Friday, November 21, 2003
So I was on 'Late Night with David Letterman' on Wednesday night. Did you watch? You probably saw me. If you had recorded the show, and paused it exactly at the 38:24 mark, then pulled out a magnifying glass and looked in the lower right hand corner of the screen, you would have seen me sitting in the front row!
Don't read any sarcasm into this. I am honestly excited. I am a star.
I could have reached out and touched Paul. I was that close.
And what talent landed me such a choice seat? My loud-as-hell laugh. And man, did I laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh. I laughed so hard my ass hurt. Don't ask why. I knew-just knew!- that my piercing laugh would be recognized by all my family and friends nationwide. I envisioned old friends, settling in for a night with Dave, and then realizing that that sound- that sound!- was a laugh from the past.
I was expecting calls and emails the next day. Postcards and telegrams. "Hey Eric, was that you on Letterman last night? Cause I heard your laugh, THE laugh."
But alas, nothing.
And when I watched the show, I couldn't hear me either. To anyone who knows me, that is a shock. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those annoying laughers; I'm not a guffawer or a squealer (at least not when I laugh). I don't laugh at every statement or uncomfortable moment. I'm not even the loudest laugher I know (Cesar- I'm looking at you). But I have a good, hearty recognizable laugh. It's gotten me cast before.
And I gave it all to Dave. And if you've ever been to a taping of 'Late Night', you know one thing: that is all they ask.
Don't read any sarcasm into this. I am honestly excited. I am a star.
I could have reached out and touched Paul. I was that close.
And what talent landed me such a choice seat? My loud-as-hell laugh. And man, did I laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh. I laughed so hard my ass hurt. Don't ask why. I knew-just knew!- that my piercing laugh would be recognized by all my family and friends nationwide. I envisioned old friends, settling in for a night with Dave, and then realizing that that sound- that sound!- was a laugh from the past.
I was expecting calls and emails the next day. Postcards and telegrams. "Hey Eric, was that you on Letterman last night? Cause I heard your laugh, THE laugh."
But alas, nothing.
And when I watched the show, I couldn't hear me either. To anyone who knows me, that is a shock. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those annoying laughers; I'm not a guffawer or a squealer (at least not when I laugh). I don't laugh at every statement or uncomfortable moment. I'm not even the loudest laugher I know (Cesar- I'm looking at you). But I have a good, hearty recognizable laugh. It's gotten me cast before.
And I gave it all to Dave. And if you've ever been to a taping of 'Late Night', you know one thing: that is all they ask.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
OK, so some of you out there have been wanting to know a little more about the REAL me, the true me, the me you can't see when you sit down with your coffee and sticky bun and read my blog.
Well, you asked for it. And strangely, dear reader, you won't have to leave the safe confines of your office chair to learn. Here is where life gets a little weird.
This is my wife.
This is my mother.
This is me.
This is me playing with Rock-a-Fire Explosion.
This is me and my wonderful wife.
It only gets less interesting from here.
Well, you asked for it. And strangely, dear reader, you won't have to leave the safe confines of your office chair to learn. Here is where life gets a little weird.
This is my wife.
This is my mother.
This is me.
This is me playing with Rock-a-Fire Explosion.
This is me and my wonderful wife.
It only gets less interesting from here.
Monday, November 17, 2003
Ah, free food.
Nothing brings together disparate types of people like free food, especially if you work in one of those jobs where the big 'secret' is that everyone is poor. You know the job I'm talking about: nice office, nice co-workers, maybe even a nice title- but no money. Everyone always dresses up and talks real pretty, but all everyone can think about is how they will pay their rent. But no one says a word.
I have one of those jobs. I work in the non-profit arts community. I have one of those jobs that when I tell people who I work for, they say, "Wow! How interesting!" They assume because I don't work for a bank or a corporation that I have somehow done something interesting.
I assure them that nothing about my job is interesting. Yes, I work in the arts. Yes, I do data entry all-day-long. But, yes, I am still working in the arts.
And what do get in exchange for 'working in the arts'?
Low pay and high expectations.
I know, I know- cry me a river. I'm lucky I have job. But you have to feel the irony of 15 people in suits and ties running stampede-style towards the kitchen in response to the 'free food' email we all just got.
And believe me, I elbowed three co-workers and body-checked a 75 year-old woman in order to get to the pasta salad first.
Nothing brings together disparate types of people like free food, especially if you work in one of those jobs where the big 'secret' is that everyone is poor. You know the job I'm talking about: nice office, nice co-workers, maybe even a nice title- but no money. Everyone always dresses up and talks real pretty, but all everyone can think about is how they will pay their rent. But no one says a word.
I have one of those jobs. I work in the non-profit arts community. I have one of those jobs that when I tell people who I work for, they say, "Wow! How interesting!" They assume because I don't work for a bank or a corporation that I have somehow done something interesting.
I assure them that nothing about my job is interesting. Yes, I work in the arts. Yes, I do data entry all-day-long. But, yes, I am still working in the arts.
And what do get in exchange for 'working in the arts'?
Low pay and high expectations.
I know, I know- cry me a river. I'm lucky I have job. But you have to feel the irony of 15 people in suits and ties running stampede-style towards the kitchen in response to the 'free food' email we all just got.
And believe me, I elbowed three co-workers and body-checked a 75 year-old woman in order to get to the pasta salad first.
