Comedy Karma and the Connecticut Comedy Nightmare

I have been delinquent in my blogging duties this week for a variety of reasons, but I am back on this glorious 4th of July to celebrate that most American of professions… stand up comedy.  July will be the busiest month of my year so far and it kicked off with a July 3rd feature gig at Foxwoods for my buddy (who will become “one of my best friends” once he hits it big, which is what all comedians seem to do these days), and hilarious comedian, John Moses.  He asked me to feature for him for one night (he is the feature for someone else the rest of the weekend).  The gig only paid $50, but John was driving and he thought it was a good opportunity to get me in front of the people from Comix to possibly get work down the line.

Side Note on John – he is an extremely talented comic, hard working and like me, someone who is not caught up in the mutual admiration society that has become the world of stand up comedy.  He just does his work, makes people laugh and moves on to the next opportunity or job.  But, at the risk of sounding like what I hate, that is why John is one of the few people I trust in comedy.  So I headed up to Foxwoods with John and his fiancée.  I lugged my podcast equipment to record an episode with John before the show, but in a sign of worse things to come the drive took about 6 hours with holiday traffic and we arrived only 30 minutes before show time.  No time for the podcast.  Not even time to ice my shoulder from lugging aforementioned podcast equipment.

The club at Foxwoods, Comix, is really nice and just walking around the casino I kept thinking two things – one, I wish all the casino gigs I got were not one-nighters and two, I wish I was not a struggling comedian because I would love to go to a casino for a nice weekend vacation.  Being a comedian is like being permanently on a working vacation.  You are not tied to an office, but you are always sort of working on stuff.  I was taking two vacations a year when I had a regular job.  I have not travelled anywhere that was not comedy-related or family visit-related in 4 years.   So if you consider play station marathons vacations then I am the most relaxed man in the world.

The gig went great.  I did 22 minutes, taped a really solid set, sold a CD to the one guy who was buying merchandise from anyone and also had J-L fan (and Dexter superfan from Tuesday’s podcast episode) Jon Butler show up to the show with a buddy.  Then the booker came up to me in the green room and told me he enjoyed my set.  Perfect – done.  Good set and even at $50 I was going to turn a profit on the gig.  And then Comedy Karma (CK?), like some sort of villain from a Stephen King novel, intervened. Martin Luther King Jr. said that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” (this could have also been a pick-up line he told to his side action referring to his penis)  Well according to J-L Cauvin, the arc of comedy is sad, and bends towards fu*king you over.  Here is a timeline of what happened from that point on:

9:52 pm – I accompany John and his fiancée to Fuddrucker’s next door to the club for dinner.  I ate at the club already, but the two of them were starving and with John willing to drive me 1 hour to the New Haven train station I had no intention of being pushy.  Important detail: the last Metro North train to NYC from New Haven was scheduled to leave at 1135pm.

9:55pm – a woman cuts in front of John and his fiancée on the Fuddrucker’s line.  This is a great move that people should try more often, especially women.  I have been cut on line several times in my life and I do what most people do – I huff and I question and I semi-speak up, but then I sort of reach a confusion level where I half doubt if I was ahead of the person on line, simply because the conduct of the person cutting is slightly out of my frame of normal behavior that I know how to respond to.  The three of us did that to this woman’s cutting.  She took two minutes with her order.  Like The Usual Suspects you will want to review this timeline when you finish this blog to see all of the things that contribute to its tragic ending.

10:18 – Dinner is finished.  Just as we are saying goodbye to John’s fiancée who is headed up to the room, John realizes he left his valet parking ticket up in the room.

10:26 John hands the ticket to the valet

10:31 I get in the car with John.  I turn on the GPS and it is giving me an estimated 1144pm arrival at the New Haven Metro North station.  What then transpired was the first installment of a potential film franchise known as The Crass and the Furious, starring John Moses as Paul Walker and J-L Cauvin as Vin Diesel.  John Moses proceeds to shed 12 and a half minutes off of that time, all in a 2001 Malibu.  The unfortunate part is that he needed to shed 13 and a half minutes for me to catch the train.  When we arrived at 1136 pm there was no sign of the train.  John had basically pulled a Rocky I – he made it closer than anyone thought possible, but in the end Comedy Karma had received just enough help from a Fuddrucker’s skank and a momentary lapse in valet card placement judgment.

11:52pm We decide to look for a bus station to see if there are any midnight buses.  My GPS leads me to just a random public bus stop in West New Haven, where skinny black and white men wear lots of tattoos and no t-shirts at night. We arrive at the bus stop at 12:01 to see that it is a bench with a Rite Aid in the background.  Despair begins to set in.

12:07 We drive back to a La Quinta Inn, which had a sign out front saying “Rates from $95 a night.”  Considering I needed something walking distance to the train in the morning this was the most affordable choice.  I have stayed in La Quinta Inns before.  They are a solid chain, but not all La Quintas are created La Equal.  This felt more like a housing project that had been converted into a La Quinta Inn.  I go in and the lobby (and as it turns out the hallways) have no air conditioning.  I sign up for a room and John Moses says to me “You can’t quit comedy… not like this,” apparently reading a look of despair on my face that Helen Keller could have seen.  I bid him safe travels and went upstairs to my room.

12:20am If you have seen the movie Heat then you know the character Waingro (also cinema’s best representation of comedy karma).  He is a psycho who ruins everything for Robert DeNiro and when DeNiro has a chance to escape he decides to pay back Waingro, which eventually seals his fate.  This hotel and hotel room felt like the hotel in Heat where Waingro murders a prostitute. The room is sweltering so I turned the air conditioning on full blast.  I waited until my body had reached a decent level of cooling and then pulled down the sheets to reveal (no exaggeration) blood stains and some grey-ish brown streaks.  So in fact a murder may have actually taken place here, or at least a miscarriage.  Needless to say I slept on the other side of the bed.

12:47am I look up on the trains in the morning.  I might as well travel in modest style home if I am already losing significant money on this trip.  And then what I saw truly horrified me.  There was a 12:35 am Amtrak for $39 that I had just missed and had forgotten even ran. It reminded me of the Stephen King movie The Fog, where Thomas Jane opts to kill his son in an act of mercy before he starves to death, only to have help come minutes later.

2:00am I fall asleep, ending the nightmare.  Well played Comedy Karma.

For more opinions, comedy and bridge burning check out the Righteous Prick Podcast on Podomatic or iTunes. New Every Tuesday!


Highway To Asheville

This weekend I, along with three other quality comics from New York City, made a twelve hour trek to Asheville, North Carolina for the 4th Annual Laugh Your Asheville Off Festival.  It also happened to be the same week as the Montreal Just For Laughs Festival, so while the comedic equivalent of the NBA All Star Game was going on in Montreal, we were headed twelve hours in the opposite direction to the equivalent of WNBA tryouts.

The three other members of the car were Nick Cobb, recently of Last Comic Standing, Adam Newman of College Humor and Sam Morril, who most recently won March Comedy Madness at Comix.  And me of, but you already knew that.  I had not auditioned for the Montreal festival this year (was not asked to – so it is good to see that I am less worthwhile as a comic than I was two years ag0 – always a rewarding feeling), but I was still happy for all the people doing comedy half as long as me in some cases who were finally getting their shot at the big time after waiting all the time it takes to graduate a community college.  I guess next year instead of writing jokes I will simply work on my networking for a year.  I’m still convinced that my path to success lies somewhere along the path taken by Johnny Fontaine.

So we headed down to Asheville by car at 5 am on Friday.  Nick Cobb did yeoman’s work, both in the amount of driving he did and the pity party he threw for himself for doing so much driving.  Sam and I are New Yorkers in the sense that we both obtained driver’s licenses to get people to stop asking us if we have a license.  See, outside of New York City people attach ideas like independence and self-worth to the ability to drive as soon as possible.  But since native New Yorkers actually have things to look forward to other than driving to the Mall after school we don’t place the immediate importance on it (except for the rich kids I went to high school with who could not wait to drive the Mercedes, Range Rovers and BMWs to school junior).  But thanks anyway to Nick for doing about 21 hours of driving in less than three days.

So on the ride down to Asheville we complained about comedy, ate boatloads of fast food and listened to various comedy CDs.  By the time we arrived in Asheville at the Super 8 it was 5:30 and we all felt disgusting.  Sadly, a Super 8 motel is not the place to feel refreshed.  Super 8 motels feel like movie sets for the “brutal rape scene.”  They are dark, dirty and the water pressure in the shower feels like someone urinating on you that has prostate problems – just warm enough to feel unsanitary and just enough water pressure to feel like air conditioned drip is falling on you from above. It’s like starring in a scene from Alien whenever you shower.

So after we all half-freshened up and relieved McDonalds and Wendys from our systems we headed to the closest restaurant to the Super 8 – Hooters.   The waitress must have smelled the anger, cynicism and general failure of four comics because I have never felt less flirted with by a Hooters waitress in my life.  We still left a generous tip because she looked like a young version of Tami Taylor from Friday Night Lights.

After Hooters we headed to the Diane Wortham Theater in “downtown” Asheville, but not before some Asheville resident swerved into a puddle (intentionally almost for sure based on its place PARALLEL TO THE SIDEWALK) splashing all four of us (me the most) with some of Asheville’s finest, three day-old puddle water.  I then said a humble prayer that the driver of that car find his or her way through their windshield (the haaaard way -Rodney Dangerfield voice).

The DW Theater is beautiful (I knew from last year, but it was the first viewing for my three companions) and the crowd was laughing at everything on the first show.  We all got very excited.  Only Sam was performing on the second show Friday night (Nick, Adam and I all had spots on Saturday) so we just hoped for his sake that the crowd was as good.

What do you get when you take 350 and subtract 280? The crowd for the second show.  Sam had to lead off the show after the “emcee” who resembled Jesse Pinkman’s prostitute friend from Breaking Bad (but with more tattoos) introduced him with – “he’s played the Carolinas” – which was actually Caroline’s in NYC.   Sam had a very good set and at least 40 of the 70 people appreciated it.  After the show we went out and had ice cream sundaes and drank beer because comedians are both immature and self-loathing.  If Nicholas Cage had eaten ice cream to kill himsef instead of drinking alcohol in Leaving Las Vegas it would have resembled my weekend.

Saturday came around and the highlight of the day for Adam and Nick would be performing killer sets Saturday night.  In a bit of foreshadowing, my highlight would be seeing Inception Saturday afternoon.  Now that is no slouch of a highlight.  Inception is a great great movie and you should see it if you have not.  But I will explain shortly.

We made a post-movie, pre show trip to Hooters (hey if it’s broken why make the effort to fix it) where we ate chicken quesadillas and talked to the bartender about her 10 month old daughter.  I find that before a set of mine it is good to have a conversation with a nice woman who seems to have a somewhat less than great life. If I still feel resentment and hostility towards the world and some women after that then I know I am going to have the right mindset to do comedy.  I felt ready.

We headed to the theater and I was to perform first after the intermission.  I went out on stage and there was a jazz band playing intro music for every comedian.  My first line:

“Give it up for the jazz band.  Yeah – jazz, my 11th favorite form of music.” A few comics in the balcony laughed.

I could not see everyone in the crowd, but it was my worst nightmare – it felt like a lot of old people.  I guess the theater was having a special – “got to dinner at 4 pm and get half priced tickets to stare at a judgmental as*hole from New York City.”

My first actual  joke that I prepared went well enough about shopping at big n tall stores, but it did not go as well as it has the previous 80 times I have told it.  Then I did my joke about cougars, butsome loud-mouthed middle aged feminist fu*k kept shouting over my joke, apparently to defend the honor of the women on the Bravo channel from a relatively innocuous joke.  In the last part of the joke I ask and answerthe question – “remember what they used to call cougars… uggggggggh.” However, during the pause, the woman who was defending the honor of “cougars,” decided to yell out defiantly, “SWEET!” as in cougars are sweet a/k/a awesome.  So when I said “uggggh” it appeared that I was just responding to her with disdain.  At that moment, when there was complete silence for my punchline, I was very tempted to stage dive like Axl Rose and at least beat up her male companion if she had one, but instead I just went through my jokes.

Next joke was a 2 minute bit on Facebook photography, which has been doing very well, but when even the children of half your audience aretoo old for Facebook , the joke will fall flatter than usual.  I actually did get a big laugh at the end of the joke, but could not leave well enough alone and said with 100% disgust, “Oh, thanks for waking up Asheville.” Crowd lost again.

My jokes from that point on got very consistent laughter, except for the final line of a 2 1/2 minute closing bit, which got nothing after getting lots of laughs throughout the entire bit. So my final words on stage were, “That was the way to end a set poorly.”  At least the last line had the Festival producer and the festival headliner, Jake Johannsen, laughing hard backstage.

Now this is when the real fun began.  There were some managers and bookers of shows in attendance.  And one of the bookers came back stage in between the early show (which I was on) and the later show (which Adam and Nick were on).  This booker went and spoke to a few comics exchanging compliments and a desire to get them some bookings.  I never even got eye contact from the guy.  The best analogy I can think of is when a friend of yours is talking to someone at the bar and he/she has a friend.  But the friend has no interest in you so the best he/she gives is sort of a smirky smile and then looks away, which sort of says “Hey I don’t think your an awful person, I just want nothing to do with you.”  My experience backstage was whatever would be the level of humiliation after that.  Not sure how many bookings I will get form the Festival, but it will probably be between zero and I’m going to call the cops if you email me again.

So the second show Saturday night was a big success as Nick led off the show strong and Adam absolutely murdered it two spots later.  So of the four comics that travelled together from NYC, the other three got to be Bosh, LeBron and Wade, and I ironically, as the only one with any minority blood in the water, was Mike Miller.  Some of our group even got to speak with a manager from a somewhat reputable agency after the show who offered such insights as “don’t get married, you’ll never regret fu*king a lot,” and “I was chatting up this hot chick tonight. I’m married, but it’s good to see I can still do it.”  I am just surprised he was not missed from his Montreal Festival seminar, “Here’s everything that you don’t need to know about comedy, but do need to know about how insecure and regretful I am about my decision to get married and have a family.”  I just told the festival producer, Charlie (one of the coolest and nicest guys I have met in comedy) that if I did not see him relatively soon, there was a good chance he’d see me again in several years when I am teaching his kids high school History.

After the show, Sam, Nick and I went to Waffle House at 2 am because I feel it is therapeutic to hit complete rock bottom after a disappointing show.  When we were leaving the Waffle House we were approached by a possibly drunk, definitely crazy, man in his late fifties, early 60s with a long white beard, flanked by 3 Latin/light-skinned black guys in their late teens.

Now as a Northern man with a black Dad and an Irish mom there are a few things I fear. 1) The South, 2) Old white men from the south, 3) groups of minority teens wandering parking lots at 2 in the morning.  But I learned a new, more powerful fear that night – when an old crazy southern man is hanging out in a parking lot of Waffle House with three minority teens in the south.  There is something so prison rape-ish about that combo to me.

So the old man walks up to us and has the following exchange:

Old Man – “You walkin’?”

Me – “No.”

Old Man – “You look like you’re walkin’?”

Me (walking away with Nick and Sam) – “Well yeah, now.”

As we walked away Nick started laughing uncontrollably, but Sam quickly informed us that they were all still looking at us as the old man mumbled something with the word “fu*k” and started angrily mocking Nick’s laugh.  It was at that moment that I first imagined what it would be like to star in a re-make of Deliverance.  We got back to our rooms and I slept 3 hours that night, both because we were leaving early the next morning and because I feared becoming a victim in The Hills Have Eyes 3.

Nothing much to report the next day – we just drove 14 hours back to the city (90 minute of travel was the Holland Tunnel), ate a bunch of crappy food, discussed comedy (we spent about 4 hours alone mocking comedians who discuss the difference of black people and white people) and just wished for the sweet embrace of death when we arrived back in NYC.

When I got back to Facebook world I got to see all the photos and tweets from all the comics and people from Montreal.   Time to start looking at Masters programs in education I guess.


The End Of Madness

Last night I was eliminated in the 2nd Round of March Comedy Madness at Comix.  Congrats to Alex Grubard who beat me.  And thanks to my girlfriend who listened to a tirade worthy of David Mamet last night on the phone afterwards.  I don’t actually mind comedy contests too much, despite how frustrating they can be, but they have this amazing effect on me, like a catalyst, setting off a violent emotional reaction that forces me to re-examine why I do comedy.  Last night, other than a bitter need to prove myself, an answer was very hard to come up with.

Good luck to the rest of the competitors.


Doing The Same Thing And Expecting A Different Result:…

It is hard to believe it has been one year since I lost to Myq Kaplan at Caroline’s in the Final Four of March Comedy Madness 2009.  The road to the championship each year for its first three years has gone through me.  Year one, I lost to Julian McCullough in the Sweet 16, who went on to win the title.  One month later my brother named his second son Julian. Coincidence?

The next year I lost to Liz Miele, who is the girlfriend of Reese Waters, in the Elite 8. Liz did not win the whole thing, but Reese did, so close enough.

And last year I lost to Myq Kaplan, who won the whole thing, in the Final Four, and has since gone on to be on The Tonight Show.  So basically my comedy career has turned into the equivalent of Jennifer Aniston’s vagina: once you have been through me, greater success for you or those close to you is all but assured.

Last night I felt so tired on my way to Comix.  I had already resigned myself to not winning, but seeing someone beat me and attain new success.  I was also exhausted from a day of watching Six Feet Under (great show).  But when I got to Comix (the sight of March Comedy Madness this year) I felt the competitive juices and hope stirring again.  The crowd was buzzing and looking good, (the only comedy club in the meatpacking district, Comix audience members tend to be a hybrid of comedy club goers and women you’d fu-k if your father ran a hedge fund. At least that is what I usually see when I am slaving around in Ochi’s – Comix’s alternative venue in the basement, where I rant and rave, while feeling like my comedy career is Sloth from The Goonies).

Well when I got on stage my jokes all hit exactly as expected (but I had to go first, which meant when the audience votes, my competitor gets last licks, so they can measure how I do and try to do better).  My competitor got a nice reaction from the crowd, but when the voting occurred, something unexpected happened: a tie.  Then after another round of applause voting, another tie.

Now in every college basketball run to the title, there is always a clutch play that allows the eventual champion to continue playing.  Tyus Edney is still the one that comes to mind in 1995 for UCLA.  Well, due to the tie, we had to do a 30 second joke-off. And like Mariano Rivera out of the bullpen for the Yankees, I dropped my Obama impression for 30 seconds, which saved the day.

So now, after a year of recovery from the bitterness and rage that always consumes me after I lose or miss out on anything (I put a friend on two weeks video game suspension when he beat my In NBA Live and did not offer an immediate rematch) I am back and ready to make someone the next champion of March Comedy Madness.  Next Wednesday at 930 pm at Comix I square off against Alex Grubard.  Could he be headed for The Tonight Show, Comedy Central or a intimate relationship with the next winner?  You have to be there to see it.


March Madness

This Saturday, while filming The Blind Side 2 trailer, comedian Nick Cobb paid me a rather odd compliment: “When are you going to update your blog? I have been checking every day and no update.  Your blog gives me comfort, knowing that no matter how angry I am about comedy, there’s always at least one person who is angrier.”

It’s true I sort of slacked off on the blog posts in February, primarily because I try to write only when I have either a funny idea or something I want to express and February just did not inspire much.  Another reason was I was playing far too much God of War.  Well, March should be quite different.

First off I will be competing in Comix’ March Comedy Madness, which gives me a 63/64 chance of being disappointed.  This tournament used to be held at Caroline’s, but Caroline’s decided to host a different tournament called “Final Four,” which I think will be a similar format.  I opted to do only the Comix tournament for two reasons. One is that I did not have to audition since I made the Final Four last year.  And second, the last time I showed up for an open call at Caroline’s I waited 5 hours, was then told I did not have to audition and then was never given a spot I was told I was getting (that’s known as the worst of all worlds).  And I still have not gotten an email response to a politely worded email requesting an explanation.  So in other words, Comix was the default winner for not having treated me like a part time Wal-Mart employee (like battered spouses, comedians set very low thresholds for appreciation by comedy clubs).

It will be an uphill battle at Comix (starting March 10th) mainly because it is almost impossible for me to get people to come see a show of min anymore (crowd determines winner) and because lacking a beard, a disheveled wardrobe, jokes thick with non sequiturs and inside references, as well as an accent or universal circle-jerk approval from sycophantic comedy websites and Time Out NY, I realize that I may not have the success I have had in previous years.

March will also provide an opportunity for me to audition for Last Comic Standing.  Sadly, this one I actually have more hope for simply because the potential reward is too big to ignore (it’s like the lotto).  So I will audition for that and most likely write a recap on the website.  All in all March promises to give me more than enough vitriol to provide you with a good read.

How’s that Nick?


For Your Consideration

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: (general site info) (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)

Maybe We Can.
Maybe We Can.

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

3) Best 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.


Yankee To Philly

Last night was a perfect storm of comedy, sports and the the thing that those two forms of entertainment have served me steadily over the years, disappointment.

At 7 pm I was on stage at Comix as the warm up comedian for 12 Angry Mascots, a fun show that features stand up, sketch comedy and interviews with comedians and local pro athletes.  Last night featured the New York Jets’ Darrelle Revis and the Duke Alum/NY Knicks’ Chris Duhon.  Of course my Jets fan friends (including one who wears a Revis jersey every Sunday), my Duke alum friends and NY Knicks fan friends did not make the show, which moves them ever  closer to my prognostication  that my friends will one day accept an invitation to be gang raped if the only other option left to them is to attend one of my shows (noted for my Michael Jordan-esque Emmy acceptance speech sometime in the next decade).  Sh*theads.

When I went backstage before the show I saw something that was bizarre at the backstage of a  comedy show, attractive women.  Like attractive flies to athletic sh*t, nice looking women just find out where athletes are, even if it takes them to, yikes, comedy clubs.  It dawned on me that for pro athletes like Revis and Duhon, they probably have to actively decide NOT to get laid when they go out for a night.  You know, the way a comic has to decide whether to buy a chocolate milk and walk home from an open mic or save the money for Metro card money and have a pleasant bus ride home.  Same sort of thing.

So I did my set to warm up the crowd.  I have not emceed a real show in a while and I had forgotten how cold a crowd can be when you get out there.  Material went over well – my targets were LeBron James’ oldness (Morgan Freeman going to play him as a high school senior in a biopic), racism in baseball and President Obama (per usual).  I was pretty happy with it, but there was no time to gloat or see if I could hang with Revis because it was off to Philadelphia for a show at the world famous comedy venue, JD McGillicuddys.

As I got on my Amtrak I saw that AJ Burnett had staked a 4-0 lead to the Angels.  I furiously munched peanut M&Ms and listen to the angriest Jordin Sparks song I could find on my iPod in response.

I arrived at JD McGillicuddys in plenty of time before my set so I enjoyed some ice waters and watched the Yankees make an awesome 7th inning comeback.  Fortunately, before I lost my semi-depressed delivery the Yanks gave the lead back to the Angels.  Showtime.

Did about 25 minutes where almost everything worked (including some new bits about yelling at people in elevators and the first prison rapist), but I have never blindsided a crowd more than with a new bit that is simply called “The Terminator.”  Might need some tweaking, but it sort of veers from Greg Giraldo (my favorite comedian and the type I hope to be some day, minus the stint in rehab) into more Jim Norton (comic I really like, but who is a little to the dirty/blue side of me, but who sort of inspired me to take some darker chances with my material).   Then after the set I watched Nick Swisher pop out with the bases loaded I binge drank two beers.

The night ended with the comics crashing at Luke Cunningham’s mother’s house (because comedy, once again, is not rock and roll or professional athletics, which did not stop me from trashing the guest room).  I thought about sleeping in the train station for the night, just so I could truthfully include a The Pursuit of Happyness moment in my biopic, but opted against it.  We all got a solid 4 hours sleep before catching the 7:07 am SEPTA/NJ Transit train from Philly to NY, also known as the “My fu-king spouse insists we live in Philly, even though I work in New York” express.

All in all a very fun trip.  And it was a reminder that I could turn more of a profit if I were a homeless man who alowed frat guys to kick him in the nuts for $20 a pop.

Next week I will have a big show in NYC Tuesday or Wednesday (unknown yet) and then I am in Boston October 30-31st headlining Tommy’s Comedy Lounge – hope you can make it.