Voodoo Economics

Got asked this week to drive 6 hours to a gig for $250 without hotel.  That’s 12 hours of driving roundtrip. With gas at almost $4 a gallon, that means no profit. That’s about $15 an hour before taxes for the gig. After taxes, probably $10 bucks an hour. After the physical and emotional toll that long runs take on a comic, it’s a complete loss.

BTW the booker who asked me is a great guy and you have to feel bad for him too because his margins are getting annihilated too. The entire comedy food chain from the comics to the bookers to the venues is imploding and everyone is suffering.

All of the creative fields are getting shellacked. Just read an article about how the entire field of architecture has become a career wasteland in the current economic depression:

http://www.salon.com/2012/02/04/the_architecture_meltdown/

My favorite line was ”Security and artistic freedom exist only for those who are independently wealthy.” Nothing could be truer for comedians as well. To be even in the game, you have to have the ability to feed and clothe yourself and the means to get to gigs.

One of my friends who’s a very successful comedian said to me, “The days of a working the road as the middle act are long over. The road is now for headliners with serious tv credits and a local radio dj as the MC for free.”

Just like architecture, if you can’t work your way up in your field or even make enough to feed yourself, how do progress?

Bad Comedy Advice

Yet another person said to me in the past week, “You should do corporate comedy since you still have a regular day job and aren’t an alcoholic weed smoking comedian.” Wrong….I know too much. And I don’t play the guitar, juggle, do magic tricks like fart fire out of my ass. I won’t dress up as a clown or jester. So my corporate comedy options are very limited.

I can’t say anything really uplifting about day jobs other than, “Thanks for the group health insurance you make me partially pay for with pre tax dollars. I sleep better at night knowing that if I crash my Saturn Ion on a comedy run in buff, the hospital won’t turn me away.”

I have a day job because I’m basically a pussy. I’m way too old to be poor. In my 20s I need soap, shampoo and lipgloss and I was good to go. Women my age have endless anti aging expenses- hair color, Retin A, vitamins, Kinerase for my neck, laser treatments,…and of course, therapy and pills we can’t live without.

I love doing comedy. But fuck finding your bliss. I’m all about cash-flow to support my crumbling facade.

Playing the Midget Card

Last week I drove 4 hours upstate to some old ass city with Victorian architecture and a large GE plant and tons of white people. Well, it looked deserted but at the American Legion hall were only white people. It’s bizarre to go to places like that now after living in NYC, Chicago and Atlanta.

In the front row, was a real life midget. Little person with his girlfriend, a non little person.  Even though I am a Saloon Comic and hold no illusions about my downwardly mobile comedy career, I did not play the midget card. I just called him sir and asked him how long he’d been with his girlfriend. I would imagine that 99% of the comics that work this room just cannot help but fuck with this midget, but I was like, I’m too classy and what can I say that hasn’t been said?

Now if I had an albino in the front row, I would have been all over that shit. I’m fascinated by redheads and albinos. Aren’t they almost the same thing anyways? I love red hair. On women and on men. Love it.  Ladies, you have not lived until you’ve shagged a guy with a fire bush. I think Lindsay Lohan is crazy for coloring that fabulous hair. If I were her crazy ass, I would grow that red  hair down to my ass and go almost naked on the red carpet with that gorgeous hair as my dress and give Joan Rivers the finger.

Speaking of Joan Rivers, she is now my God. Any comedian who can be like almost fucking 80 and be as sharp as she is on Fashion Police is my hero. That bitch nails is every week on Fashion Police and I love the panel- Giuliana, George and Kelly plus Joan is MONEY.

Does Comedy Make My Ass Fat?

I used to put 50k miles a year on my car as a Saloon Comic.  Then it was 30k miles a year when I moved to NYC. Just looked at 2011 and it was only 12k miles.

At the same time, the gut I gained for the first time in my life while doing road comedy for the first time is gone. It slowly melted away over the past 18 months, the same time period I pretty much cut my travel down dramatically.

In 2007 I remember hitting a bump in my car in my belly doing the wave. I was fascinated and horrified. Ever since then, I’ve been on a long ass diet. Caloric restriction didn’t really do anything other than shrink my boobs. So I lost my breasts but kept the baby FUPA. Not really the effect I was going for.

For the past year, I’ve been working out like a fiend, watching calories but eating chocolate. Every day. A couple of pieces of dark chocolate. And I’ve been using coconut milk in my coffee. My Puerto Rican friend Christopher laughs at my Ghiradelli stash, and makes fun of what he calls my “white girl snacks,” like Chobani yogurt and almonds.  Laugh away, Chris, because I no longer have a muffin top for the first time in 5 years.  I still need to wear a bra and a poncho if I ever have sex on top but my belly wouldn’t injury anyone.

So that’s my gunt removal secret – dark chocolate, coconut milk and not living out of your car driving to gigs like a crazy person.

 

 

PST

PST. Post show trauma. What happens to comedians when we have a totally horrible set that somehow feels not just like a crap set but more like a complete rejection of ourselves as a human.

That was my Saturday night. Which also happened to be New Years Eve. I listened to women gab in Bikram Yoga about not going yesterday because of their drinking trauma on NYE. I thought, “Civilians and their cute little problems. Try standing in front of a totally cold crowd without any MC going up first and figuring out they are all Republicans who love Rick Santorum.”

 

 

 

Visualize

My friend Jarrod told me that you have to visualize yourself doing the things you want to do before you do them for them to actually happen.

We were talking about comedy and he said you have to put your desired reality out into the world as energy.

I tried it. Sat at the LaQuinta Inn visualizing myself not having panic attacks, and then had a panic attack because that’s what happens when I think about it. So I drank some wine.

That Russian Chic Who Bought the NYC Condo for 88M

12 hours later and I’m really still…..completely irrationally oddly pissed off at this oil wealth skank heir. It’s embarrassing. First, I hate my NYC apartment. Second I hate my NYC non standard of living. Third….well all of this makes me really hate my NYC life.

So this petro slut moves here on daddy’s money and buys the most expensive condo in the city. Am I the only one who feels personally affronted or is it just my need for more benzos?

As an American, I see this as a symbol of something is very wrong in Denmark. Or whatever Hamlet said.

Civilians

Last night I went to a fantastic little party my friend Jeff Lawrence had for his Laughing Buddha Comedy.  The most shocking part of the whole night was 1) Jeff fed us, which was super classy, 2) all of the comedians were so much fun and actually had souls and 3) there were no civilians.

Civilians tend to ask me dumb ass questions. Like how long is “my skit”?  Or do I need to get really drunk to get on stage? Or why would I ever drive to gig since don’t the comedy clubs fly us everywhere?

Dragon Dictate for Mac

Went out with a friend last night who revealed to me over wine that he was a closet “Jesus Freak” and “maybe a Teabagger douchebag.” He also shared that he loved me unconditionally because Jesus wants him to. Now, he did have 6 glasses of wine. Talk about Liquid Jesus.

I’m a saloon comedian. I get paid for talking about sick shit. I don’t think that Jesus is really thinking about me right now.  He’s busy with other more important shit, like the end of the world that’s coming up.

If Jesus was thinking about me, he would have made sure when I spent nearly $200 bucks on Dragon Dictate for Mac it would have worked. I loaded it on my Mac and the voice recognition software will not recognize my voice and worse whenever I use any type of curse word, it changes it. Jesus H. Christ, it’s my words and I spent the money. Just friggin dictate what I said. All I want to do is save my wrists, which are constantly jacked up with carpal tunnel from working 80 hours a week and driving to shit gigs for 8 years.

Why Women Don’t Rule the World

I have figured out why douchy old guys run the world. Because women don’t have the time.  I spent the day trimming my eyebrows, clinically exfoliating my arms and legs to fade my spots, working out to my Get Ripped DVD and cleaning my tragic apartment. Guys would never spend half a Saturday doing any of that.

At the same time, there was some Teabag dick planning a Constitutional amendment or emailing his Congressman’s office trying to get a national holiday for Dick Cheney’s birthday. That’s how the world really works. Teabag guy is creating change that sucks but he’s at least trying, and I’m in my decrepit Harlem tub sculpting my landing strip.