Check out my Glee audition now, because I’m pretty sure they’re going to take it down in the next fifteen minutes 

Hey everyone, I made a new blog in which I satirize the fashion industry, I think its pretty funny

Give me feed back, both positive and negative. Follow it or hate it. 

But I’m going to be deleting this blog soon, so jump on my new blog if you’re interested in keeping up with my humor writings and all that.

So check it out: http://runwaytohell.tumblr.com/ 

Zach Galifianakis 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/06/08/the-hangover-3-zach-galifianakis-mental-patient_n_873168.html

Picture I took a year ago in Bryant Park of myself

College is over. 

Now I’m living with my parents in Connecticut and it is as terrible as it sounds. I don’t know anyone here, my parents moved here two years ago while I was still in college (they notified me via text message). The first night I got back I was told over dinner how I’m not using my twitter account properly and how I need to email Dennis Leary for a job since he went to Emerson and I went to Emerson, so that basically makes us best friends.I need a job, so I can get my own apartment in a gentrified neighborhood where everyone looks like they’re in Animal Collective. 

So when I’m not chilling with my legal guardians I’m taking an hour and a half train into New York to do depressing open mics.  I’ve done three so far, which is about the same amount of stage time I get in Boston in a week and I’ve only been here for three days (thus the reason I’m living in CT for the time being). None of the mics have really done much for me in terms of confidence , but I don’t really have a choice in the matter. I have to keep performing if I want to get better and right now the only option I have is to do shitty open mics. I’m trying to perform as much as possible in the next weeks since I have a show at Gotham Comedy Club on tuesday. I originally set this show up so I could have a bunch of industry people who have been keeping tabs on me for the past year see how I’ve progressed since they last saw me. Some of them bailed, others said they would send their assistants, others are yet to get back to me. Hurray! 

Also, the other day I stepped in dog shit in a Starbucks parking lot and it then immediately started raining, so I think this is going to be a really good summer. 

Its times like this that I resort to the old Buddhist proverb: 

“Passion is nothing without patience and perseverance and if you’re pursuing a career in comedy more so out of spite, and hope that one day you’ll be famous so you can say ‘hey fuck you’ to people who have wronged you in the past then maybe its time to not fucking think that shit anymore, and do comedy because you love doing it and realize that you need to chill out and realize nothing substantial or life altering will happen to you for another few years, and there’s nothing wrong with that, its just you’ll have a natural career trajectory, you’re not a goddamn prodigy wonder child who will catch a break within a week of taking day trips to New York, and there’s nothing wrong with that, just chill out and enjoy the fact that your still relatively young and have fun, just because college is over doesn’t mean your life is over.Namaste.”

When you look at me, one thing you don’t think is, “Well, there’s a man who does yoga.” That’s the reason I wanted to try yoga — because it’s something I don’t, and probably shouldn’t, do. I’ve just never considered my inner being to be very yoga-friendly. I’m namaste-intolerant. However, a friend of mine told me yoga was a good way to relax and release tension. I’m a college senior with a month left of college; I have a lot to be worried about. I do stand-up comedy in addition to being an English major; I have no idea how I’m supposed to make money after graduation. With all this stress towering over me I could use something to channel all my negative chi. So when my friend asked me if I wanted to do yoga, I thought to myself, “Whatever.” With that gung-ho spirit I headed over to the dojo or whatever they call places that hold yoga classes. I had the option of doing “Hip Hop Yoga” or “Deep Relaxation Yoga.” This was no Sophie’s choice. I chose to do something that was potentially relaxing rather than to listen to Akon sing about his dick.

I arrived at the yoga spot and found that I was one of two guys taking the class. The other guy refused to wear a shirt and had long curly hair, in a bad way. When gauge earrings came into style he probably thought to himself “Finally!” He was also fat, fatter than I was, which actually made me feel good about myself. So off to a good start.

We started the session by taking an upholstered pillow and doing a “child’s pose” on it, which entails putting one side of your face and stomach on top the pillow, while your knees and legs are behind it. It basically looks like you’re passively date-raping an upholstery.

The instructor had lost her voice and I could barely hear what she was saying. I managed to catch every fifth word she would say. I was able to make out, “Take your elbow,” then raspy mumbling, more raspy mumbling, more inaudible jabber, “onto your foot.” Then, everyone would mold himself or herself into some kind of human fancy, folded, bar mitzvah dinner napkin. It was awkward and uncomfortable; it was also 90 degrees in the room. I was a sweaty confused little boy in a strange world that smelled like mahogany.

After a bunch of “Downward Facing Dogs” and “Reverse Warriors,” my muscles were trembling. I was also sweating like one of those fat kids on that MTV show MADE. Finally, it came time to do “Warm Downs,” which consisted of lying down. That was it. Just lie down and listen to weird music. It felt so good to go from a straight hour of excruciatingly hard postures that required muscles I didn’t know existed to just plain lying down. It was so blissful to lay on the floor, motionless. All my prior problems didn’t exist; all I felt was relaxation. Yoga had done what no anti-anxiety medication could, what cigarettes once promised: it revealed a serene feeling that had been lost since childhood. Somewhere in that clammy painful hour I had escaped my profound sense of worry. It was so freeing! I lay on the floor just thinking of how good it felt to let go. I felt like I was flying. Then “I Wanna Fuck You” by Akon came bleeding through the wall.

Here’s the audience for a show I did this weekend by Fenway. 4 old ladies, my target demographic.

I hate my life.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Nesby Phips, he’s sick and I think its safe to say I’m officially addicted to anything Creative Control puts out. This is just one of the videos they put out almost daily. Dame Dash founded Creative Control and the content they put out is amazing, check em all out: http://www.creativecontrol.tv/www/#/shows/

My first sketch at Emerson with ECW….

Hope everyone is enjoying the wintery bliss, and did you see True Grit, I thought it was alright, and holy shit Black Swan was fucking nuts. Darren Aronofsky must have had a weird childhood, dude’s got some issues that need to be dealt with. I’m sure Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis weren’t sketched out at all when they read the script. 

“so we have to have sex with each-other?” 

“Yes”

“Why?”

“Its integral to the plot”

“How?”

“umm, character development” 

“That doesn’t make sense”

“I directed The Fountain!”