Some discounted tickets still available via my website at this URL,
http://jokesatthejoyntseanflannery.eventbrite.com/

(this Tuesday, 12/29/2009, at 9:30 PM. The Joynt is at 650 North Dearborn)

http://www.thelincolnlodge.com/home.html

(the short of it is: 9 PM, 4008 N Lincoln Ave, $10)

Jessica:    ”we also need to get those child safety belts for the new TV- to secure it”
Me:            ”yeah, but we have plenty of time before we need that.”
Jessica:    ”what are you talking about?”
Me:            ”the baby isn’t due until June 1st”
Jessica:    ”Sean, we have a kid. Right now”

I totally forgot we have a one year old .

(In my defense: we were talking about the new baby for the previous fifty minutes, and it was hard to exit from that mindset).

 
Jessica’s response (later that night): “I mean, come on- how can you forget some thing this cute”:

Background Info: it looks like we are dressing our kid as a laughably-fat karate instructor in this photo, but, in truth, it is Colin’s doing. He saw me waking up, wearing a headband (because I have to wear a sleep apnea mask to bed… …which is a whole different, long story). So, later that night when he was told he would have to go to bed soon- he ran into our room and put on a headband. I suppose he thought: all men wear headbands to bed.

I told him the truth: that only myself, Wilt Chamberlain, Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones and most pirates, wear headbands to bed. The rest of people (who I may have called “frightened lemmings”), “go to bed with no headband, Colin”.

For those of you who don’t know (if I haven’t seen you, or you don’t listen to the radio show): Jessica is pregnant.

We will probably learn the sex of this one. We have an ultrasound scheduled, but it is too early to determine the sex. “Unless”, as my buddy Daryl said, “he has an absolutely enormous wang”.

I would say, as a new father, that has been what surprised me most about parenting:  how worried (or proud or fascinated) most young dads are with the size of their kid’s penis. Perhaps it’s just the meat-heads and drunks I know, but, my buddies will update you on the size of their kid’s dick before they tell you his hair color. Every new father toast I have seen –when given at a bar around other men– contains some boast or joke about the baby’s penis. It is inevitable- usually mentioned before they even share the kid’s full name.

I once called a friend –let’s call him Vince– a few minutes after his second kid was born:

Me: “How is every one doing?”
Vince: “Great- he’s got a huge dick”
 
Me (now laughing loudly) : “Did you ask if his nervous system works?”
Vince (sensing that I am laughing at him) : “I’m serious, dude.”
                                                                     ”The doctor said so himself: ‘Like a Pornstar’”

At this point, I did not (yet) have a kid, but, I think, I understood enough about doctors, to know: no doctor will tell you –ten minutes into life– that your kid is ‘hung like a pornstar’, unless you are asking him repeated and highly-specific questions about your kid’s penis. Clearly, if the doctor did say that, it was just to get Vince out of the room, probably after ten minutes of constant penis questions, so they could finally begin the truly important tests, like ‘is this baby blind?’.

We continued talking for several minutes. Before leaving, I asked how his other kid was doing: “oh, perfect- doc says he’s hung like a horse too”.

I’d like to think that my initial hunch –that Vince is just anxious about the size of his kids’ penis and is pestering the doctor about it– is wrong. And that, instead, Vince truly is seeing the world’s worst doctor: an absolute meat head, who only cares about the size of penises and breasts.

I’d like to think that Vince is having his kids delivered by a dentist, from his old fraternity A beer-drinking, John-Mayer-loving, women-hounding meat head, with no real medical degree:

If you’re staying in Chicago for Thanksgiving, I’m featuring at Zanies all week. Shows are,

• Tues- 8:30 PM
• Wed- 8:30 PM
• Fri- 8:30 and 10:30 PM
• Sat- 7:00, 9:00 and 11:15 PM
• Sun- 8:30 PM

1548 N Wells St
Chicago, IL 60610-1308
(312) 337-4027

• Random Sign It’s A Dive: they check $5 bills to see if they are counterfeit

• Time: last week

Exchange:

God, I love drinking at cheap places.

If you did not know Pat, he was an amazing stand up; created (with CJ Sullivan and a few others) the Visitors Locker Room; wrote for blerds.com and was, beyond being a great friend, likely the funniest person I ever knew. He passed away two years ago in his sleep. Today (Friday) is his birthday.

If you have not previously seen/read/heard his material, you should check it out at patbrice.com. It is all, beyond funny.

I always recomend starting with “A Billion Pennies” (MP3 link), Pat’s story about interviewing with a stock exchange company. He was asked a surprise question (“how many pennies would fit into this room”); panicked; and answered, “a billion”.

The Billion Project

Several months after Pat passed away, I came across a website called “The Billion Project”, which tries to help people understand how big a BILLION is. According to this website, America is the only country in the world that uses the term “a billion”, rather than the phrase “one thousand million”. Consequently, we have an inferior grasp of the size of “a billion”, because we tend to just view it as the next sequence beyond a million.

Any way, I bring it up because…

How did the website attempt to teach us –once and for all– how big a BILLION is?- By showing how much space a billion pennies would take up:

Nine public school buses could not hold a BILLION pennies.

…When I found it, every one at work must have wondered why I was rolling on the floor, laughing at a website designed to teach you about huge numbers…

–Additional Notes–

The Billion Project website goes on to say:

“If you were to stack a billion pennies in a single pile, one atop the other, the stack would reach nearly one thousand miles high. For comparison, note that the Space Shuttle typically orbits only 225 miles above the Earth’s surface. “

… A claim that mirrors, almost exactly, Pat’s joke about magazines that explain large numbers by just listing their distance to the moon:

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=13837636

…I’m not sure he knew it, but I think –or I’m starting to think– Pat was the best ‘large number’ comic of all time.

Reason #342, why I miss him (or, about a tennis ball worth of pennies, to put that number a different way).

Any way, just in case the shit really hits the fan and we have to start over, as a country- I want to capture all these sports solutions in a single place, so future generations know how to solve these problems. Maybe they will name a school after me- who knows?
 

http://thelaughtrack.com/2009/10/22/top-20-stand-up-comedians-in-chicago/

They said some nice things about me. They said some even nicer things about my co host, CJ Sullivan, who was named #2. And they quoted me, saying nice things, about some of the other people on the list- which is nice…. ….any way, there’s funny clips, from each of the comedians, on the page- it’s worth a look, if you’re bored.

Some photos of Colin and I from this weekend

I actually wore this shirt –my 1985 Super Bowl Champions Bears shirt– and it created a semi-awkward moment at a bar last week that I’ve been meaning to share.

–A women who looked, at most my age yet, in all likelihood younger, approached me–

WOMAN:    ”I just wanted you to know: I love your shirt! And I wanted to say, I was at this bar when I watched that game!”.

I was amazed. Here’s this woman, who I thought to be –tops– 28, telling me that she was old enough to have a beer in a bar in 1985.

ME:    ”Wow. You’ve aged really well”.

WOMAN:    ”Yeah, sure.” (said in mock encouragement).

–She then passes a dismayed “can you believe this guy” look to her friend.–

–She rolls her eyes again.–

I start to wonder why she’s so mad about a compliment on her aging. Even if it was stated a little awkwardly- it was sincere.

That’s when it hits me: “she thinks I’m hitting on her!“.

ME:    ”You know, I really meant that: you’ve aged great”.

–Her jaw nearly drops.–

WOMAN:    ”What??”.

SEAN:    ”Come on- you must know that. .. ..You know, not every thing a man says is a line”.

I start scratching my temple, during these final points, so she will see my wedding ring. I think this will further assure her that I am not flirting

SEAN:    ”Some things are just facts- some people age really well and you happen to be one of them”.

–Now she just looks confused… I am talking about the year 2007 like I have been in a space ship during the mean time and do not understand how humans have aged–

–Her friend walks over and joins us. He points to me–

FRIEND:    ”Oh, great shirt, man”

–He looks as young as her. He then turns to her–

FRIEND:    ”We saw that game here, remember?”

Jesus- there are two of them!

FRIEND:    ”Where did you see it?” (to me).

SEAN:    ”At my best friend’s sleep over”.

–They now think they are talking to the weirdest man on Earth. A full grown man who still introduces people as “his best friend in the world” and says “sleeping over” rather than “crashing on a couch”. –

Even I am starting to detect the strangeness. Every one is glancing at each other with squinted, confused eyes, as though to say, “do you have any idea what’s going on here?”.

Luckily her friend then adds, almost in a near panic to change the topic

FRIEND:    ”Rex Grossman really shit the bed in that one”.

Oh my God. They are talking about 2007. Worst yet, they think I’ve been talking about 2007, when, in fact, I’ve been talking about fourth grade. Fuck.

Screw it. I just gotta get out of here. I’ll probably just make things more confusing if I try to explain the difference between the two Super Bowls to these guys.

SEAN:    ”I have to go find my best friend”.

And I walked away.

I told my wife the story when I arrived home. “God you’re awkward with women”, she said- “it could not have happened to any one else”.

She blames my awkwardness. I blame America’s inability to read Roman numerals. If the NFL just started using regular numbers for the Super Bowl (like every other company on Earth that releases more than five versions of a product), all of this could be avoided.

FINALLY, Cleveland has been given some thing (a disease) that can scare the opposition. It is to be embraced:

I did not realize it while registering the site, but apparently I setup SlammableDickCaves.com to auto-renew itself every year, on my credit card.

The other day, Jessica received a curious, almost-blank letter with the rest of our mail, stating, “IMPORTANT INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR DOMAIN“. She opened it. Inside, it said,

Sean Flannery- $14.00 / yr . . . SLAMMABLEDICKCAVES.COM

It then explained that her husband would continue to be the proud owner of SlammableDickCaves.com for another calendar year.

Even the mail reminds her that her life will never be normal again.

‡ Endnotes ‡

* COMICS:
  Mike Burns: myspace.com/mikeburnsmikeburns
  John Leadley: myspace.com/80sclown
  (both are hilarious)

* CORRECTIONS:
(Jessica actually did not find out about SlammableDickCaves for the first time this week- she just received the latest bill. She found out about it for the first time, when we arrived home from our honey moon and it was waiting for us in a pile of mail. Meaning, one of the first letters she received about her husband is that he owns SlammableDickCaves.com … … I registered the domain almost exactly a year before our wedding day –off pure chance– so this stuff always arrives at the same time… …some men receive reminders, from jewelry stores, that their anniversary is approaching. I get an email, two weeks in advance, from SlammableDickCaves.com, saying it needs to be renewed [†])

* FEARS:
They now warn: you should never put embarrassing information on facebook or myspace, because employers use these sites to screen job candidates. What will they say when, in the course of their background check, they discover that I am the owner of SlammableDickCaves.com??

* MANIFESTOS:
I do not want to live in a country where the owner of SlammableDickCaves.com can not get a job.

* AFFANITIES:
My favorite part of the experience was: we (on the show) are such idiots, that we –some how– were flabbergasted that SlammableDickCaves.com was still available. We couldn’t understand how some one else didn’t already snatch it, like it was a free parking spot in front of The Empire State Building. “How is it still available?”, we asked, as though it were a perfect fit for a local entrepreneur. In truth, I don’t think even a pronographer could use SlammableDickCaves.com, it is so weird.

[†] Not that I need help remembering my anniversary… …I am also VERY lucky to have my wife- who I love; and who reads this blog daily; and who puts up with (and laughs about) these ridiculous business ventures, like SlammableDickCaves.com

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

There is a famous adage: “history is written by the victors”. They were talking about armies when they said that of course, but it is still true today- except the victors are now google and wikipedia. Anything put on to the Internet will, if returned by google as the first result, become a fact within two years- it doesn’t matter how error-filled it is.

How do I know this is true: because my Facebook Birthday was not corrected to my Earth Birthday until last week, when my wife over-heard me telling some one I was born on October 10th and responded, “no, honey- you were born on October 5th”. In other words, the facts of your own birthday become blurred, when the Internet tells you some thing else.

My wife, of course, says, “No, this can only happen to you- no one else is this stupid with dates”. But I disagree.   I believe, I am actually the first modern man. The first person to so throughly outsource his memory to computers (the victors), that he trusts them for his own birthday above all intuition and experience. I have put them in charge of managing my facts, and I question nothing. In doing so, I am at least a generation ahead of my time.

(NOTE: final statement presumes I was born in 1947, which I’m not positive is true)

5:30 PM, I loose my cell phone on the Clark bus (*).

Fifteen minutes later, my wife receives a call from an unfamiliar number:

“Hello, I have your husband’s phone. My son found it on the Clark Bus.
Here’s my address- come up quick because the battery is about to die on your husband’s phone”.

I drive up to the intersection (**).

He pulls up, blasting music. His son is in the front seat and they are both dancing. They are having the time of their lives, throwing their arms in the air and yelling lyrics.

“Sean??”, the dad yells. I stick out- I am the only white guy within twenty blocks.

“Yes.”

“HA!! We found you!”, he holds up my phone, brimming- “this is my son”.

His son is still dancing and waves. “He found it!”, the dad proudly shares while handing me the phone.

I had twenty dollars on me. “Will you take some money?”, I ask.

“aaah, it’s up to you. If you want to give it, I’ll let my son take the money. But you don’t have to.”

I then look the kid in the eyes and, as though on auto pilot, roar, “ well, you get your self some ice cream!” and gave the kid twenty bucks. The moment I said it, I heard the words- the way you hear yourself on voicemail and thought, ‘that is the whitest thing I have ever said’. I nearly ran away.

* I am convinced this whole experience was revenge, by the Clark Bus, for the blog I wrote last week. I compared the Clark Bus to the boat –in Greek mythology– that ferries you across the river Styx to Hell. I think the Clark bus was upset by the joke and, since it is already spending its days in Hell, appealed to an Underworld god for revenge.

Accordingly, I will be re-writing my memoirs as, “Sean Flannery: Modern Bellerophon”.

Bellerophon (if you do not know the story) was a warrior who came to believe he was the greatest fighter on Earth and, fittingly, felt he should live among gods. So, he captured Pegasus and rode the horse into the sky to live in the clouds as a god.

Zeus was so offended by the hubris, he sent a fly to bite Pegasus, which caused Pegasus to buck Bellerophon. Bellerophon fell to the ground and lived the rest of his life in exile, blinded and crippled by the fall.

Likewise, I was feeling pretty cocky after writing that Clark Bus blog that made so many people laugh. “Maybe I can even do this comedy thing for a living some day”, I started to think: “maybe I am that funny”. Clearly, this appalled the gods of public transportation who then sent some agent of fate to steal my cell phone, which, in the modern world, is to be damned to exile- blinded and unable to reach even close friends.

But, lo- a good Samaritan comes along the road! Left for (digital) death on the modern Road to Jericho (Clark Bus); ignored by people of my own faith (since I do not have their numbers memorized)- a stranger rescues me.

** If you’re wondering how this man was able to find Jessica, it’s because she is saved in my contacts as “My Wife” (rather than just “Jessica” as most people probably would have done). This is the first time, saving people into my phone with descriptions (as I always do) has reduced confusion in my life. Normally, I am making three to five miscalls for every conversation I want to have since I can never remember, at the moment of the call, if “Rob Roy” is my buddy who likes to fake sword fight when drunk or my old room mate from Scotland. So, the process has drawbacks, but, the upside is: a stranger can navigate my contact list (“My Wife”, “My Apartment”, etc). Of course, the stranger will also think I am literally insane when they see my contact list and might hesitate to call a person who –based on his contact list– thinks he can talk to every one from historical figures (“Rob Roy” / “Neil Armstrong”), to inanimate objects (“Twelve Egg Omelet”) and even major cities (“Memphis”).

Shake It Out

People always ask me, as a man (I suppose) who’s always calculating things in his head: what is the greatest song of all time? “Easy”, I always respond, “Otis Redding: You Left the Water Running. Easy”. (should you be unfamiliar with it, the song is here) Why am I randomly bringing-up the greatest song of all time in a comedy blog? Because it proves one my favorite theories: how grating black music becomes when performed by white people, versus how awesome it is when the Japanese do it. white people performing “You Left the Water Running”: –versus– The Japenese: NOTE: you are not expected to listen to the full clip of white people performing “You Left the Water Running” (though it is fine if you do). Also, that clip of the Japanese guys, The Fave Raves, is from 2007, even though it looks like honky tonk footage from the 60s. They are my new favorite band. And, yes, you heard correctly: that white lady started her version with, “shake it out”.

Comments (2)

posted in Blog 09/18/2009 08:28 pm

How I will ride to Hell- The #22 Clark Bus

You always hear the phrase, “there is a special place in Hell” for criminals who harm children. It’s stated, for example, about five times an episode in “Law and Order, SVU”. I ride the CTA everyday –which is Hell– and I have found its “special place”: The #22 Clark Bus. If the Chicago Transit Authority had to take over Hell (which would be a minimal change in service), I have no doubt that the serial killers would be sent to ride the #22, where one waits all day for a bus that never shows, refusing –the whole time– to enter passing cabs (or to even start walking) because you mistakenly think you see the lights of the next bus just over the horizon. The Clark Bus is so unreliable, the CTA could not add it to their bus tracking website for several years because it crashed “the prediction algorithm” (link). I have seen it disappear for periods over an hour and then, just when you are about to reach your destination after walking, nine Clark Buses will zoom by in a loud, useless row. It is now (finally) on Bus Tracker and, every time I check it, I see the following: * screen shot from last week, in rush hour (Clark Bus is supposed to arrive every 3-5 minutes, not once every 65 minutes) The ancients believed, when you died, your soul was rowed to the after life in a small boat, across the river Styx. If God is severe and unforgiving (as they feared in the Middle Ages) then I am probably going to Hell- and I know the Clark Bus is what will carry me, not a boat. FUTURE WISH: some day, I hope to hack the CTA’s website. I will make only one, minor change: every time you check the status of the #22 Clark Bus, rather than display the GPS coordinates of the bus, it will display this image- People will applaud it as the most accurate website in the world. The first website to actually reply with an image of what you are thinking and experiencing, rather than just a time or intersection.

Comments (7)

posted in Blog 09/04/2009 08:20 pm