For just $25 more you would have never needed to start a podcast

And what’s so wrong with that?!

Nothing.

The South Stands Denver Fancast is no exception, but at least they talk about sports! What kind of sports you ask? Um, the best kind! The sports from my hometown of Denver! Yessir, the South Stands Fancast was voted Best Colorado podcast last year – no small feat as they were up against a podcast that discussed various forms of bovine feed and a blog that just had an audio of “Rocky Mountain High” that played over and over again – and the boys are taking the title and running with it. And by running with it I mean drinking forties of Coors Light while discussing Neutral Milk Hotel during recording breaks. Like I said, no exception.

The gang was nice enough to have me on the podcast this week and we had a blast talking sports, comedy, Vespas and old-school Mile High advertisements. Give her a listen. I bet you’ll enjoy. And if not, at the very least, you’ll be reminded that pitchers and catchers report to spring training in twenty days.

Hope springs eternal.

CLAP-CLAP    CLAP-CLAP-CLAP    CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP    TULO!

To whom it may concern at (insert name here) hotel, inn or resort,

If you are receiving this letter, then congratulations! That means you have made it onto Adam Cayton-Holland’s short list of reputable, coveted caravansaries in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area! Please pause for a moment in reading this to pat yourself on the back.

But who is Adam Cayton-Holland? Great question. Adam Cayton-Holland is an up-and-coming stand-up comedian who will be coming to LA in February to participate in that glorious pre-vernal ritual known as “pilot season!” But what is pilot season? Surely you jest! I needn’t explain to you, the finest hoteliers of the City of Angels, what pilot season is! Perhaps you are asking on behalf of some of your employees who may be new, or foreign? Fair game then, chaps, you equal-opportunity employers, you, I shall explain!

You see all year long the most talented minds in the United States dutifully slave away on television scripts that are as groundbreaking as they are inspired. Then the networks purchase these precious bundles of innovation and, come late January, early February, set about casting them. And that’s where people like your boy Cayton-Holland come in. He’s been working hard for years to hone his chops as a stand-up comedian. And why has he been doing that? Because he knew that eventually, if he got to be a good enough comic, he’d be eligible to audition for “Love Interest Number Two,” the roguish bartender who’s studying for the LSAT, on Fox’s newest offering, Girl Talk – or, as it’s known on UPN, Gurl Talk.

Huge influnce on "Gurl Talk"

And so, much like a confused migratory bird meandering off its arduous journey across the ocean, the first two weeks of February will find the resplendent North American Cayton-Holland Bird in Los Angeles, where casting directors, much like obsessed birders, will flock to him, to study his curious, non-native plumage, then add the aberration to their life lists. Or at the very least indifferently grunt, “Next!”

Which is where you come in, LA squires. You see normally Cayton-Holland would just stay on a friend’s couch for such a temporary sojourn of wayward ambition, but that’s when it hit him: why not offer a local business an invaluable opportunity? An opportunity to have a comedian champion their establishment! Think about it: businesses spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on slick, witty ad campaigns promoting their product. Why not save a few bucks and have a comedian sell you? Who’s more slick and witty than a stand-up comic? Christ, those guys practically invented blazers! And brick walls. And Cayton-Holland is no exception. Did we mention that he has ordered a sandwich on ABC’s Happy Endings? Well he has. Twice. Which brings us to the rub.

Keeping alternative weeklies alive

Should you, (insert hotel name here), put up Adam Cayton-Holland from February 1-February 14, he will promote your establishment the entire time he is in Los Angeles. Subtly. He’s not going to go out there like some door-to-door Jesus peddler, annoying everyone he comes across, he’ll be casual about it.

Example: Hey, can you tell me how to get to central casting? The guy at (insert hotel name here) gave me great directions, but I’m afraid I already forgot them. See there’s so much on my mind right now – mainly all this incredibly natural, witty dialogue from the pilot I’m auditioning for. Yeah, I’m a comic out here for pilot season. Whole process is pretty trying actually. Thank god (insert hotel name here) has room service all the way till midnight. Fuel for the fire! Anyway, back to those directions though.

See how organic that was? And if you want Cayton-Holland to step it up on the viral tip, he can even tweet to all 1535 of his followers!

Example: @CaytonHolland: LOL! Totes just got water up my nose in amazing, heated pool at (insert hotel name here).

@CaytonHolland: Another day at (insert hotel name here), another elevator ride with Marta in housekeeping. All smiles that one!

@CaytonHolland: Guys, LA has THE MOST convincing trannies! Thank god for (insert hotel name here) security! ROTFL!

See that’s underground, that’s guerilla, that’s some real deal world of mouth ish, right there. You can’t buy that kind of buzz. You can only barter for it. With two complimentary weeks of lodging for Adam Cayton-Holland.

In closing, we’d like to thank you, (insert hotel name here), for the opportunity to work with you. Anytime you can match an exciting, up-and-coming commodity like Adam Cayton-Holland with an established, reputable business such as yours the outcome is sure to be beneficial for both parties. We eagerly look forward to hearing from you, so please don’t hesitate to contact us with any and all questions at adam.caytonholland@gmail.com.

]]> http://adamisfreakingoutrightnow.com/2011/12/29/nerdist/feed/ 3 http://adamisfreakingoutrightnow.com/2011/12/28/waiting-for-godot/ http://adamisfreakingoutrightnow.com/2011/12/28/waiting-for-godot/#comments Wed, 28 Dec 2011 23:58:10 +0000 Adam Cayton-Holland http://adamisfreakingoutrightnow.com/?p=1126

My hometown

Yesterday I filmed a sketch with my friends Ben Roy and Josh Blue. This is a still from that sketch. Seemed worth sharing.

43 in a 30

We here at Adam Is Freaking Out Right Now are all about celebrating humanity’s flaws. Specifically our own. That’s why when we get caught speeding around the city by one of those creepy Big Brother photo vans, we don’t bow our head in shame. We throw our hands up in celebration! Huzzah! Never mind the fact that they just recently changed the speed limit on this street (that I use to drive every day to high school) from 35 to 30 and I was completely unaware, we’re just happy for the great photos! Because breaking the law is the only way to get these choice shots so there’s no use crying over spilled fuck-you-17th-Avenue-is-a-major-thoroughfare-that-street-should-still-be-35-MPH-and-you-fucking-know-it, is there? Of course not. Yes search back in these here blog posts and you’ll find several awesome pics of your boy ACH straight hauling ass in my pimp Honda CR-V – grainy surveillance photo after grainy surveillance photo, all courtesy of a Denver Police Department who just can’t stand how hot my fire be. And that’s cool, coppers, we don’t see eye to eye on some things, so what? At least we both know  great photographs when we see them!

And this one is no exception. With my stern grimace and cool Terminator 2 shades I kind of look like a hired killer. A hired killer who really has to take a shit. Where’s that story, Hollywood? Who’s banging out that script, right now? Somebody talented, I hope. Like the guy who wrote Crash or something. And I’ll tell you what: when they finally do get that sucker green-lit, why don’t you give your boy ACH a call to come audition, huh? Shoot, I’ll even provide the poster.

No more.

Last night in Denver, Colorado marked the end of an era: the final Tuesday night Squire Lounge Open Mic Comedy Night. Anyone even remotely involved in comedy knows how hard it is to run a room for seven years, let alone an open mic, and anyone in the Denver comedy scene knows just how pivotal and influential the Squire was. And host Greg Baumhauer was responsible for that. The room had its ups and downs, some nights were electric, some needed to be electrocuted, but I’m thankful for what went on there and I’m going to miss it. I wrote up my feelings towards the place in an address I intended to read at the show last night. But mic problems cut me short. And seeing as several people asked me about it, I figured I’d post my musings here for those who were curious. And for those who were bi-curious: grow up. You’re just gay.

Squire Lounge. I really can’t believe this is goodbye. I mean we’ve said goodbye a few times before – I’d get annoyed with your behavior, your whorish, unwashed ways and I’d be all, “To hell with you girl, you need to clean your act up if you want to keep fucking around with Cayton-Holland. I’m different than most of the riff-raff that pours through these walls – I got wait-listed at an Ivy League School!” But then a couple weeks later I’d come crawling back, pretending like nothing ever happened, and you’d be like, “That’s a’ight.” Cause that’s what you be like, girl. You’s a freaky ass two-way street.

You realize you’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had Squire Lounge? I’m kind of embarrassed even saying that but seven years? That’s my record. By far. God, I remember when we first started. You were so cute back then. We all rolled in here fresh off the Lion’s Lair open-mic and we were like,  “Oh shit, we can have an open-mic of our own? And Greg will host it? Fuck yeah, let’s do this, girl.” And you were like, “You all cute as hell. The more the merrier.” And we all used to fuck around with you back then. Urrybody. Me, Greg, Ben Kronberg, Andrew Orvedahl, even Brian Hocker, until that inevitable point in the evening where he would get too drunk and start creeping you out. You’d let all of us shine through you, wouldn’t you Squire Lounge? Provided we wrote the jokes and brought the fire, you’d fool around with any one of us.

But then you and me got real exclusive, didn’t we Squire Lounge? Yeah we did. Seems like for a spell there every Tuesday night it just became about you and me. Like there was no one else even here. And you’d reward me with $25 bar tabs after each of those Tuesday nights, your little gift to me, your tokens of appreciation. Eventually I acquired so many of those gift certificates I didn’t even know what to do with them. I built a small addition on my house out of bar tabs, nothing fancy, but a nice little office space with a window to the back yard so I could watch the birds. But then winter came around and the snow got all those bar tabs soaking wet and the whole addition fell apart. In retrospect, I don’t know what I was thinking. Paper is a terrible building material. It was foolish, but whatever I was in love. And I wanted to celebrate what you had given me.

Then other upstarts started fucking around with you, Squire Lounge. It wasn’t uncommon to come in here and see you slow-dancing cheek-to-cheek with Nathan Lund on some nights. Then other times I’d come in and Kevin O’Brien would be yelling at you or Bobby Crane would be speaking hipster hip-hop nonsense to you, and you’d eat it up! You’d be all about it! Then you’d fool around with those fools for awhile! And who can forget that whole Sam Tallent phase you had? That fire between you two was white hot!

But then I realized that’s what was so great about you, Squire Lounge Open Mic Night. Sure, you were a giant, giant whore, but in your unfathomable slutitude, you allowed so many of us to consider you a muse. You took in the hungry comedian and allowed him to flourish. And if I say him, even though many female comedians have performed at the Squire, that’s just because women aren’t funny.

And now you’re dying, Squire Lounge. Dying of AIDS and cancer and syphilis and cheap cocaine eating away at the lining of your heart; and I’m gonna miss you. There I said it. Yeah I don’t need you any more. I’m fucking around with hotter hos now; New York bitches, LA beyalyalches; I’m booked in Alaska in March, I’m fitting to hit me some Eskimo pussy! I don’t need you at all anymore, Squire Lounge. But that doesn’t mean that a part of me doesn’t still want you. That doesn’t mean some nights I won’t stumble in here after a few too many and try to bang you once for old time’s sake. And you’ll be like, “Oh Adam, there’s no comedy night here anymore; that’s the only reason I was into you in the first place. We’re over now. Okay? It’s done. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

And then I’ll be like, “Yeah, but we had something for awhile, didn’t we, Squire Lounge? We really had a good thing going for awhile didn’t we?”

And you’ll lean in and kiss me on the cheek and be like, “You know what, Adam. We did. We really did.”

Then you’ll get up and walk out that door, Squire Lounge, off onto that boulevard of broken dreams just beyond these walls, perhaps a few snowflakes drifting in as you drift out, like an apparition, like a shadow of a memory in the back recesses of my clouded mind.

And after I watch you go, I’ll be like, “Cameron, another shot of Beam!”

And the bartender will be like, “I told you man, Cameron doesn’t work here. He hasn’t for years. No one knows what the fuck you’re talking about. It’s 2021, and you’re really creeping everyone out.”

And I’ll laugh to myself and mutter something under my breath as I walk out the door. And some curious guy at the bar will go, “Who was that guy? What was his problem?”

And the bartender will go, “Oh just one of the drunks that comes in here all the time. Says he used to be a comic or something. He won’t tell me his real name. All the other homeless people just call him ‘Chicago.’”

Cool if get paid in cash?

Show offers come from all angles. Sometimes they filter through managerial channels, gigs piped down through your manager or agent that you are told to do because some upstart, go-getter from UPN is looking for a cynical type to play love interest # three on their newest fall offering, Wet Piece of Shit, starring the flaming wreckage of Zooey Deschanel. Sometimes they come from friends who are comedians (these are always the best, unless that friend is a dickhead and then they will be epically, comically awful). But often, nay, far too often, complete strangers from the internet feel compelled to write you in the hopes of harnessing your whimsy for an evening of their design. And these shows can reach real levels of catastrophe. I’ve learned my lesson over the years on this front. But every now and again an offer lands in your in-box that you just cannot ignore. This popped into mine recently. It’s maybe my favorite ever.

Good day,

My name is charles, i am preparing for my wedding which will come up on the 31th of Dec 2011.. by 12:00pm here in Flevoland, As i was searching for the best comedian to make the day a memorable day for me and my wife. I saw your advert and i am really impressed about your performance. and you are going to start  by 12:00pm and end 1:00pm, How much will you collect if you are to entertain my guess with the travel expenses….i am having 50 guest.Hope to read back from you.

See?

I read Charles back and told him that I was interested in the gig for sure. For $5000, plus travel expenses. You’ve got to aim high to soar high. Tom Cruise said that. And we’ll see if Charles gets back to me. I, for one, really hope he does. Ever since I learned about the existence of Flevoland five minutes after reading this e-mail I knew I wanted to see it during the Holidays. While tripping balls on shrooms. Hey, when in Rome…see the coliseum and Vatican. When in Holland, do drugs. Tons and tons of drugs.

So congratulations, Charles! Hope to read from you soon.

Hello and welcome to Local Flavor, a new sporadic column here at Adam Is Freaking Out Right Now wherein I go and perform at colleges all over the country, dine at or around them, then report back here with the results. See in case you didn’t know I very often work what they call, “the college circuit,” which is kind of like the “Chitlin Circuit,” just with more acne and school sweatshirts. How it works is schools will contact my college agent and request me – or, more often, “stand up comedy” – and then off I bolt into the night, off to quench the insatiable curiosity of tomorrow’s burgeoning intelligentsia. Or at the very least tell dick jokes for a really good pay check. For the most part you’re in-and-out on college gigs, like a comedy assassin; so outside of the monotonous tedium of airplanes, rental cars, campus centers and Holiday Inn Expresses, the one meal you have in that town can often be the highlight of the experience. Or low-light. Once in Providence, Rhode Island the group hosting me offered to take me out to any restaurant in town, my choice. My mother had recently been to Providence and she told me of an incredible, expensive Italian restaurant that I simply had to try. Told me she’d pick up the tab if need be, but that I had to try it. When I told the students I wanted to go there I explained that it was pricey, that I understood college budgets can be tight, and that I’d be happy to take myself there, to dine alone even. They said don’t sweat it. That’s how I wound up dining with eight – eight! – college students who picked at the meager salads and appetizers they could afford while I feasted on course after course like some perverse, inbred Medici prince who can only get hard when his slaves watch him eat.

Looked exactly like this

Once my green room had two bottles of water and a whole cherry pie (ate nearly half, drank both). Most often I eat at local restaurants alone, holding whatever book I’m reading up to my face so no one in the restaurant realizes I’m crying. Ha, ha, an entertainer’s life for me! Here then, is my first entry of Local Flavor. Please to enjoy:

The day started so promising. Prior to boarding my flight I yelped restaurants in Valdosta, Georgia and came up with several intriguing barbeque options – because you know the old saying “When in the South, get diabetes!” The best seemed to be Smok’n Pig BBQ, a joint near the highway that everyone described as looking like the sad homogenization of America – billboards, plastic booths, neon lights, drive-through – but that defied expectation with incredible, mouth-watering, dry-rubbed ribs, brisket, pulled pork, fried okra, mac and cheese and pecan cobbler. I like when places defy expectations like that, like a schizophrenic who reliably mows your lawn.

Thanks again, Kenny!

Gig was at six so I figured I’d eat after, come at those students hungry, like a mean, lean dick-joke machine, then get my glutton on at Smok’n Pig. But when I got to the school at 5:30, I was informed that the show was actually at seven, meaning I would be done around eight, eight-thirty, and would very much run the risk of the Smok’n Pig closing on me. Fuck. No BBQ for me.

To the student union then, with one hour to dine! To the student union to sup from the same cup that the Valdosta State masses sup, to forgo my plans of dining on an empty stomach and instead perform with a belly fully of student-feed, come at them from a place of shared gastrointestinal understanding. My choices included a Nathan’s Famous, a Starbucks, and The Loop Pizza. I went for the pizza, and I have to say it wasn’t all that bad. I did have to pay $8.55 for it, cash, which I think is some total bullshit. Come on, student activities coordinator, you can’t swipe me a free pizza on your points card? You don’t think I know how colleges work? Yeah, that charge goes right to your parents, but I’m part of your collegiate experience. I’m expanding your mind as much as any of your phoning-it-in professors – come on, have you heard my Mary Kate and Ashley joke? Shit’s brilliant! But whatever, it’s all good, because I totally asked for water then stole my Coke from the fountain. Point Cayton-Holland!

I'd do the exact same thing!

Gotta say, though, for what was essentially school cafeteria fare? That pizza was goddamn delicious. Got some pesto, rustic-y chicken personal pie that took awhile to make, so I have to assume they did some variation of cooking it right there, rather than just heating it up, but damn, tasty! My only complaint was that the slices were crazy uneven so one piece would have tomato and basil on it, but others wouldn’t. Like, some slices would have bits of chicken, others no. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, work-study pizza-heater-upper, but have you heard of the one-bite theory? One bite encapsulates your entire dish? Well you BLEW THAT SHIT, homey! If this were Top Chef Colicchio would be all over your ass. Take some pride in your work man. Whatever, though, I sat there enjoying it while students stared at me and wondered who the fuck was this 31-year-old, bearded creep eating by himself and taking pictures.

I'm thinking of minoring in art history. You?

And then it was time for the show. And no one showed. Literally no one. I’ve done probably twenty college gigs and once in Maine during a blizzard only eleven students showed, but the rest have been pretty well-attended, but this one? Not a soul.

This thing on?

“This is the third time this has happened,” the girl running the event told me. Huh. She told me I would still get paid and if nobody came after twenty minutes of waiting I could just leave. Then, after fifteen minutes, three girls came around the corner.

“Please lord do not make me perform an hour in front of three fucking people right now.” I prayed, like any god would give a fuck about my petty, minor convenience.

But the lord answered.

“Is this where you can give blood?” the boldest of the three queried.

Just mine, child, just mine.

Let us tally. All measurements are on scales of one to ten.

Taste: 8. Given the setting and the conditions, that pizza was really tasty. California Pizza Kitchen-level, which for a college student union is impressive. Two points off for shitty slicing though. Come on, not that hard.

Pride: 3. Essentially, was I filled with happy feelings or sad feelings during this dining experience? And this was most definitely sad feelings. Not total sadness, mind you, at the time I still thought I was about to perform, just a machine in need of fuel, nothing more. Alone, sure, but with a purpose. But have you ever sat and ate alone in the middle of a bustling cafeteria? When you’re at the very least nine years older than everyone there? And you reeeeally wanted delicious Southern Georgia barbecue? Pretty shitty feeling.

X-Factor: 1. Not one single fucking student? Flying from Denver to Jacksonville, renting a car and driving two hours to Valdosta, Georgia, eating cafeteria pizza, not barbecue, sprinting your frustration out on a Holiday Inn Express treadmill, going to sleep, driving back to Jacksonville, flying to Detroit, then to Denver during a snowstorm? About as fun as it sounds.

Total Score: 12. Out of 30. Total fail.

Tune in next time, gang. And thanks for reading Local Flavor!

1308 E. 17th

I don’t ride bikes very much. The last time I can recall riding a bike was during the Democratic National Convention in 2008. I was working for a newspaper at the time and was fully credentialed, my job to take in the DNC and blog it about it. And take it in I did. Day and night for a week straight. Denver was amazing that week, so bustling and alive. It felt like New York City except everyone was happy all the time and there were no wafts of overpowering funk that drift up from the hobo corpses in the subway tunnels like there are in New York, hobo-wafts of funk that drift up through the grates in the sidewalk straight into your nostrils, where they rape your olfactory senses to death.

P U.

Denver doesn’t have those.

Those press credentials got me into some pretty fancy parties and those pretty fancy parties had some pretty fancy booze and so night after night I got pretty fancy shit-faced. One such night, I partied at a bar called the Rock Bar until four in the morning. After alienating a few members of the cast of West Wing and striking out with Anne Hathaway, not once, not twice, but thrice, I decided it was high time I dragged my credentialed carcass home. Only problem was cabs were impossible that week. The whole world was in Denver and while I was shitfaced and needed to get home, the cabs seemed to think toting Kanye West and Larry King around was more important. Punk bitches. The cabbies, not Larry and Kanye. Golden gods both. So I walked. And walked. And fucking walked. Block after bleary, blottoed block, weaving and wondering when oh when would I ever be anywhere even near my house? And that’s when I spotted a bike, illuminated beneath a single street-light, as if God had put it there specifically for me. Was it someone’s bike who lived in the adjoining apartment building? Undoubtedly. Did I care at the time? Not at all. So I stole that bike. And I rode it gloriously downhill, across the city, speeding through intersections, laughing like a hyena at my good fortune. And then the next morning, when I opened my front door to face the sun that hit my hungover face like a shotgun blast, I saw it there on the porch and realized, “Oh shit. I stole a bike.”

For shame

I sheepishly took the bike to the alley, leaving it there in the hopes that the gods of stolen bicycles would find my drunken vessel a new, proper home and then I went about feeling like a pretty big son-of-a-bitch for about three weeks. That was the last time I rode a bike. Because I’m a piece of shit.

But you know who aren’t pieces of shit? Um, almost everybody in Denver. At least by non-thieving/bike-riding standards, that is. This city is bike-crazy! We have one of the largest bike sharing systems in the world and the full spectra of bicyclists imaginable are here, from pant-rolling messengers to Moab-worshipping mountain bikers. Which is why I think the Denver Bicycle Cafe is going to work. And why I’m straight-the-fuck-up endorsing it here. Kid tested, Adam Cayton-Holland approved. Like Kix, but with bikes.

“But Adam, why would you write about a bike cafe if you don’t even ride bikes? If in fact you deprive other people of the experience of riding them through your petty theft?” That’s simple. Because my good friend Jessica Caouette is one of the proprietors.

“Oh so you’re just shilling for your friend on your blog? Is that what’s going on? God, you are such a whore! Besides, this blog has a readership of, like, eight, you really think this is going to have any effect?”

Is there anybody there?

Jury’s out on that question, dickhead reader. But I in no way feel like a whore because I went to Jessica’s bar for a soft opening this weekend, took in ye olde Denver Bicycle Cafe first hand, and I can say with no hesitation that I love the place. The overall vibe was quite pleasant and in mere minutes I realized it’s the type of place I can see myself plopping down with my laptop during the day and fulfilling the coffee shop cliche that I have become. I loves me a good coffee shop and Denver Bicycle Cafe is no exception. And I love how Denver the place is. For starters there’s the name but they offer a bountiful cornucopia of some of my city’s best treats. They’ve got coffee from Pablo’s Coffee (a.k.a the shit), bagels from Moe’s Bagels (a.k.a the jam), baked goods from Watercourse (a.k.a. smoke cloves) and tamales from La Casita (a.k.a. chido, guey!). And their beer is from the new-to-the-scene Denver Beer Company, which brews it’s own beer and is offering it up to the Denver Bicycle Cafe as the only other place in town where you can get it. Some love from one Denver-based proprietor to another! Jessica told me that they worked really hard trying to find a staff that’s not only knowledgeable about the coffee and the beer, but that fit into the experience that Jess and her partner Peter Roper (good guy, bowled with him a few times, he can curve the shit out of the ball) are going for.

Tricky

And even if you’re not a super bike-nut, like myself, the place doesn’t feel over-poweringly bikey. There is a little work space in the corner where people can get their bikes tuned but it’s not dominating. All in all the Denver Bicycle Cafe just feels like a nice new addition to the Denver scene to grab some coffee and read. Or stool up at the bar and have a few beers. And then a few more. Because you have a problem.

So check it out if you get the chance (6 a.m.-8 p.m. Sunday-Wednesday, 6 a.m.-9 p.m. Thursday-Saturday). Odds are you’ll see me there, drinking a beer from the Denver Beer Company. For free. Or at the very least at a discount.

“Why?” the confused barista/bartender will ask me.

“Haha, you must be new,” I’ll say. “Talk to my friend Jess.”

Now, having worked for the Denver version of the LA Weekly, a paper that was in fact owned by the same parent company Village Voice Media, I know how Best Of issues work. Rather than careful months of research and tests, an underpaid, underwhelmed, beat-up staff is made to turn in ten “Best Of’s” or so at the threat of their health insurance. And then when they don’t do that because they don’t really give a shit, there’s a mad-dash scramble to the finish line, as frantic, insane editors yell out things like, “Does anybody like a brunch spot?” And then when someone chimes in they say, “Great, that’s the Best Of then! Get me a blurb in fifteen minutes, cleaning lady; I don’t care if you can’t write in English.” And then the blurb is written.

So the fact that I was mentioned I take with a grain of salt. Still, I live in Denver and I was mentioned in blurb for the “Best Monday Night Stand Up Show” in Los Angeles, and that’s pretty cool. And I was mentioned as the out-of-towner,  which is not only accurate, but sort of sounds like a 50′s sitcom: The Out-Of Towners! And I can get down with that. So check it out:

The font is this small because I love you, and want you to work your eyes. For your health.

Is there more to this blurb? Oh yeah. A good couple sentences more. But in case you didn’t pay attention to the text up above this here scan, this site is about bragging on my ish. And I’m not mentioned in any of those other sentences. So you don’t really need to know about them. Just know that Tiger Lily is sweet. Adam Cayton-Holland is an out-of-towner. And Nick just switched their programing over from The Cosby Show to Full House. Looks like this is gonna be a long afternoon.