Month: February 2012

I gave blood yesterday – why?  Because someone deserves my rich and healthy superblood.  How could I hold this back from the world?  Now you see.  I wrote a joke about the questions you get asked there (several years back), but they have really outdone themselves now.

I sat down, wearing my normal clothes, with my full beard rocking and she asked me: “Are you still a male?”  I just kind of stared at her for a few seconds.  First off, if I say yes and you don’t believe me, are you going to snag a handful of crotch to double check?  And don’t even act like you don’t see my bulge!  Second, I gave blood a couple months ago.  I decided, apparently, to get rid of the ol’ package, but refuse hormone therapy and keep the facial hair.  All the cool guys at my school are lopping off their ding-dongs…I wish I could be cool too!  What’s that?  Sex change?  No, silly – of course we want to look the same, with our masculine features, just without all that junk in the way.  What kind of dumb question is that?  Seriously, do you want the blood or not?  Ridiculous.

I remember the first time I got paid to tell jokes.  It was in a bowling alley’s attached tiki bar.  I had nearly 40 people there to see me and I was paid $40.  About $1.04 per person.  That is a shitty commission, but at the time I was thrilled to make anything.  I was going to frame it, like a restaurant frames their first buck, but I ended up spending it on beer several months later.  Booze beats nostalgia in my book.

I had a funny conversation with fellow comics last weekend and realized there are times, very rarely, where you can’t believe you’re actually getting money for doing comedy.  Usually, it’s the opposite – you get offstage and realize you’re working for gas money and a bar tab.  I did a show once where the bar owner promised me a dollar amount, then when showtime rolled around four people were in the bar.  Four.  In an attempt to not pay me, he changed the terms.  “If you don’t do 45 minutes, I’m not giving you a dime.”  I had no business doing 25 minutes at that point, but this guy can kiss my ass.  I walked onstage and one of the four yelled out, “Are you that comedian from Zanesville?”  Yes!  Fans!  “The one that works at the Barn?”  No!  That’s my buddy Camp!  Then he and his chick got up to leave.  I said, “I was his college roommate for three years.”  He looked down, shrugged his shoulders and sat back down.  I then rewarded him and the other patrons for their loyalty by doing probably the worst 45 minutes of comedy they would ever hear.  And I got my money.  And now the bar is closed.  Cue up the Cheers theme song.

One of my favorite shows last year was the Comedy ‘Splosion, run each year at the Mad Lab theater (theatre, for snobby douchebags) in Columbus.  Sumukh Torgalkar and Justin Golak (check out my links for their website, and others) do a great job having a showcase of local talent from the Columbus scene.  The show went great, but I had a hell of time backstage.

It’s a traditional curtain show, where one ass is onstage and the other asses are behind the stage in a room filled with props, a small couch, and lumber.  It’s hilarious to watch seven comedians try to be quiet while they’re pounding beers 15 feet behind someone onstage.  It’s obviously not well lit (the show is going on) and I tripped over a 4’x4’ during someone’s set.  If I wasn’t limbered up from the PBR’s, I probably would have cracked a rib.

There is something very enticing about being a shit when you’re supposed to be quiet.  I was in confirmation at 13 for the Methodist church and this straight laced family helped run it.  The older brother was a paragon – inflexible and sin free.  The younger brother was 99% perfect, which made him a POS to this family.  Jr. lost his pen – “Mother, I have misplaced my inkpen.”  Mom: “You’re so irresponsible.  I can’t trust you with anything.”  Sr. bro – “Don’t worry mother, I brought two writing utensils.  Jr. can have one of mine.”  Her face was so approving it caught me funny.  It was so Leave it to Beaver I lost it, much to their chagrin.  Fast forward an hour and my minister was praying and it was very serious.  He was talking about walking with Jesus and we had our eyes closed.  It got very intense.  He then said, “What would you ask Jesus?”  I leaned over to my pal Aaron and whispered, “Hey Jesus, can I borrow your pen?”  We started giggling like teen queens at a sleepover, but my preacher was pretty hot.  I had to poorly disguise my snorts as whooping cough, but Aaron’s bad cough/laughs were making it worse.  Long story short, I’m going to have to answer for ruining the salvation of 12 teenagers, but I think Jesus appreciated the joke.

In summation, you’ll love the show for the great comedy.  I’ll enjoy it because I love being a giddy goose and hanging out with fellow comics.  Enjoy the show – www.madlab.net and bring an extra pen for Jr.!

I did a new room Sunday night to help my buddy Bob Cook out.  It was pretty awful.  He is a vet of comedy for over a decade and the five crowd members didn’t much care.  He opened the show and began searching his phone for a laugh track to play, but someone in the “crowd” beat him to the punch.  It was the biggest laugh anyone got.  At one point, one comic was rudely treated to the Price is Right failure noise – bum bum ba dum; Ahhhhhh…  That was the second biggest laugh anyone got.

I then did a show where 90% of the 80 people were there for one new comic.  It was horrible.  I was trying to be nice, but they were chanting his name like it was Monday Night Raw.  I must be getting older, b/c I was gracious and accomodating.  I finally snapped and began scolding them like an old man with a serious kids on lawn problem.  Oh well, they hate me.  The good and sad part about comedy is if you bomb, no one remembers your name.  If you kill, one person, usually a fat, drunk white guy who is possibly hitting on you checks out chriscoencomedy.com every day for the next two years.  Bombing = nothing bad.  Killing = 20 blog hits a month.  Not much to lose.

A short novel came out a while back that has a cult following and is becoming a movie – Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.  The story, without too many details, is that Abe’s grandfather and mom are killed by vampires and he vows to destroy them.  They tie it in to the Civil War and there is the unmatched awesomeness of our greatest leader beheading the unliving with a woodcutter’s axe.  I am nearly salivating at how purely enjoyable this movie may be.

Yet, it is so fantastical and filled with potential, I must temper my excitement.  Why?  I have been left in the cold, shivering after some bad action movies too many times.  I was reminded of this when flipping channels the other to see G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra.  Could they make Marlon Wayans any more annoying?  You’re a soldier, not Smokey from Friday.  And what in hell is going on with the uniforms – looks like a weird European sex party is about to break out – and not the good kind.

The worst interpretation of an action movie ever, though, was Ang Lee’s The Hulk.  That’s right – the director of Brokeback Mountain did the Hulk.  The Hulk is a great male role model.  Rather than use reason and logic; he gets fire rage, turns green, and smashes everything in sight.  Sounds like a good way to deal with things to me.  Yet in this movie, the first fight scene is an hour into the movie, where the Hulk battles not the Abomination or the military that is constantly hunting him down, he fights genetically enhanced poodles.  Poodles?  I felt like Ace Ventura after he figured Ray Finkle was Lois Einhorn and was shaking in the shower.  Or to be more topical, I felt like I think I would have felt, had I actually watched Brokeback Mountain.  I’ve never even seen it and yet when someone says, “I can’t quit you!” I nearly gag.

I got a late notice gig last weekend for the BWBA or something like that – it was women studying business.  I was a business and history major, why not?  It was a really good audience.  The last time I did one for the OSU kids it must have been for the “General Studies” majors b/c I said, “Who in here hates their job?” and they stared at me as if instead of job I asked people’s opinions on the Litvinov/von Ribbentrop pact of 1939.  Oh that’s right – you’ll never have jobs.  Use the cash to buy a water bong.

I closed out the show and did about 35 minutes.  College girls are not exactly my wheelhouse, but it went very well.  Apparently white trash and sex jokes are fairly universal.  There are always fun moments in a new crowd.  I asked if there were any sports fans and two people clapped.  It seems most OSU students are unaware the Buckeyes have athletics, which is ironic since most college sports fans never went to the school they would sacrifice their children in exchange for a national championship.  In fairness, I went to Muskingum College (now University) and I have never watched a game in its entirety.  Did I mention I played for the football team?  I made a oath when the coaches reversed course and said we couldn’t bring our parents on the field three days before parents’ weekend (unless we were starting) that I would never attend a varsity game.  15 years this fall, no game watched by me.  Muskie pride!