As a former Mormon, let me share a little secret about Mormons: we really don’t give a hoot about Jesus.  He’s great and all, was very popular, a great marketer and people person, but the J in our Big J stands for Joseph Smith.

You see, to many Mormons, Jesus was just a good party promoter.  He “worked” as a carpenter, but let’s be honest, that was just a front to chat it up with people about his link to God.  Can you name one thing he built?  Thank you.

If you think about it, he kind of did what most people do everyday, hang out on Facebook.  Except his was a more organic Facebook, with actual pokes and verbal comments.

My mom puts it best, “Jesus is like Jay Leno, he never did a hard day’s work in his life!”

This past weekend I was uncontrollably sweaty.  I don’t know what caused this constant state of moistness under my arms.  Friday to Sunday evening, wet.

I clearly remember the first time I noticed sweat under my arms.

It was my first day of 5th grade (but everybody else’s second, my family was still on vacation for the first day of school).   I wore a maroon Arizona Jean’s Company T-Shirt that day.  That morning I noticed sweat dripping down from my armpits.  “What’s going on,” I thought?  To conceal the sweat, I began to stuff the shirt into my armpits.

Well, lunchtime eventually came and I had to stand up from my desk.  As I stood, the wet, stuffed remnants of my shirt cascaded down leaving me with two very large circles of sweat.

Great first impression.

I’m still a sweater, but I’ve since learned ways to conceal the sweat: wear black!

Have you heard of the new fad in social networking?  It’s called FourSquare, and it’s basically a more interactive Yelp.  How it works is when you’re out and about, you jump on FourSquare and check in, maybe write a little thing about what you think of the place.  Then your friends get a pop up on their phones letting you know where you are (weird!), and what you think of the place (who cares!).  The more you visit a place, the more points you get, resulting in you eventually becoming Mayor of a particular location (and owning that shit!).

Being a social networking slut (follow me on Twitter), of course I use it.  I’m often distracted by where my friends are visiting (one friend makes a daily trip to the bakery.  no judgement, I swear!), and enjoy catching them in little white lies (”I swear, I really have a sensitivity to gluten, I just go to that bakery for the coffee!”).

In my case, my check-in’s paint a unique and well rounded lifestyle.  Of course I have many points from comedy clubs, I’m very high up in attendance at Crunch gym locations, and I hold my own with the FourSquare bar lovers!  My day job is at a very popular AIDS service location in New York City.  It’s a wonderful job, I love it, and I check in there daily.  I’m so close to gaining Mayor status!

So what does this say about me to somebody who doesn’t know me?  Essentially they see me as an incredibly physically fit comedian with an alcohol problem who may or may not have AIDS.

Maybe I should rethink this FourSquare thing?

Often I will Google “Ricky Martin” late at night.  It’s not that I enjoy his music, or really anything he’s ever done.  It’s just a freakish fascination with him.

Think about it.  Here you have this huge Latin star, arguably one of the biggest in the world, yet he leads such a private life.  And by “private life,” I mean “gay life.”  He’s totally gay! The dude adopted twins and he’s single.  How many “straight” guys do that (Michael Jackson doesn’t count, he was coo coo for Cocoa Puffs)?

What’s even more impressive (and I use that word lightly, because I don’t think “impressive” and “Ricky Martin” have ever been uttered in the same sentence), is that he comes from a community that is typically hostile toward gay people.  But yet he’s still doing his thang, shaking his la vida loca.

Yes, he’s not out.  But I’m not one of those gays who subscribes to the need for every gay celebrity to be out and proud.  I’m okay with Anderson Cooper and Jodie Foster playing the DL card (that’s not to say that Cooper or Foster are black men having sexual relations with other men while engaging in relationships with women).  And in the case of Martin, maybe his coming out would ease some of the tension in the Hispanic community toward the gays.

But Martin doesn’t act as the moral compass for the Hispanic community.  He’s a one hit American wonder that delighted the rest of the world with his jaunty hips and crisp hair. Okay, so stay in the closet.

So, my Google love affair with Ricky Martin remains.  I’m not really looking for anything, nor can I explain why I do it (why do you check PerezHilton.com so often?).  All I know is that it brings me peace late at night knowing that Martin is holding his twins in his arms, living his closeted gay lifestyle while still wooing impressionable women across the world with his Duan Juan ways.

Now that’s a gift!

Last night was the premiere of my new show at Comix, The Tweet Spot: The Twitter Game Show.  Word on the street is that it was a hit.  And by street I mean the internet highway via all the positive response tweets on Twitter.

How the show works: 1 - A contestant reads their Tweets. 2 - The audience then votes to ReTweet it (if they liked it), or Unfollow it (if they didn’t like it). 3 - The person with the most ReTweets wins!

There’s also a part of the show called “The Hashtag Dash,” where I spin a wheel and the contestants must shout out as many possibilities for whatever hashtag the wheel lands on.  A hashtag on Twitter is like a category, so for example, #RejectedMovieTitles would result in “Schindler’s Notebook,” etc.

Last night Mark Normand, Julia Segal, Adam Newman and Claudia Cogan all performed to much fanfare!

RT @blaudiablogan It’s always been my fantasy to call the cops on my rape fantasy.  It’ll be my charges pressed against theirs & it’ll be hot.

RT @marknorm My friend says he can sense whose racist.  Like the way some people have gay-dar.  He calls it radar.

RT @Adam_Newman There are 169 people in the United States named James Schwartz.  There are 0 people named Bermuda Shorts.

RT @JuliaSegal When a parent refer to “poking” someone on Facebook as “fingering”… I suggest drinking til you pass out… or crying.

All night long the lovely Kambri Crews tweeted away at Twitter.com/ComixNY!  We even read some hilarious tweets from the funny man Dave Hill and Hal Sparks sent in a TwitPic.  WitStream.com provided some silly reading during the show and Frescas, Peep candies, and Twit Wit edited by Nick Douglas and published by It Books were given out.

If you missed last night, do not fret, the next #TweetSpot is on Thursday, March 18th at 9pm at Comix!  Don’t miss it!

Oh yeah, and follow me at Twitter.com/HAlanScott.

Okay, that’s harsh, I’m not really an idiot.  Dimwitted I guess.

Wait!  The definition for “dimwit” is “A stupid person,” which I certainly am not.  What am I then?

Verbally Inadequate.  Yes, this is a good way to describe my problem.  I wonder if they have a group for people like me?  I guess they do, but I think at my age I would look strange in a 5th grade English class.

I often misuse/pronounce certain phrases and words.  It’s horrible, I get it from my mother.  Both her and I are scatter brained people, who love to talk, but struggle for the right phrase or word to illustrate our point.

What separates myself from my mother is that she does this on a very small scale, where as I stand on stage in front of strangers and use the wrong word to describe something, resulting in the audience to correcting me.  But honestly, my verbal inadequacy enhances my appeal onstage.  I’m not embarrassed by my verbal flubs, for it fuels the comedy.

But I make the same mistakes in my everyday life.  When I don’t know the meaning of something, I’ll ask, “What’s that mean?”  I’m not embarrassed or ashamed.  It’s only until people around me start to laugh that I get self-conscious.  Once I’m told the meaning of the word, people continue to laugh.  They think I’m naive, certainly uneducated, and then continue to treat me that way.

This makes me wonder, when did people turn into such douche bags?  How self-conscious must one feel that they need to poke fun at somebody else in order to feel more superior?  I am not your therapist, if you need to feel better about yourself, watch “Dr. Phil,” don’t use my honesty to deal with your inferiority complex.

I am not ashamed to admit when I don’t know something.  No shame should come of that.  Instead the information should be passed from one person to the next, thus spreading the knowledge, eventually creating harmony!

Or should I say it will create a harmonious environment?  Or maybe an environment of harmony?  Hmmmmm.

One of my favorite things about living in New York City is overhearing some of the very best conversations you will ever hear from the most color characters you will ever meet.

Recently I overheard two women talking.  The older Jewish woman told the younger woman, “What you need is to settle down with a good Jew.”  The younger woman responded that she was still young, she needed to date many types of men before settling down.  Then the older woman responded in her heavy New York Jewish accent, “No problem, settle down with a good Jewish boy, and have a little oral on the side.”

Only in New York.

Then this respectable looking woman approached a friend of mine on the street.  “Hi,” she said in a very sweet voice.  “I like your shirt.  Do you live around here?”  Perplexed, but not concerned because she reminded him of his Aunt Helen, he acknowledged that he did live in the neighborhood.  “Oh, that’s lovely.  I was thinking I could come over some time.  Perhaps I could perform fellatio on you, maybe a slow blow.”  Whoa!

Again, only in New York.

Moral of the story, older women in New York City enjoy oral sex.

Oh yeah, and my friend and the crazy woman, keep an eye out for the wedding announcement in the Times.  Whoever said a fella couldn’t have a sugar mama?

So they tell me it’s a new year.  Interesting.  I guess I should come up with some resolutions.  Or at the very least balance my checkbook.  

Does anyone even use a checkbook anymore?

When I think about it, I can’t think of many things I would do differently.  I’m physically fit and eat moderately well, so I’ve got to keep that up.  I have a wonderful job, comedy is going well (but could be better), and have an amazing group of family and friends.  What more could I ask for?

Oh yeah, maybe a little Bette Midler in my life.

I am very critical of myself.  It’s not that I have no self-confidence, it’s just that I have little self worth (Which  is different from having no self-confidence, right?  Isn’t it?).  I will get down on myself for not getting on that show, or missing out on that opportunity, or leave the bar feel worthless after nobody noticing me.  Life isn’t easy, that’s for sure, and it’s easy to feel worthless and defeated.  

But not if you’re Bette Midler.  NOTE: I’m about to gay it out, consider yourself warned.

Her confidence onstage is inspiring.  Here you have this, by most standards, plain Jane Jewish lady who is loud, obnoxious, and at times incredibly annoying.  But she doesn’t care.  She’s so self-assured of herself that any negativity just doesn’t phase her.  It’s as if she’s immune to negativity, immune to self-doubt.  This is what I need!

So my New Year’s Resolution is, in the moments of despair, think, “Focus on the inner Bette.  Be the Bette!”  

Wow, it works!  I just thought, “Whomever reads this is going to think I’m WAY gay, and kinda pathetic.”  INNER BETTE!  ”Who cares, you obviously just don’t get it!”

My family decided to go to Disney World for Christmas.  From the beginning I was not opposed to this idea, I even encouraged it.  But as the idea set in, the thought of five people, all over the age of 25, going to a theme park that would be filled with hundreds of thousands of people, mainly of the small variety (both children and Asians), seemed exhausting and daunting.

I arrived hungover on an hour’s sleep.  This was a poor decision on my part.  The merry gentleman driving the bus was too peppy for his own good (actually, I suppose he was being peppy for his own good, it’s his job as an employee of Disney).  I was not having it.  People were attempting to talk to me, but me, dressed in all black, was willing to come off as a creepy pedophile rather than engage in conversation.

Walking around one of the Disney Parks is like being in one big sociological petri dish.  People of all kinds are cramped together in one place all experiencing the exact same thing, but with various approaches and levels of understanding.

There are a large number of people using motorized wheelchairs in the park, but I’m going to venture to say that some of these people could benefit from a little walking.  Letting these people use motorized wheelchairs is just making the problem worse.  It’s like telling an alcoholic to keep drinking, just do it out of smaller glasses.

Even the way people made their way through the crowds was interesting.  There are three groups:

1. The Accommodators: These are the people who, even though surrounded, will always be the nice one and hold the door, step out of the way, let someone else go ahead of them, etc.  These people, mostly Midwesterners, though very nice, are holding things up.  I wanted to yell, “Stop being nice, just go!”
2. Small But Mighty: People of the smaller variety walk through a crowd without any regard to people or their feet, or hips.  Not just children, but also people 5′3 and below, will push their way through a crowd, pushing hips, buttocks, crotches, whatever they got to touch to get through. A special class to this group are adults pushing strollers.  These assholes people need to wear those dog collars that electrocute the dog when it leaves the yard, but instead it sends a little shock to the prick person pushing the stroller every time they hit somebody’s ankles.
3. The Douche Bags: These are the people who will aggressively respond when people are in their way, or won’t get out of it.  These people come in all stripes.  However, and I’m just judging on a purely aesthetic level, these people look like they are George W. Bush Americans, and thus are probably packing heat, which gives them authority to be a douche bag.

The gays of Disney have their eye language.  When a fellow gay is spotted in line, a visual communication is sent out saying, “In case of a hate crime, I’m looking to you for help!  Or at the very least a Twitter update.”

Mothers tell their unruly kids, “I’m not going to tell you to ‘Stop it’ again.  I’m not going to say ‘Stop it’ again.  Don’t make me say ‘Stop It’ again.”  Mom, you just said it three times, and you’re probably going to say it a fourth time.  Don’t fear confrontation, just whack the kid!

My mother was particularly hilarious.  My mother is very open with topics that usually are not discussed in a casual manner.  For example, she will tell anyone, in detail, about all of her and my father’s health ailments.  From waiters to bell hops to fellow passengers in elevators, all of them will get the full picture of their current health status.  She wears her health ailments like they’re her Letterman jacket, and the more people she tells, the more likely she’ll get pinned!

And finally, I overheard this conversation between two people about to enter the Winnie the Pooh store at Disney.

WOMAN A: Wanna go look at Pooh?

WOMAN B: OMG, yes!  I love Pooh!

You’re welcome.

Lately I’ve been hearing a lot of comedians ask the audience, “Do we really care about Tiger Woods?”  The audience always responds in the negative, but when they go home, get into bed, pop open the laptop, they’re going to PerezHilton.com to check out the latest mistress that’s stepped forward.  

Of course we’re interested!  The question that should be asked is, “Why are we surprised that we’re this interested in the Tiger Woods story?”  It’s actually a pretty amazing story if you think about it.  

• A young man becomes an expert golf player at a ridiculously young age.
• He’s black, breaking barriers at country clubs around the world, and dashing stereotypes left and right.
• He wins big, again and again and again.
• His dad dies, he cries, we cry.
• He marries a gorgeous blond, has kids.
• He inspires people across the world!

And then we learn he’s a sex addict, cheats on his wife regularly, and is no different then most other douche bag athletes out there who feel they are above everybody else, and thus can do whatever they want.  This isn’t a necessarily bad state-of-mind, it’s the way of the beast.  We amped him up, we gave him this big head.  He was going to receive the Congressional Gold Medal because we hyped him up so much!  

So we find he’s human.  He likes to get his freak on with people other then his wife.  He has a big head and does whatever he wants (or rather, whomever).  It’s fascinating people!  Just like watching Britney’s demise a couple years ago was fascinating, or Lindsay Lohan, etc.  Except in the case of Tiger, he’s legitimately talented, which makes the story more unfortunate, but also more interesting!

The story will play itself out.  Oprah will interview, he’ll admit his addictions, lose a couple of lucrative contracts, and then win another big game in a year and be back on top again.  As for us, maybe in a year when he’s back on top, instead of getting metaphorically teabagged by his greatness, maybe we’ll look at him for what he is: a dude with a problem, who has a great talent, and a big head, but we’ll look past that, because his talent is so awesome!