Summer is Over

27 lbs lost and counting

It is late on Labor Day and I offically begin my 3rd year as a lawyer tomorrow. And right now the day job is winning. Winning what you may ask? The war for my physical fitness. But the tide has turned in my favor.

My first year at work, people marvelled at my ability to pack away Boston Creme Donuts and “not show it.” I was still getting to the gym and keeping my weight between 245 and 255.

Year two was the equivalent of the NBA strike of several years ago and my frame was Shawn Kemp. I ballooned. By March of 2006 I was 284 lbs (it is true – being single is better for fitness). But the Good Lord blessed me at 6’7″ so I did not look like a heart attack case, but just burly. But I was pushing my wardrobe to the limit. Sweatpants and my “big” suits were all I was wearing. It was pathetic.

I then made a decision in April to start running and lifting and eating healthier. And low and behold it has worked. Today I tipped the scales at 257 lbs. My goal by New Year’s is 240 lbs. No pills, no supplements, no special workout. And yes, no John Basedow.

A few other things you should now for the coming weeks:

1) I will be giving a day-to-day update for the next two weeks as I prep and compete in the Boston Comedy Festival.

2) The Wire is my favorite show and anyone who thinks that 24, The Shield, The Sopranos or anything else is better is objectively wrong.

3) I didn’t have much to write about so I figured my 4 pack abs were in need of some newly earned credit.

The Death of Basketball

Basketball has always treated me the way Ike Turner treated Tina. We occasionally made beautiful music together, but most of the time I often felt hurt and violated. I had a high school coach who, out of spite, thought I would work better as an offensive decoy after my first game senior year of 36 points (our 15-13 that year shows that that philosophy sucked). I then had two college coaches who chose to use me as an anchor to the end of the team bench (not a terrible idea because I was a big dude, but some more time out of the warm ups would have been nice).

But September 1st, 2006 will be the day where basketball became a full on disgrace.

First, Team USA lost to Greece early this morning in the World Basketball Championships. Perhaps it was the Greek body hair that threw them off, or the 15 syllable names, or the sodomy, but Team USA should not have lost to Greece. It seems that the US invents every cool team sport and then the world catches up and beats us at it. Fortunately we will always be the best at X Games because no one gives a sh-t about the X games. Perhaps if the World were as interested as the NBA at anointing Dwayne Wade the next Jesus Christ (the free throws in the NBA Finals this summer still piss me off) maybe we could win the worlds. People need to stop saying that white people can’t play basketball at the NBA level. They have to be more specific and say that White Americans cannot play at the highest level. White Canadians and Europeans are doing just fine.

But September 1, 2006 will really mark the end of basketball because a movie is coming out today. The movie is not Hoosiers quality, hell it isn’t even One on One with Robbie Benson quality. It is Crossover, starring Wayne Brady as a gangster-type street ball coach/promoter. When I say the trailer for this movie I saw 3 of the 4 Horseman arrive. Now that the movie is out, the 4th has arrived. Wayne Brady – liked your ironic cameo on Chappelle’s Show, but you are awful. As my Mom said, “He’s too f–king happy!” What is he going to do if his team loses the street ball tournament – sing a song? But I could be wrong, Crossover did receive one and a half stars from the NY Daily News, which is one and a half more than I expected.

So let September 1, 2006 be known as the death of basketball. This is the equivalent of basketball, which had such a good, robust life, now shitting in its diaper as it gets older. And frankly, it makes me sick.

Maybe for the 2008 Olympics they should just have Wayne Brady coach the Olympic team.

Livin’ La Vida Boca

Last night I preformed a 12 minute set at Limerick House, a medium size bar in Chelsea. The show is called La Boca – feel free to translate for me. Headlining the show was none other than a blog favorite, Gary Gulman (wearing a baseball cap – which was strange if you have listened to track 1 on his CD).

One question some of my friends had was, “what is he doing this show for?” Sure 18 audience members is a far cry form headlining Gotham or playing the Comedy Cellar, but I think Gulman had a different plan. I think it was like in Mighty Ducks 2, where the Ducks had to play some street hockey to get their intensity and love of the game back.

But this blog is about me and the set I had last night. It was not as good as the set I had at Gotham last week. It was pretty good though, but I could feel nervousness because Gulman was there watching.

Some people might ask why were you nervous; it was just sort of like an open mic? The atmosphere may have been open mic-ish, but imagine you are a Latino rapper working out some tight new rhymes and in walks Gerardo. Faster than you can say Rico Suave your mouth might dry up. I feel like that is what happened to me last night.

And some girl kept saying “Wow” in an exasperated way during my set, except when I made an AIDS joke, to which she laughed heartily. Fortunately, Gulman dispatched of her with a rare moment of feigned arrogance on the part of Gulman. Here is the basic transcript.

WOW girl: incoherent chatting

Gulman: That girl is trying to act like she doesn’t want to f–k me, so I will want to f–k her, but she forgets… I’m f–king Gary Gulman. I’m in like 28th grade and she’s using her sophomore NYU tricks.

Brilliant.

Gulman had told me after the set that he also had a bit involving an Ipod and Gatorade (his terror joke is probably better than mine, but I think I look the part much better) so I should not think that he is ripping off my bit. I told him I would brag about it if he did so it didn’t matter to me. He then said that we are thinking on the same wave length.

And he’s right because all I kept thinking was: I’m f–king J-L Cauvin.

Dirk Diggler Playing Football

I had to work this weekend. So I had limited time to enjoy myself. So I went to the gym (“it’s part of my life. Watch out for the guns, they’ll getcha.”) and went to see Invincible.

This was my favorite movie of the Summer, narrowly beating out Cars.

Marky Mark has found his calling – playing 70s characters. Something about the hair and the shirts of the 70s bring out the best in his acting and movie choices. If you like sports movies I think this one is pretty money.

Other things I learned this weekend during my limited free time.

1) A digital camera and a great shirt can be lethal in the hands of a girlfriend.

2) Gary Gulman is headlining a FREE show I am on this Tuesday. I hope it will be like Daniel Son and Mr Miyagi, as opposed to Obi Wan and Annakin Skywalker. Should be a blast – come out for it – check the calendar.

3) Working weekends are the worst.

Time to watch Deadwood Season 3 Finale.

Cocksucker.

Gotham – 8/22/06

I feel good.

Many of you reading this have seen “the dunk” on my media clips. If I was a a D-I baller that would have been too lame to put on my website. If I was a D-III star that wouldn’t have been cool. But as a D-III benchwarmer (the man keeping my half black side down) the dunk was sensational, especially as a last play for a disappointing career. Like Rudy getting the sack at the end of Rudy, minus the inspiration.

The reference is because my Mom, who had traveled for 4 years to see me warm the bench was not there. I told her not to come to my last game because, “Mom, you’ve wasted enough time coming to see this bullsh–. Don’t come to this one.” Well, of course it was a career highlight and she missed it.

Well last night I had a great set at Gotham. Really great. It may have been “the dunk” of my comedy career. The owner of Gotham, at a free seminar, had told all the comics – mine your autobiographical stuff – “tell us about you and what makes your life funny or interesting.” So I wrote and tweaked and wrote and open mic and dug up old jokes and voila – a set worthy of an assistant DA/Haitian/Irish/6’7″ comic. The sad news: My Mom, who has been to practically every bringer I have done, good and bad, was not there.

I think I realize what is impeding my path to greatness. Mom, you have to stop coming to my shows. Only then can I achieve dunks every night.

Just kidding Mom, and no I’m not ready to move out.

Boston people – get ready for the festival. And Brooklyn people – check me out Friday. Go to the schedule.

Open Mic Chronicle

Killing, Dying and a Clown’s breasts

On Thursday I had a great set at Gotham Comedy Club’s open mic. Nothing more needs to be said about it. And I wouldn’t think to say anything about it, except for the fact that the show Friday was such a contrast.

On Friday night I was at the Teabag (nice name) Variety Show in Chinatown. Usually a nice crowd and Friday was no different. They didn’t seem to enjoy my jokes as much, but that is how comedy works. The real fireworks began after I got off stage.

That night there was a woman there to perform. The best way to describe her was that she was dressed like a really slutty clown. She had the largest back tattoo I’ve seen on a woman – it was DNA or RNA all down her back – very strange. She would either enhance or cure your fear of clowns if you have one. So she gets on stage and says that since the show is a variety hour she decided to bring her burlesque performance to the show. One of the producers of the show asked me what burlesque was and not being quite sure I said, “Maybe she’s a Can Can girl.” None of us truly knew what we would see.

She began by telling a few jokes and blowing a clown horn. She then continued to blow the clown horn… with her cleavage. Then she continued to blow the horn with her butt cheeks. All this while getting progressively more naked. She then began popping her balloons (part of her clown disguise) in between her legs – it was covered by her skirt.

Then came the piece de resistance.

She then pulled off her top to reveal pasties and began whirling her breasts around in flying circles. I knew I would have to write this story because when my HBO special Tallgasm debuts in 2028 I want a great, “Remember when I was a struggling comic and the pasties girl went on stage after me. That’s when I realized I would never make it.”

I then went to check out another open mic with Lance Weiss (a comic from Atlanta, by way of G-Town undergrad), who pronounces his last name “Weece,” because in the South it is illegal to pronounce your name “Wice” because of its high “Jewiness.” Anyway, I then went to Maui Taco, the basement of a fast food taco restaurant on 33rd and 5th. While waiting for spots (we decided not to because we would have been there for a long time) I say probably the worst comic in the world right now. I don’t hate on too many comics, but I am not sure this guy gets it. Take Yakov Smirnoff, subtract the comedic genius and you have this guy. Ouch.

The point of this is that when Dane Cook said on Tourgasm that he wanted to show people what being a comedian was all about. Fair enough.

Well I am pitching a documentary series to HBO on what it is like being a struggling comic. It would be called “Somebody kill me on Friday night, but only after the clown stops shaking around.”

A hit in the making.

Come check out the product of this work on Tuesday at Gotham. Check calendar and MySpace for info.

BIG SHOW – AUGUST 22nd

Possible Giveaway

So some interesting things have happened in the last 2 days:

1) The Jon Benet case – they guy they caught may not have done it, but he sure looks like a molester. Has anyone asked Gary Glitter where he was that day?

2) The wiretaps decision in Detroit – the Framers of the 4th Amendment and the lawmakers who drafted the FISA statute must really have hated America and the troops.

3) Snakes on a Plane opening – Samuel L. Jackson has become a sham. If Michael Jackson cannot float along on Thriller anymore, than SLJ should not be allowed to be “hip” and “cool” because of Pulp Fiction. That guy chooses movies like HBO’s Hookers on the Point choose Johns – not very discriminating.

But this blog is about me – I need people to come to my show on Tuesday at Gotham Comedy Club. All info is on my calendar and my MySpace page. If you e-mail me or send me a MySpace message to the effect that you are going I can promise you 2 things if you actually show up for me:

1) A great show, with some new material from me

2) A copy of Racial Chameleon at a severely discounted price. If you don’t know this CD – it is my 71 minute live debut CD which has received rave reviews from my friends and a few random people. (f I go nuts there may even be an Oprah moment (or a Howard Dean moment) where I stand on stage and yell – “You get a CD and you get a CD and you get a CD and then we’re going to Washington AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHH.”

Shoot me a message, comment or MySpace message if interested.

Immigrant Rage

More train adventures plus a bonus cab story

So last night I hopped on the 4 train en route To Peter Lugar restaurant in Brooklyn. Sitting next to me was a young Latino couple in their early-mid 20s. At 86th Street a man, who appeared to be Indian (Bombay, not Dances With Wolves) got on the train.

He asked the young couple, “What stop next?” They seemed a little confused so I said 59th Street. He replied, “Oh, I need to get off.” (the 4 train is an express train that skips stops so presumably he needed the local. Then it got weird.

Indian said to the young Latino male: “You are lucky, very nice couple. They is jealous. THEY IS JEALOUS (3 more times, while pointing at me).

I then looked at the young Latino male and said: “I am very jealous. And shouldn’t it be ‘they are’ jealous?'”

Then Indian guy said to young Latino couple: “Enjoy your life as long as you have it.”

My inner monologue then said, “dude I know that India is not the same as the Middle East, but I cannot speak for everyone on this train. Maybe slow down with the ‘enjoy your life as long as you have it’ talk on a crowded train.” Then came the best part.

Indian guy then says: “Because all Americans are garbage (5-10 times).

Young Latin female says to young Latin male: “Should I tell him we are American (laughing)?”

The Indian man then got off at 59th street. So much for the see something, say something campaign. We all saw it, but no one said anything. But it is refreshing to see that the terrorists have not won and we have not changed our habit of ignoring crazies on the subway.

So after a dinner of shrimp, steak and cheesecake at Peter Lugar I took the subway home. Uneventful so far. But then I needed to hop a quick cab ride home from the subway station. I got into the cab and was greeted by some guy from Eastern Europe. As he told me he has only been here for 45 years, so that explained why he had not yet lost his thick accent. Then he told me a funny story. And by funny I mean disgraceful.

His story was prompted by several jaywalkers, who I feel should be struck by cars if and only if they:

1) don’t wave thanks

2) do it extremely slowly,

and

3) give that defiant, what the f–k are you gonna do stare.

But sometimes angry jaywalkers get a little more than what they should. Anyway, we had a few jaywalkers so he told me the story, here it is:

“Today, before I pick you up I see a big, fat black woman walking against the light in front of other keb (cab) driver. He honk her and she says ‘I go where I want.’ He says ‘you don’t have light’ and she says, ‘but you supposed to stop for me mother f–ker.’ So cab driver gets out of keb and punch this woman in the face and she fell to ground and her head was bleeding. (laughing). The police ask me what I see and I say. Sorry I see nothing. And the woman think she saw white keb, but that was because she was dizzy. The guy who hit her came from black keb, but she don’t know (laughing).

At that point all I could hear was Neil Diamond’s “America” playing in my head. A truly inspiring story of apathy and cruelty – THEY’RE COMING TO AMERICA. Maybe I’ll e-mail this one to Lou Dobbs. Occasionally in a melting pot, some ingredients get mixed in that f—k up the recipe.

World Trade Center

So it had been a few days since I had seen The Descent so I needed to see some quality filmmaking. Oliver Stone is a good movie guy and the reviews for World Trade Center were pretty good. So I ventured to the movies by myself (not a good movie to go, “Hey wanna go see World Trade Center?”

I also brought a turkey sandwich and green tea with me because I did not feel like WTC was a “popcorn movie.”

The first half of the film was very tough to watch, knowing what happens. It was pretty scary to see it collapse from the inside, but I thought the direction was pretty tasteful. The second half of the film is what bothered me. And once again, in a summer of DaVinci Code, the scariest person for me in this film was not a terrorist. It was a Catholic (so he appeared – though he may have just been Christian).

There is a dude who goes to Ground Zero (apparently the guy who discovered Nicholas Cage and William Pena’s real-life counterparts) because he believed it was his God-driven mission. Now he may be right – and how can he be proven wrong, after all, he did discover 2 of the last 3 survivors of 9/11 at the World Trade Center. Sort of like telling John Brown, who believed himself to be an avenging angel from God, that he was wrong, even though he helped begin the end of slavery in America. But still the portrayal of my fellow Catholic was too spooky and here are some of the reasons:

1) He looks like the lead singer of 3 Doors Down

2) He dresses up in Marine gear.

3) He doesn’t let anyone refer to him by his name, without his title, even though he is not in active duty.

4) He never smiles, even when he finds survivors.

5) He fought 2 tours of duty in Iraq after 9/11, even though they didn’t attack us on 9/11. Ooops.

The most moving part of the movie I thought was seeing the hundreds of workers helping the two guys out of the rubble. Nicholas Cage gives his best performance since Kiss of Death (phenomenal from 1994) and the movie is pretty good overall (B+). I am just tired of every critic calling the movie great. It was not great.

It is as if the movie critics have been taken over by politicians as well. Like if you criticize a film about 9/11, you criticize America and as a result you DON’T SUPPORT THE TROOPS. Well, go see it, but it is not great, it is just good.

Besides the best picture of the year will be Babel (based on previews).

August the 11th

A date that will live on in Haitian infamy

In case you’re wondering, the title is poking fun at George W. Bush who insists on adding “the” in between September and 11th, when referring to 9/11. Well, August the 11th, 1931 is a lesser known day in history, but important to me.

75 years ago in Haiti, a man named Louis Cauvin was born, the 45th of 77 children (no, just 10th of 11, I think). That man would grow up to come to the United States and marry my Mom, who would give birth to a 9 lb, 11 oz boy (9/11 again, my brother) and 6 1/2 years later give birth to a 10 lb, 7 oz boy (me, thus explaining why I am still a large human being).

But as my father ages I realize, just like WWII veterans who are passing away in droves, my father represents a critical piece of history as far as I am concerned. He is some of the only proof that I am half black. Now granted, I have a healthy summer tan going (all natural, unlike some of the microwavable chicks I work with), but come winter I need the authenticity that only he can bring.

Instead what seems to be happening is that, like a true Racial Chameleon, people perceive me to be the race of the person or persons accompanying me. When I am with my Puerto Rican lady, men on the #4 train will shake my hand in support of my Boricua-ness, as they go on tirades criticizing white people (true story). When I am with my friend Manny (6,7″ as well, from Zimbabwe, very NBA ballerish looking), I will not be able to get a cab and I will rely on my nameless 5’8″ Jewish friend to hail cab (true story). And if I am with my Arabic friends hijacking a train, people will assume I am Arabic or from Under Siege 2. All other times people will just call me white.

So I say Happy Birthday to my father and please, be around when I am telling my racial suggestive material. However, if I am ever campaigning for national office and have to travel to any red states, especially ones that still waive Confederate flags, stay home.

Oh and a special message from George Bush (Fredo), Dick Cheney (Lukabrazzi) and Joe Lieberman (Hyman Roth): IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO DISAGREE WITH THE WAR, FOR ANY REASON, AND NOT SUPPORT TERRORISTS AT THE SAME TIME (yes GWB would use double and triple negatives). I just thought that would eliminate the need for any nuanced discussion or sharing of ideas. Whether you think it was wrong from the start, mishandled once we got there, or just now unwinnable, you must support the war. And if you think we can’t win, you should still support the War, because nothing says Patriotism to the Family like the loss of young Americans in a futile cause.

That last paragraph could be construed as a birthday present to my Dad, who is somewhere between Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind and Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory when it comes to the Bush administration. But even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Personally I think Oliver Stone did the whole thing in England to boost sales for World Trade Center.