You Say Tomato, I Say Orangemen

I'm from North Carolina, so for most of my life pretty much the only thing I knew about Syracuse University is that they were a Big East school, they're called the "Orangemen," and their mascot is in fact an actual orange man.

Why is he furry?

But this past weekend, I learned that Syracuse University is also a hotbed of controversy!

I was in Syracuse to do a UCBT Tour Co. show and as we arrived at the venue for the show, the girl who greeted us said, "Before you do you show, I have to tell you guys about an incident that happened this week."

Immediately I thought, "Someone got raped." Cause, you know, that happens a lot on college campuses.

It wasn't rape. It was just that the student run television station had run a show with some racist content in it, the student newspaper had run an article about that racist content, and then every other student group on campus decided to protest about the racist content, so of course, the university decided to END the TV station.

Not just the show. The entire TV station (the oldest student run TV station in the nation). Done. Over.

"The entire university," we were told, "is a bit sensitive right now."

Typical college campus controversy, only taken to the extreme. Who cares, right?

Well just before we went on, a representative from "Greek Life" came down to our dressing room to read us a statement that read (I'm paraphrasing):

Due to recent events on our campus, we must ask all performers to refrain from the following type of humor during their shows: race humor, class humor, sexual humor, relationship humor, crass humor, etc. If you do not abide by these rules, your show will be ended immediately and you will be asked to leave.

"What the fuck did that TV station do!?" we said.

"They ran a picture of a lynching. And also something about Kanye West."

"So they completely cancelled the whole TV station and they're making you read this to performers?"

"Yes."

Keep in mind, this at a school known for their communications program.

So - as we set out to start our completely improvised show (with a warm-up from Nick Kroll doing his Argentinian stand-up character, Nico), the same guy from Greek Life got on stage before us and read basically the same statement to the entire audience, assuring them we had been told of the recent events, been asked to stay away from certain types of humor, but were not being censored.

Quite the warm-up to the warm-up act.

For the most part we did stay away from the taboo subject areas, though there was a scene with some Hispanic otters, and one scene in which a ram's testicles became sentient. But we didn't get kicked out and we weren't really offensive, except maybe to the one person who reviewed us in the student newspaper.

Her review is one for the ages - personal, vicious, and tinged with a complete nervous breakdown. It's fascinating and hilarious.

You can read it here.

Or here:

Humor me: Tasteless performance invokes sarcastic, bitter review
By Caitlin Attracta Brennan

There's nothing like a good old fashion proposition to begin a night.

"Hey ladies, hey ladies out there. Are you tired, because I want to fuck you," said comedian Nick Kroll.

Tough to hold back, being propositioned by an actor busting out of a sweet crop top and Adidas shorts. Peddling a cheap Argentinean accent, Kroll opened the Upright Citizens Brigade's performance last night in Goldstein Auditorium. Be still, unfettered lust, at least I have a pen in my hand ... a very phallic pen.

The Upright Citizen's Brigade Tour Company, stationed out of Chelsea in New York City, brought six of its actors to Syracuse University. I went to the show alone, which may have been the funniest part of the evening. Thanks friends, at least I had my notepad, supple rectangular pages and a delicate metal spiral - no better companion. Nevertheless, after Kroll's trite sexualized introductory monologue, the remaining troupe groomed the stage with more clichés and offensive "humor."

To begin, the smiley actors asked the audience for a word to shape their performance around. One audience member shouted, "Tomato!" I wish I had a tomato to throw at them. Since they were bombarding us with clichés, why not serve one back?

Despite the poor content, the actors kept the audience engaged with their animated faces and kung-pow energy. During the first act, they drew on our beautiful collegiate imaginations, allowing us to envision two gray chairs as the passenger and driver seat of a car (I imagined a red Kia Sedona). The two were en route to visit the driver's parents. However the passenger had just ingested some bad tomatoes (audience buzz word). With brimming improvisational genius the passenger groaned, suffering from irritable bowel syndrome.

How novel: uncomfortable liquid deification. I want some of those tomatoes; I need an excuse to shit my way out of this piece of crap.

I braced for the second act as the first concluded. Kroll returned to the stage requesting the audience to volunteer another word. I shouted, "Jesus and Dixie Cups;" however, my suggestion was not taken. Come on, Jesus and Dixie Cups are hysterical (no wonder I couldn't get anyone to come with me). Nevertheless "wampum" trumped my divinely funny suggestions.

Kroll basically ignored the wampum suggestion, fumbling through a story about sexually active sheep. The audience went "baaa-listic." I don't get this humor, probably because I have the inability to smile, or maybe because I am frustrated that I have yet to seduce a sheep.

The actors continued reeking upon my epicurean humor palate by indulging the audience with more "bathroom humor." Stop the fecal follies! I went to the bathroom several times today; I wasn't amused during any bathroom trip. The foul smells of the wretched dorm bathroom bothered me. Maybe if I ate some theatrical tomatoes, went on the stage and shit on the comedians, it would be funny.

At this point in the show, I had yet to crack a meager smile, and to continue my negative vibe, the troupe began treading on the ground of terminal illness. Four actors pretended to be having a New Year's party at Kinkos. The boss told his employees he wanted this New Year's to be extra special, because it would be his last. The employees' troubled faces became even more downtrodden when the boss told them he had terminal cancer. At this point I'm literally rolling on the floor laughing, to think, making a joke of cancer! At the end of the sketch, it turns out the boss overreacted to a mole. What a hysterical twist; I hope they jab at AIDS next. I bet they'll get more laughs than the number of starving people in Third World nations. To stop myself from biting my lips off in a dizzying state of humorous euphoria, I put my notepad in my mouth. Ha, cancer. Hahaha.

Alright, I don't get improv comedy. After the show, I spoke with three students involved in Syracuse's comedy troupe, Zamboni Revolution. These students uproariously enjoyed the show.

"They're great, because they start sketches so quickly and creatively. They're able to form patterns," said Daniel Gurewitch, a senior television, radio and film major who has studied with members of the UCB.

I do respect the difficulty of being funny on demand, but I'm not going to laugh about IBS or cancer. I only laugh at really sophisticated things, like farting and writing swear words in ketchup at the dining hall. That's some good humor.

Funny?

Letter #2

Dear Mom -

Hey! How are you? I'm good.

This road trip is AWESOME! I'm so, so glad you made me come. Bobby says we'll probably be home before you even get this letter (sheesh!), but I just had to write you and say thank you, thank you, thank you!

You probably won't believe this, but I'm actually writing this letter while sitting against a huge, tall, gigantic tree in Yosemite Park! It's AWESOME! Bobby and Erik told me to stay here and watch our stuff while they went off to talk to some girls they saw camping near the bathhouse, so I thought - "Hey-ya, I'll dur-op mi-mom a leen-o!"

Ha! Two days ago I started mispronouncing words like that. In case you couldn't figure it out, that means "Hey, I'll drop mom a line." You know, like send you a letter. We've got SO many inside jokes now, it's RIDICULOUS! Or as I would say: REDOCKULOSO!

Man, I can't believe in three days we'll be back in boring old Denver. I don't ever want to go home! Although, I'll kind of be glad to not be stuck in the car with Bobby and Erik anymore. They like to play those car punching games, so every time we pass a VW or a Roadway truck or a McDonald's sign, they take turns punching me. It's just in the arm or the leg, but, man, it hurts! They're funny.

Well, I should probably go find those guys and tell them to load-up The Ol' Dude Wagon (that's what I've been calling Bobby's Saturn). We'll be home soon, and then - ONLY ONE WEEK TILL SENIOR YEAR!!

Love,
Nathan

P.S. The Tijuana hat I bought is for ME - NOT DAD!

Letter #1

Dear Miriam -

I thought you might want this picture of the kids from their first day of school this year. As you can see, we're doing just fine without you.

Eric is taking marching band and playing the flute. He likes it a lot and his teacher says he has "great lips." I guess that's not a surprise since we've always known both of the boys got my lips. I remember when we first met, you always said you liked them. That was a long time ago.

By the way, my shirt is not missing a button. Dr. Stewart said I need to let loose a little bit, so I bought a new shirt and decided to show some skin. You might also notice that my belt is hanging little loose. That's right, I've lost seven pounds, and grew a goatee. Laura at work says it's sexy.

Paul wanted me to thank you for the jersey that you and "Chris" sent him for his birthday. But just so you know, the quarterback he likes is Dan Marino, not Jay Fiedler. Marino is Number 13 and played for the Dolphins his whole career. Fiedler already left Miami for New York. Wow...sounds familiar.

Anyway, we're going up to my parents' cabin at the lake this weekend. I still miss you.

-Jerry

Hurricane Ashley

Remember that woman in Atlanta, Ashley Smith, who was all over the news a few months ago because she convinced that Atlanta courthouse gunman, Brian Nichols, to turn himself in after a shooting spree?

"During the ordeal, Smith says, she pulled out Rick Warren's book "The Purpose-Driven Life" and read to Nichols a chapter called "Using What God Gave Me" to gain his trust."

It was an amazing story: Christian woman uses her faith to quell a violent murderer. Very uplifting. An inspiration to Christians everywhere.

Well - turns out, "What God Gave Her" was some crystal meth.

From Yahoo.com:
"In her book, "Unlikely Angel," released Tuesday, Smith says Nichols had her bound on her bed with masking tape and an extension cord. She says he asked for marijuana, but she did not have any, and she dug into her illegal stash of crystal meth instead."

God really does work in mysterious ways. And so what if it took a little crystal meth for God to use this woman to stop a raging madman.

"It's hard for people to understand the miracle of the story," she told the newspaper. "This was totally a God thing, to me in my life. This was God getting my attention, going, `I'm going to give you one more chance.'"

Whoa! Now this is "mysterious!" We all got it backwards. God didn't use this woman to stop a murderer! He used the murderer to stop this woman...from using drugs! Four people died so this woman could realize, "Hey, maybe I shouldn't do crystal meth anymore."

You want mysterious ways? That's some fucking mysterious ways.

But, you know, sometimes God has to do things like this. It's not like he didn't try other things. The woman's drug use had already caused her to lose custody of her five-year-old daughter, her husband had died a few years earlier from a stabbing in a bar brawl and...

"She writes that she asked Nichols if he wanted to see the danger of drugs and lifted up her tank top several inches to reveal a five-inch scar down the center of her torso — the aftermath of a car wreck caused by drug-induced psychosis. She says she let go of the steering wheel when she heard a voice saying, "Let go and let God."

Clearly every single other "mysterious way" God had tried to get this woman to stop doing drugs had failed. Come on! It doesn't get much more mysterious (or nonsensical) than whispering "Let go and let God" right before you make someone ram their car into a telephone pole. So God just did the next logical "mysterious" thing - he made this guy kill four people and look for a hideout in her apartment.

And now - six months, one book deal, and $70,000 in reward money later - she's off the drugs.

Chalk up this little turn of events next to God using Hurricane Katrina to stop the gays, and it's been a very ruthless and succesful year for Christianity.

Praise the Lord.