Posts Tagged "nyc"
1. Watch the entirety of Season 4 Dexter.
2. Personal Grooming.
3. Retail Therapy
4. Learn a new language on Duolingo and get frustrated when you can’t figure out how to say “I got the job!” in French.
6. Figure out where all my favorite 90’s sitcom stars went.
Brendan Lambert AKA Frank’s son on the CLASSIC Step-by-Step AKA Josh Byne is now a Renaissance Fair enthusiast. Can you IMAGINE!??!?!
(Recon provided by Buzzfeed)
7. Find every Labradoodle on Pinterest and then REPIN them with the tag Poo-brador.
(Results courtesy of Buzzfeed)
9. Write “Just thinking about you” letters to 30 of your closest friends.
10. Give your dog a haircut.Read More
11/3: Funny Shit! at The Secret Theatre
11/4: Summer Camp at Camp 8PM
11/5: Jackknife Comedy at Brooklyn Colony – Breuckelen Colony 9PM
11/6-7: Brew HaHa at Brew Ha Ha, City Steam
Come and get it!!!!!
Welcome to my brain.
If there’s anything that living in NYC has made me realize it’s the depth of my neuroses. There’s something about being surrounded by hundreds of people 100% of the time that makes you go, “Oh yeah, I’m therapy-grade uncomfortable with touching.”
Since I can’t afford an analyst, I have to be my own. And without a job to consume my time, I have ample opportunity to drive myself to the point of insanity with my analysis of innocuous interactions with strangers.
Like the interaction I had three weeks ago.
It was post-open mic, my favorite time. A time where I can relive the 5 minutes I just experienced and wonder why no one laughed at my “gun-ocoligist” pun.
Was it my inflection? Or maybe the double finger demonstration?
While I mulled over my failure sipping on the Shirley Temple that I got all kinds of judged for ordering, I was approached by a man. Unclear if he was a standup or a normal, drunk or sober.
“I really liked all of this.” Then he put his hand in my face and waved it around in a circle-like motion and walked away.
Whaaaa? I need to know more! What is the “this” you are referring to? But he disappeared into the bar, never to be seen again. So I was left with my own interpretations.
- So we know he “liked” something. It could have been my face since that was where his hand was going. If he was drunk, it could have been as close as he could get to referring to me generally as a person instead of just my face but he lacked the motor skills to motion to the rest of my body.
- Perhaps he was referencing my stand up set. Oftentimes, when people want to say something nice about my set they don’t know how to do it and default to random body movements. One time, an old man just poked at the holes in my jeans with a disassembled pool cue.
- Should I be offended that he put his hand in my face? The last time someone put a hand in my face it was at a Coffee Bean and it was NOT friendly.
- Did he want me to talk to his hand because the face didn’t understand? *Bonus points to anyone who remembers a time when this was a thing.
And the conclusion I’ve come to today, 3 weeks later, is:
Full On Face Compliment.
If only I could have looked into his eyes for the answer, but they were totally closed. Wait.
Current NYC Friend Count: 13
It’s October and scary stories are my favorite, so I’m going to share with you the scariest open mic story of alllllllllllllllllllllllllll wooOOOOOooooOO0!!!
THE NEVER-ENDING MIC
The mic that all comics fear and I’ve lived to tell about it…
I started my night out very optimistic and cheery; I just learned that fall is my favorite season.
Being a Southern California native, I had never experienced any seasons, just a constant 70-73 degrees all day every day for 365 days a year. Except for the annual “Rain Day” which terrified everyone and caused no less than 35 car accidents in the first 5 minutes of drizzle.
I even arrived to the mic early! 5:30PM for a 6PM sign up. Surely that means I’ll be home before 9PM…
I happily enter the bar and sign up in the first 10 comics on the list. What a feat! Little did I know then, the order was NOT first come first serve.
Music is playing. I am commanded to buy a drink by the bartender. It was business as usual.
The mic begins to much applause. Everybody is so happy to be telling jokes in front of one another they don’t even stop to think about just how many hours they could possibly be there.
The first ten comics make it up to the stage, one by one. I am not one of them. But I am foolishly optimistic I will be in the next ten…
Seven comics stand up and exit all at once. The room feels a little lighter but the weight of depression over lack of career goal attainment keeps it nice and heavy.
A 59-year-old man goes up and talks about how he has anal sex with a woman and then they have bathtub time together but he couldn’t stop farting. “I was just fartin’ up a storm! I’m 59 years old.”
At least a dozen other comics go outside for their smoke break. They come back in reeking of cigarette smoke long enough to hear the next batch of comics and then go back outside for round two.
Reality sinks in: I am not in the next batch.
The music stopped. The 59-year-old man is dead…
The Host is becoming more and more inebriated and admits to eating a whole plate of pot brownies right before he got to the mic. He’ll be the next to die.
Clapping became less enthusiastic, laughs less emphatic. Time on cell phones has dramatically increased.
13 more people leave.
A comic called a Tom & Jerry cartoon a “Ben and Jerry cartoon”. Not as a joke. That’s what he thought the cartoon was called. He was fat.
I had already paid my $5 for a well gin and tonic so I couldn’t leave…
People are laughing less and less.
The clapping between comics has stopped aside from one or two claps from the one individual who is too drunk to know that’s not what we’re doing right now.
A comic talks about jacking off onto his own stomach for a full five minutes without blinking. I think he’s the killer.
Another 11 comics leave and the room is still mostly full.
HOW MANY COMICS CAN THERE BE IN THIS FUCKING CITY!!!
Laughing = stopped.
Clapping = stopped.
AC = stopped
A comic had all the people left in the mic each do an impression of Michael McDonald and finished off with his own impression of Michael McDonald. It killed with the 3 people that were left.
“And now give it up for your final comic of the night! Eliana Horeczko!!!”
No clapping. One man realized I was a girl and whistled, but only half-heartedly. Honestly, how could I possibly follow Michael McDonald impressions?
Departure time: 10:30pm
Current NYC Friend Count: I don’t care.
Laugh No More
Before we start, let’s do a recap of my life up to this point and why I am here:
I was born in California and subsequently raised there. I met a boy. I married the boy. The boy got a job in NYC. I moved with him. Because we’re married and because I want to be the Carrie.
I’ve never lived in the East Coast and I have a total of zero friends here so I’m starting over and taking you(the reader) with me.
As a baby standup, part of the job is to go to as many open mics as you can and “just get good” as all the veteran standups who have bothered to talk to me have told me.
You’d think that going out every night and being in a room with 5-25 comics should get me some new friends quickly. NOPE.
If you’re lucky and/or funny, you MAY get one person to talk to you after the mic is over, if anyone is still around.* But even if they talk to you, it won’t guarantee you friendship; much less a Facebook add or a twitter follow.*It is customary for young stand up comedians to continue walking out the door as they leave the stage, not even slowing down to wave goodbye or finish his or her PBR.
So making friends is not going to be easy, but at least I’m in good company?
Which brings me to…
The open mic highlight of the week:
Meeting ex-Reality Show stars that now do comedy open mics!
This week, I was fortunate enough to perform in a bar that looked like a shipwrecked tiki lounge in Minnesota. The waiters were dressed in flannels and hula skirts, clearly a fusion bar. Guns and mai tais for everybody!
The ‘stage’ was a dark corner lit by xmas tree lights hanging off three dead animal heads; a moose head, a deer head and an eland head. That’s right. I learned what the fuck an eland was this week.
When the microphone wasn’t buzzing it was popping and when it stopped doing either it sounded like we were in space.
We DID have an audience, but they didn’t want to be. Much to their dismay, the bartender turned off the Miley Cyrus hits so we could regale them with tales of our depressing life stories one at a time for about 3 hours.
Open Mic Checklist:
Well lit stage: CHECK
High end Sound Equipment: DOUBLE CHECK
Uninterested & mildly irritated crowd: TRIPLE CHECK
There were not one but TWO ex-Reality Show Stars there testing out their life-after-reality material. Needless to say I was starstruck, once they told me who they were.
One was a plus-sized contestant on America’s Next Top Model who made jokes about whether or not she should hail (sic) Hitler while she’s modeling in Germany. The other was a contestant from everyone’s favorite love competition: Flava of Love. She just wants dick. And it shows.
While I sat back in wonder, watching as these ex-Reality Stars tried to make the room love them and failed, just as they failed to make America love them on their respective shows, I realized something:
I am one of them.
Not too long ago, I appeared on not one but two reality dating shows, neither of which I am proud of but money makes you do strange and unnatural things.
I was quickly rejected on all 2 shows so I know a little something about pain and suffering.
Long story short, we did NOT become friends and cry together over a slice of pizza at the end of the night.
Current NYC Friend Count: -2
Ex-Reality Dating Show Star