I’m Ed, and I approve this message

Someone just told me about the 2008 Blogger’s Choice Awards. Two days before voting is over. Oh well. I thought I’d sign up for the Best Humor Blog category for something to do on a Tuesday.

So, if you feel like it (and if you think this blog is sort of humorous), swing by and vote for this disjointed group of posts I call a blog.




Life of Reilly

The odd thing about being a video editor is how I get close to people who aren’t even aware it’s happening.

Whether it’s an artist or someone in the community, they may come in to the station or we may be out at a concert, someone else interviews them while I film the goings-on. After that I take the footage back to the office and literally spend hours and hours editing the interview. After a bit I start to get the sense that I really know who these people are. I pore over their every word and gesture, looking for the best angle and what-have-you, dialing in on their anecdotes, and suddenly I’ve spent all of this quality time with them. It’s like they’re hanging out with ME and not the pesky interviewer! I feel like we’re best buds and as far as they know, I’m Biff the anonymous camera guy (when, in reality, I’m the anonymous camera guy Ed).

It’s a very one-way relationship I have going on with these people.

Recently I’ve been forging a false friendship with my new favorite band, Reilly. John Reilly and Dan Huie hung out with us backstage at the Purple Door festival and they were a lot of fun. Their interview was incredible in that I was able to turn it into five different videos: a legitimate meet-the-band type interview, and four funny vignettes that give a little insight into their quirky sense of humor.

They’re all available on the station’s YouTube site. As of this writing, I haven’t posted the final two short films…I’m saving the other two to sprinkle in throughout the next couple of weeks. And, if you don’t wanna go all the way over to YouTube, you can watch the videos here.

First, the short funny ones:

And then the regular interview interview:

And now you know why they’re my new favorite band and my new friends by an extreme technicality.

Scab for Hire

OK, I’m probably not the only person who’s sick of this writer’s strike currently preventing me from seeing new episodes of “Saturday Night Live,” “The Office,” and “30 Rock” and pretty much guaranteeing me only a partial season of “Lost” and “24.” Not only are my favorite shows MIA but I now have an excess of bland reality shows to choose from like “The Singing Bee,” “Do You Know the Words,” “Battle of the Choirs,” “Nunfight 2008,” “Are You Dumber Than A Redneck,” and “So You Want to Be Famous for 10 Minutes, Too.”

And so I have decided to cross the picket line (sorry Writer’s Guild, but something tells¬† I’m not burning any bridges here…it’s not like I’m a card-carrying member or anything…or have any chance of being so). So this is a proclamation to all interested TV studios/production companies that I’ll take the bullet and step in and write a few episodes for ya, just so I can watch something new on TV.

I read a couple of weeks ago that the last time the talks between the writers and the union fell through, the writers turned down an offer that would garner them $250,000/year. You’re getting a bargain with me. This is an offer you can’t refuse: Pay me $175,000 a year and I’ll write your TV shows and try to find a way to eke out an existence on my new-found ¬†meager earnings.

Sounds like a deal to me. You get new episodes, it’s easier to get advertising, and I get to figure out how in the world I could possibly survive on a 6-figure income. What have we got to lose?

Let’s do this.

A Blog for Bob

When I was home in Indiana for our wedding reception this weekend I ran into my good pal Bob. He’s been an avid reader of my blog for some time now, but he had a complaint. It seems that since Sarah and I have fallen for each other, my blogs have gone a little soft and become quite mushy.

I agree with Bob. Not that I mind the tone of my more recent blogs because, like the blogs before them, they are true to heart and reflect what was–and is–on my mind. But I am indeed aware that as a result, the humor and sarcasm seem to have taken a back seat.

I promised Bob that when I returned to PA I would make it up to him, even naming my next post “A Blog for Bob.” I promised him a return of the humor he has come to look forward to (and subsequently miss).

I honestly thought about this during much of the drive back home from Indiana. As Sarah slept in the passenger seat beside me, I found myself wondering just what on earth I was going to blog about. Many of my more humorous blogs aren’t necessarily me coming up with a silly idea; they’re usually me reacting to an odd situation I’ve found myself in.

And I guess that’s the problem. I haven’t found myself in any weird or I-Can’t-Believe-This-Is-Happening circumstances as of late. Or at least not that I can think of.

But now that I think of it, it IS really cold in my office. There are two ceiling vents that seem to blow air direct from the Arctic Circle and onto me on a regular basis. It’s not as bad in the summer time because at least I can step outside to thaw out the icicles that have formed on my nose and/or ear lobes.

I mentioned this to someone here at work and was told there is nothing that can be done about it. The vents always blow cold air, always have and always will. The odd thing about it is that mine is the only area that seems to be this cold all the time. Part of me hopes my office is haunted. I want to fight a ghost.

The cold air hasn’t stopped despite the fact that the weather has taken a chilly turn. I actually thought it would let up when the temperature dropped, but no such luck. Today I found myself balanced on a chair, taping two folders (that I had already taped together) to the vent directly above me in an attempt to divert the constant breeze that is blowing down my back.

It seems to have worked. For now. Either that, or the air has stopped blowing. Either way, I’m still hoping to fight a ghost. That would be cool.

So there you go, Bob. This entry probably won’t end up being printed in The New Yorker or even Cracked magazine but if you’ve made it this far then chances are I’m on the right track to Ha-Ha Town.


I went to get a haircut today. That’s one thing about moving to a new place…finding someone who can cut your hair. I went into a salon in the mall and asked about getting a haircut. When the lady told me “Robert will be right with you” I was glad. I have had a lot of success with gay barbers in the past.

Not so much anymore.

The Laws of MySpace: NAMES

I’ve been bouncing around MySpace for some time now and I’ve come across some revelations. Nothing new; you may have noticed them as well. But the difference is I am choosing to blog about them because if you know me, I always need something to gripe about. And since I have an amazing girlfriend, a great job, and life in general is pretty good, I don’t really have anything to gripe about so I have decided to aim my sites at MySpace. That’s right. Biting the hand that feeds me. So what? Rather than bunch my MySpace whinges together in one long-winded blog, I have chosen to start a series based on this phenomenon. Today’s topic: Your MySpace name. It’s come to my attention that you can tell a lot about a person based on their screen name alone. Observe:

If a girl has any of the above descriptive words (or anything similar) in her screen name, i.e. GlamorousGrl or SexyMama she will, in all actuality, NOT be any of those things.

If the “heart” symbol appears anywhere in the screen name and it’s a girl, she will be 12 years old but desperately wishes she were older. Like 15. If it’s a guy with a heart symbol in the screen name, he will be 44 years old be desperately wishes he were younger. Like 12. And a girl.

4 Words or More
If the screen name is not a name but a complete sentence like “I hate your mother’s cooking” or “Deep into the night steps a wayward fawn” or “Music is my master and I am its slave” then they are an idiot. They probably write unsuccessful poetry and think they’re much deeper than they actually are. They aren’t deep, just annoying.

I Need Attention!
If the screen name is actually a birthday reminder (“It’s My Birthday!” or “4 Days Til My BDay!”) then they don’t have any friends. Do not pity them. Do not wish them a happy birthday. They suck.

Most screen names are the person’s name (Bob), a play on their name (Amykins), or a nickname (Daruba). This is fine. Once in a while you’ll get someone, though, who picks a random noun (The Blender) or a name they wish they went by (Studmaster General). These people are almost as bad as the “It’s My Birthday” people. But I won’t be too harsh on them because these people can’t help it. These people are retarded.

Old People: Not Funny

The last couple of days I have been doing work for people who are older than me. By older than me, I mean in their 60s. Siding houses, wallpapering, what-have-you. And in both cases they have annoyed me with their attempts at being funny. What makes it worse is that they both have the exact same material.

Here’s the basic premise: They will hover over me and watch me work and then make comments like “Gee, you sure are working slowly” or “Where did your dad get such horrible help” or “Just because it’s 5:00 doesn’t mean you can go home. You young people don’t know what it is to work.”

I know they’re just trying to be funny, but the thing is, they’re failing at it. Instead of using delivery that is light and friendly, they say it in their I-Can-Say-Whatever-I-Really-Feel-If-I-Pretend-I’m-Joking voice. And after 2-1/2 weeks of hearing it over and over and over again it has gone from “not funny” to “really not funny” to “slightly annoying” to “ready to walk off the job at any moment.”

If you know me, then you know I like to joke around. That’s not what I have a problem with. I just hate it when I’m out in the sun working and they’re standing behind me, beer in hand, and making smart-aleck comments to someone they don’t even know.

Maybe it’s because Dad told them I’m into comedy and they’re just trying to be funny. Maybe that’s how everyone joked in the ’50s. But you’re paying me to work on your house, not be funny, and for you my funny isn’t free.