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My Friends…

Life really stopped being funny for me recently. I think part of that is because I am now the owner (owned by) of a blackberry. I think after the atomic bomb and breast reduction, probably the third worst thing science has given human kind. But since my sense of humor is being dulled, probably by the not-yet-discovered cancer rays shooting out of my blackberry, I now find politics more entertaining than ever. Here is what I have not enjoyed from the election front this month:

1) John McCain and his incessant use of “My Friends.” Bill Maher made light of this a few weeks ago and it is truly gag inducing. Someone in McCain’s camp must have informed him that referring to audiences as “My Friends” would make him more folksy (think George W.) and soften his appearance as a broken GI Joe action figure storing acorns in his left squirrel-like cheek. I counted 866 “My Friends” in a ten minute speech last night.

2) Wolf Blitzer. I am not sure what it is. Perhaps it is his wolf-like appearance, or the incessant compliments he gives his own show and reporters. Either way he sucks.

3) Acting like young people matter. If Hillary wins the nomination, people are concerned about all the young people that Obama has energized losing their enthusiasm and not coming out in November. What about all the older people (especially women) that would not be inclined to vote for an inexperienced, increasingly arrogant (to some observers) candidate? The truth is – older voters are the ones you can count on in November. Young People are not. And when the Obama momentum has slowed down, as it is already, the cool factor will have faded for many young people and they will probably not be as “energized” by things like “policy” and “issues.” They might be, but to say that Obama will not lose any Democratic support if he wins is not true.

4) The debate between sexism and racism. They are both bad. But the fact remains that normal people are much more uncomfortable with racism than sexism. That is clear when at a McCain rally a few months ago someone asked “How do we beat the bitch?” Society has progressed to the point where this is still somewhat funny, but only behind closed doors in those states can someone ask, “How do we beat the nig-er?” Which is weird, because in the South you’d think they already knew how to do both.

5) McCain – I really hate the “My Friends” thing.

6) George W. Bush is getting a free ride his last year. We are about to hit 4,000 dead in the Middle East.

7) Al Gore did not run for President. But I am not quite sure if I would either if I were on the boards of Google and Apple and enjoying eating high calorie meals.

8) Anyone who runs for President is either crazy, arrogant or both (or in one recent exception – unable to actually grasp the magnitude of the job). I get up most days now stressed about my job or about other items in my life. But in the grand scheme of things not a whole lot is riding on my decisions. And I STILL wonder If I have made the right choices. Now imagine thinking to yourself, “I can and I should be running the world.” That is not a normal thought for a human being to have. I just want one reporter to ask each candidate, “What the fu-k are you thinking?”

9) My

10) Friends

I saw Vantage Point, Juno Won an Award and Omar is Dead

On a day when Hollywood honors its best achievements I accidentally went for cinematic irony. I went to see this weekend’s #1 film, Vantage Point. My vantage point is that it is one of the worst 15 films I have evern seen. it confirmed my opinion that Forrest Whitaker has some rare nerve disease that forces his droppy, Shrek-like face to convey 8-9 emotions per second. His performance was so bad that he really should consider giving his Oscar back. Forrest Whitaker with an Oscar bothers me almost as much as the fact that Antoine Walker has an NBA Championship.

It is already this year’s front runner for the Beolwulf/Alpha Dog award as J-L’s worst movie.

Then I tuned in to the Oscars. I was hoping that Juno would not win any awards. Unfortunately, it won best original screnplay. No shock, this cheerful film about the light-hearted quirkiness of teen pregnancy was written by a former stripper (she did not look very hot – perhaps she was just a 25 cent booth stripper). Perhaps Eastern promises would have been quirky and witty if it had been written by a pregnant 16 year old.

So with two strikes on the evening to the entertainment world, the third strike and biggest blow was delivered when I watched The Wire episode I taped (yes I am out of the TiVo world and back into the VCR timer world). In the episode Omar Little, one of the most original characters in television history was shot in the back of the head by a 12 year old. Other than Jimmy McNulty Omar is probably the character most identified with the greatest show ever made. I cried myself to sleep yelling, “Why couldn’t it have been Juno? WHY???”

Baxter doesn’t even know his own father.

Due to some unfortunate circumstances, which I won’t go into now, I have been “hanging out” with my parents a lot this week. As I made my way to my parents’ home last weekend I was careful to blast Daughtry’s “Home” in my ipod to make me feel like I was in a sad American Idol-style farewell video.

Well, after two days of hanging out with my folks I was already being peppered with, “Why are you out so late?” (answer – because some documents needed to be read and whose going to read them? You? You Lt. Weinberg?) and “When are you getting up for work?” (answer – as soon as you pack my lunch and put me on the school bus).

But it was not until Valentine’s Day, five days since I’d gone to my folks, until I saw Baxter (not romantically). For those of you that don’t know Baxter is the Beagle I bought LB, who apparently likes to play near the window. I just hope the screens are always on the 19th floor windows.

Now I think he felt abandonned and he acted like he didn’t know me. His mother probably peppered him with stories about how I didn’t care about him (true) and how I was out playing with other Beagles and their mothers (not true). He had gotten big and I think he thought he was the man of the house. After all he does sh-t wherever he wants to. This is why being the parent of an as-hole must be the worst. In Baxter’s case I rescued him from a pet store, where he was repeatedly made a bitch by his two shitzhu cellmates. I fed him for two weeks, cleaned up his poop and after five days he acts like I don’t exist. Maybe he is just feeling pride in seeing Uno the Beagle win the Westminster Dog Show. That’s nothing a few viewings of Amoros Perros can’t cure.

So to escape I have been immersing myself in litigation, which is the mental equivalent of committing suicide via paper cut. If Morgan Freemon were here I think he would be screaming, “You know what staring at cases and computer screens does – it kills your brain cells so, it kills your brain cells. So if you’re going to kill yourself don’t f-ck around – do it expeditiously!”

(When I saw Lean on Me I was only 10 or 11, but I did not know what expeditiously meant and I was pretty sure the fat crackhead Sams did not know either).

Anyway, things could be worse. That’s why I’m visiting Childrens’ Hospital tomorrow with comedian Mick Diflo (inside joke – if you don’t know it – watch his myspace video – brilliant comedian).

That about sums it up.

My friend and fellow comedian Pat Breslin has a joke that feels appropriate today. He talks about being parked behind a school bus in a shit-y car. One of the kids in the school bus gives him the middle finger. And Pat’s response is, “You know what? That kid is right – Fu-k me!”

Today I had an early morning audition for Last Comic Standing. Judging the beginning of this blog entry I think you can tell how it went. I was the second comic of the day and I got polite smiles from the producers and was told my material was good, but my delivery was rushed. The truth is they are right, but there is something so artifical about not having laughter during a joke that it becomes hard to pause and take your time the way you would normally. I did not even feel that nervous except for the fact that two of my better jokes got smiles, but not laughs. Oh well.

I did get interviewed by Bill Bellamy afterwards and he told me I was the tallest person that they ever auditioned. I replied, “Well if they change it to to Tallest Comic Standing I’m set.” Probably the best reaction I got to a joke all day.

So as I left like Superman in a bath of kryptonite I went home and changed into my Clark Kent monkey suit. At work a guy who works near me, who forgot that I go by J-L, but can phonetically read my name plate outside my office says to me “Hello Gene.” He syas that to me every day. I have been meaning to correct him because he is a nice guy. But today “Gene” feels like that kid’s middle finger in pat’s joke. You know what, that’s right, I am Gene today.

Only 2 more rejections pending

In the Spirit of the Super Bowl (the best one I’ve ever seen and the best football catch I’ve ever seen live) I have been looking at my comedy “career” through the lens of a football fan.

Barring Eli Manning-like heroics I will once again be shut out of Live at Gotham. 3 seasons, 2 auditions, 0 appearances.

My first audition was sabotaged by a joke I told, with less than perfect confidence about United 93, the 9/11 movie. In sum, I basically said that after seeing that movie I was nervous that if I was ever on a plane that was hijacked I felt like, given my size, the passengers would look to me to be some sort of noble warrior sacrificing my large frame for the good of the whole. Only problem is that I am a wuss stuck in an NBA power forward’s body.

WIDE RIGHT!

I felt like I had it and that joke hijacked it from me.

So this year I decided to not go with anything new and just go with hits. Until a great joke hit me two days before. Oh this will kill, thought I. Wrong. The gist of the joke was comparing myself to a retirmenet community for my girlfriend instead of being the Boiler Room scumbag that a majority of women want.

I ended that set stongly and that glitch was much smaller and less noticeable than the one a year ago. But apparently that was like a team down 2 touchdowns scoring a touchdown on a nice play with 5 seconds left.

Now Gotham has become like the frozen tundra of Lambeau field. Cold and unwelcoming (unless I have 10 friends, which ironically I do not think Ihave anymore because of the harsh and costly nature of the bringer business).

So in the next few days comes another “game’ at Gotham – the Last Comic Standing auditions. Who did the Bills lose their 3rd Super Bowl to?

Baxter

In fairy tales, hypothetical tales of love, and Hallmark-style commercials when a man buys a puppy for his lady it seems that nothing goes wrong. This was the idea when I surprised my fiancee with a Beagle puppy. I have been told repeatedly that she wants one and that other than Smith from Sex and the City, Beagle puppies are her favorite thing in the world (far ahead of Haitian-Irish comics).

However, unless you are Barack Obama, this world of hopes and dreams is not reality. I immediately learned a few things.

1) Buying a puppy by surprise is apparently never a good idea. No matter how many times you hear I want a puppy. And no matter how many times you get or give hints at a Valentine’s/Birthday purchase – not a good idea.

2) Beagles are apparently the spokesdog for badly behaved dogs. Every product that seems to offer some deterrent for bad behavior uses a Beagle as the symbol.

3) Baxter (named for Ron Burgundy’s dog in Anchorman) can pinch loaves that smell like the stables at Preakness after an epidemic of horse dysentery has struck. Within 10 seconds you can smell his creations in the other room.

4) I do not LOVE dogs. I have always liked dogs. I have walked them, petted tham and played with them. However, I realized something. I do not love dogs. I see Petco as a smelly necessity, not as a kid sees candy stores. I think dogs are pleasant pets. But I do not think they are friends.

5) I have learned that having a puppy is like having a kid, but without all the sense of meaning and pride.

6) But most importantly, the silver lining to this is that having a Beagle puppy is great for material. Did I ever tell you the one about the time I “lost” my puppy in the Hudson River?

Anybody ever do comedy at Peculiar Pub?

Nick Cobb is a fellow NYC comedian trying to get to the next level, much like myself. It was Nick Cobb who brought me to Budd lake, NJ for what turned out to be one of the most fun shows I have ever done. In response to that he asked me to open for him at a 30th Birthday party at Peculiar Pub this past Saturday. I said sure. Whoops.

The bar/restaurant had a nice pub feel and hundreds of beer options. In other words it was a terrible venue for comedy. When the birthday party arrived, everyone seemed nice enough. As we walked back to where everyone was sitting we realized that there was no stage. No problem – been there before. There was also no space to perform. We literally had to move out of the way when the waitress would bring food and drinks.

I decided to test the crowd with my first joke. I leaned over to the woman who I was standing about 14 inches from (by necessity) and said, “I’m sorry about this – I know you didn’t order your sandwich with a side of crotch.” Nothing. I then told them no matter what they were thinking I definitely preferred Peculiar Pub to CBS late night. One chuckle.

Eventually I got the crowd going but for different reasons. One table of women seemed drunkenly interested in me, but not for my jokes. The table that had my crotch as a table guest seemed unhappy (mostly because one woman at their table would cringe at anything above PG and another person at the table was a fat pig of a man who later got into a verbal fight with Nick Cobb). The remaining three tables, however, actually loosened up and save it from being the worst show I’ve ever done. In an odd coincidence the 6 people out of about 25 that were wearing glasses all seemed to enjoy the show substantially more than everyone else. Or maybe my humor is nerdy.

The silver lining on the level 5 hurricaine that was this show was that I made $50 for 10 minutes, which proves there are people in this world who will literally burn money. My next show will be in the third bathroom stall at Starbucks on 93rd and Broadway on Saturday at 11 pm. See you there.

And after that there will be no more movies.

I have not seen a movie since I saw a 10:45 am show of There Will Be Blood on December 26th (if you are wondering it was pretty crowded, but mostly with people who eat dinner at 4 pm and remember the Model T). My fiancee asked me if I was going to be ok having not seen a movie in a month and if I was attending MA meetings. I then said (or thought) those in The Hills and The Real World houses should not throw stones.

It is fitting that There Will Be Blood was the last movie I saw, a film about a greedy capitalist turned misanthrope. It is unclear to me which happened first, his ambition for money or his hatred of humanity, but by the end of the film it was clear that he had both.

On a totally and completely unrelated note I have been working well past midnight every other day of the week. That does provide me with alternative forms of entertainment, like the 2 train on a Thursday early morning. There are people talking to themselves, the occasional harlot, a gang member or two (or men who really enjoy the color red) and several dozen Central and South American workers trying to avoid ruining our country as they return home after what is most likely their second job of the day. And a 6’7″ guy with eyes that are starting to resemble John Kerry’s reading a Pete Maravich biography.

Tonight I was supposed to see Cloverfield, but that plan evaporated around 10 am today. I guess there are life changes that cause you to readjust your lifestyle. And then there are changes that cause you to realize you have no life. I feel bad for those losers.

There Will Be Litigation hits theaters December 2011.

Baked goods + booster club for a high school hockey team + a firehouse hall = Great Comedy Show!

Friday January 18, 2008 I was booked to do a benefit show for the booster club (i.e. parents) of a high school hockey team in Budd Lake, NJ. When Nick Cobb, Brett Anderson, Jeff Sussman and I walked in we were all trying not to laugh. We were in a fire station hall, and we were looking out at about 11 tables of adults who looked like they came from Fargo. Furthermore there was a giant Bingo board up on the wall where the “stage” was (this looked like an electronic board that would look more in place at Madison Square Garden, so you know these people take their Bingo seriously). There was a pot luck buffet dinner (but it was bring your own wine and beer) and to the four of us we were not sure we had ever been to an environment that seemed more destined for comedy failure.

The great thing about comedy is that you never know how a show will turn out. These people who came to the show:

a) wanted comedians – they requested a comedy show as their fund raiser

b) were paying money for their kids’ hockey team

c) were willing to spend a Friday night in a firehouse hall

In other words, these people WANTED to laugh and laugh they did.

Each one of us had a great time and in a move of divine intervention, halfway through my set, literally as I was saying “I played basketball – the winter sport people care about” the microphone broke, pleasing all the hockey parents. So I had to do the last 15 minutes without a mic. And after a few minutes of mocking me the crowd got right back into audience mode and laughed.

After my set I was rewarded with one of the great dessert tables ever (baked cookies, brownies, cheesecake, etc.). And I made $75. But best of all, someone told me that they really enjoyed and appreciated my multi-racial humor because her family is very diverse and she apprecaited my experiences. I think I could have told her I was Obama and she would have given me money.

This stands in great contrast to the previous night at Gotham Comedy Club, in front of roughly the same number of people where I could not have paid people to have a good time. I felt like I was on stage sexually assaulting everyone’s mother going, “What, you don’t think this is funny?” Maybe it’s the jaded attitude of New Yorkers, combined with some of the biggest, most awkward silences before I got on stage, but I felt terrible about comedy Thursday night. It was the nice peopel of Budd Lake, NJ who immediately restored my faith, both in my own jokes and in the hope that there are people who want to just forget stuff and laugh. So thanks Budd Lake.

And it seems especially poignant because I am at my new job today (as well as tomorrow and Monday) and have not yet made anyone laugh. As Frank Drebin once said, “Like a blind man at an orgy I was going to have feel my way around.” Back to feeling my way around.

The New York Times was just a year and a half behind my expose.

This morning while reading the New York Times I saw that prosecutors are looking into connections between hip hop artists and steroid suppliers. Perhaps the five of you that have been reading this diligently can spread the word to everyone else that there is more to this site than just great comedy and height. Here is the re-print from June 3, 2006(because I am pressed for time and less funny now):

Quick update on my CD sales. I am already 999,983 from going platinum. Let’s make it happen people.

I am a big sports fan. But I am tired of the discussion of steroids. Just go read Game of Shadows and you will see that half of professional sports is on some sort of undetectable steroid (track and field is probably the only sport dirtier than baseball, which is a pity because no one even gives a shit about track and even fewer care about field).

And I hate it when people make it like the hatred of Barry Bonds is about race. The hatred of Hank Aaron was all about race. Of all people I am privy to still existent racism (track 20 of Racial Chameleon), but to suggest that people are mad at Barry Bonds for anything other than his new bobble head and the fact that he is a royal prick (he dumped his white girlfriend of several years because he needed to marry a black woman for his image (he said it, not me) – who’s racist?). Until recently, no one gave Mark McGwire or Sammy Sosa any gruff because they made it fun. They demonstrated that steroids can bring out the best in us. They were like the steroid super heroes. While the same vat of radioactive steroids also affected bad people, like Barry Bonds and he became a steroid super villain, with guys like Jason Giambi being the guys who can’t decide what side of the steroid war they want to be on, like Pyro in X-Men 2. Meanwhile Jose Canseco showed that steroids can destroy weights and the English language in his crapoir “Juiced.”

But after all of this I am tired of the discussion. Barry Bonds is a great player. He is also a piece of crap. And he is a lot better because of steroids. But no one is talking about steroids in another field of American culture. Rap or Hip-Hop. All the artists who got physically huge saw gains in their careers, but also different types of injuries to their careers (just like ahtletes who do steroids). Here is the evidence:

LL Cool J started it (maybe he is the Jose Canseco of rap – “I never injected 50 Cent personally, but I know he was interested.”) He has always been a weight room guy, but in the last 3 years he became NFL size with bodybuilder cuts. And his music is not as good now.

Then came Treach from Naughty by Nature. He was intimidating and made it on to this Season of the Sopranos (benefits of steroids), but he also banged Peppa of Salt N Peppa, and that is his injury. And Naughty by Nature is nowhere to be found.

Then came the McGwire of rap – 50 Cent. This guy has bigger breasts than half of Playboy. But it did get him In da Club. Perhaps his album “Get Rich or Die Tryin’” really means “I don’t care if these ‘roids give me a heart attack, I need to get paid.” Like McGwire’s andro, 50 Cent’s gunplay is just a cover for his steroid use. However, since becoming a gigantic rapper he has suffered numerous injuries. His film was an insult to the memory of Mariah Carey’s Glitter. And if anyone saw the video “Candy Shop” I think we can see that 50 Cent’s C-Cups may need some support in the near future.

And then came Ja Rule, who like an undersized second basemen named Brett Boone, decided he wanted to get big and paid. And he did, but he still sounds like Scooby Doo going through puberty. And every movie he is in sucks (Scary Movie 3, The Fast and The Furious, Assault on Precinct 13)

(Side note – the 3rd installment of the Fast and the Furoius is coming out this summer. Note to movie audiences – if VIn Diesel decides that a movie series is not worth it (for the second installment) it probably sucks. If Paul Walker decides not to make a movie it probably means the world will end when people pay money to see it. That said The 3rd one stars megastar Bow Wow)

And now we come to Busta Rhymes – the new test case for steroids in rap. I enjoy most of Busta’s music. It is varied and most of it is pretty good. He has also been in at least one decent movie, Finding Forrester (“YOU’RE THE MAN NOW DAAAAAAAAAG”). But now he has gone from a Rasheed Wallace-lanky-type build to looking like Ray Lewis of the Baltimore Ravens. Immediately the impact was felt on his career. His bouncer was shot and he refuesd to cooperate with the authorities. Now he has a new album coming out. If history is any indicator Busta could be in trouble.

I personally have done the opposite with my album coming out. I have made a concerted effort to get in progressively worse shape, you know, so my work doesn’t suffer.