Joey Gladstone: An Analysis of Thought

Here is a single man, living in the big, cluttered world of San Fran, trying to make it as a comedian, and decides to move into this house "full" of his best friend's children. The following is why I feel sorry for Joey Gladstone.

First of all, his comedy. He is trying to earn a living via humor but he lacks the necessary qualifications, namely, being humorous. Let's begin with his Rocky and Bullwinkle imitation. Do you know why this isn't funny? It's because nobody watches Rocky and Bullwinkle. Most people don't even know what this is. Get some current material, Joey, not 1960s animated sitcoms with laugh tracks. But then you have his Popeye impersonation. Again, not quite up to date, but a bit more recognizable. Even still, why is this funny? "Woah...blow me down!" Just stupid.

But of course, his "tag line," his catch phrase, his bread-n-butter is his "Cut-it-Out!" accompanied by correlating hand gestures. You have the scissors for the "cut," the finger point for the "it," and the thumb thrown over the shoulder for the "out." He really wants people to cut it out. Badly. And again.....not funny. Just really, really cheesy. And really bad. It makes me uncomfortable just thinking about it.

So you have a terrible comedy act. But secondly, I feel bad for Joey Gladstone because of his living situation. How is a single man in San Francisco honestly supposed to work the dating circuit when he lives in a house "full" of men and children? (Maybe he's working the dating circuit just fine and NBC didn't feel comfortable airing it??).

What drives this man? What motivates him to wake up and keep going? Is it the courtesy laughter that he is guaranteed? Is it because he honestly thinks he is funny? Is it because he enjoys tapping into his inner child via the children surrounding him? Is it his latent attraction toward Uncle Danny or Uncle Jesse (or maybe Kimmy Gibbler?!?)? Who knows?

The conundrum continunes...

How's My Driving?

I love driving behind large vehicles that are ornamented with the inquisitive bumper sticker, "How's my driving?" First of all, that is a fairly insecure question. It assumes the worst in asking it. It might as well be phrased, "I'm a bad driver, aren't I?" Second of all, they actually provide the number so that you can call in and give your two cents. I like this. I've actually called it. It's been too long, but I think it went something like this:

"Hi, this is Matt and well, yes, I'm driving behind this enormous truck. He's driving fairly well, I'd like to report. He's sticking to the speed limit and is staying in his lane. I would like to note though: He's a bit slow on the pickup. It really takes him a while to get going. That's a bit frustrating. What's that?....Oh no....this is not a formal complaint for your records, the slow pickup thing is just a personal preference of mine."

People have let me know how my driving is even though I don't have a sticker on the bumper requesting this information. And they usually don't let me know with words. Usually facial expressions and hand (and finger) signals.

Phone Ethics #2: A Conversation

Gene: So I was at home shaving my cat and using the fur to fuel my yuletide fire the other day, right?

Oliver: Right.

Gene: And out of nowhere, Rog knocks on my door.

Oliver: I thought it was pronounced: Rogg, with a hard "g," almost like "rock." Rogg.

Gene: No, it's a soft "g." Shhuh. Rahsh. "Raj." Like that. Rog.

OIiver: Are you sure? I once overheard Rogg introduce himself to someone and I'm pretty sure he pronounced it with a hard "g." Rogg.

Gene: What are you, serious? Rogg? No, it's short for Roger. Roge. Rahsh. Raj. Not Rogg.

Oliver: Call him.

Gene: You call him. I'm not going to call him.

Oliver: Fine. I'll call him.

...

Oliver: Hello, Rogg? Yeah, hey this is Oliver.....nothing....just sitting here chewing the birds with Gene.....downtown.....no, I'm not going to Firma's party tonight, it sounded a bit lame to me, what with all the line dancing and dart throwing and fire eating and all.....oh yeah?......HA HA HA!!!!......that's hilarious......HA HA HA!!!!!!.......you should totally tell her......uh huh..........uh huh.......yeah.........no way?!?!?............yeah..........ooooh good one!!!.........14?!?!?!?!?!?!? You are crazy, Rogg!!..........yeah.......nah.......uh huh.......Firma.......yeah, that's her name.........I'm serious........No, I'm with Gene here........No, not Geen, with a hard "g," it's more of a soft g "Schheen"......No, I'm serious......uh huh......ok, I'll ask him - Hey, Gene, is your name pronounced with a hard "g" or a soft "g"?

Gene: Hard.

Oliver: Really? Hey, Rogg, Gene says it's pronounced with a hard "g." What would that be? "Geen." Wow. I never knew that. Ok, keep going.....uh huh.....yeah... -

Geen: You know, I love sitting here listening to your conversation with Rogg. It's really how I wanted to spend my afternoon - sitting in silence, watching your expressions change with each new bit of unhearable dialogue. Yeah, I love that. I also love it when you laugh so boisterously loud that the people sitting next to us look over at me in annoyance. I love that too.

Oliver: Uh, hold on Rogg.....Hey, Geen, can you keep it down? I'm on the phone here.

Geen: Exactly.

Danza: A Conversation

Gene: So I was watching the Tony Danza Show yesterday and you will never guess who he had on -

Oliver: Wait a second.....The Tony Danza Show? Are you serious?

Gene: What's wrong with that? It's not like watching The View.

Oliver: No, actually it is a lot like watching The View. What are you? A middle aged woman?

Gene: Does it look like I am a middle aged woman?

Oliver: Well, you're telling me you watch the Tony Danza Show, so, I don't know, you tell me.

Gene: Tell you what?

Oliver: If you are a middle aged woman or not.

Gene: You want me to tell you that I'm a middle aged woman?

Oliver: Yes, say those words to me.

Gene: Can I just tell you who Tony had on his show?

Oliver: Did you just refer to him as "Tony"? Like you're on a first name basis with this guy or something, you middle aged woman?!?

Gene: Ok, clearly you are not in the mood to hear this story.

Oliver: No, no, I am. Really. I'm dying to hear who "Tony" had on last night.

Gene: Steve Urkle.

Oliver: You sure it wasn't Stefan Urquelle?

Gene: No, no, that was when Steve transformed himself into the smooth-talking, lady-crazy, sexy hunk.

Oliver: Did you just say "hunk"?

Gene: I did.

Oliver: Remember his "Did I do that?"

Gene: Oh, do I. How could I ever forget?

Oliver: Exactly.

Panic!!! Button

We have an alarm system in our house. And conveniently, the alarm system people have provided us with little remote control dealies (for lack of a better word) to put on our key chain. That way, when we come home and open the door and the alarm begins going off, we simply have to press the correct button on our key chain and, boop!, off it goes. This prevents us from coming in, quickly throwing our bags down, and frantically running throughout the house to the keypad to punch in our code before the scary alarm starts and the swat team comes out.

This little remote-control-key-chain-dealy also comes with a panic button. The panic button is different. It isn't white. It is red. If you hold this button down, the scary alarm begins going off immediately. Obviously, this button is to be pressed only in emergencies.

But what I don't understand is this: Why do the alarm people assume this frenzied, panic-stricken emotional state on behalf of their customers? Why call it a "panic" button? Do the alarm companies see the users of this button as utterly freaking out? "Why else would they hit it?" they are probably asking themselves. Is this the button you hit when you are simply panicking? Why not use a more emotionally-neutral term and call it the "Emergency" button? Just because I am in an emergency does not necessarily mean that I am panicked. I don't like being pigeon-holed into certain emotional states.

And what happens if you are having a panic attack? Do you hit it then? Certainly, one could make the case that this is legitimate. "Hey, I was panicking. So I hit the panic button." Perhaps one could make the case that this is the only time one should hit the panic button - when one is truly panicking.

Capin.