Why I Feel Bad For A-Rod

The fact that he had sex with the senior citizen yoga champ is only one reason.

For years Alex Rodriguez has been the target of Haters.  There is no other word for them.

When he came into the league he was insanely talented.  From the age of 20 he was putting up big numbers and he just kept getting better.  He was more talented, better looking and when he signed his 10 year, $250 million contract, richer than anyone else in the game.  But he never had the cool guy appeal of Derek Jeter that would get him undying loyalty of fans, or the bad guy demeanor of Barry Bonds that would get fans because of an almost anti-hero status.  Alex just went about his business and treated the game just like that.  He was a self-conscious business man playing a sport for a living.    He is a corporate sports figure and people resent him for it (at least America is finally hating the actually corporate d-bags as well).  He was too perfect, or worse, looked like he was trying to be perfect.  And it seems that nothing annoys people more nowadays, than the guy who is trying to be better than others.  It reminds others of their failings and builds resentment and a desire to uncover some hypocrisy or fault within that person.  America’s motto might as well be, “If you can’t beat them, beat them down.”

When the steroid and HGH scandal began breaking I kept saying A-Rod could not be guilty.  He had so much natural talent coming into the league: speed, power, skills that it did not seem impossible by any stretch that over the course of 8 years he could get gradually bigger and stronger.  From 18 to 23 I went from 205 to to 248.  And that was just subway sandwiches, protein shakes and hostility at being a hoops team bench warmer that went into that growth.  So why was it implausible that a professional athlete of A-Rod’s caliber could not put on 40 pounds of muscle in 5 or 6 years?

His transformation was not the transformation that Mark McGwire or Barry Bonds underwent, which resembled the origin stories of superheros (Bonds/McGwire was once a normal baseball player and then after the nuclear spill he grew to the size of a house and could hit a home run just by looking at the ball).  Not to mention that everyone involved with A-Rod in baseball genuinely seemed surprised when the news was revealed.

But there was a sign that something was not right with A-Rod.  It was not his stats, his build, his self-conscious behavior.  It was the fact that he was banging a former pop star who’s body now resembled a yoga infused Iggy Pop.  While Madonna seems committed to going from pop icon to Cher, A-Rod has fast forwarded right past cougar land into the era of the saber-toothed tigers.  Wasn’t this a cry for help? Injecting testicle shrinking substances in your body is no danger compared to sticking your dipstick inside that kabbalah cesspool.  Who knows, may A-Rod is gay and he is just banging Madonna because she is a step away from women and a step towards men.  If this is the case, might I suggest the transition team, so to speak, for A-Rod (in increasing order of masculinity):

  • Madonna
  • Jaime Lee Curtis
  • Ricky Martin
  • Lance Bass
  • Macy Gray
  • Hugh Jackman
  • Janet Reno

But it seems the safest way to be a sports fan is to be cynical.  For years fans (me included) bought that the ball was juiced.  Major League Baseball actually convinced fans that tight stitching was leading to home run records getting broken and then they make a show of outrage while they leave their Frankensteins out to dry.  I don’t know what A-Rod will say as his excuse, if he says anything at all, but if he says that he used them because he was tired of seeing his natural talent unfairly eclipsed by a game that was allowing rampant drug use then I could be ok with that.  He has enough years left in his career that I think he could rehabilitate himself, if the Haters let him.

And assuming there is an inquiry into steroids into comedy, it should be noted that my personal high in bench press was achieved prior to my comedy career and before Carrot Top showed up with Dwight Howard’s shoulders.

What Happens When Two Annoying Racial Stereotypes Collide?

It all went down at the FDR Post Office.

Another day, another mass mailing in pursuit of comedy bookings (or at least putting in face time at the post office so if I need to apply for a job in late 2010 they will have gotten to know me and may put me on the fast track).  As I stood with dozens of padded envelopes holding DVDs and headshots I thought to myself, “Hmmmm, I have not written a posting today.  I wonder if my 19 loyal readers (yes, readership is up) are pissed that their weekend is almost here and they have not had any J-L wit and wisdom.  And faster than you can say Bensonhurst, Brooklyn a Jewish woman with an iPhone and a black, female postal employee with some unwanted lessons in manners met.

Now there are some stereotypes that are really well known and overdone and then some that are not so overdone, but are still well represented in society, or at least New York.  For lack of a more significant trait the first stereotype in this incident is the annoying mid-forties Manhattan woman who claims her manicurist “loves” her an “cannot live without her cell phone” even though she did for thirty-five years already (beware – unless the EPA opens up hunting on this species its numbers will grow out of control in this city in the coming decades).  The other is the woman of color (often black, but occasionally Latina) working at menial, to semi-menial job that is quick (usually too quick) to play the “respect my authority” card. 

Well at 6:10 pm these two titans collided at the FDR Post Office on 54th Street and Third Avenue.

The annoying woman (AW) was at the counter speaking on her iPhone for several minutes, apparently hoping to multi-task, despite the fact that she really only had 1 task, when the postal worker (PW) said, “I will not assist you while you are on the phone. Next (she said this a few times,)”  Another person came to PW’s window after being called at which point AW began saying “ok, ok I’m off the phone.”  Some mumblings ensued, when PW stated quite loudly – “you will not speak to me like that or I will not help you at all.”  More arguments ensued, while a few of PW’s co-workers (African-Americans) gathered around.   Apparently the Asian postal employees could give two sh*ts what was going on.  In an effort to foster a better blog story I yelled out, “hit the white bit*h” while throwing my voice.  No one heeded my advice, but the clash ended with the following exchange:

AW: You bitch! (walking away)

PW: That’s Ms. Bitch (cackles from her non-Asian co-workers).

AW: No, you’re a bitch.

Me: Ding ding ding – the winner by sarcasm and by not repeating the same insult twice – Ms. Bitch, USPS!

If this exchange proved anything, compared to previous clashes between different cultures and races it is this: women are just not as funny as men, whether intentionally or unintentionally. (check my Spring 2006 entries if you doubt it – racism + men + public place = hilarity):

https://jlcauvin.com/?p=22

https://jlcauvin.com/?p=32

Ahhh, the classics.

90,000 Sex Offenders Barred From MySpace

At least I still have Facebook.

I read yesterday that MySpace has removed and barred approximately 90,000 sex offenders from MySpace.  I am not sure that will save it from dying an excruciating death at the hands of Facebook, unless they go negative and start claiming that Facebook is a haven for sex offenders.

How did MySpace find these people?  I never saw the “rapist” or “pedophile” option on relationship status or occupation.  And I have to assume that if you are a sex offender you cannot be so stupid as to make an account with your own name, unless, instead of employing a clever ruse (candy, white van, “this room is really warm, do you mind if I take off my shirt”), you are more a brute strength sexual assaulter, but then you would have to bar most fraternities and Mike Tyson from MySpace, which they did not.

And have you seen some of the girls on MySpace.  I don’t want to say any of these girls are asking for it, but when your screen name is Hot Wet Pussy Cat (coming soon to my “Top Friends”) and every picture is an ass pose of some variety shouldn’t that the two to tango policy.  Furthermore, I thought you had to be at least 16 to be on MySpace.  I assume, if on-line dating is any primer for MySpace sexual predatory tactics, there will be 8 to 10 months worth of inane banter and by then wouldn’t the victim be of legal age?  And if a person younger than 16 is lying, how is that the sexual assaulter’s fault?  Sure the Dora the Explorer backpack should have been a clue as well as the fact that her favorite movie is High School Musical 3, but can’t it be assumed by the assaulter that she was of age when her 13 year old boyfriend forwards her sextexts to everyone (kids these days!)?

And isn’t anyone who watched Brittney Spears’ first video on MTV that was older than 18 sort of a sex offender anyway? 

Or at least forwarded it on the Internet?  Now sex offenders need to run to Facebook or Twitter (which sort of sounds like a finishingmove for a sex offender video game character, probably voiced by CNN’s Twitter-obsessed Rick Sanchez).  As long as narcissism does not become a crime Facebook should have nothing to worry about.  How’s Friendster doing by the way?

The Godfather on Blu Ray

Great got greater.

I love blu ray dvds.  They are so clear that they actually make movies, which are already awesome, better just by looking and sounding better.  Sort of like love with a hot woman.  If she is great already (Godfather, Shawshank, Transformers) then the experience is only enhanced, but even if she is not very good (Semi Pro, Hellboy, Terminator 3) the mere upgrade in looks can make you pay attention and appreciate much more than you normally would with a different exterior.

Well, having spent some time being lazy, in between writing and cutting carbs, I managed to watch the Godfather I and II on blu ray this week.  Holy Sh*t it is fantastic.  Moe Green’s bleeding eye, Senator Pat Geary’s sleaziness, Appolonia’s breasts – all in super clear picture (especially for a movie that is almost 40 years old).  But in my renewed focus I noticed some things about the Godfather.

  1. Who the fu-k is Cunio?  When Michael is rattling off the list of 5 families (I think my uncle once asked me this as well) he mentions Barzini, Tataglia, Stracci and Cunio?  Who is Cunio and why did he not get any screen time or mention until he was dead.  I don’t think he even gets mentioned at the meeting Don Corleone calls when Sonny is killed.  How much would it suck to be cast as Cunio.  “Yeah, I was in the Godfather.”  Really?  What part?  “I was Cunio.”   He is not even in the deleted scenes you lying waiter.
  2. The delted scenes should have all been restored.  Extra fighting between Connie and Carlo.  And the best – Michael has Fabrizio killed in Buffalo, NY in part II (the guy who sold him out in Italy) – it was intended as a compliment to how young Don Corleone tracked down his mother’s killer in Italy when he was grown.
  3. What the fu-k happened to Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino?  They went from the Magic Johnson and Larry Bird of acting to the New York Knicks of acting.
  4. How the fu-k did Talia Shire squeeze her way into being a part of two of the biggest movie franchises of all time.  Rocky Balboa’s wife and Michael Corleone’s sister.  She was probably up for Karen Allen’s part in Indiana Jones and something in Lord of The Rings as well.  If only she had been willing to exist nude in movies then she could have extended her career into her forties like Marisa Tomei.
  5. Michael Corleone’s treatment of his wife is great, in that it would make Don Draper say, “Jeesh that guy does not treat his wife right.”  How great would it be if you could simply tell your wife, not to ask about your business, then tell her one time, as if it were some gift, and then not tell her a thing for the next 7 years while you kill a bunch of people and do God knows what else.  That seems a far cry from the “when will you be home for dinner” arguments.
  6. And it has possibly my favorite quote in a movie, probably because I hope to find a woman who will allow me to write it into my wedding vows and/or wedding toast: “Just to show you I’m not all dollars and cents and a hard-hearted man – SHE WAS THE GREATEST PIECE OF ASS I EVER HAD AND I’VE HAD ‘EM ALL OVER THE WORLD!” 

I have not watched Godfather III yet on blu ray because it may test my theory stated above.  Sofia Coppola may actually become uglier and worse on blu ray with all the clarity.

Man of Steele

Now every Republican has at least 1 black friend

Michael Steele, former Lt. Governor of Maryland has been chosen as the head of the Republican National Committee.  He is black, which if it was not the Republican party would not be as big a deal.  I just read that Steele was the man who helped popularize the chant “drill baby drill” at the Republican National Convention, or as I saw it – the environmental equivalent of the rape scene in the Accused.

But it does offer a different face for the Republican party.  Coupled with the fact that Democrats are having a tough time paying taxes (Daschel, Geithner and now Killefer) it seems the political world is temporarily having its poles shifted (sort of like a friend told me would happen in 2012 based on the Myan apocalypse prophecy).

I expect the next story to come out will be that Scalia and Thomas are divorcing their wives and marrying each other.

Yes, this is a short entry – but it justifies my first line about Republicans having a black friend (I anticipate Colbert, Jon Stewart or Bill Maher to say something similar).  How do I gt a joke to them?

All You Can Eat Pancakes & Super Bowl #6

I will start eating right on February 2nd.

I woke up Super Bowl Sunday with my first 2 day hangover (lingering from a Friday night that started at Brother Jimmy’s at 8 pm (after doing a show for 4 people at Gotham Comedy Club – not a misprint), with a Frank the Tank like, “Alright I’ll have one beer.”  After watching Federer-Nadal on DVR I had a great idea to go to IHOP on 135th and Adam Clayton Blvd.   Of course IHOP is stereotypically popular among black people (I do feel like I am getting back to half of my roots when I go to IHOP, but I did not get there until 2 so I figured it would be empty.  However, black people are stereotypically late so when those two stereotypes meet it means a 30 minute wait for pancakes.

Before getting my seat I saw that it was all-you-can-eat pancakes at IHOP.  In my heyday I could put away 10 pancakes, a milkshake and an order of sausage.  This time I could only put away one order of 5 with a shake and sausage (a paltry 1800 calories).  Shockingly I saw that a woman named Kiki holds the current record at that location with 32 pancakes.  I asked about this pancake devouring behemoth at the IHOP and was told she was a skinny little woman.  I then asked if she made a lot of trips to the bathroom during to wretch and was told that she did not.  Kiki – I am nominating for an Anderson Cooper Hero Award in 2009.

After IHOP I went to Crumbs to pickup a cupcake – my guess is that a Crumbs cupcake (cookie dough flavored) is about 600 calories.  I then waddled home to prepare for a Super Bowl party.

My friends who throw a great Super Bowl Party threw one last year and I had forgot the quality and effort they put in.  There were numerous dips and hors d’oeuvres of which I ate all (including a measly 10 pigs in blankets, well off my 2007 record haul of 40).  Then came pizza, pasta and garlic knots, even though Springsteen yelled at me to put down my guacamole and chicken fingers.  Then came cupcakes, cookies and apple crisp.  Then came a huge headache and belly ache.  It sucks when you can only half enjoy your team’s 6th Super Bowl victory because you are falling into a diabetic coma.  I entered Super Bowl Sunday Vin Diesel and left Paul Blart.  I truly felt like the 12 Amstel Lights I brought were inadequate for the banquet I was pillaging. 

As of this writing I am still full.

The Great Diploma Heist of 2009

Twas the night before my last day and all through the Chrysler Building…

On the eve of my last day it started out well.  My corporate hoops team worked hard and earned a forfeit (the other team could not play with only two players, despite their coach’s claim a la Norman Dale that “his team was on the floor”).  After the non-game I went and re-discovered my Al Pacino impression at a show afterwards (think Carlito’s Way – very good).  Lastly, before going home I decided to pick up my diplomas from my office on the way home.  My options for bringing my diplomas home, or $240,000 in parchment form, were either to bring them home today around lunch time in midtown Manhattan allowing several thousand New Yorkers to observe a true walk of shame (walking home with your former career in your hands looks a lot worse than walking home wearing last night’s clothes and an early morning hangover), or to go into my office at 11:15 pm last night and retrieve them.

So I opted for the evening retrieval.  I marched into my office and scooped up my diplomas.  As I was leaving the building I was stopped by security and asked to show identification.  WOW – welcome to civilian life as-hole.  I felt like Ice Cube in Higher Learning – I almost said to the security guard, “Let me see yo’ ID.”  I wondered why I was being subjected to such odd treatment.  Was it racial?  Perhaps, except these two crusty white security guards probably thought I was Italian anyway.  Was it my lack of a lawyerly air?  Probably, considering my puffy winter coat, sweatpants and 2007 Dwayne Wade high top sneakers. 

It still made little sense though, since I had a security pass to enter the building and who the fu-k steals diplomas?  Like some sort of poorly dressed and uninteresting Thomas Crowne Affair.

I am now considering what to do with them.  I may bring them on stage with me since that is technically my new office.  But before that I must go in to the firm for one more day (today).  Hopefully there is either a slow clap for me as I leave for the last time or a Dead Poets’ Society-Captain My Captain moment as I walk out.

Thank you lawyers.  Thank you.

Does A New Bruce Springsteen Album Mean Trouble For…

All through college I never understood my friends’ fascination with Bruce Springsteen.  First off none of them were really working class guys for whom The Boss could represent the voice of their struggles or generation, unless growing up in wealthy Boston and DC suburbs was the 2000 equivalent of broken down textile mill towns.  Sure I liked the hits that everyone liked, but I did not get the hero worship they had for Springsteen.  I spent most of my music days listening to Limp Bizkit, AC/DC and Metallica for my inner meathead and finding common ground with my friends over GnR and U2 (not to mention having the bold foresight to declare I Want It That Way an excellent pop song the day it hit the radio as opposed to several months later when it was more fashionable to acknowledge – sort of my equivalent of John McCain’s support for the surge in Iraq).

But then I hit law school and two planes hit the World Trade Center.  Tough times lay ahead dealing with the rigors of law school and the fear of terrorism, feeling both personal and global panic at the same time).  But then Bruce released The Rising, which along with The Eminem Show (odd couple I know) became my own soundtrack for law school.  Bruce spoke to a hopeful side of me (Lonesome Day, The Rising, City of Ruins, Waitin’ on a Sunny Day) and Eminem (entire album) spoke to the angry side of me that through sublimation probably became my comedy career.   It should be noted that both albums were robbed by Norah Jones for Album of the year at the 2002 Grammies.

Every morning The Rising would play off of my stereo and it made it just a little easier to get out of bed.  I think I began to appreciate Bruce the way my friends had in college.

Well Bruce showed up in late 2007 with Magic and just as if I had asked him for a pick me up (and channeling both hopeful and bitter sentiments – see ya Eminem) I found myself feeling better listening to songs like You’ll Be Coming Down, Your Own Worst Enemy and Girls in Their Summer Clothes.

Walking around Best Buy last night (an ill advised move that led to the purchase of FIFA 09 for Wii) I saw Bruce’s newly released album “Working On a Dream.”  To quote Gary Gulman, “Ummmmm, Bruce Have you Been Reading My Diary?”  I am going to listen to it shortly, but I got to thinking –  Is a layoff/change of career the kind of moment that requires a Springsteen album for me if I am actually pleased with the moment?  Maybe Bruce was nervous for me and thought (gritting underbite, strains of constipation in his voice), “Maybe J-L needs a pick me up.”  Or worse, what if something bad is headed my way and Bruce, like that bell ringing monk in the preview for 2012, is trying to get a warning out to me?  Perhaps, but last night I performed for 9 people at an open mic named after a Hawaiian-themed taco restaurant.  How much worse could it get?

Looking forward to seeing Bruce perform at the Steelers’ Super Bowl win Sunday.  Hopefully he does not play his new song, “J-L, are you out of your mind, a law degree is a terrible thing to waste”.  Steve Van Zandt’s voice is too whiny during the chorus.

With Todd the Hedge Fund Douchebag Out Of Work…

One of my jokes becomes reality.

As a preface to this posting I must offer you two of my jokes, one written a couple of months ago, the other written last night:

  1. With all the investment bankers losing their job why isn’t anyone concerned about the problems this will cause escorts, whores and coke dealers?
  2. With investment bankers no longer masters of the universe who is going to step into the role of men who shame women and make them jaded while simultaneously raising the women’s expectations of what material possessions they deserve from future boyfriends?

Now I was just writing out some ideas that I thought relevant in these tough economic times.  Low and behold the following article in today’s New York Times, “It’s the economy, girlfriend.” http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/28/nyregion/28daba.html?_r=1

This article focuses on a new support group that has sprung up from the bowels of Manhattan’s most shallow and vulgar group called “Dating a Banker Anonymous”.  This is not a joke.  Once again, my oft used quote of Oscar Wilde – “life imitates art.”

The group consists of women supporting each other while their formerly aggressive arrogant douche bag boyfriends become more depressed and less cool because they no longer define themselves as Christian Bale-American Psycho wannabes.  I am not even sure how to make a funnier joke than the reality of this situation.  These women actually think they have a problem (which they do, but it relates to their fathers’ neglect and their soulless existence, not to their wallet-with-a-cock they call a boyfriend).  One woman said that her boyfriend had not asked about her day in three weeks because he was so obsessed with the market.  He probably had not asked about her day in three years, but now that the money faucet is running dry these things get noticed more.  They even have a blog where they offer supportive advice to women who have broken up with the FBFs (Financial-guy Boyfriends as they so intelligently call their men – (why FBFs – shouldn’t it be FGB or FB? and why is the “guy” thrown in there – anybody have a female boyfriend – ahhhh the elite of Manhattan indeed).  One such piece of advice was: “Remember they are just math-club nerds.”  Wow – for a second I thought these woman loved the guys for who they were.  Awwww – how sad.

This article is funnier than any joke I can write so I encourage you to read it.

My Last Day As A Lawyer, My First Day…

1/30/09

For the last 7 1/2 years the legal profession has been a large part of my life.  For the past 5 1/2 years comedy has been standing by like a mistress who has been promised a divorce and a new last name.  Well, as January 31, 2009 I will be shedding the dual identity and forging ahead as a comedian, instead of a “slashie,” lawyer-comedian.  Now the legal profession is a little bit like the priesthood in that as long as I keep up my CLE credits and pay my dues I will always technically be an attorney, but I will be free to identify myself as something else. 

I’d like to say that there was a Ben Affleck-Matt Damon moment, where my best friend came up to me and said to me “If you’re still filing papers and billing hours in twenty years I’m going to fu-king kill you.”  But there was no moment like this.  Most people I know do not understand the forces in me pulling and pushing: the steadiness of the legal profession and the respect many people give you for being a lawyer coupled with a sense of incredible ordinariness versus the individuality and excitment of being a comedian coupled with the fear of failure and coming to grips that you are a nobody until you are a somebody.  I had targeted 2009 as the year that I give 100% to comedy instead of 50%.  Did I target February 2009? No, but the law has had a way of pushing me towards comedy since 2003 so I cannot blame the timing.

In February 2003 I was down in the dumps.  I was having a tough time balancing all my work in law school to the point that my Mom, who never quits anything and my Dad, who quits plenty of things, but loves the law and comes from a family of lawyers said to me that I could quit law school.  That same month as I contemplated my professional future I went to Nany O’Brien’s, a bar near my apartment in Cleveland Park in Washington, DC to watch an amateur comedy show.  I was hooked.  I had always liked stand up comedy and making people laugh, but this was different.  It seemed accessible and possible for me to do.  I fought through the second semester of my second year of law school and the first Monday after school was done I went to my first open mic at Takoma Station Tavern a Jazz club in DC that hosted comedy every Monday.  The only joke I can remember from that set was about the low standards of a cab company called “Arrive Alive Cabs” (which was actually observed by my then girlfriend on a visit to DC).  I did well enough to continue and the third year of law school was a breeze because I had found my passion.  If I was bored in class I could just brainstorm some jokes.  I finished law school, but I never felt like a lawyer.  I was a comedian.

The summer of the bar I studied about half as much as I should have because I was unable to stop going to open mics.  I ended up failing the bar by 3 points.  I passed easily the second time, but in hindsight it looks like yet another message of the direction my life should be taking. 

For the last 5 1/2 years comedy has been one of the greatest joys and one of the greatest pains in my life, as well as the greatest therapy in my life.  It has helped me deal with the greatest challenges on my life from law school to break-ups to loneliness and depression and it has given me some of my greatest joys of my life – appearing on national television, two CD recordings, and just making people laugh.  But last night the thought of being a full time comedian gave me liberation on stage that I have not felt before.  And I had the best set of my life.

So at the end of this week I will say goodbye to a profession that has made me friends, helped build my character and made me some decent money, and say a full time hello to what I should be doing.  I remember hearing comedian Paul Mooney say that comedians are born – you either have it or you don’t.  Only time and hard work will determine whether I get the success I want, but I know that I am a comedian.

Many of my friends have said they think this is “awesome” and other words like that.  I have had many friends telling me that I should be a full time comic, but these are either people who would not dream of leaving their health insurance  or safe and secure worlds for a second, or those who have never known the perks that go with being a lawyer or similarly situated profession.  So the decision is scary for me, but at the same time it is also an easy one.   The law has been useful because it allowed me to save enough money to give my dream a real chance without having to starve while doing it, but it may take the next 5 1/2 years to get where I want.  It may take longer.  But for me to not do it would be like asking me to stop being tall.  It is who I am and what I want and need to do.  And it feels good to be able to do.

It reminds me of an anecdote a priest once told many years ago at my Church (paraphrased):

A man’s town was flooded and to survive he had to climb up on his roof.  As he sat on his roof he saw the water rising to the point where the door of a house went floating by.  As the water continued to rise he saw that the water had risen so much that a tree went floating by.  Then, finally, he saw another house float by.  Eventually the flood overcame the man and he drowned.  When the man died he went to Heaven and asked God, “Why did I have to die?  I did not feel like it was my time.”  And God answered, “I did not intend for you to die.  I sent you a door, a tree and a house and you ignored all three!”

I think the signs in my life have all pointed towards comedy so as Maximus said in Gladiator: “The time for talk and half measures is over.”