|Bringing Bastards to Justice||
It all started a few months ago when I got an exciting letter in the mail from the people who run the courts here in New York City. Apparently they wanted me to come down to their courthouse and be a juror on one of their juries so I could help put a few criminals behind bars. I’m not sure how they tracked me down, but I’m guessing that somewhere along the line one of the judges or a bailiff or someone must have found out that my dad is a lawyer and — as a result — I pretty much have legal expertise coursing through my veins and am totally ready to sort out any sort of legal bullsh*t someone might throw my way at all times.
Anyway, the letter I got in the mail said that I had to show up on a specific date and time at the courthouse near my apartment. I was pretty excited about it. I called my mom to borrow some money to buy a seersucker suit and everything. Still, by the time the date I was supposed to show up rolled around I had forgotten about it and ended up not showing up to help put people behind bars that day. When I discovered the jury duty (this is the official term, I’m told) letter under a pile of crap in my apartment a few weeks later, I was pretty bummed that I had missed out on my big chance to help clean up this town. I imagine the people down at the courthouse must have felt the same way (except maybe for the guilty person who is probably out on the streets and up to their old tricks again as a result of me not being there to hand out my own brand of swift justice that day).
Fortunately for me, the people down at the courthouse weren’t satisfied to just keep going about their business without getting me involved, so sure enough a few weeks later I got another letter from them asking me to come down and help them bring criminals to justice. I was pretty psyched about it. Even better was the fact that this time around the court people had me lined up to be a part of something called a “grand jury,” which is a really awesome kind of jury that gets to help put murderers, rapists, loiterers, and other bad people in the gray bar hotel for life. I could not wait!
When the big day rolled around, I headed down to the courthouse at 9am just like they had asked me to. I even brought a large coffee with me (milk, one sugar) so my incredible legal mind would remain razor sharp for at least a couple hours. When I got to the courthouse, they had me wait in a long line with a bunch of other people who looked like they didn’t have jobs and then they made me go through a big metal detector. It was kind of like being at the airport or something only this time instead of flying home to see my parents I was going on a trip to the Halls of Justice! It was a pretty great feeling (even though they took away my knife).
Once I got finished with the metal detector/rectal exam, I headed upstairs to the actual courtroom where all the other great legal minds and I got to sit down and wait to see what sort of action the court people might be throwing our way. After a couple minutes, a large bald man in a shirt and tie came out and explained to us exactly what was expected of us. It was like a scene from the hit movie “To Kill A Mockingbird” only with not as good outfits and less flattering lighting.
To be honest, I didn’t understand much of what the large bald man had to say other than something about us getting free lunch at some point. And then when he started talking about how we’d have to be on the grand jury for anywhere between two weeks and six months, I was pretty much officially “not on board” with the whole jury duty thing anymore. I had assumed the “grand” in grand jury meant “really fun,” but this was clearly not the case. And as one of this nation’s foremost political analysts/dude who is pretty f*cking sweet in general, I simply do not have time to be dicking around in a courthouse for up to six months straight, no matter what crazy bastard might be sitting there waiting for me to decide his fate. I need about five minutes to decide whether someone should be left to rot in a jail cell for 25 years or whether they should fry instantly. Within a few minutes, it became pretty clear to me and pretty much everyone else in the courtroom (the large bald man included) that having me there that day was like asking Michael Jordan to suit up for a junior high basketball game or something- completely unnecessary no matter how exciting it might be for everyone else in the room.
Within a few minutes I was dismissed and, by 11am or so, I was back home in bed. Don’t get too comfortable though, criminals. The people down at the courthouse tell me they’d like me to come back in about six months. So live it up for now, bitches- I’ll be back to bring the hammer down on your ass again before you know it.
|The Dave Hill Explosion: Wed. May 24 at UCB Theatre w/Malcolm Gladwell, Fred Armisen, and Walter Schreifels||
Hi. How are you? I am fine. Anyway, the reason I am writing you today is to let you know that on Wednesday, May 24 at 9:30pm, I will once again be showing up at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (accessible by both the Holland and Lincoln Tunnels as well as the George Washington Bridge. Pennsylvania residents are encouraged to leave 7-9 hours ahead of time for all sorts of reasons) for another exciting public display of the one-man ass-and-nutkicking machine I have taken to calling the Dave Hill Explosion. I know it is at this point that you might be thinking to yourself that I totally just did my show a couple weeks ago and it seems kind of soon to be giving of myself so much all over again and you are right. But when sick little boys in hospital beds pull adorable little oxygen masks to the side and ask me to do something I am inclined to just do it and not worry about what some cigar-chomping bastard in the front office might have to say about it. If young Mickey and his legal guardian want to drag all his crazy little machines and IV drips down to Chelsea to spend his last five bucks on seeing me do my thing then dammit I am here to make his little morphine-clouded dreams come true. And as he drifts off to sleep later that night in a state of fever-induced delirium, let mine be the very last 8×10 signed glossy he sees. It is called giving something back. Maybe you could try looking it up next time you are sucking down another one of your $9 lattes while you and your so-called better half duke it out over who gets to take the first crack at the maid this summer at your fancy little Hamptons getaway. Oh, f�k you, I am tired of it! Anyway, my guests on Wednesday, May 24 will be none other than bestselling author Malcolm Gladwell, who wrote the popular books THE TIPPING POINT and BLINK; legendary underground musician Walter Schreifels, whom you no doubt know from his work in such excellent rock ensembles as Gorilla Biscuits, Quicksand, Rival Schools, and Walking Concert; and, last but not least, Saturday Night Live’s most excellent Fred Armisen. This show is going to be so great I am jealous that I cannot just sit there and watch it like a completely regular person. I really hope you can make it. You can reserve tickets at www.ucbt.net if you are into that sort of thing. And before I go, a word from my sponsor.
I’m not a David Blaine fan by any stretch, but I gotta say there’s nothing quite like that magical feeling I get when he starts to cry after he finishes one of his really great magic tricks. I missed it the other night when he tried to hold his breath for a really long time in a bowl full of his own urine, but this picture gives me a pretty good sense of things. And as long as I’m on the topic, why do the other people in the photo have to wear wetsuits? If they need to rescue the really great magician David Blaine from drowning in a bowl of his own urine, couldn’t they just stick their are into the pee bowl and grab him or something? I could see rolling up your sleeve, but the wetsuit seems a bit extreme. Anyway, in closing I just wanted to say that if I ever try to hold my breath for a really long time in a bowl full of my own urine and start crying when it’s all over, please kick me in the nuts and throw me back in. That ought to teach me a lesson or two! And if there are other people around wearing wetsuits when it happens, please kick them in the nuts too.
Okay, dammit- I have nailed it once again!
|The Dave Hill Explosion w/special guests Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips from Luna TONIGHT at the UCB Theatre||
This is your man Dave Hill writing to remind you one last time that this Wednesday, May 3 at 9:30pm, my popular nightclub act, the Dave Hill Explosion, will once again be exploding like a motherf*cker at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (located at 307 West 26th Street, just blocks from the Outback Steakhouse of West 23rd Street. Why not make a run for the border before the show?). It is going to be really great, I just know it. Since my last performance, I have done so much revamping, retooling, and general taking of things to the next level that there is even some stuff going on with my show now that I do not even know about. Here is a hint: I bought a donkey. No, just kidding, but if you enjoyed that irreverent comment I just made about buying a donkey then I can pretty much guarantee that you will not be disappointed by the quality of entertainment I intend to deliver for somewhere in the neighborhood of 35-45 minutes straight tomorrow night. I am going to come out there and just generally entertain/f*ck sh*t up so much that by the time it is over you will have no choice but to look at the person next to you and ask Is it just me or did Dave just totally kick each and every one of us in the privates? Then the person to whom your rhetorical question was directed will stare back at you with a look that seems to sugest that their answer is yes. Do not misinterpret this look as an invitation to sex. Not cool, dude, not cool. Anyway, as if all of that is not enough, my guests this Wednesday will be Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips from the legendary rock band LUNA. They are going to come out and play one of their hits and then I will sit them down for a bit of light chit-chat. Dean and Britta will also share with us a clip from Tell Me Do You Miss Me, the Luna documentary that made its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival this past Friday, right here in town. Anyway, so that pretty much covers it. I really hope you can make it. Afterwards, a bunch of us usually run out to a local nightspot for a few drinks and conversation that I prefer to remain centered around me. You could totally come if you want. I am cool with it. Just do not get your heart set on face time. That I cannot promise. Anyway, if you want to get some tickets for the show ahead of time, you can do that sort of thing right here.