JARED STERN'S ONLINE COMEDY CUBICLE

Hey there ‘Redheads… Greetings from beyond all the Newport News that’s fit to print. Just got back from a great weekend at Cozzy’s, one of my favorite clubs. Before I get this blog a rollin’, I realize that July has been a below-par month as far as blog frequency. I’ve been trying to offset that by making the blog as meaty as possible. This week is no exception.

First and foremost, thanks to Lorain, Corry, Karen, and the rest of the Cozzy’s staff for an amazing weekend. All three shows were packed to the rafters with folk that were ready to laugh. I wish I could take credit for the sell-out crowds. I suffer from many delusions, but “being a draw” is not yet one of them. The capacity crowd was all thanks to a DC legend, the Fat Doctor. For those of you who don’t know, the good doctor has mentored guys like Martin Lawrence and Dave Chappelle. He’s a favorite down in Newport News, and it was very cool to watch him work. Another thing you may not know about Doc is that he was a contemporary of the late great Richard Pryor. It’s one thing to work with a cool headliner, but getting a chance to work with a font of comedy wisdom…that’s the icing on the gravy.

This was my third time at Cozzy’s, and this was my most consistent weekend there so far. This was best crystallized by Chris, a patron of the club who’s seen me all three times. “Dude,” he started, “The first time I saw you, you seemed to lose the crowd about halfway through. The second time, I was like ‘This guy is funny.’ Tonight, I was like ‘This guy has a point.’ ” The several pitchers of beer he’d thrown back aside, I found his observation encouraging. Someone out there thinks I have a point. Now, all I have to do is…find a point. I’ll be taking suggestions.

Speaking of nebulous points, you probably read the title of the blog and are wondering what the hell it has to do with my weekend adventures (but, I assume too much). Well, much of my weekend was spent mainlining junk into my peepers. It started after my set on Friday night. It turns out the town of Newport News was named for the cigarette, because these people smoked like cancer is a prize. There was a thick haze that you could see in the stage lights. Usually, I don’t mind the smoke…I have a second hand smoking habit, but that night the nicotine cloud formed two fingers that poked me right in the eyes. I got all teary, like Matt Lauer just asked me if the papparazzi had gone too far.
The assault on my eyes continued the next morning (ok, it was closer to noon…the sun was shining, anyway), as I went about killing my Saturday. My usual routine is to catch a matinee at the local multiplex. The showing of Clerks 2 didn’t start for another couple hours, so I had some thumb-twiddling time. I usually find a bookstore or a DVD store to pass the time, but this time I wandered in what I thought was a video game store, called Gamer’s Haven. Turns out, it was a place to play video games. Roughly 15 PCs all set up to run networked games. You pay by the hour and log on to all sorts of retina-burning fun. I chose Doom 3 so I could kill both time and demons with one stone. I bought this game for my home computer, but apparently the graphics are too vivid for it, because when I attempted to play it, it looked like I was reading an apocalyptic flip book. So, being able to play the game on a high-performance machine was a plus. They supply you with headphones and a flatscreen monitor…very immersive. Midway through the game, I felt like Bill Paxton in Aliens. Oddly enough, that was around the time that my hour ran out…game over, man…game over.

After I got done, I went to check out the latest from Kevin Smith, Clerks 2. I’m not going to review the movie. If you liked Mallrats or Dogma or the original Clerks, then you’ll enjoy this one. What caught my eye was a preview for another flick, The Protector. This is the newest movie from Muay Thai dynamo, Tony Jaa. No digital effects. No wire stunts. Just pure badass martial artistry. If you haven’t seen the man in action, I give you the final fight from his first movie, Ong Bak: Thai Warrior. Enjoy…

Pretty flippin’ sweet, eh? Expect more of that barbaric ballet in the new one, which should hit theaters in late August.

Well, it’s getting late, so I’ll leave you with that. Your comedy homework: Go support the comedy showcase at the Arlington Cinema n’ Drafthouse on the 26th. If it sells out, good things happen.

To be continued…

Greetings from beyond North Cack-a-lackey, ‘Redheads… Just got back from a 4-day comedy vacation on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Many thanks to Ed, Leslie, and the rest of the staff of The Comedy Club for an amazing week of shows. Ed and Leslie are a rare breed of club owner, allowing 4 comics into their home EVERY WEEK. Given the off-balance nature of comedians, this is alot like giving a monkey 4 hand grenades (or, is that one hand grenade and 4 monkeys?) EVERY WEEK. Luckily, the arrangement has worked out so far without their house collapsing in on itself like in Poltergeist.
I mentioned 4 comics. They run two rooms during the week, so the headliner and feature from both rooms stay at their house, a really cool place right on the Albemarle Sound (I’m pretty sure I didn’t spell that right but, I’m still kinda in vacation mode). Along with me, was the very funny and super cool Greg Lausch and the equally cool Chad EO (I have it on good authority that he’s funny, but I never got to see him on stage…no relation to Captain EO). Ok, that’s only 3…unfortunately, the other headliner, the hilarious Sonya King, is allergic to dogs, and couldn’t cope with Buddy and Sadie, the club owner’s pooches (that was an assload of commas).
So, what do three swingin’ comics unleashed upon the beaches of Nags Head, NC do? Not a whole hell of alot. Highlights include:

-Lunch at the Nags Head H(.)(.)ters… Nothing like cracking jokes with a really hot waitress…who doesn’t understand sarcasm. She won the looks lottery, I guess it’s too much to ask that she know when someone is kidding…ever.
While we’re talking about the Maxim of restaurants, a moment of silence for Robert H. Brooks, who, as the self-styled “Worldwide Wing Commander” of Hooters restaurants, died on Sunday at his home in Myrtle Beach, S.C. He was 69(…figures). Apparently, God needed a franchise. Kudos to you, Mr. Brooks for providing the world with two things: 1) day jobs for strippers and Hawaiian Tropic models and 2) yet another forum for fat slobs to think they have a shot with hot waitresses who know better. As per his wishes, his body will be breaded, fried, and slowly lowered into a vat of bleu cheese dressing. There will also, of course, be a 21 tit salute.

-Poker. Apparently, Ed is a bit of a cardshark. He introduced us to a whole new world of poker, beyond the milquetoast Texas Hold’em. Our poker nights, which went to about 5am one night, were all about the wild cards. Variants on 7 card stud like Low Hold Wild, Night Baseball, High Chicago, and, the game that grows the pot faster than your college Ultimate Frisbee team, No Peek. Screw the World Series of Poker, ESPN needs to televise four comics shootin’ the shit over a pitcher of margaritas and freshly baked tollhouse cookies. You want drama? Here’s how one hand played out…Greg shows four-of-a-kind Jacks…Chad shows four-of-a-kind Kings…after seeing both hands, I got to say, “Well, gentlemen, that’s a damn shame,” and showed my four-of-a-kind Aces. I felt like Doc Holliday. I’m your huckleberry.

-Lunch at Five Guys. One of the greatest burger joints has extended its reach past Va. If you’ve never had a Five Guys burger, do yourself a favor. The basic burger is two patties thick. Nothing but the finest toppings. I bit into a jalapeno so green, Lex Luthor could’ve used it to take out Superman. Delicious, yes. The bathroom aftermath it caused hasn’t been seen outside of Fat Man and Little Boy (look it up).

The weather was sunny and spectacular for the most part. Except for Thursday night. At around 6pm, I looked off into the northern sky and saw darkness. This darkness slowly got bigger as it skulked down the coast and swallowed the sky. As Greg and I drove toward the club, the stormcloud followed close behind. If you’ve seen The Neverending Story, essentially The Nothing was chasing us to the club. Once it settled over the ocean, the storm was an amazing sight. Massive lightning strokes. Rain blowing sideways. Like God was putting on a seaside Gallagher show (be careful in the front row…you will get wet).

There are some other details I’m leaving out…alcohol + heatstroke = fuzzy memories…

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope everyone can still count to ten on both hands after the alcohol-fueled celebration of our nation’s independence. I got a chance to enjoy multiple fireworks displays from my friend Pam’s rooftop. Usually, the 4th of July’s combo of beer, humidity, and loud bangs are the recipe for a big ass migraine. This time, after a brain-pain free evening, my luck was ruined by a screeching five-year-old on the metro. The kid had alot in common with a certain kind of firework…the one that makes alot of noise, calls a bunch of attention to itself, but ends up fizzling and not doing much with its life.

I finally saw Superman Returns last night. I was not disappointed. I can understand why some people were. Essentially, it is a carbon copy of the original Superman: The Motion Picture. Deliberately paced, focusing more on the dramatic than the bang for the buck. So, if you went expecting an action flick, it probably left you wanting. There was no epic fight scene. What this movie did was reestablish Superman as an iconic character in the hearts and minds of movie-goers. Brandon Routh is, no pun intended, a dead ringer for Christopher Reeve in look and performance (and bears an eerie resemblance to DC comedian, Paul Schorsch). Sure, if you want to nitpick, the plot has plenty of holes, but lighten up people…it’s a comic book movie.

This blog has reached a mini-milestone: 5,000+ hits…as of a couple days ago. Now that it has reached that mark, I’ve done some calculations to give myself a rough idea just how many of you read this. Ok…as of right now, the blog counter is at 5057 (minus the hit I just used to check it). Not counting this post, there’ve been 53 posts since I installed the counter. To account for the amount of times I check the blog, let’s subtract 3 hits for every post…that’s 5057 – 159 = 4898. So, we take the remaining hits and divide by the number of posts…4898 / 53 = 92 and change. 92 hits per post. Even if that’s 46 people checking it twice, that’s still very encouraging. It ain’t an Oscar, but you like me…you really sort of like me. May this be the last time I ever use math in this blog.

It may be the last time, only because my mental faculties are slowly slipping through my fingers, like so much sand (thanks Chris). Here’s the evidence of my descent into dementia. As alot of you know, before I started doing stand-up, I spent 2 1/2 years as the associate producer of DC101’s Elliot in the Morning Show. I got a chance to meet a bunch of big names…Bobby Slayton, Jim Gaffigan, Jay Mohr once called me an idiot for my fantasy football picks, I drank Sam Adams Summer Ale with Jim Cook. Here I am with Lord Stanley’s Cup…

What I’m getting at is, I have alot of vivid memories from my short time there. So, on Saturday morning, on my drive to work, I turned on the Best Of Elliot to liven up the commute. There was an interview, live in studio, with Dave Chappelle. Pretty cool. You’ve got my attention. As the interview goes on, I hear clues that this is a vintage segment from maybe a couple years ago…pre-Chappelle’s Show. Then I hear me (yes, the trademark “HA!”). I was in studio, with Dave Chappelle (who, granted, wasn’t as famous back then…this was from roughly ’99), AND I DON’T REMEMBER IT. Not a lick of it. And I edited this interview for Best Of. I’m one step shy of being the guy from Memento. I going to have to take pictures of my friends and write footnotes in sharpie that say, “Be nice to these people, they’ve put up with you for this long.” I’ll be tattooing my closer on my chest. I need a vacation.

Luckily, comedy has come to my rescue. On Tuesday, I hit the road for four nights of sun and pun in Nags Head, NC. This’ll be the furthest south I’ve ventured to be paid for my services (I did a showcase in Charlotte and auditioned for LCS2 in Nashville). This’ll also be the most exotic locale that comedy has taken me to…although, when Buffalo and Erie are your main competition, that’s not saying much. The past two days have been spent looking for my swimtrunks, some sunscreen, and the courage to take my shirt off on a public beach. The hairy puff-pastry that is my torso isn’t exactly something I like to show off in broad daylight…especially since my gut is close to being broader than daylight. I’m looking forward to a couple days of beach bumming, then hitting the stage after being freshly stroked by the sun.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… As promised, I’m back on track with my bloggery. This is, by no means, a guarantee that this Amtrak won’t derail again at some point (or collide with my train of thought), but for now lets head to the dining car and feast on some hearty blog meat…or, for you vegetarians out there, bloccoli (and, apparently, corn).

Now to answer the burning question (would ya believe “smoldering”?) that’s been on everyone’s mind: Am I the funniest Jewish comic (of the roughly 50 that entered an arbitrary and completely bullshit NY bringer contest)? Sadly, no. I am, however, somewhere between the 4th and 15th funniest. I am happy to report that Adam Ruben is the 2nd funniest Jew on record. For this accomplishment, he was awarded a $150 gift certificate to Macy’s. If he has any sense of finance, he’ll invest that money…in a stake in the 50 foot, floating UnderDog balloon from the Thanksgiving Parade. A big thank you to my two friends who came out to support me, budding rock star, Marissa Levy and song parodist extraordinaire, David Brody.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a fun experience. Getting on the main stage in front of a packed house at the Laugh Factory, even if only for 5 minutes and for 300 old Jews, was quite a rush. This was a great example of how moody a contest can be…the judges and crowd love you in the prelims, and for some reason that connection is lost in the finals. It’s a mystery. The crowd for the finals skewed older…I know this because I could carbon date most of them. It looked like a casting call for Cocoon 3 (yes, there was a 2). Older people don’t respond to the same things that young whippersnappers do…factor in some inherent uptightness and the ambient temperature of the room being about 100 degrees, you’ve got a dangerous concoction of kvetching and shpilkiss.
This was evidenced as I was coming off stage after my set. A lady, who wasn’t old, but fit the uptight mold, waved me over to her table. Here’s what she lays on me… You should rethink that Parkinson’s joke you tell. My father is dying of Parkinson’s. It’s very offensive. I’ve never been a huge fan of this rationale. And I said to her plainly, I didn’t write the joke about him. A good friend of mine died in a rainstorm last week, should I now be offended by jokes about driving in the rain? This lady might as well have said this…You should rethink that bobblehead joke you tell. My father choked to death on a bobblehead doll. Lighten up people, they’re just jokes. If you are offended by something, it shouldn’t be up to the author to change his or her worldview because you feel snubbed. I should write a book, but that lady might burn it. Well, enough of me taking myself way too seriously…for now.
A cool highlight of the show, was its bookend special guests. The show was opened by Freddie Roman. In the green room, he regaled us with a story of how he and Henny Youngman were arguing over who headlined at the Copa Cabana. Just to give you some perspective, that story is currently being studied in the comic antiquities wing of the Smithsonian (by top men…who?…top men). The show was closed by Mickey Freeman. Mickey is the last surviving member of the cast of television’s Sgt. Bilko. They were both very entertaining. Now, when you see a headliner get on stage and tell book jokes, you roll your eyes and wonder how they’ve made it this far. Here’s the thing, though…these guys probably WROTE THE FUCKING BOOK.

Since neither of us accidentally infected ourselves with mouse malaria, or monkeypox, or hamster HIV this time, we arrived in NY with a couple hours to kill. We wandered through Times Square and found our way to the Toys R Us. Unfortunately, we were unable to recreate the scene from Big, but here are a couple things that we saw worth noting…
1) Bulk Legos. Making a three story replica of Tara Reid, but don’t have enough purple for the crotch? Fear not. They have buckets and bins of every piece you could need, sorted by color, size, and configuration.
2) The wall of Pez. Every type of Pez dispenser imaginable, from Darth Vader to Bruce Vilanch. They also had everyday heroes…a firefighter, a policeman, and my personal favorite, the nurse…which dispensed placebos.
3) A kid throwing a major league fit. No toy store visit is complete until you see a kid blow his top because his mom won’t buy him that three story replica of Tara Reid. This kid was screeching like he’d just burst out of somebody’s chest. His face was beet red, which made his blonde hair look like spaghetti noodles on a dodgeball. The mother held him like a trophy for the Most Justified Reason to Hit Your Kid and she rushed out of the store. Priceless. Remember, you too can be a winner in the game of Life.

And now it’s time to debut a new feature on the blog. After the utter failure of Joke-a-Day in June, I’ve decided to narrow my focus to bring you the best of a phenomenon I’ve always enjoyed: Gas Station Marquee Words of Wisdom. I’m sure you’ve seen them. Either motivational, uplifting, or biblical, these blurbs come straight from the Unleaded Supreme being to help you through your day. Each blog, I’ll post a new one…plus my own commentary. I dub thee John 3:16 9/10. Enjoy:

If you seek vengeance, dig two graves. That’s sound advice, because when I get revenge, it usually involves cutting somebody in at least two pieces.

Superman Returns came out last week. I’ve always been a big fan of the last son of Krypton. I’ve heard good things from my dork sources about the movie. I’ll have a full write-up, of course. In the meantime, here’s a panel from a Superman comic that I’ve always identified with…

Well, the year is half over. Time for the real procrastinating to begin. Have a safe, emergency room visit-less holiday. May the 4th be with you.

To be continued…

When it rains, it pours. If wetness is the essence of beauty, then the last 7 days have been fuckin’ beautiful. ‘Redheads, it has been too long. My apologies for contributing to the delinquency of my blog. I received this response to the placeholder Coming Soon blog I put up: WEAK….Hella WEAK…seriously? Seriously I loaded this page for that…..what a waste of all that Al Gore created for us. WEAK….I can’t believe my comments are longer than your blog. That is just plain sad.
It won’t happen again. We good? Ok then. Let’s get on to the business of retelling the good, the bad, and the downright tragic. Poppin’ a recap in your ass.

Let’s begin where I last left you. Your homework was to go check out my fellow Guys Watching 24 (still conveniently linked to your right) co-stars, Chris White and Danny Rouhier at the DC Improv with Adam Ferrara. I went ahead and did the assignment too. Turned out to be an awesome night on a few levels. Level 1: Danny and Chris had great sets in front of a sold-out crowd. It was also a pleasure to finally see Adam Ferarra live. He is a great example of what separates a true headliner from a guy who can do 45 minutes. To me, anyway, a headliner needs to leave the audience with something. He or she should lead them down a rabbit hole and give them a glimpse of something they haven’t thought of or seen before. Adam Ferrara did just that, and had the crowd hanging on his every word. Very cool. Level 2: When I got to the club, they were slightly understaffed. So, rather than simply freeload, I got put to work. I was put in charge of the light…the signal that tells the comic on stage how much time they have left. There’s a delicate art to giving somebody the light. You need to make sure they see it, but, at the same time, you don’t want to be distracting to the performer. It takes a certain amount of poise on the comic’s part to see the light mid-joke and not break stride. That comes with experience. Most open-mikers don’t know to look for the light, and when they do see it they treat it like the neuralizer from Men In Black. It was a fun bit of responsibility…I wasn’t drunk with power, but I was sipping it…especially when I lit Adam Ferrara. Level 3: The DC Improv is going through some renovation and expansion. The bathrooms are now fully functional and a wall has been erected behind the curtain that drapes the walkway from the green room to the stage. For those of you that’ve been there, this means the patrons are no longer able to back up their chairs into the walkway. Unfortunately, the air conditioning wasn’t functioning. This made the evening sticky, sweaty, and otherwise swampy. Pardon this imagery, but by the end of the night, my nutsack was stuck to my inner thigh like a wacky wall-walker…and my asscrack could breed mosquitoes. Secret Level: One of the cool things about a club like the DC Improv, is that every once in awhile a big name will show up unannounced. Dave Chappelle has done it recently. Well, this night we got a surprise visit from SNL alum, Kevin Nealon. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to meet him…or light him.

Before I went inside the club, I spotted a homeless guy begging for change…not so much begging as bugging. He had an empty Coke cup that he held outstretched, and when the inevitable passer-by shrugged him off, he followed behind them for about 100 feet, clearing his throat. Now, I have never been homeless. I have, however, been locked out of my house. That was frustrating as hell (I’m not trying to diminish their situation, I’m just saying there but for the grace of God go I). So, these people have to deal with that frustration every day. If I was homeless, and my survival depended on the charity of strangers, I’d like to think I could give them a reason to part with their change. Por ejemplo, the homeless guy I encountered the next night as I was going to meet my family for dinner. I was about to parallel park, and this guy began waving me into the spot. I didn’t need the help, but he was willing to offer it. Putting forth an effort. I was more than willing to give him a couple of bucks after he offered to watch my car. Comics sing for their supper on a nightly basis, so I can appreciate when a guy in need does what he can to sway an otherwise indifferent stranger.

Editor’s note: I’ve decided to break this entry up into two parts. For those of you clamoring to know how I did in the finals of the Funniest Jewish Comic contest, that will be posted in a day or so.

When you hear about the weather related fatalities from the past week, more often than not, they’re anonymous, but for the mention in the paper. Unfortunately, this time, I was not so lucky. Marlie Griffin, a local actress who I had the privilege of sharing the stage with, died in a car accident in Sunday night’s storm. She was 43. In every creative endeavor that I’ve entered into, I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded by talented people. She was one of them. Marlie, you will be missed.

To be continued…soon, I promise…

‘Redheads, please don’t judge stand-up comedy by what you see on Last Comic Standing. I have the show on in the background as I type this. If I knew nothing else about stand-up except the apparent under-developed reconnaissance photo that this dreck is, I’d rank it just below birthday clowning on the ol’ respect-o-meter. We’re better than this. At least, I hope to hell that I am.

I hope all of you had a fine Father’s Day. My parents and I traveled to Philly to visit my sister and her husband. We got the fam-damn-ly together for a cookout and a Fudgy the Whale cake. I haven’t spent much time in Philly, so it was cool to get a chance to take a stroll through the historic area and down South St. It was HOT. It was very interesting to see everyone in the city making their own…gravy. Here’s a fun faux paz I heard on the radio on the drive up… Hey, Happy Father’s Day everybody. Now here’s Eric Clapton with Tears in Heaven. Great way to commemorate the day for dads…by playing a song that a guy wrote for his 4-year old son that fell out a window. That ranks right up there with when I heard Metallica’s Fade to Black and Shinedown’s (Staring Down the Barrel of a) 45 played back to back. You know some depressed teen took that as a sign.

Now, on to the title of this blog. In this day and age of easy access and instant gratification, it’s easy to focus just on what you already like and maybe overlook an underexposed hidden gem. If you’re a fan of music, bargains, and just plain cool shit, then I highly recommend you check out Joe’s Record Paradise. When I was in high school, and knew jack squat about music, I would sift through the wide selection at Joe’s and choose the CD with the coolest cover art. This was the first one that caught my eye…

This is The Bogeymen’s There Is No Such Thing As. It was the only album they ever record. No one has ever heard of these guys. It’s one of my favorite albums. I found myself back at Joe’s a couple days ago, and thought I’d give my old system a whirl. This grabbed my attention’s ass (look carefully)…

Treephort’s Use Your Illusion III. A fun little punk record that’s over before you can get tired of it. I think all six tracks ran about 17 minutes. But that’s 17 minutes more than the real GnR has done in the last 15 years.

Because I have to get up an hour early for work tomorrow, there will be no new update to the joke-a-day in June this time. My sloth is getting the better of me…I’m a couple days behind… Ok. 5. I’ll have a whole mess of pithy one-liners in the next installment. In the meantime, here’s some homework for you. Go see my buddies Chris White and Danny Rouhier over at the DC Improv this week w/Adam Ferrara. Or go see my buddy Rob Maher up at the Baltimore Comedy Factory w/Jim Florentine. And for extra credit… I have some laundry that needs folding.

To be continued…

Greetings from beyond the Big Apple, ‘Redheads… Yesterday, I took a trip up to New York with my buddy Adam Ruben, to compete in the prelims of the Funniest Jewish Comic contest at the world famous Laugh Factory. More on how well we represented DC/Baltimore in a moment.
Adam Ruben is a very smart guy. He’s in graduate school at John’s Hopkins University for microbiology. If that gig doesn’t work out, he has the comedy to fall back on. Well, before we could begin our roadtrip, he had to tend to the lofty business of finding a cure for malaria. This involved injecting mice with the disease and then injecting them with something that’ll either cure it or help write the next Secret of NIMH sequel. The best laid plan was for me to meet him up in Baltimore around noon, then we’d hop in his car and hit the road with plenty of time to both find parking and avoid rush hour. Here’s the call I got at 11:00… Hi, Jared…it’s Adam. You might want to hold off on heading to Baltimore for a bit. I just accidentally stuck myself with a needle that had malaria-infected blood. The first thought that would go through a normal person’s head would be I hope he’s ok or Maybe we should call off the trip… Not me. The first thought that went through my head was Shit, now I’m going to have to drive. Those other thoughts came next, but they should’ve been first is all I’m sayin’. It turned out that he was fine…whether he has since developed super-mouse gnawing powers, I have no idea. This minor scare did, however, push our departure time from noon to 2:30. We had to be in NY at 6:00 for roll call. To save time, I drove. I’m a bit of an aggressive driver. I gave Adam some minor palpitations…he kept checking his seatbelt connection and he left a handprint in my oh-shit handle so deep it was philosophical.
We ended up making great time…we arrived the toll for the Lincoln Tunnel at 5:30, full of hope. Then our fast-paced hope hit a bottleneck of sluggish frustration as the six lanes of toll traffic had to squeeze into the two lanes of the tunnel. We sat in that for roughly 45 minutes. Over that time, we got a great view of billboards for Panasonic HDTV and the Yaris…I now have a seething, middle finger-popping hatred for both products. We finally emerged from the tunnel into the bright lights of the big city…or the sun…yeah, I think it was the sun. Luckily for us, the club was only two blocks away from us and we found reasonable parking just across from the tunnel. On to the contest.
The Laugh Factory is a pretty big club. It has at least 3 rooms that can handle full-fledged shows, and it has a labyrinthic quality to it. When we got to the roll call, we were met by the contest organizers from Jewish Week and our 20 other fellow competitors, including Matt Liebman, a talented young comic from UMD’s Bureau. It turned out that the club had grossly underestimated the turnout of both comics and the sheer size of their Jewish support groups. As a result, they split us into two shows to keep things manageable. The top three from each show would advance to the finals. This worked out well because, by sheer luck of the draw, Adam and I ended up in different rooms, so we didn’t have to compete against each other. We were free to focus on other things besides beating each other’s brains in. The contestants ran the gamut, from the uninitiated to seasoned pro. We had a great crowd to work with. Packed house. After everyone got done we were treated to a great comic named Al Lubell (who, unfortunately, doesn’t have a web page, or I’d send you there). Not only was he hilarious, but he had a great hook that made sure you’d never forget his name.
Let’s get down to brass tacks. How well did Adam and I represent the DC/Baltimore Jewish comic community (which is pretty much me and Adam)? Well, in Adam’s room, Adam took first place. In my room, with plucky young whippersanpper Matt Liebman and the guy who won last year’s contest, who’s name escapes me…I took first place. And let me tell you, there’s nothing like a first place finish in the prelims of a contest to instill the kind of false bravado that’ll guarantee…that I tank in the finals. We shall see. I’ve told Adam that he can’t handle any diseased animals before the trip.

I competed in this contest back in 2003, when my aunt and uncle spotted the ad in Jewish Week and thought I should give it a shot. It was at Gotham Comedy Club that year. To prep for this year, I popped in the DVD from 2003. This was back when I was sporting the Superman S with the black leather jacket look. That subtle combination of Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock that I had no chance of pulling off. My sideburns were of unusual size…I looked like I was wearing a furry Centurion helmet. What I’m getting at is this, where were my fellow comedians to tell me what a ridiculous mess I looked like? I’m positive it was being muttered behind my back…the voices tell me it was. Sure, I probably wouldn’tve listened to you, but at least you could’ve said you tried.

Here now, are my latest updates to the joke-a-day experiment:

6/12/06: I woke up around noon today and checked my MySpace email. One of my friends had emailed me in the morning and said she wanted to go sunbathing but it was too chilly out. I emailed her back and asked her if it was still nippy outside. That’s a sure sign you have a problem. When the window you open to check the weather is on your computer.

6/13/06: I was watching ESPN2 and I saw Championship Dominoes. It’s nice to know that my dreams of eventually being on ESPN aren’t completely dashed. I’m brushing up on my Hungry Hungry Hippoes for the 2007 season.

6/14/06: Out of my entire family, I’m the only one who doesn’t wear glasses. I got my grandfather’s eyes. Which made for an awkward will reading.

On a somber note, this blog would like to bid farewell to John Tenta, who passed away after a lengthy battle with bladder cancer at the age of 42. Who was John Tenta? Wrestling fans knew him better as Earthquake.
Under the management of the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, Earthquake was a force to be reckoned with in the WWF. His finisher? He sat on people. He’ll make a formidable tag team with Big John Studd at the afterlife pay-per-view.

To be continued…

‘Redheads, June is a down month for me. That’s dangerous for a guy with procrastinating tendencies. I find myself constantly grappling with sloth…not the three-toed kind…they’re scrappy. Thankfully, my dedication to my many readers, and the delusion that I have many readers, has kept me from sinking too far into the ass crease in my couch. So, for you, here’s a quick counterstrike to my laziness.

So, turns out the world didn’t collapse into demonic ruin on Tuesday…or, if it did, we were already too far gone to notice. Yep, the day of the beast came and went and the clock just keeps on ticking. I think we all know who we have to thank for that. Jack Bauer. In the 24 hours of 6/6/06, he traversed the eight rings of Hell and gave Beelzebub a taste of real time fury. We all know he has the pedigree to handle the minions of the abyss…

…that caption was cornier than it needed to be.

So, it’s potentially the last night of planet Earth. What better night to take in a horror flick at the local megaplex? I saw The Omen on Tuesday night. I was expecting alot worse than I got. While there were points when the audience was genuinely laughing at the gruesome goings on, the movie had some pretty good moments. You can’t go too far wrong with an impalation AND a decapitation that would both make Rube Goldberg proud. The film also featured a truly creepy turn by Mia Farrow and, the best nebulous accent in Hollywood, Pete Postlethwaite (who, I’ve discovered, I can do a damn fine impression of…I’ll go ahead and put that in my grab-bag of obscure voices, along with Cookie Monster and Jack Bauer). And, of course, there’s going to be an Omen 2. It’ll suck having to wait until June 6th, 3006 to see it.

I’ve encountered an interesting dilemma. On Wednesday night, a female comic from Chicago approached me after the open mic at Wiseacre’s. She told me I was “too good looking” to tell my jokes about not getting laid. Apparently, it’s not believable. Great, so the few jokes that I tell that ARE based in truth are betrayed by my inherent adorability. Hey, I wish I was making this shit up. She’s not the first person who’s told me this. This means I need to do one of two things. Either find some way to turn my life into an Axe Bodyspray commercial, or find some way to dial down the charm. Yes, I know, these are horrible problems that I’m saddled with. My gift. My curse. Pity me. Or not. No pressure.

In another attempt to stave off comedic atrophy this month, I’m going to try an exercise that should result in one or two workable new bits. Write a joke a day. I’ve been inspired by writing machines like Chris White, Erik Myers, and anyone else who’s not me. My mind works in fits and starts. Regular writing has never come naturally to me. Why not force it? You’ll see the answer, because I’ll be posting the daily jokes right here for your judging eyes. Starting…now:

6/10/06: I read a review of The Hills Have Eyes that said it “redefined horror.” Apparently, “horror” now means “shitty.”

Solid bronze.

Before I go, I’d like to make an open plea to the world of cyber-typery. If you’re trying to make a point, a rebuttal, or a statement, here’s a tip: Overuse of capitalization, exclamation points, and LOL’s make it impossible to take you seriously. You type like a 13 year old girl…or a pedophile posing as one.

To be continued…

Hey there ‘Redheads… It was recently revealed to me that my act has become a kind of party game among my fellow DC comics. Count the I, uh…’s. Apparently it’s some kind of drinking game. Which makes sense. It was only a matter of time before my act drove someone to drink. Yes, it’s a stylistic crutch…used to stretch 20 minutes of good material into 30 mediocre minutes. Check out my MySpace page (conveniently linked to your right) and click on the audio clips to play the home game.

Well, it’s June ’06, which marks the one year anniversary of a great feature on DCStandup.com (also conveniently linked to your right), MonoBlog. Where area comedians submit topical/news-related jokes in late night talkshow monologue format, for your amusement and our own desperate need to see our thoughts in print. In celebration of this passage of time (and because I need to fill space), here are some of my favorite contributions to the MonoBlog…

(June 07, 2005) Teenagers who think they are too fat are more than twice as likely as normal-weight teens to attempt or think about suicide, a study found. This may be fueled by the notion that decomposition is a great way to shed those excess pounds. Suicide isn’t the way out for these kids … ’cause if they think people are judgmental HERE…

(June 14, 2005) Steve Garcia, an insulin-dependent diabetic convicted of trying to kill his wife three days after she asked for a divorce, won a chance for a new trial when the Colorado Supreme Court ruled 4 to 3 that low blood sugar can cause involuntary intoxication and leave someone incapable of following the law. His attorney has entered a plea of “not guilty by reason of cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs”. Mark Hacking, recently convicted of shooting his wife in her sleep, now wants a new trial, claiming he “did it for a Klondike Bar.”

(July 03, 2005) Forty-five people were arrested during nighttime raids for allegedly conspiring to smuggle South Korean women into the U.S. to work as prostitutes at massage parlors. It should be noted, however, this story did not have a happy ending…that costs extra.

(July 14, 2005) Just hours before the release of ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,’ news reports cite 2003 letters by then-Cardinal Ratzinger which show that Pope Benedict believes the Potter books subtly seduce young readers and “distort Christianity in the soul.” He states that the only work of fiction that is appropriate for young Christians is the Bible.

(July 15, 2005) Amma, the Indian “Hugging Saint”, was welcomed to Crystal City by a crowd of thousands who lined up to receive her healing energy yesterday. The lines were considerably shorter, however, for a guy claiming to be the Mexican “Fondling Saint” and a man offering “Noogies for a Nickel”.

(Aug. 17, 2005) The Idaho Dept. of Fish and Game is using a video game called Laser Shot to help train young hunters. In a related story, the Idaho Dept. of Health is using Pac-Man to treat eating disorders… and the Dept. of Public Works is using Super Mario Bros. as a plumbing tutorial.

(Aug. 26, 2005) A man who exposed himself to children in Fairfax County libraries is in custody. Library officials became suspicious after the children recounted the reading of the “Sammy, the Squirting Snake” pop-up book. In an ironic turn, the book was repeatedly yanked from shelves until the public was satisfied and began coming to the library.

(Sept. 06, 2005) On a tour through Houston’s AstroDome to visit hurricane refugees, Barbara Bush said that amidst the chaos and misery, she sees a “silver lining.” It was later discovered to be cataracts.

(Oct. 31, 2005) Along a stretch of the West Maui Mountains where winds blow up to 50mph, officials have broken ground on the site of what will be Hawaii’s largest wind farm. This follows the success of Hawaii’s sand ranch and oceanwater corral along the coastline.

(Nov. 14, 2005) Scientists have discovered a new hormone produced by the stomach that appears to play a crucial role in controlling appetite. Apparently, the hormone regulates the body’s ability to “make it’s own gravy.”

(May 22, 2006) Rocker Axl Rose and fashion designer Tommy Hilfiger got into a fistfight outside of a Manhattan nightclub Thursday night. The fight was apparently over who was less relevant.

(May 26, 2006) Researchers in England and the United States are laying out the blueprint and calling for help in developing the exotic materials needed to build an actual cloak of invisibility like the one in Harry Potter. Unfortunately, the technology to make a fully functioning Hermoine doll that doesn’t find them skeevy is still out of reach.

Yes, I do notice that there is a sizable gap in my entries from Nov. ’05 until about a month ago, but that’s only because I’ve been using all of my harnessed written wit for this blog…for you. It’s all for you. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed doing it to you.

If this entry seems to lack inspiration (yes, I know…how can you tell?) it’s because I wanted to get one more blog in before the end of the world on Tuesday, 6/6/06. It only comes around once every 1000 years, so something better happen besides a shitty remake of The Omen. My advice? Enjoy some live stand-up comedy to brighten your soul before it’s swallowed by the blood-crazed hellions. On Sunday, head on over to the Comedy Spot to check out the graduating class of Chris White’s College of Stand-up Knowledge (enroll today!). They’ll be joined by Rory Scovel, Erin Jackson, and yours truly for a solid comedy jamboree. On Tuesday, get your soon-to-be-flayed alive carcass down to Nanny O’Brien’s for their stellar monthly showcase. Get in one last laugh before the fiery cataclysm.

To be continued…?

Hey there ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had a memorable Memorial Day weekend. Did you find a way to beat the heat? This was the first weekend this year that was really frickin’ hot. I have a black car…pretty much a rolling solar panel. It’s getting dangerous to keep spare change in my cup holder. I grabbed a scalding hot quarter and I felt like the bad guy in Raiders of the Lost Ark that picked up the headpiece of the Staff of Ra… y’still with me? This guy…

So, what the heck did I do this weekend? And, more to the point, why do you care? Let’s explore.
On Friday, I checked out the most recent cinematic dork milestone, X-Men: The Last Stand. How to best critique this movie? Should I wear my comic fanboy hat or my average filmgoer hat? Let’s try ’em both on. From a fanboy standpoint, the movie had a couple cool things that were fun to see translated on the screen. We finally got to see the Danger Room, a hint of a Sentinel, and the fastball special…and that was all in the first ten minutes. There was also a nice little nod/wink to the cyber-fans who churn out stuff like this. The movie also introduced a gaggle of obscure mutants from the comics that got minor moments.
On the down side, there was no Nightcrawler, no Gambit, and the movie completely wasted the coolness of Colossus, Rogue, Angel, Cyclops, Juggernaut, and the list goes on. I’ll forgive the filmmakers conveniently turning Phoenix and Juggernaut into mutants to make them easier to explain to the non-dork public. The movie itself, while visually spectacular, was a giant three-headed monster with six mouths and no eyes…very loud and had no fucking idea where it was going. Lots of sound. Lots of fury. What did it signify? X-Men 4. Yes, despite the title, this won’t the last stand for Wolverine & Co. This installment made a mint and left an opening for a fourth movie that hopefully can atone for the mediocrity this one wrought.

On Sunday, I got together with my fellow Guys Watching 24 (conveniently linked to your right…no, I will not let it go) co-stars, Chris White and Jeff King and their funny little honeys, and went to take in a ballgame. Now, I am not a fan of baseball. I find it near impossible to watch on TV. Going to a ballpark is a fun time…the peanuts ($6), the crackerjacks ($6), and, of course, the old guy in white hot pants (priceless)… You heard me. A couple of rows down and one aisle over from me and my pals, was a guy who looked like Dan Hedaya wearing white booty shorts. They were corduroy…ribbed, for our pleasure. The spectacle reached maximum hilarity during the seventh inning stretch. If the $11 admission wasn’t already a bargain, our entertainment value skyrocketed when this guy started…stretching. We were not ready for that jelly. Nothing like the bottom of a wrinkly butt cheek during “God Bless America” on Memorial Day weekend to remind you what the national pastime is really all about.

Before I go, a moment of silence for Paul Gleason. You may know him better as Principal Richard Vernon from the Breakfast Club, but to me he’ll always be Clarence Beeks from Trading Places, one of the funniest movies of all time (Bravo can take their list and shove it, by the way). Mr. Beeks, the Duke brothers thank you for your dedicated service.

To be continued…