Top Ten Hurricane Irene Social Media Clichés.

What a crazy weekend!  Now that it's all over and most of us survived, we can look back and have a chuckle.  I was glued to Facebook and Twitter for the storm and noticed some trends.  And I'm certainly guilty of a few of these (definitely #1 and #10).  How many did you do?  Can you think of any that I missed?

In no particular order, here are The Top Ten Hurricane Irene Social Media Clichés:

1) Booze as emergency supplies.
Example: Pictured: A gallon of Jack Daniels.  Caption: "Emergency supplies!"

2) Equating things a hurricane does to sexual things a woman might do.
Example: "Blows," "Gets you wet," and "Weakens."

3) Reports of coffee establishment status.
Example: "OMFG! Starbucks is closed!"

4) Saying "Good night, Irene."

5) Changing the lyrics from Dexys Midnight Runners' song "Come on Eileen" to "Come on Irene."

6) Mentioning the person in your life named Irene and personifying the storm accordingly.
Example: "Not to worry, if Hurricane Irene is anything like my cousin Irene, it just means we'll get an ugly sweater for Christmas."

7) Picture of fallen tree.

8 ) Being disappointed in the downgrade to tropical storm.
Example: "Is that all ya' got, Irene?!"

9) Being horrified that other people are disappointed it was downgraded to tropical storm.
Example: "How can you be upset by a downgrade?  Just be glad everyone is safe."

10) Reports about what peoples' parents are saying or doing.
Example: "My mother just called and told me to get an umbrella. Uh, thanks, Mom."

The words are either this or that. I'm not sure.

I love the song "The Choice is Yours" by Black Sheep.  Recently, it's gotten a resurgence of popularity because of those wacky hamsters in the Kia commercial.  I realize I've been singing the lyrics to this song since it came out in the early 90's.  I sing 'em loud and proud, assuming for almost 20 years that I know every single word.  It's occurred to me lately that I might not know the correct lyrics.  So... as an experiment, I will transcribe what I believe the words are and then look them up and see where I've gone wrong.

Here are the actual lyrics of the song.  The words I got correct will be in green and the words I screwed up will be in red.  The words I thought they were are below.  I wish I could put these side by side for more visual ease.  Some of my mistakes are quite hilarious.

Yo! Who's the Black Sheep, what's the Black Sheep?
Know not who I am, or when I'm coming so you sleep
Wasn't in my room or wasn't in this sphere
Knew not who I was, but listen here
Dres, D-R-E-S, yes I guess I can start
If it's all right with you, I'll rip this here one apart
Back, Middle, to the front, don't front
Wanna a good time, wanna give you what you want
Can I hear a hey? [Hey!]
Now get a yo! [Yo!]
You gotta hay? [Huh!]
It's for the hoes [Oh!]
The styling is creative, Black Sheep of the Native
Can't be violated, or even decepticated
I got brothers in the Jungle, cousins on the Quest
Dead retarded uncles, in pea porridge may they rest
Guess, which way, what, when, how
Mista Lawnge, Dres, Black Sheep slam NOW
Know you heard the others, phonies to the lovers
Then of course, the choice is yours

You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is where it's at
You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is kinda phat


Where's the Black Sheep, here's the Black Sheep
Even if we wanted to the flock could not be weak
Watch me swing like this, why should I swing it like that,
Because in fact, on me it might not attract
Therefore, I ignore, do as I feel inside
I live with me, I've got my back tonight
Ya know what I'm saying, yo Black, I'm not playin’
Need to go with this, and go with this with no delayin’
See, in actuality, one be can it be,
I made it look easy, because it is to me
Any time capacity was filled, try to rock it
Any time a honey gave us play, tried to knock it
Never was a fool, so we finished school
Never see us sweat, and you'll never see us drool
Out to rock the globe while it's still here to rock
Don't punch girls, and we don't punch a clock
Gotta go, gotta go, see you later by the cat
And you can't beat that with a bat

You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is where it's at
You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is kinda phat


Engine, engine number nine
On the New York transit line
If my train goes off the track
Pick it up, pick it up, PICK IT UP!

Back on the scene
Crispy and clean
You can try, but then why?
Cause you can’t intervene
We be the outcast
Down for the settle
Won’t play rock
Won’t play the pebble
Open the door
You best believe
We’re slidin’
Through it swiffft-ly

Niftily
We can make it
Hip to be
What we are
‘Cause
What we be
Be the epitome
Do Dah Dippity

So now I dwell
Just to say your plainer
Pull your coat
Cause I got the container
Pass the plate-ah
Cross the fader
Black Sheep get played
Like the Sony Innovator
Never the traitor
Party of later
And you can get a scoop
Later

I did a lot better than I thought I would.  I can't believe what I thought was "do as I philaside" was actually "do as I feel inside" and that "deppa dawn and uncles" was actually "dead retarded uncles."  And what the hell is "decepticated"?  Also, "Know you heard the others, phonies to the lovers" was not what I had been singing all along: "Know ya hurba hubbas, call yourself a lover" -- that's surprising.

Here are the words I transcribed first, as I thought they were, nonsense words and all:

Yo, who's the black sheep, what's the black sheep
Know not who I am or when I come inside your sleep
Wasn't in your realm or in your sphere
Know not who I was b'nest then here
Pres, P-R-E-S
Yes, I get second start
If it's alright with you, I'll rip this here gun apart
Back, middle to the front, don't front
Want a good time, gonna give you what you want
Can I hear a hey? Hey!
A giddio? Yo!
Ya got a have? It's for the house
Cause darling it's creative
Black sheep of the native
Can't be violated or even decepticated
I got brothers in the jungle
Cousins on a quest
Deppa dawn and uncles, in the car is where they rest
Yes, which way, what way, how?
Mr. Long dress, black sheep slam now
Know ya hurba hubbas
Call yourself a lover
Then of course, the choice is yours

You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is where it's at
You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is kinda phat

Where's the black sheep?
Here's the black sheep
Even if we wanted to, the clock cannot be beat
Cause we swing it like this, why should we swing it like that?
Because in fact, on me it might not attract
Therefor I ignore, do as a I philaside
I live with me, I've got my back tonight
Y'know what I'm sayin'?
Yo, black, I'm not playin'
Neither go with this and go with this with no delay
And see in actuality
One the canopy I make it look easy because it is to me
Anytime capacity, what's up, try to rock it
Anytime a honey gave us play, try to mock it
Never was a fool, so we finished school
Never see us sweat and you'll never see us drool
Out to rock the globe while it's still here to rock
Don't punch girls and we don't punch a clock
Gotta go, gotta go, see you later by the cat
And you can't beat that with a bat

You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is where it's at
You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is kinda phat

Engine engine number nine
On the New York transit line
If my train falls off the track
Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!

Back on the scene, crispy and clean
You could try but don't work cause you can't intervene
We be the outcasts, down for the setter
Won't play rock, won't play the pebble
Open the door, you best believe we're sliding through it swiftly
Niftily, we could make it hip to be
What we are 'cause what we be
Be the epitome
Doo dah dippity
So now I dwell just to say it plainer
Hold your cup 'cause I got the container
Pass the plate up, cross the fader
Black sheep could play like the Sony innovator
Never a traitor, party of later
And you can get a scoop later

You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is where it's at
You can get with this or you can get with that (X3)
I think you'll get with this 'cause this is kinda phat

This experiment was quite insightful (and took fucking forever).  I think I will continue to sing my lyrics.  After all, I'm an awesome rapper.

Birthday love: The final tally.

Well, I just wouldn't be me if I didn't track every little detail of my life.  I was curious about how many birthday wishes I got on my Facebook wall.  (Curiosity?  Really?  That's what it was?  Or was I motivated by ego alone?  I'm weak.  Don't judge.)  So I started counting and realized that "birthday wishes" are indeed a loose term.  Do "Have a great day!" and "Ur old" and "Get drunk tonight!" technically count as "birthday wishes"?  I mean, does the word "birthday" need to appear for it to be a birthday wish?  I have no idea.  I got some wishes in other languages that I can only assume are happy birthday wishes.  (I mean, death threats in Latin on my birthday would be just plain mean, right?)  And here it is:

I got roughly 212 messages of happy wishes on my birthday.  Roughly 17% of my total friendship roster.  Is that good?  Is that a lot?  Of course, there's no way to know because I'm the only winner cool enough to tally up birthday love.  Did it work?  Do I feel loved yet?

Happy new year! For me.

I had a birthday on July 27th.  I had my usual existential crisis of being psyched to have a birthday but unpsyched to be aging yet again.  Can't have both, it seems.

My mother took me to a fancy-ass lunch at the exclusive members only dining room at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Those who know me well know that I pretty much live at The Met.  It is my favorite place in the world.  And yet, I refuse to shell out the $60 it would take to be a member to eat in the fancy-ass special dining room.  That's why I keep my fancy-ass mother around.  She's good like that.

On my way home from lunch with my mother, my father called.  I'm omitting the boring details but here was pretty much the conversation:

Me: Hi, Dad!
Dad: Hi, Care!  How are you?
Me: Good.
Dad: Just wanted to let you know that [family news].
Me: Okay, have a safe flight.
Dad: And something else... oh, I wanted to let you know that [family health news].
Me: Okay, good to know.  Keep me posted.
Dad: Something else... something else...
Me: ... [keeps from laughing]
Dad: Well, I guess that's it.
Me: Okay, bye.
Dad: Bye.

Did you see that?  He totally forgot to wish me a happy birthday!  How cool is that?!  I don't think my father has ever seen the classic Molly Ringwald movie Sixteen Candles wherein the main character's entire family forgets her sixteenth birthday but I was thrilled to be a part of this inadvertent tribute.

The best part about my conversation with Dad is that I could tell he knew he forgot something -- he just couldn't remember what.  He had a lot he wanted to tell me and got sidetracked and just forgot the main purpose of the call.  And I was no help.  It was too glorious and funny.  Later, I went out to allow my friends to get me completely drunk and feed me cupcakes (see photo) -- as that's what "adults" do for birthdays.  I was happily recounting the story of Dad forgetting when he called to officially wish me a happy birthday.  So all was set right again.

And now I'm slightly hungover and year older and there are 364 days until the madness begins again.  My birthday goal is to write more because, y'know, I'm a special sacred gift to the world and this is one way for me to share my awesomeness.

The starting-on-time thing.

New York City shows never starts on time. The show says it starts at 8:00pm but it doesn’t get started until 8:15. Why is that? I’ve taken the liberty of trying to explain part of it:

First, a look behind the scenes:

A producer creates a show and gets comics/musicians/actors to agree to perform in it. The show is to begin at 8:00pm. At 7:50pm on the night of the show, the producer will say, “Ten minutes until show time” and everyone backstage swoons with anticipation. Then 8:00 will come and someone will say, “Okay, time to start the show,” and the producer will say, “Well, people are still filing in, let’s give them a few minutes to sit down.” And everyone agrees that starting the show when people are still walking in the door, finding their seats and getting settled would be distracting and annoying. So they wait. After all, shows never start on time. Everyone knows that.

Now, what’s happening outside:

Being supportive awesome friends, a group of people decide they want to see their friend perform on a stage. They all agree to meet at the venue at 7:45pm. That will give them enough time to grab a drink at the bar and get seated. Then one of them is a few minutes late. He arrives at 7:55pm and is apologetic and spends a few minutes explaining his delay to his friends. Before the show, everyone realizes that they should go to the bathroom. But since everyone had this idea simultaneously and this is a tiny New York venue, there is a big long line. Everyone waits. No one is anxious. After all, shows never start on time. Everyone knows that.

Do you see what’s happening here? The show is late because the audience is late and the audience is late because the show is late . It’s a vicious cycle. Better yet, here’s a graphic:


I'm not offering any solutions.  I'm just getting it out there for the good people, both performers and audience, who have said, "Aw poo, nothing starts on time in this city!"

I used four colons to make my point. Is that too many?

24 Hours in ONE DAY?

I'm shopping for a new bank. I really don't think that "24-hour ATMs" are quite the selling point they once were. In this modern age, I expect an ATM to be available 24 hours a day. It shouldn't be the first bullet point in your short list of reasons why I should do my business with your bank. It's like the hotel that still advertises "Color TV" in its ads. Really? ALL the colors? On one TV? Wow.  Sign me up.  Welcome to the future.

The No-Legs Diet.

Happy new year!  I trust everyone had a happy good time as the year changed from one to the next.  After eating nothing but beef and pork for about a month to "celebrate the holidays," my resolution is to practice my famous diet called The No-Legs Diet.

The No-Legs Diet is this: I will not eat the flesh of an animal that had legs at the time of its death. Meaning, I can eat fish and eggs but not beef, pork, chicken or any sea creature that crawls.

When I first came up with this diet, I explained it to a few friends. People love to try to find loopholes in my awesome diet plan. I think the Frequently Asked Questions about this diet are far more entertaining than the diet itself. In that vein, I present to you:

Frequently Asked Questions about the No-Legs Diet. (Actual questions I’ve gotten over the years.)

Reminder: The No-Legs Diet involves not eating the flesh of an animal that had legs at the time of its death.

1. Can you eat an egg?
Yes, an egg is an embryo and thus has no legs and is thereby edible under the terms of this diet.

2. Can you eat a mutant cow that was born with no legs?
Yes, a mutant cow born with no legs would be edible under this diet. However, I would need proof that it was such a cow.

3. Similarly, can you eat a mutant salmon that was born with legs?
No, under the rules of this diet, I would not be able to eat a mutant salmon born with legs.

4. Do tentacles count as legs?
I get this question a lot. Tentacles do not count as legs. I define a leg as an appendage which includes one or multiple joints. Therefore, I can eat squid but not shrimp.

5. If there was a freak cow born with legs that didn’t have any joints, thus not a leg by your definition, could you eat that?
Yes, but again, I would need proof of said cow.

6. What about clams, oysters and mussels?
Those are all fine. While they have an appendage that resembles a foot, I don’t consider it to be a leg and therefore, those are acceptable.

7. What about spiders?
No, I wouldn’t be able to eat spiders under the terms of this diet.

8. What about worms?
Yes, I would be able to eat worms while adhering to this diet.

9. How long can you possibly keep this up?
Luckily, I already failed and had some turkey by mistake like an idiot.  But I'm back on track and will continue my super fantastic diet until I don't feel like it any more.  Won't you join me?   I'm hoping it catches on and I can sell the book rights.

10. Is this the same diet that Jane Gavin wrote about on the famous Jane's Plastic Brain Train blog on April 10th, 2007?
Yes - with slight changes. You win a prize for knowing that.

Here's your $100, D-man.

DδΨξΘω?


 

This is the first time in my life I've lived in a building with a reliable super.  When he shows up, he gets shit done.  And with a smile.  This is new for me.  Most of my experiences in NYC housing have been pulling teeth with a cheap and mean/rude/abusive landlord.  (One time, I called my former landlord when the electricity went out.  His reply?  "It's night time, what do you need electricity for?  Go to sleep.")  But now, I have a great super.  He's good with elevator chit-chat and he's fast with a drill.  And thus, he deserves to be thanked at end-of-year-holiday-thanking time.

But alas, there's one thing about him that sucks.  I have no idea what his name is.  Well, I can say it, sort of, I just can't spell it.  And without knowing that, it's hard to drop $100 into a personalized card -- it just feels awkward.  It's either Dimitri, Demitri, Demetri, Demetrius, or Demitre.  Or something like that.  And there's no way to find out.  This year I thought we'd found our answer when we got a holiday card from him.  Finally!  It was signed, I swear, "Super and family" -- no names.  He's like a spy or something.

How bad is it to get a greeting card with your name completely misspelled?  Does the $100 soften the blow?  I think I'll just fill out the card, "Roger, happy holidays to you and yours."  That way, I'm so far off that it's funny and he'll think I'm being a kooky kook.  Good plan, right?  Who doesn't love a kooky kook card with cash in it?

The 9 to 5.

It's officially been six months since I've had an office job.  Here are the pros and cons as I see them.

Pros: Each day is my own.  I am my own boss.  I control the dress code, the sexual harassment policy, the vacation schedule, the company holiday card and the coffee break timetable.  It's all mine and there's a sense of satisfaction that comes with knowing that the money I earn is earned doing what I love doing and what I am meant to be doing.  Each day my hands move toward the goal of making myself completely aligned and in flow with my ultimate purpose.  It's enormously satisfying and fulfilling.

Cons: I don't drink as much water as I used to.

That's how I see it.  Now, back to work.

With friends like this, who needs frenemies?

Recently, I was hanging out with three "friends" and the topic of cosmetic surgery came up.  Here is how the conversation went.  This conversation was rapid-fire after the first sentence.

Carrie: A friend of mine got a minor procedure done and I never thought I would say it, but the results are amazing and I might want it done, too.  She just looks so good.
Friend #1: What is it?  Botox for the lines on your forehead?
Friend #2: Teeth whitening for your discolored and yellow teeth?
Friend #3: Or Invisalign to correct the crookedness?
Carrie: No.
F1: An arm tuck for the flapping sagging skin on your upper arms?
Carrie: No.  What the fuck, you guys.
F2: Liposuction for the jiggle around your tummy, ass and thighs?
F3: Skin bleaching for your disgusting freckles?
Carrie: No.  Alright, I get it guys. Come on.
F1: Nose slimming for the chunky end of your nose?
F2: Crescent breast lift for your sagging boobs?
Carrie: What? Really? No.
F3: Filler for the lines around your mouth?
F2: Eyelid fat reduction for those drooping eyelids?
Carrie: Is that even a thing?  No.

And so on.

Oh, how they laughed and laughed at my plummeting self-esteem.  Good stuff.

Have car, will drive.

Usually, when my father asks me if I want to use his car during the winter while he's in Mexico, I laugh in his face and say, "Hells no, my Pap-dawg!  I ain't need no hassle of gassin' it and worryin' about it and dealin' wit' no alt'nate side o' the street bullshnizz and diggin' it out of the snow and shizz.  Keep yo' crazy car, old man, keep it!"  (I'm paraphrasing.)

This year however, I got struck by a whim.  I said to myself: "Think Carrie.  If you had a car, you could more easily get to those gigs in Jersey or Connecticut or north of The Bronx without as much of an issue.  You'd be free to take any gig and you could get really well known across the country and become really famous and invest wisely in your fame and retire and take a nap."  And I love naps so I accepted my father's generous offer.  He added me to his insurance and suddenly, I have a car.

This last week, I lived the dream.  I booked a gig in Long Island and chauffeured myself and another comic to it.  (By the way, this particular gig was so inaccessible via public transportation that when I asked Google maps about it, Google went into a weeping trembling coma.)  We did the gig and I drove us back to civilization.  A mini-roadtrip!

And yesterday, I chauffeured a comic to his gig north of the city and he actually paid me.  We got there and I did 23 seconds of crowd-work before introducing him.  We had a giggly comic-bonding ride there and back.  And, bonus: he had a GPS device which is really the only way to travel when you have no idea where you're going.  AND... I faced my fear of driving on the streets of Manhattan, which I have been raised since birth to fear.  Go me.

Anyway, I have a car and I want to drive it.  If you're a comic and you need a ride to a gig, I'll trade you a ride for a spot.  Or money.  Or both.  (Depends on the gig.)  Let's live the dream!

How long you been doing it?

At some point, when two comics are getting to know each other, one will inevitably ask the other one, "How long you been doing it?"  It's kind of like asking someone what their major is or what they do for a living.  It's a getting-to-know-you type of question.  But, of course, it's wrought with judgment thusly:

If the comedian really sucks, and they've been doing it 10 years, you think to yourself, "Holy shit, 10 years and you still suck? What happened? I'm so glad I'm not you."

If the comedian is amazingly excellent and they've been doing it five months, you think to yourself, "Holy shit, five months and you're already that good already?  Damn you!" And no matter how good they are, no matter how they shred an audience into strips, if they've only being doing it five months, they're still considered a newborn.  There's a kind of paying-your-dues that they still have to endure. Where is the cut-off for earned industry respect?  I'm not entirely sure.

The thing that I always want to ask is:  How intensive was the time that you've been doing stand-up?  Assuming natural talent is equal, if you've gotten on stage once every six months for the last 10 years, yeah, you might still suck.  And if you've been getting up three times a night for the last five months, yeah, you might be really really good. A better question is: How many times have you been on stage in the time you've been doing stand-up?  I'm not sure if every comedian knows that number but I know mine (and I have no idea how it compares, incidentally).

I've been doing it just over three years -- still a baby in the eyes of the industry.  But the very first time I ever got on stage alone to tell original jokes to a live audience was one night two years before that.  Should I count that?  If that's the case, I can legitimately answer five years.  But I don't count that. I count the day I said, "I want to be an stand-up comedian," and quivered on stage for the first time -- and then started getting up regularly.

One time, I asked a comedian how long she'd been doing it and she simply answered, "I don't answer that."  On the one hand, that's a little snotty, but on the other hand, she was saying that her comedy should speak for itself.  If she's good, she's good, and it shouldn't matter how long she's been doing it.  It's a good point.  But I still wanted to know, y'know, to judge her and stuff.

How the show goes.

After doing comedy a while, I've noticed that there is a science to whether or not I have a good set on a given night.  And since a picture speaks a thousand words, I have created this handy chart to illustrate the results of my scientific research.  Here is how you can know how your set will go:


That's all there is to it.  I hope this research helps a young aspiring comedian out there.

Funny. For a girl.

To be noted: Please believe me when I say that the following is reported with great humor and that no ill-will is wished toward the guilty party who is actually a good friend of mine.

I'm not one of those people who boo-hoo that comedy is a boys' club.  I much prefer to think of comedy as more of a funny-people club.  That's why when a booker asked me to do a show in these exact words, I had to chuckle.  And I quote:
"We like to put a female between the comedians in the line-up of our show."

That means, in this booker's mind, the show's line-up goes something like this:

  1. Comedian

  2. Comedian

  3. Comedian

  4. Female

  5. Comedian

  6. Comedian


I think that's a little awesome.  This guy was just so blunt.  But I didn't mind.  He was, after all, asking me to be in his show, which means I'm doing something right, ya?

Books I pretend I have read.

Here's what I'm allowed to say:  I graduated from college so that proves I'm smart!  (Albeit a college that has since gone out of business, but whatevs.)  People may or may not be shocked to find out that I didn't fully read some of the required educational literature from 6th grade until I graduated from college and I've been sort of lying about it ever since.  Assignments were boring and life was fun.

That said, if these works come up in casual conversation, you would never guess that I hadn't read the whole damn thing cover to cover.  I'm that good.  Try me sometime. I've got an understanding of the text, skimmed the chapters, maybe read a Cliff Notes or two, but there is a shameful list of literature that I haven't actually read in its entirety.  These are works on which I've written full papers, done deep analysis and about which I've given amazing oral presentations.  This speaks volumes about my ability to glean context, extrapolate subtext and bullshit like the dickens.

Here is my shameful list:

The Hound of the Baskervilles - Bor-ring.  I read the first few chapters and gave up.  The final project was a diorama -- the golden gift assignment for the bullshitter.

Huckleberry Finn - OMG, he's friends with a black guy!  N-word, n-word, river raft, who cares?

Hamlet - I think he goes mad because he has an uncle-dad or something.

King Lear - He's got some daughters and something happens.

The Scarlet Letter - No one in town likes Hester Prynne.  Spoiler alert: it was the priest.

The Odyssey - Something about a journey where a lot of stuff happens.  I read the interesting parts.

Paradise Lost - I think I wrote a 15 page paper analyzing other people's analysis and never actually read the whole book.  It's friggin' LONG.

The Stranger - That song by The Cure is a way better synopsis.

With this list in mind, please note that there is a much longer list of books that I actually did read.   I hope none of my former teachers read this.  Will that void my diploma?

The Rules.

I’m sure I’m not the first to come up with the idea of a list of rules or guidelines for stand-up comedians.  Unfortunately, this idea runs counter to comedic philosophy.  In the comedy world, you are constantly told that there are no rules or that any rules are meant to be broken.  It’s a world where for every rule, you can find several exceptions.  And yet, I still find the need to make a list of rules – rules of etiquette that I feel should be obvious.  Keep in mind, I don’t dare fancy myself an authority on this stuff.  I’m a simple comedian, trying to make it big.  If I were an expert, I’d be big already, right?  I’m still learning, still growing, so maybe I’m still new enough to think there should be some rules.  Here’s my first one:

Rule number 1: Don’t insult people just for coming to see you perform.

I see this all the time.  There’s a show that’s not well attended and there are only five people in the audience.  Five kind-hearted normal people who came out to have a good time, see some comedy and have a chuckle.  These are not five people who came out to be berated and insulted for not being 40 people.  They can’t help it.  These are the people who showed up.  When comedians take out their aggression on a small crowd for not being a bigger crowd, it makes me cringe.  It makes everyone uncomfortable and makes these poor innocent people not ever want to see live comedy again.

This happens: The comedian will come out and say, “Look at you five idiots.  Why are you here?  Didn’t you losers have anything better to do tonight?”  No, they paid to come out and see you entertain them.  They should be thanked.  They shouldn’t have to defend themselves for being a small audience.  Again, that’s not their fault.  It’s like throwing a birthday party to which no one comes and then yelling at the one friend who does show up.  It defies logic, it’s uncomfortable and it’s rude.

Unless they make it abundantly clear that they deserve otherwise, always be nice to your audience.  Your small audience of today is your big audience of tomorrow.  Each one of those five people could have five friends who have five friends and you need that kind of exponential admiration to fill Giant’s Stadium one day.  So be nice.

File under WTF.

my best friendThis "news" article pissed me off enough to express my outrage on both Twitter AND Facebook, so please excuse my profanity-laced rant about it.  Here is the headline:
Poll: A third say pets listen better than husbands

What the fuck, indeed.  A third of who?  Losers?  People with no friends?  People who never should have gotten married?  Who are these people?


The headline was enough to make me not want to read the article but morbid curiosity lead me on.   Why is what morons are thinking “news” these days?  I will dismantle what is wrong with the world, through the eyes of this “news” piece here:
By SUE MANNING, Associated Press Writer Sue Manning, Associated Press Writer – Wed Apr 28, 12:34 pm ET

LOS ANGELES – Husbands, if you end up in the doghouse, consider it a promotion.

This is plain stupid.  Sorry, Sue Manning, but it is.
A third of pet-owning married women said their pets are better listeners than their husbands, according to an Associated Press-Petside.com poll released Wednesday. Eighteen percent of pet-owning married men said their pets are better listeners than their wives.

Again: You should not be married if this is true.  Or, if you are going through a rough patch in your marriage, as is normal from time to time, you should find some friends. Human friends.

Christina Holmdahl, 40, talks all the time to her cat, two dogs or three horses — about her husband, naturally.

"Whoever happens to be with me when I'm rambling," said Holmdahl, who's stationed with her husband at Fort Stewart in Georgia. "A lot of times, I'm just venting about work or complaining about the husband."

She thinks everyone should have a pet to talk to like her horse, Whistle, who's been with her since she was 19.

"We all say things we don't mean when we are upset about stuff," she said. "When we have time to talk it out and rationalize it, we can think about it better and we can calm down and see both sides better."

She admits to “rambling” which makes her a crazy person.  Also, Whistle hates you, it's a fact.  Next.
It would be a toss-up whether Bill Rothschild would take a problem to his wife of 19 years or the animal he considers a pet — a palm-sized crayfish named Cray Aiken. His daughter brought it home four years ago at the end of a second grade science project.

Bill, a crayfish named Cray Aiken makes you a giant fucking idiot.  But let’s hear more:
Rothschild, 44, of Granite Springs, N.Y., considers Cray a better listener than his wife, "absolutely. She doesn't listen worth anything." He doesn't get much feedback from the crustacean, but it's been a different story over the years with family dogs and cats.

"You definitely feel much more comfortable sharing your problems with them," he said. "A little lick from a big dog can go a long way."

I will spell it out because it needs to be said: If you prefer the company of a crayfish to the company of your wife: Get a divorce, fuckbag.  GET A DIVORCE.
Overall, about one in 10 pet owners said they would talk their troubles over with their pets.

The AP-Petside.com poll also found that most people believe their pets are stable and seldom struggle with depression. Just 5 percent of all pet owners said they had taken an animal to a veterinarian or pet psychologist because it seemed down in the dumps. Even fewer said they'd ever given antidepressants to a pet.

WHAT THE FUCK!!??
But they weren't opposed to the idea: 18 percent of those polled said they were at least somewhat likely to take a pet to a vet or pet psychologist if it was dejected.

WHAT THE FUCK?  First-world problems, people.

Ron Farber, 55, of Hoxie, Kan., said it's easier to talk to his dog Buddy than his wife because "the dog doesn't have an opinion."

"I think better out loud. He doesn't care what you say or do. He looks at you, pays attention, you walk through the problem in your mind and eventually, the answer comes. It's not as easy when other people are offering opinions," he said.

Ron, doesn’t like his wife because she “[has] an opinion.” Nothing bothers me more than when I’m talking to someone about my problems and they have an opinion.  Ron, GET A DIVORCE.

Is this what marriage does to people? People tell me there are things I "won't understand until I'm married." Is this one of those things? Thanks, I'll pass. I'm trying not to become a giant fucking moron whose best friend is a crayfish.


Read the whole article here.

How to take a compliment.

I used to think extreme modesty was the only way to go.  If someone complimented a good set I did, I would say something along the lines of, “It was a good crowd.”  I thought I would sound conceded if I agreed.  I’ve stopping doing that.  Now, if I have a good set and someone compliments me, I smile graciously and say thank you and let myself feel good about it.  I work very hard at what I do and I feel that shifting the credit to something else diminishes my hard work.  (Conversely, if I have a bad set, I have no one to blame but myself.)  Naturally, I love getting compliments but the one I got last week took the cake as far as a new-to-me way to get one.

A drunk and disorderly patron was in the process of being ejected from the club.  He was standing in the hallway arguing, being loud and shouting insults at the club and its staff.  In the mayhem, I and some other comics peaked our heads out into the hallway to see what this awful person looked like.  He caught sight of me and, enraged and red-faced, surrounded by the club staff and the bouncers and servers, he pointed at me and screamed, “YOU! YOU WERE FUNNY!”  I, cartoon-like, looked to my right, looked to my left, pointed at myself and mouthed, “Me?”  He screamed, “YEAH, YOU! FUNNY!” and then he was thrown from the club.  A drunken, angry, disruptive freak in mid-club-ejection thinks I’m funny?  That’s a new one but I’ll take it.  I smiled graciously and said thank you.

Ima be, Ima be, on ya phone.

I’m not sure this qualifies as the coveted “TV cred” but it’s still pretty damn cool.  I do a set, it goes up on a website and can then be downloaded onto your mobile device.  Soon, you’ll be able to watch my stand-up on the go:  In your car while driving high speeds, in a movie theater while watching a boring movie, on an above-ground outer-borough  train while on your way to do something cheaper than it is in Manhattan.  This is very exciting for me.  I’m a little nervous because my material has to be prime-time clean.  (Does the word “orgasm” count as clean these days?)  Anyway…

I’d love to have some audience love for the taping, which is FREE as a bird.  (As a bird would fly, not as it would cost if you bought a dead one to consume, and not as a caged zoo bird either.)  I can also personally promise that five of the other comedians are very funny gifted performers.  It's going to be a fun night!

Here are the deets:

Comedy Time TV
Live Show Taping
Monday April 19, 2010
9:00pm (doors open at 8:30)

Broadway Comedy Club
318 W. 53rd St.
NY, NY 10019

Hope you can make it out to laugh at the things that I say.