I had a classic anxiety dream the other night. I was in a comedy contest. I went for a walk and realized I should be getting back. I was in hills and fields though. As I headed back to the location, I realized there was someone else with me. She had on hells, so she was moving slower than I. I was torn between be a gentleman and waiting for her to catch up and running to get there on time. As is the way in dreams, every turn I took only succeeded in making me farther away from my destination. Eventually I crossed a highway, my friend in heels struggling to keep up was still up in the hills. When I got into the building, it had the feel of a high school. Hallways shot off in every direction, people stood around telling me with panic in their faces that I was next and the host was looking for me. Classic. I had not thought about my set and now I was consumed with the fear that I would miss my introduction. Right as this anxiety reached fever pitch, I woke up.
Sweet!
The other night after a show where the crowd was bathed in booze, a young comic interrogated me on all things comedy. He wondered why more established comics didn't answer basic questions and why comics didn't help each other out more. Why? It's the reason why there is no comics union. There will always be that guy willing to do a show for less. A lot of clubs exploit that. New, not so good comics get used for M.C. work all because they want to be on stage and the club sees this as a pool of free hosts. Comics are selfish creatures. Not all of them, but by the nature of what we do, we are loners. People are afraid that by giving information, they will somehow loose out on opportunity. As if there is a finite amount of opportunity to go around. It's ego too. Why bother to answer some piss ants question?
So far the weekend has been marked by smoke and alcohol. The state is on fire and my eyes are burning like coals. Fridays crowd was young and drunk. I worry about the Clubhouse. The BYOB policy is something of a mixed brown paper bag. You know? By the time I get the crowd, they have been drinking for more than hour. When I say drinking for more than an hour, I mean I was watching crowd members bring in card board cases of beer. That can't be good. It's a beautiful looking room, but it's starting to slip in quality. When BYOB is the attraction and not the comics on stage, you have to wonder whats going on. Long story short, a crowd in that state limits exactly what you can do. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but it's more crowd control than art.
Saturday I was in Napa at the Opera house headlining a benefit for the Big Sister Big brothers organization. It is always such a treat to perform in a room that is beautiful. Throw in the added karma bounce of doing it for a good cause and I am making money, you can't beat it. Every show should be this good. I had to follow Leland Cotton Brown. Way back in the day, I once watched him get a standing ovation in the old Cobb's. Needless to say, it was more than a little intimidating thinking I had to follow him. The host, Michael Pritchard is another name that is big in the San Francisco comedy scene when there was an actual scene, not the small collection of bars and big clubs we have now. If you want to know who he is, youtube the episode of TAXI, where Judd Hersch dances with a gay man in a bar. Thats Michael Pritchard. How I got on this show is beyond me, but there I was, the headliner. Just as I feared, Leland cotton brown destroyed. He had a guitar and Jack Nicholas impressions. Dear God! Follow that, smart ass. No ones attitude was like that, but I didn't want to trip over the shadow of these guys. When I was new these guys were giants. For personal and other reasons they decided against the lure of bigger careers, but they are and remain very talented people committed to various causes that help others. There is some inspiration in that. Pritchard was holding court back stage. The man is a wealth of stories and some interesting philosophy from a comic. If you know a comic, you know that they are not the most fun people to hang out with it. Thin skinned, easily distracted and given to thoughts of glory while being consumed with self doubt, anytime you meet a well adjusted comic, you listen. he was telling us that studies had been done on the brains of people who thought of themselves as reasonably happy over a period of time. Turns out the secret can be summed up in one word; compassion. Having compassion for others results in a state of well being. Now, my jaded sense of self was screaming bullshit in the back of my head, but I had to admit, even though I had to follow in the foot steps of some big names, I was curiously at ease. I wonder if it had anything to do with being a part of a show for a good cause? I ended up having a wonderful set. The jokes worked fine, but me being me, I had to talk to the guy in front.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I sell nuts."
You wait years for a serious answer like that from someone in the crowd. That was set. Screw with the nut man. The jokes did fine too. All in all, it turned out to be great. When the show was over there was even a friend and fan waiting in the lobby to give me a Star Wars T-shirt. You can't beat that folks. You really can't.
Tonight, I am Santa Cruz bound. Closer to where the state burns. My eyes have stopped watering and the stinging sensation that even drops could not rid me of has gone away. The coughing and heavy chest has gotten better too. Yesterday I woke up with a horrible pain in my chest coughing like a miner with black lung. A thin mist of blood covered my pale chest. I went from sleepy to hyper awake and freaked out in seconds. Turns out, having asthma as a kid makes me super susceptible to tiny particles in the air. Breathing it all night on my back only managed to collect them in my lungs passageways and create a nest of crud that worked like steel wool on the tissue. I was seriously panicked but I remembered I had health care.
The doctor cautioned me against needless talking (something I was being paid to do that night) and staying away from the source of fires. (Napa and Santa Cruz are prime locations for our states apocalypse)
The sky down in Santa Cruz is other worldly. The sun is a tiny brass ball with orange vapor passing in front of it. All the fires have made for an amazing sunset. I can actually taste the smoke down here. I thought it was my car at first, but nope; it's the sky. I wonder what it will be like tonight? The Booker called me to confirm around 5PM and the two guys he told me that were on the bill with me were unknown to me. That's not a bad thing, but a lot of these L.A. comics have something to prove and I have to be the guy to follow them. The show starts at 9PM, but down here that usually means 9:30. That means I will get home around 1am tonight. If I am lucky. Highway 17 slows everything down.
I am not looking forward to Monday. Much to get done and I am a lazy Dude. I had a big money private gig cancel on me for reason I cannot dispute. There was a death in the family. I am so cynical that when I first read the e-mail I thought, they must of seen me on line and decided to get someone else but didn't want to tell me that. Then I thought, thats the lie I would of told to get out of it. Christ! All this really means is I have to keep the gig I originally booked on that night.
Tonight's show will be what it will be. I will put on some Death Cab for Cutie as I drive home and in a few weeks the check will show up as a happy surprise.
Ah the life of a comic.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
666, Lesbians & Spell Check for Guns.
Years ago, when I worked as a cashier in a 7-11, this happened a few times. A customer would come to the counter with a handful of small items, I would ring them up and the total would come to, $6.66. Every time this happened, the persons eyes would go wide and they would reach for the nearest thing to change the balance. A candy bar, gum, beef jerky. Whatever. One time when this happened the guy looked up at me in shock! He reached for a plastic cigarette lighter and said, "You wanna be right with the lord."
Yes. I'm sure the Zig Zag rolling papers, condoms and breath mints are OK with the Lord.
People would get so worked up over that number. One lady made the sign of the cross when the amount came up and put back a scratcher lottery ticket explaining, "There can be no good luck for me now!"
She left the store with her head low. Her whole day was ruined now because her purchase was not six dollars and sixty sixty cents. Her purchase was the number of the beast! either she believed that she was now the Devil, or that her day would end with seeing the Devil. My point is, people have an amazing capacity to find what they are afraid of or what they are offended by. I do it too. I can make anything into a "sign." Good or bad. But numbers are just numbers and letters are just letters. We give them power. We give them meaning.
The guy who said to me, "You wanna be right with the Lord" are you kidding me Dude? You are obviously buying rolling papers to get high, attempt to have sex with someone and desire clean breath to do this. But 666 pops up on the register and you think a 99 cent lighter is going to cause the devil to stand down? Like he is in hell watching all this and can do nothing until someones purchase comes to that number. The devil must of watched the counter like a game show. "Come on, fat man! Stop staring at the candy and pick up the Mars Bar you always get. If you just add that to your twizzlers and Sunday paper, my lucky number will pop up and I will control you through your purchase! I shall reign evil down upon those close to you with...a Twizzler, Mars bar and the In Style section of the San Francisco Examiner?" I think not.
But people do get worked up about the meaning of things. Especially when two things happen to share a word or term. For example, the island of Lesbos.
Check this entry from Wikipedia.
Yes. I'm sure the Zig Zag rolling papers, condoms and breath mints are OK with the Lord.
People would get so worked up over that number. One lady made the sign of the cross when the amount came up and put back a scratcher lottery ticket explaining, "There can be no good luck for me now!"
She left the store with her head low. Her whole day was ruined now because her purchase was not six dollars and sixty sixty cents. Her purchase was the number of the beast! either she believed that she was now the Devil, or that her day would end with seeing the Devil. My point is, people have an amazing capacity to find what they are afraid of or what they are offended by. I do it too. I can make anything into a "sign." Good or bad. But numbers are just numbers and letters are just letters. We give them power. We give them meaning.
The guy who said to me, "You wanna be right with the Lord" are you kidding me Dude? You are obviously buying rolling papers to get high, attempt to have sex with someone and desire clean breath to do this. But 666 pops up on the register and you think a 99 cent lighter is going to cause the devil to stand down? Like he is in hell watching all this and can do nothing until someones purchase comes to that number. The devil must of watched the counter like a game show. "Come on, fat man! Stop staring at the candy and pick up the Mars Bar you always get. If you just add that to your twizzlers and Sunday paper, my lucky number will pop up and I will control you through your purchase! I shall reign evil down upon those close to you with...a Twizzler, Mars bar and the In Style section of the San Francisco Examiner?" I think not.
But people do get worked up about the meaning of things. Especially when two things happen to share a word or term. For example, the island of Lesbos.
Check this entry from Wikipedia.
The word lesbian is derived from the poems of Sappho, born in Lesbos, which contain powerful emotional content directed toward other females and have frequently been interpreted as expressing homosexual love. Because of this association, Lesbos and especially the town of Eresos, her birthplace, are visited frequently by lesbian tourists.
Apparently the good people who live on the island are tired of their name being associated with the whole lesbian thing. You have to feel sorry for the people who live on the island of fagitos.
The people of Lesbos are suing a Greek gay rights organization with the word lesbian in it's title. They say only residents of the island have the right to call themselves Lesbians. Being known as the capitol and birthplace of woman on woman love does not sit well with them. If the law suit succeeds, they say they will take the action global. Well God Damn! Are they aware that the word Greek also has another meaning? If you are going to sue over the meaning and use of the word lesbian, you might want to think about the name of your country also meaning anal sex. Just a though.
Then there are protest signs.
A few days ago the Supreme Court ruled that Washington D.C.'s 32 year old ban on hand guns violated the second amendment. For the pro-gun folks, this was a huge victory. The supreme court had remained silent for more than a hundred years on the meaning of the second amendment. But thats not the point. The point is this sign, held by a pro-gun owner outside the supreme court.If Guns Kill People...Do Pens Misspell Words?
Well, guns do kill people. That is what they have been made to do. Kill. There are sportsman, but their targets are in the shape of people. It sort of implies that if you want to step it up a notch, the next logical target is the real thing. Then there are of course starting pistols. When you hear that go off what are you suppose to do? Run! Why? Because it's a fucking gun! Guns are scary. There is no such thing as a, lets all take a breath and sort this out, pistol. It doesn't exist. Guns have one and only one function. To kill. They have been made extremely lethal and scientifically efficient for this purpose. Guns of course do not kill on their own. They have to be connected to the hand of a person. Why do I have a feeling that most of the people who are happy about this ruling are the same people who would not be able to spell second amendment?
Ink might come only in permanent form, but lead is definitely forever. If a kid who doesn't know any better picks up a pen, he usually doesn't show up on the news the next day. If a kid in school has spent every day of his life tormented by bullies and doesn't get the help he needs at home, cameras don't show up if he one day sits down in the cafeteria and writes a scathing journal entry. Course, if he actually writes a story about shooting people and turns that in, he will be in a shit load of trouble. The pen might be mightier than the sword, but a pen misspelling a word is not the same sort of mistake as a bullet leaving the barrel is. No one looks at a misspelled word and thinks, "Why didn't we see the signs?" I don't know why cause chances are those signs were spelled incorrectly. Pretty hard to miss those signs. There is no equivalent to spell check for guns. None that I know of. You can tear down and throw away a human shaped target, but when you get a gun outside the range and they go off, people don't circle those mistakes in red. They circle them in chalk.
If guns kill people do pens misspell words. What a douche!
Ink might come only in permanent form, but lead is definitely forever. If a kid who doesn't know any better picks up a pen, he usually doesn't show up on the news the next day. If a kid in school has spent every day of his life tormented by bullies and doesn't get the help he needs at home, cameras don't show up if he one day sits down in the cafeteria and writes a scathing journal entry. Course, if he actually writes a story about shooting people and turns that in, he will be in a shit load of trouble. The pen might be mightier than the sword, but a pen misspelling a word is not the same sort of mistake as a bullet leaving the barrel is. No one looks at a misspelled word and thinks, "Why didn't we see the signs?" I don't know why cause chances are those signs were spelled incorrectly. Pretty hard to miss those signs. There is no equivalent to spell check for guns. None that I know of. You can tear down and throw away a human shaped target, but when you get a gun outside the range and they go off, people don't circle those mistakes in red. They circle them in chalk.
If guns kill people do pens misspell words. What a douche!
Cobb's
Cobb's was awesome last night. Paul F. Tompkins is a master story teller as well as a pretty nice guy. It's a great room when it's packed and last night, it was packed. Standing in the back of the room and looking at him on stage I wondered if I looked that cool up there? It's a classy set up these days down at Cobb's. Gone is the painted back drop no one ever understood and instead, there is a classic black curtain lit with colored spot lights. It's a great stage!
Nico was the opener and Paul was the headliner. In my hot dog T-shirt and second hand leather coat, that made me the worse dressed comic of the evening. The crowd was good for me, but they were so obviously there for Paul. I get so envious of these guys who can draw hundreds of people on a Thursday night. It's all about exposure. The dude is all over VH1 and does commentary for the Keith Olberman show too. Damn! Could that be any cooler?
After the show, Nico had me laughing so hard that I was crying as I tried to talk to people on the way out the door. I was pissed that I forgot fliers to hand out to people. These were so the people I want coming to my shows!
And that's it. No wild story this time or crazy heckler situation. Just a good night at a great club with a smart crowd. You know, the way it ought to be all the time.
Nico was the opener and Paul was the headliner. In my hot dog T-shirt and second hand leather coat, that made me the worse dressed comic of the evening. The crowd was good for me, but they were so obviously there for Paul. I get so envious of these guys who can draw hundreds of people on a Thursday night. It's all about exposure. The dude is all over VH1 and does commentary for the Keith Olberman show too. Damn! Could that be any cooler?
After the show, Nico had me laughing so hard that I was crying as I tried to talk to people on the way out the door. I was pissed that I forgot fliers to hand out to people. These were so the people I want coming to my shows!
And that's it. No wild story this time or crazy heckler situation. Just a good night at a great club with a smart crowd. You know, the way it ought to be all the time.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
WTF...
RALEIGH, N.C. — Thanks to some text message-savvy grandchildren, North Carolina drivers whose license plates have the potentially offensive "WTF" letter combination can replace the tags for free.
Well, there you go folks. We have now decided that Ritalin cracked Myspace junkies will determine what combination of letters are deemed offensive. George Carlin talked about the 7 words you couldn't say on TV, we now have three letters you can't use on cars. Great. All I can really say about this is, WTF?
This is serious? Please. People seem to think that the law should keep them from being offended at anything any time. It's letters! Thats all. Letters. Will we someday live in a time when saying a single letter to a person will be taken as an insult?
"Dude. You are such a W!"
I guess we already live in those times if you think of the President. What Hitler did for that style of mustache, Bush does for the letter W.
I heard V and X won't even appear with W on Sesame street anymore.
If W is now going to be partly offensive due to it's association with the combo WTF, then what are we to think when we see two W's in the WWJD combo? Seriously? This is of great concern to me as a reader and writer who encounters letters on a daily basis. What other potential combination of letters lurk in the alphabet ready to poison our children's minds and render the backs of cars foul?
Here are a couple of other combinations I find offensive and dangerous in these times.
IRS
CIA
FBI
NSA
You get the idea.
Well, there you go folks. We have now decided that Ritalin cracked Myspace junkies will determine what combination of letters are deemed offensive. George Carlin talked about the 7 words you couldn't say on TV, we now have three letters you can't use on cars. Great. All I can really say about this is, WTF?
This is serious? Please. People seem to think that the law should keep them from being offended at anything any time. It's letters! Thats all. Letters. Will we someday live in a time when saying a single letter to a person will be taken as an insult?
"Dude. You are such a W!"
I guess we already live in those times if you think of the President. What Hitler did for that style of mustache, Bush does for the letter W.
I heard V and X won't even appear with W on Sesame street anymore.
If W is now going to be partly offensive due to it's association with the combo WTF, then what are we to think when we see two W's in the WWJD combo? Seriously? This is of great concern to me as a reader and writer who encounters letters on a daily basis. What other potential combination of letters lurk in the alphabet ready to poison our children's minds and render the backs of cars foul?
Here are a couple of other combinations I find offensive and dangerous in these times.
IRS
CIA
FBI
NSA
You get the idea.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Gloom and Doom Report
Ah the news.
I have been so preoccupied with my own gloom and doom lately that I have almost completely missed out on the worlds gloom and doom.
Iowa is now one of the great lakes, the Philippines got hit with a massive storm and China is still dealing with the after effects of an Earthquake leveling an entire city of millions. Meanwhile, California reportedly has 800 separate wild fires going. Food prices are on the rise, gas at the pump is on the rise and tomatoes are the deadliest thing you can find at airports. Not terrorists.
The Taliban, by the way, had a prison break in Afghanistan. 400 inmates got out and have now taken over a town. Good thing we have troops close by!
Like in Iraq.
A campaign worker for McCain has been let go for saying a terrorist attack on America right now would be good for them. Damn! Looking at the current state of the country, exactly what could a terrorist do to us? Are terrorists handing out BLT's to relief workers along the banks of the Mississippi? Are they banks foreclosing on homes? Are they FEMA telling people they didn't flood insurance only to turn around and say, you did?
The Bible people are almost beside themselves with the belief that all these natural disasters mean we are in the end times. The prospect of a black guy in the White House seems to be one of their four horse men of the apocalypse too. Or, we could all face reality and prepare ourselves for a readjusting and an eventual return to more sane times. But first, we have to hit bottom. That means putting regulations back in place on the companies that control the resources that have a direct effect on Americans life, liberty and the pursuit of our happiness.
Oil is going through the roof not because the "Arab's" are raising the price. It is the speculators on Wall Street who are creating an artificial lack of supply. Remember ENRON? California deregulated the energy business. ENRON, a company that didn't make energy but owned the power lines, jumped in the second regulations were lifted and made billions of dollars while whole cities were blacked out because there was a shortage of power "on paper." Same thing is going on now with oil. The richest one percent of Americans who had their tax's cut by Bush and friends, are now being given the legal ability to fuck their fellow, poorer Americans by artificially driving the price of oil up. The government regulations put in place to prevent just this sort of thing from happening were removed. Surprise! The rich people did not trickle down their record profits to the rest of us because of tax cuts. That is the lie they use to sell this crazy idea every time they do it. Even Bush's Dad called the economic their Voodoo. Instead, we have been getting a golden shower and being told we better learn to love it.
The weather has gone nuts because for the last 50 years we have been belching TONS of carbon into the sky. In the last ten years India and China have almost caught up to us in that department. The first effect of "Global Warming" is more frequent and more intense storms. Have you been watching the weather channel lately? A report that said this would happen has a 20 year old date on it's cover. NASA recently admitted that politically appointed staffers were directed by the White House to minimize reports on the effects of global warming. People still want to argue that blasting tons and tons of pollutants into the air can have no effect on the climate. Really? These are the same type of people who put Galileo under house arrest for saying the Earth went round the Sun.
These are not the end times folks, these are the consequences of what we have been doing. Or better put, this is the result of letting the people in power direct us into oblivion for the sake of making money.
Every time some one tells you we need less government so business can prosper, point to ENRON and now the speculators driving the cost of oil through the roof and ask them, how much is enough? Those regulations are put in place because people with a lot of power and money, tend to get greedy. Maybe you have noticed.
I have been so preoccupied with my own gloom and doom lately that I have almost completely missed out on the worlds gloom and doom.
Iowa is now one of the great lakes, the Philippines got hit with a massive storm and China is still dealing with the after effects of an Earthquake leveling an entire city of millions. Meanwhile, California reportedly has 800 separate wild fires going. Food prices are on the rise, gas at the pump is on the rise and tomatoes are the deadliest thing you can find at airports. Not terrorists.
The Taliban, by the way, had a prison break in Afghanistan. 400 inmates got out and have now taken over a town. Good thing we have troops close by!
Like in Iraq.
A campaign worker for McCain has been let go for saying a terrorist attack on America right now would be good for them. Damn! Looking at the current state of the country, exactly what could a terrorist do to us? Are terrorists handing out BLT's to relief workers along the banks of the Mississippi? Are they banks foreclosing on homes? Are they FEMA telling people they didn't flood insurance only to turn around and say, you did?
The Bible people are almost beside themselves with the belief that all these natural disasters mean we are in the end times. The prospect of a black guy in the White House seems to be one of their four horse men of the apocalypse too. Or, we could all face reality and prepare ourselves for a readjusting and an eventual return to more sane times. But first, we have to hit bottom. That means putting regulations back in place on the companies that control the resources that have a direct effect on Americans life, liberty and the pursuit of our happiness.
Oil is going through the roof not because the "Arab's" are raising the price. It is the speculators on Wall Street who are creating an artificial lack of supply. Remember ENRON? California deregulated the energy business. ENRON, a company that didn't make energy but owned the power lines, jumped in the second regulations were lifted and made billions of dollars while whole cities were blacked out because there was a shortage of power "on paper." Same thing is going on now with oil. The richest one percent of Americans who had their tax's cut by Bush and friends, are now being given the legal ability to fuck their fellow, poorer Americans by artificially driving the price of oil up. The government regulations put in place to prevent just this sort of thing from happening were removed. Surprise! The rich people did not trickle down their record profits to the rest of us because of tax cuts. That is the lie they use to sell this crazy idea every time they do it. Even Bush's Dad called the economic their Voodoo. Instead, we have been getting a golden shower and being told we better learn to love it.
The weather has gone nuts because for the last 50 years we have been belching TONS of carbon into the sky. In the last ten years India and China have almost caught up to us in that department. The first effect of "Global Warming" is more frequent and more intense storms. Have you been watching the weather channel lately? A report that said this would happen has a 20 year old date on it's cover. NASA recently admitted that politically appointed staffers were directed by the White House to minimize reports on the effects of global warming. People still want to argue that blasting tons and tons of pollutants into the air can have no effect on the climate. Really? These are the same type of people who put Galileo under house arrest for saying the Earth went round the Sun.
These are not the end times folks, these are the consequences of what we have been doing. Or better put, this is the result of letting the people in power direct us into oblivion for the sake of making money.
Every time some one tells you we need less government so business can prosper, point to ENRON and now the speculators driving the cost of oil through the roof and ask them, how much is enough? Those regulations are put in place because people with a lot of power and money, tend to get greedy. Maybe you have noticed.
Monday, June 23, 2008
"...if you are reading this, it can only mean one thing..."
I just told my friend about falling asleep inside my car with the engine running. She said, "What if that would of happened in a garage? You are lucky to be alive!"
I didn't get it for a second then hit me, people would of thought I committed suicide!
To avoid this situation in the future, I am preparing a suicide note now. This is tricky. It has to be worded just right. If I say in the note, it was an accident, people will read it and go, "How sad. He thought his whole life was just an accident."
I'm adopted. It is. But I don't mean that in this case.
Next idea; I didn't mean for this to happen. Again, even if I fall asleep in my car with the engine running and die, people will read this note and assume that I not only committed suicide, but that I was being dramatic. I think people already think that of me, but still, a suicide note should be short but epic. Will get back to this later on. I just think it's good to be prepared. I mean, I don't really own anything so I don't need a will. Anything I thought worthy of keeping is either already in my blog here or in a card board box at the foot of my bed.
To eliminate all possible chances of people assuming I killed myself when instead I was simply an idiot and natural selection bumped me off, you have to write something that sounds very dry and very specific to the situation.
If you find me slumped over against the wheel of my car and don't find any other note but this one, I didn't kill myself. I fell asleep at the wheel with the engine running. Sorry I was an idiot.
There are two problems with this.
1. Now I have to write a note for every possible stupid thing I have ever done that I might do again resulting in my death. I could write a hundred notes a day till the day I die and still not get them all down on paper. Note to reader; if found dead while writing suicide notes, it was probably old age and not any of the dumb things that did me in.
2. I have left a giant loop hole if someone wants to murder me. Besides, I don't want my last words to sound like a disclaimer. People might still think I did it on purpose anyway. There is no good solution to this unique problem. I sorta like the disclaimer idea though. It is very multi-purpose. I could die in any number of stupid ways. So maybe a disclaimer is the way to go. This is the note I am going to now keep in the glove compartment of my car.
Life was OK. Your results may vary. Inspector 68.
I think the inspector 68 is a nice touch. It doesn't mean anything, but it seems mysterious and kinda like those labels in clothes where it just says, inspected by number 12. People might think it was clue to a safe deposit box or the to the person that killed me or some final enduring mystery that will live on in chat rooms and Myspace comments. You know, what passes for eternity now.
The thing is, I really got to thinking about this. I think that if someone had found me slumped over in the front seat, people could make a good argument for me wanting to end it all. Don't get worried or sad folks, I would not exactly say I am great, but I am well and this is not a subtle cry for help.
Or is it?
Gotcha! Thanks for caring folks.
Seriously though. If people found you in that situation would they think it was an accident or you did it on purpose? Look, I know my life is crap. You know how I know? I get phone calls from friends with wives and houses and careers that I haven't heard from in a while. They all start out the same way. "Something terrible just happened to me and I knew if anyone could understand it, it would be you."
I am the Guru of shit.
Thanks friends. Maybe someday after a particular hard part of your life people will find you at the wheel of your car with the note, Life was OK. Your results may vary. Inspector 68.
I think I just admitted to having homicidal thoughts toward friends.
Watch it!
Just kidding.
So, after much thought (About an hours worth) here are two notes. One is for an actual suicide and one is for an accidental death.
1. Actual suicide: Thanks, thats been my time.
Classy, ha? If you find that note on me then you know I had enough. I 'got the light' as we say in the biz.
2. Accidental death: At exactly the same hour as my death, my X girlfriend will also pass from this world. I hope you are right, my beloved.
You have to love this! It's revenge on a beautiful scale. Dark. But beautiful. Lets think this through. Because of my preponderance for doing dumb things and the general bitching I do about the state of my happiness, there is a good chance an accidental death will appear to be a suicide. In the event of this, it will look like I left a note detailing a suicide pact. When people find her still among the living, they will give her a hard time and say, "Can you believe how cold she was? Making a pact with him and then not going through with it!"
I know. Its pretty evil, but you have to admit thats pretty good! I am thinking of pitching a whole new line of cards to Hallmark. Graceful exists, I will call it. No wait, better yet, a brand new type of fortune cookie to be distributed at your funeral! Yeah. You pick the message before you die and we will hand them out at the service. It could say something as easy as, It seemed like a good bet. Or, Spring Break 09! Think of the possibilities!
That could be one too. We could specialize in various jobs or occasions. I am going to look for a domain name in a second now. I think the site is a tomb stone morphing into a fortune cookie with these words bellow; Thanks for stopping by. Obviously you have figured out that you do some pretty dumb shit from time to time. Since death will be traumatic for those you leave behind, don't let them feel the extra burden of thinking you killed yourself. Pick one of our sayings for the appropriate occasion or write your own and we will put it in a cookie to be delivered any where in the world upon notice of your death.
Come on! Tell me that wouldn't be an over night success?
I didn't get it for a second then hit me, people would of thought I committed suicide!
To avoid this situation in the future, I am preparing a suicide note now. This is tricky. It has to be worded just right. If I say in the note, it was an accident, people will read it and go, "How sad. He thought his whole life was just an accident."
I'm adopted. It is. But I don't mean that in this case.
Next idea; I didn't mean for this to happen. Again, even if I fall asleep in my car with the engine running and die, people will read this note and assume that I not only committed suicide, but that I was being dramatic. I think people already think that of me, but still, a suicide note should be short but epic. Will get back to this later on. I just think it's good to be prepared. I mean, I don't really own anything so I don't need a will. Anything I thought worthy of keeping is either already in my blog here or in a card board box at the foot of my bed.
To eliminate all possible chances of people assuming I killed myself when instead I was simply an idiot and natural selection bumped me off, you have to write something that sounds very dry and very specific to the situation.
If you find me slumped over against the wheel of my car and don't find any other note but this one, I didn't kill myself. I fell asleep at the wheel with the engine running. Sorry I was an idiot.
There are two problems with this.
1. Now I have to write a note for every possible stupid thing I have ever done that I might do again resulting in my death. I could write a hundred notes a day till the day I die and still not get them all down on paper. Note to reader; if found dead while writing suicide notes, it was probably old age and not any of the dumb things that did me in.
2. I have left a giant loop hole if someone wants to murder me. Besides, I don't want my last words to sound like a disclaimer. People might still think I did it on purpose anyway. There is no good solution to this unique problem. I sorta like the disclaimer idea though. It is very multi-purpose. I could die in any number of stupid ways. So maybe a disclaimer is the way to go. This is the note I am going to now keep in the glove compartment of my car.
Life was OK. Your results may vary. Inspector 68.
I think the inspector 68 is a nice touch. It doesn't mean anything, but it seems mysterious and kinda like those labels in clothes where it just says, inspected by number 12. People might think it was clue to a safe deposit box or the to the person that killed me or some final enduring mystery that will live on in chat rooms and Myspace comments. You know, what passes for eternity now.
The thing is, I really got to thinking about this. I think that if someone had found me slumped over in the front seat, people could make a good argument for me wanting to end it all. Don't get worried or sad folks, I would not exactly say I am great, but I am well and this is not a subtle cry for help.
Or is it?
Gotcha! Thanks for caring folks.
Seriously though. If people found you in that situation would they think it was an accident or you did it on purpose? Look, I know my life is crap. You know how I know? I get phone calls from friends with wives and houses and careers that I haven't heard from in a while. They all start out the same way. "Something terrible just happened to me and I knew if anyone could understand it, it would be you."
I am the Guru of shit.
Thanks friends. Maybe someday after a particular hard part of your life people will find you at the wheel of your car with the note, Life was OK. Your results may vary. Inspector 68.
I think I just admitted to having homicidal thoughts toward friends.
Watch it!
Just kidding.
So, after much thought (About an hours worth) here are two notes. One is for an actual suicide and one is for an accidental death.
1. Actual suicide: Thanks, thats been my time.
Classy, ha? If you find that note on me then you know I had enough. I 'got the light' as we say in the biz.
2. Accidental death: At exactly the same hour as my death, my X girlfriend will also pass from this world. I hope you are right, my beloved.
You have to love this! It's revenge on a beautiful scale. Dark. But beautiful. Lets think this through. Because of my preponderance for doing dumb things and the general bitching I do about the state of my happiness, there is a good chance an accidental death will appear to be a suicide. In the event of this, it will look like I left a note detailing a suicide pact. When people find her still among the living, they will give her a hard time and say, "Can you believe how cold she was? Making a pact with him and then not going through with it!"
I know. Its pretty evil, but you have to admit thats pretty good! I am thinking of pitching a whole new line of cards to Hallmark. Graceful exists, I will call it. No wait, better yet, a brand new type of fortune cookie to be distributed at your funeral! Yeah. You pick the message before you die and we will hand them out at the service. It could say something as easy as, It seemed like a good bet. Or, Spring Break 09! Think of the possibilities!
That could be one too. We could specialize in various jobs or occasions. I am going to look for a domain name in a second now. I think the site is a tomb stone morphing into a fortune cookie with these words bellow; Thanks for stopping by. Obviously you have figured out that you do some pretty dumb shit from time to time. Since death will be traumatic for those you leave behind, don't let them feel the extra burden of thinking you killed yourself. Pick one of our sayings for the appropriate occasion or write your own and we will put it in a cookie to be delivered any where in the world upon notice of your death.
Come on! Tell me that wouldn't be an over night success?
Home
Nebraska was a surprise for many reason and in many ways. The people displayed a generosity of spirit I have never come across in all my years of travel in this country. When I hear conservative, I will understand now that they are not all alike. Hopefully, I have left a positive impression too. Norfolk, is America. It is the America you want to believe we are and the America you want to believe we came from. It is the three block main street and the people waving at each other. It is a church on every other corner, but it is also the pastures and fields I find what I imagine they must find in those churches. I like knowing that Norfolk is a real place with real people leading normal lives. The thought that families still farm is comforting in some way. Norfolk is the kind of town you can't wait to get out of when you are young. But it is also the town you can't wait to get back to. It explained a lot of why Johnny Carson was the way he was. His temperament and interview style was always patient, always sincere and never really about him. That was his great talent. I remember watching him over my dad's shoulder as a kid. My parents would leave their bedroom door open at night. I would sneak out of bed and stand just outside the open door in the hall watching the comics. I understood very little of the jokes, but I could hear my Dad laugh and knew that it was funny. This went on for years before I was old enough to sit at the foot of their bed and watch. Eventually, I watched alone in the basement den. Being there, in his home town and seeing what he came from, I thought about that memory again, watching him over my Dad's shoulder. When I did get a joke, I had to work hard at not laughing so I wouldn't be heard. I kinda felt like thats what the crowd was doing sometimes.
My favorite memories from this are not the big bright ones. They are the little moments when I was talking with Robert Mac in the back of the Bus on the way to the airport. It was having Dick Cavett tell me I reminded him in some strange way of David Bowie before turning away to someone else leaving me with my mouth hanging open. It was being on a hay ride with 20 other confused comics trying earnestly to listen to a lecture on watering crops and while fitting this moment into reality. Those were all great, but what really made an impression was the last show. I am not use to sitting still and watching stand-up. I fidget too much anyway. But on the last night, I sat in the audience and watched. People look so small from the crowd. But each person, some more polished than others, stepped out on the huge stage and filled it from their first word. It made me hungry to be on stage. It made me realize again how fucking cool it is to do what we do as comics. It made me want to go home and write jokes. Not long winded stories or bits that I could never tell on TV, but solid practical jokes like I was hearing now. That was the moment I realized I still have a creative level as well as a business level to reach. I thought I was creatively far along. Watching these other comics, I know that I am very very good, but I also know now that there is a lot more I can do with what I have. The joke, that short sentence of set up and punch, is still an amazing thing to watch when done right. I did feel like a lot of the delivery was very similar though. Everyone started to sound like they had the same cadence. If anything, I want to keep my delivery, but I can see where the tightly worded, beautifully constructed joke is the thing to aim for. Personality will take care of the rest.
I hate travel. Not the seeing new places, but the actual moving from one place to another part of it all. I love staying in hotels too. It doesn't matter if it is a big one or a small one. I know I have stayed in way too many though. Every knock at my bedroom door now I just say, "No thanks! Not today!"
It took all day to get back into San Francisco. When I finally made it, I found the rarest of things; a parking space directly in front of my apartment door! I wanted to do a set at the Punchline last night. I love coming home from a long road gig and stretching out in the living room that is the Punchline. Thats how comfortable I feel on that stage! I couldn't nap. I showered, put on what was left of my clean clothes and got in my car a little reluctant to let this space go. I thought about taking the bus. I turned the key, pushed the button for the radio to come on and thats the last thing I recall. The next moment a roommate was knocking on my window asking me if I was alright. Near as we could tell, I feel asleep right there on the drivers wheel. The car ran until the gas was gone and thats where he found me at 5:30AM this morning. Damn! I really need to take better care of myself. The dreams were crazy vivid. Those dreams you only have when you have been fighting sleep for hours. What I was thinking and dreaming merged seamlessly. One second I was thinking about the Greased Pig story and the next I was in a field with a shovel looking at an impossibly huge sun thinking, that is not the normal color. Then, my roommate beating on the window thinking something terrible had happened to me. I had to go to the nearest Gas station, wait for them to open and get gas before I could get coffee. After I filled up again and headed down the road to Starbucks, I got pulled over by a cop and given a fix it ticket. One headlight and a brake light were out. What! The car simply sat in a garage for a week. Excellent. Nothing like starting the day with no gas, waking up in the same clothes you had the night before and having a cop inform you that you must now spend money on a car problem or face a fine by the state.
How did your day start?
My favorite memories from this are not the big bright ones. They are the little moments when I was talking with Robert Mac in the back of the Bus on the way to the airport. It was having Dick Cavett tell me I reminded him in some strange way of David Bowie before turning away to someone else leaving me with my mouth hanging open. It was being on a hay ride with 20 other confused comics trying earnestly to listen to a lecture on watering crops and while fitting this moment into reality. Those were all great, but what really made an impression was the last show. I am not use to sitting still and watching stand-up. I fidget too much anyway. But on the last night, I sat in the audience and watched. People look so small from the crowd. But each person, some more polished than others, stepped out on the huge stage and filled it from their first word. It made me hungry to be on stage. It made me realize again how fucking cool it is to do what we do as comics. It made me want to go home and write jokes. Not long winded stories or bits that I could never tell on TV, but solid practical jokes like I was hearing now. That was the moment I realized I still have a creative level as well as a business level to reach. I thought I was creatively far along. Watching these other comics, I know that I am very very good, but I also know now that there is a lot more I can do with what I have. The joke, that short sentence of set up and punch, is still an amazing thing to watch when done right. I did feel like a lot of the delivery was very similar though. Everyone started to sound like they had the same cadence. If anything, I want to keep my delivery, but I can see where the tightly worded, beautifully constructed joke is the thing to aim for. Personality will take care of the rest.
I hate travel. Not the seeing new places, but the actual moving from one place to another part of it all. I love staying in hotels too. It doesn't matter if it is a big one or a small one. I know I have stayed in way too many though. Every knock at my bedroom door now I just say, "No thanks! Not today!"
It took all day to get back into San Francisco. When I finally made it, I found the rarest of things; a parking space directly in front of my apartment door! I wanted to do a set at the Punchline last night. I love coming home from a long road gig and stretching out in the living room that is the Punchline. Thats how comfortable I feel on that stage! I couldn't nap. I showered, put on what was left of my clean clothes and got in my car a little reluctant to let this space go. I thought about taking the bus. I turned the key, pushed the button for the radio to come on and thats the last thing I recall. The next moment a roommate was knocking on my window asking me if I was alright. Near as we could tell, I feel asleep right there on the drivers wheel. The car ran until the gas was gone and thats where he found me at 5:30AM this morning. Damn! I really need to take better care of myself. The dreams were crazy vivid. Those dreams you only have when you have been fighting sleep for hours. What I was thinking and dreaming merged seamlessly. One second I was thinking about the Greased Pig story and the next I was in a field with a shovel looking at an impossibly huge sun thinking, that is not the normal color. Then, my roommate beating on the window thinking something terrible had happened to me. I had to go to the nearest Gas station, wait for them to open and get gas before I could get coffee. After I filled up again and headed down the road to Starbucks, I got pulled over by a cop and given a fix it ticket. One headlight and a brake light were out. What! The car simply sat in a garage for a week. Excellent. Nothing like starting the day with no gas, waking up in the same clothes you had the night before and having a cop inform you that you must now spend money on a car problem or face a fine by the state.
How did your day start?
Carlin
We lost one of the greats today. George Carlin was the comics comic who made the crowd do what the best of us desire to accomplish; think while laughing. There are only a few comics who blazed the trail we take for granted. Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks, Richard Pryor and George Carlin. They were not just stand-up comics. They were philosophers who accurately spoke about the insanity around them. I always felt like Carlin was more an anthropologist with punch lines, than anything else. He would stay quiet for years and then blast back onto the scene with his latest observations on America. More silly than Hicks and more sane with his drugs than Bruce and Pryor, he defined not just a style that would be copied by many comics who came after him, but he took the risks and paid the price that allowed any comic to say what they want on stage in front of a live audience. I will admit to not being his biggest fan, but I always respected the man for his work and always felt like I owed him a debt of gratitude for making the English language we actually speak a living thing that he pulled art from.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I'm Up!
Tonight I will not sleep. Instead, I will be alone at my key board updating my Facebook status every few hours in some misguided idea that I am reaching out. I will sleep on the bus that leaves here in the morning at 7:30. I will sleep in the airport and on the airplane and maybe through the next anxiety attack if I am lucky. I have stayed in so many hotels that I greet any knock at the door like it's the maid. "No thanks! Not today."
Can you put a do not disturb sign on your life? I think, I have.
How do you let anyone in when you have put all your energy into building your defenses? How can people you have vastly conflicting philosophies in life with be so kind to you?
Watching the inky storms light up from the inside and move past my hotel window as delicate as Bee wings has been a highlight to this whole unique adventure. Isn't that what life is suppose to be? Who said it? John Lennon? Life is what happens when your making plans? Or is it waiting for something to happen? I don't know.
Tonight, I saw the Booker of the David Letterman show give a bunch of comics advice in the parking lot of a HiVe grocery store before he got into a limo twice the size of my bedroom.
I saw Dick Cavott reminisce about a time on TV when there were no pre-interviews and go way long, freaking out the production staff. I saw Robert Kline tell jokes about the fallacy of the Iraq war. The crowd went dead quiet, too polite to ever heckle and then switch to dick jokes before doing a long musical bit with a piano to close on. It killed. Tonight, I realized we have become a society of narrators, obsessively updating our Myspace and Facebook status messages. We look down at our phones and keyboards and life passes us by as we tell no one and everyone that we are awake at four in the morning and craving cookie dough over human contact, but someone might find it interesting to know that, so I will type it into the correct box and it will neatly appear for all the universe to see and for no one in particular.
Dick Cavott gave the best description of depression I have ever heard. If there was a magic wand sitting ten feet away from you and you knew that you could wave it and all this sadness that sits on your mind would be lifted, you would feel like it was too hard to reach for it. That's it!
My plan is to just stay awake till the morning. I will try to sleep on the two hour Bus ride to the airfield. I will try to sleep on the two hour flight to Phoenix. I will try to sleep on the one hour lay over before I try to sleep on the two hour flight to San Francisco and what is, for better or worse, the life I have created.
You know what I want more than anything right now? I want to make out with a hot chick who is cool. Remember kissing? I feel like that is what people see stand-up comedy as; kissing. It is the thing you do on your way to the thing you really want to do. That is a metaphor that can go wrong quickly. Why the fuck not?
This is a photo of me at now.
If I could post all of this as an update I would. Someone might care to know that my mind is heavy. Or that I am in Nebraska. Or that I am thinking about making coffee with the little coffee pot in my room. Or that I have a million little things to do when I get back. Or that I bought a shirt at Wall-Mart yesterday against my better judgement. Or something that will make them send a pithy comment and we can both feel like we have made some meaningful contact at this late late filter free hour. I'm up!
Can you put a do not disturb sign on your life? I think, I have.
How do you let anyone in when you have put all your energy into building your defenses? How can people you have vastly conflicting philosophies in life with be so kind to you?
Watching the inky storms light up from the inside and move past my hotel window as delicate as Bee wings has been a highlight to this whole unique adventure. Isn't that what life is suppose to be? Who said it? John Lennon? Life is what happens when your making plans? Or is it waiting for something to happen? I don't know.
Tonight, I saw the Booker of the David Letterman show give a bunch of comics advice in the parking lot of a HiVe grocery store before he got into a limo twice the size of my bedroom.
I saw Dick Cavott reminisce about a time on TV when there were no pre-interviews and go way long, freaking out the production staff. I saw Robert Kline tell jokes about the fallacy of the Iraq war. The crowd went dead quiet, too polite to ever heckle and then switch to dick jokes before doing a long musical bit with a piano to close on. It killed. Tonight, I realized we have become a society of narrators, obsessively updating our Myspace and Facebook status messages. We look down at our phones and keyboards and life passes us by as we tell no one and everyone that we are awake at four in the morning and craving cookie dough over human contact, but someone might find it interesting to know that, so I will type it into the correct box and it will neatly appear for all the universe to see and for no one in particular.
Dick Cavott gave the best description of depression I have ever heard. If there was a magic wand sitting ten feet away from you and you knew that you could wave it and all this sadness that sits on your mind would be lifted, you would feel like it was too hard to reach for it. That's it!
My plan is to just stay awake till the morning. I will try to sleep on the two hour Bus ride to the airfield. I will try to sleep on the two hour flight to Phoenix. I will try to sleep on the one hour lay over before I try to sleep on the two hour flight to San Francisco and what is, for better or worse, the life I have created.
You know what I want more than anything right now? I want to make out with a hot chick who is cool. Remember kissing? I feel like that is what people see stand-up comedy as; kissing. It is the thing you do on your way to the thing you really want to do. That is a metaphor that can go wrong quickly. Why the fuck not?
This is a photo of me at now.
If I could post all of this as an update I would. Someone might care to know that my mind is heavy. Or that I am in Nebraska. Or that I am thinking about making coffee with the little coffee pot in my room. Or that I have a million little things to do when I get back. Or that I bought a shirt at Wall-Mart yesterday against my better judgement. Or something that will make them send a pithy comment and we can both feel like we have made some meaningful contact at this late late filter free hour. I'm up!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Nebraska! Part Three. Or; I'm Still Here.
Tonight, the eight winners will compete against each other for the five thousand dollars and the attention of Edie Brill. I am on the fence if I even want to go or not. I know, it seems rather small of me to not show up at the thing, but the idea of watching other comics do their thing from the sidelines is a little depressing. Frankly, if I could, I would be on the next flight home. Today we went to a farm. First it was a two lane modern black top road, then a narrow road and eventually just a dirt path to a clump of trees where a beautiful new house sat under shade. They had prepared a picnic lunch of hot dogs and burgers for us. Again, everyone was so kind and so polite. It was very sweet. It made me think of just how much we have lost living in the city. How much I take for granted and how much I just nod my head at as normal. Such is life. It was on the way to the calf feeding that we passed a barn holding an airplane that I really got an idea of just how lazy I am. You see, the guy who lives here with his family built it in his spare time. He has a wife, kids, runs a small family farm and when he is not busy, he built an airplane. OK. It's a small two seater, but it works! I have trouble building plastic models of planes that work. This guy built a real honest to God flying plane. God I'm lazy!
Sure enough, there were two calves afraid of us at first, but once they got close and we held the bottles out, they came right up to the fence and drank. They were shy, a little skittish, but warm and sweet with large brown eyes and friendly faces. I felt a little queasy knowing I had just finished two burgers and a hot dog. Then it was off for the hay ride!
I gotta tell you. Never in a million years when the Booker for the David Letterman show called, did I foresee being driven around on a flat bed trailer sitting on bales of hay listening to an explanation on water pivots. Pivots are the large metal things on wheels you see out in the fields. They turn slowly giving every part of the field just enough water. The real surprise came when I said, "Show us the marijuana!" The farmer turned around, bent down into a small patch of weeds and pulled up the unmistakable leaf that anyone can identify. It surprised a lot of us. It's not the pot you would smoke though. It's the male plant so it's lacking in any THC. It's just wild hemp. It just grows because it can out here. Makes you wonder why we don't grow it on a large scale for rope and clothing if it's so easy. Oh yeah, were America and crazy about drugs. They have no redeeming benefits. Right?
So there we were, sitting on bales of hay being driven across a cow pasture under a post card perfect Midwestern sky of bright blue and clouds that float like towers made of cotton. It's beautiful, but what the fuck does any of this have to do about comedy? Surreal is the only word to describe the feeling most of us were having. I am in the middle of a cow pasture in the middle of Nebraska and I am here to further my career in stand-up comedy? Yup. That about sums it up.
I do understand that this is a big deal for the town. The front page has been about us all week. The local radio is about us. They want to meet us and talk to us and feel like they have touched something outside their own small life. I don't say that with any big city sarcasm either. Their life might be small in scale to what I am use to, but it's quiet, clean and apparently you can build a plane in your spare time. It's sweet. Every where we go we are treated like visiting royalty. People wave at one an other and ask if we are one of the comedians. They want us to be what they think of when they sit down after a long day and turn on TV. The truth is, we are both a little surprised by each other I think. Small town America is not populated by toothless hicks and dumb hillbilly's. The people are well mannered, intelligent and more willing to help you than anyone I know in San Francisco. I feel guilty about the joke I do about there being nothing between California and New York. On the flip side of the coin, we are not all dressed in suits and quick witted with a willingness to listen and be a part of new things. For the most part, a comic is a solitary creature that wants as little contact with the audience as possible. Seriously. I know that might sound ridiculous if you are a crowd member or towns folk, but the truth is, we are odd people who are trying to make a living with an extremely narrow range of abilities. We want to be able to observe and then go report it on stage. At least I do. I don't want to be the center of attention all the time. So the hay rides and cook offs and trips to fossil beds, yeah, they are all great and I am glad that my sense of guilt propelled me to go on them, but sitting there today under a spectacular blue sky with hay getting in my pants making my ass itch, all makes the frustration incredibly surreal. I am holding a giant baby bottle as a calf drinks from it. Is this getting me on Letterman? A man explains to me the unique geo-chemistry that had to occur for these rhino's to be fossilized so perfectly. Do I put this on my bio when I try to get a manager? A waitress patiently describes exactly what Dorothy Lynch dressing is best on. This will get me on a season of Last Comic Standing? No. None of those things will. But I know that life experience does. Thats where all the best comedy comes from. I know this. I truly do. I am grateful for the adventure this has been but speaking for all of us that didn't hear our name called at the end of those shows, it's hard to get into the spirit of learning about small town life when you can stop thinking that I lost again and now I have to milk a cow.
Sure enough, there were two calves afraid of us at first, but once they got close and we held the bottles out, they came right up to the fence and drank. They were shy, a little skittish, but warm and sweet with large brown eyes and friendly faces. I felt a little queasy knowing I had just finished two burgers and a hot dog. Then it was off for the hay ride!
I gotta tell you. Never in a million years when the Booker for the David Letterman show called, did I foresee being driven around on a flat bed trailer sitting on bales of hay listening to an explanation on water pivots. Pivots are the large metal things on wheels you see out in the fields. They turn slowly giving every part of the field just enough water. The real surprise came when I said, "Show us the marijuana!" The farmer turned around, bent down into a small patch of weeds and pulled up the unmistakable leaf that anyone can identify. It surprised a lot of us. It's not the pot you would smoke though. It's the male plant so it's lacking in any THC. It's just wild hemp. It just grows because it can out here. Makes you wonder why we don't grow it on a large scale for rope and clothing if it's so easy. Oh yeah, were America and crazy about drugs. They have no redeeming benefits. Right?
So there we were, sitting on bales of hay being driven across a cow pasture under a post card perfect Midwestern sky of bright blue and clouds that float like towers made of cotton. It's beautiful, but what the fuck does any of this have to do about comedy? Surreal is the only word to describe the feeling most of us were having. I am in the middle of a cow pasture in the middle of Nebraska and I am here to further my career in stand-up comedy? Yup. That about sums it up.
I do understand that this is a big deal for the town. The front page has been about us all week. The local radio is about us. They want to meet us and talk to us and feel like they have touched something outside their own small life. I don't say that with any big city sarcasm either. Their life might be small in scale to what I am use to, but it's quiet, clean and apparently you can build a plane in your spare time. It's sweet. Every where we go we are treated like visiting royalty. People wave at one an other and ask if we are one of the comedians. They want us to be what they think of when they sit down after a long day and turn on TV. The truth is, we are both a little surprised by each other I think. Small town America is not populated by toothless hicks and dumb hillbilly's. The people are well mannered, intelligent and more willing to help you than anyone I know in San Francisco. I feel guilty about the joke I do about there being nothing between California and New York. On the flip side of the coin, we are not all dressed in suits and quick witted with a willingness to listen and be a part of new things. For the most part, a comic is a solitary creature that wants as little contact with the audience as possible. Seriously. I know that might sound ridiculous if you are a crowd member or towns folk, but the truth is, we are odd people who are trying to make a living with an extremely narrow range of abilities. We want to be able to observe and then go report it on stage. At least I do. I don't want to be the center of attention all the time. So the hay rides and cook offs and trips to fossil beds, yeah, they are all great and I am glad that my sense of guilt propelled me to go on them, but sitting there today under a spectacular blue sky with hay getting in my pants making my ass itch, all makes the frustration incredibly surreal. I am holding a giant baby bottle as a calf drinks from it. Is this getting me on Letterman? A man explains to me the unique geo-chemistry that had to occur for these rhino's to be fossilized so perfectly. Do I put this on my bio when I try to get a manager? A waitress patiently describes exactly what Dorothy Lynch dressing is best on. This will get me on a season of Last Comic Standing? No. None of those things will. But I know that life experience does. Thats where all the best comedy comes from. I know this. I truly do. I am grateful for the adventure this has been but speaking for all of us that didn't hear our name called at the end of those shows, it's hard to get into the spirit of learning about small town life when you can stop thinking that I lost again and now I have to milk a cow.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Nebraska! Part Two.
Competitions. Every comic hates them. Every comic does them. I am not moving on to the next round. It is the way to be seen and to meet other comics doing this crazy thing. I am not depressed that I didn't move on. Let down, sure. But it is what it is. I watched some really good people do amazing and also not get picked. I also watched some really good people in front of a crowd we would never ordinarily be in front of do great. All in all, everyone actually deserved to be there.
Here is what I am taking away from this. I don't really have an act. I riff great and I have some interesting stuff. But in all honesty, I don't really have a piece of material that says, this is me and this is what I am about. What I do have is also not "clean." At least not TV clean. What I talk about and how I talk about it is not TV comedy. That's not a bad thing, it just means I am not a TV friendly Dude in a business where you have to be on TV or parish. Wait. That is a bad thing then.
I have uploaded some stuff to the Internet and in time I will get more up there. Mostly, I am bummed that I am not taking home any money from this week. But I would like an act. I would like a definitive chunk of stuff about me that I could do on TV. In the mean time, I am going to keep uploading stuff to the Internet and start learning how to place it every where and any where in the hopes of building a crowd.
TV is undeniably powerful. I still get about two e-mails a day from people who just watched me on that episode of Last Comic Standing. Amazing! Less than six minuets of network TV generated so much attention. It's why we all go to these things. It's why we put ourselves through it. Every comic just wants the chance to stand in front of "His" crowd.
Here is what I am taking away from this. I don't really have an act. I riff great and I have some interesting stuff. But in all honesty, I don't really have a piece of material that says, this is me and this is what I am about. What I do have is also not "clean." At least not TV clean. What I talk about and how I talk about it is not TV comedy. That's not a bad thing, it just means I am not a TV friendly Dude in a business where you have to be on TV or parish. Wait. That is a bad thing then.
I have uploaded some stuff to the Internet and in time I will get more up there. Mostly, I am bummed that I am not taking home any money from this week. But I would like an act. I would like a definitive chunk of stuff about me that I could do on TV. In the mean time, I am going to keep uploading stuff to the Internet and start learning how to place it every where and any where in the hopes of building a crowd.
TV is undeniably powerful. I still get about two e-mails a day from people who just watched me on that episode of Last Comic Standing. Amazing! Less than six minuets of network TV generated so much attention. It's why we all go to these things. It's why we put ourselves through it. Every comic just wants the chance to stand in front of "His" crowd.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Nebraska!
Early this year I did a set at the Punchline in San Francisco, for a Comedy festival produced by the Booker for the David Letterman show. Frankly, it wasn't that good of a set. I did alright, but like a hundred other sets where you go up, do your thing and then head home afterwards, I forgot about it. A few months after that I got a call from the Booker of the Letterman show. He wanted me for the festival. You don't say no to that. Soon afterwards, the itinerary showed up in the mail. The first thing that caught my eye was this. You will be landing at the airfield. Field. Not port, as in airport, but airfield, as in tiny little place with no large airport. After we land, we then board a bus for the two hour ride to where the festival is being held. Yup. First we land at an airfield and then ride a bus another two hours. Where are we going?
Norfolk, Nebraska.
I will wait while you Google it. It is pretty much in the middle of America. And when I say middle America, I mean middle America. It's not that the people are bad or dumb or mean, it's that their Republican. So why on Earth would the Talent Booker for the David Letterman show hold a stand-up comedy festival here? It is Johnny Carson's home town. Thats why.
It is also the birthplace of such other all American things as, Hallmark Cards, Cool-aid and something that is like French dressing but is called Dorothy Lynch. In fact, you can walk into a restaurant here and say, I would like a Turkey Sandwich with Dorothy Lynch and that doesn't mean a woman will sit down along side you. It means you get something like french dressing but is not. It is Dorothy Lynch.
I make fun of places like this a lot. A lot. But I have to tell you, not only have people been excited to see us, but they have been overwhelming friendly. Sometimes to the point where you realize just how jaded you have become. For instance. Most of the comics came in to the airfield over a three hour window. We sat around in the place while a film crew interviewed us. People walking by saw the camera and asked what was up. When one kindly lady found out we were all comics, she smiled with genuine excitement and ask us this.
"Do you know Joy?"
Now she meant Joy from the view. The comedy world is small, but she is in a different circle than most of us. At first, I thought it was a deep and philosophical question. What could I say? Not since I was about six?
One of the other comics said, No. We do not know her. She sweetly replied, "Oh." A little let down, but still impressed that we were here and a camera was covering us. Then she asked, "Have you met anyone famous?"
Jessie Joyce replied, "Elijah Wood."
"Whose she?"
Whose she! While the rest of us tried not to laugh, Jessie simply said, "It's a dude."
"Oh."
And so it went.
We were in the land of nice people and conversation with strangers. Not something any of us are use to at all. It's a small town. When people are recognized here, it means their neighbor is saying hello. When I am recognized here, it means I have been caught by the authorities.
Then came the bus ride. Two hours with 24 comics rolling past nothing but flat farm land and a best of Johnny Carson DVD playing. Dear God! It was at this point that I think most of us began to wonder exactly what the hell are we in for? When we did get to the hotel, our "Host" families were waiting for us. Yup. Like foreign exchange students, we were assigned host families to take us around and show us the sights. The sights, by the way, can been seen rather quickly. Again, not knocking it, but as we were taken around town I just began to wonder what the hell was I going to talk about? We kept passing churches, playgrounds and churches. On the bus, we were told by the tour director who said she is a moderate, that it is a very conservative crowd and we needed to be family friendly in content. Why am I here again?
Today, we were given a tour of the Johnny Carson Museum. I am hesitant to make fun of it in any way because the woman who talked as if she had a large vitamin C in her mouth during the tour, obviously loves the museum and her job there very much. They had 8 Emmy's behind glass. Tons of footage and memorabilia too. The weirdest thing, and by most comics agreement it was pretty weird, was the life size wax figure of Johnny standing behind a camera on a Tonight show set. He was leaning back at such an unnatural angle that it counter balanced the life like appearance. Most people don't bend at such a sharp angel. But again, everyone was incredibly kind and put up with our comments and school boy back of the room cracks with smiles and Midwestern politeness.
Then it was off to the show. It was about 30 minuets after getting there that I was told I was on tomorrow, not tonight like I thought. Yup. For all my making fun of everything and everyone, I was the retard.
I have been reading the in room brochure on things to do and see in a desperate effort to write an act that won't get me killed in this town. An 18 year old girl who is working at the festival (yes she is attractive. No I have not done anything improper) told me she does not have a Myspace page. An 18 year old girl doesn't have a Myspace page! I am not sure if that proves there is hope for America, or if I am not in America.
By far the most curious event is the Greased pig scramble. No, that is not a breakfast at Denny's. And yes, I would use that joke if they had a Denny's in town. You see what I am up against? How can I not mention the Greased pig scramble though? Oh, by the way, it is sorta what it sounds like. First, they grease a pig up real good. I think that's how you would start to explain just about anything that involves farm animals and grease as a sport. With the phrase, real good. Then, you let it run in a field of mud and grown men attempt to hold onto it as it runs. Strangely enough we have something very similar in San Francisco at the Gay Pride Parade. The Greased pig is named Ernie. He really likes to be greased up and surrounded by men too. He is also a moderate. That means he has only one nipple pierced.
Tomorrow's pre show events include another trip on the bus. Where are we going? To a place called ashfalls. It is one of the largest places of it's kind. What do they do there you ask? Fossils. The dig up fossils. Mostly extinct North American rhino, I am told. Dear God I want to make a John McCain joke out of this, but I also want to live.
A comic tonight when on with crutches. We all jokes that it was unfair. One, because it is technically called stand-up and with out those he can't stand up. And two, maybe it earns him sympathy points. When I said I was going to go up with a cast on one arm tomorrow night, another guy back stage asked where I would get the cast. "I would walk into a bar and shout, Obama is going to be our next President!"
That, he said, might get me a full body cast.
This whole thing is odd and fun, surreal and weirdly enjoyable. If I don't place in the top two tomorrow night, that's it. The festival is over for me. There are some free shows we can do, but if I don't move on then I loose a shot at the five grand in first place cash, second grand for second and one grand for third place. Course, once you know about the Greased Pig Scramble, your really not here for the money are you? Still, it would be nice to come home with some cash and hopefully, a step closer to being on Letterman.
Competitions makes everyone nervous. I keep looking at my act questioning it but I know that in the end I will most likely Riff my way through it and do OK. But man, I would like to do five grand worth of OK.
Norfolk, Nebraska.
I will wait while you Google it. It is pretty much in the middle of America. And when I say middle America, I mean middle America. It's not that the people are bad or dumb or mean, it's that their Republican. So why on Earth would the Talent Booker for the David Letterman show hold a stand-up comedy festival here? It is Johnny Carson's home town. Thats why.
It is also the birthplace of such other all American things as, Hallmark Cards, Cool-aid and something that is like French dressing but is called Dorothy Lynch. In fact, you can walk into a restaurant here and say, I would like a Turkey Sandwich with Dorothy Lynch and that doesn't mean a woman will sit down along side you. It means you get something like french dressing but is not. It is Dorothy Lynch.
I make fun of places like this a lot. A lot. But I have to tell you, not only have people been excited to see us, but they have been overwhelming friendly. Sometimes to the point where you realize just how jaded you have become. For instance. Most of the comics came in to the airfield over a three hour window. We sat around in the place while a film crew interviewed us. People walking by saw the camera and asked what was up. When one kindly lady found out we were all comics, she smiled with genuine excitement and ask us this.
"Do you know Joy?"
Now she meant Joy from the view. The comedy world is small, but she is in a different circle than most of us. At first, I thought it was a deep and philosophical question. What could I say? Not since I was about six?
One of the other comics said, No. We do not know her. She sweetly replied, "Oh." A little let down, but still impressed that we were here and a camera was covering us. Then she asked, "Have you met anyone famous?"
Jessie Joyce replied, "Elijah Wood."
"Whose she?"
Whose she! While the rest of us tried not to laugh, Jessie simply said, "It's a dude."
"Oh."
And so it went.
We were in the land of nice people and conversation with strangers. Not something any of us are use to at all. It's a small town. When people are recognized here, it means their neighbor is saying hello. When I am recognized here, it means I have been caught by the authorities.
Then came the bus ride. Two hours with 24 comics rolling past nothing but flat farm land and a best of Johnny Carson DVD playing. Dear God! It was at this point that I think most of us began to wonder exactly what the hell are we in for? When we did get to the hotel, our "Host" families were waiting for us. Yup. Like foreign exchange students, we were assigned host families to take us around and show us the sights. The sights, by the way, can been seen rather quickly. Again, not knocking it, but as we were taken around town I just began to wonder what the hell was I going to talk about? We kept passing churches, playgrounds and churches. On the bus, we were told by the tour director who said she is a moderate, that it is a very conservative crowd and we needed to be family friendly in content. Why am I here again?
Today, we were given a tour of the Johnny Carson Museum. I am hesitant to make fun of it in any way because the woman who talked as if she had a large vitamin C in her mouth during the tour, obviously loves the museum and her job there very much. They had 8 Emmy's behind glass. Tons of footage and memorabilia too. The weirdest thing, and by most comics agreement it was pretty weird, was the life size wax figure of Johnny standing behind a camera on a Tonight show set. He was leaning back at such an unnatural angle that it counter balanced the life like appearance. Most people don't bend at such a sharp angel. But again, everyone was incredibly kind and put up with our comments and school boy back of the room cracks with smiles and Midwestern politeness.
Then it was off to the show. It was about 30 minuets after getting there that I was told I was on tomorrow, not tonight like I thought. Yup. For all my making fun of everything and everyone, I was the retard.
I have been reading the in room brochure on things to do and see in a desperate effort to write an act that won't get me killed in this town. An 18 year old girl who is working at the festival (yes she is attractive. No I have not done anything improper) told me she does not have a Myspace page. An 18 year old girl doesn't have a Myspace page! I am not sure if that proves there is hope for America, or if I am not in America.
By far the most curious event is the Greased pig scramble. No, that is not a breakfast at Denny's. And yes, I would use that joke if they had a Denny's in town. You see what I am up against? How can I not mention the Greased pig scramble though? Oh, by the way, it is sorta what it sounds like. First, they grease a pig up real good. I think that's how you would start to explain just about anything that involves farm animals and grease as a sport. With the phrase, real good. Then, you let it run in a field of mud and grown men attempt to hold onto it as it runs. Strangely enough we have something very similar in San Francisco at the Gay Pride Parade. The Greased pig is named Ernie. He really likes to be greased up and surrounded by men too. He is also a moderate. That means he has only one nipple pierced.
Tomorrow's pre show events include another trip on the bus. Where are we going? To a place called ashfalls. It is one of the largest places of it's kind. What do they do there you ask? Fossils. The dig up fossils. Mostly extinct North American rhino, I am told. Dear God I want to make a John McCain joke out of this, but I also want to live.
A comic tonight when on with crutches. We all jokes that it was unfair. One, because it is technically called stand-up and with out those he can't stand up. And two, maybe it earns him sympathy points. When I said I was going to go up with a cast on one arm tomorrow night, another guy back stage asked where I would get the cast. "I would walk into a bar and shout, Obama is going to be our next President!"
That, he said, might get me a full body cast.
This whole thing is odd and fun, surreal and weirdly enjoyable. If I don't place in the top two tomorrow night, that's it. The festival is over for me. There are some free shows we can do, but if I don't move on then I loose a shot at the five grand in first place cash, second grand for second and one grand for third place. Course, once you know about the Greased Pig Scramble, your really not here for the money are you? Still, it would be nice to come home with some cash and hopefully, a step closer to being on Letterman.
Competitions makes everyone nervous. I keep looking at my act questioning it but I know that in the end I will most likely Riff my way through it and do OK. But man, I would like to do five grand worth of OK.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Klingons!
I am watching an episode of Star Trek: Enterprise, the under rated one in my opinion, and Klingons are in it. I have never thought of them as interesting creation. They are one dimensional and I highly doubt a culture so war like would have either survived long enough to make it into space or would even be capable of such science like faster than light travel.
"I hate the Klingons!" I say out loud.
My friend, who is either very stoned or very serious looks at me and says, "Your a racist!"
I start to laugh but I can see he is serious.
"They are fictional characters in a fictional future. I can't be a racist. There not real."
"They might not be real, but you are still saying that you hate an entire group of people."
"No. No I'm not. I am saying that I hate one dimensional characters in bad make-up."
At this he shakes his head, shocked and open mouthed that I would have the nerve to say such a thing.
"I had no idea a friend of mine could be such a stone cold racist!" He says this crossing his arms.
"Come on Dude. They are just actors playing aliens. I can't hate fake alien's? What other fictional creations am I a racist for not liking? I can't stand those lazy no good trolls. Have you seen the way those loud dirty Jawas treat their kids? I am disgusted by the very site of a unicorn. And those fucking Leprechauns! The way they wear their pants and the music they play! Don't get me started."
Give me a break?
Has real racism been solved so we can now move onto stamping out the hidden plight of the fictional people and their struggles to be thought of as equals?
"Klingons aren't even human!" I say with one last attempt at logic.
"That is the very same same talk Hitler used."
I shake my head. "Yes. You are right. Hitler did claim that an entire group of people were less than human, but unlike Klingons, the Jews are a real people who live here on Earth in this time, not a fictional race that lives on another world somewhere in the 22nd century."
"It's the same thing. Hate is hate."
"So I am not allowed to dislike anything or anyone even if they don't actually exist?"
It's at this point that I realize this conversation is beyond ridiculous. I keep waiting for him to say, Gotcha! But it's not coming.
"I am all for love and understanding, but give me a brake. Klingons are just boring one dimensional fictional beings who only want to destroy things. That's it!"
He stands up and shouts at me, "That's their culture Joe! Who are we to judge with our wars and our problems?"
"Your right. They are battling in space for survival and our problems are real."
You know what you shouldn't do in this situation? You shouldn't laugh. After all, this is his passion and clearly I have upset him. But I laugh anyway because in a completely surreal situation, that's what I do. It's my way.
He storms out of the room muttering something about ignorance and close mindedness. I am now left there to consider my racist ways. I am a racist of cultures in the future. I admit it. I think they are an evil and vile race of beings that should be burned from the universe. I feel better for saying it now. If you will excuse me, I have to go find a sheet I can wear to the cross burning we are having to rid the neighborhood of those stinking dirty Droids.
"I hate the Klingons!" I say out loud.
My friend, who is either very stoned or very serious looks at me and says, "Your a racist!"
I start to laugh but I can see he is serious.
"They are fictional characters in a fictional future. I can't be a racist. There not real."
"They might not be real, but you are still saying that you hate an entire group of people."
"No. No I'm not. I am saying that I hate one dimensional characters in bad make-up."
At this he shakes his head, shocked and open mouthed that I would have the nerve to say such a thing.
"I had no idea a friend of mine could be such a stone cold racist!" He says this crossing his arms.
"Come on Dude. They are just actors playing aliens. I can't hate fake alien's? What other fictional creations am I a racist for not liking? I can't stand those lazy no good trolls. Have you seen the way those loud dirty Jawas treat their kids? I am disgusted by the very site of a unicorn. And those fucking Leprechauns! The way they wear their pants and the music they play! Don't get me started."
Give me a break?
Has real racism been solved so we can now move onto stamping out the hidden plight of the fictional people and their struggles to be thought of as equals?
"Klingons aren't even human!" I say with one last attempt at logic.
"That is the very same same talk Hitler used."
I shake my head. "Yes. You are right. Hitler did claim that an entire group of people were less than human, but unlike Klingons, the Jews are a real people who live here on Earth in this time, not a fictional race that lives on another world somewhere in the 22nd century."
"It's the same thing. Hate is hate."
"So I am not allowed to dislike anything or anyone even if they don't actually exist?"
It's at this point that I realize this conversation is beyond ridiculous. I keep waiting for him to say, Gotcha! But it's not coming.
"I am all for love and understanding, but give me a brake. Klingons are just boring one dimensional fictional beings who only want to destroy things. That's it!"
He stands up and shouts at me, "That's their culture Joe! Who are we to judge with our wars and our problems?"
"Your right. They are battling in space for survival and our problems are real."
You know what you shouldn't do in this situation? You shouldn't laugh. After all, this is his passion and clearly I have upset him. But I laugh anyway because in a completely surreal situation, that's what I do. It's my way.
He storms out of the room muttering something about ignorance and close mindedness. I am now left there to consider my racist ways. I am a racist of cultures in the future. I admit it. I think they are an evil and vile race of beings that should be burned from the universe. I feel better for saying it now. If you will excuse me, I have to go find a sheet I can wear to the cross burning we are having to rid the neighborhood of those stinking dirty Droids.
If You Missed it.
Just in case you missed it, here is the interview segment and my set on Last Comic Standing. I don't know how long it will stay up. They tok it off YouTube last night after being up there for a few hours. Oh Well. Enjoy=)
Friday, June 13, 2008
Respect!
The times, they are a changing.
Driving back into the city from Sacramento last night, I saw this written on the back of a car window: Just Partnered!
Get use to it America. Course, a Subaru blasting ABBA tunes with two guys in it already says they are partnered. Doesn't it?
The other day, I was walking past a meter maid who was about to write a ticket. Just as he bent a little and squinted to read the parking meter, a man ran across the street frantically making the time out sign with his hands. The meter maid had already gone perfectly still trying to read the clouded window on the meter. The friend I was walking with and I had the same idea at the same instant; we froze in place, mid stride, arms in the air. The guy running toward the seen stopped dead in his tracks and just went "Wow!" Like he actually froze time.
We busted up at that point and the meter maid, oblivious to any of this turned to look at us laughing as the guy came to terms with the fact that he not only didn't have super powers, but he was also about to get a ticket.
At the Sacramento Punchline, they provide Playboy's to "read" in the green room. More prof that I am indeed getting older, I actually picked one up for the interview with Steve Carell. Yeah, thats right. I picked up a Playboy for the man inside it. Of course, once I had it in my hands (The Magazine) I did page through it. They had the Playmate of the year. You have to look. Don't ask me her name. All I can tell you about her is that she is Canadian, has a flawless shaved beaver and tattooed just above it is a single word: Respect.
Are you kidding me? Oh I will respect the shit out of you darling!
Maybe respect and pussy should be associated with each other. But lets remember, your a hot girl who makes a living by taking her clothes off. No offense, but I doubt guys are viewing you and saying, "I sure respect her!" I don't think I have ever disrespected the vagina, but seeing any word stenciled across a perfect flawless body sorta ruins it for me. You are already crazy hot, an 11 on a scale of 1-10, why would you put graffiti on that? Especially there!
You have to figure that her vagina has been disrespected so many times that finally she said, I need a sign to tell guys not to disrespect me when they see me naked for money grinding my ass against a poll or spreading it in a world wide magazine that was build on the premise of objectifying nude women. Because who would disrespect you then? Clearly you have warned them now with all the subtly of, oh I don't know, a tattoo of the word respect above your snatch!
In the interview, she alludes to it being something about feminism. Darling, you are to feminism what Bush is to world peace. Sorry to mention Bush. I can see from the photos you are no fan of any Bush.
I mean, come on! You are a playboy model who will be ogled, jacked-off to and kept under 13 year old boy's beds. You didn't win a Nobel piece prize (I know how I spelled it!) Your a nude girl with a hot body. It's not like I have anything against you (I would like to though!) it's just that putting the word respect directly above your smooth beaver in a Playboy might be the greatest and hottest demonstration of irony I have ever seen. Rarely can I enjoy irony with one hand. Never before has irony had a centerfold.
The especially funny thing about it all is the font that it is written in and the way it looks looks exactly like the words you see on posters of cows when they show you where the various cuts of meat come from. In her effort to gain respect for her body, she looks like she has just labeled her self like a piece of meat. I say, keep going with it. Stencil the word, integrity where the typical tramp stamp would be. Write the word, values on each breast. That way when guys totally objectify your body we can say to each other, "Did you see the Integrity on her? I wish I could get my hands on those values!"
"Yeah, but guys. I so want to earn her respect! What do you think that would take?"
A camera and a green card.
Driving back into the city from Sacramento last night, I saw this written on the back of a car window: Just Partnered!
Get use to it America. Course, a Subaru blasting ABBA tunes with two guys in it already says they are partnered. Doesn't it?
The other day, I was walking past a meter maid who was about to write a ticket. Just as he bent a little and squinted to read the parking meter, a man ran across the street frantically making the time out sign with his hands. The meter maid had already gone perfectly still trying to read the clouded window on the meter. The friend I was walking with and I had the same idea at the same instant; we froze in place, mid stride, arms in the air. The guy running toward the seen stopped dead in his tracks and just went "Wow!" Like he actually froze time.
We busted up at that point and the meter maid, oblivious to any of this turned to look at us laughing as the guy came to terms with the fact that he not only didn't have super powers, but he was also about to get a ticket.
At the Sacramento Punchline, they provide Playboy's to "read" in the green room. More prof that I am indeed getting older, I actually picked one up for the interview with Steve Carell. Yeah, thats right. I picked up a Playboy for the man inside it. Of course, once I had it in my hands (The Magazine) I did page through it. They had the Playmate of the year. You have to look. Don't ask me her name. All I can tell you about her is that she is Canadian, has a flawless shaved beaver and tattooed just above it is a single word: Respect.
Are you kidding me? Oh I will respect the shit out of you darling!
Maybe respect and pussy should be associated with each other. But lets remember, your a hot girl who makes a living by taking her clothes off. No offense, but I doubt guys are viewing you and saying, "I sure respect her!" I don't think I have ever disrespected the vagina, but seeing any word stenciled across a perfect flawless body sorta ruins it for me. You are already crazy hot, an 11 on a scale of 1-10, why would you put graffiti on that? Especially there!
You have to figure that her vagina has been disrespected so many times that finally she said, I need a sign to tell guys not to disrespect me when they see me naked for money grinding my ass against a poll or spreading it in a world wide magazine that was build on the premise of objectifying nude women. Because who would disrespect you then? Clearly you have warned them now with all the subtly of, oh I don't know, a tattoo of the word respect above your snatch!
In the interview, she alludes to it being something about feminism. Darling, you are to feminism what Bush is to world peace. Sorry to mention Bush. I can see from the photos you are no fan of any Bush.
I mean, come on! You are a playboy model who will be ogled, jacked-off to and kept under 13 year old boy's beds. You didn't win a Nobel piece prize (I know how I spelled it!) Your a nude girl with a hot body. It's not like I have anything against you (I would like to though!) it's just that putting the word respect directly above your smooth beaver in a Playboy might be the greatest and hottest demonstration of irony I have ever seen. Rarely can I enjoy irony with one hand. Never before has irony had a centerfold.
The especially funny thing about it all is the font that it is written in and the way it looks looks exactly like the words you see on posters of cows when they show you where the various cuts of meat come from. In her effort to gain respect for her body, she looks like she has just labeled her self like a piece of meat. I say, keep going with it. Stencil the word, integrity where the typical tramp stamp would be. Write the word, values on each breast. That way when guys totally objectify your body we can say to each other, "Did you see the Integrity on her? I wish I could get my hands on those values!"
"Yeah, but guys. I so want to earn her respect! What do you think that would take?"
A camera and a green card.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
My Party.
Every once in a while just in the nick of time something happens to remind me that things, at least for the moment, are pretty good. Last night was one of those times. For the last two years or so, I have taught comedy at a small independent place in the city. It's a great idea. People want to learn and the open Mic's can sometimes be nothing more than a training ground in what not to do, so a school that is supportive and structured is perfect. The money wasn't bad either. After two years of loving being a teacher, I stepped down. When I didn't have a gig at night, I was pretty much there. Every night was a night where I put energy out. I need some down time. I need some time to do the things I know I have to do to stay on just this side of crazy. It was a hard choice that I kept in the back of my mind for a while, but drama and fatigue made the choice easier. Last night I was given a going away party. I have to especially thank Dhaya for organizing the whole thing and securing a great location for it. I was given gifts, sentimental cards for occasions other than this (First communion, were having a baby and Fathers day cards were among them.) There was a unicorn pinata filled with candy that Kelly had individually wrapped with bad yo mama jokes, Darth Vader cardboard masks and of course, a cake in the shape and flavor of an Asian girls ass complete with two X-wing fighters flying across it's shapely Moon. Damn! Do these people know me or what? Don't ask how one captures the flavor of an Asian girls ass. Upon entering, I was made to sit down and Loren read a wonderful poem to me, about me and whores. Christ, I have to stop writing everything in my Blog! I have issues. What comic doesn't. All this positive emotion, all this love directed at me, it was overwhelming and beautiful. I should of left earlier! It was worth all the jokes about the cake. The cake, by the way, was accurate. Joe modeled it after his Asian girlfriend and then got it made at an adult bakery, delivered to Dhaya's house where Kelly picked it up and delivered it to the party. That's team work. I spent the night cutting it up and serving it on Star Wars plates. "Does anyone want more ass?" I kept asking. Loren asked for an end piece. "Loren, there all end pieces."
Then came the cards, the gifts, the warm words and awkward hugs. Oh, and the photos of us doing things to the unicorn/donkey that would scar it if it was real. By the way, Jennifer took it home. She became very attached to it and I didn't have the heart to take it back from her. In fact, she has now asked for a mythical creature pinata filled with fruit candy for her birthday. Done. There was also a giant card made by Aninta that everyone signed. All in all, it was a love fest for me. Man, I wish I was better with emotion!
As the party broke up, some people went back to the SFCC for shows and five women and I went to my favorite greasy spoon dinner, The Pinecrest. There is nothing like sitting around a table with five quick witted women. I need to do it more often. After that broke up, more people headed off in other directions and the rest of us, Donkey pinata and smiley face balloon in hand, headed for the SFCC.
The SFCC sits on the 7th and 5th floor of the native sons building on Mason Street. It is probably best known as the location for Ruby Skye, a dance club. Outside the club on this evening where two giant swirl lollipops. That didn't seem all that unusual to us. After all, if you were going to a dance club pumped to your gills on XTC, you to might want to see the inviting promise of giant lollipops outside. However, next to these was a sign that read, Sadie's Bat Mitzvah. Oh thats a great idea, have your daughters coming of age party in a place associated with cocaine and date rape. OK baby. Today you are a woman. Put on some glitter, get out there under the disco ball and shake your money maker!
The Comedy Colleges youngest student, 13, was told of the party down stairs. His first thought, "If I could crash it I would be knee deep in pussy!" Yes you would, young man. Yes you would. You would also have a great opening line. "Ladies, who wants to loose their virginity tonight? I promise I'll be gentile!"
All in all, a great night with too much for me to put in any one blog post. I was touched by every ones warmth and felt special. Thank you to everyone. It meant a lot to me and I smiled more last night than I have in a long while. I will miss teaching, but I think I made the right choice for myself. Take care of each other and always remember, the Force will be with you.
Then came the cards, the gifts, the warm words and awkward hugs. Oh, and the photos of us doing things to the unicorn/donkey that would scar it if it was real. By the way, Jennifer took it home. She became very attached to it and I didn't have the heart to take it back from her. In fact, she has now asked for a mythical creature pinata filled with fruit candy for her birthday. Done. There was also a giant card made by Aninta that everyone signed. All in all, it was a love fest for me. Man, I wish I was better with emotion!
As the party broke up, some people went back to the SFCC for shows and five women and I went to my favorite greasy spoon dinner, The Pinecrest. There is nothing like sitting around a table with five quick witted women. I need to do it more often. After that broke up, more people headed off in other directions and the rest of us, Donkey pinata and smiley face balloon in hand, headed for the SFCC.
The SFCC sits on the 7th and 5th floor of the native sons building on Mason Street. It is probably best known as the location for Ruby Skye, a dance club. Outside the club on this evening where two giant swirl lollipops. That didn't seem all that unusual to us. After all, if you were going to a dance club pumped to your gills on XTC, you to might want to see the inviting promise of giant lollipops outside. However, next to these was a sign that read, Sadie's Bat Mitzvah. Oh thats a great idea, have your daughters coming of age party in a place associated with cocaine and date rape. OK baby. Today you are a woman. Put on some glitter, get out there under the disco ball and shake your money maker!
The Comedy Colleges youngest student, 13, was told of the party down stairs. His first thought, "If I could crash it I would be knee deep in pussy!" Yes you would, young man. Yes you would. You would also have a great opening line. "Ladies, who wants to loose their virginity tonight? I promise I'll be gentile!"
All in all, a great night with too much for me to put in any one blog post. I was touched by every ones warmth and felt special. Thank you to everyone. It meant a lot to me and I smiled more last night than I have in a long while. I will miss teaching, but I think I made the right choice for myself. Take care of each other and always remember, the Force will be with you.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Pretty Good Anxiety Attack
Anxiety attack!!!
For me, these manifest themselves in my chest. I can feel it coming before it completely takes over and that just scares me more. It's like the first tremors in an earthquake where everyone in an office looks at each other for a second to confirm what they suspect. Then, that first big wave hits and everyone jumps for a door frame. That's what it's like for me. I haven't had one in a while, so just like that California big one we keep waiting for, I guess I was overdue. Still, when those first few pin pricks gather in my chest and some part of my primitive mind floods the blood stream with fight or flight juice, my first thought is always, this is not an anxiety attack.
Ah denial.
It is all just part of the process. Because when I think that, the wave building in my chest explodes in my mind and all rational thought it done. Now I can only sit back and ride the ride. You can't think yourself out of an anxiety attack. It's like trying to repair a broken machine with the broken machine. That's the next thing I tell myself and that leads to the unbelievably depressing thought that my head is a broken thing. Depression and anxiety now!
Two for the price of the one. Great.
Do I sit up? Maybe I should go for a walk? Do I just lay there in bed? Will there be something on TV that could possibly help? There is no right answer and to every choice I entertain there seems to be a cascade of reasons why that won't do any good either. In the end, I usually end up laying where it started. These pass pretty quickly, but while I am in the middle of it, that thought never crosses my mind. What crosses my mind is a million things in rapid images that all say, you have failed. Isn't it nice when your own mind becomes your biggest enemy in a crisis?
I sit up in bed, take a few deep breaths and look and the tiny little room I rent. The anxiety starts to fade as quickly as it started. Now comes the soft landing of sadness. When I look at the small room I refer to as the box, I wonder if I will still be here when I am 50 and if I will still be thinking I am just a step away from the larger career in comedy I have wanted for so long. I think of a line from the Russel Crowe movie, Gladiator. It is in the beginning of the movie when they are about to fight the tribes of Germania. One of his generals comments, "Don't they know they are already beat?" Crowe, sitting on his horse barely smiles and says, "Would you?" That line has echoed around in my head since I saw that movie. At 40, the chances of becoming a well known comic are pretty slim. But it's the only thing I truly know how to do. It's the only thing I am any good at. It's the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. So maybe I am already beat and I am just too stupid or too much in denial to admit that its over for me. I could live in a nicer place. I could look for a better day job. I could hang up the dream and be a happy productive member of society. Right? When I think this thought I know that it is just a rationalization. Nothing more. When I ride the bus in the morning sometimes, I look around at the people dressed in suits and clutching their coffee. They already look defeated before even steeping foot inside the places where they work. I understand that the vast majority of us will never get the chance to live out our dreams. But looking around at the people on the bus, well, I don't know if they ever took a shot or if they ever thought it was time to just quit and get a "real" job, but I would rather keep living my life as if I haven't been defeated yet rather than join this somber army of those who did the realistic thing with their lives.
I have a lot of anger bottled up inside me. Anger for a system that blindly hands out opportunities to youth rather than talent. Anger that contact from the X still rattles me so much. Anger that any peace with comedy still eludes me after all these years. Anger, it seems is driving this latest anxiety attack. I was OK with the results of Last Comic Standing. I really was. Of course I wished I had advanced. Just the tiny bit of screen time I had got me e-mails from people all over the planet. All over the planet!
Almost everyone told me I was robbed. Well, no. Nothing was taken from me and the exposure was nice. it's that I wanted more. There was no sudden rush from Bookers or managers. So, for the millionth time I ask, what is it I have to do to get attention? And really, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. My petty wishes for fame are nothing compared to the suffering around the world. It seems silly, selfish even to be pissed about this. The thing is, without a larger measure of fame no ones career can move forward in this biz. I have felt stuck for a while now. That next level that next steep is so close. It's like a weight above my head. I can feel it. It's just that now I will be 40 soon and all this was how I felt at 30. I think thats what started this particular attack, age. Right before my chest went fuzzy with those pin pricks I thought, in 10 years I will be 50. Boom. Thats where it started. Because the thing is, I am like an addict. I can't stop doing comedy and yet I wonder if it is the most rational thing for a man my age to keep doing. I certainly don't feel like an adult. Friends are married, having babies, going back to school, enjoying relationships, moving into bigger places or new towns and here I am, sitting up in bed at night, alone and freaking out because I have poured so much of my life into a thing that could never offer any promises in the first place. That makes me think of the X. Was she my last chance at anything like happiness with another human? Fuck, I hope not. How can you find happiness with a partner who cheated on you once and lied to you a second time after you got back together? You can't.
So there I am, sitting up in bed crushed on all sides by silence feeling alone, missing a girl who broke my heart twice and questioning my sanity for still thinking that I could have a career like any of the people I see on TV. Yeah. That's a pretty good anxiety attack.
For me, these manifest themselves in my chest. I can feel it coming before it completely takes over and that just scares me more. It's like the first tremors in an earthquake where everyone in an office looks at each other for a second to confirm what they suspect. Then, that first big wave hits and everyone jumps for a door frame. That's what it's like for me. I haven't had one in a while, so just like that California big one we keep waiting for, I guess I was overdue. Still, when those first few pin pricks gather in my chest and some part of my primitive mind floods the blood stream with fight or flight juice, my first thought is always, this is not an anxiety attack.
Ah denial.
It is all just part of the process. Because when I think that, the wave building in my chest explodes in my mind and all rational thought it done. Now I can only sit back and ride the ride. You can't think yourself out of an anxiety attack. It's like trying to repair a broken machine with the broken machine. That's the next thing I tell myself and that leads to the unbelievably depressing thought that my head is a broken thing. Depression and anxiety now!
Two for the price of the one. Great.
Do I sit up? Maybe I should go for a walk? Do I just lay there in bed? Will there be something on TV that could possibly help? There is no right answer and to every choice I entertain there seems to be a cascade of reasons why that won't do any good either. In the end, I usually end up laying where it started. These pass pretty quickly, but while I am in the middle of it, that thought never crosses my mind. What crosses my mind is a million things in rapid images that all say, you have failed. Isn't it nice when your own mind becomes your biggest enemy in a crisis?
I sit up in bed, take a few deep breaths and look and the tiny little room I rent. The anxiety starts to fade as quickly as it started. Now comes the soft landing of sadness. When I look at the small room I refer to as the box, I wonder if I will still be here when I am 50 and if I will still be thinking I am just a step away from the larger career in comedy I have wanted for so long. I think of a line from the Russel Crowe movie, Gladiator. It is in the beginning of the movie when they are about to fight the tribes of Germania. One of his generals comments, "Don't they know they are already beat?" Crowe, sitting on his horse barely smiles and says, "Would you?" That line has echoed around in my head since I saw that movie. At 40, the chances of becoming a well known comic are pretty slim. But it's the only thing I truly know how to do. It's the only thing I am any good at. It's the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. So maybe I am already beat and I am just too stupid or too much in denial to admit that its over for me. I could live in a nicer place. I could look for a better day job. I could hang up the dream and be a happy productive member of society. Right? When I think this thought I know that it is just a rationalization. Nothing more. When I ride the bus in the morning sometimes, I look around at the people dressed in suits and clutching their coffee. They already look defeated before even steeping foot inside the places where they work. I understand that the vast majority of us will never get the chance to live out our dreams. But looking around at the people on the bus, well, I don't know if they ever took a shot or if they ever thought it was time to just quit and get a "real" job, but I would rather keep living my life as if I haven't been defeated yet rather than join this somber army of those who did the realistic thing with their lives.
I have a lot of anger bottled up inside me. Anger for a system that blindly hands out opportunities to youth rather than talent. Anger that contact from the X still rattles me so much. Anger that any peace with comedy still eludes me after all these years. Anger, it seems is driving this latest anxiety attack. I was OK with the results of Last Comic Standing. I really was. Of course I wished I had advanced. Just the tiny bit of screen time I had got me e-mails from people all over the planet. All over the planet!
Almost everyone told me I was robbed. Well, no. Nothing was taken from me and the exposure was nice. it's that I wanted more. There was no sudden rush from Bookers or managers. So, for the millionth time I ask, what is it I have to do to get attention? And really, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. My petty wishes for fame are nothing compared to the suffering around the world. It seems silly, selfish even to be pissed about this. The thing is, without a larger measure of fame no ones career can move forward in this biz. I have felt stuck for a while now. That next level that next steep is so close. It's like a weight above my head. I can feel it. It's just that now I will be 40 soon and all this was how I felt at 30. I think thats what started this particular attack, age. Right before my chest went fuzzy with those pin pricks I thought, in 10 years I will be 50. Boom. Thats where it started. Because the thing is, I am like an addict. I can't stop doing comedy and yet I wonder if it is the most rational thing for a man my age to keep doing. I certainly don't feel like an adult. Friends are married, having babies, going back to school, enjoying relationships, moving into bigger places or new towns and here I am, sitting up in bed at night, alone and freaking out because I have poured so much of my life into a thing that could never offer any promises in the first place. That makes me think of the X. Was she my last chance at anything like happiness with another human? Fuck, I hope not. How can you find happiness with a partner who cheated on you once and lied to you a second time after you got back together? You can't.
So there I am, sitting up in bed crushed on all sides by silence feeling alone, missing a girl who broke my heart twice and questioning my sanity for still thinking that I could have a career like any of the people I see on TV. Yeah. That's a pretty good anxiety attack.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Stuff that fits no where else.
Why do I get the feeling that the big twist at the end of The Happening, is going to be that I paid to see it?
I hear Bush is having trouble raising money for his Presidential library. It's the Bush Library. How much does a shelf cost?
I have reached the age where I determine what I am going to eat by how it is going to feel coming out.
"I can't eat that burrito at this hour. That is going to burn on re-entry."
That's how I like to think of the actions of my ass, under the control of NASA.
At a restaurant today, the host tried to sit us between two tables already occupied by people. I asked if we could sit someplace else. Someplace away from other people. If I wanted to meet other people I would stay home and go on line. Not go out to a restaurant.
The best name to give at a busy restaurant with a long wait is Eaton. That way, the hostess must wander around a group of people who have waited for more than an hour and say, "Eaton! Who here has Eaton."
Last nights crowd did not enjoy the story about me, the girl, a sharpie and her ass. Oh well.
John McCain looks like the Nazis who melted at the end of Raiders of the lost ark. Keep your eyes closed at his rallies. No matter what you do, don't open your eyes people!
I hear Bush is having trouble raising money for his Presidential library. It's the Bush Library. How much does a shelf cost?
I have reached the age where I determine what I am going to eat by how it is going to feel coming out.
"I can't eat that burrito at this hour. That is going to burn on re-entry."
That's how I like to think of the actions of my ass, under the control of NASA.
At a restaurant today, the host tried to sit us between two tables already occupied by people. I asked if we could sit someplace else. Someplace away from other people. If I wanted to meet other people I would stay home and go on line. Not go out to a restaurant.
The best name to give at a busy restaurant with a long wait is Eaton. That way, the hostess must wander around a group of people who have waited for more than an hour and say, "Eaton! Who here has Eaton."
Last nights crowd did not enjoy the story about me, the girl, a sharpie and her ass. Oh well.
John McCain looks like the Nazis who melted at the end of Raiders of the lost ark. Keep your eyes closed at his rallies. No matter what you do, don't open your eyes people!
Friday, June 06, 2008
Balance
Balance. It's not something I have been able to achieve in my life, but the universe seems to impose it on me. Last night I auditioned for the Boston Comedy festival. A lot of us did. There is some unwritten rule in comedy that when a set really matters the crowd that shows up that night will stink. Well, that's what happened last night. In one of the strangest things I have observed in stand-up, the host was truly the only one who had a good set! I had some laughs, but stuff that always kills did OK and stuff that does OK just sat there like a turd in a bowl. The worse feeling in comedy is to be on stage and have a great punchline fail with 5 more minuets to go. What do you do? You stay up there and fight every instinct to stop and go, What's wrong with you people? That's what you do.
When I came off stage I picked up my phone and went out back to check for messages. There were a lot. I had forgotten that my episode of Last Comic Standing aired earlier in the evening. I still have not seen it yet, but apparently it went pretty good. They even aired most of my set. I know because when I returned home to check e-mail and myspace and facebook, I had a ton of messages waiting for me there too. But here is the message I find the funniest. It's from my Mom. Ah Mom. After 15 years in comedy she finally gave me the nicest compliment yet. "Joe, your Father and I watched you on TV tonight. well, he watched you I could only see part of it. You have a nice voice."
That is going to the top of my Bio! I have a nice voice. That only took 15 years and my second TV appearance to get. Oh yeah, in the same night Comedy Central replayed my Live at Gotham set too. That's good because, it looks like that is the only set I am going to be able to get onto TV.
So there is the balance. A shitty set for yet another chance at a festival that offers a chance at something more, and two good TV sets, compliments from strangers on the Internet and my Mom's first legitimate compliment in a long time. Now I just have to watch the copy of the show and wait for Hollywood to call!
When I came off stage I picked up my phone and went out back to check for messages. There were a lot. I had forgotten that my episode of Last Comic Standing aired earlier in the evening. I still have not seen it yet, but apparently it went pretty good. They even aired most of my set. I know because when I returned home to check e-mail and myspace and facebook, I had a ton of messages waiting for me there too. But here is the message I find the funniest. It's from my Mom. Ah Mom. After 15 years in comedy she finally gave me the nicest compliment yet. "Joe, your Father and I watched you on TV tonight. well, he watched you I could only see part of it. You have a nice voice."
That is going to the top of my Bio! I have a nice voice. That only took 15 years and my second TV appearance to get. Oh yeah, in the same night Comedy Central replayed my Live at Gotham set too. That's good because, it looks like that is the only set I am going to be able to get onto TV.
So there is the balance. A shitty set for yet another chance at a festival that offers a chance at something more, and two good TV sets, compliments from strangers on the Internet and my Mom's first legitimate compliment in a long time. Now I just have to watch the copy of the show and wait for Hollywood to call!
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Hot for Teacher
Burma: It Can’t Wait – Tila Tequila – Day 30
WTF? Right? On the one hand, I understand that people need to be informed. Maybe this is the way to get young people to pay attention. But using a moron who probably didn't know this stuff till she had to memorize it and recite it with all the warmth of a frozen side of beef, seems to be in poor taste. What are we saying to kid's, it's OK to use misogyny when educating people about tragedy? I am worried that we will see Hilliary Clinton striping as she explains the economy. OK, with her, she might start out naked and as people get the answers correct, she would put on clothes. Cheap shot? Well its for a good cause.
What is this going to accomplish? A bunch of brain dead MTV watchers might stumble across CNN in their stoned channel surfing and get a hard-on at the mention of Burma now?
If we have to resort to hosts of really bad reality shows just to grab our attention on important social issues, maybe strippers should start warning other kid's in other countries about the falling educational standards in America. Why not just make Tia Tequila America's roaming substitute teacher? She can just show up at random schools with fun facts leaving a trail of clothes and knowledge behind. Instead of the boring book mobile, kids can get excited waiting for the knowledge whore to show up with her poll and facts!
WTF? Right? On the one hand, I understand that people need to be informed. Maybe this is the way to get young people to pay attention. But using a moron who probably didn't know this stuff till she had to memorize it and recite it with all the warmth of a frozen side of beef, seems to be in poor taste. What are we saying to kid's, it's OK to use misogyny when educating people about tragedy? I am worried that we will see Hilliary Clinton striping as she explains the economy. OK, with her, she might start out naked and as people get the answers correct, she would put on clothes. Cheap shot? Well its for a good cause.
What is this going to accomplish? A bunch of brain dead MTV watchers might stumble across CNN in their stoned channel surfing and get a hard-on at the mention of Burma now?
If we have to resort to hosts of really bad reality shows just to grab our attention on important social issues, maybe strippers should start warning other kid's in other countries about the falling educational standards in America. Why not just make Tia Tequila America's roaming substitute teacher? She can just show up at random schools with fun facts leaving a trail of clothes and knowledge behind. Instead of the boring book mobile, kids can get excited waiting for the knowledge whore to show up with her poll and facts!
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
New World Order?
"They're not being nice to the Dalai Lama, who is a friend of mine. And then all of this earthquake and all this happened and I thought, is that karma? When you're not nice, that bad things happen to you?"
-Sharon Stone to reporter's on the Red Carpet at the Cannes film festival.
Taking pleasure in the death and destruction of millions of people's homes is bad Karma. It's the same as Christians thinking Hurricane Katrina was sent to New Orleans as some instrument of punishment against Gay People.
But more importantly, Sharon Stone is friends with the Dalai Lama?
You have to wonder what bad Karma he pick up for having to hang out with Sharon Stone and listen to her thoughts on philosophy in that dim witted cheerleader accent no 50 year old woman should still have.
That's how the universe works? China is being mean to one dude so the universe decided to kill thousands and render millions homeless for the policies of their government? I don't think that's how it works. Course, I'm not a friend of the Dalia Lama. I could be wrong.
Obama is all but assured the democratic nomination and it seems as though Clinton is going to come aboard as the V.P. now. Damn! Dear John McCain, you just lost by a landslide. Who will be voting for him? Old White Guys who are afraid Obama/Clinton will appoint a Hispanic lesbian to the Supreme court? I say Ellen DeGeneres for Secretary of Defense, Oprah for UN ambassador and over at the department of justice Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears. Allow me to explain America.
If we put Ellen in charge of the military, I think other countries would think twice about doing anything to us. All those Vibrator shaped missiles just waiting for launching! Also, if we loose a war, great. We can go to the UN and say, Good for you. You beat a lesbian. No one wants to be beat by a lesbian. That is called deterrence gentleman!
Oprha at the UN? Yes! She could get things done with her fame, charm and cash. Imagine how much better things would go for us if she could get up at general assemblies and say, "everyone who signs this treaty today will get a special present. Just look under your seat now!"
Alright, why would I hand the department of Justice over to three of Americas glossiest whores?
A few reasons. 1, you know they all need regular jobs. 2, it would be like having Charlies Angles in charge and 3, The Bush people got away with a lot of shit because no one pays attention to the boring old department of Justice. Well, we know cameras follow these three every where. Put them some place important, let the cameras run and no more secrets going on. Besides, for their own sakes, don't you think we should monitor them in a place where there are lawyers and handcuffs near by 24/7?
You really have to put this in perspective. If the Obama/Clinton ticket wins it demonstrates just how awful Bush was. 200 years and 43 White Male Presidents. That is a very impressive record. Well, Bush was so bad that a majority of America said, fuck that! The only thing I would worry about is Clinton. Dear Obama, never let her bring you coffee. The words, a heart beat away from the office of the President will ring in her head every night when she hits the pillow next to first Husband, Bill.
-Sharon Stone to reporter's on the Red Carpet at the Cannes film festival.
Taking pleasure in the death and destruction of millions of people's homes is bad Karma. It's the same as Christians thinking Hurricane Katrina was sent to New Orleans as some instrument of punishment against Gay People.
But more importantly, Sharon Stone is friends with the Dalai Lama?
You have to wonder what bad Karma he pick up for having to hang out with Sharon Stone and listen to her thoughts on philosophy in that dim witted cheerleader accent no 50 year old woman should still have.
That's how the universe works? China is being mean to one dude so the universe decided to kill thousands and render millions homeless for the policies of their government? I don't think that's how it works. Course, I'm not a friend of the Dalia Lama. I could be wrong.
Obama is all but assured the democratic nomination and it seems as though Clinton is going to come aboard as the V.P. now. Damn! Dear John McCain, you just lost by a landslide. Who will be voting for him? Old White Guys who are afraid Obama/Clinton will appoint a Hispanic lesbian to the Supreme court? I say Ellen DeGeneres for Secretary of Defense, Oprah for UN ambassador and over at the department of justice Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears. Allow me to explain America.
If we put Ellen in charge of the military, I think other countries would think twice about doing anything to us. All those Vibrator shaped missiles just waiting for launching! Also, if we loose a war, great. We can go to the UN and say, Good for you. You beat a lesbian. No one wants to be beat by a lesbian. That is called deterrence gentleman!
Oprha at the UN? Yes! She could get things done with her fame, charm and cash. Imagine how much better things would go for us if she could get up at general assemblies and say, "everyone who signs this treaty today will get a special present. Just look under your seat now!"
Alright, why would I hand the department of Justice over to three of Americas glossiest whores?
A few reasons. 1, you know they all need regular jobs. 2, it would be like having Charlies Angles in charge and 3, The Bush people got away with a lot of shit because no one pays attention to the boring old department of Justice. Well, we know cameras follow these three every where. Put them some place important, let the cameras run and no more secrets going on. Besides, for their own sakes, don't you think we should monitor them in a place where there are lawyers and handcuffs near by 24/7?
You really have to put this in perspective. If the Obama/Clinton ticket wins it demonstrates just how awful Bush was. 200 years and 43 White Male Presidents. That is a very impressive record. Well, Bush was so bad that a majority of America said, fuck that! The only thing I would worry about is Clinton. Dear Obama, never let her bring you coffee. The words, a heart beat away from the office of the President will ring in her head every night when she hits the pillow next to first Husband, Bill.
Best Bumper Sticker Ever!
Last night's game show, GET IT down at the Punchline played out as they usually do. I was nervous that there was a small crowd a quarter till show time, I was slightly depressed about the current state of my inner life and the show went off wonderfully with compliments from departing audience members. In fact, that's really where this story begins; at the end. Literally. As people left and I packed up the buzzers, I was prepared for a quiet rest of the night. Stepping outside, a few audience members sat smoking cigarettes and talking with other audience members. Thats when I heard these words from a young Asian girl desperately trying to light a cigarette in the wind.
"Will you sign my tits?"
I didn't think I heard it right but after I raised my eyebrows and asked if she just said what I thought she said, she changed her mind. "Yeah. Sign my tits and my ass."
Who am I to turn down a ladies request.
You know, you work so hard for recognition and admiration from the crowd and when it comes, it feels wonderful. Wonderful, and it turns out, a little dirty too.
"Of course I will sign your Tits and ass!"
She had very specific instructions though. She wanted my name on her tits and then the words, Me love you long time, on her ass with my name.
"Wait. How old are you?" I thought I should ask before I put my name on her.
Slightly incredulous, she answered. "23!"
So I ask you dear reader, what would you do? It's wasn't like she was alone either. There were three guys, another girl and me. It's not like we were in the back room of some bar or around the corner in the dark.
Luckily, I had a sharpie on me. I don't keep one on me for this, I had it from the name tags for contestants on the game show. Course, when I pulled it out of my pocket on a seconds notice, I think she did pause for a moment to reconsider her request.
Sure enough, she pulled her shirt down and I wrote not just my name, but my web site across her heart. Then came the other end. She seemed a lot less shy about this region of her body. She turned around, bent like a lady at the knee and down went the pants to reveal a splendid brown ass. I took my time. Penmanship is such a lost art. Again, I wrote my name, website and the phrase, I luv you long time! Then, as quickly as it begin, she pulled her pants up, turned around and the following words left her mouth as she gestured to the guy sitting next to her, "This is my boyfriend."
The lord giveth and the lord takith.
That was an awkward moment. He shook my hand, you know, the same hand that was just on his ladies ass. Everyone seemed pretty cool with it, but all I could think of is; enjoy the doggy style sex for the next week or so as my name looks back up at you!
Best bumper sticker I ever put on!
Somewhere, there is a young Asian man who now gets a hard-on every time he sees the words, standupjoe.com
Really, what more can you ask for as a performer?
"Will you sign my tits?"
I didn't think I heard it right but after I raised my eyebrows and asked if she just said what I thought she said, she changed her mind. "Yeah. Sign my tits and my ass."
Who am I to turn down a ladies request.
You know, you work so hard for recognition and admiration from the crowd and when it comes, it feels wonderful. Wonderful, and it turns out, a little dirty too.
"Of course I will sign your Tits and ass!"
She had very specific instructions though. She wanted my name on her tits and then the words, Me love you long time, on her ass with my name.
"Wait. How old are you?" I thought I should ask before I put my name on her.
Slightly incredulous, she answered. "23!"
So I ask you dear reader, what would you do? It's wasn't like she was alone either. There were three guys, another girl and me. It's not like we were in the back room of some bar or around the corner in the dark.
Luckily, I had a sharpie on me. I don't keep one on me for this, I had it from the name tags for contestants on the game show. Course, when I pulled it out of my pocket on a seconds notice, I think she did pause for a moment to reconsider her request.
Sure enough, she pulled her shirt down and I wrote not just my name, but my web site across her heart. Then came the other end. She seemed a lot less shy about this region of her body. She turned around, bent like a lady at the knee and down went the pants to reveal a splendid brown ass. I took my time. Penmanship is such a lost art. Again, I wrote my name, website and the phrase, I luv you long time! Then, as quickly as it begin, she pulled her pants up, turned around and the following words left her mouth as she gestured to the guy sitting next to her, "This is my boyfriend."
The lord giveth and the lord takith.
That was an awkward moment. He shook my hand, you know, the same hand that was just on his ladies ass. Everyone seemed pretty cool with it, but all I could think of is; enjoy the doggy style sex for the next week or so as my name looks back up at you!
Best bumper sticker I ever put on!
Somewhere, there is a young Asian man who now gets a hard-on every time he sees the words, standupjoe.com
Really, what more can you ask for as a performer?
Sunday, June 01, 2008
I don't have a title for this one
I watched some of the Democratic National Committee try to sort out this mess with the Florida and Michigan primaries this weekend. Here is my big question about this whole thing; Where were all these people two years ago?
Speech after speech, all made by intelligent people who invoked the sanctify of the vote, went on and on. It was all bullshit! Bullshit, because everyone of the people in that room either voted for those states to be stripped of their primary votes for breaking the rules, or were representatives of people who were more interested in casting their vote for American idol then worry about something so distant as the 2008 election when they were told about it in their local papers.
It was a joke! No one in that room was surprised and until Clinton was loosing this election, she was quoted over and over that Florida and Michigan's primaries did not count.
Here is how it works America. Pay close attention please.
Break the rules and pay a price.
Former White House press Secretary, Scott McClellan published a new book; What Happened. You will notice that there is no question mark at the end of that. It is one more Book from a man in this Administration that confirms what the majority of Americans are starting to recognize as the truth; we were lied into a war. One by one anchors and reporters are coming forward to tell the same story. Brian Williams told a story this week about getting a phone call from the Pentagon after a report he filed from Kuwait. Katie Couric told a story about a similar phone call from the White House after a interview where she was told they did not like the tone of the piece. Story after story is starting to emerge where reporters are now saying that subtle and not so subtle pressure was put on them to keep the stories about the lead up to the war in Iraq positive.
So why are we hearing about this now? This is a major story! The government leaned on network's, executives and reporters to tell the story they wanted in the way they wanted and no one ever said anything to the American people until 7 years and almost 5,000 dead American troops later!
The fact is, the reporters kept their mouths shut because they didn't want to loose their jobs. Scott McClellan stayed quiet because he wanted the money while he was the official liar and he wanted more money to tell how much he lied after he left. Money and principles do not go together very comfortably. All of these stories are related to a conversation I had with a friend recently. He told me very proudly that he had reached a point in his life where he could separate his principles in order to make money. That's progress? As the above stories illustrate, separating yourself from your principles for money, power or fame seems to be a deal with the devil. Principles are not something you have. They are the actions you take. If you tell the world after a war has claimed millions of lives that you knew you were lying, you don't get treated like a hero. It just means you finally did the right thing.
Speech after speech, all made by intelligent people who invoked the sanctify of the vote, went on and on. It was all bullshit! Bullshit, because everyone of the people in that room either voted for those states to be stripped of their primary votes for breaking the rules, or were representatives of people who were more interested in casting their vote for American idol then worry about something so distant as the 2008 election when they were told about it in their local papers.
It was a joke! No one in that room was surprised and until Clinton was loosing this election, she was quoted over and over that Florida and Michigan's primaries did not count.
Here is how it works America. Pay close attention please.
Break the rules and pay a price.
Former White House press Secretary, Scott McClellan published a new book; What Happened. You will notice that there is no question mark at the end of that. It is one more Book from a man in this Administration that confirms what the majority of Americans are starting to recognize as the truth; we were lied into a war. One by one anchors and reporters are coming forward to tell the same story. Brian Williams told a story this week about getting a phone call from the Pentagon after a report he filed from Kuwait. Katie Couric told a story about a similar phone call from the White House after a interview where she was told they did not like the tone of the piece. Story after story is starting to emerge where reporters are now saying that subtle and not so subtle pressure was put on them to keep the stories about the lead up to the war in Iraq positive.
So why are we hearing about this now? This is a major story! The government leaned on network's, executives and reporters to tell the story they wanted in the way they wanted and no one ever said anything to the American people until 7 years and almost 5,000 dead American troops later!
The fact is, the reporters kept their mouths shut because they didn't want to loose their jobs. Scott McClellan stayed quiet because he wanted the money while he was the official liar and he wanted more money to tell how much he lied after he left. Money and principles do not go together very comfortably. All of these stories are related to a conversation I had with a friend recently. He told me very proudly that he had reached a point in his life where he could separate his principles in order to make money. That's progress? As the above stories illustrate, separating yourself from your principles for money, power or fame seems to be a deal with the devil. Principles are not something you have. They are the actions you take. If you tell the world after a war has claimed millions of lives that you knew you were lying, you don't get treated like a hero. It just means you finally did the right thing.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
The Duggan!
I closed a contest show at Roosters recently. Let me get right to the point. One of the comics went on stage and told a story about the time he lost an inch and a half off the tip of his dick in a lumber accident. Lumber accident. So ironic! Apparently he was carrying a heavy beam. He dropped his end, or load if you want to continue the bounty of sexual innuendo that this story is! It didn't just fall at his feet though. No. It fell on top of another hard surface (I am letting that one go) trapping an inch and a half of his dick between the not so proverbial rock and hard place. Ever see a crowd of men wince collectively? I have now. What made the story great was this nugget of detail. "A hallo of blood started spreading from my groin." A dare you to close your eyes and not picture that horrific scene. Oh but the best part isn't over yet. The best part was after he finished his set, he sat down with his friends in the front row. The front row!
I turned to another comic in the back of the room and said, "Oh. I am sooo fucking with him!"
The second worse day of his life was the day he lost an inch and a half of his dick in an accident. The worse day has to be the night I got on stage and that was the first ten minuets of my set.
He kept referring to his dick as, The Duggan. The Duggan? The Duggan. There is something about putting the word The right before the pet name for your dick that feels weird. The Duggan. Like it's royalty with a family crest or a Seinfeld episode. I call mine, the Mulligan. I always want to do it over.
Oh the poor guy.
But life had the last laugh on me. He was a good sport. I put my hand out at the end for the guy fist pound thing. He graciously returned the man bonding gesture. That's when I noticed the wedding ring. Wedding ring!? This dude lost an inch and a half off his dick in some freak wood accident (Wood accident indeed) and has a wife, but I went home that night to jack-off to memories of my X girlfriend with tears for lube with a perfectly good dick? Oh yeah. Life's fair!
I turned to another comic in the back of the room and said, "Oh. I am sooo fucking with him!"
The second worse day of his life was the day he lost an inch and a half of his dick in an accident. The worse day has to be the night I got on stage and that was the first ten minuets of my set.
He kept referring to his dick as, The Duggan. The Duggan? The Duggan. There is something about putting the word The right before the pet name for your dick that feels weird. The Duggan. Like it's royalty with a family crest or a Seinfeld episode. I call mine, the Mulligan. I always want to do it over.
Oh the poor guy.
But life had the last laugh on me. He was a good sport. I put my hand out at the end for the guy fist pound thing. He graciously returned the man bonding gesture. That's when I noticed the wedding ring. Wedding ring!? This dude lost an inch and a half off his dick in some freak wood accident (Wood accident indeed) and has a wife, but I went home that night to jack-off to memories of my X girlfriend with tears for lube with a perfectly good dick? Oh yeah. Life's fair!
A Little Revelation
Last night I climbed into my car and started the drive to Sunnyvale for a show at Roosters. As I did the thought hit me, I am going to perform stand-up comedy and someone is paying me for it. It’s a nice thought to have every once in a while. It means that no matter what I still love it. All the rejection and the constant expectation are worth the pleasure of getting on stage and doing what I do better than anything else I can do. It’s a nice revelation to have as you head to a show. Not that I wasn’t looking forward to the show anyway, but I do catch myself drifting into somber thoughts sometimes and this tiny burst of spontaneous gratitude helped to remind me that with or without the desired fame, I would still be doing this. As a result, I had a set that I felt totally alive in and free. That’s just a damn good feeling! When you do an audition, it’s the feeling you want to have embodied in your set. You want it to appear to flow freely, as if everything you are saying is leaving your mouth for the first time. That’s the problem though; you want it to appear that way. It shouldn't be something that you have to struggle to make appear. Lately, that is just what I have had to do on stage; fake it. It’s not that I don’t love being a comic. I do. It’s all the other stuff that comes along with it. You have to get some measure of fame or you just don’t advance. That point is made abundantly clear by the fact that tonight, I will be paid the same amount of money to close a show that I was paid to host my first ever professional gig more than 15 years ago. I don’t blame the club for this either. The clubs are in the same boat the local comics are. They need to bring in bigger names to make more money. The comics want to make more money, so that’s why we endure all the stuff that knocks us off our game. All that being said, when I get into my shinny little car, a car paid for entirely with comedy money, I realize that I have it far better than a lot of other comics. I don’t want my spirituality to be dependant on how much better I am doing than someone else, but I am doing OK. For whatever reason that thought came into my head tonight. There is a lot of stuff coming up. Good stuff. Opportunity. But you can’t reach for that next level if you can’t enjoy where you are now. That sounds like something you read on a poster that has cute kittens or something.
So that’s it. No great story about a weird gig or a report about a show, just one man going to work and thinking, that makes me happy. It makes the tiny apartment worth it. It makes the late nights and early mornings worth it. It makes the egos and the idiots bearable. It makes the let down of not getting something you want so bad worth it. All I want to be able to do is get on stage and make people laugh. But I also know that I have not been taking care of myself like I should be. Between all the stuff I have committed myself to doing, it leaves very little time to take care of the things that need to be taken care of so I can just get up and start the day on a good note. Know what I mean? Something has to give or go before I break. I am thinking about taking a break from teaching for awhile. I didn't know that I would enjoy it so much when I started it, but the demands on my time are starting to go from acceptable returns to a drain. Less money but more peaceful head space might not be a bad trade to make. After all, I know for a fact that I cannot get to that next level without taking all the steeps needed to insure a calm mind and a heart free of anger. This may not be a fact for every comic, but I know it is for me. I have never gotten a gig or advanced in an audition situation when the inside of my head was noisier than the crowd. There has just been a little too much static in there lately. The thought that I still get to do this and get paid for it still amazes me though. You cannot afford to take that for granted. When you do, and there have been times when I have, you are just going through the motions. It is a loveless and gray thing to be standing on stage coasting your way to the end of a set to get that check and get the hell out of there. I want to be on stage and want to be there. Big theater or small gig for gas money, I want all of my shows to be important. The only way to do that is to take all that noise inside myself seriously.
So maybe someone sent me good karma or said a prayer or just had a good thought for me. Whatever it was, I got the message from out of the blue; be grateful for what you can do, not pissed off for what you might not get.
So that’s it. No great story about a weird gig or a report about a show, just one man going to work and thinking, that makes me happy. It makes the tiny apartment worth it. It makes the late nights and early mornings worth it. It makes the egos and the idiots bearable. It makes the let down of not getting something you want so bad worth it. All I want to be able to do is get on stage and make people laugh. But I also know that I have not been taking care of myself like I should be. Between all the stuff I have committed myself to doing, it leaves very little time to take care of the things that need to be taken care of so I can just get up and start the day on a good note. Know what I mean? Something has to give or go before I break. I am thinking about taking a break from teaching for awhile. I didn't know that I would enjoy it so much when I started it, but the demands on my time are starting to go from acceptable returns to a drain. Less money but more peaceful head space might not be a bad trade to make. After all, I know for a fact that I cannot get to that next level without taking all the steeps needed to insure a calm mind and a heart free of anger. This may not be a fact for every comic, but I know it is for me. I have never gotten a gig or advanced in an audition situation when the inside of my head was noisier than the crowd. There has just been a little too much static in there lately. The thought that I still get to do this and get paid for it still amazes me though. You cannot afford to take that for granted. When you do, and there have been times when I have, you are just going through the motions. It is a loveless and gray thing to be standing on stage coasting your way to the end of a set to get that check and get the hell out of there. I want to be on stage and want to be there. Big theater or small gig for gas money, I want all of my shows to be important. The only way to do that is to take all that noise inside myself seriously.
So maybe someone sent me good karma or said a prayer or just had a good thought for me. Whatever it was, I got the message from out of the blue; be grateful for what you can do, not pissed off for what you might not get.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Eyes on the prize, bitches!
Monday night was the first ever Jimmy Gunn Riff sessions at the Punchline. All in all, I would call it a success! If you were there, then you know just how odd and awkward Jimmy's hosting can be. Part act and part that's just the way he is, it made for good fodder the entire evening. In fact, I would say the show became more of a roast than a riff on today's topics. Doug Benson, high as hell, was also very funny. If you ever saw Tough Crowd, with Colin Quin on Comedy Central, then you have a pretty good idea of how the show works. We all did sets first. We went back on stage later, sat down and took questions from the crowd. There were some great moments. I think crowds enjoy a show like this. It gives them something different and something unexpected rather than the usual.
Last night I did my audition set for the Craig Ferguson show. Right off the top I will say that my set was good. Not great, but good. I am fighting the urge to go into greater detail and describe all the joy out of it. perhaps you have noticed. I do that sometimes. The notes I got back from the scout were encouraging. You always hope for a killer set from the first joke to the last joke. His biggest concern was that they might have an issue with my Mom jokes. Were talking TV now. If you watch a lot of late night shows and check out the comics, you will notice that most of their sets are lacking in any opinion or any edge. This is not their fault. The TV people don't want any letters from anyone who could possibly be offended. I was told to avoid politics and not to mention drinking, drugs, product names or any references to violence. In other words, try not to acknowledge the times we live in at all. It left me with about 5 minuets worth of stuff I could do. Good thing, because that's all they want. According to the guy in change of taping all of us, CBS sometimes has issues with a joke where it appears the mom is doing something bad to her kid. I have issues with that too. Hence the jokes about it. It just reinforces the idea that I need to take it to the Internet. No restrictions. No commercials. If people get upset, so what. That's the beauty of the Internet. Send me an e-mail telling me you think I don't understand politics. Send me an e-mail saying you don't think I am funny. To me, all that means is, you watched it.
Soon, Last Comic Standing will air the San Francisco auditions show. Word is, they will air a nice chunk of my set. I will believe it when I see it.
At the moment, I am trying not to second guess my set or think that the Ferguson show will pass on me. Next month I will be at a comedy festival where I will spend a week in front of the David Letterman Booker. Eyes on the prize, bitches!
Last night I did my audition set for the Craig Ferguson show. Right off the top I will say that my set was good. Not great, but good. I am fighting the urge to go into greater detail and describe all the joy out of it. perhaps you have noticed. I do that sometimes. The notes I got back from the scout were encouraging. You always hope for a killer set from the first joke to the last joke. His biggest concern was that they might have an issue with my Mom jokes. Were talking TV now. If you watch a lot of late night shows and check out the comics, you will notice that most of their sets are lacking in any opinion or any edge. This is not their fault. The TV people don't want any letters from anyone who could possibly be offended. I was told to avoid politics and not to mention drinking, drugs, product names or any references to violence. In other words, try not to acknowledge the times we live in at all. It left me with about 5 minuets worth of stuff I could do. Good thing, because that's all they want. According to the guy in change of taping all of us, CBS sometimes has issues with a joke where it appears the mom is doing something bad to her kid. I have issues with that too. Hence the jokes about it. It just reinforces the idea that I need to take it to the Internet. No restrictions. No commercials. If people get upset, so what. That's the beauty of the Internet. Send me an e-mail telling me you think I don't understand politics. Send me an e-mail saying you don't think I am funny. To me, all that means is, you watched it.
Soon, Last Comic Standing will air the San Francisco auditions show. Word is, they will air a nice chunk of my set. I will believe it when I see it.
At the moment, I am trying not to second guess my set or think that the Ferguson show will pass on me. Next month I will be at a comedy festival where I will spend a week in front of the David Letterman Booker. Eyes on the prize, bitches!
Monday, May 26, 2008
Another Week of News
Last week, the Congress voted and passed the new G.I. Bill. It is a bill that gives financial help to returning Iraq and Afghanistan vets for college and medical help. Like their fathers before them, this generation of returning solders deserves to be thanked with easy access to education and a better future.
John McCain, Vietnam vet and champion of veterans rights did not vote on the bill. Instead, he choose to stay in California at a fund raiser.
Obama, flew back to Washington to vote in favor of the bill before returning to a rally for him in Florida.
McCain criticized Obama for not understanding veterans issues because he never served. It's true, Obama never served. He was 12 when Vietnam ended. A little young to serve in Vietnam.
Obama voted in favor of a bill that will help returning veteran's, a bill that the President and McCain was against by the way, and McCain couldn't be bothered to vote on it. He did have the time to say that Obama didn't understand veteran's issues because he never wore the uniform though. Make sense? Me either.
Mean while, we are still occupying Iraq. Little history lesson folks. The two main groups of people in Iraq are the sunnis and the shia. Under Saddam, the Shia were second class citizens often brutalized by Saddam. Saddam was a Sunni, so we knocked him and all traces of the Sunni's from the government in Iraq. You think thats a good thing, right? We put into power a government composed mostly of Shia's. Guess who the ruling religious faction in Iran is? Thats right, Shia's. When you hear people say that the biggest winner in this war is Iran, they aren't kidding! We did for Iran what eight years of war with Iraq never could! Then, we complain that Iran is influencing Iraq. You think? It's like we invaded Switzerland at the height of World War War two, threw out the government and installed a new one composed of Nazi's and then got mad at Germany for having more influence in Switzerland. Do you understand exactly how stupid we look to the rest of the world that clearly knows the difference between Sunni and Shia? Most American have a hard time telling the difference between American Idols after a few months, but the world knows what is going on and this is yet one more example of why we look like retards. Who thinks McCain will run anything different?
Now onto another round of Clinton Bashing! By now you have heard Hillary's comment about why she is staying in the race, right? In an interview she said her husband didn't get the nomination until June and that Bobby Kennedy was shot in June. So, one reason Clinton continues to fight is on the chance that Obama will be assassinated. Nice. Anyone else think that at this point she has gone a little nuts?
"I am staying in the race because someone might shoot Obama. Let's face it folks, a lot of people voted for me in the primary because he's a freaking' black guy and you know what this country does to politically minded black people. That's why I stay in the race. Odds are, I will be the nominee by default."
Well, on ward and upward to another week of news=)
John McCain, Vietnam vet and champion of veterans rights did not vote on the bill. Instead, he choose to stay in California at a fund raiser.
Obama, flew back to Washington to vote in favor of the bill before returning to a rally for him in Florida.
McCain criticized Obama for not understanding veterans issues because he never served. It's true, Obama never served. He was 12 when Vietnam ended. A little young to serve in Vietnam.
Obama voted in favor of a bill that will help returning veteran's, a bill that the President and McCain was against by the way, and McCain couldn't be bothered to vote on it. He did have the time to say that Obama didn't understand veteran's issues because he never wore the uniform though. Make sense? Me either.
Mean while, we are still occupying Iraq. Little history lesson folks. The two main groups of people in Iraq are the sunnis and the shia. Under Saddam, the Shia were second class citizens often brutalized by Saddam. Saddam was a Sunni, so we knocked him and all traces of the Sunni's from the government in Iraq. You think thats a good thing, right? We put into power a government composed mostly of Shia's. Guess who the ruling religious faction in Iran is? Thats right, Shia's. When you hear people say that the biggest winner in this war is Iran, they aren't kidding! We did for Iran what eight years of war with Iraq never could! Then, we complain that Iran is influencing Iraq. You think? It's like we invaded Switzerland at the height of World War War two, threw out the government and installed a new one composed of Nazi's and then got mad at Germany for having more influence in Switzerland. Do you understand exactly how stupid we look to the rest of the world that clearly knows the difference between Sunni and Shia? Most American have a hard time telling the difference between American Idols after a few months, but the world knows what is going on and this is yet one more example of why we look like retards. Who thinks McCain will run anything different?
Now onto another round of Clinton Bashing! By now you have heard Hillary's comment about why she is staying in the race, right? In an interview she said her husband didn't get the nomination until June and that Bobby Kennedy was shot in June. So, one reason Clinton continues to fight is on the chance that Obama will be assassinated. Nice. Anyone else think that at this point she has gone a little nuts?
"I am staying in the race because someone might shoot Obama. Let's face it folks, a lot of people voted for me in the primary because he's a freaking' black guy and you know what this country does to politically minded black people. That's why I stay in the race. Odds are, I will be the nominee by default."
Well, on ward and upward to another week of news=)
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