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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??

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Rock of Ages

 

Is 80s music the official soundtrack of d-bags?

 

Last night I was taken to Rock of Ages for my birthday.  It was an incredibly well-thought out gift (which makes sense because it was the same gift-giver who got me a Paul Millsap official game jersey for Valentine’s Day) because of my semi-obsession with American Idol (the play stars Constantine Maroulis – the most absurd American Idol finalist not named Sanjaya) and the fact that the play features a couple dozen rock anthems from the 1980s, a/k/a my favorite music.

The theater was packed last night, but I noticed some things that intrigued me.  One was the woman sitting one row behind me.  On a scale of 1 to 10, she was a 14.  Literally looked like a model/movie star.  But what made me a little sad was that there was a 90% chance that she was a prostitute.  She was there with a below average looking guy in his mid 40s (she looked about 26).  Now my first inclination was that she was just a gold digger, but if that was the case, the guy would have been trying to show off with orchestra seats (instead of the balcony where we all were).  Second, I heard her speak and she did not have a foreign accent, which ruled out some sort of mail-order/Green Card situation.  Third, the guy sitting next to her client/man was talking to them and had his hand on her hip, the way two customers at a video store could look at the same box for a video before both renting it.   I cannot be completely sure that she was a prostitute, but I can surmise that she has a terrible relationship with her father (I ruled this option out when I saw them kissing, unless he is her father, but most fathers not named Joe Simpson or Michael Lohan would not let their daughter go out for a father-daughter night out dressed like a Bond girl.

The other thing I noticed is how many douchebags were in the audience.  There was never a shortage of men between 30 and 45 hooting and high fiving and saying “fu-k yeah!” during the 2+ hours of the production.  And I realized that I love 80s music as well, which raised an important question for me: Am I a douchebag?  Or is it just a sad coincidence that I enjoy the same music as these former coke abusing, date raping, collar popping, former “cool kids?”  having come to the conclusion that I am more an as-hole than a douchebag I can say safely that our similarities end with 80s music.

Overall a good show, but a questionable audience.

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The Curious Case of J-L Cauvin

I get older and taller, but things remain the same.

If anyone saw the film The Curious Case of Benjamin Button then you know that the plot focuses on the adventures of one man as he ages in reverse.  As I stand on the cusp of entering my 4th decade on Planet Earth I realize my life has sort of played like a remix of that movie.  Each decade I get older, but my life does not seem to change.

April 24, 1989

I turned 10 years old on this date.  I was 5’5″ tall.  I owned a purple satin Utah Jazz Starter jacket that I wore religiously.  I was honing a Jean-Claude Van Damme impression that would make me more popular.  I did not have a job, but knew I wanted to be something famous.  My favorite movie was Amadeus.

April 24, 1999

I turned 20 years old on this date.  I was 6’7″ tall.  I owned a puffy purple Utah Jazz Starter jacket that I wore religiously.  I was perfecting impressions of my basketball coaches which would make me more popular.  I did not have a job, but I felt like one day I could be famous.  My favorite movie was still Amadeus.

April 24, 2009

I turn 30 on this date.  I am 6’7″ tall.  I own several Utah Jazz basketball jerseys that I wear occasionally (as people get older they sometimes get less religious).  I have perfected an impression of Barack Obama that has made me more tolerable.  I sort of have a means of employment, but only one that people will take seriously if I become famous.  My favorite movie is Amadeus.

Fine, I'll watch Amadeus, but I probably won't like it.
Fine, I’ll watch Amadeus, but I probably won’t like it.
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Crank 2: A Film Ahead of Jason Statham’s Time

My comedy career began officially in June 2003 when I stepped on stage at the Takoma Station Tavern in Washington D.C. for their Monday open mic.  However, my comedy career really began in 1991 when my impression of Jean-Claude Van Damme in the movie Double Impact made me a big hit with my friends (quick synopsis of the film – Van Damme played twins separated at birth, with”such different personalities” as JCVD put it in a behind the scenes interview, but who both learned karate).

Van Damme was my favorite movie star from the years 1990-1995 (from when I saw Bloodsport until Timecop and all the films in between).  His films were mild successes, but he basically became a joke like many action stars not named Governor Schwarzenegger.  It was not until this Fall that he was able to intentionally and intelligently capitalize on his status with a funny, but moderately moving film (“JCVD”).

Well today I hope there is a 6th grader entertaining  his classmates with a Jason Statham impression.  This guy has literally taken the career of Jean-Claude Van Damme.  I have wondered (on this site, and verbally) how Statham has sustained his career.  Then I saw a preview for Crank 2 and was intrigued.  It looked ridiculous, but entertaining.  But that still did not explain Statham’s 2 franchises (3 Transporters and counting, plus 2 Cranks) and other flops (some movie about prisoners in car races, some dumb movie where he plays some ancient knight), especially since he had to have spent all his Italian Job money by now, so he can be financing his own projects.  In addition to that my old boss at the Bronx DA’s office had recommended Crank to me.

My old boss had a bad history recommending films to me.  One was The Boondock Saints, which I absolutely hated.  The other one was Norbit (I was in Columbus, Ohio with 7 hours to kill before a show – I would have been better off cleaning the Mall toilets with my tongue than watching that movie).  So when he told me Crank was good I greeted it with a roll of the eyes.

But last week I watched Crank and found it entertaining.  It is somewhere between action and parody and was entertaining enough for me to venture to Crank 2 today (and I had a free ticket to the theater).

I must say – reallly enjoyable movie.   Had me laughing a lot because the film has moved even closer to parody and if you want to go, not to watch film or even a technically “good” movie, but just to have fun, then see this movie.

Although the similarities between Van Damme and Statham are even more evident after Crank 2 (Statham has 4-5 references to his character’s large penis in the 2 Cranks and Van Damme has a reference in no less than 3 of his films to his character’s large member – see “The Idiot From Brussels” track on Racial Chameleon, my first CD).  But Statham’s films have not been as successful as even the moderate-to-low bar that Van Damme’s career set.  So the question must be asked:  Why does Jason Statham still have a thriving film career?  One answer is that Lion’s Gate films appear to be willing to produce any film.  But I think the answer is that Statham has decided (possibly) to do what it took JCVD almost 20 years to do – realize that the pure action star is almost dead as a serious franchise (the Arnolds, Stallones, etc. are sort of done), so he pre-empted the trend and made the joke his own, while still having some of the classic action features.  I don’t know if he will make many more movies, but I am pretty sure I would be in for a good laugh if Crank 3 comes out.

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The New Yankee Stadium

If you thought the American Pastime needed more meatpacking district influence – here’s your baseball stadium.

A couple of days ago I received an amazing investment opportunity in the mail.  If I invest the GDP of a small country I can receive some entertaining sports surrounded by all the bells and whistles of a Manhattan club delivered in the form of a product that has had diminishing returns over the last decade.  That’s right I received my Yankees prospectus a/k/a ticket information and fan guide in the mail.

Like General Motors the Yankees have cost the American taxpayer more while providing less over the last several years.  There are several problems I have which were only augmented by the mailing I received.

The Prices

The Yankees, my second favorite team in all of sports, belong up there with the executives who received bonuses from AIG.  The ticket prices are absurd – it literally feels like what a night out to a Broadway play was before Broadway had to sell out to get seats filled in the theaters.  Baseball was not supposed to be high society  – it was supposed to be a day or night for families and working class folks who could enjoy entertainment with superstars without a bank loan or a blow job being involved.  There are now six (that’s six) special tiers of tickets for which the prospectus does not even list prices.   Presumably because they are so special and elite that only people with American Express black cards can even hear the prices without going deaf.

The Bronx

The Stadium was completely unnecessary and with the economy as it is , completely irresponsible.  What’s worse is that with the hollow promises brokered by the Yankees and the city and in part by former Bronx Borough President Adolpho Carrion, the Yankees got a subsidized stadium and in the process destroyed a massive, well-attended park with no equivalent replacement in waiting.  In one of the poorest communities in America, do you think destroying a quality outlet like a park with softball/baseball/soccer fields, a track and all sorts of other amenities is a wise decision?

The other promises that are often made – pumping money into the community, a school structured for high school students interested in sports management, etc.  seem to not be panning out.  Even worse is that all the restaurants (NYY Steak, Hard Rock Cafe) will actually probably take from the local businesses that thrived with the extra customers coming in for games.  Why would a tourist try local fare when they can go to the more familiar and ethnically-cleansed Hard Rock Cafe.

I would also love to know if Bronx residents were given priority for jobs created by the stadium and all its surrounding new businesses.  The Bronx has the highest unemployment rate in the city and this could have been an opportunity to make a small dent in it (very small, but at least meaningful as a step that says the Yankees will give something back – even if it is only salaries earned).

The Stadium

This thing looks beautiful.  Plush lounges, high end suites, a sports bar in centerfield, numerous quality food retailers at the stations in the stadium are just a few of the upgrades.  Hell, there’s so much at the Stadium that if they have a store producing Latino people they could render the Bronx completely obsolete.  However, isn’t this a fu-king baseball game?

Will there be a cover charge on top of tickets and techno blaring as you enter the stadium and some giant black dude frisks you and some sleazy grown-up prep school kid asks you if you party?  The American pastime should not be so slick and corporate looking.  People used to go to baseball games for the game – but now it seems that Manhattan spirit of needing to be seen has officially immersed itself in the Bronx, even if that immersion does not spread 20 feet outside the Stadium.  Now you can say “I have tickets to the Yankees” and it can mean more than “I like baseball and the Yankees.”  Now it can mean “I like status symbols and high fives.”  It won’t be long until Yankee fans become, due to financial restrictions and character depletion, like an LA Dodgers Crowd – famous for arriving in the 3rd inning and leaving in the 7th inning.

The old stadium used to be called The House That Ruth Built.  This one seems to be destined for The Club That Douchebags Inhabit.  Or maybe in the spirit of its apparent inspiration, just call it Stadium.  Or Douche.

I have my tickets for May 18th.

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Will Tell Jokes For Food

The toughest part of comedy is not in telling or writing jokes, at least for me.  The toughest part I have is with the marketing/self-promotion/getting actual money for doing comedy.  For example I am in the finals of a competition at Caroline’s where if I win I get a paid weekend opening for someone.  If I finished second, third or fourth I get to go home and take out my unpaid frustration in a game of Wii Tennis.

I have also received my fair share of guest spots, which translated into layman’s terms is, “You are pretty funny, but we have no real incentive to pay you and you cannot afford to refuse an unpaid spot because you secretly believe that you will be discovered, or at least appreciated by management and/or talent scouts, who are unlikely to be watching you.”  And that is true.

So the way to make money for an up and coming comic like myself is to take the show on the road.  Unfortunately this is proving rather difficult.  Here have been some of my favorite responses that I have received personally or through someone acting on my behalf:

“Please stop with the e-mails.  We will contact YOU if we are interested.” – this was sent after an obnoxious series of two e-mails sent a week apart (one with clips and one following up a week later – how rude of me).

“What do you bring to our club and how will you increase business?”- hopefully jokes

“He should just buy a car and travel the country for two years stopping by clubs.  Is he Jewish?  No, then he’s fu-ked.  He will probably have to get used to sucking men’s di-ks.” – yes this is an actual conversation that took place (mostly tongue-in-cheek, as opposed to cock-in-cheek),  apparently Hollywood casting agents have now re-located to help run comedy clubs in the Midwest.

The best part is that two of these quotes came from what are known as “B clubs” meaning not the city’s primary venue for stand up comedy.  That is not a knock on these places, but goes to show that some of these clubs seem to have a Napoleonic complex.  And it introduces a Catch 22.  I would love to tell clubs that cannot act or respond with some decency or respect to go fu-k themselves or threaten some sort of No Country For Old Men-style cross country trip, but they do have the power and they hold the keys to what I want – a chance to tell lots of people my jokes and to get paid for it.

I’d like to think that if I ever attained star status or mega star status that I would vilify the reputations of these clubs or simply buy them and bulldoze them, a la the trailer home of Jenny at the end of Forrest Gump, but that probably won’t happen for two reasons.  I will be too busy counting Benjamins and the clubs will be too busy kissing my ass (hence the Catch 22 – I lash out now I never attain success.  I attain success – reason for lashing out abates).  But as someone who was able to maintain a healthy grudge against their high school basketball coach for over a decade (not to mention how long I will get material out of more recent slights) I think my friends can attest that if anyone can hold on to that morbid fantasy in spite of success it is me.

But in the meantime anyone know where I can get some cheap knee pads?

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Sunday Bloody Sunday

First Rihanna, then an anti-“Gentile” heckler.

This weekend I learned of a few widespread rumors concerning Rihanna and Chris Brown.  Apparently love has a lot to do with it for the 21st century’s Ike and Tina.  Or at least daddy issues.  Rihanna is said to be taking Chris Brown back, which sends an awful message to young women in abusive relationships.  After sitting in the complaint room of the Bronx District Attorney’s Office for 3 1/2 years telling abused women that they should leave their abusive boyfriends or husbands it will be a tougher sell to to get Maria to leave Jorge if Rihanna won’t leave Chris.  Furthermore, as if trying to undo the symbolic value of Barack Obama in a one-two punch, Rihanna is also rumored to be preggers with Chris Brown’s spawn.  So I guess Rihanna is getting kicked inside and out.  I assume either Pharell or Timbaland is mixing a beat for Chris Brown’s newest single “Forgive Me” or some ridiculous song like that.  We have forgiven men peeing on women (R Kelly), men hitting women (Tommy Lee) and men swallowing women whole (Macy Gray) so I see no reason that with the right PR campaign, the right beat and the right stupid American public why Chris Brown can’t make a comeback.

Well, last night I wanted to make a few current event jokes (hoping certain Jews lost money with Madoff, Chris Brown/Rihanna jokes, talking about Obama shattering MC Hammer’s record for most money spent by a black man in one day), but I was interrupted by a heckler at the Goldhawk before I could start a joke.  I have a sort of repressed temper that used to be really bad.  Last night it almost came out, but instead this heckler simply ruined the end of what was a ridiculously great show.  Here’s a recap:

  • Jim Dodge led off the show brilliantly.  We have our 3rd big crowd in a row – woo-hoo.
  • Pat Breslin steps up and talked about his new engagement – laughs ensue, everybody happy.
  • Jess Burkle, who may be one of the quickest, sharpest comics I’ve ever seen on any level absolutely destroyed the room.
  • Mark Normand – with the toughest job of the night is equal to the challenge and killed.
  • Helen Hong goes up and this is where I start to smell trouble.  Retarded drunk guy comes in and is speaking a little loudly and trying to inject himself into Helen’s routine, but she dealt with him quickly and powered through her routine maintaining the great energy of the room while he sort of stayed quiet.  But like a bad plot of 24 he was just the opening plot line that ends around episode 15 to be usurped by an even worse plot.  Helen Hong’s set ends, enter the The Heckling Jewish Guy (HJG)
  • Jim brings me up to my Craig Ferguson credit:

HJG: Ferguson sucks

J-L: Alright – thanks man.  Any Jewish people here pissed about Madoff(about to go into a Madoff joke)?

HJG: I’m Jewish – right here. Fu-king gentiles are mad because they lost all their money with Madoff.

J-L: OK buddy, let’s be serious.  (scowling at him so that his entire party is telling him to be quiet and apologize for him – mood lost for the show which was one of our best ever)

HJG: Yes, let’s be serious.

J-L (wanting to plant the base of the mic stand through his skull and give him the worst beating a Jew has seen since Jesus): Jim, can we get some staff in here please (sitting meditating, forehead vein pulsing)?

HJG: (leaving with friends): I’m Jewish, Fu-k you gentile (these were the words I heard, perhaps in different order).

I do not deal well with hecklers, especially drunk and stupid ones – they are sort of like the Terminator – “they can’t be bargained with. they can’t be reasoned with.  they won’t stop ever, until the show is dead.”  My response is all or nothing.  Either I let it pass with no response or I really ruin the show by saying something like “SHUT YOUR FU-KING MOUT MOTHERFU-KER!”  I have found the passive route more likely to give me an aneurysm, but maintains a better show.  

I should have probably left the stage and yelled at Pat and Jim – “keep him here!” and then come back while Jim and Pat are having drinks with him and gone Goodfellas on him.  There’s always next show.