On January 5, Claudia Cogan, Jiwon Lee and John F. O’Donnell hosted 50 First Jokes at The Creek and The Cave in Long Island City. Ultimately, over 60 comics told their first jokes (a previously unperformed joke or one written in 2008). This was mine.
The latest in a series of “features” that I think I will run on the blog and then lose interest in, Virtual Notepad is where I’ll write the ideas for jokes that haven’t coalesced into something complete yet. Hopefully what is funny about them will still shine through.
1) Right now my workload isn’t too intense. The few projects I’m on occupy less than an hour of my day. Still, when my officemate turns around to talk to me about the case that we are working on I still can’t help thinking “Jesus, didn’t he see that I was reading?"
2) Today’s NYT had an Op-Ed by Nina and Tim Zagat that threw their two cents into the immigration debate:
Twenty years ago, American perceptions of Asian food could be summed up in one word: “Chinese.” Since then, we have developed appetites for Korean, Japanese, Thai and Vietnamese fare. Yet while the quality of the restaurants that serve these cuisines ... has soared in America, Chinese restaurants have stalled. ... China and the United States should work together on a culinary visa program that makes it easier for Chinese chefs to come here. With more chefs who are schooled in China’s dynamic new restaurant scene, we would see a transformation of the way Chinese food is served in this country.
If that isn’t the most bourgois complaint to enter into the immigration debate, I don’t know what is. You almost expect him to say “and don’t get me started on how far behind the American experience is with Chinese laundry.”
What does this mean? It means that it is time for me to make another audition tape! This time, the jokes will be as funny as the last tape but I won’t jerk around like I’m davening.
So click on the images to get the details about the show or just read this:
Thursday, May 10 at 8PM at Mo Pitkin’s - 34 Avenue A between 2d St. and 3d St. Only $5!
So, who else is on this show? My coproducer once again is Rachael Parenta. She is an excellent coproducer because she does most of the work. Adrienne Iapalucci and Claudia Cogan complete the bill.
If this dead blog is going to be good for anything, it will be self-promotion, So, on that note…
I have gotten in bed with the kids from America’s Finest News Source.The Onion launched the Onion News Network last week and I am one of the contributors. I haven’t had anything on the air yet but if I do, you’ll here it here. I have also been doing some voice work for the Onion Radio News including here, here, here and here.
Also, I was recently invited to write for the Looking at the Look Book column on Gawker, a cheap shot at New York Magazine’s “Look Book” feature. I’m happy with it, but Gawker’s usually acrid commenters apparently decided that they could anger me more by not commenting at all than by insulting me. Which turns out to be the case. Well played, jerkoffs.
Anyway, here is the promo for ONN. The site will update frequently, so get the RSS feed. This clip contains an ad for Dewar’s which I have decided I can live with:
First of all, fuck this guy. Posting today has nothing to do with this. Seriously. I was going to go out of my way to not post anything for a week and yet…
I am not performing tonight but I will be watching some solid comedy if you want to come out. Both of these shows are weekly spots that I hope to perform on in the near future.
First, at 8PM at Rififi is The Greg Johnson show. It is the regular Friday show and I’ve been meaning to go for a while. The casting is a little over my head, but I think I might be able to sneak in as “the guy nobody has heard of” on a night with “a really famous guy” or perhaps a night “where the host is out of town and a substitute gets to host a week of whoisthats.”
Then, on to Sweet Paprika (I thought it was at 10. It is actually at 10:30. Fuck.) I’ve been meaning to go to this show for a while. Of the hosts, Ophira has seen me perform and likes me; Allison has not and therefore can not judge. Naturally, Allison books the show. Fortunately, my friend Baron has, along with Ophira, put in a good word for me so future prospects are good. Young comedians should know, however, that nobody who isn’t already somebody gets booked at a show in this town without engaging in the simple courtesy of showing up at a show on a week that you aren’t booked to support the room. A good practice, I think.
As much as this is important for my comedy career, it is all in the service of another opportunity to eat at chickpea, which I should just invest in already. Cheap and delicious. But maybe I’m just saying that because the Jews stick together.
A smart person would have spent the weekend before an audition at the Comic Strip drilling his audition set over and over in one mic after another. I am not that person. Instead, I spent this past weekend in St. Louis supporting Zinester and promoting the magazine. I knew that if I was going to do that, I would have to get some stage time over the weekend so I could run my set at least once more. I arranged to do a guest set in the Friday night late show at the Funny Bone in Fairview Heights. I didn’t count on how inadequate the St. Louis public transportation system is for late night travel.
One would think that a Metropolitan area of 2.6 million people would enable people to travel around after midnight. One would be incorrect. The bus I needed to take to the club stops running at ~9:30PM. The train I needed to return to St. Louis stops running at midnight. Is this a city or a hamlet? I’ve been spoiled by New York City and the all-hours lifestyle. I may not party all-night, but it is nice to know that I could. I was about to cancel my spot, but Joey, the club manager, told me that she could get me a ride back to the city. So out I went. It turns out that if the Metrolink hotline people knew what they were talking about, it wouldn’t have been such a challenge to get out to the club. The only other passenger on the last bus of the day knew a more direct, more accessible route to the club than the one I was taking. (Is it uncharitable to point out that a very nice, well-spoken guy with an excellent knowledge of the Fairview Heights bus system has some serious dental issues?) Continuing a string of nice folks in the Midwest (maybe it isn’t just a facade, the bus driver gave me a transfer that I wasn’t entitled to so I could switch to the closer bus. So, to recap: Thanks, Joey. Thanks, stranger on the bus. Thanks, driver of the #16 Belleville-St. Clair.
NO thanks to the Metrolink information hotline. You have the maps and schedules in front of you. Why do you know so little?
Whenever I know I am going to see inexperienced comics (or road comics), I assume that homophobia will be part of the program. I don’t expect people screaming about “faggots” like some Klan rally, but I do expect one of three things:
1) Using implications of homosexuality as a putdown. - Simple enough. Banter revolves around jibes that question a person’s manhood by indicating a preference for penis.
2) Jokes that assume that gay sex is gross / gays can’t possibly be enjoying the sex that they engage in - These kind of jokes always make me wonder what the comic thinks is so appealing to homosexuals if they don’t even like the sex.
3) “Shock" punchlines that involve the joketeller engaging in drunken sex It is hilarious because the idea that the person is gay is preposterous!
I’d always like to be proven wrong, but I rarely am. I wasn’t wrong here. The preshow banter had a lot of #1 and 2; the onstage comedy a bit of #3. Sigh.
After a short set by an emcee who wasn’t in the mood to take the bullet - and knew that I was there to take it for the feature, I went up and did my set. I started with a joke about St. Louis that I repeat here, because it is unlikely that I’ll ever do it again.
I’ve never been to St. Louis before, so I’ve been checking out the sights. I went to Nelly’s house and got a shot of nambutrol from McGwire’s guy. I’ll go to the arch tomorrow, and I think that covers it.
I got a mixed response to some of my jokes about being a lawyer, but they really liked my relationship stuff. At the end of my set, Joey told me that she probably couldn’t use me in the future: “They really don’t know what a New York lawyer is here. They may know one lawyer who has an office in Collinsville. There are a lot of trailer parks around here.” On the other hand, she took my card and told me that she knew some other clubs in the area that she would recommend me to. We’ll see how that pans out.
I left in the middle of the headliner’s set. I had to catch the last train to St. Louis and my ride didn’t want to stick around. All things considered, it was certainly better than my first spot at Coconuts. With the right tweaking I think I can make some money as a road comic, I just have to pick my venues carefully. I’ll keep you posted. Right now I have to work on getting myself work in New York. More on that tomorrow.
It is preposterous that I could actually win this, but on the one-in-a-billion chance that this becomes a meme and gets viral like the Hank, the Angry, Drunken Dwarf thing, I’ll put it out there anyway:
Vote for me as “Best Male Comic” in the ECNY (Emerging Comics of New York) Awards. While you are there, throw in a couple of votes for my R Bar friends:
Brian Finkelstein for Best Director
Carter Edwards for Best Technician
R Bar for Best Venue
Monkeydick for Best Improv
I hate bringer shows. I vowed three months ago that I wouldn’t do any more bringer shows. Still, Wednesday night, I found myself at New York Comedy Club dying a slow death. So it feels appropriate to be posting onto a blog that looks like my vision of heaven (which has been heavily influenced by the flash of white when the body-of-the-week dies at the beginning of Six Feet Under).
(UPDATE: Rick has fixed the code. Now it looks like the establishing shot in a feminine hygeine product commercial. I kid! I kid!)
A “bringer” show is the sort of scam that P.T. Barnum or Tom Sawyer would have loved. To get stage time at a comedy club, you commit to bringing five (or ten or twenty) people paying the cover or two-drink minimum. It costs your friends roughly $30 each to subsidize your stage time. In exchange, you supposedly get a large, “real” audience (high civilian:comic ratio) and sometimes the opportunity to perform for industry representatives. It was the latter promise that convinced me to break my vow and left me raging against the club, the industry and myself on the drive home.
I have to start by saying that I don’t blame the producer, Buddy Flip.* He has been very honest with me and he organized a show that, when it started, was sold out. He promised that there would be people there that book road gigs, and there were people there that book road gigs. Unfortunately, despite Buddy delivering on what he promised, it was still a disaster.
The quota for this show was five people. There was a time that getting five people to a show wasn’t a problem. That time appears to have passed. First, my mother - who is usually able to convince her friends to come out - is in Florida. So not only do I lose the reliable “1” of my mother, I lose her marketing power. Second, not surprisingly, the novelty of having a friend who is a comic has mostly worn off. Begging my mailing list has been suffering diminishing returns for a little while now, and the response from the list for Wednesday’s show was nil. So I had to conscript Zinester and Brother of Ugarte into coming. (They come willingly, but I hate to keep imposing on them. They can do most of my stuff from memory.) A sad, desperate face got my friend Frank to come along and Frank’s date made four. But I needed five.
Before sending my posse in, I talked with Buddy and he told me that he would let me on with four AND he would tell the bookers to stick around for my set. Which he did. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to put me on until after all of the people that brought five went up first. I understand it from his perspective, but with so many comics ahead of me, I probably would have been better off just saying thanks, but no thanks. The audience dwindles throughout the night as people see their friends perform and then leave; last night was no different. By the time I went on stage, a full house of ~120 had dwindled down to 12. A crowd with an average age of 25 had shifted to an average age of 40. A mixed crowd in a good mood had become an almost entirely black crowd** that was grumpy because they had to sit through two hours of (mostly) dreck to see their relatives.
Needless to say, it didn’t go particularly well. My first few jokes connected (one connected very well), but it went downhill rapidly. One joke missed by a mile. I followed it with a chunk that I have about skiing. It would have gone really well earlier in the night when most of the crowd were Philips Exeter graduates (seriously); not so well when they were the relatives of a comic that premised part of his set on his recent parole. Then I screwed up both of my Paris Hilton jokes and closed with a corny joke that is designed for smart crowds to groan at (and will soon be a blog entry when I retire it). A minor disaster.
Someday I’ll write a manifesto on how to improve bringer shows so that they work for comics and clubs, but today I just wanted to bitch about a performance gone awry. And announce that I have done my last bringer show.
Until I cave again.
* WARNING: The music on his homepage is really annoying.
** DEFENSIVE ASIDE: Ordinarily I really like playing for a mostly black crowd. That is why I love performing at Ripple. But there is a difference between a black crowd in a neighborhood bar and a black comic’s family watching you in a mainstream club while you do a set for the benefit of mainstream bookers. A BIG difference.
I spent the majority of MLK weekend in Colorado. It was my first time on the slopes in five years and I was terrified about the trip. I wanted to see 34, after all. A toast to the person who invented parabolic skis for engineering my healthy return!
But I’m not going to talk about skiing (even though this was the best, most successful trip I’ve ever had). This is another post about how it pays to be aggressive as a comedian.
On Thursday, after my first day on the slopes, dehydrated, sore, with an altitude-induced pounding headache and prematurely drunk from an ill-advised slug of apres ski whiskey - I asked our waiter (who served me the ill-advised drinks) if he knew about any open mics in town. Even delirious, I was thinking about stage time. He told me about three places that had open mics or live music and seemed particularly high on Buckets.
I stopped by to check out the place and try and finagle my way on stage. The stage wasn’t elevated, but there was plenty of space. The audio system was great: well positioned speakers and (for the musicians that care about this sort of thing) a monitor. Two pool tables and a separate arcade that included pinball. Space for hundreds of drunk kids. Yes, I wanted to perform here. I was prepared to argue that I was going to bring 10 people with me and that they are all alcoholics. It would only be a lie to the extent that they aren’t all alcoholics, but none of them are teetotallers.
There was a whiteboard with the week’s entertainment. I would be on an eastbound plane when they hosted their next open mic, but they were having live music on Friday night: an open jam. That sounded like an opportunity. I took the owner’s number and called him later that night. I told him that I was a comic visiting from New York and asked if I could do a 10-15 minute set in between music sets. He was thrilled with the idea. I realized that I could probably go on for as long as I wanted and seriously considered pulling out all of my material and doing a half-hour. Decided to do it.
When my posse and I returned to the bar on Friday night, the bar owner and the frontman for the band were both enthusiastic about the idea of live comedy. The bar was alive and showing promise that it would be packed later. I talked to the frontman about the setup, found out what kind of music I’d be following (Greatful Dead and Phish covers, mostly - sorry you couldn’t be there Pauly) and set up my friend’s video camera. If I was going to do an audition length set, I was going to tape it. Then I settled in for an hour of Phish and hoped that I wouldn’t poke swizzle sticks through my eardrums.
When the band started playing I knew that the full bar wouldn’t be an advantage. The audio was great, but the speakers were set up to play to the front of the bar. All of the people at the pool tables in the back couldn’t hear much of anything. The volume in the bar from the chatter alone was also staggering. A room full of earlytwentysomething stoners/skiers getting drunk and trying to get laid is LOUD. On the far side of the speakers it was impossible to make out any of the lyrics. Still, I can make myself heard if I want to. I decided that if I could get the people to pay attention, I could get them to laugh. So I was going to start out loud.
After the band finished their set and we took a short break, I was introduced. About a dozen people (plus my posse) turned to the stage and waited for the show to start. Over 100 people were very intently not waiting for the show and making a lot of noise. I started with a riff on Colorado that I wrote that afternoon. Having written it that afternoon I rushed it and forgot to tell my favorite part of the joke. Still, a good response from the attentive few. In fact, that was the pattern the whole time. Not many people were listening, but the people who bothered to listen were loving it. I did material on my mother’s desire to see me with a Jewish girl, my time with Zinester’s family over Christmas, relationship stuff, an on-the-spot riff on the Tuaca girls shilling their product in the bar, a couple of Paris Hilton jokes, the Spider Man stuff and a political joke or two. To my little crowd, I crushed. Just about everything went over well - though one or two jokes went over their heads. After the set I had a lot of people come up to me and tell me that they thought I was great. Very satisfying. I was really looking forward to watching the tape.
Unfortunately, the material was better than the performance. I watched the tape and felt actual pain. First of all, did you know that the camera adds 40 pounds? I may as well have been wearing Spandex. Horrifying. Second, I rushed everything. What should have been 25-30 minutes was actually closer to 17. Not only was I talking like an auctioneer, I wasn’t waiting for the laughter to stop before moving on - the background noise was really screwing with my timing. I also screwed up my set list pretty badly. I had a very specific order that I wanted to do the jokes in, but didn’t spend enough time memorizing that order. Big mistake. I ended up having to consult my set list and - before wrapping up - having Brother of Ugarte call out a joke that he knew I wanted to tell. All in all, not a tape that I can show to anyone.
It was disappointing. The tape had all of the signs of my improvement since July but enough mistakes that I can’t use the tape for anything but my own education. That is just glass-half-empty thinking, though.
The show was so much fun to do. The audience was less than two feet from my face and I didn’t have the usual stage lights in my eyes ruining my view. Standing right in front of me were a couple of cuties doubled over in laughter. The bar owner was at the back of the “listening area” laughing. The frontman was cracking up. My friends, most of whom had never seen me perform, were also enjoying the hell out of the show. I may not feel great about my performance but I feel better than ever about my material. I don’t know when I’ll play in such a hostile venue next; this show let me know that I could handle it.
This week I’m going back to hosting my open mic at Ripple on Thursday followed by a show at R Bar. I can’t wait to get back in the New York groove, but I’ll always remember Buckets.
First of all, let me start by saying that Ferrari’s provocative question is a bit of an inside joke. I am a union-yes guy from a union family going back to my grandparents. I am thrilled that the New York Comedians Coalition, has banded together to try and force the showcase clubs in New York to increase comics’ pay. The idea that I would be a scab is - in a very limited, and not laugh-out-loud, kind of way - hilarious. Regardless, I couldn’t be a scab if it wanted to. I don’t play in clubs very often, I don’t get paid on the rare occassions that I do play them and - most importantly - there hasn’t been a strike. I haven’t written about the possibility of a strike before for a couple of reasons.
The main reason is that I am outside the loop. I am just starting out as a comic and only starting to meet people. I didn’t get wind of the organizational meetings for NYCC until right before the news of the threatened strike broke in the local press. The first information of any substance that I received was by way of an email from a friend with a link to the article in the New York Times. Since then I have contacted the leaders of the Coalition and should be attending a meeting later this month.
As we speak, I only know what I’ve read in the papers. What I’ve read, though, sounds like the comics have a hell of a point. The same rate for a set as clubs paid in the mid-1980’s? A comic working a full schedule exclusively in New York clubs can expect to make $20,000 a year? What bullshit. With drink prices as high as they are at comedy clubs in New York, those are pathetic returns for the comics.
I also didn’t write because I am somewhat removed from the issue. I am a good bit away from being paid to do “feature” spots at clubs in New York. Since I’m not getting paid, I wasn’t really hip to what I would be getting paid if I were at a more advanced stage of my career. The best I can hope for now is an unpaid guest spot here and there. If I were suffering from the low pay that featured acts get, I’d probably complain more, but right now the paltry fees paid to the features is still more than I get for the bringer shows I sometimes do.
Perhaps working for free is part of the Coalition’s agenda, but I doubt it. Performing for free at bars and bringer shows is a dues-paying phase. I don’t really see how it could be otherwise. I should probably get something back from the club if I bring audience to a show - and some clubs do pay by the head - but the money in those situations is so small it hardly seems fighting over. I’d only be taking that money from my friends who have come out to see me anyway and that takes some of the shine off the idea also.
In any event, I can unequivocally state it here: If the New York Comedians Coalition pickets a club I will not play at that club even if I am contacted to perform.
Let me also state that if the National Hockey League tries to play scab games during the lockout, I will support the players’ union by refusing to lace up the skates and play.
For the second time in two attempts I didn’t perform at the O’Debra twins Monday night open mic at Bowery Poetry Club. I threw my name in the hat and waited for my name to be called. I was FORTY-THIRD. This put me at #20 on the dreaded reserve list, which meant a demotion to a four minute set and (more than likely) no set at all, since the show closes at 2:30AM. I decided to hang around this time to no avail. Rob Apuzzo tried to do me a solid by offering to give his slot to me but the show ended right before Rob’s slot.
So, seriously, when does the money and adulation start?
After returning to New York after a week in Florida, the first thing I did was drop $60.
Thursday I went to Mauzone, a kosher deli in Queens with Brother of Ugarte. My mother had a “Buy 10 Chicken Specials, Get One Free” card that would have expired today. A chicken special is 2 whole roasted chickens, plus a jar of soup, plus a pound of salad. She had 8 punches on the card.
So now we have six chickens, three jars of soup and three pounds of various salads in our fridge. It feels like after spending a week with Zinester’s family for Christmas I had to do something really jew-y once I got back to New York. Loading up on chicken just because it was a good deal fits the bill, I think.
After figuring out how to fit so much goddamn chicken into my fridge, I went to R Bar for my first set back in New York.
I thought that my own performance was spotty. I cheated myself out of three minutes because I didn’t plan out the jokes I wanted to tell. I got myself sidetracked by playing off some of the jokes that Brian and Will told before me. I lost my train of thought and didn’t want to keep referring back to my notes. Still, I got really good response from the crowd and the other comics on most of the jokes I did tell. I did some of the stuff I wrote about my Christmas sojourn that everyone liked. I also told a joke about hunting that didn’t go over so well. It needs both a rewrite and an audience that could give a rat’s ass about hunting.
One thing in my set has me curious. I know that it is poor form to make jokes about the tsunami. They aren’t likely to be inherently funny and so soon after the tragedy nobody would laugh anyway. So here is the question: does it makes me a bad person that I used the epic tragedy of the tsunami as the new intro to a joke so it would be able to stand apart from its original context? Particuarly if the joke hinges on bestiality? I slept like a baby last night, so obviously I’m not too bothered. I thought I should throw the question to the masses anyway.
One final note: A friend and fellow comic (who may or may not want to be “outed") has started a blog about how he is slowly coming to grips with his transformation into a werewolf. Some of it is strange, some silly, and some laugh out loud funny. It won’t take you long to catch up with the story and it is worth following. I am adding it to the blogroll.
In light of Rick’s emergence from his cave (which I agree with completely once modified to account for Iocaste’s comment), I feel almost guilty returning the focus to me. Not so guilty that I’m not going to turn back to my sojourn here in Florida, but a little bit.
I have to start once again by thanking the folks at Coconuts. They took a phone call from a mystery guy, claiming to be “a comic from New York” and, without hearing a single joke, threw him on stage. An additional thank you to Frankie Cramer, who hosted the Wednedsay open mic and, on the basis of a seven minute set that received silence, booked me for the Thursday and Sunday shows. And after a 10 minute set on Thursday that got intermittent laughs, he offered me 20 minutes for Sunday. His confidence in me and my material is much appreciated. As a final bonus, he comped the cover charge for all of my friends for all three shows.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get 20 minutes on Sunday. The reason is probably a combination of “Frankie not remembering that he offered me 20 minutes,” “another out-of-town comic asked for a guest spot,” and “I didn’t remind him that he offered me 20 minutes.” Whatever the reason, I went to the stage expecting to do 20 minutes and I planned out my set accordingly.
20 minutes is about the far end of what I feel comfortable doing. If I had to, I could probably cobble together a half-hour, but I’d be doing some bits that I don’t really perform anymore or unrefined, underwritten material. Even 20 minutes required pulling some stuff out of the time capsule. I opened with a joke that I had been telling as part of my political set, but since it usually starts with a kinda cheap joke implying that dating high school kids is cool here in Florida, I needed a new intro for it to perform it in St. Pete. Fortunately, Frankie gave me something to riff off of in his set. Whew! I hadn’t worked out a solid opening joke until twenty seconds before I was introduced. On the postive side, it is hard to forget a joke that you write as you are walking to the stage.
The set went well. I opened with one of the first jokes I ever performed (Is she jewish?) because it segued nicely into a riff on my visit to Florida to spend Christmas with Zinester’s family. This turned into my best set of the week. All of my jokes connected: dating, relationship, Christmas in Florida, politics, crappy jobs - the audience was with me for all of it. I messed up a joke about riding a bicycle because I tried to work in a little audience conversation with a guy from Bay Ridge, but as I was boldly venturing into talking to the audience, I forgot that the Brooklyn reference isn’t until the middle of the joke. A little self-effacing joke and I was back on track.
For the first time I did some political material. Frankie’s intro implies that the St. Pete Beach audience is usually red-meat conservative, so I was wary of telling my liberal stuff. On Sunday, though, there was a decent contingent of blue staters in the audience (thanks again to Frankie for his information gathering audience work), so I felt that I could get political without the crowd turning on me. I didn’t do the most aggressive anti-Republican stuff because, well, even with people from the Northeast, St. Pete Beach doesn’t transform into New York City. And - surprise! - a riff on Rumsfeld’s town hall meeting in Kuwait probably got me my biggest laugh of the night.
And then I got the light. I still hadn’t gotten to Spider Man or some new jokes that grew out of conversations that I had with Zinester’s brother and sister-in-law and I had to bail out into a joke that would fit into the minute I had left. When I checked my recorder after the show I realized why I hadn’t gotten to anything: I was cut back to 10 minutes. Booooo! Particularly when I heard the guy that I was cut back for: he was hacky and horrible and I escaped most of his set by taking off for the bathroom after I heard his opening joke.
Ken Reed was back again, and I got to speak to him for a while before the show and during Frankie’s set. He is a good guy. Also, as it turns out, a Democrat. He performed at party fundraisers in Florida during election season, and took my cue to tell some political stuff. Playing off of my own reluctance to do political jokes, he said I’m going to tell this one for Charles. He was worried that he couldn’t tell political jokes here in Florida. You can, Charles, you just have to tell them slower. That was exactly the sort of joke I figured would get the audience pissed off at my New York ass, but since he is a local he got away with it.
The political joke he decided to do started like a Bush-malaprop bit (subliminable, etc.), but his punchline was original enough to save the joke from its hacky premise. His stage presence and audience rapport are great, but I have to say that he would benefit from the competition in New York. Some of his intros are too long and some of his best jokes would be even better if they were tighter. He is probably at the top of the Florida scene and finds it easy to get booked, so nobody is pushing him to tighten the jokes that audiences are already laughing at. There is something to be said for big ponds also.
Uncle Dow Thomas headlined again, but Zinester’s friends had to turn in and, to be honest, I didn’t want to watch his set for the third time in five days.
I am coming back to Florida in February and Frankie told me to make sure that I call. Coconuts is going to be my home away from home. Man, I love that place.
I went back to Coconuts last night for the second of three shows that I am going to get to perform down here. I had the same emcee and the same headliner performing around me, but it felt like an entirely different atmosphere. How well it went depends on where you focus your attention.
I went back to Coconuts last night for the second of three shows that I am going to get to perform down here. I had the same emcee and the same headliner performing around me, but it felt like an entirely different atmosphere. How well it went depends on where you focus your attention.
Frankie Cramer greeted me by promising to do a solid 15 minutes of gay jokes. I like Frankie. He knows he got caught pandering to the crowd by a colleague. While he isn’t going to become a spokesman for GMHC, he did substantially tone down the anti-gay rhetoric in his act. I also appreciate that, instead of the five minutes that I was expecting, he told me to prepare a ten minute set. Also, I was going to be the first comic up after he did his emcee set. I was a litte worried that Zinester’s brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t make it to the club in time to see my set, but Zinester assured me that Brother of Zinester has a lead foot.
I expected a few comics to do guest spots during the show, but I was the only one. It was a short bill, with Uncle Dow Thomas returning as the headliner and Florida pro Ken Reed as the feature. That’s it. It sort of explains why I was getting a ten minute set, but I also didn’t see Frankie inviting any of the local open micers to come down to the show so I got to keep feeling proud of my new expanded set.
Not surprisingly, comedy clubs all play music while the audience is arriving. The music during this waiting period varies from night to night, but the music that comes on when the show is starting is always the same at a particular club. Gotham, for example, always plays Blue Monday by New Order before introducing the emcee. The intro music at Coconuts is the theme song from the Sopranos followed by Michael Buffer belting out his signature line and capped by the Jock Jams noise that I can’t really replicate here except to say that the music tails off before the guy says Are y’all ready for this? It sets a very aggressive tone for the evening, which is good because Frankie comes out guns blazing. He was in good form, ripping on the audience and getting the crowd revved up. The crowd can be really picky, though, so he is often forced to backtrack. Alas, he also repeated the most detestable line from his open mic set: a suggestion that the audience band together and assault Muslim convenience store clerks. Once again, riotous laughter. Sigh. Despite the interlude of hate, he had a good set and it was soon time to bring me up.
We have a special guest here tonight. All the way from New York City, give a big welcome to Clark Star.Fuck! He screwed up my intro again! He realized his mistake immediately, and he was apologizing as he left the stage. The crowd responded very unevenly to my set. I got big laughs with a few jokes and small laughs on almost everything else. The shocker of the night for me, though, was that my Spider Man bit DIED. I got almost nothing at all from the crowd on a couple of jokes that never fail. I listened to my tape to see if I screwed anything up, but I didn’t! I had (superficially) a very good set! The audience just wasn’t into me very much. Usually Zinester lets me know if it was my fault, but she didn’t think that I screwed up either. Zinester’s family told me that they thought I had a good set also, so I am officially going to ACCUSE THE AUDIENCE OF NOT GETTING THE JOKES. OK, that’s bullshit. They didn’t like my stuff, so, um, ... ~*~. Ken and Frankie both told me that they liked my stuff, and while a better response from the audience would have been nice, in a pinch I’ll settle for approval from my colleagues.
Ken had a very solid set. His material is pretty mainstream, but it is consistently funny. He is a charming guy with an easygoing manner and is very popular locally. After hearing so much hate channelled into shitty comedy yesterday, he was a breath of fresh air.
I liked Uncle Dow much better the second time around. He did almost the same routine both nights (that isn’t an accusation, by the way - I did also), but I had a much better time last night. It was probably equal parts “not-preceded-by-bad-comics” and “not-waiting-for-my-own-stage-time.” His audience rapport is great, he has some very solid set pieces and decent wordplay in his songs. On the other hand, 35 minutes of Christmas carol parodies is a lot of fuckin’ Christmas carol parodies. The crowd loved him. Really, really loved him. It is still hard to forgive prop comics - particularly since I think his prop material is among his weaker stuff - but he’s got a good schtick.
After Frankie closed the show, he asked me how much time I could do. I told him that I could do 20 minutes - which, just between you and me, may be a stretch - and so this Sunday I am going to get to do a 20 minute set. This is awesome. I couldn’t blow a guy in New York for a 20 minute set. Down here I got it for a simple hand job and I didn’t even have to look him in the eye.
Pardon me. I meant to write “I got it just because he liked my 10 minute set.”
There is definitely something to be said for small ponds.
But how did you do, Ugarte?, I am sure you were asking yourself after reading my recap of the St. Pete open mic. Well enough is the best short answer I can give. It was the strangest set I’ve done, but it acccomplished what I wanted it to.
Coconuts in St. Pete Beach is, as the emcee put it, a low-B room. They had an article on the wall promoting their club in which the manager at Side Splitters was quoted as saying The headliners in their club are openers here. After taking a look at the Side Splitters calendar, he wasn’t lying. Still, it is a comfortable place to perform and the drinks are cheap.
I told the person on the phone that I was a comic from New York that was down for Christmas week. He told me to come to the open mic and talk to the emcee. When I told the emcee my story, he extrapolated and introduced me as a “pro from New York.” I’ve chosen this as my career, and I’ve been paid a few times, so I decided not to tell him that I am an “open micer from New York.” I was trying to get sets in their regular show, so total honesty didn’t seem like the best tactic.
By the time my turn came there was ZERO real audience left. Zinester was there with me, the guy with the blood-test bandage had a few friends with him and the 17-year-old’s parents came to support him. All of the others left shortly after Uncle Dow. I can’t say that I blame them.
My set started auspiciously when the emcee introduced me as ... a New York pro that asked to come do some time. Please welcome Richard Baldwin. (Richard Baldwin turned out to be blood-test bandage guy.) I just rolled with it, because how mad can you get about a simple mistake? He had just met me (and Richard Baldwin, for that matter) and had no real reason to remember my name.
I was pleased to notice that Uncle Dow stuck around to see the rest of the open mic, so I thanked him for showing us respect (while also backhandedly thanking him for doing a 50 minute set). Then I turned to the bar and said Jason, do you think I could get an order of homophobia, or did the other comics finish it all? Then I started my regular set.
Not exactly my regular set, though. The audience, when there was an audience, was on the old side. I decided not to do jokes with pop culture references or too much cursing. Once I had chosen my set list and started mentally preparing it, I couldn’t really switch back after the audience left. I did my bathroom joke, which got less response than I expected. I moved on to the doctor’s office bit, but didn’t tell it very well. I think I may not have even told it right. (I haven’t performed that joke in at least two months.) I moved on to a good new joke about Zinester and got a few laughs. The bicycle joke, which I haven’t told in a while, got some laughter too. I finished by doing the Spider-Man bit, and again, got some laughter but not much. I could tell that the only people laughing during my set were Uncle Dow and the emcee, Frankie Cramer. Of course, if two people are going to laugh, those are the two you want laughing. Instead of the scheduled five minutes, Frankie let me go on for seven - and he didn’t even light me. I could have kept going if I wanted to, but I hadn’t really prepared any other material.
When Frankie came back on stage, he thanked me for not acting pissy when he misintroduced me and asked me again if I was going to come back tonight or Sunday. I told him that I was coming back for both.
After my set, I thanked Uncle Dow for sticking around. He told me that he was still there because his props were still on the stage. So much for respect for the open micers. So I thanked him for not taking the time to clean up his stuff before leaving the stage.
Then I went to Frankie, who came up and shook my hand and said We keep an extra case of homophobia in the back, shrugged and said That’s what sells down here. He told me that it was good to hear a fresh voice in the club and said that he would try to get the club owner to come tonight so that my set can be a kind of audition. I thought that was pretty great. He also told me that he would comp Zinester’s family if I brought them down. Frankie is a good guy.
On the drive back to Clearwater, Zinester and I listened to the tape. It turns out that I got laughs with the bicycle and Zinester jokes even though I forgot to tell the main punchline for both jokes. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even notice that I didn’t tell the punches. Tonight, when I actually tell the punchlines, I should kill!
My first road gig was a success (of sorts), and I’m really looking forward to tonight.
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The first joke of the year
