Only the Truth is Funny

Yesterday, after Donald Trump announced he is running for president, I posted this joke on Twitter:

"I believe Donald Trump will run this country like a business. He will burn it to the ground and collect the insurance money."

The first response was this:

"Democrats destroyed Detroit"

My response:

"Yeah, you might want to put that comment somewhere that makes sense. This was about Trump."

His response:

"You claim Trump would destroy business yet a reality check would say otherwise."

And then my response to that:

"You're being ironic sticking up for a buffoon reality TV host, right?"

No response after that. I suppose this is what passes for political discourse and an exchange of ideas on the Internet these days. Donald Trump may have a scary amount of money and even lots of popular support but lets not kid ourselves, America. Its all free PR for a fame whore who inherited his money, filed bankruptcy twice and like so many other things in this country he didn't really become successful until he branded his image and became another loud mouthed reality TV star snorting fame and spitting a catch phrase. 

I post a joke and a troll under a rock with WiFi comes back with, "you claim…" No. I don't claim. I made a joke. Also, I have no idea about the local politics of Detroit but I do know that Obama, a Democrat, saved the car industry centered in Detroit when every Republican was willing to let it die…including Trump. But hey, facts should never get in the way of your point. What ever it was.

This morning I got an email from my website. I don't know if its the same troll or just another wannabe taking a shot at me but the email was brief and just said "Why would I get my information from a stand-up comic?" Here is why. We now live in a country where politicians who don't believe in climate change serve on environmental commissions about climate change. Lobbyists for the oil & coal industries write laws about pollution for the oil and coal industry and the news, reporting all this, has become the biggest joke so why wouldn't the most credible information and opinion come from comics like, Jon Stewart? 

Stand-up comics are the only ones allowed to actually say the truth because as any comic whose spent more than a year telling jokes can tell you; people laugh loudest when you aren't telling jokes but just telling the truth. 

I will always remember that when I started stand-up at the Holy City Zoo in San Francisco, there was a chalk board in the back by the bathrooms. There was always a comment or joke written on it. This is one that stuck in my head.

"A good comic tells the truth. A good audience hears that as a joke. A successful club books jugglers." 

Sigh.

Girl with the Eagle Tattoo

Sometime in the mid 90's I was inside the Ben & Jerry's on Haight Street. There was a stunningly beautiful girl in line ahead of me that everyone was looking at. She could of been a model for the mid-90's waif girl. I'm sure that was a blog at the time. In the style of the day she had on low rise jeans and a T-shirt two sizes too small for her. When she turned around everyone in the store looked at her. She looked right at me. My eyes instantly dropped to just above her waist. There, rising from beneath her impossibly tight jeans, was a vivid tattoo of an eagle. She gave me a tentative smile that went flat when she noticed my eyes in the vicinity of her "eagle" and then another guy behind me said, "Cool tat!" That inspired me to ask, "Is it a bald eagle?"

Why do I tell you this embarrassing story? Because almost a decade latter I was contacted by this girl who is now a 35 year old woman who saw me perform recently and suddenly realized where she knew me from. She works with high risk girls and told me that the day I first saw her was the first day she showed her tattoo off. She told me she felt so uncomfortable the way all the men looked at her that she never wore low rise jeans again. I asked her if my comment made her feel awful. She said that it was the funniest comment anyone made that day but it was still creepy. Ugh.

There is a story here about the pressure society puts on young women and girls to dress in a provocative way  but its not mine to tell. Sadly, my part was to be the creepy guy whose comment lingered on years later in her head. You never know what effect you will have on another person. You never really understand what we leave with them in our chance encounters. Today I got a rare experience. Today I was shown exactly how I impacted someone else. Its a cool thing to see and even a more cool thing to feel like there has been growth since then.

The Call

The Three O'Clock Call

In the 90's, if you were a stand-up comic in San Francisco, this is how you got on the much coveted Monday night showcase at Cobb's. At 3PM, where ever you were and whatever you were doing, you stopped, got to a phone and dialed the number to Cobb's comedy club. Almost instantly you would hear a busy signal. You knew that all over town, every one of your friends who was a comic was doing the same thing. If you had a day job and worked in a office, you took advantage of the numerous lines you could dial out on at once. If you had roommates who were comics and there was a house phone you all shared, you flipped a coin to see who would go first. If it was close to 3 and you saw a phone booth, you got to it, dialed popcorn to make sure you weren't dialing too soon, and then waited with your quarters to start dialing. I left the end of movies early to make the call. I got into fights with girlfriends over stopping everything, and I mean everything, to make the call. I got in trouble at day jobs, yelled at by strangers who wanted the phone booth and looked at me like I was mad if I was at someone else's house and asked to you the phone. This was right before cellphones started showing up in everyones hand, too. The ideal situation was to use a land line while you were using your cellphone as one of your friends also dialed on their phone. Everyone, and I mean everyone who was anyone in San Francisco comedy at the time, did this.

You would dial, get a busy signal, hang up and repeat the process till you got through. If you did get through, you would get Tom. He didn't so much answer the phone as much as he spit the name of the club into your ear, "Cobb's!" Then you would say something like, "Hi Tom. It's Joe Klocek. Can I get on tonight?" 

Thats when you heard the familiar sentence, "Try me next week." That was that until next Monday.

By 3:03 it was all over. The 12 spots had been filled. My class, the group of friends and comics I came up with, checked in with each other after the call. Around 3:05, Tony Dijamco's phone would start ringing. "Did you get on tonight?" He would breathlessly answer the phone.

"Nope. You?" went the usual refrain.

Tony became the clearinghouse for information about who got on and who didn't for that night. But we also discussed what Tom had said. Ok, sure, he told most everyone the same thing, try me next week, but how did he say it to you? Was there a lengthy pause where he seemed like he thought about putting you on? There were countless discussions about the way Tom turned you down the way conspiracy nuts debate the merits of the single bullet theory in the JFK assassination. 

"But when he said it, how did he say it?" was a pretty common question over the phone at 3:05 in San Francisco back then. 

Tony would field everyone calling in with the same question "Who got on?" If One of us had, Tony would tell. "Rodney and Dan got sets! Thats my other line. See you down there?"

And then, one day, for no particular reason Tom might say, "OK." and you were on! That got you on the showcase but one set does not get anyone in. Once you got on, you still called every week and hoped to get back on. Once you were getting on regularly, you hoped to move up the list. The other part of this is the list. It created status. It worked like this. If you were a new comic, you got 5 minutes in the first hour of the show, maybe a 7 minute set. The second hour of the show was made up of more experienced comics getting 10 to maybe 15 min sets and then the last hour of this three hour showcase would be heavy hitters, maybe two people splitting the hour among themselves with the headliner being the comic Tom thought had something special. If you were on that night, you would show up and the list would be taped to the podium by the door. You would find your name, look at the time you were suppose to go up at and how much time you had. The numbers were all printed clearly by your name; your order and amount of time, so no one could say they didn't know and if you went over your time, heaven save you from Toms wrath! 

Everyone noticed where everyone was on the list and how much time you were given. If one week you were ahead of someone and the next week that person was now before you, it could mean you were moving up or, it meant Tom was fucking with both of your heads. There was as much discussion about where you were on that list as there was about what Tom said when you called. You knew someone was in if they were getting 15 mins somewhere in the last half of the show. There was also a clear way of moving up. Every once in a while Tom would pull one of the comics out of the whole thing and make them the house M.C. That meant they got to host one week a month for six months and at the end of that you were bounced up to feature status. For a local stand-up, the next big goal after you get in at a club is to move up from opener to feature. To be told you would be the next house M.C. at Cobb's meant you would be featuring at both clubs in town by the end of a year. I can't emphasize enough how big a deal this is for a comic.

Everyone wanted on at Cobb's because the thing it had going for it was Tom. There are as many opinions about Tom as there are stories. I can only tell you this. Tom insisted you push yourself to be creative. Tom demanded you do more than just make a room full of people laugh. Its not a revelation to realize there is more to comedy than making a room full of people laugh, but it was a revelation to find a club owner who was willing to risk profit so we could find our voices. If you were good at crowd work, he made you work on your material. If you were playing the hits constantly he would make you do your "b" stuff so you could find a way to be stronger with it. If you were a comic who was generic and didn't push the envelope in anyway, you didn't last. These were paid crowds, too. Not some random open mic in the back of a bar with a shitty sound system, this was a beautiful looking, pro comedy club down in the Wharf. They got lots of tourists just walking in and some of the biggest names in comedy worked that small room based on the reputation of it. Tom grew his regular audience as much as he pushed the comics. You could come any weekend not knowing who was working and be blown away. If the Punch Line was considered going to comedy high school, back then, Cobbs was comedy college and if you wanted in you made that 3PM call till you didn't have to anymore. 

Once I got on and then in at Cobb's, the 3PM call got easier. I would call, say hey Tom and he would say, you're on. Then, I would use my phone to help get a friend on. I was getting up at the Punch Line on Sunday nights and even opening at both clubs when one night, everything changed.

My best friend in comedy, Dan and I, were down at Cobbs. Tom was in a peculiar mood and was pulling comics aside after their sets and handing out the benefit of his knowledge. The only more terrifying than fearing this man didn't know you existed as a comic was enduring his advice as a comic. Word spread fast and one by one people went up knowing Tom was paying attention to everyone that night. Standing outside the showroom, Dan and I were talking about a joke, a girl in my life or are dreams of world dominion based on our comedy. You know, the usual stuff. Tom walked up to Dan and said, "Follow me to my office."

As soon as Tom said it, he was already moving toward the office door rapidly as Dan and I traded looks. Just a few moments later Dan emerged without Tom in sight and told me, "Tom made me the house MC!"

I was happy for my friend but I felt the first of many poison twinges of resentment for getting something I wanted. Thats when Tom "appeared" at my side, turned to me and said, "Follow me to my office." Just like with Dan, he took off almost as soon as he said the words to me and just like before Dan and I looked at each other with anxious eyes. Toms office was tiny. It had a desk with a computer, no window and a calendar with the names of the headliners written on each week. Tom pointed to a week on calendar "Are you available this week?" He asked. "Yes" I answered without really knowing. "OK. Thats your feature week. You're a feature. You're ready."

And just like that I went from one of the funny guys in town to the guy people watched. It was the start of a three year period in my life where I was at the top of the local comedy food chain. I loved it. I truly truly did. When I look back now I see all the reasons I peaked when I did and all the reasons I am still here writing this. it was my season of magic and the happiest I have ever been as an adult. I was broke, had bad teeth and owned two pairs of jeans but I've never been happier or felt more creative in my life. 

Metting a Trolls Mother

Trolls. They make the internet…interesting? On Facebook I usually just ignore them. Why waste perfectly good wit on someone who thinks Jay Leno was good? I think people treat their Facebook pages differently. We all have our own rules that we follow. One of mine is that I don't go to a strangers page and post photos, memes, comments or links that I know will not be welcomed. As much as I think all religion is crazy I don't go to a Christians page and post those opinions there. I post them on my page. People who disagree are welcome to comment on my page about those opinions unless they become abusive or weird.

Its odd to me that people will leave comments on my page that are mean spirited and expect me to A) put up with it because, as hecklers at live shows also explain; You're a comic! and B) that I won't go to their page and leave comments. As I said, I've never really done that… until yesterday.

First, this is what I posted on my Facebook page-

Why is it when a major storm hits a liberally minded state its called a punishment from God for some sin but when Texas floods its just a natural disaster? Or maybe there is a God and he just answers prayers a little late. Remember a few years ago when Texas was suffering from a major drought? A big part of the state was literally burning with wild fires. Governor Rick Perry cut funding for fire fighting, because taxes are bad, and asked the people of the state to pray for rain. 
True story!
Well, now they have more rain then they know what to do with and the big debate isn't about improving their infrastructure to deal with a changing climate. Nope. Instead, its about allowing the open carrying of guns at schools.
I guess in a few years they can fire bullets at hurricanes, that clearly aren't punishments from a vengeful god, but also aren't a result of climate change bringing more extreme weather. Right?

This is when I met Matt. Here is the comment he posted-

"Why are all your posts politically motivated. Do the best at what you do and you can run politics and stop whining non stop on Facebook like you have something to prove."

After a few other friends responded by explaining that social-political commentary is what I sort of do he responded to them with this comment-

"Well apparently he needs a leno training on how to not set up every pol joke like hes venting something someone bent him over on as a child."

Just for once, I thought,  why don't I visit this guys page and leave a comment? Instead of calling him names or giving carer advice as he so generously did, I went sugary sweet sarcastic and posted this to his wall-

"Dear Matthew,
I want to apologize for whining on my personal Facebook page. You know, the one you asked to join when you friended me? You have taught me a valuable lesson. It is wrong to whine on your personal Facebook page but it is perfectly OK to go out of your way and let people know you think they are whining. Again, on their Facebook page. The one you friended. Anyway, thanks for making the Internet and society a better place. Because of your beautifully worded and concerned message I will try to no longer whine on my page.
Cheers."

Now of course Matt has friends and family and of course when they started to reply to my post on his wall I continued to reply to them in the same passive-aggressive grateful tone. It drove them nuts! No matter what anyone posted, swear words or insults, I replied as sarcastically sweet as I possibly could. It actually was sort of fun. I see why trolls do this sort of thing now. But here is the best part. After an hour or so of doing this imagine my surprise when Matt hadn't responded to anything yet but his mother did. Thats right, the trolls mother started to reply to comments and I just continued doing what I was doing. Nothing mean or weird, it was sort of sweet the way she defended her moron son, too. As the afternoon wore on into the early evening and the comments from his friends and his mom piled up, I had to get to a gig. As I walked in the door this is the message Matt sent me-

"Joe are you bored? Lol I love the bla bla bla you make me laugh your a comedian. My mother never talked to you so also love your new post typical joe just yapping on fb about all his problems (although all based off your world inside your head) if you want to be a comedian or a radio show pundit you better pick one way or the other soon lol then you won't have to be stuck in the middle wondering why both don't work"

I'm not one to judge things like spelling or grammar. I seldom get those things right so I'm not criticizing that. Still, I have no idea what he is attempting to say in this message. Trolls are like that. You post something thought out and the trolls leave comments you need a stupid to smart translator to figure out. But again, why waste the time on this little project, right? Heres why.

Eventually, one of his friends or someone enjoying the whole thing posted on Matt's page that I'm actually pretty funny. Most of his friends, and mom, thought I was being rude, weird and strange.
I decided it was time to end this by posting, "you mean its rude to go to someones Facebook page and leave outlandish comments? Hmmmmm. Interesting. In fact, to show how annoying trolls are I decided to troll your page all day and everyone here was too dense to realize it. P.S. I might be whining on my Facebook page but at least I don't have my mommy fight Facebook battles for me that I started."

Thats right, I decided to troll a troll in the hopeful belief that maybe next time, before he leaves a poorly worded alphabet soup of stupid on someones post, he thinks twice about doing it. Who knows if that will work. I doubt I'll do it again and if I ever do I doubt the persons mommy will jump in to defend their offspring. Still...holy shit that was funny!

Trolls, stupid comments, mean spirited debates and slightly blurry memes represent a lot of whats passing for communication & connection over the Internet. We have built this incredible tool that gives access to the sum total of human knowledge but the most active people on the web often times feel like spokespeople for why our society isn't better.

As a watcher of documentaries on YouTube its more fascinating to read the comments section sometimes. I don't know why ignorance has the loudest voice on YouTube but if you have ever spent more than a few minutes watching stuff there, you know exactly what I mean.

Late last night I watched a documentary on the failed expedition of Sir Ernest Shackleton to the Antarctic. It has to be one of the most amazing true life survival stories there is. From 1914-1916, 27 men attempted to sail to the icy continent, cross it and endure the adventure. Everything went wrong. They lived on the ice for more than a year, sailed one of the most turbulent seas in the world in tiny life boats, hiked 36 hours across an unmapped island and eventually after Shackleton made it to safety, it took three tries to get a ship and rescue the remaining men he left at a beach on another uncharted island.
All of the men survived. Like I said, its a pretty incredible story. I highly recommend checking it out. Anyway, the point is that these are the most popular comments left for this hour and a half PBS created documentary.

"I would have been so scared if i was there ....and if i was the only woman ...well...one can only imagine what some of the men would do !"

"thankfully a woman would never be chosen for an expedition such as this as they don't have the mental or physical strength to survive..."

"I'd like to see a group of women attempting this. Fat chance haha."

"LESBIAN FUCKWIT."

Trolls. You have to have a small mind and possibly even a smaller dick to start puking stupid in the comments section of a documentary that is a testament to what the human spirit can endure. Study after study about this sort of thing on the Internet tells us that people leave these comments because they can. The chance of ever meeting the person you left an insensitive comment for in the "real world" is slim. So slim that why not type out the cruelest thing you can think of? All this modern communication technology has exposed a mean spirited streak in human nature. Nothing too surprising there. What amazes me time and time again about this is the fact that it takes effort to be a dick. If you don't agree with someone then you don't agree. If you aren't interested in reasonable conversation but instead are looking to get a rise out of people, like Matt the Troll with his overprotective Mom, you are the problem. Also, if a stand-up comic is making you angry about something you believe in, its not the comics fault that you cannot articulate why it bothers you. That probably means the comedian exposed something in your faith, beliefs or concept about the world that terrifies you because...its true.