Driven to Drink

Tonight, it’s personal.

Tonight, Greg is quite inebriated and Jen threw in the towel well before what your ears are about to hear.

Tonight, Harry Nilsson turns in his grave (but also likely laughs if he’s not taking his decomposed self too seriously) as Greg emotes musically…albeit a bit pitchy, dog.

Tonight, the recording is short but the content is full.

Of shit.

Enjoy, “All By Myself.”

Part 2, post-movie. What a movie!!

Now both quite inebriated, Greg grieves Phillip Seymour Hoffman as Jen climbs upon a societal and suicide soapbox, and the end credits music provides added atmosphere, drama, and eventually hilarity. Jen coins the term, “Preposterous empathy,” screams loudly at a goading Greg trying to remember the proper configuration of the shocker as well as the various rhyming pairs (Pink-Stink, Fondue-Le Pew, Cooter-Pooter, Taco-Guaco, Should-Could, Blood-Mud, Womb-Tomb, Bush-Cheney, Curtains-Hurtin’, Grassy Knoll-Assy Hole, Hole-Other Hole, Cherry Hair-Derriere), and proves herself quite the saboteur. This one’s a doozie.  We proudly(?) present to you, "Boogie Nights, Part 2."

Somehow, Greg had never seen the movie, “Boogie Nights,” so your humble hosts cranked up the stereo and turned this mutha out. In Part 1, pre-movie, Jen drinks Voodoo Good Vibes and Greg drinks Arcadia Hop Rocket. The conversation begins with the unparalleled awesomeness that is the Voodoo brew empire, then shifts to the unparalleled awesomeness that is Paul Thomas Anderson, and concludes with the unparalleled cuteness that is, “The elbows are coming.” (Wha?!) Yep, the elbows are coming. We present to you, "Boogie Nights - Part 1." Just listen.

We saw Maron Friday night (4/17). Before the show we drank atVoodoo Homestead, our new favorite beer and brewery, and we had food from the Berlin Street Food cart. The sandwiches were sublime.

The venue was within walking distance from the brewery and the evening was warm and sunny. The smell of food in the air, the sounds of children playing basketball, the volunteer firefighters cleaning their trucks and laughing at private jokes…a perfect community vibe.

Maron walked on-stage at about 8:20, and he was outstanding. All the things I expected, and more…hilarious, honest, relaxed, in-control. He moved through stories, jokes, call-backs, spot-on improvisational choices, impersonations, and he did it all with perfect…Maronness. He’s on my Mt. Rushmore of comics and podcasters (…that’s two separate monuments, for those keeping track…), and I was on cloud 9 for like 75 minutes. Really, he went for that long…and he was on fire the entire time.

On the walk back to the car, Jen and I both claimed, nearly simultaneously, “I’m hungry.” I thought about IHOP, but that place is a nightmare always. It’s typically packed with people, and even when it isn’t the service is several ticks below a McDonald’s drive-through at 2 a.m. on a Friday night in a college town, near the bars.

“We have food at home,” Jen said. So we drove home. She went to bed. I shoveled processed, packaged, sugar and corn-syrup laden “food” into my face. I dragged my ass to bed, a sense of forboding slowing me with each step. I woke in the morning feeling just as sad and gastro-intestinally unsettled as I’d predicted.

Here’s my Facebook post from the morning:

Open the garbage can to toss out a tissue. The detritus of last night’s food ravaging staring me in the face, imploring me to remember each bite. Shame cascading over me like so many salty chips, peanut butter eggs, Oreos, and nondescript shitty Easter chocolate. “Can I get an Amen from the choir?! Bite Jesus’ head off for your salvation.” (Or perhaps damnation.) Only one word suffices. Fuck. Post it on Facebook, get on with my day. Today, not yesterday, is my cheat day. Still is. Don’t judge. Maron was funny, though. Ended his 75 minute set with a shame eating bit. So I honored him. Though, the comedy is not here for me. Yet. Reeses eggs are not meant to be eaten by the handful. I’ll pay. Today I’ll pay. Both emotionally and gastointestinally.

I had to give tours that morning, at the Wigle Whiskey strip-district distillery. I recorded myself as I made the commute into the city. Today, only I, Gregory, present to you our first mini-episode, “Shame Eating Aftermath.”

On today’s episode of the D2D Pod, Greg makes himself a “Union Smoke and Maple Punch,” incorporating Wigle Smoked Whiskey (…with grains smoked on the Union Pig and Chicken smoker…), Lapsang Souchong tea and pumpkin rooibus, lemon juice, and maple syrup; while Jen enjoys a nice lemon cayenne cleanse probiotic drink. (One is fun, one is healthy.) Kate, the dog, finds the smell of cayenne immediately aversive, thus finally proving that she will not eat anything. (Though she will happily eat litter encrusted cat shit, among other mammalian fecal delicacies.) Greg apparently identifies with Norman Bates’ awkwardness and inability to understand girls, though not his predilection toward murderous fugue states. Jen mentions an Indiana pizza shop, social medial backlash, ahomophobic Kickstarter, and the fact that no self-respecting gay couple (…or straight couple for that matter…) would ever have a wedding catered by a pizza shop anyway. Greg follows up the discussion from, “Our First Inclusion Excursion” with an update on C-Man, and reminds himself to always set expectation ceilings high.

We humbly present to you, “No Gays Pizza, In Stereo.”

On today’s episode of the D2D Pod, Greg and Jen use an old-school Zoom h4…and just like the even earlier days of stereo recording, Greg is full-on left speaker…though somehow Jen manages to get her voice across both sides. (Warning: We feel this recording is perhaps best enjoyed in a car or over speakers rather than headphones. It can become a bit disconcerting to have Greg all up in your left hemisphere. But hey, maybe you’ll like that sort of thing!)

G&J discuss “The Music Man Junior,” inclusion with C-Man (…this is a follow-up to the discussion in “Our First Inclusion Excursion,” which recently premiered on LibSyn and iTunes…), coffee withdrawal and the benefits of weaning, and the pure bliss that isVoodoo Brewery.

The conversation also veers back to the MeUndies session, Jebediah Farnsworth’s neck beard and whistling, Jubes McGillicuddy’s clapping, and Sid Sinclair’s undeniable charm and energy. Stay tuned, more (…outtakes, alternate versions of the jingle, and plenty of Sid Sinclair’s desperate adoration of Jubes’ beautiful instrument…) will be coming from that evening of debauchery I now fondly refer to as, “The Shit Show.”

We present to you, “Voodoo Brew Crew, In Stereo!!"

Hey…look and listen here, another bonus D2D post…and the first D2D-produced song.

Those of you who are fans of “The Monday Morning Podcast” andBill Burr will be entirely familiar with his hilarious, crass, impromptu jingle for one of his sponsors, MeUndies.com. I called upon a few of my most musical and hilarious friends (…notably, my two most musically talented friends also happen to be two of the funniest people I know…), filled them with food and booze, and we went about using Billy Double Bass Drum’s lyrics along with some of our own (…the Lennon/McCartney of the C-word, are we…) to make the ditty a bit more official.

Keep in mind…if you are easily offended, or even if you’re not easily offended, this song may not be for you. Just imagine an off-the-cuff parody, prompted by an R-rated stand-up comic, embellished by several inebriated potty-mouths, about underwear. And said underwear’s ability to keep the twigs ‘n’ berries and dinner rolls dry.

If you have two minutes, dig a classic jazz melody, like parody, want to hear an exceptional whistling solo, and don’t mind occasionally mentioning unmentionables…this is for you.

Also, we’d love to get this to Billy Sizzle Tits and the MeUndies folks. FWIW, the underwear are quite comfortable. (It’s not easy reaching them directly via email, understandably.) If you know how to do that, and you do that, well we’d surely appreciate you.

Here, we present to you a second bonus D2D in as many days, “MeUndies Jingle, Take 7.”

On today’s D2D pod we conclude our time with Tricia and an effing fox fur coat. (See that? We don’t always curse outright!) Greg tells a Kenyan camping-safari story in which a man-eating lion dies and Greg laments the encroachment and selfishness of humans…as he tries to remain calm and uncritical in the presence of the previously mentioned fur. Greg is surprised to find out that women use Nair on the Pink Panther, and we all learn that the second ingredient in Nair is “urea.” That’s mammalian urine. (Piss. Yellow gold. Texas tea.) Additionally, the bottle claims, preposterously in both the conventional sense and also functional use given the fact that humans continue to use this product to cause hair to literally fall out, “Not Tested on Animals.” We learn that Tricia knows all there is to know about chicken excrement (…as well as whichever industrial animal’s urine was used in her bottle of Nair…) and, unfortunately, human excrement.

We finish positively and quite strong on, “Better Call Saul” as well as the Humble Barber Company. We present to you, “What does the fox fur say? (Norris: Part 2)”

On today’s episode of the D2D Pod, the wonderful and exciting Tricia ascends to the Mt. Rushmore of awesomeness (…heck, she’s been there all along…), Greg gets an Ommegang 8-pack at Giant Eagle for $16 (…FYI, that’s cheap…), and both Greg and Tricia discuss their status as regulars at the local Wine and Spirits store. The crew discusses pet peeves, Pittsburgh drivers, road rage(Jubes?), and the special spot in hell that is reserved for people (Jason?) who change lanes in tunnels just to avoid the long line of traffic before the tunnel. Finally, we discuss Volvo-driving vampires and (non) Mexican werewolves before closing down shop. We present to you, “Play Misty For Me (Norris, Part 1).”

In the second mini-episode, “Post-Lebowski,” Jen finds herself not entirely impressed with the movie (…though entirely impressed with the performances, John Goodman’s in particular…) but completely inebriated after four-to-six White (Del Duca) Russians. Now with beer, Greg struggles to make any fucking sense…but that’s not surprising, particularly given the fact that he’s rolling with booze, beer, and night-time Theraflu. Yikes. (Jen, as usual, fucks with Greg relentlessly yet lovingly.) We present to you, “Post-Lebowski.”