This week my name was painted on the Comedy Store, signifying becoming a paid regular. I suppose I could’ve been bummed that I didn’t have someone to share this momentous occasion with but actually I felt it was completely appropriate that I would be there alone.
Comedy is a lonely pursuit. As a runner, I liken it to running long distances. While I respect other people in the race and on the sidelines, my job is to keep my eye on the finish line and pace my energy and focus accordingly. It’s a career built on solitude, introspection, and sacrifice. It seems to run in my family. My brother Neil, a marathon runner and an actuary, didn’t tell anyone about most of his major milestones, including graduating from his masters program.
Another comedian who had his name painted on the wall this week was Angelo Bowers, who at age 26, was tragically killed earlier this year by a drunk driver. A large group of his friends and family attended the ceremony to celebrate his accomplishment, give a speech, and photograph his name. Comics talked about his work ethic, his discipline and commitment to writing new jokes every day and performing constantly, and the way he treated others with respect and kindness. I didn’t know him well but when they described how he’d skip doing something fun to go write jokes I knew exactly who he was. He was one of us. As I looked through his photo album I realized what an honor this truly is, not only to be acknowledged for our work but just to be able to have another day to do that work.
Ten years ago I started stand up and ten years is longer than any (romantic) relationship I’ve had. Some girls have cute husbands, I have my name painted on the wall of The Comedy Store.
As my podcast co-host (podner) Jillian Lauren & I discussed last week on Eat My Podcast (ep 8 interview w/ Maria Bamford http://www.eatmypodcast.com/2012/07/07/episode-8-maria-bamford-2/ ) we think “The Game” is super lame.
The only girl who would fall for a guy “negging” or ignoring her is a damaged girl and/ or a girl so wasted that odds are the only “game” you’ll get from her is later that night when she throws up on your dick.
If you want to be the kind of guy who girls swoon over and brag to their friends about, treat her well like Jillian’s husband (Scott Shriner of Weezer) and other real men have been known to do. A smart girl with self esteem never brags to her friends about the guy who’s treating her badly, she just trashes him on her podcast and then goes on to make a web series about him. (See Romantic Encounters on Funny or Die http://www.funnyordie.com/romanticencounters )
I once went to comedy traffic taught by a “comedian” where the main thing I learned is that there’s nothing funny about breaking the law. This time around I decided to go to a class taught by a non-performing civilian. To protect his anonymity, let’s call him Barney.
The first thing he did was go around the room and ask everyone what they did for a living and when they’d answer he’d try to get something free from them. For instance, when one guy answered “hotel cook,” Barney asked if he could get some food delivered to the traffic school and specified that he especially enjoyed lobster.
When he arrived at me I lied because I didn’t want him to show up at my shows.
I said, “I’m a writer.”
“Have you written anything we’ve heard of?”
He said, “I just read “Fifty Shades of Grey but I only read the kinky parts. I have a safe word and it’s ‘Don’t stop.’”
He proceeded to go over traffic laws for the next eight hours and when I say “go over traffic laws” I mean imparting extremely personal tidbits about himself and asking for feedback from the room while intermittently mentioning lane changes in intersections.
During the course of the day we learned, among other things, that he was conned by a hooker who said she’d go get him the drugs he’d just bought but never returned and that he’d been arrested and maced seven times in the last few years for “trying to leave this realm and meet his maker.”
Pretty quickly I realized this was not traffic school at all, it was just a $387 one man show with traffic laws serving as the spine. Well played, Los Angeles.
Is that albacore in your pocket or are you just happy sashimi?
Ok, so last night I went to this place Mako for sushi and it was off the motherfucking chain. If you don’t believe me, just read all of the awesome reviews on Yelp which I personally always find to be very yelpful: http://www.yelp.com/biz/mako-sushi-los-angeles
So it’s located on the 3rd floor of a random mall on the edge of Little Tokyo. It’s a small, economical space that’s super cute inside and feels like you’ve been transported to Japan. I’ve been to Japan twice, once to Tokyo on tour with my ex boyfriend’s band (currently known as Velvet Revolver) and once to Okinawa on tour to perform my comedy stylings for the US troops. So I’m not fucking around when I say this place feels like you’re in motherfucking Japan.
The staff is AMAZING, so contagiously excited to welcome you into their wonderful establishment. The sushi chef is pure joy and so much fun. We told him our basic food restrictions up front and then just let him serve whatever he saw fit and everything was fresh and yummo, start to finish. We had seaweed salad, spinach with sesame oil, grilled scallops & mushrooms, and salmon, tuna, yellowtail, albacore and crab sashimi. Helpful pointer: To get the ultimate experience, buy the sushi chef a beer or two. My friend did it and it really helped our case.
I just wanted to let you know that this place is no nonsense, awesome sushi. Also, afterward you can take a leisurely stroll around Little Tokyo—a great way to walk off all of the weight you didn’t gain from eating pure protein and vegetables. Park your car below, they validate and it’s motherfucking free. Take your date there and odds are she’ll shit herself with enthusiasm, unless she’s one of these weirdos who has a sensitive stomach when it comes to raw fish. (I’m talking about you, Jeremy Piven.) You’re welcome.