"Some kind of cupcake expert . . . "

Hey, check me out, all using de-intensified urban hues for my cartoon of Dana Gould and stuff. I thought he'd be easier to draw so cut me some slack, a'ight?

When I was a kid of 19 or so and the local cable company finally got the Comedy Channel or Ha! before they merged into Comedy Central, I was really into comedians and comedy in general. I remember watching "Evening at the Improv" late on Sunday nights when it used to be an A&E staple. Well, maybe not staple. More of a fastener with one busted prong.

I remember trying to make a homemade version of SCTV with some friends back in high school (freshman year). Ah, to be young and not understand that such things as life experience and learned knowledge can only help comedy as opposed to hurt it. While I was busy doing silly impressions or phony commercials for John Liebrand's video-camera or over-dubbing episodes of Mr. Rogers (complete with many an off-color joke about my German teacher Mr. Wagner), most kids were outside playing basketball and football or . . . um . . . playing football and basketball. Maybe some of those same kids tried to incorporate their love of the two by creating new games combining both. I wonder if they would have called it "basket-foot." Then again that was the nickname for this nearly blind girl that had the biggest mane of curly hair and a gimpy leg.

One of the funnier commercial parodies we did was a spoof of Oreo cookies called "Oleo cookies." Yup . . . it was exactly what you'd think it was: a cookie stuffed with margarine. My buddy Phil had the honors of eating it on camera while the remaining group of freaks and geeks watched on in giggling horror (more Uncle Floyd than SCTV, come to think about it). Another staple of our brand of young comedy (aside from grossing out friends) was appropriating, borrowing, or stealing jokes from comedians. The more obscure the comedian, the more likely you got away with it.

My favorite comedians were (and still are) Dana Gould and Jake Johannsen. I didn't dare take their jokes and/or observations partly out of respect and partly because I'd be found out quite easily. Not because the majority of my friends would know their bits and routines, but their material was so advanced it'd have been quite obvious the jokes were not mine. As I got older, I stopped stealing jokes and tried to think of my own for homemade comic books and comedy magazines (shout out to Urban Lunchmeat, the finest National Lampoon wannabe that never really came to be). My favorite article would have been "Death of Henry" asking the question that was on everyone's mind: whatever happened to the silent comic-strip star Henry. He just disappeared and my friends and I speculated with glee. The other was a satire of diet books which never saw print.

Okay . . . enough reminiscing. I finally got to see Dana Gould last week. Saw him at Helium, a comedy club, in Philly. He was just as sharp and hysterical as I remembered. He even spoke to me from on stage during his set since I had a seat at the very front and was just sitting down as he started. It was one of my greatest nights ever. Going with someone I think is the cat's pajamas didn't hurt either. That was one helluva red scarf, by the way. Do cats wear pajamas? I know monkeys do especially when their owners wear banana hued fedoras.

"Does it have to be a life full of dread"

New PJ Harvey on the horizon. Woot!

So last night on Family Guy, Peter went after his childhood bully who was now on crutches and attempted to beat him up. Chris tried to stop him.

Chris: "Dad, don't. He has M.S."
Peter: "What? Monkey scrotum?"

That made me laugh pretty hard. I used to have a friend who'd say, purely by accident, that I had muscular dystrophy. Pre-Richard Pryor, I guess people didn't know or care to know much about it. As with any disease, unless we have personal interaction with somebody that it afflicts it tends to be a case of "out of sight, out of mind." Kinda sad how celebrity replaces that, but I'd rather more people know about M.S. than not. How many people know about Morgellons disease? I really didn't know of its existence until someone brought it up in conversation. It's terrible yet very few people have even heard of it (unless it pops up on a report for 20/20 or 60 Minutes). I wish this line of thinking would change.

In the next few weeks I have to do the big fat scanning stuff (no exploding heads, sorry. That kind of scanning is infinitely more interesting) then another pop-by to Jefferson to be told the same thing I'm always told. In terms of having the M.S. I'm okay and, well, somewhat lucky. True, I'm not in a wheel chair or anything like that so I'll agree. No crutches or any similar crip-gear. Not even an iron lung decorated with various stickers friends might slap on. Just a damned needle I have to take every single day. A daily reminder that the phrase "at least you have your health" doesn't apply to me. Never will.

I celebrated my friend's 35th birthday by playing some good ol' Dungeons and Dragons. Well, it's not so "ol'" to me having only played it once or twice between the ages of 18 through 30. Since then, I have been trying to work on a script for a comic I'd like to draw. I need to find that something that has more meaning for me other than simple enjoyment. And I'm not going to let monkey scrotum stop me.

There is a spectre haunting the suburbs- the spectre of dating.

Last time I went out with someone, was with this incredible teacher. That was last Monday, I think.

The sky was a fine sheet of grey rice paper as lit from behind by the whitest of light. Branches filled the horizon like black tombstones cracking the edges of the cold dead air as I drove to meet her at the bar.

The bar was much too large and empty to even bother decorating its walls with demographic wall hangings from the knicknack collection. Page 17 instructions: nail retro-junk item to wall, wait for bored conversation to ensue. Music played louder and louder as the night progressed in direct contradiction to the amount of patrons. Would it have been set to a more chill lounge type volume better suited for a studio apartment get-together over some Cabernet if the straight-from-work types were pressed tight against one another, elbow-to-elbow, wall-to-bare wall?

I sat by the edge of the bar closest to the front door, making it easier for her to spot me. When she sat down next to me, all was right.

Hers was a cascade of dark hair which flowed down to that area just inches above the small of her back. She had eyes the shape of almonds, the color of espresso. They brimmed with life when she spoke of everything from her job to recent obscurities discovered over a morning cup of tea, googling whatever curiosity struck her fancy.

She kept her arms folded throughout the evening. When she spoke, it was with a candy-coated voice that overflowed with thoughtfulness. With passion. She was oddly pretty with long hair and striking features, but her beauty laid in her complex ambitions.

Sadly, she is dating someone and we are to be just friends. Yes, relationship drama takes up a lot of time (whether in or longing for one) as my friend Teresa said in a recent email. But hey, I'm Greek so I know all about drama & tragedy don't I?

"Go on, go on scream and cry"

The living room was a coffin-in-waiting with full digital cable and a cordless phone that rang a deafening ring that no one seemed to want to learn how to answer in haste. Political pundits, ripped from headline police dramas, and home shopping networks ran round the clock on the nearly exhausted 32 inch television, volume turned high enough to drown out the telephone ring. People no longer asked. No longer spoke. It was a long and agonizing death of thought. Of soul.