Greg Giraldo

My response to his obituary in the New York Times:

What a shame that the headline for one of the most respected and brilliant comedians of our time described him as an "Insult-Humor Comedian." Much of his stand-up was actually self-deprecating. Greg performed on roasts, but he wasn't an insult comic. He was a comic's comic. He was cut from the same cloth as Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor, both brave and vulnerable. Greg wrote profoundly about politics, our culture, relationships, and human frailty, and had a rapid fire delivery that didn't allow the audience a moment to recover from the previous joke. He had deep respect for the the art and craft of comedy, but he was never self-righetous. The joke always came first. RIP Greg Giraldo.

St. Valentines Day Massacre 2010

I had a bad set on Valentines Day. Sometimes I just don’t click with an audience. I have a lot of really unusual perspectives and when the audience gets it I feel great. I feel like I’ve taken them to a slightly uncomfortable place, a place that they wouldn’t normally find funny, and made them laugh (maybe they’re already a bunch of weirdos, but I like to think I play a helping hand). I’d rather try to take something that isn’t funny, and make it funny. That’s the goal, I guess, and sometimes my mind ends up in strange places.

The problem with bombing when you have an edgy outlook is that people will not only be mad at you for wasting their time, they’ll be mad at you for offending them. I heard someone in the audience actually say, “This is awful.” I tried to riff of it, but it really sucks to hear that. Just because I touch on some slightly darker topics doesn’t mean I go up there with the intention of offending people. I actually heard some groans after jokes they weren’t on board with, but I turned it around a little when they laughed at a joke I made: “I like to call the suicide hotline and try to make them have phone sex with me…They say, ‘sir, this isn’t a sex line.’ I’m like, ‘talk dirty to me or I’ll kill myself.’” That got a good laugh, and I built some momentum by calling them hypocrites for laughing at that, and groaning at my other material. “It’s good to know where you guys draw the line. You wont laugh at the fact that I’m hairy, but coercing a woman to have phone sex with me…All on board.”

The audience also happened to be extremely drunk. Someone actually answered a phone call during my set, and didn’t hang up. The lack of respect for the comedian amazes me. You would never see that at Macbeth. “King Duncan, can you hold on? Incoming call.” That was indicative of the kind of night it was

Another guy was just heckling me with sounds. He made fart noises. I just joked at the fact that he his arm around a woman…I asked her, ”You’re okay with this jerkoff? I just think it’s great that he’s going to get laid tonight, and I’m not.” He started clapping, as did she. The host left me up there for way longer than I would have liked, but I felt by the end it was way better than it could’ve been. I got a good laugh on my last joke, but so many jokes bombed while I was up there. There was so much silence. At one point in my set, I got some pity laughs. Ask any comic, there is nothing worse than pity laughs. Give me laughter or give me death. But give me silence rather than pity. These jokes are good. These jokes worked all last week. Don’t do me any favors.

After my set, I took the walk of shame to the bar, and some guy grabbed me. “Hey, that wasn’t fair how they treated you. You had really good jokes.” That made me feel a little better. I thanked him. I realize that I’m obviously not for everybody. The worst thing about bombing is that you just feel like a pariah. You’re standing there trying to get laughs and they’re looking at you like “we don’t get you…” It sucks to feel misunderstood by a room full of people. It makes me feel like a crazy person. Having someone, anyone say they enjoyed it makes me happy; any connection is comforting.

Another guy came up to me and told me that considering the circumstances, I handled it very well. Everyone likes to give their two cents. A girl who has seen me before told me that she didn’t like how much I addressed the crowd, but I feel as a comedian, I have to. I have to be in the moment. There was a guy on the phone, a guy making fart noises, and couples groaning. Am I just supposed to go on autopilot? I’d love to hear what other comedians think of this, but I think we have to comment on our surroundings or we’ll seem like robots. I’ve seen guys bomb jokes and then just move on to the next joke like nothing is wrong. That, to me, just looks like a comic in denial. If a guy interrupts my set, he’s taking control from me. Comics need to remain in control of a room. We need to show the audience that we’re comfortable in any circumstance, and we can even make jokes about the situation.

The good news is, I got to spend Valentines Day with my love: Lady Comedy. And I’ve learned to have fun with bombing. I can’t help but laugh at a certain point. Have you ever had a conversation with a person that you just don’t connect with? With comedy when you bomb, you have to do all the talking and instead of ending the conversation (you know, the natural approach), you have to go on for 15 minutes…That in itself is pretty funny. I bomb more often now, but that’s because I’m performing more than ever, and even when I bomb I’m more comfortable in my voice. I’ll go kill tomorrow.

Happy Valentines Day,
Sam

Comic Strip Audition

The Comic Strip is where I started doing comedy right after I graduated high school. I was just a kid cracking jokes, but I didn’t know what it meant to be funny, or how hard it would be to become a real stand-up comic.

My first show ever was a “bringer” show at the Comic Strip. They let me close the show in front of 30 friends who I brought to the club. They had me close so the majority of the audience would stay for the whole show. Mostly, my friends laughed at the idea of me on stage so the fact that my jokes weren’t funny didn’t matter. I wish I could find a copy of that tape and have it burned b/c I’m ashamed that I killed that night. I hate seeing bad jokes get laughs. Even more so, I hate that I naïvely thought, “I’m on my way!”

The next set I did was at an open mic. Open mics are boot camps for comics, which is why they’re necessary for survival. You can’t just throw a soldier into a battle, he needs to be prepped and armed. Plus, my drunk cronies wont always be around as a crutch. Knowing this would be a more hostile environment, I brought a 6-pack of beer with me on stage as a bullet proof vest for their judgment. When a joke would bomb, I downed my Coors, but that only delayed the agony ‘til I sobered up. I woke up ashamed, but eager to get back on stage. Comedy is a lot about redemption, and most importantly, proving to yourself that you’re not delusional about being funny.

Fast forward four-years later: A few friends of mine told me about the Comic Strip audition. They were bringing it back: “Anyone can audition!” Which is great…But the bad news: “Anyone can audition!” I got there 2-hours before the sign ups, leaving class early. “Good luck!” my teacher said. I chose not to inform her that I was unlikely to nab this audition.

I got in line early. It began to rain, and I was umbrella-less. Eventually, I recognized some friends. I also recognized some of the shittiest open mic’ers you can ever imagine. Instantly I became angry about the space these inept comics were taking up. In Bill Maher’s book True Story: A Novel, he talks about how saying you’re a comic used to mean something. It used to carry weight; it meant you were a rare breed. Now there are these pricks who have done one open mic, and begin introducing themselves as “a comic.” However, I also see guys I respect, guys on a higher level than I am, and that intimidates me because they could be thinking the same thing about me.

The irony of this audition is that it’s for “late night,” which means if you actually land it, you get the privilege of going on stage after the professional comics at the Comic Strip, and pray that the audience stays (a good portion generally does). I still want it, and apparently a couple hundred other people want it too. As I get to the front of the line, I realize that it’s a lottery, which means my punctuality was a waste. I’m wet, and drew number 89. It could’ve been worse. My friend drew 180.

Fast forward to the audition night: It’s a Tuesday. I’ve had this date marked on my calendar for months. When I got there, we were informed that the booker would not be there that particular night. Instead he’d watch the DVDs of us, and get back to us. “If he doesn’t get back to you, call him.” Runnin’ down a dream…. I felt like a rock star.

The six audition spots for that particular Tuesday were set to go on after the regular show, and I drew lucky number 6, which meant I was going to be going on 3 hours into the show. After the headliner for that evening, Joe DeRosa, a comedian I like a lot, got off stage, the host got on and announced, “Okay, guys. The show is over, but we have some new guys auditioning,” which was his way of warning them- “this could be really bad.” There were about 80 people left in the room, and a friend of mine took the stage for the first audition spot. It was a hard spot b/c it was such a weird transition, but he did pretty well. Another friend of mine went on second and did very well. The audience seemed to nod to each other as if to say, “these newbies ain’t half-bad.” The room still had about 70 people left.

The third comic that went on was really weak. He closed with a callback to a joke that had already bombed. I laughed b/c I felt bad for him, and I anticipated the shitstorm I was about to inherit. Half the room was walking, and I was getting pissed. This was supposed to be my special night.

The next comic went on and also bombed. I prayed there would be someone left for my set. I wanted to yell, “FUCK YOU. MY TURN,” but instead I thought about yelling “FUCK YOU. MY TURN,” which was not as therapeutic.

The comic who went on before me was on for about 20 people, and he was easily one of the worst acts I’ve ever seen. He was dying, and he just started to melt down, “shit, man. This is terrible,” he kept repeating. “I’m fucking bombing up here.” I nodded, wishing he could see me. He segued from, “I’m fucking bombing up here” to “the gays should get married though, right?” like that was gonna’ save his set. Hey, man. I’m for gay rights too, but not enough to laugh at your shitty jokes. This was starting to remind me of comic Doug Stanhope’s comparison of his comedy act to a battlefield: “Some of you wont be here by the end!”

Two friends of mine turned to me and said, “sorry, man.” I nodded, and just smiled, which is all you can do after a certain point. You know what I mean? You ever feel so disappointed that all you can do is laugh like a lunatic? That’s how I felt.
A few more people left, but about 12 stayed surely out of pity. They knew there was one comic left and what’s 5 more minutes?

I felt defeated at first, but then I began to think of my favorite comics, and got a little pumped up. I felt like Rodney Dangerfield at the end of Back to School. The teacher he’s in love with is examining him in front of the full faculty b/c he’s accused of cheating. She asks him if he remembers Dylan Thomas’ poem, Don’t go gently into that Good Night. Rodney recites the entire poem confidently, and with passion. She asks him, “What does that poem mean to you?”
“It means I don’t take shit from nobody!” This gets Rodney riled up, “I’m gonna’ pass this exam. I’m gonna’ stay in school!”

I was introduced, and I think the fact that I was telling jokes rather than commenting on how despondent I was helped me get off to a good start. I was just telling my brain, “stay confident. You have nothing to lose at this point. You’re gonna’ pass… “

I was gaining momentum, but one of the tables in front wasn’t even paying attention to me b/c they were making plans for after the show. This was supposed to be my special night, and these assholes are arguing which bar to head to. As I’m thinking, “this isn’t so bad,” one of my favorite jokes bombs. I broke down the joke, and started to defend it, confidently and calmly, like I was a comedy professor. I got an applause break, and now had everyone’s attention.

Doing all those check spots (performing while people are tallying their blll and not paying attention to the comic) has helped teach me how to rally the crowd, and then get back to my act. The remainder of the crowd laughed for the rest of my set. I wasn’t sure I killed, but damn it, I didn’t leave the stage without a fight.

As I got off, I took a deep breath. I was ready to walk out, and some older guy with a raspy voice says, “Kid, I really liked that. You’re so comfortable up there. I’m gonna’ put in a good word for you.” I thanked him, then on my way out, the waitress pulled me aside and said, “you know, that’s the owner of the club.” I did not know that…

I didn’t get my hopes up b/c I can’t tell you how many times bookers or owners have told me they liked me and will book me and just didn’t. As Woody Allen says, “show business isn’t a dog eat dog business. It’s a dog doesn’t call other dog back business.”
Okay, so they didn’t call me back….But I called them, and I passed. So go to the Comic Strip, and please, please stay for the late show!

When Comedy Gets Ugly (when audience attack)

An audience member tried to attack me tonight at a comedy club in New York.
Scary, right? This is my career path…Most people my age pay dues by going on coffee runs or filing papers. Not me; I fend off hooligans.

I take the stage after a friend of mine bombs hard (though I would trade sets with him in a jiffy). Apparently the jokes aren’t funny anymore once the check arrives. I can’t get a joke out because this guy is complaining so loud. I ask him, “What’s the problem?”
“$80 for two fuckin’ Heinekens?” Hyperbolic math if you ask me.

He takes his frustration out on me as if I had a hand in the designing the menu. I reassure him that I’m here to tell jokes and that is all.

He doesn’t shut up, and starts cutting off all my punchlines. I find out they’re from New Jersey, and I make the mistake of saying, “People from New Jersey who don’t know how to behave? I don’t believe it!” This obviously pisses them off, and they band together with another table of loud people from New Jersey who don’t know how to behave (I believe it). The original instigator tells me I dress like a “poor piece of shit.” His girlfriend is so lucky to have landed such an articulate catch; I can tell she’s really thrilled.

The fact that he called me poor is revealing since the waitress later told me he attempted to ditch his check. The situation escalates to the point where the entire room is clearly pissed with them, and I say, “This is what happens when you perform for fucking hoodlums.” This clearly struck a nerve because this guy got up and called me racist. I meant hoodlum as in a classless piece of shit, not Puerto Rican…But this guy didn’t seem to get that. In all honesty, I wish I didn’t say that, but I was annoyed. He wouldn’t play the rules so I called him by someone who doesn’t.

He charged the stage, “I’m gonna’ fuck you up, you pussy. I bet you’re a virgin!” I stood there as calm as a lanky Jew can and said, “No…I’m not a virgin.” If I was a virgin I probably would have flipped out the way he did when I called him a hoodlum…Ah…That’s revealing right there.

He said, “Let’s fight.”
Now I was sober and he wasn’t so I knew better than to fight at a place where I work. That could’ve hurt my future at that place. The booker is looking for comics: “Well I could book the comic that tells jokes...Or the comic that tackled the Puerto Rican."

I said, “I’m not going to fight you.” He spat on me. I guess he ran out of words. One of my favorite waitresses had my back (seriously had my back. I love you Jo) on a night where the bouncer was nowhere to be found. After a long exchange, the waitresses barricaded the stage and wouldn’t let him get through to me. “I’ll be waiting outside for you, you fucking pussy!” he shouted. His girlfriend looked really embarrassed.

After he left, the audience and I were rattled. They didn’t know whether or not to laugh because I think they were as scared as I was. I took a deep breath, and broke the silence the only way I know how to- with a joke. I said, “I’m gonna’ restart my set because he said he was waiting outside for me.” This got a laugh, and it reminded me why I do this…I was in a deep hole and I obviously wasn’t going to kill from here, but I stayed on stage. In retrospect, I did what I should’ve done. I made a few more jokes, told a story about another lunatic at the same club, and got off stage. The waitresses told me he only did that because he didn’t want to pay. The comics pat me on the back and walked me outside after I waited for a bit. The host even dropped me off at home.

The funniest thing is: I wasn’t supposed to be on tonight. My friend called today and asked if I wanted his spot b/c he was going out of town…
This set hurt, but afterward all I could do was laugh cynically. It was the type of set that built character. The comics pat me on the back in the green room, told me I had balls not to walk off- to try to handle this prick heckler, and to try to win the crowd back.
Comedy is about trying when it seems like there is no hope, about taking chances, about digging out of holes, about facing ugly shit, and most importantly, about living to talk about it. Oh, and sometimes dodging a crazy Puerto Rican in a cab ride home.

Thanks,
Sam

Luck of the Draw

I’ve noticed a trend that I only really post about bad sets. That’s because I only learn things from the bad experiences, and those are the times I feel I should vent about. Last night something really frustrating happened. I went on after a comic friend of mine who, as he came off said, “good luck. They’re terrible.”

I was struggling up there, and this one guy kept heckling me. My only jokes that were hitting were my quick ones, one-liners, because this prick kept interrupting my set-ups, killing my rhythm. It was more than just this prick though because about 85% of the audience was retarded (sometimes just that many can kill a show). Any comic will tell you that when you’re killing, and you get heckled, it’s target practice. Not so easy when you’re bombing up there. The bouncer heard me railing this clown, came in, and told him to shut up. Apparently this guy ruined the MC’s set as well (I felt terrible for someone who had to be up there all night).

During my set, I yelled, “throw this piece of shit out” to the bouncer, but all he did was tell the guy to shut up. My set was already in the toilet, and I wanted vengeance. I became pushy. They didn’t throw him out though. I looked like an asshole because comedy is all about control, and I lost what little I had left right there.

If you are running a comedy room, and you don’t toss a guy that has no respect for the comics- you’re pretty much the antithesis of a comic’s comic. I run a room w/ no bouncer. If you’re a comic I booked, and you’re being disrespected onstage, let me know. I will personally throw them out on the street because comedy is abusive enough. We don’t need it from our own. I didn’t care about my set at that point; I just pleaded with the booker to toss this guy for the other comic’s sake. No dice.

The bouncer turned out to be a comic who went on later and he said it wasn’t this guy who ruined his set, but another table of ignoramuses. No shit. That’s the precedent you set when you don’t toss out a heckler.

As for bombing, sometimes I need it. I was on a roll all week, and this just made me hungry. I still hope this heckler dies young, but I’m happy because this set ensures that I’ll be onstage every night this week. As for the crowd, sometimes that’s just the luck of the draw. You never know what you’re going to get before you enter a room. After the show, I was out drinking with some friends at a bar in the East Village, and some really hot girls came up to me and asked, “Are you a comic?” They had seen me before, and told me I was really funny. I got bombed with them, and had a great night. Any hot girls ever recognize a heckler?

Thanks,
Sam

I Alone and Wasted Energy

I wrote this blog pretty wasted last night. I woke up next to a garbage bag (unused), so I know the threat of vomiting was legit. Enjoy.

I normally watch TV then pass out, but my cat knocked my remote of my bed, and broke it, and I am not manually changing channels so here I am:

I was so bombed earlier and the song “I Alone” came on by the band LIVE. It reminded me of the time I was in Coyote Ugly and I ran into a bunch of traveling groupies for LIVE. They were middle-aged, defeated, and lets face it, pretty fucking pathetic if you’re going to follow a really mediocre band around and use it to navigate your social pipeline. It made me feel better about myself. I mean, I have done some low stuff, but I’ve never been a groupie. The idea of a groupie kind of fascinates me though. LIVE was these people's identity, which is much easier than developing a personality, but I think probably less rewarding.

People have been asking me, “Sam, you must get a lot of groupies with your comedy.” I respond, “You must be confusing comedy with every other entertainment form ever.” Then we share a laugh and I die a little inside.

Now I’m typing this to “Lightning Crahes” by LIVE because I can feel it, ya’ know? You ever just write to make the hiccupping and pre-vomiting stop? Well than we have something in common (it’s not working by the way so I’m gonna’ stop soon). I should get back to the point of why I’m writing this, and why I sound particularly cynical.

I had a bad set tonight. Sometimes my jokes just don’t hit. Sometimes midway through a set I feel like I’m just not for everyone. You know when you're talking to someone and you hit it off over something weird like, "Wow, you also think Play it Again, Sam is the most underrated of Woody Allen's films?" And it feels good. Bombing is kind of the exact opposite. You just don't relate to the audience. You ever have a conversation with someone horrendous, and you’re like, “this sucks, I’m walking away.” I can’t do that on stage. I have to just stand there, and either keep telling jokes, or address that the people don’t like me, question their taste, and keep going. I had a really good set on Thursday and it was a good week, but sometimes the end of the week unfortunately defines my mood (that or the hangover I'll probably have tomorrow).

The only thing that really bothered me after the bomb was a group of people that insulted me on my way out that they were offended by my tag about a homeless couple I made up in which I said, “I hope that guy doesn’t hit her…because that’s not domestic violence if you don’t have a home. That’s a street fight.” I like that fictional characters in a made up joke offended them; Apparently, my imagination has more power than I thought. I also don’t get people who go to comedy shows ready to be offended by jokes. Sometimes, there’s a person in the crowd that acts shocked to hear a joke…”Comedy? We weren’t under the impression that there would be humor here….I want a refund...Oh it's a free show? We'll just sit here unpleasantly.”

I understand if that domestic violence line was true, it might offend people. But it’s not, it’s a joke. Look up a joke before you come to a comedy show, check out the structure. It’s not like a general statement. It’s facetious, you silly dickface (joking, see?). So from now on either laugh or don’t, but don’t waste energy getting offended by me and bitching to me. Waste it by getting offended and complaining to a major newspaper b/c I would love the publicity.

Thanks for reading,
Sam

Sam Morril-Friend...Neighbor...Racist?/The Glamour

Guys- write comments. I enjoy reading them. There was a drop off in the last article.

So I had an incident with a heckler last night. Nothing to lose sleep over (especially if you black out). All comics have their method of dealing with a bad set- for me: Bourbon. Recommended dose: 15-20 shots. Side effects may include telling everyone in a 20 barstool radius why you're taking more than the recommended dosage.

This heckler was just a pain in the ass. "You're not funny." I asked him to come out of the darkness so I could see him (it's bright on stage). These chicken shit hecklers like to stay at a safe distance because they're cowards, which is the same reason they heckle, rather than getting on stage themselves. He responded, "What, you can't see me because I'm black?" You victimizing pussy. The irony is that this guy just assumed I'm racist for an easy out, a lazy excuse: He's stereotyping me! This race shit has got to stop. I don't hate this guy because he's black, I hate him b/c he's a piece of shit. The color of his skin is just a coincidence. I hate many white people too, believe me.

I asked him some questions about himself- like what he does for a living. Apparently this guy got a full ride to NC State as a running back, then he would be a biomedical engineer. I think one of the biggest reason I hate hecklers is because of how insecure they are. I didn't ask for this guys resumé. I'm on stage talking about things that are painful to talk about and doing my best to make them funny. I'm vulnerable up there. I'm naked. And this pussy breaks out a brag sheet like he's never made a mistake in his life. He actually said, "I could do better than you." Yeah right...This is harder than it looks, trust me. I didn't just roll out of bed. 

I'll tell you what I like about comics for the most part: their honesty and their comfort in their own skin. I raise my glass to comedians because we are constantly tested, constantly treated like dirt. I was promoting my show right outside trying to get random people to come into the show, and some lady says, "I bet your show is stupid." What do you gain from that? I'm the one pouring out my soul on stage, or outside on the street. I'm desensitized to a point that I don't get embarrassed when I should and it's because of people like you and that heckler. I fantasize about snapping and just attacking this fat woman. "YOU'RE STUPID," as a slam her face to the curb. I'd go to jail, but i'd be a legend around the comedy circuit. It would probably get exaggerated: "Sam Morril? You mean the guy that murdered the heckler?" They'd raise their glasses and envy the rush I must've had.

To the fat woman: Next time you make a rude comment, understand that you're kicking someone who is already down. I'm literally filling this room with people on the street for 2 hours in the rain so I can perform for an ungrateful audience- and understand that you're saying this to a comic's face. Someone who writes everyday and performs almost every night because this is my passion. That's right, I have a passion. What's yours? I'm sure that heckler didn't roll around in bed saying, "I hope someday I can work in engineering." I deal with anger and frustration by writing jokes and performing, what inspires you? 

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I think, "Sam, it's not too late to be normal. You're young. Go to law school or med school or something." I could be a really funny doctor. Nobody heckles a doctor. "You're bad at this. I could do better."

"You're right. Operate on your own heart, shithead."

The worst thing about the disrespect is that I actually fear getting my ass kicked after some of these shows. Some people just can't take a joke. My friend talks me out of my initial reaction: "The pen is mightier than the sword." Next time I'll stab this guy with a pen.

Thanks for reading.

Keep fighting,

Sam