If you were to ask me what I think is the best type of performance, I can honestly tell you it is a one-person show. It is such an amazing memoir format. I think I'd like to do that, just sit down and tell a thirty-minute story of my life. Maybe I can call it "Job Interview." It'll reflect the quarter-life crisis situation well. I want to be able tell a story in a minimalist and serious fashion. Maybe, at the end of the day, I don't want to strictly tell jokes. I want to tell jokes in anecdotes. For me, comedy is about learning how to tell a really funny story. If I am at the point where I can confidently do that, I will feel like I have succeeded at comedy and I can quit there.
We'll see...
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
And Now For Something Not-So-Completely Different
I haven't really been using this blog to the best of my ability. I've spent a lot of time chilling on the negative side of the coin and now it's time for me to turn stuff around. And, moreover, I'm going to start a long-term project, soemthing Im actually interested in.
I've made it no secret that I want to write for Marvel Comics (thoguh I'd totally go to DC Comics if they eve rgave me a chance). Howver, my secret goal is to be a Talking Head on "Best Week Ever" or "The Soup" or "E!: Just Another Infotainment Show." So I'm adding a new blog segment where I discuss/review comics.
The title: "Best Ink Ever" (clever, right? Right? Bazing!)
See, the premise is that once a week I'm going to go to a store, read a couple of comics, then go home and write about it (okay, it's not a complicated procedure, but this isn't a science project, so whateva...) Tune in for this week's edition. It'll be...well something.
PS: I got a spam comment. Aww, I feel all marginally internet popular and sheeit. I may ride the gravy train to stardom the likes of Tay Zonday and Sneezing Panda (so cute!).
I've made it no secret that I want to write for Marvel Comics (thoguh I'd totally go to DC Comics if they eve rgave me a chance). Howver, my secret goal is to be a Talking Head on "Best Week Ever" or "The Soup" or "E!: Just Another Infotainment Show." So I'm adding a new blog segment where I discuss/review comics.
The title: "Best Ink Ever" (clever, right? Right? Bazing!)
See, the premise is that once a week I'm going to go to a store, read a couple of comics, then go home and write about it (okay, it's not a complicated procedure, but this isn't a science project, so whateva...) Tune in for this week's edition. It'll be...well something.
PS: I got a spam comment. Aww, I feel all marginally internet popular and sheeit. I may ride the gravy train to stardom the likes of Tay Zonday and Sneezing Panda (so cute!).
Friday, March 28, 2008
The Color Barrier
It's been a month between posts and I haven’t been doing a lot of comedy. I’m at that point in my life where I’m just tired and disillusioned. It’s my not-so-metaphorical fall from grace. And it’s not like I can’t write anymore as much as it is that I don’t want to write anymore.
Here’s a tangent: I’m sick of “comedians.” I’m sick of “the comedy scene”: this racist institution that’s set up so that under-endowed white guys who used to get spit on in high school can feel better by picking on minorities and overusing the word “cunt” and dropping N-bombs like there’s no tomorrow. I’m tired of having to work 2 jobs, 6 days a week so I can get to an open mic and be 27th on a list of scruffy, dirty, asshole mouth-breathers who can’t even string together a decent punchline, make lousy in-jokes with their friends and leave without supporting the show.
Obviously this is based on a recent incident. I went to a mic where this shit happened. As usual it was a parade of dumb white guys (DWGs) with retarded sexual conquest jokes. Which I half-slept through. Of course most of the DWGs have a show (probably in the back of chicken shack, but I digress) and they all leave. I do my set in front of 5 people – whatever. And the next DWG to come feels the need to include me, since I’m the only black guy in the room, by referring to “black people cigarettes” as N*****-Ports. After which, I walked out. And the worst part, as I left, these comics have no idea of why I’m offended.
So why am I so offended? It’s because I hear this shit EVERY SINGLE TIME I go to an open mic. Every time I walk into the cesspool of shit and silence that is a comedy open mic, I am instantly reminded of the fact that I’m black. Because most of these comedians suck, they look for a point of difference and far too often, that becomes, “Oh a black guy! He must be from Kenya. Stop stealing, black guy. Actually you don’t look all that black. Are you Cosby black? Ha ha ha.” And naturally, white comics think I love it. Because clearly since I’m a comedian and a New Yorker who works in corporate America, I’ve never heard a terrible racist joke before.
DWGs, how would you feel if you went into work everyday and got slapped in the face, and then was told that this is part of what helps you grow as a person? Actually some of you sick fucks might get off on it, but I don’t.
I’m sick of it. I’ve been called a “jungle bunny” and “Jamal” on-stage and it’s not funny. I’ve heard horrendous jokes punctuated by the use of an n- word and my jaw drops. So I’m just walking out on bullshit mics now. It’s not worth it anymore.
Here’s a tangent: I’m sick of “comedians.” I’m sick of “the comedy scene”: this racist institution that’s set up so that under-endowed white guys who used to get spit on in high school can feel better by picking on minorities and overusing the word “cunt” and dropping N-bombs like there’s no tomorrow. I’m tired of having to work 2 jobs, 6 days a week so I can get to an open mic and be 27th on a list of scruffy, dirty, asshole mouth-breathers who can’t even string together a decent punchline, make lousy in-jokes with their friends and leave without supporting the show.
Obviously this is based on a recent incident. I went to a mic where this shit happened. As usual it was a parade of dumb white guys (DWGs) with retarded sexual conquest jokes. Which I half-slept through. Of course most of the DWGs have a show (probably in the back of chicken shack, but I digress) and they all leave. I do my set in front of 5 people – whatever. And the next DWG to come feels the need to include me, since I’m the only black guy in the room, by referring to “black people cigarettes” as N*****-Ports. After which, I walked out. And the worst part, as I left, these comics have no idea of why I’m offended.
So why am I so offended? It’s because I hear this shit EVERY SINGLE TIME I go to an open mic. Every time I walk into the cesspool of shit and silence that is a comedy open mic, I am instantly reminded of the fact that I’m black. Because most of these comedians suck, they look for a point of difference and far too often, that becomes, “Oh a black guy! He must be from Kenya. Stop stealing, black guy. Actually you don’t look all that black. Are you Cosby black? Ha ha ha.” And naturally, white comics think I love it. Because clearly since I’m a comedian and a New Yorker who works in corporate America, I’ve never heard a terrible racist joke before.
DWGs, how would you feel if you went into work everyday and got slapped in the face, and then was told that this is part of what helps you grow as a person? Actually some of you sick fucks might get off on it, but I don’t.
I’m sick of it. I’ve been called a “jungle bunny” and “Jamal” on-stage and it’s not funny. I’ve heard horrendous jokes punctuated by the use of an n- word and my jaw drops. So I’m just walking out on bullshit mics now. It’s not worth it anymore.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Onomatopoeia As Representation...
This piece is entitled
Onomatopoeia As Representation Of The Frustrating Limitations Of Early Adulthood Employment Opportunities And The Depressing Nature Of Menial Entry-Level Duties:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you.
Onomatopoeia As Representation Of The Frustrating Limitations Of Early Adulthood Employment Opportunities And The Depressing Nature Of Menial Entry-Level Duties:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Site Comic Book Fans Should Check Out
I was going to write a super-pessimistic post about how life sucks and comedy sucks, but instead I'm entering positive-attitude land.
If you are a fan of Marvel Comics and wanted to know who was that guy with the funky golden armor and red codpiece from Captain America #268 1/2, check out Marvel Universe Appendix. I have never seen such dedication to minutiae of details - and it's totally awesome! If you only know Cyclops or Iron Man . But if you want to know about the Brass Bishop (who?) Kulan Gath (huh?) or Chtylok (kraw!), you should peruse the place.
Whatever, let me have my nerd-gasm. But support them, they're very nice!
If you are a fan of Marvel Comics and wanted to know who was that guy with the funky golden armor and red codpiece from Captain America #268 1/2, check out Marvel Universe Appendix. I have never seen such dedication to minutiae of details - and it's totally awesome! If you only know Cyclops or Iron Man . But if you want to know about the Brass Bishop (who?) Kulan Gath (huh?) or Chtylok (kraw!), you should peruse the place.
Whatever, let me have my nerd-gasm. But support them, they're very nice!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Dear Roommate, I'm Weird
Okay, so I was sitting in my room, watching Family Guy with no pants on and I heard the door open in the hallway. And then I hear footsteps come towards my door. And I get all freaked out so I yell "Ah! I'm not wearing pants." And my roommate says "I wasn't even going into your room." Now I think she thinks I'm masturbating. Which is gross! Dude, a man needs to have the right to not wear pants and watch television without being paranoid. Bachelors who live in studios are lucky. Dude, they could just live however they want. Fucking not shower for a couple days.
That's just sad that that's my dream life. Sitting on a couch with no pants eating quesadillas and a bowl of cereal and a bowl of carrots and raisins. I'm eating a crazy ridiculous meal. It's like "How many items from the food pyramid can I cram into one dinner?"
Anyway, dear roomie, I like tighty whities and I will continue to wear them, behind closed doors. But no penis touching.
That's just sad that that's my dream life. Sitting on a couch with no pants eating quesadillas and a bowl of cereal and a bowl of carrots and raisins. I'm eating a crazy ridiculous meal. It's like "How many items from the food pyramid can I cram into one dinner?"
Anyway, dear roomie, I like tighty whities and I will continue to wear them, behind closed doors. But no penis touching.
What? That Old Thing?!
Oh right, it’s Last Comic Standing today. Yesterday I had to make the choice of whether I should go to an interesting job, or miss a whole day’s pay to stand outside in the elements in a crazy outfit so that I can be ripped apart for 2 minutes by inordinately bitchy judges – assuming I even get seen.
WTFever. I'm so over that.
The whole LCS thing is such a crock. I understand the idea behind it, but it’s so dishonestly done. I know there are comics who are great and don’t get their due and it’s great to give them a showcase. I wish the producers would market it as “Hey these are awesome people doing great things you’ve never heard of. Check them out!” Instead, it’s all “Holy mackerel, can you believe that these are average Joes with all this talent???!!!!!111one Holy crap, we discovered these gems!” No bigwigs, you didn’t discover them. They’ve been around for YEARS. There are so many people on the show who’ve had television and movie deals, headline across the country and make more in a night than I do in 6 months. At best, the people who appear in the shows promos (i.e. that 2 minute teaser) are being plucked out of (relative) obscurity, but the people who make it to the finals…they really don’t need a handout. Honestly, that like having a Best Superhero contest and introducing Batman as someone who “just appeared on the scene and seems to be doing some cool things.” Puh-leeze. Now if Tigra or Stingray were on that show, grrrrrr (and sensible – I bet none of you even know who either of them are).
I wish everyone who waited in line the best of luck. As for me, I’m going to sit in a cubicle, blog and bask in the warmth of job security.
WTFever. I'm so over that.
The whole LCS thing is such a crock. I understand the idea behind it, but it’s so dishonestly done. I know there are comics who are great and don’t get their due and it’s great to give them a showcase. I wish the producers would market it as “Hey these are awesome people doing great things you’ve never heard of. Check them out!” Instead, it’s all “Holy mackerel, can you believe that these are average Joes with all this talent???!!!!!111one Holy crap, we discovered these gems!” No bigwigs, you didn’t discover them. They’ve been around for YEARS. There are so many people on the show who’ve had television and movie deals, headline across the country and make more in a night than I do in 6 months. At best, the people who appear in the shows promos (i.e. that 2 minute teaser) are being plucked out of (relative) obscurity, but the people who make it to the finals…they really don’t need a handout. Honestly, that like having a Best Superhero contest and introducing Batman as someone who “just appeared on the scene and seems to be doing some cool things.” Puh-leeze. Now if Tigra or Stingray were on that show, grrrrrr (and sensible – I bet none of you even know who either of them are).
I wish everyone who waited in line the best of luck. As for me, I’m going to sit in a cubicle, blog and bask in the warmth of job security.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
College Procrastination
I don't think I ever posted this article. This is from the days when I was a serious college journalist. Some of you guys may be familiar with my Worst Week Ever column (where I basically got an 800 word column to discuss whatever I was feeling miffed about). Man, those were the days, when peopel used to listen to my opinions. Those were also the days when I produced comedy shows with colleagues who actually respected each other and the audience was always 50+. This article is set in a mythical place called Wesleyan in a faraway land called Connecticut, where the trees stay green and the argyles are always dry cleaned.
Without Further Ado: College Procrastination Redux...
Worst Week Ever 2: If I Only Had More Time...
For this column I am writing on-site from the computer lab. To either side of me are students with frazzled hair, twitchy from downing Red Bulls and Starbuck's double shot espressos, trying desperately to finish their papers. The day is a Sunday, the time is 11:57 p.m. and I have both this column to write and a paper to finish. I have joined the rank of these sleep-deprived procrastinators and, needless to say, I am not pleased.
Why do we do this to ourselves, frittering away our free time, only to save the heavy work until the last minute? Now I know what you're thinking: "Procrastinators are just lazy; they're not having the worst week ever." Tut tut, disbelievers. Allow me to flowchart the course of a procrastinator's week so you can understand how we end up so screwed.
Monday: The teacher assigns the essay. She tells you that the essay is due next Monday - no excuses for lateness. She warns, "The questions may seem easy, but they require thought and a close reading of the text." You make a point of highlighting the assignment, adding a note that says "Remember to go home and start the paper. You'll regret it when Sunday rolls around and the paper isn't started." As soon as class is over, go home and take a nap. Mutter "I have all week to get a jump start on the paper." Cue ominous music.
Tuesday: Today is jam-packed with hours of class. It is your heavy day and you are too tired to look at the planner. Have a long dinner with friends. Gossip about the events of last weekend. Someone in your class will approach you and ask, "Did you start the paper yet?" Shake your head no and laugh; in your head you think, "We have all the time in the world." A small seed of fear implants itself in your mind.
Wednesday: Who are you kidding? Wednesday is bar night/bong night. And even if it wasn't, you won't commit yourself to anything academic at the hump of the week - please!
Thursday: The fear has grown into a seedling. That deadline looms over your head like a sword of Damocles. You question your values: "Where is that book I need to read? Shouldn't I at least have an outline for this paper?" As punishment, you do not allow yourself to go out, even though you heard about that raging party at Home Avenue. Do you get the work done? Of course not, because you're far too busy doing a crossword, getting your laundry done, and checking away messages.
Friday: While cleaning your room, you spot the book you need to re-read on the floor. This is the most physical contact you have made with the book so far. Read a couple of the pages, place Post-Its on an important passage. You're getting into being proactive - and then your phone rings. A friend tells you about a birthday party and you drop the book, hit the showers, and get ready to waste time.
Saturday: Even though you set aside a specific block of time to work on the paper, you decide it's okay to pave over those good intentions and watch some inane VH1 shows while surfing Facebook. Your housemates/bad influences drag you out to dinner where you sit for hours and discuss all the work you have to do. Instead of moving from the talking phase to the doing phase, you go back to your room, stare at the clock and think: "Can I start pre-gaming now?" Begin drinking at 10:00 p.m. sharp, continue onward until 2:00 a.m., and fall asleep on the bed fully clothed at around 4:00 a.m. Right before bed, you think "I'm going to get up at 10:00 a.m. and do this paper."
Sunday: After wiping the dried saliva off your cheek, you squint at the alarm clock. It flashes 3:30 p.m. Take a thirty-minute shower, pack your bag and go to the library to get stuff done. You are primed, an essay-writing machine - but the lighting in the room is so dreary and dull and then - you pass out. At 7:00 p.m. wake up, take an hour long dinner and get back to work. Your fingers are poised at the keyboard; the book is open in your lap. And you realize, "I don't even know how to start this paper." The fear plant is now a redwood of despair. Get angry at the teacher. How dare she expect you to write something? How is a week enough time? Type up some notes, erase a paragraph, and add in a huge quote. Think: She didn't warn you about how challenging this paper was going to be. She knows better than to screw you over like this. Bang out a couple of pages. Adjust the margins. Look at the time; it's 3:00 a.m. The paper is sprawling mess of quotes and half-finished thoughts. Go into perfectionist mode ("This paper looks so bad I just can't finish it") then bargaining mode ("Oh God, please help me get this done; I'll never do this again") then settle into defeatist mode ("I could just drop out of school right now and then I won't have to do this paper").
And then that Monday rolls around. Your face is greasy, your wrists hurt from the non-stop typing, your eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep. The paper is finished, incoherent but complete. In your unattractive and anemic condition, you drag yourself to the classroom, drop the paper on the teacher's desk and pass out in the back while she prattles on about deconstructing the state.
Don't you see? We need help - perhaps a PowerPoint presentation on the importance of being timely. Perhaps, we just have a genetic predisposition to wasting time. Or maybe there aren't enough hours in the day. I know there's a solution to the procrastinator's dilemma out there somewhere and I plan to find it - but I'll get to that in a couple of weeks.
Without Further Ado: College Procrastination Redux...
Worst Week Ever 2: If I Only Had More Time...
For this column I am writing on-site from the computer lab. To either side of me are students with frazzled hair, twitchy from downing Red Bulls and Starbuck's double shot espressos, trying desperately to finish their papers. The day is a Sunday, the time is 11:57 p.m. and I have both this column to write and a paper to finish. I have joined the rank of these sleep-deprived procrastinators and, needless to say, I am not pleased.
Why do we do this to ourselves, frittering away our free time, only to save the heavy work until the last minute? Now I know what you're thinking: "Procrastinators are just lazy; they're not having the worst week ever." Tut tut, disbelievers. Allow me to flowchart the course of a procrastinator's week so you can understand how we end up so screwed.
Monday: The teacher assigns the essay. She tells you that the essay is due next Monday - no excuses for lateness. She warns, "The questions may seem easy, but they require thought and a close reading of the text." You make a point of highlighting the assignment, adding a note that says "Remember to go home and start the paper. You'll regret it when Sunday rolls around and the paper isn't started." As soon as class is over, go home and take a nap. Mutter "I have all week to get a jump start on the paper." Cue ominous music.
Tuesday: Today is jam-packed with hours of class. It is your heavy day and you are too tired to look at the planner. Have a long dinner with friends. Gossip about the events of last weekend. Someone in your class will approach you and ask, "Did you start the paper yet?" Shake your head no and laugh; in your head you think, "We have all the time in the world." A small seed of fear implants itself in your mind.
Wednesday: Who are you kidding? Wednesday is bar night/bong night. And even if it wasn't, you won't commit yourself to anything academic at the hump of the week - please!
Thursday: The fear has grown into a seedling. That deadline looms over your head like a sword of Damocles. You question your values: "Where is that book I need to read? Shouldn't I at least have an outline for this paper?" As punishment, you do not allow yourself to go out, even though you heard about that raging party at Home Avenue. Do you get the work done? Of course not, because you're far too busy doing a crossword, getting your laundry done, and checking away messages.
Friday: While cleaning your room, you spot the book you need to re-read on the floor. This is the most physical contact you have made with the book so far. Read a couple of the pages, place Post-Its on an important passage. You're getting into being proactive - and then your phone rings. A friend tells you about a birthday party and you drop the book, hit the showers, and get ready to waste time.
Saturday: Even though you set aside a specific block of time to work on the paper, you decide it's okay to pave over those good intentions and watch some inane VH1 shows while surfing Facebook. Your housemates/bad influences drag you out to dinner where you sit for hours and discuss all the work you have to do. Instead of moving from the talking phase to the doing phase, you go back to your room, stare at the clock and think: "Can I start pre-gaming now?" Begin drinking at 10:00 p.m. sharp, continue onward until 2:00 a.m., and fall asleep on the bed fully clothed at around 4:00 a.m. Right before bed, you think "I'm going to get up at 10:00 a.m. and do this paper."
Sunday: After wiping the dried saliva off your cheek, you squint at the alarm clock. It flashes 3:30 p.m. Take a thirty-minute shower, pack your bag and go to the library to get stuff done. You are primed, an essay-writing machine - but the lighting in the room is so dreary and dull and then - you pass out. At 7:00 p.m. wake up, take an hour long dinner and get back to work. Your fingers are poised at the keyboard; the book is open in your lap. And you realize, "I don't even know how to start this paper." The fear plant is now a redwood of despair. Get angry at the teacher. How dare she expect you to write something? How is a week enough time? Type up some notes, erase a paragraph, and add in a huge quote. Think: She didn't warn you about how challenging this paper was going to be. She knows better than to screw you over like this. Bang out a couple of pages. Adjust the margins. Look at the time; it's 3:00 a.m. The paper is sprawling mess of quotes and half-finished thoughts. Go into perfectionist mode ("This paper looks so bad I just can't finish it") then bargaining mode ("Oh God, please help me get this done; I'll never do this again") then settle into defeatist mode ("I could just drop out of school right now and then I won't have to do this paper").
And then that Monday rolls around. Your face is greasy, your wrists hurt from the non-stop typing, your eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep. The paper is finished, incoherent but complete. In your unattractive and anemic condition, you drag yourself to the classroom, drop the paper on the teacher's desk and pass out in the back while she prattles on about deconstructing the state.
Don't you see? We need help - perhaps a PowerPoint presentation on the importance of being timely. Perhaps, we just have a genetic predisposition to wasting time. Or maybe there aren't enough hours in the day. I know there's a solution to the procrastinator's dilemma out there somewhere and I plan to find it - but I'll get to that in a couple of weeks.
Monday, February 04, 2008
!oo!
!oo! is my new sign for victory. The !’s represent the index and little finger of championship and the o’s represent the knuckles of bad-ass-itude. Alternately, they also symbolize a football goalpost. Convenient Super Bowl segue…
I’m not a big Super Bowl fan by any means, but I did get to watch with a couple of friends, a lot of Domino’s Pizza and a Blue Moon. Here’s my cheers and jeers.
CHEERS: To the New York Giants winning! (Obviously!) I’ll be honest, I had doubts. Okay I had virtually no hope. I was optimistic, but my glass was 10% full. Go Eli Manning, maybe now people won’t call you “Peyton’s brah.”
JEERS: To the incredibly racist Bud Light commercials. Seriously, advertisers, a commercial making fun of South Asian accents? Of course that makes me want to buy your beer. Because beer should be American. No foreigners allowed. They might drop malaria and SARS in the barley. Disgusting. Oh and Carlos Mencia was part of it. Carlos Mencia – king of joke thieves, jack of all stereotypes, master of none. Majorly disgusting!
CHEERS: To Tom Brady getting sacked. Over and over again. I hope Gisele dumps you, Tom. She needs a winner, not a whiner. Tom Brady?—more like Tom “Throws Like A Lady.” Ohhhh, you got hosed on a blog read by 3 people!!!
JEERS: To that BS: “Everyone off the field, we have to play that :01 left in the fourth quarter even though the Giants are up AND have possession on the ball.” Sore losers, much?
CHEERS: To that really cool Coke commercial when Charlie Brown gets the soda. I would have shed a tear, but he’s an inflatable representation of a cartoon character.
JEERS: To another Geico caveman commercial. Go away cavemen! Go the way of the woolly mammoth and become extinct.
That’s all really. In conclusion, yay Giants. !oo!
I’m not a big Super Bowl fan by any means, but I did get to watch with a couple of friends, a lot of Domino’s Pizza and a Blue Moon. Here’s my cheers and jeers.
CHEERS: To the New York Giants winning! (Obviously!) I’ll be honest, I had doubts. Okay I had virtually no hope. I was optimistic, but my glass was 10% full. Go Eli Manning, maybe now people won’t call you “Peyton’s brah.”
JEERS: To the incredibly racist Bud Light commercials. Seriously, advertisers, a commercial making fun of South Asian accents? Of course that makes me want to buy your beer. Because beer should be American. No foreigners allowed. They might drop malaria and SARS in the barley. Disgusting. Oh and Carlos Mencia was part of it. Carlos Mencia – king of joke thieves, jack of all stereotypes, master of none. Majorly disgusting!
CHEERS: To Tom Brady getting sacked. Over and over again. I hope Gisele dumps you, Tom. She needs a winner, not a whiner. Tom Brady?—more like Tom “Throws Like A Lady.” Ohhhh, you got hosed on a blog read by 3 people!!!
JEERS: To that BS: “Everyone off the field, we have to play that :01 left in the fourth quarter even though the Giants are up AND have possession on the ball.” Sore losers, much?
CHEERS: To that really cool Coke commercial when Charlie Brown gets the soda. I would have shed a tear, but he’s an inflatable representation of a cartoon character.
JEERS: To another Geico caveman commercial. Go away cavemen! Go the way of the woolly mammoth and become extinct.
That’s all really. In conclusion, yay Giants. !oo!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Minor New Year's Resolution
I was actually able to take a poo in the office! Finally, I feel like I accomplished something grand!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Bed-Ridden
To anyone who went to any of the potential shows I had this week, I'm sorry to say I had to cancel. I was feverishly sick all day Tuesday and Wednesday wasn't that much better. After two days AWOL, I finally trucked it into work today but I'm in more pain than an 80-year-old woman who doesn't get enough calcium.
Damn this freaking flu going around. This is the problem with temping hourly. No paid sick days. Also, no health insurance...but that's another story.
Damn this freaking flu going around. This is the problem with temping hourly. No paid sick days. Also, no health insurance...but that's another story.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Around The City Shows
Some stuff I'm doing in the city:
Monday January 14th: Pine Tree Lodge
326 East 35th Street (bet. 2nd and 1st Avenue)
9 PM - 10 PM
COST: FREE
Joe Dixon and I run this short show with great comics. Plus we're re-enacting our old contest o' champions! Where any random audience member can win a super-kewl prize (TM). I host this every Monday, so come by and get free $h!7.
Featuring Mike Lawrence, Jessica Delfino, Darrell Shipley, Kendra Cunningham
Tuesday January 15: Alibi Lounge - Comedy For The F*$% of It!
116 MacDougal Street (between West 3rd and Bleecker)
8 PM - 10 PM
COST: FREE
Really cool show hosted by really cool comedian DEL. Usually free give-aways and what not.
Saturday February 2nd: The PIT - Naked Comedy Show
154 West 29th Street (close to 7th Ave)
I'll be baring more than just my soul at this clothing free showcase of jocularity! Featuring Rob O'Reilly and Andy Ofiesh.
8 PM
COST $10
I'm working on re-doing my MySpace but when I do, it's on! Check it out for a list of other shows so you can see my wit live. Oh yeah! Plus I'm working on a new performance art set. Should be fun...
Monday January 14th: Pine Tree Lodge
326 East 35th Street (bet. 2nd and 1st Avenue)
9 PM - 10 PM
COST: FREE
Joe Dixon and I run this short show with great comics. Plus we're re-enacting our old contest o' champions! Where any random audience member can win a super-kewl prize (TM). I host this every Monday, so come by and get free $h!7.
Featuring Mike Lawrence, Jessica Delfino, Darrell Shipley, Kendra Cunningham
Tuesday January 15: Alibi Lounge - Comedy For The F*$% of It!
116 MacDougal Street (between West 3rd and Bleecker)
8 PM - 10 PM
COST: FREE
Really cool show hosted by really cool comedian DEL. Usually free give-aways and what not.
Saturday February 2nd: The PIT - Naked Comedy Show
154 West 29th Street (close to 7th Ave)
I'll be baring more than just my soul at this clothing free showcase of jocularity! Featuring Rob O'Reilly and Andy Ofiesh.
8 PM
COST $10
I'm working on re-doing my MySpace but when I do, it's on! Check it out for a list of other shows so you can see my wit live. Oh yeah! Plus I'm working on a new performance art set. Should be fun...
It Goes There
DeGrassi marathons have my warped my head. They taught me about a new type of person: a man-cer. That's a man who lives with cancer and doesn't cry about it. Also, a Canadian actor who can't subtly display emotions.
I've got to make a big decision. And instead of deliberating, I procrastinate. My work ethic is so bad that I can't even think of an end to this joke.
I've got to make a big decision. And instead of deliberating, I procrastinate. My work ethic is so bad that I can't even think of an end to this joke.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
My Apologies For Previous Entries
Ugh no more drunk blogging. I think that's what killed the dinosaurs.
Comic on Comedians #1b: Andy Kindler and Patton Oswalt
Addendum: I think Patton Oswalt is like Andy Kindler, except less whiny. They're both so aware of the dubious famous-ness of the comedy business. It's a cckiness I wish I could have as a stage persona.
Comic on Comedians #1: Andy Kindler and Patton Oswalt
Wow, Andy Kindler is fucking amazing. I just saw his stand-up. It's a perfect whiny joke-telling character. They're really good at their persona characters. Wow, it's weird. Classic 80s comedians have such characters about them. They feel plastic and yet, they're still clever at the same time. It's an odd feeling, to see comedy of the 80s feel original, yet are actually so manufactured, so meticulously picked out. Everything in the 80s is experimental, and yet so calculated at the same time. I think there was a lot of foresight in terms of distilled popular culture in the 80s. As opposed to the 2000s, where there is just too much information. The internet has destroyed our notion of privacy. In essence we can all expose the truth about ourselves. There are blogs, and internet voyeurs, and social networking sites. They are so addictive. It's impossible to not check your friendship status, see how virtually popular you are. It is ridiculous. Ha ha.
Friday, January 11, 2008
NVR SAY NVR
I'm trying to put together a new CD based on "love songs." The only song I decided on was Romeo Void's "Never Say Never." I think my inner romantic is a smarmy early 80s tool.
For those of you who don't know Romeo Void, here's a link to one of their favored songs. Most memorable catch-phrase: I might like you better if we slept together.
Though I like the line, I have to disagree. If I really hate someone, sometimes I think "Maybe I would like you better if we slept together." (which is admittedly an awkward thought when applied to ex-bosses or that homeless lady who preaches on the train). But having sex with a homeless lady probably wouldn't raise my opinion of her. I'd probably hate myself more if we slept together.
Besides, sex isn't like karaoke. I always like people better after I've sung horribly off-key with them. In fact, I would totally love a homeless person who wanted to do karaoke with me. I would probably give her $10 and a 40 of Old English. Maybe I'd take her home, give her a hot bath and a meal. And then...maybe I'd sleep with her. Which would bring me back to hating myself.
Damn! Even my alterna-logic is failing me. Or maybe I just don't like homeless people. Which is a really insensitive thought to have. Sad face.
For those of you who don't know Romeo Void, here's a link to one of their favored songs. Most memorable catch-phrase: I might like you better if we slept together.
Though I like the line, I have to disagree. If I really hate someone, sometimes I think "Maybe I would like you better if we slept together." (which is admittedly an awkward thought when applied to ex-bosses or that homeless lady who preaches on the train). But having sex with a homeless lady probably wouldn't raise my opinion of her. I'd probably hate myself more if we slept together.
Besides, sex isn't like karaoke. I always like people better after I've sung horribly off-key with them. In fact, I would totally love a homeless person who wanted to do karaoke with me. I would probably give her $10 and a 40 of Old English. Maybe I'd take her home, give her a hot bath and a meal. And then...maybe I'd sleep with her. Which would bring me back to hating myself.
Damn! Even my alterna-logic is failing me. Or maybe I just don't like homeless people. Which is a really insensitive thought to have. Sad face.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The 8 Jokes I Never Want To Hear Again In 2008
In lieu of resolutions, I have decided to pass along knowledge to my fellow man. Thus I give you "The 8 Jokes I Never Ever EVER Want To Hear Again in 2008." This goes out to all my fellow comedians/writers/drunk storytellers.
(1) Jokes with the structure: "I like ___. I think that makes me a ___; my friends think that makes me a faggot."
WHY: Because we get it; you like something weird and metrosexual. That you have to resort to calling it gay makes you sound bigoted. The shock value of the word has long worn off, and you just look desperate now. Plus it's such a simplistic feint that it looks like you get all your jokes from the Christian right.
(2) "Why do white people act like X (irrational and verbose) but black people act like Y (rational but ignorant-sounding)?" and the remix "Why are all Asians like X (stereotypical 'Engrish' voice)?"
WHY: Because these jokes stopped being funny when desegregation happened. Seriously, it's not insightful to say that white people and black people act differently - especially not in New York City where pretty much everyone acts like they're insane. Maybe one day when Jim Crow laws go back in style and you have to peek over an electric fence at your differently-raced neighbors and muse about why chopsticks "be all silly and shit," then this could be considered valid material. But right now, you sound like Archie Bunker without the ironic and inherent cleverness (i.e. LAME!).
(3) Jokes that involve Arnold Schwartzenegger/Samuel L. Jackson accents.
WHY: Because no one does a good Schwartzenegger or Jackson accent. Schwartzenegger has been in office for four years now; let it go. Snakes on a Plane happened like 2 years ago; either buy the DVD or move on.
(4) Myspace/Facebook/Friendster/social networking site jokes.
WHY: Because you look like a tool when you have 2,000,000 i-friends and yet you're making fun of the site that's helping you get bookings and a cult following. As an aside, yes I do have a Myspace joke, but it's based on a true story...and I plan to drop it in a couple months.
(5) Jokes about the Puerto Rican Day/Dominican/West Indian parade
WHY: Because jokes hinged on the premise of minorities congregating together, getting drunk, and stealing from and raping white women aren't funny, they're just "Birth of a Nation Redux." Refer to the white people/black people/Asian people argument basically.
(6) Jokes about Britney Spears
WHY: Because it looks like you subscribe to Us Weekly and obsessively read Perez Hilton's blog; two places I don't even look at as an authority on fake celebrity news. Watch the Britney Spears Trade Wreck (TM) was never entertaining; it's just so WTFever. Whenever I hear a Britney joke, I just yawn and go "Wow, you spent 2 minutes on that, you realize you're going to need REAL MATERIAL now." Plus "Best Week Ever" and "The Soup" already do those jokes...and they do it better than you. Just follow the lead of that crazy androgynous kid and "Leave Britney alone!"
(7) Jokes about local comics
WHY: Because at the end of the day, it's lazy and it's rude. We're not in high school anymore; if you have nothing nice to say about another comic, don't say anything at all.
(8) BUSH JOKES!!!!!
WHY: Because...just stop it! I get it: George Bush is controversial. George Bush had substance abuse problems. Guess what? - it's not clever anymore. Hell, at this point it's actually funny to just listen to the President speak than to hear some bad comic do a bad Bush impersonation and then go "Look how politically savvy I am!" Newsflash: you're not! Bush jokes has been done to death and decomposed. If you're going to be political, do some real research and find a corrupt politician. All you need to do is spend 10 minutes on Wikipedia and you can find somebody.
-There it is, folks. You can either listen to my advice or not; your mileage may vary. But if I hear any variations on these jokes, I will walk out of the room (either mentally or physically) and never return for the rest of your set. Unless you're able to reinvent the wheel on these hack jokes. Which is doubtful.
Happy New Year!
(1) Jokes with the structure: "I like ___. I think that makes me a ___; my friends think that makes me a faggot."
WHY: Because we get it; you like something weird and metrosexual. That you have to resort to calling it gay makes you sound bigoted. The shock value of the word has long worn off, and you just look desperate now. Plus it's such a simplistic feint that it looks like you get all your jokes from the Christian right.
(2) "Why do white people act like X (irrational and verbose) but black people act like Y (rational but ignorant-sounding)?" and the remix "Why are all Asians like X (stereotypical 'Engrish' voice)?"
WHY: Because these jokes stopped being funny when desegregation happened. Seriously, it's not insightful to say that white people and black people act differently - especially not in New York City where pretty much everyone acts like they're insane. Maybe one day when Jim Crow laws go back in style and you have to peek over an electric fence at your differently-raced neighbors and muse about why chopsticks "be all silly and shit," then this could be considered valid material. But right now, you sound like Archie Bunker without the ironic and inherent cleverness (i.e. LAME!).
(3) Jokes that involve Arnold Schwartzenegger/Samuel L. Jackson accents.
WHY: Because no one does a good Schwartzenegger or Jackson accent. Schwartzenegger has been in office for four years now; let it go. Snakes on a Plane happened like 2 years ago; either buy the DVD or move on.
(4) Myspace/Facebook/Friendster/social networking site jokes.
WHY: Because you look like a tool when you have 2,000,000 i-friends and yet you're making fun of the site that's helping you get bookings and a cult following. As an aside, yes I do have a Myspace joke, but it's based on a true story...and I plan to drop it in a couple months.
(5) Jokes about the Puerto Rican Day/Dominican/West Indian parade
WHY: Because jokes hinged on the premise of minorities congregating together, getting drunk, and stealing from and raping white women aren't funny, they're just "Birth of a Nation Redux." Refer to the white people/black people/Asian people argument basically.
(6) Jokes about Britney Spears
WHY: Because it looks like you subscribe to Us Weekly and obsessively read Perez Hilton's blog; two places I don't even look at as an authority on fake celebrity news. Watch the Britney Spears Trade Wreck (TM) was never entertaining; it's just so WTFever. Whenever I hear a Britney joke, I just yawn and go "Wow, you spent 2 minutes on that, you realize you're going to need REAL MATERIAL now." Plus "Best Week Ever" and "The Soup" already do those jokes...and they do it better than you. Just follow the lead of that crazy androgynous kid and "Leave Britney alone!"
(7) Jokes about local comics
WHY: Because at the end of the day, it's lazy and it's rude. We're not in high school anymore; if you have nothing nice to say about another comic, don't say anything at all.
(8) BUSH JOKES!!!!!
WHY: Because...just stop it! I get it: George Bush is controversial. George Bush had substance abuse problems. Guess what? - it's not clever anymore. Hell, at this point it's actually funny to just listen to the President speak than to hear some bad comic do a bad Bush impersonation and then go "Look how politically savvy I am!" Newsflash: you're not! Bush jokes has been done to death and decomposed. If you're going to be political, do some real research and find a corrupt politician. All you need to do is spend 10 minutes on Wikipedia and you can find somebody.
-There it is, folks. You can either listen to my advice or not; your mileage may vary. But if I hear any variations on these jokes, I will walk out of the room (either mentally or physically) and never return for the rest of your set. Unless you're able to reinvent the wheel on these hack jokes. Which is doubtful.
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
2008 - Slightly Less Racist Than 1958
Tell me if I'm overreacting.
At around 9:30 PM I left my apartment to get cigarettes. I wore a black hooded sweater jacket, light blue jeans, and black sneakers. I reach the store, get my smokes, and walk the long way back so I can enjoy my cigarette. Because it was cold I was walking quickly and reached my building far too soon. Usually, when this happens, I walk around to a spot where I can finish, but there were vagrants there, and quite frankly I didn't want to have any potential discussions with the homeless. So, I stand 1/4 block away from my door near a security post and finish my cigarette. I go inside, and prepare to open the inner door to the building, when three people (2 white and 1 East Asian) enter the vestibule. One says "Um, you don't live here."
To which I responded: "Yes I do" and showed my keys.
They continue to try and disprove the fact that I live here and I have to dangle my keys (literally!) and tell them where I live and my alma mater before I can get into my own house. Mind you, it's freezing and late.
To their credit, the three apologized and explained that because of recent criminal activity, they wanted to make sure I am who I say I am. But still...er...I had keys, what the fuck?!
Now I am not the type to cry "Racism!" but I think this is a practical case where the "R" word would best characterize the situation. Maybe the hoodie and black sneakers are "criminal uniform." But I also didn't know that criminals wear tinted prescription glasses or would do something as conspicuous as stand by a security booth, smoking a cigarette, and drawing attention to themselves. And let's not forget the major fact: I HAD KEYS!
While I understand the "need to verify," I can't help but wonder if the situation were different if my skin color was different. I shouldn't have to leave my building wearing my college sweatshirt and an alumni ring. And I shouldn't have to explain to people where I live and where I'm from. And wearing a hoodie in 35 degree weather isn't sketchy, it's practical.
The question of finding out who I am and whether I lived in their building could have been braced more tactfully, e.g., "I've never seen you here before." But the automatic assumption from white residents that because I smoke and wear a hoodie, I don't live here and am a criminal is very disturbing and offensive.
So to the group of three who wanted to make sure I wasn't coming in to rob them and rape their white women, I appreciate your vigilance but this is one black guy you don't have to be afraid of.
Moral: I have to go out and get cigarettes in suits. Or $100 sweaters without hoods. Especially no hoods.
At around 9:30 PM I left my apartment to get cigarettes. I wore a black hooded sweater jacket, light blue jeans, and black sneakers. I reach the store, get my smokes, and walk the long way back so I can enjoy my cigarette. Because it was cold I was walking quickly and reached my building far too soon. Usually, when this happens, I walk around to a spot where I can finish, but there were vagrants there, and quite frankly I didn't want to have any potential discussions with the homeless. So, I stand 1/4 block away from my door near a security post and finish my cigarette. I go inside, and prepare to open the inner door to the building, when three people (2 white and 1 East Asian) enter the vestibule. One says "Um, you don't live here."
To which I responded: "Yes I do" and showed my keys.
They continue to try and disprove the fact that I live here and I have to dangle my keys (literally!) and tell them where I live and my alma mater before I can get into my own house. Mind you, it's freezing and late.
To their credit, the three apologized and explained that because of recent criminal activity, they wanted to make sure I am who I say I am. But still...er...I had keys, what the fuck?!
Now I am not the type to cry "Racism!" but I think this is a practical case where the "R" word would best characterize the situation. Maybe the hoodie and black sneakers are "criminal uniform." But I also didn't know that criminals wear tinted prescription glasses or would do something as conspicuous as stand by a security booth, smoking a cigarette, and drawing attention to themselves. And let's not forget the major fact: I HAD KEYS!
While I understand the "need to verify," I can't help but wonder if the situation were different if my skin color was different. I shouldn't have to leave my building wearing my college sweatshirt and an alumni ring. And I shouldn't have to explain to people where I live and where I'm from. And wearing a hoodie in 35 degree weather isn't sketchy, it's practical.
The question of finding out who I am and whether I lived in their building could have been braced more tactfully, e.g., "I've never seen you here before." But the automatic assumption from white residents that because I smoke and wear a hoodie, I don't live here and am a criminal is very disturbing and offensive.
So to the group of three who wanted to make sure I wasn't coming in to rob them and rape their white women, I appreciate your vigilance but this is one black guy you don't have to be afraid of.
Moral: I have to go out and get cigarettes in suits. Or $100 sweaters without hoods. Especially no hoods.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Fall Of The Wall
I'm in a pisser of a mood, for a whole slew of reasons I can't list here. Mainly because no matter how bad my day is, there's always someone who has it worse. I just found out that Adara Almonte, a comedienne and hostess of the Laugh Force passed away this Saturday. I didn't know Adara very well, but I had worked with her before and she was a really nice person. Comedians like that are a rarity. I don't know what happened, but I am sorry for her family's loss.
I'm not going to pull a moment of silence demand, but it would be nice to take a deep breath and put things in perspective. It's something I haven't done in a while, and in it's own way, that pause is pulling me back from the edge. I have a show tomorrow, but after that I'm done with comedy for the rest of 2007 (all 11 days of it - big hiatus, I know). I just don't have the energy right now and I haven't talked to a vast majority of my friends, who are really angry that I haven't returned their calls in a while.
Moral of the story: reach out to somebody. Happy holidays.
I'm not going to pull a moment of silence demand, but it would be nice to take a deep breath and put things in perspective. It's something I haven't done in a while, and in it's own way, that pause is pulling me back from the edge. I have a show tomorrow, but after that I'm done with comedy for the rest of 2007 (all 11 days of it - big hiatus, I know). I just don't have the energy right now and I haven't talked to a vast majority of my friends, who are really angry that I haven't returned their calls in a while.
Moral of the story: reach out to somebody. Happy holidays.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
