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In what is quickly shaping up as a Summer of ups and downs, this week, after the solid (but I would not say better than that) Star Trek the ghost of Wolverine has appeared in the new Dan Brown adaptation, Angels & Demons.  I should say that I like the book The DaVinci Code and found the film decent, but at least pretty true to the book.  I liked the book Angels and Demons better, so I was hopeful.  Well, Ron Howard crushed that hope.

In what is becoming a cinematic Christ-like sacrifice by me, I have been seeing Thursday night shows in an effort to be first to to discuss (or warn people) the big movies of the Summer.  Well, consider yourself warned – Angels and Demons is really bad.  It even has the power to offset joy at seeing the Lakers lose to the Houston Rockets.

About twenty minutes into the movie the projector burned the reel, which was probably a sign from God, not because the film contained blasphemy, but because the two hours remaining were so terrible.  Even the Catholic Church is not protesting the film as much because seeing it will actually help people believe that there are evil forces at work in the world.  To sum up the movie imagine Tom Hanks delivering a so-so performance in a movie that appears to be only the most preposterous segments of a season of 24.  The End.

I liked the book Angels and Demons and I have never seen a movie make so many adjustments to critical plot points in my life.  People may have been wondering how this film would play in terms of the religion-science divide, but it may bring those factions together in declaring this film both an unholy experience and terrible based on empirical evidence.

Next weekend is a big one with Terminator Salvation (a PG-13 Terminator?) and Dance Flick.  Is it scary that my bet is on Dance Flick delivering the goods?  Well I got a free pass to another movie because of the projector mishap, but hopefully something comes out soon that is worth a free ticket.

Last night America added insult to widowery when they voted off the soulful sound of recent widower Dany Gokey.  On pure talent the finals should have been Dany Gokey versus Adam Lambert.  But like many elections, especially those involving reality shows, women flex their pop culture suffrage in greater numbers than men and Gokey could not measure up.  See, Adam Lambert is the talented gay friend that every girl, not from the Bible belt (and maybe secretly in the Bible belt – “Daddy, it ain’t a sin if I just watch him sing his songs!”) wants (think Sex and the City or Rupert Everett) .

Kris Allen is the cute boy next door that will sing a girl an acoustic song on a beach somewhere (think Owen Wilson’s take on Hutch in Starsky and Hutch).

But what category did Dany Gokey bring to the table – soulful white man on the worst rebound imaginable (think Michael Bolton or C. Thomas Howell for the 20 years in between Soul Man and Southland).  So the women have spoken and they now have to choose between The Birdcage and The Notebook.

On pure talent, Adam Lambert should run away with it.  His voice is so powerful he basically sounds like he is showing off every time he sings.  Although I think the judges are now under some hypnotic Prince-like spell with Adam where they are incapableof criticizing him, his performances of Mad World and Satisfaction this season have been the two best performances of the season.  But things that are not in his control could hurt him (Katy Perry wearing an “Adam Lambert cape before her performance?).   Sidenote: my tweets during the show got Katy Perry to follow me on Twitter.

But Kris Allen emerged as a contender with his first performance in the Top 13 when he did a great version of Do You Remember The Time by Michael Jackson.   Since then he has been the competition’s John Mayer (minus strange tattoos and complete douche-bagginess) on “Your Body Is A Wonderland” overdrive, with ooooo-ing and ahhh-ing at his awww shucks charm (which does seem genuine).   Two things may hurt him.  One is that he does not have the pure talent and showmanship of Lambert and two is that he is from what I have heard is that he is a married Christian, which will lose him the vote of physicists and alternative NYC comedians.

So who will win?  It should be Lambert and I think it will be.   If he does win I hope his album is some sort of melding of Sebastian Bach and Freddie Mercury and not some trite pop, which would not really fit him anyway.

My two funniest moments from last night’s show:

1. A female fan in San Diego rushing Adam Lambert while removing her shirt – either she was from a Bible-based re-orientation program or she got some very bad information.
2. The Real Sex moment.  Seeing Jordin Sparks looking quite nice singing her song and then flashingback to Adam and Kris was the equivalent of Real Sex on HBO when one minute it is the “Female Porn Stars HavingLesbian Encounters” segment followed quickly and inappropriately by “Old Men Masturbating” segment.  Not cool American Idol.

Last night I watched the second to last episode of the seventh season/day of 24.  It became official – this show is absolutely horrible.  The 14th plot twist in 22 hours was the most absurd.   I do not want to get into all the plot twists, but one this season was that Tony Almeida, a good guy for 5 seasons turns out to be the first quadruple agent in spy history (even the Naked Gun film series did not have absurdities like that).

Last night Kim Bauer, Jack’s daughter and the Natalie Holloway of prime time, is about to get kidnapped in the season finale, meaning that she will have been kidnapped every season she has appeared in the show.  I think the weirdest part of this kidnap plot is that the terrorists expected a bioweapon to explode killing thousands, thus marking the end of their plot, but as an insurance policy for their 5th failed attack  in 24 hours, they track Jack’s daughter, who just showed up in town less than 5 hours ago, to the airport by a guy who looks like Eddie Money.

The show also has abandonedthe 24 hour – real time approach last night when a bomb that was timed to 15 minutes actually lost 3 minutes during the course of the show.  I just need to say that if you are a person who watches this show and instead of rolling your eyes at the 37th plot twist in 42 minutes, goes, “Ohhhhhh sh*t!!!!” you are a fuc-ing retard.

I think it’s Ockham’s Razor that says the simplest explanation is often the right one.  On 24 the theory is: what ever is the most absurd possibility, past the point of being clever and just being plainly ridiculous and impossible within reason and the time constraints of the show is going to be what happens. And it will happenseven times during the season.

For a preview of Season 8 of this excrement – click the link below.

The Future of 24

This weekend I featured at Magooby’s Joke House in Baltimore.  Some of the highlights:

1. “My Private 9/11” is now 20/20 for killing (most in New York, but also in Detroit and Baltimore)- I keep expecting it to offend some crowd, but it keeps working.
2. Only 2/3 of the crowd knows what pulling  “a Kobe” is, when referring to sexual proclivities.
3. I got offered a spot this Saturday on a Baltimore radio station to discuss sports as President Obama (details forthcoming).
4. I robbed four drug dealers.

But this trip could have been a massive failure if I had not built up tremendous mental strength in my 6 years doing comedy.  Because on Friday a friend of mine for 16 years, in an effort to possibly get me some stage time asked me a devastating question shortly before my first show of the weekend.  That question: “what’s your website so I can give the guy your info.”

This question has so many layers of disappointment in it.  The first being – here’s a hint – it’s my name, it’s on the bottom of my e-mails, on my myspace and facebook pages.  But beyond the “are you kidding me Derek?” Zoolander aspect of the question, there is a deeper, more troubling aspect to it.  That is the, if I am not marginally relevant to any of my friends, how can I expect to have any relevance to an actual comedy fan, question.  Because this scenario means that my friend either never visits my website or that my website is so banal to my friend that googling me to tell his friend my website is not worth his time or the time of his pentium processor.

I guess in comedy it’s sort of like Michael Corleone said.  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.  Because at least your enemies know your website.

It’s been a slow week for me writing, but I have some recommendations for you this weekend:

Read A-Rod.  It’s a 2 day read and very entertaining.  Tall, tan, attention-craving, insecure, talented and an attraction to older women.  Replace strippers with movies, steroids with donuts and baseball with comedy and you have as close to an unauthorized biography of my life as may ever be printed.  Sports and gossip fans will enjoy the book and hopefully feel bad for the both of us after reading it.  But probably not.

Watch Star Trek.  This is not a great movie, but it is a really good Summer movie (fun, sexual suggestiveness, explosions).  It updates the franchise and makes it fun while not being disrespectful or spoofing the original.  Furthermore it features Tyler Perry, which for racists and/or people with a modicum of artistic sense will mark their first experience seeing a Tyler Perry movie.  So let me be the first to re-name the movie Tyler Perry’s Star Trek.

Magooby’s.  If you are in Baltimore or nearby come see me feature this weekend at Magooby’s Joke House.   9 pm tonight, 8 and 1015 tomorrow night.   The Yankees are also in Baltimore this weekend for A-rod’s first game of the season.  Coincidence?   Well, if we end up at the same swingers club tonight I will be pissed.

You are welcome for a fun weekend in advance.

In case gay men were still fuming (flaming?) over Proposition 8 in California they were just dealt two more blows (can the unintentional gay puns ever stop?) in the form of Wolverine and Alex Rodriguez’s latest scandals.

Although I have already blasted it on Facebook – if you can help it do not go see Wolverine.  I am more guilty than most with going to see blockbusters.  After Batman Forever I swore that I would not see another Batman (the new franchise does not count), but there I was a couple of years later watching Batman and Robin, one of the 10 worst films I have ever seen.

Well last night, since I did not have to be up until 4 pm today for work, I went to see a midnight show of Wolverine.  This is a really really bad movie.  So many cliche moments (did he really just scream up at the sky at the death of someone?, is he really walking with CGI fire behind him? – what a badass!), such bad acting and writing have not been crammed into one film since Sophia Coppola starred in a re-make of Castaway (not true, but wanted to show how easy it is to write Family Guy-style jokes).  Now Hugh Jackman shows up jacked as ever (I question the legality of his training methods at this point), but this steroided up Rupert Everett is not enough to carry the movie beyond a rating or “piece of crap,” which is the only rating before “a Paul Blart.”

And faster than you can say gay man on steroids, here comes repressed Alex Rodriguez back into the news, with more revelations about his “doth protest too much” womanizing and his playing the Matt Damon to Derek Jeter’s Jude law in his baseball version of The Talented Mr. Ripley (does that make Joba Chamberlain the Phillip Seymour Hoffman of the Yankees?).  I have defended A-Rod, not because I think his womanizing or cheating or annoyingly overdone PR image are good, but because I am starting to think this guy is really repressing something.  I mean the guy is a pretty, tan, well-groomed Latin guy from South Beach with a taste for muscular pop singers – I am not sure if Perez Hilton is that gay?  Throw in his alleged obsession with Derek Jeter and his alleged cheesy pick up lines and you might as well not as look at his iPod because I am sure Freedom by George Michael is playing on repeat.

So I have the same advice for both Hugh Jackman and Alex Rodriguez to stem the criticism for atrocious behavior (making a bad movie, cheating on everything, respectively).  Pull a McGreevey.  This move, named after former New jersey governor and truck stop enthusiast Jim McGreevey, is when you make a shocking announcement about your sexuality to distract from terrible professional activities.

So my solution for them is that they both should come out and announce that they are gay Americans in the next week.  Sure, Hugh Jackman is not American, he’s Australian, but no one will be listening after he says gay.  And A-Rod could spice it up (Latin pun) and say he is a gay Latino-American thus adding an extra layer of minority protection to his announcement.  I think this is the only thing that can save their respective credibility.  My guess is that the entire cast of J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek will have to announce that they are a gay star fleet next week.

In an AC/DC song entitled “It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n roll” (one of 1,145 songs of AC/DC with the word “rock” in the title) they describe the hardships of being a band on the rise.  Well if there was a comedy song describing the sad reality of being a comic on the rise (or at least thinking him or herself on the rise) it would probably be called “You can’t even see the top from the Wednesday open mic at New York Comedy Club.”

One lesson I have learned in comedy is that you cannot have any pride.  I am not talking about pride in your jokes, etc. – of course you need that, but you cannot have too much pride to say no to any space with a microphone and time for you because every opportunity is at least a chance to practice.   But sometimes there are experiences that challenge that philosophy.  Yesterday was one of those.  Let this be a glimpse, albeit an awful one, even by open mic standards, into a random open mic night.  In comedy it seems that practice makes perfect, but it also makes you hate life.

I arrived at the mic a few minutes late and observed a comic, who I will not name, but let’s say that Vegas has 3-2 odds that he has bodies buried in his basement (imagine what the Crypt Keeper would have looked like three weeks before losing the last layer of skin and muscle).   As I walk in he is saying in his characteristic delivery (think schizophrenic): “so that is when she came in my mouth.”  The 7 comics sitting laugh, more at the horror than the actual punchline.

The next comic up, who will also remain nameless, is approximately 109 years old.  Before I say he was not that great, or anything like that, I am aware that he is more likely than me to get some sort of reality series for himself, probably about an old man following his dreams, probably airing on Discovery called “It’s Never Too Late.”

Then a young man got up (the second time he had ever done stand-up).  He said he did not want to dig into sad or painful things, at which point the emcee wanted to know what they were because pain can often be a good source of comedy.  Then we learned how unfunny a miscarriage actually is.

Next up was a gay guy who had some funny lines, one of which was asking me if I was mulatto.  I told him yes, but I preferred the more modern term of half-negro.  He then had to run to a Broadway show.  Seriously.

Next to last was a comic I have known for a few years.  He got a couple of laughs from the paltry audience of comics and then it was time for me to go.

So I took the gun out of my mouth and went up and did my set.  Now doesn’t comedy sound fun??

The Utah Jazz crush me for the 22nd consecutive year.

Last night I watched the Los Angeles Lakers defeat the Utah Jazz in 5 games.  I wish it could have been to any team other than the Lakers.  And as the Jazz generally do, they did not give up and made a valiant comeback (down 22 in the 4th quarter, they cut the Lakers to 6 with 3 and a half minutes left).  But all that does is put crazy thoughts in my head like, “they may win!”

This is a franchising altering year for the Jazz – their owner has died, their longtime announcer has retired and Coach Jerry Sloan, the longest tenured Coach in professional sports is getting older and even crankier (although it was great seeing him go after the referee last night mouthing motherfu-ker as he got ejected – at least he still has some fire).

But this is about the need for someone other than the Lakers to win the NBA title.  I like Derek Fisher and Lamar Odom on the Lakers and that is it.  I am indifferent to Andrew Bynam.  I hate the rest of the team.  Let’s go through it:

Kobe Bryant – This blogger has a strong policy of not supporting anal rapists, regardless of how funny the reference of Kobe has made one of my jokes.

Pau Gasol– It is bad enough that he is missing an L on his first name, but he looks like a really tall homeless piece of Eurotrash.

Luke Walton – No one likes the rich kid who skates by on his father or parents’ wealth and/or Hall of Fame status and Luke Walton is no exception.  If his name was Luke Murphy he would be an assistant coach somewhere.

Trevor Ariza– Once again a firm blogger rule – can’t like people with neck tattoos.  And he is a former NY Knick, which, like herpes, is something that is never really gone.

Sasha Vujacic – Literally my least favorite person in the NBA.  I really think I would be tempted to sucker punch him if I ever saw him on the street.   Part of it is because he is a flopper and annoying, but part of it is that he has some unknown, but very unlikeable arua around him.

Laker fans  – I have a problem with Laker fans, especially those outside of LA.  I know I am a Jazz fan outside of Utah, but unlike Laker fans it would be difficult for someone to call me a fair-weather fan if my favorite team has never won a title and did not even make a finals appearance until my 10th year as a fan.

So now I must hope that someone, LeBron James most likely, can stop this team from claiming a title.  Good luck King James.

And yes I am very bitter about the Jazz losing.

Last night I was taken to Rock of Ages for my birthday.  It was an incredibly well-thought out gift (which makes sense because it was the same gift-giver who got me a Paul Millsap official game jersey for Valentine’s Day) because of my semi-obsession with American Idol (the play stars Constantine Maroulis – the most absurd American Idol finalist not named Sanjaya) and the fact that the play features a couple dozen rock anthems from the 1980s, a/k/a my favorite music.

The theater was packed last night, but I noticed some things that intrigued me.  One was the woman sitting one row behind me.  On a scale of 1 to 10, she was a 14.  Literally looked like a model/movie star.  But what made me a little sad was that there was a 90% chance that she was a prostitute.  She was there with a below average looking guy in his mid 40s (she looked about 26).  Now my first inclination was that she was just a gold digger, but if that was the case, the guy would have been trying to show off with orchestra seats (instead of the balcony where we all were).  Second, I heard her speak and she did not have a foreign accent, which ruled out some sort of mail-order/Green Card situation.  Third, the guy sitting next to her client/man was talking to them and had his hand on her hip, the way two customers at a video store could look at the same box for a video before both renting it.   I cannot be completely sure that she was a prostitute, but I can surmise that she has a terrible relationship with her father (I ruled this option out when I saw them kissing, unless he is her father, but most fathers not named Joe Simpson or Michael Lohan would not let their daughter go out for a father-daughter night out dressed like a Bond girl.

The other thing I noticed is how many douchebags were in the audience.  There was never a shortage of men between 30 and 45 hooting and high fiving and saying “fu-k yeah!” during the 2+ hours of the production.  And I realized that I love 80s music as well, which raised an important question for me: Am I a douchebag?  Or is it just a sad coincidence that I enjoy the same music as these former coke abusing, date raping, collar popping, former “cool kids?”  having come to the conclusion that I am more an as-hole than a douchebag I can say safely that our similarities end with 80s music.

Overall a good show, but a questionable audience.

I get older and taller, but things remain the same.

If anyone saw the film The Curious Case of Benjamin Button then you know that the plot focuses on the adventures of one man as he ages in reverse.  As I stand on the cusp of entering my 4th decade on Planet Earth I realize my life has sort of played like a remix of that movie.  Each decade I get older, but my life does not seem to change.

April 24, 1989

I turned 10 years old on this date.  I was 5’5″ tall.  I owned a purple satin Utah Jazz Starter jacket that I wore religiously.  I was honing a Jean-Claude Van Damme impression that would make me more popular.  I did not have a job, but knew I wanted to be something famous.  My favorite movie was Amadeus.

April 24, 1999

I turned 20 years old on this date.  I was 6’7″ tall.  I owned a puffy purple Utah Jazz Starter jacket that I wore religiously.  I was perfecting impressions of my basketball coaches which would make me more popular.  I did not have a job, but I felt like one day I could be famous.  My favorite movie was still Amadeus.

April 24, 2009

I turn 30 on this date.  I am 6’7″ tall.  I own several Utah Jazz basketball jerseys that I wear occasionally (as people get older they sometimes get less religious).  I have perfected an impression of Barack Obama that has made me more tolerable.  I sort of have a means of employment, but only one that people will take seriously if I become famous.  My favorite movie is Amadeus.