There were some technical glitches on this website, and the promised video took a bit to get on up there.

I just relived a significant chunk of the SF Comedy Club contest from June 28, 2006, and you can too by clicking on this here link.  Truth be told, it would suck some powerful marrow out of your lifeblood, and they’d be some hours and minutes you just ain’t getting back.  But, live the magic.

If you want to see me, I’m at this link.  Go ahead, rate my performance.  At this point my ego is either super strong or shredded, so what’s a few stars.

The true criteria to judge of course, as this woman might attest, is the outfit.  For comfort, this outfit rates high for a comedy show.  I felt comfortable, everything seems to fit, nothing glares, and for my mind, the shiny peace sign peaking out of the jacket adds a certain je ne sais quoi.  Sadly, the angle of the camera, shooting from above my 5’3″ frame in a kind of Citizen Kane homage, adds a bit more junk then I’d like to claim in the trunk.  In particular, my thighs are not in real life so saddle-baggish.

For outfit ratings, this clip does pretty well, all things considered.  But, she’s the massive nose-bleeder, and in my not the least bit humble opinion she sucked a fair amount of comedy goodness out of the room with her originality.  I then followed, and none of my shit rhymed.

This guy, well his outfit speaks for what it is.  It is what it is.  He’s the goon who did a whole end-zoney excited YOW’ing and high-fiving awkward thing when he won a spot to continue in the contest.  Watch, learn and as Fox News would say, I report, you decide.

Oh, and if you watch and enjoy the last one, do me a righteous solid and explain the funny.  I just don’t understand kids today.

Last note on outfits.  Very Bay Area, if you could only see the boots.   Imagine this in black:[newline]

Hop in your car and drive to San Francisco, and you’ll have a chance to see me at the SF Comedy Club at 50 Mason in about two hours.

Not sure? Thinking, hey, stop selling yourself already? Maybe you just want to know what you are getting into?

Here’s a taste, as any pusher can explain to you for what in the olden days was called whetting the appetite. Last Wednesday, yes, one week old, here I am:

Click on this link, because I’m having trouble figuring out embedding.

Come on down to SARATOGA, yeah, Sara-mother fucking-toga to see some comedy.

Here’s the skinny on tonight’s show:

June 21 – 8pm

FREE ADMISSION!

“Joke on This!”

Stand-up Comedy Showcase

with your host:

GARY PENOVICH

and some of the Bay Area’s funniest comedians:

MICHAEL SLACK
A regular feature at the San Jose Improv, Michael has performed with some of the biggest names in the business, including Bob Saget, Richard Lewis, Brian Regan and Jeff Dunham. Surpassing over 100 comedians from around the country, Michael won the 2005 Rooster T. Feathers Annual Comedy Competition in Sunnyvale, California. In 2004, he appeared at the Gulf Coast Comedy Festival in Destin, Florida, and so impressed organizers that he was invited back to headline the 2005 Seaside event. Michael also topped the bill at the 2005 Big Island Comedy Festival in Kona, Hawaii.

DINA VACARRI
Dina is the laughter-packed snack of funny that you’ve been craving. As a child, Dina would stay up late at night listening to Bill Cosby albums, inspired by his ability to paint pictures for the audience. Dina’s own unique spin on reality is causing her to become more popular than a 12 year old Thai hooker in a sea of white male “tourists”. Dina has performed at clubs all over the US including the Improv and Caroline’s in NY, and The Funnybone in her native Pittsburgh. She is now settled in the Bay Area where she continues her quest to lose the 10 pounds she gained in 1996.

GRANT LYON
Oscillating between moments of hyperactivity and a laid back surfer attitude, Grant reveals his sixth grade personality on the stage. Growing up in a strict household with a large group of siblings who are brilliant, talented and great big show-offs, Grant discovered he could seek refuge in silliness. His funny skills, mired in his drive to be the center of attention, now enable Lyon to share the tales of his short life in his refreshingly unique voice.

DEE-ROB
Never sure whether to be teacher ‘s pet or class wise guy, Denise still gets in trouble for her sharp wit and sharper tongue. Wickedly funny, her sardonic outlook is worldy without being weary, and she is very happy to laugh first at herself. Most of all, Denise proves that not only can a woman be tough, she can be damn funny.

RICHARD ANDERSON
Richard is new to the comedy scene and has been making himself known throughout the bay area. A native of San Jose, he into the world during the “Summer of Love” era. Throughout his life, he has brought warmth and laughter to those around him. Rich’s comedy is based on daily experiences, observations and pop culture (especially when it comes to the 80’s).

“Joke on This!”

STANDUP COMEDY SHOWCASE

Every Wednesday at 8:00pm

BLUE ROCK SHOOT
14523 Big Basin Way
Saratoga, CA 95070
Click here for map

For more info: http://www.myspace.com/bluerockcomedy

Because of a little bit of post-traumatic stress from my return to my hometown and return back to my home, along with heaping piles of work and a tiff with the boy-o (see post-traumatic stress), I haven’t been up to writing. Sleeping has been more my style.

Not sure what the highlight of the trip back to Cambridge and Braintree and a couple of other notable places was. Definitely in the running was seeing a pack of comedy friends. If Smitty had a website, I’d be linking like mad and shitting on him relentlessly for old time’s sake. It’s a walk down memory lane when years pass and you can still end up in a convo about the latest stay in Heartbreak Hotel from a dude with a tongue piercing, a sweet day gig at Frito-Lay and the most impropable voice/body ratio that I dare never describe.

Talking about life and work and comedy with Dot over what must have been four pounds of clams — three for sure on the steamed side–was definitely a highlight for me. California knows from guacomole, but when it comes to clams the Pacific ain’t worth shit. Lucky for me, when you ask Dot about catching up on foods you miss, she’s on the case.

One of my regrets in Boston comedy was not having met Dot sooner and talked with her more frequently when I was in town.

And, Jebus, them Walsh boys is funny. I only hope Ben Affleck enjoyed their company as much as I do and did. The elder hugged me, and it only took my leaving for a year.

Of course, it was cool to see a subset of my family. Weird to be “visiting,” since that’s a big old challenge to the status quo. I was never the sibling to be dropping in from out of town. Getting picked up by one brother and taken to another brother’s house was a bizarro kind of deal for me, as one who once did the picking up and dropping off. I haven’t not had a car in town since 1986.

A big HELLO to the brave few from the fam who scan this little cyber pile.

There was something kind of surreal in walking around Cambridge (or fortunately for the rain being driven by Dot) and then heading “home” for the night at the Harvard Square Hotel. Surreal not just for being near my own property that is no longer home, but for the fact that on my own dime the H2 Hotel is out of my league. I regularly peed in the same neighborhood at the Charles Hotel (quick travel tip to tourists, always pee at the Charles Hotel if caught unawares in mid-Cambridge), but I ain’t never slept there. (OK, I think I have slept there, but face down on bar tables as someone hollered “Last Call For Alcohol.”)

I also got to take care of a little bidness, walking through the condo with Terry the real estate lady. I’m stressing deeply within my gray matter deciding on the best thing for the dee-rob land holdings. The rough around the edges reality of my unit that would need a bit more than just a single coat of paint to really rock hit me hard. There’s a limit to how much dough I can afford and want to afford to make sure strangers are comfy while I collect my slumlord tithe.

Nah, it’s looking like selling the place and declaring the end of an era is going to be the best call. (If you happen to read this post and you ever worked in real estate for a major corporation, and I think you know ho you are, let me know what you think about selling, please.)

So, yeah, the idea that this place is really my home and my condo is not is disorienting. Not bad, but it leaves me rocky, unsteady and wishing life could be a sure bet and all decisions easy.

I should also notice the conference I attended. All I can say is when a room full of folks talks about “revolution” and “global changes,” it would be more than swell if the homogeneity of the room didn’t make milk look multi-faceted. If the Internet and ‘blogging are harbingers of a new order, the future will be full of middle-class boys with slack muscles and customized avatars.

In conference land, though, is it networking if you chat with a guy who works within 50 miles of your job about relocation, SF and the Folsom Street Fair?

Maybe it’s a kind of karma, maybe it’s just as random as any other bullshit on the planet. But, if you call someone out in some form or another, like some spleen venting, bile-ridden bullshit, and, um, duh, shithead, someone might read it.

Not the victim, as it were. Just a friend who knows the main characters. Still and all, it makes you wonder. If you’re an obsessive, sensitive bitch obsessing over a guy who pretty much meets or exceeds all national standards for moron, what does that make you exactly?

The likelihood of a moron hitting an epiphany ain’t good. So, energy spent toward wishing that so might be better suited to something useful, like, I dunno, masturbation. Where the fuck are my rechargeable batteries?

More related than I thought, I had a mild bit of regressive self- … Not sure what I want to say, I was going to write self-flagellation, but that ain’t completely the right spirit. Back in Boston, specifically the cesspool of Boston comedy, I crawled around the seamy underbelly of every fucking show, type of show, open mike, showcase, scene and comic moment. Early on I yearned for acceptance and admittance to some version of a perceived community, brotherhood, guild-type thing, which didn’t actually exist.

Here’s the basic deal — If you want to do comedy there are a limited number of places to grab a mike and drool and babble your little bit of laugh-evoking sunshine. So, pretty quickly you see the same people, who also are doing the same as you, over and over and over and over again. When you are new, though, you think that everyone else in the room is cliquish and you are an outsider.

It’s not a clique, they all have just been at the party longer. It took me a while to catch on, but in the end I made some friends and doubtless gave some newer newcomers a feeling of exclusion.

Clearly in a fit of some kind of penitent pain moment, the aforementioned self-flagellation, I tried to register for a new website started by a guy who was somewhat in the old guard of my early days of isolation. He hasn’t deemed me worthy to join. (In true irony, I find at least three people who have been so blessed fairly painfully dull to read and/or share any kind of dialogue. So, what am I thinking?)

For my next trick, I think I’ll stab myself in the palm of my hand and open the old wound I once had from leaning onto a loose nail. It would be equally pointless and equally defining of my worth.

This looks crappy, since I created gifs from the webpage. Although, if you’re reading through an RSS feed, it ain’t half bad. You really should look at the website by CLICKING HERE or CLICKING HERE, I guess I’m assuming if you’re reading this you have the Internet.

By the way, best quote of the Malaysian trip said at the hotel “The Internet is closed for the holiday.”

CLICK HERE

Thought about checking out an open mike tonight. I did not. Too tired after being sick, too busy at work and too kind to subject M. to a Tuesday open mike the night before he start’s a new job.

I’ve been scratching the old headbone, meanwhile, trying to think of something astute to say about Al Gore’s speech yesterday suggesting that wiretapping all of the good peoples of the country mightn’t be all cherry, sunshine, rainbow wonderful even during a “war on terror.” And, you know, um, didn’t presidents already try keeping the mile long FBI files to ill effect?

Nothing to insightful to say here, apart from digging the quickness of Scott McClellan’s official name-calling of Gore as a hypocrite. I kind of miss the fun of Joe McCarthy, J. Edgar or Dick Nixon. At least they had cool catch phrases like peaceniks, unAmerican activities and pinkos.

Sure evildoers and hypocrites are clever tags, but they lack a certain modernity. Bush and crew are just too Bible-ish for me.

On the fun with domestic surveillance idea, though, I gotta be about one degree of separation from the NSA. Between the day job putting me in touch with those well-connected to some well-connected folks, foreign and domestic, and the stand-up comedy misfits I have known, I’m an email or weblog comment away from a very boring tick in a very non-terroristic file.

I’ll do my best to be an enemy of the state on some piece of paper until someone in charge remembers we have a Constitution in this here little “democracy.”