Video - Dustin's Hotness Scale

Back at a point in time when I was funny, I did this. And this guy recorded it. And I now learned how to do what's called "embed" stuff on my website. It's only 24 seconds. Watch it, for the love of God.

Quit or Get Off the Pot

Quit or Get Off the Pot

First of all, it’s not quitting. It’s just a restructuring of one’s goals. When I was in 8th grade, I tried to swim underwater across the entire length of the high school pool. I almost made it, but came up short. My evil schmucks I called friends called me a quitter. And back then, I thought I was. I now see that incident as a restructuring of goals. I realized there was decidedly more value in breathing air to keep my brain alive than making it to the end of the pool. The same with walking over thin ice, jumping from a moving train or biting a snake’s tail (all things I said no to). This same theory has now been implemented into most areas in my life I’ve now decided to quit, whether it be paying back my student loans, becoming a famous stand-up comedian or being happy. There are just other goals that have leapfrogged these values in importance. Like the justification of all of my recent failures.

Still Standing Right Here...

Top 5 Lines That Won't Get You Out of a Ticket

Top 5 Lines That Won't Get You Out of a Drunk Driving Ticket Even Though They Are Somewhat Logical

5. “Yes, I had like three beers officer, but I drank them so fast I doubted I’m even drunk yet.”

4. “I know I was speeding but I was thinking that as drunk as I am, I should probably get off the road as fast as possible.”

3. “Yeah, I’m probably drunk, but at least I’m not texting.”

2. “Well officer, I thought I’d take the highway because there’s a lot more margin of error than there is on the back roads.”

1. “Well I didn’t want to drive home drunk but I couldn’t think of a better way to get my car back home.”

Please feel free to add your own. You needn't disclose whether or not you've actually tried them.

I Can See Your Crack

I Can See Your Crack

I have a pretty decent size crack on my windshield and unlike all the literature says, it doesn’t appear to be going away on its own. It started on the passenger side at just about eye level and worked its way about ¼ of the way across pretty quickly. But it’s now kinda slowed down. And I don’t really see the need to fix it either. At first I was a little distracted and thought somebody was always trying to merge from the right. But now that I’m used to it (and already have a girlfriend), it’s not a big deal. My mechanic says that in addition to the obvious issues with vision which I’ve already circumnavigated (justified), it weakens the integrity of the windshield. So now if my windshield finds somebody else’s wallet, it will take all the cash before it mails it back. Or maybe I’m misunderstanding something. He said that if a basketball strikes the windshield, it is now more likely to break. Even in my line of work, I think I can avoid driving through a storm of basketballs.

So I’ve decided not to worry about getting it fixed. Unless of course they require a whole uncracked windshield as part of the Maryland State inspection. It’s been a while since I’ve been through a real inspection since Ohio only checks your headlights and odometer and only when you first buy it or move there. Heck, my jeep didn’t have doors that locked, functional seat belts or a roof and that lasted three years. And they let my legally blind roommate drive an SUV any time of day. How the hell do people survive out there? And the basketball storms are much worse out there too. Where the hell was I?

Still Standing Right Here...

The Weight is the Hardest Part

The Weight is the Hardest Part

I found a huge hole in the things that I’m good at in this world. Last week, we sponsored a weight lifting competition at UB with guest judge, Brendon Ayanbadejo from the Ravens (and the UB Business School). Now I know that I’m not a strong guy by any standard, certainly not by NFL linebacker standards, but I figured I could at least hold my own. Curious of exactly where I’d fall in the scope of this contest in which you had to lift 80% of your body weight as many reps as you could, I laid down on the bench and proceeded to not be able to get the bar off my chest, proving that I could literally not hold my own. Not even 80% of my own. I would be a horribel ant. And I did this not in the gym, but out on Gordon Plaza with a huge crowd for everyone to see.

I lost a lot of street cred.

Not only could I not lift this thing, but I also think I hurt my shoulder trying. And not just my shoulder, but my left testicle felt a good amount of discomfort when I sat down to pee that day. But that could be because it was caught between the seat and the bowl. Nevertheless, I was embarrassed. But even more than that, I was pissed. Really? I’m that inept now? I played high school football once upon a time. Sure, my nickname was Speed Bump and I led the team in hanging on to running backs until one of the linebackers could catch up to us to bring him down, but I still played football.

This cannot happen again. So the answer is obvious. It looks like I’m going to have to lose a lot of weight before the next challenge so I won’t have to lift as much. I suppose I could try to get stronger, but that seems like a lot more work. OR… I could just decide not to care. This actually seems like the path of least resistance. When faced with the decision to do 20 push ups during the commercial breaks of Parenthood or get a bowl of ice cream, we’ll see how much I really care about lifting a 135 lb. bar off my chest.

Still Standing Right Here…

Dear Intramural Basketball Champions

Dear Intramural Basketball Champions,

First of all, congratulations. I’m assuming from the amount of importance that you placed on this victory that you have a significant investment of your self-worth associated with the outcome. While I feel there are other things more important than the random subtle differences in the bounce of a ball, I do admire your passion toward the cause. Not many people would be willing to sacrifice their character in front of other students and staff members they see on a weekly basis to argue their point. The whining like an 8-year-old when you didn’t get your way, the staredown of the officials and the red-faced screaming at the clock operator when 7 seconds ran off the clock after a time out was called is inspiring. These acts together culminated in an intramural championship that no one can ever take away from you. You did it. You found a way. And though I seriously do appreciate the apology after the fact, I’m rather certain that after a come-from-behind overtime win in a championship game, I’d have smiled and shook hands with the bully that used to shove my head in the toilet in middle school. It’s when we face adversity that we really find out what our character is like. And you don’t need to prove yourself to me, so please stop. I’m but a bit part in your life and my mind is already made up. I just worry that someday you may value something more than winning an intramural contest. Sadly for the opposing team, as heartbreaking a loss as it was, they were able to maintain their character. They obviously have other priorities in their life and don’t value the intramural basketball championship as much as you do. And now you have a t-shirt to hang up in your room as a reminder of everything you had to sacrifice to win this championship. Maybe someday you’ll value your own character over a game, but not today. Today, you are an intramural champion.

The League Commissioner.

And if you like this one, you'll like Unsportsmanlike Conduct too.

Spreading It's Seed

Spreading It’s Seed

OK Pollen, you win. I will indeed have to refill the wiper fluid in my car before the natural course of the 3,000 mile check-up. I tried to outlast you, but you have proven yourself a worthy adversary. And if I remember correctly from middle school science, pollen is how male plants spread their seed, literally and figuratively (which is actually still literally), and it only happens this one time of year. They carry male sperm to the female parts of plants. Or something like that. So basically, pollen is plant ejaculate. And if I only got to ejaculate once a year, I could probably cover a city block too. If I had put that together earlier, I’d have probably run out of wiper fluid a looooong time ago.

Still Standing Right Here…

Sarcastic Ref Dustin

Sarcastic Ref Dustin

I reverted back into “Sarcastic Ref Dustin” last night for a minute. I started out in this profession of intramural official as rather timid and afraid of the pace of the game, like most people do. I then became Sarcastic Ref Dustin and whenever somebody would question a call and I knew them to be wrong, I would – very subtly – make them look like an ignorant ass in public. “But the ground caused the incompletion” one player would say. “I know” I would retort. It was a dance a man with a superior intellect, a position of power and an obviously more comprehensive knowledge of the rules of the game being played would win every time. And yes, you can win dances.

After years of these idiotic comments born from very obviously biased sources, one of two things happened. Either I became more professional in my approach or more desensitized to idiocy. I did not talk back to teams nearly as much as an official. Or at least I was able to holster the degrading retort to an idiotic comment. I’ve always been able to joke around with the greater majority of teams and players who get the core concept of a recreational game. Well, a team last night finally got on my nerves to the point where I no longer felt the need to play nice. Sorry guys, but you’ve done enough.

After a whole game filled with eye rolls, looks of disbelief and staredowns (of the officials), I had had enough. One of the players on the opposing team had bounced the ball a little too high and let it go between bounces. This is a completely legal play in every version of basketball. The other team was complaining that he (and I quote) “let it go and then touched it again” (end quote). That was seriously their entire argument. I don’t know how to refute that. I got a look on my face of disbelief. Confused, I said something to the effect of “huh?” Again, they said the same thing and now two players on their team were complaining. And the comedian in me saw an opportunity to get revenge against the hecklers. “He let the ball go and then touched it again? That’s called dribbling.” I may have thrown in a “I don’t understand what you’re asking” or “It’s not a travel” to give myself plausible deniability like many of them do over and over, but it was a smart ass remark and hit its target demographic. I don’t regret it, but I’m not proud of it. After all that team had put me through all year, I feel like one jab back to prove I can jab back but I just don’t is sufficient enough. After all, I did hear one NCAA official tell Coach Phil, our UMBC women’s head basketball coach “I didn’t call it, so obviously it was not a foul.” And if he can say that, I can inform people what dribbling is.

Still Standing Right Here…

Video - The Bridgeport Experience (Speakeasy Open Mic)

Dustin Fisher tells a true story at SpeakeasyDC's open mic from SpeakeasyDC on Vimeo.

This is by far not my best outing. I was trying to play a character and at least I've decided that it's better to be funny than true to a character on stage this day. Also, if you haven't read the following, they are about this performance. Feel free to read them and share in my on-stage pain.

• Inside the Head of a Writer
  
• Inside the Head of a Performer - Part 1
  
• Inside the Head of a Performer - Part 2

Still Standing Right Here...

The Generalization Principle

The Generalization Principle

People on TV, especially sportscasters, like to generalize to prove a point. For example, they’ll tell you how the Colts’ defense is vulnerable to the play-action pass and they’ll show an example of how it worked once. Maybe twice. And that’s it. This unfortunately works because, as primarily ignorant people who need to do things other than follow sports statistics for a living, we don’t have the time or desire to do the research ourselves. And when push comes to shove, we really just want to sound like we know what we’re talking about, we don’t actually care if we know what we’re talking about. And for the record, the Colts’ defense actually is vulnerable to the play-action pass. And I have a 3-minute analysis by Merril Hoge to prove it.

Still Standing Right Here…

The J Word

The J Word

So here’s an actual conversation that I had today with my self-proclaimed unjealous girlfriend.

Jen: “So I see you changed your blanket.”
Me: “Yes, I brought another blanket out. You’re using the other one.”
Jen: “That’s the one your ex-girlfriend made you, right?”
Me: “What? No. My day camp assistant made it for me.”
Jen: “But you dated her, right?”
Me: “No!”
Jen: “But you would have, right?”
Me: “Wha? I – don’t…”
Jen: “Well, you wanted to date her, right?”
Me: “I didn’t date or hook up with every girl that I ever knew, you know.”
Jen: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Why are you doing this?”
Jen: “Well this is the one that you had when you were with Stephanie, right?”
Me: “Well yeah… I mean – I did own a lot of stuff –”
Jen: “See?”
Me: “No.”

To Jen’s credit, she was joking around on some level. And I guess it’s possible the blanket was too close to the grill when she was cooking dinner tonight. And I’ll take jealousy over apathy any day.

Still Standing Right Here…

Testing Loyalties

Testing Loyalties

Lord, I understand you work in mysterious ways and far be it for me to question Your method. I understand this is just one of those times when my loyalty is being tested. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t question why You would allow Sir Donovan to be traded within the division. I’m not necessarily a religious man, but to me, football is a higher calling. I worship at Our Lady of the NFL every Sunday and pray to the divinity of the Quarterback, Head Coach and Left Tackle.

I am here to ask for a miracle and I know you’ve granted them before. I’ve seen your work come to life in the form of the Immaculate Reception, the Holy Roller and the Music City Miracle. I know you rarely intrude into the business of personnel trades, but I remember back in 2004 when T.O. was a Raven for like 13 hours and then somebody yelled “do-over” and then he was an Eagle. Could you please do that again? I didn’t say anything about Brian Mitchell or James Thrash or even Jeremiah Trotter. But this is testing the boundaries of my loyalty as an Eagle fan living in a Redskin world.

My loyalty, first and foremost, will always be to the Eagles franchise. I believe in their front office and trust in this business move, as painful as it is for me. But I also have an allegiance to #5, as a great guy, despite T.O., Rush Limbaugh and the growing majority of haters in Philadelphia who can’t recognize how good of a player he is because he didn’t win a Superbowl. Philadelphia fans are stupid. On WIP, more than one person volunteered to drive him out of town because they hated him, a man who won more games than everyone but Tom Brady, Brett Favre and Peyton Manning in the last 10 years. And for that ass hole and the legions of morons like him, I hope for the success of Donovan. Because I have an allegiance not only to the Eagles and #5, but also to a good story. And it’s almost worth the success of the Eagles franchise to me just to see those haters eat crow. I’m not saying that I’ll ever cheer against the greatest team in any league that there ever could be, forever and ever, Amen. But when the day comes, depending on how things play out, I know I’ll be tested. I only hope I can stay strong for You.

In preparation, I’ve decided not to eat any solid foods for the next few weeks, as I’ll likely throw up the first day I see him in that burgundy and gold uniform.

Dear Dickhead in the Chevy Trailblazer

Dear Dickhead in the Chevy Trailblazer,

First of all, you’re not fooling anyone. It’s not like you’re bagging cheetahs on the weekend. You’re picking up Kaili from soccer practice and dropping off Dylan at his piano lesson. And that “26.2” sticker on the hatchback isn’t as humble or inside a message as you probably think it is. We all know your secret language now. Besides, it’s just a sticker. I can buy stickers too.

Secondly, I know what you did back there. If you’re gonna pud along in the fast lane with your cruise control stuck on “grandma,” at least have the dignity to admit you’re a moron that can’t drive and let me pass you on the right. Getting into the right lane and speeding up just enough so I can’t pass you has upgraded you from moron to dickhead. Congratulations. Kaili and Dylan will be proud. And I realize that you’d have plausible deniability in a court of law, but I know what you’re doing – and out on the streets, everyone is their own judge and jury. Incidentally, I actually mean the phrase “out on the streets” literally for possibly the first time. While I feel that it is cowardly and petty to cut me back off to pass someone, I’d like to thank you for going the extra half mile and using your turn signal to let me know it was going to happen. Also, now that you’re driving the speed I’d like to be going, I don’t care anymore. I hope you feel better knowing that your minivan has better pickup than my 94 Civic with a field liner and 85 additional pounds of disc golf and flag football equipment in the backseat, but it means very little to me. I advise you from now on to drive the speed you’d like to go and not worry about impressing people like me because it’s not working. I should not be that important to you. Have a safe and enjoyable rest of your trip.

Regards,
The Dickhead in the Honda Civic.

Homophobophobic

Homophobophobic

I’ve gotten very comfortable around gay people in the past couple years. Maybe it’s because of that time I was having sex with a guy who turned out to be gay. Seriously though, I’ve always been pretty open to all things, especially when it comes to sexual deviation. But since I started working in the Mt. Vernon area of Baltimore and at a primarily-continuing education school, I’ve been exposed to a lot more openly gay people than I was for three years in the Midwest Bible Belt of Conservativeland, Ohio. So I don’t think much about it. If somebody is willingly “out,” I don’t find it taboo to refer to them as gay when describing him or her to someone. Nor do I find it weird to talk to them about their partners or anything I wouldn’t normally feel uncomfortable talking about. I see the difference as just a preference they have that I don't, like talking to a Redskins fan. And yet, it makes some people uncomfortable. I was joking around about the Hippo Bar being the Coyote Ugly of gay bars. This comment made the already outed friend in our group clam up and think I had a problem with gay people. Sadly, this happens too often. I would guess that people who are not gay but talk about it openly enough to joke about it are more than likely viewed as homo-bashing than homo-friendly. So I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t feel the need to walk on egg shells around the subject and it makes me look like more of an ass to some people. So I have to treat something that’s not a big deal to me like it is so I don’t come across wrong now. As a country, we’ve gotten way too homophobophobic.

Still Standing Right Here…

This Joke is on Me

This Joke is on Me

Oops. The joke is apparently on me this time. I used to be an upper-level prankster when it came to April Fool’s Day. Well, I’ve gotten busier, more mature and quite boring in the last decade and a half. Those days are behind me. Now I just resort to the casual, spur of the moment gags that are as old as sarcasm itself. Well, this year, it backfired something serious.

I decided to post on facebook early today that Jen got me pregnant. It was really my half-ass way of mocking the “holiday” tradition. Well, my sister replies to that post “Congratulations. Good to know you’re still pumping out eggs at your age.” Not particularly funny, but a harmless quip nonetheless. To this, I decided to reply on her wall “Thanks so much, Char. Hopefully there are no more complications. I’ll let you know when the shower is and you’ll the baby’s Godmother of course.”

Here’s the thing about facebook. Now I’ve put that out there without the context of the first two comments. In retrospect, that’s where I went wrong. My Nana is not on facebook, thank the lord. But her good friend is. And she is friends with my sister, but not me (on facebook). Being a drama queen and seeing blood in the water, she called my Nana to tell her the great news. And so begins the telephone game. I’m not sure what things were assumptions and which were blatantly made up and taken as fact from these assumptions, but word got out to my mother, two aunts and somehow leaked into my father’s side of the family too that Jen was pregnant and the baby may have gestational diabetes. OK, I’m making up that last part, but there were concerns about what the “complications” were and several theories were out there, as I found out when I returned from my meeting to find I had 7 messages on my voicemail.

To further aid the ridiculousness of this story, I had taken down my original post after getting several tactless replies to it. So now, no one could disprove any of this by facebook stalking me. All that was out there was my comment on my sister’s wall, and the 27 unanswered replies underneath of it from various family members and congratulatory friends. I finally had to post up that Jen was not pregnant and there thusly were no complications. At least not with a baby. There were many complications elsewhere. Mostly with my mother, who was the happiest she’d ever been in her life for 2 hours, only to learn that her son may still indeed be infertile and afraid of commitment.

So that was my failed attempt at a harmless April Fool’s joke this year. Thank you, facebook, for finally giving me an April Fool’s to remember. Looks like the joke is on me. Or is the joke on you?


Still Standing Right Here…