Sep
Posted on 21st September 2008
Happy Sunday. Here is a new funtime video I did with the excellent Stone and Stone, who are from the future. The video also stars the unstoppable Michael Cavadias and was brought to life by the fine folks at Disposable Television. Watch it repeatedly right now and then send it to everyone you know who uses the Internet. I hope you really like it a whole bunch.
Sep
Posted on 21st September 2008
I love sandwiches. They are popular for a reason. Everyone likes sandwiches.
Dave Hill
Sep
Posted on 17th September 2008
Attention People of New York City:
Today I write to you from beyond the grave. No, just kidding. But I had you going for a second, didn’t I? Okay, maybe not but you have to admit it would be pretty cool to write someone from beyond the grave. They would never see it coming (unless, of course, you mention it to them right before you die, in which case they would probably get your creepy dead guy note and be all like “Oh yeah, he mentioned he was gonna do that.” Then they would probably just get back to whatever else they were doing. The afterlife- it will mess with your mind sometimes). Anyway, I just wanted to remind you one last time that TOMORROW, which is to say Thursday, September 18 at 9:30pm, my critically acclaimed super happy fun time hour known to me and others as the Dave Hill Explosion is totally going to happen and there is not a damn thing those fat cats in Washington can do about it. Stunning outfits? Check. Incredible hair? Double check. Me being lowered from the ceiling by invisible wires while semi-nude, greased, and on fire? Working on it. There will be really great guests on my show tomorrow night too, like showbiz veteran and recent “Dancing with the Stars” contestant Steve Guttenberg, “Project Runway” and America’s own Chris March, and the rocking Boston rock trio TAB the Band, who are different from the beverage yet just as satisfying, delicious, and artificially caramel-colored. And, of course, resident creep Phil will be in full effect. Believe me- there are plenty of days when I just don’t want to be me, but this time it is simply because I would love to sit in the audience and watch this show. There is no way I would pay five bucks for it though. I mean, it is totally worth it and all, but I’ve got too much dirt on myself and would happily use that to blackmail my way in the door. You, on the other hand, can reserve a perfectly reasonably priced five dollar ticket that you don’t even have to pay for unless you show up right here. I really hope you can make it. Daddy says it’s time for me to come home and get a job of work but I told him things would be different after tomorrow night because you just can’t stop show people.
I love you,
Dave Hill
Sep
Posted on 15th September 2008
Hi. Mondays. Tell me about it. Anyway, here is something nice- the popular cable television network the Sundance Channel has featured me in a new thing they are doing called “The Next Garde,” a series of short profiles on creative types. You can see the video they made about me by clicking here and then clicking on my name (which is Dave Hill). I hope you like it. There’s a part of me that makes me want to punch myself in the face when I watch it but maybe that’s just my paranoia, insecurity, and self-loathing talking. Let me know what you think. I am curious as to whether I should punch myself in the face or not. There are a lot of reasons I probably should, but I am wondering specifically about whether or not I should punch myself in the face with regard to this video.
Sep
Posted on 12th September 2008
Attention People of New York City:
Hello. This is your man Dave Hill writing to let you know that this coming Thursday, September 18 at 9:30pm, I will be stepping out onto the stage of the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre over there in Chelsea for what critics are already calling “an exhilarating evening,” “a triumph of the human spirit,” and “the show that makes ‘Wicked,’ ‘Mamma Mia!,’ and ‘Jersey Boys’ it’s bitch without even f#@king trying!” I am of course referring to my seriously good semi-one-man chat/variety/donkey show the Dave Hill Explosion. Of particular excitement this time around is the fact that my show next week will mark my third anniversary of Exploding (give or take a few weeks in either direction- no one really knows for sure). A lot of people said it wouldn’t last this long. Including me. Okay, especially me. Still others thought I might not even live that long, you know, what with the baboon heart and all. And as I sit here contemplating the whole thing, I am reminded of a quote by the French author Albert Camus that reads “It is not your paintings I like, it is your painting,” something I fail to understand. Anyway, you should totally come to my show next week if you can. It pretty much has everything- singing, dancing, talking, reading, small and large dogs for the touching and- in some cases- the taking, fire, smoke, knives, the splits, and candy. As if all of that is not enough, I will also be joined by incredible guests like Hollywood’s Steve Guttenerg, whom you no doubt know from such films as Three Men and a Baby, Three Men and a Little Lady, Police Academy, Police Academy 2, Police Academy 3, Cocoon, Cocoon 2: The Return, Short Circuit, and a whole bunch of other movies, some with sequels, some without; celebrated designer, stylist, and man-about-town Chris March, whom you no doubt know from the popular Heidi Klum vehicle Project Runway, now in its fifth exhilarating season; and the hot Boston rock band TAB the Band, who just completed a tour opening for Stone Temple Pilots, the popular rock band that has seen its share of trouble but still perseveres, something we can all learn from. And as usual, my bearded sidebitch Phil will be there in all his house arrest-violating glory. Join us, won’t you? That would be so great. You can reserve tickets at no advance cost to you or those you hold dear right here.
Together we can make a difference,
Dave Hill
Sep
Posted on 10th September 2008
Sep
Posted on 9th September 2008
This past Sunday night, after paying a visit to the Black Rabbit, New York City’s premier house of fun, where Bobby Tisdale was hosting the fuck out of Bingo Night, I walked to the corner of Greenpoint and Manhattan Avenues in Brooklyn to catch a cab home. There were plenty of yellow cabs rolling down the street, so I was feeling pretty confident that things were going to work out just great in the me-getting-home-in-a-cab department.
After waiting a few seconds on the corner with my friend Maura, who wanted to make sure I didn’t get myself stabbed or anything, a beat up yellow cab stopped in front of me and I climbed in. Once I settled into the backseat, I quickly sensed that something was up. For starters, there was no cabbie medallion hanging in the car. Then I looked at the meter to find that all identifying labels had been seemingly sanded off with steel wool or some other powerful information-removing agent. Finally, I noticed the cab driver- a sixtyish guy with long gray hair and a beard and wearing a straw hat- was smoking a big cigar (historically frowned upon cabbie behavior). “Um, is this a real cab?,” I asked.
“Sure it is,” he answered between puffs.
“Does the meter work?,” I countered.
“Yeah, this is a meter,” he responded, playing it close to the vest.
I’m not a detective (well, not a professional anyway), but I was about 97% sure at this point that I wasn’t in a real yellow cab. Since I was kind of drunky drunk and had a taste for adventure though, I decided to let the nutjob up front drive me home anyway. The combination of him and his car reminded me of that one Playstation video game where evil clowns drive around some burnt out city trying to kill each other and win a race at the same time (NOTE: There may be more to the game than this). I was pretty sure this was going to be awesome, a sort of “Through The Looking Glass” ride home. And it kind of was.
What with the crazy hair, the straw hat, and the cigar and all, I wasn’t too surprised when the guy started randomly talking about obscure places to buy raw meat around the city as he pulled away from the curb. In fact- being a big fan of meat talk and all- I was delighted. And as he rambled on about meat and made his way to the bridge back to Manhattan, I decided to watch the meter. Just as I expected, it was jumping very quickly and randomly, like one of those billboards keeping a death toll about smoking or some increasingly popular cellular phone plan. Being slightly hammered, it was hard to focus on it, but as best I could tell the meter would jump 40 cents after two blocks, another 40 cents after the next 30 yards, another 80 cents after the next 20 feet, and so on. “Um, what’s up with your meter?,” I leaned forward and asked.
“What do you mean?,” the evil clown answered like nothing was up.
“It’s crazy. It’s jumping all over the place. That’s hilarious,” I laughed.
“You ever been to New York City?,” he fired back seemingly suggesting I didn’t know shit about meters or tons of other shit either.
“Yeah, I live here and your meter is totally illegal,” I shot back. “But I’m having a really nice time so keep driving.”
The evil clown cabbie didn’t respond to that last bit, but instead continued monologuing about assorted meat bargains around town. I wasn’t listening as much by this point though because my thoughts had turned to figuring out how I was going to handle things once he got to my stop. I quickly decided I was riding in a “pay-as-you-wish” cab, like when you got to the MoMa or Met and can pay just a nickel and they can’t do a damn thing about it. And since I was drunk and all, I naturally assumed the cab driver wasn’t carrying a weapon of any sort and couldn’t possibly run as fast as me so it wasn’t going to be a big deal anyway. And it wasn’t.
By the time we pulled up to my apartment, the meter read close to 30 dollars, almost double what an actual cab would have charged for the same trip. When the evil clown announced my fair, I drunkenly announced that I wasn’t paying that much.
“What do you mean?,” the now clearly irritated faux cabbie asked.
“You’re meter is t-totally illegal, dude,” I answered. “The fare should be about half that.”
“My meter is set for the area I drive in!,” He barked.
“You mean New York City?,” I laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, why didn’t you just ask for a flat rate if you have a problem with my meter?,” he shot back.
“Because you claimed to be a yellow cab and I thought it would be fun to believe you,” I replied. “Duh.”
At this point, I figured I’d reach into my wallet and hand him fifteen bucks or so, what seemed fair. Unfortunately, however, I only had twenties. And since I knew this guy wasn’t about to give me any change, I somewhat reluctantly offered him the twenty.
“Look- what you’re doing is totally illegal,” I said in my best attempt to sound like a sober guy who cared about such things. “But I think you’re hilarious, so I’m going to give you this twenty. I had a really nice time.”
“What?!,” he fumed. “Why didn’t you just call a car service if you were gonna pull this crap? Or can’t I just take you to an ATM?”
“I’m only paying you twenty,” I declared and got out of the car. I didn’t feel any sense of victory or anything at this point though since I had still paid way too much for my ride home. And there was a small part of me that figured a bullet might whizz by my head at any moment. But in the end, the driver just pulled away in a huff.
Figuring I might pull a Barney Fife on him, I managed to take down his license plate number before he got too far away (which, in case you are looking for fun is 71056LA). Yesterday, I e-mailed the New York Taxi and Limo Commision (the people in charge of such things) to file a complaint. A while later I received a phone call from a woman at the TLC (not to be confused with the great 90’s female R&B trio of the same name, though that would be awesome if one of them called me) who explained to me that there was no record of a cab with that license plate number and furthermore there was no record of that license plate number even existing at all.
After the lady (No, it was not T-Boz or Chilli, the remaining living members of TLC, so stop asking. What is wrong with you?) hung up, I pulled the phone away from ear in shock.
“Did any of this really happen?,” I wondered. “Or did I maybe travel to another dimension, one where cabbies smoke cigars and talk of meat? Or was I just really, really hammered last night?”
I guess I’ll never really know the answer to those or many other life questions. But I am home, dammit. And I am alive. And I am apparently really good at writing very long and boring accounts of my not-always-so-fascinating life. Or maybe it wasn’t all that bad. Anyway, if you’ve read this far, thank you. Now get out there and live, dammit!
Sep
Posted on 8th September 2008
I’ve just returned from an action-packed 48 hours or so in scenic Toronto, Canada, where Canadians and non-Canadians alike have converged upon that town for the Toronto International Film Festival, a magical week or so of watching movies, eating and drinking stuff, and screaming at Brad Pitt whenever he leaves his hotel room. I was there for a couple days doing interview stuff for Cinemax, the popular premium cable television channel with all the titties on it late at night.
When I wasn’t working in Toronto, I tried to squeeze in as much Canadian excitement as I could. My first night there I went for a long walk after dinner and found myself in front of Wayne Gretzky’s, which- as the name suggests- is a Wayne Gretzky-themed restaurant. Above is a picture of me bathing in the glow of the giant neon Wayne Gretzky autograph they have hanging out front. It felt pretty great.
I ate at Wayne Gretzky’s last time I was in Toronto, but- since I was full of street vendor hotdogs and Italian food- skipped the food this time. It’s kind of like Applebee’s only with Wayne Gretzky stuff everywhere (which is to say it’s pretty incredible). This time around I just poked my head inside to see if they finally got some cool Wayne Gretzky T-shirts in the gift shop area. They hadn’t. I’m not sure why. If I were Wayne Gretzky, I would totally sell awesome Wayne Gretzky-themed T-shirts at my restaurant. Instead they have really lame T-shirts and sweatshirts that don’t do anything to capture Wayne’s greatness. If I ever meet Wayne, this is going to be on my long list of things to discuss with him whether he likes it or not.
The morning after my pilgrimage to Wayne Gretzky’s, I decided to take a walk down to the Saint Lawrence Market on the recommendation of my friend David, a known former Torontonian. It was there that I ate my first (and so far only) peameal bacon sandwich, a local favorite I was told. Despite the not-so-great name, the peameal bacon sandwich was pretty delicious and consisted of Canadian bacon rolled in peameal (still trying to figure out what that is) and slapped between a bun. I took things to the next level by squirting some HP sauce (not unlike a sweeter version of A1, popular in England and Canada but still struggling for U.S. dominance despite being delicious) and some other mysterious sauce they had sitting there on the counter. Above is a picture of the actual sandwich I ate moments before I stuffed it in my mouth. It tasted better than it looks.
After I finished off the peameal bacon sandwich, I took a lap around the rest of the market. For someone like me who enjoys viewing large quantities of raw meat all under one roof, it was a real treat. Above is a photo of huge dead cows they had hanging in one of the freezers there. One minute you’re hanging out in a field eating grass, the next you’re all chopped up and dead in a freezer in Toronto. Life is crazy sometimes.
After my meat field trip, I headed back to the hotel to pull myself together for the day’s shoot. Along the way I spotted this beaver sitting above the doorway to some sort of Canadian office building. If you ever getting bonked on the head, throw in the trunk of a car, and dropped off days later in front of a building like this you will at least know you’re definitely in Canada. The rest is up to you.
I headed back to New York City on Saturday night. Because I apparently have the same name as a terrorist, the U.S. customs people at the Toronto airport detained me for a bit until they could figure out that I wasn’t a fugitive of some sort. I wasn’t in a big rush so I thought it was pretty cool. They took me into a little four-walled enclosure with white walls that were entirely bare except for one framed photo of the World Trade Center. Then they asked me a bunch of basic questions that I thought for sure were meant to somehow trick me into admitting I was part of some sort of extremist group. When they asked me what I did for a living, I told them I was a comedian. “That’s how you make your living?,” they asked. I am just as surprised as they were that the answer is yes.
After the probing, the customs guy left me alone for a bit while he waited to hear back from some other office to tell him I wasn’t a terrorist. Then after a few minutes he came back and told me there were no “derogatory comments” in my file so I was free to go. “Wait- I have a file? That’s awesome,” I thought to myself before heading off to catch what turned out to be the worst flight I’ve been on in my life. Because of the bad weather this past weekend, the plane was bouncing all over the place. I’m not sure if it was all the turbulence, the prospect of dying, or maybe the peameal bacon sandwich that was to blame, but I just narrowly avoided puking all over the place. It was only out of mercy for the girl sitting next to me that I was able to keep things down. I’m classy like that.
In other news, on the recommendation of my friend John, I recently got the Glen Campbell album “Reunion: The Songs of Jimmy Webb.” It’s pretty great. Here is Glen performing one of the songs from the album, “Wichita Lineman,” on the Smothers Brothers show back in simpler times. Glen is lypsynching here but I really like his suit and the Fender baritone guitar he is pretending to play. We could all learn a lot from this man.
Sep
Posted on 4th September 2008
Thursdays- am I right? Anyway, today I write to you from the scenic Laguardia airport in Queens, New York, where I am waiting to fly to Toronto for some hijinks at the 247th annual Toronto International Film Festival. Since I am 1/4 Canadian, I am pretty excited to be returning to my ancestral homeland for a couple days. I will let you know how it goes. I already missed my flight (read the e-mail with my flight information wrong cuz I was all hopped up on goofballs), but the nice people of Air Canada are letting me get on the next one. I am told I will be getting the same in-flight snacks that I missed on the earlier flight, so things should work out just fine I think/hope.
In other news, because I love candy and the Internet, I recently agreed to be the poster boy for an earth-shattering comedy contest put on by the futuristic Yahoo website and the Butterfinger candy bar people (not made of candy). They gave me money and free candy for doing it, so I honestly could not be happier about things. You can get the full scoop here. Wait. What? Did you just call me a whore? Stop it! That’s not nice! Anyway, go to the website right now or I will stab you. You should totally enter this contest.
Okay, I have to get on the Canadian plane now. I will let you know if I run into Gretzky (counting on it).
Dave Hill
Sep
Posted on 2nd September 2008
In fulfillment of the prophecy, I am reasonably excited to announce that the invasion of Japan by my hot rock band Valley Lodge is now officially underway. This Time Records, the premier power pop label of the Land of the Rising Sun, is totally re-releasing our debut album in Japan this fall. This version of the album will feature all-new artwork, including a 12-page full-color booklet and (I’m guessing) some Japanese writing on it in various places (I am particularly excited about this part. As anyone will tell you, Japanese writing looks really cool no matter what it says). Also, the Japanese version of the album will include three bonus tracks (“Comin’ Around, “Barricade, and “My Baby”- all hits) that will also be appearing later this fall on our second obscure album to be released here in North America in some form or another we are still trying to figure out. That is the cover of our Japanese album above featuring lovely cover girl Gia Lashay in all her glory. You can get full details on our startling Japanese album here (you know, so you can see that I’m not making all this stuff up). It’s all in Japanese though, so I don’t understand a word of it. I’m hoping it’s all good stuff though.
In other exciting Japanese news, my hot rock band Valley Lodge also has our song “Hanging On” featured on a Japanese power pop compilation called “OK! Powerpop 2,” which- as slightly hinted at in the title- is a compilation of power pop music from all over the planet. Here is a page (mostly in Japanese) about the whole thing.
No word yet on whether Valley Lodge will be getting on plane and going to Japan to rock some Japanese people, but I sure hope so. Maybe we can play at that Budokan place or something. I wonder if every American band that plays there says “This next one is the first song on our new album!,” kind of like how almost every band that came to Cleveland when I was growing up would yell “Hello, Cleveland” from the stage as if they were the first ones who ever thought of it. Some things never get old.
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