Author: David Diego Rodríguez, Ph.D.

I teach Spanish and I am a standup comedian.

Bathroom graffiti


C’est une pipe

I have seen a lot of graffiti in public bathrooms over the years. Normally, I try to avoid public bathrooms altogether, but sometimes, nature calls at the most inopportune moments. I’ve used a lot of public restrooms over the years. Let’s just say that I’m a regular guy. Since I’m a voracious reader, I even read the graffiti while I’m sitting there. I remember a few gems more so than others.

I still remember, “Kilroy was here!” along with the drawing of Kilroy peering over the wall. I haven’t seen Kilroy in bathrooms in years and I really miss him. I always loved, “After every job, there’s always a little paperwork.” Another memorable piece of graffiti was the poem, “Here I sit / Lonely hearted / Tried to shit / But only farted!” Poetry doesn’t come any better than that! I still see this poem on bathroom walls from time to time.

However, as a purist of bathroom graffiti, I hate when someone tries to improve on this classic poem. Anyone remember this poem scrawled over the urinal? “No matter how much you shake and dance / The last few drops are for your pants.” Where are the bathroom poets of yesteryear now?

Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo, Mexico

I read a lot of graffiti in the Lincoln Hall bathroom at University of Illinois at Chicago. Once, above the toilet paper, I read, “Get your UIC diploma here.” When Wayne Gretsky was really popular, beneath “Jesus Saves” someone wrote, “But Gretsky gets the rebound and scores!” Years later, in the same bathroom, I read, “The graffiti isn’t as good as it was 1978. It turned out my friend Vito had written that when he returned to college–again.

Once I had to go really, really bad. So, I was sitting down in a public restroom reading the graffiti on the wall. I heard someone enter the stall next to me. I read, “Tap foot for blowjob.” Only then did I realize that I was tapping my foot! I stopped tapping my foot immediately and hurried out of there. Phew! That was close!

When I was a police officer, I witnessed a wonderful exchange among a series of bathroom graffiti artists. Someone wrote “Bob.” Then, underneath, someone else wrote “Bill.” Then, someone else put a plus sign between Bob and Bill: “Bob + Bill,” implying that they were a romantic item. But another bathroom poet who didn’t understand the nuances of subtlety added the obvious: “Bob + Bill are lovers.” The next addition, however, was a stroke of genius! I assume either Bob or Bill penned the following masterpiece of a conclusion so that the finished text read: “Bob + Bill are lovers of all God’s creatures great and small.”

DDR

Reality


Dr. D. has his head in the clouds again.

This morning, as I drove my son to work, I looked up at the clouds in the sky. They were unbelievably beautiful and comforting. Then, I realized that they looked exactly like the clouds from the opening credits to The Simpsons! Suddenly, the sky and the clouds looked so artificial. Well, I couldn’t return to my initial moment of awe and wonderment.

Sometimes I wonder if reality is real enough. Robin Williams had a comedy album titled, “Reality: What a concept!” I think he was onto something. I recalled a few other moments in my life when life just didn’t seem “real” enough.

I had a similar experience years ago in California. I was driving from 29 Palms to Los Angeles pondering the meaning of life, among other things. I was truly soul-searching. At the point where I began my descent from the Mojave Desert, I was at the same altitude as the clouds on the horizon. I could see the sun above the clouds and the sun’s rays as they flitered through the clouds underneath. The rays spread out diagonally below the clouds and onto the ground.

I’ve seen God appear this way in a few movies. Then, I realized as beautiful as this scene was, it was just too unrealistic! I doubted that I could possibly be seeing this scene unfolding before me. I can recall seeing it even now.

I’m not sure what this entire experience means. Perhaps it’s a phenomenon like déjà vu, but I just don’t know the name. Reality: what a concept!

DDR

Don’t eat here


Enchiladas suizas

I will never eat at a certain Mexican restaurant again. I refuse to even mention its name or location. I met my girlfriend there for lunch one beautiful Sunday afternoon. Well, we ate, and we had a couple of Margaritas. Before I knew it, the manager asked us to leave so someone else could sit there. I was so insulted by their manager who asked us to leave.

The real killer was that he was Mexican. Sometimes your own kind will treat you the worst. When we said we would order something else, he said it was too late. We insisted that he serve us. We have a right to sit in a public place like a restaurant, especially since we were paying patrons. We didn’t get up and he called the police on us. He wanted us arrested for criminal trespassing. The police showed up and my girlfriend said that she felt intimidated by them. I can honestly say the police officers did their job professionally. However, I understood that the manager wanted us arrested. I didn’t want to be arrested so we eventually left.

As I discussed this with my girlfriend later, I became more upset. How could they do this to us? I called the restaurant and asked to speak to the owner. The first time, I was told to call after 4 p.m. The next time, I was told the manager, Larry, was in a “meeting.” When I called back after the “meeting,” I was told that the manager would call me back, but I was allowed to voice my complaint to call taker.

Of course, Larry never called me back. So, I called Larry back two weeks later. He claimed he never received my message. I explained to him that I received bad service there because the manager called the police on us. Of course, he heard that my girlfriend (at first, he thought she was my wife) was making a scene and that’s why they asked us to leave. I had to correct him. The manager working that day told us we had to leave. Then my girlfriend became upset. I really didn’t blame her. I was upset, too, but I didn’t want to be arrested for something as silly as this. Who wouldn’t be upset when you plan to eat supper at a nice restaurant and then the manager calls the police threatening to arrest you for criminal trespass?

DDR

Cool


No caption necessary!

One day, my son Alex told me that his friends thought I was, “Cool!”

Oh, yes, the “Cool” factor! I’m often surprised when someone, anyone really, considers me cool. I don’t try to be cool. I guess I just am.

So I asked my son why they thought I was cool. His friends said I was cool because I watched professional wrestling with my sons. This may sound strange, but it’s actually my way of bonding with my sons.

What else made me cool? I loved riding on roller coasters with my sons! Well, it’s the only amusement park ride that doesn’t make me nauseous so I took them to Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, where they have the most roller coasters of any amusement park in the world.

Likewise, I liked the fact that I was having fun and being cool simultaneously. Oh, yes, I also took them to Skatopia, a skateboard paradise that appears in a Tony Hawk video game. Okay, I had fun going there, too. And I have the pictures to prove it!

I was cool for buying my sons an X-Box 360 before anyone else had one. However, I lost some “Cool” points because I don’t play any video games with my sons. That’s because being cool is so demanding. I’m sorry, but I can’t be cool 24/7/366! (I’m so cool, so often, that I pack in 366 days of cool into every year, not just leap years!)

DDR

If you were funny


Little Italy, Chicago, Illinois

The Operation Family Secrets trial is underway, The Sopranos season ended with a lot of publicity, and Hillary Clinton successfully parodied that final Sopranos episode. Well, because of all this attention drawn to Italians lately, I recall one particular Italian man I met a long time ago in an Italian restaurant in Little Italy. I have met Italians who are American, Italian immigrants, and Italians who try to project the mob lifestyle, even though I know that some are just wannabes. We have them all in Chicago. This man I met, looked like the stereotypical Italian mobster gathered with some “associates,” but they just could have been his family. He was a middle-aged man dressed in a dark blue suit, bright red tie, and he had a gold pinky finger with an enormous diamond. Balding head with salt and pepper hair. He looked like a real mobster and was obviously the power holder at the table. One of the stories he told began, “This goomba called me the other day …” When he finished it, everyone at the table laughed. I didn’t exactly hear the whole story, so I couldn’t tell you if his story was actually funny or they merely laughed at the boss’s joke.

I was sitting at the next table with my running friends after our track workout. Every Wednesday evening, we went to the track, ran some speed work, and then went out afterwards to eat pasta, and drink a few beers. About ten of us sat there drinking and being loud. We always felt especially proud when someone would ask the management to tell us to be quiet. But not on this night!

At first, we didn’t really notice the people at the neighboring table. We told jokes and funny stories as we usually did. Our two tables got into a game of one-upmanship. I don’t like to brag, but I was usually the loudest and funniest one at the table. Finally, the Don at the next table points to me and says, “Hey, kid! You think you’re funny, don’t you?” “Well, you heard how I made everyone laugh, didn’t you?”, I said, mimicking him fearlessly, but it was just false bravado. Well, suddenly our two tables got very quiet. “How funny are you?” “Really funny!” “Come here. I want you to make me laugh!” And he smiled a really big smile, so big I could see that no food stuck was between his teeth.

As I walked over to him, I recalled a story that Bob Hope once told: “I worked in some mob-owned nightclubs. They didn’t pay you. But if you were good, they let you live!”

Well, I seemed to have gotten myself in a very similar predicament. He tells me, “Tell me your best joke. And you better make me laugh.” Of course, I didn’t tell him my best joke, but I did tell him one that always got a laugh and he laughed, along with everyone else at the table. “Tell me another one.” This time he laughed a little more. I can’t even remember what jokes I told him. I told him a few more jokes and only then did I hit him with my best joke. You have to build up to it, right?

Well, he really laughed and laughed. And he slapped me on the back. It really stung! So, he says, “You’re really funny, kid. You should be a comedian!” “I am,” I said. “Didn’t I just prove it?” He smiled at me and then said, “Okay, go sit down.” When I sat down, both our tables continued telling jokes and laughing and drinking beers. His table left way before ours. I figured he probably had to get up early to go to the office in the morning.

When we asked the waitress for our check, she told us that the gentleman who sat next to us had already paid it. “You are so funny!” I told her. But we actually ate and drank for free that night. How funny!

DDR