Where feminine hygiene is no laughing matter ...Rick's Cafe Americain

You’ll need to click on the thumbnails and view the images in full size to really appreciate the optically perfect finish:

Here are some new features:

1) Smileys! 

2) If you came for poker, and don’t want to be distracted by this other namby-pamby shit, you can now click on the link at the top of the page that takes you directly to Ugarte’s Grovel.

3) Similarly, Ugarte’s Grovel (i.e., RCA’s poker content) can now be separately syndicated.  Go to The Grovel and use the links on the left sidebar to do so.

4) Many of the glitches being experienced by users of various browsers should have been fixed.

5) I like numbered lists.

The night started auspiciously.  Joel, friend of regular player Sean and a new player in our game, was flustered by the lack of parking in lower Manhattan and forgot to bring the beer. For shame, Joel, for shame.  Fortunately, I had come through with a quality 6 which supplemented the Churchwarden’s stock enough to last us through the game.  Churchwarden’s regular Helmut couldn’t be at the game because he was at the Sting/Annie Lennox concert with Sous Chef.

This is a low-stakes game and we started with a loop of 1/2 Hold ‘Em and Joel quickly showed that he knows the game.  I flopped top pair, but he raised me on the flop, forcing a check on the turn.  And then he caught his card on the river.  Remember, kids: don’t bitch about people catching on the river when they set themselves up to see the river for a bargain price.  Sean did the same thing a few hands later, though I folded to the raise on the flop and watched forlornly as the turn and river would have given me a runner-runner K♣ flush just as it gave Sean his second pair. No worries, though.  I learned a lot about both players on those hands, and it stood me well the rest of the evening.  And what was that lesson? Be aggressive.

A second lesson? Don’t trust organic popcorn.  I wish I knew the brand so that I could pass on the name of this aggressively disgusting corn.  Not only was it bad going down, but the inevitable belching that comes with quaffing brew made this popcorn the gift that keeps on giving.  As Leo wrote to me the next morning, “I just thought you’d want to know that after a full breakfast and couple hours of eating Listerine Pocketpak strips like there’s no tomorrow, I am STILL burping that awful popcorn.  Again, I am so, so sorry.” Apology accepted, Leo, but lets try to keep our snack food chemically treated from now on, shall we?

Nobody remembered the stogies either, but since I also brought along Rold Gold pretzel rods, they became the oral-fixation substitute of choice.  Alas, (to quote the master) they did not replace the popcorn-of-doom nearly soon enough.

Sean and Joel got their comeuppance shortly thereafter when Leo Bloom called for a round of Omaha/8.  This was something of a shocker; I am the only person who ever calls Omaha at this game, and then only often enough to keep everyone from getting mad at me.  Two hands in the flop hit me perfectly.  Holding A2xx, the flop was a golden 3-4-5.  The river cost me some money when 5♣ turned up putting both a runner-runner flush and a boat on the board.  There were four players in the pot, so I was afraid of chopping the low and was wary of anybody holding even a low flush.  So I called the river instead of raising and watched Joel and then Darren and then (after my reveal) Sean, turn over nothing better than two pair with qualifying, but unimpressive, lows.  A sweep of high and low for your raconteur, and I’ve made my money back and then some.

The rest of the night played the same way.  A few small losses, a few large wins and a killer take in Anaconda when I bet into (in order of the roll) 33A3 with QAAQQ when Darren didn’t have the case 3 (whew).  I lost a lot of that back shortly thereafter when my wired 7s fell to Darren’s wired Qs in a game of 5-card stud.  I figured he had the wired Q when he reraised me off of the deal, but he kept it cheap enough for me to catch a second pair on fifth street.  My joy was short-lived, though.  Right after turning over my second pair, he turned a second pair for himself.  He didn’t bet the max, so I made the crying call and he showed me, to my dismay, his Q in the hole.  At least he kept it cheaper for me than I would have kept it for him.

Lots of laughs, good cards and a nifty take.  The final tote board for the night reads as follows:

Ugarte  		+$43.75 USD
Churchwarden	+$14.25 USD
Darren		-$11.25 USD
Sean 		 -$14.00 USD
Leo Bloom                	 -$15.00 USD
Joel		-$18.25 USD

Since the competitions were over I decided to try out new material Saturday night at Gotham.  My early performances were all roughly the same routine: jokes about my mother’s joint obsessions getting me a jewish sweetheart as a means to the end of getting her some grandchildren.  The funny lawyer contest was a ten minutes spot (as opposed to the five at most other shows) so I added some jokes about working life(though not working at a law firm - I’ve decided to stay away from lawyer jokes as long as I can).  The working life stuff went very well, so I’ll definitely roll that stuff back into my routine.

I had seven minutes Saturday night.  I started with a new bit about the lottery, rolled into a truncated version of the stuff about my mother.  When I found myself with an extra two minutes to work with - because I cut too much from the mother segment - I tried some material on the perils of prison and why I avoid conflict. 

The material went over well, particularly the prison stuff, but the crowd didn’t really laugh much during the act.  I know that sounds incongruous but it actually isn’t.  There were only 30 or so people at the club and the more experienced people told me that when the crowd is small, vocal responses are hard to come by. You really can’t expect guffaws; you get a lot more smiling and chuckling.  With those expectations in mind, I did well.  When I signed off I was applauded off stage so even though there was a lot of quiet time during the set I still feel good when it was over.

A cold audience is tough to deal with and I think that most of the other comics didn’t deal with it very well.  Most of the comics resorted to hostility and condescension towards the crowd to get a cheap laugh (mostly from the other comics in the back).  While this sometimes works (it wasn’t working particularly well on Saturday night) it isn’t actually funny unless you do something with it.  Unfortunately, the “something” most people did was simply bitching about the silence.  It’s unfair to blame the audience for not responding to your act.  I know that someday someone will be able to point to this entry after a bitter performance where I hector the crowd and label me a hypocrite, but so be it.  Put it in stone: Insulting a cold crowd is the last refuge of a desperate hack.

Gotham gives you a free taping of your performance if you remember to bring a videotape.  That is a cool move.  So I watched the tape when I got home.  Twice.  I despise watching myself on tape (I hate my voice and every little mistake is magnified by self-doubt and self-loathing) but I have to do it if I want to get any better at this.  Even after a performance that I like I cringe when I learn (again) that my speech is peppered with placeholders.  An early performance was plagued with the overuse of the phrase “the truth is.” This one is full of “right?” And I still hang my head as I talk too much.  And I pace back and forth, or, in the alternative, sweep my head like an oscillating fan.  And I don’t sell some of the jokes that really require a punchy, convincing delivery.

Still, I feel good about where I am and where I am going.  It is a real change of pace to be optimistic.

I like it.

Upcoming dates

Thursday, July 8: New York Comedy Club New Talent Showcase @ 9PM (New Talent Showcase = bringer show)

Monday, July 12: Underground Lounge Open Mike Night @ 8:45PM.

Tuesday, July 13 Stand Up NY on a bill with Johnny Lampert, Joe Matarese and Al Ducharme.

Badly shaken by my lackluster warm-up performances, I made sure to work harder on my act for the contest.  I tightened up my transitions, I juggled the order of some of the jokes and I put in more laughs at the expense of introductory material that was meant to establish a personality.  More importantly than any of that, though, I actually wrote out the routine from beginning to end.  This was a significant change for the better, even though it doesn’t really comport with my personality and manner of doing things.

For my other appearances I had been outlining the order of the jokes but I hadn’t written them out.  This worked reasonably well for my first performances.  I was so amped up, and had been thinking about nothing but my debut for so long, that (even though I occassionally lost my place) I was able to roll through the act, ad libbing along the way.  After almost a month away from performing the material the outline wasn’t good enough.  I couldn’t keep my place, I got flustered when a joke didn’t get laughs and I didn’t have the confidence to ad lib about material that was failing.  Getting back to writing out full routines helped me maintain my focus.

Borscht belt legend Freddy Roman was the opening act.  I didn’t get to hear much of his material because the event organizer was giving us the instructions and judging criteria and drawing the order of appearance while he was on.  He let us know that we could do the same material in the finals as we did in the preliminaries and it wouldn’t be held against us.  “Freddy Roman’s been doing this same material for twenty years and it hasn’t hurt him.” I drew the ninth spot.

I was happy with ninth.  I definitely didn’t want to go first or last.  The butterflies were mostly gone, so I didn’t need to just get it over with by appearing early in the bill.  And I would have the chance to watch some of the competition if I wanted to.  This ended up not happening for two reasons.  First, the competition was better at the finals than it was at the preliminaries.  By that I mean that even the people who qualified the same night as I did performed better in the finals.  Second, it turned out that I still had some butterflies and I had to go outside to do a full run through my material with nobody around and staring at me.

I thought the guy (name forgotten) who went before me had a good set, confirming that the competition was going to be stiff.  He was a middle-aged schlub with good timing and a nicely self-deprecating set.  His closing joke bombed, though.

I don’t remember the emcees name, unfortunately.  He also chose not to read the introduction that I wrote for myself.  No matter.  He called me to the stage and I launched into my routine.  I actually managed to remember to move the mike stand this time, so I had center stage to myself.  My opening jokes didn’t really hit the way they did at the past, but I didn’t let it shake me.  The new stuff was strong and my closing routine went very well.  It was a tight five minutes that I was very happy with.  I left the stage feeling very strong about my act, my set that night and my chances for the evening.

I occassionally popped my head in to see the other performers, but I saw very few of them. I did, however, see the eventual winner, Michael Salloway who immediately followed me.  He had a good, tight routine.  A bit dependent on stereotype, but the crowd ate it up.  Born and raised in rural Alabama (the only Jewish family in the county) and still had the twang.  He did a lot of material about dumb hicks and the uniqueness of his experience.  It worked well and I thought his set went better than mine did.  I didn’t expect to win after his performance.

I didn’t see the second and third place finishers, though.  I can’t tell if I should be more upset that I didn’t even finish in third.  My guests tell me that I should be.  Some strangers who came up to me after the show said I should be.  I don’t know.  I’ll get a tape of the show in about a week, so I’ll know then.  The guy who finished in third actually won the competition two years ago, so I figure he was pretty good. (Brother of Ugarte said that he should have finished in third, with me just ahead of him.) But I’ve been told that the guy who took second told a joke about the Hair Club for Men that actually involved putting The Club on his head.  How did I lose to that?  I think he had the most guests at the show, and probably racked up points for audience response.  I’ll report back after watching the tape.

So, all in all a good night.  Many thanks to The Jewish Week for sponsoring the contest.  They should be publishing an article, and I’ll link to it when it goes online.

Thanks also to Geoff Kole who invited me to perform at a preshow at Stand-Up New York on July 13.  I’ll need to bring people for that show as well, so come on down and say that you are there to see Charles Star. 

Finally, tomorrow I’ll be at Gotham for the 6:30 show.  Arrive by 6:15.  Call 212-367-9000 for reservations.

Pauly was continuing his Phish-following, so he was a no-show at the game.  Ferrari cobbled together a short table with Coach, Marie, and Diane filling out the table early and a craigslist player named Charlie replacing Coach late.

I came to the game out of sorts. The funny Jew finals were coming up and I arranged to practice my routine a few times before the competition. It wasn’t going well. On Saturday night I performed at The Improv. Before describing my performance, a few shout-outs.  First, to Jessica Kirson.  I tried to get into a preshow that she runs at Gotham Comedy Club for Saturday night, but she didn’t have space for me.  It was a last minute call, so I certainly understood. She promised to call if anyone cancelled.  Then she went beyond the call of duty.  She called her friend Rich Brooks (who doesn’t appear to have a personal site, but gets the second shout-out) who put me into the Saturday preshow at the Improv.  Thanks to both Jessica and Rich who bent over backwards for a stranger.  (As a side note, Jessica did put me into tomorrow’s preshow at Gotham Arrive by 6:15. See you there.)

In any event, I didn’t think the Improv show went well.  I muffed a joke badly, I skipped another entirely and some jokes that usually do well were met with silence.  My pacing wasn’t very good. I used the same introductory phrases over and over. What else ... on my video of the performance I’m off-screen for much of the set because I didn’t move the mike stand.  I couldn’t stop wincing when I was watching myself.  Anyway, Brother of Ugarte assures me that it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought.  Yes, he reports, the crowd was sort of cold.  But, he cautions, even though they didn’t laugh at everything I said, at least they were paying attention.  Apparently most of the crowd had come to see one of the other novices and when he wasn’t performing there were a lot of bathroom trips and side conversations.  I guess that is something.

It didn’t prepare me for Monday, though.  On Monday I went to the open mic at New York Comedy Club.  I’ve been to one open mic in my life, so I don’t want to sound like an authority, but it was about the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen.  Bad comic after bad comic took the stage.  The club itself is dingy and depressing.  The emcee was a 50 year-old man that kept “kiddingly” flirting with my girlfriend (and, in turn, each of the very few young women in the club).  After over an hour in the “big room” - which probably seats 70 - I was told that as a first-timer at the club I would have to play the small room - which seats about 15 in an indescribably bad set up.  And I was 8th on the list.  That meant I would have to endure another hour of small room comics before I got my time.  I finally went out and requested to be moved up, since the big/small snafu wasn’t my fault.  They moved me up, but it didn’t do any good.  My spirit was broken for the night and it showed.

I flew through my routine at a breakneck pace.  A five minute bit that I can stretch to seven was finished at three.  Whole chunks were forgotten.  What I managed to get out was delivered lifelessly.  I didn’t even grab the life support of a lone audience member that was actually laughing.  I got off the stage and spent the next hour complaining to my girlfriend about my performance.  I don’t know if I can do another open mic, but I figure that if I can’t then I don’t have the nuts to even be in this business.  So I’ll go back.  But I’m not telling anyone about it in advance. Nobody should have to see that.

So, broken and plagued with self-doubt, I made my way to the Blue Parrot.  If you are thinking, “That is really no condition to hit the poker table,” you are spot on.  I didn’t have any energy for table banter, nor did I have the confidence to raise with anything short of either the stone nuts or position and a flop that clearly helped nobody.

I quickly found myself down $25.  I never made it back to even and I used the last half hour to make sure that I remembered June 28th as one of the worst days of my poker life.  I chased, I called with crap, I let myself get pushed around.  All in all, $87 down.  And I probably cemented a reputation as a fish with Charlie and Diane.

Only one hand stands out.  On the first hand, there were four of us playing 2/4 and I was in the small blind with rags.  I had been playing too much poker online and had developed the bad habit of playing my small blind with little regard for my cards.  I had developed a second habit: no poker face.  I looked at my cards, made a face like someone had just farted, and then called.  With Ferrari looking right at me.  He paused for a second and said “Raise,” and I cursed him for taking advantage of, well, exactly the sort of thing he should take advantage of.  To prove that I’m no pussy, I called.  And the flop missed me horribly.  I lost an extra $3 on that hand because of a total lack of discipline.  Shameful.  (For those following Ferrari’s game, he claims he would have raised anyway, but took added joy in raising into my obvious garbage.  He had AJo on a short table.)

I made a few decent plays, but I didn’t get called much when I had the nuts.  I hovered between -15 and -30 for most of the night and then just slid into oblivion in the last half hour.  Ferrari cleaned up and I think Diane won some money, but it was hard to tell.  I cashed out before the game ended, so Ferrari can give the final tally in the comments if he chooses.

For me, after bombing on stage and imploding at the tables I dragged myself to the train for the long late-night local train to Brooklyn.  And once again - I swear that I am not making this up - on the heels of a bad loss at the tables I had to walk home in the rain.