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I finished up a 5 show stretch in Indianapolis at Morty’s Comedy Joint, featuring for Dave Attell.  When I met Attell he was sitting in the front seat of the emcee’s car and I did not recognize him because he was wearing a hat.  And a beard.  And hair.  I actually thought he was the emcee’s friend until I head the recognizable Attell voice from the front seat.  Working with Attell was great because the guy is a machine gun of comedy.  But unlike a lot of admirers and imitators he is both quick off the cuff and his almost one-liner esque comedy seems to weave a narrative, which is quite difficult to do.  Even though he jumps from topic to topic it never feels like a series of Dangerfield-esque one-liners that grow tired after ten minutes, nor does it feel like some alt room string of non sequiturs.  I would share some of my favorite lines from the shows, but I think Attell is very sensitive to his material spreading around (and perhaps diminishing incentive to support his live shows) so I will not (but the good news if you are among my many friends, acquaintances, people I nod to to silently, etc in the DC area I will be featuring for him again this coming Thursday through Sunday at the DC Improv.  So come see what all the talk that I am not sharing is all about!

But enough about the famous guy I worked with – you guys want more details about my experience in Indiana so here are the highlights:

Climate Change Is A Myth

This  was all I took away from my set Thursday night.  After surviving a weird sports movie (https://jlcauvin.com/?p=2964) experience on Thursday, I was treated to a small, but enthusiastic crowd at Morty’s Comedy Joint (Attell headlined the four shows Friday & Saturday).  The set was going well and then I made a joke about climate change, with a “radical liberal bias”  i.e. I think, like the scientific community, that it exists and that man is a contributor.  Well that prompted a couple of “It’s a myth!!!” from patrons.  Considering that two people represented about 6% of the crowd it sort of bothered me, especially since the rest of the joke was going well.  So I abandoned it for the rest of the weekend.  I could have tried to fight a valiant effort to get people to laugh at those who think environmental scientists are part of a grand conspiracy, but I decided it was a losing battle.  I have understood why Obama has not put up as big a fight for certain issues, but after Thursday’s show I felt it.  AMURRRRRICA!!!!

Killer New Bit And Some New Old Fans

I am very tempted to put the new bit I wrote Thursday (based largely on the above linked blog posting), but I think I will save it for live performances and my upcoming CD recording.  But it really destroyed and worked all four shows, but was delivered four different ways.  That is one of the exciting things about a good new bit – even if it kills it is still new and can be manipulated and worked over and may become something great.

And the coolest thing was that two women who had seen me in Chicago a year ago at Zanies were at the club by coincidence and were asking me why I did not do my Good J-L Hunting bit.  It was that magical feeling in comedy where you feel so great that someone remembers you for some of your material, but simultaneously are annoyed that you did not do that joke.  But it was definitely a net plus in the good feelings department.

OK, enough positivity.

My Basketball Card Comes To A Show

During the late show last night I noticed a table with 5 white women, a white guy, an Asian man and two black men.  I then said – “Holy sh*t, this is the most diverse thing in Indiana besides the Indiana Pacers.”  The whole crowd laughed, but the table I was joshing with really laughed hard.  I just figured it was another group that enjoyed having fun poked at them during the show.  You know the dopes who leave a comedy show after heckling and talking to the comedian all night saying, “Oh my God we totally made that show awesome!”  But as I found out when I left it was a little different.

One of the black men, who was about 6’4″ was standing by the club bar with an attractive 40-something blond and she said to me, “We were laughing so much because you said we were diverse like the Indiana Pacers, and he (pointing to black man) was a Pacer.  Yes!  Turns out the guy was former Pacer guard Vern Fleming, whose basketball card is definitely in an album in a closet at my parents’ house.   And here is how I know Vern Fleming is a good dude.  Sure he is a NBA dude banging hot blond chicks (cliche), but he dates age appropriate hot blond chicks and to me that is a great statement for older women that there are some good older men out there who appreciate seasoned women.  So remember ladies – it is not your age that matters; it is whether you are ugly or not.

It was a great weekend in Indianapolis two movies seen, two trips to Chick Fil-A and four awesome shows with Dave Attell.   Now it is time to get home and make love to my Play Station 3 before heading back on the road.

When I travel to a gig I usually get an early flight so I can get to the location early, christen the bathroom and still have time to spare before the gig begins.  Thursday was no exception.  Having secured a $68 flight on Southwest I decided to to take a break from my lucrative Greyhound/Amtrak endorsement deal (don’t worry I am taking a 19 1/2 hour Greyhound trip back to NYC on Sunday) and take a quick flight to Indianapolis.

Readers may or may not know that I have a slight fear of flying/heights, which is ironic given my choice of profession and the fact that I am very tall. My flight was to depart at 11:20 am and we were only running about 15 minutes late when the plane started speeding down the runway.  But then, just after I had said a silent “Please God don’t let me die” and then just as I was about to do my customary urine-in-pants move, the pilot hit the breaks on the plane.  I said out loud, “that’s interesting,” and inside I said, “We are going to die on this plane! (accompanied by the opening shriek that Prince does in the song Get Off)”

The pilot told us that while we were going on the runway there was a landing plane crossing our path or something to that effect.  So under that explanation I saw that I almost died the way many people died on the season 2 finale of Breaking Bad (in retrospect at least a dozen comedians would be right to make the connection while mourning my loss on Facebook).

The pilot told us that because of the aborted takeoff we would need to return to the gate to refuel.  This sounded strange to Dana, the Mom from Maryland sitting to my right, who informed me that her father had been a pilot for Pan Am.  When we got back to the gate men in Southwest windbreakers began coming onto the plane (Southwest polo shirts – safe, Southwest windbreaker – bad).  Then the pilot told us after about thirty minutes that an emergency light had gone on and that they were trying to figure out if there was a technical problem with the plane or just with the emergency light.  In other words I think our pilot lied as to the original cause of our slow down.  I have always suspected pilots of being liars.  Like when then pretend not to be afraid of severe turbulence with that generic, horsesh*t, calm voice that they all seem to have.

So we waited two hours, listening to a Southwest flight attendant crack jokes on the loudspeaker (to which Dana said, “Oh she thinks she’s a comedian” in a way that sounded scornful of the flight attendant’s jokes (justified) and stand up in general (only semi-justified).  So I was committed to keeping my secret identity a secret and then we started talking.

“Are you from Indianapolis?”

“No. Going for business.”

“Oh, will you be late with the delay?

“Nope, not working until tonight.”

“What do you do?”

“Stand Up Comedian.”

That is how long it took to break me.  When I said comedian, the sophomore college student headed home for fall break next to me, Mackenzie, if my memory is correct, piped up and asked:

“You’re a comedian?”

“Yep.”

“That’s cool.”

“It’s ok.”

“Do you know any famous comedians?”

(inner monologue) Have you heard of Patrice O’Neal or Dave Attell? Probably not.

“You mean like Dane Cook?”

“Yeah”

“No.”

Now during these pleasantries with these two women (Mackenzie – a 20 year old woman who hates Twitter, does not have Internet on her phone and likes math and science – sort of like the 20 year old I would clone for a better America if I had the machine from Weird Science and Dana, the Al Gore hating, Barack Obama-voting (I have a soft spot for politically varied people, even if I don’t agree with them) mom) I never lost the thought that these might be the last two people I would ever speak to.  You may think I am being too paranoid of flying, but the passengers on this plane gave me reason to be concerned.  First we had a female co-pilot.  And second, two rows in front of me, for several rows, was a deaf high school (or small college) football team from Maryland.

You may be asking yourself what is the big deal about a deaf football team?  Everything!  First off when a crowded plane goes down there is always some sympathetic story.  How does the headline “200 perish in plane crash, including entire Inspirational Team of Deaf Football Players.  President Obama mourns the loss of these heroes and 160 losers who could not afford Delta on short notice” sound?  I mean they would make an inspirational sports movie and call it something like “Heard Around The World” or “Deafinitely”  or “Heard and Long” (my favorite)  or “The Sounds of Silence” and it would probably have Marlee Matlin as a fictional team trainer who becomes the romantic lead for the head coach.  But you know who is not in this movie?  The hilarious comedian killing it in row 20 of the plane.  He is an extra or an under 5 at best.  Oh and did I mention the co-pilot was a woman?

Well the plane eventually took off and I had a pleasant conversation with both women (I gave them both my website and I think passengers around me thought I was a male escort with a wide age range (I work at night, I have banter with 19 and 56 year old women, and he caught me masturbating uncomfortably in the bathroom).  I have found that conversation is often the best way to be calm during a flight. We did not crash, obviously, unless I am a character from the show Lost.  So now it is time for some Dave Attell shows.  (I will give a full recap of all shows on Monday – like how on Thursday I divided the crowd between people with brains and without when I asked who believes climate change is a myth).  So Indiana – I survived and I am going to make you wish I’d died on that plane!  I mean I am going to kill!  That’s the expression I was looking for.

It was sort of a tough week for picking a movie so I settled on The Thing, a re-make of a movie I have never seen, which was a re-make of a movie I have never seen.  I have been told that the original re-make, from 1982, was actually pretty good, so instead of renting the good one for a couple of bucks I decided to see the new one for a c0uple of bucks (only $5 matinee in Indianapolis).  It was worth $2.75.

The movie takes place in 1982 (why I have no idea – it is completely immaterial, unless it is merely a tribute or reference to the 1982, a/k/a the original re-make) and follows a group of scientists who have discovered alien life.  As it turns out the alien can mutate into people when it makes contact with them, which is the catch.  There are some genuinely tense moments in the movie and I actually jumped in my seat for the first time in years, but for the most part scenes that should have been tense and heart-pounding just seemed more like standard chase scenes, just with a giant fanged vagina chasing scientists.

The worst part of the movie is also a result of its best part.  Not many characters are killed in the first half of the movie because the film actually develops nicely and with some patience, but it was as if the director found out he only had forty minutes left in the movie instead of two hours and was forced to just start slaughtering characters en masse, which also felt like a violation of the rule that made the film tense (it was established that the thing usually waited until someone was isolated before it attacked).

So in a weak week for movies you should read my previous reviews for a better choice.

Final Grade – C

There was a lot riding on the movie of the week this week.  First it represented a critical tiebreaker in the 2011 Ryan Gosling competition.  I loved Crazy Stupid Love and he was funny and charming in it, despite the presence of his nasaly, quasi-Brooklyn, Marlon-Brando-in-The-Godfather-despite-being-only-30-years-old-voice.  Then came Drive, the critically-acclaimed, artistic piece of sh*t.  It had a great opening sequence and then was as if someone took the movie Faster starring The Rock, reduced the muscles, kept the minimal dialogue and plot and added a European director with a love of himself.  So The Ides of March would be the final vote in a split decision loss or victory for Ryan Gosling’s 2011.

No less important was the movie for George Clooney.  For me George Clooney, as I have said many times before, is the high school quarterback that does math club and a capella.  Girls love him, guys can’t hate him because he is good at football, but the losers really love him because he is the rare cool kid who uses some of his cool capital to do activities with them, rather than bully them.  Hollywood is largely the math club and a capella group.  They love that Clooney has not squandered his Ocean’s 11 mass appeal on starring in only big blockbusters, but he has passion projects and intellectual works and other giant bags of over-indulgent boring films.  Loved Clooney in Out of Sight, loved him in Oceans 11 and really enjoyed, more recently, Up In The Air.  These were football films for Clooney.  Sleek, cool and fun to watch (and Up In The Air had a dose of math club in it too).  But in between those movies were a heavy load of self-important crap.

Good Night and Good Luck – overrated and boring, but the fact that the cool kid was doing them required the geeks to support it, or risk losing Clooney to football entirely.

Syriana – not bad, never should have won an Oscar (he grew a beard – what is this a comedy festival or the Oscars) and the film was adequate.

And then there was Michael Clayton, his biggest critical success, which was the most average of corporate thrillers (it cannot hold the jock of Michael Mann’s The Insider, for example, but garnered the equivalent nominations and praise 11 years apart).

And this is without mentioning one of the worst film’s of 2010 The American which was all Clooney all the time and terrible, but somehow escaped with mediocre reviews instead of Bucky Larson reviews.

Together Clooney and Gosling seemed very poised to enter the “J-L Debonair Overrated Hall of Fame” joining current inductees Colin Firth and the television show Mad Men.

So Gosling Brando and Clooney Christ had a lot to deliver with The Ides of March.  And in my opinion, they did.

This movie is a brisk and tight 100 minute experience (its sharpness is probably due to the fact that it is based on a play, Farragut North).  Unlike Moneyball, for example, I could not complain of any fat needing to be trimmed.  The cast is strong, with the four main characters played by Gosling, Clooney, Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti.  Jeffrey Wright, Marisa Tomei and Evan Rachel Wood handle the remainder and between those seven actors you have some serious chops carrying the film.

It follows an Obama-esque candidate (Clooney – all white, not half-white) on the campaign trail, specifically their fight to win the critical Ohio delegates for the Democratic nomination.  Gosling is the whiz kid, who probably has an Ivy League pedigree, based on his position and yet still sounds like a mush-mouthed Brooklynite.  Don Corleone-ing aside, Gosling is quite strong as the character that undergoes the most development throughout the film, from idealistic whiz kid to hardened, cynical political operative.  The whole cast is great  and I could not ask for much more from a movie.  It is lean, well cast, well acted with a story and themes that are very current.

Final Grade – A

Have not been blogging recently due to some pressing family matters, but now that things are looking good here is the big announcement:

To get tickets – use this link:

http://www.heliumcomedy.com/philadelphia/calendar.php?month=11&day=9&year=2011

Thanks – hope to see you there.  Everyone who shows up will get a free copy of the CD when it is released.

I remember seeing a preview for the psychological (or supernatural) thriller that is this week’s movie of the week and thinking two things:

1) That looks cool and interesting and

2) Hey that was Kenny Powers’ girlfriend in the preview!

The  movie actually boasts several people from HBO shows – most notably its star Michael Shannon, who plays a hard charging federal agent on Boardwalk Empire.  He is one of the most unique looking people on screens today because his face is a mash-up of strong-jawed handsome and cousin-marrying creepy.   He looks like the James Bond villain Jaws had a kid with a handsome person.  He is married in the film to Jessica Chastain’s character, who based on how many movies she has been in this year she may actually have as much quality time with me as my girlfriend. Seriously, here are the tallies right now for most overused things in Hollywood in 2011:

“How You Like Me Now” by The Heavy – 377 movies, previews and commercials

“Raise your Glass” by Pink – 362 movies, previews and commercials

Jessica Chastain – 1,988 movies

The movie is about Curtis, who is having increasingly frightening dreams of a storm of near apocalyptic dimensions.  He has a wife (played by Chastain) of incredible patience and a deaf daughter who requires a costly surgery.  The movie moves along at a slow, but steady pace as the dreams get more drastic and the Curtis’ actions begin to appear less and less rational.  The dilemmas for Curtis are two-fold. One is that he is a working stiff in America and throughout the film health insurance, bank loans and his employment all become issues that put his family into crisis mode.  The second is that he is increasingly convinced of his dreams as prophecy, despite his knowledge that mental illness runs in his family.

Almost all of the film is centered on the family unit and the acting is excellent.  At times Curtis’ wife seems to have too much patience, but when you realize she knew that she was marrying a semi- scary looking man with mental illness in his family she probably expected things to get bumpy.  Shannon is especially good as Curtis becomes increasingly erratic and volatile because his brain is telling him he is mentally ill, but his soul is telling him something catastrophic is coming.

The end of the film is excellent.  And I will leave it at that.  The movie builds something very interesting as it progresses, but it does build a little too slowly for my taste.  Like my complaint with Moneyball and ESPECIALLY Drive, there was a little bit too much director self-pleasure with lingering shots and other indulgent, artistic superfluities, mostly in the first 2/3 of the film.  Other than that, no complaints.

Final Grade – A-/B+

I had two shows in venues that are classier than the places I generally perform in.  The first was Thursday at Tenjune, a New York City club and then at the Mohegan Sun Casino on Saturday.  Considering the last couple of bar gigs I had, simply the fact that no death threats were involved was a major upgrade.  Here’s the recap:

Tenjune Thursday

The gig at Tenjune, which I believe is an ancient term from the Far East that roughly translates to “douchey ‘brahs’ with loot and coke,” was actually organized by Williams College alumni to highlight the charity work of a couple of alums.  I was the comedy interlude in between the open bar hour and the Tenjune gang rape known as “cash bar.”  I was actually surprised to even get in to the club because I just thought these clubs took place entirely outside.  My experience is that you show up with one or two friends, a large black man (these clubs do not seem to hire white bouncers because black men with freedom are the only thing known to effectively intimidate the merchants of arrogance known as investment bankers), looks at you, notices that you are not famous or accompanied by eight women and then says “nah.”  Apparently these establishments do let people inside.

The event was from 8pm to 11pm so that the club could scrub out our liberal arts college nerdiness before the cool crowd showed up.  I knew I was in a different league when I went to the bathroom.  When I entered the bathroom there was, predictably, a West African man with an assortment of colognes and gums.  He was on his cell phone and standing in front of a urinal.  I said excuse me.  He glanced at me and continued talking into his phone.  I said excuse me again and he finally moved.  I was impressed, “Man these clubs are so cool and exclusive, even their bathroom attendants are arrogant pieces of sh*t!”  Maybe I was not on the list for the urinal.  Or maybe he knew I was a comedian.

After catching up with a few friends I took to the stage aroun 915 and did 20 minutes.  It went great.  I was really happy with the set and even happier to have the club comp me a few drinks because when I actually paid for one I needed a bank loan.  I am not saying it was too expensive, but when I asked one of the bouncers how much a bottle was for a table our of pure intellectual curiosity, he said “Your first born. And $550.”

An even cooler thing than being one-upped by a bathroom attendant happened after the set.  I was talking to some younger alums and a woman from the Class of 2009 (every time someone mentioned a class after 2008 from college I unnecessarily did math in my head to wonder if it was even legal for me to speak to them – worrying signs of both old age and saying perverted things on a daily basis) asked me about my lawyering days (I mentioned being a lawyer in my set as sort of a “this is what can happen if you fu*k up a Williams education/scared straight” sort of message).  I told her my first job out of law school was as an ADA in the Bronx.  She said, “Oh my Dad worked in the Bronx.”  As my slightly impaired mind started to piece it together I asked, “as what?”  She said, “He’s a judge,” and before I could ask (my brain was digging through information 6 years old) she said Judge Barrett.  Here is what transpired next:

Me: Holy sh*t!!!! He was the judge me and my bureau were in front of every day!

Judge B’s Daughter (JBD): Shut the fu*k up (if the Judge reads this she actually said “heck”)

Me: Judge STEVEN Barrett!

Both of us: Shrieking like teenage girls.

Me: Oh my God – I forgot – Judge Barrett was so nice to me and it was definitely because he told me in my first year that his daughter got into Williams and he was so happy.  It had to be that because I was a shi*ty lawyer!

JBD: And I remember him speaking nicely of this ADA from Williams!

ME: This is awesome! (this may be why people of my ilk don’t get into clubs like this.  No one has ever called anything close to this mundane as “awesome” in a shrine of coolness like Tenjune).

(Contrast this entire exchange with my set three days earlier where I nearly got into a fight to the death at a midtown pub – COMEDY!!!)

We spoke for a little bit more, basically in awe of this tremendous coincidence.  Somehow I brought up Breaking Bad (I have an amazing array of avenues with which to introduce that show into conversation – example: Hey, did you see that Obama’s poll numbers are down?  “Yeah, but you know what’s up – Breaking Bad’s ratings!”) and she informed me that Judge Barrett was a big fan of Breaking Bad.  All I could think was, damn – if I was still an ADA in the Bronx, not only would I have health care paid for by NY, a steady salary,some  pride and a mother who did not worry about me as much, but also ANOTHER thing besides Williams College for Judge Barrett and me to bond over.  Then JBD told me that the Judge was also a fan of Hawaii Five-0 and the good feelings subsided.

So Tenjune went well and like they say the best things in life are free because I did not get paid a cent.  But I was comped three gin and tonics, which according to Tenjune is a $458 value so I guess I made out like a bandit.

Mohegan Sun

Saturday was a trip to Mohegan Sun (via Greyhound/Peter Pan bus lines in conjunction with my endorsement for Poverty) to open for Michael Winslow, also known as the sound guy from Police Academy.  When I arrived to Mohegan Sun a woman at the casino said, “You look just like Dwayne The Rock Johnson.”  I said, “Yeah I get that. And Adam Sandler” And then she howled with laughter.  And I cried inside. Naturally no one would confuse me with either of those multi-millionaires at Mohegan Sun for a number of reasons.  Ballers don’t arrive on Greyhound, don’t make their first meal at the casino a trip to Johnny Rockets and definitely don’t play $5 on the penny slot machine and call it a night.

 

I went to check in and was informed that I was to go to the VIP check in.  I then asked them to send a reference letter to the bouncers at Tenjune to let them know that I am, in fact, a VIP.  I went up to my room, wrote out my set and then soaked up the Mohegan Sun ambiance:

• I enjoy casinos.  They are like the south.  People are either bringing their A game physically or their F game.  Not a lot of people putting in B+ effort.  That is where I come in.  My fashion line/taste could simply be called B-
• Asians dominate the casino!  If you love Asians casinos are a great place (I don’t mean if you want to have sex with ironing board shaped Asian women because you “like” tiny, boyish figures i.e. you have not yet come to grips with your homosexuality).  They are everywhere.  And don’t take this negatively.  It is just a fact.  Which I guess means if you really hate Asians, Mohegan Sun is also a great place because you get to see lots of Asians losing money.
• A Ben And Jerry’s open until 330 am – noted.

So I got to the Cabaret theater, which seemed like it held 400 or so people (much bigger than a comedy club of that same capacity, but the people are not herded together like slaves on a slave ship to maximize club profit).  The crowd was full by showtime which was cool, but Michael Winslow was not there yet.  He arrived at 915 but said the 6 credit introduction I was given to say when bringing him (only a two person show so I was an emcee/feature hybrid) was “too much.”  So he accommodated me by typing up an 11 credit introduction with jokes for me to read before bringing him up.  And he typed with only his index fingers.  So as soon as it printed I ran out on stage with it like it was a Supreme Court order to stop the execution of Troy Davis (too soon?) and the show began.

I did my set and made only two mistakes.  One was a momentum killing new jokes about halfway through the set.  They were warmed up and I sabotaged myself.  It was like DeNiro in Heat when he is about to escape with his girlfriend, but makes the fatal mistake of going after Waingro – success was right in front of me and I took it off course.

I got the crowd back pretty quickly though and then a few minutes later I got the 5 minute light.  Then I made a decision that ruined my weekend.  I opted to end with my Good WIll Hunting bit, which does well in clubs, but for a big theater-sized space was an iffy choice.  It got laughs throughout, but the final line fell completely flat.  And that was it.  For that crowd my Obama closer was the obvious choice and I just didn’t do it.  Part of me thought, maybe I will have time and part of me must have wanted to to take the risk (the House won per usual).  I knew better and yet I closed with the wrong bit.  I felt like the pitcher in this historic baseball game from 2001:

But unlike that scenario no one was clapping when I delivered my final pitch.  They eventually clapped in recognition for the 26 minutes that we shared that were enjoyable but sometimes, like a sporting event, it does not matter how well you played the game if your final play loses the game.

Michael Winslow went up and crushed and I have to say, his sound effects are frighteningly good (it’s been a while since I saw Spaceballs or Police Academy).  After the show some people went out of there way to tell me I was awesome which felt good.  Perhaps they went to the bathroom for my last three minutes.

I ended the night how any comedian living free in a casino for a night would end – by walking around looking at machines and tables that would get me in trouble and then settling on an ice cream sundae from Ben and Jerry’s (at midnight, so my finding out that they close at 330 am was a little over-confident on my part).  I sat alone on a bench while eating it and people-watched while people watched me.  What I realized is that if you are a grown man with a bizarre look of comfort and confidence sitting alone on a bench in a casino eating ice cream people (esp women) will only give you two looks: 1) is that guy special needs? or 2) that guy is the coolest customer in this place.  I got plenty of both.

So thanks to the Williams College alums at the show, the people with kind words after the Mohegan Sun gig and the Ben and Jerrys folks.  They helped make yet another week of comedy a fun and interesting experience.  Just kidding, comedy is still misery.

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A movie that combines the excitement of baseball with the excitement of statistics was most certainly a tough pitch.  That may explain why Moneyball movie was a struggle to get made.  But it finally got made and is well-acted, pretty well-written and way too long for its subject matter.

The movie is based on the Michael Lewis bestseller that chronicles Billy Beane, the General Manager for the Oakland A’s, who in an effort to make the cash poor A’s compete with franchises like the Yankees, ushered in a statistics-heavy form of scouting for baseball, commonly referred to a sabermetrics.

The writer and director do a pretty good job of making this seemingly boring story watchable for about 90 minutes.  Unfortunately, the movie is 126 minutes long and by the end feels like a three hour epic.  The movie is a treat for Brad Pitt fans since he is on the screen about 98% of the time and he bulked up to play Beane, who was described in the book as a fitness freak.  But Moneyball ends up feeling closer to a George Clooney-level vanity project (or in Hollywood speak – a “passion project”).  Jonah Hill is in top cardiac arrest, Type II diabetes form as the Yale grad geek who helps open up Beane’s eyes to the value of using statistical analysis in fielding a successful, but cheap team.  Jonah Hill has proven adept at exactly two things in acting right now – loud vulgar screaming or dead-eyed, lifeless dramatic acting (not saying I don’t enjoy some of his work, but let’s not start hailing his versatility as an actor).  Guess which of the two he uses here (he is given some good lines that do make his character more engaging than the performance, which is basically a slightly less creepy version of his performance in Cyrus).

Like any sport films, the construction of the band of misfits is the most enjoyable part of the film and the recap of the A’s record 20 game winning streak gives the movie a rare jolt of actual sports excitement and drama.

So the movie is pretty well done, but does anyone want to spend 2+ hours for something slow moving, basically about statistics?  In other words, like baseball, it is nice to watch, full of intricate details, and way too long for its own good.

Final Grade – B

Last night I went three blocks from my house to go watch the consistently solid weekly show that Phoebe Robinson runs at Manchester Pub at 48th and 2nd.  I had no intention of performing.  Just wanted to watch and relax with some of the free nachos that Phoebe gets for the comics from the bar.  The show was set for 7pm but when I arrived at 6:59pm I saw no other comedians.  As it turned out, because of the UN doing UN things this week, and Obama doing Obama things, midtown east side was and is a mess.  So Phoebe was unable to make it past Park Avenue and the other comedians were coming late.

Rather than let the show be cancelled I figured, I will host the show and do some comedy community service.  Granted the crowd did not seem at all inclined to hear comedy, but all comedians have worked reluctant audiences.  That audience had an interesting cast of characters worth noting:

THE GOOD

• 3 regulars sitting close to the stage, fairly tough guys and good supporters of the show.  If Manchester Pub is Altamont and the Comedians are the Rolling Stones, these guys would be our Hells Angels
• A pair of women who did not seem to want comedy, but importantly were open to comedy. These are the swing audience members who will join in to whatever vibe the room adopts.
• The comedians: Harriet Hallway, Ryan Johnson, Andrew Schwartztol  and Alex Carbano

THE BAD

• Group of three men talking loudly near the stage – European
• Group of three men talking loudly in a foreign language in the back – Asian

THE UGLY

• Ginger dude and his chubby friend with sunglasses on the crown of his head in the back of the bar

I did 8 difficult minutes where half of the time I could barely hear myself and the other half getting individual laughs that were drowned out by all the talking.  I brought Harriet up first and she tried valiantly, but like all efforts last night, failed to shift the room’s attention fully to the stage (with the exception of when she mentioned porn, which apparently is the universal language to men, both domestic and foreign).  Ryan went up next and cut his time about two minutes short.  Then Andrew went up and a show that was a shaky ride at best turned into this:

Before Andrew went up I asked the crowd to settle down and that the show was going to be very short.  All we needed was 15 minutes of their attention and they might even end up enjoying the remainder of the show.  Andrew got up and the crowd was as quiet as they had been all show.  But then the European table started chatting loudly again and Andrew broke off what little momentum the show had built and did a touch of crowd work with that table.  They ignored him, as they had everything else that was not a comment about porn from a female comedian.  And then the chubby dude from “THE UGLY” group interrupted.

For back story, to give you an idea of how physically intimidating Andrew Schwartzol is – imagine Woody Allen banged Ellen Degeneres and they had a kid.  Pretty easy prey for a heckler, especially in a show that is already fraught with difficulties.  As Andrew worked through a set, with the crowd calmer than they had been all show, a douchebag in the back (sunglasses resting on the crown of his head guy) yelled out, “We are having a drinking game – whenever one of your jokes bombs we have a drink, so we are getting drunk.”

The crowd quickly lost interest as Andrew and Chubby Sunglasses had an awkward heckler-hecklee conversation.  I got back on stage and with only one comedian remaining I thought I could diffuse the situation so I said, “Hey guys we only have one more comedian and don’t worry Andrew, that dude has to leave soon so he can anonymously post hateful YouTube comments at home.”

Now, on a scale of 1-10 of cruelty, that insult was a 3 at best.  But apparently it was enough for sunglasses’ ginger friend to start making “you wanna go” faces.  So I asked Ginger was his problem was, since his friend was being a “piece of sh*t.”  Ginger and I had the following exchange (approximation:

Ginger: Why don’t you try sounding out anonymously?

J-L: Why are you guys being assholes?  So the show is not going well and you decide to be jerks?

Ginger: Your show is going terribly and then you start talking sh*t to my friend?

J-L: Your friend interrupted the show you idiot!

Ginger: Just keep trying to say anonymously.

J-L: This has no place here, but I have a law degree from Georgetown so don’t talk down to me like your are smarter than me because you are not.

Ginger: Well my Dad was a DA in New York so your law degree doesn’t impress me.

J-L: Wow – dd you just play the “My Daddy is an important man” card?  What is this fifth grade?

After some more mumblings and curse words I brought up Alex to close the show.  He did his best to interact with the crowd and change the tone, but people had completely given up on the show by then.  So I got back on stage and ended with the following speech, worthy of Henry V:

“Well thanks to everyone for almost listening.  We are here every week and the shows aren’t usually this awkward, but hopefully we don’t have the two fu*king pieces of sh*t sitting in the back next week. (brief interruption by Ginger) You are lucky this is not my show and better yet, not my bar, or else I’d cut your fu*king face open with the broken end of a bottle.”  And on cue the three tough guys who support the show and look like swarthy pirates in modern day clothing yelled in support of me, “We love it – we got your fu*king back!”  Now nothing happened and one of the guys tried to make amends afterwards (I think on seeing me too close for comfort) and I just told him to have a modicum of respect for people trying to entertain.  Of course I was disappointed the evening did not go like this (though verbally I played the role of both DeNiro and Pesci – I guess Andrew would have been Ray Liotta):

I told Andrew after the show I am no fighter, but I am big and a comedian, which means I can cause damage and have nothing to lose.  Comedy, ladies and gentleman.  Comedy.

Last Friday I had a big pay day.  I had a gig at Holy Cross, a Catholic college in Worcester, Massachusetts.  This was a big show for me, not just because of the pay, but because it was a chance to finally exorcise the demons of Medgar Evers, which is the worst show I have ever been paid for (I have had to make this paid distinction because of a non-paying bar show I did in Park Slope, Brooklyn in late August of this year.  The Medgar Evers show made me want to kill other people, whereas the show in Brooklyn made me want to kill myself).

Joe Pontillo, who I asked to open for me, picked me up in midtown at 3:30 pm which the GPS calculated would get us to Worcester a few minutes before 7pm.  With the show at 10pm that would be plenty of time to eat, prep my set and be creepy around college girls for an hour or so.  Unfortunately thanks to New York traffic and one of the worst traffic slow downs I have ever seen, which we encountered in Connecticut, we arrived at 9pm in Worcester.  It actually could have been a lot worse, but Joe actually drove on the shoulder of the highway, passing approximately 100 cars, while I hid my face muttering “we are such assholes.”

So we arrived at the Holy Cross campus and my contact was a kid named Matt, who was a very nice fellow.  I asked him what my content restrictions were (an e-mail I received informed me that I would be told of some minor restrictions) and they were” no priest abuse jokes” and “no contraception jokes”.  I was ok with that since I was never abused by a priest and don’t believe in condoms either.  I have no jokes on either (but I assume the spirit of the restrictions and did not tell any abortion material – even though Catholic teaching is that that is more murder, not so much contraception).

My information was that I was performing at Hogan Ballroom. Sounded very promising.  When I walked in to the building I saw the Hogan Ballroom and it was a massive, elegant room, that was already full of people (apparently it was Homecoming weekend so there were lots of events and extra people).  And then, like in the movies where someone is excited about something elegant, only to have it revealed that there item is actually the dirty thing next to the elegant thing, Matt said, “OK, well let’s head downstairs.”

We descended several levels of stairs and entered a lounge/cafeteria that had a stage and chairs set up.  Another student liaison named Mike hooked me and Joe up with his meal card and we got some dinner down there.  While waiting for my chicken fingers, two guys came up to me and asked if I had been a DA.  I found this interesting and flattering that someone had seen me on a flyer and I guess had researched me.  Of course he and his friends ended up sitting far away from the stage talking, but they did not disturb the show so I guess I broke even.

The show went well.  We were competing with a very loud gathering at a pub area directly outside the cafeteria.  It was loud because the doors were open and as Matt said to me, “I have never seen those doors closed” when I asked if we could close the doors. That was enough of an ominous statement that we left the doors open.  There were probably 40 people in the vicinity of the show paying varying degrees of attention, mostly very good.  Joe opened and did yeoman’s work wrangling the crowd to attention for 13 minutes.  I then did 50 minutes to a pretty strong response, but I will be the first to admit that transitioning from 30 to 50 minutes is not as easy at it seems.  I have an abundance of material, but doing different lengths of time is not merely the act of adding on minutes – it is a different pacing and intensity.  I would compare it to being a great 200 meter runner and then running the 400 meter race.  Unless your name is Michael Johnson, it is a transition that requires some practice and training.  I was still fairly happy with the way the set went and I only counted 7 gasps and looks of judgment on sexual topics.  The post show reactions were what really defined the show though:

1. 0 CD sales
2. 0 facebook friend requests
3. 0 twitter followers added
4. One kid came up to me and looked at the CDs and said, “Oh sweet, just take one?” Yeah kid, just sign up for this credit card – get the fu*k out of here!
5. My high school friend Scott, who I have not seen since 2001-ish, works near Worcester and came to the show.  He said to me post set, “I don’t think you’ll be back here, but if you are ever performing around here again I will get my friends and co-workers out.  You were hilarious.”

So thanks to the people who did watch and laugh and hopefully the check doesn’t bounce.  Hopefully I will prove Scott wrong (either by going back to Holy Cross or finally deciding that I am not funny).