December 2005 Archives

You've got a few chances to catch the comedic stylings of Sean Keane this week. First, I'll be dong a ten-minute set on Tuesday night, December 27th. My lovely and talented friend Betsy and her band, the Elegant Clydes will be playing at the Hotel Utah at 9 PM. I will be contributing to the musical effort with some stand-up comedy and zero singing. Admission is $5.

The big show is on Friday, December 30th, at 50 Mason Lounge, where I will be making my triumphant return as a headliner. I'll be taking on such controversial topics as:

- How white people dance
- The deceptive nutritional value of chocolate cake
- The deal: What is it?
- Gittin versus not gittin 'er done

The show begins at 8 PM, and admission is $10. I should be taking the stage between 9 and 9:30. As always, I expect that the show will be a kick in the pants, and if you're dissatisfied, you can kick me in the pants. That's a guarantee and a promise.

The official promotional information, including the lineup of comics, is after the jump:

Our family likes to give themed gifts. Let's face it, there's four kids and two parents, and sometimes you just haven't got a good, thoughtful gift idea for every single one of them. God knows it's much more of a nightmare for Mom and Dad, who occasionally struggle with remembering our names: "Get over here, Mol- er - Kel - er - you with the face!" You need something reliable to fall back on - not spectacular, but completely acceptable.

When we were younger, this meant stuffed animals. In essence, each kid was assigned an animal totem, like we were miniature Native American shamans. Megan had penguins, Kelly got Minnie Mouse, and Molly got Pluto. Every year, on your birthday or on Christmas, you could count on getting slippers, a stuffed animal, or a bedspread inscribed with your mystical animal totem. I had a few years of getting hedgehog-themed gifts, but it didn't last quite as long, possibly because it's much easier to find something with an SF Giants logo on it than it is to find a hedgehog. We eventually got a little too old for stuffed animals, but the animal theme could theoretically go on forever. My gradnmother has roughly 527 different varieties of cow-themed salt shakers, pot-holders, pots, t-shirts, stuffed animals, milk pitchers, piggy banks, and planters. Grandma even has an extensive collection of other stuffed animals dressed up as cows.

It's not limited to animal stuff, however. Any activity of interest can become the basis to an entire holiday's worth of gifts. One year, Mom and Dad decided I was a bicycling enthusiast, although I'm pretty sure I didn't even own a bike at the time. I opened my gifts - bike shirt, bike shorts, water bottle, bike helmet. I was surprised, both by the completeness of the birthday theme and because I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on a bike ride. The highlight came when Dad took me out to the garage to test out some of the new stuff. "Two things to remember," he said. "First, don't use a kickstand. It's just not cool to put down the kickstand. Second is, don't wear underwear when you put on the bike shorts." He paused as horrified revelation set in for me. "You know, because of the chafing."

As a Keane, you eventually develop a resistance to expressing serious interest in anything, because you know family members are always desperately searching for a new theme for you. Actually liking something is OK, as long as you're prepared to get gifts relating to that interest for the next 5-7 years. We have to resort to misdirection and subterfuge, disguising casual interests and keeping our eyes on the prize.

"Where have you been, Kelly?"
"I went on this great tour of the Mint last week, Mom and Dad. It was all about the new hundred-dollar bill. I could not get enough of those hundreds."

"How was your weekend, Sean?"
"Just hung out at the car show. Again. Took a few test drives, you know, the usual. Oh, and my friend forgave thousands of dollars in debt that I owed to him. I've really been into that whole debt relief thing recently. You know, Bono, Live 8, Spring 2005 tuition, that kind of scene."

Note: In repeated experiments, saying, "I really love drinking and smoking weed" will not affect your Christmas gifts, just your place in the will.

My little sister just returned from Chile, which means that our family should expect Chilean presents under the tree in a few days. Since I already got a t-shirt from the Hooters in Santiago, I can't imagine anything else I would need from Chile. Maybe an alpaca.

This occurs every year that one of the Keane Quads moves to a new place. Megan gave out a few Proud Parent of a UC Santa Cruz Student sweatshirts her freshman year, and I have shirts for both the women's lacrosse and rugby teams at UC Santa Barbara. For my part, I bought hats that said Disappointed Parent of a Seventh-Year Senior and My Tuition Money Went To The UC Regents And All My Kid Got Was A Lousy English Degree. That was a heartwarming Christmas morning, let me tell you.

I'm not criticizing this gift-giving practice, since you better believe I gave out a lot of dinosaur stuff the year I got a job at the Lawrence Hall of Science. I'm simply jealous, since I haven't really gone anywhere this year, and my boring domestic gifts might look shameful alongside all that sweet Chilean swag. So, I'm thinking about getting gifts that come from my job at the appellate law office.

"Merry Christmas, Dad! It's a shiv! And not just any shiv - Buford hand-carved this shiv from the handle of an old toothbrush."

"Mom, this is something I got as a token of appreciation from one of our clients. It's a pack of Parliament Lights. Now, I know you don't smoke. But you always say, it's not the gift that matters, it's the time you put into it. Remember when Molly glued that friendship bracelet to the piece of cardboard and called it a snake bookmark? Same concept, except I can't even begin to get into what our client had to do to get those cigarettes."

Time is running out, so I may have to go with Plan B: accessories for the alpacas.

The two biggest off-the-field football scandals of this fall that didn't involve Terrell Owens were about a decadent boat trip and a controversial rap song. Many of the Minnesota Vikings attended a wild party on Lake Minnetonka that led to four player citations this week. Reportedly, the boats were only forty-five minutes into their trip before the rambunctious sexual activity led the frightened crew to return the boats to the harbor.

The rap song was recorded at the University of Miami, detailing the lurid exploits of a group called the Seventh Floor Crew, a crew that included at least one current Miami football player. The song is almost nine minutes long, the lyrics are extremely raunchy, but the general theme is that the seventh floor is the place to go for gang bangs at U of M. Even though the song was two years old, and hilarious, there was predictably hysterical outcry when the song became better-known. Also, a blogger got kicked out of campus housing after posting a link to the song. Here's the chorus:

"If your ho only know
That she was getting fucked on the seventh floor
If that bitch only knew
That she was getting mudded by the whole damn crew
What would she do?"

So, the question that comes to mind is, If the Minnesota Vikings from the boat cruise were members of the Seventh Floor Crew, who would they be?

Bryant McKinnie: "Big Nick" (who "slings dick"). Bryant McKinnie is 6'8, 343 pounds, so he's got the "big" part covered. Despite the myriad of sex acts detailed by the Seventh Floor Crew, Big Nick is the only one to discuss cunnilingus. As McKinnie is the only Viking accused of picking up a naked woman, placing her on the bar, and performing oral sex on her, this seems like the perfect match. Big Nick promises to run a seven-man train, Big Bryant participated in a four-man oral sexstravaganza in deck chairs. Had the cruise not been prematurely stopped, McKinnie may well have done it until the roof collapsed.

Daunte Culpepper: "Marvelous". As a quarterback, Culpepper must use his field vision to read the defense, which seems to parallel Marvelous, who "keeps his eyes peeled for deez here ho's" on the seventh floor. The posture described by Marvelous - holding his nuts with both hands and a smile - is reminiscent of Culpepper's stance behind center, awaiting the snap. The criminal complaint alleges that Culpepper placed his hands on the buttocks of a woman giving him a lap dance, while Marvelous emphasizes the buttocks in his rhyme, going as far as to spell out "A-S-S".

Moe Williams: "Big Beez". Williams is a good pass blocker and an excellent short-yardage back. On the Seventh Floor crew, he'd be Big Beez. Moe is one of the four Vikings charged in the case, which matches up with Big Beez's assertion that whenever the SFC fucks a bitch, "all the guys on the crime scene". Big Beez also aims for the mouthpiece when he nuts, a parallel to Moe's style of hard-nosed, smashmouth football.

Fred Smoot: "G-Reg". Smoot paid for the sex boat cruise, and also had the raunchiest allegation in the police complaint. He is accused of using a double-headed dildo on two women simultaneously, out in the middle of the floor. Now, some might argue that Smoot should be T-Buck, due to T-Buck's affinity for multiple positions ("from the back, from the front, on the T-Bird trunk"). However, G-Reg is clearly the kinkiest member of the SFC, with his proclivities for bukkake and ear-fucking ("Come on fellas, let's get weird/Stick that dick up in her ear"). The bold Seventh Floor Crew still blanches at G-Reg's insistence that he nuts directly into a ho's eye, but G-Reg ignores their uncertain reaction and repeats, "In the eye!" I can imagine Fred Smoot announcing, "Come on fellas, let's get weird" right before he went Requiem For A Dream on his two boat ladies.

Darren Sharper: Tavares Gooden, AKA "T-Good" AKA "The Big-Dick Bandit". T-Good plays linebacker for Miami. His most notable line in the song involves his uniform number and his dong: "She thought 5-2 was just my number, then she realized/ Multiply that bitch up you get my dick size". So, when deciding which Viking matches up best with T-Good, my selection is based on who has a uniform number that can be multiplied to an impressive but not impossible penis size. None of the Vikings on the cruise can get to 10 exactly. Cornerback Ken Irvin would be an embarrassing 4 (2x2). Wide receiver Travis Taylor would be a frightening 72(8x9). Also, I'm leaving out anyone with a 1 in their uniform number, because the Multiplicative Identity Property of One is boring. So, candidates are: Will Offord (2x4=8), Ralph Brown (3x3=9), and Darren Sharper (4x2=8). I'm picking Sharper, simply because "D-Sharp" makes a much better MC name.

Lance Johnstone: "Li'l Newt". Along with Smoot, Johnstone organized the boat trip. Li'l Newt seems very concerned with logistics in his verse, detailing the specific order in which the Seventh Floor train will be run, in an orderly, team-based manner. Johnstone might appreciate this, since the scouting report says he has trouble with double teams.

Mewelde Moore: "Dub C" AKA "Thundercat". Mewelde "Dub M" Moore initially claimed he didn't attend the boat trip. However, he went with McKinnie on a covert op to throw away garbage bags from the party, in a dumpster at a construction site. In the song, Dub C entreats the ladies to "check the bag" (where they'll find his wee-wee). Also, "Mewelde" sounds like it could be the name of a Thundercat, or at least a Thundercats villain.

Koren Robinson: "Holla Man". Holla Man gets out control about halfway through his verse. He drops the beat, just like Koren Robinson does with important third-down passes, and proceeds to ramble on semi-coherently, just like Koren Robinson does when he gets pulled over for drunk driving.

Willie Offord: "T-Buck". I think T-Buck's aforementioned positional flexibility is similar to Offord's, who was Minnesota's special teams captain as well as the starting strong safety before he was injured. Also, for no good reason, I think Willie Oford likes to "put it in the butt".

No one should have to kiss my ass just because I'm buying groceries from them. It makes me uncomfortable when service personnel older than I am call me "Sir". I particularly don't require the overly familiar attitude adopted by Safeway clerks, just because I entered my Club Card number and they read my last name on the display.

So here's what I've begun doing:

Clerk: Thank you, Mr. Keane.
Me: Please. Mr. Keane is my father's name. Call me Sean.

Whose routine reigns supreme? Next Monday, December 12th, I will be participating in an exciting, brand-new stand-up comedy event called Iron Comic. It is modeled on the cooking show, only with jokes instead of food, comedian Nato Green instead of food wonk Alton Brown, and an alcoholic barkeep instead of Chairman Kaga.

For those who have wanted to see me perform, but were dissuaded by the cost, fear not, for this show is free. For those who have wanted to see me perform, but didn't want to hear me re-tell jokes and stories you've heard hundreds of times already, fear not, for all the material at this show will be no more than twenty minutes old. For those who have wanted to see me perform, but couldn't drag themselves away from regular Monday evening boozings at the Gold Cane Bar on Haight Street, fear not, for this show is happening at that very bar!

While we Iron Comics are preparing our succulent banquets of hilarity, a slate of accomplished and funny local comics will be entertaining the audience. I only hope the secret ingredient is "speech impediments". The official announcement follows after the jump: