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Three of the biggest stories of the last couple of weeks have been sex related: Adam Lambert’s simulated gang-bang at the American Music Awards, Tiger Woods having sex with everyone (it’s bad enough that he stole the white man’s game, but now by having sex with porn stars and Hooters’ waitresses, he has now stolen the redneck’s fanstasy) to make up for lost time that his large teeth and bug eyes cost him in his younger days before his $1 billion net worth, and I saw today on CNN that one-third of 9th graders in America are having sex and that one half of 10th graders are.

I know this will make me appear as a Puritan relative to many of my contemporaries (especially in comedy), but perhaps the sexual revolution has swung the pendulum too far.  Like the nuclear bomb creators thought, sure we can, but should we?  Like gun control and abortion, it seems advocates of individualized morality and sexual freedom to the nth degree seem to consciously or sub-consciously fear ceding any ground for fear that it may validate an opposition that they dislike, hate or from which they fear judgment.  But isn’t this enough?

First there was the Lambert story.  He claims that he has been banned from most ABC shows (except that bastion of freedom, The View – will Hasselbeck boycott?) because there is a double standard – when women act extremely sexual in heterosexual or lesbian acts during performances it is not treated nearly with the same outrage and repulsion as homosexual men.  And I agree with Lambert (but to be fair, I can’t say I can help my instinctive – “did he just tongue rape that guy? ewwww” reaction.  The double standard is true (Janet Jackson’s nipple crossed the line from simulated to actual, so don’t bring up that hoopla).  However, I would simply ask, why is any of it actually appropriate or necessary?  Maybe people getting dry humped or skull-fu-ked is inappropriate for general public viewing, regardless of who is doing it with who.

I often try to stand up for religion, not even in doctrinal specifics, but as an overall structure of values that I think people can benefit from  – you can get them from other places besides religion I suppose, but the sense of being part of something bigger is important to a healthy society I think (believe me if Twitter, cell phones, Blackberries and Facebook are now providing us with our sense of belonging, unity and community I think we are in trouble as a culture and society.  That faux-community is based solely on the importance of, and focus on, self. Say what you want about religions (not necessarily religious people), but they usually have community well-being as their bases, at least the way I’ve experienced them).

Following that, one of the biggest criticisms of religion I hear from my friends is the sense of repression and shame religion attaches to sex.  A valid point, but even jaded atheists will agree that at some point (perhaps as “innocent” as 16 year old Britney Spears or as gross as Jerry Springer/Maury Povich guests) people should feel some degree of shame for their conduct in the sexual realm – not knowing your baby’s father, but narrowing it down to 11 guys is sort of nasty (or being one of 11 guys on that panel).  But with religion, or at least the sense of community well-being that it can foster and nourish, being diminished in our society, as well as many of my friends believing “judgmental” is the worst epithet that can be thrown at a person, it has come to feel like, “do whatever you like because we are free, we have no restrictions, no code of decency beyond our own individualized sense of what that entails and most importantly no judgment from others.”

However, I think there is still a sense of outrage at Tiger Woods, which I think is appropriate (note to his wife – marrying a driven, successful man, who was driven by his Dad from a young age and is not that attractive, but-for the media saturation of his face that creates a comfortable familiarity mistaken for attractiveness and is now worth a billion dollars is a bad recipe for marital bliss – as if a nerdy loser with money, met a horny black guy and a pushy Asian with a sense of entitlement  to form the perfect storm of cheater)  Some people say, who cares?  Or he’s a celebrity – that’s what they do.  But this guy did not just have an indiscretion.  That was five or six or twenty-two women ago.  This guy’s endorsement shouldn’t be worth anything that is not golf-related.  Not that we put much stock in his endorsement to begin with, but I think you can agree with me.  We have gotten to the point where the only realistic role models we can have (or are allowed to have without incurring the wrath mentioned in the previous paragraph) in terms of personal conduct are men like Derek Jeter or George Clooney, guys who don’t cheat on wives because they don’t have them (please don’t let Obama have an indiscretion).   Most of young people’s role models for moral behavior are now those who decide to sit out of the game basically.

It reminds me of something that happened when I was engaged.  I remember hearing from a friend of my ex that she had been releived when she found out I had once cheated on a girlfriend in college (which I told her).  And I asked, “relieved?” And the friend said, “well no girl feels secure if they think their guy is perfect.”  Now I know this is not every woman’s opinion, but it still startled me, which it probably should not have.  The reality television culture we live in is now a race to a view of the bottom – so we can always see that we are better than someone else, rather than a view of the top – so we can aspire to be better (once again Obama being the exception – even just for this can’t the self-righteous conservatives give him a break?).  We seem to enjoy people’s failings because they make ourselves feel better about ourselves.  We want less Kennedy and Obama and more Jersey Shore and Real Housewives.

And now there is a trickle down effect, which is sort of the point of this whole rant.  Congress held hearings about steroid abuse by athletes because of “the children.” But to those who may have felt that concern it should be no surprise that 9th graders are banging each other at record highs in this country.   Some may not feel there is anything wrong with this, but doesn’t that feel a bit young for such high numbers?  Sure it seems a little more appropriate for that kid that was shaving in 4th grade or that girl with the really touchy-feely uncle, but one of of every three?  And then one of every two by 10th grade?  Kids are impressionable to what is marketed to them and to peer pressure.  Even the best and most enlightened parents will have a tough time combating that.  And between all the social tools that act to separate us despite their purported connectedness, sex has become the latest thing to depreciate in this country to record lows along with the dollar and letter writing.

Liberals and libertarians (yes you comedians!) love bashing the Puritanical views of sex in this country and mocking the religious right (who sadly, often turn out to be hypocrites, at least the ones you are told about because America loves to hate a hypocrite), and I will admit I am no saint.  But at some point when will we feel liberated enough?  I don’t want to have to make sure my future daughter is using protection when she still has a lunchbox (for the record I will make any future daughters use a lunch box through graduate school).

Last night I did a show at a club in Princeton, New Jersey.  I was the feature act (the middle act doing about 25 minutes) and it went so well that I woke up with an e-mail from the owner/manager telling me that I was now demoted to emcee the shows tonight (instead of featuring) because I did not “look comfortable” and referred to a cheat sheet on stage.  I think I would have been happier if I were banned from the club and arrested for indecent exposure than being demoted.  Unfortunately, being demoted to emcee one night after featuring (with the same headliner) is like being fired from a job, but then still having to show up to work for another couple of weeks.  Obviously an awkward situation.

The sad part was last night’s show did not resemble a club gig.  That is because 65% of the 30 patrons were all doctors in some medical consortium.  Their average age was 55 and their favorite topic was themselves (for the record, the headliner is pretty dirty, but she scored big time points with the crowd by doing, drumroll please… lots of crowd work).  The emcee automatically does crowd work as part of his/her job description – “get the crowd involved and excited” and the headliner can see the tone of the show through the feature, which leaves the feature to figure out where he or she can go.  Sort of like being a set up man in baseball.  Your job is just not to fu-k up the show before Mariano Rivera.

So after my first four jokes (tried and true from San Fran to Denver to Boston and every sh*thole open mic in NY so like I said, tried and true) fell flat I realized that just a handful of people and the comics were giving me any consistent laughter.  So at that point I took a long hard look at my set list.  Far from a memory helper it was more like a temporary examination of the choices I have made in my life.   Then I just continued to rip through jokes that usually work with everyone outside of conservative medical professionals staying at Princeton, NJ hotels.  I was comfortbale the whole time, but I guess I can’t say the same for the crowd.  Some things went well and they even laughed a lot at the Obama impression (despite being almost unanimous in their displeasure for him – aside – I hope most of them lose their jobs with a public option if that is possible), but their laughter stopped just in time to give me an awkward exit off of the stage.

I think my main problem is that I confused the show’s proximity to New York as “non-road.”  With my exponentially heavier travel schedule this year I have seen what works and what doesn’t work outside of major urban centers.  Sometimes I have been surprised (Denver in particular), but most places and most people are content with the same old stuff (blacks and whites are different, black comics who are loud and animated versus calm and thought provoking, crowd work, women and men are so different, etc.).  It is as if people do not go to comedy clubs to hear something original in these places, but to hear the same jokes that they have always liked from different people.  This is not necessarily “wrong,” but it is irritating. Oh, fu-k it’s wrong. Dumbasses.  Buy a CD if that is what you like.  But either way it would have been nice to have one show to make the adjustment from “comedy club set” to the “older white people who do not get pop culture or sports after 1985 set/love crowd work about themselves and are possibly the intellectually slowest group of doctors in America” set.  I guess not.

What’s absurd is that although I feel my stuff is on the whole fairly original, I am not re-inventing the wheel on stage.

I guess what I have to figure out (and what I fought with my girlfriend about – I turn into a verbal Jake LaMotta after a bad show) is how to get paid: infrequently for somewhat original concepts, without being a self-righteous Hedberg or Carlin rip off that abound in “alt” scenes or more frequently for a routine that makes me want to kill myself but that comedy “fans” eat up on the road while I hope for a big break that will allow me to be my own voice.

But first I have to sludge through rain/snow to host two shows tonight.  Cold, wet and demoted – sounds like I’ll be much more comfortable tonight.

Just as technology has exponentially increased the rate at which humans achieve scientific advances and breakthroughs (cell phones do not count), it appears that our society’s thirst for fame at all costs is increasing in a similar fashion, only faster.

Tareq and Michaele Salahi, the White House Crashers, are an especially shameful example of what otherwise is a fairly logical extrapolation from our culture.  Somehow fame has become a goal in and of itself in America.  I feel like fame used to be a by-product of the talented, the accomplished and the insane.  But now a fourth group has muscled its way into this group – the average piece of sh*t.

And we are all accomplices in this culture.  With the exception of one reality series, which I watched during the time period of 2007, during which much of my rational decision making processes were impaired temporarily, I think all of these shows are wretched.  They feature trashy people catering to the trashiest impulses of viewers (basically it took 15 years for Jerry Springer guests to clean themselves up and become celebrities).  Not satisfied with giving these people a platform on television, viewers bolster the bank accounts of these talentless fools by purchasing their “books” and other items they are able to market (for the record I don’t consider shows like American Idol “reality television” since they are just contests).

The White House Crashers have managed to put this process on steroids.  They managed to disrespect the Office (and the man) of the President of the United States, in a way that I think is worse than Joe Wilson screaming “You lie” in Congress.  All in a quest to get on a television show.  There current fame is not a validation of hard work or talent, but a means to itself.

I have been making the point that in this age, which seems more self-absorbed and concerned with self enlightenment and self-importance, with ever decreasing importance of religion and other formerly potent forces that stressed things other than the self, we are entering a very dangerous era.  We have things like blackberries and Facebook which present the illusion of more inter-connectedness and community, but deep down that is all a joke.  We are now sinking quickly into an era where the self is king and being famous is its commandment.

My brother came up with a great scenario that could make me ok with what happened at the White House.  Michaele Salahi hopes to be on The Real Housewives of D.C. (The Real Housewives series could have been just called Cu-ts, but Bravo did not want to disrespect cu-ts in America with such a poor portrayal).  Well, Rahm Emmanuel, Obama’s Chief of Staff is the brother of Ari Emmanuel, the super agent who is also the basis for Ari Gold on HBO’s Entourage.  Here is how Ari Emmanuel’s phone call should have gone this weekend (in Piven-esque delivery) to the producer of the Housewives series:

“I am going to make this as clear for you and the trash you work with and employ.  If this Ann Coulter looking skank and her pus-y whipped husband get within 1000 feet of any AIDS infested brothel you call a reality television show, you will no longer work in this town.  You and all the skanks on your shows will be lucky to be hired to clean the lint out of Andy Dick’s taint if they are even mentioned on your entire so-called Network.  Not only have you insulted me, but you have insulted my brother, the President and this country.  Consider yourself warned and not just like that time I told you the condom broke. (Hang up) LLOYD!!”

In light of how the White House crashers got so close to President Obama, security implications are more than a little frightening.  The last hit on a president was John Hinckley on President Reagan in 1981.  He was motivated by some delusional intent to impress Jodie Foster.  The White House Crashers (I even hate using a name they are probably hoping becomes a brand – have they trademarked it yet?) certainly did not attempt anything like that (which is only partially relevant), but how long before we get to the point where the next John Hinckley takes a shot at a President to get on Bravo or E!?  Sadly, I don’t think it is far-fetched at all.  Let’s just hope he’ll be allowed to Tweet from prison – wouldn’t want to miss all of their insights.

This site is usually saved for gripes, but today is a today for being thankful so after some reflection (family, health, etc. obviously) here are the things I am thankful for in no particular order:

1) My Obama impression.  It is not my favorite bit or part of my stand up, but I like Jimmy Chitwood in Hoosiers I do feel like my Obama impression is what could hit the metaphorical winning shot for me in my comedy career.  Of course even if it makes it big, my comedy career will still be the equivalent of a hick in Indiana.  But like money to an ugly man or big breasts and loose morals to a woman I think Obama will get my stand up going places faster than if I was without it.

2) The New York Knicks.  As readers of this blog know I am one of a handful of Utah Jazz fans (22 years and counting) outside of the state of Utah or the Mormon faith.  The Jazz have been a disappointment this year, but the New York Knicks have been nothing short of a disgrace and thanks to ramifications of the trade for Stephon Marbury 6 years ago the Knicks’ first round pick (most likely a top 5 pick) will go to the Jazz.

3) My girlfriend.  If only for buying me Adam Lambert’s new CD (and apparently a point on the Kinsey scale) and saving me from one of the more emasculating purchases I could make.  I made no secret of my enjoyment of his American Idol performances and although the album is way too much Lady Gaga-light and not enough Steven Tyler/Freddie Mercury/David Bowie as it should be, no gift has ranked higher on the “it’s the thought that counts” scale, except for her purchase of a Paul Millsap game jersey for me last Christmas.   And a bonus to her is that if in some alternative universe I pull a Sal from Mad Men, she can say, “Dammit, I should have known when he was singing along to that Adam Lambert song.”

Note – this was all conceived before Lambert dragged men on leashes, face-fu-ked and tongue raped other men on the American Music Awards.  While I appreciate his stance that there is a double standard by the heterosexual world concerning lesbians and gay men making out, it was a bit much.  And it detracts from his considerable talent.  Add another Kinsey point. Fu-k.

4) The people running shi*ty open mics, the people who are not taking advantage of struggling, new, or desperate comics and the people who run decent shows for free in the city.   Like a house of worship, the communal strength of the good people trying to do good things in and with comedy in NYC (and elsewhere) make it easier to keep following a tough dream.  So thanks to all you people as well.  To those who are manipulating or taking advantage of even one comic, go fu-k yourselves.

I am using this post to announce my candidacy for several awards in the annual ECNY Awards.  The ECNY Awards are awards given out at Comix in March honoring/celebrating NY based comedians.  Readers of this blog may think I’d be above and/or burned out on contests involving comedy, but how can I lose and become more bitter if I am never nominated?  Please go the website below for info or go right to the nominating form:

http://www.ecnyawards.com/ (general site info)

http://www.ecnyawards.com/nomination.php (nomination form)

The categories I’d like some votes for:

1) Best Male stand up.  The competition might be thinner in the female category, but I’ve been told I do not qualify despite my occasional irrational moodiness.  I also think it unlikey that a comic who gets no paid work from any NY club has a chance at this, but consider a vote for me as the equivalent of voting for a grass roots third party candidate, like Ross Perot, Ralph Nader or George Wallace (courting the Western Pennsylvania and Southern vote)

2) Best Short Comedic Film (feel free to nominate one or all, but my preferred order is below)

• i) An Obamacare Tale http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAyUoDEX0GE
• ii) Always Be Funny http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wV7DkytjZxI
• iii) 24 Spoof http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmBZtya23zI

3) Best website – www.jlcauvin.com(time for all the work Steve Axworthy has done for me over the last 3 years to get some recognition.

4) Outstanding achievement in tweeting(@jlcauvin).  This category may be the worst award ever and contrary to some of what you may think I probably don’t stand a chance with my 1,000+ tweets to those who exceed the 10,000 and 20,000+ tweets.  But if you find my posts funny, then do the right thing.

Thanks everybody.  Enjoy your Thanksgiving.

Important statistics from this week:

• 1 show at the Cleveland Improv- 15 minute set
• 24 hours on Amtrak to and from Cleveland, Ohio within a 51 hour span
• 1 cold/flu obtained
• 700 page book on basketball read

On Tuesday I set off on Amtrak for Cleveland, Ohio to do a set at the Cleveland Improv.  It was a 3:45 train, which was scheduled to arrive in Cleveland in a manageable 11 hours, 42 minutes.   I really like the train.  Anything under 12 hours I consider enjoyable.  It has an old school charm, in a way, but instead of travelling the rails with people who look and dress like Don and Betty Draper, it now really just consists of people who cannot fit in airplane seats (the morbidly obese and in my case, the semi-freakishly tall) and those that want to avoid TSA for profiling and legal status related issues.

On the train ride to Cleveland I managed to write the next brilliant, but under-viewed and underappreciated JLCauvin.com sketch and read 300 pages in Bill Simmons’ The Book of Basketball.  About half way through the trip I felt the symptoms of a cold coming on, which I blame half on my Atlantic City drinking binge/sleep deprivation last weekend that may have left me susceptible to illness, and the health industry’s biggest customers that I was entombed with on Amtrak.

I arrived at the Doubletree in downtown Cleveland at 4:10 am.  I fear that one day my nomadic travel schedule and odd hours, along with my menacing frame, will lead me to be the chief suspect in some disappearance/serial killer case.  “The last I saw Mary Jo she was coming back from the bar around 3 am.  To think of it I did see a rather large, rather unhappy looking man around 4 am that same night.” NY Post headline the next day: Comic Kills!

The next day I hung out most of the day at The Cleveland Improv (extremely nice club) and at the Rock Bottom restaurant above (I am sensing a message from above since I keep ending up in that restaurant chain in different cities).

The show that night was an open mic night where local comics are given 4 minutes each and a few visiting comics are given longer sets to audition for emcee and feature work.  4 minutes may not seem like a long time, but the good news is the club does not make it a bringer for the young comics, so unlike other places, dreams are not manipulated and raped by club owners.  Not to mention that the booker of the Cleveland Improv has without question the best track record in returning phone calls and e-mails of any club with which I have dealt.  But it’s like Sinatra said about NY, “If you can, duh duh, make it there, then you are probably with the right booking agency or sucking the right di-k.”

For my set I got to follow an older comedian with Cancer who is undergoing chemo.  In one of my best off the cuff comments of my career so far the first thing I said on stage (with a well timed sniffle) was: “Well, I though I might get some slack from you guys because I have a pretty bad cold, but I guess that excuse is fu-ked now.”

I went through my set doing quite well until about the 11 minute mark.  Then 2 of my last 3 bits (including the Mariano Rivera of my set – Obama impression) fell flat.  There were three forces at work that I believed caused this: the checks were getting dropped on tables, my voice was dying on me and as the booker told me, Midwest crowds are slower, belly laughers (this last one may be the greatest euphemism of all time).  Overall it went well and I think it was worth the trip.  At least the trip going.

The trip coming back (a 5:20 am Amtrak the next morning, arriving at 6:25 pm in NYC) was like being Joel McHale’s character on Community.  I don’t like to pick on special needs folk, but about three seats back from me was a man by himself who literally spoke for about 4 hours with very little break to an elderly couple who were sort of being polite.  The main problem was that, as if some sort of stereotype from a Carlos Mencia bit, he just kept shouting out things like, “I like the train more than flying,” followed quickly by non sequiturs that expressed interest or joy in something.

The stars of the trip were not that guy, but the crazy (literally) guy who kept walking from the cafe car and back talking to himself and the woman who sat in front of me and kept having incredibly loud cell phone conversations.  Here was my tally of phrases she used and how many times she used them on the train:

• “You know what I’m sayin” – 1,187
• “He think he can play me but I’m playin’ him” – 66
• “Sorry, but she caught me on the phone and I was like ‘I need to go’” – only 1 time, but this is funny how she was blaming her her other friend for keeping her on the phone, even though it appeared that her friend said almost nothing.

So I can tell you when I need to go back to Cleveland for more extensive work I am definitely going to upgrade and take Greyhound.

The weekend started off in Philadelphia, as promised, for the Utah Jazz versus Philadelphia 76ers game.  The game seemed to generate less interest than one might even expect, despite our country’s love of Mormons, Jazz, patriotism and athletic black men.  It felt more like attending a conference for Detroit billionaires than an NBA game featuring two playoff teams from last year.

The Jazz won the game easily, which was surprising.  However, due to how close our seats were to the court and the fact that the arena was less than half full I felt uncomfortable shouting or cheering too much because I really believed the players could hear me.

That night I crashed at the home of Pat Breslin’s parents.  I literally felt like a kid sleeping over in elementary school, mostly because they were so friendly and because my feet dangled over the edge of the bed I was sleeping in.  But it was awesome and a great way to nurse a hangover.  Sadly I had to run because in a move of unbelievably poor planning I had to go back to NYC to change for Pat’s bachelor party in Atlantic City that night.  So I took an 1140 train to NYC, ran home, watched Live at Gotham, cursed the show Live at Gotham, showered, had some multivitamins and ran back to Penn Station for a 3 pm train to Atlantic City.

When I realized that I would be on a bachelor party trip with approximately twenty guys (dudes and brahs) from south jersey I just assumed that the night would be some shameful mix of Very Bad Things, The Hangover and The Accused.  But then I noticed that I was only one of a few guys not actually married on the trip.  I guess it was pretty standard fare for a bachelor party, but I did have some learning experiences.  Among the things I had said or thought during the adult portion of the night:

1) “I guess?”  My response when a stripper asked me hypothetically what I would do to her and provided me with only one option that I actually had and have no desire to do, but felt that strip club conversations, like Improv games, require affirmative answers so the game doesn’t end.

2) “What’s with all the tattoos on these strippers?” I mean you strip so we already know that you hate yourself and your family, so why be redundant with self-mutilation?

3) “I think I am going to walk in front of a moving car” when a stripper asked me what I did for a living, I said “comedy, its fun, but tough, to which the woman who removed her clothes for a living told me “to follow my dreams.”  When a woman with more emotional and physical scar tissue than the cast of Keeping Up With the Kardashians is in a position to be a motivational speaker, the person being spoken to is making poor life choices.  So apparently my job respect rankings need to be re-evaluated.  I now present you with a correct re-ranking:

1) President of The US

77) gym teacher

133) stripper

134) comedian

135) porn fluffer

After strip club festivities it was time for clubbing.  We all went to Providence at the Tropicana.  I must admit I was pretty impressed with the talent level of Atlantic City (especially after initially seeing at dinner what was unanimously decided to be the ugliest bachelorette party in the history of the Animal Kingdom).  Perhaps the recession has driven out some of the nastier looking women to Foxwoods or the Harrahs in Delaware that the Amtrak passes, but Atlantic city club going couples all seem to fit the exact same profile:

Man – 5’7″, lots of hair product, a striped button-down shirt, a look of slightly misplaced confidence (which may be explained by the woman)

Woman – 5’5″, skin tight, low cut dress, two of the following three add-ons (breasts, hair color, tattoo) – ok so maybe nasty(skanky at least) looking still, but the good kind I guess.

Apparently, the strip club, the dozen $14 drinks at Providence and the box of cookies I ate at 230 am were too much for my emotional and physical makeup because I turned into a bulimic at around 3 am.  All in all a good weekend.  This week takes me to Cleveland via Amtrak.  Fun fun fun.

This weekend will most likely spawn a major post on Monday, so here is a teaser for what is to come.

Friday

I am meeting Pat Breslin and Jim Dodge (together the three of us created the now defunct Internal Laughter, the LFO of comedy show trios) at the Wachovia Center (so I am guessing I will not suffer any ATM fees) to watch the Utah Jazz play the Philadelphia 76ers.

I will be sporting a Utah Jazz jersey (I wore Millsap to the Knicks-Jazz game earlier this week, which leaves me with either Kirilenko or Williams, both likely to elicit less than friendly responses. However, since I am with two 76ers fans, as well as the fact that it is not an Eagles game, and the fact that I am 6’7″ should all be enough to offset the usual barrage of incestuous and sexual orientation related epithets that usually flow at professional sporting events.   However, my planned outfit may still be too provocative:

The game is but a prelude, however to Saturday’s main event.

Saturday

Off to Atlantic City for Pat’s bachelor party.  What do you get when you combine one giant comic from NYC, 15 dudes and brahs from South Jersey in Atlantic City?  I am not sure, but I think of what comedian Robert Kelly said about Vegas on his CD Just The Tip: “Atlantic City is like Vegas With AIDS.”  Well you better call me sub-Sahara Africa because I will be betting on black all night.

Sunday

Church-Shower-Repeat until I feel better.

Non-incriminating recap to come on Monday.

The New York Times had a couple of interesting comparisons to the Yankees in today’s edition.  One article, in the sports section, compared the Yankees to Goldman Sachs, in that they seem to produce unparalleled wealth and success while seeming to luxuriate in the feelings of unfairness they foster.  The other article, was about today’s parade, which will take place on Wall Street, which according to the article, really needs a good moment like this to help provide some good vibes for the emotionally beleaguered financial district (and the city overall of course).

Does anyone think it might make sense for Manhattan to stop reaping the benefits of the Bronx Bombers at the expense of the Bronx?  Just as the financial collapse was helped along by large firms manipulating and taking advantage of poor and middle class Americans, so too will Manhattan, Mayor Mike Bloomberg and the Yankees get to parade around Manhattan without a care in the world about the community they’ve left behind.  Again.

Meanwhile local vendors of Yankee Stadium have complained of lost profits this year, due to both the change of foot traffic patterns created by the new Stadium as well as the more gaudy and extensive merchandise opportunities within the House That Greed Built.  Furthermore, children still do not have a completed park to replace the enormous one that was shoved aside by the new Stadium.  It is as if the Yankees have treated the local community with the same cold-hearted competitiveness with which they dispatch rivals when pursuing free agents: we’re richer; we’re bigger; deal with it.

Why would the Grand Concourse not be a fitting place for a parade?  They are still called the Bronx Bombers, but everything about them should be the Madison Avenue Maulers or the Wall Street Warriors.  They are corporate in every way, from the legions of fair-weather fans that follow them (plenty of diehards, but look no further than the New York Knicks to see how much loyalty New York fans provide their teams in time of need), to the parade that will honor them.

I worked as an Assistant District Attorney in the Bronx for 3 ½ years.  I remember each year when it was time to select a venue for our individual bureau holiday party, venues in the Bronx were not even discussed.  We were serving the Bronx daily as law enforcement officials, but most of the ADA’s, like many young New Yorkers who would rather have two or three roommates and live in Manhattan than have more space, but (gasp!) live in an outer borough (especially the dreaded Bronx), ever dreamed of setting foot inside a Bronx establishment for a party, as if they all feared that after hours they too could become the next Sherman McCoy.  To District Attorney Robert Johnson’s credit, the annual holiday for the entire office was (and still is) always held at the Marina Del Ray in the Bronx.

Last century the Grand Concourse was just that, grand.  But various things, including racism, helped set in motion the image of the Bronx that still prevails over the collective consciousness of New York City, regardless of whether or not it is actually reality.  Many issues hurt the Bronx, not the least of it was the racism of white flight, which led to The Bonfire of The Vanities mindset that seems to still prevail today on off days or road games for the Yankees more urbane fans.  And because of that sad perception, combined with the corporate mentality of the Yankees and their fans (at this point the demands of Yankee fans, of which I must admit I am one, seem more like the impatient ranting of shareholders, than the charming loyalty of fans) the parade goes on today downtown.

There is no connection with the Bronx for the Yankees, just as many people felt that Mike Bloomberg had no connection with many working families and just as Wall Street seems to have no connection (not to mention conscience) to the anger and plight of many working Americans.  Having the parade in the Bronx might actually help the South Bronx in a way that a stadium and a shopping mall cannot: it could help to start changing people’s perspectives, so that people could see the Bronx in the daytime and not just under those very expensive lights under which the Yankees play at night.  The Bronx clearly loves the Yankees, but I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.

This weekend I headed up to that city known for its charm, its Patriotism and its resistance to integration efforts.  That’s right it was of to Boston, for what would be the first headlining gig I have gotten from a comedy club – Tommy’s Comedy Lounge.  If I ever see the check or cash from the gig I will be sure to frame it, like Scrooge McDuck’s first dime.

Some of the highlights:

1) Booker told me he thought I was awesome and had no idea all the sh*t I brought because he has only seen me in 5 minute spots at the Boston Comedy Festival.  That felt nice.   And then reminded me I’ve never made the Boston Festival Finals.  Fu-k.

2) Friday’s show was awesome and a lot of fun – great crowd, great tape.

3) Yankees won Game 3 while I was in Boston.

Some of the low lights:

1) 8 audience members on Saturday’s show.  Granted it was Halloween, baseball playoffs were on and it was raining, but the fact that I could not have done a bringer in NYC and I was headlining was sort of embarrassing.  Thankfully the crowd was really good, despite their small numbers.

2) I saw Paranormal Activity and then could not sleep very well Saturday night.  The movie was quite creepy, but what made my experience more creepy was that I was staying at the College Club of Boston, an affiliate of the Williams Club.  The room rates were very reasonable, but the place was a quiet townhouse with creaky wooden floors, lots of old paintings and rooms that looked like Bill Compton could have lived in them when he was actually alive.  In other words I was pretty sure a demon was haunting me and was fu-king with my sleep.  And my comedy career.

3) While eating one of the worst hamburgers of all time at a restaurant called Rock Bottom in Boston (named after either Dwayne Johnson’s WWF finishing move or my career) I saw a mouse run across the floor.  Kind of like the obvious symbolism of the rat in the iconic Boston-set film The Departed, the mouse in my experience was Martin Scorsese’s cosmic and obvious way of telling me that comedy is like a rat race, but smaller and more insignificant.