The Still-Yet-To-Be-Retitled Blog

Dance So Slow

2012-02-03T19:16:00.001-05:00

Straining to listen to you
talk
over the rumble of the crowded bar
I can only make out every third
word
But some things just don't need to be said
aloud
You take my hand from across the
table
and smile
and a bounty of information is shared

With a glance
I motion to your glass
and you sip
and take a firmer grip of my hand

We walk to the dance floor
Only the bar doesn't have
one
Just an empty space where no one is standing
right now
I pull you close and twitch when your hair pokes my
eye
And we sway,
but not to the rhythm of the song on the radio
because we have our own rhythm, our own
song
playing loud above the cacophony
for our ears
only

With your face close to mine
I take you in
Your perfume, stale smoke and a touch of
bourbon

Dance so slow
we're hardly moving

Life Lesson Learned on the Mound

2012-02-01T11:50:00.011-05:00

His name was Greg Hannon. He was a sexist and racist pig and he wasn’t all that bright. He was one of those guys that just never seemed to shut up and never seemed to really know just what the hell he was talking about. Although he was born and raised in western Pennsylvania, I always assumed it must have been Alabama … he was a redneck in every sense of the word. I simply couldn’t stand being in the same room with him. Lucky for us, we were outside.

On that sunny March morning, there was nobody in the world I would rather have had standing sixty feet and six inches away from me. Although he was as irritating as a person could be, behind the plate he was an idiot savant. He knew his pitchers and he knew hitters. He could formulate a game plan instantly. He was a true student of the game and was able to identify issues with his pitchers instantly. If I was having difficulty with my mechanics … if my arm slot was wrong, if my release point was off, if my plant foot wasn’t landing properly … he recognized it and addressed before the pitching coach ever caught on. He was going to get me through this.

He, and most of the players on the field, had a year's experience in the minor leagues. I was a nobody. I had just walked on. I was the undersized pitcher who wasn’t likely to develop any additional power and speed and who was skirting by on location and three average pitches. I didn’t deserve to be there … and this was my audition. I was nervous as hell.

I had warmed-up and felt pretty good … but I was battling my nerves. I would think I was in control for a moment or two and then would be overcome with panic for a few seconds. That cycle was repeating itself as the umpire shouted, “Play ball!” I took a deep breath and tried to convince myself that this wasn’t my only shot. The lead-off hitter took his place in the batter’s box … and we were underway.

I didn’t even look at the sign Greg had put down. It didn’t matter. We both knew exactly how I was going to start this off. Fastball away. No reason to over-think this thing. I dug my cleats in next to the rubber and, in one fluid motion, went directly into my wind-up. “Nothing more than a session in the ‘pen,” I tried to convince myself. With a little more muscle than normal and a little longer stride than normal, I released my first pitch. Fastball away!

I missed the corner of the plate by a couple of inches. That much was obvious. Ball one.

Ask anybody who has every played the game and they will tell you about the importance of first-pitch strikes. Its common knowledge … it’s a cliché. I never much cared for clichés. It felt good; it calmed my nerves … so what if I was off the plate a bit? For the first time that entire day I felt like I could actually do this.

Greg didn’t deviate from the game plan at all and called for a curve … considered by most in camp as my best pitch. It was the right plan. The ball would start inside and finish in about the same spot as the previous pitch. If I didn’t hang it, we were going to be right back in this thing. Taking my time and feeling loads more relaxed, I threw a solid knee-buckling curve … and it crossed the plate in the exact same place as the previous pitch. Ball two.

Already our perfect game plan had gone to hell.

Two pretty good pitches. Two balls. What good is being the one guy in camp that everybody says is only there because of his control and not be able to throw strikes? Shit.

Greg liked that last pitch. I liked that last pitch. From the ooohs and aaahs coming from the stands, a lot of people liked that pitch. So we decided to go to it again … just scoot it a little more over the plate.

Only it didn’t scoot. It wound up in exactly the same spot. Ball three. Three pitches in and I had hit the same location three times … only that location was an inch or two off the plate. This was my big break, my audition, my chance to prove I deserved to be there … and I was behind 3-0 on my first batter. Shit.

Greg didn’t even put down a sign. He didn’t need to. We both knew what was coming. The batter knew what was coming. Everybody in the dugout knew what was coming. Everybody in the stands knew what was coming. Hell, you probably know what was coming. Fastball … right down Broadway. Nothing fancy … just throw a strike.

And I did. Belly-button high. Right over the meat of the plate. Ball four.

Ball four?

Greg was furious and began chattering with the ump. He called it high. “High, my ass.” I mumbled. As the batter took his base I couldn’t bring myself to look at home plate, or at Greg, or the ump or my dugout. I just watched the guy trot to first base. “First time playing professional ball and I walk the first guy on four pitches.”

And suddenly the nerves that I had kept under control for the past few minutes came raging in. I could feel my body tremble. I could feel the beginnings of tears welling-up in my eyes. I took deep breaths and repeated to myself, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.” I might have been the victim of a bad call, but that didn’t make it any less bullshit.

“Okay, new start,” I told myself and returned to the mound. Greg put down the sign and I knew we were changing our game plan a little. Normally I was the kind of pitcher who hit spots, painted the corners and left you guessing. But judging from the one finger being slapped against his left thigh, I could tell that Greg had decided we would come right out and challenge this guy. Fastball in.

That’s exactly what I delivered and it obviously caught the plate. “Yes,” I half said to myself. “Ball,” the umpire replied. What? Greg chattered some more. He called that high? My God, I was being squeezed … it was well below the letters. Greg returned the ball and put three fingers down before he even was in his crouch. He wanted me to go to my split and I agreed. It may not have been my best pitch, but it was my most accurate. But because I took a little something off of it, it was also the most hittable thing I threw. Then again, at this point, who cares? Let the defense work … just so long as I throw a damn strike.

I threw the split (I called it a fork, but it was really more of a split-finger fastball … its just in those days, we didn’t have the term “split-finger fastball”) and it dropped beautifully. The batter checked his swing as the ball trailed into the dirt. Ball two. Shit.

I shook off Greg’s call for a fastball. “Hell no,” I thought. “Let me throw a big looping, hanging curve and have this guy tee off on it. I would rather let this guy smash one rather than throw my seventh consecutive ball.” Greg relented and I threw yet another beautiful curve … which wound up in the exact same place as the previous two and was called Ball Three.

Shit, shit and more shit!

And here I was … the kid who didn’t belong there … starting off my first professional ballgame on the verge of walking the first two batters I faced. I glanced over to the dugout to see my pitching coach and skipper both standing with arms folded. They were going to yank me … and then cut me … right then and there. I could feel it. My baseball career was going to end right here and now. I glanced over to Greg as the batter stepped back in. He was angry … not at me, but at the circumstance … and the ump who had squeezed me seven pitches in. He just flashed one finger … over and over again.

“Well, if I’m going out today, I’m going out throwing the hardest, fastest fastball I’ve ever thrown.” I took a long deep breath and went into my wind-up as tense as could be. I was going to burn the ball’s stitching into Greg’s mitt. There were going to be mini-sonic booms coming off this damn thing!

Ask anyone who has ever pitched, or who has ever even just thrown a ball, and they can tell you about the weird sensation when the ball seems to stick in your hand for just a millisecond too long. How that late release could completely ruin a simple thing like throwing a ball. It happens from time to time. It happened right then and there.

Even as the ball left my hand, in my head I was screaming, “Noooooooooooo!” The next second and a half seemed to take forever as I watched (in seeming slow motion) as the ball trailed down, down, down. This was going to be Ball Four … or rather, Ball Eight. I was done.

Then, a silly thing happened … the guy swung! The worst pitch I’ve thrown today and the guy swung! What’s more … he hit the damn thing!

It was a sharp one-hopper to my right. On instinct I reached across and snagged it. The momentum of that action pivoted my body towards second base and I slung it to the shortstop to get the runner coming from first. He tagged the base and, on a hop, threw a rocket to first. Double play!

Two up, two down. No harm done. And I hadn’t even thrown a strike yet.

I share this story to convey a truth I have learned about the world and our lives on it. Sometimes when things seem their bleakest, pure dumb luck will step in and set things right. You just have to keep plugging away … like I was on that mound … and trust that something good is right around the corner. Lucky breaks come … you just have to gut it out until they do.

I remember the rest of that game fairly well, but not as well as I remember those first two batters. I struck out the next guy to get us out of the inning. I gave up a run on consecutive doubles in the second. I struck out the side in the third. That was supposed to be my day, but the coach sent me out for the fourth even though my pitch count was high because he wanted to see if I could gut it out. I pushed myself through that inning giving up a hit and a walk, but no runs. We would eventually win that game 4 to 1.

Something that started off poorly … a disaster even … ended well. So remember, next time you are going through a rough patch in life (as we all do) that if you keep struggling through … some dummy is going to hit into a double play and everything will be okay.

Respect the Fish, Man

2011-12-27T11:39:00.007-05:00

As a little boy growing up in West Texas, I always enjoyed the summer days when my brother and I would walk the six or seven blocks to our local public swimming pool (which, of all things, was called “The Swimming Hole” ... and yes, that's actually a picture of it) to join dozens (it seemed like hundreds!) of other kids in the pool. As one of the youngest, I always stayed and played in the shallow end while my brother dove off the high dive. Not because I wasn’t able to swim (I was alright at it), but because I didn’t want to get caught up in the rough-housing of the older and bigger kids. I just wanted to put my goggles on and go under the surface … so I could look at everybody else underwater.

At the age of twelve, my mother worked a massive amount of overtime so that she could dig a pool in the family’s backyard … something that, in retrospect, probably put the family well into debt. I don’t think she particularly cared. I sure didn’t. We had a pool!

When you take an imaginative twelve year old boy and give him a pair of goggles and sixteen thousand gallons of water on a hot summer’s day … well, so long as he didn’t drown, you had a full-time babysitter. I was always a bit of a loner … I didn’t need friends my age to play with … I had a pool!

Ask anybody who was once a young boy who put on the goggles, went underwater and pushed off the side of the pool … cutting a path gracefully in the water … and they will tell you one thing: Aquaman is pretty cool!

Those of you who read or follow what is going on in comic books these days knows that Aquaman is going through something of a popularity resurgence thanks to Geoff Johns, who made Green Lantern and the Flash interesting in recent years. Those of you who do not follow comic books still know who Aquaman is though. He’s one of the most popular and well-recognized superheroes in history. Unfortunately, for the past couple of decades, he’s been something of a joke.

We can thank Saturday morning cartoons in the ‘70s and ‘80s for that. Why, in the ‘60s Aquaman had one of the best action cartoons around … following in the footsteps of The New Adventures of Superman and then joining the world’s greatest and most popular superhero in The Superman-Aquaman Hour of Adventure. But the ‘70s rolled in and in 1973 there was a new take on Aquaman … as one of the Superfriends!

For the next dozen years Aquaman shared his adventures with Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman and (in later years) a number of other Justice League of America superheroes. Thanks to some unimaginative writing and to the show’s focus on being child-friendly, Aquaman got the short-end of the stick. Unless an adventure took our heroes underwater, Aquaman was stuck riding shotgun in Wonder Woman’s invisible jet and standing around asking things like, “What do we do now, Batman?”

But as much as we might joke about a hero who’s biggest contribution to saving the world is often “talking to fish,” I think we all identify with Aquaman. I think we laugh because we relate to him. Aquaman may be the King of Atlantis, but on the surface, he’s just like us. Think about it: here is a hero with a strong sense of right and wrong and with abilities that are very specific, yet very fantastic. He’s not as smart as Batman, can’t fly like Superman and isn’t as strong as Wonder Woman … heck, even Robin the Boy Wonder has better gadgets in his belt … yet in his element, he is something special! He’s just along for the adventure … just like you and I in this world … and waiting for the opportunity to contribute. On top of all of that ... he has a family ... a wife and (for a time) a son ... not something touched on by his other Super Friends.

He is the ultimate underdog among superheroes … and that’s what makes him more human and more relatable than the rest of his Super Friends. He has the doubts and insecurities that you and I have … but he also has an amazing talent and skill ready for display. He rides a giant seahorse, for crying out loud!

So laugh at Aquaman! He can take it. Make him the butt of your jokes. That’s okay. But next time you’re in a body of water, take a deep breath and go under … push off and glide through the waves … and I promise, when you come up for air you’ll remember … Aquaman is pretty cool!

Justice League of Comedy at UC Lounge NYC

2011-12-19T12:22:00.001-05:00

Friday, December 30, 2011 from 8:00 PM - 10:00 PM

NATIONALLY TOURING JUSTICE LEAGUE OF COMEDY BRING 'HEROES OF HUMOR TOUR' TO UC LOUNGE ON FRIDAY, DECEMBER 30

King Rich and Kyle Davis, collectively known as the Justice League of Comedy will perform a special "New Years Eve Eve" show at UC Lounge (87 Ludlow Street, NYC), December 30 at 8:00PM. General admission tickets are available for only $10.

The Justice League of Comedy has spent the past two years touring clubs large and small, from high profile comedy clubs to one-nighters in seedy biker bars where they barely escaped with their lives. With nothing but desire, an alarming sense of truth in laughter and a Nissan Sentra, they have hit all four corners of the continental United States ("Well, not really, we haven't been to Maine yet.") performing for enthusiastic and, on occasion, indifferent audiences on their 'Heroes of Humor' tour. They truly believe they are saving the world, one laugh at a time.

Road Trip of Self-Discovery

2011-12-12T14:47:00.006-05:00

He wasn’t asleep, but he sure wasn’t awake either. His arms were crossed with each hand tucked tightly into the opposite armpit. He knew he must look a damn fool … but he was chilly and hadn’t had hardly any sleep the night before. He also knew he would have to take over the driving soon, his companion having driven the past seven or eight hours. He cursed himself for not being able to sleep in the car. At least then he would be a little rested.

The sun hovered just above the horizon in front of him. Had it moved in the past few hours? He didn’t know. It sure hadn’t seemed to. The radio played a sad top-40 hit and, in the state between sleep and awake, he was sure that this same song had been playing for the past hour or so. He felt a little numb. And as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering …

He used to enjoy these trips. They were trips home. To his loved one. This one, however, was misery. Sure, it was still a trip home … but home to what? “Well, at least it will be nice to spend a night in my own bed,” he thought to himself … until it dawned on him that his bed would be empty when he got there.

“Jesus,” he thought, “I’ve got to clear my head. I can’t go through life feeling this depressed each and every passing moment. For God’s sake, somebody throw a pie!”

He reached over to the cup holder to take a sip of the coffee he had bought at the gas station an hour before. It was cool now. Gross. He then searched his pockets for his lighter and lit a cigarette. “How many of these damn things have I smoked this trip?” He looked in the pack and counted. There were thirteen cigarettes still in there. Oh yeah, and an empty pack on the floorboard. Twenty-seven cigarettes in around sixteen hours. “Oh my throat is gonna be a mess when I get home,” he mused. “If I get home. How much further now?” He looked over at the GPS and its arrival time … still nearly six hours away.

“God dammit.”

The wind blew a loud whistle through the crack of his window. He didn’t want to open it any more because it was well below freezing out but he couldn’t shut it because, well, he wasn’t about to put his cigarette out. Not yet. So with the cold wind blowing directly into his hairline and the sound of rushing air drowning out that stupid damn song on the radio, he decided to try to wake himself up and concentrate on the task at hand and not the events that had left him alone and feeling worthless.

In his mind the sound of the wind slowly transformed to the sound of applause from last night’s audience. “Why can’t every moment be like that?” Somehow or another he had transformed himself the night before. Somehow or another the weight of the world was lifted when he hit that stage. He smiled as he thought of the autographs he had signed afterwards, the hands he had shaken and, most of all, the group of women who clamored around him after the show. “How many shots did they buy me last night? And how am I still functioning?”

Last night he was a rock star! Drinking heavily (or rather slurping … “Jell-o shots are stupid,” he thought) and dancing (dancing, for crying out loud!) with a group of beautiful women. One had pulled him into the bathroom and they made out for a while … but when the time came to consummate the filthy event, he just couldn’t do it. He was disappointed with himself for having let it even begin. “Hell, I’ve never been one to screw a perfect stranger in the bathroom … even on my best day. Then again, who am I being faithful to?”

The last half-hour of the previous night’s frivolity had been spent with him deflecting their advances and desires to be taken back to his hotel room. If it had been fifteen years earlier, who knows what debauchery he would have indulged. He questioned whether it was a case of him not being in an emotional position to take advantage of the situation or whether he was just getting old. “Twenty-five year old me would have at least taken the blow job.”

Or maybe he had just developed a moral compass? Nah.

Emotions are a funny thing. Somehow he had lost himself, lost his confidence, lost his desire … and he couldn’t quite understand why. Or how. Most of all he was angry with himself … for having blown it with her and for not getting it through his thick head that she was the one who had blown it. He deserved better and he knew it … he just couldn’t convince himself of that fact. Not totally.

“I thought I was over this already.”

He flicked his cigarette butt out the window and rolled it up. “My God, that same stupid song is still on the radio!” In the quiet he started to analyze his life and his character, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he was worthy of love and happiness … even if she had thought otherwise. He had done some great things, he had done some selfish things, he had given and he had taken … and not always in the same ratio. He was quiet and aloof yet could be the life of the party when called upon. He was a jumble of both positive and negative character traits. He also suspected that he felt everything a little more strongly than most people … love, hate, joy and regret … and that maybe was his weakness.

Then again, perhaps that is what made him human. Perhaps that is what made him relatable on a stage. Perhaps he was just like everybody else … even if at this moment he wallowed in self-pity … because sometimes everybody does the same.

“For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health for as long as we both shall live.”

Perhaps he wouldn’t ever get to share that vow with the one he loved … but there in the passenger seat of a filthy Nissan flying down the highway in Virginia, he made that vow to the stage. Perhaps the reason he was so comfortable on the stage is because that’s the one place where he could share truth, his truth … and show that his weakness was no different than anybody else’s. He wouldn’t wallow in his self-pity … he would share it and invite others to laugh at it … and in time, it would go away. It will go away.

There were people more valuable and more important all over this planet … “but none of them are me … and a lot of them would be damn lucky to be with me.”

Remembering My 9/11 Experience

2011-09-11T12:12:00.007-04:00

Note: My experiences on September 11, 2001 pale in comparison to those of thousands upon thousands of others. I did not lose anybody I personally knew in the attacks. I discovered very soon afterward, however, how fortunate I was. This is my experience and mine alone ... and by no means do I mean to indicate that it is more significant than anybody else's. To those who lost a loved one on that terrible day, I continue to offer my most honest condolences. To the first responders ... NYPD, FDNY, EMTs and private citizens ... you have my utmost admiration.

Ten years? How the hell is it that ten years have passed?

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I had some time to kill before I went to work. We had moved to NYC only the week before and I was spending each morning riding the trains and ferries and finding alternative ways to get to the office in Long Island City. I was exploring the city more than I ever had before and enjoying every moment of it. I was riding trains I had never been on and exploring neighborhoods I had never spent any time in. I wanted to know my beloved New York better than I ever had before. That morning I chose to visit the twin towers and take a stroll through Battery Park.

At about a quarter after eight I bought a bacon-and-egg on a roll and a cup of coffee from a street vendor at the foot of the World Trade Center. I sat on a bench wolfing down my sandwich and calling a few family members to tell them (to brag, really) about where I was. This was in the days before Facebook and Twitter ... so you had to actually call people to boast about your mini-adventures of the day. I spoke with my brother and my mother-in-law and told them how I was nearly blinded by the sun glistening off the towers above me. I had always loved New York ... but now I was a citizen and I loved it even more ... I wanted to share that love with everybody I knew.

I finished my boasting and my sandwich and went downstairs to catch the N train for the long ride to Queens. Little did I know it would be the last N train to pull out of that station that day ...

Somewhere along the ride (probably beginning at Penn Station or 42nd Street) I began to overhear passengers talking about how a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. At the time it didn't seem to be all that serious. Those of you who lived in NYC before the attacks will remember the amount of air traffic above and around Manhattan in those days ... there were always tiny planes and helicopters all over the place, many of which flew in and around the southern tip of the island. In my mind's eye, I envisioned some idiot in a two-seater prop plane had probably tried to buzz the towers, got too close and clipped the building. In my mind's eye it was just another "only in New York" kind of moment.

Getting off the train at Queensboro Plaza, I heard a loud bang ... it sounded like thunder. I cursed myself for forgetting my umbrella! Why, just the night before it had rained like crazy and I hadn't remembered my umbrella and was forced to walk through a downpour getting soaking wet. Now I was going to have to do it again ...

I turned to look back at the sky when the cloud of smoke caught my eye. The World Trade Center was on fire! My God ... that plane must have really done a number on the buildings! At this time I didn't realize that it was a jetliner that had crashed into the towers, I didn't realize that the noise I had just heard was actually the second plane crashing into the South Tower. I walked to the office, only a few blocks, in a bit of a rush ... went up the elevator and stood staring at the burning towers through our window. We began to listen to radio reports and ... to be honest with you ... I couldn't really tell you what news was being reported at the time. At one point, I turned to a colleague and said, "it just goes to show what amazing buildings those are. Somebody flew a freaking plane into them and they are still standing." Seconds later the South Tower collapsed ... making me feel rather the idiot and having me wish I had just kept my stupid mouth shut. Half an hour later the North Tower fell ... and suddenly I was truly frightened.

All mass transit was shut down and I was, for all intents and purposes, stranded in Queens. All I could think about was getting to Hoboken where my (then-) wife was teaching because cell phone service was dead. I walked with somebody from work to his apartment and we tried to watch the news ... except no channels were coming in, just a very broken-up signal on the CBS station. After a few hours of waiting (talking nonsense with this fellow from work who I didn't really like), I had had enough. I was getting to Hoboken come hell or high water!

And so I began my walk ...

I couldn't tell you much about that walk really ... I was in such a daze. I walked across the Queensboro Bridge with thousands of people coming the other way ... people were trying to get out of Manhattan, not back into it. Many of them were covered in dust and soot ... it instantly reminded me of news images of refugees trying to escape war-torn countries. I had to push and shove my way across that bridge into Manhattan. I made it to Central Park and began to walk down 5th Avenue to Rockefeller then over to 7th Avenue through Times Square ... all of these areas normally teeming with tourists ... and I hardly saw anybody for hours. In fact, outside of a handful of police officers, during the walk from Central Park to the mouth of the Lincoln Tunnel, I bet I saw less than twenty people. New York had become a ghost town! It was eerie and disconcerting. As I approached the tunnel, however, I became just one of hundreds of people trying to escape the island.

It was nearing the evening and they had just opened traffic back up at the Lincoln Tunnel ... we had all lived in fear all day that "whoever-this-was-that-attacked-us" (we weren't really using the word "terrorist" yet) would be targeting the bridges and tunnels next ... but the Lincoln Tunnel is not just something you can walk through. I, and several dozen others, hitched a ride through the tunnel in the back of a meat truck. There were no windows and the ride was slow and uncomfortable. I was scared. Amazing how not being able to see your surroundings will increase the fear level. On the Jersey side of the tunnel, past the toll booths and up the hill, we stopped and my fellow passengers and I departed. I was on the edge of Hoboken (only a mile long) and minutes away from my destination ... but first, I jogged to the 14th Street Pier to look back at Manhattan. The southern edge of the island was covered in black/brown smoke which appeared to be bellowing into Brooklyn.

Enough!

I ran (and I mean ran!) back to Washington Street and then all the way down to 4th, made the right turn and up to where my (ex-)wife was teaching. She was okay! At the time, it was all that mattered.

Early the next morning, she and I went to Pier A (along with another thousand or so people) to survey the damage. We had only just learned about the tragedy and the heroes of 9/11. Many people took pictures. Many others wept. I hadn't the day before ... maybe I was too scared to ... but this morning, the morning of September 12th, I wept as well. A little girl then made a comment that stopped the tears and brought me a smile. She said, "it looks like somebody knocked the front teeth out of New York."

"You're right," I thought. Our smile will never be the same. But like the boxer who has just taken a punch, we will pull ourselves off the canvass and continue the fight.

Final note: The picture above of me with the World Trade Center in the background was taken on September 9, 2001 ... just 48 hours before the attacks. It's a terrible picture of me ... but it shows the towers how I remember them. To that end, I refrained from any images of the towers burning or falling ... I want them to be remembered for the glory of being the nation's largest buildings, not for being the site of one of history's most heinous acts.

A Letter To My Warren Boys

2011-09-06T21:08:00.007-04:00

Dear Derek & Ty,

I wonder if you know how unique you are. I wonder if you realize how truly special you are. You are Warren boys ... and that is something to take a great deal of pride in.

There have been generation after generation after generation of boys named 'Warren" before you. But it is only recently that the term "Warren boys" has gathered such a singular distinction. The new and true definition of Warren boys was established long ago by your father and your Uncle Chuckie. We were the first iron-clad, dyed-in-the-wool Warren boys ... we gave significance to the term. We established the parameters from which all future Warren boys, such as yourselves, would be judged. And now it falls on you, the next and the greatest generation of Warren boys, to carve out greater lives and grander stories and legends.

Do you know what 'Warren" means? "To Preserve" ... and that is the task that now falls to you. To preserve the character of the Warren name ... and more importantly, to preserve the unparalleled and sublime grandeur of being a Warren boy.

Sounds all highly dignified, doesn't it? In some ways it is, but in many ways, it is not. It is simply a matter of pride.

You see, your dad and your Uncle Chuckie were as opposite as opposite can be. We really were. Your grandmother may say differently, but trust me ... I was there. Our personalities were different, our eye color was different, our talents were different and our skills were different. Your old man did fairly well in school, your Uncle Chuckie did not. Your Uncle Chuckie could make music out of anything, your dad can not. But there was a special, almost magical knowledge that we always possessed ... our differences made us matchless individually and extraordinary together. Knowingly or unknowingly, we lived by the same code. The same code that I will now share with you:

1. The Warren boys are not afraid to take chances.
2. The Warren boys always appreciate the skills and talents of others ... and always have a desire to follow that up with a "now see what I can do."
3. The Warren boys bask in the glory of the moment ... even if those moments seem to come too few and far between.
4. The Warren boys will fight (and fight hard!) for what is right.
5. No one (and I mean NO ONE) says anything derogatory about a Warren boy ... except another Warren boy ... and gets away with it.
6. Give joy as often as possible. Receive joy and then quickly pass it on. Don't bogard the joy!
7. Do no harm to others (unless they have it coming) and never be afraid to bend the rules when necessary.
8. Stand up for your loved ones. Stand beside your loved ones. Put your loved ones ahead of yourself ... even if they are acting like idiots.

In all honesty, that's a hard code to live by ... and we didn't always succeed. But we tried. Always.

The freedom to be atypical and stand apart from commonality (and more importantly, to support others in their special uniqueness) is what gives the Warren boy his swagger. It's a confidence bordering on cockiness. It's our strength ... because no matter what others may think or say about us, we know the other Warren boy has our backs. It allows us to be ourselves without (too much) concern of what others may think of us. It allows us to move forward in this grand adventure we call life. We are a very exclusive club ... there have only been four of us ... and as wonderful as so many people are that you will meet, they aren't Warren boys.

Warren boys defy the odds. Your uncle had a pacemaker put in when he was only thirteen years old. I remember your grandmother telling a neighbor that it was very likely Chuck would not live to be eighteen. Screw that! He lived to double that ... and he lived his few short years with us hard, fast and full of vigor! I was blessed to learn from the "original" Warren boy ... live for the moment, because the moment is all we really have.

Warren boys are filled with talent! Just look at yourselves. That talent is just as important as your life ... because talent, however large or small, is what makes life worth living. It's what we can share with the world ... and we don't share it to become rich and famous, we share it because we have it to give. Nurture it ... it is the garden of your soul ... sometimes it blooms, sometimes it rests ... protect it and love it.

Lastly, Warren boys would give their lives for one another. You know I would give my life for either of you. But did you know that your Uncle Chuckie would have too? I don't know many truths in this world ... but I know that.

This life is going to knock you on your ass from time to time ... it does it to everybody, but has a special fondness for knocking down a Warren boy ... and there are going to be times when you genuinely question whether or not you can go on. There will be times of great sadness, there will be losses too painful to imagine, there will be times when you question your self-worth and ask God why he has made this life so difficult. There's not a cure-all for those times. I wish I had one to give you. I wish I could take every ounce of pain you will ever encounter upon myself. But it doesn't work that way ... we can only offer one another our undying support ... and it is "undying" because I look at the two of you and I see the spirit of your Uncle Chuckie flowing through you. That support, that love, truly NEVER dies.

But I do know what will help you get through those moments. Just look at yourself in the mirror and say, "I'm a Warren boy." Eventually, the swagger will return to your step. I promise.

Love,
Dad

Hassle Hassle

2011-08-31T21:22:00.003-04:00

NOTE: While digging through some old files, I came across this. It was written in (if the time stamp is to be believed) late 2003. I figured I would go ahead and share it with you now. After all, it is a traditional family story:

My first years in school were smack dab in the middle of the CB radio fad. You remember the CB radio, right? Breaker, breaker, one-nine … you got a smokey on your tail. So, my folks, who always tried to keep up with the times, installed a CB radio in each of their cars. In a day and age before the cell phone, it was pretty handy. Mom was in nursing school and didn’t leave until 7 or 8 in the evening. She could get in the car and tell Dad she was on her way.

Of course, this meant that everybody in the family had to have a CB handle. The name that would be used on the CB. Dad doled them out, we didn’t get to pick our own. My brother got “Bone Rack.” He was always pretty scrawny, so the name fit and he kinda liked it. What did I get? “Fat Man.” As in, “Na na na na na na na na Fat Man!” I was not a fat kid, a little chunky maybe, but I was not fat!

Dad liked to give us nicknames. It was something he did out of love. Y’know, the kind of love that degrades and demeans. That kind of love.

I was twelve and a half years old when my baby sister was born. Yeah, little gap there. Guess you could say she was a surprise to everyone. And from the time she was very little, I was her favorite. She loved her big brother. Loved me!

Around the time she was starting to walk pretty well, she took to calling me, “Hassle.” Hassle? For weeks and weeks, I couldn’t figure it out. She would come up to me, arms outstretched, wanting to be picked up, and say, “Hassle, hassle.” I had no idea where it came from. Until one Sunday afternoon …

Dad and I were watching a ball game on TV while my sister was playing with one of her puzzles on the floor. After a while, Dad turned to me. “When are you gonna take out that trash, asshole?” “Hassle, hassle!” Ah … I get it. My lovely baby sister calls her favorite big brother … asshole. Thanks Dad!

After a while, we broke her of the habit. She didn’t take to calling me “asshole” again for about fifteen years

My Personal Favorite Super Hero Costumes of All Time

2011-08-18T20:39:00.015-04:00

A boy's imagination only needs the four-color spark of a comic book to take off! Those of us who were drawn to the heroes of the comics, were initially drawn because, hey, they looked so dang cool! Here's my favorites ... I would love to hear yours.

10. Sandman (Golden Age)

Okay, I admit it. I've never so much as even read a Sandman comic. Don't know anything about him. Don't know his secret identity, exactly what kind of gun that is he's carrying around ... nothing. But every time I see the character with his suit, gas mask, hat and cape (cape and a tie ... that's an odd combination) I want to pick up a book and read just to find out. Sure ... you could very easily argue that "this is just some guy wearing some stuff on top of the suit he wears to the office everyday," and maybe that is exactly what makes the design so intriguing. I probably will never be a fan, but the get-up is enough to peak my interest ... and that's what makes a great superhero costume!

9. Banshee

Sean Cassidy has long been one of my favorite comic book characters and certainly my favorite member of the X-Men. For decades he's been an under-utilized character ... in fact, until the recent X-Men: First Class film, I bet many of you had never even heard of him ... hell, in the comic books these days, he may or may not even be alive. But his kick-ass power (he screams ... really loud!), Irish heritage and murky background have always made him interesting to me. Add on top of that a funky green costume (like I said, he's Irish) with a big, wide collar and weird striped wing-things that have never quite been explained (and each artist makes up their own rules about how large they are) and I'm hooked. Recent artists have incorporated more of the standard X-Men costume to his design, but I like it green and with the '70s collar!

8. Green Lantern (Alan Scott from the Golden Age)

Leave it to little known DC characters from the Golden Age to make this list over and over again. Sure, with the new film and DC's pushing of the character in the comics, the "new" Green Lantern may be more recognizable, but there is something about the sheer "busy-ness" of Alan Scott's costume that always caught my eye. Green pants, red shirt, old school lantern logo and long cape with giant collar ... it gives him more of a magical warrior feel (his ring is magic, all the "new" lanterns are some kinda cosmic power) that's at home with both modern superhero mythos and classic myth. A really cool "probably takes him an hour to get dressed" design.

7. Dr. Strange

Interestingly enough, Marvel's magic wielder, the Sorcerer Supreme has some similarities to Golden Age Green Lantern ... busy color scheme with gigantic collar ... but adds more of a tunic and sash to the wardrobe making him feel less like a superhero and more like a character from a Dungeons and Dragons game. Dr. Strange's appearance also increases in "cool quotient" with the funky hand motions he makes to cast spells. Rumor has it that Marvel may make a Dr. Strange movie in the near future ... I wonder how true to the design they'll stay with this one. I'm sure there's been plenty of artists over the years who were excited to draw the book, only to discover that drawing all that detail on the fringes of his cape got to be a little old after a while.

6. Space Ghost

Space Ghost makes the list even though he was not created or designed for comic books, but rather for the Hanna-Barbera cartoons in the 1960s. Even though Jan, Jace and Blip were all pretty lame, there was just something cool enough about Space Ghost to make him must-see Saturday morning fare. With his simple and sleek design, a mostly white costume with black cowl leading into a “who knows what the shape of it really is” yellow cape, Space Ghost was proof-positive that you didn't need to get too complicated to have a really killer super hero suit. Plus, he had those things around his wrists ... that made him invisible (or in the cartoon, an outline!) and the simple triangle with a ... well ... a "space ghost" logo.

5. Dr Fate

Another hero I never really followed as a comic book loving child was Dr Fate. A sorcerer (with a succession of hosts) who became a founding member of the Justice Society of America. I always thought the helmet (the Helm of Nabu) was awesome, but never really cared about the fact that Nabu's spirit would possess the character. I also never really had a full understanding of just what the heck his powers were ... it seemed that each successive writer just made a few more things up. But the simple design with almost-medieval golden helmet combined with matching cape (with collar!) and the Amulet of Anubis just made Dr Fate one of the coolest looking heroes around.

4. Captain Marvel (DC Comics)

For those of us who grew up in the '70s, Shazam! was must-see-TV. Of course, we weren't paying all that great of attention and most of us never realized that the character's name was actually Captain Marvel. Shazam was the old wizard who gave him his powers. Only problem is, those of us who only watched the show knew nothing about the wizard -- all we knew was that he had the powers of Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles and Mercury and every-so-often, he would talk to them. But hey ... who cares? The point is that Captain Marvel had one of the most kick-ass super hero costumes ever. I mean, a golden lightning bolt on a red shirt? Cool! Add in the sash and unusual (and short) cape, and the "World's Mightiest Mortal" was one of the world's best-dressed heroes.

3. Angel (from Marvel Comic's X-Men)

Like most of the rest of the X-Men, poor Warren Worthington III has had more than his fair share of wardrobe changes over the years. First there was the plain yellow and black standard issue X-Men uniform, then the silly red shirt with suspenders look ("did they hold his wings up?") then a number of variations including the popular (but ultimately ugly) Archangel outfit fully equipped with razor-tipped steel wings. But the simple white and blue outfit with halo logo was just perfect. Sure, there was also another red costume that was an exact duplicate of this one, but the blue softened him more and made me reflect more on mythology. This was the modern Icarus ... the winged man. After all, what are super heroes if not the Greek gods of our generation?

2. Batman

Perhaps no major superhero has ever had the myriad of subtle changes to his wardrobe that Batman has had. From giant ears and purple gloves to black latex rubber, the number of incarnations of Batman's outfit is only matched by the number of gadgets in his utility belt. But for me, a child of the '70s and '80s, the Neal Adams-era Batman with gray tights, blue flowing cape (that was always catching some wind) and pointed ears is it! A loving middle-ground between Adam West and the armor-wearing Christian Bale in the recent movies. Other generations may reflect on the animated series or the Tim Burton movies ... but I'm from the post Adam West, Superfriends, Mego action figures generation. This is MY Batman ... and I love the design!

1. Superman

The template from which all other superhero costumes are created. Tights and cape, logo/symbol on the chest, a belt and (if you feel like it) some underwear on the outside. There is no better design for the daydreams of a young boy. All you needed what a red towel to tie around your neck, and you too could go "up, up and away!" It just doesn't get better than the Man of Steel.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

2011-08-14T23:30:00.003-04:00

Let's be real for a moment ... we all lie. Maybe little white lies, but we all lie. Its human nature to withhold a truth or try to control another's perception of us. We've all made up excuses for why we were late for work or school. We've lied about our successes and failures ... what's the difference between telling so-and-so that you make $60,000 a year when you only really make $48,000 ... and we probably all lied to our parents in a vain attempt to get out of trouble when we were children.

You lied to your boss. So what? Told your Mom a fib about how well you were doing in school. Who cares?

Unfortunately some of us will lie to ourselves.

You can get away with those other lies ... you can trick and deceive others ... but you can't really deceive yourself. Or can you? I've certainly never been able to pull it off. I'm too emotional ... too riddled with guilt. It's not a question of self-awareness, but rather a question of being too sentimental and temperamental. But I discover more and more that others are capable of doing it. You can convince yourself, or at least appear to convince yourself, that the lie is truth ... and maybe it is, but it isn't your truth. It's just a lie that you think is better than your truth.

Sometimes it seems to be an attempt to conform. Your friends and family all believe that you should think this way or that, that you should have this particular opinion, they advise you that you should take a course of action that you don't really feel is right. And you do it ... you go along with it ... even though in your heart-of-hearts you know it is wrong. Hell ... the idea might have been yours to begin with! Sure, it seems like a good idea ... it seems like the right thing to do or feel or think ... but is it? You fight with that doubt as your inner-self tries to assert control, but you beat it back. You force yourself to believe in a non-truth. And you have to live with those repercussions.

The unfortunate thing is that you can't really fool those who have an honest bond with you. Just as you could never quite fool your parents and just as your children can't quite fool you. Because while they may hear and acknowledge (and perhaps even believe) your lie with their eyes, ears and brains ... the hearts are also speaking to one another ... and you can't fool a heart. You can only fool yourself.

A Lot Can Happen Between the Bridge and the River

2011-08-11T19:44:00.006-04:00

Where I grew up, it was flat. FLAT! Those of you who have never visited the South Plains of Texas may not fully understand the severity of that statement. It was flat! It felt like you only needed a good pair of binoculars to see China. Flat!

This, naturally, meant that I had very few interactions with heights. I had no reason to fear heights, because I never really encountered "height." Sure, my hometown of Lubbock TX had a twenty-story building, but I had never even stepped foot in it until I was 22. And like most young boys, I climbed my fair share of trees, ran around on a number of roofs and even spray painted my initials onto a water tower. In high school, as part of theatre classes, I climbed ladders to hang lights dozens of feet above the stage. Not once was I ever afraid ... I certainly didn't have a fear of heights.

In fact, I still don't think I do.

But that doesn't mean that fear and discomfort aren't right around the corner.

In the year 2000, at thirty years of age, I had my first encounter with vertigo. It was frightening, debilitating, dizzying and ... for a brief moment or two ... certainly seemed life-threatening. I remember that first 'attack' vividly:

I was standing on a packed 33rd Street/Queens Boulevard platform waiting for the 7 train to take me back into Manhattan. It was 5:30pm and the platform was as crowded as can be. It was a hot May afternoon as I stood on the edge of the platform and peeked down the tracks ... the train was at the 40th Street station and would arrive in moments. "Thank God," I thought, "I hope the A/C is working in my car."

I then glanced over at the green glass of the Citigroup Building (One Court Square) that reflected the sun. And in an instant, I was all-but delirious ... the world was spinning, I wasn't sure I could keep my balance, sound seemed to fade and the approach of the coming train seemed muffled. A cold sweat ran down my back and dripped from my nose. I felt I would fall over (onto the tracks!) in a second. As the train pulled into the station and passengers piled on, I forced my way to the back of the platform and crouched between a bench and a garbage can, trying to maintain my composure through sheer will-power.

I logically knew that I was okay ... I wasn't going to fall over. I tried to rise to my feet ... and the sensation of imbalance increased. So I crouched again (how I must have looked to all the other strap hangers coming and going from the platform), squeezed my eyes shut and tried my best to concentrate ... just focus and make it go away.

After several minutes (which felt like hours) it did.

Over the following months, these 'attacks' would occur and re-occur with alarming regularity. Some were minor and brief, others incapacitating and several minutes long. I began to refer to the time spent in an 'attack' as "the gap between the bridge and the river." In time, the fear felt during the attack diminished ... because I had confidence it would end. No matter how hopeless or helpless I felt nor how frightened I was that the end of the 'attack' might mean the end of my life, I had the will-power to see it through and the faith that I would be alright.

A lot can happen between the bridge and the river.

For me, it was a fascinating analogy. What must be going through a man's mind after he has thrown himself from the bridge and before he hits the river? It was a phrase I had first heard from my brother when he was going through an exceptionally rough patch ... he felt he had tossed his life away and was just waiting for the end to come and hit him in the face. As a means of reassuring him I told him that "a lot can happen between the bridge and the river."

And that, my friends, is how my still occasional bouts with vertigo shape my character and my faith. They are a reminder. No matter how low I feel, no matter how grim the situation, no matter how certain (or uncertain) the outcome ... I have the will-power and the faith that something will happen to spring me back to the bridge to continue my journey.

And one day ... one day when I'm hurtling through space headlong towards the dark and murky river ... I may just sprout wings and fly.

A Tribute to James -- Part Three (of Three)

2011-08-05T05:10:00.001-04:00

The summer of 2008 will be remembered by most Americans as the summer gas prices went through the roof. For James and I, it was the summer of guessing how far we'll go on whatever gas we might actually have in the tank. When your car averaged 16 miles per gallon when it was new (17 years before) and is now averaging 10 on a good day, $5.00+ per gallon gas on a limited income gets to be a dicey situation.

Needless to say, James spent more time than he deserved on the side of the road and I did more than my fair share of walking to the filling station to spend my pocket change on enough gas to (hopefully) get us home that day.

But the great thing about James: when I really needed him to, when I coaxed and loved him along ... when the chips were down, he came through. Each and every time! So when we were late to work a time or two because we ran out of gas, I didn't complain.

By the summer of 2009, gas was back down to an almost reasonable price but my gas mileage was getting worse and worse. Now James was 18 years old. Now he had ... well, maybe 200,000 miles ... we don't know, because one day his odometer just set itself back about 50,000 miles for no apparent reason. On top of that, his acceleration was decreasing and from time to time dark smoke billowed out his tailpipe. "Oh James, please hang on."

While at the Midas station to get an oil change they diagnosed the problem. James' fuel pump was about to go. So once again I dropped every penny I had to get him back up and running. And after the fuel pump was in, he ran great! For about three days.

I had to go out of town for a series of comedy gigs in New Jersey, but my neighbor took James to his own mechanic as a favor and discovered ... that the fuel pump had been installed incorrectly. Oh ... and because of that, we had about another $1600 worth of repair that would need to be done. I didn't have the money ... but no matter ... I loved James and you'll do whatever you have to for those you love, right? Somehow or another, we got it payed off and James was back up and running. All you can truly wish for your loved ones is health, and for James, he had it ... so long as I didn't mistreat him.

In February of 2011 my life once again spiraled out of control. I didn't have a home or a family, but I had my splendid red engine. In fact, he became my home and a place I felt safe (and could sleep). I had a reclining driver's seat to nap in and somebody who was actually deserving of my affection, even if others might consider him a twenty year old hunk of scrap metal. In March, with no other choice, James and I went on our last adventure ... a comedy gig in Savannah and, if luck could stay with us, a final trip to Texas. That was a lot of miles for a 20 year old Blazer! So with a shiny new radiator installed, off we went to Georgia for what turned out to be an excellent gig ... followed by a horrible tragedy.

Protective of James and concerned about money (we hadn't made as much at the gig as we had hoped) I decided to head back north to Wilmington. We would go to Texas on another day. Thirteen miles across the South Carolina border it happened: a sudden, loud 'thunk' and we lost all power. I knew immediately what had happened ... James had thrown a rod. With less than $200 to my name, I did the calculations: $200 to tow it to the next town, several hundred more (if not a thousand) to rebuild the motor ... there was no other choice ... this would have to be the end.

I spent the night trying to sleep in James on the side of the highway waiting on my friend Kyle to come and get me (and all of my meager possessions, which were in the backseat) and at the advice of a State Trooper, we would leave James by the side of the road. I had no other choice. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do ... but I had been doing the last thing in the world I wanted to do a lot lately. For the six and a half hours I sat in James for the last time, I talked to him, thanked him ... and wept. He was my best friend ... and there was nothing I could do to save him.

Kyle arrived and we unloaded James and put everything in Kyle's car. I fought back tears in the early morning hours. Then, with everything unloaded and ready to say goodbye one last time, I grabbed one of James' hubcaps (more of a lug-nut cover, really) and vowed to keep it with me always. A memento from Jamesy-James ... my spendid little red engine.

That hubcap now hangs on my wall ... and I will keep it with me always. If told that I could only keep one thing in my house, and everything else would be destroyed, I think I'll grab it first. Because so long as I have it, I'll have a little piece of James with me as well.

A Tribute to James -- Part Two (of Three)

2011-08-03T20:07:00.006-04:00

Christmas was fast approaching ... and it was going to be another lean one. Getting moved, renting a new (over-priced) house and buying the new Blazer had pretty much put me right back in the poor house. Then again, I've spent the majority of my life in the poor house, so I certainly wasn't worried. Better yet, I did have enough cash stashed away to make the trip up to Lynchburg to spend Christmas with my youngest, Ty. So it didn't matter that I wouldn't receive any gifts this year. It didn't matter that I had no Christmas decorations. All that mattered was that I had a vehicle that should (in theory, at least) get me the 280 miles I needed to travel to see my little one.

I knew I had a less-than-honest gas gauge, but figured I would just fill-up more often than might be necessary. No biggie. Other than a minor oil leak (that I couldn't pinpoint), there was nothing else mechanically wrong with my new red Blazer. Or so I thought.

Having left Wilmington at about 6:30pm (it was already long past sundown) I would make another discovery regarding my new form of transportation: once I got up to about 45 mph, the speedometer stopped working. And by "stopped working," I mean that the needle would drop back down to zero even though I was hauling ass on the Interstate. So, without having a clue as to how fast I was going, I tried to keep pace with the other cars on the road and made the assumption that so long as I wasn't passing many people, the odds were I wasn't speeding.

I checked into a cheap motel in Lynchburg a little after midnight, grateful that my new ride had made the trip. I would hit the sack, get some sleep, get up bright and early the next frosty morning and go see my son. It was going to be a good Christmas!

In the morning, I walked out to the parking lot and noticed a HUGE puddle of oil under the Blazer. "Well, my minor oil leak looks like it got a little more major." Undeterred, I put a quart of oil in and drove off to get my boy and have a little breakfast. Ty was excited when his father pulled up in his "brand new Jeep." No ... technically it wasn't anywhere close to brand new, and no, it wasn't a Jeep. But it looked like one. And it had been washed the day before, so it was just as shiny as anything brand new.

"What's he called?" Ty asked me.

"Who?"

He smirked at me from the backseat and, looking in the rearview mirror, I could see him roll his eyes.

"Your Jeep."

"I don't know. I hadn't thought of a name yet. What do you think we should call him?"

Without hesitation he replied, "James. 'Cause he's really spendid!"

Now, if you're not familiar with Thomas the Tank Engine, you might not get the reference. But being the good Dad (or at least, as good of a Dad as I can be) I caught on. We decided to name him after the red diesel engine from the Railway Series of books. From that moment on, his name was James. Or as Ty and I lovingly called him, "Jamesy-James."

A Tribute to James -- Part One (of Three)

2011-07-25T14:42:00.010-04:00

I think that most people, at some point in time, can honestly say that they love an inanimate object. Not “love” as in “I want to marry a moped,” but simply a strong fondness for an object. It can be anything … a piece of furniture, a house or home, an article of clothing … and in America, quite often our automobile. After all, we as a society, spend a great deal of time in our cars. They are a requirement of life. It is something that you likely spend some time with each and every single day of your lives.

I have owned a number of cars in my life and I have been fond of most (certainly not all) of them. But only one has ever captured my heart. Only one vehicle can I say I truly loved. This is a dedication to him:

(… and, yes, I realize I used “him” instead of “it” … and with good reason!)

Oops! I'm Gonna Need a Car!

In October of 2007, I packed up my few belongings and moved from New York to Wilmington NC. I was at a low point in my life … I felt as though a nervous breakdown would occur any moment … and I had hoped that a change of scenery filled with warmer weather and beautiful beaches would help heal the physical, emotional and mental wounds I was suffering from. I had a job waiting on me, the money was okay (the company was filled with idiots, but whatever) and I would be nearer my precious Ty. It all seemed great!

Once in Wilmington however, it quickly dawned on me that living in a metropolis and living in a smaller community were two different things … and would have different requirements. Like a car.

See, for the last several years in NYC, I had been without a car. I didn't need one. I took public transportation everywhere I went. Having a car was actually a bit of a hassle … during the time I did have one, I accumulated hundreds (and hundreds) of dollars worth of parking tickets. But once I arrived in Wilmington it was readily apparent that I would need a vehicle … and I would need one quick. The only problem: I had spend quite literally every penny I had just to move. So I would rely on friends to provide transportation for a few weeks … something we all (at least, the majority of American males) find a bit embarrassing.

The Red Blazer at the Auto Auction

Three weeks later (and just a week before Thanksgiving), a friend and I go to an auto auction in Whiteville. Neither of us had any intention of buying a car. I only had about $700 to my name and couldn't dream of buying anything (that wasn't a piece of crap) for that … but we both thought we would get an idea of what type of vehicles they had (we were both in a position where we were going to have to buy something soon) so that maybe the following month, one or both of us could make a purchase.

The auction was actually cool … a whole lot of cars worth six or seven thousand were going for only two or three thousand … but this was way out of our price range. There were several heaps of garbage going cheap too … in fact we both had a laugh when a pair of Mexican brothers bought a Honda Accord with over 500,000 miles on it … it looked like shit and was spewing oil. Then again, they got it for only $200 cash … I guess, not bad in the long run. After a few hours of checking out the cars and being paranoid that any slight movement would mean I accidentally put in a bid, they wheeled in this 1991 Chevy Blazer. Ah! It was perfect. A little beat up, but it ran okay. The bidding began at $1500. Too bad I didn't have any money …

Then a surprising thing happened: nobody bid on the Blazer. The auction was thinning out. Those who had made purchases were getting paperwork done or were already on their way home. Another couple of dozen folks were like me and my friend, just spectators for the day. The auctioneer then looked over at the owner, they had a quick whispered discussion, and then they lowered the opening bid to $1000. Ah, so close.

But again, nothing happened. The owner and auctioneer had another (longer) whispered conversation. “The opening bid has been lowered to $500.” Before I even knew what I was doing, I was nodding at the auctioneer … I had just placed a bid on a car. Somebody else bid $525. I bid $550. Going once. Going twice. Sold!

Suddenly a panic hit me: I had just agreed to purchase a car. I had enough money in the bank account. There was one problem though … I didn't have a driver's license! In NYC, I had let is slide and didn't renew it … and you had to have a driver's license to purchase a car. Uh oh! Now we had a dilemma … the first of many …

Thinking quickly, I convinced my buddy that actually HE was buying the Blazer. Sure, I would be paying for it, but we would have to put the title in his name. Then, once I got my driver's license, we would transfer the title to my name. Okay, one problem solved. The next problem was that there was no plate on the car … not even a temporary plate. Little did I know the auction house wasn't responsible for that. While most people were loading up their purchases to be towed home, we weren't exactly prepared for that. I would have to drive it back to Wilmington with no plates. No worries, my buddy could just follow me in his car and stay close enough so that no cops could pull in behind me.

I hopped in, started him up and he sounded great. The gas gauge said I had over a quarter of a tank, so it should be plenty to get home and get it parked in the driveway … I could worry about everything else later. Twenty minutes later I learned the first little quirk of my new Blazer … the gas gauge didn't work! I ran out of gas a good 20 miles from Wilmington and home … and neither I nor my buddy had a gas can. Frustrated, but laughing, I climbed in my buddy's car and we turned back a few miles to the nearest service station and began to fill up any and every empty bottle he had in the car … two liter Coke bottles, a few smaller water bottles, you name it. After a nearly hour-long adventure of filling up bottles, taking them to the Blazer, pouring the gas and then getting him started up and back to the service station to actually put a safe amount of fuel in, we were back on the road. Minutes later I was home with my new red Blazer in the driveway. It wasn't legal to drive, but it was MINE … well, in theory.

Five Months Later

2011-07-19T22:48:00.002-04:00

... and I still can't think straight.

... and I still don't understand.

... and I still wake up confused.

... and I've all but given up hope.

In the fall of 2007, I was at my wits' end. I was fighting just to make it through the next day. My body, mind and soul were deteriorating. I felt I would have to make some drastic changes to maintain my health and my sanity. So on a whim, I up and moved south ... and faced challenge after challenge to build a "new" life ... but in doing so, for a time, beat back the health issues, the personal issues, the financial issues ... made friends, found love (or at least I sure as hell thought I did) and created a new career. I started out weak and alone, but developed strength and renewed my own integrity.

... and I'm back in the same boat.

... but this time I have more confidence in myself.

... I know that I am filled with righteousness.

... I know that I am not the one giving up.

But I'm feeling another whim coming on.

...

...

The Roar of the Throbbing Hum

2011-06-09T21:55:00.000-04:00

Throbbing. A throbbing pain that he couldn't isolate. A throbbing noise; a loud deafening hum fading in and out.

Uncertain, he opened his eyes and saw ... nothing. Grayness with hints of black and red. He could make out no discernible shapes. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make his eyes focus. In fact, he wasn't even certain he wanted his eyes to focus. He wasn't certain of anything ... where he was, when it was or even who he was. But he knew pain. Ripping through his body, welling in his chest and cutting through his mind as though it were a blade. Confused and frightened, he stayed motionless. Finally, another sensation.

Taste. Disgusting, horrible taste filled his mouth. A combination of salt and bile. Had he thrown up? Was it sweat? He reached up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It didn't help. He leaned back and for the first time realized he had been sitting upright, but slumped forward. His vision wasn't clearing, but the throbbing hum was growing louder and the taste was even stronger. With his right hand he wiped away the inside of his mouth. Moisture. Liquid. Sticky, hot liquid. "My God, am I bleeding?"

With his hand on his lap he tried to focus on it. Concentrate on it. Find out what it was.

But it was impossible to concentrate with the roar of the throbbing hum, the pain shooting through his body. He realized then that he was trembling. Violently. His hand wasn't resting on his lap, but was flopping around like a fish pulled from the ocean. The recognition of that movement somehow made his eyes begin to find shapes and objects, not clearly, but enough to recognize that he was looking at his hand, his arm, jerking wildly against his blood soaked jeans. He also recognized smoke. Black smoke coming up from near his feet. Moments after seeing it, he inhaled it deeply.

In a daze he began to cough. Phlegm and spittle flew from his mouth and nose. The first cough brought a searing pain that shot round and round in his chest like a tornado breaking ribs. The second and third coughs did likewise and the pain was so great that he fought to suppress the next cough. He lost that fight and with the following cough his body wretched and vomit spewed from his mouth. The pain and the nausea brought another bit of clarity. He knew he had been unconscious, he knew he was someplace familiar.

"The car?"

He forced his head up, ignoring the pain and the smoke and saw a spider-web of cracks through glass. He recognized the interior of his car, so familiar yet so unrecognizable. A nightmarish version of someplace familiar and welcoming. He was in his car and that ... that shattered piece of blue, gray and black metal in front of him had hit him. He had been in a crash.

Papers from the glove box floated in the air burning as large embers. "The car is on fire," he thought to himself incredulous as to this even being possible. He looked down at the crimson that soaked his legs and realized that the blood must be his. He also realized that the car wasn't the only thing on fire ... his pants were on fire as well. Only upon making this realization did he feel that pain, a sharp sting surrounding his calf. He reached for the door handle, but to no avail. It wasn't where it normally was. In a panic, he ran his hands across the metal and plastic to his left until he felt the latch and pulled.

A wave of fresh, cool air hit him followed by the hard gravel and ground. Immediately he remembered the old saying, “stop, drop and roll.” The only problem was that he simply couldn't get his body to react to the thought. On his knees, he patted at the fire on his lower legs weakly. He watched the blood stain the dirt in front of him, uncertain of where it was coming from. If only he could concentrate, if only the surging, throbbing noise would go away. He turned and saw the flames in the cab of the car, embers flying about. It was surreal, as if he were watching television with the sound off. Yet he could feel the heat.

He knew he wasn't safe. He had to move. He had to do something. But he couldn't. He felt helpless. Like an invalid. Like a child. Like a baby.

A baby?

Dear God! They were still in there!

King Rich & Kyle Davis on KLBK-13

2011-05-27T19:45:00.003-04:00

Don't Think For a Moment I Can't Pull It Off

2011-03-27T18:06:00.002-04:00

They say that love is doing what's right for somebody else before you turn your attention to yourself. Yup ... I really don't have a problem doing that. Although it seems I'm the only one capable of doing such sometimes.

We all make mistakes. I can't prevent you from making your mistakes ... no matter how incredible they are or how bad the consequences are for me.

If you struggle with the choices that you have made ... then maybe, just maybe, you've made the wrong choices.

Maybe This Is Why I Don't Blog

2011-02-24T17:13:00.002-05:00

It seems that every single freaking time I take up this blog again, horrible things happen to me a few weeks later. Maybe I should just keep all of my thoughts and opinions to myself.

Have you ever been in a hole so deep that you can't comprehend how you could possibly get out of it? I was in much the same boat just seven or eight months ago. But at the time I had plenty on my side ... a great relationship with a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, career opportunities slowly beginning to reveal themselves ... it was gonna take some time, but light was at the end of the tunnel.

So I focused on that possible bright new future ... one with the woman of my dreams by my side, my choice of career real and possible and some degree of financial security. The problem was ... it wasn't coming fast enough.

So I changed my focus more to the here and now ... not out of selfish reasons, but because I never thought it fair to not uphold my end of the bargain in my relationship. And although I was taking positive steps in the right direction ... I'm afraid I neglected the true reason I was doing it in the first place. Her.

She has been pushed to the breaking point. The point where she appears to no longer care for and/or about me. Its my fault.

But whatever happened to "relationships take work?" We haven't done the work ... we really haven't. And that is what breaks my heart.

The next ten days will dictate my future on a scale like never before. In ten days, I will have no other choice but to forfeit everything I ever dreamt of ... my choice of career, my future, my ability to fend for myself ... and most of all, I will have to forfeit the only relationship that has real value and potential in my life.

In ten days ... life will not be worth living. Again.

Social Media Label Disagreement

2011-01-28T09:40:00.009-05:00

I've been wanting to write this particular blog entry for the past several days. I'm annoyed and once again have the desire to get on my soapbox and do a little preaching. I've tried to keep that to a minimum, but sometimes you just gotta give in and speak up.

So I'm checking facebook the other day and am scrolling down my newsfeed. Nothing terribly interesting to report … comedians promoting their shows (for those of you who don't know, all of us comics are friends on facebook for some reason), a few silly videos posted, some of my artistic friends posted photographs and two or three of my friends were reporting what they were having for dinner. Then I saw a post that only caught my eye because it had nearly twenty comments (and now it has around 60). Curiosity got the best of me and I read it.

The post itself was from a comedian working in South Texas who I don't really know (a good fifth of my friends list are comedians I don't really know) who posted something along the lines of “I'm headlining a show and if you don't like it, you can kiss my ass.” The responses / comments ran the gamut from “good for you” to a ridiculous tirade telling this particular comedian that he has no right to headline a show and that he's weakening his local comedy scene by doing so because he's never really worked a real comedy club.

Comedians bitching at one another because their egos are so fragile? Sigh.

For those of you who are not in the “comedy business” (God bless you) let me take a moment to explain the issue and terminology. Although a comedy show may be presented in many different formats, the one most frequently used (with variations and with good reason) includes a host or emcee, an opening act (or guest spot) who performs anywhere from three to ten minutes, a feature act (frequently called “the middle”) who performs twenty to thirty minutes and then the headliner who will do anywhere from forty-five minutes to a little more than an hour (yes, some headliners will boast about being able to do longer … I'll address that in another post). Although I have always agreed with this format (if booked correctly, the show builds nicely to a crescendo), the more and more I work in this business, the more and more I laugh at how comedians want to label themselves.

Don't get me wrong … there's a very good reason we all want to be considered headliners. Headliners typically make more money. The problem is, more than a few people in this “business” only want to be considered headliners because they want to stroke their own delusional egos. For one, I don't speak of myself in those terms. Taking a look at the work I did in 2010, I headlined about 60% of the time, featured about 30% of the time, did a couple of guest spots and hosted a large number of the shows I produced. However, I do not affix one of those stupid labels to myself … because I am much more concerned about the show than I am my performer's ego. Trust me … I've seen more than one so-called headliner who couldn't carry his weight … the business is filled with them. I've also seen features who shouldn't even be doing anything other than an open-mic. But its not really their fault … that responsibility falls on the booker.

My thought has always been to arrange the comics in a line-up that benefited the show. That line-up may or may not be based on experience. For example, having a high energy feature with a low-key headliner may not always work out. When booking shows, I always try to find a line-up that benefits the show itself, not the individual egos of those involved. The question for me is: can they fill their time and fill it well? And yes, I will admit, I've made some mistakes booking folks who couldn't fill their time and (worst of all) couldn't fill it well.

Back to my facebook friend: his biggest detractor was a fellow comedian who appears to have more experience but, from a quick Google search, not all that much really. This detractor appears to have carved himself a little niche as a house comic in a couple of established clubs and … well, that's all. But, since he's worked in clubs whereas this other fellow appears to have worked mostly in alternative venues (bars and clubs, for example), he obviously feels superior and entitled to tell somebody how to conduct his business. I don't know this guy either … he may be an awesome fellow … but he comes across as a self-righteous dick hole. Who the hell is he to tell a fellow comic what he's capable of?

To top it all off … the show is for NO MONEY (a mistake, my friends) and is being produced by the would-be headliner. So really … who gives a f*ck?

My advice to the first-time headliner: if it is what is best for the show (and you honestly believe that) the DO IT! Screw the detractors. However, if the show would benefit from a different line-up (perhaps you have forty-five minutes, but some of it is not all that strong), then investigate that route. Do what is best for the show on that particular night. Period. End of story. It really isn't any more complicated than that.

My advice to the adamant detractor: shut the hell up! Do your talking on stage, because otherwise you come across as a massive prick. You may be right … this guy may not be able to carry the “headliner” load … so how does that affect you? You're not even on the bill. You don't like this guy? Then don't work with him. Or better yet … why don't you feature for him and blow him out of the water?

My advice to the both of them: get rid of this antiquated thinking in terms of headliner, feature and so forth. How about referring to yourselves as comedians? How about taking the slots you are offered (or booked) and making the most of them? How about paying attention to your own business and career and letting your fellow comics take care of theirs? How about (here's a novel thought) you support one another and help push one another to be better?

I don't think of myself in terms of headliner or feature … I think of myself as a comic. That's it. And frankly, I'm barely that … only in the past year has comedy become my primary source of income, only recently has it become my job. Sure … I get aggravated as hell when I hear some kid from an open-mic who has never taken home a paycheck call himself a “comedian,” but I typically keep my freakin' mouth shut. It's a “title” I've worked hard to earn … not everybody deserves it … but even then, the mouth (at least publicly) stays freakin' shut!

I'm a comedian. You guys are comedians. How about we just leave it at that?

Discovering Marijuana at a ZZ Top Concert

2011-01-27T22:59:00.000-05:00

On The Road Again!

2011-01-14T10:59:00.000-05:00

We've had our cup of coffee ...

You know that feeling when you get to work where you spend the first 10 or 15 minutes doing very little, if anything at all, before you get the day started? Y'know ... you drink a cup of coffee, chat with a co-worker or two, stare out the window, check your facebook ... and then, when you're good and ready, you get the day started? Well ... that's how the Justice League of Comedy has started out 2011. But we've had our coffee, checked our facebook and stared out the window (at all that snow!) and now it's time to get on the road again!

This week KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS start the 'Heroes of Humor 2011 Tour' with three performances in Louisiana and Arkansas at three brand new venues!

1/19/2011 8:30PM

ABOVE GROUND COMEDY
Station Sports Bar
4608 Bennington Ave
Baton Rouge LA

KING RICH headlines and KYLE DAVIS features at this exciting new venue in Baton Rouge. On Wednesday, August 26th, 2009, Above Ground Comedy debuted at Station Sports Bar & Grill in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. College students and business professionals quickly flocked to the exciting atmosphere for comic relief. Every week, local and traveling comedians appear to hone their craft and possibly earn opportunities to host, feature and headline upcoming shows and various events.

1/21/2011 9:00PM

LA NUIT COMEDY THEATER
5039 Freret St
New Orleans LA 70115

The Justice League of Comedy has teamed up with NOLA Comedy to bring you a great night of heroic laughs in New Orleans! The venue: Where Y'at Magazine has named it the Best Comedy Venue for three years running, The Gambit has named it the Best Place to see Stand-Up. KING RICH & KYLE DAVIS make their first appearance in New Orleans. Discount advance tickets are available by clicking the image above!

1/22/2011 9:00PM

KNIGHT PLAY COMEDY CLUB
8500 Castle Valley Rd
Little Rock AR 72103

Little Rock has been buzzing about this new and exciting venue for great stand-up comedy! Knight Play is Little Rock's newest comedy venue featuring the best service and comics from all over the United States! KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS are honored to bring the 'Heroes of Humor' Tour to Knight Play for what promises to be one royally funny knight ... uhm, night.

HEROES OF HUMOR
TEXAS TOUR MAY '11

THE JUSTICE LEAGUE OF COMEDY
is proud to present
"HEROES OF HUMOR TEXAS TOUR '11"

The Justice League of Comedy is proud to welcome Texans Adam Komar and Chris Neri to the Texas Tour '11. These special event shows will feature four comedians all dressed in superhero t-shirts performing a hilarious and geek-tastic comedy show!

With custom music, backdrop (and those shirts) during what promises to be a very superhero heavy summer (movie versions of Thor, Green Lantern & Captain America are all being released), this is an ideal event to schedule at your venue! Whether a comedy club, a restuarant and bar or even a comic book shop, you'll want to bring the Heroes of Humor to your town!

Visit our TEXAS page by clicking the state above or by clicking here to watch an exclusive promotion video!

Why bring the
HEROES OF HUMOR
tour to your venue?

It's a fun & affordable alternative for entertainment

* 90+ minutes of uproarious comedy
* Experience in all types of venues
* Wide demographic to fill your needs
* Generate a buzz with the Justice League of Comedy
* Affordable rates to fit any budget
* Promotional artwork tailored to your venue and made available for reprinting a no additional charge.

Are you a regular comedy venue?
* The Heroes of Humor Tour is one of the most exciting in '11.
* We bring a perfect combination of experience & fresh energy.
* We go above and beyond to help promote events.
* Respected and dependable comics.

Not a “comedy club?” That's okay!
* We specialize in alternative venues.
* Generate revenue with cover charge and increased bar sales.
* Set yourself apart from the competition.
* Generate a buzz in your community.
* Bring in new patrons for their first visit.

Follow the Justice League of Comedy on facebook by clicking here!

We are currently having a HUGE sale on DVDs! Discounted prices and we pay the shipping! Visit our merchandise page and place your order today!

Heroes of Humor Texas Tour '11 Promotional Video

2011-01-13T22:40:00.000-05:00

Heroes of Humor Coming to NOLA

2011-01-06T16:10:00.000-05:00

Wilmington NC – January 6, 2011 – It has been two years since professional comedians KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS (collectively known as the Justice League of Comedy) first hit the road and began bringing hero-sized laughs to audiences across the nation. 2010 was spent touring over forty cities around the country (see a partial list here), but they are now making their debut in New Orleans with a special one-night engagement at La Nuit Comedy Theatre (5039 Freret St, New Orleans LA) on their new “Heroes of Humor” 2011 American tour.

In November of 2009, the Justice League of Comedy filmed their first DVD release at Nutt St Comedy Room in their hometown of Wilmington NC (an all-new revised version of which will be available at the shows). A little over a year and well over ten-thousand miles later, the Heroes of Humor celebrate a New Orleans arrival after having seen more of the country (i.e. interstates) and each other than they thought they could stand.

"We've been fortunate," claims Justice League of Comedy founder King Rich, "to expand our reach and perform across the country … from Montana to Texas to New York City. These days, everybody needs a laugh and we're just trying to be the heroes that fill that need. But going to New Orleans and performing for our friends and fans in the area … now that promises to be something very special and an exciting way to kick off the new year."

About the Justice League of Comedy

Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall stages in a single bound! -- Look! Up on the stage! It's a guy! It's a microphone! It's the Justice League of Comedy! Yes, the JLC ... strange visitors from another planet (or at least, neighborhood), who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men! Fighting a never-ending battle for truth, justice and a laughing audience!

KING RICH is one of the fastest rising comedians working in the industry today. He has appeared on HBO, TBS and the upcoming feature film Writer's Block. He has headlined comedy venues from coast to coast, including recently headlining the Dallas Comedy Festival, and made television appearances on Sex & the City, Forensic Files and a Telly-Award winning episode of The New Detectives. His writing has been produced nationally and off-off Broadway and has been honored by the Midtown International Theatre Festival (NYC) and the Innovative Theatre Awards. He has two children (Derek and Ty) who mean the world to him and are the source of his smile.

KYLE DAVIS is one of the hottest rising comedic stars in the nation. He was fortunate enough to be raised in a community that was supportive of the arts and his participation in them. He made his show-business debut at the age of five when he was cast as an extra in Matlock ... he didn't have any lines and his scene was eventually cut because the producers thought he was "too cute." As he grew older he realized that actors scare him and turned his attention to stand-up comedy. In a very short span of time he has entertained audiences from coast to coast and, in addition to working frequently with JLC partner King Rich, has also worked with headliners including Gary Conrad, MG Gaskin, Mello Mike and a host of others.

For more information about the Justice League of Comedy, or this particular event, please visit justiceleagueofcomedy.com.

Event Information

9PM Friday January 21

LA NUIT COMEDY THEATER
5039 Freret St
New Orleans LA 7011

Tickets: $10 at the door or $8 in advance at justiceleagueofcomedy.com

Three Amigos Comedy Show

2010-12-16T09:01:00.000-05:00

CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS WITH A LATINO TWIST — AND A DASH OF POLITICALLY INCORRECT HUMOR - Christmas Comedy Show and Mariachi Band Concert. Friday, December 17, 2010 starting at 8 p.m at UNCW Kenan Auditorium

Local comedian Daniel Butler joins fellow comics King Rich and The Bazz for “Feliz Navidad,” a Christmas comedy show that will also feature Christmas music performed with a mariachi flavor by The Three Amigos (......Los Tres Amigos). “Feliz Navidad” is sponsored by Amigos Internacional, the organization that runs the annual Festival Latino at Hugh McRae Park. The show will be held at UNCW Kenan Auditorium on Friday, December 17, starting at 8 p.m. for ticket information please call Kenan Box Office (910) 962-3500.

The popular local mariachi band, LOS TRES AMIGOS, was founded by Pablo Cordoba, who moved to Wilmington 12 years ago from New York City. The band performs extensively in the Wilmington area, including regularly at El Cerro Grande in Monkey Junction. The band will perform a variety of Christmas songs and Latino classics.

* * *
Amigos Internacional is nonprofit organization dedicated to helping Latino/Hispanics become an integral and valuable part of the community by promoting cross-cultural understanding, assisting families and individuals to meet their basic needs, empowering, advocating for and educating those most in need.

A Letter of Thanks!

2010-11-24T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello friends, family and fans;

I wanted to take a moment and extend my best wishes to each of you this holiday season. I'm always excited when this time of year rolls around because, to me at least, it is a reminder of love, good will and cheer. It is also a time to reflect on the past year and give thanks for the many undeserved gifts I have received.

In 2010 I have been very fortunate to travel all over this wonderful nation of ours, from the Pacific Northwest to the southern coast of Florida. In that time I have visted nearly 50 cities, performed on numerous stages and, most importantly, met literally thousands of amazing and interesting people. I have experienced the euphoria of hearing your laughter, the gratitude of shaking your hands, the exhaustion of being trapped in a car for hour upon hour and the sheer joy of returning home to kiss my girlfriend and pet her cranky cat. In short ... it has been one heck of a ride!

And for that, I am grateful! More grateful than I can properly express in this newsletter.

I have truly been blessed this year, both personally and professionally. The dream of becoming a road-warrior, vagabond comic is coming true. And its all thanks to you!

I wish you and yours the best this holiday season. And although I don't know all of your names, please know that before I carve that turkey, I will give thanks for each and every one of you.

Happy Holidays,
~KING RICH

Yes Indeed ... All Roads Lead Home

2010-10-25T16:04:00.001-04:00

The Heroes of Humor Return Home

Professionally touring comedians King Rich and Kyle Davis return home to Wilmington for a special weekend at Nutt St Comedy Room entitled “All Roads Lead Home.”

Wilmington NC – October 25, 2010 – It has been twelve months since Wilmington professional comedians KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS (collectively known as the Justice League of Comedy) have played to a home crowd. After a year spent touring over forty cities around the country (see a partial list at: justiceleagueofcomedy.com/credits), they are coming back together for a very special two-night event at Nutt St Comedy Room (225 N Front Street, basement below The Soapbox) in Wilmington NC. The show will be hosted by local comedian Mike Santo and seating is limited.

In November of 2009, the Justice League of Comedy filmed their first DVD release at Nutt St Comedy Room (an all-new revised version of which will be available at the shows). Almost exactly a year and over ten-thousand miles later, the Heroes of Humor celebrate a homecoming after having seen more of the country (i.e. interstates) and each other than they thought they could stand.

"We've been fortunate," claims Justice League of Comedy founder King Rich, "to expand our reach and perform across the country … from Montana to Texas to New York City. These days, everybody needs a laugh and we're just trying to be the heroes that fill that need. But coming home and performing for our home town … now that promises to be something very special."

About the Justice League of Comedy

Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall stages in a single bound! -- Look! Up on the stage! It's a guy! It's a microphone! It's the Justice League of Comedy! Yes, the JLC ... strange visitors from another planet (or at least, neighborhood), who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men! Fighting a never-ending battle for truth, justice and a laughing audience!

KING RICH is a nationally touring comedian who has appeared on HBO, TBS, Court TV and the upcoming feature film Writer's Block. He has played colleges and clubs throughout the country including Gotham, EastVille, Laugh Lounge, the Laugh Factory, New York Comedy Club – Boca Raton, Groucho's Comedy Club, DSI Comedy Theater, the Charleston Comedy Festival, LeMoyne College (Syracuse NY) and various military installations, most recently Camp Lejuene in Jacksonville NC. He's featured for nationally touring headliners such as Basile, Rollin' Jay Moore, Just June and Tim Statum and headlined dozens of venues across the U.S. including the Dallas Comedy Festival, The Treehouse (Austin, TX), Joker's Icehouse (Killeen TX) and DirtySexyComedy (Spring TX).

KYLE DAVIS is one of the hottest rising comedic stars in the nation. He was fortunate enough to be raised in a community that was supportive of the arts and his participation in them. He made his show-business debut at the age of five when he was cast as an extra in Matlock ... he didn't have any lines and his scene was eventually cut because the producers thought he was "too cute." As he grew older he realized that actors scare him and turned his attention to stand-up comedy. In a very short span of time he has entertained audiences from coast to coast and, in addition to working frequently with JLC partner King Rich, has also worked with headliners including Gary Conrad, MG Gaskin, Mello Mike and a host of others.

For more information about the Justice League of Comedy, or this particular event, please visit justiceleagueofcomedy.com.

Event Information

Friday November 12 &
Saturday November 13

Nutt St Comedy Room
255 N Front Street (Basement)
Wilmington NC 28401

Doors at 8pm
Show at 9pm

Tickets: $10 at the door or $8 in advance at justiceleagueofcomedy.com

Royal Treatment Heading East!

2010-09-29T11:01:00.000-04:00

The Royal Treatment Tour continues to take America by storm this week with more exciting performances!

First, KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS head to Cedar Park TX to share some funny with Jennifer Hill and Ryan Cownie at Spotlight Karaoke and Sports Bar (601 E Whitestone Blvd #600, Cedar Park TX) for a special night of great food and great fun. Admission is free and the show starts at 9pm ... make your plans now because the show is TONIGHT (Sept 29th)!

Then on Friday October 1st, KING RICH blows into Shreveport LA for a special performance at Even Steven (9006 Mansfield Rd) featuring Kyle Davis. This Justice League of Comedy production is free to the general public and kicks off at 7pm.

THE TOUR HEADS EAST

North Carolina fans can rest easy knowing that the Royal Treatment Tour is heading back East. KING RICH makes appearances in Pinehurst and Charlotte next week!

Head over to kingrichcomedy.com to keep up with additional shows!

Week Two of Royal Treatment Tour Through Texas!

2010-09-21T12:02:00.000-04:00

The Royal Treatment Tour continues to take Texas by storm this week with more exciting performances!

First, KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS return to Spring TX to engage in some DirtySexyComedy at the Exit 73 Bar and Grill. The show will also feature local favorite Mark Hurtado. The fun begins at 8pm and admission is only $5!

Then on Saturday the 25th, KING RICH blows into Farmersville TX for a special performance at CL Sports Grill (697 S Hwy 78) featuring Kyle Davis and Mick Grahnquist. This Justice League of Comedy production is free to the general public and kicks off at 9pm.

THE TOUR CONTINUES

Can't make one of these shows? No worries ... the Royal Treatment Tour continues next week with appearances in Cedar Park TX and Shreveport LA.

Head over to kingrichcomedy.com to keep up with additional shows!

Streaking Through Texas Like a Tornado!

2010-09-05T13:08:00.000-04:00

The Royal Treatment Tour takes Texas by storm starting this week with three exciting performances!

First, Combustible Entertainment welcomes KING RICH and KYLE DAVIS to Tumbleweed Bar in Nolanville TX for an exciting night of comedy hosted by Fort Hood's own John Freeman on Friday, Sept 17th. Admission is only $3!

The following evening, KING RICH blows into Austin TX for a special performance at The Treehouse (501 E 6th St) featuring Kyle Davis and Mick Grahnquist. Discount advance tickets are now available for only $5 at kingrichcomedy.com.

Then, by popular demand, KING RICH will appear at 2826 Arnetic (2826 Elm Street, Dallas TX) for one night only on Monday Sept 20th. Doors at 8pm and tickets only $5 -- this will be an off-night laughfest of a party ... so don't miss it!

THE TOUR CONTINUES

Can't make one of these shows? No worries ... the Royal Treatment Tour continues next week with appearances at DirtySexyComedy in Spring TX and in McKinney TX.

Head over to kingrichcomedy.com to keep up with additional shows coming to TX!

The Royal Treatment in your own home!

2010-07-06T15:58:00.000-04:00

At long last, KING RICH's solo DVD is now available to all KING RICH and JUSTICE LEAGUE OF COMEDY fans. Just click the pic below to order yourself nearly one hour's worth of royally funny stuff for only $10.00!

Plus, all Justice League of Comedy DVDs are also available -- including JUSTICE LEAGUE OF COMEDY: HEROES OF HUMOR featuring comedy from Craiger, Kyle Davis and KING RICH plus a half-hour documentary on the lives of these comics.
Just visit the JLC merchandise page to order your copies today.

DON'T MISS
KING & KYLE
IN CAROLINA BEACH

One of the downsides to working on the road is that sometimes too many months go by before we can perform for our friends and family at home. Tomorrow night (Wed, 7/7/2010) that comes to an end as KING RICH and Kyle Davis will be performing at the first of the 'Comedy at the 'Horn' events at the Blackhorn Bar & Grill in Carolina Beach.

Come and have some fun & laughs with us!

7/7/2010 9:30PM
BLACKHORN BAR & KITCHEN
15 Carolina Beach Ave
Carolina Beach NC 28428

Join Us at The Diamond Club

2010-06-04T15:58:00.000-04:00

Tonight, KING RICH headlines a fantastic Justice League of Comedy show with Doug Canney, Amy Kennedy and Steven Forrest at The Diamond Club of New Bern. Start your weekend out with some big, big laughs!

More Mayhem in May!

2010-05-13T10:14:00.000-04:00

May is the month of movement ... or so it seems with KING RICH and the Justice League of Comedy as the second half of the month promises to be just as busy as the first.

KING RICH is back in North Carolina for a special appearance at the Urban League Spoken Word Poetry & Stand-Up Comedy Event in Elizabeth City, NC. This event will be held at 8pm on May 14th at E-City Restaurant & Lounge (211 S Hughes Blvd).

Then on May 20th, the Royal Treatment Tour heads into Virginia Beach for a Justice League of Comedy show at Shaka's (2014 Atlantic Avenue) with the Craiger and Bill Metzger on the bill with headliner KING RICH. Things are going to be Royally Funny at Virginia Beach's new "Hall of Humor!"

And don't think we'll be slowing down in June as KING RICH headlines a great bill of comics at the Diamond Club of New Bern on June 4th.

Finally ... a much-too-late but well-deserved thanks to John Roberts at The Big Mouth Club in Waldorf MD, to Greg Collett with the TBD Brooklyn Comedy Show and KD the Comic in Syracuse and all the seniors at LeMoyne College ... you guys were all awesome!

You need a Big Mouth to bite a Big Apple!

2010-04-28T14:05:00.000-04:00

This week KING RICH heads to Waldorf MD for some fun and games with appearances Thursday through Saturday for the Big Mouth Club in Full Rack Sports Bar (2175 Crain Highway, Waldorf, MD). The Big Mouth Club promises to be the most unique home for entertainment in Southern Maryland and KING RICH will be the first headlining comedian to play the Big Mouth stage. So come feed your face with the Big Mouth Burger and then enjoy some big laughs. Tickets are only $10 at the door.

The Royal Treatment Tour then heads back to New York City as KING RICH joins friend and funnyman Greg Collett, Michelle Gagliano and others for t.b.d. Brooklyn Comedy Night (224 Franklin Street (at Green Street) Brooklyn NY) at 9pm on May 5th.

Then the Tour bus (or rental car, rather) heads north to Syracuse where KING RICH will appear with KD the Comic for a special event at Le Moyne College on May 10th.

But never fear, friends and fans in the South, as KING RICH scrambles back to North Carolina for a special appearance at the Urban League Spoken Word Poetry & Stand-Up Comedy Event in Elizabeth City, NC. This event will be held at 8pm on May 14th at E-City Restaurant & Lounge (211 S Hughes Blvd).

We're also about to announce new dates in Virginia Beach VA, New Bern NC and even appearances in Montana and Washington state later this year. Also we'll be unveiling some changes at the website (kingrichcomedy.com) in the coming weeks.

Awesome April Events!

2010-04-06T13:00:00.000-04:00

a personal note from KING RICH

Hey friends, fans and loved ones,

Thanks to all of you who came out for the various shows last month down in the Lone Star State. It was a fun and exciting time filled with new and familiar faces and fun and exciting places.

Let me take just a second to personally thank Lydia O'Neil for running an awesome event at the eXit 73 Bar & Grill in Spring TX (if you're ever in the neighborhood, go get some DirtySexyComedy) and to Channing Kingery-Boles for doing likewise at Joker's Icehouse in Killeen TX. Also, a great big thanks and congrats to the crew at the Dallas Comedy House for producing and staging the first ever Dallas Comedy Festival.

But now the fun and action returns to the Carolina coast with two fantastic Justice League of Comedy shows coming up in Emerald Isle and Atlantic Beach. Nutt St Comedy's own Timmy Sherrill will headline both nights ... and if you've never seen Timmy live then, please, don't miss this. He is honestly one of my personal favorite comics and I'm sure you all will enjoy him. In the feature slot both nights is Greensboro's own The Bazz. I first saw Bazz at the 2009 Port City's Top Comic and was blown away ... he's a veteran from the NC Comics All-Stars and will bring a new twist to the Justice League of Comedy. We'll have guest slots at both shows too, with Doug Canney making his JLC debut at Ballyhoo's and our old friend Doug Shaw performing at Beach Tavern. Oh ... and I'll be along to emcee both shows! Please check these shows out!

Later in the month, I'll be heading up to Harrisonburg VA to work a huge event (more on that in the next newsletter), but for the most part will be close to home for April. And although I will surely enjoy a little taste of home, I'll also be longing to get back on the road and visit all of my friends out there. So stay tuned ... I'll be coming to see you soon!

Thanks for all of your love and support!

Sincerely,
~King Rich

Get Along Little Doggies!

2010-03-29T15:53:00.000-04:00

After a fantastic time at the Dallas Comedy Festival (thanks Chris, Clay and Amanda!), the Royal Treatment Tour continues in Texas with three appearances to get the week started.

The whole thing kicks off Monday in Killeen TX as KING RICH will be making an appearance at Joker's Icehouse:

Joker's Icehouse (704-B E Veterans Memorial Blvd, Killeen TX) will become the area's home for stand-up comedy at 7pm on Monday, March 29th as eleven local hopefuls battle it out to prove who's the funniest. Competing in the showcase are local comics Dan South, Dwayne D-1, Paul Roca, Deon Moore, Carl Clark, Ethan Moore, JD Styles, Brandon Raynes, Sick Mick, Joe Thomason and Eric Kennedy. The program will be hosted by Channing Kingery-Boles with special guest judges Trippin' Dawn (from 107.3 Fox Rocks), Don Jones of Down Slid and Sid Blevins of Full Battle Rattle. The show will then be capped off with a performance from headliner KING RICH. There will be no cover charge this night ... so its a free night of laughs Killeen!

... then over to see our friends at the Corner Pub in Conroe ...

The Corner Pub is a place to meet with your friends and co-workers as well as a great entertainment venue. They provide a variety of music such as acoustic, blues, jazz and songwriters ... and on Tuesday, March 30th, they'll be a surprise stop on the Royal Treatment Tour.

... then close out March with some DirtySexyComedy ...

Always free, with no cover charge or a drink minimum, the professional comedy show held at the eXit73 Bar & Grill (24714 I-45 North, Spring, TX) was created by Lydia O’ Neil, a California transplant with a background in television, and is the hottest new spot in Spring TX for fun and laughs. At 8pm on Wednesday, March 31st, the show will not only be DirtySexyComedy ... but will be DirtySexyRoyalComedy as KING RICH headlines with special featured comedian Dennis Fowler.

Everything's Bigger! Now it Gets Funnier!

2010-03-22T09:00:00.000-04:00

This week, KING RICH will be making a quick run through his home state of Texas!

It all begins at 8pm on Thursday, March 25th at the first ever Dallas Comedy Festival, hosted by the Dallas Comedy House. KING RICH is honored to be included in the stand-up portion of the festival, which also will include performances by improv groups Rigor Tortoise (Los Angeles), Scram (Minneapolis/Chicago, Pretty JackJaybird (Austin), Back to School Night (New York), Four Day Weekend (Ft. Worth) and many more. Tickets, as well as festival passes and workshop passes are now available (click the logo below). Limited quantities available for shows and workshops.

... then on to Killeen ...

... then close out March with some DirtySexyComedy ...

Note from King Rich

2010-03-10T13:50:00.000-05:00

Hello friends, family & fans:

I wanted to take a moment and send you a message expressing my thanks for your constant support.

Maybe its because I see my career nearing the next step, maybe its because I turn 40 next week, maybe its because I'm finally getting the hang of having an online presence ... but I am very excited to tell you about some changes and some growth that we in the "King Rich Comedy Camp" have in store. After sitting and chatting with a number of you after shows recently, its dawned on me that I really want to have a more interactive experience with my small, but very loyal, fan base. So, over the course of the next several weeks, you're going to see some changes at the website (kingrichcomedy.com) as well as other social networking sites (facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc.) providing you with more of an opportunity to give feedback and, I hope, providing me with more of an opportunity to interact directly with you. There will be contests, giveaways, online polls, exclusive video content and all manner of fun stuff for us to participate in.

The first of those changes is this simple newsletter ... something we hope to grow and use as our primary tool to keep you guys informed of what fun stuff I have planned. I hope you will take the time to forward this to any and all of your friends and ask them to go ahead and join the mailing list. After all, the more people we invite to the party, the more fun we're going to have! Also, if you are not a friend/fan/follower on any of the social media sites, please take a moment to click the links to the right and then suggest me to all of your friends.

I am very excited about the larger outreach we're working on and about upcoming shows in Texas, Virginia, New York and more. We're working very diligently to expand the tour even further and hope to come visit all of you very soon.

My appreciation to you all!

~King Rich

March Gets The Royal Treatment

2010-03-05T15:42:00.000-05:00

This month King Rich will be making appearances in North Carolina, South Carolina and a return to his home state, Texas!

-March Schedule-

3/6/2010 9:00PM
BEACH TAVERN COMEDY NIGHT
Beach Tavern Bar & Grill
413 West Fort Macon Road
Atlantic Beach, NC 28512

3/12 - 3/13/2010
TBA
Charleston, SC
(check kingrichcomedy.com for details)

3/25/2010 8:00PM
DALLAS COMEDY FESTIVAL
Dallas Comedy House
2645 Commerce Street
Dallas, TX 75226

3/29/2010 7:00 PM
JOKER'S ICEHOUSE BAR AND GRILL
704-B East Veterans Memorial Blvd
Killeen, TX 76541

3/30/2010 8:00PM
CORNER PUB MIC
Corner Pub
302 N Main St
Conroe, TX

3/31/2010 8:00PM
DIRTYSEXYCOMEDY
Exit 73 Bar & Grill
24714 I-45 North
Spring, TX

Awesome Guys & a Blithering Idiot

2008-11-13T11:32:00.004-05:00

One of the great things about this so-called "human condition" is our ability to take great joy and pride in the success and accomplishment of others. To take delight in the expression of another's dignity. To witness unselfish acts performed by others is to rejoice in the beauty of our existence.

Finale ... or a new beginning?

Outside of those two boys that share my name, I don't know that I've ever been more proud of a group of young men than I was last night at the finale of the World Series of Comedy. Two guys, Leo Hodson and Craig Travis, came to the conclusion that in comedy (or any performing art, for that matter) that competition is ... well, just plain redundant. As performers we are always in competition to get a gig, get a payout, find some stage-time. The two men decided that was enough and instead of staging competing shows, pooled their resources and staged on of the best shows to ever take place on the Brown Coat stage.

And then, when it was all said and done, and the prizes were to be distributed (since there was no "winner," per se) ... they upped the ante and decided not to take any money, but rather donate the cash prize to Laughing for Life, a comedy benefit show staged to raise money for local families negatively impacted by cancer. They gave it away ... in a generosity of spirit and attitude ... they gave it away! Bravo! They truly are the Justice League of Comedy!

A few people in the audience reacted in a confused, maybe even negative way. One of the regulars demonstrated to me just how clueless he is about generosity when he asked me, "so, who is the winner?" I responded, "Laughing for Life ... and area families dealing with cancer." He rolled his eyes. He didn't get it. Yes ... they kinda threw a big kink into the competition ... but they also sent a message: "we don't want to compete; we just want to bring the funny!" They brought the funny! They also brought compassion and largesse. That's bigger and better than any old competition!

Folks -- there's enough competition in the world! Sometimes it's better to join hands, mend fences if necessary, and just stage a good show. It's all about the show! So ... congrats to Leo and Craig! And to Kyle, Jeff, Hal and Anthony ... and to Krevens, Gordon and Papa D ... to all of you who realized that there are some things that are bigger than "who's better than who."

Blithering Idiot

I've noticed something about myself. In certain situations, my mind reverts back in time some twenty-five years and turns me into an awkward, shy, mumble mouthed teenager again. The one recurring situation is when I'm actually spending time with somebody who I am genuinely attracted to. (And by "genuinely attracted" please don't infer that it's purely sexual ... just simply somebody who I really want to get to know, spend some time with, etc.)

Yes, I'm speaking about somebody specific ... and no, I will not name names.

It is so rare to stumble across somebody that you have a good deal in common with, somebody that has experienced some of the pain and mistakes you have, that has suffered from similar wounds yet is wonderfully intelligent, good natured, compassionate and beautiful. One might think in that situation that I would rush to get to know this person, spend time with this person ... one might think. Instead I turn into a blithering idiot who doesn't know how to ask somebody out.

Ladies ... if I'm ever suddenly less charming and more ... well, let's say, "uncertain and slightly adolescent" ... than chances are I'm probably falling for you and have a huge puppy-dog crush on you.

Jeez! I'm thirty-eight years old! You would think I would grow out of this!

Grow some

2008-10-28T12:06:00.005-04:00

Grow some cajones!

Fear is a terrible thing. It is defined as "a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined" on dictionary.com. When reading that definition, the term that strikes me most is "whether the threat is real or imagined." I suppose that we all are confronted by fears that are real and react accordingly. It's the imagined fears, though, that seem to be the most paralyzing.

Like most performers, I have to struggle through stage fright from time to time ... but for the most part, I have always conquered it. In all honesty, I don't know how or why I am able to beat back that sense of impending doom ... I imagine that it is simply years of experience combined with decent preparation that allows me to (on occasion, at least) become fearless on stage. I've made a complete fool of myself so many times that I'm not terribly troubled about doing it again.

Working with a number of stand-up comedians lately (trying to develop material and help them find their voice ... while in the process, trying to find my own) I have been frustrated every time I see somebody holding themselves back. I have also recognized that the primary culprit is their own inhibitions and fear of looking, appearing or sounding foolish. Just last night I explained to a number of up-and-coming comics that "cool" and "comedy" simply cannot co-exist in your mindset. James Dean was cool ... but he sure wasn't very funny, was he? If you're worried about being "cool" onstage, typically that's the last thing people are going to think of you. "Cool" is being yourself. "Cool" is being fearless. "Cool" is the willingness to make a jackass out of yourself to bring a smile to somebody's face.

But ... that's easy talk.

The opposite side of the equation is when the performer is off-stage ... where we spend the majority of our lives. And it is off-stage that fear (real and imagined) affects me the most. I find it amazing that I can stand up in front of a room full of people and sling jokes and stories and feel absolutely comfortable ... but when I sit at a table in a restaurant with somebody whose company I really enjoy, I become mush. I get caught up in appearances. I become overwhelmed by an inability to speak my mind, express my feelings.

For example, if I am attracted to a woman who I do not know very well ... typically I become a bumbling fool trying to steer the conversation anywhere but where I would like it to go. It takes time to develop trust and comfort with people and until that threshold is crossed ... well, I don't express much of anything that is real, true or honest about me. I'm a fairly intelligent, thirty-eight year old man ... with a career, responsibilities, children ... but I can so easily revert right back to being that thirteen-year-old shy little idiot. A roomful of strangers is the most terrifying thing I know ... an audience full of strangers is gratifying.

Maybe it's just because I've been burned more in "real" life that I have on stage. I can tell an audience how great they've been and how much I appreciate them ... but I can't tell somebody I've just met that I really dig them, am attracted to them and would like to spend more time getting to know them.

I need to grow some cajones too!

Some Quick, Quick Thoughts

2008-08-11T14:46:00.003-04:00

Summer is slipping away and I have not made nearly enough trips out to the beach nor taken any real time off from work … and I’m a little bummed about it. Should’ve gone swimming yesterday, but was feeling much too lazy to do much of anything. One of these days I have to get over that …

This past week was too, too busy what with long hours at work and three gigs (not to mention a little work in getting some future gigs booked) but I did learn a number of things. One, there are just some people who are too self-destructive for their own good and two, those people frequently haven’t the slightest clue that they are hurting nobody but themselves. I have to tell you, if you plan on ever succeeding at anything you need to learn to listen and to respect your peers. End of discussion.

We lost Bernie Mac a couple of days ago … honestly; I was never all that much of a fan. But I did respect the struggle he went through and think he not only deserved all the accolades he has received in recent years, but he deserved much, much more. He was an incredibly talented guy and his passing comes to close on the heels of our losing George Carlin. That’s two fewer great comedic minds in the world … and the world is a much sadder place without them.

Oh, by the way, Carlin’s last album (It’s Bad for Ya – released posthumously last week) is terrific … maybe the best thing he’s done in a decade. I picked it up at Best Buy this weekend and listened to it right away. It’ll probably be my iPod regular listen for the next several weeks. Go pick it up …

Having spent so many years up NYC-way, I was used to having to do battle with roaches. But now that I live in Wilmington, I’m having a completely different bug-infestation. Crickets! Little black crickets … in every room of my house … hopping around and then making a racket at night. When I was a kid I was told that killing a cricket is bad luck. Haven’t really meant to … but I’ve stepped on two or three this past week. So, once again, bad luck strikes at my place.

The Olympics have started again and I have to tell you … I like the events that don’t make primetime. Watching rowing on MSNBC yesterday afternoon was the most enjoyable “vegging out in front of the TV watching sports” moment of the year for me. But then again, I have to watch my Mets on the computer … so it’s like two different categories. Better chair in the living room though. That … and I had a can of cashews to munch on … highly enjoyable hour or two.

Okay ... I'm Back ...

2008-07-20T18:39:00.003-04:00

First ... an apology ...

Yes, I know, it has been an obscenely long time since I last wrote in my blog and for that I do apologize to all three of my readers. I will re-dedicate myself to writing more regularly and try to get this thing back on track. And since I've been away for so long, I'll use this entry to just update you all on what is going on with the Daddy Hippopotamus.

Back on Stage

After several months of a hiatus, I started to get back on the stage with some regularity in April ... the comedy club stage, not the theatre. No, I still haven't any intention of doing a play again anytime soon ... although I am frequently tempted. After several weeks of playing to near-empty houses at The Soapbox open-mic in downtown Wilmington (and starting to feel like I was getting my sea-legs back) I managed to find myself an extra gig here and there ... playing at the Comedy Cabana in Myrtle Beach a couple of times, doing a competition at the Mellow Mushroom here in town, travelling to Spartanburg SC with some other comics to play a bar there, another in Wrightsville Beach and another next month in Carolina Beach. I was also the first headliner to play at the brand new Brown Coat Pub & Theatre in June and have since hosted the Wednesday night open-mic amateur competition.

In the last 3-4 months I have started to get back in a position where I enjoy my time on stage again. I have also been frustrated that, even in North Carolina and even in the world of comedy, there are still selfish, stupid and inexplicably childish people out there who think they have the right to dictate to me how I should run my so-called career. And as I have done my entire life, I have distanced myself from those people as much as possible. No more will I allow anybody (ANYBODY!) to dictate what my level of commitment to "the business" will be ... especially those without a tenth of my experience or an understanding of who I am as a man or a comic. But I have also been thrilled to work with seasoned professionals like Gary Conrad and Basile (two class acts and superstars in my book!) and to work with amateur comics who have just discovered this scary and crazy little profession of ours.

Working with the amateur comics on Wednesday nights and a few of the "pros" in the area, I can say that there is a certain level of camaraderie that has developed ... and that is nice. That is something I want to nurture because ultimately that is the biggest thrill I get out of the business ... helping another develop. I am perfectly at home in the "father figure" role because I will never be selfish in this business. There are some dynamite comics (hell, just dynamite people) down here and I thank each and every one of them ... for their friendship and for the hours (well, maybe minutes) of laughter they have brought me. I also have to thank Richard Davis and the folks at the Brown Coat for giving me a venue and a show to preside over and take of as if it were my own. That has done more to restore my "artistic" soul than anything else and I am forever indebted.

And on a more personal note ...

I am glad to say that, with the exception of a minor scare here and there, I am physically in better shape than I have been in probably about three years. Life is certainly not without some of the same pressures ... money is extremely tight, for example ... but having the luxury to leave work at a half-way decent hour, get my daily walk in and eat a moderately healthy diet has made a major change in my life. I haven't been getting out to the beach as much as I would like over the last few weeks, but that will change.

I came to Wilmington to restore some level of peace to my life ... and although I wouldn't characterize me as being "at peace," I am leaps and bounds closer to that ideal than I have been in the last several years. In some ways I am extremely lonely (thanks to the price of gas, I have not been able to get up and visit Ty nearly as much as I had hoped I would) but I have my creative outlets, a small handful of good friends, a good job ... and a better ability to fight back when the State of New Jersey wants to screw with my finances because they can't keep their records straight (but more on that in another post).

Alright ... so there's the update. I'll try to get this blog back in shape in the coming weeks. Thanks for visiting again.

Twenty Question Interview: Rich Warren

2008-06-16T22:51:00.001-04:00

View this item.

1. Where are you from? I’m a military brat … I spent most of my childhood in Lubbock, TX. 2. What is your occupation? Actor,...

My Top Five Most Important Advancements in Human Society

2008-04-30T12:10:00.000-04:00

1) The invention of the wheel

Somehow I doubt that the wheel was invented, per se. I imagine it was just discovered. I can see it now. Some caveman saw a round rock rolling down a hill and thought: “Holy smokes! Look at thing go. I bet if I got four of them and tricked them out I could over-compensate for my tiny crotch-club.”

2) The creation of written language

How difficult education must have been before we learned to read and write. All you could go on is life experiences (“Big toothed cat, bad! Unga Munga!”) and what others told you (“Look at this scar I got from the big toothed cat. It’s bad.”) and that was it. Then somebody had the brilliant idea of drawing images that could mean different words: “These little circles with lines coming out of them are people. The ones with boobs are girls. And this big circle with squiggly lines coming out from all over it? That’s means “sun”. And this magical upright walking cat-god means “Magical upright walking cat-god.”

3) Plumbing

Oh dear, what was the world like before plumbing? This thought crossed my mind this morning when I had a little bit of a toilet backing up mishap. Just imagine that this wasn’t an occasional mishap, but rather an everyday occurrence. Thank you, Toileticus, Roman inventor of indoor plumbing.

4) Electricity

Thanks to something of a scheduling snafu, when I first moved to Wilmington I spent the first five days without electricity (also, keep in mind that the movers would not arrive for a week, so I was basically without everything) and my arrival just so happened to correspond with a cold front blowing through town. So there I was without lights, without heat and without hot water. I thought I might lose my mind. And although my house is quite nice, it is not equipped with a fireplace. So I spent my nights curled up on the floor (wearing sweatpants, a toboggan cap and a hooded sweatshirt) using a towel and a curtain for a blanket.

5) Cashews

Long Necks & Beautiful Women

2008-03-02T08:57:00.001-05:00

Just a few recollections from the past week or so that I thought I might share with you:

Long Necks

Ty celebrated his 5th birthday last week. I’m constantly amazed by how fast he is growing and what a wonderful, intelligent, good kid he is. A week or so before his birthday, I’m speaking with his mother on the phone discussing what might be good present ideas. She tells me that he is really into dinosaurs right now and that his favorite are “long necks” and that he calls them “pat-a-sarus.” Ty also said that he didn’t want a stuffed one, but one that was cool. Now, I’m a pretty bright guy and when I was a young boy I liked dinos too … my favorite was the Stegosaurus … and I would know just what to find. Be on the look out for a Brontosaurus! So I resolve myself to hitting Toys R Us and a few other stores to try and find a couple of long necked dinos.

I’m at the toy store scouring the place for dinosaurs and practically everything I find are T-Rex and Raptors … I guess Jurassic Park did a number on how we think of dinosaurs … and I’m having a heck of a time finding a nice little long neck for my boy. It starts to look hopeless when I find a little play set from Animal Planet with a Brachiosaurus (also a “long neck,” I had forgot about them) that comes with a saddle and a guy to ride him (?) as well as a helicopter and a little raptor looking guy. It looked like that might be the best I could do.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a cool little squishy, stretchy long neck hidden underneath a bundle of T-Rex and triceratops. I grab him, give him a look over and realize that he’s perfect. Then I read his tag … Apatosaurus. “A pat-a-sarus.” Turns out my five-year-old knows more about dinosaurs than his parents.

On a side note … a day or two before his birthday, I’m at Target for something else and decide to take a peek at the toy department. I found two awesome looking “long necks” (a Brontosaurus and an Apatosaurus) that I also scooped up. Why hit giant toy stores when you can always find what you’re looking for at Target?

Hot Girl = Uncontrollable Laughter

Thursday evening I raced over to the grocery store after work to pick up a couple of things. Y’see, I had planned on shooting a couple of little scenes for the second episode of King Talent & The Galaxy Trio that evening and needed a couple of props. So after rushing through the store to get what I need, I race up to the check-out counter … and there I see …

A vision! Oh my, she was one of the most beautiful and striking women I have ever seen. Mid-twenties, tall, thin, a wonderful figure, porcelain skin, long red hair … she looked like a younger, lovelier version of Dennis Kucinich’s wife. I must have stood there staring the entire time. You know that natural reaction we have when we’re checking somebody out to turn away the moment they look up? Didn’t happen. I was so struck I just stared. I must of looked like some kinda creep.

And then I burst out into laughter! Long, loud, painful laughter! I had to use my shirt sleeves to wipe away the tears. Why? While I stood there transfixed on this angel in front of me, something in my mind clicked. I looked down into my basket and saw a candle, a roll of aluminum foil and a banana and thought to myself, “I wonder what she would think if she knew I had to rush home, turn on the camera and dress in drag.”

It was too much. I couldn’t control myself. If she ever sees me again, I bet she runs away.

Everything is Gonna Be Alright

Friday night I come home from work exhausted. This has been a long, stressful, strenuous week at the office. I didn’t plan on doing anything. I just wanted to stay home, take it easy, have a little dinner and get some rest. So I ate a little chicken and green beans (French cut … the only thing the French have ever done right) and plopped down in front of the computer.

Y’see, I now subscribe to MLB.TV … so I can watch any and all out-of-market baseball games live on the computer. So I watched Johan Santana make his spring training debut for my New York Mets and listened to the SNY commentary of Gary, Ron and Keith.

And suddenly, everything was alright with the world.

The Sadness of Insomnia

2008-02-27T22:50:00.011-05:00

I suffer from frequent bouts of insomnia (another trait I share with Groucho, for those of you keeping score) that can be quite debilitating. I rarely, if ever, get the recommended eight hours of sleep. I was raised to be a night owl, which in many ways is depressing considering how I am at my most creative during the morning. My folks were anything but firm when it came to an established bedtime … and I am paying the price for it now in my thirties.

Sometimes the insomnia is brought about by an over-active mind … sure, you’ve been there. Your mind is running a million miles per hour when all you really want to do (or should do) is go to sleep. Sometimes I spend hours replaying the day’s events, sometimes its worry about various and sundry things, sometimes I find myself lost in memories … replaying random moments from my history.

Frequently (at least, over the course of the last several weeks) I have been in bed running through a nearly-forgotten memory. It’s a memory of a time long ago and I can’t help but wonder why these thoughts consume my mind late, late at night. If you had asked me two months ago about this particular set of memories, I don’t know that I could have recalled them.

But for some reason they have weighed heavily on my mind the last few weeks. So, what the heck … I’ll share them with my two or three moderately loyal readers. They are memories of when I became accustomed to being disappointed in others …

It was the summer of 1987 (dear God, was it really that long ago) and I was a rebellious and cocky teenager. I will be using made-up names for all of the other characters in this story … not to protect the innocent, but because I honestly can’t quite remember any of their names. That summer I met Dave (I’m 99% certain that his name did start with a “D”) and Joe … Dave was a few months younger than me, Joe was about to turn 16. The three of us struck up a quick and instant friendship based on nothing other than being fairly intelligent, rebellious kids trying to grow up too damn fast.

For weeks the three of us practically lived together. We spent our days cruising the streets and smoking cigarettes. We spent our nights drinking beer and, if and when it was available, smoking a little pot. We played pool and stole car stereos. We tossed a baseball back and forth and listened to the “album-oriented” rock station. In retrospect, the three of us really hadn’t much of any substance in common … but at the time, we were inseparable.

One night we threw a small party at Dave’s house (if memory serves, his parents were out of town practically the entire summer!) with about a dozen people invited. An attractive young girl (who we’ll call Claire) arrived and took everybody by surprise. You see, none of us really knew her. I knew of her … we had attended the same school since the 7th grade, but had never had a class together. Our relationship was no closer than some friends of my friends were friends with her friends … we were the same age, but knew next-to-nothing about each other.

As the evening progressed, I grew quite fond of her. She was smart, sassy and had a quick and biting tongue. She dropped hilarious insults and was outgoing and a little loud. I found out she had only come because a girlfriend of hers (who we had invited) couldn’t make it. We played cards, drank bourbon and traded jokes and barbs. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but had a cute little body to go with her flashing eyes. For a few hours I was really enjoying this girl … she was perfect … everything I was attracted to (which, I admit, was most everything at the time) and still am attracted to: funny, smart as a whip, confident, hilarious, brash … ah, she was something else.

The night continued and the good-natured insults we traded back and forth became dirtier and dirtier (as will happen between a man and a woman, particularly when bourbon is involved) and by one o’clock in the morning I was smitten … I was going to fall for this girl … there was no doubt. I would have to see Claire again.

Then she dropped the bombshell …

“I’m horny and I wanna f**k. Any and all of you. Except for him.” She was pointing at me! In an instant I became the group leper … a pariah among a group of people who, in a loose sense at least, looked to me as some kind of leader. To the guys, I was a laughing stock. To the girls … well, I was the guy least likely to get laid. In that instant, the dynamic of my friendship with Dave and Joe shifted. I was the “least cool” guy in the room.

It made me sad. Profoundly sad.

Not for myself … not at all … and not really for Claire … but for the loss that I (and the world) had just experienced. I felt misled by this bright, shining light of a person who I had just met. It wasn’t jealousy … the emotion didn’t even necessarily involve any feelings about myself. It just felt like a waste. I actually fought back tears, I was so taken aback.

As the night went on she did exactly as she had promised … she screwed every guy there but me (there were probably five or six of us) … while I sat at the table sipping a Jack & Coke trying to make small talk with … well, with whoever wasn’t busy either losing their virginity to or getting some much needed experience from Claire.

Now, let’s set the record straight (although I don’t feel I have to) … I am certainly not a prude and I certainly wasn’t one back in ’87. I’ve had my fair share of one-night-stands, flings and casual encounters. But maybe I look at it differently than others do … because they all meant (and still mean!) something to me. Whatever the situation and whatever label we put on it, that event (as “casual” as it might have been) was special … because we chose to have it with one another.

But the story doesn’t quite end there.

As the sun rose the following morning, the only people left in the house were Dave, Joe and myself … and Claire, who had commandeered Dave’s bed for the evening. The four of us decided that morning that we would do battle with the hang-over-to-come by heading to the apartment complex that Claire lived in with her mother (who also was out of town … why is that my parents were the only ones who never went out of town?) and hang out by the pool.

So the next hour or two was spent lounging in a chair poolside with the Texas sun beating down on me while I sipped on a large glass of iced tea. The clouds rolled in around noon and it began to rain. We all felt like hell, so we went in and decided that we should all take a little nap. Dave and Joe grabbed some throw pillows from the couch and settled down on the floor while I stretched out on the couch itself. I had assumed that Claire had gone to her own bedroom to sleep it off and was surprised to find her settling in next to me.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and settled her face onto my chest and after a few moments fell off to sleep. Had it happened twelve hours earlier I would have been overjoyed. Now I was simply confused and disappointed. This girl, so comfortable and gently breathing on my shoulder, so resembled the one I had been enamored with the night before …

It made me sad. Profoundly sad.

A Journey of Self Discovery … with Groucho Marx

2008-02-09T01:37:00.000-05:00

Ask anyone who knows me at all and they will be able to tell you of my love and fascination with Groucho Marx. I am a Marx Brothers enthusiast and would rather spend half an hour watching an episode of You Bet Your Life than just about anything that’s on TV today. Much of my humor stems from that enchantment. Much of my character (good and bad), conscious or not, owes a debt of gratitude to Julius Marx. He has been more than an influence … in some ways he has been an authority.

How is it that I, a fellow who was born and raised as a Protestant in Texas, would feel such a kindred spirit to a Jewish comedian from New York who passed away when I was only seven years old? How is it that a legend whose mother called him “the jealous one” would, in many ways, be the progenitor to an unsuccessful actor living alone in North Carolina?

It all started, like so many things, in childhood. Many of my happiest memories with my father were watching re-runs of You Bet Your Life. It was a show we both enjoyed. We both relished the intelligent, witty banter and even had fun playing the quiz right along with the contestants. I learned most of what little geography I know from the show (geography, for some reason, was a popular category) and from my father telling me what had changed in the years since the show first aired. You Bet Your Life was one of the few things that really bonded us … it was something that only we shared.

And I became curious about this little mustached man who smoked the cigars.

When, in the sixth grade, we were assigned the task of writing a book report on an autobiography and presenting it to the class as the historical figure, my choice would be both obvious and novel. While other student gave presentations as George Washington, Abe Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin and Napoleon … I would take on the mantle of my hero. At the library I found two books listed as autobiographies on Groucho Marx. “Wow! He wrote two himself?” The books were titled Groucho & Me and Memoirs of a Mangy Lover. I chose the latter … how could I not?

Little did I realize (and apparently, neither did the library) that Memoirs of a Mangy Lover is not an autobiography at all, but rather a collection of humorous essays he wrote … the majority of which are about his escapades with the fairer sex. Since I wouldn’t have time to paint on a greasepaint mustache, I used some of Dad’s shoe polish to blacken two stretched out cotton balls that I would tape to my upper lip. I found Granny’s old horn-rimmed glasses (just frames really, the lenses long since lost) and taped two more cotton balls on top of them to resemble the eyebrows.

With my outfit complete, I marched in front of that class with a small cigar in one hand and my copy of Memoirs of a Mangy Lover in the other. Needless to say, I gave the most amusing (and in retrospect, shocking) book report any sixth grader at Bowie Elementary had ever given. I got laughs and I got an A … and I got invited to return to an all-school assembly (this time with greasepaint mustache painted on) a few months later to do it all again. I was a hit. I was a comedian. I was Groucho Marx.

I mentioned how Groucho had been part of a bond with my father, but he was also part of a bond with my mother. A year or so after my Mangy Lover presentation, a small restaurant opened on 50th Street called … Groucho’s. It had a wonderful mustache, eyebrows, glasses and cigar logo and served these delicious burritos the size of my head. The restaurant only lasted a couple of years (and I never figured out what burritos had to do with Groucho) but for a time it was a favorite place for my mother and I. We had our own little private lunch there on many joyous occasions.

I didn’t don the greasepaint for another fifteen years or so, but Groucho was constantly with me. As I began to pursue a theatrical career I would often turn to old Marx Brothers movies for inspiration … especially when doing comedy. I recognized that, on stage at least, I took myself way too seriously and I would need the sweet release of a Monkey Business or Horsefeathers to bring me back to reality … or lack of reality, as the case may be.

Then, in my late twenties, I began to toy with the idea of writing a play about Groucho. I had been inspired by Arthur Marx’s play about his father (I had seen Gabe Kaplan perform it on cable as a teenager) but thought it lacking in terms of his relationships. Sure, it featured lots of fun Groucho moments, but the love of his brothers and particularly (and perhaps with good reason) his love of his children seemed to have been glossed over.

So I set about jotting down ideas that might one day become a script. For a while I toyed with the idea of having Groucho and T.S. Eliot stuck on an ocean liner. Then, having read about how Groucho and Laurence Olivier (another inspiration) had once shared a dressing room at a performance honoring T.S. Eliot’s memory (Eliot had recently passed), I toyed with the idea of having these two very different performers share their anxieties and insecurities with each other in that setting.

In time I had a very rudimentary script that I called Why A Duck? (and if I have to explain Why A Duck? the only answer you’re getting is “because it’s deep water, that’s why a duck.”) that was filled with bits and pieces of famous Marx Brothers routines but was, in essence, a one-man show. Determined to give this script of mine a whirl, I submitted it to the Livestock Second Stage community theater in Greensboro, NC for consideration. They liked it and gave me some dates. I would have three performances in downtown Greensboro … and we set to work.

That brief run was a great deal of fun and opened my eyes to what the show could be. My script, much like Arthur’s, was missing the love and camaraderie (and envy and difficulty) between the brothers because, well, the other brothers were missing. So I sat about to re-working the script to focus on Groucho but to feature all five (yes, I said five … initially Gummo would be there too) of the brothers.

It was back to work less than a year later as I lined up a performance as a fund raiser for the annual “5 by O. Henry” presentations at the Greensboro Historical Museum. We would perform first in the ballroom at the O. Henry Hotel and then give a couple of additional performances at the museum’s theater itself. Now with actors playing Chico, Harpo, Zeppo and Gummo we had a more well-balanced show.

That is until the actor playing Gummo flaked on us and dropped out. So in our show, like in life, Gummo became dispensable. The show was a highlight in my career … at least on a personal note … because of my love of the subject matter and the joy I had working with Joe Ritorto (Chico), Vance Weatherly (Harpo), Chris Laney (Zeppo) and the lovely and supportive Renee Ashcroft. Underwritten by Quaintance-Weaver Hotels and Restaurants, that first performance found us in a standing-room only ballroom filled with smiling and laughing patrons.

Leslie Mizell, in the News & Record, wrote that I was “very good as Groucho, aging 50 years or so and doing a fine impression rather than an imitation.” To this day it is one of my favorite reviews because I didn’t want to be a caricature but rather show a real man behind the greasepaint. I am proud of Why A Duck? and always will be. It was my first venture as playwright, director and star. I proved that I could do it … and I had Groucho to thank.

A half-dozen or so years later, while I was writing The Broken Jump, I felt the influence of Groucho again. Julius McGowen (the name wasn’t chosen at random) was an extension of me and the inspiration of old vaudevillian Julius Marx helped me find a home for him. In fact, one of the comedy skits performed in The Broken Jump was originally written to be in Why A Duck? (it was something that I fancied Groucho & Gummo doing long before there were “Marx Brothers”) but was shelved (although I did perform it along with James Langer as part of the aforementioned "5 by O. Henry") because it neither fit nor was historically accurate in the least.

It hasn’t been just as a performer that Groucho has had influence in my life. In fact, that is what this entry was supposed to be about originally. I keep finding characteristics (both good and ill) that we share. Some I am proud of and others … well, the others, less so. Groucho was married three times and drove them all away (and to drink) because as much as he loved them (and I do believe he truly did love each of them) he was a terrible husband. I could be accused of the same. He loved and doted on his children when they were young, but seemed unable to express himself to them as they grew older … another fault I keep finding myself guilty of. He suffered from insomnia … and I should really be in bed right now. He was more proud of his written works than any of his performances and so am I. He was frequently shallow, petty and rude … and I’ve been … jeez, maybe we should just stop there.

Its true folks … I worked myself up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty … because I am a descendant of Groucho Marx.

Woe Mule, Woe

2008-02-07T20:22:00.000-05:00

Tee hee.

Sorry. I was just giggling at that clever little title. I think it’s kinda funny. Gimme a second here, won’t you?

Sigh.

Alright. All better now. Let’s get down to business now, shall we? Now, I know that way back when I wrote my first entry in this blog I promised I wouldn’t write any political editorials … but I’m about to go back on that promise. I apologize in advance and I’ll endeavor to do my best to prevent it from happening again. But with Super Tuesday now behind us, I just have to say one thing:

“Democrats are stupid!”

There. I said it. Now let me just qualify that a bit. I am a lifelong registered Democrat. I have almost always voted along party lines, much to the disappointment of my mother. In fact, to this day I remember well being ten years old and telling my mother that I was a Democrat and that I supported President Jimmy Carter. She was aghast … and that might’ve been the first time I ever disappointed my mother. I have donated money to liberal causes and campaigned for liberal candidates. I am a Democrat … there you go. But even knowing that, I must reiterate:

“Democrats are stupid!”

I can hear you now. “Wait a minute, King. If you’re a Democrat, how can you say that?” Well, I don’t mean that all Democrats are stupid. Many of us are very intelligent people. But the party itself? Stupid.

The Democratic Party has long been the party of idealists. It is one of the true beauties of our party. The problem comes in election season … we put idealism ahead of pragmatism every four years … and we’ve done it for decades. You always hear arguments on television about the Democrats trying to find a “viable” candidate during primary season. That’s why Bill Clinton was such a revelation … for the first time since JFK the Democrats had a candidate who could actually win. (Yes, I know Carter won as well, but everybody must know that was more of a reaction to Nixon and Ford’s pardoning of Nixon … any well spoken Democrat would have won that election).

This year we have two extremely interesting and powerful candidates who are neck in neck in terms of winning the nomination, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. They are articulate, well-meaning, well-funded and wonderful candidates.

And neither has a chance of winning in November.

This election was supposed to a “gimme.” With the increased disapproval of President Bush and the war in Iraq, everybody has assumed that having a Democrat in the Oval Office come January was a foregone conclusion. And then the Democratic Party (and all of us, mind you) blew it.

“But King, it’ll be history,” I hear you say. “We’ll either have the first black President or the first woman President.” Well, if you believe that, then you need to get in your car and drive east or west, depending on which coast you live on (and chances are that, if you do believe that, you live on one coast or the other) and get out in that middle part of the country. You know, that place they call “middle America.” That place filled with cows, blue collar workers and Republicans.

Instead of selecting a “viable” candidate, once again we are pinning our hopes on the shirt of an ideal. We need to get over ourselves. We just can’t seem to pick a candidate that can really win in November. “That’s not true,” you say? Oh … let me just double check with President Al Gore. Oh yeah … he didn’t win either.

Folks, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but the country just isn’t ready for a female President and it just isn’t ready for a black President either. And don’t you dare call me racist. I’ll have you know that the first election I ever cast a vote in was the ’88 Presidential primary … and that vote was cast for Rev. Jesse Jackson. This isn’t about my racism (or sexism), but about the general pulse of this nation. Yes, I agree we’ve made great strides in terms of equality and Civil Rights … but what makes you think we’ve come all the way ‘round? And why should we gamble the highest office in the land in trying to prove how far we've come?

Hey, I hope we have a woman President one day (just not Hillary) in my lifetime. I would love to see our country led by an African American, if for no other reason than to show the world that our country has evolved. But I just don’t see it happening. Not this year. Not yet.

Do you even realize why Mitt Romney’s numbers have just taken a nose dive and he’s suspended his campaign? Why wouldn’t the Republican Party support the one candidate that is truly a conservative through and through? I hate to say this … but because of his religious beliefs. C’mon, do you honestly think that a Mormon can carry states in the Bible belt? The Republicans, as they always do, are narrowing the search down to candidates that can win.

And win they will.

So don’t be shocked, idealist Democrats, when we’re watching the swearing in ceremony of John McCain. We had our chance. We had great candidates who we just didn’t support … Biden, Edwards, Richardson. We had candidates that could actually win. We just didn’t support them. We jumped on bandwagons, just like we do every four years, that are determined to collapse (see: Dean, Howard and/or Kerry, John) and now we have to ride them to the bitter end.

Hey, I would love to be proven wrong. I just don’t see it happening. Again. Oh, woe!

Tee hee.

Woe, instead of Whoa. Clever, huh? The mule is a donkey … get it? Donkey, Democrats. Whoa! Ahh … I kill myself.

Nobody asked you if you thought it was funny.

Buy It, Enjoy It, Sleep It Off ... Just Balance the Checkbook Afterwards

2008-01-24T21:58:00.000-05:00

My ancestry is German, Irish, American Indian and probably a couple of other things. I am a good old fashioned American mutt. In fact, I had always planned on starting my autobiography with this statement, "I am a mutt born of mutts." And being a mutt has made a bum of me.

Between the ages of sixteen and thirty-six my interests were devoted to art, literature, the theatre (the kind with the "re" and not the "er" ... I was a snob), music and the female shape. I was a philosopher, a Shakespearean, a dilettante, a socialist and, on occasion, an enfant terrible. The only sections of the newspaper I read were the sports page and the Sunday Arts ... with the exception of two years where I admit to reading Parade Magazine. I never so much as used the financial page for anything other than to put down for the puppy.

Perhaps that has been my mistake. Money and I have never had the easiest of relationships. Sure, we love one another passionately ... but we can never seem to make things work out in the long run. I have lived paycheck-to-paycheck for my entire adult life, regardless of whether I made $800.00 or $80,000.00. Money just never seemed to want to stick around for the long haul.

Neither have women ... but that's an entirely different blog entry.

I remember well the days when I would scrounge through the car and couch looking for loose change to buy a pack of cigarettes (this was, obviously, back in the day when cigarettes could be purchased with loose change) and how happy I would be when I actually found enough dimes to make the purchase. In some ways, those were more innocent times. Ahhh ... the pure virtue of a pocketful of change with nothing to do but be spent on something right then and there.

Responsibility takes a toll on the simplicity of that life. Damn that life-sucking vampire called responsibility!

Live fast and Die Young! With each passing day that old idiom becomes less and less romantic. There was a time when I truly thought that pulling myself off of the floor in a public restroom and stumbling back out to the bar to have another round was a fanciful notion. And I will admit, from time to time I am nostalgic for those days. But, when thought of with a rational mind, it is not something all that glamorous. Sure, an occasional foray into the world of a young man's debauchery is nice ... but I wouldn't want to live there.

I'm still a wild-and-crazy guy ... I just do it on a budget now.

My Favorite Poem

Did you ever sit and ponder while you walk along the strand,
That life's a bitter battle at the best;
And if you only knew it and would lend a helping hand,
Then every man can meet the final test.
The world is but a stage, my friend,
And life is but a game;
And how you play is all that matters in the end.
For whether a man is right or wrong
A woman gets the blame;
And your mother is your dog's best friend.
Then up came mighty Casey and strode up to the bat,
And Sheridan was fifty miles away.
For it takes a heap of loving to make a home like that,
On the road where the flying fishes play.
So be a real life Pagliacc' and laugh, clown, laugh.

Knowledge is Power

2008-01-17T15:44:00.000-05:00

"You're never too old to learn something new." That's the ol' optimist's cliché, isn't it? The one that's always counter-pointed with "You can't teach a dog new tricks." Well, I am an old dog and well ... I never knew any tricks to begin with. Maybe that's why I welcome actually learning something.

Many of us are too stubborn and set in our ways to accept the fact that we don't know everything. I, for one, have always known that I don't know everything. In fact, it's one of the few things I do know ... hence the reason it's so easy to accept not knowing everything. One thing I do know how to do, though, is run a paragraph into a circle. Much like this one. And I'm too stubborn and set in my ways to stop writing in this "circular-and-going-no-where" method of mine. I know that. I accept it. You, on the other hand, should've just skipped this paragraph. Nothing was said.

I have learned a number of things recently ... some good, some bad ... and am taken aback by just how much I thought I knew. Here's a few example of things I have learned recently:

1) Always read the label on any medications you take, like for example phenazopyridine, so that you don't freak out when you experience harmless yet startling side effects, like urinating the juice from a blood orange.

2) Christmas just seems different when it's 75 degrees and sunny out. Instead of curling around a fire with a hot cup of cocoa you find yourself sitting in a recliner without a shirt on drinking iced tea. That's not very Christmas-y, now is it?

3) I have never been one for "business casual" dress and am ill-prepared for it.

4) Trucks are cool. I don't care who you are, trucks are cool.

5) The cost of living in the South is less than in the Greater NYC Metropolitan area ... but it's odd what doesn't cost less. For example, TV dinners. Banquet TV dinners (yeah, like you've never eaten one) are actually more expensive in North Carolina. Utilities (electric, cable, etc.) are pretty much the same. But I'm not going to complain. I bought a carton of cigarettes and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon the other day for less than $40 ... try doing that in NYC.

6) We are more dependent upon electricity than we realize. Try going a week with no electricity. You can't do much of anything.

7) That little lizard is right! Geico does have the best auto insurance rates.

8) Kidneys are funky little organs. Did you know that when your kidneys start to fail that you retain fluids ... thus putting on weight? I had always assumed that every illness eventually resulted in weight loss. Not so kidney failure. Weird, huh?

9) VH1 Classic is, by far, the best network on cable television.

Now, I have to admit that I've been guilty, on more occasions that I care to count, of not accepting new knowledge. I think we all have, at one point or another. But in shutting out new information (whether because we're stubborn, proud or have a belief system that forces us to live as though it were 1642) we are robbing ourselves of the sheer joy of learning something new and being amazed at it. The most mundane pieces of information are something to revel in ... so long as I didn't know it before.

Maybe I should go back to school ... ?

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVIII

2007-12-24T18:51:00.000-05:00

Things seemed to turn around that final weekend at The Looking Glass Theatre. The show was running pretty smoothly with occasional moments where we were really hitting our stride. Attendance was up too. A number of folks who saw the show during the festival returned to see it on a larger stage. From a financial stand-point it was too little too late, but from an emotional stand-point it was rewarding.

It was during that final weekend that I really began to realize that this little story of mine had legs and was, indeed, something special. It was deeply personal, yet others were grasping and appreciating the story. There were moments on stage that were beautiful. One that was very special to me was doing my scene with Caitlin … one night it just clicked. It was powerful. It moved both of us. It moved the audience.

Ask any actor and they’ll tell you that they look for moments like those.

Finality

At least the show wouldn’t sputter out, but would conclude on a high note of sorts. I felt a sense of relief. I felt a sense of pride. And I was glad that it was over. The run of The Broken Jump had come to an end … and I was sure that ending signified something much larger. We donated some set pieces to The Looking Glass because it was just easier than trying to move the stuff. The show was over … and I didn’t really care what came of the props and costumes.

It was time to move on. For me … and probably for everybody else involved. Everybody said their good-byes to one another and took off. Irony of ironies, you can probably guess who was left there at the end … doing the final clean-up, moving the final load of stuff out, locking the doors behind us … Matt, Mel and me. This era of The Talented Talent Brothers ended pretty much as it had begun.

Aftermath

The days and weeks that followed The Broken Jump were among the most difficult I have ever encountered. Whether I liked it or not, I was going to have to address issues with my health. I would also have to decide whether or not any of those answers I had come with when asking myself, “Why am I doing this?” were valid. I was going to have to make some tough decisions … personally and professionally.

Weeks after the show had come to an end, I took stock in just how much I had lost. Money, weight, my hair, my family, my job, my pride, my ambition, my sense of self. I had all but lost everything. And why? Because I was trying to create something … something bigger and more important than my self. I was less than pleased with where I was and what I had become.

The whole idea, concept, conceit of The Talented Talent Brothers was to create a creative, communal group with an “all-for-one, one-for-all” attitude. I was trying to create a sense of family within a community of creative-minded people. I wanted to be part of something bigger than I could ever be alone. John, Paul, George and Ringo were special … The Beatles were legend. In some ways, that was the mindset.

I had said years before, at the beginning of this journey, that The Talented Talent Brothers would be my last, best shot. In the weeks that followed The Broken Jump, recovering at home alone, I decided that I would stick to my guns. I had taken my shot and that was that. I had been the driving force behind The Talented Talent Brothers … I was the one who believed in it. I tried to give others opportunity to shine, to create, to become involved, to grab the bull by the horns … but eventually, it all rested squarely on my shoulders. I’m too old and tired to carry that weight any longer.

It was time to concentrate on more important things … on trying to recover all that I had lost over the previous three-plus years. This point was driven home by how minimal a sense of community had been established. After an extended stay in the hospital, the only folks to reach out to me were Mel (a few weeks later while I was visiting Ty in Virginia) and JB (a week or so after that). Just like ever other show I had ever done … folks just moved on. When I was most in need … aw, what’s the use in complaining? It’s not like anybody was shocked.

Starting Over

Sometimes when you remove all the extraneous clutter from your mind and soul, new opportunities arise. I have been blessed to find a new place, a new job and a new opportunity to start over. I left New York … with no fanfare, with hardly a goodbye spoken … and now live by the Carolina coast. A place where I was happy years ago. A place I had always assumed I might retire to. I write this on Christmas Eve … after having spent the afternoon at the beach … from a better place than I had been the last several years.

And The Talented Talent Brothers? They are no more. They were nothing more than a spark of my imagination. They existed only because I believed in them … I don’t any longer. I’ve joined everybody else. It was my last shot … I gambled and lost. It was a great game and I enjoyed playing it … but the game is over. I learned a long time ago to never say never, but I doubt you will ever see me on a theatre’s stage again. I just don’t have that desire in me any more.

I’ll continue to get up on stage at a comedy club here and there, I’ll still write … but performing will no longer be the number one priority in my life any more. My priorities were all out of whack for too long. I suffered from an addiction to being on stage … I’m in a self-imposed rehab now. My priorities are faith, health, family and peace … and I will no longer put those at risk to satisfy a selfish need to be on a theatre’s stage again.

This may sound like an ending … a depressing one at that … but it is not. It is a new beginning. A positive beginning. For a change.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVII

2007-12-22T20:22:00.000-05:00

That early Sunday matinee performance must have been trying for everybody involved. My recollection of that particular performance is minimal. What I do recall is trying to maintain my composure between every scene because I was afraid I was going to have a breakdown at any moment. I recall making it through my long scene with Mel thanks to her strong performance and the fact that the theatre’s air conditioning was blowing right on me. I seem to recall that it was raining after the show and that Mel drove me home. I went right to bed and slept all day and all night only to awake Monday morning feeling like I needed a nap.

Who knows what the rest of the cast thought. You have to give them props for continuing on in a show where the producer and lead actor looked like he had just pulled himself out of the grave. If they thought that, they weren’t too far from the truth.

The final three festival performances of The Broken Jump at Where Eagles Dare were much less eventful than the previous three. We had some good audiences and some small ones. We received a nice write up and I received some positive feedback from a few of the people who caught a performance. I felt better and better with each subsequent performance … the after-effects of my little seizure becoming less and less with each passing day.

Back Through The Looking Glass

Our final festival performance was on Sunday, August 5th. Immediately after the show we hauled everything from Where Eagles Dare on 36th to The Looking Glass Theatre on 57th. We wouldn’t reconvene for a week and a half. But at that time we would need to set up, deal with lights and sound and get ready for the second half of our run.

I had hoped that would go smoothly. With the number of Weasel folks around who were familiar with the space and with JB’s help, I figured this half would be a walk in the park compared to the run during the festival. I should have known better. Nothing has ever been easy where Baby Hippopotamus Productions is involved.

JB had a family emergency and he and Grace would be heading to Texas. We would be without our stage manager and somebody to run our lights and sound for our load-in, tech rehearsal and first weekend performances on 57th Street. The cast rallied together to implement a plan to cover for Grace during scene changes. With a little luck and an ad on craigslist, we found somebody to run our lights and sound and Jack Boice brought in a friend with lighting experience to hang and focus our lights.

But with those issues handled, other issues arose. We were without half of our cast for our tech rehearsal. I was quite disheartened. The camaraderie that had existed during Weasel Erotica was severely diminished this time around. With JB and Grace in Texas, Mel dealing with an emergency in Jersey and other cast members unavailable due to other engagements, the bulk of the load fell on those remaining. Most of the credit in getting everything ready for our “re-opening” must go to Jack Boice and, of course, brother Matt.

Imagine that: Matt once again proving to be the guy that holds everything together.

First Weekend Back

This trend of being disheartened escalated during those first three performances at The Looking Glass Theatre. Our crowds were tiny. I had extended our run to provide our cast with the opportunity to work on a longer run. I, for one, hate the idea of rehearsing for 6-8 weeks just to give two or three performances. Well, we had a longer run, but it didn’t look like anybody cared. I had also hoped that the additional performances would give us a chance to re-coup some of the financial loss. Instead it looked like it was going to only contribute to the financial loss.

And having quit my job that very week sure didn’t brighten my monetary outlook.

The aggravating part of all of this was that the performances were getting stronger and stronger. This was turning into one hell of a show … and nobody was going to see it.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVI

2007-12-21T19:26:00.000-05:00

The run of The Broken Jump was going to be an unusual one. A total of twelve performances were in the works. The first six of which would take place as part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival at Where Eagles Dare Theatre on 36th Street. These performances would take place on a variety of days at a variety of times between July 21st and August 5th. Then we would have another six performances at The Looking Glass Theatre on 57th Street on Fri-Sun between August 17th and 26th. The show was kept simple as to keep it mobile and because, frankly, I was about out of money.

Opening the show was quite exciting. I was nervous about loading in. I was nervous about running long (if the performance ran over our allotted time we would be fined). I was nervous about loading out. I was nervous about whether or not anybody would bother to come see the show. And finally, I was nervous about my own performance. For our first performance, I needn't have worried about anything ... well, except my performance, which left a bit to be desired.

Breaking Down During The Broken Jump

Our third festival performance was on a Sunday at 11am. Why anybody would bother to schedule a show at this time was beyond me. I felt a sense of dread in the days before that particular show that nobody would come and we would just wind up hauling everything right back to my office on 42nd Street. Little did I realize how much of an ordeal that particular performance would actually be.

The night before I stayed at home, watched a ballgame, ordered a pizza and generally had a relaxing (albeit somewhat lonely) evening. A little after 11pm I got ready to go to bed. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, turned off the TV and headed into the bedroom. I felt a little lightheaded, but thought nothing of it. I had eaten too much earlier and felt like a tinge of heartburn was about to kick in. Then I went into the bedroom, started to set the alarm clock ... and all hell broke loose ... internally.

Quite suddenly I was overwhelmed with pain. The only way I can accurately describe it is like this: imagine a Charlie Horse (surely you've had one of those) as severe as possible. Now imagine that taking place all over your entire body from your armpits to your knees. I collapsed onto my cold, hard tile floor. Wearing nothing but a pair of unzipped jeans, I writhed around on the floor, banging my head against the chest-of-drawers. I rolled back and forth trying to relieve the pain. In a matter of seconds I realized that this was something more severe than I had ever encountered.

I tried getting up, but couldn't. The pain of having damn near every muscle in my body contract was searing. I quite literally crawled back into the living room, desperately racing for my cell phone. The process of pulling my body across the floor had pulled my pants down around my ankles. Searching for my phone I thought, "This is it. I'm gonna die. In Union City, New Jersey in my underwear. Alone." My recollection of the next several moments is hazy. I don't actually recall speaking to the 911 operator, but know that I made the call. I don't recall getting to my door, but somehow I did. I do remember thinking as the paramedics came up the stairs that they sure had responded fast. And I do recall crying through all of this, thinking that I did not want to die this way.

By the time they loaded me in the ambulance, the pain had mostly subsided. I was sore. I ached. I was nauseous. I wanted to throw up. My head was pounding. I was exhausted. But I felt alright. They took me to Christ Hospital on Palisade where they stuck an IV into my arm and kept me under observation. Actually, I don't know that they observed anything. I fell asleep trying to figure out how I had a t-shirt on, because I hadn't had one on when the paramedics arrived. I guess that one of the paramedics grabbed some clothes from my house. They would come in handy in the morning.

I awoke a little before 8am in a quiet and empty hospital room. Suddenly I panicked. I had a performance in three hours. I saw a pair of socks and my sneakers over in a corner. I knew I didn't have time to mess around. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm, put my socks and shoes on (I had a t-shirt and my jeans on), walked briskly past an empty nurses' station and right out of the hospital. I didn't have my cell phone on me, but my wallet was in my back pocket. Unfortunately, I didn't have any cash and my debit card was at home next to my computer. I didn't have time to waste. I would have to walk.

I walked as quickly as I could all the way home. I felt a strong chill all over my body, yet I was pouring sweat. After about 10 minutes of walking my head hurt so bad that my vision would occasionally blur. The weather was cool, but not cold. I wanted a cigarette. I just kept hustling ... a cup of coffee, a smoke, a splash of water on the face ... they were all waiting for me at my apartment. So was my costume and props for the show ... sitting in my gym bag next to my bed. By the time I made it home my shirt was drenched in sweat and my body ached. I felt as weak as a newborn and struggled to get up the three flights of stairs.

It was 9:15am when I got home. I guzzled an entire bottle of water, changed shirts, put some deodorant on, grabbed my debit card, gym bag, a ball cap and some change and went right back out the door. Going down the stairs was just as difficult as coming up. I walked (much more slowly now) to the bus stop and was glad I didn't have to wait at all to catch one. I fell asleep on the short drive to the city. Once there, I made it to the office at 9:45 ... I had made good time. I crawled on the couch and tried to get comfortable. People would be arriving soon to load stuff up. Maybe if I rested for a few minutes I would feel better, right?

Not so. By the time JB and Grace arrived I was so stiff and in so much aching pain that I couldn't even help them load stuff onto the hand trucks for our "performance day caravan." I was starting to wonder if I would even have the strength to make it through the show.

During this whole ordeal -- the 2.1 mile walk from the hospital (I looked it up on Mapquest before I wrote this), the physical trauma of this unusual seizure I suffered and the aches and pains associated with it, the checking myself out of the hospital and the exhausted collapse on the sofa at work -- I kept asking myself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I risking my health, my life? Why am I spending thousands of dollars I don't have? What am I getting out of this?"

I didn't like the answers I came up with ...

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XV

2007-10-29T22:50:00.000-04:00

Rehearsals for The Broken Jump were underway and we still had not found an actor to play Mr. Klein. JB and I debated a number of solutions, the first of which was to ask our cast if they knew of anybody. We were both of the mindset that it would be beneficial to bring in an actor who already had an established relationship with a current cast member, if not ourselves. Caitlin recommended a friend of hers and JB immediately gave him a call.

Enter “the Cuban Missile” Dan Hernandez into our hectic and odd little world. Dan didn’t necessarily “look” the part but JB and I both thought he “felt” right. He was pleasant and likable and since we didn’t want to role to be a caricature or to come across as a jerk, we both felt that Dan would be a solid addition to our cast. Plus, he and Caitlin already had an established relationship having gone to college together … it’s always good to have a degree of familiarity when starting a new project like this. They would have some degree of the same comfort level that Matt, Mel, Tony and I already had. Our cast was filled out and we felt that we could move forward, full steam ahead.

Things would quickly have a different feel than we had experienced in either Abnormal Stew or Weasel Erotica. For one, we were rehearsing in a new location, Pearl Studios, after having the majority of our previous rehearsals at Shetler Studios. Pearl was a great location with brand new rehearsal studios and the advantage of offering us a bit of a discount since we were booking so much time. Everyone (exluding myself, obviously) was not that familiar with JB (they had all met him but nobody had worked with him) and I did get the impression that there was a “feeling out” period that had been less prominent during Weasel Erotica.

I imagine that things might have been most awkward for Melissa, having directed us the last time out and being very much an outspoken leader who was comfortable telling her "brothers" what to do. However, everybody seemed to quickly appreciate JB and a sense of camaraderie was slowly starting to develop. This might have even been improved when Grace Falconer came on board as our stage manager … she was great and much of the credit for holding the whole thing together must go to her.

On a personal level, rehearsals were not all that easy for me. I spent a lot of my energy simply trying not to get sick. Exhaustion set in and set in hard and there were more than a few nights where the last thing I wanted to do was rehearse. I was having a hard time concentrating and felt very uncertain about the performance I was developing … which seemed to me odd, since the character was my creation and so very close to me. There were more than a few nights where rehearsal (for me) was more about trying not to throw up for three hours than actually getting some productive rehearsal in. I persevered … but not nearly as well as I had in the past.

On top of all this, I was trying to promote the show, attend festival meetings, get mailings out and find/buy all the props and set pieces we would need. Thank goodness for JB and Grace who had, found or donated a number of items and took some of that load off my shoulders. Some credit must also go to Kelly Heaton (who had built our weasel puppets a year before) for taking care of some of the costuming chores that I simply hadn’t the time or energy to address.

The musical portions of the show were ignored for too long … primarily because we hadn’t had the opportunity to get the music recorded. I felt bad that I had constantly dropped the ball on this and was relieved when Grace brought in a musician friend of hers to get the recordings finally done a few weeks before we opened. I was also relieved that both Jack Boice and Caitlin Mehner were experienced musical performers and were able to tackle their numbers with confidence. Tony and I, however, were a different story and much time in the last few weeks were spent getting more comfortable with our number at the top of the show.

Festival performances were also going to present a challenge in that we would have to load-in and load-out with each performance. There really was no storage space at the facility to speak of, so once again my office on 42nd Street would become the home of all of our stuff. We would re-visit the days of Abnormal Stew with a group trek to 36th Street before each performance. I would also have to cope with working in an office over run with costumes, props and set pieces. Ah, the sacrifices we make.

The more things change, the more they stay the same …

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XIV

2007-10-27T12:32:00.000-04:00

The months leading up to the opening of The Broken Jump were pretty darn eventful. I had dreamt up a new concept for Baby Hippopotamus Productions while in San Francisco for a CfMC Conference. A friend and I had talked briefly about the advantages of a company (not necessarily a production company) being an Employee Owned Enterprise … where the employees were able to buy stock in the company and thereby have a stake in the company’s future. It is an interesting concept that rewards loyalty and allows everyone to participate in the success of an organization. Wouldn’t it be cool if Baby Hippopotamus functioned in a similar manner?

Entertainer Owned Partnership?

The basic concept would be simple: Baby Hippopotamus would promote and, in some cases, produce gigs for a variety of entertainers. The entertainer would “invest” a small percentage of their income for the gig in Baby Hippopotamus … a certain percentage if Baby Hippo only promoted the gig, a higher percentage if Baby Hippo produced the gig. This capital (and we’re not talking about a lot of money really) could then be used to produce bigger and better gigs. The entertainers involved would have a stake in the success of the other entertainers, thereby almost forcing a situation where we all worked together and supported one another. Baby Hippopotamus Productions could be more than just The Talented Talent Brothers.

Right out of the gate, I had another entertainer … or “entertainment package” … which was my new career as a stand-up comedian. Thanks to Laz Viciedo, I had really become invested in this new venture. I enjoy stand-up (and am intimidated by stand-up) more than I imagined I would. After twenty-plus years of being a performer I suddenly had this new outlet and I was (and am) only a beginner. There was so much to learn, so many more challenges … I was a novice all over again and it was exciting.

On top of that, Rebecca was really becoming interested in putting together her own little cabaret act and had been invited to put a show together at Vlada Lounge. She did and was terrific. After her first show I could envision how a little time, a little money and a little effort would be all that was necessary for her to have a full-fledged act that could be booked into any lounge, cabaret or club in New York. She has the pipes, she has the charm and she comes fully equipped with a following.

With my comedy act, Rebecca’s cabaret act and new Talent Bros show on the horizon, maybe this silly little idea could work. And more importantly, maybe this silly little idea would bring in more talent and more commitment from other entertainers. Maybe this could create the sense of community and ownership I was hoping for.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

Of course this would all be academic if we couldn’t get The Broken Jump put together. Being part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival (MITF) could bring us some publicity and recognition, but we had to have a solid cast come show time. So JB and I set to work preparing for our next set of auditions.

To this day I am not sure why we received so many submissions for Weasel Erotica and so few for The Broken Jump (only about 100 really, if that many). The most likely culprit was that we were looking for specific types this time around, primarily a girl young enough to play Christina. Since there was only the one female role available, I guess the biggest reason was that actresses in their late-twenties or thirties and actresses who just didn’t look young enough simply didn’t submit. After all, it was that type that submitted in bulk for Weasel. We were also looking for older males to play Senator Drew and Mr. Klein, so we weren’t bombarded with the young leading man types either.

Ultimately this was an advantage. There were fewer headshots and resumes to sift through. Auditions were scheduled for a single day at Shetler Studios and we did our best to see all the men first and then all the potential Christinas later when Rebecca was available. JB and I agreed that having Rebecca’s input on casting somebody who could actually sing would be invaluable.

Desmond Arrives

I had also decided to make one major change to the script. I would add a new character, Irish comedian and singer Desmond Donagal. He was written explicitly for Jack Boice to play. Once Jack had expressed interest in doing the show I began to look for how we could include him. I am a firm believer that if you have somebody with remarkable talent, you don’t let that go to waste. Since none of the roles left in the script were for a singing part (and since we wouldn’t expect just to randomly add a song for the Senator to sing), I set to crafting Desmond for Jack’s unique talents.

I had met Jack during The Passion Play in 2006 and developed a good rapport with him. He is a gifted performer who can “sing the sh*t out of a song” and I knew early on that his personality would be a good fit with the Talent Bros.

I redistributed some lines from Jack and from Milton (and from Julius, for that matter) and created the role of this nuisance of a performer who would be an old friend of Julie’s and an annoyance to Jack. Not a terribly big part, but a scene stealing part … perfect for my old friend Jack. All we would have to do is dress him like a leprechaun and let the magic just happen.

From The Audition

Greg Homison was the first person to audition for us and, as he left, we knew that somebody was going to have to blow us out of the water to take the part of Senator Drew away from him. He looked right, he sounded right, he felt right … JB and I didn’t really have to debate much at all. The role is demanding and features an extremely long monologue (a campaign rally speech) near the top of the show that would be daunting to anyone. We just knew that Greg would be the one to tackle it.

Casting Christina was an altogether different experience. JB wanted them to perform a monologue, perform their song and also read a scene opposite me. I knew what he was looking for … could they act? Could they sing? And did they look and feel right with Julius? We had one actress that looked perfect (she really could have been related to Melissa) but her song wasn’t strong enough. We had another who had a good song but felt wrong with me (JB commented that he thought she wanted to get in my pants. Not a bad thing, but certainly not right for the part. Damn his artistic integrity!) when we read our scene together. Others just didn’t look like they could pull off the youth of the character convincingly.

Only little spitfire Caitlin Mehner fit the bill in all categories … she had the pipes, she looked young, she looked like she could be family (although JB commented that she looked much more like me than Melissa, which was certainly an interesting element for the show) and she certainly had the energy. In retrospect, there was no other choice. She may not know what she was getting herself into, but pretty little Caitlin Mehner would be joining our merry band of misfits.

We were still without a Mr. Klein though. We had auditioned a number of guys for the part but none of them really stood out for us. In fact, some of them seemed completely wrong for the part … and one of them frankly freaked us out a bit. Ah well, it wouldn’t be the first time we proceeded without one role cast … no reason to stop us now. We would find a solution soon enough … or at least we had better.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XIII

2007-10-26T09:12:00.000-04:00

You would have to go back to 1991 and the beginning of the In The Round Productions era of my life/career (maybe I should write a history of that period?) back in Texas to find a time where I worked so repetitiously with the same core group of people. Although I knew going in that this one was going to be more difficult than the others and also not being informed yet of the decisions from the theatre festivals we submitted to, I went ahead and began to put together the team for The Broken Jump.

Avengers Assemble

Although Melissa had done a phenomenal job directing Weasel Erotica, I knew right out of the gate that I wanted her to play Natalie in The Broken Jump. There were several reasons for this, not the least of which is that she is a damn fine actress. I had suspected during Hamlet and had seen firsthand during Love’s Labors Lost that she was a strong and commanding presence on stage. She exudes the intelligence, strength and beauty that I wanted for the part. On top of that, if I was going to go through with this, then I frankly needed Melissa right there with me. Not backstage, not off stage, not up in a light booth … I needed her quite literally right there with me.

In all honesty, if Melissa had not been available, had turned down the part or had decided she didn’t want to participate in this show; I would not have proceeded any further. Whether because of a lack of confidence in myself or just the simple fact that I enjoyed Melissa as a performer, she had to play Natalie … end of discussion. I had grown to care for her on a deeply personal level and had become accustomed, to some degree, to relying on her and leaning on her. This was going to be a very personal journey, this was going to be a physically demanding task, this was not going to be easy … and I needed Melissa right there to grab hold of in an emergency.

It may sound silly here and now … but I can tell you pure and simple, I was not going to do this without her. She was that important to the project … she is that important to me.

Plus, I had another directing option (I sure as hell wasn’t going to direct this thing myself) staring me right in the face. In the months that immediately followed Weasel Erotica, JB and I had re-established a connection. In the year that had passed since the Abnormal Stew fall-out, things had changed … JB had grown, I had grown … we both simply moved past it. Each of us had seen our personal lives shaken to the very core. Apologies weren’t necessary … we had come to terms with whatever rift there may have been between us. “If mama says we’re family, we’re family.”

In the past year JB had become divorced, quit acting and changed his creative focus more towards directing and filmmaking. His first small project was creative, imaginative and visually fantastic. He was already preparing to direct a Spring/early-Summer production of The Merchant of Venice when I gave him the script to read. JB (now J.B. Lawrence) liked what he read and I knew he had to be the guy to take the reins on this one.

One of the themes of The Broken Jump is coming to terms with one’s mistakes, making amends and striving to move on to a better place. There couldn’t be a better theme for the first project that would reunite the two of us. JB would have my faith and trust and he would direct The Broken Jump.

Filling Out the Cast

The first advantage JB had was that he was directing a Talented Talent Brother show. He knew me. He knew where I was coming from. He also knew that he had several of his primary roles already cast … like Tony King playing Milton Kean. Although he had read Jack at the Super Bowl Sunday read-thru, I don’t think there was every any doubt in anybody’s mind that Tony would play Milt. Brash, young and cocky, Milton was Julius’ partner and had served as his mentor’s straight man. But circumstances, desire and some less-than-stellar material were about to push him out of the crib and into the big bad world. If there was an actor born to play this role, it was certainly Tony.

Plus, Tony and I had realized during Weasel Erotica that we hardly spent any time on stage together and we both knew that had to be remedied this time around.

Another challenge that The Broken Jump would present to both JB and I was that, although not a musical, our initial draft had three musical numbers in it. Neither of us comes from a strong musical theatre background and we certainly didn’t want these numbers to come off half-assed. Luckily, we had our own little “Opera Girl” in-house and Rebecca Sponseller was quickly recruited. A naturally gifted singer, she has her Masters degree in this nonsense … that trumps anything JB or I could possibly bring to the table. Rebecca would be on hand to help us cast our Christina (who would be required to sing a solo) and to whip Tony and I into shape so that we didn’t make fools of ourselves during our routine.

Not to blow smoke up anybody’s tail pipe here, but Matt (brother Mo Talent) Olsem might just secretly be the best actor I have ever worked with. Although he played a fine Claudius in Hamlet, I don’t think I started to realize this guy’s potential until LLL and certainly saw it take center stage in Weasel Erotica. Matt could play the leading man role, he could play the more “show-y” parts … but that is not necessarily where his strength lies. A play is better served if Matt is cast where he can better serve the play … which may sound redundant to you, but makes perfectly good sense to me (and this is my blog, so the heck with you). Matt is an anchor. Matt is the hub of our little wheel … I may be out there on one of the spokes making a damn fool of myself, but it is Matt that is holding everything together. That’s the way we roll …

However, where to cast Matt was initially something of an uncertainty. I had initially thought of Jack because the more I worked on the script, the more prominent Jack was in holding the through-line in place. Then again, wouldn’t the Senator be an interesting departure for Matt to play? JB and I had numerous discussions about how to best use Matt. And I want to point out a difference here … we discussed how to best use Matt, not what part he would play. It is a tribute to Matt’s talent that we were less concerned about what his role would be, what size his role was, what role best fit him and more concerned with how Matt would best serve the play.

Halfway There

This still left us with some significant roles to fill, not the least of which would be Christina. Where were we going to find a pre-teen (or preferably, a twenty-something would could pass for thirteen in a pinch) with the acting chops to tackle the part and the voice to sing a solo? Oh boy …

We were accepted as an official selection of the 8th Annual Midtown International Theatre Festival and now had an opening date in July set. With six performances at the festival, I went ahead and started to make arrangements to hold additional performances back at The Looking Glass Theatre for August … I hated the idea of working this long and this hard on a project for so few performances.

But if we were going to get this show on its feet, we needed to find the rest of our cast. Looks like its time for another round of Baby Hippopotamus Productions auditions … yay!

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XII

2007-10-24T12:27:00.000-04:00

In January 2007 I had assembled the bits and pieces that would make up The Broken Jump.

I wanted, sprinkled throughout the story, vaudeville routines that might liven up the proceedings and do a good job of establishing tone and character. First I turned to a sketch I had put together in 1999 and performed with James Langer at the annual 5 by O. Henry production at the Greensboro Historical Museum (yes, if you haven’t been able to tell already, I am a firm believer in recycling material if it works) and then began to turn to musical bits and pieces. I knew I wanted to do a little Gallagher & Shean bit and would open the show with that number. I also found another rare gem from the period written by one Leonard Marx (wink!) that would be an ideal song for the show.

I was fairly confident that my story would be moving and was beginning to become pleased with how it offset with the humor from the vaudeville bits. But every time I read through it I was uncertain how it might sound, how it might play, somewhere other than in my head. The next step was obvious … I would have to have a reading of this latest draft of the script. I needed to hear it come from the voices of talented people. I had to find out if the story would progress as it did in my imagination. But it needed to be in a casual situation …

Super Bowl Sunday

So a reading was scheduled at my place on Super Bowl Sunday (as mentioned in this blog at the time) with the idea that folks could come pre-game, have a drink, read the play and then stick around to watch the Colts beat and batter the Bears. It couldn’t be more casual than that, right?

So I invited friends and “family” (primarily the Weasel crew) out to Union City to give this script a little look-see and enjoy one another’s company. Melissa, Rebecca, Tony, Jeremy and Jessica all agreed and came out … luckily The Broken Jump has a small cast … and although only Rebecca and Tony really stuck around for the game we did manage to squeeze in a read. The results of which I was pretty happy with. It sounded okay. Reading Julius McGowen out loud was something of an eye-opening experience … this guy really was me.

Julius McGowen and the Other Characters

The primary character in The Broken Jump was always written with the intent that I would play the role. In fact, to say that Julius is my alter-ego would be something of an understatement. We are one and the same. I may have never been a vaudeville comedian, I certainly wasn’t alive in 1918, I don’t normally carry a cigar with me onstage (although it was remarkably comfortable), I’ve never been to Michigan or Canada … but Julie’s heart, mind and soul are parallel to my own.

Milton Kean, Julie’s stage partner, was also an interesting role to write. In some respects he personified the confidence of my youth, filled with carefree ambition. I still find it interesting that I would write Milt as a younger go-getter … so much of my “career” has been spent with other actors younger than myself. In some ways he reminds me of my old Lubbock protégé Hayden Hooper … but he reminds me of my twenty-something self much, much more. Within the play he would serve as a constant reminder of what Julie had been.

Initially, in my mind at least, these were to be the two most well drawn out characters in the story. But one’s creativity has a funny way of throwing you a curveball and I found that, as I wrote, I was falling in love with theatre owner Jack Ruby. I had originally envisioned Jack as a fairly standard stock character who was only necessary to help move the plot forward. But the more I wrote him, the more I thought about him, the more I enjoyed him. His backstory would be as rich as Julius’ … an ex-boxer, perhaps a little punch drunk but not as slow on the uptake as you would guess, a true friend and confidant to Julie with a truck-load of his own headaches to deal with.

Writing Natalie and Christina was another challenge altogether. Their scenes with Julius were among the last written and certainly the most re-visited. For one, they were both from that mysterious gender … female … that I have never (and will never) fully understand. Each had a bond to Julius … and those bonds served as primary conflicts within the play and within Julie’s psyche. Natalie, whom Julius had been in love with years before, had to be brighter and stronger than Julie … but the spectre of their lost love had to scar her as well. Christina, only a child, had to have an immediate bond with Julius that might be awkward and uncomfortable … but it needed to be natural. I agonized over those scenes … those relationships. One thing I was certain of, however, was that if there was guilt or blame to be had, it must lay solidly at Julius’ feet. Maybe that would wind up being uncomfortable to play, but it was important to Julie’s voyage through the story.

Senator Drew was actually an easy character to write, but I was concerned with how he would be played. I was afraid that he might come across as the bad guy and I certainly didn’t want that. Although some in today’s society might see him as conservative (in fact, a few sentences in his opening speech were adapted from a speech given by Ronald Reagan) I didn’t want to make the equation: conservative = evil. In fact, just the opposite … his concern regarding children in our society very closely mirrors my own. As I wrote him, I found that I really liked Senator Drew. If he were running for President in ’08, he would get my vote.

First Breath

Hearing these characters brought to life, even though only in my smoke-filled living room by a group of actors cold-reading while downing a cold brew, sent a charge through my body. Although I was disappointed not to get more feedback from the group, the feedback I did receive and my own observations led me to believe that this could actually be something special on a stage. It needed some work here and there and it certainly wasn’t going to win a Nobel Prize or anything … but it was a good story. Good enough to submit to a couple of festivals.

And after a little cleaning up and a bit of a re-write, that’s exactly what I did … submitted the script (along with our company’s production history, bios on folks who would be involved, a financial and advertising plan) to the New York Fringe Festival and to the Midtown International Theatre Festival. Having done likewise with the original draft of Abnormal Stew and being rejected by both, I was also making preparations to produce The Broken Jump regardless of inclusion into either festival. My God, was I really going to do this again … ?

My mind was made up … this would be our next show.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XI

2007-10-23T18:18:00.000-04:00

It is a testament to how much I enjoyed working with the Weasel folks that even before our run ended I was looking into some way to reunite us all for another show. I can honestly say that I have never felt that way about a cast before. It was during a performance one night, while listening to Tony’s striptease scene, that I realized I had just such a vehicle sitting at home in a manilla folder. I had already outlined our next show … and I had done it over a decade before.

Outline of an Unfinished Play

Quincy & the Showgirls was the working title for an outline to a play that I had dreamt up sometime in the early ‘90s. The plot involved some complex mistaken identity / double identity stuff that was inspired by the Carmen Miranda / Groucho Marx film Copacabana. It revolved around Quincy, a washed-up comedian who was trying his hand at being a theatrical agent and his one client, his gorgeous burlesque dancer girlfriend Trixie. Trixie, as sweet as she was, had no higher aspirations than to be a showgirl and marry Quincy, who refused to get married until he could afford to support her. Ironically, Trixie was the only one bringing home the bacon.

Enter Quincy’s home grown, corn fed younger sister from Indiana (Indiana?) Ethel (Ethel?) who just so happens to be a terrific singer and is hoping her big brother can give her a leg up in the big city (which is never defined, although we assume it to be Las Vegas). Suddenly Quincy has another client who he tries to sell to Herbert, the owner of the club/theatre that employs Trixie. Herb is interested, but wants to know if Quincy has any other clients … perhaps somebody more exotic? Quincy, lying through his teeth, says that he also represents Nancy Nefratiti, an Egyptian songbird that only performs under a veil and who would certainly be out of Herb’s price range. Herb says that he’ll be the judge of that and would like both ladies to audition for him that afternoon.

Some quick change magic and a few little white lies and Ethel is going on with the charade not knowing the duplicity involved. Naturally Herb likes them both and hires both on the spot. Yikes! Now poor Ethel will have to perform as two people each night. Meanwhile, Herb’s kooky secretary Jean is suspicious of the duplicity and could unravel everything at any point in time were she not out of her mind. Jean’s dilemma is complicated further by an unrequited love for Richard King (wow, original name there, huh?), the house Elvis impersonator. Obviously, hilarity ensues.

The outline also featured a number of other fun little elements … Jean’s day dreams would become full-on song and dance numbers and Mr. King’s Elvis would age through the course of the play, going from young Elvis to fat-sequined Elvis (inspired by the Elvis stamps that had come out recently). Quincy would accidentally go on stage as a showgirl, the bank would try to foreclose on Herb’s establishment, Mr. King would flirt with and chase Nancy Nefratiti before recognizing true love and a police detective would arrive attempting to arrest Nefratiti for not having proper immigration papers.

Was it Ahead of It’s Time?

It was a busy, convoluted idea … no wonder I never bothered to finish writing it. But now I had inspiration … Bob’s Burlesque. The club where Roy (Tony) did his dance number in Weasel Erotica. I could see it, and cast it, now: I would play Quincy (after all, why not have the worst comic play the worst comic), Anne McDaniels could play Trixie, Rebecca Sponseller would tackle Ethel/Nefratiti, Herb would become Bob and be played by Matt, Richard King would become Tony King and be played by … Tony King, Jeremy Sykes could come back as the dim-witted detective, Jennifer Sandella was just kooky enough to be Jean … my God, it was perfect! Bob’s Burlesque would be our next show. It wouldn’t be a sequel to Weasel Erotica, but something of a parallel universe to Weasel Erotica. I was even trying to decide how I could work Gary & Weezie (the weasels) in for a cameo.

So, I set to work revising the story … turning Quincy & the Showgirls into Bob’s Burlesque. There would be full scale production numbers, dancers and showgirls, sequins and feathers. Although not necessarily musical theatre (only in Jean’s fantasies would people break out into song for no reason) we would see and enjoy elements of the shows being performed at Bob’s … particularly Ethel, Nefratiti and Mr. King. This could work. This could really, really work.

After a few months of writing, tweaking and day dreaming I put Bob’s Burlesque on the back burner though. As it was shaping up there was no way this could be the next Baby Hippopotamus Production … it was just too much. If Weasel had cost $14K to produce, then this thing would cost $50K easy … dancers, musicians, Vegas-style costumes, a proper venue … how in the world could this get produced out of my back pocket when I was already having a hard time just paying my bills? I enjoyed the story and dreamt about how much fun it would be to do … but was it worth the cost?

The Broken Jump

Plus, I was already invested in this other idea I had. The Broken Jump was originally dreamt of as a film taking place primarily on trains telling the story of a couple of vaudeville comedians. It would be an atmospheric piece (with dingy theatres, snow covered train stations, soot and ash) that would un-romanticize the era of American vaudeville. The original idea had come up in 2002 and was very different than the show that would be produced in 2007. For one reason or another I saw this concept as a perfect opportunity to tell a very personal story, a very different story. The events of the past five years would alter The Broken Jump beyond recognition.

While on a business trip to San Jose, CA I found myself in a hotel room writing not what I thought was amusing and would be fun, but rather writing from the very core of my being. I admit to a sense of excitement and fear as, for the first time in my life, I opened up my very soul and put it on a page. This story was morphing into something very personal … the issues, the atmosphere, the dialogue … it was all me. It came out quick, and in something of a haze. When I looked over it I questioned whether it was something I could even share … much less produce.

It was lacking in structure, much of the dialogue sounded like it came from my voice only and not the different characters, it was vague on certain elements and situations … but it was my story. My heart … my hurt …

But would anybody get it? Would anybody enjoy it? I had to find out …

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter X

2007-10-22T23:52:00.000-04:00

The Looking Glass Theatre is a un-air conditioned space under a church on 57th Street. The space is fairly old and features some nice leaky pipes in the ceiling and wants to flood if and when there is any rain. There is a huge fan that attempts to keep the place cool during the summer months, but once you fire up the stage lighting the place (at least on stage and backstage) becomes something of an oven. This was discovered a few days before we opened on August 4, 2006. The Wednesday prior to opening, we moved in – “load in day,” they call it – and as fate would have it, it was the hottest day of the year in New York with temperatures in excess of 100 degrees.

Nothing comes easy.

Considering how minimal our set was one would think that load in would not be terribly time consuming or exhausting. They would be wrong. A good amount of our time would be spent hanging and focusing lights. Thank goodness that Melissa recruited a friend of hers who just so happened to be a bit of a lighting expert. Raven would be more than valuable that day as we quickly discovered that the space had some major issues – the wiring (or cabling) was a convoluted, tangled, hazardous mess. We would have to pull everything down, rewire, re-hang all the units, point and focus and then program the light board to accommodate all of our scene changes, of which there were quite a few. All credit for making our low-budget, hardly-a-set-at-all production goes to Raven … he did a magnificent job with the tools at hand.

It is truly amazing how cleaning a stage, hanging a bunch of black fabric, making a “Bob’s Burlesque” sign out of Christmas lights, running a few errands and such in ridiculously hot and humid temperatures can wipe you out. I am certain that at some point in time I actually suffered a heat stroke. Luckily we were able to get everything done and actually have a rehearsal in the space that evening. The entire cast pitched in and worked their butts off to make sure it was all done. A solid, complete and collaborative effort. Whew!

Weasel Erotica Rolls

The next four weeks would be filled with fun on stage, fairly good-sized audiences (for the most part), a practical joke here and there, a constant battle to stay cool and just a great deal of enjoyment. Although there were nights where I had to suck it up, put on a brave face and ignore the pain I was in. But once I hit the stage, all was right with the world. Professor Wagstaff might be dehydrated and sweaty, but he was back and he was ridiculous.

As mentioned before, Weasel Erotica contained a handful of elements first worked out during Abnormal Stew. I would perform a variation of the “Monster-logue” towards the end of Act I (this time with the bonus of having Rebecca sing her own rendition of “Embraceable You”), She Said Maybe would set up our young couple’s relationship near the top of the play, Harry (played by Matt) would torture the evil Mr. Grimm with a variation of the “deaf guy” bit and Tony and the monster would question one another’s sexuality in a variation of He-Man’s bit from Stew. Even the legal disclaimer would make an appearance in Act II as I would come out on stage and apologize for offending the audience while Jeremy made a massive costume change from Larry back to Grimm.

Every night was a new experience as folks adlibbed here and there and explored their comedic potential. I was genuinely surprised most nights to find out just what Rebecca might pull from her impressive (and adored) cleavage each night … brussel sprouts, ice cream, an artificial hand, a hot dog with mustard … during my speech to-end-all-speeches. Tony and Jeremy would explore the boundaries of bad taste in bed (and one night, I explored it on Jeremy’s behalf). Kimi would be forced to do different animal imitations on occasion. The show was meant to be nothing more than silly and the cast embraced the idea whole-heartedly.

I have mentioned in this blog several times my disregard for critics and reviews, but was pleased that we received a few nice little write-ups and one completely nasty, negative podcast of a review. I was thrilled by them all. Good press, bad press … so what? As long as our audiences were having fun (the majority of them certainly seemed to) and as long as we were having fun, what did it matter?

This cast also loved to party with one another and some of the evenings spent post-show were great fun ... jeez, I drank a lot for a few weeks there. This was one run that I was not looking forward to ending. I was dreading the “load-out” considering how exhausting the “load-in” had been, I was not looking forward to a scheduled surgery the week after the close of the show (it would be postponed until the middle of September) and frankly I wasn’t looking forward to saying good-bye to this group of people. Actors have a habit of moving on after a show and those relationships just kind of fall by the wayside (another topic I have covered in this blog) and this is a natural progression that I didn’t want to accept.

How sad it would be to say good-bye to Weasel Erotica. But the success and sheer joy of the experience really got me to thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, this whole Talented Talent Brother thing could continue. However, I was fully aware that for it to continue I would have to go back to the drawing board. Fact of the matter is that nobody has really grasped and embraced this silly little concept (or maybe I should say, conceit). Clyde and Jabbar didn’t grasp it. Neither did Jef or Paige. JB grasped it for a bit but it ultimately wasn’t a priority. It wasn’t necessarily a priority for Matt, Mel and Tony either. Baby Hippopotamus Productions and The Talented Talent Brothers were my creation and would only move forward with my driving it.

Don’t get me wrong, I have zero negative feelings towards Clyde, Jabbar, Jef, JB, Matt, Mel or Tony … it’s not their baby, they feel little if any ownership of it. The ownership, as much as I might wish it otherwise, is all mine. I breathed first life into it and it would require my breath, my energy and my dedication (not to mention my time and my money) to survive. And although I was completely exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally my mind was swirling with what could be the next step in this little adventure.

But there was also a more personal story that I wanted to tell …

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter IX

2007-10-21T14:06:00.000-04:00

One of the disadvantages of producing or directing a play is that you really miss out on some degree of the camaraderie that develops within the group. Because your attentions are directed elsewhere you miss all the off-stage conversations and relationship building. Over the years I’ve experienced this time and time again. For example, there was one production that I produced and directed in the early-90s where two members of the cast actually got engaged … I hadn’t a clue about it until months after the run of the show. I can attribute some of this to my simple lack of awareness but it was my position within the production that really led to it.

Although the Weasel Erotica crew was unique in that we genuinely enjoyed spending social time with one another, both Mel and I have commented on how we missed out to some degree or another. Mel was further separated during the run by the fact that she was running the light board and thus didn’t have the backstage experience the rest of us enjoyed. The girls of the show seemed to all bond instantly. In fact, I would joke that they would get together to gossip about how cute Tony was, how quiet Matt was and how retarded I was. I bet some similar conversation actually did take place.

When you are the guy that is financing the show that separation is expanded somewhat. There are some things that you don’t want the cast to be aware of so that they are never concerned about the tightrope that is being walked. You certainly wouldn’t want them to fully realize just what kind of financial peril the entire production is constantly in. Or the financial peril that you are personally in. I spent in excess of $14K on Weasel Erotica out of my own back pocket. I recouped less than 10% of that. I sacrificed a number of things just so that my little play would be seen by an audience … not the least of which was eating.

I think there is something fundamentally wrong with me. Why would I risk so much, put so much in jeopardy, just so that a handful of people will see the fruition of an insane little dream of mine? My only response would be that it is simply an addiction and that perhaps I need some form of rehab. I came to this conclusion early on in the Weasel rehearsal process when I was hospitalized for a couple of days. I was sacrificing my health to feed my addiction. I think I was aware of this when I wrote in this very blog about the stress involved in getting this show up.

Not that I would learn my lesson.

Regardless of my physical and financial struggles, the months leading up to Weasel Erotica were glorious. Members of the cast commented on how ego-less we were and how refreshing it was to work on a show where the primary goal was to simply just have fun. And the process certainly was fun. Sometimes that fun was alcohol-fueled, post-rehearsal silliness. My admiration for and appreciation of this little group was significant and was something that I would mention frequently. I like to think that the majority of the people involved felt likewise.

The actors were given the freedom to ham it up and be silly and everybody certainly took advantage of the opportunity. In nearly twenty years of doing this I had never worked in so positive an environment. Much of the credit for this must go to Mel, who everybody seemed to respect and enjoy. The remainder of the credit needs to go to a silly script that allowed for Tony to do a striptease with the weasels and the zoo girls, let Rebecca pull random things from her cleavage, let Jeremy play a gay monster flirting with Tony, let Amy react to a mass amount of insanity that surrounded her and let Anne strut and pose.

I spent what little free time I had trying to promote the show and getting the million of little errands that have to be run taken care of. Likewise, I’m sure that Melissa’s personal life was put on hold as she dove in and busted her butt to help make sure everything would be ready for our opening. We both worked long and hard through two months of rehearsals.

August was fast approaching and The Talented Talent Brothers would make a triumphant return to the NYC stage. I was determined to see this through … everything else be damned … and I had my “family” standing by my side.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter VIII

2007-10-20T23:11:00.000-04:00

Yes, I realize that in terms of timeline we are well into a period where I was actually posting in this blog with some regularity. However, since this little soul-searching historical document is being told with more of an eye towards retrospect, I am sure that a number of things will sound a little different this time around. I will however make reference to and even quote from previous entries. It’s not like anybody ever read them in the first place. In fact, it’s not like anybody is ever going to read this either.

Casting About

Auditions for Weasel Erotica were held in the middle of May 2006 after having received over one thousand submissions. Amazing! To this day I am surprised at the number of people who submitted for our silly little project. I am even more surprised to find that just over 100 of those submissions came from males. I genuinely feel sympathy for the young-ish actresses in NYC because the competition is incredible.

Mel and I spent an untold number of hours sifting through the submissions and weeding out the folks we knew we wouldn’t be interested in seeing. To be honest, Mel did most of the work. All I really did was weed out the obvious wackos. During Abnormal Stew, JB and I had purposely called in those wackos, but we didn’t have the time or the interest in going through that ordeal again.

Before we had even begun to cast the show I noted the difference and improvement this project would have over Stew was Mel’s participation. In the months that had followed Stew I found that I had leaned on Melissa both personally and emotionally … now in May of 2006 I realized that I would be leaning on her professionally as well. Auditions would be held on one day in two three-hour sessions. Mel and I would obviously be there for both, Matt and Tony would assist for one session each.

I wrote the following in this blog a few days after the audition session:

"Auditions are nerve-wracking for actors. I hate 'em. We saw a handful of folks who were nervous auditioning for us. In the back of my head I'm thinking, "Calm down. It's not like we're anything special." Then again, to them, we might be.

Mel's in the process of getting the show cast and, judging by the talent we saw the other day, I think we're gonna be in pretty good shape. I'm very excited to get back to work with Mo, Mel and "the real king" Tony King. There's a touch of the jitters knowing that we're venturing into the great unknown again, but I'm feeling confident that we're gonna be in great shape and that we'll have a ton of fun.

A big word of thanks to everybody that came out. It was the first audition session I had been to in ages where we didn't have one single wacko. That's probably because Mel was doing the casting and not me. I always wind up calling in at least one severely disturbed person ... Mel just brought in talent."

Obvious Choices

There were three obvious choices during the audition process. They were Anne McDaniels, Jennifer Sandella and Rebecca Sponseller.

We needed a supermodel of a sexy seductress to play Flo (months before, I had actually envisioned Mel playing the role herself) and Anne McDaniels fit the bill perfectly. Mel and I were also gratified, and even taken a little aback, by how much we genuinely enjoyed her. An ex-NFL cheerleader with a resume chock full of film, television and modeling credits initially seemed like a bad call to me. Before meeting her I admit to a prejudice … I assumed she would either be a diva to work with or simply wouldn’t bother to accept a role in our non-paying, not-gonna-do-much-for-your-career, low-budget production. I could not have been more wrong … there could not be a nicer, more professional, more thoroughly enjoyable, intelligent actress to join our little group. The fact that she’s drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t hurt either. Regardless, I respected and admired her for her talents and tenacity.

Jennifer Sandella was pretty much instantly cast too … but for very different reasons. Don’t get me wrong, Jennifer is also an extremely attractive actress, but she had a special skill that won us over. She can speak gibberish. Apparently she is fluent. She performed her monologue, spoke a little gibberish and we knew we had to have her in our show. We hadn’t a clue where to put her yet, but we knew we had to have her.

After Rebecca Sponseller’s audition we were completely convinced that she was bat-sh*t crazy. A trained and gifted opera singer, she sang her audition. Let me just point out that, at least up until this point, our show was not a musical by any means. She was rattled, out of breath and told us that she had just come from a musical theatre audition and asked, whether out of lack-of-preparation or nerves, if she could just sing her audition. It was hysterical and as she left Mel and I agreed that perhaps a musical number in Weasel Erotica wouldn’t be a bad idea. Mel would slightly second guess herself later in the week and meet with Rebecca during lunch one day to make sure she could even read. She could and she was cast.

Two other lovely young ladies were cast, but after a bit more deliberation. Kimi Winkler was (and is) a beautiful bundle of energy that we were both drawn to, but couldn’t figure out exactly what to do with. I briefly considered what it would be like to have her as Tony’s love interest if for no other reason than my certainty that she would drive Tony crazy. Once we decided to pair her up with Jennifer as the two zoo girls we knew we had something a little magical … the toned bundle of electricity and the girl that spoke gibberish … it just had to work.

Mel wanted Amy Kersten to play Alison, who is more or less the lead role in the show. I was less certain … I actually thought Amy was too intelligent (like that should be a knock on an actress) and wouldn’t convey a sense of damsel in distress. Mel thought otherwise … and I had learned to trust Mel’s instincts. Turns out that by August Mel would be proven to be absolutely right.

But What About Another Guy?

We still had to cast our villain, Gregory Grimm, and although we auditioned a number of male actors we weren’t really impressed with any of them. Mel and I would discuss possible solutions over the course of the next several days … we could hold another audition, we could ask around, we could discuss actors we had worked with. By the end of the week, I was at a loss. That’s when Mel recommended a fellow she had been working with named Jeremy Sykes.

She reminded me that I had once met Jeremy at the bar Tony had been working at but I hadn’t realized that he was an actor. To be honest, all I really remembered about him was that he had this hot girlfriend who was some kind of scientist or something and was from Canada. Once again I put my faith in Melissa. This show might be mine, but the production would be hers.

We briefly even had an actor to play Larry, the Monster-From-Under-Your-Bed but after he was unable to make the first rehearsal and once we realized that he would have some scheduling conflicts, Mel decided that we would just have Jeremy double up and play both Larry and Grimm.

New Beginnings Always Bring New Excitement

Rehearsals began and I was positively brimming with excitement. We had a great cast, I had a new partner in Melissa who was taking charge and taking responsibility, my health was good (that wouldn’t last for long, but we’ll get to that soon) and the day job wasn’t proving to be as bad nor as time consuming as it had been earlier in the year. After our second rehearsal, I wrote the following:

"Well, rehearsals have just begun on Weasel Erotica and I already have two observations. One, Mel did one heck of a job casting this show. I mean she was on the money. She found a nice group that blends well with Tony, Mo and I and brings some unique energy to the show. Yeah, big talk two rehearsals in, but it bodes well for the future. Two, this script of mine might actually work. Everybody had doubts here and there, but it's starting to become obvious that we have a nice little shell to hang Talent Bros insanity on."

My confidence was at a high point as I begun to be a promotional machine. Unlike Stew, I wouldn’t neglect to promote The Talented Talent Brothers this time around. Just six months after almost hanging it up and tossing in the towel on this idea, things had turned around. A trip to Vegas and popping my cherry as a stand-up comedian had all contributed to my new-found energy and excitement.

However, maintaining that energy would be another challenge …

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter VII

2007-10-19T01:56:00.000-04:00

Prologue

The four years I spent living in Greensboro, NC in the late '90s were easily among the happiest of my life. Sure, they were filled with the day-to-day struggles that all of our lives are filled with, but they were chock full of happy times. My so-called “acting career” was not the top priority, although I did do a number of plays and television episodes. All in all, it was just a great time.

Among the few negatives from this period were the frequent trips back to Texas. My son lived in Corpus Christi, my parents in Baytown and my in-laws in Lubbock. Many was the time that Tammi and I jumped in the old Mitsubishi and drove from North Carolina to Texas – 24 to 30 hours of straight driving, depending on where we were going and who we were going to visit. To keep awake and prevent boredom, we would play a number of traveling games. One of my favorites was a word game where one of us would say a word and the other had to think of the most inappropriate word to match it. A highly amusing game … give it a try on your next long drive. It’s even better when you are trying not to go stir-crazy.

Early one morning while speeding through Louisiana, Tammi and I were playing this game. We had already been on the road for over 20 hours and were well beyond being “simple minded.” Tammi thought of a word and came up with “weasel.” I immediately responded “erotica.” We laughed uncontrollably. In fact, my eyes watered up and I could barely see the interstate.

Weasel Erotica. May not sound funny to you now … but hop in the car for twenty hours and you just might be amused by it. Weasel Erotica. I would have to remember that.

Now Back To Our Story

Somewhere over the course of the months that followed the closing of Abnormal Stew I had made up my mind that The Talented Talent Brothers were not over. Not yet. I still hung my career hopes on this idea. All I needed to make it work was a little consistency within the group, some like-minded individuals and a better, more noteworthy vehicle. I was knee deep in writing the latter. I had high hopes for the former.

If we were going to be something of a modern day version of the Marx Brothers, then we needed a modern day Marx Brother story. So I began to outline a story that would borrow heavily from A Day at the Races. The plot would be almost non-existent – just something to hang a little Talent Brother insanity on – and would feature a young couple in peril who are assisted by an assorted band of crazies. And we would have puppets. I like puppets.

This is where the term “weasel erotica” provided inspiration and the title of our next play. There probably are very few writers who come up with a title first, but then again I’ve never really claimed to be much of a writer. Weasels might make for interesting puppets. And if we’re going to have weasels, where are the weasels going to come from – where do they live? Answer: a zoo. Now we just had to threaten the weasels and the zoo and we could be off and running.

The play would center around this zoo … owned by the lovely Alison Standish (named for the Standish Sanitarium in A Day at the Races). If I was going to create a Maureen O’Sullivan character, then I would obviously also need an Allan Jones-type to be her boyfriend. My alter-ego from Abnormal Stew, Professor Wagstaff (obviously named for Groucho’s character in Horsefeathers) would return as a weasel expert hired to train the weasels and save the zoo from financial ruin. You can’t have a Groucho-type character without a Margaret Dumont, the wealthy dowager, so I created the insane Ms. Rittenrotten (as opposed to Rittenhouse - this time the reference dates back to Animal Crackers) who would have the money necessary to save the day.

See, this thing practically writes itself.

Many hours were spent tweaking and revising this script. Bits and pieces from Stew would reappear. The Monster-That-Lives-Under-Your-Bed would make an appearance. Evil would come in the form of a melodramatic Snidley Whiplash character named Mr. Grimm. Naturally, Grimm would need a sexy cohort to seduce Wagstaff … so Flo was added to the mix. A Chico/swindler-with-a-heart-of-gold character would be perfect for Matt, so he was included. Finally, in loving tribute, we would need two “zoo girls” to run the zoo and manage the weasels.

The play was starting to take shape. Those that are familiar with my “writing style” know that I write in bits and pieces on everything from yellow legal pads to scratches of paper and then begin to assimilate the pieces. By spring, Act I was together and Act II was well on its way.

Calling All Characters

The new team was assembled … myself, Matt and Mel. Added to the mix now was Tony King (another veteran of Hamlet and LLL who had run lights a time or two for Stew) who is a talented and fun leading man type. Tony presented the problem of having the last name King. We already had a "King Talent" and it certainly would seem silly to have a "Tony King Talent" and "Tony Talent" just seemed like a waste of a perfectly good and marketable name. A new backstory would have to be developed for Tony.

The four of us met one Saturday afternoon on the back patio at Rudy’s on 9th Avenue to drink a pitcher or two of beer, eat a little bar-b-q and give Act I a good read. I was pleased to find that the script had some life to it. I was even more pleased later that week when I made contact with The Looking Glass Theatre and booked the show. Mel was recruited to direct the show (Stew hadn’t really had a director, per se) and Tony, Matt and I would play the male “hero” characters.

Less than a year after Abnormal Stew had opened, The Talented Talent Brothers would return to the New York stage in Weasel Erotica. I was going to give this ridiculous idea one more chance. But first, we had to survive a summer filled with casting and rehearsals and get this thing ready to roll. A new adventure was about to begin.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter VI

2007-10-16T08:38:00.000-04:00

The months that followed the closing of Abnormal Stew were productive and rejuvenated me to a great degree. My health was finally on something of an upswing and although that winter marked my first holiday season alone, I was able to distract myself with other projects and relationships. I was finding my way in this weird little world and this time I was doing it by myself.

First Distraction: Swimming with The Whales

In December I accepted a leading role in a production called The Whales written by M. Stefan Strozier and being produced by his production company. How I came across this opportunity is a testament to the old saying, “you never know what you’re getting into.” I had received an email casting notice looking for two actors for a show already deep in rehearsals. Having produced more than my fair share of plays before, I knew exactly what this had meant … a couple of people had dropped out of the cast.

I was immediately interested because the show would run for four weeks in January and, with an obvious break for the Christmas holiday, I knew the time commitment would be minimal … there just wasn’t much time left to rehearse. The audition notice indicated that the two roles they were looking to fill were a) a homeless schizophrenic playwright and b) a Sopranos mob-type. Well, I sure couldn’t fill the latter, but the former sounded fun. The casting notice didn’t indicate the size of the roles, but I just assumed they were both small supporting roles.

I also chuckled to myself to find that the show would be staged at Where Eagles Dare Theatre … the same stage I had just spent the past several months on.

I arrived at that first rehearsal to find a sizable cast and was given a script, just a scene really, that I would read a little later. I had been in this situation before … I was going to audition as part of the rehearsal … I would really have to screw up not to get the role. I read over this bizarre little scene where Harry (my character) primarily spouted a bunch of nonsense in a sanitarium. Looked like fun.

Later in the rehearsal I did the scene … just hammed it up a bit. I was cast on the spot and given the full script. Imagine my surprise when I got home, read it and found that outside of an opening prologue of sorts, I was in every scene in the play. In fact, the play centered on my character.

I felt bad. Probably a little self-imposed tension that was unwarranted. But I had wondered why the director hadn’t just “promoted” somebody with a smaller role in the cast and then just filled in his part. That is certainly how I had handled similar circumstances in the past. I wondered if any of my cast mates, and there were quite a few, were angry or jealous. In retrospect, I don’t think so. But at the time, it was a real concern … I felt that I may have usurped somebody else’s role.

Funny People Are Fun

Immediately I was attracted to my energetic, vastly talented and breathtaking “love interest” in the play, Holly Vanasse. She was a ball of fire … a sarcastic and sardonic wit with a flair for mockery. She had a glorious lack of pretense which I greatly admired … in fact, I still greatly admire it. The most cutting and hilarious things would flow effortlessly from her lips. Only a few years my junior and with a love of all things Duran Duran (including The Power Station) she was exhilarating to spend time with.

The stresses of my personal life over the previous year and the tensions that surrounded Abnormal Stew had drained me and made me question whether pursuing acting and/or comedy to any degree was worth the effort. I was buried under a mountain of self-doubt that Holly, with the force of the hurricane that is her personality, blew away. A strong personality indeed. I was taken aback by how grateful I was (and am) to her. To this day I doubt that she has any comprehension of just how much she has meant to me and I am horribly saddened that she is not currently a regular part of my life.

Additionally, however, many others in the cast were also inspirational. Outgoing and occasionally outrageous, Brenna McGuire and her love of cupcakes became something that I looked forward to everyday. Denise Collins was a jingly jangly whirlwind herself and the first person in the show I established a rapport with. Jordan and Grant Peters were talented brothers I respected and Ben Bailey, perhaps the most dedicated actor I have ever met, was a constant source of amusement. This group of people, for the most part, could just disregard any allegiance to the script, toss logic aside and have fun with each evening’s performance. And if that didn't work ... well you could always drool on the stage.

And at the time, that was good enough for me.

Second Distration: Yelling at Jesus Again

Shortly after The Whales closed I was called by the director of The Passion Play at the Park Performing Arts Center in Union City, NJ. In 2003 I had played Caiaphas in the show and went on as Pontius Pilate in an unrehearsed emergency for one performance. The large theatre was only ten blocks from my house, so working on the show was convenient. She asked if I would come back and do a little Caiaphas/Pilate doubling for her and, since the show would open soon and I wouldn’t have to worry much about a long rehearsal process, I agreed.

I wasn’t even looking for acting work and I would go from Stew to The Whales to The Passion Play with hardly a break in between. Not my style, but it certainly was nice to be wanted and appreciated as a performer. A screening of a film I starred in, The Interrogation, weeks later capped a busy period of performance. It was enough for me to look back over the previous twelve months (the film, title role in Hamlet, directing Love’s Labors Lost, Abnormal Stew, The Whales and The Passion Play) and see how my confidence had soared, faded and then began to rise again.

With my confidence on the upswing, I had been doing quite a bit of writing. Initially my focus had been on my one-man show that had been stirring around in my mind for a few years, but I kept coming back to The Talented Talent Brothers and this silly little idea I had … a wafer-thin plot based loosely on The Marx Brothers’ A Day at the Races, a couple of puppets, gags that had worked in Stew … and a title that had almost caused a car wreck several years before.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter V

2007-10-14T19:02:00.000-04:00

The Talented Talent Brothers were on life support. Abnormal Stew wouldn’t go out with a bang but with a whimper. I was about ready to call it a day … but I had committed to performances for a festival at Where Eagles Dare and I’m too stubborn for my own good. Laz was getting ready to head to California, Giselle was in Mexico, Jillyn was working at my office and doing her level best to ignore me and Andy was … well, from what I could tell, getting ready to shack up with Jillyn. I needed to recruit some folks and fast.

There was no thought needed in choosing the first person to ask. Melissa McCulloch had appeared with me in Hamlet and played in my production of Love’s Labors Lost. She had also run our lights and sound a number of times and was familiar with what we were doing. Over the proceeding months she had grown very special to me and I knew that I could count on her. It didn’t hurt that she was also a talented and beautiful actress. She would become my new “sister” and be billed as Melissa Jo Talent … the only Talent with a four syllable name, for all you trivia buffs.

She recommended Matt Olsem, who had also appeared in Hamlet and Love’s Labors Lost. Matt had proven himself a dear friend and an easy-going actor. One thing was certain, with Matt I wouldn’t have to worry about all the additional drama that had haunted Abnormal Stew since day one. I took his initials (M.O.) and came up with Mo Talent. I liked the sound of it … this guy has Mo’ Talent than the rest of us. I could promote that.

With two actors who I admired and could socialize with, I still knew we would need another body. Enter Kimberly Conzo, who had also appeared in Love’s Labors Lost and who I found to be a charming and intelligent actress. I had felt guilty that such a talented actress wasn't getting her due in LLL thanks to my expansive cuts. With Kimberly on board, we set about to rehearsing the all-new, all-different Abnormal Stew.

Some material would stay … the four of us would appear in She Said Maybe, Matt would take over for Laz in the He-Man/I’m Not Gay material, a new “deaf guy” sketch that we had originally considered early on in the Stew rehearsal process would work itself into the show also featuring Matt and I. Kimberly and Melissa would appear in a Waiting for Godot-ish piece of material dressed as an executioner and Snow White, respectively. One of the highlights for me was seeing Mel in the Snow White outfit … I just wish a picture existed of it.

Some quick rehearsals, most of which were held at Mel’s apartment and we were going to dive in. John Chatterton, the owner of the theatre, appeared at our first show (he was practically the only person there) and all I could think of was, “Great! So now he decides to show up!”

We survived the performance … by the skin of our teeth. Some bits and pieces were dropped here and there. The laughs were few and far between. But one thing was certain … I enjoyed working with these people. Abnormal Stew might have died a slow death … but maybe The Talented Talent Brothers could survive. Matt is like a brother and I dearly love Mel. Maybe, just maybe, an infusion of new blood, new chemistry, could rescue this dying idea?

With Stew behind me, I began to re-focus on just what Baby Hippopotamus Productions could become. In the meantime, I would take some other acting work. Just to keep busy. Just to keep the juices flowing. With the holidays approaching I accepted a role in a play called The Whales that had been in rehearsal for several weeks already and would open immediately after the New Year. I didn’t realize until after the first rehearsal that I was essentially playing the lead.

So much for taking some easy work just to keep the juices flowing. Frankly, I was more interested in this little script that I had been working on. Maybe it could be the next Talented Talent Brothers vehicle? I had never done a play set in a zoo ...

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter IV

2007-10-13T02:17:00.000-04:00

It was done. Abnormal Stew had opened. As we put all of our costumes and props in their proper homes stuffed in various places in my office, listening to the others speak about what they thought worked and so forth was very helpful. With all the costume changes I had (getting in and out of He-Man was a bit of a pain) I hadn’t been able to listen in and pay attention to scenes I was not in very well. However, I had made a few observations.

First, the show ran too long. Period. Our first performance was over two and a half hours. The major culprits were the films. Only one film, Rev Balki’s Holy Sh**, ran under three minutes. I had mistakenly assumed we would need the length of the others so that we could make costume changes, but I was dead wrong. This was something we would’ve learned had we ever properly run the show.

Second, the He-Man Cocktail Party routine, which I had very little confidence in, was actually pretty strong … so long as Andy, Laz and I strayed from the script, riffed a bit and just had fun. As written? Eh. As we did it? Weird riot!

Third, Laz and I could be a terrific twosome. Rehearsals certainly had hinted at this, but actually having an audience (small as it was) amplified things a bit. We could riff, listen to one another and move a comedic scene along. Weeks later I would even contemplate how good we would be as a modern Felix and Oscar … in fact, he and I should re-write The Odd Couple and just do it. Neil Simon be damned.

Finally, the sock monkey shouldn’t talk. Not that Socko ever was meant to talk. A snafu at intermission and then again at the end of the show (thanks Playstation!) got us into a bind and Jillyn, trying in vain to cover, spoke. It was bad … really bad.

That Damn Day Job

The biggest obstacle to my creativity (outside of my innate laziness) has always been the need to make a buck. Working a “normal” job, especially with the commitment and number of hours I was putting in, just drains me and makes me want to spend what little free time I have watching hours of mindless television and sleeping when I could be writing and creating.

Typical of the time in my life, I would have to go back to work immediately after the show to meet a deadline for the next day. So, instead of going out and celebrating with the cast (who socialized outside of rehearsals too infrequently) I had to say my goodbyes and sit in front of the computer for another five or six hours.

Just before 1am an email popped up in my Inbox. It was from JB. In a matter of seconds I was pissed beyond all belief.

Another One Bites The Dust

Without quoting the email, JB informed me that it was his intention to leave the show after the Labor Day performance, which would be our third show. He expressed that he was miserable, particularly around a “few select people,” and felt that he didn’t want to put anymore time or money into this show (he had more than held up his end financially to this point, for which I was extremely grateful) and that he felt it was going nowhere.

My breaking point had finally been hit. My first reaction? “Well, F*ck you then,” might sum it up. Suddenly thoughts of just quitting and canceling the show were racing through my head. I had said all along that The Talented Talent Brothers was going to be my last, best shot. I had been pursuing this dream of a career for nearly two decades with little success but I knew that this concept, this idea was golden. I had promised myself that I would pour everything into it and its success or failure would determine my own personal success or failure. Pay attention to that little detail … it will come into play later in our story.

Pride and determination won out, however. I had put way too much of my own money, time and effort into Abnormal Stew just to do one performance and walk away. Others had also put in time and effort and I felt I owed it to them not to walk away and risk them feeling that they had simply been wasting their time.

We would continue without JB. But not in three weeks … we would do it now. No need in escalating already strained relationships with the rest of the cast. We would cut ties now and Stew would rest squarely on my shoulders … the last place I wanted it. I replied to JB my thoughts and feelings, expressed my disappointment and anger and told him that there was no need to prolong this … we would sever ties now.

But What About Everybody Else?

The next evening we had a rehearsal already scheduled. Kat Castaneda would, by circumstance, be eliminated from the show as well. She had appeared only in JB’s scenes and (just to show how disorganized we were) I didn’t even have her contact information – JB had always notified her and Giselle and I notified Laz, Andy and Jillyn of rehearsals, schedules and film shoots. I felt bad ... I personally liked Kat and thought she was very talented ... we just fell out of touch.

There at that rehearsal stood the five people that would decide the fate of Abnormal Stew … Laz Viciedo, Giselle Hyland (billed as “Baby G Talent”), Andy Jacobs, Jillyn McKittrick and the guy that brought them to the party, me. I informed them that JB had decided to leave the show in three weeks and that I had made that arrangement immediate. I then left it in their hands … it was up to them whether or not the show would continue. It was unanimous … we would make this work.

Immediately Laz and I set to work rearranging the show, adding a few new skits, removing some of the films, editing others to be shorter. Jillyn would start in She Said Maybe then change into the sock monkey. Rev Balki was removed but the scene would stay … only now re-worked to be a more Wagstaff-ian scene. Everybody found their roles increased.

As Laz would write in his blog at the time, “The 5 of us got together and hashed out a solution to our missing main character. Needless to say we pulled it off without a hitch. We actually ran a smooth show that was actually funny. It was tighter and everyone seemed to have more fun with it.” He was right. Maybe it was the nerves, maybe because the mood was lighter and less tense, maybe it was a sense of camaraderie … whatever it was, that second show kicked a$$.

Our third and fourth performances saw respectable-sized houses laughing to the antics of five talented individuals. Personally, I was happy with the quality of the show and thrilled to have established real relationships with Laz and Giselle. I was also drained. I wasn’t putting the time I should’ve been into promoting the show. After the fourth performance, attendance started to dwindle.

I hadn’t even come up with a proper solution to having somebody to run lights and sound, hand out programs and take money. Most of the time Jillyn’s husband Chad would chip in but he wasn’t always available. Tony King and Melissa McCulloch, who I had worked with on Hamlet, were periodically recruited to come in and take charge when Chad was stuck at work.

A note on Chad McKittrick

… at least an observation … from all that I could tell (and many, many people would second this) he is a thoroughly decent and good man who was devoted to his wife. He put up with a lot … coming to Jillyn’s rehearsals, supporting her career, driving out to Jersey or wherever to get his wife to a performance and then sit there and watch her make out with me onstage. What happened between them behind closed doors is anybody’s guess and none of our business. All I can say is having worked with Jillyn on two shows (Hamlet and then Abnormal Stew) he appears to have won more fans than she did. No one (besides Jillyn, that is) that I am aware of ever had a bad thing to say about Chad McKittrick. Loyalty, to me, is an invaluable trait … near as I could tell, Chad had it. Probably still does. Too bad he couldn’t impart that trait to his wife.

Cold Stew

Near the end of October our audience was next too nothing (sometimes it was nothing) and I received two pieces of news: Laz would be moving to the West Coast and Giselle would be taking a trip to Mexico to visit family. They would both be leaving the show at the end of the month. To me, the writing was on the wall … we had a good run, but it was time to wind this thing down.

One problem, though. I was committed to producing performances in November for a Fall/Winter Festival that the theatre was holding. I would need to produce four more shows without Laz and Giselle. Jillyn expressed interest in staying with the show under the conditions that she would take over Giselle’s roles and would not put that sock monkey suit on again. I didn’t have to think twice about it … no way. Not worth the effort. I wanted to keep Andy, but his allegiance to and relationship with Jillyn would make that awkward.

The hell with it. Abnormal Stew and The Talented Talent Brothers would honor their commitments … but with only one returning performer … me.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter III

2007-10-12T23:26:00.000-04:00

After months of preparation and rehearsal, The Talented Talent Brothers’ first show was finally going to open. People, albeit only a few, would finally see what we had worked so long and hard on. Yet I couldn’t help but feel under-prepared. Very personal tensions had been vying for my attention and now I was expected to lead our little group into battle with an audience that we outnumbered. The pot was no longer on the stove … it was time to serve some Abnormal Stew.

Opening Night

Things would be a little out of the ordinary right off. As we were booked as a weekly show, we were required to load-in prior to each and every performance. This basically meant that just an hour before curtain we would bring in all of our sets and props and get the theatre ready before we opened the house. There would be no pre-show relaxation. Instead, there was a little manual labor.

It began with the cast meeting at my office on 42nd Street where I stored all of our set pieces, costumes and props. We had purposely designed the show to be simple. Our set consisted of four folding chairs, a television that sat on a number of blocks or a rolling table, a Playstation we used to play the DVD because nobody owned an extra DVD player and … well, actually that was about it.

We did, however, have a ton of props and costumes. Most of these were housed in a giant suitcase that JB found in Queens. The most noticeable, and largest, prop was Battlecat … a giant stuffed green tiger. I didn’t buy a green tiger, I bought a white one that I assumed we would be able to dye green.

Battlecat

About a week before we opened, I gave the tiger to Jillyn to dye in her bathtub. The dye didn’t take and the result was a tiger that looked like he had been living in the street for the past six months. I performed a green paint test on his belly and it clumped up and appeared muddy and grey. On a lark JB and I tried using a green highlighter pen and the result wasn’t too bad. With that discovery JB spent an entire evening and eighteen markers to completely color the cat.

He was the hit of the show … and a hit during our weekly caravan walking all the props and costumes from 42nd Street to the theatre on 36th.

Curtain ... Well, There Wasn't a Curtain Per Se

Jillyn’s husband Chad was promptly recruited to run our lights and sound for that opening night performance and everybody gathered at my office to make the first haul. Tensions were quite high from our final disaster of a rehearsal. Some were concerned, myself included to be honest, that JB wouldn’t show. We had very minimal rehearsal with Tammy who would be stepping in for Kat during our first performance, but Tammy was a consummate professional and was better prepared than any of us expected.

Nothing was said about the conflicts that had arisen recently as we made the trek to 36th Street. As fate would have it, a light rain was falling that we were not prepared for. Everything was slightly moist when we arrived. We set up, Chad had a quick go with the lights and sound, the house was opened, a handful of people arrived and The Talented Talent Brothers officially made their debut.

The show opened with a “Legal Disclaimer” played on the television. That is, after I fudged around and figured out how the damn Playstation worked. I then launched into something of a prologue (mostly improvisational) welcoming folks and pondering the meaning of humor and “what makes people laugh.” Then we opened with a tried and true piece of material, She Said Maybe.

She Said Maybe was originally written as part of a sitcom pilot script that I had toyed with around 1998. I would later shoot it on video with the North Carolina Film Workshop and then, in 2002, stage it at the Brooklyn Lyceum with Renee Ashcroft, Rachel Macklin and my hometown pal and protégé Hayden Hooper. It was tested, it was sweet, it was … not wacky. I thought of it as an easy way to open our show … didn’t want to bash the audience’s head over with a hammer yet. That would come later.

Next we would meet He-Man (me again) at a cocktail party in a piece originally written by Greg Sandquist. This would be the first of several appearances of He-Man. In fact, we did a good job of having our characters frequently reappear, giving the show some cohesion. The next recurring characters were played by Andy Jacobs and Giselle Hyland as a couple with serious marital problems … stemming from her having slept with the waiter, Socko.

As the night continued we would meet JB’s characters Rev Balki and Dr. Cockburn, we would see short (not as short as they should have been) films, be treated to Laz doing Tony Montana doing Mr. Rogers, see Matrix-style combat done with no budget and wonder just what the heck that sock monkey was. It all ended with a mass murder and news report putting an all-points bulletin out for our dear little Socko.

One Down … How Many To Go?

A final applause and a return trip to the office and we had put our first show behind us. Laz and Giselle would help me store the props while Jillyn confronted JB about his recent behavior. The rest of us were just relieved to have survived the experience and chit-chatted about what worked and what didn’t. Only JB and Jillyn were aware of their conversation and, to this day, I don’t really know what was said. I don’t really care to know.

But what I do know is that it started a chain of events that would seriously endanger and alter Abnormal Stew before we even got to a second performance. The fallout would result in a reduced cast size, a restructuring of the show, an even more prominent role for me, a bonding of comedic minds and the most exciting, nerve-wracking second performance of my life.