Will Durst is, to me, one of a withering gang of great comedians who are also social commentators. People like Lenny Bruce, Mort Sahl, Mark Twain, Dick Gregory, Will Rogers and, the king of the class clowns, George Carlin. Durst can spin grand tales of the behind-the-scenes-double-dealings that go on in the two-party state like a card shark on a riverboat.

I had the great fortune to catch up with Durst and spend some time talking about the past and future of comedy.

Has political comedy always been a part of your routine?

Will Durst: It was an incidental part of my act but there were always jokes. What was going on when I started comedy in 1974, things like Watergate, Nixon, and the [Vietnam] war had just ended. Everything was anti-authoritarian; there was almost a comedy police if you weren’t topical.

Seems like we are in the same kettle of fish in 2008, but most people will not touch political comedy, it’s almost taboo. They think the audience is not going to “get it.”

WD: It’s not just the audience; it’s what comics see as the greased chute to the big time. Comics think they will achieve success by having “the character.” The character is going to get you the sitcom, which is what comics aspire to.

Do you find that more in comics in other cities? How does the Bay Area differ?

WD: In SF, that’s where you get your chops down. You cannot be a working comic and make a living.

You do it.

WD: I go on the road all the time. You used to be able to make a living in SF. Now you have to end up in New York or LA, San Francisco is just a middle weigh station. But, you can cut your teeth, and San Francisco has some of the best audiences in the world. The joke is, my comedy is not that restrictive, it’s for people who read or know somebody who reads. You can take a lot more chances and lead the audience. Some comics lead the audience too much and it’s like a quarterback who keeps throwing 80 yard bombs.

In 1974 where did you start out?

WD: I was in Milwaukee. I moved to the Bay in 1980.

What was the comedy scene in San Francisco like in 1980?

WD: It was incredible; there was a huge horizontal growth that was just starting. Holy City Zoo, The Other Cafe, The Punchline had just opened about 2 years earlier. In Milwaukee, before I moved out here, I had performed 6 times in a month, and a couple of those times I had to go down to Chicago. When they found out you were from Milwaukee, they put you up first or last, you were treated like cannon fodder. The first week I was out here I was on stage 8 times!

Who were your cohorts?

WD: We were part of the third wave. The first wave was Robin Williams and Jack Marion. The second wave was Dana Carvey, Mark V. McCullum, Bobby Slayton. The third wave was me, Dr. Gonzo, Billy Crystal, Jay Leno, Steve Pearl, Steve Kravitz. Kevin Meaney was close, Rick Reynolds was fourth wave along with Jim Edwards. Bobcat Goldthwait came after that, so there were waves that came through.

Is it always about performing?

WD: Some people use comedy as a springboard to writing or acting. Comics like Alex Reed or Alex Herschlag, guys who moved to LA, were never headliners and now they’re running shows and are multi-millionaires. John Riggi was never really a headliner and now he’s on another show (30 Rock), he was a writer on the Larry Sanders show. Once you get into comedy it can lead to other things. The only people still doing it are the ones who didn’t quit.

I’ve got to say, you were instrumental in me getting to the stage. I went to see you at Chico State in 1990. You were hosting a Showtime College Comedy Laff-Off. I didn’t have the $3 to get in, but I was told that if I entered the contest I could get in for free. Backstage I was freaking out because I didn’t have an act, certainly nothing ever done in front of 800 college kids. I thought “my initials are DNA, that’s funny.” I won the competition, but was so overwhelmed by the whole thing I ran out of the building and didn’t find out I had won until the next day.

WD: I remember that!

What locals do you enjoy seeing perform?

WD: Nato Green is opening for me at the Punchline and he is very funny.

Any sage words for young comedians trying to find their voice onstage?

WD: I don’t know how to explain it. You hear all these clichés, you hear there’s a closet door in Utah that you uncover and discover a bunch of clues, you open the door and bathe in a bright white light and become a stand-up comic. It’s not like that, you just do it, keep doing it and try to find out who you are, who your voice is. That’s what’s going to last. The lines aren’t going to last. The character will last and the voice will come out of the character if you keep focusing on that and being true to yourself. The hoariest of all the chestnuts, but it’s true. If you enjoy it, they will enjoy it. You have to make yourself laugh.

Catch Will Durst at the San Francisco Punch Line May 20th- 24th, or at a read and sign at Book Passage in Corte Madera during the day on the 22nd. AND order his book, The All American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing, available now at Amazon and better bookstores all over this great land of ours.

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I don’t see as many comics a month as most comedians, but more than some, and a lot more than the average Joe or Jane. And, from my perspective, comedy doesn’t seem to be making any strides, getting the human race beyond the same negative stereotypes that have been bantered about on stage since the 1950s.

I can go down the line and talk about how Mexicans, blacks, gays, Christians, and Muslims are routinely brought out as topics and then made fun of by today’s comedians. More often than not, a recent trend is for Mexicans to make fun of Mexicans, African-Americans to prey on their own stereotypes, and Muslims (or Muslim looking comics) to talk about being seen as terrorists. Gays still seem to be open targets for everyone with a microphone. This is my observation.

I’m not a prude, some stereotypes are funny. Sometimes, and this is the advantage of being a comedian, it’s only on the second (or third, or . . .) time you hear the bit, that the funny becomes apparent. A good case in point is a recent Justin McClure bit I heard about East-Coasters blaming whatever short comings they have on being because of the fact they are from the East Coast. Being born in Newark, NJ, I first thought that’s messed up and not true. Second time I thought, “Not only is McClure right, it’s freaking funny.” But it should be noted McClure is from Boston, MA. He is an East Coaster himself.

Why these recent tendencies for comedians to only attack their own?

Maybe it was the Michael Richards incident that has forced comics to stay within their own religion, race, coastal orientation and gender identity, for fear of being ostracized by their peers and audience. Maybe comics have no fear of the gay community and so continue with their lisping jokes. Maybe, a lot of things.

What I’ve noticed, with increasing alacrity is the comments, jokes and ramblings towards Jews. Out of the 75 comics I’ve seen in the last month or so, barbs about Jews are pretty common. Last night I heard (from an Asian comic), “Why does everyone hate Jews? Even Jews hate Jews. I don’t even know where they come from. Jewrusalem, maybe?”

On a side note, in repeating this joke to some non-Jew friends today, it killed, in a Guinness-World-Record-dumbest-racist-joke-on-a-Dixie-Cup manner.

The most prevalent comment/joke I hear revolves around, “Jews killed Jesus.”

When it comes to stereotypes, I’m not sure any other group even comes close to being slandered as much as the Jews do, with this much ballyhooed tremendous falsehood. Being stereotyped as lazy, cheap, a good dancer, stupid, fat, or even a terrorist (although that comes pretty close) is not as loaded a remark as being responsible for the death of America’s favorite messiah.

Other misconceptions (read: lies) are that Jews are this incredibly powerful, tremendously wealthy group of people. Truth is that Jews are a fragile small group of humans, that despite repeated efforts to obliterate from the planet, still survive.

Jews are one percent of the world’s population, and between 2 and 3 percent of the U.S. population. A minority much smaller than African Americans, Mexican Americans and Asian Americans. Various forms of Christians make up over 90% of America. Jews rate around the same as the number of Wiccans.

Being a Jew, I am always surrounded by Christians, Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Unitarians and all the other branches of the Jesus tree. Off the comedy stage, I constantly overhear in coffee shops devotees of Christ arguing about how they are the true believers and how other Christians are not as faithful. In Church last week, in Watsonville, the pastor kept trying to impress upon the congregation how Jesus fulfilled prophecy. Completely disregarding historical accuracy, the nefarious underpinnings of the Council of Nicaea, or any of the ancient texts found in the last 50 years (Dead Sea Scrolls, Essene Gospel, Nag Hammadi etc . . .), the pastor rummaged through Jesus’ Bible, the Old Testament, looking for “proof” of his divinity, much like Beatles fans interpreted the back of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band looking for “proof” that Paul was dead.

In the last 6 years, I have gone to various churches about 200 times. Without exception, during every service some mention of Jews comes up. Sometimes it is as blatant as “Jews killed Jesus,” sometimes it is more thoughtful as in, “Jews are not the only chosen people.” Theology seems to be a very malleable construct that pastors mold to their own desires, goals and prejudices.

So, it is no wonder that when a percentage of comics hit the stage, products of their own religious upbringing, they come up with the good, “Jews killed Jesus,” joke. I thought Lenny Bruce settled this years ago when he said, night after night, “Alright, I’ll clear the air once and for all, and confess, Yes, we did it. I did it, my family. I found a note in my basement. It said: ‘We killed him, signed, Morty.’ ”

Apparently, today’s comics, while perhaps idolizing Lenny Bruce, have never taken the time or brain power to consider what the hell he was saying.

When Michael Richards went off on his tirade, it brought up deep feelings of racial divide, segregation, and hatred perpetrated on people of a different color that has lasted 400 years.

And perhaps people don’t know this, but through the 1950s and early 60s in America, there were many places that Jews were not allowed. The Ku Klux Klan hated Jews. My grandparents left Russia at the turn-of-last-century because the Russian soldiers were running their horses through Jewish villages crushing the heads of women, men and children. The Holocaust is still a joke for some comics, but if the Holocaust is funny, then why not Darfur? Wait for it…..wait for it……wait for it……..

Personally I just don’t get the continuation of the “Jews killed Jesus” funny business I hear on stage. And I for one will greet the next comic’s pronouncement of this 2000 year-old lie, that has been the basis for most of the world’s Antisemitism with a big “Fuck You.” I’m not trying to be like Lenny Bruce, it just bothers the hell out of me and it makes me think that the comic I’m watching is an idiot who has no idea what the words coming out of their mouth means.

Part Jew: The Bagelogue

There’s a small area of land outside New York City, in the Catskills Mountains, that had been referred to as the Borscht Belt in the 1950s. Named for the large amount of Jews who came there, presumably eating borscht, but mostly relaxing and getting entertained. My grandparents owned a hotel called The Anderson Hotel. My grandfather and his brothers worked every aspect of the joint including the entertainment. And it was at The Anderson that Sid Caesar had his first gig in comedy. Sid Caesar, the guy who took all the knowledge of the Jews who dominated the stage (vaudeville) and radio and brought it to a burgeoning new medium called television.

Sid Caesar, The Marx Brothers, George Burns, Milton Berle, Al Jolson, Mae West, The Three Stooges (and Shemp), Fannie Brice, Jack Benny, Danny Kaye, Phil Silvers, Red Buttons, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, Henny Youngman and Rodney Dangerfield, all Jews. The list of contemporary performers is even longer, much longer. Check the link. And if you want to argue the point, Bettie Boop, Popeye, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck are Jewish as well. And while not that funny, Batman, Superman, Spiderman, all Jewish. The one field in America that Jews have had the greatest impact is comedy (and comics)!

This legacy of outsiders bringing their neuroses to the stage, allowing any fool to come up and talk about how their wife doesn’t understand them, how hard it is to not fit in, how weird the world is and do it while making funny noises and faces and then, expecting people to laugh, owe their profession to Jews.

I would think that if anyone owes Jews a pinky of respect, it’s Stand-Up Comedians. It is only in a country as twisted and wonderful as America could the premise of stand-up arise. And it is only through the dedication, perseverance and hard-hardheadedness of, mostly, Jews has comedy become the popular scene it is here in the Bay Area and beyond.

So next time you hear a comic talk about how, “Jews killed Jesus,” remember that the only reason that Jesus killed delivering his quirky sermons on the mount (the first Catskills) was that he was Jewish.

DNA is a certified muckraker and diamontologist. His newest novel is about a Jewish Messiah running for President in 2008 and can be found at www.votedna.com

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Planet Gemini spent the better part of two decades nestled on luxurious Cannery Row in Monterey. After the landlord realized that they could open their own club, Gemini had to find new digs away from downtown. Now located next to an adult bookstore, I was surprised when management asked me to come down and do a “clean set.” I was surprised, because, there was nothing about the two night stint that was remotely clean. My job was to open for James Stephens the Third.

“Who?” you might say.

James Stephens the Third, fool!

You might not have heard of him unless you got a deep grip on your comedy. James is a scholar and graduate of Howard University. He was up for the role of Ray Charles, against Jaime Fox, in Ray. An alumnus of the DC comedy scene, The Improv and The Comedy Store, James Stephens the Third is one hell of a funny mofo.

Both nights I featured for James the audience had more than its fair share of drunk, blue-lipped, white skinned, red-neckish hecklers. Now being the New Jersey ass that I am, I was able to handle the fools for my fifteen minutes. But James had to deal with them for a full hour, and it was inspiring to see. I don’t believe he ever got to his set.

I watched a man who has performed around the world, made a short movie with Cuba Gooding Jr., worked huge corporate events, and who was doing a favor for the owner of Planet Gemini, get interrupted every two minutes by a group of seven drunk Bocce Ball players. I wish you could have seen it; it was a tutorial for handling drunks without attacking them.

Always the professional, James was cool enough to let me interview him before the second show.

You have fun last night?

JS: Yeah, man. I had fun watching you do your thing. I always watch new jacks to see what they got going. You know what I’m saying?

What did you think of the opening act?

JS: Sean Kingston? I forget his name. I call him Sean Kingston, cuz he looks just like Sean Kingston. He was great.

You started out 20 years ago doing stand-up in DC. How was the scene back then?

JS: Early 80s was straight. Headliners were treated like gods back then. They could roll into a town and do anything they want to, because there weren’t that many comics back then. Showtime was bigger than HBO back then as far as comedy was concerned. I was opening for Jerry Seinfeld and all those cats back in the day. Bill Maher, you know, that was comedy man.

Would you say there was more of a community of comics back then?

JS: It’s changed a lot. At that particular time a lot of East Coast comics were coming to San Francisco, because that was the big scene for comedy. The Other Café, Jim Samuels, Holy City Zoo.

Nowadays young comics can see comedy 24/7. They can watch it on their cell phones, YouTube, Comedy Central. In the day you had to buy a comedy album and study it. You think today’s comics have a harder time finding individuality in their act?

JS: Back then, comedians would actually work on becoming individuals. Now it seems like people work on being carbon copies. Then, you knew when Dana Carvey or Robin Williams was on stage that they were doing their own thing, they had their own shtick. Back then “call backs” were the thing. Comics would sit around and be like, “I got 15 call backs,” you know. Mark Schiff was a great comedian, great stand-up. He said I was his good luck charm, because I was with him both times David Letterman asked him to come on the show, I happened to be featuring for him.

Was Eddie Brill booking for Letterman back then?

JS: Oh no, man. Eddie Brill was probably five or six people removed from back then. It was Morty.

How did you end up in Harrah’s with a Vegas style show?

JS: I started off being a monologist. Then it was all about doing monologues. I did no impressions. You probably didn’t know that Dice Clay started off as an impressionist. Like Elvis and John Travolta but then he found his niche with stand-up. I went from straight monology to doing impressions. You do what you can to fit in and when I moved to Hollywood I was told that Mitzi Shore (Comedy Store) liked guys who could do impressions. So to get into the club I put together a comedy style impressions show.

When did your musical talent come in?

JS: Well it followed. I could do Stevie Wonder, Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles and Elvis Presley. I only had seven minutes to audition for her. I did and she said I was in, now I had to create a bigger better show. I met Tommy Davidson who was doing impressions and some similar stuff, but I was able to play music so I expanded. I did all the Improvs and Bud put me on the Ray Charles 50th Anniversary Special. Bud saw me at the Comedy Store and offered me a one hour showcase at The Improv, which was unheard of for a comic. I performed at The Improv at Harrahs in New Orleans and the President of Harrahs saw me and offered me a multi-million dollar deal.

You signed, got your show in New Orleans and 4 months later Katrina shows up.

JS: I hate that bitch.

What’s the deal with your charity?

JS: I give kids scholarships to college and I’ve given 50 scholarships out already.

What’s you advice for new comics?

JS: Study your craft. Pick you poisons and study your craft so your voice is different than everybody else’s and I think it works. Industry is looking for comedy characters to build soap operas around. Even if you’re a monologist think about your character and what you’re talking about.

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My name is DNA, but that’s not important right now. This is about comedy, comedy taken on the road and distributed throughout Northern California. Specifically, the Pawns of Comedy tour that just wrapped up a mini-trip from South Bay to Chico, CA. Chico is like Disneyland for alcoholics and the Pawns of Comedy were ready to ride Space Mountain (with a vomit bag).

Let’s start from the beginning.

I’m new to the illustrious Bay Area comedy scene. If you connected all the dots on my comedy “career”, and I use that word carefully, there would be no discernible pattern. My first gigs were doing comedy magic shows as a child and appearing on the Uncle Floyd show, an East Coast children’s show. Picture a less perverse version of Uncle Howard, where the Ramone’s would sometimes appear, and you get the idea.

Fast forward to 1990, unable to get in to see Will Durst at Chico State (I didn’t have the three dollars, and in that sense, nothing has changed), I entered the competition he was hosting. The Showtime College Comedy Laff-Off was doing college competitions in the region and, first time on the boards, I won first place. For the next 16 years, in Chico, I performed with a local sketch comedy group (Comedy from the Basement), booked and promoted over 2000 shows, ran the funniest Mayoral campaign since Jello Biafra, opened for Ralph Nader, was Timothy Leary’s chauffeur, acted, published etc…

When I came to the Bay Area to finally pursue my dream of performing comedy, it was as if Sheriff Andy Taylor (from Mayberry R.F.D.) got transferred to Oakland. Big fish in small pond gets dropped in Pacific Ocean. Somnambulist is rudely awakened. John McCain gets a telegram from God saying, “You’re going to lose.” Of course, if McCain picks Condoleezza Rice as VP, well… that’s not important right now. And frankly, talk of a third World War is so depressing.

I started finding comedy stages in the Bay that would allow me to use their microphone for five minutes or so. I started seeing other comics on a weekly basis, amazing performers whose styles varied widely from twisted observational humor, to perverse impressions, to crafted stories on life. A smorgasbord of funny laid out in all-you-can-eat buffet.

In my mind, I started putting together a rough idea of a team of comics that could take it on the road. I figured with my experience of promoting, booking, PR, and all the details that are associated with a tour I could associate myself with some funny people, and vicariously, by being associated with them, be considered a comic of a certain degree.

The learning curve was higher than I thought.

I should introduce the other comics that made up this leg of the Pawns of Comedy Tour, though you probably have heard of them. Sal Calanni and Ben Feldman were returning players. There have been several comics who, much like a drummer in a band, have been a rotating cast. This time around, young, tall, Brendan Lynch was the fourth in our quartet.

Now, if you have never been in a band, nor traveled much with a group of people, you may not know about the smells, inevitable squabbles, and other terrors that may present themselves on the road. As the guy who put it all together, rented the car, drove, made the posters, called the papers and radio stations, drew up PR, PSA’s and other promo, booked the theatre, got a charity involved, did the mailing lists, worked the online community, found a band to play, and an intermission vaudeville act, I must say that I was stressed the hell out upon arriving in Chico an hour before the gig.

It should be noted that Chico is an oasis between Sacramento and Oregon. Known for being the #1 party school, the #1 university riot town and #1 cheap Sierra Nevada booze center of the universe, Chico has its accolades. The problem with people from the Bay who come to Chico and party is that it’s a different sort of partying. In the Bay you spend $20 on the town and you have a slight buzz, you lose a Jackson in Chico and you could find yourself in the gutter. Everything is ridiculously less expensive in Chico. Luckily, I was traveling with professional partiers and comics.

Upon arriving and finding that every hotel was booked due to car races at The Silver Dollar Fairground, we pulled into the driveway of the infamous Thunderbird Motel. Under construction, with a red neon vacancy sign flashing eerily in the nearing night, I walked into the clerk’s area to book some rooms.

“Have you checked the other hotels?” He asked.

I thought this strange. I was running out of time before the show and the necessary details I needed to straighten out (were the non-profit volunteers there to usher, when would the band play, how was the stage configuration, lighting cues, was the vaudeville act ready), were piling up in my mind.

I said, “Yes, they are all completely sold-out, so, two rooms please.”

I was in a hurry and threw my debit card at him.

“Are you sure?”

Now, I have never had a hotel clerk try to talk me out of a room, so I didn’t process his overt cues and proceeded to push through the deal. But he wasn’t done with his odd manner of checking us in.

“Do you want to see the rooms first?”

What the duck?

“C’mon man, we’re in a rush; let’s do the deal, where do I sign?”

I got our keys.

Upon walking through a group of young thugs crowding the corridors of the narrow hallway, blocking the entrance to our rooms, we, collectively, The Pawns of Comedy, noticed that aforementioned young thugs:

A. Almost all had one black eye. Some had two.
B. Were snorting meth off their skateboards.
C. Were living, about 25 of them, in the room next door to ours.
D. Had created a strong pungent permeating stink of puke and sex.
and
E. Wanted to fight us.

What was even more shocking to my group of cohorts was that one of the young punks came up and said, “Hey DNA, it’s me, Ahmas.” Initiating what was to be an awakening for the other Pawns of Comedy, I knew every person in Chico (or they knew me). Sheriff Andy Taylor had returned.

Like a scene from the new flick Vantage Point, everything quickly ran backwards. We fled back down the steps, luggage in car, back to the front desk, reversed the charges with the clerk who gave me an “I told you so” look, and we found the 6th hotel stop of the night, the always friendly, rock and roll Matador. I don’t know why we didn’t go there first.

With little time to spare, we flipped a bitch back to our stage at The Blue Room Theatre, a great little black box. I had served as BOD under several reigns of the theatre’s history and loved performing on that stage. I sent the Pawns on their way for grub and began to deal with the details that needed to be ironed out. The band, Biggs Roller, a mix of punk, metal and country, were rowdy and ready to go. The vaudeville act, the infamous Frank Bella, considered a legend in the San Jose underground performance scene, was to sing a karaoke song, “I think of you when I touch myself,” while reading a mocked up copy of PlayPeng(uin) Magazine, while his chick in a penguin suit danced erotically around him (see photos).

I, in my haste to get everything ready, realized that I had: not thought about my act, brought anything to wear onstage, nor prepared to MC. And, in a NY second, the show began.

Like Jim Carrey in The Mask, that friggin’ penguin suit that had betrayed me at my Last Comic Standing audition, called to me, and I slipped it on, ran onstage and began my now trademark penguin routine.

“Have you seen my egg? Damn, this is the same thing that happened to me in March of the Penguins. My wife is going to be pissed!”

The five children in the front row found this hysterical!

What the heck! This was to be an adult show. No children allowed.

Turns out they were the children of the opening band only there to see their pops play tunes. They were ushered out. I was sad to see them go. They were the only ones who “got” the penguin.

Ben Feldman opened. Feldman is an Old School soul. He knows how to work a crowd, can discern between banter, shtick, and hack, can be blue, and the audience loves him. Like other Pawns of Comedy shows we have done, Feldman kills.

Penguin comes back out. Though an animal lover, vegetarian, wildlife activist and Greenpeace member, I am beginning to hate the penguin worse than French Stewart did. I digress.

Brendan Lynch was the next Pawn Star to work Chico. Without giving away any trade secrets, Lynch is smart. I mean really smart. Not like my dumb community college ass. He uses techniques, methods and research for his comedy and life. His act may seem smooth and seamless, but that is the hard work of focus, drive and ambition paying off in spades. The guys in the audience think he’s hysterical, the girls think he’s funny and cute. Lynch is tall, young, smart and funny. I hate him. Just kidding, Lynch has material that is ready for prime-time.

Intermission.

Biggs Roller belts out more tunes. The vaudeville act works well, people like it, but the show is running too long. I need to insure that the audience doesn’t get burned out before the headliner, Sal Calanni, comes on. That is my priority as promoter. This will become a burden before the night is over.

I do my act. I’m later called a “Poor man’s Dennis Miller.” This is the best compliment my act has ever gotten, but I’m so spun-out from being unprepared, I am unhappy about my set. No time to brood, many fires backstage need my personal attention (The band has begun to attack the comics by calling them women’s names and calling the tour the “Yawns of Comedy”).

Calanni takes the reigns. Calanni is a craftsman. He works the audience. He tells his stories about his life, his family, his move from Cleveland to SF. The audience roars. As promoter even I begin to smile. Calanni recounts the tale of The Thunderbird Motel and says, “It was like the film, I am Legend. I was waiting for Will Smith to appear.”

After the show I have to tell the vaudeville act they cannot perform the following night and that the band cannot play during intermission. There will be no intermission. I am not the most popular guy in the room. The band keeps asking about my vagina and offering me Vagisil.

Over the next 48 hours The Pawns of Comedy close out all the bars in Chico, end up arguing in the street about what the SF Comedy Board is really about, experience food poisoning, perform another amazing show to a great audience, drink a bottle of champagne for breakfast, dance all night, meet hundreds of Chico people wandering the streets at 4am and experience a true NorCal catharsis. Explained otherwise, The Pawns of Comedy mini-tour of ‘08 is an adventure.

The wrap-up is that I killed the penguin suit (the penguin is dead to me). Lynch killed an inflatable alligator at a hippie love fest. Feldman killed a bottle of scotch and Calanni is still trying to kill that stomach virus. It may be hard to be a pimp, but it’s harder to be a stand-up comic!

DNA is a South Bay comic who wants to tour. Contact him at votedna@shocking.com.

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You know, I can’t help feel blessed and cursed by the whole process.

Blessed that I got to see people going through the same things I was going through. People I admire in the SF Comedy Scene: Mary Van Note, Aundre the Wonderwoman, Joe Klocek, Sal Calanni, Uncle Howard, Candy Churilla… the list is long. As much as I feel like an outsider, as I am relatively new to the scene, I felt a sense of community. A sense of REALITY, as opposed to Reality TV. Real people, with real talent, extremely creative souls, who sweat it out at big and small shows, trying to make people laugh, waiting, waiting, waiting for their shot at the stage, for a chance to be on TV. Why not. What do you have to lose? You don’t play, you can’t win. At least that was my rationale.

I knew that waiting in line wasn’t the game for me. I read all the blogs of other people auditioning and the message seemed clear, waiting in line wasn’t going to get you any closer to an actual audition.

So, I bit at the Craigslist bait, of Be Wacky… was it selling out, who knows. I think you have to actually get something to sell out. I was in it for the ride.

I contacted casting agent Ashton Ramsey, who actually got in touch with me via email and phone. I needed a gimmick.

My buddy told me that he had a penguin suit. Ashton said that would work great.

My buddy neglected to tell me that that suit was marred with gang graffiti, was ragged, smelled of stale beer and was found in a dumpster. I drove all night before the 8:30am audition Ashton had given me to obtain said smelly, weird penguin suit and retrieved it at 5am at the Nut Tree in Vacaville.

Nutty, indeed.

I was busy trying to figure out how to take my act, which I kinda like, and push it through the Penguin’s voice, when I found myself in the basement of Cobb’s Comedy Club, surrounded like a 2008 remake of the movie Freaks. I signed contracts that said that my image, likeness, comedy etc… would be the property of NBC to splice, repackage and do with as they please. I couldn’t run for political office for a year after the show airs (if I got on). Nor could I sue anyone if I was offended by anything any comic would say in my direction. There was much legalese, but it was a corporate contract and I saw no one question any of it… hmmm. Robert Johnson at the crossroads came to mind, but I signed.

Donny Salami “The Ladies Man” sat next to me who saw the ad on Craigslist. Donny had no act, and intended to improvise, mainly by pulling out his salami. He made me laugh, but I thought him crazy for not being prepared. Looking back on it, his approach actually made sense. It was fun seeing the other weirdos in the basement, I enjoyed everyone’s craziness!!

Like many of the comics I saw waiting, most of the day was waiting. I was running my act around my brain like a hamster in a cage. Round and round and round and round. Bad idea.

I came back at 2 and here’s where the day began to feel cursed.

Alongside a line of 50 or so comics we were led conga style through the kitchen of Cobb’s. Actually in the kitchen! Where we waited for an hour and a half. Nobody was offered water, a place to sit if needed, and less information than on an episode of Lost. Like an episode of Lost, I was trying to find clues as to what lay ahead. A signpost, cryptic numbers, a polar bear……anything.

Why wouldn’t a TV show, that wants good viewing, attempt to somehow ease the comics’ minds to perhaps allow them to be NOT completely stressed by the mechanistic robotic-like cows waiting for slaughter process that LCS has developed? I’m not talking backrubs, but something not so numbing!!

OK, OK, yes if I was a professional, or a master of Zen, maybe I could wait for 90 minutes, surrounded by people completely losing any semblance of cool, without being affected by it. But I’m not. I was just a dude in a smelly penguin suit.

Idea?

Let us view what’s happening on stage, so we can be better prepared for what lays ahead. Let us see if the person(s) who went before us, snapped on the judges and chewed their heads off (which is what I think happened before me). GIVE US SOMETHING, WE ARE COMICS, IF YOU TICKLE US DO WE NOT LAUGH?

Don’t they want us to be the best we can be? This is rhetorical…..

I hit the stage, and who knows what happened. I was judged. It seemed like the guy from Chuck kinda liked me, and the French Stewart guy didn’t. Or maybe it was that my costume looked like I was a bum penguin. Or maybe it was that I spewed out my material too loud and fast, as I am prone to do when stressed. Or maybe…………. as comics, you know that the internal list goes on, long into the night.

As is I am on my 23rd hour with no sleep. Wondering why after being rejected I still did two more interviews with LCS (WHAT WAS WITH THAT BOOTH). Wondering why it seemed so unorganized. Ashton, Sunny and Hannah were very nice… but WTF.

I’m over my I hate French Stewart phase, I judged him and his career all the way home. And now I just blame myself for not being able to bring my “A” game, or having the state of mind to just say hello and be real… instead of the pressure I felt to perform. Pressure that I created in my own head… the internal critic is far harsher than Harry from 3rd Rock.

I feel bad for some comic friends who had even worse experiences that I did.

I’m glad I did it. Really have no regrets, besides wishing I could have another crack at the stage time. Delirium is approaching final stages. Started smoking again. How can I get to Tennessee for one more shot? The judges are from Cheers. I loved Cheers, the early years.

Do they really make people wait all night long in the fog just so they can have a morning shot of them around the club? Rhetorical. Can’t they CGI that shit in?

I am yours SF Comedy scene, you have won my heart, by showing me that you have balls, ovaries, gumption and soul.

See you on stage soon.

DNA

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