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.