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The Casino, The Bloody Toilet Seat & Vanilla Coke…

So after a few weeks of dominating Call of Duty: Black Ops while stationed in my man-cave, AKA  studio apartment, I headed back out onto the road Wednesday for a two week comedy trip.  The first gig was a spot at the Turning Stone Casino in Verona, NY, which is somewhere near the north pole.

The Casino

Wednesday I drove up (well, rode shotgun) with comedian Joe Pontillo to perform at the Turning Stone Casino.  It is my third time performing at the casino and I am glad to say that the gig keeps improving with each trip.  The first time I went there was a crowd of 25 in a room that sat 400.  Then the casino re-configured their night club into a comedy room that was much smaller and more conducive to comedy.  The last show I did there probably had 50 audience members and Wednesday night we had about 80!  At this rate I will be a world renowned comedian sometime after my 147th birthday!

But the show actually went really well.  Fortunately Joe and I did not perish in what has become a traditional, Act-of-God weather phenomenon on the drive up to Verona.  Last winter we drove up and encountered three separate snowstorms.  However, none scared me as much as the thunderstorm we passed through on the way up Wednesday.  I actually thought we were witnessing the end of the world.  But I’m sure everyone upstate would attribute increasingly severe weather to it’s obvious cause: the onerous tax burdens on wealthy Americans and businesses.

After my set a young man bought me a drink at the bar and told me he thought my jokes were awesome.  Then after the show he came up to me with his girlfriend and said, “Awesome stuff man – I didn’t buy you a drink like as in ‘I’ll suck your dick,’ but (gesturing to his girlfriend) she might suck your dick – hahaha.”  I told him, “Yeah that was so weird and awkward until you clarified it.  Now no one feels strange.”

But speaking of sucking dick I observed something even more bizarre towards the end of the show.  Three women, who on average were a 9.3/10 (and not in that stupid way where most women assume they are already a 7 or an 8 when they are 4s and 5s – these chicks were Hollywood 9.3s).  They were accompanied by a few men all of whom appeared to be 2-3 times their age.  This brought up several thoughts/questions for me:

  1. Attractive women can be found anywhere where there is the possibility of money, except for candy stores selling lottery tickets.
  2. The Turning Stone Casino in Verona, NY has prostitutes?  And hot ones?
  3. Why are comedians not offered prostitutes in lieu of cash and/or hotel room?
  4. Is it possible these women are not whores?  Or even if they are, has living in Verona, NY made them unaware that being a 9.3 (or a flat out 10 in the case of the woman wearing the white dress – if you are reading this blog) carries a much higher exchange rate in major cities?  Old men in Verona can offer you what?  Applebees’ gift cards and discounted hunting permits?  In the city you are looking at a 1 bedroom apartment on Central Park West and a purse dog.

Well the gig ended – I got a good night’s sleep and then made my way to the Syracuse Greyhound Station for a 7 hour ride from Syracuse to Cleveland, Ohio while the haunting opening chimes of AC/DC’s Hells Bells played in my iPod.

The Bloody Toilet Seat

It should be no secret to the readers of this blog that like Republicans in Congress I am waging a war to cut benefits on the neediest citizen I know: me.  That is why I seek to end up in the black on every trip I make.  That means the cheaper the gig, the longer and cheaper the transportation.  I have taken 18 hour Greyhound trips and this fall I will add a 20 hour Greyhound trip and a 30 hour Amtrak trip to my Joey Chestnut/Kobayashi of self-destruction through transportation.  But Syracuse to Cleveland was only a 7 hour bus ride.  I can do that in my sleep.  But shortly into the trip I was yelling “This was supposed to be an exhibition!” like Apollo Creed’s trainer right before Apollo is killed by Drago.

One of the great things about America is its diversity, especially in cities like Washington, DC and New York City.  It means people of different backgrounds, hot women of all varieties, etc.  But these are the positives of diversity.  Taking a Greyhound bus for any significant distance (more than 100 miles) demonstrates how awful diversity can be.  Here is what one would learn from the diversity on my Greyhound yesterday:

  1. Amish people travel in large packs and not one of them has a stick of deodorant.  There is also no such thing as a handsome or attractive Amish person (sorry Kelly McGillis).  And even if one were accidentally handsome or pretty, lack of sunlight and grooming products would nurture what nature tried to fight.
  2. People of all races who appear to have felony records prefer Greyhound.
  3. Black woman having a conversation asked the following questions: a) “Her son is dead?  They was playing with guns?” b) “Them black vitamins was omega threes?”  I enjoyed this because as a heavy set black woman she endorsed two negative stereotypes (poor grammar and gun violence) but also showed that she does care about her heart and joint health.
  4. Only angry tall people read on Greyhound.  Everyone else maintains hour long phone conversations or listens to their iPod so loud that I can actually understand lyrics from three seats away (oddly a dude that looked like he was an extra on Sons of Anarchy was listening to No Scrubs by TLC).

But sometimes you learn something on a Greyhound bus that you already knew, but the magnitude of it shocks you to the core.  It should not come as a shock that bus bathrooms are gross.  For me they pose an additional challenge.  First, I have to duck in most (they seem to be about 6’5″ at best and I am 6’7″).  Second, the bus drivers prefer the stop and start motion as if they are in bumper to bumper traffic, and third, I try not to hold on to anything in a bus bathroom.  So under ideal circumstances a simple piss turns into a p90X level core strengthening and balance workout.  But the bathroom on this Greyhound had a special surprise for me:

Blood on the toilet seat.

Let’s do some soul searching.  I am not always the best bus and train bathroom person.  9 out of 10 times I will take a wad of toilet paper to lift up the seat, but sometimes the damage is so severe that some J-L urine may actually sterilize whatever the hell has gone on previous to my visit.  But those are all within what the reasonable person would expect.  But blood on a toilet seat?  Personally I think it was the Amish, but who knows?  One of my fellow passengers might have been fleeing a shoot out with law enforcement.  But in any case it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen.  And then I felt the most disgusting thing I’d ever felt.  As I was leaning and twisting to keep balance in the bathroom my back (which was only covered by a t shirt) made contact with a gooey, gel-like substance which quickly seeped through to my skin.  The next three seconds seemed to last an eternity as I believed that the blood was just a diversion to get me to inadvertently slap some ejaculate on my upper back.  Fortunately it was just some gel soap from the soap dispenser that someone had smeared on the mirror (hell soap anywhere is an improvement at this point).  As odd as that sounds it is what I observed and it is what I will tell myself to go to sleep for the next 6 months until the trauma of that bathroom subsides.

Cleveland Improv & The Birth of Vanilla Coke

By 730 last night, after I had scrubbed my back with alcohol and sandpaper it was time to perform at the Cleveland Improv.  What is normally a fairly diverse crowd (on average the crowds I’ve had at the club have been 60% black, 40% white + other) was almost 100% black.  And female.  And that can be a tough crowd for me.  If I don’t say some things that bush buttons racially (while urban crowds are still determining whether to consider me one of them or too close to a white dude talking sh*t) I will generally push some buttons gender-wise.  But the crowd was fantastic.  The last time I was in a room of black people that happy I was at IHOP with my Dad.  As I have always said there is no greater feeling than killing in a black room and no worse feeling than doing badly in a black room.  And last night felt great.

Here are some of the highlights (because this weekend will probably provide me with five opportunities to experience the full spectrum of urban comedy):

  • I finally came up with my stage name if I decide to go the BET circuit.  Vanilla Coke (alluding to my half-black, Algerian-at-best appearance).  At least half a dozen women shouted it at me as they left the club.  I will gladly change that to my officially name if Coca Cola wants to pay me $250,000 annually for the next 30 years.
  • When I said my Mom was white a woman shouted, “You look good anyway!”  Never has a compliment felt so weird.
  • When I discussed how my Dad was a tough disciplinarian when I was a kid there was no response.  I then asked, “Anybody know their Dad here?” Huge laugh.  When in doubt, in a room of 200+ black women, it is safe to rip irresponsible black men, as long as they already like you.

It is a weird phenomenon, but when you kill with mostly white crowds you feel like they want to buy you a beer or bang their girlfriend in Verona, NY.  But when you kill with a black crowd it feels like they want you to join their family.  Hopefully the good times keep rolling.

So that has been the trip so far, but with gigs spread over the next 10 days in Cleveland I am sure there will be more to discuss, but hopefully no more bloody toilet seats.

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A Night In Wilkes-Barre

This weekend I featured on a one night show at Wisecrackers in Wilkes-Barre, PA which felt like Old Detroit in Robocop, but with fewer people.  It was a typical weekend of luxury in the life of a comedian: Martz Trailways round trip bus, fully equipped with stainless steel toilet (unless you count brown streak marks as “stains,”  a night in a double bed at a Best Western (No HBO – but who the fu*k do I think I am anyway) and a show in front of 30 people with a 2×1 sign on stage saying Wisecrackers (broken into two words because the sign was too small to accommodate the name of the club.

I arrived at the Wilkes Barre bus terminal at 620 pm, in plenty of time for the 9pm show.  Conveniently, the hotel was one block from the bus terminal so I did not have to walk far. The town had the look of an old west town that had been abandoned because of lack of water or the criminals were running the show.  It may have just been because I was in the municipal part of the town and being that it was Saturday everything was shut down except for the Rite Aid and McDonald’s (and the hotel “bar/nightclub,” which would also be where the continental breakfast would be served so you could get your date rape and french toast all within the same 500 square feet.
So for dinner, given the choice between Rite Aid and McDonald’s I opted for McDonald’s, where my height was greeted by bewildered children and adults alike.  I felt like Indiana Jones arriving in that impoverished town in India in Temple of Doom.  So after answering the question “How tall are you?” three times with the word “very,” I made my way back to the Best Western I noticed a fight at the Salvation Army next door.  I was intrigued because there appeared to be about 65 people getting out of some meeting of some kind and the few people yelling seemed like they were going to come to blows.  It was a white chick being held back by a black chick, while yelling at a black dude (sort of like an uglied up scene from Hustle and Flow).  Here is the conversation I heard:
White Woman: Oh yeah, oh yeah, then why did you fu*k me when you was fu*king her?
Black guy: What? When did I fu*k you?  When did I fu*k you?  When?  I never fu*ked you!
White Woman: You telling me you never fu*ked me!
Just then a woman with a 2 year old in a stroller walked by and we looked at each other smiling and I said, “Put the earmuffs on.”  At the time I assumed it would be the funniest thing I would say in Wilkes-Barre.
Conversation continued and all I heard as I turned the corner was,
Black Guy: Man, you lucky they here…

So having had the full tour of downtown Wilkes-Barre I was ready for the show.  Turns out that Wilkes-Barre was not ready for the show.  Only about 30 people showed up (which on the plus side was about half capacity for the tiny room).  But they turned out to be a really good crowd.  They laughed, they bought a few CDs and no one threw anything at me so it was a good time.   The only two disturbing things to happen at the club were only comedian related.
The first thing was that the emcee introduced me as having been “on Bill Maher” (which either means I was on Real Time or that I was doing drastic things to make it in comedy), but it was the headliner who had “opened for Bill Maher” (and since she was a woman I guess the same thing could be said for her).  The second thing was that while I was on stage the headliner got into a quiet argument with a young comedian, who was doing a guest spot, who was taking notes during my set.  He claimed to her that he was just working on his own set, and I have no reason to think otherwise,  but if I ever hear one of my jokes coming out of Pennsylvania there will be Clint Eastwood-Unforgiven level style of hell to pay.  But for your enjoyment here is one of the new bits I was working on Saturday night.

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The Hills Have Eyes Wide Shut – A Weekend…

This weekend I was featuring at Wisecrackers in Allentown, PA, located in a Ramada Inn.   I had no idea what to expect but I did know that Allentown, PA was not located in the South so there was hope.  But I think most good comedians would be a little apprehensive performing at a Ramada Inn.  Am I going to have to do five minutes on GPS locators before I talk about how crazy my wife, kids and in-laws are before ending with a crowd rousing bit where I bash Obama and the Middle East?  Well fortunately that was not the case.

I actually went pretty grim during parts of my sets over the weekend and the crowds reacted positively for the most part.  It was a good moment for me because I usually save grim personal stories for open mics and bar shows in NYC where I know they will be appreciated more.  The sets went well and I sold 8 CDs which was a very good number given the crowd size and limited shows.  So professionally I was very happy with the way the shows at Wisecrackers went.   Here is a short clip from the show (note the handmade sign indicating that it is a “comedy club” and not in any way “the place where I eat continental breakfast each morning”):

When Saturday’s show ended something unexpected occurred.  I heard one of the tables discussing swinging.  Swinging, for those of you who do not know is when married couples sleep with other people.  Presumably it is to keep the marriage fresh, but really it just means you are missing a normal human component that allows you to not mind seeing some dude plow your woman (or see your man do some chick).  Well, my ears perked up like a golden retriever who has heard a bag of treats opening when I heard the word “swingers party.”  I just thought, “these people go to swingers parties?  Gross!”  Both because swinging is sort of nasty and these people engaged in sex is a gross thought!”

So I was getting ready to go to the bar to hang out with a friend from college who had come to the show, but one of the waitresses shared with me that it was a hellish night. Here is the exchange:

Waitress: Oh my God, tonight has been the night from hell. The bar is all messed up

Me: Why?  Are they missing someone”

Waitress: Yeah, (name I forget) had to work the swingers party on the second floor.

Me: Wait, there is actually a swingers party here?

Waitress: Yep.

All of a sudden, a weekend of surprisingly strong shows had the chance to elevate to an incredibly ridiculous weekend full of blog fodder.  In a Ramada Inn at the bottom of a lonely hill in Allentown, PA there were a bunch of 2s and 3s swapping partners and other things. So I went to the bar to have a drink with my friend, his wife and friends of theirs (they were there for the comedy show only), but I could not stopping looking at everyone in the bar with a suspicious eye.  Most of the men sort of looked like some variation of Christian Bale in The Fighter and most of the women looked like inappropriately dressed older versions of Christian Bale’s sisters in The Fighter.  As I continued to watch this I decided to bring my camera from the show back to my room before someone decided to steal it and make the worst porn of all time.  And then walking to my room I saw someone stepping out of the swinger party that took it to another level:

A Midget or little person!

WOW!

All of a sudden I was at a loss for what the weirdest night of my life had been before February 19, 2011.  It was literally like the film Eyes Wide Shut with the characters from The Hills Have Eyes.  And then it would get slightly worse.

I went to my room at 1:30 ready to go to bed.  As I walked to my room I realized that some of the swingers had the room next to me.  And I realized that they had young children.  How did I know this?  Because about 20 minutes after I retired to my room I heard two young children, that I had seen wandering the halls several hours earlier (my guess – ages 10 and 7) were knocking on their door because (this is an inference, but a well-founded one) the swinger parents/guardians had locked them out of the room.  So not only are swingers great partners; they’re great parents!

So the weekend was fantastic for both my stand up and for my blog.  But not so much for my Twitter account.  When I looked at my account last night, my shows and tweets for the weekend had only attracted one new follower “Adult Swingers Club” or something to that effect.  As of this morning they are no longer following me.

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Pretend Like You Don’t Know Me

Here are my two newest videos.  If you like them forward them around, the same way you would if you did not know me.  Because let us be honest – in the age of YouTube and Facebook you are comfortable bombarding friends and co-workers with videos of people you don’t know because there is no personal connection to the video.  However, if you forward something of a friend it is somehow embarrassing and lame, even if the video is much better than the panda jerking off in a zoo cage video you just sent them yesterday. 

So pretend you found these on the internet and want to share them instead of saying, “these are funny, but J-L can go fu*k himself” or “I don’t want to bother my friends with videos from someone I know because it will look like I am just trying to help out someone I know. And that is lame.”   Just do it – pretend they are videos of a cat getting kicked in the nuts or whatever video has gone viral today.  Thanks.  🙂

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Battle Of The Overrated – The 2010 Oscar Nominations

I did not realize that the Oscar nominations came out this morning, but when I did there were no big surprises.  Just a lot of frustration.

BEST PICTURE

‘Black Swan’
‘The Fighter’
‘Inception’
‘The Kids Are All Right’
‘The King’s Speech’
‘127 Hours’
‘The Social Network’
‘Toy Story 3’
‘True Grit’
‘Winter’s Bone’

My first beef is that Inside Job is not nominated.  A brilliant, penetrating documentary that is the scariest film since The Exorcist.  If you told me that Hollywood did not want to be too political so they did not select a film that clearly (but completely justifiably) lays most (but certainly not all) of the blame for our country’s economic woes at the feet of Republicans I would accept that.  But then explain…

The Kids Are All Right.  This movie is so fu*king average it is absurd.  But it has lesbians in a regular relationship.  WOW!!!!  Unlike Milk or Brokeback Mountain, which actually showed hardship and triumph in gay rights and gay relationships, this movie is just a bland, unfunny and unmoving film.  But it is about gay people and it does not suck so Hollywood has showered praise on it.  If not for The Blind Side last year, this would be the best case for moving the nominations back to five films a year.

True Grit – No doubt it would be nominated, but this movie was just not as great as everyone is pretending.  Everyone who was late to The Big Lebowski or No Country For Old Men has jumped on this bandwagon because they don’t want to miss the next “cool” movie from the Coen Brothrs or Jeff Bridges.  It was a solid movie, but the chronological error pointed out by Adam Carolla on his podcast a few weeks ago (I won’t spoil the ending by saying what it is) alone should knock it from the ranks.

Black Swan – Eh.  This is the movie for the pretentious, artsy folk who also pretend to love jazz music and modern art.  The movie kept my attention for sure and is not bad, but I think I am still bitter over The Wrestler getting fu*ked over.  And Darren Aronofsky – can you please come up with a different ending to your movies.  It was like watching The Wrestler if he had been a pouty, one-expression waif.

The King’s Speech – First off – can people stop introducing Colin Firth as “the handsome” or “the very handsome” Colin Firth.  He is like the male Cate Blanchette – the actress that Hollywood keeps calling beautiful even though no straight man gets even a little extra blood flow for.  But this movie has everything Hollywood likes – a lame disability like stuttering (for the Glee crowd that keeps talking about bullying), British actors and a backdrop of Nazi Germany (thank God – we almost made it a year without a major Hollywood film invoking the Holocaust).  The movie was solid and like Black Swan, and True Grit worthy of no more than a B+.  The Kids Are All Right is a solid C.  And the fact that Carlos is not nominated is also a fu*king joke.

And in the spirit of full disclosure I agree with Toy Story 3, The Social Network, The Fighter and of course Inception.  I have not seen Winter’s Bone yet, but it is on pay-per-view.

BEST ACTOR

Javier Bardem, ‘Biutiful’
Jeff Bridges, ‘True Grit’
Jesse Eisenberg, ‘The Social Network’
Colin Firth, ‘The King’s Speech’
James Franco, ‘127 Hours’

I have not seen Biutiful (Javier Bardem), but Edgar Ramirez of Carlos was off the charts awesome.  Speaking four languages over the course of a 5 hour film, weight gains of around 40 pounds and being a complex character seems like a combination of Christophe Waltz in Inglorious Basterd and Robert DeNiro in Raging Bull, but he was not worthy of a nomination I guess.

That said I will be pissed if James Franco does not win.  Then again he did not stutter during the movie so his chances are slim.

BEST DIRECTOR

Darren Aronofsky, ‘Black Swan’
David O. Russell, ‘The Fighter’
Tom Hooper, ‘The King’s Speech’
David Fincher, ‘The Social Network’
Joel and Ethan Coen, ‘True Grit’

WHERE THE FU*K IS CHRISTOPHER NOLAN!??????????  That is all I need to say.

BEST ACTRESS

Annette Bening, ‘The Kids Are All Right’
Nicole Kidman, ‘Rabbit Hole’
Jennifer Lawrence, ‘Winter’s Bone’
Natalie Portman, ‘Black Swan’
Michelle Williams, ‘Blue Valentine’

Who gives a sh*it.  I suppose it is down to Annette Benning (which is what I think Warren Beatty said when his penis was tired of slaying Hollywood) and Natalie Portman.  At least they are better than The Blind Side.  But don’t blame my indifference.  Hollywood uses about 95% of its female-directed energy making stars out of hot, untalented women (I’m talking to you Precious) so that the only time a woman is nominated from a movie people care about is when it involves Merryl Streep or Kate Winslet.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Christian Bale, ‘The Fighter’
John Hawkes, ‘Winter’s Bone’
Jeremy Renner, ‘The Town’
Mark Ruffalo, ‘The Kids Are All Right’
Geoffrey Rush, ‘The King’s Speech’

Bale – deserved and the race is over.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Amy Adams, ‘The Fighter’
Helena Bonham Carter, ‘The King’s Speech’
Melissa Leo, ‘The Fighter’
Hailee Steinfeld, ‘True Grit’
Jacki Weaver, ‘Animal Kingdom’

Reiterating my point – the best roles for women are consistently in this category because most great movies are built around men so this is the category where you can often see great roles in relevant movies for women.  Amy Adams, Melissa Leo or Hailee Steinfeld would all be worthy winners.  Fu*k The King’s Speech (on principle, not because it is terrible) and what’s Animal Kingdom?

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

‘Another Year’
‘The Fighter’
‘Inception’
‘The Kids Are All Right’
‘The King’s Speech’

Inception is the most original story in a movie I can think of in a long time – The Usual Suspects comes to mind as the last extremely original film I can think of.  Any other choice in this category is a fu*king joke (only because of how awesome Inception was).

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

‘127 Hours’
‘The Social Network’
‘Toy Story 3’
‘True Grit’
‘Winter’s Bone’

The Social Network.  Aaron Sorkin can fu*king write circles around people.

BEST DOCUMENTARY

‘Exit Through the Gift Shop’
‘Gasland’
‘Inside Job’
‘Restrepo’
‘Waste Land’

I saw Restrepo and Inside Job.  I have heard Exit Through the Gift Shop is very good, but if ever there was a time for the Hollywood blowhards to make a political statement it should have been to nominate Inside Job for Best Picture.  A best picture nomination raises the profile of a movie.  A best documentary nomination simply confirms the film’s image as some geeky, academic exercise.  Perhaps if Inside Job had spoken of how the banking industry had hurt gay couples and Holocaust survivors it would have been nominated.  Lesson for all you filmmakers out there.

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Chicago Trip – Part 2

Well after an odd start to the week, Thursday and Friday turned out to be fantastic comedy nights in Chicago.  Let’s start with Thursday night:

Thursday – Great Set, Awkward Sexual Encounters

Thursday was the first show I would give myself an A or an A+.  I felt great, consistent energy throughout the set and great crowd response.  Then the awkward after-show activities began.

As people were leaving the club I stood by the exit handing out my cards.  I try generally not to be too intrusive – sort of a mild encouragement to take one, rather than an automatic hand-off to everyone so that I guarantee at least the people who take one had some affirmative desire to get my contact info.  And sometimes comedy show attendees want to take a picture with you – perhaps it’s my borderline circus height in some cases, other times it might be because they want to remember a comedian they liked or some just want masturbation material.  Well, the only person who asked for a photo after Thursday’s show fell into this third category.  And yes, it was a dude.

During my set, a gentleman raised his hand during my set and attempted to ask a question.  It was rather bizarre since stand up comedy is not usually a Q & A, unless you are some douchey college comedian who tries to “engage the audience with post show discussion on social issues” so that you seem like more than a third-tier college grad who tells base fart and race jokes under the guise of relating to young people.  The guy seemed nice enough so I did not mock him too much for his raising his hand. (by the way I am in the process of trying to do exactly what I just criticized two sentences ago with a couple of racially ambiguous comedians – what a fu*king sell out!)

Well after the show this man, although slightly drunker at this point, came up to me and told me how great I was and asked for a picture.  Now at this point, based on his slight handshake, effeminate facial expressions and erection poking from his khakis I was able to surmise he was gay.  But since I don’t discriminate when it comes to people who like my comedy I said sure.  Well, as his partner tried to take the photo there were some malfunctions which allowed my new fan to keep his arm around me for what would be an uncomfortable amount of time had he been a large breasted women, let alone a dude.   But I had reached a point of no return.  I just had to bear a creepy hand on the small of my back for about 15 seconds or 45 minutes in creepchill factor.

The photo has not been tagged on any Facebook pages yet, but if anyone sees my face in any gay porn photos they are photoshopped.  I am not homophobic, but I am homophotophobic.   An ex of mine once said to me that she thought every straight man should have to hang out in a gay bar so they can experience what women go through with men (because every man apparently wants to alter the sexuality of a woman with an act she finds contrary to her very being? just more dumb woman logic from someone who thought herself smart).  Of course this is the same woman who defended her having had HPV by saying that “all women get it” (official stats – 25% of women contract it, which is only slightly above “all whores get it”).  Needless to say I disagree and won’t be hanging out in any gay bars unless they start buying my CDs.

After the show I went to a local bar with the headliner Jimmy Shubert.  At the bar we were greeted by some fans from the show.  Lets just summarize that part of the evening by saying women take rejection a lot worse than men.  I have a girlfriend and have no intention of coming back to NYC with anything, but a bunch of unsold CDs and 5 more pounds of fast food body weight.  A man has no problem with rejection because, like a sexual terrorist, we only need to be right once.  If a guy hits on 100 women in one night and one of those women agrees to have sexual relations the guy calls the night a huge success.  For a woman, the name of the game is national defense.  Reject everything until she decides that someone is worthy of a vaginal green card.  But if a woman tries to throw herself at a dude and he is not interested for any number of reasons, she is almost invariably a rude nightmare for the rest of the time that you are in the same room.  In this day and age of sexual equality (which is a myth – it’s just women wanting more money at work, less pressure to have kids (which is sometimes a sour grapes reaction to men getting to have more pre-martial sex than earlier generations) and still wanting the man to provide and pick up the tab like it’s still the 1950s) women need to start getting better at handling rejection.

Friday – 2 Great Shows and a Card in the Snow

Friday’s shows were awesome.  Same as Thursday, but even more people in attendance than on Thursday made these shows even more electric (please gay dude from Thursday’s show, if you are on this blog, do not read anything into me using the word electric in my description.  The Rock referred to himself as electrifying and if a buff dude running around in tights on a stage isn’t the model for heterosexuality than I don’t know what is).  Then some fun things after the second show

I have a bit about Big and Tall Stores –

Well, a “rather robust woman,” to quote Shallow Hal,  came up to me with a look that was either “I think he’s funny” or “I fu*king hate him” and said “Just to let you know I give great head to my black boyfriend.”  Only in comedy or pornography could you have done your job well and hear something like this afterwards.

Leaving the club I observed one of my cards on the ground in the snow.  Maybe that woman came back from “Chicago Trip Part 1” came back for revenge.  So no matter how well a night goes in comedy, there is almost always a chance for something to ruin it.  Last night it was seeing my picture on the snowy ground of Chicago.

3 big shows tonight at Zanies – 7, 9, 11 pm

My final Chicago write up will be Monday when I return to NYC.

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Squeezing Into A Costume

A few years ago I was attending a Halloween party, but I did not have a costume.  I went to all the large stores that emerge in Manhattan like a plague in October every year to look for a costume.  There even was a section of pre-packaged costumes in the “large male” section or whatever they called it.  And everyone of the costumes in the pituitary affliction section said  -“will fit men up to 6’4″ tall.”  If you read this blog, know my jokes or have met me since I turned 19 you know that I am 6’7″.  It was that day that I had literally outgrown Halloween.

Comedy is starting to feel like a Halloween store to me.  Like a 6’4″ shooting guard in the NBA I am starting to feel like I have no position.  Sometimes I like to make political jokes, sometimes I like sharp social commentary, sometimes I like doing impressions and sometimes I like making the occasional crude joke.  But that is what you get when your favorite comedians range from Chris Rock to Jim Norton to Jerry Seinfeld to Patric O’Neal to Gary Gulman to Bill Hicks to Greg Giraldo.  I like different styles and I just like to write funny things.  Perhaps I should just get a job writing for comedians, except my ego is not ready to give up the stage or to submit my writing to potential overwhelming rejection.

Last night I received a very precise and helpful critique from a club owner regarding my set.  Without getting into specifics, it is clear that to make it in comedy I am going to have to choose a persona and style and be consistent within it.  For example after 7 minutes of jokes that are detailed, sharp, clever and clean, it was not consistent closing with a joke about Moms pimping photos of their kids on Facebook and masturbating to the photos just on principle.  The joke got a big laugh, but was slightly out of sorts with the rest of my set.

The thing that makes me sad about this is that comedy is no different than acting.  Live at Gotham had made that brutally evident to me after being passed over several seasons and then watching a show that looked like they were trying to re-cast The Hangover (sans Bradley Cooper), no matter what sacrifices had to be made occasionally in the comedy department.  Humor is still important of course, but I had always hoped that I would not have to necessarily be a niche performer – that I could just say funny things and if a few happened to be dirty or provocative, or if a few were clean and a few others were socially critical I could do it if the crowd laughed.   Basically because I hate niche comedians.  And I don’t want to be them.  For all the frustrations I have with comedy it would be unforgivable to become one of them.

One of the other critiques I got was that I sometimes come off as “a bit of a dick” on stage. 

No sh*t. 

Fu*k Halloween.

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Greg Giraldo: An Appreciation

Yesterday my favorite comedian, Greg Giraldo, died from a drug overdose.   The first time I saw Giraldo perform was at the Columbus Funny Bone.  I was in law school at the time and was visiting my then-girlfriend in Ohio.  It was only my second time to a comedy club and he delivered the goods.  The guy clearly had a great mind, but also the talent to convey his strong opinions on subjects without alienating audience members (though at this point he was big enough in comedy to bring some of his own audience).  I would start doing comedy shortly thereafter and Giraldo has been the standard I have measured myself against ever since.

 

He was an attorney before pursuing comedy, but it was not just personal parallels that I felt connected to.  It was the sharp way he took down people and institutions without once seeming like one of the lefty zealot Carlin-wannabe hacks that dominate the political discourse in comedy these days.  To borrow from politics, he thought like a liberal, but seemed to deliver from the center.

What bothers me most about the loss of Giraldo is that I wonder if the comedy climate will allow or develop another comic in the same mold as Giraldo.  More than ever I feel like comedy is about niche markets.  The more people I see getting breaks these days, the more I feel like producers are simply trying to re-create The Hangover – if you look half crazy (Alans), nerdy (Stus) or are very telegenic (Phils) you are even money.  And if you are a social critic, “truth” is acceptable as long as it is is delivered by some far left, “daring and brave” comic who preaches consistently to his own choir, but beyond that – good luck.

But Giraldo was the comic who achieved success while not fitting any mold or focus group.  He could mock the Church in one joke and then mock gay marriage in the next and never feel preachy about either.  He was just a comedian who could look on the handsome side of normal (when not disheveled), speak intelligently without being consistently left or right, and could just write the best fu*king jokes.  He was just so good as a comedian that he did not need a niche.  I hate when I read about him being pigeon-holed as an “insult comic.”  He was so much more than that.  But even Giraldo, a comedian who while alive did not need a niche to make it big, is now being shelved into a niche so he can be neatly categorized in death.

But I wonder if the direction of modern culture will restrict or constrain the next Giraldo (or the next great comedian to be inspired by Giraldo’s voice) from reaching his or her potential.  Much like I never think another Michael Jordan can be fostered because nowadays anyone with Jordan’s talent would be exalted as a superhero from the age of 14 (see LeBron James) and would thereby lack the insecurity, drive, and chip-on-shoulder syndrome that drove Jordan.  Similarly, Giraldo came up in a pre-Twitter, pre-Facebook age in comedy, where a comedian’s mind was his chat room, complete with insecurities and fears, which, for anyone who read the Psychology Today article featuring Giraldo, knows helped drive him, even if he never felt as focused as he should have been.

Now, more than ever, comedy, especially for up and comers, is a big circle jerk of artificial support and well wishing and just generally a cyber world of sycophants.  Anyone who has been to an open mic in NYC knows that there is such a cliquish and tribal nature that is utterly nauseating.    Giraldo was so deep in his own head, at least from what I read about him, that he fell into addiction.  But sometimes I feel like great comedy can only be borne from minds that go into places that most people don’t like venture into.  Instead the comedy world I live in is full of young comics with lots of friends, lots of “likes”, and lots of meaningless drivel.

My favorite compliments I have ever received as a comedian were the few times when people have told me that my comedy reminded them of Greg Giraldo.  It meant that I was funny and what I was saying actually had meaning.  One time a club manager asked me who my favorite comedians were and the first answer I had was Giraldo.  He dismissed my choice and replied that Giraldo was not making nearly the money that some other comedians were making.  And I replied that that spoke poorly of clubs and the business, not of Giraldo.

I abhor people’s inability to have feelings anymore without posting a Tweet or status update.  I felt no need to express what I felt about Giraldo yesterday because anyone who is worth anything intellectually or comedically would mourn the loss of Giraldo and his immense talent and originality.  But since I am a comedian and I had not written anything in a while I figured readers or fans of this blog would not know me as a comedian without knowing how I felt about Giraldo.

I remember when I lived on the Upper West Side a few years ago I was working out at Equinox on 92nd st and Broadway and I saw Greg Giraldo on an elliptical machine.  I had never actually met him and I was very excited.   I smiled at him and pointed as if to say “Hey – I’m a big fan.” He removed his headphones and sort of nodded a thanks and that was the only exchange.  I guess if I had known all his internal struggles I would have told him he was worth more than a drug addiction and that he meant a lot to me and to a lot of people.   He may have just written a joke about some weird, preachy douchebag at the gym.   But maybe he just didn’t hear that enough.

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The Obama Showdown: Jay Pharoah vs. J-L

As Saturday Night Live prepares for its 36th Season with a monopoly on late night comedy viewing on Saturdays (which sometimes feels like the way the Detroit Lions still have an inexplicable and indefensible hold on Thanksgiving Day football) there has been a lot of buzz from the Huffington Post via The Comic’s Comic blog about a 22 year old comedy phenom named Jay Pharoah who claims to have (and is being claimed to have) a great Obama impression.  Now he is 22 years old so he has clearly paid the dues in the comedy business that every comedian is told they have to pay, so I don’t begrudge him his hard earned buzz and success, but I do take umbridge at his Obama impression, which is good compared to exactly one person, Fred Armisen.

Now a while back I sort of abandoned impressions because I was more interested in exploring personal matters on stage and not setting up tons of scenarios that allowed me to showcase impressions.  I had a ton of traditional and non-traditional impressions that I was proud of, but I sort of grew out of them.  But the one I still use as my closer is Barack Obama because there are no well known good ones.  It is probably the best impression I do and it kills every time.  In fact I almost got a manager based solely on the strength of it.

So I have done as much as I can to promote it without the help of a manager and the comedy bloggers, but it has not caught on beyond individual comedy club audiences and my family.

But to watch this guy do Obama is like seeing someone urinate on my comedy.  My friend comedian Jim Dodge told me he did not want to send me the clip for fear that my head would explode.  It just is not good.  To quote Zoolander’s Jacobim Mugatu, “Am I taking crazy pills?”  Of course if Jay Pharoah gets SNL, he will no doubt be groomed into the Eddie Murphy-Chris Rock mold and will receive praise for his “great impression” simply because it is not Fred Armisen.

This is not the usual “oh he did that joke and I cannot do it now” quandry that happens to lots of comedians.  This is a “I do it better than him and it’s obvious, but I do not have the means or know-how to become a ‘YouTube sensation'” situation.  I cannot fault Jay Pharoah – he is just trying to get his and make people laugh, but has Lorne Michaels become Joe Paterno in his talent evaluation?

So if Mr. Pharoah gets to do Obama on SNL, move on to a lucrative comedy career of headlining clubs, starring movies and doing cocaine with strippers I will be forced to challenge him the way Clubber Lang hounded Rocky Balboa, standing outside SNL offices demanding to know why he keeps ducking me.

And despite appearing mostly white I am much closer in resemblance to Obama (not to mention a black Dad from a foreign country and a white Mom, sound familiar) – this guy looks like a small Justin Tuck from the NY Giants.  People will rejoice because he is black and Fred Armisen is undetermined racially, but lowered expectations should not a comedy career make.

So I guess if you are reading this – I will provide you with links to my video and to Jay Pharoah’s video of Obama impressions and then write to your Congressman, your Senator and to Lorne Michaels to get me an Obama showdown.  And forward my video to people.  It’s 90 fu*king seconds for God’s sake so try to do me this one favor if you read this and let people know. Pretend like I’m Betty White or something.

Jay Pharoah

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkZgHjmBlvE

J-L Cauvin

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VaU77LQS0VM

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Open Mic Lesson For Non-Comics

In an AC/DC song entitled “It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n roll” (one of 1,145 songs of AC/DC with the word “rock” in the title) they describe the hardships of being a band on the rise.  Well if there was a comedy song describing the sad reality of being a comic on the rise (or at least thinking him or herself on the rise) it would probably be called “You can’t even see the top from the Wednesday open mic at New York Comedy Club.”

One lesson I have learned in comedy is that you cannot have any pride.  I am not talking about pride in your jokes, etc. – of course you need that, but you cannot have too much pride to say no to any space with a microphone and time for you because every opportunity is at least a chance to practice.   But sometimes there are experiences that challenge that philosophy.  Yesterday was one of those.  Let this be a glimpse, albeit an awful one, even by open mic standards, into a random open mic night.  In comedy it seems that practice makes perfect, but it also makes you hate life.

I arrived at the mic a few minutes late and observed a comic, who I will not name, but let’s say that Vegas has 3-2 odds that he has bodies buried in his basement (imagine what the Crypt Keeper would have looked like three weeks before losing the last layer of skin and muscle).   As I walk in he is saying in his characteristic delivery (think schizophrenic): “so that is when she came in my mouth.”  The 7 comics sitting laugh, more at the horror than the actual punchline.

The next comic up, who will also remain nameless, is approximately 109 years old.  Before I say he was not that great, or anything like that, I am aware that he is more likely than me to get some sort of reality series for himself, probably about an old man following his dreams, probably airing on Discovery called “It’s Never Too Late.”

Then a young man got up (the second time he had ever done stand-up).  He said he did not want to dig into sad or painful things, at which point the emcee wanted to know what they were because pain can often be a good source of comedy.  Then we learned how unfunny a miscarriage actually is.

Next up was a gay guy who had some funny lines, one of which was asking me if I was mulatto.  I told him yes, but I preferred the more modern term of half-negro.  He then had to run to a Broadway show.  Seriously.

Next to last was a comic I have known for a few years.  He got a couple of laughs from the paltry audience of comics and then it was time for me to go.

So I took the gun out of my mouth and went up and did my set.  Now doesn’t comedy sound fun??