Last Comic Standing

My original reason for waiting in line at Last Comic Standing's open call was to meet other comics living in NYC. After an hour on the street I realized that besides some comics from Boston and others I already knew from NY, most everyone else had done comedy for about 6 months to never. One woman seemed to have a place in line simply because that's where she normally lived anyway. 



11pm: I first arrive at Gotham Comedy Club. I don't plan to stay. There's already about 130 waiting in line around the corner and down the block. Danny Kelly, who's been waiting since 7pm, is 90 according to a list one of the "comics" drafted. Cory Rodriguez, Kris Norton, Orlando Baxter, Corey Manning, and Martin are waiting in the 100's. 

Apparently, some have been waiting since midnight the night before. I'm told this is nothing compared to the American Idol auditions where people wait for a week. 



12 am: Realizing it's not hard to cut in line I decide to stay…as long as it doesn't rain. I'm not even sure I'll get to audition since they supposedly only take the first 125 or so. 

A guy and his friend (who's just there for moral support) sleep behind me in a tent.



1 am: It starts raining. I borrow a trash bag from Kris, cut a hole for the head and proceed to look ridiculous.



Cory R, also wearing a trash bag, goes to a convenient store. A homeless guy offers Cory a beer, saying, "We gots to look out for each other."



Throughout the night passersby ask why we're in line. 
"Last Comic Standing."
"Who?"
"Why are you in line?"
"We're waiting for bread rations."

At one point a lady asks and Cory R. responds: "American Gangster, they're making another one…you know American Gangster? It's like American Idol…with the singing? Basically…you've read the Harry Potter books right?" 
Confused, the lady leaves and we laugh at her. Then we realize we're wearing trash bags in the rain at 1:30 am and we return to shivering.



4 am: I leave to sleep in Kris's car for two hours. Wake up feeling much worse than before. 

6 am: People come off the train for work. By now I look thoroughly homeless. 



8:30 am: Bill Belamy appears with his crew and they film us pretending to be excited about waiting for the past 12 hours. I think there are about 400 people in line by now. The guy in front of me is a Rodney Dangerfield impersonator with a bright blue "Dumb and Dumber" suit. Five behind me is a 50 Cent look alike who's missing half of his teeth. My chances are slim. 



10 am: I enter a confession booth. There's four other comics in the room listening to my "private confession." A production assistant asks me why I'm funny, if I do impressions, and why I should be the last comic standing. I say the word "hilarious" about 25 times (and I think I also allude to possibly committing suicide if I don't get picked) before the guy says "alright, next."



10:30 am: I return to line. They tell me I'm not getting a stage audition but that I will have five minutes to show myself and see if the producers like my look. I laugh (and cry on the inside).



10:50 am: I enter Gotham with four other comics. We stand in a semi-circle around a hipster PA, who's wearing an Ivy league scarf and a GAP headset, and checking his cell phone every five seconds. I feel like I'm auditioning for In Sync. 

Whenever the PA points at us we're expected to tell a joke. He doesn't go in any particular order. Instead he just points randomly like we're in the comedy lightning round. Cutting us off mid joke, he doesn't seem to be listening, just smirking and looking for anyone crazy enough to be "Best of the Worst." 

After 1½ jokes I'm done.



11:05 am: I get two free hot dogs that better resemble Bic pens. The free food and the reason to write a blog made it all worth it.

There were over 500 people waiting to audition. They ended up allowing everyone to "audition" but only the first few visited the confession booth.

It’s Confirmed: My New Phone Receives Text Messages

Life Tip: If you ever need a cell phone, go to Radioshack. Not only will they insult you, but they'll also try to sell you everything in their store. It's awesome.

Also, bring my friend, Joe with you. He'll help them pressure you to buy extra appliances and then text you a picture of his dick while you're looking over your phone with the salesman.

I was looking through the cell phones, about to take one when a salesperson arrived.
"Can I help you?"
"I'd like to buy a cell phone."
"Oh yea, you need a new phone. Your old one's a mess."
"Thank you."
"Yea, a hard working guy like you deserves something better."
"I'm not hard working. I'm unemployed. That's why I'm getting the free phone." But thanks for the unnecessary insincere flattery. Why not just say, "Yea, a guy like you with big balls and the cock of a bad ass motherfucker deserves it."

I take the phone.
He says "Yea, that's a good choice. You're gonna like that phone. That's a nice phone."
Am I'm getting screwed. Why is he trying to sell me the phone that I already picked?
"Yea, you're an awesome person for picking out such a deliciously fantas-great cellular unit. You're probably going to be swimming in bitches and Benjamins now."

Then he tries to sell me more shit:
"Now, once I'm done setting up your phone I'm going to talk to you about these special offers we have on the blue tooth and phone case."
"That's ok, all I want is the phone."
"You don't want the blue tooth or the case. Are you sure? You're missing out on a very special offer. Are you familiar with the blue tooth?"
"Yea, I don't want it."

Meanwhile, Joe is next to me saying, "Really? You're not gonna get the blue tooth? How could you not get the blue tooth? It's a great deal."
"Joe, shut the fuck up."
But now the salesman's encouraged to go on.
"Are you sure because with this purchase I can get you 20% off the blue tooth and 10% off the phone case."
"Yea, I don't need that stuff."
"Are you sure because…"
"Yea, I'm unemployed. I have to save money."
"Are you sure, cause you could put this stuff on credit, pay it off in installments."
"That's ok. I have no credit."
"Really? You have no credit. Want to apply for a Radioshack credit card?"
(The actual argument went on longer but I'm tired of typing)
"Please, can you just give me this phone?" My head is in my hands.
"Alright, but if you change your mind, remember we also have this Radioshack credit card. You can get 10% off your first purchase. It offers some really great deals. There's no monthly fees or cancellation fee."
(I ended up getting a Radioshack credit card. I don't know why either.)

Then he shows me the AT&T plan and he says, "You know, for only $15 a month you could receive 1500 text messages."
Does he even get a commission on that? Doesn't that have to do with AT&T?
I'm waiting for him to say, "Yea, but if you buy Velveeta, it's much better than cheddar. And if you buy a new Honda Hybrid you'll be happy with the mileage you get. You should sponsor a tiger at the zoo. Then you can visit it in the cage, and it's fun."

All of sudden he's like, "Oh, it looks like you have a text message. Let's figure out how to read it." He presses buttons. "Oh, here it is. Oh, um, here you go."
And that's when I see a picture of Joe standing naked with his erect dick. I look up and Joe is at the other end of the store waving with a big smile.

Just as a frame of reference: Joe was in the store the whole time. He didn't run out, get hard, and take the picture. He just has this picture, among others of his dick, that he sends out and looks at whenever he's alone.

The weird part was that didn't stop the salesman from trying to sell me more shit. He continued to see if I wanted to purchase batteries. You'd think after you see a picture of someone's dick you'd stop selling, but no.

And that's the story of how Havier came to be employee of the month.

I've said too much

Apparently the world can't stress this enough…I'm awkward.

The other day I was carrying a Netflix package to the mailbox. Some girls were walking behind me and one randomly shouted, "YEEAAAH NETFLIX…WHAOOH!"

Normally I wouldn't have said anything because I'm scared of social interaction and people, but because I'd touched a boob the night before, I was feeling confident and friendly…so I turned around and answered, "Yep, Netflix, it's pretty good stuff."
Of course, all of the girls were silent then…like I was the crazy one.

But when I turned back around to walk away, the same girl as before said, "YOU SHOULD SWITCH TO BLOCKBUSTER."
Not having learned my lesson the first time, I turned around again and asked, "Really you think I should switch to Blockbuster? I kind of like Netflix. It's cheap and very convenient…" at which point I felt awkward so I added, "I don't know why I'm advertising Netflix to you randomly on the street…" at which point I trailed off and turned back around.
From behind me I could hear the girl say, "Let's just cross the street now."

Which goes to show…if a crazy person talks to you, don't talk back…you're just going to seem even crazier in the long run. (See Mike Birbiglia's joke on moving in for a shorter and better example of this)

* * * * * *

I had a dream last night where I was trying to tell that Netflix story as a joke to an audience. I think it was in New Hampshire because I wasn't having fun. Also, a guy was leading a kangaroo around the room and I was at the center of a circus ring with six people in the audience sitting on opposite sides of the room, so it was clearly New Hampshire.

I started the story by asking, "Do you know about Netflix?" to this guy in the audience…and some lady behind me yells to her drunken friend, "Why is he explaining the jokes so much?" And then I think the dream ended where I called the lady a bitch and quickly got the audience to hate me.

The problem is that I don't know how to benefit from my dreams. In the movie, "A Christmas Carol," Ebenezer Scrooge has a dream where someone tells him to change, he has an epiphany, wakes up and gives a turkey to Tiny Tim. My New Hampshire dream is probably an example of that, but instead of waking up and having an epiphany, I just woke up and said, "Well that was a weird dream. Oh, it's only 7 in the morning…back to bed." Just a tip, if someone in your dream tells you to "stop over-explaining jokes," don't wake up and write a blog where you over-explain the entire subject. You will end up spending too long editing the blog and leave feeling unfullfilled.

Hostile toward Hostel...Heyo still!

I heard that Hostel II makes first Hostel look like a children's movie. Take that Hostel I.

In the first Hostel a girl's eyeball hangs out of the socket, a guy has his head chopped off, and another guy has his ankles sliced open before the rest of his body is gutted and sewed shut...they obviously stole the script from Toy Story.

I guess to top the first movie Hostel II must have an executioner reach through someone's mouth, pull out their entire skeletal structure, then carve a Christmas tree shaped hole in the body with a chain saw, insert an actual Christmas tree, turn on the lights, and electrocute the boneless corpse. It'll be like the game, "Operation," except instead of tweezering out fake organs from Rudolph the red nose cartoon nudist, you're supplanting a 7-foot, pine covered taser.

I don't understand why gore movies are so popular anyway. Comedies are meant to make us laugh, good dramas are meant to make us think, gore is meant to gross us out.

"I'm not in the mood to laugh and be happy, I'd rather feel completely nauseas during my two hours away from reality. I got laid off from work and can't get laid at home…you know what I need…a stomachache and a traumatic experience that'll haunt me for at least a week, if not a lifetime. Not is my life falling apart…but so is this guy's backbone when he gets pelted by a nail gun while his earlobes are stapled to a bridge. Ecstasy at last."

The problem is the sequels try to top each other by getting more ridiculous. In Saw the bad guy finds someone who's depressed and says, "let's play a game…I'm going to make you saw through your leg in order to save your own life. If you succeed it means that you still care about life."

By the time it gets to Saw III it seems like just about everyone is depressed. "Let's play a game…all day you work as a brain surgeon and that makes you tired…pussy…if you want to save your own life you need to cut open your medulla oblongata and pull out the key to unlock the torture device that's attached to your eyelids…if you can do that in 30 seconds than your face won't turn into a taco salad because you're such a miserable person…the scavenger hunt through your brain starts now."

"Let's play a game...you do comedy at open mics for no money and work in life insurance during the day. If you can wear these suspenders and smash a water melon onstage at least one show a day for the rest of your life, you can have Gallagher's career."

Sometimes gore movies will star a sadistic dentist. Going to the dentist already feels like I'm in a gore movie. If I were at a sadistic dentist's office, I wouldn't know the difference.

"Alright, I'm gonna have to pull your jaws apart like King Kong on a T-Rex and skewer your gums with this miniature jousting lance until they're flooding blood in multiple locations."

"Sounds good as long as I get a free toothbrush at the end of my visit."

So if you want to see Hostel II, let me know. I'd kind of like to go.

Another killer audition...this time it wasn't all black women

Today I had a commercial audition for a psychological ward. That's right ladies, someone thought I'd be good for the part of a psycho…and I'm single. Can I get sexier?

Answer: Booyah.

I played the part of a guy who just got treated and is overcoming his psychological problems. I had to walk around and pretend to do random daily activities. Meanwhile another actor, playing my inner critic, walked closely behind me and told me I was doing everything wrong. I wasn't sure if we were shooting a commercial or an autobiographical film.

I started by mock ironing my shirt and fixing my tie. Then after two minutes I ran out of things to do so I just kept fixing my tie like I was an OCD case…just the type of person that the psych ward wants representing them.

In my own head I was self-consciously asking, "why are you fixing your tie again? That's not good acting." And in real life the other actor was saying, "Fixing your tie again, huh? You'll never get it right."
So I got flustered and it looked like I needed to go back to the psychological ward. On a positive note, they referred me to a great therapist.

That's right ladies, Sexy McSexy isn't too good for therapy.

Seriously though, call me. I miss when we used to write our initials in tree bark.

Long-winded GPS

I like when you ask someone for directions and even though they don't know the answer, they still feel the need to waste 5 minutes of your time. Today I was asking this guy how to get to St. James Tavern:

Old Guy: St. James Tavern? Man I haven't been there in years?
Me: Alright, that's fine…
O: No, I think I remember though.
M: It's ok, I can ask someone else.
O: Isn't it over by the coffee shop, now what was the name of that shop...was it the Coffee Express, or the...
M: Thanks a lot, but I'm just going to...
O: Oh now I remember. It was the Coffee Express-o...hahah, cute shop, but yea I think it was over by the St. James Tavern...
M: Great.
O: You know who would know?
M: Someone other than you?
O: Gary would know where it is. If you make a left on Commonwealth and then a right on Beacon, Gary has a convenient store over there and he could definately tell you where the Tavern is...he's a big drinker.
M: Thanks you've been more than helpful.
O: So why do you need to get to the Tavern?

Now I feel like I have to guess ahead of time if the person is going to talk my head off:
"He's a cop, which means he should know where it is…but he's smiling which means he enjoys life and may talk too much."

"She's hot, but has a Dunkin Donuts hat on, which means she doesn't know where anything is…and I shouldn't think she's hot."

"He's miserable looking and just called me a faggot…Looks like we have a winner."

Blind Aviator Breaking My Heart

I heard a news story about a blind aviator who's flown all over the world. He's also climbed Kilimanjaro and run in the Siberian Ice Marathon. Next he wants to be the first blind aviator to break the sound barrier.

I'm afraid to walk downstairs in the dark, but this blind guy wants to fly a plane faster than sound. He ran a marathon on ice. I can't run a marathon on anything…even those conveyor belt things they have at the airport.

That's why I'm glad there's Jerry Springer. He's not educational. He just makes us feel better about where our lives are going. For every Guinness Book blind aviator, Jerry gives us a 350-pound lady with a mullet who doesn't know her baby's daddy. That puts me at ease. Otherwise I'd lose it. "This guy's blind and flies? What the hell do I do?"

I want to be the guy who makes everyone else feel like shit. "Dan, what've you been up to?"

"Not much, just wrote a novel while juggling fire over an orgy of naked Aryan women."

"Aryan women? I thought you were Jewish?"

"That's right. I'm so talented, even Aryan women will want to have an orgy under my juggling of
fire and novel writing…What'd you do today?"

"Sat on the couch and watched Jerry Springer. It was a good episode. Turns out the baby's daddy was a blind aviator…I guess you could say he landed his plane in the wrong hanger."

"I guess you could say that…listen, I just learned every Chinese word in existence so I'm going to go teach the language to underprivileged kids in Namibia."

"Peace out home slice."

"Don't ever talk to me again. You're beneath me."