Hello my name is Martha Kelly and
I'm the host of Cap City's new comedy series called "In
the Can with Martha Kelly." The series includes
video interviews of your favorite comics, a live "In
the Can" show once a month at Cap City,
and a "bloggish" column you can find weekly
at this website. I've tied all of this together with a
string of awkwardness the likes of which the world has
not seen since we all got up this morning. So get ready
to relax, lean back or forward and feel awkward.
July
19, 2009:
Remembrances of Memories Past
Back in perfect-weather-having California,
Buddy and I used to imagine ourselves as the toast of the
neighborhood. We'd meet other people and dogs every time
we ventured out. One day we met a small un-chaperoned terrier
and even though the little feller charged us, Buddy ended
up winning him over with a 360-degree tail wag. We walked
the terrier back onto his own property and Buddy proceeded
to sniff out the landscaping. Little feller followed Buddy
around, sniffing the same plants as his hero until Buddy
lifted his leg and peed on one. Then as the little guy was
getting ready to follow suit, Buddy kicked dirt in his face.
The affair of the century ended abruptly as the tiny dog
took shelter behind a palm frond. I saw his sad eyes looking
out at us as Buddy flattened a geranium bush by way of a
parting gift.
It was around this same time that I had
a potentially cancerous mole on my arm cut out. To be honest,
the doctor didn't say it might be cancer. He said it might
be a pre-cursor to cancer. Either way my plan was to go
out in a blaze of chocolate cake and pizza and then switch
to a healing raw food diet.
The best thing about the whole experience
was getting honked at by a jackass in the doctor's parking
lot and then sharing an elevator with him moments later.
He did the old "No I won't back up 4 feet to allow
you to back up so that someone can vacate a space."
When he honked at me I gave him a "cut the shit"
look. We made eye contact and in response he gave me the
"are you fucking kidding me?!" hand flap. As if
I had jumped out of my car and started doing jazzercise
on the hood of his abominable SUV.
Not two minutes later while I'm waiting
for the elevator I see in the reflection of the marble walls
that Hand Flap has just walked up behind me. He stays behind
me, but when the doors open he makes a sweeping "after
you!" gesture with his arms. Since when is it chivalrous
to allow someone who is already in front of you to remain
in front of you? I would have rather he honked again. Stick
to your guns, Hand Flap.
What kind of a delightful world would
it be if people carried car horns in their pockets and purses
so that they could honk impatiently at each other outside
of elevators or in supermarket lines? Mayhaps this could
be the legacy I leave the world after I put up a good but
losing fight against the cancer.
Welp, it turned out the mole was nothing.
So until the next scare, I'll be writing about my undiagnosed
hypoglycemia and Lou Rawls' Disease. See you at the Ronald
McDonald House.
