Gregg Getherd, the host of the monthly comedy show Bedtime Stories and regular contributor to the Comic vs. Audience blog just did an interview of Dave Walk, who runs CvA. Dave is a super-sweet, humble, and hilarious guy who does an amazing service for Philly's comedy scene by keeping such an awesome blog. Take a look!

Oh, and both Gregg and Dave have shows next week at part of the Philly Improv Theater's monthly week of shows. More information on PHIT's shows page.

I keep meaning to write about my friend Chris's excellent blog, 7:21 p.m. If you live in the Philadelphia area, you might recognize Chris as the guy who lives in a truck (he's since changed to a van). On the 7:21 p.m. blog, Chris writes about what's going on for him every day at precisely 7:21 p.m., when the alarm on his watch goes off. Right now he's on a solo bike ride to rural Quebec, and he's writing really interesting, honest stuff about the experience. Read it.

I just got back from a week-long trip to Chicago. Here's a picture:

More shortly.

Hey! Tonight Rob and I are performing a sketch comedy benefit show to raise money for our upcoming trip to the Minnesota Fringe Festival. We'll be performing over an hour of sketch comedy, including old favorites, rare bits, and more!

Sunday, June 22 at 8 p.m.

The Raven Lounge 1718 Sansom Street Philadelphia, PA

Only $5!

I hope to see you there!

I keep forgetting to post this. Rob and I are also performing in the Philly Sketchfest at 10:30 tonight! More info on the Sketchfest's website.

Last night I went to see the Kids in the Hall. It was a wonderful show, and I hung out afterwards to meet the Kids, even though I always feel like a dork when I talk to or see celebrities. Part of the reason I feel like a dork is that I'm never quite sure what I'll do or say. For example, a few hours before the show yesterday, I saw Mark McKinney walking down the street in Philadelphia. I was biking in the opposite direction, but I immediately stopped, got off my bike, and started following him on foot. It took me about a block-and-a-half of tailing him for the part of my brain with good sense to say "You are being a creep" and turn around.

Even though it's embarrassing to admit that story, I don't think what I did was uncommon. People approach famous folks every day, and quite often they do stupid things when talking to those people. For example, I have a friend who, upon meeting Joyce Carol Oates, blurted out, "You don't have any eyebrows!"

Sometimes I'll try to save myself from such bits of verbal dirt by telling myself that I don't need to talk to the person or people in question. But the Kids in the Hall, and Bruce McCulloch in particular, have had a huge influence on both my life and my comedy. So I spoke to Bruce, and when we were done talking I had such a wonderful, glowing feeling. It made me think about a great quote from Wayne Coyne when he was interviewed in The Believer:

What did you want when you met Santa Claus for the first time? You didn't really want to know that he was just some guy who was lucky to have a job being Santa Claus for two months around Christmas time. You wanted it to be the real Santa Claus. And at some point, you and I, we put on a little bit of the Santa Claus costume and go out there and do the show. So I can look at it like, if I met Santa Claus, would I want him to be tired and grumpy and say, "Hey little kid, leave me alone, goddamnit"? I would want him to handle it and let me walk away with that image and that belief still in my mind.

Bruce didn't have any reason to be so nice to me, but I walked away from our conversation feeling like that man cared deeply about my life. It was totally like meeting comedy Santa.

The Smart Set: Disposable

23/6: Supreme Advice and A Museum for America

Comic vs. Audience: Recap: Kids in the Hall at the Keswick Theatre

Hey guys. I like Barack Obama. I'm going to vote for him today. Maybe you should too?

Why am I voting for Obama? Well, here's part of the reason, as illustrated by a recent Freudian slip I saw:

Details here or in the following informational video:

Recently Rob and I chatted with Don "Die Actor Die" Montrey about our work, this weekend's shows, and the State of Comedy Today. I'm really happy with the interview, and maybe you should read it, yeah?

And speaking of those shows!

Meg and Rob: These Modern Worlds

Sketch comedy featuring: Sales pitches, venison cheesesteaks, and a dash of distopian futures.

Friday, March 7 at 8 p.m.
Saturday, March 8 at 10 p.m.

At The Shubin Theatre 407 Bainbridge St. Philadelphia, PA 19147

Both shows are with Traffic Jelly Improv.

$10. Tickets available at the Philly Improv Theater website. Half of the proceeds go to benefit Project H.O.M.E.

Thanks to Dave at Comic vs. Audience for the excellent video:

I'm also happy to announce that Rob and I are performing a brand-new sketch comedy show, These Modern Worlds, March 7 and 8 at The Shubin in Philadelphia. Tickets are $10, and half of ticket sales will go to support Project H.O.M.E.

It's often easier to talk about what's wrong with comedy in Philly than what's right. Shows and performers don't get enough media coverage, people talk shit about local comedy without actually seeing any of it, and our only longform improv school doesn't even have a dedicated space yet. Folks will come out in droves for Michael Ian Black and Michael Showalter (with good reason), but crowds don't seem to understand that they can also see good, non-famous comedians in town regularly.

Last week, however, I got a nice reminder of everything that's right with comedy in this city. Rob and I performed at Bedtime Stories, Gregg Gethard's monthly comedy variety show, and it was just so great. The audience was packed, people laughed, and Rob and I got to hang out and have a good time with other Philly comedy folks. It made me think of some other very good things about comedy in Philly, such as:

1. There may not be a lot of comedians here, but a lot of the ones who are here are pretty effing talented.
2. People aren't pigeonholed. There are great connections between people who do sketch, improv, and stand-up.
3. Even without a dedicated space, the Philly Improv Theater is doing some fantastic things (like running classes, getting Keith Johnstone to come to town, and renting out the Shubin for comedy shows one week every month).
4. Comic vs. Audience and Die Actor Die are filling in the comedy-reporting gap that other local blogs are leaving wide open.

These are all great things. And speaking of Die Actor Die, the next show is on the 21st. Go to it.

"LOL08" is my friend's motto for 2008, and I like it a lot.

One of the things I did last night to celebrate LOL08 was finally see local hip-hop powerpoint duo Rowan and Hastings. They rap (and occasionally do yoga) in front of video/powerpoint presentations. The video below doesn't give you the full experience of seeing them live (which you should do, if you get a chance), but it's still pretty excellent:

Rob and I are performing two comedy shows this week:

1. December 19 with ZombieShark Improv at MilkBoy Coffee in Ardmore, PA. 8 p.m./free.
2. December 20, hosting Puppet Karaoke at the M-Room in Philadelphia. 9:30 p.m./$5. Features special celebrity guests Eva Spinspiller and Scooty Johnson!

Also, here's a video of us performing at Die Actor Die in November, courtesy of Comic vs. Audience:

Not For Tourists paid me to write what is essentially fan fiction about the Phillie Phanatic and Swoop the Eagle getting into a brawl.

I got paid to write fan fiction. About mascots. Sometimes my life is pretty fantastic.

In the form of local relationship expert, Diz:

From Comic Vs. Audience.

I went to see Michael Showalter and Michael Ian Black on Friday, and it kind of sucked. "Blasphemer!" you might yell. "You cur, you dog, saying that these wonderful comedians put on a bad show!" Here's the thing: both Michaels had hilarious jokes, but they talked to hecklers waaaay too much. I was a little afraid that was going to happen. When Michael Showalter did his blog tour promoting his new album, his post on The Apiary was about how he thinks hecklers are awesome because they give him an opportunity to get angry. But I didn't go to see him get angry; I went to see him perform funny comedy jokes. And it's not as if putting down a heckler can't be funny (oh good god, it can), but when a comedian constantly interrupts jokes to hold conversations with the audience, it can wreck the energy level of the whole show. Which it kind of did.

One more show! Rob and I are performing our awesome hour-long comedy show, Reviving the Lecture Circuit, tonight in Philadelphia. Here is a little review of the show from the Philadelphia City Paper: "Meg and Rob portray caricatures of various celebrity archetypes, including politicians, lifestyle coaches, and television personalities, with relatable and hilarious execution."

Reviving the Lecture Circuit TONIGHT Shubin Theater 407 Bainbridge Philadelphia 8 p.m. $5

Rob and I are performing tonight at Bedtime Stories at the Shubin Theater, 407 Bainbridge. 8 p.m., $5. BYOB

Die Actor Die at the Khyber, 56 S. 2nd St. 8 p.m. $5. Rob and I are performing, as are a number of other excellent folks. I hope to see you there!

Some good things going on:

• My piece "Selections From an Anti-Duck Propaganda Pamphlet" is up on The Big Jewel today.
• Fellow Philadelphia comedy person Don Montrey wrote a nice post about me/Meg and Rob on his blog, Die Actor Die. Which, incidentally, is an excellent blog that you should be reading.
• We've got a number of Meg and Rob shows coming up in Philadelphia, including November 19 at Die Actor Die, November 28 at Bedtime Stories, and hosting Puppet Karaoke on December 20. I'll post more information on all of these shows soon.

Okay, it's not really a review. But the Sketch Book Reporter came to our Friday show and drew furiously throughout the entire thing. Take a look at the results! Here's my favorite one, of Rob as the presidential candidate:

Look:

In this hollow, maladapted age, celebrity — like consent — is manufactured; Meg Favreau and Rob Baniewicz turn up the satire-o-stat swiftly to a toasty "Wet and Wilde" intensity in their new show, Reviving the Lecture Circuit, and through absurdist alchemy reanimate the esteemed institution of cynosure disquisition. Meg and Rob portray caricatures of various celebrity archetypes, including politicians, lifestyle coaches, and television personalities, with relatable and hilarious execution. The duo's comedy finds good purchase on its target, and the shallow self-importance of the inexplicably famous shines in every moment, right through the relentless, pancake-saturated climax. —Will Dean

If you've seen the show, you can also add your comments on the City Paper's website.

Well. After a number of months of writing and practicing, my dear friend Rob and I are premiering our comedy show Reviving the Lecture Circuit as part of the Philadelphia Fringe Festival tomorrow. Tomorrow! Oh, shit.

The show consists of six modern celebrities telling their stories, from a motivational fitness expert to the presidential candidate who believes that all of America's problems would be solved by having a wolf in every back yard. It's really quite excellent. I'm not just saying that. Heck, I'm proud.

If you live in the Philadelphia area, we would love to see you at the show. Here are the details:

When
Thursday, September 6 at 7:30 p.m.
Friday, September 7 at 8:00 p.m.
Saturday, September 15 at 7:00 p.m.

Where
The Walking Fish Theatre 2509 Frankford Ave Philadelphia, PA 19125

How Much
Just $5! That's the cheapest you can make a Fringe show without it being free!

You can get tickets online through the Philadelphia Fringe Festival. A couple of people have reported problems with the online ordering system, so if it's mean to you, you can also call the box office at 215-413-1318. We'll also be selling tickets at the door.

And if you want to make an evening of it, I highly suggest the show that's before ours on Thursday and Friday, Religion is Retarded. I saw it Tuesday and did some good laughing.

When I am bored waiting for the train in the morning, I like making up dialogue for the pigeons that walk around on the platform across from mine. It usually goes something like this:

Pigeon, who we will call Merv, walks along the platform, bobbing his head.

Merv: Waiting for the train, waiting for the train, waiting for the train.

Merv walks to edge of platform, looks at tracks.

Merv: Train coming?

There is no train. Merv returns to walking.

Merv: Nope, nope, nope, not yet. Waiting for the train, waiting for the train, waiting for the train.

Merv runs into another pigeon, who will call "Lightning Bill."

Lightning Bill: Hey Merv, waiting for the train?

Merv: Waiting for the train, yup yup, waiting for the train.

Merv and Lightning Bill, walk together while bobbing their heads.

Both: Waiting for the train, waiting for the train, waiting for the train.

The train starts to rumble in the distance. The metal of the tracks screams in advance of its arrival. And just as the train starts to pull in, Merv and Lightning Bill take flight!

Merv: Fuck!

Lightning Bill: B-Train!

You know the movie at the movies when, if someone is talking behind you, you give the half turn of your head to let you know you can hear them? And you hope that they will recognize by that slight turn in your neck that they are being SHAMED for having the GALL to talk in the movie theater, while good citizens like yourself are remaining quiet? Someone did that to me last night at a COMEDY SHOW. Because I was LAUGHING. Loudly. Er, I'm sorry. "LOLing."

I think that reviews of shows can be boring, so I'll keep this brief: definitely check out Eugene Mirman and Larry Murphy, leave Leo Allen behind. Well, I mean, if there's like, a flood or a zombie plague, don't leave him behind. He seems like an upstanding individual. I just didn't like his comedy all that much. The show breakdown was like this: where Eugene Mirman created marketing slogans for shapes (Triangle: Hot three-way action), and Larry Murphy did the best fake-first-time stand up I've ever seen, Leo Allen was doing normal observation stuff. Not bad, but not as amazing.

Yup.

As some of you may know, one of my embroidered shirts was recently featured in Philadelphia Style magazine. In the article, they lovingly refer to me as a "Philly native." But since this three-inch-long feature is surely going to shoot me straight into stardom, I would like to take this opportunity to address a possible scandal:

I, Meg Favreau, am not a Philadelphia native.

I'm sorry. But in my defense, I never told them as I was. I merely seized this city as my own after moving here and somehow conned my way into two jobs where I write as a "Philadelphia insider." But no, I am not a Philly native.

I originally hail from northern New Hampshire. It's a rough-and-tumble land, a land that’s easy to lie about because most people haven't visited there. I was born in an abandoned hunting camp. The first meal I was fed post-womb was not breast milk, but a traditional deer jerky known as "Infant’s Lesson," designed to separate the strong babies from the weak. I was riding moose by the time I was three. Oh, it sounds fun, but it was a hard life. We didn’t get the internet until I was thirteen-years-old, and to this day my parents only have dial-up. Yes, northern New Hampshire is a vast Luddite wilderness, a wilderness that creates stubborn pride and snowmobilers. But I knew I wanted something more than a Ski-Doo. I wanted to live somewhere where I could get DSL. I wanted to live somewhere where "going out for the evening" didn't mean taking a 30-pack of Coors to the spot in the woods where a guy was scalped in the 1700's. I wanted to live somewhere where no one knew about the grave error I made in the 1996 Moose-Riding Pageant for Eligible Girls, turning my moose right into the audience instead of left into the show ring.

So I came to Philadelphia. And even though I didn't intend to, I planted roots in its glass-littered soil.

Am I a Philly native by birth? No. Am I a Philly native by blood? No, I still have the New Hampshire and its Lyme disease running through my blood. But am I a Philly Native when magazines want to claim a young, new designer as their own before anyone else does? Yes I am. And in the end, isn't that what matters?

I don't care much about baseball. It's like a cucumber to me: it's not bad, sure, but I don't know if I want to spend my money on it at the sports supermarket. In my fleeting contact with the sport, nothing has left me particularly excited. I took in a couple of minor league Portland Sea Dogs games in middle school, for example, but the only thing I really liked was when they played the Imperial March from Star Wars for a meeting on the mound. Playing the sport (or its close approximation) didn't do much for me either: I stumbled my way through a full season of softball, and the only thing I ever really got down was the bunt.

I bring this up because tomorrow afternoon my coworkers and I are being treated to a Phillies game and "up to $7.00 of all beef hot dog" from the concession stand or something like that. One of my coworkers has been prepping me for the experience by telling me things I can say to act like I know about baseball/the Phillies. Suggestions include "No pitching," "I hope they don’t make it to their 10,000th losing game," and "Insert player name here while throwing arms in the air." I, however, very much prefer to pretend I know what I am talking about by making up sheer lies. So, without further ado, here is Meg's Guide to Baseball and the Philadelphia Phillies:

• The Phillies used to be named the Fillies after the wild, bloodthirty horses that terrorized Philadelphia until the early 1900's. The day the last horrible horse was killed, the mayor changed the name to be spelled with "Ph" so the city could heal. Horse bones still wash up on the shore of the Delaware River to this day.
• Until 1908, there were actually four strikes before a player was out. This was changed to three strikes so that song "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" would sound better.
• Half of the current Phillies players did not call their mothers on Mother's Day.
• Michael Eisner has a wooden elbow. Also, he plays baseball.
• Jimmy Hoffa is not buried on any baseball field. He's actually playing shortstop for the Washington Nationals under the name "Vincente Fitzgerald," but nobody ever looks closely enough at the Nationals to notice or care.
• The first baseball was an apple. The first baseball bat was a piece of fence whitewashed by Tom Sawyer. The first baseball player was Mark Twain, and his opponent was Samuel Clemens.
• The Phillies have no defense because they lost it all during a wild night in Atlantic City.

This Saturday and Sunday, the Art Star Craft Bazaar is overtaking Liberties Walk (1030 N. 2nd St.) in Philadelphia. You should come! There will be about 100 artists and craftspeople hocking their wares (myself included), various workshops, and on Saturday some rock music will be starting around 4:30. The hours for the bazaar are 11-7 on Saturday and 11-5 on Sunday. For more information on the workshops and artists, check out the Craft Bazaar's webpage.

Also, please visit the Pieri Creations website right now. There is something about the composition of their front page image that is incredibly pleasing.

When I was young, Nickelodeon came out with a couple of substances that they marketed as toys for children. There was Floam, comprised of tiny Styrofoam balls and some manner of goop that glued them together, and there was Gak. Gak was a slime-type substance, and it could make various popular noises when you smushed air bubbles in it –- "pffft," "prracpt," "grrrrrup," and so forth.

I was very pleased when, one Christmas, I received a packet of Floam and a packet of Gak. The Gak was pink, and I was very excited to put my small hands in it. But when I opened it, I discovered that it smelled AWFUL. It was like bad cheese. Now, maybe I was just one of the few children who didn't enjoy the smell of rotting dairy products, but it was not pleasant. Still, I plowed ahead, sticking my hands into the stuff, until I discovered that the bad cheese smell didn't exactly wash off my hands when I was done. I shoved my Gak in the back of the closet, never to play with it again.

This spring, however, I experienced an olfactory shock when I discovered that some of the flowering trees in my neighborhood smell exactly like Gak. This brings up a couple of questions:

• Were they trying to make Gak smell like flowers and just totally screwed up? Like, they opened up a book, pointed to some flowers, and told the Toy Scientists to make the stuff smell like that? And thusly they could have just as easily pointed to one of those flowers that smells like rotting meat and Gak could have ended up smelling like that?
• If a tree is known for smelling like bad cheese every year, why do you plant it? I mean, it flowers, sure, that's nice. But tons of trees flower. And this is the city. Each one of these trees was planted on purpose. Every time this tree flowers, is it supposed to remind us that life is double-edged, and for every beautiful thing, there is an ugly smell to maintain balance in the universe?

According to Wikipedia, a couple of years later Nickelodeon came out with a version of Gak that smelled like pickles. I haven't come across a pickle-gak-flower tree yet.

Writer Leslie Marmon Silko, as seen on the outdoor screen at the Philadelphia Book Festival.

One of the websites I write for, Not For Tourists, is throwing a party in Philly Saturday night at the Khyber at 9 p.m. If you print out the invitation (PDF) and hand it in at the door, they'll give you a free pint of Yards and a free copy of their 2007 guide to Philadelphia. These are good things!

Man. I do not want a fetus in my womb anytime soon, but kids are HILARIOUS. I don't usually catch a lot of the youngings during my morning commute, but today I went in early and had the extreme pleasure of hearing three middle school students brag about their hacking skills—which, as far as I can figure out, meant knowing the passwords to various teacher and administrator computer accounts. They were all some level of clueless, especially one girl who it seemed was just itching to get in on the conversation without really knowing what to say. Here's a sampling:

Girl: Yeah, I used to hack into the mainframe from home.
Boy with "I'm not shaving yet" mustache: I hacked into the administrator account at school. It's the same thing.
Girl: Well, I hacked directly into the mainframe.
Mustache: It's the same thing! Besides, I use hacking for very serious reasons, like to take lates off my record.
Boy with glasses: The admin password at school is just "admin." It's so easy!
Girl: One time, I used "the" as a password.
Glasses: I use "password" as my password. Nobody would ever guess that!
Girl: That's the first thing I try.
Glasses: No, nobody ever thinks of it...
Girl: It's the first thing I try!!!!!!!

While I found it hilarious to hear those geeky kids talk, it also gave me warm fuzzies of nostalgia. I was around their age when my family first got the internet, and I spent my subsequent hours teaching myself HTML and talking about Maxis and LucasArts games with my friend Mike. It was kind of contagious to listen to these kids who were at the same awkward age talk about their computer exploits. They were boastful, of course (what middle schoolers aren't?), but under that there was excitement and curiosity. I always felt like I came of age on the internet, and it seems that's what like these kids were doing too.

Of course, that seems silly to say now—all kids come of age on the internet these days. They get their tiny hands gripped around mice at a younger and younger age. But there's a vast difference between using MySpace and IM and sitting with your friends on the subway idolizing computer skills (sorry, I mean "skillz"). When we were young, everyone watched TV, but not everyone turned into a filmmaker. It’s the same sort of thing.

Ach. I'm much too young to be getting sentimental like this. But as long as I’m being nostalgic, let me just say: Kids on the subway? When I was young, computers didn’t even have mice.

My home city of Philadelphia has followed New York's lead and passed a bill to ban trans fats in restaurants. This is not good. Our government should not be spending its time passing bills protecting us from ourselves. It's that simple. Yeah, there is a huge weight problem in our country. But if we are to be trusted as adult citizens, we need to be trusted to proactively take care of our own health. If the city is worried about our poor eating habits, they need to focus on nutrition education and improving our access to good foods. Simply cutting people off from a certain food, however bad it is for us, is not the right way to improve our health.

I've also heard some people referring to the smoking ban like it's the same thing as the trans fat ban –- designed to protect people from themselves. I disagree. The smoking ban is more about protecting non-smokers from second-hand smoke. If you eat a cheesesteak next to me, I'm not going to accidentally inhale a glob of cheese whiz. If you smoke next to me, yeah, that's going in my lungs.

Still, I do think smokers should be allowed to smoke somewhere. I'm not saying that I think people should smoke –- it's incredibly unhealthy, and you're an idiot if you think otherwise. But as people, we own our own bodies. We should be allowed to do whatever we want with them as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. If I want to eat french fries, if I want to smoke, whatever –- I should to be allowed to do it. This sack of skin and bones is mine.

There are thousands of things that the government should be doing to help and protect its people. Taking away their fats is not one of them.

Most people I associate with know I hate winter. I scowl at snow; I make disparaging comments about low temperatures. I complain about my stiff fingers and toes, about how I have to wear two pairs of socks, and about how long underwear is glued to my body straight from November to April. I am a warm weather creature. I am happiest at 85 degrees, when the same t-shirt and skirt combination that kept me cool during the day is enough to keep me warm at night. Hell, I don’t even mind the sweating. In summer, sweat is acceptable and expected. In the winter, when I bundle up warm, I often end up sweating in my armpits and freezing in my feet. What kind of sense does that make?

At the same time, however, I did grow up in Northern New Hampshire. I’m not saying this to imply that I should be used to the cold; I’ve heard that line a number of times, and I’m fairly well sick of it. But I do love being outside, and I have weathered many winters. There is something about them hardwired in me. So last night I went out walking in Philadelphia on a night when most people wouldn’t, when the temperature hovered around nine degrees and I was bound up in layers of down and wool, cotton and polypropylene. And when I was walking, the wind that blew through this city felt like a real New Hampshire wind.

The New Hampshire wind in winter is hollow. It’s isolating. It rides over the snow and through the spindles of trees. It makes things creek. It rumbles a dull roar in the background that some people, unfamiliar with it, mistake for a river being nearby. Standing in the woods listening to that wind is one of the greatest feelings of solitude I know. I feel like the only thing alive. It’s post-apocalyptic. It’s scary.

But when I heard it last night, when I heard it in the city, it gave me a great, welling feeling of being home.