Since a lot of folks are asking me how I get the honor of meeting the man who spawned a Six-Degrees phenomenon, here's the story...

I'm currently in rehearsals for "A Few Good Men" in New Jersey. The theater where we are performing is sponsoring a concert where the Bacon Brothers are the headliners. (For those unaware, Kevin and his brother have been a guitar-playing duo for many years.) One of the members of the board of directors at the Ritz Theatre is in fact Kevin's sister.

Seeing as how Kevin played the role of Jack Ross in the movie version of the play, a request was made for a photo-op. Kevin graciously agreed to meet with us and now the principal players in the show will be arriving at the concert venue during his sound check for pictures.

He's been one of my favorite actors for many years... I'm thrilled at the opportunity to hang out with him. In addition, friends who have met him in the past tell me he's a very cool guy.

Well, there ya have it, folks... just five short hours from now, I'll be shaking hands with the man who fought underground sand worms, rode a broken spacecraft around the moon, wore a Marine Corp uniform not only as a lawyer, but most recently to escort a fallen soldier home...

And let's not forget "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." This is as close as one can get. You can count on seeing photographic evidence soon.

Many of you Myspacers know that for the past two seasons at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire, yours truly has been slinging beer as opposed to either running around the streets as a costumed character, or diving head-first into a giant vat of mud.  Now, while a part of me longs for the glory that comes with being counted among the entertainment racket, the bar gig was not without it's perks.  The most prominent being my partner-in-crime while on the clock.

Yes, I am speaking of the illustrious and HIGHLY infamous Matt Celly.

If you have EVER purchased a beer at the Faire, you must at least be familiar with my esteemed co-worker.  He, along with former faire legend Eli, established a reputation at Shuck's for providing not only tasty alcoholic libations, but also hysterical entertainment, all wrapped in a burrito of rage.  Thusly, when Eli departed to mold the young minds of America, I stepped into the void as Celly's partner and straight man.

I set the ball... Matt spiked the ass out of it.

This past season was by far my favorite as a non-performer, almost exclusively due to Celly's hijinks, with the occasional Devennie assist.  We laughed our asses off daily, and got paid for it.  How much more awesome can it get?

So, in honor of a season of chuckles... I'm here to share some of my favorite "Celly-isms" from the 2007 PA Renaissance Faire Season...

 

"Lords and Ladies... now would be a good time to announce that if any of you are easily offended, this is NOT the bar you want to be at...!"

"If you are within the sound of my voice... I probably hate you!!!"

"I'm not gay... I just like the taste."

"The drink special for today is a mystery, you just have to suck it through a hose.  And the food special is 'Sausage Surprise.'  Here's my sausage... SURPRISE!!!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... die in a fire."

"And for my next trick... I'll need a condom... and a volunteer."

"Don't worry... what I lack in customer service, I more than make up for it in FUCK OFF!!!"

"He only has two speeds... slow, and sucking cock."

"I NEED HATE JUICE!!!"

"CRAP!!! IT'S THE QUEEN!!!"

"When I pee, it comes out looking like motor oil... is that bad?"

"I'm not gonna lie... I have a small penis.  BUT... I have a toungue like a helicoptor blade and I can breathe through my eyes."

"Here's my public service announcement... if you burn petchulie while smoking pot, it doesn't cover up the smell... the room just smells like pot AND petchulie."

And for last call...

"Lords and Ladies... we stop serving at seven o'clock!  I don't care... once it's seven, you have a better chance of seeing GOD than getting another frikkin' drink!!!"

My hat is off to you, Celly...  It's been a fun season.

 

P.S.  For those of you who are not familiar with the man in question, you can find Matt in my friends list.  Here's a hint... his profile picture is the letter "B" spanking it to your porn.

 

For all who are interested in coming to see my show for this year's Philly Fringe Festival, you'll be pleased to know that I've opened a new Myspace account dedicated exclusively for the production.

Go to www.myspace.com/hop_frog2007

I'll be updating it regularly with information on showtimes, ticket availability, costs, and venues.

Should be a fun ride...

Ya know, I bet if I did a good amount of research, I'd probably find an ancient rule somewhere that says it is an actual sin against God himself to force an Irish Catholic to work on St. Patrick's Day.

Especially when you work at Applebee's, and they make you pull down a double shift.  I shit you not.  Twelve straight hours of sober torture, and the customers didn't help any.

Let me put it to you this way... had I NOT been trapped within the belly of the corporate beast, a fucking APPLEBEE'S is probably the LAST place you would find me on the one day this world of ours celebrates all things Irish.  After all, County Donegal blood runs through my veins... I have the satisfaction of actually BEING Irish, as opposed to the legions of wannabes that pile into pubs every March 17th.  However, to many, it was simply another Saturday, and that was apparent by observing who I waited on all day and night.

I don't think I had a single Irish lad or lass in my section.  Really.  One kid, a young 21 year old, was the closest.  AND, he ordered the ONLY TWO GUINNESS I SERVED ALL DAY!!!  Fuck, that's depressing.

While we're on the subject of drinking and St. Paddy's... NOBODY DID MUCH OF IT!!!  Even after suggesting beers, whiskies, and (sadly, but it's part of the job) even Margaritas, these were the replies I got...

"Oh, it's much too early to start drinking..."  (My shift began at 12.  Had I been able to rondezvou with friends in Philly, that would have probably been about the time I ordered my third or fifth.  Fucking lightweights.)

"No... I think I'll just have water with lemon."

"Iced tea for me."

Oh, I shudder to remember.

Back to the line-up.  Not an Irishman to be seen... what I did get were Asians, middle easterns, and Mexicans aplenty.  A cultural melting pot, to be sure... but I wanted beer... I wanted whiskey... I wanted to hoist a pint of the black stuff high into the air, and pass out in the wee hours of the morning with the Boondock Saints playing on the TV.

I did enjoy a couple of Guinness after work... found a place in my old hometown... but not a familiar face in the crowd.  Of course, last call came all too soon for me... and it was home again, home again, jiggity-friggin-jig.

*Sigh*

I thank you for reading my bitching about how I was imprisioned this past St. Paddy's Day.  I now return you to the rest of your life... already in progress.

 

Right before Christmas, I landed a job as a waiter at Applebee's in Lawrenceville, NJ.  For the first time in about ten years, I honestly don't mind the job of being in the food-service realm.  My managers love me... my co-workers enjoy working with me... the biggest challenge, of course, is getting your customers to love you all within the space of less than an hour.

Last Friday, during a particularly busy dinner shift, I waited on a young couple who looked to be between the ages of 19 and 21.  Just as they were finishing their meal, I returned with their bill and the young lady asked me if we had comment cards because she wanted to let my managers know that I was doing a great job.

At first, I was skeptical... could she be serious?  After I realized that she wasn't being sarcastic, and that it was just my own paranoia, I let them know that in fact we did not have formal comment cards, but if she wished to write a note to my managers, I offered a pen and a page from my pad.  Mere minutes later, I returned to pick up the check and the young lady handed me a folded piece of paper.

I purposefully did NOT read it until the end of my shift.  After all, it wasn't written to me.  Besides, if it said what I SUSPECTED it said, I wanted nothing more than to see the look of unexpected joy and pride on my manager's face.  This is what was written...

 

2-23-07

Our waiter John exhibited the kind of enthusiastic, helpful attitude that any employer would be proud of.  He was very attentive to our order, accompanied with a friendly smile.  Great job!

E.S. & C.C.

 

Not a bad night's work, if I do say so myself...

Just recently, I returned from a trip to Florida performing the amazingly creepy works of one Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.  I gotta tell ya... getting paid to act out stories from one of the greatest writers of all time in a mansion right on the banks of the Sarasota bay never ceases to amaze me.  In addition, our producers are easily the best bosses on earth.  They provide us all with not only a paycheck, but also food in between shows as well as putting us up for the tenure of our stay in an amazing condo.

Just next to our condominium community, there is a shopping plaza with everything a Jersey Boy needs... a grocery store, a liquor store and two bars.  Paradise is no longer lost, Dante... it's right in Bradenton, Florida.  Just when I was sure I was in heaven, shit like this happens...

I'm in the Albertson's (Florida's version of Giant or Shop Rite) at the checkout line with only about nine items, and just three other fellow shoppers ahead of me.  The woman currently at the register, ready to pay for her merchandise, was a short woman of about fifty five.  Upon scanning the final product into the computer, the clerk asked if she would be paying by cash or credit.  Like most folks these days, homegirl reached into her purse, extracted a plastic card, and said "debit."  Ok, nothing unusual there... just swipe, sign and go, right?

WRONG!!!!  She was utterly clueless on how to use the small credit card scanning machine that sat on the countertop before her.  Even though the instructions were in print RIGHT NEXT TO THE FUCKING MACHINE, our heroine fumbled around for damn near five minutes pressing buttons, swiping repeatedly and looking at the young woman jockeying the register like Paris Hilton trying to solve a word problem.

I've been noticing this more and more in stores across this great land of ours.  Wheather its at Walmart, Albertsons or Circuit City.  This is not a new technology, people!  Credit and debit cards have been around for more than twenty years, so could some of these jackasses GET WITH THE FUCKING PROGRAM???  If I have to waste one more minute of my life standing in a checkout line because Grandma Withers can't figure out how to properly utilize her bank card, I'm gonna start punching babies.

I highly doubt that the woman who inspired this particular diatribe had just recieved her first ever debit card the day she kept her fellow man waiting for her brain to process instructions both verbal and in writing. 

It's just this simple, people!

1.  Swipe the card.

2.  Press "Credit" or "Debit"

3.  Press "Yes, the amount is correct."

4.  Sign your name on the line.

5.  Steal their pen.

If you know anyone who suffers from this affliction, please reccommend them to me.  I'll teach a class on this for the low, low price of $400.00

Tell them to bring cash... they sure can't use the card!

Today, I broke up with the only girl who has been there for me through everything for the past six and a half years...  It was rougher than I anticipated.

I gave up the pink slip to my old car, a 1994 Hyundai Excel by the name of Maggie.  She carried me from Jersey to Lancaster, not to mention four ROUND-TRIP excoursions to Florida, and most recently, to Texas and Kentucky.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I bid a fond farewell to my former ride.  I'll miss ya, Maggs...

I started this year out with a wonderfully optimistic attitude, due almost exclusively to the fact that yours truly was to be a paid performer for 10 months out of the year.  Always the goal of any actor... get as much work as you can so you don't need to utter the deadly phrase: "Would you like fries with that?"  My quest was to begin with back-to-back shows in Florida, then off to Texas, followed by Kentucky, home once again to Pennsylvania and finishing up with another trip to the Sunshine State.

Friday, however, I recieved some crushing news.  The (and I use my words very carefully here) hypocritical, untrustworthy and greedy individual who heads up the show I was to perform with for 12 weeks, was laid off from his full-time job, so he fired me.  Just like that.  Twelve whole weeks of work and paychecks flushed a mere week before we opened.

A mad scramble to find replacement work insued.  Calls went out to directors, bar managers and friends.  I was hurt, angry and depressed.  Furthermore, I was sure that because I now had to spend all my time and energy on locating a job, I would not be able to attend the Kevin Smith signing on Monday, August 7th, in Red Bank, New Jersey... a mere 45 minutes from my house.

"Fuck it... I need something to make me happy, at least for a day.  I can't afford drugs, so Silent Bob will have to suffice."

I arrived in Red Bank just before noon, with the signing slated to begin at two.  I called my friend Bini who was enroute from the Lancaster area to reassure him that I had procured a place in the line, and not to worry.  I had come to this sumbitch prepared... water, Gatorade, iPod and merchandise to be signed.  I even checked the weather reports... 40 percent chance of rain that day, so an umbrella was included in the arsenal. 

Over two THOUSAND fans turned out for the event, and thankfully I had arrived early enough to not only guarantee face time with the man, but that the sun was still up when we did.  As it turned out, Kevin wound up staying until after 4am THE NEXT DAY.  Which brings up my praise about the man.

After a very long (but not awful) wait on the streets of Red Bank, it was finally our turn to enter the doors of Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash.   Low and behold, in the rear of the store stood Kevin himself, chatting and laughing with each and every fan.  I was giddy as a kid who just uncovered dad's porn mag collection.  Then, it was my turn.

I approached Kevin armed with my three items (a limit imposed to keep things moving) and he greeted me with an open hand and a smile.  I passed off the merchandise, and spoke.

"Kevin, I gotta tell ya... after the weekend that I've had... it's just awesome to meet you."

Then something unexpected happened.  His head tilted to the side like the RCA dog, and a look of HONEST concern spread across his face.

"Oh?  Dude, what happened?"

I was blown away... he really wanted to know.  I explained the situation and he agreed with me that it did indeed suck balls.  He happily posed for a picture, and wished me well.  As I exited through the rear of the store, grinning from ear-to-ear, I glanced down to inspect the signatures.  When I read what he wrote on my copy of "An Evening With Kevin Smith," I laughed out loud.

"You were unfairly fired.  -Kevin Smith."

After such a catastrophic weekend career-wise, it was amazing to be able to not only meet one of my idols, but also to find out that he's a fantastic guy. 

 

P.S.  I actually did find a job, based on phonecalls made not only that weekend, but landed a second one on the drive to Red Bank.  Maybe things will work out for the best after all...

I don't really like the New York Yankees.  Frankly, their continued presence in the running for the national title year in and year out gets boring pretty fuckin quick.  I'd much rather root for thier all-time rivals, the Boston Red Sox.

But now the Yankees officially suck, in my own personal opinion.  They just bought one of my favorite players from my team.

Ladies and Gentlemen... let us all observe a moment of silence as we remember Bobby Abreu.  Former All-Star right fielder for the Philadelphia Phillies...

...and the newest addition to the gang of douchebags that are the New York Yankees.

I'll miss ya, Bobby.