Silence of Lucky

Used to be if you moved far away from your hometown, you wouldn't see your people again for the rest of your life.

Then phones came along and allowed us to keep in contact with the ones we love even if we lived thousand of miles apart.

Then call waiting and cellphones came along, allowing us to break off contact with people we had no interest in talking to.

Then Texting came and it allowed us to reconnect with the people we had no interest in talking to.

Then came Friendster.  Find people you used to be friends with.  That lasted all of 30 seconds, and now those Friendster people just need to kill themselves.  I guess I still have an account with them because in my email inbox I keep getting Friendster message notifications.  I was interested, because I respect an organization trying to make a comeback.  They were just spam for porn sites.

Then came Myspace.  Good old Myspace.  That's the social networking site I grew to know and love.  But now Myspace is so lonely.  I log in now and I see tumbleweeds going across my screen.  I go look at people's pages and they haven't logged in since 2005.  The last time I went on Myspace I actually had a friend request.  I emailed the person- what is wrong with you?  This party is way over.

Then Facebook.  I am on it, but Myspace was my first love, and Facebook is just keeping the sheets warm.  My wife, on the other hand, is so addicted to Facebook I now have to communicate with her through status updates.  And all my friends don't need to know the David Lee Nelson is Naked in the Next Room.  And her friends don't need to know that my wife Is Not Interested.

And now there's Twitter.  I heard someone talking about it.  It sounded like a porn site.  Like barely legal girls masturbating.  So I checked out the website, and I found out it's not young girls masturbating.  It's people you know telling you what they're doing all the time.  Which sounds a lot like masturbating to me.

Best Supporting Actress

Marissa Tomei- Thank you for getting naked, but you have as much chance of winning the Oscar as Joe Pesci does of winning a court case in Southern Alabama.  When they open the envelope this time, there will not be a mistake

Penelope Cruz- If I knew going to Barcelona meant having a threesome with Cruz and Scarlett Johansson I would have gone a long time ago.  Oh, wait.  I did go.  And I ended up in a bed withmy best friend. Screw you Javier Bodem.

Viola Davis- Strong performance of a woman protecting her young gay son.  Or is it?  I know one thing without any Doubt, she will not be winning the Oscar.  Give this girl a tissue.

Taraji P. Henson- Run, Forrest, Run.  Oh, wrong movie.

and the Oscar goes to:

Amy Adams- She is so luminous as the naive little nun.  And we all know this is a make up Oscar to her getting robbed for Enchanted.

Best Supporting Actor

Robert Downey, Jr.- And the best black face goes to...

Philip Seymour Hoffman- I love PSH as much as the next unemployed actor.  But he should just sit in the back doing a little script analysis because he won't be any where close to the podium this evening.

Michael Shannon- Look on the bright side, the next off Broadway show you do for $375 a week will at least be able to put Academy Award Nominee in your bio.

Josh Brolin- He was awesome in this movie.  So angry.  So Right Wing.  So Straight.  So ...alive...

and the Oscar goes to:

Heath Ledger- Awesome performance+hot young actor+ Drug overdose= Posthumous Oscar

Best Actress:

Melissa Leo- I think we used to wait tables together.

Angelina Jolie- Not Without my Daughter 2.  Girl Interrupted 2.  Not Without My Oscar 1

Anne Hathaway-I saw this movie in Allentown, PA.  I went into a gas station to ask where the movie theatre was.  They told me.  Saw the movie.  Went back to same gas station after movie.  Woman asked me if I found the theater and what I saw.  I said Rachel Getting Married.  She said, "Are You Gay?"

Meryl Streep- I am less shocked that she got nominated for this than the fact that she didn't get nominated for Mamma Mia.

and the Oscar goes to:

Kate Winslet- This movie was boring.  But she gets naked.  A lot.  And that is award enough.

Best Actor:

Richard Jenkins- I'm so happy for the dad from Six Feet Under.  Hope he enjoys the free swag, because that will be the only thing he is taking home tonight

Frank Langela- "I am not a crook."  You also aren't a winner at tonight's Oscars.

Brad Pitt- Oh, wow, they really had some cool makeup on you Brad.  Too bad your performance was as plastic as the latex on your pretty little face.

Mickey Rourke- Call this The Eddie Murphy Rule.  Are they really going to give an Oscar to Mickey Rourke.  Really?

and the Oscar goes to:

Sean Penn- So good, so convincing, so politically correct.

Best Picture:

Curious Case of Benjamin Button- Long-check; emotionally manipulative-check; Cate Blanchett-check.  All the elements are there for an Oscar win, but not this year.  Adopt another kid there Brad.

Frost/Nixon- Journalist taking down a Republican President-check; historically significant-check.  But it is a new day, hope is in the air, and there is no room for a Republican in the spotlight

Milk- Man sex- check; Sean Penn-check.  Man this is close, but oh, man Emile Hirsh is a sexy queen, but...call Hugo Chavez, Sean, he'll make you feel better

The Reader- Did anyone see this movie?  It's ai-ght.  It's no Boy in the Stripped Pajamas.

and the Oscar goes to:

Slumdog Millionaire- Not only is this movie brilliant, but most of us in America are as broke as some slumdogs and who doesn't want to become a millionaire.  And nab that hot Indian chick.  Yum Yum Curry.  She'll make my flat bread give rice pudding any day of the week.

The best thing about New York is, you never know who could show up.

Last night I was hosting the 8 o'clock at Gotham Comedy Club and my friend was in town, visiting from Montana.  I told him to come hang out with me at the show because Gotham is a pretty swanky place and as I walked in the door and everybody saying hi to me, I looked like a pretty swanky guy.

As soon as I arrived one of the managers came up to me and said we needed to talk.  My stomach immediately went into knots as I started making up excuses to things I possibly could have done.

He shut the door in the light booth and said:

" Seinfeld is going to closing the show."

"Jerry Seinfeld?"  I asked, like there was another famous Seinfeld brother.

"Yes.  He's called the club and it's confirmed."

Now Seinfeld is a fairly influential figure in my life.  I have probably seen every episode of his sitcom.  The night of the last episode in 1998 was the first time I ever tried to kiss my wife.  A move she politely declined.  And here he was, about to be closing the show I was hosting.

This was awesome.  To my friend, I was going to seem like the hippest person in the city.  Hosting at this uber-classy club, working with Seinfeld, just a normal Tuesday.  Having a late dinner with Woody Allen at Nobu later on.  De Niro might join us.

I walked back to my friend and wrote on the back of a napkin, "Seinfeld is closing the show."  He gave me a fist pump and said, Wow.  I know.  That's what happens when you roll with David Lee Nelson.

As the time he was supposed to arrive began to draw closer, the tension amongst those who knew began to mount.  As I brought up the different comics I began to arrange the stage to his liking.  Stool placed back in the corner.  Bottled water placed on the corner of the stage.  The crowd probably thought I was OCD and crazy.

When Seinfeld walked into the club I became totally star struk.  And not in the way I thought I would.  Not of him as the comic icon and television star, but of him as a multi multi millionaire.  I had never been that close to someone who had that much money.  It was an exhilaratingly humiliating experience.  Here is this human being, with a heart, a liver, a life expectancy, yet he has more money than all of Africa combined.  And before I introduced him I started to worry if I should shake his hand as I brought him on stage.  Or if that would offend him?  That's when it became clear to me that money is royalty in this country.  And since he had so much of it, I had to wondered if I was worthy to shake his hand or not.

I shook it.  But as I walked back to my friend, for some reason, I no longer felt like the hippest guy in the city.  I felt like someone with empty pockets in a room full of millionaires.

But hey, at least I'm in the room... right?

I no longer smoke marijuana.   It's not because I think it's bad for me or that it is a menace to society- it just stopped being fun.  I went from getting high and thinking everything was hysterical to getting high and thinking I had brain cancer.  But this Michael Phelps situation has got me thinking back to my marijuana smoking days.  A great majority of which happened in Charleston, SC.

I lived in Charleston in the late 90's.   This was the golden age of Charleston.  When Radcliffe St. was considered sketchy and Spring St. was outright dangerous.  You could still be drinking at Red Hots on King St. at seven in the morning and Marion Park was basically a homeless shelter.  Instead of an Apple Store you had Horse and Kart, instead of some shitty antique store you had Clara's Coffee.  There were artists every where, Wentworth (now McConnell) Dorm was so disgusting girls were afraid to enter, and the workers at King Street Station were still assholes and we loved them for it.

And everybody was smoking pot.  And when I say everybody, I mean EVERYBODY.   If you met someone who didn't smoke pot you felt like you were meeting a unicorn in the woods.  We smoked so much pot a lot of us forgot it was illegal.  That made for some awkward situations at Slightly North of Broad.  Marijuana was just a normal part of our day.  Like breakfast.  For a while, I thought it was issued.

The town was built for smoking pot.  There are fun little walks to take, interesting nooks and crannies to explore, Juanita Greenberg's chicken burritos.  It was a smoker's paradise.

But getting stoned in Charleston now is just confusing.  I walk into Urban Outfitters and see the Garden Theatre.  People think I'm crazy when I see young girls walking down Cannon Street and ask them if they're alright.  And when I ask for coffee at the antique store where Clara's used to be, they ask me to leave.

Those days are just a memory now.  A harder and harder to recall memory.  Maybe one day I'll get the urge to smoke again.  And if it strikes, I bet it will be on a warm Saturday morning in Charleston, with nothing to do all day but wander.

Is it bad that whenever the phone rings I assume it's someone calling to yell at me?

I always feel as if I've done something wrong.  Always.  I don't know if it's attributable to my Catholic or my Southern guilt, (both powerful guilt inducing agents); or is it the fact that I used to be a Republican and therefore feel responsible for the current state of the world; but I do know one thing-I have a sickness.  I walk the other way whenever I see my boss walk by.  The phrase "We need to talk" makes me shit my pants.  I erase phone messages before I listen to them because I might have forgotten an important meeting.  And I've never had an important meeting in my life

It all started in elementary school and the Principal's office.  Being sent there was the ultimate punishment wielded by teachers.   The disappointment of his secretary as you sat and waited was soul crushing.  Then there was the fear as he opened the door, and saw the paddle on the wall...offices quickly became bad places where bad things happen.

Since the principal was the boss of the school- bosses became evil entities that were to be feared and hated.  And I do.  I hate bosses so much I no longer enjoy the music of Bruce Springsteen.  Having a boss means you have someone to answer to which means you are not free.  Your livelihood depends on another human being who is usually inferior to you.  They simply bought into the company bullshit so now they have power over you.

Why bring this up?  Because one of my many jobs is the Super of my building.  That's right, when something goes wrong you come to David Lee Nelson, and I pretend like I no longer speak English.  And I live in a building that is over 90 years old so things are starting to go downhill.  I have to call the landlord when something breaks down and he has to yell at me about it for fifteen minutes.  Now I feel guilty when my neighbor's toilet starts leaking.  Or if the lock won't work I feel like it's me who has caused the trouble.  And then I have to pick up the phone and call him.  The new principal of my life.  An Italian-American in Brooklyn, NY.

Now the paddle doesn't seem so scary after all.