sha na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye

Tomorrow, June 1, I am going on the wagon.

I have never considered myself an alcoholic in the addicted sense - drinking every day, blacking out, waking up as someone's prison bitch - but I've spent all but one of the last fifteen years drinking like a college student at least once a week, and it's time to pack it in. Even though I exercise regularly, which helps a lot, my body doesn't recover like it used to. The day after a night out is a fog - very little gets done or written. I'm 36 and don't have time to be a zombie if I want to take this stand-up thing to the next level. And the next time I say "take [something] to the next level," please do me a favor and throw a shot glass at my head.

The other issue is money. I live in a town where you can get a good buzz on for $20, but it adds up, and now that I a) own a house, and b) drive anywhere from 90 minutes to 2.5 hours at least twice a week to get onstage, my income simply can't finance unnecessary habits.

So, done.

This afternoon I'm making the haul to Indy to do the open-mic at Crackers (Broad Ripple Village). I will only get one slot, possibly two, in June, then a few in July. That plus a monthly set in Springfield and a weekly set here gives me only a handful of opportunities to get good sets on tape so I can begin trying to get paid for my efforts. I don't plan on being an open-mic'r any longer than it takes to polish at least half an hour's worth of material, and I'm confident I'll do that by year's end. 21-year-olds have the luxury of dropping everything, moving to New York, and bombing for five years. I don't.

The Good, The Bad, and the Indifferent

I wrote before about the benefits of doing different kinds of open-mics, not just comedy club open-mics. There are disadvantages, too, like doing a set in front of 9 people, 6 of whom are not paying any attention, as I did last night.

Star Wars

Good news: with the release of Star Wars Episode III, the franchise is officially over (at least until Lucas remasters the films for DVD, filling in every corner of every frame with even more spaceships going nowhere).

I was - and still am - a fan of the original Star Wars and the Empire Strikes Back. Return of the Jedi had too many teddy bears. If you think Episodes I and II were good, please feel free to email me and offer to eat my ass. If only Lucas had hired someone who can actually write dialog that didn't make me want to affix my earlobes to my temples with a staple gun, things might have been better.

Episode III is leagues beyond those two, but it has another problem - too much digital. The irony is that bazillions of dollars worth of animation technology does not make everything look more real; it makes everything look too fake, too slick, too clean. Every exterior shot features hundreds if not thousands of ships, droids, and goofy aliens, to the point where the effects cease to have any, well, effect. Remember that lone starcruiser in the opening shot of the original? That was cool. 305 of them is just overkill.

Trinkets...

I mentioned Jim Norton's Trinkets I Own Made from Gorilla Hands in yesterday's post. Here's a full review:

Buy it.

This CD was recorded at The Stress factory in NJ in late 2003, when the D.C. snipers and the French heat wave were news and Christopher Reeve was still alive. Norton takes shots at Obsessive Compulsive Disorder sufferers, "ethnic pride," current TV sitcoms, Cosmo magazine, and white people who say the N-word, among others.

"How does a show like Friends become the #1 show in the only country to have dropped a nuclear weapon? You know what Friends episode I want to see? When Charles Barclay kicks the door down, throws acid in their faces and tea bags them. Then Kobe comes in and rapes everybody."

I'll be ordering Yellow Discipline promptly.

"Fat Pigs Deserve to Cry"

My title for today's post is what's scrawled in the cartoon that serves as the disc art on the new Jim Norton CD I just received in the mail, Trinkets I Own Made With Gorilla Hands, and I agree wholeheartedly. Now before you go rolling your eyes at my "sexist, size-ist comments," please know that I am not contemptuous of all fat people. I had an aunt who smoked, drank, and hustled pool, who was fat and knew it and flaunted it and didn't give a shit, and that's fine. If you're that kind of fattie, you go girl.

If, however, you're one of those young, in-denial fatties who displays your mid-riff despite the fact that you appear to have just eaten a bag of road salt, who carries a little tiny handbag with little tiny straps that gets lost in the oatmeal cookie dough you call an armpit, who secretly resents the fact that your hot friends get laid, this tale's for you, so listen up.

First, a little background: I teach freshman English, which is a euphemistic way of saying I am currently banging a 20-year-old bottle-blond. Let's call her "Katie," since I seem to have at least three Katies in every section I teach these days.

SIDEBAR: If you're over 18 and still like to be called "Katie" instead of your given name of Katherine or Kathleen, please stop. Your given name is much sexier. If you sign your name, "Katie," with a little heart over the "i," please set yourself on fire.

So Katie was back home with her folks for a few weeks, which is a euphemistic way of saying I wasn't getting any during that time, and just got back to town this past Thursday while I was at the Bloomington FunnyBone telling tasteless Michael J. Fox jokes. I knew I'd find her at Friends & Co. sipping a double white russian when I got back to town, and I did. Katie is one of those rare young women (but not too rare, thank god) who is smarter than her years and, in this case, can actually write. You wouldn't know it looking at her calf-high suede hooker boots and mini-skirt which would more accurately be called a belt. I know that sounds like a load ("I think that stripper really likes me!"), but trust me, at 36 it takes a bit more than T&A to get me aroused.

Katie insists that, before I take her to my place to T-bone her on my giant red porn-ready sectional, we drive to her apartment so she can grab a pair of gold-flecked high heeled shoes because they "will so totally match the decor." So, like an idiot, I did and passed at least three police cars in the process, but we made it back to my place sans DUI. Having been up for more than 20 hours, I was unsure of my stamina, so first I treated Katie to a good fifteen minutes with the vibrator (the motor died months ago, so it's actually a dildo with a screw cap) then T-boned her on the bed, which the heels did not match at all, a fact Katie was quick to observe.

CUT TO:

"My boobs hurt." Gentlemen, there are two reasons why a woman would say this: 1) new, bad bra, and 2) pregnant. Oddly enough, Katie had a new, bad bra she was showing off that night, so I told myself that was the cause and continued, adjusting my nipple-tweaking accordingly.

CUT TO:

INT. FRIENDS & CO. - LAST NIGHT

"I have to talk to you." You can probably see where this is going, so I will cut to the chase. Katie's fat friend has laid the whole I'm-so-happy-for-you, Can-I-be-the-godmother, But-it-has-a-heartbeat trip on her because she is one of those women for whom pregnancy is the only thing that will justify her fat stupid existence, who dreams of being a "soccer mom" and dropping a screaming, pink tax-credit from her big, floppy vagina every nine months, who will no doubt grow up to be fat stupid Christians.

Before you recoil in horror at that one, please also know that I am not anti-religion. I am, however, against people who project their insecurities, fears, and resentments onto others under the guise of faith because they're fat and can't bring themselves to either do something about it or go with it, and I wish some professional psychologist would write a book on this particular type of chubby vampire.

Luckily, Fatty's protests are in vain, and I won't have to make her cry. Katie and I are on the same page about this, and I'll probably be chauffeuring her on the appointed day later this week.

CUT TO:

The Moral of the Story:

Buy a vibrator.

Bloomington 5.19

Last night was the final College Night at The Bloomington FunnyBone till September, and I turned out a good 5-minute set, as did the rest of the open-mic folks who went up ahead of Ty Barnett, the headliner. A crowd of 150 is easier than a crowd of 15 any day of the week. I pulled the mike out and - voila - no jitters. Then I yanked out my poem sheet and, damn, shaking. But this time I was prepared and told the audience I was just working out my Michael J. Fox impression, which earned me the loudest, unanimous groan I have ever heard.

It was great.

Ken Jr., whom I saw his first time onstage in Springfield a couple months back, was much improved already and really had some good structure to his set. A guy I've seen three or four times now and whose name I cannot remember for the life of me also did well. He reminds me of Mitch Hedberg but with a slightly angrier edge to his delivery. Greg Larson wrapped it up, and it was on to Ty, who killed for most of his set.

Driving home, it occurred to me that if I get my usual class schedule in the fall I will miss these Thursdays. This morning I shot off an email to my department chair asking for earlier sections. I felt like a whiney ingrate for doing so - this is the easiest and best teaching gig I have ever had - but I really do not want to miss those Bloomington shows. Besides, the waitress in our section was a very sweet and very striking young woman named Bambi. And that alone is worth the drive.

And you are...

One thing about the internet that's both wonderful and somewhat disturbing is that it allows people from your past to find you and leave anonymous comments on your web site. I've left anonymous comments on a couple of the blogs I frequent, but not when I was personally acquainted with the blogger. Short, anonymous comments that include details to let you know that the poster knows you make you wonder if the poster is being sarcastic, is someone who has always hated you, or just needs a thorough shagging. All of the above might make it interesting.

In any case, my anonymous commenter, I cannot place a face with the name Dorie Cohn to save my life, but I remember Denise Fair very well and recall hearing that she had published a book some time ago.

A Google search turned up one weblog at Holland College and a book on sexual abuse recovery but no photos or anything that would confirm it is the same Denise Fair with whom I took an undergraduate writing shop at the University of Baltimore some 16 or 17 years ago, where I also edited the campus lit mag for a year and, yes, sent Lyn Lifshin's poems back to her on more than one occasion, so drunk was I with editorial power.

I recall that she sent at least a dozen pages, folded separately, smudged, and falling apart at the creases. When I asked her to limit her submissions to five pages that were actually readable, she did the same thing again. Of course, hate mail was in order. I don't recall what I wrote, but we didn't get any more work from her.

I've put some dumb things in print in my life - a few of which I hope no one kept - as well as some not-that-dumb things, but I usually put my name to them. I invite "anonymous" to do the same.

Summer, College Town

After waiting an hour after the usual start time to see if anyone would sign up, I did my MC set to about 12 people. I recorded the set on a four-track, and while my voice sounds good, I'll have to paste in some cheers and applause from a Denis Leary record, or maybe Kiss Alive II. I didn't even bother with the video. Not a minute after I stepped down, another dozen strolled in, all smokin' hot chicks.

Of course.

I'm on the list in Bloomington tomorrow. It will be their last show till September (college town). I really want to do well there because the owner fills his opener/feature slots on the weekends with guys from his open-mic's. Doing well there means doing it reasonably clean, unfortunately, but I'll take that as a challenge.

Lenny

Watched the Lenny Bruce documentary Without Tears the other day. Believe it or not, I had never seen Lenny Bruce perform before. I'd heard some audio clips, but that's it. The great thing about his early years is how personable he was on stage even when challenging the social conventions of his time with his material. He would come on in his neat black suit, all smiles, and attack.

a few things...

1. Clothes Make the Asshole.
I found myself reviewing my last few sets again and still flip-flopping on whether I should wear a suit onstage, and right now I am writing about my self-consciousness on the internet like a fat chick without a prom date.

So yesterday I went to Tuscola to an outlet mall frequented by soccer moms dragging around their fat-ass bratty spawn and bought two decent but inexpensive suits. If I'm going to say "cunt" in front of strangers, I might at least look good doing it.

2. Clean vs. Dirty.
I don't always say "cunt." In fact, about half of my material doesn't even contain much, if any, foul language, though most of it is probably offensive to someone in terms of content. The distinction between clean and dirty has always been blurry to me. When Jim Norton says, "It's not rape if she blinks twice for yes," is that clean or dirty? The implications are obviously X-rated, but the language is not. I don't think about clean/dirty when writing. I think about funny. Or pussy.

3. Trash Talking
Why do some comedians feel compelled to trash talk other comedians onstage? I've seen this happen three or four times since I started in February. One time it was a not so thinly veiled jab at one of my own bits. Good - at least they were paying attention. On another occasion a guy poked fun at another guy as he was getting off stage. Recently, a guy at an open-mic opened with "And the crap fest continues."

Thanks man 'preciate it.

I've seen at least three different comedians blow shit at the Blue Collar crew, particularly Larry the Cable Guy. Don't get me wrong, I don't care for their brand of humor either, and frankly I fail to understand how Bill Engvall strikes anyone as funny. But I don't feel the need to use my precious few minutes of time onstage to trash anyone who's actually made it. It ain't easy. I have other material I want to do, like aliens abducting the Olsen twins and making them play "tickle the taco."

4. Whoopi
If you haven't caught Whoopi Goldberg's Back to Broadway on HBO, do it.

"I am Rourke, your host..."

...welcome to Rape Fantasy Island. I will be hosting the Friends & Co. open-mic this Wednesday and, hopefully, making professional audio and video recordings of the set, which I hope to post on a new web site this summer.

For those of you who are looking for more stage time, I highly recommend you find a music open-mic in your area. There are several advantages to this:

1. Most comedy club open-mic's give you 3-6 minutes, max. Music open-mics generally give performers three songs/ten minutes, whichever comes first. If you're getting laughs, no one will mind you being up there for ten minutes or more.

2. In my (admittedly limited) experience, comedy club audiences are attentive and reasonably well-behaved. This is not true at rock and roll bars, where often the only ones paying attention are the other musicians, some of whom are just being nice until it's their turn to show off. Everyone else is drinking and talking. Why is this an advantage? If you can get laughs out of that crowd then you're accomplishing something.

3. At comedy clubs you're going up with anywhere from three to a dozen comedians. Even if you're funny, people will forget your name and most of what you said - your performance is buried in a blur of 5-minute performances. If you do even a barely competent job of getting laughs at a music open-mic, you will be a welcome change of pace, "the comedian," and before long folks will show up just to see you (it may be only three people, but hey...).

4. There's a sound board and a guy who knows how to use it - you can tape all your sets free of charge and build up a demo CD or tape. Comedy clubs often will offer you an audio or video tape of your few minutes but charge you $10 for the privelege.

5. If you're friendly and show up every week, sooner rather than later you may get the opportunity to host the thing.

6. Last but not least, unless you're doing an early evening open-mic at a coffee shop, there are no restrictions on language/material. If your stuff is R-rated or above, you can let her rip.

So quit your whining about not getting enough stage time and make your own stage time. A microphone and a stage is a microphone and a stage. Rock it.

Tape Doesn't Lie

Just watched the tape of last night's Bloomington set. Below is the set with laughs ranked on a scale of 1-3 "*":

Mr. Clean's Evil Twin**
NASCAR***
The Bears [forgot this joke!]
Poem: "Meth"***
Rock & Roll Sucks*
Poem: "Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll"***
The Grateful Dead Box Set**
Hippies**
Poem: "After the Frat Party"***

First of all, I have to get my appearance/presentation in order and consistent. I've tried the casual untucked look, the suit, and the t-shirt/jeans/denim jacket. I think the plain tee with jeans (that fit) is the way to go, sans jacket. My material is not Leno or Seinfeld, and while I think I look good in a suit, that doesn't feel right. Tees with logos or rock band names or silly phrases are something I never wore in the first place, and at 6'3" and 230 lbs., they would be obnoxious and distracting anyway. Besides, I always think comics who wear Blink 182 shirts are working too hard to advertise how cool they are.

I did an all right job with the delivery, and it was tighter than in previous sets, but it's still inconsistent and a bit wordy. I need to think about my facial expressions/attitude when switching gears between bits and poems. I didn't take the mike out of the stand because in Springfield on Wednesday my hand visibly shook despite the fact that I didn't feel nervous, and I wasn't about to risk that in front of 200+ half drunk students. The problem: I made one quick attempt to adjust the stand and failed, so I was hunching a bit over the mike. This accentuates my neck fat very unflatteringly.

I flubbed a couple lines but not in a way that anyone would notice. I forgot my Chicago Bears joke entirely. The new material (Rock and Roll Sucks) needs fleshing out. Despite all this, the response was positive, and afterwards at least twenty people (several with very impressive racks) came up and complimented me on my set. I've only been doing this since February and have been on stage a grand total of a dozen times, so... so far so good.

Bloomington

Did the open mic ahead of Full Impact at the Bloomington, IL Funny Bone tonight. My set went well (I did a couple minutes of brand new stuff and a new opener). The 200+ crowd of ISU students was great, and I was reminded why I wanted to get into stand-up in the first place - a room full of smoking hot ass. Greg Larson organized the open mic. Cool guy.

I have to say that the guys in Full Impact are pretty damn good, though it's not the type of show I'd drive for if I wasn't already in the room - musical numbers, etc. Tim Kaminski is one of those "seasoned veteran" comedians who really knows how to work an audience, and I laughed at his stuff the most, but the only bit I remember well is Having Fun With Cops, which alone is worth the price of admission. Steve Kramer, the youngin', did great impressions and played all the music. I haven't heard an impression bit that made me howl since Eddie Murphy's "Delirious," but I'm always in awe of people who can do them well. It's a skill I don't have.

All in all, it was a fun night, and I'll go back next week, which will be that FB's last show till September.

1 Night

Tied for first place with Travis Lipski at the Funny Bone (Springfield) open mic tonight and won my gas money back. Once again, the poems stole the show. I did the Evil Dead II bit, and that went over like a passenger jet on 9/12. Word of advice: most audiences over thirty in the midwest haven't seen that movie, so unless you're prepared to do a lot of set-up, don't expect a big response to any bit based on that.

I forgot to pay my tab before driving back to Charleston through one hell of a rain storm and doing the same set in front of 12 very unappreciative fucksticks in my own town. For the second set I added new bit on cop shows that I thought worked all right and got three laughs. I'm hosting that one next week, so they'll pay.

In Springfield, one guy got on stage and took his clothes off then put on a fake beard and hat and mumbled incoherently in (lame) black voice for five minutes. For a closer he said "cock fuck bitch nigger" and walked off to dead silence. Either he lost a bet or has balls the size of Mars. Either way, he got nothing. There was a good crowd and about ten of us going up, so it was a good time, and Don the owner promised me a slot at Bloomington tomorrow (5/12).

I'll be there.

2 Nights

Tuesday night in Indy went well. Matt Holt gave me 6 minutes for my drive (2.5 hours) rather than the usual 3. I did my Hitler-Pussy routine with the poems from last week's Friends Show mixed in. Again, the poems were a hit, so it's time to crank out a few more of those. The response to the routine was mixed but mostly decent, but once again I got a few handshakes and enthusiastic compliments afterwards. I'll go back in June. Oh, and these guys were there.

Wednesday at Friends & Co. was, well, Wednesday at Friends & Co. - about 20% of the crowd paid attention. The rest talked amongst themselves and looked vaguely pissed off. I did the same routine from Tuesday sans poems and left out the best line. I didn't even know it till I saw the tape. Part of the routine discusses ladies' pubic mohawks, and luckily for me an ex-student was there, right in front with his mohawk (on his head). So I had a target. A current student, Matt Moran, got up a little later and did OK, considering the drunken college crowd.

Crackers, Broad Ripple, IN

My mother and stepfather will be here Thursday for Mother's Day weekend, which means I have to finish painting the newly drywalled living room by Wednesday so I can move the couch from the center of my kitchen back to where it belongs. I also have quite a lot of cleaning up to do - removing body hair from bathroom surfaces, hiding the vibrator, that sort of thing.

On top of all that I have to prepare three minutes of knock-down, drag-out laughs before I make the 2.5 hour drive to Indy to do the open-mic at Crackers. Somewhere amidst all of that I have to do final grades for my three comp sections as well as get another 10 minutes together for Friends & Co. on Wednesday.

I have never been restricted to three minutes, but I think the pubes routine will fit nicely, so long as there are no unexpected content restrictions. Crackers' open mic does have a "no fuck" rule, but that's to be expected.

Question: why do comedy clubs have such terrible names? Crackers, Zanies, Bananas...there's even one called (get ready) Hilarity's. Here's an idea: Fuk'n Yuks.