Saturday, March 27, 2004  

Comedy Yin and Yang

Just limped home from the Melrose VFW, where I do believe I just qualified for a purple heart of my own. Typical bad scene: I booked the show myself because I work at my day job with a chick whose mom runs the VFW. They want to do a show. I give them a rate. I go on Tuesday to tell them where to put the stage, the lights, the tables, everything. I show up tonight, and they'd done the exact opposite. Not unheard of for these kinds of gigs.

I knew it was going to be bad when before the show, one of the guys comes up and goes, "Hey, here's a joke. How do you keep nigger kids from jumping on the bed?"

Also not unheard of for these kinds of gigs. I walk off before he can tell the punchline, which is the best I can do, trying to walk the line between righteousness and not getting in a fistfight with a club officer before the show.

John Curtin's hosting. He tries, he really tries, but they're not digging him. Again, in his defense, he's working at the tip of a dance floor devoid of tables (counter to my explicit directions) to 3 tables of octogenarians all of whom have expressions like they just ate bad clams. Then Joe Wong goes up and really does well. Really. I think it's turning around...the night's going to be okay. Then it's my turn. I didn't bomb, but I didn't rock. It was labor, though. Hard fucking labor. I like to think I'm an artist that will stand by my material, but those goddamn 80 year olds are freaking me out. I'm editing language on the fly...de-effifying, as it were. The set's up and down. I was hoping for 9, and I got maybe a 6.

Afterwards, while basking in very tepid praise, the same guy who wanted to tell me a joke before the show comes up and says, "You really shouldn't have done those poop jokes (the Xenical/Olestra stuff)...those were offensive."

Yes. The "nigger" guy was offended at my "poop jokes."

And then they shorted me 50 bucks.

Last night, by contrast, was comedy rock star heaven. I thought I was going to be at the Sturbridge Quality Inn. Turns out, I was at the Sturbridge Isle Truck Stop. I didn't know such a thing existed, but this is an UPSCALE truck stop. Million dollar renovation. No lie, the support beams were cedar from the slopes of Mt. St. Helens when it blew. I was in The Loft, working with a very funny cat named Steve Donovan. Without getting specific, I'm featuring on the show, and I'm making 100 dollars more than I usually get to headline. So I go on, and really, really start rocking the joint. Crazy good set. Then Steve gives me the light (comedy code for "get off!") at 20 minutes in. I figure there's some alpha male thing going on or something, but being a pro, I finish my bit and exit. I walk up to Steve and go, "Why the light? Did I say something wrong?" And he looks at me and goes, "No, you only have to do 20. Here's your money!!! Great job...wanna come back?"

So thus is the yin and yang of comedy. I ate it for a friend's mom and her racist friends, and I rocked a truck stop like it was Wembley Stadium and I was The Who.

I will now finish my whiskey and go to bed. Tomorrow's Jude Day...we get to hang out all day. He's nearly 3, and in the last day or so has invented an imaginary friend named "Muffin." No lie. At breakfast today, he opened the back door and yelled, "Hey, Muffin! Come on in and play groceries wif me???" It's unbelievably cute. Trying to understand his little brain, I ask him, "You have a new friend named Muffin?" He gets a great big smile and goes, "Yeah!" I say, "That's great! Is Muffin a boy or a girl?"

And my son, my pride and joy, looks at me like I'm a total idiot and says, "Daddy. It's a MUFFIN."

I don't know anything about anything.