Year: 2013

Tonight I will performing at the Union County Fair.  This could be my most challenging show in quite a while, perhaps on the level of the 50th wedding anniversary show I did where the brother burst into tears about their deceased sister, then handed the mike off for a fun ol’ time.  That’s a hard transition, in case you were curious.

It should be good, I know the crowds will be big, I just hope and pray children aren’t milling around.  One, I don’t exactly cater to kids.  They never fill the two drink minimum at clubs.  Two, even I did, I would have to do magic or juggle and I have zero talent.  That’s why I do comedy.  If I was any less talented, I would have to guess people’s weight to earn my paycheck.  Follow your dreams, kids, follow your dreams.

I tagged along with my lady to Victoria’s Secret last weekend.  File it under, “Sounds great!  Wait, this isn’t cool at all!”  I realized they are good at overwhelming all your senses.  That apparently sells more bras.  Videos of underwear models are drowned out by dance music, which is forgotten about when the wafting scents of overpriced perfumes invade your nostrils.  Thankfully, because the music is awful.  It’s the music you expect in a nightclub in a bad 80’s action movie, but made this year.

I got to hold her purse, which was actually nice, since while she was trying on things, I realized without the purse, I looked like a bearded perv just hanging out at the underwear store.  “Hey lady, that’s a sexy thong you got there!”  My mind was blown, however, right before we left.  I saw a Muslim woman, full head wrap and all, buying some lingerie.  I’m pretty sure a sultry bare ankle will do – let’s not overload his senses.  Then again, if you have to be covered all the time, maybe that’s all you wear when you’re home.  Of course, that would have meant my dad was Muslim, because he hung out in his underwear a lot when I was growing up.  Maybe I should brush up on my cultural studies.

 

I did a show last night with several fine local comics, which means when the show started 45 minutes late, we had exchanged several stories about the trials and tribulations of entertainment.  I recalled one really shitbird show, so I will share it with you.

I had been doing comedy for less than six months (read: awful) when I got booked for a show in a town of about seventeen people.  There were 10 people there, plus me and three other comics.  One had done exactly one paid show, the other none.  In fairness, I had done two.  As I approached the stage, the owner told me he had booked…wait for it…a magician.  And he was late.  So I had keep the show going, with two comedians who had exactly thirteen minutes of comedy.  Great.  (I had 30 minutes, only 9 of which were tolerable.)

After suffering onstage in three shifts for 40 minutes, the asshole magic boy showed up and I was eternally grateful that I would not suffer anymore.  He then announced he had to do “hand exercises” and loosen up first.  So I had to die onstage a little more until this fucking clown got done with his BS.  He sucked…for an hour.

After the show, the booker approached me.  “Hey, good job!”  Then he handed me $5.  $5.  That’s right, $5.  I was pissed, but broken.  Then the bartender brought his tab.  “$10, sir.”  “I don’t have any money!  Can I borrow $1o?”  So I gave him the five, plus my five.  I did over 40 minutes of comedy in front of a shit crowd, mixed in with a magician I wanted to punch…for negative five dollars.  Then I kept doing comedy.  I am insane.

I just found out one of my favorite teachers passed away this past weekend.  That’s not a great way to start a comedy blog, by the way, but it happened.  Besides being a great teacher with more stories than most people could ever hope to have, Mr. Baltzly was completely unafraid to lay out his opinion, which was probably why I liked him so much.

When talking about the school district telling him to check hair lengths on boys (it was the 60’s, times were different), he told us, “If you think I was touching some greasy punk’s unwashed hair, you got another thing coming.”  When told he had to check the short/skirt lengths on girls, he said “I can’t wait until I get to tell some mother I observed her daughter’s shorts were too short.  No thanks.”

Nothing though, was better than the “dots” moment.  He was sitting at his desk, end of semester.  He pulled out an unused book.  “Well, the women (the other middle school teachers) tell me I need to pass out some dots.  Apparently, this is supposed to be some kind of punishment for bad behavior.  If you act like a clown in my class, I’ll pick up your desk and put you out in the hallway.  So, instead I have to pass out some dots to keep them happy and mold the young minds of tomorrow.  Who wants a dot?”  My buddy Honk said, “I’ll take one.”  “OK, Honk, you’re a mouthy SOB, you get one.”  Another guy said, “I’ll take two!”  “Good, you should have two.”  I chimed in, “I’ll take one, Mr. Baltzly!”  “Coen, you’re an A student, I can’t give you a damn dot.”  Believe it or not, before the ravages of puberty fully set in, I was quite the demure and well-behaved young lad.  Then testosterone and cheap beers took over and it all went to shit.

Upon finishing, Mr. Baltzly had done his part passing out the dots and all was well with the world and the “women.”  He retired the next year, mostly over his frustration with standardized testing and the world lost one really talented and fantastic teacher.  RIP, sir, and you’ll be happy to know the legal system of various counties throughout the Midwest have given me the dots you wouldn’t.

I was going to blog about the Zimmerman trial, but after realized everyone with a blog, bullhorn or social media access had already tossed in their two cents.  Plus I realized there’s not much funny about anything involved, so moving on.  Hey everybody, I went book shopping!

My fiancee and I went to look at wedding books.  In other words, 7000 bridal books and three groom books.  The bridal books are in depth planners, with folders, tabbed sections, Q&A’s, how to’s, calendars, budget forms…you get it.  The groom’s guide says basically “Buy a ring, then shut up and don’t ruin her day, scumbag.”  Great.

I did pick up some valuable tips from what I’ve seen so far, such as the average wedding costs $22,000.  Looks like Hot Pockets for the six guests I can afford to have.  Oh, that and the four cases of King Cobra 40 ounce treats.  I did notice the groom is supposed to plan the honeymoon.  I can handle that.  Two words, all inclusive.  I will get enough free booze to make an entire island go bankrupt.  I can finally take a bath in gin like I’ve always wanted to, all while eating lobster sandwiched between two steaks.  You may have picked up on the fact I don’t vacation much.

I was never a fan of the trendy bar scene.  Even when I was 21, I would rather stay home.  Why?  1) If I can get drunk for $15 or $50, give me $15.  I’m cheap, but like to drink.  If shoe polish gave me a buzz, I’d drink that.  2) DUI’s.  Look officer, that’s kids’ swingset jumped right out in front of my car.  How am I supposed to drive through this yard with all these obstacles in my way?  3) Douchebags.

I went out with some co-workers and my lady (one guy, three women – spoiler alert, I didn’t talk much) to a new and exciting bar with 75 beers on tap.  I realized it was a trendy bar (let’s keep the number format going) because 1) I saw a guy with a manpurse.  Manpurse is an oxymoron, but that’s the only way to describe it.  Nice purse, sweetie.  2) Big haired women wearing slut gear talking to old men.  This is a dead giveaway that you’re in a “cool” joint.  Old guys w/ money chasing women who will take it.  I have a soft spot for old fashioned romance.  3) No place to stand or sit.  I think it’s great when the server bumps into my back 12 times.  Trust me, I would LOVE to move, but the only open spot is the women’s room and I have a few court orders telling me I can’t hang out there.

We got a seat and all my cares melted away…except that I saw a record number of guys wearing designer tank tops and two popped collars.  Oh, and my parking meter has four minutes left on it.  Nothing like getting a $75 ticket because you’re too cheap to put that additional quarter in the meter.  Looks like I am drinking at home again.  Where’d I put that shoe polish?