Road Comedy Recap: Comedy and Kevin Spacey in Maryland

After a 5 month drought of road bookings, November represented an avalanche of bookings (2).  I was at the Brokerage in Long Island a few weeks ago, and even though taking New Jersey Transit to Long Island Railroad on a weekend is the time equivalent of driving to Atlanta, I did not write it up as a road recap. But with a booking outside of Baltimore that required Amtrak and hotel accommodations, here is the first road recap in quite some time! I was performing at Magoobys (I think for the 6th time between the 2 locations they’ve had this decade) and the weekend included all the staples of a J-L Comedy road trip: 1 awful show, 2 movies, 3 awesome shows, 5 pancakes at IHOP and a 7am Amtrak trip in Baltimore where Kevin Spacey held the door for me. So without further adieu let’s get into it!


On Friday I took a regular Amtrak (AKA poor people train) to Baltimore, but upgraded to the business class car, which was actually really nice. The rest of the train was packed, but the business class car, with tons of leg room and leather seats was only about 15% full. When I arrived at Baltimore Penn I walked to the light rail station, which I take every trip to whichever hotel has bestowed upon me near Magoobys.  I buy a ticket for the light rail every time, but in half a decade of taking it, not once has anyone taken the ticket from me.  I arrived at the Extended Stay America, which is named for how long they expect the hotel’s bed bugs to cling to your clothing, in Timonium (hard to beat $135 after fees and taxes for 2 nights).

The two shows were solid that night. I was opening for Aida Rodriguez, most recently of Tiffany Haddish’s stand up series on Netflix.  I sold a handful of albums and ended the night with a vending machine can of pringles and some CNN. #Blessed


Having scouted out eating locations I made my way to an IHOP about 3/4 of a mile from my hotel for some breakfast (also found out that IHOP does catering now, so as soon as I have a function that requires catering expect a call from me IHOP). I then got a Lyft to the Hunt Valley Mall where I went to see two movies: Knives Out and Queen and Slim – both very good movies and also could have been called White People Problems and Black People Problems, respectively. I then had Chick Fil-A for dinner nearby, giving me an IHOP breakfast-Popcorn and Candy lunch-Chick Fil-A dinner. How I am still alive I do not know, but as I write this the diet starts now (33rd time I have said that in 2019).

The first show Saturday night was outstanding. A new bit I am working on about getting hit as a child really did well on this show.  I cannot blame the first Friday crowd for not laughing a lot – since I forgot half of the punchlines, but none of the sad parts, so it felt more like a sad origin story than a darkly humorous take on my childhood.  But here is the newest rough draft of “All Roads Lead to Joe Rogan”:

The second show on Saturday was lightly attended and even more lightly laughed at.  Most of the audience were good sports and enjoyed my set, but there was one woman in a hat (it looked like she meant to line up early for Church Saturday night to get a good pew, but ended up at a comedy show by accident). So the shows ended on a low point, but the overall trip and majority of shows were a great success.  A good way to end the decade where I made 1 tv appearance, created 2 viral videos, self-produced 4 stand up albums (one went #1), made 8 appearances on Adam Carolla, made double digit appearances with The Black Guy Who Tips and The Dan Lebatard Show and made $734 in net profit. Bring on 2020!

The Red Hat (AKA “The Undertaker of Black Church”) is visible in this shot while Aida Rodriguez performs


On Sunday I took the 7am Acela (#Comedy Mogul) out of Baltimore, figuring correctly that that would be the only time to take an Amtrak comfortably on the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend.  The station was not too crowded, but I did notice one person that I had to do a triple take: Kevin Spacey. Like myself, Spacey obviously knows that the early morning Acela on a Sunday is the most discreet way for an entertainment star to travel.  As I approached I had 4 options:

  1.  Tell him that House of Cards really sucked without him (and then rap my knuckles on the wood bench twice)
  2. Ask someone to record me on their camera and scream at Spacey for all the hurt he has allegedly caused
  3. Try to get him to grope me (#Settlement) or
  4.  Give him a knowing head nod and be on my way.

I chose 4 and his response was:

He was sitting with either a female relative or a personal assistant (OR POSSIBLY A WOMAN WITH HER OWN GREAT CAREER AND LIFE INDEPENDENT OF KEVIN SPACEY – PLEASE DON’T CANCEL ME). I was unable to upgrade to first class on the Acela due to blackout restrictions (insert Spacey joke here), but by coincidence Spacey held the door for me and a woman before going down the stairs himself.  SO HE IS ALRIGHT IN MY BOOK!  Our ways parted when he went to the First Class Car and I went to the upper-middle class section.

So all in all another fun and fruitful road work weekend. Thanks to all that have enjoyed this blog and supported my career the last decade.  All 7 of you!


Baton Rouge Journal Part 2: A Night of 3…

The Comedy Club

Last night were the first two of four Baton Rouge shows and to my surprise they were both great.  I felt like the crowds, which were not much bigger than the small crowds last year, were so much better.  And perhaps I am a slightly better comedian as well.  Either way, fun times on stage.  I received some kind words after the show, but my favorite compliment was after my second set (which was an A- versus an A+ for the first set):

“Hey man – this is the second time I’ve seen you here. They may not have been laughing a lot, but that is cause your wit is so dry.  But I was dying.”  Of course I then drank three gin and tonics and briefly pondered whether I was imagining laughter, like some comedic version of A Beautiful Mind.

Another exchange I enjoyed:

“Oh man – that was hilarious, but I was holding in some of my laughs, you know, cause I’m white.”  Apparently my half blackness is not enough of a validation for my racial jokes about my Dad.  Oh well – nothing like insecure, silent laughter to make a comedian feel good.

So after the show I had a pass to the strip club across the street because I have decided to pursue a WWPSD philosophy for my comedy career: What Would Pauly Shore Do?  So I went to the strip club and gave limp handshakes to people.

Worst handshake in the biz.

The Strip Club

The name of the club is the Gold Club, but apparently they are not affiliated with the closed and indicted club in Atlanta because no one seemed to know what I meant when I kept asking for “the Patrick Ewing treatment.”

Strippers, A "Gold Club Patrick Ewing" is where I walk into the club like this, two chicks polish my knob and then we all get in legal trouble. Now let's do this!

I sat at the bar drinking beers watching the women dance.  One of the amazing things about drinking at a strip club in a small city or town is that the drinks are still cheaper than a regular NYC bar or lounge on a Saturday night.  But let’s discuss the main event:

  • These were the least aggressive strippers I have seen.  Granted I have only been to a strip club now three times, but in NYC and especially in Atlantic City you get bum rushed by women.  These women seemed very indifferent.  Then again it may have been my New Balance sneakers that were acting like garlic to bare-breasted vampires.
  • I had the third biggest chest in the club.  There was one stripper on stage whose breasts were so small I think they could have been shown on network television without black bars.  Perhaps the Gold Club could have been called “Great Personalities” – what a great idea for a 377-view J-L Cauvin YouTube sketch!
  • The club played “How You Like Me Now,” officially making that song inescapable –  movie trailers, video games, my iPod and strip clubs.
  • I had one conversation with a stripper (Russian ancestry, of course) who told me she was in grad school for biochemistry.  And I actually believed her (I mean she has to know that education is a turn off for men in her club, though she might have thought I was gay when I quoted and impersonated the views on education of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast to her), probably because I like the idea of being a lawyer and a comedian and still inferior to a woman who shakes her tits for a living.  And like any conversation in a strip club I then walked away and asked “What’s open for eats right now?”  She said “IHOP should be open.”  And that was the first erection I got all night.

The Pancake Club

IHOP was bumping when I walked in.  Packed with fat people of all colors and levels of sobriety.  It felt like a Millionaire Matchmaker mixer for men and women who shop at large size clothing stores.  I sat down and ordered pancakes, bacon and a milkshake.  Apparently my waitress (Michele if I recall correctly) thought I also ordered bottle service for two in a private room because her tone was the most flirtatious I had encountered all night.  She wasn’t a bad looking woman, but there is something wrong when the level of flirtation from your waitress at IHOP is much stronger than that of the women across the street who get paid to get you to put your face between their breasts.  I WANT MY COUNTRY BACK!!!  A place I used to love, where your IHOP waitress was a kindly old lady, like a nice nun in a Church of pancakes, and strippers were aggressive, STD-riddled whores with C section scars and drug addictions.  I blame Obama’s policies which are ruining and confusing these wonderful small business entrepreneurs.

THIS is an IHOP waitress, not a woman who asks me if I am enjoying my milkshake like I am on a phone sex hotline. I WANT MY IHOP BACK.

I then went back to my room at the Hampton Inn and fell asleep smelling like pancakes and comedy.  Disgusting.

The third part of my journey will not be posted until September 12th because I will be on a 30 hour train ride from New Orleans to NYC with no wifi.  Yes I let the terrorists win.  And the train was cheaper because it was free with my Amtrak points.  So I guess me and the terrorists win.


Papa Doc

My Dad turns 78 today.  That means he was 47 years old when I was born.  He was 12 when my Mom was born (at the age of 30 it is finally appropriate/legal for me to look at women with this same age difference).   He is less mobile than he used to be, but he seems to have a majority of his wits still, although he is inching closer to what I like to refer to as “Mugabe-land.” Speaking of which, seeing  a parent, or for some of you a grandparent, get old makes you think, how do we still have old men running countries and in this country, sitting in the Senate?  My Dad raving about governmental conspiracies or issues with his co-op’s board of directors feel a lot less problematic since he does not have a vote in the U.S. Senate or an army of Zimbabweans at his disposal.

Old men going wacky are less harmful if they do not run countries.
Old men going wacky are less harmful if they do not run countries.

Tomorrow I will hopefully have more to write (been struggling with writer’s block).  But I am going to Denver to open 6 shows for a magician-comedian, so I am guessing that will give me stuff to write about.  Now you see my career, now you don’t.

Well, off to IHOP with the pops.  It’s the pancake breakfast.  We do it every month. – Anchorman