CHRIS COEN

One of the easiest topics for me to blog about is comedy and I have had plenty of blogs dealing with drunk hecklers, horrible hotels, sound equipment that doesn’t work and all the other fun that comes from performing.  For all the times I’ve been underpaid or treated like a walking dog turd, sometimes I get it.  Some comedians try their damnedest to ruin any chance any good comic has to succeed.

Last week right here in Ohio (now it’s on YouTube, I won’t link to it to bring any attention to the douche), an open mic’er (a new comic) decided to curse when told not to by the venue and was asked to leave the stage.  His response?  He punched the host in the face and left.  That will probably help get you booked.  “The audience didn’t laugh at my closing line, so I set the club on fire.”  That seems reasonable.  If you want to curse, then don’t take a gig that tells you not to.  If you take it, then don’t curse.  Pretty simple.

This is an extreme example, but since I’ve started I seen comedians black out onstage, make women in the audience cry (that always warms up the crowd), take notebooks to the microphone and read like a poet because they didn’t prepare.  Once I saw a guy tell handicapped jokes to a severely crippled guy in a wheelchair.  The last example was probably the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been in my life, and I’ve been described as having less human emotion than a robot.  It was even better that he was the opener, so me and the other comedian inherited a room that hated our guts.

In fairness, I’ve had my share of bad shows and mishaps.  I also don’t try to dance around everyone’s sensitivities and have a group therapy session, but there is a basic level of effort and professionalism required.  Thanks to a lot of scumbag moves, 90% of clubs and bars don’t offer meals or drinks free anymore (one comic told me the feature he worked with the week before got fired taking double free meals back to the hotel, which cost the club $200).  Add to it the pay for most comedy shows hasn’t increased since about 1994 and it’s hard as hell to break in with new bookers.  One guy I know smashed up a hotel room after a $50 gig – the room doesn’t offer a hotel room anymore.  I guess the real takeaway goes back to advice I got when I first started – it takes 2-3 years to even figure out how to start to be funny, 5 years to really know how to do 20 great minutes and 10 years to make any real money.  That’s all if you work at it and actually give an effort along the way.  Unless you punch the host in the face – you go straight to the top immediately.  Everyone loves comedy combined with UFC.  It’s the wave of the future.

I don’t watch many rom coms (that’s short for romantic comedies, which is now pointless, since I had to type it out).  There was nothing on this weekend, so my wife put on movies in the background while we were playing board games.  I learned a lot from a couple.

I learned that every single rom com has to have a proposal or wedding.  If it’s a wedding, someone has to break it up or save it.  Some have both.  Every wedding is held in a castle or mansion that would cost about $100,000 per hour.  The dad doesn’t like the groom or the best man.  The bride used to date someone in the group; they’ll be together in the end.

The other popular theme is that there is a single guy.  He gets all the women he wants by telling them their clothes are nice and being confident, which is a wildly sexist premise.  That’s it, one night stand guaranteed.  At some point, there is an epiphany and one girl (usually from his high school) shows him how to love.  He’s doing pretty well, but screws up.  A frenzied chase ensues before she gets on a plane or gets married.  He gets her, happy ending!  Well, except for the guy who gets dumped but don’t worry, he’s a cheater or secretly gay or it turns out he’s a better match with someone else…or he gets kicked in the balls or pushed into a cake.

In fairness, I watch action movies primarily.  Hero is a badass.  Hero loses family to death or kidnapping.  Hero kicks ass.  Hero meets his match against evil badass, nearly is killed, but wins, dramatically and awesomely.  Movie over.  Well, I’ve now ruined two popular genres for you.  Watch more stand up comedy.

I am convinced someone is trying to give me a stroke.  Some twisted puppetmaster is pulling strings in a dark game and their agents of destruction are customer service reps.

1) I went to see if I got an insurance discount for getting married, because I heard married guys get cheaper insurance.  I called and was told I had to go online.  I did and checked married to see if my rate dropped.  It went up $800 a year.  I was then locked out and told I have to sign paperwork to change the quote back – which is now higher than the original quote for no reason.  The blood clot formed in my body somewhere.

2) I locked my keys in my car because I’m dumb.  I called to get my car unlocked.  “Sir, your card number isn’t a valid one.”  Check the name.  “Coen.  It’s not in the system.”  Check my address.  “It’s not in the system.  Please hold.”  Two minutes later.  “How do you spell that name?”  You mean my name?  “It’s not in the system.  Please hold.”  Two more minutes.  “What was that name?”  I spelled it a third time.  “There it is.  We’ll send someone.”  How many times do I have to spell a four letter last name?  Blood clot grows larger.

3) I saw two St. Bernards on the highway.  I called Siri to find the Highway Patrol’s number before something awful happened.  15 tries later, Siri connected me to a police department in Cleveland, about three hours away.  I began openly cursing at Siri until I called it worthless and told it to kill itself.  I am positive one more this week and I will seize up and drop like a stone.

One of the most annoying questions you get asked when you get married is “When are you having kids?”  One way to stop that?  Have one right off the bat!  A short time ago, I heard “Are you sitting down?”  I haven’t been married long, but I know that usually means “No matter what your answer is, can you get something/do something anyway?”  My wife came around the corner and she had a pregnancy test in her hand.  Hmm, that was unexpected.

At first, I refused to totally trust it.  Let’s face it, it costs $6 and you pee on it.  That can’t be reliable.  We went to the doctor and I was expecting a big reveal.  Nope, he just started talking about a yolk sac.  “Does that mean it’s officially a baby?”  He stared at me like I’m an idiot, which is appropriate.  I got excited at that point and decided I had better start telling all my wisdom to my baby via my wife’s stomach.  Fortunately for her, we found out the baby can’t hear voices for six months.  Don’t worry, junior, you’ll soon hear all the important things I know soon.  Should I start with military history or just focus on my high school football accomplishments?  Parenting is tough already!

I found out quickly I will not be saying “We are pregnant!”  Why?  First, it’s weird.  Second, I’m pretty sure my wife isn’t feeling like we’re sharing the baby when she’s hovering over a toilet or smelling my coffee which she can’t enjoy.  We are both very excited though.  I’m sure the baby name selection process will warrant a few potential blogs soon – my list has only Abraham Lincoln Coen on it currently, boy or girl.

About a month ago, I noticed Netflix was on my TV – as in a channel type option.  It was awesome.  I can now access it with the remote.  Never mind that I already had it on my Playstation, iPad and computer.  The idea of walking to the basement or reaching to the back of the television was unbearable, apparently, because now my Netflix viewing is up 500%.  I am lazy.

One plus is now I have easier access to historical documentaries my wife wouldn’t watch on the threat of bursting into flames.  I did, however, have her watch Terminator 2.  She hadn’t seen the original so I attempted to briefly recap.  “Basically, computers become self aware and attack the human race.”  “Why would they do that?”  “I have no idea.  It’s not important.”  “That doesn’t make sense.”  (We’re off to a rough start here.)

I then explained how John Connor sends a guy back in time to save his mom, but he hooks up with his mom and becomes his dad.  “She sleeps with Arnold?”  No, he’s the robot.  She sleeps with the soldier.  “How can the soldier be the dad?  He wouldn’t exist in the first place.”  Damnit, that’s completely accurate.  This movie makes no sense whatsoever.  Let me try again.  There’s a bunch of guns and explosions and robots fighting people.  Plot doesn’t matter.  Hey Netflix, I need dumber movies to watch.

My favorite college team is Ohio State.  The day after the national championship game, I thought back to the last time they won it all and realized there were some differences.

Present – I ran my open mic comedy show and thanks to the magic of DVR, there was no chance I could miss the game.  I missed the pregame, but the pregame lasts for about 11 days anymore, plus there is the internet, which has 324 sites breaking down the offensive line vs. defensive line, so quite frankly, who cares after a while.  I watched it with my wife rather than out at a bar so there was no chance a 7′ person was blocking my view or telling me about their life while I’m losing the ability to keep from choking them.  The game was on a Monday, so I had a few beers and went to bed about four minutes after the final second ticked away.  I went to work the next morning and was talking to prospects by about 8:01.

2002 – I lived with two guys and we threw a party, since they impulse bought a 65″ big screen a couple weeks earlier.  I would end up with a pool table in the divorce settlement when we all moved out, it’s complicated.  I sat down to enjoy the game when a buddy’s girlfriend said, “I don’t like Miami’s uniforms?  Who wears green and orange?  If I was there, I would make them change colors….”  I heard no more, because I went into our kitchen, made a portcullis out of bar stools and refused to let anyone get food until the commercials.  NONE SHALL PASS!  OR SPEAK TO ME!  I also had to work the next day, but since I was younger, I decided to pound shots and beers until 3 am.  I had to help break up a fight at one point.  At 8:01 the next day, I was driving 75 miles per hour to work because I was late.  I decorated the bushes outside the office with last night’s fun between customers.

As you can see, I think I have found a way to improve the experience, although I may still patent the portcullis.  Go Bucks.