For over twenty years now I have been involved in a guys weekend that always falls on the first weekend in May up at my friends cabin.  I began going up for this guys weekend when I was nineteen or twenty years old, and I was always the young buck of the group.  The ages ranged from nineteen to fifty years old.  It was a nice age diverse group.  The older guys kept the younger guys in line, and sometimes the other way around.  Our group activities have pretty much remained the same.  Arrive at the cabin, drink beer, eat good food, play pull tabs, hang around the campfire, go to sleep, repeat the next day.  It has been the same for twenty years.  Sure some years we have been more rowdy than others, mostly in our younger days.  What use to be a vicious pack of wild dogs has turned into a harmless faction of neutered Basset Hounds, but for the most part it has always been good, male camaraderie.  So why is it that the guys weekend is so frowned upon by the female of the species?  I have a theory.  Would you like to hear it?  Well here it is.

I think women have a problem with the guys weekend because they don’t understand male camaraderie.  They don’t understand that men need other men, and not in the River Dance kind of way.  We need someone to share our stories with.  The stories that you women roll your eyes at.  The stories that make you say “I can’t believe you are friends with someone like that”, the stories that every guys has, but only shares in the company of his good friends.  These stories are acquired over years of experience, age and mistakes.  They are the things that have made us what we are.  For a man without stories is not really a man at all.

Toll roads were created to offset the initial money used to construct and maintain a road.  Those days are gone.  I recently traveled to Akron OH and found myself at the mercy of the toll man.  I can remember family vacations to Kentucky and having to pay tolls.  My parents would always empty their change jar as that was enough for the trip there and back.  Now each toll through Chicago is $1.50.  It is $7.50 to go 157 miles across Indiana.  That is nearly $.05 per mile.  And to go 180 miles in Ohio it is $12.25.  That is nearly $.07 per mile.  Where does this money go?  Not to repairing roads I can tell you that much.  They were some of the roughest roads I have ever traveled on.

Here is the real kicker.  What am I getting for this money?  The freedom to travel across an already free country?  In my opinion that is not enough.  I am paying more to cross Ohio than I do to get into a movie.  If I am paying for the luxury of your special freeway you better make it special.

First off, it better not feel like I left my kidneys on road after 100 miles.  The main point of toll roads are to generate revenue for upkeep of the fucking road.  Secondly, if I am paying then I better be able to drive this road without any assholes on the strip of pavement I just paid for.  You should run the toll road like its a hot night club in New York.  When an old lady pulls up to get on the toll road you don’t let her past the velvet rope.   Tell her no she can’t enter she is too old for this stretch of road.  Lastly if I paid money to travel down your special road to no where why are there so many cops.  I think the $12.25 I paid to cross Ohio should be look upon as a bribe to the police.  After all, this revenue is to pay for upkeep of the road and we all know that isn’t happening.

Another $1.50!

At no point in time should I have to pay to cross a road in this country.  I am sorry, that is not how this is suppose to work. If we need money to pay for the roads I am sure we can find it some where in those taxes we pay for fuel, auto tabs, licenses and auto sales tax.

Each week we will be discussing different topics and having different guests.  This week will Justin Caesar will be sitting in for me.  The guests on the show will be Chris Caesar (Justin’s Bro) and Keith Goya from the hip hop group Out of Bounds.  Give it a listen.

First off, let me say that I think the organization that produced the show (RAW) is really doing great things for the artistic community.  I got to see some really interesting stuff.  It made me wish I had money so I could buy a few pieces of art that I thought were great (Taylor Lindgren had some amazing pieces).  I saw one band, and one spoken word artist who were good as well.  Then there was my performance.

Any comedian that has been doing it long enough knows that any performance outside of a comedy club is taking your life (and ego) into your own hands.  There are too many variables that can go wrong and almost always do go wrong.  Last night was no exception.  I was the second act for the night.  The first act, a band.  Putting a band in front of a comedian make the comedians job very hard, plus when you are already performing to ”artsy” people that don’t really watch or enjoy stand up comedy winning them over is difficult.  I never did win them over, I did mildly entertain them.  I had a small faction of the room that really enjoyed my set, and told me so after I was done.  The rest of the crowd there seemed to care less, which is what I expected. My quest to get Stand Up Comedy to be accepted by the unacceptable was thwarted.

Look at me. I love art and hate Stand Up Comedy

So for now Stand Up Comedy must remain in the comedy clubs, bars, colleges and casinos of America.  Someday though, we will rise up and get the patchouli wearing, skinny jean having faction of America to realize its ok to laugh in public.  Dick jokes, when done right, are funny.  And last but not least they are not the only tortured souls out there.  Comedians are usually one bad set away from a gun barrel.

The weekend was in Rapid City, SD. I had been to Rapid City before, but only for one night. This is a great town. Super clean downtown area, the hotel I am in is great (even though it is suppose to be haunted) and the show Friday night was a lot of fun (I am writing this on Saturday).

I think the most interesting thing about Rapid City is the atmosphere here. It has a strange hippie/biker/retiree feel to it. Which makes for an interesting time. Just this morning while having breakfast at Tally’s Silver Spoon (excellent by the way) the entire dynamic of people eating there was incredible. I liken Rapid City to Boise, ID. It has that kind of feel to it, but on a smaller scale.

If you get the chance check out Rapid City, do so. Stay at The Alex Hotel downtown, eat at Tally’s Silver Spoon and check out Paddy’s Irish Pub. You won’t be disappointed. Unless you hate a good time, then you might be really disappointed.

Now I am not saying quit your jobs, build a shack in the woods and start training military type commandos.  I am simply saying you have a voice and we should all start using it.  Take five minutes a day and get angry about something.  Trust me it feels great.

Our political system is all about money for the 1% and not what is best for everyone.  Business’ depend on politicians for their agenda and politician depend on business for their campaign contributions.  This cannot be how a government is run.  The influence is too great and the repercussions have been massive.  Nothing ever gets accomplished in the house or senate because of the greedy influence of lobbyists.  Campaign contributions should have a limit set on them.  No one person can contribute more than the other.  Put a cap on it.  $100 per person, per year sounds good.  That would give everyone an equal voice with our leaders.  Unfortunately I don’t see this happening anytime soon, but never fear I have a solution.

I have started a petition. You can sign it too.  Anytime you see, meet or run into a lobbyist, oil executive or some other blood sucker find their vehicle and carve your initials into their paint job.  Better yet, carve the name of a solider that was killed in Iraq or Afghanistan.  Maybe this will help drive the message home.  If not, it will at least make you feel much better the rest of the day.

My shows were Fri-Sat at The Spokane Comedy Club in Spokane, WA.  To travel to Spokane is 29 hours by train, which means I had to board the train at 11 PM on Wed night.  If you ever get the chance to take the train I would suggest departing in the evening if possible.  You can knock out 6 hours by sleeping when you first get on.  I also suggested having a few drinks before getting on the train if you can.  Trains are not like planes, there are a lot of bathrooms and you can move freely from the time you get on to the time you get off.  I had 2 beers at home before I got on the train, plus I brought a flask of Crown Royal with me.  Needless to say I was sleeping by the time the train reached Fargo.

When I boarded the train it wasn’t very crowded which allowed me to stretch out in both seats (I rode coach) and actually get a good night of sleep.  I slept through the night and woke up around 8 Am the next morning.  They were serving breakfast in the dining car and had heard from a friend that the breakfast on board was pretty good.  When you arrive in the dining car they seat you at a table with a complete strangers, not sure why exactly but my guess is that its so you can strike up a conversation while dining.  I am pretty anti-social in the mornings until I have reached my 2 cups of coffee so this wasn’t the best idea for me, but hey I can play along.  They sat me next to a guy that was traveling to someplace in Montana, I forget where.  He wasn’t much for conversation, which suited me fine.  I ate my breakfast, which wasn’t bad, but wasn’t worth what I paid ($10.00 after tip).

The next few hours were spent reading, playing solitaire and looking out the window at the scenery of North Dakota.  So far the trip was pretty nice…and then we pulled into Williston, ND where the train was boarded by a ton of oil field workers taking off for a long weekend.  The train went from roomy to cramped in one stop.  I was  able to maintain my two seat spread until the first stop in Montana when I had to give up one of my seats to a heavily tattooed CNA (certified nurses assistant).  We didn’t speak for the first 2 hours of the train ride and then boredom kicked in and a conversation was sparked.  He was going to Spokane for a metal concert, which meant I wasn’t getting my second seat back.  This also meant I wouldn’t be getting much sleep the rest of the trip, because I can’t sleep sitting up.

After talking to the CNA for about an hour I decided that I needed a beer from the lounge car which was the car directly behind me.  Convenient I thought.  I approached counter and said “what kind of beer do you have?”  She replied, “we are all out of alcohol.”  Nooooooooooooo!  This can’t be happening.  I still had half a flask of Crown Royal but with the way the kid next to me was talking my ear off that wasn’t gonna last me too much longer.  The oil field worker that was in line behind me I am pretty sure let out a little sob, and then looked for the nearest exit to jump off the train.  I had 14 more hours on that train and sobriety wasn’t an option.

I sulked my way back to my seat and thought how does a train run out of booze?  From what I later heard was that on the Chicago to Minneapolis leg of the trip there were employees from Captain Morgan on board and they pretty much bought out everything.  Fucking spiced rum pushers.  Drink the spiced rum on board and leave the rest to those of us with a penis and a long train ride.

I returned to my seat to find the talkative CNA was still there.  So I sat down, reached in my bag and pulled out my flask.  No hiding it, no concealing it, just whipped it right out.  The CNA obviously saw me do it and asked me what I had in there.  Crown I replied thinking he was gonna ask for some.  He reached into his back and pulled out a liter of Crown Royal and said let me know if you run out.  Sweet lord there is light at the end of this tunnel.  I thought to myself chat all you want, I’ll drink more.

Shortly after my life long friendship was struck up over a liter of Crown Royal.  The train made a scheduled stop in Shelby, MT.  It was only suppose to be a 5 minute stop but we were way ahead of schedule so it turned into a 30 minute stop.  The attendant in my car said feel free to stretch your legs, and there is a bar right across the street.  Just make sure you are back in time to board the train.  When I got off I made a bee line for the bar, which turns out 3/4 of the train did as well.  Word must have gotten out about the booze shortage and no one was taking any chances with sobriety.  Good thing we had 30 minutes, we were gonna need them.

The bartender didn’t know what hit him.  One minute he was serving Carl, the local cowboy hatted mustache man and the next his bar was filled with Amtrak riders.  To say he was overwhelmed was an understatement.  Everyone was ordering 2-3 drinks at a time, plus trying to buy off sale.  The bartender stopped ringing the sales up, but rather just took the money and threw it on the counter.  He then said, “if anyone in here is under 21 and I serve you, I will then shoot you.”  I am sure he meant every word he said, but no one cared.  He could have had a gun in one had and a beer and the other and no one would have noticed the gun.  We were all focused on the task at hand.

The rest of the train ride was pretty uneventful…ok I don’t really remember all that much of it.

My Car.

I do know there was more drinking in the lounge car.  More talking with oil field workers.  And more wanting to exit the train.

Overall I would say that riding the Amtrak was an experience.  One that should be had by everyone.  It gave me a perspective of how life was before everyone owned a car.  Plus there is something exciting about striking up a conversation with a perfect stranger and that something is when the conversation ends.  Jeez people are annoying.

Kim and I took the kids to Feed My Starving Children.  A non-profit org that helps feed children in third word countries in Africa, Asia and South America.  Its an org that has been around a while and does good things.

To be honest, I went into the experience with hopes of writing new jokes just as much as I did the desire to help someone.  I don’t think of myself as a selfish or selfless person.  I am just me.  So the idea of giving back while writing new material seemed ok to me.  A win-win situation so to speak.

This org is based in religion and most people there were the God fearing Christians that the midwest is known for.  So I felt a bit out of place.  Religion is something that should be between you and your God.  Whoever he is.  At least that is my personal feeling about it.

Once we got past the religious stuff things went smoothly for me.  I was given the task of shoveling rice into bins.  It seemed like an easy job…until I saw the size of the rice bags.  The largest bags of rice I have ever seen.  It looked like a prop out of the movie Platoon.  I kept thinking to myself this village is feeding an entire NVA regiment, we best burn it to the ground.

Everything was moving along smoothly until an old guy, who you could tell volunteers regularly, asked me to not fill the bins so full.  A normal person would have so oh sure no problem.  For me it burned my ass a little.  I wanted to call the guy a pussy, throw down my shovel and walk out.  But with Kim’s kids there I refrained.  I don’t like being told what to do by anyone, and sure as shit by someone that isn’t paying me for the labor I am providing.  Do I sound like a child, I know I am.

The next 45 minutes passed without anything else of note happening.  At the end, I was glad I did it.  Because it did make me feel good for a brief period of time and I did write some new material, which may or may not be funny.

To celebrate our achievements we did what Americans do best.  We went to Zantigo and gorged ourselves on cheap Mexican food.  America, Fuck Yeah!

I assumed my family would be a little resistant to coming over to St Paul for Christmas Eve.  After all, they all live in Minneapolis or one of the Minneapolis suburbs.  There was a little resistance, but for the most part everyone showed up and enjoyed themselves.

The fun part was watching Kim’s family intermix with my family.  There was an odor of uncomfortable feeling lingering in the air.  Not everyone noticed, but I did and I enjoyed it.  Kim’s family is a tight knit group much like my own and they tend to not be overly accepting of outsiders so to watch them watch how my family celebrates was awesome.  I have one relative that is notorious for telling bad jokes to anyone and everyone that will listen.  Kim’s Dad was the recipient of most of those jokes, which was a relief to most of my family since its usually one of us.

Kim’s family had about enough of watching my family drink, laugh and tell stories and went home around 10PM.  I may have even heard one of them say “lets go, these people are weird” although I can’t be sure as I had ingested a lot of Christmas spirits by that time..

The festivities ran into the night until 230 am when Santa Claus came down the basement and said “hey, finish up.  I got presents and shit for these kids.”  I argued with Santa briefly, but then realized that she…I mean he was right.  Thus Christmas Eve 2011 came to an end.

Mom Had Too Much Egg Nog…and Vodka -

My Mom loves Christmas.  Oh man does she really love Christmas.    She takes it upon herself to set the tone for each Christmas Eve.  She prepares herself for this task by first making her awesome chicken wings.  Secondly she begins drinking.  Whatever her choice of cocktail is for the evening be sure that there won’t be enough.  Luckily the more she drinks the more festive she becomes.  The more festive she becomes the more festive everyone else becomes.  It is a domino effect really. It is hard not to enjoy yourself while this is going on.  Even as a kid when all we wanted to do was go home and open presents we had to respect that Mom was enjoying herself…until 3 in the morning.

The matriarch of our family has always done this.  It was a tradition passed down from my Grandmother.  Christmas eve was never a success in our family unless my Grandmother got buzzed up and had her annual cigarette.  Once you saw Grandma smoking you knew all was right with the world.

I wouldn’t change this tradition for anything in the world.  It is one of the few times when my Mom really gets to let loose and enjoy the season and her family.  I am really excited for it this year as it will be taking place at my house.  I have stocked up on White Zin (my Mom’s current choice) and I am ready to eat some chicken wings.

Merry Motherfucking Christmas – My Mom (after 5 black russians).

Make the most of your holiday.