Hey ‘Redheads… Greetings from beyond the frozen tundra. I’ve gotten a couple requests to update the blog more frequently…mostly from readers who are bored out of their collective skulls at work, and are looking for a way to combat the malaise (that’s Hellmann’s malaise…ask for it by name). So, Tyler, this one’s for ye…
This week I had the privilege of taking the stage at the DC Improv. The crowds are smart, sophisticated (mostly), and ready to laugh…in short, a gift. It really is one of the best clubs in the country and it boggles my mind when people tell me they haven’t been yet…do yourself a favor…I guarantee a good time. Ok, enough club butt-smooching.
For this slate of shows, I was MCing for neurotic comedy legend, Richard Lewis. I had heard all kinds of stories about how nuts he supposedly was. I was also informed that I had to be “network tv” clean for this show, according to his contract rider. So, in the days before the gig, I was stressing over having to meet the strict standards of a madman.
When I got to the club, my fears over content restriction were allayed somewhat when I was told I just needed to lay off the cursing and anything overtly sexual in nature (so, the nun-fucking bit would stay on the shelf yet again…*sigh*). I met up with the feature, a very funny guy by the name of Eric Lyden. He and I share a fondness for the darker side of comedy…if we were Jedi, we’d both be choking down hecklers (“I find your lack of taste disturbing…”).
Ok, so here were the guidelines I had to adhere to, as set down by Mr. Lewis:
The club gives him a call during Eric’s set. He arrives thru the back door, at which point the club gives Eric the 5 minute light. Then I bring Eric off, do minimal mid-show announcements, then simply say, “Ladies and gentlemen, Richard Lewis.” Easy enough. Far be it from me to begrudge an OCD guy his routine. Then, after his set, he flees out the back door and to his hotel room.
I had never seen Richard Lewis perform live before. What I knew of him was from his old sitcom with Jamie Lee Curtis. A good description of the experience was encapsulated in the Washington Post review of Thursday night’s show:
“…He elaborated on everything he “can’t take” for more than an hour in a frenetic monologue filled with illogical transitions, disjointed observations and unfinished anecdotes.”
Yes, that sounds about right. He did have his moments, but for the most part, he made Ozzy Osbourne sound like Frasier Crane, making about as much sense as a busted change machine (homonyms, comedy gold). Here was one other cool bit from the Post review:
“Comedian Jared Stern introduced Lewis…”
You heard it here first, people. The Washington Post acknowledges Jared Stern as a, “comedian.” Can’t argue with print, people.
Last night, the Blizzard of ’06 hit. A foot of snow dropped on a city that had been enjoying 60 degree days in January. DC was turned into a frozen wintry landscape. I was worried my tan-tan would freeze before I hit the first marker (and I thought that reference smelled bad…on the outside…).
So, it’s cold and about to get colder…as Valentine’s Day fast approaches, and I’ve currently got the romantic prospects of a stench farmer…whatever the hell that is…it doesn’t sound very snuggly. I don’t mind telling you that it stinks. There was one young lass who I saw for a week, but she went inexplicably incommunicado…*sigh*. Ok, I’m done whining.
Here’s a timeless love story to get you in the mood for amore…
To be continued…