Laughter

This year has been a tough one for everyone, and so it's no surprise that this Christmas will have to be a lean one. That's why I've decided to give all my friends and family the most precious gift of all: the gift of a child's laughter. Unfortunately, when I run up to a child in the streets and shake my fists wildly while screaming "laugh," I seem to get more crying than anything else. But I'm not giving up hope. Because at the end of the day, the people I care about are worth it.

-TC

Cab Driver

It's rare that I find myself in a cab, but this weekend I accompanied some friends from Manhattan to Brooklyn in one of the city's many fine taxis. While we were dodging traffic at what might have seemed like excessive speed in less sophisticated parts of the world, one of said friends decided to strike up a conversation with the driver, and it wasn't long before he opened right up and started chatting away like there was no tomorrow. As soon as I mentioned that I was from Vermont, he started to describe in unexpectedly graphic detail how he used to have sex with this girl in Bennington, which segued nicely into a thorough account of every woman he had ever slept with and, occasionally, married. In the course of his life story, it dawned on me that my cab driver has impregnated more women than I have seen naked. I can't begin to count the number of levels on which I was unhappy about this.

-TC

Awkward

My roommate had a birthday party last night, and invited me to come along. While I quite like my roommate, I tend to be a bit introverted, so we don't hang out or bond too terribly much. As such, I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to go out, meet some new people, and spend some quality time with the person I spend so much time silently cohabiting with. Unfortunately, the party was going to be held in a strip club, which, as a general rule, is exactly the sort of place tend to avoid. But luckily the stripping party was going out for food and drinks beforehand, so I decided to at least go along and show support by playing my part in ensuring that the birthday girl found herself more or less completely trashed by the end of the evening.

However, after some delightful conversations with new people, not to mention more than a few drinks, the possibility of going to a strip club didn't seem like anywhere near as bad an idea as usual. My spirit of adventurousness quickly took over, and upon my roommate producing passes for free entry, it was quickly joined by my spirit of cheapness. As a general life policy, I like to think that I'll try almost anything once. If you get me drunk first and tell me it's free, the "almost" tends to become roughly as flexible as my good judgment. And so it was that I found myself venturing out to a strip club last night.

The experience was very similar to the one I expected, save the fact that I thought the dancers would be a bit more energetic and the chairs would be a bit more comfortable. As for the dancers, I was surprised how "stripping" seemed less an act of burlesque and more one of awkwardly swaying at a high school dance. At one point, one of my new friends of the evening turned to me and asked, "So, what do you think she's going for with that dance?" I paused thoughtfully for a second and replied, "I think she's going for 'I'm stoned and I'm looking for my car keys.'" And as for the furnishings, all I can say is that I would have imagined a place that is based solely on making people feel like they're important could have made at least some effort to make them feel comfortable at the same time. After all, what self respecting guy with wads of cash and an abundance of sexual magnetism would blow his money on awkwardly shaped velvet chairs with stains and no lumbar support?

Now, when I walk into a room where there aren't any ladies taking their clothes off for money, typically there will be more than enough awkward to go around. So you can just imagine what walking into a room and finding a naked woman perched precariously on a pair of oversized high heels that she clearly borrowed from an Amazon at the last second did for the situation. At first it was actually a bit of a relief. After all, it's been so long since I've seen a naked woman that it was nice to know that all the important bits are more or less where I remembered them to be. And really, being surrounded by scantily clad strangers, while not an experience I'm anxious to repeat, was not as uncomfortable an experience as I might have thought.

The real awkward came when I, as the guy in the group sitting closest to the nearest walkway, kept getting offered lap dances every few minutes. In an of itself, this wasn't especially objectionable, as you can pretty much apply the basic rules of telling a waitress that you don't want a refill on your Pepsi to informing a woman in a corset that you'd rather she didn't waggle her bottom at you. But what I hadn't accounted for was how physical strippers are in their flirtatious advances. After we'd been sitting for maybe twenty minutes, I was in mid conversation with the man next to me when all of a sudden a strange hand started running up my inner thigh. I abruptly whipped my head around to give her my best deer in the headlights look (which, with eyes like mine, is pretty good), and she offered me a dance. Now, as this was the most physical contact I've had with a woman in about two years, I found myself a bit flustered and surprisingly unable to verbally articulate complex thoughts like "No, thank you," so I had to make due with hand gestures that I felt conveyed my sentiments. Unfortunately, it would seem that in Russian these gestures translate as "Please stare at me blankly as you continue to stroke my inner thigh." No wonder the Soviet Union collapsed.

As I said, I'll try almost anything once. But as is often the case, going to a strip club is an experience where once is enough.

-TC

Spam

It would seem that today, someone pretending to be me accessed my e-mail account and sent out this mass message to everyone I've ever contacted inviting them to buy digital cameras from some website. My friends knew it wasn't me, though. This isn't due to the fact that I was inexplicably selling things or had the grammar of a bad Chinese robot, but because I suspiciously mentioned that I was experiencing "happiness." My friends know me so well.

-TC

Hair Metal

I see people performing for money in the subway all the time. But today I saw my first one man hair metal band. And he totally rocked my world. Not enough that I gave him money, of course, just enough that I decidedly avoiding giving him any overtly dirty looks as I passed by. I'm too kind, I know.

-TC

Writing

I've been writing a lot lately. As is always the case when I've been productive for a while, I felt like doing some mindless busy work to make it feel like I was accomplishing something while actually doing little more than killing time between now and the grave. In that vein I decided to print out the latest copies of all the scripts I've started in the last few years and organize them together in a binder.

Once I had done so, the first thing I realized was that this binder is now heavy enough that I could easily beat someone to death with it. The second thing I realized was that doing so would probably be the most productive thing that is likely to happen with this material.
-TC

Transformers

Alright, I'll admit that there's a ten year old boy inside me, and no matter how much I may fight it, I still have an overwhelming impulse to see movies based on things from my childhood, like super hero films and the like. But at least I've reached the point where I can usually wait until they've come out on DVD so I can experience my shame in private. And I knew when I rented Transformers 2 from Netflix that I was making a terrible life choice, but I had no idea just how bad an idea this was. All I can say is that I'm less than 15 minutes in and already there has been a flatulent robot.

Michael Bay, if you're reading, I'm embarrassed for both of us.

-TC

Highs and Lows

I came home to New England for the weekend, and I thought I would give a quick rundown on the highs and lows of my day here in small town USA. On the high side, within hours of waking up this morning I had a stranger tell me I was handsome, then had an attractive young woman give me a free cookie in exchange for flashing my winning smile. (I'd like to gloat about how dreamy this sort of thing might suggest me to be, but sadly I don't think that the title of Most Attractive Man in Walpole, New Hampshire is as difficult to attain as one might imagine.)

And on the low side, I went into an empty house and saw my first free-standing urinal in a residential home. Not, I should point out, in a bathroom. Just sitting there off the kitchen. Western Civilization at it's finest.
-TC

Master Race

Today I saw a man walking down the street with a cat sitting on his head, and a very nice homless man informed me that I "ain't no master race, bitch." Or, as we say in New York, it's Monday.
-TC

Yelps

Today I was reading The New York Times, and there was a story about a supreme court case where a man is accused of distributing images of animal cruelty for including scenes of a dogfight in a documentary. As part of his defense, his lawyers counted "at most, 25 seconds containing yelps." Some go to law school for the money, others to fight for social justice. I wonder if these people went in hoping they'd get the chance to sit with a stopwatch so they could stand before the supreme court seriously arguing over exactly how many dog yelps constitute animal cruelty from a legal standpoint. Still, better than being the bankruptcy attorney advertising on the subway.
-TC

Steve Jobs

Being a massive dork, I spent part of the day reading a live blog covering Apple's iPod announcement, once again helmed by Steve Jobs. I'm glad to see that Liver 2.0 seems to have launched without incident.

-TC

Finished

The big project I've been working on for the past two months is finally going in the mail today, which means I can have my social life back at long last. Or, to be more accurate, I can sit at home not talking to anyone again at long last. Living the dream.
-TC

Tompkins Square Park

I like to keep people up to date on teh strangest things I've seen lately. Today I was hanging around Tompkins Square Park with some friends, and of course, being in a public park in New York, we were surrounded by vagrants. One such gentleman was being a bit raucous, shouting things occasionally and hitting the ground with a big stick. But, whatever, that's not atypical New York behavior, so I paid him no mind. After a while, he got up, whipped out his junk as he was walking by, and wandered over to a corner, where he proceeded to urinate on a box. Again, whatever. I mean, you've got to urinate on something, right? But the bit that I found especially unsettling was that when he was finished, he put his hands in said urine and rubbed it all over his face. Then went back to hitting the ground with a stick as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

My philospy is that if I have to see something, other people need to visualize it. It's only fair.
-TC

Crazy

I had to work today, and as I was leaving my office, a crazy man walked up to me and said "basketball star, rent a car, state to state," then walked away. I then had another of those moments when I realized that this was probably the most social interaction I would have all day.

On the upside, when I was on the subway home, I thought of a witty comeback to something someone said to me seven years ago. So the day wasn't a complete waste.
-TC

Eye Contact

As I was standing on the subway platform today, a young woman kept looking at me. Whether she was mentally undressing me or thinking about how funny I look is hard to say. But I never got the chance to find out, as the New York routine has become so ingrained in me that all I could think was "don't make eye contact, she'll want a dollar."

The same thing happened a few minutes later on the train, as a young man clearly started making eyes in my direction. But he smiled, which suggests that either he wasn't mentally undressing me or he has a very poor imagination.

-TC

Texting

A study was announced today which said that texting while driving considerably increases the likelihood of crashing. I'm glad we're taking the time to answer the really pressing questions. So glad, in fact, that I can't even wait for a red light to share this ground breaking news.
-TC

Chicken

As I was on my way into the office this morning, I passed by a row of homeless people begging for change. Next to the four or five homeless people was a man in a giant chicken costume squawking at passersby. I was stunned to realize that the depth of this recession is so great that not even chickens can count on a living anymore.
-TC

Tech Ed.

When I was in seventh or eighth grade, we were required to take a class called Tech Ed. In it, we learned about basics of design, use of various shop tools, and other technical skills. One project they had us perform involved building something that would remove a golf ball from a long, thin tube. The most common solution was some sort of broom handle with something sticky on the end of it.

I recalled this project today when I got off the train at Union Square, and found a man using an umbrella to fish bottles and cans out of the bottom of a garbage can that was too tall and had too small an opening for him to simply reach into. That's when I realized that when Brattleboro Union High School taught us basic principles of engineering, they were really preparing us for our future careers among the ranks of the homeless.

Thanks, Brattleboro!
-TC

Screenplay

I just finished the first draft of my first original screenplay in about four years. Being a first draft, it more or less completely sucks, but I'm writing again, and that's the important thing. It currently clocks in at 132 pages. Hopefully when I whittle out some of the more overtly awful bits, it'll start working its way down to a more manageable length.
-TC

Travel Agent

Next door to my office is a small travel agency. They are constantly trying to lure people in with free sandwiches, men on stilts, raffle drawings, and other such gimmicks. As a good New Yorker, I usually make a point to either avoid eye contact or scowl derisively as I pass by on my way to lunch. But today I was passing by, and a woman shouted "real live penguin inside!" I must say, I was a bit intrigued by this. The prospect of seeing a penguin on my lunch break was almost enough of an incentive to interrupt the flow of my day. Almost.
-TC

Old Woman

Today I came home from work, much as I do most days. Shortly thereafter, I had to run out to take care of a small errand. On my way out the door, I found an old woman sitting on my front step reading the newspaper. I looked at her quizzically, and she "I'm just resting a moment, I got out of the hospital a couple days ago." I replied "That's fine," and continued on my merry way. After about a block, it dawned on me that this was the first time I'd actually spoken to another person all day long. It was a sobering thought to realize that the most interaction I had had with another human being consisted entirely of deciding not to kick a crippled old lady off my stoop. I briefly toyed with the idea of calling the police, just so I'd have someone else to talk to. Ah, well. Another lost opportunity.
-TC

DMV

As a child of the eighties, I grew up with The Department of Motor Vehicles being one of the most common targets for comedians looking for a quick laugh. Long lines, inept employees, all general comedy fodder that I never really gave much thought to. However, I have now been trying to renew my license by mail since late May, so far to no avail. And one of the reasons for the hold up is that each time I resubmit my application (I'm on try number 3 now), I have to wait three business days to find out whether or not it's being processed. Now, this is not because it takes three days to process a form. That would just be silly. Instead, it takes three days because apparently the Vermont DMV has a policy of not even opening, much less processing their mail for three days after it arrives. I assume this is to let the mail settle.

So now with the benefit of more worldly experience, I feel confident in saying, "Paul Reiser, you were absolutely right."
-TC

Cats

I've been living with a cat for the last two weeks, and it has only further cemented my belief that cats are in fact better than people. My reasoning goes like this: the cat woke me up at 6:00 a.m., then threw up on me at 7:00 a.m. (perhaps in response to my refusal to leave the bed). However, in spite of this, I still felt less annoyed than I do by simply walking into my own apartment and knowing that other people sometimes live there.
-TC

Empathy?

As most are probably already aware, the media has been in a tizzy this past week over Barack Obama's statement that one of the qualities he would seek in a new Supreme Court Justice is empathy. Now, as we all know, the ability to empathize with another is the ability to experience his thoughts or feelings. Through empathy, we can understand someone else's plight and judge it in the context of our own experiences, desires, and moralities. In so doing, we are forced to think of other people not as abstractions but as equals to whom our own fundamental ideas of right and wrong continue to apply, even when we are not directly effected. As a result, the continued functionality of society is taken outside the realm of basic self interest and a communal ideal can foster a civilization governed by mutual responsibility. And, of course, there is only one word for a society governed by a communal ideal: Communism!

As there is absolutely no place for any such sense of common responsibility in our fine legal system, I propose that our president do the only reasonable, rational thing one could do when faced with this difficult nomination: he should refit Peter Weller and make Robojudge our next Justice of the Supreme Court. He and Justice ED-209 should have some interesting and productive discussions when the next seat opens up.
-TC

News

I found myself back in my hometown for the weekend, and when I looked at the local newspaper I found the following headline on page 1 above the fold:

"Local Woman's Card a Hallmark Finalist"

Take that, economic turmoil!
-TC

Quiche

I was chatting with a friend online and informed her that I was making a quiche. When she asked what kind, I replied, "Oh, just my standard quiche."

Does the fact that I have a standard quiche make me a loser? I prefer to think that everyone else is a loser for not having a standard quiche.
-TC

Phil Spector

Today, after many years of extended court battles and public speculation, Phil Spector was finally found guilty of murdering Let It Be.

The most interesting thing about the whole case for me was the discovery that the actual victim, perhaps best known for her role in the 1980's classic Fast Times at Ridgemont High, also appeared in a film entitled Amazon Women on the Moon. Really, with a name like that, how could this movie not be the most amazing thing ever?
-TC

Vermont

As you have all probably noticed by now, Vermont recently became the fourth state to allow same-sex marriages. I can't speak for anyone else, but I for one am horrified by this development. I will never be able to visit my home state again without fear that when I walk into a good Christian gas station and try to pay for a Snickers bar with my credit card, I will sign my receipt and find that I have legally bound myself in unholy matrimony to another man.

This shortsighted act of the Vermont legislature infringes upon all of our civil liberties by insisting people have the right to make personal choices, and there is only one word for allowing such appalling freedom of choice: Socialism. That's right, when a man marries another man, it not only makes them gay, it also makes them card carrying anti-American, terrorist loving, pinko commie scum. (The font on the cards is very small.) But not to worry, the weight of sin added onto the unwashed backs of Vermont's hippie locals will no doubt cause the entire state to dislodge and sink into Lake Champlain which, as I am sure you are all aware, is the doorway straight to Hell. Why else would a giant monster be living in it?
-TC

Tuesday

Today I ate Pakistani food and watched a fist fight break out in the street after a man hit a woman with his SUV. Or, to put it another way, I live in New York City, and it's Tuesday.
-TC

A Defining Moment

Today I had an experience that really defined the experience of living in New York City. I was on the E Train riding into Manhattan. As I looked down the train, I saw a man to my left who was screaming at anyone who made the mistake of making eye contact (read: me and some tourists) to ask for a quarter. Sitting directly across from him to my right, there was a woman with unusually large, trendy sunglasses and a portable DVD player, busily banging on the remote, trying desperately to get it to work.

The lesson is, everyone has their own unique problems. And mine largely consist of learning not to make eye contact with people who will shout at me.
-TC

Consultants

Apparently, my company just had some consultants watch our show to get feedback, and they hated EVERYTHING. More to the point, they paid $10,000 for that opinion. I could have told them that for ten grand. Hell, I would have told them that for fifty bucks and a sandwich.
-TC

Quote of the Day

"This carpet smells like pie."

In my defense, it did. It's been a long, long day.
-TC

Son of Jollibee

For those of you who follow the goings on of my life, I wanted to give an update on the Jollibee situation. Okay, really, I'm just bored and thought the act of typing might keep my mind occupied for a few minutes.

My friend and I recently decided to to give the food a shot. Considering that their menu includes such delightful desserts as creamed corn in shaved ice topped with corn flakes, how could we not? Unfortunately, after spending the better part of two hours in line, I was disappointed to discover that none of the shockingly disgusting things I'd discovered online were available at this particular restaurant. All we were left with was a mediocre interpretation of "American" food. This was quite the disappointment, as I could get a mediocre interpretation of American food by wandering into any of the eight thousand McDonald's in this city. Furthermore, I discovered that apparently when they say "American Style," what they mean is "drenched in mayonaise."

There was one unusually ghetto item on the menu, but it didn't pique my curiosity quite enough to merit exploration. They serve spaghetti at Jollibee, but with the wry twist of throwing hot dogs in the sauce.

But I thought it was odd that it was taking us so long to get our food, as the line wasn't really all that long, it just wasn't moving. Upon finally arriving at the cash register, I looked at what everyone else was ordering, and I discovered that the reason the line moved so slowly is that everyone in it but us was ordering a hundred dollars worth of fried chicken to take back to their Filipino families. To their credit, the fried chicken was alright, and not smothered in mayonaise.
-TC

The Most Annoying Sound

The latest front runner on my ever expanding list of things that are irritating to hear on a subway platform is a man playing the tuba. Unless you're John Phillip Sousa, you have no reason to go around subjecting people to the sound of the tuba, much less in what essentially constitutes a large echo chamber.

But while I'm on the subject of things I've seen in the subway, I must admit I was thoroughly amused by the image of cookie monster and a skunk playing the xylophone for money. If anyone knows cookie monster, tell him that the creepy guy on the internet is a big fan.
-TC

Jollibee

I went to the grocery store earlier, and on my way, I noticed that every restaurant in my neighborhood was packed, with lines swarming out into the streets. In and of itself, this isn't surprising. Being Valentine's Day, I'm sure it's hard to get a table anywhere, much less anywhere nice.

But the biggest crowd I observed was outside this new place called Jollibee. Out of curiosity, I decided to check out their website when I got back to my apartment. Apparently, Jollibee is the Philippines's number one American-style fast food restaurant.

I think it goes without saying that fast food is never the greatest cuisine one could hope for. But as a general rule, their advertising photography still makes their menu look like something that vaguely approximates real food. However, this is not the case for Jollibee. A few minutes of perusing their online menu was enough to ruin the idea of the hamburger for me forever. More importantly, their desserts include creamed corn in shaved ice topped with corn flakes, and something that seems like ice cream covered in cheese. If this is how the rest of the world views America, no wonder we are so hated in the international community. "First they ignore the wishes of the UN, then they put cheese on ice cream. Kill the infidels!"

I would like to say to anyone that was taken to Jollibee for Valentine's Day, I am deeply sorry, not just on behalf of men everywhere, but on behalf of all humanity. There are some mistakes in life for which there are simply no excuse.
-TC

Saturday Night

"Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody
I got some money 'cause I just got paid
How I wish I had someone to talk to
I'm in an awful way"
-Sam Cooke, Another Saturday Night

Happy Valentine's Day, world! I hope you choke on it.
-TC

Canada

I spent much of the last week in Canada. And I spent much of that time driving through the middle of nowhere, a term I didn't fully understand until I found myself in the wilds of Canada.

The ride up was a bit harrowing. We drove from New York to Manchester, VT in the middle of a rather sizable snowstorm. Considering that my car has no snow tires, is pretty low to the ground, and Vermont has a rather whimsical idea of what constitutes a plowed road, I was kind of surprised we didn't die in a ditch on fire. But, here I am.

In the course of the trip, I went to the Boreal Zoo and looked at some polar bears that seemed to think I looked rather delicious, rode a toboggan down an ice ramp in Quebec City, parked and stood on Lac St. Jean amid a village of tiny houses, watched a cougar lick a cow leg, and spoke what I think constitutes very poor French. I also ate caribou, inferior maple on a stick, and poutine. Not only did I eat poutine, I ate McDonald's poutine. Which is pretty much what you'd expect.

And now I'm back in New York where it seems that by some miracle of oversight I have not in fact been fired. Yet.
-TC

Robert Downey, Jr.

I am really glad that we have reached the point as a society where a man can once again be nominated for an Academy Award for a performance done in blackface.
-TC

Whoops

Next week I go to Quebec City. There is a strong likelihood that I will be fired before I get back.

Whoops.
-TC

Movies and Things

So, as nothing of consequence is going on in my life, I thought I would take a moment to tell you all about the movies I've seen lately that are more interesting than my real life.

For some months now, people keep saying to me that Heath Ledger is pretty much guaranteed to win the Oscar for best actor this year. While he certainly has the whole "dead" thing going for him, and while I will admit I am very biased towards anyone portraying a sociopath, I have to say that I was simply blown away by Sean Penn in Gus Van Sant's new film, Milk. Milk is a marvelous work, and Penn gives a truly remarkable performance. Moreover, there is a scene early in the film that takes place on Harvey Milk's birthday, and and we find the titular Milk laying in bed eating cake with his lover, who playfully spreads cake on Milk's face. His lover moves to lick it off, and the ensuing make-out session contains the single most convincing screen kiss I have seen in a very long time. It may be a minor moment in the film, but it was perfect.

Frost/Nixon was an enjoyable affair, if at times dominated by Ron Howard's very typically Hollywood conception of storytelling. While drawn out dialogue scenes and the occasional extended monologue reminds you that the work was originally a stage play, David Frost's "research montage" leading up to the final interview left me with an image of Rocky pummeling American cynicism in a freezing meat locker somewhere. I don't want to spoil the end, but he goes the distance. Most interestingly, this film was the first thing I've ever really been exposed to that made any effort to humanize Nixon, and that was something I wasn't quite prepared for.

As I was watching Woody Allen's latest picture, Vicky Christina Barcelona, I could just imagine Woody Allen overlooking Spain and thinking to himself, "How can I watch Scarlett Johansson kiss another woman? Wait a minute! I make films!" While the movie is better than many of his offerings of the late 90s and early 2000s, it falls short in several respects. Most notably, the plot is driven forward by a heavy-handed narration that robs some very strong performances any subtlety they may have had if let to speak for themselves. When anyone tells you how a movie should be made, they always rail against voiceover, as conventional wisdom is that things should never be explained, they should be seen. While personally, I think that's a bunch of shit, I do think that there are times when the story should just tell itself, and thoughts and feelings should be found in the faces and actions of the actors. And this film could have benefitted greatly from being one of those times.

And the less said about Zombie Strippers, the better. My thought process for deciding to rent the movie went something like this: "I like zombies. I like naked women. How could this possibly go wrong?" Well, for starters, anytime you're casting a porn star in a leading role, you're on shaky ground. Especially when said porn star is surrounded with corn-fed Nebraskans and their insipid ramblings on Nietzche and the nature of existence, clearly written by someone who took one philosophy class in high school and decided they could give Aristotle a run for his money. But I think the worst offense committed by the film is the violation of one of the cardinal rules of low-budget post modern horror movies: If you don't have the money to do an effect convincingly, do it spectacularly cheaply. Rather than make use of latex and things, peoples heads regularly explode in geysers of cheap CGI blood. Gunshots are represented not by blanks, not even by cheesy sound effects, but by computer generated approximations of muzzle flashes that would embarass Ed Wood. Someone seems to have had one lesson in After Effects and thought they were George Lucas. And finally, if ever I find myself teaching a class on screenwriting, I will begin with the following thought: "If you are writing a script, and you reach the point where the next logical progression is to have someone shoot pool balls out of their vagina, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. Now get out of my sight, all of you."

Straying from the subject of film, I recently met someone who is responsible for a web comic. It amused me, so I thought I would share it with my loyal devotees. (Before I paste the link, I will take a moment to let the deafening silence and tumbleweed pass.) The comic, Darwin Carmichael is Going to Hell, can be found at http://dcisgoingtohell.com. Anyone who knows me will understand why I find it amusing by simply looking at the first two panels of the first comic. And if the comic doesn't take off, they should at least be able to unload the domain name for a hefty sum.
-TC