July 2007 Archives

Last year, I reached the finals of the San Francisco Comedy Club's annual competition. While I didn't place, I was pleased with my performance and appreciative of the large crowd. You could say I was just happy to be there.

This phenomenon exists in sports, particularly the NBA. This year, Cleveland had a celebration and trophy presentation on the court after they won the Eastern Conference championship, as if there wasn't an additional playoff round yet to play. They all wore Eastern Conference Champions t-shirts and Eastern Conference Champions caps while the owner made a tearful speech holding the Eastern Conference Champions trophy. Then, the Cavs lost four straight games in the NBA Finals.

My Finals appearance last year was reminiscent of the 2002 New Jersey Nets. They made great strides that year to become a serious contender, then were blown out by the Lakers in the Finals. I like to think I combine many attributes of those Nets: the pallor of Keith Van Horn, the checkered, drug-riddled past of Kenyon Martin, the successful romantic relationships of Jason Kidd, and the speed and agility of Todd MacCulloch.

Like the Nets did that year, I ran into a juggernaut in the finals. The tough duo of Mike E. Winfield and Nico Santos was like a shorter, gayer version of Shaq and Kobe. Second-place finisher Debbie Campo played the Robert Horry role: normally a solid performer, but unstoppable once the Finals arrive.

I hope that this year is more like 2003, where the playoffs were wide open and the Nets returned to the Finals. Of course, they still didn't win, but they did take two games in the Finals. That's what I'm looking to accomplish: make a strong showing, build my fan base, and then trade for Dikembe Mutombo and announce plans to move to Brooklyn.

The show is on Wednesday at 8 PM, at the SF Comedy Club at 50 Mason. Tickets are $10, and the field includes such local luminaries as Mo Mandel, Joe Tobin, Chris Garcia, Ali Mafi, Patrick Bulger and at least seven others. Yes, last year's problem of too many comics in the finals has not been solved, as rumors persist that the Finals field will include some comics who failed to advance out of the semi-finals. Let's hope the field is no larger than last year's group of 14. After all, a twelve-man roster was good enough for the 2003 New Jersey Nets.

I visited Lake Tahoe last week, in hopes that by the end of the weekend, the Keane family would be completely legitimate. Here are some observations:

Donner Summit: When you go to Lake Tahoe, you have to drive over the mountains, climbing Donner Summit, to get to Tahoe proper. Donner Summmit is named after the Donner Party, the ill-fated band of emigrants that got trapped at the pass on their way to California. They were trapped for months, half the party died, and many of the emigrants resorted to cannibalism. And if that doesn't say, "Welcome, travelers!", I don't know what does.

They decided to name the summit in memory of the most disturbing thing to ever happen in the Lake Tahoe area. There's a reason there isn't a Kamikaze Heights on Oahu, Koresh Creek in Waco, or Limp Bizkit Point just outside of Jacksonville. At least they don't have Fredo Beach somewhere along the lake.

The real beneficiary of this name is the guy who charges drivers to put on their snow chains in the winter. "Yup, Donner Summit," he can say to a driver who isn't quite convinced he needs the extra traction. "The Donner Party thought their wheels were fine for going over the summit, too. But I'm sure you and your Toyota Corolla will be fine."

Tenis: Some people play tennis. In the Keane family, we have neither the skills nor the athleticism to rally consistently. So we played what Molly dubbed "tenis". The rules of Tenis are simple: You hit the ball and return it to the other team if at all possible. It doesn't matter if the ball has bounced more than once, or landed well outside the lines, or already been struck by your partner (Tenis works better in the doubles format). Roger Federer may be the world's greatest tennis player, but I believe he would be vulnerable in a tournament of Tenis, especially if we could play on clay.

Note: Substituting Tenis for tennis is no guarantee that you'll remain injury-free. Tenis is easier on the knees, but the body is still vulnerable to strains and sprains, particularly if one's lack of athleticism drove one to a game like Tenis in the first place.

Jiffy's Pizza: Jiffy's Pizza in Tahoe City has a large banner outside that declares "VOTED BEST PIZZA". The banner provides no context whatsoever for this bold claim. Is it the best pizza in Tahoe City? The best pizza in that block? And who voted? We didn't go into Jiffy's, but Kelly and I speculated what it was like inside. I pictured the proprietor clad in a WORLD'S BEST GRANDPA t-shirt and drinking a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. And in my imagination, he was eating ice cream from the Log Cabin Cafe, because that place claims to have been "NAMED BEST ICE CREAM".

Other superlatives from our trip:

Dennis: NAMED BEST DAD
Sean: VOTED LEAST AGILE
The bat that flew around the cabin one night: ACCLAIMED SCARIEST MAMMAL

I saw Sonic Youth this week at Berkeley Community Theater. It's weird to attend shows that take place on a high school campus. Previously, the most exciting rock act I saw in a high school auditorium was when two guys who supposedly used to play with Carlos Santana drummed at our school's Multicultural Assembly. The assembly also included Filipino kids jumping over sticks, Irish dancing, and probably a lot of stuff that reflected Pleasant Hill's widespread cultural diversity.

The band played the classic "Daydream Nation" album in its entirety, as part of the Don't Look Back series. That meant they played my favorite song first, Teen Age Riot", but the rest of the show was not a letdown. I wrote some notes about Sonic Youth the Hedgehog, and "Daydream Nation" being an elaborate allegory for Dr. Robotnik's rise to power, but I will spare my readers that tedium.

When he found out I was attending the show, my friend asked, "Aren't they like 40 now?" Try 50, buddy. At this stage in their career, the band is more aptly known as Sonic Middle Aged. But they rocked pretty hard, considering Kim Gordon is the same age as my mom. I think I was unfair to her singing in my Pearl Jam review, because I quite enjoyed it this time. The lesson is, I don't especially like new Sonic Youth songs, but that isn't Kim Gordon's fault. I like Nico, so can I truly say it bothers me when a female vocalist can't exactly sing?

There were two enthused fans that were constantly shooed out of the aisle by our ushers, for not having tickets and for spastic dancing. We called them, Frog Man and the Wizard. Frog Man spent his time leaping in the air from a crouch and bumping into people, while The Wizard opted for a dance that was part epileptic seizure, part cardio kickboxing. The Wizard had long white hair and a long white beard, kind of like if Dumbledore had spent the 60's taking acid and reading Rolling Stone instead of learning spellcraft. At one magical moment, The Wizard grabbed Frog Man's shoulders and began dance-leaping behind him. If they were Transformers, this would have been the moment they combined to form Spazatron.

After they finished "Daydream Nation", Sonic Youth did two encores, playing new songs. Thurston Moore facetiously claimed they were going to do "Sticky Fingers" in its entirety instead, which would have been awesome, but everyone would have missed BART. They also brought out Pavement's bass player to help out, freeing Kim to do more dancing.

My companion, Emalie, wanted to hear "Sugar Kane", and I wanted to hear their cover of "Superstar", but the show ended with them again savaging reality television with "What a Waste". We weren't disappointed, but we heard a peeved indie snob complaining on the way out, "If they really wanted to go into the back catalog, they could have at least done "Youth Against Fascism". Then he snorted, zipped up his hoodie, and stomped away into the Berkeley night.

Since SY didn't play them at the show, here's "Sugar Kane" and "Superstar":

There's a brand-new comedy showcase premiering at Frank Chu's favorite bar in San Francisco, 12 Galaxies. It's called Full Contact Comedy, and the debut show is Tuesday, February July 24th. There's an impressive array of up-and-coming SF standups involved, including "corporate douchebag by day, experimental comic by night", Jeff Cleary; the free money from the government guy, Joe Tobin; the finest Afro-Trinidadian comic in the Bay Area, Kevin Munroe; the most Irishly named comic in the Bay Area (at least until Seamus McWhiskeybritches comes back from LA), Kevin O'Shea, and comedienne/filmmaker Mary Van Note.

Show starts at 8, and admission is $7. Now please enjoy the lovely promotional materials.

There is no All-Star Game as magical as baseball's Midsummer Classic, especially when the manager is Tony LaRussa. LaRussa did not disappoint, as there were many classic Tony elements to the game:

1. Double-switching

When you're managing the All-Star Game in a National League park, there is an added challenge to dealing with the bloated, 32-man roster, due to the absence oft he designated hitter. However, the main benefit to a double-switch is that it allows a team to avoid or delay a weak-hitting pitcher's plate appearance. In an All-Star game, pitchers only bat if there's an unusually long first-inning rally. In addition, LaRussa only used each pitcher for single inning.

What was the real benefit to the excessive double-switching? For one, it showed America that Tony LaRussa is a strategic genius. It also screwed over anyone foolish enough to try and keep score of the All-Star Game. I used to be quite passionate about scoring baseball games when I was little, even as young as age five. Though I was to young to stay up past the sixth inning, I insisted that my father complete the scorecard. The 1986 Game was a classic for me and headache for my dad, as he had to both shoehorn in extra names into the tiny space available, as well as figure out how to score an eighth inning featuring a passed ball, a balk, and a strikeout victim reaching first on a wild pitch.

2. Refusing to use his powerful pinch-hitters

The ninth inning ended with the bases loaded and Aaron Rowand at the plate. Aaron Rowand?!? Albert Pujols, still one of the most feared hitters in baseball even during a down year, could only watch from the bench. I assumed Pujols had an unreported injury, but no, Tony was making sure the team was prepared for extra innings that never came. It's not an unprecedented situation for Tony.

In the 2000 playoffs, the St. Louis Cardinals had a loaded team, including a hobbled Mark McGwire. McGwire couldn't run the bases, but he could pinch-hit. To maximize his value, LaRussa had to find a high-leverage pinch-hitting situation where McGwire could not be walked intentionally. LaRussa failed. In two games, McGwire never got off the bench. In another, McGwire got up to pinch-hit after a double, at which point he was walked intentionally. McGwire finished the series 0-for-2 with a walk, and St. Louis lost in five games.

3. Wearing his cap like a dork.

Just like always.

(Baseball posts will now be simulcast over at Humm Bloggy.)

I work close to the ballpark in San Francisco, and even closer to the Fan Fest, which means I am at Ground Zero of the All-Star festivities. The neighborhood is swarmed by people wearing baseball stuff. Giants gear predominates, but jerseys range from Milwaukee ("The good land") to Tampa Bay ("Not actually the name of a city"). I have seen five Florida Marlins jerseys this week (four Cabreras, one Willis), which is more Marlins jerseys than I have seen in my entire life, even though I attended Game One of the Marlins-Giants Division Series in 2003.

My sister also works in the area, and is slightly perturbed by so much baseball enthusiasm. She put it thusly:

"Kid in full baseball uniform = Cute
Full grown adult fan in baseball uniform = Not so cute"

I've seen a few people wearing baseball pants along with the jersey, which changes the look from "fan" to "potential impostor". For the casual baseball fan, white polyester pants are not a forgiving item of clothing. When I see a person like this, it's hard not to wonder, "Is he wearing a cup, too?"

The official All Star batting practice jersey is also quite popular, which is somewhat understandable this year, due to the swanky, SF-specific design:

It's odd to see the jerseys from previous All-Star games represented. The man wearing the 2001 National League batting practice jersey is saying, "I'm willing to spend over $100 on a jersey to prove I attended a baseball game." (Jerseys are also available at mlb.com) It's a jersey that is appropriate two, possibly three days a year, depending on how you feel about the All-Star Legends and Celebrity Softball Game.

Of course, it's possible that the guy really is just a huge fan of the National League. He doesn't have affection for any particular team that matches the passionate hatred he has for the designated hitter. He
sometimes can't bring himself to pay that much attention to the World Series, because it's always such a letdown after the NLCS. There's a framed photo of Chub Feeney above his desk at work. The Home Run Derby is dead to him, now that they've abandoned the league-vs-league format. More than once, he's composed a sonnet about the double-switch. He still hasn't accepted the Brewers because of their previous association with the upstart "Junior Circuit".

When the All-Star Break ends, they'll go back to their usual routine. Making roster moves in their NL-only fantasy league, writing angry letters denouncing Edgar Martinez's Hall of Fame candidacy, and watching exactly half of Baseball Tonight every evening. The jerseys go back in the closet for another year, and the league fans sigh, hoping against hope that the 2008 jersey, from Yankee Stadium, just might feature pinstripes.

(Baseball posts will now be simulcast over at Humm Bloggy.)

I've performed at two previous Iron Comic shows, but until now, I have not had a chance to defend my title. That all changes on August 3rd:

UPDATE: Surprise! Sheng Wang is doing Iron Comic.

Nato Green's Iron Comic
Friday, August 3, 2007 at 8pm (doors at 7)
The Make-Out Room at 3225 22nd St., SF, CA 94110 at Mission
$8
age 21+
Whose routine reigns supreme?

Iron Comic is a live gameshow where 5 comedians rush to write a routine in 10 minutes from topics suggested by the audience. At the end of the night, an Iron Comic will be chosen. Inspired by Iron Chef, each comic is forced to craft jokes while the clock is ticking.

Battling in Joke Arena will include:
Mike Meehan has been a local comedy legend since the 80s, is 1/3 of the Meehan Brothers, with countless appearences at clubs and on TV.
Sean Keane won the first Iron Comic, and returns to crush all comers.
Tapan Trivedi is an Indian-American comedian who tours clubs and colleges with Pundits With Punchlines and Coexist Comedy Tour.
Kellen Erskine tours his comedy all over the country, and tours his cartoons all over the internet.
Sheng Wang appeared on Comedy Central's Live at Gotham and the American Eagle College Comedy Tour.
Jeff Applebaum recently appeared on Craig Ferguson, and played Joey Bishop in the play "The Rat Pack is Back."

Also featuring:
Nato Green, creator of Iron Comic & Laughing Liberally Local 415.
Reggie Steele whose charismatic comedy makes him a favorite at every club in the Bay.
Kris Tinkle whose been heard on XM Radio, appeared with Howard Stern's Meet the Retards Tour, and recently performed for the troops in Iraq.

More info at www.natogreen.com or www.myspace.com/natogreen.

BONUS: Mike Meehan performing on Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson

San Francisco took their fifth game of the season from St. Louis when the Cardinals committed four errors in a 7-6 loss. Aaron Miles committed three errors in one inning, an inning where the Giants not coincidentally scored four runs.

The Giants have now guaranteed a split on the always-dangerous Cincinnati-St. Louis road trip. Based on no empirical evidence whatsoever, I have always considered this road trip to be cursed for the Giants. These two cities always seem fraught with bad luck: Blown saves, walkoff home runs, moths swirling all over the outfield, all kinds of stuff. But today, the Giants were the beneficiaries of good fortune. what could have made their luck change?

Well perhaps it was the baseball gods, frowning on the hypocrisy of St. Louis fans. I can remember a time when the St. Louis fans were pretty excited when a long-standing home run record was being challenged, even though the man chasing the mark was the target of steroid rumors. In fact, the Mark McGwire Highway still runs through St. Louis. Maybe this disgust comes from their manager, Tony LaRussa, who managed Jose Canseco when he was injecting McGwire in the Oakland clubhouse. Or maybe St. Louis fans don't mind performance-enhancing drugs, as long as it is Caucasian players taking them.

Regardless of the reason, Miles played like the ghost of Abner Doubleday had scattered pebbles across the St. Louis infield, and the Giants reaped the benefits. Would they be able to complete the sweep with Barry Zito on the mound Sunday? (No.)

It was a difficult ninth inning, but the Giants beat the Cardinals, 4-3. To me, the story of the day was not so much the players who participated in the victory, but the haunting echo of Giants now lost to the sands of time/the Florida Marlins.

Bruce Bochy pulled nominal closer Brad Hennessey early in the ninth inning in favor of lefty Jack Taschner. Then, he replaced Taschner with Randy Messenger to get the final out. Messenger got it done, and everyone went home unhappy in St. Louis.

Messenger was acquired for the Giants old closer, the hated Armando Benitez. Both pitchers are hard to watch. For Benitez, it was his incompetence on the mound, but also his bloated frame, his repellant, fleshy body. Benitez's corpulence sent a message to fans: "My salary is $7.6 million, but not a penny of that goes to exercise equipment."

Messenger is hard to watch mainly because he has a gross beard, a thin line of facial hair that traces the line of his jaw. He could easily shave it off and look normal, whereas Benitez would face a long road of dieting, jogging, and probably a series of painful liposuction procedures before looking decent.

However, Benitez is fat due to laziness, poor diet, gluttony, what have you. Messenger's awful beard speaks to a fundamental weakness in his character, some broken thing inside him that says, "I took a great deal of care to make my face look like this. I believe that for an adult man, someone who appears on television, who is a role model for children, this is an acceptable way to look." Benitez can diet; that part of Randy Messenger's psyche won't just go away.

In other exiled-and-hated Giants news, former middle infielder Neifi Perez
tested positive for a controlled substance and was suspended. It is profoundly sad that Neifi, who Aaron Gleeman persuasively argued as the worst hitter in baseball history, only achieved those "heights" with the aid of performance-enhancing drugs.

It is mind-boggling to imagine what a drug-free Neifi Perez's would do offensively, since the only way he could hurt his team more on offensive would involve kneecapping his teammates in the on-deck circle, running the bases backwards, and relaying the third base coach's signals directly to the opposing manager. He already slides head-first into first base all the time, so that's covered.

The Tigers are "punished" by being deprived of Neifi's services for the next 25 games, which might be enough to set them apart from the other AL Central contenders. We miss you, Neifi.

(Baseball posts will now be simulcast over at Humm Bloggy.)

The Reds beat the Giants 6-3 in the final game of their three-game series on Thursday. SFGate's sports staff is having some fun with the disappointing season:

1. The lead photo features Pedro Feliz being thrown out at second base, with the caption, "Not So Happy Peter". I didn't know that Molly-style nicknaming had spread so far. However, I'm not sure that "Unhappy Peter" would have been such a bad caption. It seems that the photo editors are following the Handley-inspired Squelch office Mp3-naming conventions, which led to such folders as "(not so)hip-hop", for rap music that was kind of dorky.

Also: "Peter" means "penis". Ha.

2. Henry Schulman chooses interesting language to discuss Cincinnati's general inability to win series:

Never before has the word "rubber" been uttered so much on the radio in the Queen City, as in, "The Reds can't win the rubber game of a series to save their lives."

This may or may not be true, depending on whether Venus Flytrap ever did safe sex PSAs on WKRP.

3. The Betting Fool rips on the All-Star Game in another SFGate column, and uses the nickname "Drugged Earwig" for baseball commissioner Bud Selig. I agree with the Fool's main thesis which is: The All-Star Game sorta sucks. This Giants season was built on the foundation of events that sell lots of tickets, but have very little to do with competitive baseball. The Barry Bonds home run chase and the All-Star Game are both very effective means to sell season tickets, and they're both going to be over at roughly the same time. Attention bargain-hunting Giants fans: there's going to be a lot of scalped tickets available in August.

Bonds has said he won't compete in the Home Run Derby, needing to reserve his old man strength for pursuing Aaron and nothing else. It's reminiscent of Westley in The Princess Bride, lying down to conserve his strength for his confrontation with Prince Humperdinck. In this analogy, Victor Conte is Miracle Max, Greg Anderson is Princess Buttercup, and the six-fingered man is, of course, Antonio Alfonseca. To the pain, Hammerin' Hank!

Will the Giants get back in the playoff chase? It'll take a miracle.

Pick up the current issue of ESPN The Magazine to see the first appearance of Sean Keane The Freelance Sports Humorist. In the July 16th issue, the cover features Jimmy Kimmel and LeBron James, and the "Espys 2012" piece features a joke by yours truly about embattled Tennessee Titans cornerback Adam "Pac-Man" Jones. Look for my name amidst a long list of contributors, then cut the page out for your scrapbooks, subscribe to the magazine, and enjoy the finest sports magazine in the world that is also named for a cable network. ESPN will soon stand for "Enjoy Sean-Produced 'Nee-slappers (The Magazine)", and I'm pleased as punch to be a part of it.

The Giants defeated the Reds 9-5 in an Independence Day battle in Cincinnati. If the game were part of the American Revolution, who would the stars of this game be?

George Washington: Matt Cain. Cain has been a master strategist on the mound this season, constrained only by a lack of material support. For months, the Giants hitters have been essentially wintering at Valley Forge, unable to launch anything offensive. Matt Cain also once cut down a cherry tree with his fastball.

Benedict Arnold: Rich Aurilia. Aurilia spent 2005 and 2006 in a Reds uniform, but switched sides for more money. He betrayed the Reds in the fourth inning by legging out an infield hit ahead of Fred Lewis's grand slam, though, like Benedict Arnold, Aurilia's legs are ruined. Rich also used his turncoat knowledge of the Reds pitching staff to hit an impressive sixth-inning home run off Ricky Stone.

General Horatio Gates: Fred Lewis. Just as the Battle of Saratoga was the turning point of the Revolutionary War, the fourth inning was the turning point of yesterday's ballgame. Lewis, like Gates, deserves credit for his stirring performance, but the contributions of Aurilia, like those of Arnold, were underrated.

Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox: Ray Durham. Durham's quick bat provided a surprise attack against the Reds bullpen, like the guerilla techniques of the Swamp Fox.. Also, if you've ever heard Ray Durham's voice, it sounds like he grew up in a swamp.

Hessians: Cincinnati Red bullpen. Ineffective, underpaid mercenaries.

Second Continental Congress: Omar Vizquel. Vizquel made some costly errors, but no one cares because of the ultimate victory.

We've been neglecting the baseball season around these parts recently, so today we introduce a new feature of daily reactions to the Giants action. A lot of big news is happening around the Giants these days: Barry Bonds chasing the all-time home run record, the All-Star Game at ATT&T Park next week, Bruce Bochy's pursuit of the modern-day, single-season managerial ejections record, and Tim Lincecum's struggle to lose his virginity before the end of summer.

"Humm Bloggy" is the name of the new feature, a name so awkward we couldn't help but choose it. "Humm Baby" was former manager Roger Craig's rallying cry during his tenure as Giants manager. "Humm baby" had many meanings. It could mean a scrub who nonetheless gave maximum effort. It could mean any player who played his heart out. It could mean, "Congratulations", "We'll get 'em next time," "Hot girl in the stands," and "Suicide squeeze again, muthafucka!"

The Giants didn't play yesterday, so I'll provide a reaction to Sunday's 13-0 defeat of the Diamondbacks:

My grandfather always enjoyed Giants victories, but he got increasingly nervous whenever the margin of victory exceeded three or four runs. On a day like Sunday, each run the team scored would make him only more agitated. "Save some for tomorrow," he'd have muttered through clenched teeth as Bengie Molina circled the bases, upset at the team's foolhardy expenditure of precious extra-base hits. "We'll need those runs tomorrow."

I can't say he was wrong. The team did seem to suffer a letdown after enormous, ass-kicking victories like the one we saw Sunday. But was this a result of not saving runs for tomorrow during a blowout, or was it because we watched the Giants, and they generally kind of sucked? I'm not going to try to answer that question, but don't be surprised if the Giants offense fails to provide fireworks on the Fourth of July. Grandpa could have told you the same.

Sunday night at the Punchline is showcase night. Fifteen different comics get up, all doing 5-7 minutes each, except for the headliner, who goes longer. Last night, there were sixteen comics, because Dave Chappelle stopped by.

The headliner was cut short, and the host announced a "surprise guest". When they heard who it was, the crowds erupted. Dave walked to the stage, flanked by a cameraman and a minor security detail that was pointing out cell phone cameras in the crowd like Secret Service agents spotting handguns. A few enthused patrons gave Dave a standing ovation, which looks strange in a comedy club.

(Digression: It's really weird that they need to actively prevent cell phone photography of Chappelle, as if fans can't truly appreciate seeing Dave without preserving the moment forever with a crappy, low-resolution camera photo.)

Dave got up and proceeded to do his five-minute "set" entirely in a made-up language that made him sound like a Star Wars cantina patron. It was reminsicent of the Gibberish expert improv game, only without the translator. (Sample joke: "Tatanga bah? Shatanga banga tatang!") The crowd went from excited, to expectant, to confused, still waiting for the moment when Dave would revert back to English and deliver the sure-to-be-hilarious punchline that would explain the whole thing. That didn't happen. Just before he got off, Dave asked the crowd, "Awkward, isn't it?" Then he said, "That's the point," dropped the mic on the ground, and walked off.

It was indeed awkward, especially as actor-comedian Greg Edwards returned to the stage to close the show. It was awkward again when Dave walked back up to the stage to explain that he'd just seen Apocalypto, and that he "just wondered whether that would work for comedy". Then Greg sheepishly climbed back up to the stage to close the show for the third time, like the champ that he is.

I have a few opinions about this. First, I enjoy it when things are intentionally disappointing. The crowd thought they'd lucked into a random Chappelle appearance, and quickly went from surprised euphoria to extreme disappointment. People were willing to go a long way with his gibberish stuff, which shows you what kind of pinnacle Chappelle has reached in the comedy world. The crowd still laughed sporadically during his completely English-free bit, and I have no doubt that they would have given him more slack if he'd dragged the bit out longer.

Andy Kaufman would have been proud. However, I was glad to be a comic sitting in the back, and not a regular audience member. I'm pretty sure Andy Kaufman's gags were funnier if you were watching the audience, and not trying to be entertained by Andy himself. Maybe Dave was just seeing how far he could push it. Maybe he lost a bet. Maybe he won a bet. Maybe it was all for YouTube.

From everything I hear, Dave Chappelle is very generous to other comics, and a very valuable asset to the Punchline, and the SF comedy scene in general. At this point, he can do whatever he wants. My only objection is that, before Chappelle made his appearance, it was a very strong Sunday showcase, maybe the best I'd ever seen. Nearly every comic did well, some as well as I'd ever seen them do. But after the Chappelle gibberish set, no one went home talking about Moshe Kasher's killer set, or Clinton Jackson's great routine about grocery lines. For better or for worse, the night was defined by the five minutes of Dave talking goofy at the end. Shatanga banga, bitch!

Technology is changing mean older brother pranks. For every new method of little brother harassment enabled by technological advances (as seen below), there's two more that fall by the wayside.

Lacking a little brother, my own mean older brother behavior was mostly limited to forcing my younger sisters to play baseball and soccer in the backyard with me for hours. However, I heard legendary stories from friends who had little brothers, including one mean game called "the typewriter".

To do the typewriter, first you sit on your little brother and pin hia arms with your knees. Then, you drum your fingers on his chest, like you were typing in his sternum. Periodically, you slap their face and yell, "Ding!" Ah, the untapped violent potential of the carriage return.

Unfortunately, technology has made the typewriter obsolete. Modern older brothers have no idea why you would slap in that manner. Slapping a little brother they can get behind, but to what end? I propose a replacement prank: The blog. Mean older brothers can do the same typing move as before, but instead of the slap, they can flick the tip of the nose and right-click the nostrils. To mix things up, mean brothers can poke the middle of the little brother's forehead while yelling, "Refresh!"

Games involving slurping up a loogy right before it hits your little brother's face are timeless, and will never get old until the human race develops cybernetic salivary gland implants.