Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

Do I really need a website?  Yes, the pure and simple answer is “Yes.”  It’s not that I don’t want to build a site, it’s not that I don’t want to interact with people, it’s that I don’t have the patience or the knowledge to make a website that is easy to use.  I feel like a derelict but I will push through.

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Comedian Chris Smith provides teaser for DVD release….

Comedian Chris Smith talks about giving his penis a pep talk; also reminded by the audience that the Irish have small…well, you know.

http://www.comedianchrissmith.com

I suspect at this point, everyone has tucked away their secret New Years Resolutions and have embraced those resolutions that everyone expects to hear.  Lose weight, stop smoking, break an annoying habit, meditate, spend more time with your family, and the list goes on and on and on and…well, you get it!

The real NYR’s (New Years Resolution) as I like to call them are the kind we rarely share with people.  If you are in the minority, the individuals that have never made a secret NYR, then you are in for a tremendous treat.  Secret “Resolutions” are predicated upon the deplorable things that we’ve done more than once throughout the year.  For instance, perhaps you are or know someone that waited tables for three weeks in college, which makes you a renowned authority on waiting.  You then take it upon yourself to leave a 0% tip because your meal wasn’t cooked to your liking.  (For the record, don’t be a dick; the waiter doesn’t make the meal, they merely bring it to your unappreciative ass!)  You or someone you know leaves no tip on principle; in reality, you are pretty much an overindulgent sub-par human being.  The Secret NYR allows you to keep from perpetuating said offense and no one else is the wiser.  Would you really want to go into work on Tuesday and let everyone know you’re working hard towards not being a stingy prick?

The loose moral’ed individual may be resolute in abstaining from as many ding-dongs or vajayjays as the year past.  Committed to finding that special someone instead of always banging people, this person wraps up their horny ways and does a really good job until Valentine’s Day and we all know that person that come hell or high water will not be alone on V-Day.  There’s the greasy haired, extra shmedium shirt wearing, spray on tan guy that winks at every woman he meets.  After a night of Jager bombs and falling on a few “grenades” for his buddies, this lovable meat head makes his Secret NYR and realizes very quickly that abstinence is not only hard to actually do, it’s “like, a really super hard word to spell and stuff!”

Those that don’t make this list are those that abuse heavy drugs (i.e. crack, meth, heroin, Flinstone’s vitamins) and vow to quit.  You cannot take a crackhead seriously on December 31st as he stands with his glass dick in his hand, stretched high towards the Gods and proclaims, “I will quit you, crack….”  Are we really taking this person seriously?  Of course not, he’ll quick smoke whatever crack residue resides inside the pipe, pass out, and wake up on New Year’s Day and forget about his valiant moment.

I applaud those truly committed to their Secret NYR’s.  However, I cannot cosign on someone’s Secret NYR that involves luck and some odds that are worse than getting struck by lightning.  Every year I vow that I will never curse while watching a Philadelphia Eagles game.  I recognize that is foolish as I find myself cursing minutes after the Draft.  You cannot resolve yourself to winning the lottery.  If that were the case, I’d already live in a mansion in the south of France with spider monkeys that serve me and I ride into town on the back of an Albino Bengal Tiger.  What, you think I haven’t thought about this?  If I could will this, I certainly wouldn’t be writing this now, now would I?

Secret NYR’s require not only a commitment to change, they require practicality!  Who wants to make a Resolution to do something they know they’ll never be able to do?  You don’t see Weeman from Jackass working on his crossover so he can get better at basketball, do you?  Kat Williams won’t be making any Secret NYR’s that involve him trying to act a little crazier and a little more reckless, right?  The Secret NYR is really about mind f’ing you to the point that you will give up on life.  It comes as a way to keep you down because in your head you’re trying to change the essence of you!  Who cares if you randomly ride dick?  (Are you wrapping it up?  Yeah?  Go nuts!)  Should we vow to change ourselves completely or should our resolution be to accept ourselves and no matter what, recognize that once January 1st arrives, we have merely 365 days to make each one of those days count!  Happy New Years

There are cheats, liars, embellishers, cons, BS’ers, smooth talkers, pathological nutbags, and straight up wastes of oxygen and flesh that roam this Earth.  It is a tremendously hard pill to swallow and I look forward to the optimists that try to show me the good in the world.  I know there is good in the world.  I know it because I am surrounded by individuals that try to develop the depth of character and soul that so many individuals in this world lack.  I love meeting new and interesting people; I just have a much shorter attention span for the aforementioned that want to brow beat you with their awesomeness!

As a comedian, I have realized that I hate comedians.  The persona on stage may be fantastic; however, it is the miserable curmudgeons and sensitive pricks that they turn to off stage that makes them wholly intolerable.  Comedians are sad, despondent, self-hating, bullshitters that in the midst of their self deprecating style of humor will let you know every single tidbit of information that makes them awesome.  If you are not a comedian, you are probably wondering what I mean by all of this.  Let’s put this into perspective…

You go to invest in a bank and instead of having to deal with one individual from the bank, all of the bank workers descend upon you and they are all telling you how great they are at managing money.  Sadly, you realize you’re at a TD Bank and you realize that if they were any good, they would be at an investment firm, not a place with a drive through teller.  Comedians, regardless of where they are performing, will always let you know how awesome they are.

I am awesome.  If I didn’t believe I was awesome, I would be ineffective on the stage.  However, I also recognize the awesomeness and douchiness of others.  At the New Orleans Comedy Festival, I realized the ratio of douche to cool comics was sadly at a 10:1 ratio.  I know that sounds bad and I’m sure a few of them will read this and will wonder, “Did he think I was a douche?”  Probably, yes!  It’s not that I am intolerant of differing personalities; it is that I have grown unaffected by the self righteous ass-clowns that are as entertaining as a knock-knock joke!

There are those that forget that they are not always on stage.  I understand that we are in the business of making people laugh, but I also am in the business of being myself.  That is when you accept yourself for who you are.  Are there changes to be made?  Absolutely, and if you believe that you don’t have changes to make then you really should just check out and make way for someone else in this world.  Harsh?  No, it’s called truth and some people don’t like the truth because the old cliche is true…the truth hurts.

When individuals want to impress another with their possessions, we easily cast them off as they are nothing more than sad little turdfarmers trying to cultivate enough turds to look and sound impressive.  In High School, a classmate drove a Lexus.  Now, I would have shown an incredible amount of respect for this person if he bought the car on his own.  Sadly, his Daddy bought for him.  Then we blur the lines of jealousy and wonder, do I really not like this person because of what he has and I am jealous of his possessions, or is his character so flawed that we all recognize that persons level of pomposity and  would  rather eat razor blades than listen to one more ski trip story?  This is usually the super-model girlfriend having guy but she’s from Sweden type person.  He rationalizes that it is better that he does not have any photos of her because she is so beautiful, that when photos of her are taken, all that can be seen is a blinding white light that will burn your retinas.  Pathological by design, pathetic by nature.

Men are not the only ones that are guilty of perpetrating a false sense of identity into the world.  After an hour of morning grooming, there are women in this world that so falsely advertise who they are that when the make up comes off, the outfit is removed, the shoes are kicked off, all you are left with is a rolled out piece of silly putty that possesses the ability to speak.  The battle of the sexes need not be a battle, but when a woman comes prepared to fight with six inch heels and scores of Bobbi Brown make-up, she quickly becomes a cunning adversary.  You think you are ready to duke it out with a woman that looks like Giselle, but by the end she looks like a gazelle.

Fake people make up a tremendous part of the population.  I do not fault the individual for bending the truth and fixing the imperfections.  However, when a person recognizes that they have patched up quite a few holes in the proverbial tire that is who they are, there is no reason to perpetuate the myth any further.  When individuals pick on others to make themselves feel better, we call them bullies.  When people pick on themselves to make others feel better, we call them comedians.  When a person fraudulently puts out into this world a persona that is not truly who they are, we just resort to calling them people.  That is the sad reality of internal integrity; we accept things for face value.

If face value was how we operated this world, there would not be huge discrepancies between what people make.  If we did things according to face value, an individual could go see a movie and after that movie walk up to roll call and say, I want half of my money back because that movie was half way decent.  Imagine those individuals coming out of the theater after Waterworld.  “Excuse me, I’d like all of my money back and while you’re at it, throw me another twenty dollars for enduring that flaccid piece of whale spunk.”  Face value would crumble our economy.

If face value were real, lawyers would be obsolete.  “Your honor, this person side swiped my car, there was $5,000 in damage, I was out of work for six months, which is the equivalent of $25,000, and my wife and I argued for six months because we were broke, I would say that’s another $100,000.”  The judge would take it into consideration, the insurance company would write the check right there, and everyone would just go home.  Instead, there are scheming individuals that find ways to up the ante so they can up their take home.  If it is what it is, then it should come out exactly what it is.

If face value were real, teachers and policemen would be millionaires, and rich, ass-hats like Bill Gates and the Facebook kid would make enough to get by.  There is a price on what we value in this country and if it means bigger, better, and faster, then we are all for it.  Those with little to no internal integrity would continue to develop products that we want and do not need and eventually, we would all recognize humility is far more valuable than Hummers, love is infinitely more priceless than Gucci, your child’s baseball coach is paramount to learning life lessons while Coach is merely the product that your child covets.

“If it’s change you seek, start from within.  Once you’re comfortable with who you’ve become, start over and recognize perfection is a pursuit, not an end result.”

Laughing is not hard to do; unless you are of the variety of individuals that likes to look at the world, grimace with disdain and bitch about everything that you see.  Let’s be honest, there is no shortage of things to detest, loathe, and scorn.  Nicki Minaj, Chris Brown, the entire cast of Jersey Shore, Rick Santoroum, Newt Gingrich, George Bush, Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi, ignorant pet owners that let their dogs dump in your yard, the youth, the elderly, racists, bigots, the Kardashians, whiny wide receivers, people that refuse to use turn signals, little people that get bent over the use of the term “midget,” homophobes that cite “moral corruption” as their hate, Occupy protestors that somehow equate bathing to a capitalist agenda, anyone suffering from “Linsanity,” politically correct ne’er-do-wells, trust fund babies, feminists that scoff at someone holding the door for them, Hollywood for thei trite, recycled garbage, swimsuit models that have impeccable bodies and “don’t work so good” brains, and the human race as a whole.

There, I got a short list off of my chest but the reality is we all need to slow down long enough to laugh at the world around us.  If we become consumed by always espousing hate and discontent, then we miss the opportunities to laugh.  Did you know that every time you laugh, a baby in Africa is fed?  Wait, that’s not right.  Every time you laugh, a landmine is cleared from war torn cities in Eastern Europe.  Damn it, that’s not right either!  Laughing is good for the soul….yeah, that sounds right!

However, before we go and get ourselves drunk on laughter, let’s really think about the last time we laughed hard and NOT at the expense of another.  It is difficult to do when there is a classic climbing the stairs and missed the last step moment that occurs every thirteen seconds (not a number I researched but I figure if men think about sex every six seconds, then we are not thinking about that last step.)

Oh, but Chris, we can’t laugh at the misfortune of others, can we?  Yes, because I would rather laugh at unfortunate moments than be the person that remains silently grateful that I do not live an existence like so many in this world.

A few weeks ago, while sitting in a pizza joint in North Philly, a homeless man approached the window adjacent to the table where I enjoyed a great lunch and great company.  My coworker and I were having a great conversation when a man approached the window and began to yell at the top of his lungs.  I do not speak crazy-homeless-ese, but I knew eye contact was the last thing I needed to do.  My coworker did not feel the same and set up one of the most epic unintelligible conversations ever shared between three people.  After a solid two minutes of rumblings and mumblings, the homeless man bellowed out, “I’m F&*$in hungry!”  As a fat man, I dug what the man put out there.  Sadly, I scarfed my food down in record time.  My coworker had a half eaten cheesesteak and the man pointed at the food while repeating his proclamation from earlier.  I delivered the cheesesteak and without missing a beat, asked about my soda.  There, in that moment, I had to laugh.  While providing a meal to the man, he proved he had no shame in his game.  I swapped out straws as if sanitary practices was this man’s first concern.  I laughed.  I am still laughing.  Call me what you will, but I had to laugh because it was in that man’s misfortune that something laughable occurred.

While driving to work last week, I found myself behind one of those individuals that littered their bumper with stickers that claimed tolerance, love, and coexistence.  Clearly not in a hurry to get to where she was headed, acceleration did not exist in her vocabulary.  A few miles down the road, after a litany of cars merged between myself and this person, a little bumper nudging occurred and off to the side of the road she and the person that hit her car were engaged in a truly comical tirade.  Not once did I see her exhibit tolerance, love, or coexistence.  I chuckled and drove on.

In New York, an ad for Jeremy Lin, the Taiwanese-American future superstar (I say this tongue-in-cheek) has his face sprouting from a fortune cookie with the slogan, “The Knicks Good Fortune.”  Again, I’m not for political correctness.  I am, however, in favor of good taste and definitely a believer that what is good for the goose is definitely good for the gander.  Would America scoff if an Irish-American superstar sprung into the spotlight and had an ad with him wading in a pint of Guiness with the tagline, “Mics love the Knicks” would go over as well?  We cannot get upset at one thing and then be okay with another.  Racial and ethnic intolerance is partly to blame for our country’s inability to experience cultural, economic, and dare I say it, spiritual growth.

When we stop long enough to laugh for the sake of laughing, we do so in an unadulterated kind of way.  We laugh heartily and mightily; the thought of assessing what makes us laugh is not something we do right before we laugh.  If it is funny to you, then laugh.  Oh, and do yourself a favor, please?  The next time someone says something to offend you, laugh at the person.  Do not laugh at WHAT they say, laugh at their existence because it is okay to laugh at another persons misfortune.  What is their misfortune?  They are stuck with themselves for the rest of their lives:  Just be happy you’re not them!

 

Perhaps I’m an old fuddy duddy!  Maybe when I reached my 30’s, not only should I’ve expected a 1-3% annual decrease in testosterone, I should have expected a decrease in my ability to tolerate counter-culture.  I spent four hours at Occupy Philly and realized that the disorganized rantings and drivel of hipsters would quickly become too much to bear.  When I did a show last spring and the room filled with hipsters, I should have known my brand of comedy would be too much for the audience.

Too much you ask?  Of course it is too much.  The typical hipster is a well subsidized (thanks Mom and Dad), skinny jean sporting, thick framed glasses wearing, unkempt hairdo having, new aged Beatnik.  Of course, the moment Jack Kerouac erupts from this movement, I will take back everything I ever said about Hipsters.  Until then, I will continue to detest anyone that proudly proclaims, “I am  a hipster.”

The term alone denotes a level of douchebaggery unseen for quite some time.  When I was twelve, I sported electric blue pants and “No Fear” hooded flannel shirts because it reflected my hip hop interests.  Did I look like an absolute tool bag running around in a pair of pants that made me look like a fruity superhero with a burgeoning waist line?  Of course it did.  However, I had an excuse.  I WAS TWELVE.  If you are in your twenties and thirties and embrace a term that essentially makes you sound phony, then the chances are you are as real as monsters under the bed or an honest politician.

But, Chris, they are unique and far from mainstream.  NAY, I say.  When you take on the characteristics of anything and people look at you and say, “Oh, there goes a hipster,” then your attempt at being progressive quickly starts heading in the other direction.  How does a dive corner bar with a half functioning cooler that serves just barely cold beer, not call itself a Hipster bar when its denizens are stuffed into jeans that scream for an inch more of denim and their shirts are all killer finds found stuffed in the bottom of the dollar t-shirt bin at the local thrift store?  If the only way to see clearly includes the need for glasses; how does an individual not notice that everyone is rocking the same pair of Roy Orbison glasses?  The clothing style is actually the least of what drives me insane about hipsters.  (Perhaps I’m just jealous that skinny jeans make it to my calves and refuse to go up any more?)

The thing that drives me the most insane is actually the attitude.  Yes, the attitude.  When trying to engage the hipster, the attitude quickly changes and the ne’er do well, unaffected attitude becomes rather affected.  The scruffy beard that is reminiscent of Zac Galifinakis and every homeless person I ever encountered, hides the lips but sadly not the words.  The conversations are about how different they all are.  Quickly scanning the room, it looks like a casting session and everyone is going out for the same part; douche!

I am all for individual style.  I embrace the idea of young kids exploring their identities through fashion, music, literature, and art.  I think college kids should dress and act any damned way they want because the moment they graduate, assuming they went to college to utilize a degree, the world changes.  I have tattoos up and down my arms, chest, and back.  I love the idea of wearing earrings that are classy, yet bad ass.  I think PBR is great when it is 100 degrees outside and a cold PBR absolutely will hit the spot.  I thoroughly enjoy Talib Kweli and appreciate a multitude of music, musicians, and the ever changing genres of music.  However, I am not unaffected and I happen to think structure is what keeps this nutty world of ours from completely bursting at the seams.

The show I did where the room filled with hipsters, I knew from jump street that I had met my match.  When they announced my name, they clapped but only with one hand.  When I introduced myself, they looked scornfully at me (I wore a pair of jeans with a shirt and tie).  I came onto stage with the sounds of Jay-Z in the background and before I could get into a joke, a bullish looking individual with its arm around a moderately attractive, fellow hipster, yelled out, “We’re lesbians…just letting you know so it doesn’t throw you off.”  I looked down at the hipster version of Pat (remember Saturday Nigh Live) and thanked her for clarifying because I just assumed it was a regular old couple sitting there.  At no point while looking at “shim” did I think, somewhere under that cluster “F” of an outfit are breasts and a vagina.

The audience did not appreciate my attempt to highlight the androgyny in the audience.  Instead, they started talking to one another.  I laughed, looked out into the crowd and said, “You suck, your clothes are horrible, your music is trite, your knowledge of beer is borderline retarded, and patchouli is for hippies!”  I walked off stage, collected my pay for the night, and I left faster than I have ever left a show.  I was not afraid that a band of misfit hipsters would soon surround me, reminiscent of “West Side Story.”  In fact, they just sat there.  I got a “whatever” from one of them, but I could not make it out clearly because I needed to get home to bathe.

Perhaps my words are harsh and my own terseness will get in the way, one day, of having a very close “hipster” friend that I can talk about….or we could….but then there’s always….

Okay, I get it.  I’m not for “hipsters” and they are not for me.  However, do not say you are part of some progressive movement that does not care what others think.  Revolutions and movements are done through the sharing of information and connecting intelligent, articulate discourse.  Shitty flannel shirts and t-shirts that are as smug as they are witty is not the prerequisite to belonging.  If it were, social misfits in middle and high schools would never have to worry that they don’t have the same clothes as the popular kids.  If you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, “hipster” needs to graduate to adulthood!