LARPies, Douchebags, Midgets and Plastic
As some of you may know, my most recent stand-up comedy performance was this past weekend, opening the ceremonies for the First Annual LARPY Awards. Not only was it my shortest performance to date, but also the first (mostly) PG performance, and one where I started out as “a character” and then “became” Rev. Mitcz. The weekend itself, however, had some interesting moments - so I think I’ll walk you through a day and a half in the life of Rev. Mitcz.
Some Insider Comedy Shit
When I first started doing comedy, I had no idea about “how it was done”. Although I’ve listened to comics all my life, I had only seen live comedy ONE time - about a month and a half prior to my first gig. What I found out, however, is that most comics (roundabout 95% of them) start out their comedy life with what’s sometimes referred to as their “golden seven”. That’s not an official term. It’s the seven minutes of comedy they’ve written and shuffled around and worked with enough to know it like the back of their hands. They can perform this seven minutes at damn-near any club in town, because seven minutes is generally what you get as a non-headline act at most clubs in town. When adding new material, comics generally just tack it onto the “golden seven” and it grows and grows from there. By the time you see them on Comedy Central, et al., they’re performing the same material they’ve been doing for several years before that.
Take someone like Pablo Francisco (who, I’ll readily admit has a very funny act) - I heard him do about 4-5 minutes of comedy waaaaaaaay back in the day on MTV’s “Make Me Laugh”. About 7-8 years later, I saw him perform at the Irvine Improv and I heard those same bits again. When calling the Improv to get my comp’d tickets (gotta love the biz, they gave us “regular performers” free tix to any show of our choosing), they actually played Francisco’s act as the hold music - and later that night, I heard it again, live, verbatim. Tracking down the CD he recorded about 3-4 years before that revealed *shocker!* the exact same act, verbatim.
My concern, before I ever stood on stage to do comedy, was that I was one of those guys who was pretty funny at a party, but wouldn’t last 30 seconds alone on a stage. After all, there’s a marked difference between riffing on drunken people at a party and cracking jokes every minute or so versus making up an entire comedy act by yourself with no one to riff on and being expected to elicit a laugh about every 15 seconds. So, once I had my “golden seven”, and performed it about 3-4 times, I felt pretty good. I knew now that, with enough preparation and planning, I could make an audience laugh and do the comedy thing. Now my concern became “what if I’m only funny because I know that material so well. Can I consistently be funny?”. A series of drawbacks kept me off the stage for about 2 years there, and when I finally returned, I’d written completely new material. It wasn’t as “tight” and well-rehearsed as the original seven I did back in 2002 - but it felt good. So, my rule now is that I should try and completely rewrite new material for every gig that I perform. So far, I’ve held to that for about 2 years now - only having reused one or two bits the entire time.
As a sidenote, the inspiration to do this came pinnacle when I saw Jerry Seinfeld’s documentary “Comedian”, where Seinfeld vowed to completely start anew in his career and throw away every old joke he’d ever written. Almost every comedian he spoke with throughout the film said “you’re fuckin’ crazy” because they admitted to almost always falling back on that original golden seven minutes when things went wrong with new material. That was their prized possession and they wouldn’t dare erase that from their past. It’s a comic’s security blanket, you might say.
Inside My Head
In preparation for gigs, I usually sit down and look over my “notes”. Now, I scribble jokes on anything in my sight. Sometimes, I’ll use the personal digital voice recorder I keep with me at all times. Eventually, I’ll transcribe everything into a note-taking app I have, called Alepin. It’s great, because I can make categories and sub-categories. One of these is just called “Comedy”, and within it, I’ve got a sub-category for every gig I perform. Outside of that, I have a sub-category of unused bits, which I’ll add to or subtract from or shuffle around as I come up with new things.
Once I’ve moved a sufficient number of random bits into the “new gig” area, I’ll tie them all together by adding/subtracting pieces of the bits. Then, I’ll read through and see if there’s any glaring omissions or too much information in a given piece. Tighten it up a bit. When I feel like that’s “done”, I’ll turn on my MiniDV cam, point it towards the middle of my room, and record myself doing the act to the best of my memory.
Generally speaking, it takes me going through the whole act about 2 or 3 times before I feel like I’ve memorized enough of it to perform without trying to read the screen from across the room. After each “take”, I’ll sit and watch the performance and compare it with my notes, to see what I missed, or what I added in the performance that I like and I’ll make notes to myself in Alepin. Things like “Pause - make big eye movements” or “Grab crotch and lick lips” aren’t uncommon to see written in parenthesis in the middle of an Alepin note.
After I feel like I’ve gotten the wording right, and I’ve checked the time the performance took up and altered it to fit within the constraints of the particular performance - I’ll fine-tune and perform the act another 4-5 times. All in all, I’d say I perform the piece about 10-15 times before I go up on stage and do it. I’m such a stickler for “the element of surprise”, however, that not even my closest friends have any clue as to what I’m going to be doing in my act. I’ll sometimes make references, but I’ll rarely if ever use bits of material ahead of time - because I want their genuine reaction when I do it the first time, on-stage.
In cases like this last gig, where I had less than a week to write, rehearse, memorize and perform the act, meanwhile given the constraints of not being able to curse AND have to write a meticulously detailed speech given by The Emperor - things get a little scary at the last minute. I didn’t even write the material until Thursday night, and I didn’t have it memorized until about 3am Friday night when I finally got around to practicing it. The gig on Sunday, however, didn’t suffer too much. It was fresh enough in my head that I was able to get through almost all of it without forgetting a single sentence. For all the hate I had for memorizing lame speeches in high school, I’ve been pretty surprised at my ability to remember innate details about 10-15 minute speeches I give when I’m doing comedy these days. Goes to show you - with motivation comes ability to succeed with desirable results.
Saturday Night : The Pre-Party
I need to learn how not to imagine scenarios in my head before they occur. It’s always a let-down. I envisioned a small club, predominantly occupied by people in, around, or involved with the LARPY awards. A schmoozing, meet-and-greet, and “fuck the hottest girl who’s willing to talk to you” party. Boy, was I wrong.
The pre-party was held at Highlands/Hollywood. Big surprise here - it’s at the corner of Hollywood & Highland. God, I love these creative club titles. So genius. I was reminded of “Swingers”, when standing between the staircase in the middle of the Highlands outdoor “mall” area, and the Banana Republic building on the other side - looking into a small, stone corner. If not for the velvet rope to keep the “mere mortals” at bay, I’d not have known there was a club hiding out in that corner. I certainly never noticed it before. This is where the elitism of the evening began.
I stood in a makeshift, huddled line, with Nad and we waited for someone with a clipboard (a sure-fire sign that they’ve got “the list” that your name is on) to walk up to us. Eventually, I got the girl’s attention and gave her the “yeah, I’m on the list” signal (which is to say, I point at the list and then to the door). She says “yeah, just give me a minute” and immediately walks up to another party to the side and says “are you on the list” and then promptly lets them in. Here’s a tip for you kids out there : no one likes a well-dressed monkey with a mohawk in their elitist party, list or no list. After passing me over about 5 times in a row to let in everyone in the vicinity who looked even remotely like they might “belong” inside, I was finally looked up on the list and let in.
Turns out, the corner was an elevator. I was to take the elevator to the 5th floor. But, the sign outside the elevator said Highlands was on the 4th. So, we went to the 4th floor. I walked up to the man outside the club on the 4th floor, and showed him my fancy little orange ticket I received downstairs. He said “no stamp? 5th floor”.
Up on the 5th floor, I immediately received…. a stamp. On the inside of the wrist. So, now I’m allowed onto the 5th floor. Later, I discovered that this stamp got me in on the 4th floor, which confused me utterly. Pretty much the whole night was confusing like that. You’d get granted access to one area, but not another. However, if you walked around in the one area long enough, you’d discover you inadvertently got to the other area you weren’t originally supposed to be able to go - but no one was stopping you. Unless you were dumb enough to try to leave that new area utilizing an entryway that was previously not available to you. If you’ve never been to upscale Hollywood parties - take note : elitism is the drug they’re all pushing to get you hooked on.
Once inside “the club” (I put that in quotes b/c there were so many rooms and special access areas that I have no idea if it’s just one club or a conglomeration of 4-5 clubs that work together in some incestual way), I noticed there were two levels. A top floor and a bottom floor. The top floor had a restaurant, a bar, and a walkway area that overlooked Hollywood. In the corner was a curtained area that led to ANOTHER balcony that had ANOTHER bar. Downstairs, there was a dancefloor, 3 indoor bar areas and one outside balcony and ANOTHER bar. So, all things considered, I had a possible choice of SIX bar areas. My favorite amusement of the evening was that the balcony outside, behind the red curtain, upstairs, led to a staircase that was roped off throughout both floors. You had to go to the 4th floor (which required a wristband, believe it or not) to get access to the roped-off area, but all that area did was lead up the stairs to the “elite” curtained-off balcony w/the bar and outdoor couches. Of course, you could skip all that and just hit the upper floor and walk through the curtain and no one ever bothered to stop you or ask questions. See what I mean about ridiculous elitism? Rampant and bullshitty.
Now, in this gigantic, elitist booty club, I saw all of… no one I knew. Nad left soon into the night, leaving me to fend for myself. Thankfully, I’d found David Ballard (who put the LARPY awards together) and he was my “anchor” throughout the evening that I could find and be like “oh! I KNOW you!”. The other cool thing was that there were these Marlboro promo people who, if you gave them your ID, would scan it and give you a free Zippo. No paperwork, no questions, just… “here’s a Zippo”. Nad and I made off with three fancy new Zippos that night.
With only the occasional guy dressed in LARPY-esque body armor, I realized “oh shit. This place is the Hollywood equivalent of the Douchebag Bars I ripped on in my PSA”. Sure enough - douchebags ran fuckin’ rampant. A faux hawk here and a gold chain there, spikey hair over there, and look.. a jackass with his shirt off. The smell of desperately high-priced cologne permeated in the air so thick I almost had a Drakkar-induced asphyxiation at one point. I learned so much about the douchebags in their natural habitat that I started playing “Douchebag Bingo” in my head and won so many times, I could’ve had bored beehive housewives groveling at my feet to get my scorecards. “3 guys with Tinted shades, indoors, at night, WHOO! BINGO AGAIN!”
I noticed something I found kind of strange. I’m sure, as always, I’m not breaking new grounds by pointing this out and it’s probably one of those “public knowledge” things that I was the last person to realize - but young persian girls LOVE their elitist clubs. The first hurdle to get over in the evening was the forbidden “4th floor”, but as it only led to the balcony of the upstairs of the 5th floor (I guess that makes it the 6th floor? I forget) - I found my way around that. On the balcony… several persian girls. Moreso than on the floor I WAS allowed on, which required my fancy stamp on the wrist. At one point, David Ballard suggested trying to get past this little doorway that was hidden away at the back of the club on the 5th floor - guarded by one angry lookin’ black dude that seemingly turned everyone away. David talked to him for a minute, showed him a LARPY flyer and I heard the guard say “got anyone with you?” and all I heard David say was “list”. I assumed I should be able to get in, as well, once the guard let David in but….. notsomuch. He said “I asked that guy you say you’re with and he said he had no one with you” - I used my fancy Hollywood elitist skills and said “No, he said he had a list. I’m on it. That’s David Ballard and I’m with the David Ballard party. If you have the list, you can look me up”. He said “I’ve got no list here. You need a wristband”. Damnit. Fuckin’ wristbands again. So, I said “well, he’s right there - you can ask him yourself, I’m on his guest list, he worked out a deal with Highlands for this”. Somewhere in that sentence was hidden the key. I don’t know what it was, but I was let loose inside. Aye Victor! (sorry, geek slipped out)
Now inside this club-inside-a-club-inside-a-club-inside-a-hidden-club, I saw a small room, some TV’s, and some people dancing with… themselves. Oh, and look! TWO more bar areas. *phew*. I was worried I might have to actually drink my own saliva with the lack of watering holes in this place.
Wandering around inside of there, I saw… ANOTHER balcony. The balcony even had its own security. Thankfully, they’re a little more lenient than the one outside this sub-club, which I assume would be the case since it took some trickery to get in here - and they let me by with a simple “head nod”. The head nod is the international symbol for “wassup, man” - but when used on security, just means “yeah, I’m supposed to be here, and I want to thank you for keeping those damned non-elitist ruffians out of this place”. It worked. Now I’m out on the balcony. The most elitist part of the club with in a club within a club on top of a club within a club. I think. I forget how many clubs I just wandered through.
And, here I was, overlooking all of Hollywood from the highest-profile corner in all of Hollywood. Right there on Hollywood and Highland. There was no roof higher on this corner. I could see it all. Man, what a sight. And big-ass comfy couches, completely overrun by drunken douchebags and… (wait for it) YOUNG, SCRAWNY PERSIAN GIRLS! Man, they were everywhere. Just drunk and falling over and… being all persian and stuff. Persian girls are apparently taken by douchebags, cause those girls just couldn’t become arm decor for faux-hawked, shirtless, tinted-glasses-wearing jackasses fast enough. This leads me to believe that if you were able to watch them fuck, you might think you were watching rejects from a down syndrome art class try to finger paint without a canvas or paint. Of course, you’d need a gasmask and ear plugs to avoid the lethal combination of the combined 6 gallons of cologne and perfume they’re rockin’, and I’m pretty sure their combined taste in music wouldn’t sound entirely unlike dropping a 909 from a plane with a baby attached to each hit pad.
I also discovered that young, scrawny, drunk persian girls are NOT amused by multiple facial piercings and red mohawks. They looked at me like I’d just shat on my hand and decided to wear it as a facial mask. Hell, everyone there did. One really drunk girl practically fell on me and said “ooh.. you’re cute”. I started to smile, when I think she sobered up for the requisite 10 seconds it took her to realize I was “not her type” and then said “ohh… nevermind. I didn’t see all that”. I’ll forever wonder which part of my face/head was “all that” but I just laughed and said “it’s all good, you’re probably only working with about 4 brain cells, and they’re probably in the middle of a fight with themselves”. She left before I could finish that sentence. Bitch.
A little more wandering around inside put me in front of this amazingly ripped dancer chick. She was just tearing up this small piece of the entryway, all by herself, gyrating and kicking and just.. hot damn. Nice face. Great chest. Abs that could strangle me in my sleep. I think I was in a bit of a daze. The highlight of the evening was her stopping mid-tribal-warrior-dance and walking up to me, grabbing me and saying “GREAT fuckin’ hair. I love it!” and then smiling and going about her dance. I tried to mutter “GREAT fuckin’ dancing” but I’m pretty sure it came out as “euhhhhh….blhhgheh” (but with a smile and a pointer finger), so I stumbled out of there and spent the rest of the evening getting to know the bartenders at each of the stops. One of them even bought me a drink. It was probably out of pity - “ohhh look at you. Surrounded by all these douchebags and having your own style. You’re like a sore thumb. I think you need strong drink, stat!”
Just before I left, I stopped on the floor w/the restaurant. As has become commonplace here in Hollywood, there was yet another jackhole with a camera crew, no doubt filming a reality show, but everyone was huddled around to see what was being filmed. I’m not going to embellish here, or add opinionated commentary. There was a thin, drunk, loose-dress-wearing blonde girl GRINDING on the shoulders of a midget, while her less-drunk mexican friend was swinging around a slightly larger midget. As if this wasn’t strange enough, the blonde girl’s dress opened up to reveal breasts with no nipples. Not small nipples. I mean complete lack of nipple. No nipples in sight. No terrain. No bumps. Nada. It was later I realized she was wearing skin-colored tape over the nipples. Obviously put there in just such an event. I’m thinking… if you’re that sure your nipples are going to come out, you either need a little more self-control, or a little more pride in showing your breasts to the world (obviously I’d prefer the latter). Either way, drunken blondes in desperate need of a sandwich grinding on horny midgets who keep sticking their entire arms up inside the dresses of those who dance with them, all to the amusement of a camera/lighting/sound crew, is a surefire sign it’s time to end the night and just go home.
So, indeed I did.
The LARPY Awards
I actually had to wake up early on Sunday. Not like… 10am early. But 12:45 early. Hey, no jokes, that’s early for me. Bitches. I wandered over to the Avalon, met with “the people in charge” and tried to get a handle on just what the hell was going on. David and I ran through some of the events of the evening, and I decided it was prolly best I went out and picked up an actual Emperor’s cloak as opposed to just draping a black bed sheet over my head.
I walked back home, picked up a cloak from the Hollywood Prop Shop across the street, grabbed some food, showered, shaved (ya know, just in case my performance went over REALLY well), and got all fancied up in my tux. Rockin’. Ready to roll. Almost left the apartment when I realized “oh shit! I didn’t rehearse this morning!” - then ran back and printed up my comedy notes, so I could study them in my downtime.
Now back at the Avalon, feeling pretty pepped. Hell, I haven’t done that much walking in months! Oh… and there’s that whole “getting to open a ceremony as The Emperor” thing. That was the uber-cool part.
Fast forward a bit, just before the awards show. Red carpet time. I walked out to the front of the building and stood “in line”. I wasn’t used to seeing a line at a red carpet event, but there was a ton of camera and interview people standing on the red carpet, holding us all back. It started making people, like myself, a little miffed about standing around waiting for the interviews to finish up. Eventually, one of the event’s producers just shoved all the interviewers to the side of the red carpet so we could all walk through pretty quickly.
Unlike the last time I rocked a red carpet, this time they actually announced me. Like in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, as people enter “Sir Leonard Homeworth has arrived”. She says “Reverend Mitcz - Comedian”. I walked out, and flash! pop! “Mitcz, over here!” - “Yeah! Good, now give me one for the ladies!” - a friend of mine, who I see taking pics at every red carpet event I go to, yells “Now gimme some ass, bitch!” - so I shook some ass and then pointed at people like “you want this! umph!”. I’m such an ass on the red carpet, I’ll be honest. That’s quite likely why I’m always the only person left out of the red carpet galleries. This time, there’s 262 pics of that event on the WireImage site and not a single one of me. Even “paperbag man” got on there. WTF? Oh well. At least I got one pretty good shot on this red carpet coverage site. Though I’ll excuse people writing “Rev. Mitch” as opposed to “Mitcz”, I don’t know how “Mitez” makes any fuckin’ sense at all.
Backstage was… interesting. There wasn’t anything really going on. Jose Canseco is REALLY fuckin’ shy and kept staring at the floor when people talked to him. Most of the time, he just sat on the couch and stared around the room, looking incredibly nervous. I guess my joke about him being the only jock surrounded by 100’s of geeks (which I pointed out was the polar opposite of high school for most of us) probably didn’t help matters much. There was one girl there, apparently she was in “The Girl Next Door” as some bit part - she was probably the only person I could’ve held a convo with. And she was attractive. Alas, she left with her friend before the afterparty, so I’m assuming I had less than no chance w/her anyway. Oh well. The Emperor lives on.
When it came time to perform, the plan was to have 3 stormtroopers (plus “Elvis Trooper” for comedic effect) follow me, as The Emperor, out onto the stage with the backdrop of the Imperial March playing. I was then to give my speech, remove the cloak, go on as Rev. Mitcz while the ‘troopers left the stage, and then do my act and leave when Jedi came up to get me after I finished. Instead, here’s what really happened :
I gather the ‘troopers. We stand behind the curtain. The stage manager called up to David, who was on the balcony watching the stage - while a cartoon intro played on the screen. We, of course, couldn’t see shit. So, the stage manager asked David “give me an audio cue”. I said “Uhh.. we’re going on to the Imperial March, so I’ll just wait for that to play”. Somehow, that message got lost and the curtain opened and I was shoved out onto the stage. I had no idea if there were troopers behind me, but I hear they came out so it’s all good. David says out over the mic “And now, comedian Rev. Mitcz”. Uhh… shit. I was hoping to let The Emperor introduce Rev. Mitcz. Oh well. Wheres’s the Imperial March? I’m almost at the podium. I reach the podium. No march. I begin “Greetings, Hollywood Calif….” (Imperial March starts playing). I stop. I look over at the sound guy. As The Emperor, I say “….A bit ill-timed on that march, eh?”. And then I give my speech, which goes as such (audience reactions in parenthesis)
Greetings Hollywood, California. I came to seek the ear of your “Academy”. Of course… they wouldn’t let me in, so I decided to sneak in here instead.
(mild laughter)
You may have heard that my original plans for destructive battlestations were foiled by insipid rebel scum.
Well, I have come to your decrepid planet to once again rebuild my empire
(hollaring applause)
…and I will turn this planet into the ultimate power in the universe!
(more applause and hooting)
Feel within yourselves your hate and your anger BURNING inside of you. Come with me and TOGETHER, we can rule the universe for ALL ETERNITY!
(more applause)
Ohhh… and I’m afraid your government will be completely inoperational when my troops arrive.
{evil Emperor laughter }
(HUGE applause, and laughter)
As I understand it, they’re taking orders from a mortal named “George”. Hmm. My troops will bring him before me and I, in turn, will sway him towards the DARK SIDE OF THE FORCE!
(more HUGE applause and laughter. I can be glad geeks really hate the government)
So, who’s with me?
(yelling, applause, laughter, approval. This was good. I was worried they might turn on me, but I had a speech prepared either way)
[evil Emperor laugh]. Yes. It is all going as I have foreseen it.
And now, I will introduce my NEWEST apprentice. Comedian Reverend Mitcz. Enjoy the show, rebel scum.
(applause).
————–
I then removed the hood, and went into my act about Jose Canseco, Debbie Gibson, and briefly Adrien Brody. I started in about how King Kong was less a story of “Beauty and The Beast” and actually a story of “Chicks Dig Assholes”. My ending line was supposed to be “Well, I’m glad you came with me on that”. Unfortunately, I kinda forgot the last paragraph of the bit, and to stall, I said “okay… just had to see if you’d come with me on that part”. D’oh! No sooner had I said that did I feel a lightsaber at the back of my head. The gag was that I was supposed to look around and fill in the blanks on “ohh.. you guys are looking for The Emperor. That was an IMPRESSION, guys. Eh?” and then run off. I think instead, I just said “Oh.. you’re….. ohh. Okay” and left. Regardless, I think it went well.
The rest of the night, I pretty much wandered around getting drunk and talking to random people who I was sure I’d seen somewhere before (probably TV/Movies) but couldn’t place where. Ken Foree, however, I knew from one of the best horror films of all time - Dawn of the Dead (the original). He was the fuckin’ hero of that movie, and a g’damn chatterbox when you get him alone. That’s a good thing. I don’t like a quiet celebrity. Makes me feel like I’m bothering them. He’s good people, that Ken. Seriousc0re.
The “after party” was pretty scarce, really. Which kinda bummed me out, cause I was hoping to be able to say “We did it! Let’s get shitfaced!” and then hump anything with a nipple and a pulse. Instead, I ended up leaving w/my friend Ricky and going to Malediction where I worked up the gumption to hit on the hottest girl I could find, only to meet her fiance 10 minutes into what I thought was a pretty damn good convo. Fuckin’ fiances. Ruin my life.
So, there you have it. That’s the rundown, kids. Hope you enjoyed.
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jessica kardon said :
Hello
I really enjoy reading your blog. If i were you i would go to http://www.autosurfmonster.com and submit this blog and let thousands fo others see it for free. well anyways, i look forward to all the updates. thanks again.
Jessica
Jessica
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