the cold that never was

I guess it's never going to happen. The cold that threatened to make this week even more of a bother has passed, as if I put lamb's blood on my throat and nasal passages. I heard it, shrieking like the angel of death, but it moved on to safer passage. I suppose I should be grateful. I'd like to thank the fine makers of Airborne for saving me the bother. I wonder if the makers of this fine product know that the beneficial effects of their effervescent tablets seem to be improved when combined with a single beer (drank separately, of course).

So right now, I'm managing only a slightly runny nose and eating taffy (thanks, R.), and the aches pains and general ickiness is over. That ends the infomercial portion of this evening's entry.

Unfortunately, I don't know if there's anything else for me to say. I went to a show tonight--comedy this time, though a hip-hop group opened--and it was pretty intersting. There was this group called Canned Hamm from Canada; they kinda followed a Tenacious D formula of jerky little band with big ambitions without the musical talent. They were super funny though and very energetic. They performed rythmless dance numbers, sang curious harmonies and during one song called "Burlesque," they stripped down to animal print boxers, which was hilarious and vile at the same time. They were definitely a lot of fun.

Afterwards, America's Funnyman Neil Hamburger took the stage. It's hard to explain him, I guess, to someone who hasn't heard of him. I think it's more performance art than standup comedy, kinda like Andy Kaufman but really, nothing like Andy Kaufman. That got real press kit bio--my apologies.

Hamburger actually has a comedy routine, and not an assortment of mind-boggling stunts. Hamburger poses himself as one of those old comedians who you might see playing casinos in shitty Nevada towns or during lunch in the Catskills or something like that. Now that I think about it, he makes himself looks kind of sad--like this is someone wh onever had a chance at fame, but keeps plugging away anyway, desperately trying to get laughs. Hamburger's routine is a collection of zingers--jokes like "What do you get when you cross Michael Jackson with the Empire State Building? A building that's structurally unsound." In between his jokes are coughs, uncomfortable silences, pauses as he tries to remember his next joke. It's really funny, but not for the right reasons, and I think that's what he's playing on. He's like a walking parody, which makes you feel bad for laughing when you think about it--and that's probably what he's after. I think I'm looking into it too much. Anyway, I had a really good time.

I've become tragically addicted to The Surreal Life on VH1--even VH1 stopped showing videos. I used to hope I would catch music videos, but now I change the channel when they come on. Anyway, The Surreal Life rock the proverbial socks with a fierceness. What amazes me most, and I think this goes without saying for anyone who's seen the show, is the burgeoning romance between ex-Red Sonja Brigitte Nielsen and the best hype man in the business, Flava Flav. I'm not sure why, but if this union was to produce an offspring, I think it would be the Anti-Christ.