Sunday, February 26, 2006

Come on over to "my space".

Last night we were shaking hands with people coming out of our show and one of my buddies was handing out his “card” saying, “Come be my friend on my space.”

He’s young, he’s Vietnamese, I thought maybe this was his feeble attempt at picking up women and he was having a language problem.

“Dat, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m inviting people to my space.”

“Jesus Christ Dat, you won Last Comic Standing you don’t need to ask out the skanky drunk girls.”


“Look, shake everyone’s hand but be a little more particular about who you invite over to your place.”

“Tony what the hell are you talking about?”

“I know your 15 minutes of fame is almost used up, but come on use what’s left to get hot chicks.”

“Tone, you do know what "my space" is don’t you?”

“Look I don’t know what kind of oriental Asian martial art metaphysical hocus pocus you’re in to but it’s all good, just be a little more particular and don’t be so aggressive.”

“My space is a web site.”

“I know, I know, you’re Asian, all you guys are into that techno stuff with your pods your mp’s and your blueberries and everything. How you decorate your apartment is none of my business, I’m just saying you don’t have to settle. What would your mom say?”

“Tony, "my space" is a social networking interface that uses different types of media for people to interact with each other on the internet.”

“Dat, you don’t have to tell me. Back in my day I had the ladies wowed to the sounds of Jethro Tull on my eight track stereo. Ohhh yeahh… I know all about social networking.”

“No, my space is an actual site on the internet.”

“Look it’s none of my business. You got a camera set up on your computer to broadcast what goes on with the ladies at your space that’s your thing. Hey, I saw American Pie. But do you really want people to see you with some of these women? Please Dat, a little self respect.”

“Tony, "my space" is not my apartment; "my space" is a web site. WWW DOT MY SPACE DOT COM!!!!”


“It’s a web site.”

“Oh…Well… Go ahead then…”

I guess I’m getting too old to hang out with these younger comedians. I’m being passed up by body piercings, tattoos and technology.

I’ve tried to fight technology; I don’t need a five blade razor. I want to shave, not skin buffalo.

I struggle to communicate with the youth today.

There’s a cocktail waitress at the Comedy Store that has a tattoo in Mandarin Chinese on the back of her neck and rings through her nose, ears and both eyebrows. She told me the tattoo translated to the words, “logical nonsense.”

“Really? Do you speak Mandarin Chinese?”


“Then how do you know that tattoo doesn’t say beef with broccoli?”

Who knows, maybe some day I’ll get a ring pierced through something, maybe a nipple, at least I’d have a place to keep a spare house key.

But as for “my space”…. The only space that’s mine is a little corner of the garage. There are no cameras, no pods, no blueberries or any of that crap. There is my old eight track stereo cassette player, my Jimi Hendrix and My Edgar Winters White Trash tapes, my tools and my fishing gear.

I don’t share my space with anyone.

It’s mine.

I earned it.

That’s all the space I need.