Entries Tagged 'Humor' ↓

I don�t recall how old I was when I began to doubt the whole Santa Claus thing, but I know I was pretty young. I was a precocious kid to begin with, so when I began to put 2 + 2 together, it just wasn�t coming out 4.

For starters, if Santa was up at the North Pole making toys, then how come you kept seeing him at all those department stores, in parades and on street corners ringing bells? Shouldn�t he be off working somewhere? My father tried to convince me, �Those are his elves,� dispatched as emissaries apparently to make all those public appearance dates.

And speaking of toys, how come we saw so many commercials on tv? Again, Mom and Dad were quick with the spin control. �Santa farms out some of the toy manufacturing in order to meet the demand.�

Ok, semi-plausible to a 6 year old. But then other stuff still didn�t add up.

If Santa comes down chimneys, how did he get into our house? We didn�t have a chimney. If he came to the front door, he�d have to ring the bell and my bedroom was right near the doorbell. I never heard nothin�!

How does he make it to every house in the world in one night? And how does he tell the Christian houses from the Jewish houses or the Moslem houses or just the people who don�t celebrate Christmas? Something was fishy.

It started to become really obvious to me that this was all a racket run by a big eastern syndicate, when Mom would tell us to look through the Spiegel Christmas catalog and decide what we wanted. Then unmarked boxes would show up weeks or days before Christmas and she�d go to great pains to hide them from us.

So one day I sat her down for a heart to heart. I made sure to do it in private, in case my younger brother wasn�t as hip. �Mom, is there really a Santa Claus?� I asked.

�What do you think?� was her clever way of shifting responsibility for this momentous revelation.

I expressed my serious reservations, she confirmed them and that was that. I was no longer a child.

I was advised to keep it to myself because not only was my little brother clueless (but not for long), but so were other kids, and she didn�t think it was fair to spoil it for them. Good thing I listened too because one day, walking home from school, two of my best friends and I got into it and our opinions were all over the map. One of them still believed, while the other was also a non-believer, in Santa anyway. �But I still believe in the Easter Bunny� he said most confidently. (Ok, I never once believed in big rabbits delivering eggs or for that matter, fairies doling out money for your baby teeth, but who was I to ruin it for him.)

Ever since that fateful day, this holiday has never been the same. That sense of surprise, as you wake up Christmas morning to see what Santa brought, is gone. I know ahead of time whether or not I�m going to get anything or not and pretty much what it is. As I�ve reached adulthood (ok, middle age) I am able to get most of the things I want and need myself.

But that doesn�t mean I don�t still enjoy getting gifts. And you can help restore my lost sense of wonder by visiting my wishlist and picking out something you think I�d really like!

C�mon, you knew this was all leading up to my annual appeal, didn�t you?

Happy Holidays!

Go to Google.com.

Type in �asshole� (in parenthesis).

Click the button, �I�m Feeling Lucky.�

Enjoy.

It may never be my good luck to become rich, but I can honestly say I�ve done some interesting and varied things in my life of which I am quite proud. Saturday I added another accomplishment.

First the back story. As some of you know, at one point in my life I was a full-time starving actor and voiceover announcer. For about 11 years I derived almost my entire living from that, while living in upstate New York. I continue to act today, but on a part-time basis when the spirit hits me.

Ironically, my career upstate was far more successful than it has ever been here in NYC. There I was a big fish in a small pond, much sought after for voiceover work in commercials and industrials, in addition to doing theatre and on-camera commercial work. I got most of my work without auditioning. Here, I�m just one in about 15,000 out of work actors. Take a number and get in line. (Consequently, I hold a full-time non-show biz job, with salary and benefits.)

Back in 1997, it was my good fortune to get hired by the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, NY to narrate several segments of a then new exhibit they were installing, Pride and Passion, about the Negro Leagues. They liked my work and since that year was also the 50th Anniversary of Jackie Robinson�s breaking Major League Baseball�s color barrier, they asked me to narrate the special commemorative exhibit on Robinson as well as the permanent installation on his life. They have told me his widow Rachel Robinson is quite pleased with it and has used it during Jackie Robinson Foundation events.

Around 2001, after I had moved to New York, they called me again. The Hall of Fame and museums in 10 major cities were combining their efforts on a touring exhibit on baseball�s impact on the nation, called Baseball As America. I narrated several segments of that show, which is now on its final stop, in Detroit.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I got an email a few weeks ago from my contact at the museum inquiring about my availability to do some more work. This year (this week in fact) new inductees will be announced for the Negro League section of the Hall, with additional players from that era as well as Black players who predate the formation of the league under consideration.

Last Saturday, I traveled back upstate and added my dulcet tones to revised pieces for Pride and Passion as well as new segments for all of the 39 possible inductees. While there, they also asked me to narrate the feature on Bruce Sutter, a more contemporary player who goes into the Hall this year as well.

It is quite a personal honor to be associated with this bit of history, albeit peripherally. Many of these players I heard about from my father growing up, or read about in books, or in many cases had never heard of before. Reading their bios helped to educate me and I in turn help to educate future museum visitors who will view these exhibits.

The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum is, in my opinion, one of America�s great museums. It is just a fun place to tour, even if you only know a little bit about the game itself. In April there will be a ceremony for the Negro League inductees and I may get back up there to see it first hand.

I ride the subways and buses in NYC almost every day, and it never ceases to amaze me some of the downright ignorant things people do:

� Why do some people carry around three or four expired Metrocards and hold up the line to get on the bus going through all of them? And of course, none of them have any money left. (Black folks, you know who you are.)

� Why do some other people try to get on the bus with dollar bills? It�s either a Metrocard or cash, no paper money. (Tourists, you know who you are. Read a damn guide book before you visit the city.) Now frankly, I think the MTA needs to change the machines to accept paper but that�s beside the point.

� And why, oh why, do some people (almost always women) wait until they are right in front of the turnstiles before they go digging in their pocketbooks for their Metrocard? Ok, when you were walking down the street, did you not know you were headed towards the subway? When you saw the sign that said �Subway� and went down the stairs, didn�t it occur to you that you would need your card to get into the station? Why, in the middle of morning or afternoon rush hour, with people lined up behind you and the train pulling into the station, does it suddenly occur to you to look for your damn card? I see some woman do this at least once a day, every day of the week.

� And I know what the women are thinking right about now. �Why do men always sit on the train with their legs spread, taking up so much space?� Simple answer. A dick and balls. When the family jewels get to hang freely, blood doesn�t rush to our heads (the big one). But when we�re forced to squeeze our legs together, the pain is excruciating and we can barely make it to the next station. Which brings me to my next point…

� Why do some people insist on squeezing their fat asses into seats that clearly aren�t wide enough? Especially now, with everybody wearing winter coats, the space on the train is at a minimum, but some people always think their butt can still fit. I�m not picking on any particular gender, but if I was to keep track of who does it more often…

� And you assholes reading the New York Times piss me off. There was a time in this city when Times readers knew how to do �the fold.� But with all the yuppie transplants and college graduates living here for their first job, there�s a new clueless generation that doesn�t understand how to fold it into smaller sections so they don�t bump and annoy the people next to them. They want to impress everybody by reading an adult newspaper and must think they�re sitting in their fucking living rooms. (See below for instructions on how to do �the fold.�)

� And you people with cell phones really piss me off! On the bus, you�re the assholes who have to hold a conversation so that everybody can hear it. We don�t give a shit about your boring life, shut up already. The call ain�t that important.

� When the 1 train comes above ground at 125th Street, why does everybody have to whip out their cell phone to make the call saying, �Yeah, it�s me. I�ll be home in five minutes.� WTF! You�ll be home in five minutes, why do you need to call? Every day I see this. In english and spanish. Idiots!

� Why do teenagers make so much damn noise on the train? In the morning, adults are reading the paper or a book or catching some z�s, but the obnoxious little bastards, all standing right next to each other, are shouting at the top of their lungs, swearing and using the �N� word. If that doesn�t make the case for birth control I don�t know what will.

� And will you people walk all the way into the center of the car! There are people behind you trying to get on the train, and you stop right in the doorway! Are you completely stupid? �Well, I don�t want to go too far in �cause I�m getting off in a few stops.� Well, we�ll step aside and let you off then, but move in so we can get on.

� Finally, when the train is jam-packed, like in the morning, why do some people insist on getting on anyway? (White folks on the Upper West Side, you damn sure know who you are!) Trains run back to back to back in the morning and if you can�t fit on one, there�s another one right behind it. �But I�m already late for work.� Well squeezing on this one ain�t gonna make yo� azz on time!

I could go on, but I�m sure you get the point. You probably have some of your own public transportation pet peeves. Bring �em on.

How to fold the New York Times. This used to be fairly common knowledge, but somewhere along the line people either forgot or never learned. If you learn it, you won�t get nasty stares from riders sitting next to you.

The New York Times is a �broadsheet,� a rectangular newspaper that is longer vertically than horizontally. The front page and most inside pages, have six columns from left to right and a horizontal fold midway down. You can compact it initially just by bending it along that fold. But you can read any page of the paper easily by first, folding the newspaper vertically between columns 3 and 4, cutting the size in half vertically. If you then bend it again along the horizontal middle fold, you now have a paper that is one-quarter its usual size, and which can be held in one hand.

But articles often start on one page and continue somewhere else. So unfold it at the horizontal middle so that you have the full length with the vertical fold between columns 3 and 4. Turn back the next page to that same vertical halfway point, keeping the fold between columns 3 and 4. If you need to read any part of the paper that is on the inner side, along the newspaper�s spine, simply turn back the newspaper along the spine, keeping the size to one-half vertically. To turn any more pages, just repeat this procedure. You can again fold it along the horizontal middle to reduce it to one quarter.

Weekdays, the Times usually has four sections. Work with a section at a time, not the whole paper. There is never a legitimate reason to sit on a crowded subway train trying to read the Times (or the Wall Street Journal; this works with it too) with your arms fully extended and the paper spread wide open. You will only piss me off!

The holidays are upon us and now is the time when we think about those we love. We express our love by giving from the heart.

This year, show your love for the one who means the most. Give, until it feels good.