Headlined....

The Village 247 is my home base it looks like. Somehow this room full of rowdy Brooklyn drunks has welcomed me into its arms. I closed out the show tonight and got called back on stage for an encore. I feel bad, because I kind of half-assed it a little bit. I've been there so often, I figure most of them have already heard all my jokes, but I got love just the same. I have a tape from this room that I have been sending out to clubs and showcases. Only one bite so far, but I blame that more on the fact that most tapes just end up in the trash or in a pile in the corner without ever being watched.

Anyway, on the off chance that this Blog has an audience, the Village 247 is a great room. It's in the basement of a restaurant owned be a very friendly local, and the room itself is run by Tommy Amado. It's every Friday at 10 p.m. 247 Smith St. (btwn Douglass & Degraw) 718-855-2848 - You can get there by the G train, Bergen stop. The word is out among comedians, so spots are getting competetive, but the level of talent is increasing as a result.

Also, I'm working at the Boston Comedy Club in Greenwich Village now (working the door, barking people in), so I'll be going up late nights there. Dave Chappelle started at this club and he shoes up randomly often to spend an hour on stage. This is right around the corner from the Comedy Cellar (the toughest club to get into for comics in the city), so you get a lot of comics walking over to do sets while they're in the neigborhood. It's a good room to meet comics higher up the food chain, so, while I hate barking, it seems like the most worthwhile place to bark.

I've started working as an extra. Actually, my first gig is Monday, when I will be an extra on the new Law and Order. This isn't a way for me to sneak into the film and T.V. world as much as a way to make some money without having to work much or hold down a steady. You can freelance at it through a few casting companies, and it's a way to get into the union.

That's all....

Climbed Under the Old Dodge

Yep, sure did. Gas tank needed changin', and weren't nobody but me to do it. It's 25 degrees out, so I only got to takein' the old one out before I was so cold I decided to put the new one in tommorrow.

Washed off and hopped on the L to eighth street, where I got on the E up to Times Square to do a little openning set for a play. I "won" this set by answering a trivia question on another message board. Tiny black box theater over a bodega. Six people in the audience. They begged me to stay and watch the play. It's about the trials and tribulations of a young black 17-year-old coming out of the closet to
his family and... himself.

Most ham-fisted, after school special, poorly acted sack of shit to ever grace the stage. The lead character was a replacement 8 days before the show and read his lines off of the scipt in his hands, delivered in a monotone. The best actor was another guy playing a really queeny black 18-year-old. But this is probably only because he was in fact a really queeny black 18-year-old off stage as well.

I ran out as soon as the lights came up. I didn't want anybody asking me what I thought. By the way, the above play was supposed to be a comedy according to the stage manager.

Playing to Morons

Went to Connecticut and went up after an hour and a half of other comics. Audience huge, but very drunk and already busy not paying attention to the stage. Comic after me actually started his set by screaming in to the microphone "Shut the fuck up!"

Anywho, it occurs to me that I'm a bit of a brainiac (99th percentile) and I've chosen a career that requires me pandering to the average moron, at least until I am known and have a more selective audience. This will continue to be the situation for a while.

Therefore, I'm trying to write some fairly universal material for the average moron that makes up the population, at least so they'll shut up for a moment and let me do the rest of my act. I'm not selling out, just retooling for a long battle.

Meanwhile, I will continue to seek out my fellow brainiacs.

Sometimes, I wish I was dumb.

The Bushman Takes the Stage

I'm still here. Haven't been keeping up with this little diary. So, still pluggin' away at the New York thing. Went up in the Village tonight at a place called the Village Lantern. I was something like the 10th comedian after about an hour and forty minutes of show, so they were a little drunk and laughed out by the time I hit them with my sophistocated observations, but I got them going. The following joke got an applause break, at which point I decided to take my money (metaphorically) and run:

"Did any of you vote in the Iraqi elections? They got a 95 percent turn-out, so it seems like everybody was in on it. We only had around 50 percent for our last presidential election. Give it a few years and the Iraqis will be that cynical about it. I think everybody in the country is just too distracted to vote. Next election we should just take all the presidential candidates, at the beginning, when there are like 12 of them, and put them all in the White House at once. Then, we can televise it, and every week we'll vote one of the fuckers off. "

Anyway, it was an audition slot, and the guy says I get to come back. I don't think he saw my set even, but as long as it's another room, good enough. I was actually nervous when I went on stage, and I think it showed in my face. In fact, I'm sure it showed. This does not help. The girl who was m.c.'ing was in the process of announcing me, saying how hillarious I am (she's never seen me before) when she forgot my last name, which seems like a small thing, but kind of lets the audience know she was bullshitting them up to that point. She was a good host though and kept the energy up during a long show.

New rooms are tough. I've got rooms that I've been to a few times, and it's just different. I feel like I've proven myself. You kind of get a sense of ownership, like you pissed on the walls and you can smell yourself in the space. You show up in a new room and all the other comics know eachother, you keep getting bumped because Joe just showed up, and come on, it's Joe, and who the hell are you? The audience is different every time, hopefully, but there's still something about knowing the scene and feeling at home in it.

One night you're king of your domain, the next night you're sneaking into someone else's lair, trying to steal their harem. Harem... O.K., there's more going on here. Sven needs a little T.L.C. Seems like I threw the baby out with the bathwater when I gave up drugs. Ladies? Little help here. My romantic life currently consists of seeing pretty girls on the subway and daydreaming about our life together.

I'm not supposed to get involved with women until I'm a year sober, but I'd be lying if I said that's what's holding me back. I just don't know how make a move when I'm sober. I've never gotten anywhere with a woman without a few beers in me at least. Coward? Yes, but everyone's a coward when it comes to these things. If you aren't scared, you're not looking for what I'm looking for.

Oh well, I'll just keep my mind on my career. Yes, that's the way to spin it. Too busy for love, that's me.

I'm going to Africa in May. I don't know how that's going to happen, but I've committed to it. My parents live there. My dad is a Foreign Service Officer posted in Botswana at the U.S. Embassy, and my mother works part time in administration at the embassy. I also just realized that I have to be back before May 30th, because that's the day of my audition for the Comic Strip. The Comic Strip, where Jerry Seinfeld, Ray Romano and Chris Rock, among others, got there start. I'm going to southern Africa, the other side of the planet, and all I can think about is getting back in time for an audition. Hey, Africa's not going anywhere. My future will fade if not kept after.

I have a vision of walking off a plane at J.F.K. wearing native African clothing and hopping in a taxy straight to the Comic Strip where I am instantly whisked on stage. I proceed to do my entire set, which has no references to Africa or even black people in it. I make no comment about the fact that I'm dressed like a Kalahari Desert bushman, because I'm too wired up on airplane coffee and no sleep to realize. I get off stage and Starla (who hosts and judges the first round of auditions) asks me, "Uhm, so what's with the Zebra pelts and gourds?"

That's all for now...