Year: 2013

I had a market research study yesterday.  We got into groups of three to do a little meet and greet to loosen us up to later spill our guts about their product.  The first guy was pretty normal, the second not really.  Dirty jeans, a neck tattoo that I couldn’t figure out what it was, and a couple of rotten teeth.  How did I know about his teeth?  He volunteered that info pretty quickly.

He asked me what I did for fun.  I decided to try and be a little humorous so I said, “Drink.”  Not that this is untrue, but whatever.  He replied, “I like to play with my kids.”  That’s nice.  “Do you have any kids?”  Nope.  “How old are you?”  34.  “You should look at settling down, man.”  At this point I was infinitely annoyed, but played along.  How many do you have?  “Three kids.  With three women.”  I scanned his countenance for a hint of sarcasm, but none was to be found.  Ah, settling down, I see.  Thanks for the advice, stranger.  Any investments I should look into?  Since I am talking to such a distinguished blueblood, I figured I would take some sound counsel.

I don’t understand the Food Network.  Americans eat out more now than at any other time, but tune in to every cooking show around.  Also, I don’t get the point of getting good food with a time restraint.  You want that cooked how?  How about no, since I have five minutes.  Enjoy raw meat.  Then again, Americans are more obese than ever before, so maybe we watch food shows after stuffing our fat asses at a buffet to plan for the next orgy of calories.

My favorite shows are the ones where some smug, usually British for some reason, asshole goes into restaurants and starts screaming at everyone.  I’m not smug, but do like yelling at people.  I need to work on my British accent and I may have a future.  Unfortunately, my food knowledge pretty much covers ground beef, canned meats, and cheese…melted over one of the meats.

I saw my current city, Columbus, Ohio, was named the most intelligent city in America.  Having read the opinion section of the newspaper, walked around and met her proud citizens, and frequented the bars, I am now fearful for the future of my country.  Just yesterday I read letters to the editor in the Columbus Dispatch.  One writer said he supported gay civil unions, but if we passed gay marriage, we were subject to the wrath of God.  Yes, I’m sure the Lord’s terrible judgement is that specific over the English language.  Another mentioned that the key to fixing the country’s problems was through the suggestions of a congressman who has been in Washington for over three decades.  Ah, Congress will fix everything.  Perfect idea, especially when their approval rating is hovering around 12%, our debt is over 16 trillion and they haven’t passed a budget in four years.

Then again, New York addresses its major issues of banning large sodas (you can just order two smaller ones), you can’t order alcohol in most parts of Kentucky (the Bourbon state, no less) and I saw a snowstorm when I was in Dallas that prompted four hillbillies to hang on to the back of a car riding on top of trash can lids down a major four lane road.  One slipped and shot through the intersection, rolling over a moving car’s hood.  Maybe my new home isn’t so dumb after all.  Plus I live here, that’s a pretty good advantage.  In other news, Columbus’s Busch Light consumption is now second only to Jackson, Mississippi and third now on cities with the hairiest asses behind only two Eastern European towns.  You’re welcome Columbus.  Just doin’ my part.

I knew last week’s show was going to different than normal when I got a call several days before asking me what intro music I wanted.  Having been the only white guy on urban shows before, I knew I was getting token white guy music, so I said I didn’t care.  I was expecting Kid Rock or Eminem, which are the go to choices, but secretly hoping Vanilla Ice didn’t sneak in.  I was wrong.  Every other comic got a rap song, in which they rapped the first parts of their act.  My intro music?  Nothing.  Silence.  The DJ decided, apparently, because I didn’t request a song, it would help smooth over the intro by the awkward and deafening sound of glaring quietness.  Thanks!

My start aside, I had a few good jokes hit early, then completely lost the crowd on my fourth joke, one about some hillbillies blaming a guy throwing marshmallows at people on Obama.  Why did I lose the crowd?  Not sure, but it happened.  I battled back, but one table hated me right up front, which was weird, because a table right behind them loved me.  It is truly a strange thing, to look up and see apathy/hate sitting right next to a table losing their minds.

I could tell the crowd was tired of me, so I wrapped up, apparently one joke too late (bomb).  Oh well.  I got off and the next guy went up and did almost an hour (supposed to do 30 minutes), mostly thanks to reading off his sheet of paper he brought onstage.  Afterwards, he gave me some advice about using a better icebreaker to start my set.  This pissed me off because 1) my start was pretty good, 2) he was telling me to steal someone else’s material and 3) HE WAS READING OFF A SHEET OF PAPER.  Sadly, his set went better than mine, so maybe I should take some advice…or get a cheat sheet.

When I started doing comedy I had no idea there were different crowds.  Thus, one of the reasons new comics stink (myself included).  I did every show the same, no matter whether the audience was full of drunk college students or senior citizens.  I would do really terrible vulgar jokes to someone’s grandma and walk off perplexed at why she didn’t laugh, or decide to do a lovely college joke to a room full of blacked out rednecks…you get the idea.

Over time, I started to pick up on these things.  Yet consistently, of all the rooms I heard other comics whisper about nervously was doing a “black” room, mostly due to sightings of YouTube clips from the Apollo or other white comics getting destroyed by the audience.  Interestingly, most of the most frightened speculation came from comedians who had never worked such a room.  In fairness, I first did an all black room about a year and a half after I started.  I followed my pal Camp (who is very white) and as I walked onto the stage, a very large black woman yelled, “Another white motherfucker?  Damn!”  Maybe these fears were justified.

My experiences in rooms with all black crowds have vastly improved since that fine start and I think as a comic you have to get good at rooms you fear or suck at.  Or realize there is no hope for you and stick to whatever works, hoping against hope you constantly get a crowd specifically for your material, which rarely happens.  Then again, you may work to improve your skills for years, walk onstage, and absolutely eat your own ass – which I did last Saturday.  Stay tuned for that tale.

I emceed an open mike the other night.  The lineup was strong and even better, there was a very attentive and yet hard drinking crowd.  I also got to remember another story between comics.  A girl several years ago in a bar overheard one of my buddies call me Coen.  “Oh, your name is Coen?  Are you named after the O.C. character?”  Yes, my mom got a time machine before I was born and watched the popular series on Fox 25 years in the future, went back, and named me after one of the lead actors.  “You’re a dick!”  You’re dumb.  Then we parted, never to speak again.

The highlight of the night, though, was a guy asked me to mention his son’s birthday.  I got his son’s name…then he reached in his wallet and handed me $20.  I would’ve have done it for free.  Hell, for $20, I’ll dress up like a woman and tap dance for your ass.  It was the first time I have ever been tipped.  I should’ve felt guilty, but luckily I have no soul and it was an easy thing to do.  It was great.  Now I’m going to charge for everything I would’ve done for free.  Thanks, birthday dad!