I’m Gonna Blog Again

A few weeks ago I’m talking to a beautiful girl at a bar in LA (I won’t name names but let’s just say the girl’s name is Sassafras and the bar’s name is Jessica.)  We just met, but we’re hitting it off, she seems to be strangely in tune with my comedic sensibilities (I’m getting butterflies just telling you about this), and she suddenly stops, looks me deep in the eyes and genuinely laughs (I don’t want to spoil this story, but I’m in love, and she’s the one)…she says, “This is weird, but you look so familiar…”

!!  As dreamy and awesome as it is to hear this, I have been on TV, and thus know how to handle this situation.  Take a deep breath. Even though the ego wants to rejoice, you must maintain a humble tone, and say something low-key, so I say “Ahh…well, you must have seen me on one of my various national TV appearances, including Cona-“  She interrupts, “No, I mean you look like my boyfriend.”

Record scratch.  Awkward silence.  F#ck.  Ok, not a problem, I’m also experienced with life’s cruel misdirection, so I just roll with it, “Ahah ohh cool!  That’s so Cray cray!!”  But really, inside I’m so cry cry 🙁

A sad beat.  She asks, “Are you a comedian?”

Yes!!  Finally, here we go!  Forget that boy at home, you’ve got a funny man here!  Wanna see this funny bone?? UHHH wha whaaat— I MUST BE TRIPPIN RIGHT NOW, CUZ IM FALLING IN LOVE WIT U JESSICA…I MEAN SASSAFRAS!  Alright, chill out, act natural.  ”That is correct, my dear.  I AM a comedian… You must have seen one of my historic TV sets, including network appearances, broadcast to millions, such as Last Comic St-”

“No, I’m asking because my boyfriend is a comedian, and you remind me of him.”

Jesus f#@cking…ugh! How many bf-bombs is she going to drop before my shrapnelled heart dies from the radiation of other people’s love and happiness.   But wait, more importantly, is EVERY dude out there doing comedy now??  Goddam, wasn’t there a time when what I was doing was rare and special? (The 60’s)  Now, a kid makes a few twitter memes and locks down a hottie without even having to make an eight-second appearance on America’s Got Talent (Episode 4, Season 7, scroll to 12:33 and look in the bottom left corner).  UGH!   Ok ok, maintain composure.  “Neat!  Maybe I know him?  Does he also perform at Flappers?”

She pulls out her phone, “I’ll text him.  What’s your last name?  How do you spell that?  O-b-e-i-d.  Stage name I’m assuming?  Sounds fake, you should take a class on branding. K, asked him if he knows you.  He might not, he doesn’t really do open mics. ”

Um— Nice, wow, ok, maybe you should just invite him over so I can find out it’s Kevin Hart, and the universe’s kick to Sammy’s balls will be complete.  Why does this happen to ME?  Of all people?  Did Carrot Top have to go through stuff like this?  Is this paying dues? Sure I’m just a thirsty boy, inconsiderate of other people, living in my own delusions of grandeur, but does fate think it can change me by hurting my feelings like this?  Seriously, either let me get the girl or just kill me already! Why is being a comedian such a sexual obstacle course!  I’m feeling the same sadness I felt the day I gained 100 Twitter followers, then a few hours later I lost 2,000 IG followers because it was the day Instagram cleared out all the spam accounts.  The whole time I didn’t even know I had all that love in the bot community?  And I didn’t even pay for those follows!  Well, I guess love can’t be bot ☹

Before my mind can even continue this downward cycle of self pity, her phone lights up.  “Oh!  He says he knows you!  He says you’re really funny, and he reads your blogs.”

I feel a tear dangling in the corner of my eye.  Sensing activity in heart region…Systems..processing.   My brain flickers.  Instead of relishing this precious moment, my thoughts go to, “Holy shit …Am I still blogging?!”  I haven’t blogged in nine months.  Did someone hack my account?  Or, shit…do people out there actually think I might blog AGAIN?   I figured that’s something you can just stop doing and no one will notice.  I don’t even think I can write another blog, I have zero inspiration.  I mean things happen to me, but does anyone care?  Like if I blogged about this girl, would anyone even read this far?

And in this moment I realize that the reason I can’t be happy is that comedy has wired my brain to always complain.  Maybe that’s why the bots left.   And why I met this girl.  It’s a sign!  Shoot, I need to turn this around and become Mr. Positive!  I’m probably funnier than this guy anyway!  She catches me spacing out, “Hey, you should be happy, my boo’s not easy to impress.  I mean..he’s Kevin Hart.”

“WhAAA??”  Fate’s right leg to my nuts.  *fainting*

“Jk, his name is Chester.  He’s only been doing it a year.”

WHEW, yes!  My eight-year comedic ego suddenly returns, feeling eight-fold funny over my competition, like a spider fighting a… One legged, something…ugh, metaphors are harder than an octo-cock.  I relax and recline, “Ahh, well he has a ways to go.  I can teach him.  But enough about him, wanna get out of he-“

“Nope, like I said, I’m taken.  And he’s got a huge dick.  Unlike you.”

Cut to me, revealing my pants have been down this whole time, micropenis exposed… or, even worse, eight of them…like the tentacles of a tiny octopus, which shrieks “You’Re stUcK with mE, MaTeY!  AhaHahA!”   The screechy violins play as I scream in terror, bursting out of sheets into my dark, empty bedroom.  A nightmare, except the curtains make it feel like night, it’s actually 10 a.m.

“Shit, I need to blog again.”

Booed off the Stage at my Home Club

There’s a story comedians will often tell each other after a bad set, and that is the story of Dave Chappelle getting booed off the stage at the Apollo Theatre, back when he was a teen in the early 90’s. It’s a comforting story to a comic who just bombed, because Chappelle became such a huge success after what sounds like a bombing way worse than anything you or I (until recently) have experienced. Even back then Dave was funny, but he was young in comedy and this Harlem crowd was merciless. He recounts the experience as being one of the defining moments in his career, that shaped him into the comic he became later on. And thus, as a comedian, you hear this story and think, well, “Even if a crowd boo’s me off stage, I just might go on to be the next Dave Chappelle!”

Sadly though, sometimes you just get booed off stage because you…suck. The universe is trying to tell you something. I mean, it takes a lot for a crowd to boo someone off stage. The crowd is not just sitting in silence like a normal bombing; a booing takes effort, moving around, and raised voices. You really do have to anger a whole group of people all at once, which requires a special talent in itself. It’d be really interesting to have a competition, where the crowd doesn’t know, but each comedian on the show’s goal is to get the crowd to boo them offstage. I guarantee that even some of the worst comedians we know could not pull it off! Well, my friends, I pulled it off.

It’s the night after Christmas, and all through the house…no one laughs, not even their spouse. I’m returning to comedy after 2 nights off, which is the most I’ve taken since my 10 day hiatus right after my 1,000 days. I’m the kind of comedian who gets rusty real fast. Even between nights, I rust. If I take a full week off of comedy I’m like a junkyard, ready to trash the whole show and give them tetanus. Why, I’m not sure. But I know it has something to do with me being very antisocial. Whereas some comedians spend their off-time yap yap yapping, I prefer to bask in my own silence. Less noise coming out of me, the better. I often go through whole days without talking to anyone, and so when I hit the stage it’s like I’m coming out of a cave and learning words again. Suddenly, there’s a group of people in front of me expecting me to be some sort of ambassador of communication, and yet they’ve been talking more than me all day! I’ll stutter and jumble words, looking like I just started comedy for the first time. My brain will freeze and I start worrying that people will demand their money back. This is how I feel every time I return to comedy after a night or two off. It’s an icky feeling. And that’s why I did 1,000 days in a row, just to not feel that way for a while.

Maybe I should just start talking during the day? … Naaaaa.

So here I am, at Tommy T’s in Pleasanton, the stage that raised me in my early years, where I learned the art of stage presence, and how to simultaneously get a weird mix of a suburban and urban crowd on my side without being able to use my full vocabulary of words I learned at Berkeley. This is the club that’s closest to my parent’s house in Fremont, the club that called me up to perform every week when I was less than a year in and nobody knew who I was, the first place to headline me on a weekend, and the place where I won a $5,000 competition between 100 comics just less than a year ago. What I’m saying is, I know this stage. If there’s any stage I know, it’s Tommy T’s Pleasanton. I know what pleases them, and also what prickles their pickles (make them angry). I’d never had to resort to using the latter…before this night.

I’m the feature act tonight, and I notice from the opening sets that the crowd is not being very responsive to the comedians. But if anyone shouldn’t bomb, it’s the feature act, since it’s the prime middle spot, where the crowd is warm and not anxious to leave yet. So I go up thinking, “I got this.” Famous last words of a comedian before he/she bombs.

I get on stage and start doing jokes, not my best ones, and my delivery is rusty, but still I feel that I deserve more laughs than what I am yielding. I notice there’s a lot of chatter from a few of the tables. So I talk to them to get them to quiet down. But they don’t. Then I go into a joke about crack and ask if anyone there has ever done crack before, which is a rhetorical question that usually just gets a laugh, but this time, two young women raised their hands, and it was sincere. They really do crack, and one was very proud of it. “Hell yea I do crack!” she exclaimed as she raised her hand. Then, the table next to them started calling them crackheads and laughing, and then a war broke out between the tables, which started to result in an altercation, but then the pissed off members just left. So now the room is now divided, the right hates the left, and the left hates the right. Meanwhile I’m on stage doing a horrible rusty job of choosing the right jokes to keep the rest of the crowd engaged. I start talking to the table in the front that is listening, and it’s this guys first comedy show ever. I say ‘Give it up for this guy, it’s his first show!’ and no one claps. Jeez, this crowd does not want to be controlled.

I continue with jokes, getting a few laughs, but there are tables still talking over me. Finally, I snap, and say, “You know what, let’s get civilized here so I can tell my jokes and you guys can shut up and listen, because we are effectively ruining the show right now, you all by talking, and me by letting it happen” (or something like that). After I say this, I can sense their anger just boiling up. I go on with a few more jokes, and now they are laughing even less, because they, collectively, don’t like me. They already didn’t want to like me, and then when I suggest that they shut up, they liked me less. Except one table in the back is laughing. I say, ‘You guys are the best!’ which makes the rest of the crowd even more hostile because what I said seemed backhanded, even though I was really just trying to bond with the only part of the crowd that likes me.

So now, my show is almost in complete silence, so I just take a break to reshuffle my thoughts, and sigh it out. My brain freezes…. Crickets…You can hear me breathing. And then I say, ‘Well guys, I’ve got about another 10 minutes up here.” Suddenly crowd explodes with a massive “BOO!”. Here we go! It was as if they turned to each other like ‘Holy shit! 10 more minutes of this guy??! No way! We can’t let this happen! We need to boo him off” I was shocked by how the boo came out of nowhere, from complete silence, and furthermore that they were able to coordinate the boo so well with each other, when previously they seemed like a crowd that was not capable of working together to do anything. It was certain they all wanted me off. Part of me is saddened by this deliberate insult to my art, but the other part is surprisingly happy that I emitted a definite reaction from them for once. And now the purpose of this set is at least starting to have meaning.

So now I got a crowd of 100 booing at me, and of course, when all is falling apart, the club gives me the light. I could just get off now. But your boy likes to do his time, and I kinda want to punish this crowd some more. I keep moving forward with jokes, and now it’s like fighting a hail storm. I remember once watching a clip of comedian Bill Burr, where a crowd in Philly was booing him, but he kept going, and ripped on them for his remaining time. I’m not the type to rip on people, so I just keep doing my jokes. I have one guy and his girl laughing in the back and everyone else in silence or boo’s. I look at the guy in the front whose first comedy show it is, and he’s one of the crowd members booing the hardest! Really man? You have no frame of reference, this is your first show! Now I’m really feeling like a piece of sh*t. But I keep going. Now I’m doing jokes that I know they specifically won’t like. Higher brow, jokes about linguistics and religion. I start using words that I know most of them don’t understand, like ‘paradox’. I can feel the hate boiling. People are looking at me like I’m the Satan of comedy who has come to destroy the art form they once knew.

“I’ve got a few more jokes guys”, I say, and the crowd explodes again with an atomic ‘BOOOO!” Well, at least I’m unifying the crowd on something. A crowd that was once fighting each other is now in full harmony with their communal hatred for Sammy Obeid!

So I start going into sex jokes, stuff they would actually like, and it’s all still falling flat to their joke protest. That’s how much they hate me now, that they are hating jokes that they know deep down in their soul that they find funny. And I can sense, after a few of these jokes that they would like, they are starting to realize that I do have value to them, yet we’ve committed so hard to our enmity that we continue to play the game. Well, let’s play then!

“Last joke guys” BOOOOOOO.

Now part of me is feeling bad that I’m doing this at a home club of mine, so I say, “Okay, there’s two things I want you to take home tonight. 1) Keep coming back to Tommy T’s and supporting live comedy. And 2) go fuck yourselves.” The crowd is in shambles, full of “Oh no he didn’t!” and “Get this guy off!” I close with one of my best sex jokes, normally my strongest joke at Tommy T’s, it’s so right for this crowd that it actually has a lot of them laughing against their own will. I can tell the laughs hurt them. It was like I sprayed them with bullets, and then I walk off stage, and I’ve never seen a crowd so excited and rejoicing for my exit.

Walking off stage like that I felt all of embarrassed, failed, yet accomplished, and liberated. I stood my ground and didn’t surrender to them or tell them they were great when they weren’t. I don’t think I could have handled this experience a year ago or before. It would have crushed me. But even if I bomb now, I”m still the guy who did 1,000 days of comedy. I”ve been through worse.

And I didn’t let this experience stop me. I picked myself up and came back to Tommy T’s the next 3 nights in a row and did well on every show. Complete 180. Since the weekend shows at Tommy T’s are normally hot. A few nights later, I”m headlining the Crow’s Nest in Santa Cruz, and a guy and a girl come up after and say, ‘We saw you at Tommy T’s last week’. I was like, “uh-oh, what show?” They said, “The bad one, but we were the couple at the table in the back laughing” I said “You guys! You laughed when no one else did!” They say, “Yea we thought you were so funny that night that we looked you up and came out to this show to see you do a longer set. We’d also like to buy a CD.” I gave them a CD for free, signed with a big heart. Even at my worst, they were fans. And way to not follow the lead of the others that night. That’s what I like to know, that my fans are leaders, not followers or crackheads.

I won’t say that my getting booed of the stage in front of a hundred Pleasantonians was as horrifying of an experience as it was for the young Chappelle in front of thousands of Harlemmers, but I will say that it felt like a defining moment for me as well. One where I learned that I have power over people’s emotions in ways that I didn’t even know I did. And one where I learned that I could take a booing and shrug it off, because I have enough faith in myself as a performer. And I also learned that even when one bombs, there still may be future fans in the room 🙂

Either that or I completely failed to hear the universe trying to tell me to quit.

Day 901: Flow

When a comedian doesn’t do well it feels like a struggle.  When we do well, it just flows.   That’s the best way to explain it.

Every now and then (more often for some than others) a set will just flow from top to bottom.  A magical set, where the crowd was on board with everything and all the words and gestures came out effortlessly and naturally.  This is flow.

How does one cultivate flow?  Get in touch with your Qi.  Do some yoga.  Meditate.  But most importantly, become in tune with the natural flow of events, in life, and then when you are on stage.  If something happens, ride with it, say yes to it.  Struggling happens when you go against the grain.  But for every situation there is a flow, and you have to find it and just ride the wave.  Abstract, I know, but you’ll know when you get there.

Example, comedic timing.  When a crowd gives a long laugh to something, good flow means let them laugh before moving to the next line.  When the laugh is small, good flow moves more quickly to the next line.  You can of course be awkward and let the silence happen, as long as you flow with it from there.  Flow, flow, flow.  You can really do anything and call it flow, as long as you are chill about it.  Struggle happens when you resist, when you panic, or get upset.  You want something more than what you’re getting, that’s not flow.  Flow is accepting, surrendering, loving.  Flow isn’t even a state of mind, it’s a state of being.

So next time you bomb, just be okay with it.  Get off the stage, your peers are like ‘what the f*@k was that?’  Just say, ‘flow, bro.  flow.”