I Have To Be Honest-er. More Honest. For Real.

I admit to rarely watching any other comedians that are Big Names, in hopes that I don't become too influenced by their style, tone, or themes. After watching Marc Maron last night, I found myself wandering the halls of my mind looking for doors I have yet to open, for whatever reasons.

"If you're talented and you're not successful, there may be something inside you
that is keeping you from being successful, and sadly, it might be your talent."

A facet of provocative, memorable creativity is to be freed by it, both in expressing it and taking it in. The same can be said of kissing. And a number of other things that you'll have to go to a different website to peruse... Ew.

Marc Maron's willingness to express parts of his life is more than comedic; it's cathartic, cauterizing, and non-caloric. It certainly was inspiring to hear what he talks about, from his (dis)abilities with relationships, his pet choice being cats, and Consciousness On All Levels being the number one enemy to Happiness. And he calls himself out as his own worst enemy on a moment-to-moment basis. That's the beauty. Nobody's innocent, especially the one meting out the punishment.

I guess it's a reminder that I have plenty to draw from in my life for comedy, but to make it Funny for a stage could take time. Perhaps it's not stage-ready and could be a blog or five. Feeling one way or another is what sparks the M-80 before I cram it into a slingshot. If I don't care, I don't share. The same can be said of kissing. So my comedy is not totally unlike kissing, I guess. It comes from a place of emotion, sharing, passion, and uncontrolled intake of codeine cough syrup.

Why challenge my own status quo? Why work harder at anything? This whole idea of a goal being set and achieved is something I haven't done in a while. And that shit's gotta stop.

Or else I'll just open a cupcake boutique. Those are pretty popular.

Blow Me Down

The Pacific Northwest has a broad spectrum of weather, getting both arms around - and both cheeks into - every season. Icy, snowy Springs. Sunny, drizzly Winters. Summers that last only 7 weeks but have temps in the low 100s. And the WIND, oh yes... Mother Nature's Howl.

Recently, while Wife and Son and I were in Culver City there was a really hefty wind-storm. Not a storm just by Los Angeles standards that gusted up to 18mph and threw cigarette ashes all over the back seat of the TT. The kind where, if you were walking home from the bus stop, your legs were being blown into each other and almost tripping you, and you freaked out because normally you can handle that much NightTrain on a 20minute bus ride. Also, you realized that the lights all along the block, up to the Lee SuperLiquor! bodega, were out. HEAVY BLOWIN'. (that oughtta get some more hits to the page)

Power was out for about 3 hours that night. We ordered Italian food from Ugo. It was quality bites. I highly recommend Sun-dried tomatoes and smoked mozzarella on a sammitch. The next day I was driving to work and was on Venice Blvd. A tree had been blown over in the wind, and the branches and leaves and top-half of the trunk were passed out... excuse me... flopped down into the far-left lane. A traffic cone had been placed 50 feet ahead of it to let people know, "YO... we'll get to it!"

The city of Los Angeles has red light cameras all over the place, but not enough to drive revenue from the incredible number of red-light runners (2-per, from my count). A 1-hour rain will flood the streets. The buckling roadways are ground-down and patched-over. Perfectly good comedians are getting shunned for spots at the A-clubs, while horrid hosts with barely 9 minutes of masturmaterial get half-hours on Comedy Central because of their management team. BAD, bad, bad infrastructure.

So that tree, the broken & blocking one, lay there for 2 days before somebody in a city truck came to get it. Sunny weather, clear skies, dry roads. No city utility worker available to clear the roadway. For 2 days.

Last night up on Juanita Drive & 163rd, a tree blew down and knocked power out to Juanita-like areas. The crews were up there this morning getting it handled.

4 weeks ago I had to call the city office in LA about a health inspection. I got a call back TODAY. Thank you, Los Angeles. You proved your point.



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Moving On Up, We Hope

Moving.
Nobody likes doing it. But sometimes, you have to move. You've outgrown the place. You've outlived the place. Your energies stagnate. The bloodstains won't come off the ceiling. And that spot in the living room? PER-MAN-ENT.

We're moving. To Los Angeles, CA. The area around it, not LA-proper. And there just aren't enough hours in these days to go into the whole philosophy of why. Other than that's where I believe many of my dreams will blossom into their next form.

Seattle, my home. A fantastic place to start a career, build an act. But not the place to sustain a career in comedy, unless one is doing cruise ships. I'm not. So I have to go. Seattle comedy has been good to me, and I hope I have, in turn, been at least gentle to it. I only feel like I have hit a consistent stride in the past year or so. Which makes me laugh when I see guys who've been getting on stages for nearly 8 months...
IN A ROW...
"headline" a show. I'm really learning again how to Feature really well, about pace and letting the space between jokes run their own cadence. Let the crowd dictate what I'd like them to. And I have a LOT to learn.

So I don't know that LA will teach me much. I think guys like David Crowe, Brad Upton, Kermet Apio, Joe Vespaziani, and Duane Goad have taught me more than 90% of the guys in LA will. Ron Reid's been nothing but the sherpa I never knew I would need. And I will heed his advice always.
Brousseau teaches me constantly.
What not to wear.
Nor eat.
But he's a helluva man...

Anyway, there'll be more to this soon. For now, it's late, and we're tired, and I'm blogging away so loudly that my wife has closed the door to the Fortress Of Creativity!

Here's what I know, so far:

1. My niece Riley is incredible. I "get it," the baby-having thing.
2. I have work to do on my career as a comedian and writer. And unless thrust into the game, I'll never get to properly play it.
3. Hustle + Talent = Success. If I have a Talent score of 7, I should only need 3 on the Hustle to get my 10 and win Success. But I will need at least a 7 for Hustle in the Beast. Got it.
   
4. I could never do what we're about to go do alone. Some comics mention personal life as a weight holding them down. Instead, my marriage is the cornerstone of the Empire we want to build. I cannot ever thank my wife enough. If you're reading this, I love you. Sorry about the "clown incident" at ROSS.
5. This is irrational, non-sensical, incomprehensible, and dumb. To uproot, rent out, become renters, pay more for rent, leave good-paying jobs, leave friends and family and fair traffic. INSANE.
6. This makes total sense, and without going for it, it will never come to me. I would only end up bitter and guessing. And I'm halfway there now.
   
7. No dream of making one's passion their career will happen without sacrifice, effort, determination, positive thoughts, and luck.
   
8. Fear is a feeling that failure is a possibility, and embarrassment awaits a failure's by-product. Guess what? I'm not scared. I'm excited. I'm angry. I'm motivated.
   
9. I'm a little scared.
10. I have to get more sleep.

What do I know, really? I'm just a guy with a dream of not sitting in a cubicle every day until I decide to retire in a hail of "F*CK Y'ALL" and "EAT SH*T" and "GUESS WHO'S BEEN POOPING IN THE COFFEE MAKER?"

I have a dream of letting my gifts provide me a long, healthy, happy, prosperous career.
Gotta go. Got a dream.


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Taking A Break From the WebFilth, Are We?

The internet, or as George W. Bush once called it, "Library TV," (unconfirmed) is nothing if not full of pointless ramblings. Like this blog, now nearing 600 posts. I have totaled, between this one and my MySpace blog, nearly 1,000 posts. I have no idea if anybody actually reads these on a regular basis. But if you do, I cannot thank you enough, nor legally within the laws governing the sovereign state of Cambodia. I love writing, being creative, and expressing my views on lighthearted issues, like heroin use and terrorism, and the hard-hitting topics like what food is truly unacceptable to offer publicly at work.

Goldfish Crackers? Somebody once put the little Pepp'ridge Fa'm happy fish snacks... INTO A COFFEE FILTER-AS-BOWL... onto the counter in the kitchen at work. As though it was a viable snack option.

"Hey," th'idiot thought, "I like these crackers! I am a good person! I will share my crackers I like with work people I like!"

REALLY? Then why leave them anonymously?
Is this a day-care or a place I go to between "fun" and "sleep?" Next time, just blow gas in my cubicle and leave the culinary insults in your desk drawers. Get the trots on your birthday, jackload. Those are a third-tier salad topper AT BEST. Eat a fart.

So, the internet gave each of us with a computer and an internet connection, or access to our friend's resources so that we couldn't be tracked by the Gub'mint! when reading Chow Mein Kampf: Cooking For Facists, the ability to connect with data we never knew existed. Information. News. Sports records. Urban legands. Keith Urban. John Legend. Keith Stubbs. Celine Dion's clothing designer, who may be blind. And pictures that, as a society, we have absolutely no need to see, no use for, nor should be judged for looking at.

But there's now a visibility into human lives which was not likely anticipated by people willing to open their lives up. In other words, people are putting their lives on display, and it's as fascinating as it is frightening. I am both embarrassed and empowered by what I see.

The truth is that we love the gossip, the dirt, the dredged-up hintings and naughty bits of a person's life, words thrown into the webosphere for our consumption...

AS LONG AS THE DREDGINGS AREN'T FROM OUR EMOTIONAL SINKHOLES. As long as we aren't the subject of the dirty whispers, we're usually okay with the whispers existing. Truly, they've always existed. But this netosphere gives people a key element that previous generations lacked: The assumption that people give 2 hard pushes about what they have to whisper about.

I include myself in that realm. I write to entertain myself as much as I think there are people actually WAITING to read this, like they have NOTHING to do all day long except pine for my brain droppings here. I do thank you, Dear Reader, for ever and forever, for staying with me this long. I will write this forever just so that people will continue reading (P.Diddy's fans now just go with the Video Blog), and so that anybody who can't read will stop trying to be my friend.

The web gives us a place to air our grievances, among other things in need of airing. I have been in a number of on-line squabbles, and found them as exhilirating as they are dumb, if not totally pointless. The internet is the ultimate in Passive Activity, if there is such a thing. Doing "something" from a chair, or a Kentucky Gropin' Hammock if that's your thing.

But one's heart races when all of this visual and aural stimuli rushes into our sensors, and perhaps it feels like we're doing somethin'.

The internet can be used to do things, like order items, pay for ordered items, and then report the ordered items as "missing" when she shows up and runs away from you because AGAIN, you must stop ordering brides on-line.

Or STALKING! You can find somebody to be obsessed with for whatever reason, and spiral completely out of control. And you'll swear up and down that they just aren't getting the real YOU, and they need to meet you in order to find out that you are NOT stalking them...

you're just hacking their email and phone records to make sure that nobody is, indeed, stalking them. Cyberstalking is still stalking. Sorry.

Online gaming is another way to use the internet while pretending you've got a life.

Overall, this is a necessary and wonderful tool that has been sullied by perverts, pre-verts, awful bands, unsightly "models", and the government. Please do not think that the internet is an evil machine. It is a reflection of the makeup of humanity.

And all that has been going on within the Webosphere, the degradation, the love-sharing, the snakeoils, the snake handling, the purchase of kidney-extraction forceps, has forever been happening. Recipe trading, cake making, and people sneaking in to love-make to the cake (You Google that on your own!). It's all been happening prior to the internet.

But thankfully, with technology in our lives, all the good people have a place to watch the pervs from a safe distance. But we are NOT stalking them! Really, who has the time?

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Drugs On The Street

I've been at my new job since February, and a full-time employee here - as opposed to a contracted employee - since May 19th. After 30 days my "insurance" plan kicked in for coverage. Coverage here is a very loosely-applied term.

The Coverage I receive is, frankly, disgustingly small. For a tax-paying, full time, relatively handsome employee at a multi-billion dollar corporation (which does NOT provide creamer, sugar, or recyclable!!! cups for their employees keggers), I have squat to work with. I have a high deductible to pay BEFORE my insurance kicks in. The deductible would be paid on things other than Preventive care, such as physicals, inocculations, and shock therapy. Perhaps it's some sort of vetting, to prove I'm financially stable enough to pay for my own medical treatments prior to the company footing one cent of the bill.

The deductible is over $1,000. It's not an insurmountable sum. But where is the Benefit? As a contracted (read "SQUEEZED") employee, I had a similarly craptastic plan, wherein my prescriptions were covered up to $75 a month. Not a big deal there. Unless ya need a specialty med, which I do. Not as in "it helps me sleep from time to time." It's a medication that keeps me from having arthritis flare-ups and horrible psoriasis. Since it's the only drug of its kind, and the most-effective, it runs its own show, price-wise.

For a month's-worth of the med, off the shelf, yer lookin' at $1,500. My alternative is heroin. Or a detoxification program that would cost nearly that much, but wouldn't work at the cellular level that the drug does. And after all I've been through with it, the only thing that may, MAY work as well is a full month-long detox, liver-wringing, and being dipped in organic coconut oil by Salma Hayek. (these statements have not been disproven by the FDA, AMA, or my wife)

Well, my co-worker's grossing me out with a wet, hacking chest cough that is lingering since the 2nd day we worked here... and yet she remains adamant that she's NOT sick. 4 lineal feet of lung oyster begs to differ, sister.

Situations like this make me scream for "Universal Healthcare!!!" But I'll get past this, and write some funnier jokes about it, and do my best to bring it down from the inside. Like a virus. A handsome virus.

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SICC Again; the Comics You Know

I am a finalist in the Seattle International Comedy Competition.
It hit me last Sunday in a deluge of emails, texts, phone calls, but not a SINGLE chunky muffin basket. Nor a tastefully-shot half-nude of Geoff Brousseau. Thank you very little.

I cannot take all the credit for getting to where I am. I have had the help, support, and well wishes of my wife, my family, my friends, and many of my friends who are comics. I have felt only minor tinges of pain throughout all of this. Sometimes just gas. Sometimes emotional. Oft-times the result of seeing Integrity take a rake to the back. You can't control what everyone else does. The best you can do is control your own moments, your own performance, and dumb it down so very deeply that even the most qualified of comedy judges isn't challenged by what you're doing.

But I progress. DI-gress.

Going into this final show tonight at the Comedy Underground Marcus, an impressionist with energy to burn, is in 1st. He is a stage monster. He is a one-man, live-band karaJoke jam, audiences cannot get enough of him, and he's played everywhere you can play in this state.

Close behind is Tony Boswell, an incredible writer and comedian who reminds me of a very good whiskey, a sweet and smoky warmth that doesn't quite burn. But could. It's like watching a Miles Davis solo in comedy form, laughing when the notes trail to something you thought would go one way, and just give you the chills instead. I wish I would have written a lot of the stuff Tony is doing.

Leif Skyving has impressed me nightly since the beginning with great joke-writing, great performances, and fully embracing the entirety of his life for material. He shies from nothing, and makes it all Funny. I would love to work some gigs with Leif, but that's an awful lot of Northern European man-funny for an audience to unzip for.

Key Lewis has taken rooms over with energy, and has commanded stages with coolness. This guy's got so many talents that there's no way to tell what he can do yet. But it's big. To FINAL your first time through this thing is a Feat. And he's married. With 3 kids. And a full time job that one day had him on the road to Portland at 5am, and BACK to the Vashon show on time. Impressive stuff all the way around.

I'm in the mix as well. Placings don't matter right now. Doing the best possible set I can for the last night of the competition is all that matters.

I will summarize my own feelings throughout the entire run of 18 shows over three weeks of the waning month of November 2007. As autumn has turned earnest, my thoughts of comedy, my own and in general, have been injected with respect, drive, and a focus on Doing The Comedy I Want To Be Remembered For.

I can always write more jokes. Better jokes. Better comedy. Bigger Funny.
And I will.

Oh wait, here's that Brousseau picture!


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Seattle to LA to Seattle to Vancouver, BC to Happiness

In the last 2 days, or 48 hours for the stat freaks, I put myself through the following:
1,277 miles.
3 airplanes.
1 hair-gelled clown-ass "Business Guy."
14 minutes of comedy.
10 of my favorite comics, and now "people," in 100 square feet of minglin' space.
2 totally different atmospheres.
1 lesson to be sussed out and absorbed later.

How and where you ask?

With the magic of mirrors.
And behind the refrigerator, I answer. These are, of course, answers to questions you will ask me in the future, but I've already answered them to save time.

So let's talk about my trip. And it wasn't travel, it was a trip.

Tuesday morning I flew to Los Angeles to take part in the California Comedy Festival. I was invited to perform at the Hollywood Improv along with 11 other comics, part of a "contest" format for the audience and some judges to vote for and advance their favorites.

I took unpaid time off of work to go do this. Because it's the Improv, that's why. Because I needed to do it, that's why. And there was the hoping hint of "industry" being in the house, like agents and managers and players. There were managers. Of retail. There were players. Of the "drugged girlfriend" kind. There were agents. On the phone from afar, a great guy I had already made contact with a while back who couldn't make it. And another big-namer in the comedy world who left prior to my show. But hey, it happens.

Not complaining at all, because this was a shot to go showcase in LA for SOMEBODY, I hoped. There were some great performers there, but I think some of us, perhaps THIS GUY (thumbs pointed at me), missed an email or an idea. I was chosen for the "Comedy From The Edge" group, the Light Blue gang who can pretty much let it all hang out, but still not get ridiculous or raunchy for the sake of raunch. Bottom line, I was surprised at how tame some of the other sets were in my group. Tame, lame, or boring, you pick it, but I had hoped somebody would knock a sock loose. FFFFRZZT, nothin'.

Oddly enough, I had chosen to do ONLY material that I have proven through research and DOING IT ON STAGE to have a reputation as FUNNY AS SH*T. At the Improv on Melrose. So I was ready to strap it up and lower a shoulder, deliver a set that would at LEAST get me a free friggin' JagerBomb.

I think I got laughs on 70% of the material, 40% of THAT did very well, and 10% of the Very Well was EXCELLENT. The other stuff, and I'll have to watch the tape to confirm, was either totally F'ed up by me (I inexcusably flubbed one line in a very comfortable bit, my fault), or spoken in such a way as to alienate the audience. It may have been where I said "You guys make sure you only eat healthy, organic bullets, you f*cking RO-TARDS." That was only in my head, of course.

I also blame the crowd for some of it. Front table had a few ladies who were among the top 2% of Gorgeous, and one woman who was a professional killer of fun times. I felt empathetic for her, being dragged far from home to sit in a room where people were trying to entertain a room full of people OTHER than her, and maybe that annoyed her and her bad hair and caused her to sit... FRONT ROW... with arms folded. For 95% of the show. The rest of the room, I could see them laughing, but not really hear them.

But I performed decently, I'd score myself a B- at best, and I was chosen to move on to the next round. That's NEXT week all over the LA and Orange Counties!

SUMMARY: I performed at the Improv on my own money, time, and hustle. Were it not for my lovely wife getting my ass to get my press kit to UPS on time, I wouldn't have made the trip down. Totally worth it. Met some really great comics and people, and probably pissed them off by not mentioning their names and how great they were and how they've never made a bad sandwich. But really, why would I say nice things about Kara Walden, Mark Serritella, Rick Kunkler, Rick Younger, and Dave Becky when you already know they are lovely? Yes, I said Rick Kunkler.

Got to chat with Marc Maron, one of my all-time faves, and with Tracy Tuffs, another one of my all-time faves as a comic and person. He'll be all over Seattle in the next week, so go see him! He's awesome.

Flew back to Seattle the next morning after about 45min to 1hour of sleep. It just wasn't takin' hold, I was too wired from the show.
At the airport, new issue. Got in line for the mad rush, about 50th of 75. Light load = STRETCH OUT TIME! SLEEPY TIME TO OAKLAND!
I get to the gate and mistakenly hand the agent my boarding pass for Oakland, not LAX, as I had a layover in Oaktown. So I step to the side for 3 seconds, or about 2 more passengers to go by so that I... and this is very important...
DON'T HOLD THE F*CK UP THE F*CKING LINE AND LIVES OF OTHER PEOPLE.

Crazy, I know. I step back in line, having already paid my dues by waiting in the right spot for 45 minutes, and begin to hand the agent the correct boarding pass when I hear a voice behind me say - in a voice best described as "this guy is aaaaall business, me, I get things done..." - he says just loud enough that I MIGHT hear him;
"What's wrong with THIS line?"

I think a second, and decide that it's too much energy to deal with that guy.
But I'm also too tired to let go of shit slung from a guy who slings but rarely takes, judging from the gel in his hair. So I say, calmly...
"Oh, I was in line ahead of you for an hour, I just grabbed my layover pass, had to grab the right one. I'm hope there are still seats."
That sounds harsher than it came out, and I'm sorry. It should have had at least one "c*cksucker" it. But somebody had to learn a lesson, and by the grace of God, it wasn't gonna be me.
When's the last time he decided to go rhetorical on a stranger, and the stranger called him on it? Last I saw of him, he was personifying "khaki" while grabbing his briefcase.

I got about an hour of sleep on the plane I got back into Seattle around 1pm on Wednesday, and had to act like I was awake enough to drive alone to Canada. I always sleep well in the car, so I was looking forward to the drive North for my show at the...

VANCOUVER COMEDY FESTIVAL!
If you don't believe me, look HERE.
Holy CRAP my bio is lame.

I'll skip the antics and give you these details, because if I don't go to bed soon I'm pretty sure I'll forget how to sleep.

I got off the elevator in the Georgian Court Hotel, a twill and velvet embrace of a hotel on Beatty in the 'Couve. First person I see is David Cross. Yes, THAT David Cross.
David.
F*cking.
Cross.
#8 in my Top 10 Comics I Don't Know But are Awesome. Amazingly cool guy, just funny and cool the way one would hope somebody you admire would be. But cooler. And funnier. Got to watch him perform.

I performed at Yuk Yuk's in Vancouver. GREAT Club, and you should visit them when you get to Vancouver, BC. Matthew is a fantastic manager, the staff and crew were great, and I'm angling to get back in there for a weekend soooon.

Performed with Pilcher, Barth, and Brousseau. Loved every second of it. Somebody threw in a side of Sigurdson, Clark, and Dixon. It was spoiling. Two-hand-shovel that into my face anytime you wanna. They should all get more publicity and heat, these are some funny-ass people. Sorry if I forgot your names, Toby and Foxx. I was hanging out too awesomely to watch your whole set(s).

Duane Goad continues to impress me as a comedian and funny guy and cool dude to hang out with. But as a man who dresses himself, um... yeah, we get it. You're "professional."

Went to another show and as I'm milling about the balcony, DAVID CROSS comes out to perform. Watched it, loved it. Satire gets almost no better than David Cross.

So it can't get better, I get ready to get outta there and PAUL F. TOMPKINS comes out to perform. I have never seen him live, and HOLY CRAP, amazing. That guy just OWNS it, waaaaaay too funny.
Had Goad almost on the floor, and Goad only laughs at Tracy Tuffs and when I eat it.




Getting ready to leave then, tired, over it and HOLY CRAP you are NOT going to bring Marc Maron out to perform. Yes you are. So THAT's why Maron left the Improv so early the night before. Again, humbling and real and worth missing sleep for.

Saw THIS GUY's ass. Don't worry, it wasn't anything weird. It was all normal, in the street like usual. Very hetero.

Back to the hotel, we go to the "Lounge Party" for a drink. A. Drink. One. Too tired to deal with it, ya know? 4 hours of sleep, including what I got in the car on the drive up.




Well that idea lasts about 15min when Cross, Todd Glass, Tompkins and some other people I mentioned all come in, post-show-we-were-at. There is NOTHING more fun than post-show hanging with comedians. You will never laugh harder if you're in the right mood. This was the right mood.

I went to bed about 1:30, slept about 2 hours total, got up at 5:30 and headed back to my day-job.

SUMMARY!
I missed my wife a lot on this trip. I am sure I married the right woman.
I met and hung out with some of my favorite comedians.
I performed at two of the biggest clubs in North America.
I performed with some of my best comedy friends.
In 24 hours, I went from feeling like a Road Dog to the opening act of a really popular comic.
I loved every second of it.
I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.
I am thankful, happy, blessed, and lucky to be doing what I love to do.

I cannot thank these people enough, so please support them and their endeavors:
Dave and Angela for hosting the showcase that got me to Vancouver at the best club to come along in a long time;
Laura and Will at Destination Funny for their work in getting us Americans into BC for the festival, and organizing a GREAT week of comedy;
Everyone at Destination Funny for organizing a festival dedicated to MAKING PEOPLE LAUGH. I metaphysically have loved you all;
Canadian Government and Citizens for having a budget spent on the Arts each year, allowing us to stay in a PHATAZZ hotel - The Georgian Court - and entertain you lovelies;

TK and Will at the Cali Comedy Festival for their efforts to pull it all off, I hope it swings big for you guys!;

and last but not least...

You, family and friends and readers and fans of me and of comedy and of my comedy, for your support and teasing and being yourselves and taking time to be at shows or read this or say "yo." If it weren't for you, I'd perform to empty rooms, and love it not nearly as much as when you laugh. Your laughter makes me happy.

I quit.

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