I heard that Curt Shackleford is gay.

Just kidding, Curt.
Before I get to the Houston stuff, I have something to say regarding my shows tonight.
At 7, I judged and did a few minutes at the end of a show at GW, which was part of the Improv’s Funniest College Competition. There was a contestant who did nothing but complain about losing last years competition, and how last year’s judges screwed him. He actually said that he was killing, when he closed on a joke about “big-boneded girls,” and half of the judges were “big-boneded,” so they made him lose. He also kept saying that people are scared of him because he’s so edgy, original and says things that people are afraid to say.
I judged last year, and I didn’t remember him, which means he probably sucked then. I was correct. After 5 minutes of idiotic complaining, with only one joke in the whole five minutes, he said, “Fuck it. I’m going to do the joke that I did last year, since none of the judges are fat chicks. What does riding a moped and having sex with a fat girl have in common? They’re both fun until your friends find out.” THAT WAS THE JOKE THAT HE CLAIMS OFFENDED PEOPLE! That’s a stupid street-joke that I heard in elementary school when I didn’t even understand it, because I didn’t understand what sex was, and I would have been the coolest guy in school if I rode a moped. What an idiot. I can’t believe that he said that joke was “edgy and original.” Like people have been afraid to talk about fat girls. No one does because it’s a juvenile, impersonal subject. But it’s not edgy or original. If you want jokes on fat girls, go to google and type in fat girls. Then turn on the porn-blocker and search again, because you don’t want to see any of that. See, that was more original than his joke.
I went to Topaz to do a set after this show. The Topaz crowds are notoriously PC, and so pretentious that I want to wear a fur coat there just to start something. They usually only go for meat and potatoes, no one gets hurt jokes, which is retarded (that sentence would offend them). But tonight, it was a really good crowd, and I was killing with all newer stuff. So, I decided to finish with a story about a horrible AIDS Benefit show that I did a couple months ago that had only eight paying audience members. It’s a five-minute story, and it’s really funny. At the end of describing how horrible this show was, I state that “after paying for all the promotions, theatre rental, and having Sirius radio broadcast the show, and only getting eight donors, the show actually lost money for AIDS. At the end of the night, AIDS had to write a check…”
When I said, “lost money for AIDS,” some idiot from the crowd actually booed. So, I finished the joke, said goodnight, then had my boldest on-stage moment ever. I looked in his direction and said, “To the guy who booed: Fuck you. You’re a pussy… not in a physical way… I’m not trying to fight… You’re just an uptight, PC idiot.” Then I left. I don’t understand why anyone would boo there. I’m expressing disappointment that I was part of a show that lost money for AIDS. I didn’t steal money from AIDS. I just witnessed it being robbed, and reported it. The logic is flawless. There’s nothing to boo. So, to the guy who booed, I hate you and you’re stupid.

I was in Houston last week, from Wednesday through Sunday. I had 10 hours of travel on Wednesday, using multiple modes of transportation.
1. I walked from my apartment to the bus stop.
2. I took the bus to the metro station.
3. I transferred metro lines and went to Union Station.
4. I took a commuter train to Baltimore.
5. I took an airport shuttle to BWI.
6. I rode several escalators between the above steps.
7. I flew to Detroit for a ridiculous layover.
8. I took a terminal shuttle to my connecting flight.
9. I flew to Houston.
10. A manager from the club picked me up in a car and took me to the hotel and show.
That is a lot of transportation changes.
Thoughts from the trip:
-When I got off the plane in Detroit, I looked around at all the Detroit natives, and thought, “Okay, I can see why the brawl happened.” Almost everyone in Detroit gave off this vibe that they would love to punch you in the face. It was bizarre. If a race war happens anywhere in the United States in the next 50 years, I’m thinking Detroit will be the home field.
A lot of people also had those stupid Nascar goatees. Not a regular goatee, but Nascar style, like Bill Engvall. As Danny Rouhier says, “Get that shit handled.” You look ridiculous.
- During a 5 hour layover, I was the creepy guy who sits in the massage chair at Brookstone for way too long.
-As soon as a comic mentions the word “airplane,” people burn them at the stake and make them wear a scarlet letter “H” for Hack. I’m going to talk about the horrible airplane etiquette that annoys me anyway.
1. I hate people who bring two carry-ons even when there is a sign that says “Only One Carry-On for This Flight.” You’re selfish.
2. I hate people who bring full-sized suitcases as carry-ons even more so. I want to strangle every person who does this. I always have to hold my backpack at my seat because some jerk, ten rows back, didn’t want to check his treasure chest, so he decided to put it over my seat. “What if I need something out of the chest during the flight?” Shut up, you new-age pirate.
3. I hate people who sit in the aisle seat and get mad when I say excuse me, so I can get to my window seat. You picked the aisle seat, you idiot. You knew you’d have to let two people in. Don’t act like you thought it wouldn’t happen. Also, stand up and let people walk by. Don’t turn your knees slightly to the side. The next time you do that, I’m going to hit you with my backpack and steal your treasure.
4. I hate the two people who have tattled on me for putting my bag behind my legs, instead of under the seat. They told on me because they said it was a safety issue, even though I was sitting in a window seat. How could this be a safety issue? Like the plane is going to go down because a bag is on the wrong part of the floor. “What if the plane is having technical difficulties that can only be fixed if we all stand in front of your seat, and your bag prevents us from doing it? Then you’ve killed two hundred people. How would you feel about that?” First of all, we’d all be dead, but I would move the bag if a pilot was to ever have such a ridiculous request.
-I only have one Houston story for now. More will come though.
I was in the lobby area of the Laff Stop (great club). They have TVs on Comedy Central at all times. In the middle of a conversation with the emcee, Paul Oddo, I looked at the TV. Larry the Cable Guy’s special was on, and the closed captioning read, “[imitates fart sound].” I was like, “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
After the show, four guys who looked like they were in the Marines, but probably weren’t, due to their negative I.Q.s, stood next to me as I was writing at a table. One of them turned to his friend and said, “So, what did you think of the show?”
His friend responded, “I thought Colin Quinn would be taller.”
You thought he’d be taller? Colin is 5’10”. What was this guy expecting? How was that the first thing that came to his mind too? It wasn’t a height contest. He wasn’t guarding him in a basketball game. I told a friend about this and he said that maybe the guy thought, “Well, when I watch him on the TV, the TVs on the shelf, and I’m sitting down, so he looks taller than me.”
Then the guys noticed that I was sitting there and decided to joke around. One said, “What was up with that second guy?” He was obviously joking and looking at me, so I turned, faked a laugh, and said, “I don’t know. He kind of sucked, didn’t he?”
He replied, “Just kidding, man. You were funny.”
Then his friend said, “Good thing you said you were kidding. He was about to knock you out.”
These guys were all big and clearly crazy, so I said, “That would probably be the biggest mistake of my life.”
Without missing a beat, the guy shot back, “You got that right!”
Way to kill the mood, asshole. We were joking around. You are huge and clearly crazy. Why do you have to let me know that you and your friends could take me? We all know that. While that thought process was taking place, one of the guys turned to the TV and saw Larry the Cable Guy, and said, “Now, there’s a guy I’d pay a lot of money to see.”
That was my cue to leave.

How do you not lose weight when you do that?

On Friday night, at the NY Improv, I had an audition for the Just For Laughs Festival in Montreal. It’s for a show called “New Faces,” which is a big industry thing where managers, agents, casting agencies, and network people take a look at newer comics. The whole day was a Fraggle-caliber adventure.
First, I’d like to apologize to the people of San Francisco (who have never heard of me and would have no reason to read this) for canceling at Cobb’s Comedy Club, in order to do the Montreal show. I let you down. Please forgive me. I’ll try to come back some other time when you still haven’t heard of me. I won’t let you down, San Francisco. Not again. Don’t be mad. I won’t hurt you.
Now, onto the adventure…
I got up pretty early for a 9:30 Chinatown bus. It was my first time taking the Chinatown bus. I usually take the Hasidic Jew bus (www.vamoosebus.com), which is very nice, and the driver plays slow jams, which keeps the passengers in a sexy mood. My only complaint about the HJB is that the last time I was returning to DC, at around 8AM, they were showing that Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant movie, “Two Weeks Notice.” It’s bad enough that they were playing it, especially that early. But to add another level of torture, the DVD operator must have been new to technology, because he played the entire movie with commentary by Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. I thought they were boring actors, but they’re even worse at being themselves. Do yourself a favor and burn every copy of this movie that you see. Screw laws. Go to Best Buy and start burning.
Back to the story:
I arrived at the bus stop at 9:15, which gave me enough time to go to McDonald’s to enjoy a McGriddle. I know they’re called McGriddles, not McGriddle , but I think McGriddles sounds stupid. So, I started walking to the McDonald’s, which was about a block and a half away from the bus stop, and I was greeted by a homeless guy. He stopped me and said, “You’re looking for a bus? That bus broke down [pointing to my bus stop]. I work for them.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Where you headed?”
“I’m just going to McDonald’s.” McDonald’s was about 50 feet from where we stood, directly in front of us.
“Oh, let me tell you how to get there. What you want to do is, walk down this sidewalk. You see that white sign? McDonald’s is just past that.”
“Yeah, I see it. It’s right in front of us.”
“Just straight down the sidewalk, that’s all.”
“Thanks. Have a good day.”
Then he decided to get personal. Let me first say that I don’t like shaking hands with anyone that I don’t know, or isn’t a friend of a friend, unless we’re in a situation that tells me that their hands are clean, such as a hospital. I’m not a germ freak. I just don’t want TB or dysentery. I never have. But this guy reached out to shake my hand… I tried to wave instead, but he grabbed my hand, began shaking it and said, “My name is Mike, and I’m a bad guy.” Not bad-guy, like the antagonist in a movie, but bad [pause] guy. Regarding the handshake, I wasn’t expecting Calgon-bathed hands, but I also wasn’t expecting Thriller hands. They definitely felt like Thriller hands, which caused me to have flashbacks to seeing Thriller for the first time, when I was about 4, and having subsequent nightmares practically every night until sometime last year, and admitting it for the first time right now in my blog. I was frightened. Then, as he continued the conversation, he turned his hand over, and I saw his palm. Holy shit. It looked like he was playing in a pool of boogers. I almost threw up in my mouth. But, I didn’t want to make him feel bad, so I listened to what he had to say, which was:
“See that house over there? That’s a homeless shelter. They charge $6 for 14 days. I just ran out of time, and if you could help me out when you leave McDonald’s, I’d appreciate it.”
“You want a dollar or something?”
“A dollar? A dollar? Can’t you give me $6?”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Come on man. I showed you where McDonald’s is.”
“I knew where it is. It’s right in front of us.”
“Just give me $6.”
At this point, I was thinking this guy must be horrible at being homeless. It was only 9:15AM, and he would only need to get another $5 for the day to be set for two weeks. If he can’t do that, he’s in the wrong line of work. Sounds insensitive, but you know what I’m saying. Beggars can’t be choosers. Hey-o. You guys are a great crowd. But seriously…
I said, “How about if I give you two dollars?”
“Two? I know you got money.”
“I’m broke. I have $20 in my pocket, and I’m going to New York.”
“The bus is only $15.”
I was starting to get annoyed, but you can’t get mad at someone who doesn’t have a home. It isn’t fair, because they don’t live the same type of life, and don’t have a strong grasp on social constructs. So, I kept my composure and said, “Look man, I’ll give you $2, but I don’t have enough cash on me to give you $6. I’m sure you’ll be able to get it without a problem though.”
He was clearly pissed, but whatever... I didn’t have time to go to McDonald’s anymore, so I walked back to the bus stop. As I was doing this, Bad Guy Mike started yelling at me for not going to McDonald’s. “Come on man. You got time. I’m telling you, the bus broke down.”
I was so disgusted by the handshake that I had to rush back to the office of the bus people to wash the Thriller off my hands. I was careful not to touch any other part of my person on the way. I got to the bathroom. No soap. No soap in a public restroom. They had Pine Sol, but no soap. So, I sat and waited a few minutes for the bus, thinking they’ll have hand sanitizer, like the Hasidic Jew Bus. Meanwhile, I was holding my hands out in front of me, staring at them like I just discovered I have stigmata.
Finally the bus rolled up. I got on and went straight to the bathroom. Not only did they not have soap, but it was obvious that the bathroom was inoperable. I was stuck. I had to accept that I wouldn’t be able to wash my hands until we got to Chesapeake House, a rest stop just north of Baltimore, that the HJB stops at. But this bus didn’t stop at Chesapeake House. It did, however, make a shady stop at a Comfort Inn, outside of Baltimore, but we weren’t allowed to get off. So, I had to continue to sit and stare at my scurvy infected, Thriller hands until we finally stopped, which was at Exit 6 on the NJ Turnpike. For those unfamiliar with the DC-NY Route, that’s around the three-hour mark. I scrubbed my hands for a good 5 minutes, and still wasn’t convinced they were clean.
When I got back on the bus, I was a lot more comfortable though. I had a Cinnabon and a Snapple Peach Tea, which is all I need.
When we pulled in to Chinatown at 1PM, I was greeted with hours upon hours to kill. My show wasn’t until 9PM. So, I called a realtor in Brooklyn, because he was going to show me a couple apartments in Williamsburg. He flaked on me though. The reason: He’s an Orthodox Jew, and needed to “keep holy the Sabbath.” Great with buses. Not so much with realty. One out of two isn’t that bad.
My next apartment viewing wasn’t until 5PM in Chelsea, so I decided to walk to Chelsea. This will, from now on, be remembered as “horrible idea #4,980.” It was a 30-block walk through a sea of drunken St. Patrick’s Day idiots. I’d bet that at least 40% of them couldn’t locate Ireland on a map. And I’d bet that 99% had no idea why we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. “It’s to celebrate when Patrick Roy won the Stanley Cup with Montreal and paraded the streets getting chicks to show their tits, right?” No one said that, but I’m sure it was thought.
How did St. Patrick’s Day get to be bigger than Martin Luther King Jr. Day? I don’t get it. I’m not suggesting people get drunk and wear slut beads on MLK Day, but a little more press couldn’t hurt. It seems like they’re turning St. Patrick’s Day into a season, like Ramadan. Seriously, when is the media going to let up on Ramadan? Let us fast in peace, without cameras in our faces.
After seeing the apartment, which I liked, I had another four hours to kill before the show. I did this by walking around aimlessly, keeping my hands inside the width of my shoulders, so none of Bad Guy Mike’s bretheren could give me a sneak handshake attack.
I arrived at the Improv an hour before the show and had to kill time in their bar. During this time, in an exercise of self-confidence, I changed my set about 60 times. I only had six minutes for the audition, which is tough. I feel like you can get a good sense of what someone’s comedy is like in ten minutes, but six is way too short. My favorite joke, and most memorable joke is four minutes long. So, it’s ruled out in a six minute set. You can’t do two jokes in a six minute set. I probably could have not written this paragraph. Oh well. You’ve already read it.
I was in the middle of the line-up. I don’t want to say anything negative, but the crowd was Baltimore-ish. That isn’t a good thing. New York has this reputation of having great, smart crowds, but my friend Quincy pointed out that the reputation was developed my New Yorkers who think they’re smart and great. Good point, Quincy.
I had the worst set I’ve had in a long time. The crowd was relatively into it. But, I felt off. I rushed things, got visibly angry at the crowd for not laughing loud enough at one joke, and really just went through the motions. It was a poor representation. I got off stage thinking that I had blown it. The Montreal people saw that although the crowd was laughing, I didn’t really connect with them. I talked at them, instead of to them.
Luckily, I did get the callback, which is in May. So, I need to remember not to suck then.

-I think it’s ironic that every fat comic I’ve ever seen is loud and high-energy. You’d think that would cause them to lose weight. Not the case at all though.

-Get tickets to see Demetri Martin, Mitch Fatel, Meat and myself at Lisner Auditiorium on April 8th. Info can be found at www.dccomedyfest.com
-If you go to UMD, clear your calander for April 17th. I’m hosting a sketch mini-festival in the Grand Ballroom, and doing a big show at night. The room holds 1,000. Fill it up, people.
-Mason is in the Sweet 16.

Show me your face!

I received the following email today. The email address of the person who sent it is iliveforryanconnersblog@hotmail.com . Who are you? Be not ashamed. Show me your face!

Subject: ryanconnercomedy: Give me an ace, I'm on the road that I must travel... Inbox

Mr. Mister
to me
More options 2:00 am (9 hours ago)
Mr. Mister has sent you a link to a weblog:

You were right, the song is by Mr. Mister...its called "Kyrie" and "give me an ace" = Kyrie Eleison, which basically means "Lord, have mercy".

Give me an ace, I'm on the road that I must travel...

-Another lackluster blog entry… When my blog sucks, that means that I have a lot of new material for the stage that’s good. When the blog is good, that means I’m not writing things that are good enough to perform. So, be glad that what you are about to read isn’t that funny. I am.
-I was going through some old boxes yesterday and stumbled across some open-mic set-lists from over a year ago. I write all my jokes in shorthand, leaving out key words and the joke itself. I basically just write a few trigger words, which cause me to remember the joke. I ran into one exception yesterday. It’s a joke called “Meat Foam.” That’s all I wrote for the whole joke. Meat Foam. I have no idea what that means. I know it’s a reference to the Styrofoam that meat is sold on in grocery stores, but I know the joke wouldn’t actually be about that. If anyone remembers my Meat Foam joke, let me know. It sounds hilarious.
-Last night was The Young Bucks of Comedy at DC Arts Center. It’s a show with myself, Seaton Smith the Comedian, Sampson the Comedian, Keith the Comedian the Comedian and DJ Supreme the DJ the Comedian the DJ, and hosted by Kris Payne the Comedian. I just found out yesterday that “Buck” is a racial slur from the slavery days, and since I was the only white guy on the show, I think it looked like I put the show on to showcase my “workers.” “Massa Conner presents his Young Bucks…” I’m uncomfortable about reading that last sentence too.
To add another racial undertone, we were hanging out backstage before the show. At the time, it was all white comics who were there to watch, and Jay Hastings was playing with a prop whip that was backstage. I had to tell him to stop, because if Seaton walked in and he accidentally hit him with a whip, things would have got really awkward, really quick.
The show was okay.
-On the way to the show, Rory Scovel, Jay Hastings and I were listening to an 80s CD that Jay has. On it is a song that everyone knows from the 80s, but no one knows who it’s by (maybe Mr. Mister), or the lyrics of the chorus. We think he says this during the chorus:
“Give me an ace I’m on the road that I must travel.”
But that doesn’t make sense. Does anyone know what this song is?
-For some reason, for the past two years, I’ve been receiving a couple email newsletters from organizations to which I don’t belong. One is the Swiss Embassy. I haven’t bothered unsubscribing from that one because I like to know what the Swiss are up to, and it’s usually things that involve chocolate and handshakes. The other is from a fraternity, whose name I won’t mention. I have no idea how I got on this list. They just started sending me emails one day. I usually reply that I can’t make it to the charity bake-off, or whatever it is that they’re doing, and that the brotherhood is still alive within my heart. But I’m really starting to get annoyed, and want them to stop emailing me. The problem is that if I tell them to stop emailing me now, they’ll know that I’m in on their secrets from the past two years, and they’ll probably force me to adopt a highway with them, or whatever it is that fraternities do. Kids, don’t join fraternities.
-Last Wednesday, I had an audition for a network TV show. I got the first callback, but didn’t make it any further than that. There’s a lot to talk about regarding the show, but they made me fill out 60 pages of paperwork, and I’m sure at least one of those pages said I can’t talk about the audition process, which was a crock of shit.
I think it airs in May. If I’m in the show at all, then I think I can talk about it once it airs. But, if they cut me out, I don’t think I can say anything.
When this show about comedy comes on this summer, don’t watch it. It’s going to make good comics look bad, and bad comics look good.
-On a side note, don’t watch Last Comic Standing on NBC. I think it comes out this summer.
-If you’re in NY, I’ll be at the NY Improv this Friday at 9pm, auditioning for Just For Laughs Comedy Festival (Montreal). Come check it out.
-If you’re in Houston or know anyone who is, I’ll be at Houston’s Laff Stop, March 22-25 with Colin Quinn. I’ve never been to the Laff Stop, but I’ve heard it’s a great club. Hedberg, Dave Attell and Lewis Black have all recorded CDs there, so that says something…
-Aus.

Paradise Revisited

I will be at Lisner Auditorium at GW on April 8th, with Demetri Martin, Mitch Fatel and a sketch group called Meat. I don’t know anything about Meat, but Demetri and Mitch are great. I recommend getting tickets for this show now. It’s already half-sold-out, if that’s really a term.
Also, if you go to University of Maryland, I will be there on April 17th in the Grand Ballroom (holds 1,000 people) with The Bureau, and one of my favorite comics. I can’t say who it is yet because he hasn’t signed the contract yet, but it’s looking good. If you go to UMD, start spreading the word.
On March 25, I make my surprising return to Del Rios in Leesburg. It’s not a comedy club. It’s a restaurant. But the owner thinks it’s the Hollywood Improv. Below is my entry about my last show there in October. Read it and try to figure out why I’m going back.
I had a show on Saturday at a Mexican restaurant that has comedy every weekend. It was packed… packed with mostly rednecks (except for about 10-15 people), but nevertheless, it was packed. It was a fun show, and Al Goodwin, who books the show, is cool, funny and bald.
I had a good set, but I could tell that there were certain things you couldn’t say to them. For example, I started doing a new joke of mine about a car that I saw which had a bumper sticker that read “Abortion causes breast cancer.” But something weird happened. Normally, as soon as I say that line, I can look at people and see that they realize how ridiculous that is, and they’re ready for the joke. But I looked at these people, and they were all looking at me like, “Yeah, we know abortion causes breast cancer. That’s a fact. My brother’s a scientist. He told me that!” So I aborted the joke (no pun intended). I can’t understand why anyone could accept the idea that abortion causes breast cancer, but I’m convinced that they did. If you’re making that bumper sticker, why reach that far? Just go for ovarian cancer. It sounds slightly more believable. But breast cancer? Those pipes aren’t even connected. It’s a “don’t wear contacts or you might sprain your ankle” situation. Go for pink-eye. Sounds more plausible.
Other things from the show…
There were three girls sitting in front of the comics’ table. One was normal. The other two felt the need to high-five each other after every joke they liked. Then, one time, they missed on the high five, and to reconcile, they kissed. I didn’t know high-fives and lesbian kisses were equal. Everyone was confused.
There was a guy who watched the whole show standing up. When he laughed, his whole body doubled over. You could tell how well you were doing by measuring how far he would bend. I’m not lying when I say that he touched the floor with his hands twice. This and the high-five girls are two things that happen when you mix comedy and Mexican restaurants.
After the show, the owner came up to me, and this is after I had made his patrons laugh for 25 minutes straight, and said “You shouldn’t read from notes on stage. It looks corny.” It didn’t come out like this, but the message of my reply was, “I didn’t have notes on stage. I had a set list because I was doing a lot of new stuff, and if you had a stool on stage, instead of a kid’s chair that I had to bend down to reach, no one would have noticed that I was looking at it. On top of that, if people are laughing, who cares?” But what I wanted to say was, “You know what else looks corny? Two giant palm trees on the stage that are wearing sombreros. I think that looks a little corny. Also, the fact that you’re Palestinian and own a Mexican restaurant is a little corny. Palestinians and Mexicans aren’t even similar."
So, that’s how that show went. I can’t wait for March 25.
My friend, David Angelo, a comic from Chicago, who used to be out of DC, sent me this link yesterday from his website. Read the whole thing. There’s a dialogue between him and a “hater.”
Background: I judged the show in question. David is hilarious, very original and won easily. I have no idea who the other guy is.
http://hegemony.ridiculousparadigm.com/press.html

F*ckin' A Right Doggie!!!

-I will be hosting a show of college students at the DC Improv on Tuesday, March 7th. It should be fun. Email me if you want tickets and I’ll see what I can do… ryanconner@gmail.com
-Here is what has happened in the last 2 weeks. On Friday, 2/24, I judged and did a set on a show at UMD that was part of The DC Improv’s District’s Funniest College series. It was a packed show, around 300 people. Fun was had by all.
-Saturday I had a show in Carlisle, PA. It was at a place called Red Devil Pizza. I figured it was a big place that sells pizza and has live comedy. So, I drove up there and went to the Motel 6 (no joke) where they were supposed to have a room for me. Nope. They said they didn’t. So, I called the booker, who wrote the contract that I happened to have with me. He said, “Oh yeah… we don’t book the rooms for comics anymore.”
“Well it’s in the contract.”
“Yeah, but we don’t do it.”
“Why is it in the contract then?”
“I don’t know. Just get a room and I’ll reimburse you.”
That’s how the conversation went down. He didn’t know why his contract was wrong. So, I took a little nap before the show, which was supposed to be at 9. At 8:05, my phone rang. It was the booker. “Ryan, are you at Red Devil Pizza?”
I now realize how stupid this question is, as Red Devil Pizza seats about 25 people.
“No, I’m at the Motel 6. I’m leaving for the show in about 15 minutes.”
“Well the show starts at 8.”
“I have the contract here, and it says 9.”
“It starts at 8 though.”
“The contract says 9. You wrote the contract, right?”
“The show is at 8. We changed it. It used to be 9.”
This burst of idiocy forced me to hang up. Basically, there were three facts in my contract; pay, accommodations and show time. Two of them were wrong, and the booker acted like I was supposed to know that he changed them.
I’m not even going to address the show itself, other than to say it was horrific. If you scroll to the bottom of my previous entry, you can read a joke that the headliner did. Atrocious.
-Sunday night, I was part of Larry Poon’s Belated St. Valentine’s Day Poonanza and Wet T-Shirt Contest, at Staccato Lounge in Adams Morgan. It was the most fun show I’ve ever been a part of. I did four sketches, which will be posted on my site very soon. They all went over very well. I wrote my favorite sketch, in which I play a horrible hypnotist, an hour before the show. It was essentially a Satellite show, plus a couple people, and minus Justin Schlegel, who cancelled at the last minute for a private gig that paid $5,000,000. It should be known that Jon Mumma stood in the balcony, naked, watching the show, for about 10 minutes.
-In contrast to the UMD show, Tuesday night, I did another Improv college show; this time at Johns Hopkins. Jon Mumma hosted and Frank Hong and I did time at the end. I had high expectations for this show, because I knew that Hopkins doesn’t accept dumb people. Little did I know, they also don’t accept people who are socially “normal” and know how to have “conversations.” There were about 50 people in the crowd and about 40 were awkward freaks (minus the comics). It seemed like their parents decided for them that they would be pre-med some time between their 4th or 5th birthday, and they took the aggression from that out on us.
Jon’s set was going okay, but not great. Then he came to a point where he had a choice. He could either turn it up and do his Gay Motorcycle joke. Or, he could make the crowd feel as awkward as they made us feel. Luckily, Jon went with the latter. Jon stared at the crowd for 30 seconds. I’m not exaggerating. Stop reading this and watch a clock for 30 seconds. Imagine someone staring at you for that long while holding a microphone. Now that’s awkward.
The whole show was weird. I pretty much bombed at the end. Only the student comics were laughing. The other people were offended because I said that if your walls are lined with anime posters, then you’re weird. That isn’t a controversial statement anywhere else in the world. At Johns Hopkins, it’s like saying that Jesus is gay in a Southern Baptist church.
As we were leaving, we passed by The Chess Club. The chess boards were hot, and surrounded by seemingly thousands of students. It was like that scene in The Ninja Turtles movie, when they go to the Shredder’s underground lair… half pipes, talking rhinos, the whole deal… Allyson Jaffe, manager of the Improv, looked in the room, said, “Yep.” And we left. It was a perfect ending to a horrible night.
-I hate people who count how many beers they drink at bars or parties. There is nothing more obnoxious in that setting than walking in, and having a guy hold up his beer and say, “I’m on number six. You?”
“This is my first.”
“You better catch up. I’m already halfway to drunkville. Ya hear me? Okay…”
“I don’t really drink.”
Then the guy laughs, like he’s exposed you as being a loser, which proves that he’s a loser.
It’s even worse with the guys who exaggerate. “Holy shit, dude. I’m on number 46… got a pretty good buzz going… see that girl in the corner? Yeah, she wants me. Once I hit 50, I’ll probably go talk to her.”
No you won’t.
-I read that last week a kid got kicked out of a theatre for laughing too loud at The Pink Panther. Normally, I think it’s a good policy to punish people for laughing at stuff like that… but the kid was retarded. That’s why he was laughing at it. People punished a kid because his retardation was preventing them from enjoying a Beyonce movie. That’s one of those “Wow” moments where you can’t believe how selfish people can be.
That’s like when you’re in a car with someone and there’s a huge accident which has caused traffic to be at a standstill. And they’re like, “Man, all this traffic… what the hell… now I’m going to be late… I’m going to miss American Idol because of some idiot… this is the worst day I’ve ever had.” Your worst day? What about the guy who was in the car accident who may not be alive? Shut up, you jerk.
-My brother, Jasper, has introduced me to a band called Cursive. They are amazing. Buy their album, The Ugly Organ.
-I was at The DC Improv with Bill Burr last week. It was a lot of fun. Bill is hilarious. Dawan Owens hosted and did a great job as usual.
A couple weird things happened when I was selling t-shirts, which I must say I felt awkward doing all weekend.
1) A guy came up to me and yelled, “Fuckin’ A Right Doggie.” Then he said the exact same thing to Dawan and Bill, at 5 second intervals. That was his default greeting. What wrong turn does a life have to take for someone to start greeting people like that? That’s an open question. He was nice though.
2) A lot of people asked me if I sold CDs. I told them I won’t do that for at least a few years. They couldn’t understand why. After asking me, one guy actually said, “I mean, you have t-shirts. T-shirts are… t-shirts. CDs are… you know… you listen…” It was profound. I think he did steal that line from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, but I applaud his ability to recall the line and apply it so perfectly.
-This section is just for comics
A lot of DC area comics have been filling their blogs with advice on comedy and opinions on what they think is good comedy. I think it’s hilarious because one person did it and meant nothing by it, and now a lot of people are going back and forth about it on their blogs. The odd thing is that since they’re all comics, and all know each other, they probably could be having this argument by email or phone, but have opted for the blog.
So, I’ve decided to join the discussion.
Here’s my opinion on comedy. If you don’t have any jokes about the differences between black and white people, credit, drugs, crime shows, traffic, construction, hypocritical organized religion, roofies/drugging a girl in general, “big girls”, white girls are freaky, songs about sleeping with porn stars/old people, what’s going on with those crazy news anchors, cell phones are crazy, Oprah and her ever-changing size, Michel Jackson, OJ, waiting for the stop sign to turn green, girlfriend saying that you don’t listen, shopping, masturbating, gay marriage (the hack variety), ménage trios (don’t want to let two people down) or how people should beat their kids…you should write some. They’re highly original. I don’t think anyone has ever touched on those topics. You write one joke for each of those topics and you’re going to the top. Try to keep it as impersonal as possible too. That way it’s easy for someone to steal the joke.
There it was; the worst advice and comedy opinion ever. I’m not referring to anyone in DC, because DC has very few hacks, especially compared to other cities. I just wanted in on the debate.
-I love you so much.