Survivor

I feel like such a sellout (read the previous post if you’re confused why). But what can I say, I’ll go where the Benjamins are, and Vick’s has brought me some Benjamins. To welcome in the new era, I thought I’d just throw out some random thoughts I have. (Editor’s note: The following is a shortened version of Bryson’s post. The content taken out was far too extreme for both our ownership partners and our proud sponsor Vick’s Vapor Rub)

• I love the show “Survivor.” I hadn’t watched it for ten years up until this season, and I forgot just how addictive the show is. The concept of voting people to leave is brilliant. If only they implemented this idea in the workplace, we’d all be happier. Well, all of us except that lunatic in accounting who we’d all agree to send packing.
• In fact, it is now my goal to either get on “Survivor” or get a close friend of mine to get on the show. While we’re here, I have a strategy to get on the show: Act like a crazy person. Convince the producers that you are genuinely deranged and completely self-oblivious, and you have a decent chance at getting on the show. In my audition tape I think I’ll hunt down my neighbor’s cat, skin it, and sacrifice it to the “Survivor Gods.” Then I’ll claim to have better people skills than Tom Hanks, better athleticism than LeBron James, and better leadership skills than Gandhi. Your telling me the producers don’t want to see that guy on the island? They’ll think I’m reality TV gold.
• The sad truth is that I would stink on Survivor. I would overanalyze everything. I would be paranoid. I would offend everyone there since I won’t have my editor there to censor me. Knowing this, I think I would use my time on the show to become famous. Naturally, the best way to become famous on a reality TV show is to act like a crazy person. I’m not sure what I would do, but it for sure involves screaming at contestants who ask where I’m from, claiming Jeff Probst is my biological father, and carrying around a rotten banana everywhere I go and claiming it’s an immunity idol. Once I’m the established crazy person on the island, people won’t vote me off for a long time (since they’ll know I can’t realistically challenge them to win it all), and I’ll have weeks to win America over with my trademark wit and plump physique. It’s a win-win.
• After rereading that last paragraph, I think I might actually be a crazy person. However, this works since in Survivor the people who are true to themselves have a good chance to win it all. So, I guess I could win Survivor. Hmmm, I wonder what I’ll do with the million dollars I get when I win. All that comes to mind are fancy linens and rare vinyl records ...
• I love Vick’s Vapor Rub. It’s just so good. And useful. Like if you’re sick, and maybe you need some vaporizing action, I can’t think of a better solution than Vick’s Vapor Rub. Vick’s Vapor Rub: Got the rub?

A New Era

(Editors Note: Bryson’s blog has taken on new ownership. And we are pleased to announce that Vick’s Vapor Rub has agreed to be our first corporate sponsor. As part of this new era in the ABC blog, we have asked Bryson to tone down his writing, and we have forbid him from writing any more radical or controversial posts. Furthermore, as the editor of this website, I now have the final say on what is posted. No more midnight “I’m going to throw a grenade at the way you view the world” posts by Bryson. For now on this blog will be designated for Bryson’s light humor and anecdotes. And since Bryson always took too long to figure out which letter comes next, we have ended the alphabetical theme—for now. Sorry, Bryson. You’re welcome, World. Sincerely, Chief Editor B. Rodriguez)

Z is for Ground Zero (An Open Letter to Terrorists)

Dear Terrorists,

I know this may be a little late-coming, but just so you know you won. Yep, you won. You got us. The day you crashed your planes into the World Trade Center was obviously a success from your standpoint. You scared the dickens out of us. The WTC, or Ground Zero as we call it now, became a haunting reminder to us that this world we live in is evil and mankind is capable of terrible things. Good job on that. I’m being sarcastic, of course when I say good job, but I gotta’ give credit where credit is due.

You won that battle between thousands of innocent civilians and a plane. This you know. But I’m not sure if you realize that you won the war, too. Did you know that? Well, let’s recap. You wanted us to acknowledge you and your beliefs. Check. You wanted to send us into a frenzy. Check. You wanted to destroy our nation. Check.

Since your pathetic attempt at bravery our nation’s leaders have used your actions as an excuse to slowly take away our liberties one piece at a time. You obviously love oppression, so this has to make you happy. (By the way, those of you who actually flew the planes, how is hell treating you? Can you even feel any form of happiness there? Just curious.) Regardless, you deserve to know that your mission—albeit a despicable one—was accomplished. You wanted us in bondage, and our leaders have saw to it that we are in it.

Our executive branch has taken enough authority upon itself now that there is no longer any semblance of “checks and balances”. All they have to do is claim that they are fighting you guys, and they can do whatever they want. Ever read Lord of the Rings? I assume your answer is no since you suck so bad, and sucky people rarely read it. Anyway, in the books, there is this ring of power that distorts the mind of anyone who possesses it, and makes them do horrible things with their power in the name of good intentions. Well, the embers from 9/11 somehow forged a ring of power that our leaders have been putting on ever since. (While we’re here, I mean no offense when I say you suck. I mean, surely even you can acknowledge that you do.)

(BTW, who are you? Some people say you aren’t virgin seeking radical Muslims from the Middle East at all, but someone more local. There is evidence both ways, but I am curious. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s cool. I’m just a normal American citizen, so I’m obviously not prepared for the truth. . . . And while we’re here, how did you get the buildings to fall so quickly by means never accomplished before in history. After just one hour of the planes resting in a small portion of the gigantic towers, the whole building collapsed in a manner eerily similar to planned demolition. How did you pull that one off? And how did you get the two other planes to completely disintegrate? Did you use some sort of Middle Eastern magic? And if you could use magic, why bother with the planes at all? I’m so confused.)

Since your attacks, the laws of our country have changed so much that anyone who actually believes we live in a free country is as delusional as a member of Al Qaeda.(No offense by that analogy, but seriously, you thought you’d get a bunch of virgins in heaven if you rammed a plane into a building? Yikes.) Not only is the very law of our nation now subverted into some prettied up version of socialism (A big no-no in the old America), but the rest of the world hates us.

No, really, they do. See, what happened, is after you attacked us, we decided somebody had to pay. Sure, we’re Christians, but not when it comes to politics. At least this is what I have gathered from reading the papers. Anyway, so we decided to go into Afghanistan (where we supposed you were), and also Iraq (same reason . . . sort of). Well, it turns out the rest of the world doesn’t like it when we start policing other nations. Something about “their liberties”; I can’t remember the whole story. Anyway, they especially hate it when it turned out our “intelligence” on Iraq was doctored and our reasons for going there were hazy. In fact, our going there got you more recruits than anything else you’ve done. Talk about a backfire.

Speaking of backfire, eventually the Americans caught on to the trickery from our administration. So their answer was change. I don’t want to get into semantics but the “change” they were looking for was merely a political party thing. So, to end the reign of liberty-stealing politicians, they decided to appoint leaders who were even more inclined to take away liberties in name of the "greater good." Whoops! Have you read the book 1984? Wait—sorry, never mind. You wouldn’t understand. Again, no offense.

Today the matter of American civil liberties is virtually irrelevant. It’s a sad story, really (Well, for us it is—not for you, of course). The hijacked planes of 9/11 now symbolize America itself. The course once set has been derailed, our rights once held with vigor and reverence have been stolen through treachery, and while some passengers are trying desperately to right the ship, their efforts are thwarted by the men with more weaponry (and more camera time). Bet you didn’t see that coming, huh? Well, neither did the rest of us. We now live in a country that is ruled by an all-powerful, all-seeing federal government that is allowed to send us to prison without due process, invade our privacy without cause, tax the living hell out of us, and even touch our children’s privates at airports. All this because of you. Because you won. Touché scum bags, touché.

Sincerely,
Grieving American Citizen


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Today's recommendation: My new comedy group, Left Field Stand Up, is recording a DVD with Excel Films next month (January 14-15) at the Wagner Theater in downtown Salt Lake. If you're interested, go to http://leftfieldstandup.com. If you go to purchase tickets, use the promo code "Humor U" for half off.

Y is for Youth

Like many people a few years separated from pre-adult life, I have regrets. I regret many things I have done in my life. I look at my youth and see good times and great memories, but I also see so many wasted days and missed opportunities. I see so many lessons either not learned or learned too late. But there is one lesson I think I may have learned just in the nick of time: Failure is a good thing.

Follow me here for a minute (or ten). I want to briefly tell a story of my greatest failure. And I want to explain to you how it was also one of the best things I ever did.

In the summer of 2006, after months of planning, my good friend and I hastily set out to open a pizza restaurant. We were called Wooden House Pizza, and we specialized in wood-fired pizza. After hastily finding a location, hastily procuring enough funds to start up the company, hastily tearing the building apart and hastily building it again from scratch, we made our very own pizza restaurant. It took months of sleepless nights to prepare for, but by September we were ready for our grand opening.

By offering 25 cents per slice (with a limit of two slices) and providing free music (from performers like Joshua James and Kid Theodore), we were able to get roughly two thousand people to come to our grand opening. People lined up for what seemed like miles to eat our pizza and enjoy our digs. We were the talk of the town, the cock of the walk. And I distinctly remember thinking, “I’ve made it.”

But when the dust of the grand opening settled, and we faced the realities of sustaining a restaurant, all of our hastilies caught up with us. By Thanksgiving the company was on life support, and by Christmas we were dead. The hastily put together pizza place was hastily put to bed. End of story. I was left broke, humbled, tired, and depressed.

It was an epic failure.

I had to borrow money from my parents to pay my bills, and I was literally eating little to none (especially once the pizza ran out). And I distinctly remember thinking, “I’ve made it . . . to hell.”

I wasted my youth with what I’ll call a failure phobia. Growing up, if there were two options—one easy and one hard—I always chose the easier path. Even if it meant spending most of my days bored and unsatisfied. I just didn’t want to deal with failure. When I finally went for it—as they say—my phobias were realized. I tried to do something special and I failed miserably. And the side of me from my youth that feared failure so much said something to the effect of, “I told you so.”

Sad, but true.

Well, a little after the pizza place died, I got an email from Square Magazine. They had apparently been planning a piece on Wooden House Pizza and our live music shows. Since the piece was now useless, they were emailing me to see if I would like a copy of a picture they made of Joshua James performing on our stage before they scrap it. I accepted the artwork, and on a whim I asked if they had any job openings. They said yes, and within a couple weeks after that, I was doing ad sales for them. People scared of failure don't usually take sales jobs. I was on the right track.

After I had been with Square for a few months, I got the itch to write for them. I had always liked writing, but . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . I never really pursued it (surprise, surprise). At first I was met with resistance, but after a couple minor pieces, I was given the green light to become a full-fledged writer for the magazine. I even got heavily photo shopped pictures of myself in the magazine, all of which came across as “funny”. Except everyone else besides me was laughing. But I digress . . . .The point was that my pizza failure humbled me enough to not worry as much about failing to write well. I mean, I had found hell—I might as well try to enjoy it.

Once I started writing frequently, I developed a style (as all writers do). Aside from my trademark poor grammar, I noticed I was always getting urges to drive my writings towards humor. I could occasionally say something useful, but I spent most of my time trying to make the reader laugh. I usually settled for making myself laugh, but regardless, I found the act addictive.

Before I knew it, I was writing material for a stand up act. My early stuff was really, really bad. For example: “I used to wear Polo clothes because I thought it was cool—I don’t even play polo!” Yeah, I was a regular Cosby. Frank Cosby, the idiot cousin of Bill. However, I was writing comedy, and I loved it.

Months later, after a few attempts at performing stand up for my family, I followed another whim. I heard of a stand up group at BYU called Humor U, and I heard that they had an open mic audition. With the urging of a supportive wife, and before it registered in my brain that I might be making a complete fool of myself, I went and tried the open mic thing.

And the weirdest thing happened: I didn’t fail. In fact, people laughed. And they clapped. And I even heard one guy say "he was alright". Before I knew it, I was performing in front of hundreds of people with a group of very talented comedians, and I was realizing a dream I never consciously knew about. And a part of me that I always ignored as a kid said “I told you so.”

I have since performed dozens of times for thousands of people with Humor U and elsewhere. Most recently, I have seen doors open that I never imagined. I am not actually at liberty to discuss details, but in the near future, I will be get opportunities to succeed in ways that are—to me—very fulfilling.

All because I tried. But perhaps more importantly, all because I failed.

The part of me that saw a failed pizza place and said “I told you so”—that same part of me that made all my decisions in my youth—couldn’t have been more wrong.

My epic failure really sucked. But if I hadn’t at least tried to create a successful pizza place, I never would have gotten the email from Square Magazine. And If I never tried the pizza thing, I never would have been brave enough to pursue writing at Square. And if I never pursued writing, I never would have gotten into stand up. And if I never got into stand up, I wouldn’t have the opportunities that are now presenting themselves to me.

I’m not going to pretend to know a ton about life, but I do know that all truly worthwhile things come through hardship. And hardships are synonymous with failure. I regret a lot of things from my youth. But I regret most of all that I didn’t fail a little more. Because for me to have failed a little more, it would have meant that I tried a little more. And even if you disagree with me, and even if this blog post is yet another failure, I am perfectly okay with that.

Sincerely,
Frank Cosby

X is for X

Deciding what to do with the letter X is like deciding what to do with a morbidly obese person. Your choices are limited because they simply can’t do much. I’ve mentioned in my stand up act before that I am convinced that the only reason X is in the alphabet is because it is kind of cool. And I stand by that assessment. For example, go ahead and cross your arms to make an X. Seriously, do it. See, cool.

Anyway, I also learned in seventh grade algebra that X can mean anything. After failing to decide between x-ray and xylophone, I decided to just pretend X means any unknown variable. In other words, I’m just going to start typing and hope good things come of it.

Here are five things I've learned in recent weeks.

1) I love the World Cup. I do. I could watch World Cup action nonstop for the rest of my life. If you watched the USA/Algeria game or the Ghana/Uruguay game you know that the World Cup can rival anything else in sports. In fact, I’m devastated that it only occurs once every four years. World Cup soccer in HD is nothing short of amazing, and I can’t believe that by the time I get to watch it again my toddler daughter will be in elementary school. Tragic.

2) I’m getting fat. My metabolism has apparently slowed down. Or something. All I know is that I have always been a medium shirt kind of guy. Now, I’m a large shirt kind of guy. It’s a sad (and awkward) day in the changing room when one realizes this; trust me. I didn’t used to have to cup my breasts when I ran down the stairs in order to prevent excessive bounce. Now I do. See, fat.

3) My wife will never love sports. For the first three years of our marriage, I was convinced that if she just watched more sports, she would eventually understand why they are so great. We’ve now completed the full cycle (NBA, NFL, MLB, Summer and Winter Olympics, all four major tournaments in tennis and golf, March Madness, College Football, and the World Cup) and she still doesn’t seem to care. Proof? Well, she told me she doesn’t. Plus, the other day she saw a headline that read “LeBron James and Dwyane Wade to Discuss Free Agency” and she said, “Wow, they’re really going to just discuss the principle of agency?”

4) Monkeys would be the best pets. My daughter recently started to give me big hugs around the neck. They instantly became my favorite thing ever. But in the back of my head, I know she’ll grow old and the perfect hugs will end. Right now she is just the right size to hug me while I hold her in my arms. She will hopefully always hug me, but the perfect size will only last a couple more years, tops. However, if I got a pet monkey (his name would be Charles The Candid), I could teach it to give the neck hug. And since I can get a monkey that won’t grow too big, I won’t ever have to give up the perfect hugs. Or I guess we could have another kid . . . hmmm.

5) Kobe Bryant is the luckiest athlete of all time. He was born the son of an NBA player. Out of high school he demanded he be traded to the Lakers, and got his wish. He played second fiddle to Shaq in three championships and inexplicably gets full credit for them now. He—well, you know—and then everyone collectively agreed to completely forget about it. He continuously acted selfishly on and off the court with his team, went so far as to demand a trade (ahem, all things LeBron never did), for the first time ever didn’t get what he wanted, and then got bailed out when the Lakers inexplicably got Pau Gasol for nothing. He pulled the all time biggest NBA Finals Game 7 choke job, and got an MVP award for it. And then, thanks to LeBron’s decision to have a one-hour special called “The Decision,” he became known as the loyal team player and a class act. If somebody can show me a luckier athlete, I will army crawl up a mountain in nothing but a swimming suit.

W is for the World Cup

When I was a kid, I didn’t believe in soccer. I thought it was a game that we sometimes played at school, and while it was it fun enough, it was just a temporary diversion from the real sports we played.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned the truth. I learned the truth about soccer around the same time that I realized there is a difference between patriotism and xenophobia, America isn’t the center of the universe, the government is filled with crooks, and my television set doesn’t really care about my well-being. It came as quite a blow.

What am I getting at? I’ll be blunt: Americans have been deceived. Not only does soccer exist, and not only is soccer a real sport, it’s THE sport. (Now, I’m not saying it has to be YOUR sport, but it is without question the world’s favorite sport.) Despite the smear campaign against soccer that has been put on by American sports media since forever, soccer is the game that the rest of the world reveres the way Americans revere basketball, football, and baseball . . . combined.

And it’s not just because they’re “all a bunch of stupid foreigners.” Trust me. I used to think that too (By the way, foreigners think our disliking of soccer is proof that we are hillbillies. . . . Oh, the misperceptions). It took me years to clean out of my head the hate ingrained in me by my culture and to accept that soccer is really, really cool. And the World Cup? It is nothing short of the best sports tournament in the world. So, to help all my readers who know little about soccer or the World Cup, I have made a list of ten things to know going into this year’s tournament.

1) Everything I just typed is true. Soccer is cool, and the World Cup is the best sports tournament in the world. Let that sink in for minute. . . . Are you letting it sink in? . . . Okay, let’s move on.

2) Like all sporting events, it’s only fun if you care. There is no better way to care than to realize that to most of the countries involved these games are way more important than the Olympics. For all the reasons we love the Olympics, we should really love the World Cup. These games literally impact international relations (more on that in a bit). And if nothing else, keep in mind that these nations take the results of every game very seriously. Many foreigners don’t call soccer “THE sport,” they call it “everything.” Sad but true.

3) The best (and usually most exciting) team in the world is Brazil. They play soccer the way the Harlem Globetrotters play basketball, and they have won more Cups than anyone. However, this year they are playing a more defensive style, which is making their country irate.

4) If you’re betting on the Cup, it is usually a safe assumption to assume that Brazil and Germany will go far. Since 1950, either (or both) team has been in the final of every World Cup except two. And those two times, one of them took third. This year, Germany doesn’t look as solid, but that hasn’t mattered in the past . . .

5) The best teams to have never won it: Netherlands and Spain. Netherlands is notorious for being super-talented and then underachieving in the tournament (having failed in two finals). Spain is a favorite this year alongside Brazil.

6) Even though England has won it (1966), they act like they are the most cursed team in the world. Their famously over-excitable media goes nuts during the World Cup. While England has a great team this year, they always expect to blow it in the big games. Think city of Cleveland multiplied by ten. Preparing for their opening game against the U.S., the English media has been especially arrogant. Much like they were the last time these two teams played (1950), the Brits are belittling the Americans every chance they get and they expect to beat us easily. By the way, the U.S. won that game 60 years ago.

7) America’s soccer program is on the rise, but we aren’t there yet. Remember how Butler got to the National Championship game this year during March Madness? Before the tournament, it wouldn’t have been inconceivable for them to go there. But do you know anyone who actually put them there on their brackets? Me neither. US Soccer is the Butler of the World Cup. They could, but they probably won’t. U.S. players to watch: Landon Donovan, Clint Dempsey, Tim Howard, Oguchi Onyewu, Jozy Altidore, and Michael Bradley. Possible surprises: Jose Torres, Herculez Gomez, Edson Buddle, and Robbie Findley. (By the way, my favorite American player is Clint Dempsey. Check him out below.)



8) The World Cup is always controversial. There have been multiple incidents involving “shady” refereeing. Too many to detail in this blog, but just know that many teams have had good reason to feel cheated—because they were cheated! Also, there was the time Maradona used to his hand (um, that’s illegal in soccer) to score the winning goal. There was the time Germany lost on purpose to screw over Algeria. Then there was the time a Kuwaiti official stormed the field and demanded a French goal be overturned (and remarkably it was). And there was the time Mussolini had the Italian players stand and hold the fascist solute until the French home crowd stopped booing them. Remember, this isn’t just about soccer; for many it is about it’s everything—politics, country, pride, everything.

9) Lionel Messi is a househould name everywhere but in the States. Why? Because he is the world’s best soccer player. This also makes him the most famous athlete in the world right now, believe it or not. Sorry Tiger, LeBron, and Usain. Other stars to make yourself acquainted with: Wayne Rooney (England), Christiano Ronaldo (Portugal), Kaka (Brazil), and almost everyone on Spain’s team.



10) The host nation has advanced out of group play in every World Cup in history. Never before has the streak been in more doubt than in this tournament. South Africa is on a roll right now, but few believe they can advance. Speaking of a team with little hope, let’s discuss North Korea. A country that has kept itself isolated from the entire world (not to mention reason), North Korea come out to play in the World Cup. Because of the nature of the country, nobody really knows what to expect from them. They are in a group that has three other very good teams (including the 1st ranked Brazil team and the 3rd ranked Portugal team), so they probably won’t advance. But you never know. While we’re here, the format of the tournament goes as follows. 8 groups of 4 teams. Everyone in a group plays each other once and the top two go on to a single elimination tournament.

My Prediction: I think England or Spain will win the tournament, and while I expect the U.S. to advance out of group play, they will at most win one more game. And I hope more than anything I am wrong.

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Today’s recommendation: Immerse yourself into the World Cup and have some fun this next month. If you want more, here are some things to Google: the significance of the number 10, Argentina’s coach Mardona, and key World Cup injuries.

V is for Virginia is for Lovers

I have no idea how this idea of Virginia being for lovers came about. Nor do I think it makes any sense. Regardless, I decided to play a game where I take a spin on the old adage, cutting and pasting 40 different places with their own themes. My biggest goal is that someday a bumper sticker maker will see this post and take some of my ideas. I, of course, will then expect some royalties in return.

Virginia is for lovers.
West Virginia is for loners.
Las Vegas is for seedy people.
North Dakota is for winters.
Madagascar is for children.
Florida is for old people and alligators.
Hollywood is for sale.
Philadelphia is for affectionate siblings.
England is for pale people.
Texas is for big things.
Kenya is for runners.
Columbia is for drug lords.
Nebraska is for passing through.
Maine is for lobsters.
Paris is for buttheads.
Gotham is for villains.
New York is for haters.
Seattle is for nerds.
Alabama is for hillbillies and Reese Witherspoon.
The Internet is for predators.
Ireland is for leprechauns.
Arizona is for orange people.
Canada is for insecure people.
North Korea is for the oppressed.
Provo is for Mormons.
Detroit is for unions.
Georgia is for friendly people.
Hawaii is for men with flower shirts.
China is for workers.
Idaho is for white people.
San Francisco is for the different kind of lovers.
The Shire is for drinkers.
Washington D.C. is for liars.
Polynesia is for eaters.
The Vatican is for popes.
Wisconsin is for the morbidly obese.
Alaska is for men.
Delaware is for real—no really, it exists.
America is for Mexicans.