Dwayne Perkins from Comedy Central's Funny Blog, Video Blog, Stories,Amusing Musings...

Oldie But Goodie

2012-02-02T12:30:00.000-08:00

I did a show in Hollywood last Saturday night and the comic before me was 92 years old. He started comedy when he was a wily 91. He actually did very well and was quite astute at joke telling.

Right now you might be feeling bad about yourself. You should, but you should also be emboldened that the adage that it’s never too late to be what you could’ve been is a real thing. I don’t see Max selling out the Staples Center or starring in a buddy cop action comedy* any time soon but to have your health and wits about you enough to tell jokes at 92 is amazing.

A 92 year old gets the same crowd support that an 8 year old would get. The audience wants them to do well and is already impressed that they’re even on the stage. It’s adorable. The fact that Max hit every joke dead on was a very welcomed bonus.

What have we learned? For 1 comedy obviously keeps the mind sharp and secondly it’s never too late. So pick up the phone and get the old band back together.

*QSN(Quick Side Note): If Max did star in an action buddy cop movie what would it be called?

Old But Not Yeller
Geriatric Tactics
I’m Actually Too Old For This S@$t!
The Early Bird Special
Stop! or I’ll Poop

Off Da Hook

2012-01-25T12:20:00.001-08:00

I was recently at a fellow comic’s house. I consider him a peer. A peer with 2 kids in High School. He’s older than me and maybe he started young but still a peer with children looking at colleges can make a guy feel long in the tooth. These thoughts were not really at the forefront of my mental though. They were more like a program running silently in the background.

Then something happened that made the “The feeling old” app run in the foreground. and close all the other apps running in my head. My friend's daughter made a phone call on her cell. I guess she was calling a home line that was busy. She turned to her dad and said

DAUGHTER: Dad, there’s like a buzzing sound.

FATHER: Let me hear it. Oh that’s a busy signal. It’s what you get when someone is at home and on the phone and they don’t have call waiting.

She had lived 14 years and never once heard a busy signal! She probably thinks Bon Jovi is an actor, Mark McGrath is a game show host and Charles Barkley is a sports commentator who gets away with more than most commentators do.

After feeling old for the next few hours I thought of the implications of never hearing a busy signal. It means never waiting. I know I’m dangerously close to saying..”In my day...” From a technology standpoint I realize I had it easy growing up but I actually heard someone in a commercial say “That was so 27 seconds ago”

Is there a point where convenience becomes debilitating? A point where we eliminate work at the expense of eliminating coping skills? I won’t say “in my day....” but I will say we are dangerously close to that point of uselessness. How many times have you stayed on the channel you were watching because you couldn’t find the remote? Completely forgetting that pressing the buttons on the TV or cable box was an option.

I’m old enough to know what a busy signal is but I’m also old enough to call back or to write and send a letter in the mail and to look up things in a phonebook if needed. It’s not exactly living off the land but yes, I am stronger than most kids today. :-) Am I’m up on the times as well. I don’t even own a home phone, so there.

For a blog on luxury turned silly peep my blog about the Al Burj Hotel in Dubai.

Life Imitating Life

2012-01-21T13:38:00.000-08:00

A while back I wrote about the frequent but implausible way things happen in twos. I coined the occurrence a God Wink. Say the word ramp then you hear someone on TV say the word ramp a beat after you. That's a God Wink. Just a little nudge that suggests the randomness may not be that random after all. Though clearly beyond our scope of current understanding.

I recently listened to a set I did in Sacramento. Watching yourself is tough but if you don't know your past... I was doing my new favorite joke. In the joke a disgruntled person at a hospital asks to speak to a manager. Don't worry I haven't given away the meat and potatoes of the joke. While my made up character was complaining to a made up worker some guy in the audience near my camera was complaining to a real waitress and demanding to speak to a real manager. Apparently his beef was over the two drink minimum. Seemed he thought getting a hot tea and then having it refilled should count as two drinks. I didn't notice while I was on stage. A sign of the professionalism of the Punchline staff. Also, a sign that I was doing well and the laughter of the less miserly patrons drowned out Old One Tea Willie.

The man actually said the word manager a beat after my character did. I could tell at that point he was no longer listening to me so we independently asked to speak to a manager at the same time. Neither my character or One Tea Willie got what they wanted but I got a God Wink and another reason to suck it up and watch one of my sets every now and then.

Quick Side Note:

I once experienced a God Wink on my way to get pho (Vietnamese noodle soup)

Speak Of The Devil...

2012-01-17T02:54:00.000-08:00

I wrote a blog just 12 hours ago about seeing Charlie Murphy do stand-up. Two thumbs up for darkness. In that blog I mention some of the other actors turned comics who didn’t fare as well as C. Murphy. Most notable are Charlie Sheen and everyone’s favorite house guest Kato Kaelin.

I wasn’t prepared to see Kato Kaelin in person just 4 hours after I posted the blog. The world is a small place when you’re putting people on blast. I felt bad because I could see Kato in the audience enjoying my stand-up. The harder he laughed the worse I felt. What if he really dug my stuff and decides to look me up. Maybe read my blog and the 1st thing he reads is me tearing him a new one.

I don’t take back what I said. I think Kato would agree that Stand-up wasn’t his bag. His audience skills are impeccable though. Seriously, if I had an extra house, I’d let him stay in it.

Maybe my next blog will be about Gabrielle Union.

Follow The Darkness

2012-01-16T18:50:00.001-08:00

Most comics don’t take kindly to famous non-comics jumping into comedy to cash in on their fame. Sure, they can fill a room with people but they usually proceed to disappoint those people. Any bad show, especially one that cost top dollar, is a black eye on comedy. I don’t put people on blast as we do live in a free country and audiences exercise free will when they buy tickets to see someone do something they have never done. What people don’t realize is learning to do something after you’re famous is extremely difficult. I wouldn’t charge people to watch me learn how to play piano.

I feel like an example is in order. Again, this isn’t putting someone on blast as much as it is making a case in point. Charlie Sheen, hilarious actor, but he owes 4700 people in Detroit their money back. Kato Kaelin tried his hand at comedy and so did John Bobbit. One is famous for living in a guest house and the other is famous for being the 1st member of the lost member club. They had as much business doing comedy as I have getting a job rolling sushi.

So it was with some trepidation that I went to see Charlie Murphy do comedy. Sure he was hilarious on Chappelle but stand-up is a different animal. My stomach couldn’t bear seeing someone with Murphy as a last name not be good but I told my man Kwame Siegel, who opened for Charile, that I’d come thru.

Charlie hit the stage and I immediately let out a big “Whew!” He was good. In fact he was very good and his acting chops actually made for a great show. It was like watching a stand-up who wasn’t needy at all and really focused on connecting with his audience 1st and making them laugh a close 2nd. I was with Charlie Murphy every step of the way. He was at all times honest and funny. Some good stand-ups might get more laughs but few comics would have a show that was as enjoyable as Charlie’s. I actually learned from watching him. Lessons can come from the most unexpected places.

My prognosis for Charlie Murphy is that he will only continue to grow and get better. Hat’s off to Darkness. You did your thing family. Brooklyn we go hard!

You’re a Real Hot Mess...Won’t You Back That Thing Up

2012-01-16T08:21:00.001-08:00

Most Bally’s shower stalls don’t have curtains. It makes for looking straight ahead showering. Some smaller Bally’s don’t even have shower stalls, just a big room with several shower heads. That makes for heading straight home without showering.

In the Glendale, CA Bally’s the big shower room is adjacent to the toilet stall and sink. It’s usually empty or there’s a guy showering super fast, as if he’s getting charged by the second. A communal shower room is not the place to get clean. It’s more of a place to quickly rinse off the stink. So imagine my surprise and horror when I looked up from the urinal and saw a guy in the shower room sitting down on the floor, pensively with his head in his hands, as water fell on him. No shower shoes on, sitting down on the floor. I wouldn’t do that in my own shower.

Apparently, the man and his antics are a staple in the gym. Good to know a membership to the Glendale Bally’s comes with a resident crazy guy.

How does someone get to the point where they’re sitting on a public shower floor nude for 30 minutes a pop? That’s a story I think any mildly curious person would want to know. Was the man always a little touched? Did he drop some diabolical acid? Was he left at the alter and vowed to spend the rest of his days making people in various gyms uncomfortable? Perhaps his runaway bride was a personal trainer?

See, the possibilities are endless. Crazy is never the story. How the crazy was born is a tale for the ages. I want to see this guy’s prequel. What’s his Episode 1 that turned him into the Bally menace?

With networks and websites always pining for more content, I have an idea that will revolutionize programming. I say we extract the highlights from touched people and make them downloadable either into your computer or phone, for now and later on directly into your head. What could more entertaining than seeing how a Phi Betta Kappa become a person who collects plastic bags on Sunset Blvd. in preparation for the return of his mother ship? Even if the person was always a bit off, had a normal life and there was no inciting incident the story will still be a page turner when you add in the director’s commentary. That’s the wayward person explaining their own story...

CRAZY COMMENTARY: See how that table is mocking me? That’s why I hit it with my head.

The good thing is the “Behind The Crazy” series will never run out of subjects to showcase. I see the series eventually expanding to include “Behind The A-hole” and “Behind The Magician” What drives someone to pull quarters out of people’s ears? Until we figure out how to extract people’s memories, I’ll just have to fill in the back stories.

Never fall for a personal trainer unless you’re sure they feel the same lest you find yourself sitting on a cold floor all wet.

Irregular Regular

2012-01-14T21:03:00.001-08:00

I walked into Starbucks near Queensway Rd. in the Bayswater section of London. 6 months ago I was in there almost daily for a span of 3 weeks. 6 months before that I was in there daily for a different 3 week span. It felt like I had just been there the day before as opposed to 6 months ago.

The same two baristas anchored the coffee bar. Did they recognize me? Did they wonder why I'm a fixture for 3 weeks at a pop then disappear for 6 months? If I was friendly enough or odd enough during my 3 week spans, could I lead them to believe that I live in London?

Then I wondered about their lives. What had transpired since our last tea/money exchange. Had they found love, lost love. Maybe this guy/girl barista duo dated but thought it wiser to remain friends. Maybe they're magical in the Starbucks galley but clash in real life and had to learn the hard way that foam and love don't mix. Or maybe they had been too busy with life's day in and day out drudgery to reach any milestones. Maybe nothing significant has happened in that time frame. Or, maybe no outward change took place but revelations had. Maybe epiphanies not visible to the naked eye had transformed them into new beings.

Then back to me. Was I a better person an improved comic? Maybe my goals should be synced with these UK trips. Maybe I'll comprise a list of things to do before I see the dynamic duo again. Or maybe they'll have moved on when I come back.

I remember being 5 years out of college, living in Boston and people in front of my mother's New York building me asking me how school was going. Did they think I was pursuing a triple doctorate or had they let time pass them by? Next time I'm in Bayswater, I must tell the friendly baristas of all my travels and biddings. That is if the line behind me isn't too long.

Say it Don't Spray it

2012-01-13T11:53:00.000-08:00

So I was hanging out in the Bayswater section of London. I consider it my old stomping grounds. So I thought, why not hang in Bayswater my last official night in London. I hopped into a Super Drug store to get some lozenges. The cold weather had finally got to me just as I was about to leave. My plan was to throw lozenges down my gullut and hope I didn't get too sick to watch 4 movies on my 12 hour flight home.

Cold-Eze are my lozenge of choice. The zinc tastes horrible but coats your throat and cuts the sickness time in half. Unfortunately this modern marvel of cold warfare has not made it's way to the UK. Regular menthol drops would have to do. As I stood in line the guy ahead of me made a purchase and the cashier tried to upsell him on a holiday perfume deal. CK One was on sale. I'm not much of a perfume person myself. I think regular bathing and Jergen's Original Scented lotion is all most people really need. You might catch me rocking Egyptian Musk if I recently made a trip to Venice Beach or Downtown Brooklyn but that's usually because I fell prey to a bean pie upsell.

The gentleman ahead of me declined the cologne offer but did spray copious amounts of the sample bottle on this neck and chest. QSN: At what point does sampling become stealing? Then this guy who I've never met before, sprayed me. And not just kinda in my vicinity. He literally sprayed into my open coat. Was he trying to tell me something?! My smell game is impeccable so I know I wasn't offending people in whiff shot. I think it goes back to my innate friendliness and approach-ability. The cashier informed him that he had actually sprayed me with the women's scent. The Spray Sniper proceeded to spray me again with the Men's scent. I was too interested in the proceedings to stop him. I wanted to see just how far he would take it. Was this guy just completely unaware of social boundaries or was it something about me that empowered him? Would he have sprayed Mac 10 if he was standing in line behind him?

The guy behind me in line seemed more put out than I was. His face formed into the shape of disbelief with a hint of happiness that he did not get sprayed. As oddly unlucky I was to get sprayed the sprayer was equally lucky that he sprayed me and not someone with no fondess for eccentricity.

Maybe this is why I like Bayswater. Maybe I'm one of Bayswater's own and with that comes random unannounced cologne spraying. I'm smelling what ya cooking Bayswater.

QSN: Quick Side Note

Being on TV Never gets Old

2012-01-12T18:41:00.000-08:00

It really never does. Even though I frequently see friends pop up on shows and in commercials. At times, for me, watching TV feels like sifting through a yearbook.

Still, knowing that I'll be broadcasted to millions (alright, maybe hundreds of thousands in our 300 channels era) provides me with a charge of pride and slight nerves every time. TV is the culmination of work. Even if it's just doing 5 minutes on a late night talk show. That five minutes was painstakingly forged in nightclubs and bars, build up and then chiseled down to it's most potent most TV acceptable essence. Getting on TV is my reward for powering through all the nights doing comedy. The work parties, the loud bars, the drunk crowds, the tired crowds, the people paying their bill or ordering while you're performing. Powering through with material and not only snaps. Making people feel your point whether they're primed to or not.

Don't get me wrong, I love it. I'm not complaining just sharing the other side. Even NBA players begrudgingly practice but they do it to enhance what they do love doing, playing ball.

For a comic, the ultimate "playing ball" is performing on TV. It's like having a nationally televised game against your main rival. It's Monday night football. It's the playoffs.

I had a playoff game last night. And it felt good to leave it all out on the floor.

Thanks to Conan and TBS for having me. And thanks every audience member in every club for helping me work on my cross over.

My latest Conan set

I Never Get Turned Down

2012-01-04T00:56:00.001-08:00

When I think of things that are useless, hotel turn down service is near the top of the list. So someone comes to your room and basically starts the comforter move for you but only slightly in one corner. Does anyone have this service at home? Is anyone so rich or so pampered that they need someone to put a crease in their comforter at night?

Maybe these same people pay someone to open potato chip bags for them or rub their eyes in the morning.

Hey fancy hotel: If you want to check my mini bar, just ask. Don’t enter my room under the guise of performing the most meaningless and borderline insulting task you can think of. If you must come in, how about you loosen the nazi comforter tuck at the bottom of the bed. Muay Thai champion kick boxers can’t kick those comforters loose.

Just give me free wifi and plenty of tea and I’ll put the do not disturb sign out. So the bed never gets made. Can’t turn down a mess. Are we still talking about beds or my dating life? :-)

An Inside Job

2012-01-02T22:24:00.000-08:00

An extra big shout out and thank you to all the kind people of Belfast, Ireland. Especially all the fine folks at the comedy show at the Empire Hall last Tuesday. My comedy goes over extremely well in Ireland.

I almost didn't make it to the gig though. After spending an extra 15 minutes in screening at the Statsted Airport in London because of a large can of deodarant spray I forgot I had, I then hoped on the wrong train. Once on the train, I looked up and realized it wasn't in fact going to my gate. Okay, I still had 20 minutes before boarding. I'll just get off the train and take the next train back to the main area and get back on track, right? Right?

As it turns out there was no way back to the other gates. What?! As embarrassing as it is for a frequent traveler like myself to get on the wrong tram, it's equally unacceptable for an airport to have no provisions for a person to correct a mistake. It's not like I went to the other side of security.

I had to call the airport hotline and wait for someone to get me. I was at gate 6 and needed to get to gate 86. I thought about my deodorant debacle and now stranded at gate 6. Maybe I wasn't meant to be on the flight. Was fate pimp slapping me? After waiting another 10 minutes for my escort my flight was boarding and I had gone from having plenty of time to "we gotta haul ass...mate!"

My escort adeptly swept me thru the airport labryinth. We went thru secret passageways and locked doors. At each turn a swipe of his security card gave us entry thru another portal. Then we hoped in a small van he had waiting outside gate 20. We whizzed around the airport terminal and stopped 30 yards away from my plane. We ran into a staff elevator and came out a few feet from the boarding door. We had gone from gate 6 to 86 in 5 minutes . I felt like I had just watched a magician from behind and saw how the tricks were really done. I've seen parts of Statsted airport no other civilian has seen. Well, no one except the other people who hop on the wrong tram.

They don't put as much money into the interior design of the non-public parts of the airport btw. Although I think Stansted airport should rethink that whole having to escort people who take the wrong train thing, I still thank them for a fun little field trip and seeing to it that I made it to Belfast.

Happy New Theme

2012-01-01T17:14:00.000-08:00

Happy Year of Our Lord two thousand and twelve. I’m never really pressed to do my resolutions on Jan 1st as my birthday and hence my new year is on March 21st. I dream of a world where people born on the same day gather throughout the year to countdown their new year, lower a dodge ball in town squares throughout the world and scream “Happy Our New Year!”

Of course it would only be a matter of time before someone pointed out that they were each born at a different time of the day. And then people born on April 3rd at 4:38am, EST would have to gather every year around 2am to party hard (probably via skype.)

So, logistics dictate that I be okay with bringing in the new year with the rest of the world, China notwithstanding. It’s not actually resolutions that I seek to have in place by my birthday but more my yearly theme. Past personal themes have included:

Year of the Stir Fry (I stir fried once all year)
Year of the Alliance (same year as the stir fry. I faired better on this working with 3 writing partners and shoot several shorts)
Year of the Early Bird (so-so results but immediately followed by the....)
Year of the Curfew
Year of Aint No Half Steppin’ (the 1st year I started all this theme business and stand-up comedy not so coincidentally)

The themes are a neat way to keep me on message and connect my specific goals by way of a shared focus.

I was at a lost of what this year’s theme should be and then it hit me like a sack leaves (It wasn’t the most epic of revelations.) I’m happy with my overall objectives and work ethic. I just need to do the little things a bit better. So my preliminary choice was “The Year of Crossing T’s and Dotting I’s.”

Ultimately, I hope to do everything right as a matter of fact. But a key component of this is to see things through to the very end. It’s when you’re think you’re done that you need to do just a bit more. Basically in Basketball that would be the extra pass. The little effort after what seems like the logical conclusion that makes finishing so much easier. That’s what I wish to consistently do, make the proverbial extra pass. It requires a bit more mental energy but actually makes overall execution easier while also making the payoff greater. So after some consideration this year will be...

The Year Of The Extra Pass

It’s about winning while making it easier on yourself. It’s staying in the moment in all things. To see the opportunity that’s there but would be over looked if lack of focus or anxiousness got the best the of you. 2012, get ready for a lot of extra passes and plenty of slam dunks. Hello.

Video Killed the Parenting Star

2011-12-21T12:59:00.000-08:00

I think technology has made parenting a lot harder. Says the non-parent. You don’t have to go to PTA meetings to know the internet is a doozie. However, There’s a another piece of technology that’s a bit more stealth in how it undermines parenting.

I was riding on the London Undergound. I shared a car with a couple with two kids, one in a stroller and a very active toddler. Now, I’ve shared with you my train antics as a lad. How I refused to hold on to the pole to demonstrate my supreme super hero balance.

My mom suffered my poppycock with amazing grace and patience. Though, I do think my mom would have drawn the line at me going vertical. The young boy hoisted himself all the way up a pole. I was equally amazed by his upper body strength as I was his mom and dad’s compliance. The boy then, after several failed attempts, swung himself from the vertical pole to the horizontal one above his parents’ heads. I’m not sure I could do that now! So the lad is definitely showing talent for gymnastics. I’m thinking silver on the parallel bar in 2020.

On the boy’s penultimate attempt I realized that his parents were videotaping his efforts. They were torn between the precociousness of the moment and their duties as the custodians of ushering into society a well-rounded, courteous person. They grow up so fast and those moments may never happen again. At least that’s what they can tell the judge at his sentencing twenty years from now. I kid, i kid. I would’ve seriously been between the same rock and hard place. Especially given the boys climbing proficiency. Catch you teach and capture?

FATHER: Ok son, we need to get this in one take... then go get a switch from the yard for your beating.

Do You Understand the Words Coming Out of My Mouth

2011-12-07T12:56:00.001-08:00

Depending on the situation, language can be quite predictable. For instance, you could learn 20 words in Russian that have to deal with going to the butcher and as far as your Russian butcher is concerned, you speak Russian. The train would only go off the track if one of you didn't stick to the script.

(in Russian)
YOU: Hello, a pound of corned beef please and half a pound of potato salad.
BUTCHER: Ok, Anything else?
YOU: And a pound of smoked turkey cut very thin.
BUTCHER: Here you go. Pay at the front.
YOU: Thank you very much.
BUTCHER: You're welcome. Have you heard the news coming out of the Kremlin? Where does Putin get the gall.

And next would be the sound of the train derailing. And now your butcher knows you don't speak Russian and/or don't watch RT.* By the way in the above sketch YOU spoke exactly 20 distinct words.

So basically in certain scenarios, you can communicate without using the same language. I say all that to say I had a nice exchange with a Chinese cab driver. We laughed and agreed without understanding a word of what the other was saying. See, he was following another cab and I was sitting in the front with him. The cab we were following must have confused following for being chased. He drove like a bat on work release from hell. His driving was reckless in and of itself. The fact that he drove that way while being followed was unconscionable.

Finally his antics simultaneously got under my and my driver's skin. We literally both put a hand out in disbelief and both said "we're following this guy, why is he driving like a jackass." And then we both laughed. (I'm paraphrasing his part of course as it was in Chinese) Other than the language, our reaction and level of incredulousness was exactly the same. We exchanged a set of thoughts and bonded without digesting each other's actual words. And that is how you have a conversation with someone you don't share a language with.

The Day The Laughter Died

2011-11-30T09:39:00.000-08:00

We have lost a comedy legend. A man who is undoubtedly on every working comics top five list. When you saw Patrice O'Neal perform you instantly knew you weren't doing enough. Patrice incited two reactions within comics, inspiration to be better or a nudge to flat out quit because compared to his, most efforts were futile.

In comedy, it's often hard to distinguish the man from the comic. As it should be. At it's best it's an incredibly personal and intimate art form. Patrice wore it on his sleeve. He lived it. He walked the walk. After you saw Patrice perform you knew him. For better or for worse you knew where he stood. Patrice tapped into the human condition unlike anyone has in the last twenty years and maybe ever.

On stage Patrice was compelling and hilarious. Off stage he was a guru and his impact on comedy extends far wider than people may know. I was in Belfast, Ireland when I got the news and the comics in the green room instantly started quoting their favorite Patrice O'Neal bits. In the early days I was Patrice's sidekick, well disciple is probably a more fitting word. Every where Patrice went comics flocked to him. His brand of truth and uncompromising defense of truth was a marvel to other comics. We wanted to tell bookers where to put it but we were scared the Chuckle Hut in West Bum wouldn't book us anymore. Patrice would tell the booker to stick it where the sun doesn't shine, then proceed to kill so hard that the booker had to bring him back anyway.

In those days bookers would ask Patrice to send them a tape of his performance. He would respond by asking them to send him a tape of their audience. Bull shit never stood a chance in Patrice's presence. If he rubbed a comic the wrong way it was probably because he wanted to make sure you were in it to give to comedy and not simply take from it. Patrice would constantly tell me to not be selfish on stage. Laughter is the comic's air but Patrice would suffocate before he got laughs that weren't inspired by the truth. Everyone else just had to be funny. Patrice had to be funny and honest. A burden he carried with the greatest of ease and skill. Patrice has stopped doing bits that other comics could make a career out of, simply because those bits had run their course in his development as a man.

Patrice could size most people up in seconds with amazing accuracy. Sometimes he would give someone grief and only later would I see why but Patrice would know the person was a dweeb from jump. There was no pretense with Patrice. This was off putting to many but the world Patrice lived in is a lot better than the world most of us live in. He was free from living the double and sometimes triple lives most of us live. Even I could be more biting on stage given my background. Patrice was constantly helping comics around him find their truth. Even more established comics knew there was a guy out there doing something very special.

When I read the Fountainhead I casted Patrice O'Neal in my head as Howard Roark. Patrice is the only person I've met to meet the standards of quality and unrelenting ethics that the fictional Howard Roark attained.

I've only known two comics that I would give my entire catalogue of jokes to just to hear them say my words and see them do my jokes way better than I ever could. Those two comics are Dane Cook and Patrice O'Neal. I feel sorry for people who didn't know Patrice personally. However, his comedy provides a good sense of what it was like to be in the presence of his greatness. To be humbled by his kindness enveloped in truth.

I had to write this because never talking to him again and never seeing him take life's most awkward, taboo, even mundane moments and bring them to the stage with hilarious flare and poignancy, is going to be very hard to come to terms with.

Patrice didn't choose to be honest. He seemed to not have a choice in the matter. It's like he was ordained to be the kind of person most of us wish we could be. Patrice didn't achieve his industry success because of his immense talent. He attained it in spite of his uncompromising honesty.

In the past few years I lost close touch with Patrice. I was in LA. I don't think Patrice really condoned comics going to LA. Again, he was right. LA is great but the industry hustle can take away from the art form. But no one could be a friend of Patrice and not have him rub off on them. And no comic could become close to Patrice without their approach to comedy being elevated.

I tried to keep it real Bruiser. And now that you're gone you leave an unfillable void but your spirit lives on thru all the people you impacted. We know you're watching and we will champion for truth. Please don't be upset if we're not as good at it as you were. You're one of a kind. Rest in Peace brother. You left an indelible mark on Stand-up and on me as a person. Thanks.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2011-11-28T12:12:00.000-08:00

Dear Coffee Shop,

I’m sorry to send you this by letter but I thought it would be best. Please don’t try to change my mind. We’ve had really fun times together that I will cherish always. It’s just that, well, I need more. It’s over now. I’ve found something else, an office. It’s not as spontaneous and funny as you are but I need stability and support now. The office’s wifi always works and there’s always a place for me to sit. Office is introducing me to its friends. They're all so nice and sophisticated. Even when I go away, Office has arranged places all over the world for me to sit and work. Office doesn’t play music or have a parade of beautiful women go by but office doesn’t charge me extra for tea either.

Coffee shop, we both know that you’ll never change. You’ll never really be about grown up business. Sure you’re good for occasional great conversation and awesome people watching but I need a place where I can mail things and Fedex things and print things out and have meetings and have climate control.

I think we both knew this was going to happen sooner or later. And I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. You helped me get out the house when I was watching too much TV. You helped me write sooo many blogs. We’ll always have the retired “porn star” contemplating a comeback. I know you remember the homeless woman who gave me money. And who could forget the barrista who did, ahem, “adult” foam art.

I was doing comedy in a cocktail bar, that much is true. But even then I knew I needed a more professional work environment, either with or without you, Coffee Shop. Please don’t be too sad. You’ll find someone else. A new comic/writer on the come up who likes your drinks and wants to sit in you and work. I wish you nothing but the best, Coffee Shop.

I hope that we can still be friends and maybe I can visit you every now and then. If you’re not okay with that, I totally understand.

Thanks for everything.

Love Always,

Dwayne

(written from the business lounge from a London Branch of my office space)

At The Diner On The Corner...

2011-11-21T09:55:00.000-08:00

As I sat looking out the window in the iLost cafe in Suzhou, China, l thought to myself, “China just may have more scooters than the US has people.”

I was about go down the Google rathole of finding out just how many scooters are in China when I realized country music was playing in the cafe and had been since I walked in. I mean songs straight from the Country Music Channel. I thought that was odd but was it odder than me sitting there? I was an hour outside of Shanghai and I hadn’t seen another black person in 3 days. In fact I can count the non-chinese on one hand. Including the 3 English blokes I travelled with. The whole scene felt like a simulation created to get operatives ready for the field. Like a picture they get to see for an instant and then must tell everything that’s wrong with it...

Operative: Black guy by the window, country music playing, the cheese cake the black guy is eating, the english novels on the shelf and I think the black guy was reading “The Sayings of Confucius” but oddly enough he was writing a bunch of sayings by someone called Dwayne-Fucius...

I definitely stood out but no one came up and touched me or anything like that. They get to see black guys play in the Chinese Basketball League. Since I stand at 5’10’’ and probably could stand to lose a few no one thought I was a basketball import. I remember when I lived in Boston this one white guy would be at every black club. The Chinese people who saw me must have felt the same way I did when I saw that guy.

EVERY ONE WHO SAW ME IN SUSZHO, CHINA: Hmmn that’s odd...oh well....

I felt like I could move there, if I had enough money to sustain myself, and just cruise. Even if I didn’t learn a millimeter of Chinese. (out of respect I went metric. Obviously “ounce” still works better.)

I want to learn another language but I’m simply too good at charades to be forced into arming myself with a foreign vocabulary. I could seriously walk into a restaurant and mime a request for Chicken and Broccoli and Shrimp fried rice with no onions and get it, no problem. You’re trying to picture how but trust me I could. Next time you see me ask me to act it out for you. Or, speak to anyone who’s played “Guesstures” with me. I’ve never lost. Yes, I had a get together and play board games phase. I don’t really like to talk about it too much.

I never did google “number of scooters in China”. Excuse me I’ve got some research to do.

Let Me Spell Ya Something!

2011-11-01T14:10:00.001-07:00

I’ve been joking on stage about how I’m “International.” Much truth is said in jest, so I do travel abroad every now and again but I’m no better than all you local folks. I just have more frequent flyer miles. A fact not lost on my family.

When I get the call, family members get the miles. You can’t have your miles and use them too. So, I had no qualms booking a last minute trip for my aunt who had to represent us at the funeral of a close family friend. The whole thing went fairly smoothly but it highlighted the different styles used by me and my aunt when booking a trip.

People who don’t travel a lot approach the whole booking process with respect and deliberateness more fitting of a bomb diffusion. My aunt had to write everything down and I had to give every detail thrice. I on the other hand, often don’t know what time my flight on the next day leaves. An excerpt of me on the phone with my aunt booking the trip:

ME: Okay you fly out of LaGuardia at 1pm with a connection in Philly
MY AUNT: Okay wait a minute...bear with me...That’s LaGuardia...L-A-G-U-A-R-D-I-A. at 1pm with a connection in Philly...P-H-I-L-A-D-E-L-P-H-I-A. I spelled it right, right....

I held firm and kept breathing. Eventually we got through it. She had all the info and I had a few minutes to spare before my show. Of course Murphy reared his ugly head and rubbed my nose all in his “Law.” I had to channel more calm when I got a call from my aunt at 5am telling me she needed to change the destination airport. This time we got a customer service rep on the phone. With me in Sacramento, my aunt in Queens and Satish in India, all on a conference call, we painstakingly changed her ticket.

Having Satish witness the madness somehow made it better for me. We would both have to listen while my aunt confirmed everything 3 times.

SATISH: Okay, you will now leave LaGuardia at 5pm and connect in Charlotte.
MY AUNT: Okay wait a minute...bear with me...That’s LaGuardia...L-A-G-U-A-R-D-I-A . connecting in Charlotte...C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E. And what’s the flight numbers? Wait a minute. F-L-I-G-H-T...

I think I heard Satish put in for his vacation while my aunt was spelling out Columbia, South Carolina. Or maybe what I heard was his will to live leave his body. You want to bring back all the help desk jobs from India? Have my aunt call over there more often.

It’s Not Over Til I Say So

2011-10-26T11:43:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in a tea shop and just heard a song lyric from the PA system that made me whip out my Ipad and jot down a retort. The line that activated my opinion gland was in a pop song. I don't know the song but the line was, "we argue and then forget what we're fighting about." Huh?If it was worth fighting for then how could you forget it? For the sake of this blog I will take the singer’s words on face value. I assure you I have never forgotten why I was arguing with someone, while I was arguing with them. I find arguing to be unpleasant so if I’m engaged in an argument it’s for a reason. Maybe not a good reason but a memorable one at least. If I'm arguing it's to make a point, relay a sentiment. And that's it.

Romanticizing fighting is a dangerous slippery slope. People who forget what they were arguing about were probably arguing about something that didn't matter or arguing on a platform that didn't really address their true concerns. Either way it's arguing for sport and although the adrenaline rush then make-up may feel good, the scars from the fight, not to mention the unresolved real issues that still loom, don't go away.

Arguing for sport is like taking a drug. You'll need more and more just to level off. Arguing and stopping before resolution is like taking antibiotics but stopping too soon. The sickness is still present and now it's stronger, even more resilient and harder to stop.

I realize that things can escalate unintentionally. But the trend is for people to say anything to save face or hurt their "competitor". I'm sure I've had an issue or two that I was either incapable or scared to address with someone head on. I'm only human, flesh and blood, a man. But folks words were created for a reason. As someone who dabbles in words for a career I'm becoming increasingly frustrated with our wishy-washy relationship with the words we speak. Often times, people say what they don't mean to seize power. Two people forgetting the argument, during the argument, are admitting it was about power and calling a power stale mate. Kudos on them for gaining perspective but how about gaining it before the plates start flying.

Usually, if I’m in an argument, I don't stop because in most cases it was never about power with me. It was about truth. How can two people be diametrically opposed on a subject and then drop it without at least an acknowledgment? Probably because one or both of them never really cared that much about the said subject to begin with. Stress for stress sake. I'm okay with agreeing to disagree. That's an acceptable resolution because it's not saying you forgot what you were arguing about! Remember if you argue with me, it's not a game for me. I really believe everything I'm saying. Feel free to try and change my mind but know that I will try to get some form of acknowledgement from you and simply stopping is not an option.

It's not about winning it's about picking your fights and if you never have to actually fight or see your fight thru, chances are you will be quite irresponsible about how many "fights" you start.

Let's fight ‘til the end folks. Trust me, it will result in less fights.

*i'm talking about friends with issues not politics and definitely not the abortion issue. The former people know not what they speak and the latter is one side or the other and offers no middle ground.

Wedding Scrum

2011-09-09T11:10:00.000-07:00

The priest at a wedding will always say the purpose of the ceremony is for the couple to make their vows in public. In essence they're making a promise to friends and family as well. I get that. I also get that for the couple's loved ones the ceremony is a celebration slash official "handing over" of both bride and groom. I say the wedding ceremony is done to remind and encourage people about the virtues of holy matrimony. The wedding is marriage's big day to recruit new members and to rejuvenate those already hitched.

Most comedians and sitcoms focus on the daily grind that is marriage. For the most part marriage is painted in a so-so light. For someone choosing, it's hard for stability to look more appealing than adventure and even those with stability seem to crave spontaneity. So this institution, although healthy for the human soul, is a long long haul and thus needs a tremendous send off party. And it needs to be majestic to reverse, in one afternoon, all the notions of marriage fed to us on a daily basis. A tall order but the concept of love is powerful. Thus nearly every wedding I have attended made love and the union of love seem not only good and necessary but also intoxicating and inspirational.

I say all that to say this, Let's eliminate the bouquet toss! The whole thing completely derails the romance train. It's like you're on a train from Paris to Cannes with breath taking scenary but then you somehow stop in Barstow, CA for a few minutes. It's jarring I tell ya. The wedding is a beacon of love and hope in all its splendor while the bouquet/garter belt toss is a microcosm of actual dating in the real world. A score of women tussle like they're in a Rugby scrum to get an unproven promissary note that their big day will be next. Then, a handful of guys reluctantly stand around and make absolutely no effort to catch the garter belt that would suggest they might be next. I have been to six weddings where the garter belt literally hit the floor and the guy nearest to it had to begrudgingly pick it up like a late night shift in a canning factory.

I recently went to a wedding where the bride had caught the bouquet at the wedding where she met the groom. It works! A ready made Hollywood tale. This fact also raised the bouquet stakes. The increase in the collective belief in the power of the bouquet took a little air out of the room and left a vacuum filled with tension and competitveness. One girl dove for the bouquet like it was the superbowl and the ball was fumbled on the one yard line. (an analogy that speaks volumes to the male value system :-) So basically, the next woman to get married is the one with the best linebacker skills? We're also leaving the whole thing in jeopardy of the "fix". That's when the bride basically lobs it to a friend.

If the wedding ceremony absolutely needs a "to be continued" compenent, let's make it truly random and computerize it. That way, no single men can sit out the garter belt toss and women don't have to choose between being a spinster or a competitor in a high heeled mosh pit.

The wedding is like a first kiss. The bouquet toss is realizing the other person has their eyes open. So adios to the toss and if we could not do the cha-cha dance that would be much appreciated as well.

Freaks and Geeks

2011-08-29T08:37:00.000-07:00

The Daniel Tosh tour bus pulled into San Diego Saturday morning just as the changing of the guards was taking place.

If the freaks come out at night, and I believe they do, then dawn is that odd time when the goodie goods and the freaks intersect. It's a wonderful time of day. Like a shift change in the factory of life. The not ready for prime timers give way to the "Up And At 'Em" crowd. At dawn, the best of the best cross paths with the freakiest of the freaky or, if it's the weekend, the hardiest of the partyers.

The morning joggers, draped in gore-tex and the latest offering in running technology on their feet, weave thru cleaning crews, empty bottles and the half awake folks dressed in their party outfits from the night before.

I don't mean to have a pro morning person slant. I doubt the people heading to bed would trade the previous night's debauchery for a running high. And the early birds don't mind dozing off after the evening news to get up at 6am and face the world.

We need both factions. They both serve a purpose to the economy and culture on the whole. My goal has always been to run wild with the freaks but get up in time to do a mild jog with the chipper AM crew. It's the great party hard-get up early conundrum that no one has quite figured out. Enter coffee, concealer and a well placed power nap.

I love the night life but I also love to boogie to a coffee shop at the crack of ass on my quest to be the story teller with the most-est. I've had a good run and I will miss the short skirts and don't get me started on the cut off jeans shorts so short that the pockets are longer than the jeans. I'll miss seeing girls hobbling on one heel with their slightly less drunk girlfriends holding them up. But my place is with the morning crew the people who see army commercials and say "Is that all they do before 6 am?!" I'll have to find a way to wear out my inner night owl during the day so he doesn't keep me up til 3am watching youtube rap battles. (Shout out to Murder Mook)

A shift change is a comin'. Good morning.

Stop The Violence

2011-08-23T12:20:00.001-07:00

Last week I did a benefit show for Bryan Stow. He's the San Francisco Giants fan who was beaten into a coma at Dodger Stadium. The show was actually organized by Philadelphia people. This is all kinds of ironic as Philly fans are widely regarded as the the most rowdy fans in the nation. They threw batteries at Santa Claus! (to be fair to Philly folks, I'm pretty sure it wasn't THEE Santa Claus) Kudos to the Philly fans who put the benefit together. I suppose karma, like any debit/credit account, can be balanced off bit by bit. Provided the interest isn't compounded daily. Luckily for the Philly fans a deed of this magnitude is akin to paying way more than the minimun balance and this feat does wonders for my perception of Philly Nation. Dodger fans, you know you've gone horribly astray when Philly fans are telling you how to act.

I was honored to be there and as I waited for my turn to provide laughs I scanned the room and felt pretty good about mankind. I cherish those moments. Sad that those type of moments are becoming more and more rare. I have to store flashes of humans acting humane like a cactus does water. So later, when consideration and empathy are no where to be found, I can draw from a past act of kindness to give my inner hope sustenance.

I half jokingly tell people that I am a Jedi. My midi-Cholorian levels are certainly high enough.* Since I wasn't recruited at a young age and because Star Wars is fiction, I can never officially be indoctrinated into the Jedi Order. That doesn't mean we can't borrow from their teachings.

I think most fighting and banging comes from fear. It's foolish pride and a fear to back down or look weak. When you take a step back and take a look at it with that in mind it makes people a lot of people, thought of as tough, seem quite weak.

Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. So let's call all these tough guys what they really are, scaredy cats. Let's let how well we treat people define us. Not how bad ass we are.

Get well Bryan.

http://support4bryanstow.com/
* http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Midi-chlorian

That's Not The Spirit

2011-07-28T13:06:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't normally speak badly of an airline with an open flight still pending but I must make an exception. If the brass at Spirit Airlines get wind of this and try to hassle me on my return flight from Chicago to LAX then so be it. I can't imagine whatever they cook up could be worse than my outgoing flight to Chicago.

I booked the ticket a few weeks back. And yes it was cheap but not alarmingly so. I paid what you could reasonably expect to pay for a 2nd tier airline but not so low an amount that I expected to get out and push or sit next to a chicken. I didn't have to help jump start the plane or suffer loud poultry but they did nickel and dime me every step of the way. $10-50 dollars to pick a seat assignment (any seat), $45 to bring a carry on, $3 for water or soda and the tiniest seats imagnable on a plane. I've ridden vintage roller coasters, constructed when people were a foot shorter, with more leg room.

45 dollars to bring a carry on?! I can't dream up too many scenarios where you'd need to travel from LA to Chicago and also only need to bring just a fanny pack. This tactic is called price discrimination. They're trying to breakdown the airline experience into smaller fragments and identifying who will pay what for certain "services" in the process. I think some things are implicit to an experience. Can Starbucks start charging more if you want a cup or a napkin? And if they did, what price should they list given the fact that most people will need a cup? Obviously they should quote the "coffee with a cup price." (just figured I'd spell it out for a folks too sleepy or hung over to connect the dots :-) Maybe there should be a surcharge for sitting down at a table. It's a slippery slope and soon you'll be charged per breath or per heartbeat. Poor people will be forced to keep their life functions at a bare minimum.

Ultimately, this becomes yet another oppressive experience for the have nots. A company that hides a dozen charges can not have super friendly service. Even if they try the whole exchange is an oxymoron and the disdain they have for their customers is clear whether accompanied by a smile or not. Everyone doesn't need plush accomodations but no one is really being spared anything, except a bit of dignity, when they signed up for a cheap service that then tries to gorge you every step of the way reminding you every step of the way of your financial situation and institutionalizing you in the process. Slowly making you okay with the inferior treatment.

How about you tell me how much it costs to fly on Spirit air from the beginning? A carry-on isn't a premium service it's mustard on a sandwich, doorknobs in an apartment, laces with a pair of shoes. To strip certain services is to do a disservice. I promise not to cry foul ball if I ever fly from LAX to Chicago with no bags and I pay the same as someone who does have a carry on. That's okay. I don't want 5 cents knocked off my sandwich if I don't get mayonnaise.

3 weeks ago I traveled 14 hours on KLM in World Business Class. And yes that was over the top in terms of offerings but the respect and friendliness was right on and free and something that can be afforded to everyone. Spirit air will now be known to me as "Only In an Absolute Bind"...Airlines.

Ain't No Party Like a Dubai Party...

2011-07-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

So After my show in Dubai I went to a night club in the Address Hotel in the Dubai Mall. It's apparently the largest mall in the world. The "est" suffix comes up a lot when speaking about Dubai. The root words in front of the "est" range in opinion and prespective.

I went to the Republique bar to catch up with my man Samer. He promotes the night. Yes, I catch up with people in Dubai. I get there to find Samer is spinning on the one and twos. Which at this point in history is the one and twos, and CD makes three, PC makes four and so on. He's a multi-media movement as much as he is a DJ. The place was packed. The lovelies were lovely and plentiful so the guys were happy and civil. I walk in and the crowd completely jamming out to MJ's "Black Or White" with the accompanying video playing on the projection screens. Not the MJ song you would expect to hear at the peak of the night at a dance club but it was definitely a precursor for what was musically in store. Samer kept the party motivated with a mix of songs that felt like they came from a well rounded person's Ipod. "Black and Yellow" kept things lively but House of Pain's "Jump Around" was received almost as well as new cars from an Oprah audience. Great songs are timeless as everyone knew all the words and I was probably older than 85% of the crowd. Too old for the club? Again, I was supporting Samer.

The latest hits were met with game dance faces and the house/arab song set bought things to the brink. I bid Samer adieu as I had to get up early and attend to my work grid. I felt that Daft Punk's "One More Time" was a more than solid swan song. Not sure if Samer took my exit attempt as a challenge but just before I reached the door he kicked things in hyper gear by playing Jay Z's "Empire State of Mind." It was like a shot of adrenaline. Even the Philipino waiters joined in with head bobbing while reciting every line. I can't leave while dude who loves apple pies from Mcdonalds is playing. As "Empire State of Mind" wrapped up I was more than content and I turned to leave. Samer forced my hand again by playing Notorious BIG's "Hypnotize". (unh, unh, unh...Ha sicker than your average...) Damn you Samer! I've got a busy day tomorrow. Why won't you let me leave. I'm in the Middle East and Brooklyn is not only in the building, it's in the hearts of the people. Okay, now I can leave. But wait, says Samer thru his musical selection. He threw on Montell Jordan's "This is How we Do it" Okay this was now officially an intense cardio workout. I know each generation thinks their music is better but it's funny how he took it to the mid nineties to really set it off.

Then it got surreal. After Montell Jordan made the crowd go ape crap. Brian Adam's "Summer of 69" plays on the video screens. Every person was singing every word. I wonder what that says about different eras of music? Then he played Gun N Roses' "Sweet Child of Mine" and they took it to church. Most people, myself included, doing the patented Axle sway. I swayed out the door and heard the beginning of "Flashdance" as I hopped into a cab. Who knows where Samer ended up. Led Zeppelin? Motown? The people seemed down for whatever.

If I had to do it all over again, I would switch to music. It's crazy to have your thoughts said or sung to melody and enjoyed all the world over. Then again, I'm here doing comedy in Dubai so I guess I'm spreading my gospel. One room at a time.

King of Leon

2011-06-24T13:15:00.000-07:00

I am a fan of show business as much as I am a content provider for said show business. I can’t keep up with reality stars though. I stay clear of oxymorons not in the food category.

So I’m transformed into a typical fan when I encounter a famous person. It doesn’t even occur to me that I am sort of in the same business and to approach the matter as a peer to peer encounter. I’ve had guys come up to me who once said the general announcements one Sunday in church and think that qualifies them to talk shop with me about comedy. As amused as I am by these types, the fact that they once spoke in front of more than 10 people isn’t good reason for us to share stories from the “trenches.” So when I see famous entertainers I don’t want to cast myself in the role of “guy who has no business comparing himself to them.”

The problem is that I have an uncanny eye for noticing famous people. All their attempts to blend in are lost on me. In the past month alone I’ve spied: John C. Reily in a boba tea shop, Vincent D'Onofrio in a Starbucks, Magaret Cho walking down the street , Pitbull in an airport in South Africa, Tony Yayo in a diner in Chelsea (nyc), Hassan Johnson (Wee-Bey from the Wire) in the same diner and Leon (Five Heartbeats, Above the Rim, Little Richard story) on the F train in nyc. That’s just in the last month! I could basically be paparazzi without even trying. TMC should install a camera in my goatee.

The problem would be getting sound bites. Not only because my goatee might scratch against the mic but also because I rarely say two words to these people. I try to respect the sanctimony of anonymity.

Cut to me on the F train sitting directly across from Leon. I’m a big fan. He’s an amazing actor and also somehow hasn’t aged a day in 20 years. I wanted to say hi, not only to compliment his work but also to ask him the secret to his youth (I’m thinking Cocoa Butter must play some kind of role in his daily regimen)

As the F train chugs along, I’m trying to figure out how, when and if I should say something to Leon. I’m also wondering if there’s a portrait of him hidden in an attic that maybe has done his aging for him. Just as my brain was approaching meltdown, a guy sat next to Leon and said, “Hey aren’t you Dwayne Perkins?” Huh?

Why yes I am. The guy told me he used to see me perform in LA and was a big fan. I think I spied Leon look the other way with slight indignation as if to say, “What am I chopped liver?” A guy with two names should never upstage a guy with one name. To have only one name, and get away with it, necessarily means you’re dope. I felt good but also like a heel. Here is one of the finest actors of our time and I’m getting praised and he’s just a guy on the train? No! He’s Leon damnit! I was this close to telling the guy who Leon was and trying to transfer the admiration to a more worthy person (If you think I’m cute, you should see my sister).

I never did speak to Leon. As he exited another passenger said, “I think that was Leon?” I was happy that someone on the train said hi to me, maybe Leon would’ve been happy if I had said hi to him.

Our Song Reclaimed

2011-06-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

A while ago I wrote a blog about being at a family outing. The proceedings were a love fest but the ghost of lost promise seemed to haunt our collective psyche. This was highlighted and perhaps facilitated by the song “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now” being played. The song is a black anthem, my favorite song, but also a reminder of the promise 1979 held. Promise that the tumultuous and drug riddled 80’s and 90’s denied urban folk all throughout our great nation. Many of my oldest and most faithful readers say it’s my best blog to date. I guess what I’m trying to say is…read it!

On another note: I felt bad that I had a bitter sweet connection to my favorite song of all time. Alas, a song is not a destination but a journey and “Ain’t no stopping us now” is a battle cry for all people for all generations. I didn’t envision that not even 4 years later a new context would be forged to and by my favorite song. An association that provides a new promise and a new more pleasant and less ironic mental imagery that my favorite song will conjure up in my mind.

I am truly my mother’s child in that I share her aversion to sharing certain bits of information, especially anything pending. I barely told people about my pilot I shot for Comedy Central last year. (I’m getting better ;-) I also told few people that my little brother was in Medical school. A fact that warms my cockles way more that my very own pilot could, even if it had been picked up.

So, last Friday, my brother graduated from Medical school and he starts his residency in a month. We don’t come from the type of family that produces doctors but now because of my brother’s ability to conceive it and will to achieve it, we do. You couldn’t measure how proud I am of my brother or how grateful I am to him, my family and God with all the rulers in Staples and Office Depot combined. (or all the tea in China for that matter J)

The graduation was almost anti-climatic given the gravity of their accomplishment. We took pictures of the dignified ceremony, ate at Pio Pio and went home. We partied Brooklyn style the next day. We topped off the music and starch-a-thon with a slide show of pictures from the graduation and our families’ “journey.” Windows Media Center provided the snazzy transitions and Youtube provided the background music…”Ain’t No Stopping Us Now.” Thirty years later and the song was right…. And now it looks like things are finally coming around.

WWE Moment

2011-06-14T12:30:00.000-07:00

I was checking email in the lobby of my hotel in Birmingham, England. I was in the lobby because it was the only place free wi-fi was offered. I was watching the WWE^ because that’s what was on the television in the lounge where the free wi-fi was. Ta dah!, and there is my airtight excuse for watching junk television. Like when you’re in a coffee shop and they’re out of bran muffins and only have Danishes left. You wince and sigh as you’re “forced” to get a Danish but inside you’re dancing and singing “When The Saints Go Marching In.” Of course, they’ll be marching in with apple Danishes. Who wouldn’t want to be in that number?

The WWE was quite amusing. I even found myself laughing out loud. It’s wonderfully comically how the “bad” guy gets away with so much and the referee is somehow always looking the other way and never catches him. But you let the good guy say boo and the ref is right there wagging a finger at him. The best is when the ref is shaking a finger at a good guy while his partner is getting hit with bottles and stabbed by two bad guys in the corner. The crowd is beside themselves and they can’t accept or understand why the dumb ref is missing this. Is this ref on loan from the NBA?

I laughed at how predictable it all is, almost to the point of being comforting. This is the same shtick that’s been done since I was a kid. I can laugh now but as a kid I would be outraged. My day literally spoiled by an incompetent WWE referee. It’s theater in its most primitive enjoyable form. The wrestlers could wear bigger shorts though. I mean really.

As a kid there were a few things that made me want to write my congressman. I seriously wanted to jump in the television when the rabbit was denied his Trix. The day we voted to let him have them was one of my happiest and forever cemented by faith in the democratic process.* I was also driven to hysteria by Batman taking so long to reach his utility belt.

I would like to think my cinematic tolerance has grown proportionately with my age but sadly I can’t. I don’t do well with suspense and if you see a movie with me that has me on the edge of my seat. Expect to have your arm squeezed 1 second from numbness. I can’t take a girl to a horror film because neither one of us would have anyone to turn to. We would have to bring a third person to calm us both down.

At least I can watch the WWE now without throwing things. I still can’t watch Batman take 2 minutes to reach his belt while a saw threatens to cut him in half. And yes I know it’s fake but my stomach doesn’t seem to.

^ http://www.wwe.com

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trix_(cereal)

Please Don’t Pass Me By…

2011-06-06T11:41:00.000-07:00

While cruising down Queensway in the Bayswater section of London, I was handed a flyer buy a guy dressed like a court jester or maybe a flying trapeze artist. Either way, he was dressed to get your attention for the purpose of handing you a restaurant flyer.

This kind of folly is common place in the US but I was a bit surprised to see it in England. And I wasn’t in a high tourist area where you could kind of understand it. I also wasn’t in a theme park, where this sort of spectacle should be confined to. I guess that’s my issue. These flyer businesses are trying to bring out the little kid in grown-ups. But I refuse to be excited by a drunk guy in a Statue of Liberty suit giving out flyers for a check cashing place that offers barely legal payday loans.

The amount of vomit you encounter near any English bar row on any Saturday night should have been proof enough that England isn’t too proud or dignified to make people dress up in 2^nd rate mascot outfits to push lunch specials.

I wonder if dressing up to give out toothpaste promo cards is a stepping stone to being a proper mascot in Disneyland or for a sports franchise. Work your way up to the big time. More likely though your local leaflet presenter is on the way down. Guys who can’t cut the mustard at Six Flags any more but miss the rush of dressing like a bug suck up their pride and find a new outlet for their shtick. Albeit one that requires them to give handouts but at least keeps them from asking for handouts.

No matter where I am in the world, no matter what their selling, I always take the flyer. The quicker that person can give out all those flyers, the quicker they can lose the outfit and rejoin society. Do unto others…

Sing Like No One is Watching

2011-06-01T11:02:00.000-07:00

The second I turn the ignition in my car, it becomes a karaoke bar on wheels with me playing the role of the guy whose turn it always is. I have a good time driving and I’m sure the other drivers get a kick out of my antics.

My singing in the car days may be numbered though. Half vanity and half saving my voice has caused me to adopt a style of cupping one hand near my ear while I karaoke on the freeway. Which I’m sure looks like I’m on the phone from afar. For me it’s the best way to tell if I’m on pitch. How will I explain to a cop that I wasn’t on the phone, I just sing like I’m cutting an album?

ME: You see officer I was merely simulating a studio session...isolating my voice to ensure proper tone and vocal integrity…Have you ever seen the “We Are the World” Video? Uh sure, here’s my license and registration...

I’ve tried not doing the ear cup but then I can’t hear myself as well. Maybe I should enjoy the voices of the professional singers and rappers coming from my speakers, a novel idea indeed.

In a Mess Hall, With His Chest Out

2011-05-27T13:39:00.001-07:00

Prison seems to be a voyeur’s delight, a place far too brutal to be in but too brutal to not look in on if given a danger free opportunity to do so. I’ve never really been one for reality shows especially the ones that actually capture reality. I’m not an enjoyer of train wrecks. The only thing I liked about the show ‘Cops” was the song. By the time they showed a tweeker with his shirt off arguing with his “old lady”, I was already watching Wings.

So my decision to watch a prison show in my hotel room in London was a tad bit ill-advised. I was lured in by the premise: A top notch restaurant in a prison, run by prisoners, caters to civilians. See how different their prison shows are?! The show followed 3 prisoners who wanted to work their way up from the mess hall kitchen to the prison restaurant and hopefully get duly employed upon their release.

One prisoner had the eye of the tiger…

PRISONER1: I’m gonna turn me life around mate.

PRISONER2: That’s what everybody says, mate.

PRISONER1: I’m not everybody. Ya know wha I mean?!

Okay, I’m in. Let’s see the wayward blokes filet their way from prison bars to five stars. Only 1 made it. It was the one with the eye of the tiger. The other two seemed to prefer prison, both squandering the opportunity by deliberately breaking prison rules.

It may have done me good to hear people with English accents who are bad asses. It’s hard for American ears to hear English accents and feel danger. The Brooklyn handbook discourages sleeping on anyone at anytime. I know they’re hooligans and we know England has given us multiple heavyweight boxing champs. So they’re not to be taken lightly but honestly even the bad asses make me smile when they talk.

I think the show helped me make great strides in respecting English thugs when one prisoner stabbed another in the face. It’s all fun and games until someone gets stabbed in the face.

If that doesn’t stop my sleeping, nothing will. When you think about it, English bad asses are worse because they get up close and personal with their victims. If shooting someone is baking a cake, stabbing someone is making that cake from scratch in a wood stove. Anyone can throw egg in a mix and bake it but how many are willing to sweat and toil over an old stove with no recipe and the barest of materials.

This blog didn’t set out to be an anti-gun blog but think, how many cakes would you have baked if there was no instant cake mix?

Dances for Wolves

2011-05-12T13:11:00.000-07:00

Throughout history sociologists have tried to find barometers, tell-tale signs for how a society is doing; signs to gauge if a society is thriving or in decline, fair or corrupt, free or oppressive. Some look at economic indicators. Others say look no further than how a society treats its women.

I say the above metrics will surely give tremendous insight but I would like to throw my indicator into the judging ring. I think a society is in big trouble when full-fledged adults have no choice but to do jobs previously reserved for teens and seniors. When your ex-boss is delivering newspapers, it probably means times are hard on the boulevard. Some 45 year old, ex middle management guy giving out smiley stickers at wal-mart, time to brush up on “Living off the Land” 101.

So I’m walking with my mom on Steinway street in Queens. (Big up to Astoria, my second favorite place in nyc after the entire borough of Brooklyn) and we spied a woman dancing. She was cutting cement in front of a cell phone store. My mom told me she’s there all the time, a local favorite.

We chatted her up and it turns out she’s on contract to dance in front of the Metro PCS store. I think she used the term “contract” extremely loosely. Metro PCS: Everyone in cities with Metro PCS knows about you! And people who don’t mind spotty coverage for $50 less a month than the big boys (myself included.) will surely get with you whether there’s a dancing lady out front or not.

You know they pay her a mere pittance to dance like Queens is not watching. A job that could be done by a teen or one of those air tube doll thingies that wiggles around when there’s a slight wind. So, the economics are off balance and now grown-ups are forced to do jobs that inanimate objects could do. Probably for the same money the inanimate object would make.

The Astoria dancing queen seemed quite happy with her work and her enthusiasm was definitely infectious. All that notwithstanding though where do we go from here?

Smell You Later

2011-05-02T09:02:00.000-07:00

I videotape or audiotape about half of my comedy sets. I listen to or watch maybe half of those. So I review a quarter of my sets. A number that should be higher but between writing a blog per week and status updates I don’t get to critique the magic as much as I would like. I also don’t love hearing myself.

To improve however, one must honestly assess where they are to determine where they must go. So for ¼ of my sets I bite the bullet and listen to my own comedy. It’s actually never as bad as I thought…or as good as I thought.

While reviewing a set I did in El Paso I was treated to a golden nugget from a heckler in the crowd. I was asking where I should go hang out afterward. Apparently the place I was heading to was a known hang out for Cholos. (Mexican Gangsters) Some in the audience discouraged me from going there. A black audience member suggested another club. Apparently, that spot is a known hang out for…black gangsters.

I told them I felt I was in a pickle. It seemed I could get shot in either place. Then came the heckle of the century. I couldn’t it make out during the show but heard it on the playback. A boisterous but supportive audience member screamed out “No one’s going to shoot you Will Smith!”

Clearly there are a few ways to take this. I choose to focus on my universal appeal that the heckler was clearly alluding to. As far as he could tell my demeanor would make me okay in both places. He wasn’t taking a jab at my street cred as much as he was succinctly and hilariously stating that those gangsters probably wouldn’t be interested in messing with me because of my disarming nature. If only that heckler ran one of the networks.

The heckler, who seemed to know his way around a street or two, had basically given me a pass to run amuck in El Paso. A pass for Juarez, Mexico however, just over the boarder, is a different thing all together. (I ain’t that universal!) El Paso is said to be the safest city in the country*, while Juarez, Mexico, just over the border is one of the most dangerous cities in the world. There’s a thin line between “shoot the breeze” and “please don’t shoot.” I was on the good side of that line so maybe that heckler was right, universal appeal notwithstanding.

By the way, heckling at my shows is still frowned upon.

* http://www.kpbs.org/news/2010/nov/22/el-paso-san-diego-among-safest-cities/

A Home Where the Paparazzi Roam

2011-04-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

I was recently in a Coffee Bean on Beverly Blvd in Los Angeles, much to the imaginary chagrin of the Starbucks across the street. I was most likely youtube-ing rap beefs when a guy sat next to me and opened up a laptop with pictures of Serena Williams having lunch with a friend. Then, another sat on the other side of me and opened up a laptop with pictures of Serena Williams…eating lunch with a friend. Yes, I was the middle of a Paparazzi sandwich.

My general disdain for them and what they stand for couldn’t completely quash my intrigue. Should I tap one on the shoulder? Maybe learn something about them that could humanize them in my mind. Or learn something about their work that might sway my thoughts.

QSN: I’ve hung out at the intersection of Beverly and Robertson in Beverly Hills before and it seems that every time I go there, there is a star sighting or two and paparazzi present to capture it. Which begs the question: Do people go there to be seen or does paparazzi go there because they know stars tend to hang there? Seems to me any star hell bent on not being seen would avoid this street like the plague. I smell complicity.

To chat not or to chat with paparazzi, that was the question. One seemed really involved with his work. To the point of it seeming like he was trying to convey self-importance but didn’t feel quite justified to stand up and scream, “I’m important!” So his deliberately furrowed brow would have to do the screaming for him. The other got on his phone and spoke so loudly I wondered if he understood the technology in his hand at all. So he too was self-important…or hard of hearing. I’m perfectly okay with public phone talking in most scenarios as long as the volume and topic of conversation is agreeable.

In the end I decided against saying anything to either. It’s best I not talk to people I already don’t like. It wouldn’t have taken much for me to treat either like a piñata if they tried to get brand new*. I may have passed up an opportunity to be pleasantly surprised but I also avoided a night in jail. Of course, ironically, maybe be pouncing on paparazzi would’ve made me paparazzi worthy. I think I made the right choice. And no, I wasn’t there to be seen. I was there for a Nissan Commercial I didn’t get. :-)

*Brand New: being disrespectful, condescending or aloof because of a new acquisition, new station in life or the thought that the person you’re talking to is beneath you and won’t run up in your mouth.

Unusual Suspect

2011-04-27T09:11:00.000-07:00

Shout out to Jolly Old London. I come here more often now and when I’m here the blogs just fly off my net book. Now, I try to stick to my regimen, no matter where I am in the world. If I’m in Paris, Georgia or Brooklyn, Michigan or London, Ohio it’s Coffee Shop, workout, solitaire and Law and Order if available (Seinfeld goes with me everywhere.)

Back to THE London…So I did my Coffee Shop hours and was trying to get a workout in before channel surfing for Law and Order: UK (yes, it exists.) I planned on doing push-ups and pull-ups and with the pound to dollar ratio at 1.7; I wasn’t in the mood to pay a gym 25 dollars to not use any of their equipment.

So I decided to keep it old school and workout in the park. In NYC we do chin-ups using the walk sign on the corners. That’s how you get ghetto diesel…and really dirty hands (see pic.) I put on my track jacket and shorts and headed out looking for some reachable apparatus that could support my body weight. I passed some sturdy looking scaffolding but there were men at work so I didn’t break my stride. I made my way to Hyde Park. A lovely park with ponds, wide open space, trees, running and bike paths and yet I didn’t spy a vertical pole I could use to bring by biceps and back to fatigue using my own body weight against gravity.

I finally saw a playground. At the playground, ya know, that’s where I’ll do my pull-ups… It was fenced in and lined with trees but I could see a monkey bar thingy thru a space in the trees. I made my way to the entrance where an official park person stood guard. She told me that you need to be with a child to enter the playground. What? Do a google image search on “chin-ups” and I guarantee pictures of adults doing chin-ups in a park somewhere will be returned. That’s what playgrounds are, workout centers. Just I wasn’t planning on giving my workout a back story of cops and robbers or making gun sounds while pointing with my finger. Now I have to walk away looking like a suspect? Well, put an adult chin up bar right next to the playground and then if I journey into the playground, fine, paint me suspicious.

QSN: Do that search on Chin-ups not pull-ups. Pull-ups might also return babies in pampers pics and land you on some list. Which would be ironic.

Aren’t young kids in a playground with their parents? Two women tried to go in after me and were also denied. (I think because I was still close enough to witness the potential double standard.) At some point our protective measures will lead to children being put in incubators until their teenagers. We’ll call it 2nd birth.

So, I did my push-ups in the grass and my pull-ups on a tree branch I could barely wrap my hands around. Which, given the close proximity to a functional playground should’ve scared people more.

Thai a Yellow Ribbon

2011-04-20T11:31:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in my Bed and Breakfast in Johannesburg, South Africa and dreaming of faster internet service, and Thai food. Decent Thai food, faster internet are both a long but doable walk away. In Los Angeles is Thai food is always a notion away. In LA, the Thai food twinkle in your eye and the delivery of a bouncing bowl of Tum Yum at your table are never more than 15 minutes apart.

Los Angeles’ Thai town sports almost as many Thai restaurants as people. Before I left LA I stopped by my favorite late night Thai spot. It’s in a plaza with 3 other Thai restaurants. Think of a 7-Eleven parking lot with 3 adjacent 7-Elevens, now replace those 7-Elevens with Thai eateries. Throw in a Thai dessert place, A Thai spa and a donut shop and the picture is complete.

Breaking news: The donut shop has been replaced by….(drum roll please)…another Thai restaurant. That is so “thinking inside the box” that it’s actually “thinking outside the box.” That’s 5 restaurants if you’re keeping score. Now that’s a market place! How people choose which one to go to is beyond me. I think I simply favor the one I walked into first. Two of them are definitely more crowded. One seems to be hip and the other busy one seems to cater to Asian people. The one I go to caters to me. Never too busy and yet it seems even more “authentic” than all the others (mostly Thai patrons).

I suspect the question is moot. I haven’t done any investigative work but I wouldn’t be surprised if all 5 were owned by the same person...okay maybe 2 different owners. Either way the semblance of choice combined with great food has them laughing all the way to the spa, which they probably own too but might be turned into another restaurant if its numbers slip.

Shutter To Think

2011-04-12T06:43:00.000-07:00

I’m always tickled by the shutter noise my digital camera and cell phone makes when I take a picture. It’s hilarious to me that the designers thought it necessary to add the analog sound. It would be like adding an engine revving sound to an electric car to give drivers the sense that there’s massive horse power cranking under the engine; As if that could completely hide the fact that they can only do 80mph and have to charge it up along with their cell phone every night.

I’m pro electric car and I’m also pro digital photography. I’m not pro adding superfluous features to make these products conform to some notion of the technology they replaced. If you’re going to go that way then why not add a “rewind” switch and a “forward” wheel. We could go all the way with the silliness and make SD memory cards in the shape of film and have people drop off their “film” to one hour photo shops. Or maybe your photo printer should come with a cardboard “one hour photo” mobile kiosk.

Facetiousness aside, pretty soon most young people won’t remember that shutter sound. To them it will be the sound that digital cameras make…for some reason. I’ll either have to explain the sound to them or pretend that I don’t know what that sound means either. While I’m at it I can pretend I don’t get the Lady Gaga-Madonna comparisons and can’t remember when rappers used to say “rahhhh!”

I wrote the preceding text and then hoped on a subway where God provided the button to this blog. I saw a guy playing Pong on his Iphone.

Virtual Insanity

2011-04-01T04:46:00.000-07:00

I was practicing typing while listening to the Economist magazine on line. I type blogs, scripts and jokes but I’m far from a typist. I read the Economist magazine but I’m far from an economist. I actually think the entire study of economics is a bit flawed. Technological advances along with good old fashioned human nature seem to necessitate changes in economic theory and wealth distribution that haven’t taken place yet. My support of the previous statements goes beyond the scope of my light hearted feel good blog. But I offer you this video I watched on the Economist online as snack for thought. Dr. Michio Kaku is predicting where technology will go in the next one hundred years. He describes a world much like that in the movie Terminator but thinks it will be groovy. If you have 4 minutes please watch and see if you were scared silly like I was.

Some Questions/comments for Dr. Kaku:
1) If computers can read your mind and robots can build cars then why can’t they pick up trash?! (Mr. Kaku seems to think the robots will eliminate many jobs but not trash removal. Huh?!)

2) Robots will be able to do construction. If they’re that advanced wouldn’t they be able to do anything we do?*

3) When we no longer have to work, when there’s no labor, how will resources be distributed? People either have to be paid based on a new set of criteria (funny blogs perhaps) or we slip into some weird high-tech welfare state.

4) When people can live forever and don’t have to work, will it make sense to let useless people live forever? After we eliminate all reality TV stars how will we determine who else is useless? If you think this video is scary the one before this was about the production of human-like robot eyes that can zoom. *I recently blogged about a supercomputer on Jeopardy. IBM’s Watson dominated two former Jeopardy champs. If fcomputers can dominate on Jeopardy, they can be taught to pick up trash!

Economist Interview:

Push The Little Pastries And Make'em Come up

2011-03-29T08:45:00.000-07:00

I was recently in a Coffee Bean in Beverly Hills. Coffee Bean is the 2nd largest Coffee shop chain in Los Angeles. Of course Starbucks is the biggest. Coffee Bean is the runner up to Starbucks much like Sandisk is the 2nd top mp3 player after The Ipod. What’s Sandisk?...Exactly.* But I felt good being in number 2 on this day as the Coffee Bean was directly across from a Starbucks. Shunning a corporate giant for a smaller corporate giant isn’t exactly sticking it to the man but you have to start somewhere. Given the option at least I went with what was closer to Mom and Pop on the Mom and Pop-Evil corporate giant continuum. For the record Coffee Bean has better tea than Starbucks. Starbucks has better food, mainly because Coffee Bean doesn’t serve food. It’s a push on the pastries. QSN: Doesn’t “Push on the Pastries” sound like the name of an Indie rock group? Eventually people would just call them POP and that would be coincidental but we would call it ironic. I guess I’m all about the underdog as long as the underdog is directly across the street. A brilliant strategy when you think about it. Want to open a small independent coffee shop? Well, set up shop near Starbucks. Some traffic will be diverted your way out of pangs of guilt. Why be cliché when you can cross the street and be self righteously cliché? Others will head to get some indie brew to avoid long lines and no place to sit. Either way you’re siphoning off the man and championing small business. Who knows Starbucks may even pay you off and give you more to scram than you would’ve made in business. Sure, that’s the classic definition of selling out but…if a thousand Mom and Pops do this then… Well, I would like to say it would bring Starbucks to its knees but it’s more likely that scones will go up 5 cents. (in Robot voice) …Resistance is futile, Just go to Starbucks sip on your frap and enjoy Norah Jones on the PA system… QSN - Quick Side Note *News story on Sandisk being number 2

Close Encounters of the Crazy Kind

2011-03-22T11:48:00.000-07:00

At this point my brushes with eccentric characters have become much like the “chicken or the egg” conundrum. Do I write about these types because I run into them or do I run into them because I write about them? I don’t think I’m seeking out these encounters but maybe the mere act of writing about them, attracts them.

Cut to me walking into a Ralph’s supermarket to ¬¬¬scoop up some Almond milk. I usually get soy milk from the ninety nine cents store but apparently soy milk has too much of the female hormone, estrogen. I don’t sob while watching Seinfeld reruns and I haven’t told anyone that it’s not what they said, but how they said it. Still, I figure I should take a break from using female hormone milk to mix my very manly protein powder after my very manly workouts. (Resistance bands are manly right?)

I walked past a guy in the parking lot and we had this exchange:

APOCALYPSE DUDE: You going in there?
ME: Yes
APOCALYPSE DUDE: You better hurry! They’re running out of food!

It took everything in me to not ask him some follow-up questions. Was it a certain section that was depleted? Were they also running out of toiletries? How about cashews?

I hope my doomsday soothsayer wasn’t offended that I didn’t speed up after his warning. It’s not that I wasn’t taking heed but no one else was heading toward the mega mart so at least I only had to contend with the mayhem already inside the store and those people already had the drop on me so keeping my leisurely pace seemed to make sense.

Of course Ralph’s was loaded. There were enough provisions to feed a city. To be fair, he didn’t say when they would run out of food. 2025 would be my guess. Almond milk is too thick for my protein powder to fully dissolve. I wish he would’ve warned me about that.

Take This Money!

2011-03-04T08:48:00.000-08:00

I was at a taco truck in Los Angeles just around midnight wolfing down a tasty chicken taco when a man asked me for a dollar for the bus. He was unkempt and smelled like he’d been hitting the sauce pretty hard…and I’m not talking about Ragu. He had a film on him. His dingy veneer looked as if it came from hard labor. Like maybe he worked in a mine. But we were in the Silver Lake section of Los Angeles where the only mining happening is Hipsters digging thru second hand clothes bins for T-shirts whose message once meant something to someone but now serve as bragging rights for people trying to thumb their nose at context.

The beggar seemed earnest which made it uncomfortable to say no. Even worse, I was scoffing down a taco and had a scarf looped around my neck. Here’s a guy begging for a buck and I have on a snug scarf in 45 degree (brrr, but not really) whether. Whatever use he intended for the money was probably going to be more valuable to him than what I would have done with it. I just spent five dollars on tacos. No one with a warm home, a half full fridge and a cabinet loaded with non-perishables needs to stop and get a taco at midnight. Especially, if that person is sober like I was (drunk people, get your taco on!)

The former thought occurred to me as I crunched and gnawed. Me eating a taco is not a pretty sight. I eat with intensity. A stranger might mistake it for my first meal in a long long time. Basically, I become an action hero: This time, He’s eating For Keeps!

I stopped chomping for a second and pulled out my spare change. I couldn’t give him a dollar as I don’t like pulling out paper money in case the solicitation is a ruse and it’s really a two man job with the second man waiting to swoop in for my cold cash. Has Brooklyn made me not trusting?

I gave the man a handful of change and he proceeded to run across the street and hop on the bus. He actually used it for the bus! I didn’t think it possible but my taco became even tastier as my beneficiary embarked on his journey. I just hope he hasn’t worked out a “hop on the bus for a stop or two” scam with the bus drivers.

Money Where My Mouth Is

2011-02-22T21:03:00.000-08:00

My love/love relationship with the 99 cents store is well documented in my blog. If you’re in Los Angeles, call me up and tell me your cross streets, I can tell you where the nearest 99 cents store is*. Yes my mom is very proud of me, in case you were wondering.

My local noventa y nueve store is in a parking lot with a really hip organic market. This market is the real deal. They sell grass fed beef. I’m told that’s much tastier and a lot better for you than beef that’s fed grain. The market is great and relatively inexpensive but at a huge disadvantage being right next to the 99 cents store. The 99 cents store has an extensive grocery section to go along with stuff like, “Hello Smitty” knockoff coloring books. I occasionally wonder into the local organic market when the 99 cent store doesn’t have eggs. I like local market but not enough to shop their exclusively or go there before I poke my head into the 99 cent store. I do however want the organic place to stay in business.

I have decided to go in the market once every other week and purchase one or two offerings to help them stay afloat. Last week it was a 5 dollar bag of Farina. Week before some tasty but “send you to the poor house” prawns. I’ve got my eye on beef with grass between its teeth. Basically, the local market will be where I go to buy my metaphorical sneakers.

I learned a long time ago that you can skimp on your outfit as long as you kill’em with some fly sneaks. I’ll skimp at the 99 cents store but go to the market to make my cupboard seem flyer than it really is.

VISITOR 2MY CUPBOARD: Wow, high end Farina, Prawns…somebody has stepped their game up. By the way…you should probably keep those Prawns in the freezer.

* I can also do this for Starbucks locations and I’m not too shabby on Ross Dress For Less locales as well.

http://figueroaproduce.com/

Gotta Idea...That I Wanna Share

2011-02-18T14:16:00.000-08:00

A teenager in Mexico City is on a Hunger Strike until she gets an invite to the Royal Wedding. Kinda crazy but I think I now have the perfect plan to get my own show:

See me starve in front of CBS.
And know, that ‘til I get my own show, I vow not to ingest.
Talk show is cool but a sitcom is best.
Is that a Wetzel Pretzel?!
Ahhh...screw it I guess…CRUNCH!

Overhead Dread

2011-02-10T08:41:00.000-08:00

We often hear stories of heroism so selfless that they fill us with hope that maybe just maybe we humans will make it on this planet after all. Someone jumps on a train track to save someone else or shares a kidney with a stranger, or “likes” one of your wall posts.

For me, these stories don’t exactly restore my faith in mankind. For I travel and I believe that until we can share overhead space on an airplane, we can’t really expect any type of peace on earth. How can countries compromise on borders when individuals can’t even team up to ensure no one has to check a bag? When people put itty bitty bags overhead or put their bag in sideways against the constant urgings of the crew and the big instruction label inside the bins, they’re not screwing some stranger out in the ether. No, they are sticking it to someone they’re about to spend 5 hours with. There’s no I in “fellow passenger.”

It’s just amazing that 100 people with enough money to fly on a plane need to get to territorial and petty. I have no qualms about moving someone’s bag or loudly saying, “who’s tiny under the seat bag is here taking up precise luggage space?!” And how lazy and uncaring do you have to be to not turn your bag 90 degrees?! It would be okay if the flight attendants didn’t plea with people to put their bags in wheels first 10-20 times while boarding.

Come on folks. Let’s ensure human existence on this planet. Let’s share overhead space. And after we do, we can work on people who take up two parking spaces.

All this, of course, is contingent upon the machines not taking over. 

Icing Like Tyson

2011-02-02T12:20:00.000-08:00

For a boxer, being bequeathed a nickname is a sure fire sign that you’ve arrived on the boxing scene. If Mac “The Killer” Jones is fighting Ralph Henderson, “The Killer” has to be the prefight favorite. A sure fire sign that you have completely permeated pop culture is having a dance named after you. Iron Mike Tyson has both.

I was reminded of the reason why today when I watched a bunch of his early knockouts. A barrage of extremely powerful but even more accurate blows turned men into drunken incoherent mice. My amazement shifted from how can he hit that hard to why would anyone let themselves be hit that hard. I derived amusement from Mike’s competitors, dead men walking, realizing only at the moment of first impact, just how hard Tyson punched. There’s something purely entertaining about seeing the exact moment when a person accepts truth. That moment is even more entertaining when it’s accompanied by an uppercut that lifts them off the ground. The truth hurts.

Brutality aside, there was beauty in Tyson’s precision and raw power. Boxing is called the sweet science and Mike Tyson’s practice of the science turned the ring into a revolving lab where grown specimens could visit but not stay longer than a round or two.

I think my buddy and I enjoyed seeing Tyson’s targets drop a little more than we should of. Partly because of an innate desire to witness anything shocking but mainly our laughter was that of the nervous variety, knowing full well that we would have met the exact same fate and probably in half the time.

With fear comes intrigue and Mike Tyson had intrigue to spare. It’s a shame that his quest to legitimately be considered the greatest was derailed by all of his troubles.

Our attraction to beauty and perfection is even greater than our infatuation with shock. When all three are in the same package, it’s unlikely that purity will be left alone to fulfill its promise (see Michael Jackson). There’s also the sadness that most people extremely gifted in one area are necessarily deficient somewhere else. We don’t celebrate balance and consistency. We exalt talent and then feign shock when the other shoe drops.

But now twenty years after he first burst unto the scene, we are still intrigued with Iron Mike; Of course partly because of his antics but always because will be forever indebted to him for blessing us with his talents.

Mike Tyson is from Brooklyn by the way.

Broke Down Communication

2011-02-01T10:49:00.000-08:00

I think there’s some benefit to wearing sunglasses all the time. Sure you’re “that guy” and you lose out on some quality interactions with people who’ll have none of your pretentiousness. On the flip side though, you avoid uncomfortable exchanges.

I don’t wear tinted bifocals, more out of a fear of losing them than a fear of looking like a jerk. I have a practical work around but having your sunglasses hang from your neck like a granny in between crossword puzzles is even too un-cool for me. So as I passed through security at Cleveland International with the windows to my soul exposed, I made eye contact with a friendly airport staffer. This gentleman was African American so there was the obligatory “Keep fighting the good fight” nod that black people often give each other in non-black environments. Also, I had just done 6 sold out shows and already established during my last show that an audience member would be on my flight. So it’s possible that the staffer was at one of the shows is all I’m saying.

All the aforementioned factors led to me nodding and that leading to small talk: Something about me going to a warm place and him wishing he could get away from the cold. So far so straight. Then he asked me if I had had a Cleveland tour guide. “Uh… No” Now I’m thinking Cleveland airport is all about hospitality. Like Cleveland is banding together as a city to make sure visitors leave with a good impression.

Then the airport staffer offered to show me around next time. I still wasn’t sure if he was at the show or making small talk or what. Since I was on my way out of Dodge I said “Sure, thanks…I guess…” I still didn’t know what was happening. Then he said he was on Facebook and I thought “Oh, he is a fan…whew…” Then Mr. Friendly proceeds to write down his Facebook url, number and email. And as I walk away he says “Call me anytime!”

Finally, I knew what was happening. He was a fan alright. Now readers, in my defense, black people can be very informal with each other and I’m constantly trying to make sure I’m not being standoffish like some snobby New Yorker or even worse an aloof Angelino. So I thought this was an example of down home folk being down home folksy.

To each his own but not my own. I’m straight like Indian hair. I suppose women go through this all the time, never knowing if a friendly guy has an ulterior motive. Well that’s easy. Of course he does. But for same sex encounters in non-gay situations how is the straight person supposed to know? It’s not like this guy wore a pink boa and flashed jazz hands. Maybe gay guys need a sign to identify each other. There’s the rainbow but that might lack the subtlety needed by some. Also, Hawaii is still all WTF about their beloved rainbow being co-opted by gay bars. There’s got to be at least one bar with a rainbow outside of it that is really just a straight Hawaiian spot.

Perhaps some odd sequence of words might better serve as the gay sign and something far more intricate than “how’s it going?” Maybe something like “Cream style corn is better served warm” and the response to let the other person know it’s on would be something like “And French Cuff Links shine brightest at dawn.” Now there’s still a chance that a straight person could say the cuff link line without knowing it was a code but in my case there was no exchanges of non sequiturs.

To avoid straight guys with tourette’s getting hit on. The best thing to do would be to have a secret gay handshake. Of course this would have completely shot holes in the otherwise very believable movie, “I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Steve”

I now pronounce myself a sunglass wearer.

“Jeopardy” in Jeopardy

2011-01-27T10:08:00.000-08:00

I’m told a super computer called Watson will soon be a contestant on Jeopardy. “I’ll take signs the machines are taking over for a thousand, Alex.” Does this feel like the beginning of a Sci-Fi movie with a very unhappy ending to anyone else? I’m sure the Terminator’s back story was that he debuted on a game show before crushing mankind and then traveling back in time to stop the head of the resistance from being born.

QSN: How the man from the future, sent back in time by the Humans to ensure that the rebel leader is born, is the rebel leader’s father is a prime directive nightmare that still bothers me. I hate it when time traveling movies get cute.

Man won’t be happy until he completely makes himself obsolete. The day we say…

US: Look the machines can do all the work…

Is the day the machines say…

MACHINES: Then why do we need you. Human existence does not compute…

Why not let a computer host Jeopardy? Many movies already use computer generated actors. If the computers are doing everything we used to do then what is there for us to do? Spoken not like a technophobe but more a person who loves computers but loves people more.

Wouldn’t it be wonderfully terrifying to find that the most major share holder in the top 100 companies in the world is actually a computer that embezzled a nickel from everyone in the world back in the 80’s and invested it all in corporations. Crazy, but it would explain some things wouldn’t it?

Perhaps the human spirit will continue to reign over machine. Perhaps humans have that indescribable quality that Je ne sais quoi to win the battle against machine. John Henry beat the steam engine and then victoriously dropped dead. I hope we get to enjoy our win.

QSN = Quick Side Note

The Watson Super Computer competing on Jeopardy will air on February 14,15 & 16, 2011.

A Stone’s Throw

2011-01-12T10:30:00.000-08:00

They say people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones but I say they can as long as they open a window first. Run your hands over your glass dwelling until you find your window. Your “window” is a small hole in your translucent igloo that makes you different than the person you’re about to pelt with judgment pebbles. Perhaps an application of the glass house stone toss exemption is in order.

I was in London recently with a whole lotta of late-nite free time on my hands, a whole lotta stuff to do online and not a whole lotta free wifi. Paying for internet in hotels or cafes went out with barbed-wire arm tattoos. So when you get caught between the moon and London Town with computing needs and little computing options, you may have to head to the only thing open late in London, The Golden Arches. I found a 24 hour McDonald’s in Kensington and set up shop. The freaks do come out at night so I had to keep one eye on the screen and one eye on the hungry inebriated clientele. I went to Mickey D’s four nights in a row at midnight and stayed until 3am. And every night there was this guy there sitting in the same seat nursing a coffee. I was about to label my fellow fixture a strange loser who hangs out in Mickey D’s every single night. I almost hit print on my mental label maker when I realized…

Glass House: … that I too had been hanging out at Mickey D’s every night…
Window: …Of course, I had work to do and I only went there for the free wifi and to get enough holes punched in my frequent tea card to earn a free tea before my exodus from Jolly Old…

Some windows aren’t opened as wide as the thrower would like.

This whole thing took me back to another glass house incident. I was once in a McDonald’s in Massachusetts and the person helping me was a little mentally slow but definitely capable of fielding my order. When the man helping me left to assemble my order the cashier at the next register made some disparaging remarks about him being slow and how it was a drag to work with him and blah blah blah.

Glass House: You’re teasing someone based on lack of ability but they do the exact same job you do just as well as you do it. Really? Aim high.
Window: N/A(There is no window and I hope she cut herself on a shard of glass)

What’s My Queue

2011-01-03T11:53:00.000-08:00

If patience is a virtue, nothing offers more opportunity to get your virtue on than standing in line. Be it the post office, airport, bank or butcher*; it just seems like people being serviced at the window judge the quality of the experience by how long they get to stand there. This is very interesting considering they were in line just moments ago when their quality gauge was strictly based on how little time the people being served ahead of them took. Classic case of the oppressed becomes the oppressor.

I’m okay with people needing to perform complex transactions but sometimes there’s over the top self indulgence at the window. Like when you’re in the bank and you catch wind of the conversation a person at the window is having with the teller and he’s asking the teller how inflation works and doing Eany Meany Miny Moe to decide if he should get cats or flowers on his checks…best two out of three.

That time is your time. I’m not telling window person to rush lest they forget something and have to re-enter the queue. I’m just saying don’t forget where you came from…THE LINE. It was you window person just minutes ago sighing loudly and shifting your body weight side to side like a restless six year old. Don’t get to the window and act like it’s a spa.

I apologize to anyone who’s ever been behind me in line at a post office. In my defense, mass mailings take mass postage. In a check in line at Heathrow airport, I timed a guy with one lousy piece of luggage took 5 minutes to check in. That’s an eternity. There’s not 5 minutes worth of things to do at an airport check-in counter. I checked in minutes later. I checked a bag, gave my frequent flyer number and confirmed my aisle seat. The whole thing took just over a minute.

What I taketh from the post office I giveth back at the airport. I tried to tell them, we’re all in this together**

* Butcher? Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention and appeal to any readers who live in places with butchers or any time travelers giving my blog a gander…How about this internet huh?!

**Line from KRS-One song. “I’m still Number One”

Pickey Picker

2010-12-28T10:49:00.000-08:00

I was recently eating pho soup in LA’s most hip, Vietnamese restaurant. Want proof? The restaurant doesn’t have its name displayed on the outside, just a blank white board where one would expect the name to be.

I’m sure this is a tactical move by the proprietors. Save money and keep the local American Apparel wearing residents happy that they go to a place you “just have to know about.” It also keeps cost adverse people like me coming because after, all how much can they charge you when they look like they opened for business that morning? In reality it’s been there for years and customers in essence pay them to keep the ambiance at “street-cred” level. Pretty genius when you think about it. Imagine convincing a girl that costume jewelry was way cool and real gold and diamonds was for squares. What a beautiful world that would be. It could happen too. Oprah, please send out a memo…please…come on Oprah! Leave men with something good to remember you by. If Jay Z can kill throw back jerseys with on line in a song then Oprah can end trips to Jareds.

The Pho Café’s real selling point, as it should be, is the pho. It’s incredibly tasty and at any point you can look down your row (there’s only on line of tables) and see people chomping and slurping way more than they are talking.

When I finally came up for air one of my friends I was dining with offered me a toothpick…from his wallet…not in plastic! My other homie took the toothpick. I declined and instead got a nicely wrapped toothpick from the café’s toothpick cup. My toothpick wielding friend was a bit put off but I can’t put something in my teeth with direct access to my blood line that was in somebody’s wallet. I appreciate my friend’s consideration and I’m floored by his conscientiousness. It’s like he’s a professional eater or something. I once tried to have toothpicks on the ready but I put them in my front pocket and my upper thigh didn’t appreciate being tenderized as I walked. Nor did my cuticles enjoy being jabbed to the point of drawing blood every time I reached into my pocket. So I decided to leave my space between my teeth clearing at the mercy of my dining establishments or until I get home and floss. Maybe wrapped toothpicks in a wallet are the answer. Guess I have to start carrying a wallet now. Baby steps.

Two Quick Side Notes (QSN):
>It’s pronounced Pha. Trust me, it is. And no, I don’t know why they spell it with an O
>The Pho Café comes up on a Google search. I guess it’s a not so hidden gem.

Still Ballin’

2010-12-22T10:52:00.000-08:00

So I’m watching TV in my hotel room in Tel Aviv at 3am. If jet lag is indigestion, staying up past 2am on your 1st night in a time zone 10 hours ahead of yours is like eating a chili dog to fix it. There was no need to exacerbate matters; I was sleepy so I thought I better lay my head on my pillow and just relax so as not to wreck the following day’s productivity. Then a European basketball game came on and I looked up and saw Allen Iverson playing for the Turkish team, Besiktas. What?!...So much for the next day’s things to do list. A.I. on TV in Israel? My hands were tied.

Allen Iverson has a reputation, earned or not, of being a ball hog and not a team player. Maybe age has made AI kinder and gentler but from my vantage point in room 1812 he was a total team player. Some might argue that his apparent team first attitude will either be short lived or is the product of his waning ability. Maybe he has no choice but to defer to teammates because the days of him dominating by himself have passed.

One could go on for days speculating but I think the best indicator of who he is and has become is that he’s in Turkey playing basketball! A former all star, 1st ballot NBA Hall of Famer and arguably the best under 6’2” person to ever play is willing to lace up his sneaks and play in a gymnasium the size our elite High Schools play in.

I don’t know if he needs the money but my guess would be that he simply needs to play. There’s no senior basketball tour like there is in golf. Although, I think watching greats in their 40’s play hoop has to be more entertaining than watching guys in their seventies walk around in plaid pants for 3 hours.

A.I. played hard every game. He often played entire games with no breaks. He often played hurt and he did this against people who were taller and weighed more than him. Sure, he was athletically blessed but he still left everything he had on the floor every night.

I usually side with the entertainer and despite our so called egos I have meet and worked with many greats who have tasted fame, seen it run its course but still lace’em up every night and give the people what they want. Be it a stadium, cruise ship, makeshift stage in a Turks and Caicos resort or an old folks recreation room.

Only time can reveal certain things and I think time has shown that A.I. is the ultimate performer and competitor. His Turkish team won. He had 10 points. I spent the next day yawning and eye rubbing but it was all worth it. And I hope when I’m 70 telling jokes on a local channel at 3am someone will watch me and appreciate it.

Hebrew Haha

2010-12-12T18:15:00.001-08:00

So I met up with a friend of mine who’s an Israeli Stand-up Comic. I went to check out his all-Hebrew show. Watching Stand-up in a language you don’t understand is a neat experiment, especially as a stand-up. I found myself trying to decipher the jokes by tone and body language. Kind of like how an almost blind person can sometimes see shapes, I could see the shapes of the jokes… The old bait and switch, the act out, the rant, comedian in pain over something menial and mundane and of course the beat boxing comedian was particularly easy to understand. Like love, beat boxing is a universal language.

The rhythm of the show was very similar to a show in the US. Without knowing what was said I could tell the guys in the crowd were laughing at edgy things that were either angry or irreverent. The girls were laughing at things that were familiar, energetic and friendly. The comedian “type” was also easy to figure out. The intellect, the party animal, the angry guy were all on display and easy for this non-Hebrew speaker to point out. Not understanding the words seemed to make some things clearer.

Think laughter isn’t contagious? A few times I found myself laughing with the crowd with absolutely no idea what the joke was. I caught myself each time and dialed myself back to “not a fraud”. It’s one thing to not get the joke and still laugh on cue. It’s quite another to laugh when you haven’t the faintest idea what was said. What if he was talking about flogging black people or eating babies but not ironically eating them? It’s possible. It’s not like other countries are as politically correct as we are. Still, I was captivated by the exchange between performer and audience and it really put into focus how much of the crowd’s perception of the performer is based on how they look as opposed to what they say.

The whole experienced reminded me of a friend who’s grandfather did not speak any English but still loved to watch the show “Sanford and Son” I guess “you big dummy!” transcends language.

I’m writing this blog in my hotel room in Tel Aviv watching a German court show. I have no idea what the trial is about but the woman in the yellow shirt sure looks guilty.

This blog brought me back to the time I translated English to English in a NYC laundry mat.

Get 'er Done!...Incrementally

2010-12-02T11:59:00.000-08:00

Today, a friend sent me an article about a calendar system that Jerry Seinfeld used or perhaps uses to write jokes and was kind enough to share with other comics. It was sent to me because it reminded my friend of my intricate weekly activity system I have shared with her and anyone else who will listen; a system that I will share with you, my readers, in due time.

Of course, knowing that Mr. “Didja Ever Notice” has a system in any way similar to mine warms my cockles. But for real inspiration I didn’t have to look that far. My friend Randall may or may not have an elaborate work system but he does get an incredibly large amount of stuff done. All the work I have done with Randall usually starts with a list being made, items assigned, and then that list getting done. Randall makes a list quicker than anyone I know. And when you pull back and take a wide look it’s not hard to see that Seinfeld’s system is really just a list, my can’t lose system, called “The Grid” among me and my friends, is really just a series of lists.

I think it’s fair to say that civilization on a whole has been built on the making and completing of lists. The Golden Gate Bridge is really the culmination of hundreds of linking lists each with items that were completed until finally a car could drive from San Francisco to Marin.

I don’t think anything I’ve done is as intricate as the building of the Golden Gate Bridge. And, while I do rely on people, there isn’t a team of a thousand people who all must do their job perfectly or else I’m floating in the Golden Gate. No, I am the creator and overseer of my list. Sometimes my list will involve working with others or an item on my list will be an item of a friends list. Or an item on my list can be broken down into another list I make with a friend on a side project.

So the question to ask yourself is what is on your list? Will the things on your list, upon completion, build a bridge that you want to cross? Are there things not on your list that should be there? Is there anything on your list not done with no signs of getting done? If so why? There are thousands of publications that promise to help you unlock your power and such. All of them in one way or another will tell you to make a list.

Jerry Seinfeld's Productivity on Steroids

Balance Is Key

2010-11-19T10:27:00.000-08:00

I stood on the District line train in London’s Underground ready to disembark, not holding on to anything, applying lotion and lip balm as the train pulled into Victoria. I finished up my beauty regimen as the train jerked to a stop and was taken back to my childhood in New York City…

When I was 8 I thought the worst thing in the world was holding on while the trained moved. It wasn’t about me being a big boy it was more about proving to me and my mom that I was a super hero in training with death defying balance. My mom would beg me to hold on and I would ignore her. Sometimes being a super hero means blocking out the naysayers, even if they gave you life. My mom is truly one of the most patient people I have ever known so she wasn’t the type to put down the iron hammer. She let my training run its course. That is until I slammed into the shin of an unsuspecting passenger. Then she would rough me up a bit, more out of social obligation than anything else, and make me take a seat.

Even a super hero knows when to retreat so I would humbly take my seat and vow to continue my training at a later date. That later date was usually 10 minutes later.

As I successfully applied Vaseline intensive care to my hands and Burt’s Bees to my lips without crashing into another passenger I smiled and in my head said, “look Ma, no hands.”

My persistence mixed with my mother’s patience has made me a top notch train surfer. It’s like I trained in Maui on a rickety surf board and now I’m surfing in the mild Atlantic with top notch equipment. The London Tube didn’t stand a chance. Thanks Mom.

What Happens in the Rest of Vegas…

2010-11-16T12:11:00.001-08:00

Living in Los Angeles puts me in close enough proximity to Las Vegas to take an occasional drive out to the city of sin and usually at the urging of a friend. I actually don’t love Vegas but I like the drive and it’s bearable for a night or two. That’s about how long the spectacle of lights, people and shows can distract me from really taking in all the despair that also stays in Vegas. For a night or two I’m in the city the Rat Pack built. After that I’m in the city with slot machines in the super market and cocktail waitresses who should be forced into retirement.

So when I booked a week long gig in Vegas I knew it would be a challenge for me. When I learned that the gig was actually not on the strip but in “Old Vegas” I feared the brushes with sadness might be too much even for me.

Old Vegas is pretty sad. Like a minor league team but literally in the shadows of the big league team up the street. In old Vegas it’s much harder to convince yourself that Vegas is anything but a city built on gambling. It’s fun and nostalgic, well it could be if the people didn’t all look like they escaped from 1987. When you think Vegas, 1950’s Frank, Dean and Sammy is nostalgic. 1980’s mullets and acid washed jeans are just sad and wrong. I actually had to eat in the employee’s cafeteria. An hour in the bowels of any Vegas operation must be like a week in Seattle drizzle.

But nothing trumps the 2 mile area between Old Vegas and New Vegas, aka The Strip of happiness depletion. It’s a wasteland of pawn shops and tattoo parlors. You can feel a discernable dip in your endorphin level as you drive through it. It’s literally where dreams go to die. I would suggest anyone visiting Vegas to go there first. Get a good visual swig of Rock Bottom before you go into the casinos with delusions of grandeur. Look at all the folks before you who got stuck in the proverbial moat.

That place in between The strip and Old Vegas is like a traffic school video for life. It’s like going to a place where everyone has one eye because they didn’t listen to their mom when she said “you’re going to poke someone’s eye out if you keep this up.” Imagine how much more heed you would have taken to your dear old mums words if you got a glimpse of all the one-eyed children who didn’t listen. Next time you’re in Vegas take a gander of the place a little south of the action. But for the love of God man, do so from a moving car.

Hey Mate!

2010-11-15T05:39:00.000-08:00

I’m always tickled by non-white people with English accents. I get giddy and have to suppress the urge to ask them to repeat what they just said. A part of me wants to believe they’re putting on the accent and can break out of it at anytime.

ME: Look, this Asian guy can make himself sound like a bloke. Cool dude. Okay you can just talk regular now. No seriously cut it out…

I could never condone Dr. Moreau type experimentation but how cool would it be to take a Black child to Russia at birth and teach them perfect English…with a Russian accent. And then when he’s 25 drop him off in Brooklyn. Too cruel? Some challenges for him. Pure enjoyment for everyone he encounters.

ME: Look, homey puts Y’s in the middle of words.*
CWRA**: Styop tyeasing me. Vant a Knyuckle SyandWeach?

I don’t suppose this wildly unsophisticated tendency of mine will change anytime soon. I’ve been hearing non-whites with British accents for ten years and just like seeing someone get a pie to the face, it still amuses me. It’s especially egregious coming from someone who had to hear he sounds “white” most of his life.

*The hilarious and perfect mimic of many accents, Elon Gold. Told me the secret to doing a Russian accent is to put Y’s in the middle of words. Try it at home. (eg. Basket Ball in a Russian accent becomes BeYaskyet Byall) Hours of fun. Okay maybe a half hour of fun.

** Child With Russian Accent
This harps back to a little run in I witnessed on the bus.

By The Dashboard Flight

2010-11-12T11:23:00.000-08:00

Dwayne’s the name and taking long flights are my game. Nothing like getting in a movie or two, listening to Adele, Vampire Weekend, Kings of Leon, and watching a documentary on the plight of the African bee while you nosh on your in-flight vittles.

Another staple of long flights is the navigation page where you get to see where in the world is your plane. The plane on these maps is always the size of Rhode Island and I spend a considerable amount of time wondering if we’re at the nose, the back or in the middle of the map’s giant plane.

Enter Air New Zealand with the best navigation page yet. Yes they offer the near life sized plane completely covering Nova Scotia en route to London but they also show a mockup of the plane’s dashboard. What? I get to fly this puppy…sort of?! All I needed was a captain’s hat and a lollipop to look the part of the 10 year old this neat feature turned me into.

Having the dashboard also makes for great back seat flying.

ME: I can see by the panel that we’re straight and level…wait a minute we’re dipping. Adding more thrust? Cool I was gonna suggest that actually…. Yes, we’re banking left to cut down on wind resistance, my sentiments exactly. Flight attendant, could you please let the captain know that Dwayne in 46G is smelling what he’s cooking.
¬
That dashboard probably prevented me from getting in that forth movie.¬

That’s Entertainment

2010-11-09T11:35:00.000-08:00

I had to stop into the Glee Comedy Club in Birmingham, UK on my day off to grab some paperwork. A detail not important to this blog except it’s the reason I happened to be there during a Burlesque show. I was coaxed into staying. Admittedly, it did not take Jedi powers to get me to have a sit down.

I thoroughly enjoyed the show. There was truly something for everyone: singing, magic, dancing and poetry. Several thoughts danced across my mind while I watched the performers dance. Not sure if mortality or technical longing is to blame but I wondered if I would remember this night when I’m 90. I stopped taking pictures a few years back because, to quote John Mayer, I wanted to see the world through both my eyes. My picture taking sabbatical is done. It’s fine time I hang a rotating picture screen toggling images of places and spaces I’ve been. Although, I’m not sure what’s the policy on taking pics at a burlesque show.

I would have to say that I not only had more fun at the Burlesque show, I also found the women to be more attractive that those of, let’s say a strip club. The former probably has a lot to do with not feeling like you’re in a dungeon doing something wrong. Strip clubs are like drug dens in that there’s an unspoken agreement not to call anyone else out and how could you because you’re there too. Burlesque shows pass the mom test. If my mom walked in on me she wouldn’t be disappointed that I was there. She might question my affinity for tattoos and Goth but surely she could take in the show with me. Okay, maybe from a different table.

On the attractive front it’s easier to enjoy people who are enjoying themselves. I’ve never been able to go to a strip club and totally look past the glaring misery. The Burlesque girls seem to be having fun and there’s at least a real try at entertaining. I’m also already on record as liking some cushion. You never seem to be shorted of that at a Burlesque show.

I was weary of staying at first because Burlesque shows seem so cultish and incestuous. Even the show I watched seemed to have audience members that looked a lot like the performers. Like they were just going switch places for next week’s show. Like a bunch of Paul Reiser’s sitting at a Jerry Seinfeld show. With the casual sport coats replaced by lace and red highlights. Being an army of one, I never really feel completely comfortable in culty situations. Watching the show made me realize that what I saw as incestuous was really a judgment free zone.

And that’s the beauty and appeal of the modern day burlesque show. It’s a fun time where performers and audience members can let themselves go without the need to self edit or worry about who’s watching. Kind of like adult kickball but a gazillion times more fun.

Friends in Cosmic Places

2010-11-05T07:25:00.000-07:00

Not to be competitive, but I would wager that, unless you’re in a rock band or are a magician, that I know a smidge more odd characters than you. It just comes with the territory. It’s always fun when an acquaintance or friend does something that catapults them unto the odd list or bumps them up higher in the list if they were already on it.

I recently dropped off a friend after a show who had long since held a solid spot on my list of odd people. A red-headed (but more orange), chain smoking comedy booker with a piercing nasally voice and equally piercing inter-personal skills. Still, we get along just fine. Although I questioned his being of this planet when I saw a long centipede looking bug in his hair a while back. The bug was the same burnt orange color that his hair is. He flicked it off when I brought it to his attention but it just took me back to Men in Black. Plus, I don’t think he was sufficiently freaked out that a long slimy bug was in his hair. So for a long time I held a faint suspicion that my friend was not human and in fact just occupied a human shell to do business and blend in until his mother ship returns.

Over time I loosened my belief that my friend who books one-nighter comedy shows in Orange County is actually an under cover extra terrestrial. Why travel across the vast galaxy to book bar shows? Although that would be a pretty convincing cover. So I dropped my friend off recently and he requested I drop him off at a barely lit Los Angeles street corner at 1am with no signs of people, residences or to put it short…life. The alien theory is back in full effect. I think I dropped him off at his portal back to his ship. I Made a U-turn and old red was no where to be seen.

Of course he may simply not want me to know where he lives or maybe wanted to score some drugs before heading to bed but I’m sticking with the alien theory.

Better Suited

2010-10-29T09:47:00.001-07:00

A few days ago I had to wear a suit and tie to a commercial audition. Commercial auditions provide an odd kind of escapism via adult dress-up. Where else but a commercial audition waiting room, on any given day, can one find adults dressed as: pirates, vikings, Santa Claus and/or his helpers?

The suit and tie is my favorite skin for a day. I was able to wear a suit I picked up in jolly old London. A European slim cut suit that I can only really pull off from certain angles. Those angles being the ones that don’t show my high and sizeable caboose. To give you an idea if you haven’t seen me before, I can reach my wallet from over my shoulder. (picture it…there you got it) So until I can lace my wardrobe out with custom everything I have to work the angles that work for me.

I kept the suit on for the rest of the day after I left the audition. It’s a neat social study to see how people react to you in different garb. It’s true everybody loves a sharp dressed man. I also get to occupy a space that could have been. Bend the time space continuum and get a glimpse of what 9-5 life would have been like had I stayed on that path. It was my own personal Halloween and I felt like trick-or-treating door to door for 401K plans, performance reviews and office football pools. I’ve never felt uncomfortable in a suit and I’m not the guy who unties his tie as soon as the work bell whistles. I’m also the guy who keeps the plastic on his watch and is writing this blog on a laptop that still has the sticker at the bottom of the keyboard telling potential buyers all the key features. (I’ve had this laptop for 6 months)

The commercial? For Xerox. I played an accountant who had to chew out the Michelin Tire man for some reports he owed me. How the Michelin guy ends up in a Xerox commercial can only be chalked up to cross-marketing. I’m not sure who came first the Michelin guy or the Pillsbury doe guy. But whoever was first may want to have their lawyers place a call to the other. Fingers crossed that I get a call back.

Controlled Randomness

2010-10-26T13:02:00.001-07:00

I experienced another God Wink. While going to get Pho I drove behind a license plate that said AWESM PHO.

1)who has a pho license plate?!
2)what are the odds of them being in front of me while i'm on my way to get pho.
3) this happened miles away from the Pho place in case you're wondering and...
4) it's pronounced Pha....

Check out the last blog I wrote about God tapping people on the shoulder.

God…Semi Colon, Dash, Closed Parenthesis

3 Dollar Salt

2010-10-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

I recently went to see the movie Salt. The 3 dollar movie theater by my place is a real deal. The hot dogs are $1. If you can wait a month or two after a movie is released to see it, the $3 movie can be a very enjoyable MST (Money Saving Technique.) And get this, the matinées are $2. For 2 bucks the probability of any movie being a major disappointment is all but eradicated. 2 dollars buys you 4 stars in my book.

Now for 2 bucks, Salt was amazing. My 12 dollar movie review would be a smidgen more nit picky. It was a fun movie but Salt's plot would have to be in Salt water to keep afloat. It's just incredibly difficult to make high-tech action thrillers given the amount of technology available to the non-spy laymen walking the streets. These movies selectively disregard current technology as needed to keep the hero heroic.

The key is to have someone on the screen so attractive that viewers forget about all the contradictions. Of course I say “go see Salt!”. Angelina Jolie on screen for 2 hours? I can give that a thumbs up without even seeing the movie. If movie producers were forced to put average looking people on screen, their jobs would be a lot lot harder. Don't believe me.? Just ask English movie producers. I'm kidding England. You know I love your fine ass England!

Back to Angelina....

You could pitch a movie about a woman who desperately wants to eat fried frog legs but can't find any toads in her sleepy town. She then meets a prince charming, kisses him and he turns into a frog. She's torn because she loves her prince but really craves fried frog legs. So, out of love for her prince she only eats his arm. Her undying love turns him back into a prince with one arm. It's cool though because they get to park in handicap spots and his arm never goes to sleep when she sleeps on his chest at night (because he doesn't have an arm) Of course, she'll have to get used to the left side of the bed...

And right before they tell you it's the dumbest thing they ever heard and call security to escort you out, you can mention that Angelina Jolie is attached and they will call the put the phone down, cut you a check and get the claymation department to start whipping up frog prototypes.

Fix Your Face

2010-10-12T15:10:00.000-07:00

I love rooting against the team of the guy who paints his face. Very few things bring me as much joy as a despondent painted face. It's the proper conclusion to a bad idea. Sometimes the painted guy's team wins which only fuels his inner frat boy. Because his team is doing well his fellow non-painted fans around him get caught up in the jubilation and the wrongness of applying semi-gloss to your face gets swept under the victory rug.

As with all things, losing sheds a light on what's wrong. Winning covers things up. A team can be undefeated all season and no one may say a word to the loud cheering life-size swatch who calls himself a fan. But upon said team losing the championship game it's awesome to see the tolerant mob turn into and angry one. All of a sudden there's no patience for the loud face painter. He's now a mockery of what could have been. A jackass making the agony of defeat more agonizing.

Painting your face is like taking a half court shot during a game. It's fine if it goes in but say hi to the dog house if you miss. Women don't paint their faces and if they do it's a little cute design on their cheek. This, I don't have a problem with and seeing a girl with a painted cheek crying because her team lost is actually very not cool...unless she's with the guy with the painted face.

Sorry I Said Sorry

2010-10-06T16:31:00.000-07:00

Not to sound like I'm offering up a strength disguised as a weakness, but I say sorry way too much. The odd thing is, although I'm quick to please and quick to alleviate other's discomfort, I am definitely not afraid of confrontation. As a Brooklynite, confrontation is one of my major food groups. The Brooklyn food pyramid calls for more beef than most. So many of my “sorries” are born not out of fear or because I've wronged someone but out of a sense of compassion.

Cut to me in a Starbucks. I approached the coin operated door with what I thought was unwarranted trepidation. As I put my token in and turned the handle it became clear that my psychic abilities are in fact greater than null. I spied a middle aged rotund man sitting at the porcelain throne conducting business not suitable for a King. He shrieked as I instantly closed the door and offered up my most earnest of apologies through the door. As I gave my brain an ultimatum to forget what it had just saw, I also cursed it for not taking heed to my mild clairvoyance and knocking first. The man in the bathroom let out a “what the expletive!” In between multiple apologies, and bleaching my short term memory I casually suggested, through the still unlocked door, that he lock the door next time. His reply was that he did in fact lock it. Maybe a faulty lock was to blame? The entire ordeal took no more than 5 seconds. Of which 4.7 seconds were spent on apologies and explanations.

Another 5-10 minutes passed before he emerged from the bathroom. For safe measure and to let him know there were no hard feelings and more importantly, no judgment. I said sorry again. The jilted squatter walked pass me without any acknowledgement and with major attitude. I also felt some hint of aggression. As I brushed out my eyebrows in the mirror, some guy tried the bathroom door handle. I escaped the same fate as the jilted squatter before me because I had locked the door. Alas, the lock did work. I was already put off my the guy before me but now I was retroactively incensed. He forgets to lock the door and gives me attitude. Not to be rude but given what my eyes had to see, he should be the one apologizing to me.

I walked through the Starbucks looking to take back my sorry and offer my large friend an outlet for his misguided aggression if he felt like reverting back to behaving like a man. He had already left so I was left holding that hot potato of negative unjust energy. This and incidents like it have prompted me to implement a policy of taking sorries back. I could just not say sorry but that's not my style and I don't want to take away people's chance to be magnanimous. So if I say sorry, especially where one wasn't even called for and you decide to take that time to dump your crap on me. Prepare to meet a guy from the projects in Brooklyn, New York. I wanted to channel the bad energy into the face my bathroom nemesis but this blog will have to do.

It's Better to Give...

2010-09-14T14:10:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I meet more odd characters than most people or if I'm just more acutely aware of my encounters with them.

I was recently in my home away from home. You might know it as Starbucks.

QSN: For the record I do patronize local mom and pop coffee shops and, in Southern California you might see me sipping on Milk Tea in your local Boba Tea house. The ubiquitousness of Starbucks and the never fail wi-fi forces my hand and sometimes makes the caffeinated Giant a must use establishment. Either that or work from home. And home is where the TV is. For the people still not with me, I ask you...why don't you find a mom and pop social networking page and get your Farmville on there?...I thought so.

Back to the 'Bucks. I was minding my business trying to get through my emails as Cat Stevens' Greatest hits played on the PA system. As I involuntarily tapped my foot to “Morning Has Broken.” An unkempt woman materialized before me asking me to watch her stuff. She pointed way across the room to a heap of worldly goods in overflowing garbage bags and sacks. There were at least 6 people much better positioned for watch out duty then I was. In fact, I had to change my seat so as to keep her portable kingdom in my field of view. I don't skimp on my look out responsibility. Especially when she went through the trouble of recruiting me personally for the job.

By the time she finished up in the bathroom “Morning Has Broken” had barely finished. Still, she was so appreciative of me looking after her things that she gave me 2 dollars. I tried to decline but she insisted that I take the money and buy a pastry. I humbly took the money. As I drove away from the Starbucks I saw that same woman trekking down the street with all those bags. It seemed she had no definitive destination in mind. I think a homeless person gave me 2 dollars. The coffee cake was bitter sweet.

Leave The World More Slippery Than You Found it.

2010-09-03T11:20:00.001-07:00

I find advertisements for general products quite amusing. Ads that don't ask the listener to buy anything from a specific company but rather to remember that the general product exists. The most notable being the cotton, milk and egg campaigns. Not necessarily in that order though. And who could forget the “other white meat.” (Hopefully that will save me from getting an angry letter from the Pork people.)

In reality, many general products have organizations charged with the task of promoting said product. I recently stumbled upon an ad in a magazine promoting synthetic oil. Ah yes synthetic oil has been there for us hasn't it? From babies taking 1st steps to birthday parties to prom nights, synthetic oil was there every step of the way making sure the engine in our cars kept running. It's integral not only to our happiness but dare I say, our existence.

Okay, the ad was for one synthetic oil company but there was no clear push to sell it so it felt like a general synthetic oil shout out. There was just a write up on the guy who “Changed lubrication History.” I think the editors of the Delta Sky magazine give its readers too much credit. Or this reader at least. Why not engine history or machine history? As far as words go “lubrication” is right up there with “moist.” Both take Gandhi like control to hear and not let out an internal chuckle or feel a little grossed out.

I can't imagine many people will see the ad, then run out and buy Amsoil Synthetic oil. They might giggle or write a blog but how many people on a plane need to deplane and haul ass to the synthetic oil store. I guess if the need for it ever does come up, I will call upon the company spawned by the father of synthetic lube, I guess.

Waiting in Memphis

2010-08-18T15:52:00.000-07:00

I recently found myself in Memphis, in front of a cash register in Krystals, waiting to be served. Krystals is basically White Castle south. And much like White Castle, you would have no good reason to go there before 10pm. I was on a late night run with my cousins. We simply needed some sustenance before bedding down for the night. They opted to go to the Mcdonald's on the other side of the parking lot. I wanted those sweet White Castle indulgences they call burgers, but Krystals would have to do.

The vibe was extra ghetto. So much that the lime green Cadillac in the parking lot barely stood out. Separating from my two female cousins, even if though we were only a small parking lot away, seemed like a major risk. And the cop car parked two spots away from the Sprite can Caddy produced from me a smirk but not sigh of relief.

So I wanted to quickly make my tiny burgers run and get back to my kin. There was no line in Krystals but I quickly could tell that getting out of there quickly was unlikely. A woman stood at the register counting money. It was a minute before she looked up. I thought, “okay, she didn't want to lose count but now that that's done...”

The thought was cut off by her barking an order to Keisha somewhere in the back to clock in and man the register. Mind you there were 3 other girls visible and not working. Well, To be accurate one was kind of sweeping but I wouldn't look for her on the 2012 curling team. Fine maybe these other girls aren't train on the register... So another few minutes passed while I waited for Keisha to clock in while me and four idle workers looked at each other like we were all stupid.

Finally Keisha emerges to take my order. The catch? She's wet! I'm serious. Her face and hands are wet. Oh Hell no! Like maybe she came straight from her job at Water World. I've been waiting almost 5 minutes to order, you might as well take an extra 20 seconds and towel off. The health inspection implications are endless.

I know some of you doubted me that the vibe was ghetto. Still doubt me? The burgers were pretty good by the way. Can't let a little condensation and trifling ways come between me and my bite sized pieces of heaven.

What Up Oprah!

2010-08-16T09:28:00.000-07:00

I have long since been through with rappers talking about how they charter planes. Really? And not only do they charter planes it's usually a G4 that your favorite rapper brags about hoping on with the same impunity that you display when you jump on the Manhattan bound R train. (Picadilly Line for my London crew :-) The money talk is a real drag.

But along comes a song about money, so catchy and so campy that you have no choice but to like it. I love the 'billionaire' song so much because it captures people's rich ambitions...but not really. Even when I sing it my mouth defaults to saying millionaire. Wanting to be a billionaire is like wanting to be a superhero. It's okay to dream about but too far fetched to stress about when you absolutely never become one.

The fact that the singer wants to be a billionaire so “freakin” bad suggests the singer knows the whole thing is a little silly. And that's enough for me to give him a pass. It's almost like he's singing about being a gazillionaire. Just a guy with a few free minutes playing the “what-if” game. No harm in that as long as he dusts himself off at some point and goes about his daily chores. Lawns don't cut themselves.

Every time he says “What Up Oprah!”, I giggle. It's pitch perfect irreverence. Imagine being so rich that you can shout out Oprah like she's your local skateboarder. It would be like meeting Jesus and giving him a pound while saying “What you tryin' to get in to Lord?”

The main reason for being cool with it all is the fact that Travis McCoy raps about giving the money away as opposed to making haters nauseous. (Haters must have the weakest stomachs)

I just hope the album version doesn't have “effin bad” instead of “freakin' bad” That would tarnish the whole listening experience.

What would yo do with a billion freakin' dollars?

My friend Hasan has a different opinion of my latest guilty pleasure:

Btw: the greatest hip-hop entertainer of all time flys coach...sort of.

Billionaire song By Bruno Mars and Travis McCoy

The 1st Apple

2010-08-05T14:15:00.000-07:00

I was on a train from Edinburgh, Scotland to London. We stopped in York, same York whose namesake is my hometown. I was tempted to get off and tour Old York but time and the cost of same day train tickets stopped me from disembarking in the York old.

From the looks of it, from my seat on the train, New York is quite a departure from Old York. The sequel is usually not as good but I think York Part II is a better watch. I think it's fair to say that New York could be called New and Improved York. I wonder if the people of York derive any pride from the fact that they're name spawned, arguably, the best city in the world. Or maybe they're bummed by the fact that New York has taken their name and really really ran with it. I think I would kinda root for a guy named New Dwayne, even if there was no relation. Then again if New Dwayne found the cure for Cancer or something, I could see it getting annoying having people ask me if New Dwayne was named after me.

ME: Yes, New Dwayne was named after me. Yes he cured Cancer. Yes that is amazing...but I write a blog damnit!

New York used to be called New Amsterdam...(down at the new Amsterdam. Staring at this yellow haired girl. Mr Jones Strikes up a conversation..*) A few years ago I found myself in Amsterdam and I was able to go through the original Harlem and the original Brooklyn. I definitely put my mental lighters up.

Perhaps we will discover new planets and build new cities and one of those cities could be named after my city. “Welcome To New New York.” And if we name a city after that city it could be New New New York. Good times. Do people in Mexico have a special place in their hearts for New Mexico?

An argument for York over New York from the York tourist board. How cute. Plus a little New York/York history lesson.

* Lyric from Counting Crows song “Mr Jones”, one of my top 3 pop songs of the nineties.

Can't Spell South Without The "Tea"

2010-08-02T09:14:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote a blog about the ubiquitousness of Tea in England. Not that I tested this, but I wouldn't be surprised if one could order a cup of tea at a chicken fight in England. The hard part would be finding the chicken fight. Once found however, no one would blink as you put 20 on the fowl in red and ordered an English Breakfast, heavy on the sugar.

I was initially comparing the acquisition of tea in England to the same conquest in New York or Los Angeles. Tea time in the South though is about as frequent as Haley's Comet sightings. I never knew how good I had it in La La Land. I was in Oklahoma and almost all of my tea requests were met with a confused look. As if I had actually inquired about a chicken fight.

I could not even get tea in Mcdonalds...during breakfast! I found them not carrying tea to be egregious. I found them acting like I was the weird one to expect them to carry tea to be down right silly. You serve coffee so the ability to heat water is in place. Now dip some leaves in that hot water instead of coffee beans. See Mcdonalds in Oklahoma, That wasn't hard now was it?

The profit margin on tea must be astronomical. Up to 2 dollars a cup?! I can buy a garbage bag full of tea bags for a dollar. Every cup they would sell would basically pay for all their tea inventory. I think that math precipitates all food establishments keeping a box of tea around for the occasional non-coffee warm beverage seeker.

After some thought, a more sinister explanation for my tea woes came into focus. Maybe the places carry tea but my servers were either too lazy or judgmental to whip me up a cup. Whatever the case I know I'm not weird or difficult when a country with a currency way stronger than ours chooses tea as their national drink. Cheers mate...sip...sip.

Money Ain't a Thing

2010-07-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

I have a thing for foreign currency. Other countries are leaps and bounds more creative with the design of their notes than we are. I also love that here in the states we say things like “it's all about the green” or “it's not about black and white, it's about that green” These literary jewels hinge on all our money being the same color. All the other countries I have visited have all multi-colored notes. “It's not about black or white, it's all about purple... and orange... and silver holograms...and...”

Other countries also pull from outside of the old guy in a wig box to put scenery or animals on their currency.

U.S. HUSTLER: It's all about the Benjamins baby!!
INTERNATIONAL HUSTLER: It's all about the elephants and mountain ranges and picturesque landscapes mate.

So whenever I can put a foreign note aside instead of cashing it in, without taking too big of a hit, I do it. Money can also give insight to what a nation treasures and into their history as well.

My new prized possession is a 10 million dollar bill from Zimbabwe. A 10 million dollar bill that can probably get you a cup of coffee if you're lucky. Best of all. It has an expiration date on it! Zimbabwe mainly uses US dollars as their own money has gone wayward. I'm not an expert on currency but somehow people lost faith in the Zimbabwe dollar, as money is only worth what the collective agrees it's worth. And having an expiration date on money is not exactly a ringing endorsement from the government.

Can't wait for the hit Zimbabwean game show: “Who wants to be a Gazillionaire Through the End of the Year.”

a white paper on the Zimbabwe dollar hyperinflation:

Warmest thanks to South African Comedian Tony for giving me the 10 Million dollar Bill.

Innocent Til Printed Guilty

2010-07-22T13:13:00.001-07:00

I recently drove a Cadillac Brougham from Oklahoma to Florida. Impressed? Did I mention it had no AC. Now you're impressed and confused and some of you may be hot and perturbed even thinking about traversing the stifling Bible Belt sans AC. A picnic it was not.

I use the term stifling to describe the weather conditions although I think the adjective would hold even in cool weather. A bathroom/snack break in Alabama introduced me to perhaps the best and worst thing I've seen this year. On the counter was a newspaper that reports on who's been arrested that week. The paper has no articles. Just mug shots with the crime they're charged with as captions.

The back of the “newspaper” had a full page of a before and after picture of a woman titled: “The Faces of Meth.” Needless to say the after picture looked like Gollum after an all night bender. I guess...Meth is her precious... As a tool to discourage meth use I would give it an 'A'. On the drawing pleasure from horrific sights that should be treated with a modicum of reverence lest open the reader up to bad vibes I give it an 'F'.

Now I can enjoy a Hot Mess from time to time like everyone else. Train wrecks have high entertainment value. But they are also high on negati e energy. A balance must be struck between pretending the ugly things in the world don't exist and reducing all misfortune and pain to trivial entertainment. My observation is that doing either extreme results in the wrong thing being perpetuated. Either because people, having had no exposure don't respect its power or, because overexposure and trivializing it makes people forget its power.

Arrest records are public information so this paper gets a free report, adds sensational graphics and makes money off it. I bought one to sift through and make sure it was what I thought it was. That will be the 1st and last one that I purchase. How about innocent until proven guilty. Does this paper plaster all the people who are found innocent on future issues? Not likely. With over a thousand cable stations and the entire web do people need this form of entertainment? I say it's entertainment because who really needs to know everyone in their county who was arrested the week prior? They have a right to produce the paper though. I hope we exercise our right not to buy it.

Saddest thing: One of the mug shots is of a woman who seems made up. Like she was taking a head shot instead of a mug shot. I hope people aren't calling up their friends bragging about such a dubious distinction. I hope those arrested aren't making bail and buying 8 copies of the paper on the way home to show their friends. But nothing surprises me anymore.

I have deliberately left out the name of the newspaper.

Can't Judge a Cover By its Book

2010-07-14T07:32:00.001-07:00

So I'm on a flight from Jacksonville, FL to Houston, TX on my way, ultimately, to the City of Angels. Which, my trip taught me, could also be called the city of no humidity and no mosquito ambushes. I was actually looking forward to seeing the smog cloud over downtown LA. Well, that and some Witch Hazel and Calamine lotion for nursing the bites obtained in the aforementioned flying bum rush.

There is a descending wish list that most people have in their heads when it comes to who sits next to them on an airplane. For me, No one is 1st, pretty girl 2nd, thin person 3rd and everything after that is a grin and bear it scenario. So as I sat in my window seat, I watched with abated breath as a handful of pretty girls glided down the aisle toward me. Half of which were skinny. Win-win in the airplane row mate game. In life I usually opt for a little more “cushion”. But that's neither here nor there.

As I rarely engage my adjacent travelers in conversation, “skinny eye candy!” was what I was chanting in my head as the Who's Next To Me Wheel spun. My rough estimate of the number of people at the gate made me already accept that “No One” was off the wheel.

Hope turned into disappointment when all the lovely birds walked past my row and my wheel stopped on a 6 foot 5 behemoth with broad shoulders, acid washed jeans and some sort of hybrid mullet under a Budweiser Baseball cap. He was well groomed but that did little to assuage his resemblance to the Geico cavemen. Needless to say I relinquished the arm rest.

The caveman made my jaw drop when he pulled the latest Chelsea Handler book out of his bag and started to read it. What the...? Maybe my wish was misinterpreted. Instead of sitting next to a lovely I was sitting next to a guy reading one of the lovely's book. I know Chelsea. She's brilliant, hilarious and very down to earth. I'm just surprised that my formidable friend knew that. Of course, he could have pulled out “Are You There God? It's Me Margaret” and I don't think anyone would give him any flack.

This is the way it should be. People should fight against being herded into a neat little segment that can be marketed to in neat little ways. Remember when people who sell things purport to make things “easier” for you they are probably cutting you off from a whole other world of options you may actually like and benefit from.

I look forward to the day when a Goth girl next to a motor bike rider next to a grandmother all pull out the latest book by Dwayne Perkins and share a little chuckle. Then I look forward to the day all three pull out the 2nd book by Dwayne Perkins and there's no acknowledgment or surprise. Well, maybe a little surprise that I have a 2nd book out. :-)

I'm Becoming A Stripper

2010-07-06T10:11:00.001-07:00

My apologies for the sensational title. While the title is technically true, there won't be ravenous cheering women flinging money at me any time soon. At least not in a public. I'm going to dig out an extra power outlet strip and start bringing it with me to coffee shops. I sometimes go under the moniker of “Facilitator of A Good Time.” I think facilitating electric harmony is equally important.

There's always an appreciative sigh of relief when someone produces a power strip. Bringing an end to the game of musical power outlets that naturally takes place at coffee shops; especially those in the greater Los Angeles area. I want to be the source of that ahhhh. Some people want to build low-income housing or feed the poor. I want to prevent hipsters from losing their data. If America's next great screenplay isn't on my laptop at least I can provide electricity for the laptop that it is on. Of course I run the risk of powering up the machine that brings the world the next greatly lame reality show.

The daytime coffee shop is a sea of individuals gathered but often not connected. Things like chess and power strips builds community. So I think it's fair to say I'm becoming a community activist. Right? I am a man of the people and my new plan is an extremely minor way to “stick it to the man.” I'm sure the bean counters at your favorite coffee shop have calculated their costs based on the number of outlets they have in the store. They probably didn't account for a power supply Robin Hood taking power from the rich and giving it to the ironic.

I will limit my electric siphoning when I'm in mom and pop establishments. And please if you're on my power strip, no solitaire. I strip for workers.

Root, Root Root For The Away Team...

2010-06-30T16:04:00.000-07:00

I recently went to see my beloved Yankees play the Dodgers in Dodger Stadium. I like the Dodgers but I love the Yankees. The Dodgers pulled a fast one and only offered the Yankee tickets as a part of a package. To see the one game I really cared about I had to buy tickets to 14 games. I only felt slightly manipulated as I love going to baseball games.

So, wanting to see the Yankees precipitated buying tickets to 14 games which precipitated buying bleacher tickets which precipitated me fearing for my life when I wore my Yankees hat to said bleachers. The egotistic, nonsensical New Yorker in me thought that Dodger Stadium would be completely overtaken by Yankee fans. Like it would basically be a Yankee home game that just happened to be taking place 3,000 miles away from New York. Maybe the 1st baseline was overrun with Yankee Blue but the bleachers offered no safe haven for Yankee faithfuls. There was just enough Yankee fans in the bleachers to make noise, band together and get completely drowned out by the bleacher Dodger rowdies. Sometimes having a small contingent is worse than having none at all. With no one to help you have no options but a small contingent may give you just enough confidence to engage in an un-winnable war. Did I just channel Sun Tsu?

LA fans are notoriously docile. I've out cheered my whole section at Laker games. Even other parts of Dodger Stadium are littered with hummus eating fans who arrive in the 3rd inning and leave after the 7th. The bleachers can be equally disengaged with the game but they replace game watching with booing, threats and occasional violence. For 9 innings straight, every Yankee fan that stood up or clapped was met with a chorus of boos and profanities.

So the Dodger fans gave us crap the whole game. What could we do but jar back? We're New Yorkers after all. As Mariano Rivera came in to save the game for the Yankees. I started to think a Yankee win may be be a Dwayne loss. I escaped unscathed but I may have to spring for better tickets next year. I'm a man of the people but maybe I can't sit with them at baseball games.

Break, For Love

2010-06-09T02:40:00.000-07:00

One minute you’re at a bus stop in Birmingham, England enjoying the violin playing of a street musician. The next minute you’re at a bus stop in Birmingham, England watching break dancers break to violin music and you don’t care if the bus never comes.

So, some breakers set up shop right next to a street musician and the result was a brilliant piece of audio-visual living street art. I’m not sure if the breakers and the violin player are a package but they should be. The blaring violin juxtaposed with the acrobatic feats better showcased the dancing than hip-hop would have. Hip Hop can be abrasive but the moments were fluid and smooth. At first what seemed like a contrast proved to be a parallel. Two forms of art that both take physical discipline and control coming together. Each making it easier to appreciate the other.

The best thing was that the dancers and the violinist, though definitely putting their talents on display, seemed wildly content with the act of doing regardless what onlookers may have thought. There’s power in doing something for yourself, sans chest pounding.

I almost envied the woman who missed the bus. Enjoy the clip.

Good Fortune

2010-06-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

I hope you caught my mention on the NBC nightly news. NBC happened to be in the Studio during an interview I did on a South African Radio Station. Shout out to KAYA Fm. I’ve been accused of having a horseshoe up my butt. You won’t hear any argument from me. I am lucky and I’m the first to admit it. One day you’re on a, dare I say, World Tour, albeit humble, and the next you’re on NBC national news back in your home country on a story about the biggest sporting event in all of sports. One day I’ll share more of my past but all this is very improbable if you knew my whole story. I’m not into the sob stories. I’d rather focus on the come-up. Anyhoo, Here’s a link to the story and a rap about my good fortune.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032619/ns/nightly_news#37541224

SERENDIPITY:
Serendipity drips over me paint me lucky
Right place at the right pace ain’t it lovely
When things fall in place, good grace seems to touch me
my ace keeps me safe it’s apparent that he loves me
reparations for past situations float above me
So I Stay in sunlight even night bounces off me
my past seems distant but it’s with me like an anchor
so I’m close to shore even on a world tour
no spiritual drift cause I’m aware of my gifts
treat’em with care like it’s December 26th
really no complaints it’s my family that I miss
never been a saint but the cameras say I’m this
Humbly I accept piggy back on my efforts
follow in my steps feelin’ blessed is what you left with
when those blessings come will you recognize them
I count mine daily so I’m rarely criticizing

My World Cup Take on NBC Nightly News

2010-06-07T06:42:00.000-07:00

Hey Guys,

Just wanted to share with you a piece that ran on the NBC nightly news featuring me in South Africa speaking on The World Cup.

Enjoy,
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032619/ns/nightly_news#37541224

Ask Stephen Hawking (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-06-07T06:20:00.000-07:00

QSN: I wanted to add a quick side note here. If you do nothing else make sure you read the link below about Stephen Hawking and health care. Cheers.

I’m not at all familiar with the work of Stephen Hawking. I know his work relates to space and time, I think. I’m told even attempting to understand Hawkings can send an average man running for a bottle of aspirin and a hug from his mom. I stay away from intellectual pursuits that I’m unsure of. Not very brave I know but at least I can say that I might understand Mr. Hawkings’ theories if I ever have the chance to look through them. (replace time with courage.) This is the same reason I won’t take the test for Mensa. I don’t want to labeled a genius anyway. Well, not officially at least.

I am struck with a question though that is so simple it borders on genius: Why don’t we have Stephen Hawking explain the financial situation once and for all and make some solid recommendations. We have the world’s preeminent brain breaking down blackholes. How about some help with Detroit? I say we tell Steve, we’ll listen to your spiel about aliens to your hearts desire but 1st what say you on outsourcing?

I wouldn’t be surprised if he has already chimed in with something people didn’t want to hear or let be heard.

Einstein had some choice words about over consumption.

I didn’t find anything on Hawking and the economy but he did sort of chime in on health care

I’m Packing (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-06-04T10:22:00.000-07:00

I don’t want this blog to sound too much like the faux motivational speech George Clooney gives in the Movie “Up In the Air.” However I recently went through a massive lifeboat exercise of sorts. I packed for a 7 week trip and only brought a carry on suitcase and a book bag stuffed to the rim. Also in the suitcase, taking up precious clothes space, were 40 copies of my comedy CD “Dwayne Perkins To The Rescue.”

How many people reading this blog can boast such an achievement? Packing is basically creating an all-star team of your clothes.

ME: Black Sambas, you get to represent Me on my great Europe-Africa tour, congratulations. And to all you other sneakers, thanks so much for trying out. You should be proud.

Sometimes choice breeds confusion and inefficiency. I’ve been a well oiled machine on this tour. Picking an all star clothes team isn’t only about having the best pieces. It’s picking the pieces that best fit together. The shirt that can be worn in casual and dressy situations. The blazer that you can wear to a business meeting or the dance club, without looking like you came from a business meeting.

For my two month trip I chose some select items to carry me through. It reads like a complete wardrobe because of the combinations. What if we had to do this with friends, or jobs or entertainment? Dwindle it down to what or who you would engage if all of a sudden a cap was put on said thing. I’m not suggesting you ditch friends or throw out your Dukes of Hazzard season 3 DVD but do you know what you would part with if you had to?

Brooklyn, We Go Too Hard (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-06-03T11:54:00.000-07:00

So my South African shows have been a hoot. I’ve kicked it in Soweto, The Brooklyn of Jo-burg. I’ve partied. I’ve grocery shopped. I’ve caught a bit of World Cup Fever…Achoo.

I’m not looking at this city through rosy glasses but the danger wrap that Johannesburg gets is over stated. All the dwellings have electric fences around them but don’t many of ours have fences around them too? Every place I’ve lived in LA has had a fence around it and not the white picketed variety.

In a moment of endearment for the city, and science, I decided to prove my point on stage at my show. I told them that I live in an “Adjacent” neighborhood. So all my comings and goings really take place in the neighborhood next to my hood. My hood is quiet but there is a shall we say “element.”

To drive my point home harder than an Alex Rodriguez line drive, I asked the crowd if any of them knew more than 5 people who have been shot. In the crowd of ~50 no one knew over 5 gun shot victims. I proceeded to tell them as I’m telling you that I know well over 20, maybe over 30. I’m not vying for street cred here but I personally know or knew through school, family, my neighborhood over 20 people who have had lead fillings sans anesthesia. Which place is more dangerous again?

I’m not unique in this fact. Everyone in my hood would boast the same stats. So would anyone from The South side of Chicago, Philly, Los Angeles (south of the 10 freeway), Detroit…
So, which place is more dangerous again? I don’t think about it that often when I’m eating scones in my local coffee shop in Eagle Rock, CA playing Spider Solitaire but I shouldn’t know that many victims. And none of the shootings happened during military action. Just around the way gorilla warfare a. Ride around your city for a while. You might discover you’re more 3rd World adjacent than you thought.

The Yolks on Me (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-06-03T09:45:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to eat healthy in places outside of the U.S. Well, that’s if you’re trying to make your body look like your favorite action hero. Jason Statham, for those keeping score at home. However it’s a lot easier to eat healthy outside of the US if you’re simply trying to be reasonably fit. The latter tidbit can be attributed to smaller portion size and occasional walking on the part of our foreign counterparts. Our mixture of gargantuan portions and lack of exercise of any body part other than our thumbs and index mouse clicking finger has super sized our nation.

Since the U.S. is about extremes, we juxtapose our collective girth with a sizeable contingent of health nuts. People who don’t eat any bread, or refined sugar, and freak if anything that enters their oral cavity has any taste whatsoever. Surely, if there’s taste, there’s fat. Other places are just moderate. People eat decent portion sizes and go for walks. Done and done. No need to workout like Arnold or eat like Kate Moss.

This was highlighted when I asked the proprietor of my South African Bed & breakfast for egg whites. She had no idea what I was talking about. She’s pushing 50 and doesn’t know the term egg white! That’s because they eat the whole egg. The idea of tossing half the egg is so foreign to them that it’s laughable. And she’s in great shape. I doubt that she hits a spin class tree times a week. The proprietor asked her daughter about these strange “egg whites” and the daughter’s instant response was, “He must be American.“ So we’re known as fat people who eat egg whites? We’re a walking contradiction.

For extreme results, it takes extreme measures. But if you’re moderate from the beginning you’ll never need extreme results. Extremes make for good stories but moderation makes for a good life.

Color Me Human (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-06-02T07:16:00.000-07:00

So one hold over of South Africa’s apartheid is an oddly specific classification of people based on color. There are many people who in the US would be called black but in South Africa are called “colored.” So basically colored people are mixed, Think Collin Powell. But it’s not simply based on skin tone. Sometimes a colored person can be shades darker than a black person. Those people are considered Dark Coloreds. Huh? It comes down to language and even you’re pitch black but you speak only Afrikans (the language of the Settlers based on Dutch) then you are colored. Meaning somewhere along the way you’re pure African lineage must have been broken. Coloreds also lived separately from blacks and thus didn’t retain or learn any of the tribal languages.

The US had the field slave versus the house slave. That was often based on skin color but I can’t help but marvel at South Africa’s formalized system. I can’t figure out if it’s more racist or less racist because the settlers were at least acknowledging their own blood on some level. Were the US oppressors more racists, less racists or simply lazy when they just decided anyone with an ounce of black in them would be considered black.

The whole thing is silly. Perhaps the black population in South Africa dictated a stronger “divide and conquer” approach.

I had a colored guy after a show spend 10 minutes trying to convince me that I was colored. See, most of my SA crew is black and they assure me I am black. I think it’s because they like me. They waiver on Beyonce and are torn on Chris Brown’s black status. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time running names by them to see where they would fit. It’s a lot of fun.

The colored guy actually looked a lot like my cousin Haywood and to be honest the characteristics of colored people in SA is similar to those of blacks in the US. We both seem to suffer from identity crisis. Them because they never really fit in anywhere and us because we were striped of our culture and basically had to create a new culture which is still a work in progress.

In case you’re wondering I consider myself black, even here in SA. I feel a kinship toward the black people here. My advice would be for the coloreds in SA is to reassimilate into the black community. I of course am woefully unqualified to say this and it probably opens a can of worms over a century old. Or we can have the coloreds move to the US where they be black to there hearts desire. Either way they can’t be white. That’s what started this whole mess to begin with.

For American blacks we need to keep our black title. It anchors us and every body needs an anchor. Not sure who celebrated harder, the blacks or the coloreds, when Barack won.

Going My Way?

2010-06-01T09:49:00.001-07:00

So I recently wrote two blogs about a run-in on a bus between a passenger and the bus driver. This all went down in Birmingham, England. What I failed to share in either blog is that I got off the bus two towns too soon.

I went to a Subway and ordered a meatball something or other and asked for directions. The guy in line ahead of me told me I was way off and then offered to drive me there. I hopped in.

Then two days ago here in Johannesburg I was lugging my groceries back to my Bed and Breakfast when a guy who was at one of my shows pulled up and told me to hop in. I hopped in.

I’ve been the recipient of quite a few citizen taxi rides. I was once driven from a chicken spot called Mama’s in rough area of Chicago to safer pastures. (The tasty fried bird was well worth the voyage into the wrong side of town.)

I don’t recommend car hopping to my readers. I have a good sense of people (knock on wood), a third eye if you will. I have also done some citizen taxing myself.

I once drove a lady home to an area in LA called The Jungle. This is where the “I’m King Kong” scene of the movie Training Day was shot. And this was way back when it was still “The Jungle.”

I don’t hitchhike, but if you offer a hitch I might forgo my hike.

I Have A Dream…I Still Have A Dream (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-06-01T00:37:00.000-07:00

So lately I have been having dreams within my dreams. So basically I’m having a dream, wake-up and then I’m still in a dream, and then I wake up from that dream and I’m actually awake. Is this common?

It’s like, I’ve emerged from my 2nd level dream, stretched and commented on what a crazy dream that was, made some tea (loose leaf) and then turned to the talking chair and discussed sports before waking out of that dream only to do it all over again. Minus the talking chair.

So I did what any red blooded American would do. I googled “dream within a dream.” I came across a website that explains dreams called dreammoods.com. I’m Not sure if they are the preeminent expert dream people but they did go through the trouble of buying a dreamy domain name so they probably know more than me. Apparently, your subconscious does this to protect the dreamer from waking up and the inner dream is usually about a crucial hidden issue that needs to be dealt with...Now if I could only remember what happened in my dream’s dream. I got nothing.

My concern is how many levels deep can this thing go. How can I ever really know if I’m awake? Maybe I’m asleep right n

Push My Buttons

2010-05-30T23:32:00.000-07:00

Surely it can’t still be cool to push an unsuspecting person into a pool. You still see it in movies but with all the cell phones, flash drives and cameras in the world pushing someone in a pool could be the equivalent of taking all their worldly belongings. It’s time for movies to stop portraying this kind of vandalism as harmless horse play. If you push me in a pool you better make sure I have none of my electronic gadgets on me because after I finish crying…that’s your ass.

When I see this act being done in a movie or TV show I always think, how irresponsible of the producers to not make it clear that in this make believe world the pusher had already ensured that the pushee’s iPhone was under his chair. Or at least show the pusher suffering a terrible fate for not checking first.

PUSHEE: My blackberry is soaked. I'ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin' bros, who'll go to work on you with a pair of pliers and a blow torch…

I suppose if you suppose your friends have jerk tendencies then you should make any body of water a no electronics or cashmere sweater zone.

Scoot Over

2010-05-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

I was caught up in complete scooter fever while in Rome. Every block is littered with Vespas. Business men scoot to work. Young women scoot to meet their BFFs. It’s a scene man. They also have stores that sell Vespa apparel. I considered buying some Vespa gear but then I thought I better hold off until the day I actually get a Scooter. There’s got to be a special place in poser hell for people who front like they ride a scooter. That would be like telling people you reached a higher level in Dungeons and Dragons than you really did. What’s the point really?

When I do get a scooter, if my current spending pattern is still in place, I probably won’t buy a Vespa anyway. Then I would be the guy with the Vespa gear rolling in a Vespa knock off. That’s even worse than not having a scooter. That would be like putting your Hyuandai keys on a Mercedes key ring. There are some cases where “fake it ‘til you make it” simply doesn’t apply.

Then again riding a Vespa while wearing Vespa apparel may be akin to over accessorizing. I think I will get that Vespa T-shirt and stand tall in the face of scrutiny from real Vespa riders and people who would clown me either way. I wear a Yankee jersey and I don’t play for them. Here we go Vespa….Here we go!

King of Wistful Thinking

2010-05-28T16:19:00.000-07:00

A few days back I found myself in a melancholy mood. Somehow these moods are often accompanied by me listening to Go West’s “King of Wishful Thinking” over and over. I’m not sure if the mood sent me in search of the song or the song puts me in the mood. Probably a little of both.

I was chomping on an apple watching the video on youtube (I guess you could say it was melancholy light, same great “melan” with only half the “choly.”) Suddenly my self indulgent state of slight glum was shifted to curiosity. My self-indulgence was broke by an observation…
Guys with receding hairlines used to be allowed on MTV. And not just as the parent of a spoiled 16 year old. They were allowed to be the stars, the front men even. Here was Go West’s front man donning a hair recession in a video that was a big hit and surely got VH1 love but probably some MTV “strong like.”

Then I thought about all the early MTV acts that were full fledged adults: Dire straits, ZZ Top, Bruce Springsteen, and so on. Of course many of these acts predated MTV and were already stars. So when MTV started they needed to incorporate acts with strong name recognition. Somewhere along the way MTV realized they could manufacture stars in house. Especially since they owned the channels of distribution. We’re talking vertical integration here folks.

Also, I think the MTV of yester year predates, but not by much, our absolute worship of youth and the young. We all desire youth and the further away you get from it the closer you get to the grim reaper. (Probably why I’m doing the P90X workout routine ;-)) But when I was a teen I had something to look forward to … and I still do, thank you very much. Now all the youth have to celebrate is youth but even an immortal teen or twenty something knows deep inside that youth is fleeting. I worry about having 22 year olds who think their best days are behind them. At the same time 50 year olds are trying to wear skinny jeans. Funny it seems we’re extending youth and condensing it all at the same time.

MTV: please let guys with receding hairlines back on your network. Maybe they won’t feel the need to tuck their jeans into their high top Nikes if you do.

Size Matters

2010-05-27T10:57:00.001-07:00

Okay, I went to Rome, maybe the most important city ever in the history of civilization and so far I’ve written two blogs about run-ins with panhandlers. Mi perdoni l'Italia. Of course Rome has much more to offer than skillful beggars. The coliseum, the forum, the Vatican, majestic structures that are clear evidence of man’s intellect, boldness and faith.

This blog isn’t about any of that though. Rome is proliferated with scooters, smart cars and such. At first sight, to my American eyes, it looked like the city was a great big bumper car ride that someone had decided to build a city around. I’ve long since yearned for a scooter but friends nudged me away from the idea. LA being a sea of SUVs, they didn’t have to nudge very hard. A smart car would be safer if you don’t mind waiving your manhood and being shun by the community.

Here I was in Italy, where machismo was born and it’s perfectly okay for a man to ride a scooter or a smart car. I grew up next to an Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn. Nothing girlie about that hood or its inhabitants. Especially on Friday night if they’d been drinking.

It’s called smart for a reason but even the name can evoke jeers in the US where smart has somehow become synonymous with suspicious and elitist. Rome moves with grace and efficiency in no small part due to the small car sizes. I’m not saying we should all trade in our SUVs for smart cars. Just the people who have absolutely no need for SUVs should. Then again I completely understand feeling like you need an SUV just to drive and have a fighting chance amongst all the other SUVs. I still don’t have my scooter after all.

I just don’t know how success or manhood became dependent on car size and horse power. We need a champion UFC fighter to endorse smart cars. I’m not sure If I’m quite tough enough to turn the tide.

When The Lights Go Down In The City (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-05-26T15:25:00.000-07:00

I was actually writing my blog about how England conserves energy when the lights in my bed & breakfast here in Johannesburg went out. I was scared at first. Every residence in Johannesburg is fenced in by electric wire. No electricity, no electric wires. My imagination combined with my inclination to worry, inherited from my mother, made me initially assume the worst. I made makeshift provisions for the ambush. I put on all my jackets, grabbed the biggest knife and a can of pork & beans. The beans were to be used for projectile weaponry not sustenance. Though I probably should have grabbed the can opener as a plan B. I actually have a long history of using cans to make my point. More on that in a later blog perhaps.

I was brought down from my unnecessary and completely inadequate war preparation by the proprietor of the B&B knocking on my door to give me a candle. She said it was somewhat common and the lights would be back on in a jiffy. Los Angeles often has rolling blackouts in the summer so I should be used to it instead of going into Armageddon mode.

It was 830pm. I had 3 hours of charge left on my laptop but no internet. What if the lights never came back on? My laptop would became a snazzy paperweight. The lights were off for a little over an hour but it felt like a day. It was 9pm and I was considering going to bed. I can count on my hands how many times I went to bed before 2am last year. What did people do before electricity?! And don’t say board games. You can’t play quality Pictionary in shoddy oil lamp lighting.

The blackout reminded me how precarious and precious things are. It also reminded me that I must re-implement my project to hook my stationary bike up to a generator and harness my own energy…literally

Bent on Being Like Beckham (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-05-25T08:40:00.000-07:00

I can proudly say that I am not often envious of people. Even in the rare times when I find myself coveting I can usually put the brakes on before I spiral into full playa hatin‘. I especially don’t envy people’s wardrobes. I’m more than okay with my assortment of sneakers (currently anchored by my black Adidas Sambas, Black on White Shell Toes and all white Starbury‘s). I get no complaints on my track jackets (my East German Army one being the jewel of the bunch). And my blazer T-shirt look pops with hip-hop inspired Teruo shirts underneath. Teruo is a Los Angeles based clothing company that currently makes the coolest shirts in all the land.

Pardon the run down of my wardrobe staples. I just wanted to establish that I’m conscious of my attire and for the most part I’m cool with it. I don’t see rappers and run out to Macys. R&B singers don’t make me doubt myself. Even Athletes don’t shake my foundation.

Well, except for one. I find myself catching Beckham on the tellie from time to time and always thinking, “Where did he get that?!” Married men don’t usually trump single men in dressing. The married men, for all intents and purposes, are done impressing. Maybe it’s the Posh effect but Beckham has some mean threads. And I’ve never seen him wear anything twice. You can see me rock my East German Army Jacket all over Youtube and even on my CD cover. Heck, I’m wearing it as I type this blog.

So here’s what I propose: I want David Beckham to give me his clothes he no longer plans on wearing. I don’t want the shirt off his back, just the one in his hamper. I think it’s fair time A-listers pass on their clothes to the E and F-listers. What about the poor Dwayne? I got that covered. I’ll give them my clothes. You can’t go from shirtless to Beckham’s shirt. It’s too big of a leap. Going from nothing to so much style may cause internal riffs in the wearer. My clothes will be a manageable step up.

So why am I telling you? Because I want you to help me get this message to Beckham. They say there are only 6 degrees of separation that means I know someone who knows someone who knows someone….

Who knows maybe Beckham already gives his hand me downs to Ryan Seacrest or Mario Lopez*. Well, there’s a new boy in town and he’s feeling good and wants to look good in Beckham’s old clothes.

Seriously though, how many times do you think he wears a given outfit? I say four max. Don’t let me down Blog-o-sphere let’s get ya boy dressed smart like an English bloke.

*I’m not saying Ryan or Mario are E listers, btw.

Beg Like there’s No One Watching (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-05-25T02:20:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote blog about a girl panhandler on the Rome metro. Her technique and style was so honed I figured I had seen the best Italy had to offer in the world of panhandling

Every once in a great while someone or thing comes along and revolutionizes a field. We call them game changers. The forward pass in football. The windows graphic user interface in computing, The juice box in beverage containment.

I think I witnessed the new standard of panhandling. It was like seeing Nirvana at a bar in Seattle in 1991 and instantly knowing that change is a comin’. A guy got on the metro reeking like fried dog pooh. Or at least what I imagine fried dog pooh would smell like. He had a low growl and was agape with very little in the way of saliva control. He then mumbled some garble. I’m sure even the native Italian speakers could not make out every word but we all got the gist. Then, he took out a harmonica and simply blew in and out as if it was a kazoo. After gracing us with the smell, speech and harmonica recital he produced a collection cup. It was either the funniest or saddest thing, depending on your level of cynicism. I don’t think myself a cynic but I must to say I was squarely on team funny.

Here’s the genius, some people pay because they feel sorry, others pay in hopes the donation will encourage him to leave their vicinity.

As if that wasn’t entertaining enough another panhandler was also on the metro. An older man with an accordion. The accordion was spread open and ready to play when Grunt boy went into action. The accordion player, knowing he was bested, closed his accordion, put away his cup and got off the train. My guess is he went and got a job. Like a champion boxer who fights one fight too many I think he realized his time had passed. That, or he got off fuming at the utter lack of decency displayed by the harmonica blower… In my day there was a code to begging….

I figure the authenticity of the young begger was a 50/50 call. I chose to think it was a put on. I had so many questions for him: why the harmonica, do you have to wait 3 days to get funky or have you somehow infused the funk into your outfit, where can I get the best low-priced pizza…

Now we need to get the girl and harmonica dude on the same train for a beg off. Get the pay-per-view people on the phone.

Waste Not, Want Not

2010-05-24T12:49:00.000-07:00

I’m always amazed at how wasteful the US is compared to most of the world. We run through napkins at Starbucks and McDonalds like the Tasmanian Devil. It’s like every napkin becomes contaminated with cuddies upon making contact with our mouths and to fold it or use another part of said napkin would put us in grave danger.

But the wastefulness doesn’t stop there. We leave lights on like we’re expecting extra terrestrials to stop by and need a beacon of light to guide them in. I’m guilty of it too. I sometimes leave my television on in hotel rooms when I’m gone just to avoid the God-Awful Hotel menu station that pops up whenever you turn on a hotel TV. Wasteful, but that hotel menu station is painful to watch and good luck finding TBS again.

The contrast is stark when you travel overseas. Lights are all on timers, hotel rooms require the key to be inserted into a slot for the electricity to work in the room (which also drastically cuts down on key misplacement) and don’t even think about getting more than one napkin with any food order.

You might expect this type of miserly approach from a place low in resources. A place that might not have enough napkins to go around or operates on generators installed around the time the hula hoop came out. But the place I’m describing is London. I wouldn’t be surprised if London used ½ the electricity and paper that New York uses. Even the soda cups are smaller.

For a person visiting the US our portions and general approach to everything must seem like a stop over in Wonderland. When traveling abroad it takes a day to adjust but then you realize that unless you’re really throwing down some serious barbecue, one napkin is more than enough and your hotel doesn’t need to be illuminated for your imaginary friend (let her imagine the light J

I can’t see us changing our ways significantly anytime soon but until we stop binge eating at buffets, driving humongous cars we don’t need and wearing white sneakers with khakis, we’re going to be the butt of a lot of jokes on the international scene.

Not to worry though I’m spreading coolness everywhere I go to counter the khaki effect…well me and Mos Def.

The Entertainer Has Become The Entertained (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-05-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how we are always on the prowl for entertainment and good times. All over the world people clock out on Friday, leave their place of business and turn their attention to the business of having fun. Sometimes they find themselves in a comedy club. Then it’s up to me and my peers to provide the good times. We proudly oblige them.

Being a part of the entertainment wing of the services industry means I’m working during the peak hours when others are consuming entertainment and in the midst of so called good times. This by no means means I get skimped on being entertained.

For the best things in life truly are free and if you haven’t tried going out some nights without drinking, I highly recommend it. As a non-drinker I can tell you that the joy I get from watching drunk people usually far outweighs the annoyance factor from suffering them. It’s legal voyeurism. I’ve seen friends throw up on friends in San Francisco, people bloody and sobering up from their injuries in England (she wasn’t really injured btw), people shirtless in the freezing cold in Chicago.

It’s the best form of entertainment. Completely real and unconscious of itself. I think every person who gets completely wasted should be videoed and forced to watch the video the next day while nursing their hang over. Then again that might take away from my entertainment.

People tend to be suspicious of the person not drinking. For they will truly remember what happened the night before.

A Whole New World (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-05-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote a blog about a run-in between a bus driver and passenger in Birmingham, England. The passenger had the last word as he said, “Welcome to the real world” just before exiting. I guess my question is did hearing that statement usher in the driver’s arrival into the real world? Or, was he already in the real world and not aware of it as no one had formally welcomed him? Kind of like driving to Las Vegas and missing the “Welcome to Nevada” sign. You may not know it but you are in Nevada. The different color police cars are the best proof of that fact.

I think when people say welcome to the real world they think it will have a profound affect on their listener. As if that lone statement will cause the person it was directed to to do a complete 180. Change their ways, as per the welcome-er.

FRIEND: Bill you’ve changed? Is it your hair?
BILL: No, I finally joined the real world.
FRIEND: Thank God! I was afraid to tell you. Feels good right?
BILL: Feels great! I’m a little bummed that now I can be affected by gravity. I’ll miss stepping off cliffs and not falling.

The next time you’re tempted to welcome someone into the real world (and basically play God) try saying “It is what it is” Instead. It’s way cooler and just ambiguous enough to be open for interpretation and not make you sound like an A-hole.

Signore! Signora!

2010-05-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

I was recently on the metro train in Rome. The one in Italy not New York. The Rome metro is awesome. Italy only has a few lines on their metro but the subway cars don’t have doors at either end in between. Just a circle that each car can swivel on. So if the train is going straight you can see unobstructed straight through from one end of the train to the other.

This makes for very easy movement from one subway car to the next. In New York you either have to walk in between the cars, hitched together by a very big bolt and 2-3 bank style stanchion ropes with a lot of slack preventing you from going overboard as long as you put absolutely no weight on them. The other option is to wait until the train stops and run from one car to the other. Probably dozens of people each day do this and for some reason or other don’t make it to the next car. Not only must they wait for the next train, they also must brunt the shame and ridicule of the stationary passengers riding by them saying “what an idiot” with their eyes and mouths.

The Rome metro setup is perfect for panhandlers. I was on the train all of 5 minutes before a very young girl of 11-14 years old came into the car, dropped to her knees and shrieked “Signore! Signora!….” I couldn’t understand but my brain heard…“me-a so-a poor-a”…

She went to each person in the car with her hand out and the biggest, saddest eyes I’ve seen since this woman who used to come into the 24 hour Fitness I worked in without a valid membership and stare at me uncomfortably until I let her in.

I didn’t give the girl money because I don’t like pulling out any money in public. Especially in a place I don’t know well with currency I don’t know well.

No donation notwithstanding, I marveled at the girl’s technique. I’ve seen my fair share of panhandling and this young girl has already honed her craft. I wish I had given her money. Not because I felt bad for her but for the entertainment value. As I got off the train I could vaguely hear her in the next car…”Signore! Signora!….”

Go England! Get Busy (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

2010-05-20T09:41:00.000-07:00

I’m writing this blog from a Bed & Breakfast in South Africa while Vampire Weekend’s plays from my laptop speakers. I have their song “Horchata” on loop, in lieu of not having any. South Africa is home of the 2010 FIFA World Cup. It always makes for a great story if the home team wins. But even the locals here know that Bafana Bafana* winning it all is a massive long shot. So besides South Africa winning and instantly becoming the feel good story of the decade, I would have to say I’m going for England. Even though the English, like Red Sox fans, seem to revel in losing, I think a country so dedicated and in love with soccer is due for a victory on the game’s grandest stage.

I don’t know enough about soccer to know if England has a legitimate shot or not but it would be cool. Although I would not want to be a part of the clean up committee there if they do win. Why not good ole US of A? It would be awesome if we won and I’m told we have a fighting chance. But how American of us would it be to win the biggest event in a sport that’s not even our 4th most popular sport. Soccer is currently 6th or 7th in the states, maybe. Nestled snugly between WWF (which is not even real) and Lacrosse (also, not real. A stick with a net at the end? Really?!)

Case for the U.S. winning? The U.S. winning the World Cup could do wonders to further soccer’s rise in the states. The term “soccer mom” has been in our lexicon for the past twenty years so it makes sense that some those “soccer kids” would have kept up with the sport.

I just hate it when a person or team that couldn’t care less beats out people with real passion about something. That’s why I’ve never taken up the harp. What if I’m a harp prodigy? How awful would it be for me to sit there at the philharmonic with the other harp players who’ve dedicated their lives to the harp, while I’m eating Funions and reading a comic book in the much coveted 1st harp chair.

And after the show when we go for drinks and the other harpists start sharing horrible harp teacher stories and they turn to me and I tell them I’m self taught, how annoyed do you think they would be? The rest of the world are those harp players. Go England.

Lawn Jockeying

2010-05-19T06:16:00.000-07:00

So today I did my P90X routine in a small park in London, well more like a big garden with a nice lawn. The Plyometrics routine consists of a lot of jumping. I was staying in a 200 year old rickety building and not sure if the people below me were in the mood to hear the pounding of my 190lb frame landing over and over and over. So I figured I would tip toe through the tulips across the street.

It was a glorious day for outdoor jumping: Perfect weather, plush green lawn, vibrant flowers emitting agreeable scents. The only way it could have been better was if I had a ghetto blaster accompaniment blaring either Kriss Kross’s “Jump Jump” and/or House of Pain’s “Jump”. Yes, I said better.

About 3 quarters way through my serene vigor some landscaping guys came in to do some sprucing. A frequent occurrence, I’d imagine given this park’s, appearance. Although they were basically gardening and I was doing the “mother of all P90X” routines (as dubbed by Tony Horton, the P90X man himself), I still thought to myself that these blokes were way more manly than me. Sure I could probably do more jump squats than either one but they were working with earth. They were installing grass, moving dirt, pushing wheel barrels using leveling devices and digging with shovels. The very things my workout was meant to emulate and substitute, given my sedentary coffee shop, comedy club lifestyle.

And me? Well, I had to do a Google Image search on “gardening tools” to figure out that thing they were moving the dirt in was called a wheel barrel.

Sad, but boy is my core strong.

World Tour With Muhammad My Man

2010-05-18T09:59:00.001-07:00

So two weeks into my World tour and I’ve finally decided to call it a World Tour. I was reluctant to use that moniker as there’s no affiliation to Live Nation, No ticket stubs, backstage passes, groupies or crowds waving lighters but I am touring the world doing comedy so flipping the word “tour” and “world” is not at all a stretch.

There’s a time to be humble and a time to strut your stuff. Friends tell me my strut count is anemic. Today, while talking to a friend of a friend here in London he remarked on how cool it must be to be on a world tour. I shrugged it off. He seemed a bit thrown by my nonchalance. He mentioned how for some comics getting a few spots in New York is a big deal.

He’s right. There must be dozens of comics right now who would sell their little brother for a few minutes at the Chuckle Farm in Topeka. (FYI Topeka doesn’t have a Chuckle Farm but you get my point) I’m performing in England, South Africa and Scotland and I actually had to turn down a gig in Bahrain because it didn’t line up right. That would have really been hurtful if I could have done the Bahrain gig.

So…I am in the middle of a World Tour. I hope it sounds more convincing coming out of my mouth then it feels in my head. I’ll slowly embrace it. Maybe someone could have a “Good Will Hunting” moment with me and keep telling me I’m on a World Tour until I break down in cheers and finally admit it.

Shout out to Owen, a New Yorker in London who encouraged me to strut.

Tea Time

2010-05-17T07:22:00.000-07:00

While crossing the street here in London is still a dangerous proposition for this fast walking New Yorker who’s still looking left for traffic coming from the right, the ubiquitousness of tea almost makes up for the life size game of frogger I must play every time I take a step off the side walk.

It’s quite liberating to be in a country where you can literally have tea in any drinking situation. No cackles from the peanut gallery when I straddle up to a bar and ask for hot tea. No dear in the headlights look from the pubescent headphone wearing sandwich maker at Subway when I ask for Earl Grey with my value meal. This must be what Harry Potter felt like when he first stepped foot into Diagon Alley, “Finally, I’m normal”. Even the construction workers here drink tea, PG Tips. It’s their house blend but in the states PG Tips is some gourmet ish.*

Somehow tea is not considered manly but England conquered the whole world sipping tea with their pinkies out. I think we need 50 Cent to sip on Earl Grey in his next video. Maybe come out with his own brand of tea. Ja ja ja Darjeeling!!

England is the country that basically spawned us. When did we give up the tea drinking? Perhaps we lost the taste for it that cold day back on December 16th 1773 when we dumped all the British tea into the Boston Harbor. Great day for America but a bad day for tea and some 200 years later, for me as well.

And to make matters way worse, a new band of crazies with twisted facts and misinformation are running around associating themselves to my favorite aromatic hot water infusion. The nerve!

*ish - slang for Sugar Honey Ice Tea

Mind Blowing Bloke

2010-05-16T16:20:00.000-07:00

So I was in the green room at a show in Worcester, England and one of the other comics was prepping for a whole new act he had been working on. Apparently he had taught himself to be a mind reader. It’s not everyday you meet a mind reader let alone a self-taught mind-reader. Being comics, the rest of us were of course cynical. Being entertainers, we were supportive of a fellow entertainer and we couldn’t knock the hustle.

So our funny medium gave us a huge book of all the works William Shakespeare and told us to open to any page. We obliged and the mind reader proceeded to read the mind of the comic holding the book from across the room and pretty much guessed a word on the top of each column of the page the book was opened to.

Of course we flipped through the book to make sure that it wasn’t in fact filled with just that same page. It wasn’t. We were thoroughly impressed, not buying the mind reading angle, but impressed nonetheless with the trick.

Then it dawned on me just how lucky slash odd my life is. I’m backstage, in England, talking to a self-proclaimed mind reader like most people would talk to an accountant. There’s a guy reading minds while we all sip on tea and none of it is remotely odd to us. A ventriloquist and knife thrower could have walked in and we would have nodded like co-workers in a factory break room. I feel lucky to cross paths with mind readers, magicians and musicians. I run with an odd lot and I wouldn’t have it any other way.