So I’m browsing the Internet tonight trying to find out where pistachio nuts come from and why they aren’t red anymore. Now I’m well aware that simply by stating this to you, the general public, I’m perhaps giving you the impression that my spending Valentine’s Day night alone in front of a computer, researching pistachio nuts, is a pretty good indicator that I’m, oh, I don’t know, am say, one or two steps away from jumping into the bathtub with an electric fan for company. But believe me, I’m okay. Not great; but okay, alright? I don’t want to talk about it... really. Seriously, don’t get me started about why I’m alone on Valentine’s Day and not being wooed with chocolate and an expensive meal, to be followed by a night of frolicking in the Jungle Room at the Garden of Eden Motel. Honest to God, I don’t really want to talk about it because if I do, I’m only going to take a ball peen hammer to this friggin computer, and then run it over with my car several dozen times until the memory of her cancelling the plans I made in December at the last minute is crushed like ...well like a pistachio nut. But I’ll save that story for another time. God, you people are persistent.
Anyway... I’m researching the Great Pistachio mystery, and accidentally typed Wooly Mammoth in the search box instead. I know, right? And even though thirty-seven Jack Daniels Jell-O shots can do crazy things to one’s fine motor skills, inebriation can sometimes lead to a serendipitous moment, and this was one of them. You see, it turns out that both the Wooly Mammoth and pistachio nuts have been around the planet for around the same time; as long as 10,000 years ago! Wowee! Jiggle on over here Jell-O Jack, mama wants more research!!
To the inquisitive mind one question immediately springs up. Why did the mammoth become extinct while the pistachio went on to become a popular snack and the perfect coating for baked Chilean Sea Bass?
Well to begin with, it is insanely difficult to bread a tasty fish like Chilean Sea Bass with a Wooly Mammoth since they were hairy and most likely would kill you if you tried to dip one in egg. Whereas, the pistachio, cute as a little green button, could simply be plucked from a tree. Why, it even opens its shell a little, as if to give itself up to please the sophisticated palate of the average Chilean Sea Bass consumer. The bottom line? The pistachio is the more social of the two. It knew how to network itself among the population of
Middle East people from whence it originated. This is where the term Social Networking comes from.
As for the Wooly Mammoth, they went extinct quite a while ago, having failed to master the art of Social Networking. In fact, way back in July of 2007, a nearly perfectly preserved, four month-old Wooly Mammoth pup was found beneath the ice of
Siberia. Siberia? Really? Do you know what kind of wireless coverage is up in that God-forsaken, former Commie ‘rehabilitation’ zone? None! No wonder the Wooly Mammoth went extinct! It could have dialed 911 until it was blue in the face (hypothermia eventually caused it to become blue in the face), and nothing would have happened. But that’s what you get when you don’t keep up with technology and you tend to be a bit of an isolationist.
You know, it just occurred to me that
Siberia would have been a perfect place for them to send Charlie Sheen after his meltdown last year. But then he would have become extinct. Oh wait, he is. Another Jell-O shot please!
What, you may ask, does the pistachio nut, Wooly Mammoth and Charlie Sheen have to do with my comedy career? Social networking, Dammit! It’s friggin awesome!
Six months ago, the very term was enough to send chills down my poor old arthritic spine. But then, I hadn’t yet decided to go back to comedy. Content to be a miserable, griping, old pain in the ass to everyone I met, I had no desire to be social, much like Charlie Sheen and the Wooly Mammoth. The only people I knew who ‘networked’ were the high-test type ‘A’ personalities who tried to sell me everything from aluminum siding to Z-bars. Every time I heard the word tweet I wanted to bitch slap the person and say, “Hey, is this what Alexander Graham Bell spilled acid all over his leg for?” (Watson, come in here! I need another Jell-O-shot!). All of that has changed since I’ve gotten back into comedy. I have been transformed and converted from a frozen, hairy, lifeless, pachyderm to a chirpy, adorable nut.
I don’t mind telling you that it wasn’t an easy transition either. But thanks to good, caring friends like the folks at Shecky Magazine, and my dear friend Glad, or as I refer to her,‘G-woman’ (she is a marketing genius), I too have joined the bazillions who have discovered the joys of spending most of my waking days staring at a computer screen and wondering who has ‘friended’ me, tweeted me, or is ‘following’ me (They like me...they really like me!).
From a business standpoint, marketing oneself online versus the old fashioned way (circa 1985) is the equivalent of going from a steam-powered automobile to the Starship Enterprise. Gone are the days when a comedian would have to rent a U-Haul trailer to bring hundreds of VCR demo tapes to the post office to mail to clubs and bookers. Gone too, is the expenditure of thousands in 8x10 glossies, resumes, and postage to those very same bookers. And finally, gone is the sinking feeling that comics got from knowing that all this money spent was futile, because your ‘press package’ would eventually only wind up propping up the wobbly leg of some agent’s desk instead of being viewed. Today’s comedians only need to load a video onto You Tube, start a blog, send a Tweet, upload a photo or contact a booker on Facebook You’re still ignored, but at least it didn’t cost you anything, and the son-of-a-bitchin’ booker will have to find something else to prop up his desk. These damned kids don’t know how good they’ve got it!
The results have been remarkable. As I get more adept at being a pistachio, I have been able to accomplish in six months what would have probably taken me at least two years to do, thanks to Social Media. This blog has enabled me to spread my neuroses to remote places like
Russia (not Siberia, though, still rotten coverage there), England, Finland and . Cincinnati
So maybe this wasn’t such a bad Valentine’s Day after all. Maybe the Universe wanted me to reflect on all the good stuff that’s happened in the past six months, and to contemplate on all the good things yet to come. And maybe, next Valentine’s Day, I will find myself in a leopard loincloth in the Jungle Room at the Garden of Eden Motel with my significant other, assuming she comes out of the coma. The one thing I do know for sure is that I am enjoying being a pistachio way more than I ever did being a Wooly Mammoth. Pass the Chilean Sea Bass please!
That’s it. I’m done bitching. Everybody hug, everybody eat! Abbondanza!