't contain his curiosity and asked this chap what exactly he was doing.

"I don't want to get my feet dirty on this floor."

Um, excuse me?

Someone doesn't want get their feet dirty?

The same someone who just spent an hour swimming in a public swimming pool that's housed inside a public school and is the same someone who just took a shower in said public school?

Oh sorry to burst your bubble Mr. Someone but you've been breathing disease the moment you stepped foot on campus. Trying to keep your feet clean by standing on a spot where naked asses have sat for decades really isn't going to help your personal hygiene.

Instead, the only thing you've accomplished is frightening total strangers.

If I drown during the triathlon it's going to be all your fault.

I love the smell of Ortho in the morning.

It's taken a while but I finally found a good reason why it sucks to be a guy.

When I discovered this reason I was standing out on our back patio in my underpants talking on the phone with a friend and making plans for meet up for an afternoon beer. Welcome to the baller lifestyle.

While I was out there I made the mistake of peeking into a set of doors that are never opened. Much to my surprise I discovered a Black Widow had moved in and set up shop.

Here's a closer look. Apologies for the lack of focus but I was keeping my distance, thank you very much.

Back in the last century, I had to deal with a similar critter situation but since I'm now a refined gentleman I couldn't exactly challenge my girlfriend to a Wild Turkey fueled Madden battle. And yes, I still have Madden '94.

It was time to step up and be a man.

Quickly, these options came to mind.

1) Make a Mexican Flamethrower and take care of business like I mean business. The only drawback here was the possibility of house catching fire.

2) Get Sigourney Weaver on the horn and see if she had anything going on. She did an admirable job of kicking ass in Aliens and this Black Widow was a little smaller than the queen alien so it should be a walk in the park for her.

3) Hose the spider down with the most toxic chemicals I could find then go meet my friend and hope it's dead by the time I return. The only hitch to this plan is that all the nasty stuff under the sink is non-toxic and biodegradable. Boo.

4) Squash it with a broom. Sounded like a good idea until I tested out the strength of its bristles. Yeah, not such a hot plan. At best I might get lucky and take a leg off. At worst it would play dead and bite me when I tried fishing its guts out of the broom.

5) See what Google has to say.

What's great about this is when you type in "how to kill a" here's what pops up.

how to kill a mocking bird
how to kill ants
how to kill a tree
how to kill a vampire
how to kill a dog
how to kill a zombie
how to kill a cat
how to kill aphids
how to kill a werewolf

But the moment you get to "how to kill a b" a whole cornucopia of spider killing info pops up and in about 2.2 seconds I was down at the neighborhood hardware store on a mission to pick up Ortho Hornet and Wasp Killer. Apparently it's the most bad ass stuff a person can legally buy without needing a special permit.

When I returned home I noticed the spider had ignored my request to either pay rent or move out. It was time to get to work. A couple of test squirts later, I felt confidence in what Mr. Ortho had to offer.

Because the gap between the regular door and the screen door was pretty narrow and I was twitching more than Don Knotts in the Shakiest Gun in the West, I accidentally bumped the door with my can'o death and for the first time since I spotted it, the spider sprang to life.

I swore I could hear it hiss but before it could heat up its venom sac, I let loose with a barrage of Ortho so massive I'm surprised the FBI didn't show up to investigate a nuclear detonation.

I swaggered my way back into the house expecting applause for slaying the beast. When was none I made the mistake of asking my girlfriend for the whereabouts of my hero's welcome. She just stared me down for moment and responded with, "Yeah, you'll get one the moment you ever thank me for doing your laundry all these years."

Touche'.

Whatevs. You can't win them all but I scored where it matters.

Todd 1 Black Widow 0.