Friday, August 29, 2008
Grandpa Weezy
Some Ted Greenberg fans have already suggested some names for me, his Mascot.Here are some of the stand outs:
Brett Favre
Here are some examples of failure:
Grandpa Weezy
Whitey McBaldstein
Bald Man From New York
Napoleon
Tool
Maybe Greenberg wasn't clear, but the contest is about naming ME, the Mascot. Not Eliot Spitzer.
How about focusing on the SPUNK and energy I bring to the show? The pizazz? The professionalism? My physique?
Napoleon?? My head is taller than Napoleon.
More ideas! please! Especially from MY fans!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A Contest for You, Fans
A friend told me about an e-mail from Ted Greenberg announcing a "naming contest" for me, The Mascot. Funny, I wasn't included in this e-mail blast away off.I wonder why.
If you've come here for inspiration, here are some nicknames people have given me over the years:
Genius Mascot
He Mascot
Supermascot
Batmascot
Henry Mascot Ford
Geroge Clooney
See what you can come up with!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Thought of the Day
Life is like a box of chocolates: it is a scary thing when you are babysitting and it almost completely melts in your car.
A Word to Parents
Without ruining any surprises from the show, I do want to say a word to parents about a certain audience-pleasing contraption at intermission/half time.
It looks like a child's toy-- but as I learned the hard way, physics kills more people than guns. I am a trained mascot and am always as careful as I can be. But I pray: if you are bringing a baby, please---please---at halftime, put it in coat check.
Important!!! Correction
I would like to issue a correction and an apology for a post I made yesterday on my new blog. In one post I, The Mascot to Ted Greenberg, referred to my employer as an "asshole".
I am sorry to everyone who thought that by calling Ted Greenberg an “asshole”, I meant he was actually an asshole. I was saying, as I thought was clear, that it is so ironic that Ted Greenberg is so outrageously talented and kind that he's almost an asshole. You know, on the continuum that looks like a horseshoe as seen in the diagram above.
Although my gracious employer understands the true meaning of my post, I feel it is only right to apologize for the vague use of language.
Good sportsmanship
I'm so sorry...I know I said I'd try to "restrain pen and tongue"..but I just saw this on Greenberg's website. Do you see my face anywhere?I sure don't. Not even ghosted, in the background.
If I were my fan, I might say something to Ted Greenberg after the show. For example, "I sure do get a kick out of that mascot. Why not put him on posters?" or --
"Hey Greenberg, how about giving him a little room to grow? The Mascot I mean. How about maybe putting the Mascot face on posters?"
I have more examples please contact me for suggestions.
Just out of curiosity
I don't want to be vain...but do you think I look good in this picture? I need to get headshots made and am trying to figure out my best angle.
Hamsters
This is not the exact costume...but it's a lot like the old hammy my third grade debut into official mascotting. Rest In Peace (the costume spontaneously combusted during our playoffs against the Sanackian Golden Knights in November of that year).
My Birth
Yes, I had a life before I was a mascot for Ted Greenberg, "performer extraordinaire". (The Complete Performer starts the Fringe Encorse Series this Friday August 29 @ 10 PM at the SoHo Playhouse. If you are a gigantic fan of this blog, please try not to go so crazy when you see me. Don't really want the word of the blog getting out to Greenberg.)
According to my "parents" (they died already), I was born on May 5 1965 on a cold potato field in Russia. My real parents were slaves. ABC News came and did an expose on potato-field slavery, then a producer stole me and I ended up in Queens with a brand new mom and dad.
I had a few friends, but some kids in school called me slave baby and beat me up a lot. I always felt like the whole big group of them needed some cheering up. But I didnt know how to do it. Until one beautiful clear October day, Coach Fernandez ran in with the news that the soccer team mascot had broken 19 of his ribs in a horrible bleacher-catapult collision. (We were a Montessori school.)
And they needed an immediate replacement.
Then he showed me HAMMY the Hamster. I put on the mask. Everyone laughed. I might have been 9 years old, and allegedly from a lonely cold potato field, but I knew it was fate.
If anyone knows a book agent looking for a memoir about childhood slavery and redemption, I can vouch for most of the details in this biography without hesitation. Thank you and good luck.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
one last thought before I sleep
Some people ask, doesn't it bug you never having your name in lights? Well, yes and no. The answer is probably actually "yes". But the answer is "no" when I am safe behind the mask and also not getting sued by anyone.
Being anonymous is the gift. If I am nothing, I am everything. See? Also if I am nothing maybe I will get off easier on my most recent charge of destruction of property.
I hope this blog ends up being fun for you and your family to read. I hope also to be as honest as possible without breaking my anonymity or getting fired from my wonderful job as mascot to Ted Greenberg or breaking my probation. They say a mascot is an everyman. I believe that is true, even if it just me inside the gigantic head of a lunatic.
I’d like to end each entry with a thought that I believe can heal and save our world.
Today’s wisdom:
The gay community needs a funny mascot, like a rabbit with a sword.
Have to go do calisthenics. Tomorrow I’ll cover:
my birth.
My parents. Cheerleaders: yay or nay?
Ted Greenberg as the world’s sorriest beginning piano player.
How Iaccidentally keep slinging the surprise at half-t’ermission too fast
at old people. And...
another unglamorous mascot death in the community in the dumpster behind a local bowling alley. R.I.P. Pizza Petie
Being anonymous is the gift. If I am nothing, I am everything. See? Also if I am nothing maybe I will get off easier on my most recent charge of destruction of property.
I hope this blog ends up being fun for you and your family to read. I hope also to be as honest as possible without breaking my anonymity or getting fired from my wonderful job as mascot to Ted Greenberg or breaking my probation. They say a mascot is an everyman. I believe that is true, even if it just me inside the gigantic head of a lunatic.
I’d like to end each entry with a thought that I believe can heal and save our world.
Today’s wisdom:
The gay community needs a funny mascot, like a rabbit with a sword.
Have to go do calisthenics. Tomorrow I’ll cover:
my birth.
My parents. Cheerleaders: yay or nay?
Ted Greenberg as the world’s sorriest beginning piano player.
How Iaccidentally keep slinging the surprise at half-t’ermission too fast
at old people. And...
another unglamorous mascot death in the community in the dumpster behind a local bowling alley. R.I.P. Pizza Petie
Restraint of Pen and Tongue
Learning that one the hard way.
I think it might help if I talk a little about what it means to be a mascot.
We mascots have a saying: Don’t eat, don’t touch. That just means, no snacking in your mascot mask. Several of us have choked to death that way. Sandy Anders was dead for 49 minutes and four thousand people stood by and laughed and whooped and clapped and did the wave, thinking the giant rooster was making a dramatic comment on their “deadness”.
They sure showed him, the 250 pound rooster, face down on the football field. Yes exactly, that’s just the sort of committed stunt a mascot would pull. Ah, the dangerous vocation we have chosen, one that forbids the deadly combination of a roast beef sandwich and a cartwheel.
Oh and don’t touch. No grabbing the breasts of young women even if you are wearing gorilla hands. They are still technically “your hands” in a court of law. Thanks to some hot shot reporters at the Boston Globe the Archmascotsese is addressing it publicly with some “penalties” and “jail time” to those of us who have otherwise served and enthused crowds without complaints. I myself have learned the hard way that there is a direct correlation between giantness of cleavage in young women and propensity to file charges.
I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the many fans who wrote letters on my behalf during that unfortunate time. And to the courageous and daring audience at the most recent sold out show at the Jazz Gallery in SoHo! I think of you all often. xoxo
I think it might help if I talk a little about what it means to be a mascot.
We mascots have a saying: Don’t eat, don’t touch. That just means, no snacking in your mascot mask. Several of us have choked to death that way. Sandy Anders was dead for 49 minutes and four thousand people stood by and laughed and whooped and clapped and did the wave, thinking the giant rooster was making a dramatic comment on their “deadness”.
They sure showed him, the 250 pound rooster, face down on the football field. Yes exactly, that’s just the sort of committed stunt a mascot would pull. Ah, the dangerous vocation we have chosen, one that forbids the deadly combination of a roast beef sandwich and a cartwheel.
Oh and don’t touch. No grabbing the breasts of young women even if you are wearing gorilla hands. They are still technically “your hands” in a court of law. Thanks to some hot shot reporters at the Boston Globe the Archmascotsese is addressing it publicly with some “penalties” and “jail time” to those of us who have otherwise served and enthused crowds without complaints. I myself have learned the hard way that there is a direct correlation between giantness of cleavage in young women and propensity to file charges.
I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the many fans who wrote letters on my behalf during that unfortunate time. And to the courageous and daring audience at the most recent sold out show at the Jazz Gallery in SoHo! I think of you all often. xoxo
Happy Introduction
Hi stranger! Welcome to my blog! You don’t know me; I’m anonymous by trade. I’m the Mascot from the amazing and gushingly reviewed off-Broadway show The Complete Performer by Emmy Award Winning Letterman writer and comedian Ted Greenberg, playing at the SoHo Playhouse as Part of the Fringe Encore Series.
We’re getting great reviews. Playbill.com raved, “Ted Greenberg dazzles audiences”. Anita Gates from the New York Times said: “Ted Greenberg’s mostly one-man show is drawing crowds…. There is a definite off center Letterman skit quality to The Complete Performer.. quirky comedy… goes by both fast and enjoyably."
Well how nice. A mostly one-man show. I’m soooo f***ing glad the New York Times had fun and mostly ignored EVERYTHING I DID. I can’t believe that asshole Greenberg called it a one-man show.
“Ted Greenberg is truly the Complete Performer… He was hilarious…If you ever get a chance, go see Ted Greenberg. You'll have a completely marvelous time.” Thanks a lot, Time Warner channel 67.
Goddamned reporters. Do I sound resentful? THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE SO ANGRY. Will try better next post.
We’re getting great reviews. Playbill.com raved, “Ted Greenberg dazzles audiences”. Anita Gates from the New York Times said: “Ted Greenberg’s mostly one-man show is drawing crowds…. There is a definite off center Letterman skit quality to The Complete Performer.. quirky comedy… goes by both fast and enjoyably."
Well how nice. A mostly one-man show. I’m soooo f***ing glad the New York Times had fun and mostly ignored EVERYTHING I DID. I can’t believe that asshole Greenberg called it a one-man show.
“Ted Greenberg is truly the Complete Performer… He was hilarious…If you ever get a chance, go see Ted Greenberg. You'll have a completely marvelous time.” Thanks a lot, Time Warner channel 67.
Goddamned reporters. Do I sound resentful? THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE SO ANGRY. Will try better next post.
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