And It Gives Me Something To Laugh About, 'Cause My Real Life Ain't Fucking Funny.

Nathan told me recently that comedy at the club level is all about selling beer.

There's something disturbing, yet comforting about that idea.

When I think about the performances of great comedians like Lenny Bruce or Richard Pryor, I focus so much on how groundbreaking they were and how amazing their material was that I forget the rooms were full of people who just wanted to have a good time. They didn't necessarily care about changing the rules of our culture or shining lights on the dark, hypocritical corners of society. They wanted to laugh, be with their friends and have a drink. If they weren't there buying tickets and booze and shitty, stale bar food there wouldn't be a club in the first place. And Lenny and Richard would just be some really funny homeless guys.

So thank you, beer-swilling crowds. You make it possible for me to do something I love. No matter how much you may suck, nor how much you may hate everything I say or do, I will always love you, just for showing up and spending your money.

Next week will be my one year anniversary of doing comedy, and I'll be hosting at the Loony Bin all week, doing my level best to sell some beer.

Come see me.

In the meantime, check out my set from Tulsa last week.



Or download

He Who Fucks Nuns Will Later Join The Church

I feel like I avenged myself tonight. I had a setlist. I had themes. I had callbacks (planned). I had a dead pope joke. By the way, I was feeling reverential this afternoon, and tried to create something that expressed that reverence and respect for God. This is how it turned out. Listen.

By the way, it was Pope Formosus.

My New Resolution Is To Be Someone Who Does Not Take Everything So Seriously

I am an idealist. According to the Myers-Briggs personality test, that is. That means I'm an Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving person. But what the hell does that really mean? Nothing. Not a fucking thing. It doesn't tell me anything I didn't already know about myself. I know that I'm introverted; I know I don't give myself credit for the things I do well; I know I would rather be kind than be right. And I know that I am a mopey, emotionally burdened emo kid who from time to time engages in epic self flagellation. Surprise! Anyone who has spent half an hour with me would know that.

And I don't think I can change it. I wouldn't want to. David Lynch famously declined psychiatric treatment early in his life, as he would not take the chance that a "healthy" Lynch would be less creative and effective than the buttoned-down nutjob that would eventually give us Blue Velvet and Eraserhead . That's hardcore. That's devotion. And ultimately, that's the definition of being true to yourself, for better or worse. That's my goal. But I have to remember that not everything is tsunamis and executions in my little world.

The last couple of days, I've been bursting into tears at random intervals, finding chili fascinating and hilarious, and writing some really good jokes. See, I got dumped. Well, "dumped" is probably too harsh a word. My emotional stock market underwent a healthy correction this weekend. And I'm okay with it, really; and I pray to God that she's okay with it, too. But I am starting to develop a Phoebe-and-the-dentist relationship with Winter holidays. Anyway, like I mentioned, I've been having some fun mood swings, and with each swing of the pendulum I keep getting trapped in my head and that's not super-pleasant right now. So, I figure my only option is to make it work for me. We'll see how it works out, I guess.

In the meantime, I've got chili cooking on the stove.

I Care, I Swear.

Two years ago a quarter of a million people died in a massive tsunami. Millions were left homeless, stranded, orphaned and destroyed. At the same time here in Oklahoma, I was contemplating ending a two-year relationship with my then girlfriend, and I was ashamed to be breaking up with someone the day after Christmas. I was trapped inside my head, going over the reasons behind my decision, thinking and rethinking the situation. I had no idea what was happening in the Pacific Ocean. All I could see was what was going on in my little world: the impending heartbreak, the betrayal. And I felt guilty, and scared. In fact I was dreading it terribly. Once it was finally over and done with I felt relieved, as I'm sure most people do after a relationship is over (whether they want to admit it or not). I went to bed, woke up in the morning, and finally realized that while I was playing out my little drama, a quarter of a million people had died in the kind of terror that no one should be subjected to. I woke up and the world slapped me in the face. I woke up and realized that my fear and my pain were not the Greek tragedy I thought they were. My trauma was banal, and insipid, and utterly pedestrian. Sometimes it's the night sky that makes us feel small and insignificant, and sometimes it's the knowledge that 250,000 of us can be wiped out in the blink of an eye.

I still feel bad about it. I don't regret that I ended a long term relationship like I did, when I did. But rather, I'm ashamed that when I saw news stories about the anniversary tonight, and when I think about the tsunami, I think of it against the backdrop of my own personal problems and "issues." Two years later, and the deaths of two hundred and fifty thousand men, women and children are still inextricably tied to my own emotional trauma.

That makes me feel petty, and vain, and arrogant. And it reminds me that I'm human.