Friday, April 30, 2004  

Now I Remember

Oh, yeah...THAT'S why I don't like contests.

Thanks for the support, everyone. I had a strong set, but didn't advance in the BCF contest. Costaki Economopolis and Tony Boswell, did, though. Both funny guys, and although I didn't talk to Costaki, Tony was a hell of a nice cat. Best of luck to both of 'em.

Red Sox; Blueberries; Northeastern Burrito

So I'm sitting at Boston Beer Works, watching Curt Schilling positively rape the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, and drinking a large, dark beer that had, for reals, a fistful of blueberries floating in it, and I'm wondering how exactly my plans to check in on the Boston Comedy Festival have gone so haywire. It should come as no surprise that Sam Walters was the culrpit, having decided in true Waltersian fashion that my recon mission was "proposterous" and that I was "wound way, way, way too tight" and that scalped tickets for bleacher seats would cure whatever nerves and ennui were eating me before tonight's preliminary comedy contest round.

So I find myself on the Green Line, clickety-clacketing towards Fenway, jammed up against a woman who smelled like raspberries and who was a very real reminder that there's nothing sexier in this world than a chubby girl in a Sox jersey...except maybe a chubby girl in ONLY a Sox jersey. At each stop it gets more crowded with excited fans, and I'm pressed so tightly against my raspberry ladyfriend that I'm making a point to thank Jesus for each and every lurch in the B Line. Then suddenly I'm in a crush of people heading up into the sunlight of Kenmore Square, and Sam's there, making me eat some more McDonald's. We plot the Bush administration's downfall over Big Macs and then it's off to the park, where we have exactly zero luck finding tickets. The scalpers, most of whom are so shady that you get the impression they might have actually scalped somebody at some point, are asking 40 bucks a pop for bleachers in THE THIRD INNING.

We turn up our noses on general principle and make a mental note to rekindle our friendship with Danny Kischel. Then we head to the brewery with the blueberry beer, which is in-fucking-credibly delicious, so we have lots of them. An old comedy friend is there, and he gives me a textbook LA brushoff on his way out the door, but it doesn't matter, because Curt Schilling is God and Sam and I are buzzing and chomping on lager-soaked blueberries. When the game ends, we realize that we can still make most of the BCF contest at the Charles Playhouse, so at Sam's insistence, we walk from Fenway to the Charles. Sam claims it will take 10 minutes. Spatial awareness is not Sam's strong suit.

We get there much later, in time to hear that Danny Bevins and some other guy have won, and then it's over to Remington's. We pass a beautiful Kelly Macfarland on the way, who's coming home from her contest set, which apparently didn't end with her moving on, which is clearly a travesty by any reckoning. We have a couple more beers while I blown off by a Canadian manager of someone's, and then Nicole Luparelli drives us to Sam's car and then Sammy gets me home in time to sack out. Luckily, Jude's night terrors seem to have taken the night off, so I can crash guiltlessly, the sweet sounds of Coast to Coast lulling me to dreamland.

I dreamed that my wife and Paul Day were married, and that somehow I still had to pay all their bills. Sam and this woman I know that has cancer were also in the dream, and he and I moved sod around her hard while she whipped nickels at us. I blame the blueberries.

So here I am, chomping on a Harvard Breakfast Burrito, trying to soak up some beer and keep myself busy until my contest set tonight. Sam was right; I feel better about life and about comedy than I have in a long time. His combination of pep talk, tough love, and Dionysus seems to have been exactly what I needed. I'll go do some jokes, and forget about the rest.

God, this burrito is good.

Elton John Says 'American Idol' Vote Is 'Racist'

Elton John Says 'American Idol' Vote Is 'Racist'

For once in my life, I agree with Elton John. Well, okay, twice. Saturday night IS all right for fighting. Anyway...I guess I have to confess to being a pretty big fan of this show. Didn't mean to be. Sat down last year at the season premeire, notebook in hand and ready to write some killer satire. Ended up hooked like a junkie; I guess that makes Seacrest my dealer. That would explain his suits.

I feel especially bad because Brian Dunkleman is an old, old friend, and the show pretty much treated him like a wet food stamp. Too bad, Bri. I can't stop watching.

But last week's vote totally floored me. They voted Jennifer Hudson off, while the red haired kid who sings like a regular singer that's been kicked in the throat wasn't even in the bottom three. It's pure, unadulterated bullshit.

It has, however, made me understand why we have an electoral college.

Tech Notes and a Reminder

Hey, all...

If you've visited the site in the last few days, you'll notice that the picture from the Boston Comix photoblog is missing. Without getting too technical, this is basically due to the fact that Textamerica is a totally bullshit company that sucks in ways heretofore unimagined by humankind. I posted some shots from the naked show I did on Saturday (which rocked), and they ran afoul of Textamerica's Terms of Service. So they deleted the pictures. And the entire blog. And my account. Without notice.

They point out in their terms of service that they're "strictly PG." Yeah, clearly. So I made a new account, and Paul Day and I posted to their discussion boards asking about this discrepancy, and got our posts AND accounts deleted, without notice, yet again.

Clearly, their business is being run by tiny-dicked lawyers and Comminists. I think I heard they support the Taliban. And they kill puppies for fun!*

Seriously, tho. What a bullshit way to do business. That's why the NEW photoblog is hosted at Moblog UK. Once I figure out the code to get the pictures posted back over here at reverendtim.com again, we'll be golden.

So one more time, for Google: Textamerica sucks!

And now the reminder: Thursday, 8:00 pm, The Vault. I'm competing in the Boston Comedy Festival contest, and I'd sure love any and all support people could come on down and give.



*I get to say this because I'm a comedian. I'm pretty sure they're neither terrorists nor Communists. I have 20 bucks that says their dicks are tiny, though.

Boston Comedy Festival Contest Handicapping

Hey, all...

Local comic and Campbell's Soup Kid gone bad Sean Caufield has made his predictions for this year's BCF contest:

Preliminary Contest #1 a.k.a "The Kaelin-Murphy Bud Light Invitational":
I have Santorelli coming out. He's a #1 seed in my book. I also have the over/under of Ben Boime pacing back and forth during the entire show at 300.

#2 a.k.a "D.J. Hazard's on the show so why even bother" bracket. of coruse, D.J. is winning this one, although I have Dan Sally coming in at a drunken 3rd, behind a 22 ounce of Heineken.

#3 a.k.a "The most comics on one show during a Tuesday, ever" bracket. I like Howell and Hunt as sleepers, but I think Teddy Bergeron will do a 'Jack Nickalus winning the Masters at 50' in 1986, and he also shares a name with the host of the semi-final show, so I have him coming out on top in this one.

#4 a.k.a "The One-Liner" bracket. I have Lazarus as the favorite, but I have Tom Clark coming out of this one.

#5 a.k.a the "Kelly is on the show so why even bother unless you don't want to miss how many people Dick Doherty can offend as a headliner after" bracket.

#6 a.k.a the "Tommy Morello Pro-Am". A strong field, but I have Rick Younger coming out on top.

#7 a.k.a the "Isn't it funny that Tim McIntire, the comic with the worst luck in the world, is in the hardest bracket!". I have you coming out on top, but dude - I know and like 6 of the 10 comics on there. Even the open mikers are good! You just can't win, can ya Tim?

#8 a.k.a the "Comics with long names" bracket. Stebbins is an early favorite, but then, in mid-set, a dead hooker comes out of no where killing him, so I like James P Connolly in this one.

So, there you have my Elite Eight: Santorelli, Younger, McIntire, Kelly, D.J, Bergeron, Connolly, and Clark. The winner? Santorelli, avenging what happened last year to him at the BCF. Unless Jordan Knight judges again.

Next Thursday - April 29

Hey, all...

The Boston Comedy Festival is upon us again, and I've given up my art-faggy protests and have entered myself in the Boston Comedy Contest. My preliminary round is next Thursday, April 29, at the Vault (124 Boylston - downstairs in Remington's Restaurant) at 8:00.

I would love it if people came down and supported me. I'm still iffy on the concept of comedy contests, but if I'm gonna do it, I wanna win! Okay, not necessarily win...I just don't wanna get punked out in the first round by an open miker.

On Comedy and Reality TV

Wonderkind comic Erin Judge posted something on the Kvetch Board that really just summed up my own thoughts about what American Idol and its clones have meant for those of us trying to "make it" as performing artists:

Between "Comedian," "Last Comic Standing," and this article, we really see how my generation of comedians are becoming exposed in the climate of "reality" culture. It's like we're more interesting in our personal stories and extremely humble beginnings, like our novice stage is more lucrative to producers than waiting for us to ripen and become actual comedians. Have I just become more sensitive to this phenomenon since I've started doing comedy? Or does it seem like young comics are suddenly plastered all over the place, frightened and unfunny, shivering like featherless chicks in the wind? Is that really what people want to see? Not comedy, but some human story about wanting comedy? Is it more entertaining to watch "American Idol" or "Making the Band" than to discover a fully-formed entertainer? Is it more fun to see video of somebody bombing her third time on stage than to watch a brilliant, practiced 8-year vet do an air-tight 15 minutes?

It's a weird cultural moment, I guess.

Like she says, we're in this place where we idolize people for "taking their one shot" and completely ignore people with the talent and determination to make it in the long run. It should, of course, be obvious why I'm interested in focusing more on the latter.

Hit List

My wife is my muse. Sometimes she gives me the freedom and the inspiration to create; sometimes, she kicks me in the ass. This is one of those times. Apparently, I've been coming home and bitching about my comedy and my boredom therewith for over a year now. Apparently, she's sick of hearing about it. She's also sick of hearing about what I'd like to do with my comedy but haven't actually done.

So while laying a come-to-Jesus on me after Saturday's death match of a show, she pointed out that when I released the CD, I swore that my goal was to stop doing most of that material in very short order. And I've dropped about half of it. But the rest of it...still there, due about half to laziness and half to chickenshittitude. So I won't bore you with what I want to be doing, comedy-wise, but I am hereby serving notice on the following bits, which will be dropped from the act in this order:

Miguel de Los Santos
Giant Tumor
Olestra
Quitting smoking
Xenical
Maine Drinking Story
Too Fat to Hang
Snakebite

If you want to see them, come out soon, because they're history as fast as I can replace them.

Snuff

Oh, God. Last night's show in Holyoke, Mass. A private Jack & Jill bachelor/bachelorette party held in the dingy basement bar of a VFW Hall. I'd love to give a detailed blow by blow of just why I came home and announced to my wife that I'm quitting comedy, but I won't. The bride's parents, who had the idea to hire me, were truly kind and decent people who have been checking out this site, and I don't want to badmouth them in any way. They really wanted to give their daughter something nice, and I tried to help. I really did. Since I can't bitch in detail in good faith, let me instead just make this announcement:

I am no longer available for private parties.

No public shows this week. Friday is a benefit for Easter Seals, and Saturday is another naked show. I'll try to post something halfway funny in the next day or so. In the meantime, remember: YANKEES SUCK!

A Very Important Lesson

Friends, I learned something last night while driving back from a show at Thomas College in Maine.

Just because a truck stop is having a special on steamed hot dogs at 2:00 am does not mean you should buy steamed hot dogs at 2:00 am. And you most certainly should not let Sam Walters talk you into "chasing" them with "the best domestic beef jerky" you can buy. My stomach feels like I swallowed a sea urchin, and my pee smells like soy sauce.

Yes, two hot dogs for a buck is a great deal. Yes, extra Tobasco is delicious on a weiner. And yes, that was very tasty jerky, though I don't get Sam's obsession with it (he buys jerky and milk, which he consumes together because, and I quote, "It makes really good mouth gravy"). But do not give into temptation, even spicy meaty temptation. Get a Vitamin Water and be happy the next day.

Incidentally, I will not be going to Stand Up New York tonight. The cost/benefit for the trip just wasn't playing out in my head. I'll catch you kids in the city on the next go-round.

Too Busy to Blog

Hey, everyone...

Great weekend. Fun shows, and travelling with Sam Walters is a hoot, despite the fact that the last two hours of the drive were spent with him on his cell phone trying to get on WEEI and talk about Pedro Martinez. Sam is something of a Sox junkie, and I'm afraid he's pretty much done the same to me. It's just one of a long list of bad influences he's been on my life, including smoking, drinking, carousing, and, as of Saturday, eating Whoppers at midnight. Next time, I'll just eat a couple of fistfulls of lard and have someone kick me in the stomach. It'll be cheaper.

So this week, I have shows hither and yon and suspect I'll be too busy to send out updates, so here's the schedule:

Tonight, the Milky Way in Jamaica Plain. 8:00
Tomorrow, Thomas College in Waterville, Maine. 9:00
Thursday, Stand Up New York in, well, New York. 9:00
Saturday, I'll be doing a private show in Springfield, Mass.

Today's Globe; Show Tomorrow

Hey, all...

Just a quick blast to let you know about this article in today's Boston Globe about me and Peter Dutton hosting shows at the Milky Way in Jamaica Plain. So far, it's terrific over there, and I really expect this room to take off like crazy. And the pizza's good, too.

Private show tonight in Lewiston, Maine. Tomorrow at Tabu Nightclub in Plattsburgh, NY. I have every reason to believe that the ferry (you know it's a good gig when you have to take a ferry) will end up closed for Easter, and Sam Walters and I will be stranded in Plattsburgh indefinitely.

Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

Because on other nights, I don't eat a piece of brisket bigger than my face.

Once again, I was fortunate enough to attend a Passover seder at the Poulten house in Chelmsford, Mass. Sam and Gail, parents of comic Benari Poulten, quite generously invited Jeniphir and me to one a couple of years ago, and last night, I got to go again. I suspect that the Poultens' is much less traditional than other seders (Rabbi Jose the Puerto Rican is quoted liberally, and Sam plays the theme from M*A*S*H on the trumpet), but man, do they know how to throw a feast. Between the Manischewitz, the food, and the yelling, I have a Judaism hangover this morning. I even kinda liked the gefilte fish, which my wife calls "the hot dog of the sea." More than one person, I suspect, was distracted trying to figure out how the yarmulke stayed on my head (tip: two days of not shaving = velcro on one's noggin). Also, thanks to the horseradish, certain things have taken on a somewhat purple hue, which is a bit disconcerting.

Doesn't matter. I love this family. Hell, I love this religion. Monotheism and brisket? That's all I need!

I tried to bring a hostess gift, but couldn't find anything that was kosher for Passover. I tried, but got confused. I thought "parve" meant it was kosher enough...turns out, it's just regular kosher. I bought some turkish delight with rosewater, on the assumption that all weird-looking candy is kosher by default, but no dice. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the TURKS aren't making Passover food.

Also: local comic Dan Sulman was invited to this seder, but declined to come and went to a comedy show instead. Thus, I am a better Jew than Dan Sulman.

All jokes aside (just what you like in a comedy newsletter, huh?), I cannot imagine a more generous bunch of people than Clan Poulten, and I just want to thank them for making a goy from Colorado feel so welcome. NEXT YEAR IN DENVER! Er, uh...you know what I mean.

Kurt Cobain

Kurt Cobain killed himself 10 years ago -- I bring it up because I just read this. Goddamn, my wife can WRITE.

Comedy Under the Cross; Manchester; Miscellany

Wow. Fun shows on Saturday. If you'll dig the picture to the left, you'll see Our Blessed Virgin Mother in statue form. A lovely piece of art, and a lovely theological concept. Not, however, what you want to see at the entrance to your comedy gig. Seems our agent forgot to mention to all three of us that this show was to be in the Parish Hall of St. Joseph's Church in Amesbury. Picture three comics standing in the back of the room staring at the massive crucifix hanging over the microphone, our jaws hanging open, and a collective, "Oh, there's no fucking way..." Turns out, a different group had rented the hall from the church, and for the first time in my comedy career, the thought, "Oh, thank God-they're Rotarians" went through my mind. Then it was a quick drive up to Manchester for the show at the Chateau, where it was packed to the rafters with one of the best crowds I've ever had. I did close to an hour standing on my head, though the YELLOW lights sure made me look like I had advanced liver disease. Brisk album sales and a generous bartender made for a lovely aftershow conversation.

Smoke-free for 2 days so far, thank you very much. I've been wrestling with this for months now. I'll smoke for a few days, quit for a week, then get lazy and start up. Well, I'm serious this time, and it's a good thing, because I was such an insufferable prick due to nicotene withdrawal yesterday that I think my wife's support and goodwill is all used up. Since I've been smoking on the downlow, I've been trying to quit on the downlow, so essentially, as far as she knew, I've just randomly been being a prick. I finally had to confess so she didn't divorce me on general principle. It was a good call, because I was an asshole without peer yesterday, thanks to the detox. We tried to go out to lunch, but Jude was in full two-year-old mode, and threw such a tantrum trying to get back into his car seat that I had to walk away from the whole ordeal simply in order to keep a stranger from calling DSS when I lost my freaking mind. Toddler petulance + nicotene fit = blind, red, rage. The fact that I was seriously considering throwing him across the street like a football is providing much needed incentive to stay quit, thank you very much.

And the baseball season is upon us. Since Sam Walters was my sponsor for citizenship in Red Sox Nation, I spent last night at the Hong Kong with him watching Pedro bean people and getting reassured that losing the opener is good luck.

This and That; Show Tonight

Lotsa catching up to do.

First and foremost, if God didn't want me to smoke, why would he make Dunhills taste so good?

After several weeks of successful tobacco avoidance, the monkey bit me in the back this week, due mostly to the fact that Harvard's gym was closed for spring break and to the fact that I was experiencing adrenaline dump after adrenaline dump while helping orchestrate an April Fool's joke on the Kvetch board. The joke came off swimmingly, though a few people seem to have sussed it out ahead of time. Reaction has been mostly positive, though a few people have been angry, sanctimonious, or juvenile. Such is the risk you run with trying to play a practical joke, I guess. I will say this: if you sense that a joke is afoot, and your inclination is to ruin it, you are a heckler. If you sense a joke is afoot, and your inclination is to try to trick the tricksters back, you are a comic.

Last night was rock star night in Rochester, NH, where I made fat cash for an easy spot in front of 400 people at the Rochester Opera House. Even better than that was watching Paul Nardizzi and Tony V absolutely destroy. There is nothing so comedically sublime as watching Tony V do crowd work. He riffs better than most comics write.

Tonight, I have an early show at a church in Amesbury that I'm not going to invite anyone to, and then I'll be headlining the show at the Chateau in Manchester at 9:00. Would love to see you there.

New Article Published

I just got word that MensRights.com is now live and online, and while the testosterone-fueled site might be a little over the top, yours truly wrote an article for them on ATM fraud. Check it out, if you would.