The Daily Derenger

8/15/2002

The Buddy system is in full effect. At least for the last 3 days it has been. You see, Erin's landlord is out of town and needs her dog, Buddy, walked on a daily basis. But I guess walking is the least of his worries. In reality, he needs to pee and shit more than he needs to walk.

Erin had a job interview the other day and today she worked a temp job. That left nobody to walk Buddy ... except for me, the Kato Kaelin of Lincoln Park. I'm not only a house guest but I paint, take out the trash, and walk the dog. A dog that's not even mine no less. And I had to clean up his shit. I've had a dog all my life at home and I never once had to walk it OR pick up it's shit. We had something called a, lemme think a minute, oh yeah, it's a yard! People in Keokuk, IA have no idea what picking up dog shit is all about. Hell, in Chicago we have professional dog walkers who get paid to deal with such shit ... and other dog-related things.

I did the walking and shit-picking-up like I was a pro. Kind of. He peed right away both times and then shat a short while later. The first day it was a nice, single solid log so picking it up was no problem. Today's dump was a more steamy, moist, melted-chocolate kind. And there were 2 chunks, like an Almond Joy. I have the weakest stomach around. I dry heave at the mention of someone else's puke or smell of their defacation. I learned today that a dog's pile of poop is no different. I reached in the bag and went for the no-look-poop-scoop. It wasn't to be. I dry heaved 46 times while Buddy wondered what the hell my problem was. Luckily my friend Cyndi was along for the walk. Had she not been, I may have taken one for them team and picked up the candy bar crap. Then I would have had to wipe the puke off my shirt.

Thanks to Cyndi, the Buddy system worked like a charm. Now I'm off to find a girlfriend whose landlord never leaves town.

8/12/2002

The lockers, the gymnasiums, the cafeterias, the text books, the long hallways, the sound of the bell, the new faces. Yep, high school just as I knew it.

My sister, Lauren, will begin her junior year of high school next Tuesday. Earlier today I took her to get her books and fill out some mandatory last minute paper work. She is attending a public school while I went to the catholic school about a mile down the road. My 10-year high school reunion is next year! HOLY SHIT!!! That is the first time I've ever seen that in writing. Now that's scary. Even though I have traveled overseas twice for comedy, I'm still at home and driving about the same kind of car I did 10 years ago. Back then it was a Pontiac LeMans. Now it's a Geo Prizm. So much for the wine theory of getting better with age.

The students looked like high school students of today, wearing pants 3 sizes too big. "Those are shorts, Scott," my sister told me. "Then go tell him to pull them up off his shoetops," I snapped back with. Some of the girls were dressed in the very clothes that girls 10 years ago wore to bed. I wasn't sure if I was at a high school or a casting call for the next lingerie calendar. And these girls were young and wearing next to nothing. I almost yelled out, "Damn! Now I can see why R. Kelly gave in." Freshmen girls were walking around with a Basic Algebra book while I was thinking 'A-squared-plus-B-squared never seemed so naughty'!

I guess I have about 10 months to make something of myself before my class reunion. Hopefully a Comedy Central appearance will come my way or just a credit saying I wrote for someone who appeared on Comedy Central. Either way, I have some work to do. Maybe I could meet, marry and impregnate a supermodel and bring her to the reunion. Okay, so forget the marry part. Although the other things would surely be enough to impress the football team. In the meantime, I'm going to graduate from college, get a condo in Beverly Hills, buy a BMW, write and sell a screenplay, and replace my Structure wardrobe with that of Kenneth Cole ... Oh shit, I overslept again. I asked mom to wake me up when she left. Now I've missed the beginning of the Ginger Lynn E! True Hollywood Story and SportsCenter. I hope there's at least some milk left for a bowl of Cookie Crisp. Then I'll check my 12 email accounts to see if my mortgage has been approved, if my Viagra came in, and see what SweetSexNE1469@ishouldshootmyselfintheface.com has sent me. Mom should be back by then so I can use her car to go take out 20 bucks from the bank for beers and karaoke tonight.

There you have it. Welcome to the next 10 months leading up to my class reunion. Look for me in the obituaries if this shit keeps up.

8/11/2002

Music is far from my first love. As a matter of fact, it's not even in my top 10 favorite things. Many people love a certain band or style of music. Others like live concerts or have a vast CD collection. I am not any of those people. The last CD I bought was of a stand-up comic. The last music-related CD I bought was probably the soundtrack to City of Angels, a movie that came out some five years ago. Casey Kasem and Dick Clark I am not.

I have a love for the radio and just about whatever is on it. The scan button is used in my car more than the horn is. Okay, I guess we all can make that claim unless, of course, you live in New York City. I'll listen to a variety of music but sports-talk is where it's at for me. It's gotten me through many a long road trip. Now that's not to say that some Quiet Riot can't do the job, but the seemingly conversational and interactive make-up of sports-talk radio does the trick. Every day brings about new subjects to debate and old ones to dig up. From baseball contraction and steroid use to the NFL quarterback carousels and team expansions, sports-talk radio reigns supreme.

With all that revealed or perhaps made more clear if you already know me, I went to the largest concert, in terms of attendance, in my life last night. My friend Cyndi had some people cancel on her last minute. I had nothing else going on aside from deciding which bills to pay this month. So I went. I guess she needed a ride, too. I was not only someone to go with but the means by which to get there. But I enjoy being used and abused.

The concert was outside of Indianapolis just under four hours from Chicago. The Dave Matthews Band was the reason for the drive. I know of their songs from what's been played on the radio and TV. Personally, I think most of them sound exactly alike. But Cyndi paid for the ticket and for lunch and dinner, McDonald's and Steak & Shake respectively, so I was at least fed. I also wanted to experience the band live. They have been sweeping the nation over the last 10 years and I wanted to see what the hype was all about. I gotta say I still have no idea. Maybe if I would've known more than the refrain of three songs I would have more to report.

I did people-watch all the while not having a drop of alcohol. This made the people watching that much more interesting since I was able to comprehend all of what was being said and done. However, the lack of booze intake made the trips to the bathroom minimal. And there is always great entertainment to be found on the way to and from the john. So I had to focus on those around us. We had lawn seats and got there two songs into Dave being on stage. Needless to say, we were in the nosebleed section if sitting on a hill can have such a section. It wasn't so bad though. We had binoculars and there were enough young, scantily-clad ladies around to assure me that I wasn't in need of Viagra.

There were droves and droves of drunks wandering aimlessly throughout the Verizon Wireless Music Center. In addition, there were a number of people passed out minutes into the show and they didn't awake until it was over. Now if I paid 50 bucks to see a concert, you can bet that I'm doing whatever it takes to watch it. "It's all about the whole experience of going to a Dave show live," I overheard someone say. "It's the partying that makes it real." What a complete crock of shit! How 'bout you losers put down the beer and the joints and watch the frickin' show. Have some drinks and smoke some pot but don't be a jagoff; get your money's worth. And don't be alarmed if I piss on your head. Or stay home and listen to the CD with your girlfriend, make out, and pass out whenever you want. Then wake up and play the songs you missed, making out some more of course.

Yeah, I'll never get the whole music obsession that some people have. Maybe when I have money and will be able to afford an $80, 123rd row ticket along with a beer that I'll otherwise purchase with a lay-away plan, I'll get it. Until then, I'll stick with sports-talk about Tiger Woods' dominance, the Cubs' pathetic existence and the fans who love them, and the WNBA playoffs. Okay, maybe not the latter. Hmmm. Interesting discussion though - another Dave-like concert or my first WNBA game? Stay tuned for the results.