What If God Was One Of Us

What If God Was One Of Us                          3130

Tuesday, December 25th, 2007-2:00 A.M.

Merry Christmas, everyone.  If you celebrate Christmas, I offer you the best Holiday wishes I can.  If you don't celebrate Christmas, I still wish you a Merry Christmas, because the holiday doesn't discriminate.  It represents the birth of Jesus, and despite what some folks (mostly Republicans) would like you to think, it represents the birth of the Messiah, the salvation of the human race, and the spirit of forgiveness.

Jesus is often thought to represent love, or peace, and in the worst of times, prosperity, but I believe in Christ as salvation.  He is our forgiveness, our bail money for our sins.  And we all are with sin, although some larger than others.

Got under-charged at the store and didn't say anything?  You're a thief.  Doesn't matter if it was $500 or 50 cents, it wasn't yours, and you stole.

Did you ever tell a lie?  Or better yet, did someone tell you something you knew was incorrect and you didn't say anything to save yourself or someone else's skin?  You bore false witness.

I'm not even gonna ask if anyone ever murdered anyone...those are relatively few and far between these days, although my neighborhood is getting to be like the Old West...there are so many make-shift monuments to people who have been killed unnecessarily that a drive up my street looks like a carnival midway, there's so many stuffed animals, ribbons and candles.

Have you coveted your neighbor's wife?  I'm a coveting bastard, and some days I don't even know why.  I think it might be part of the male brain, but enough women do it also that I can't just say it's a manly problem.  I had a discussion today with a friend who told me that a mutual friend of ours is actually cheating on his wife, and we were both stunned, but his defense is that he can't help himself.  Well, actually, it seems that he has been helping himself, and that's the problem.

It's a rough world today, and it's starting to get my goat.  I want to cling to my religion, cling to hope, cling to the idea that things are going to get better, but I'm surrounded daily by reminders that the world is a mess, and it looks as though greed is going to win the day.

We're greedy people, we are.  Maybe I'm just talking about Americans, but maybe all of us are.  I think in this country that Capitalism has gone beyond an economic system and turned into some sort of wicked game.  It's not about free enterprise, it's about seeing how much wealth the staggeringly rich can accumulate, to the duress of the peanut-eaters at the bottom of the cash-flow ladder. 

We've forgotten the ideas of charity and good will.  We've forgotten the lessons that to give out of our abundance is fine, but to give out of our scarcity is to be truly blessed (the widow's mite).  Would our country have to maintain public assistance programs if everyone reached out to their neighbor to make sure they had enough?  No, they wouldn't have to.  Would there be violence in the streets if everyone had a job, a nice place to live, a sense of purpose and community?  No, they wouldn't have to, people only commit violence when they are mentally ill, scared, desperate, hungry, angry or tired.  Folks who are stable in their mind and body, social situation, housing and family structures are usually peaceful.  Can we strive for that?  To make sure that everyone is warm, safe and secure, and able to pitch in to the system to work together?  Isn't that what cities and counties and countries are for?

I don't pretend to have all of the answers.  I used to consider myself pretty well-educated, and recently, I've been discovering that I don't know half of what I need to know, and that half the knowledge I'm carrying around now is either outdated or can be categorized under music or movie trivia, with a little English Literature thrown in for good measure.

But I *do* know this;

Whether you believe in the Bible or not, or the divinity of Jesus Christ, or any god, for that matter, I have found that the Bible contains a lot of good information.  If you were to follow the teachings of the Bible and not concern yourself with the person of Jesus Christ or the history of his life and teachings, you would still live a better life than one led by leaning on your own understanding.

Christ preached humility, poverty, meekness, pureness of heart, and righteousness despite persecution.  And I believe He will save the world, each of us.

It is the most curious of things, that the Lord would come to us, as a child, born in a manger among the beasts, in absolutepoverty, a King who loves us so much that he came down from His throne to be one of us, the meekest, weakest one, and allowed himself to be stoned, whipped, beaten and killed for our sins, as payment for our sins that we would come to the Father and have everlasting life.

Can we save ourselves?  Can we humble ourselves, treat the least of ours as the best, can we be charitable, forgiving, meek?  Can we change our world from a society of "Get as much as you can" to a world where no one goes without, no one hungers, no one shivers, no one cries out because there is no love?

That would be the best Christmas present of all, wouldn't you say?

What If God Was One Of Us

If God had a name what would it be?
And would you call it to his face?
If you were faced with him
In all his glory
What would you ask if you had just one question?

*And yeah, yeah, God is great
Yeah, yeah, God is good
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah

What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home

If God had a face what would it look like?
And would you want to see
If seeing meant that
you would have to believe
in things like heaven and in Jesus and the saints
and all the prophets (*)

Trying to make his way home
Back up to heaven all alone
Nobody calling on the phone
'cept for the Pope maybe in Rome(*)

Just trying to make his way home
Like a holy rolling stone
Back up to heaven all alone
Just trying to make his way home
Nobody calling on the phone
'cept for the Pope maybe in Rome

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Shake & Bake

Shake & Bake                                      9785  (2995)

Saturday, December 8, 2007-11:00 A.M.

It's funny how much difference a day makes.  On Thursday, I was writing about how upset I was because my friends at WCMF radio in Rochester were getting downsized, and then the next day, I received news that put everything in perspective...one of my good friends had died.

It was one of those deaths that come out of nowhere...the guy wasn't sickly at all, from outside inspection, he wasn't old, there wasn't any terminal disease he was being treated for.  He was my age, 40, about to turn 41 in just a few weeks.  Matter of fact, based on the bag of prescription medication that I tote around with me on a daily basis (I'm on about eight different types of medication for everything from thyroid disease to cholesterol to high blood pressure...I even take a generic Claritin to clear my sinuses so that my sleep apnea constant air machine I wear when I sleep will work), if I had to bet who would go first, me or him, I would've put the money on me.

But it didn't work out that way.

Mike Glosek was a good guy.  He was a comic from Buffalo, and a friend of mine.  If you want to read up on him, there's a small memorial that was written on him in the Buffalo News, and there's a link to it on the front page of my website at www.ralphtetta.com that will take you right to it.  But that memorial tells about the things that Mike accomplished and doesn't really tell you about the man.

After I left the management team at the Comix Cafe in Rochester back in the summer of 2001, a series of managers came in to run the club.  Mike moved from Buffalo at the request of Ed Bebko, the owner, to be one of those managers.  By the time 2004 rolled around, Ed had taken on a partner in the business who would one day buy him out, and during that time of co-ownership, Ed had requested that both Mike and I help out the new guy, show him the ropes of running a comedy club, and keep the ship sailing in the right direction.

For whatever good or ill, that help seemed to be resented and much of our counsel was rejected.  After a time, I became frustrated and gave up, returning to the road and staying there for the sake of peace of mind and just being tired of always being the target of criticism.  Mike suffered quite a bit, too, and even though he was always a good-spirited person with a mind that leaned toward positive thinking, his customer-service and friendly ways always seemed to be in conflict with a management staff who felt he was giving away the store.  At management meetings, Mike and I would sit on one side of a large table and the other managers would sit on the other.  It was like being on trial every week.  I hated it and bailed, but Mike, out of loyalty to Ed, stayed and took his lumps.  He was a better man than I in that respect.

Mike went by the nickname "Shake 'n' Bake," which I never got the full story where the nickname came from, but he was a true throwback to the golden years of standup comedy.  Mike was the guy who spent as much time in front of the bar as he did behind it, glad-handing customers and really making them feel welcome in the club.  Mike was the guy who made sure everyone had a good time, and it frustrated him when his efforts were thwarted.  He ran the bar on karoake night, "Shake 'n' Bake Wednesdays," and he would bartend and then run out and sing, and when I would get up to sing, the shots of whiskey would start coming.  He knew I wasn't much of a drinker, and I think he wanted me to loosen up.  He wouldn't stop until everyone was having as much fun as he was.

As a comic, he was a true variety act, mixing standup, juggling, magic, and a straitjacket escape that was his closer.  At one point, Mike, Joe Fico (another Rochester comic) and I developed a show called "The Fat Pack" and we worked on putting together a true cabaret show containing music, spotlight comedy sets, and any other things we could throw in.  The show was not supported by the club, out of spite would be my guess, and it closed after just four shows.  But I remember fondly sitting in Mike's living room, notepads out, coming up with comedy bits, working on blocking, and throwing our all into the show.

He and I were a lot alike in many ways.  We were the same age, started doing comedy at the same time, and had a background in club management.  His fanatical love of Billy Joel is paralleled by my fanatical love of Bruce Springsteen.  He loved horror films, while I more favored comic books.  And we both lived and died with the Buffalo Bills, although Mike loved the Buffalo Sabres hockey team more, even to the point that he was layed out in his replica Sabres jersey.  We both did magic, although I gave it up at a young age, moving to bass guitar as an outlet for my stage jones.  And we both have young daughters, although Mike also had a son who I was not aware of.

But when we spoke about things spiritual, that's when we really clicked.  Mike enjoyed listening to Joyce Meier, a televangelist who is on TV quite a bit.  He quoted her often, and one of his favorite passages from the Bible was the urging to be "more than a conqueror," and he used that to get him through the difficult times at the club and the conflict with some of the people there.

His door was always open to me, he loved socializing, he loved to be around people who were enjoying themselves, and when he finally succumbed, it was to heart disease.  An autopsy showed that his heart had enlarged and he had a major heart attack while he slept.  That's no way for a 40-year-old man to go, and it has been a real kick in the gut for me.  I've been working with doctors and nurses and nutritionists in an attempt to reverse the many years of neglect I've shown my body, and Mike's death has become a backdrop for my own mortality and while I'm thankful that I now have medical attention that will prevent me from suffering a similar fate, I am angry and upset and conflicted that Mike will never have the same chance, the same opportunity to correct whatever neglect led to his demise.

I wanted to write about this just after I got the news, last Friday, but I was choked up and couldn't focus.  Then after the wake on Tuesday, I wanted to write, but I was overcome with emotion and felt I wouldn't be able to do Mike justice.  Today I guess I'm more lucid and I've had time to properly digest this loss, but I still don't feel properly prepared to fully explain how wonderful Mike was and how lousy I feel that he's gone, and that I didn't spend enough time with him because I felt that he would always be around, a joyful constant in a world that is growing greyer and colder by degrees.

A little less than a week before he died, Mike wrote me a MySpace message that basically said "call me," and I didn't call him right away, waiting for a time when I would be settled, in a hotel room somewhere, and have time to talk.  That time never came, and I have more than my share of guilt about it.  After all the loss I've experienced this year, you'd think that I'd be a little more aware that there is no time better than today to make that call, there is no tomorrow, and the only joy you will have in this life is the joy that you are willing to seize.  But I guess I have to keep getting the buckets of cold water until I finally get it.

Tonight, I will have a drink for my friend, and I will hate myself a little that he's not there to pour it.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

 

Fire

Fire                                            9699  (2909)

Thursday, November 29th, 2007-6:15 P.M.

The word came down the pipe today that a lot of the radio personnel at WCMF, my old employer, were going to be losing their jobs.  It's a shock, to be sure...not that folks in radio are being flushed out, but that the folks who are being fired had held on to their jobs so long.

Radio is a tough business, and anyone who's ever been involved in it knows that it's here one day, gone the next and if you don't produce, you are OUT.  There are also trends that go swinging back and forth like a pendulum with a knife on it, first going to the "automated" format (who needs jocks?) to the "live" format (it sounds terrible without a live person to intro and back-announce the songs!).

I worked at WCMF 96.5 FM, fresh out of college, first as a research "rat," then later the director of the department.  I produced "hook tapes," 35-song collections of clips from songs that we would "test" by playing them over the phone to people at their homes in the evening, asking them if they'd like to hear the songs played "a lot more, a little more, the same amount, a little less, a lot less, never again, or unfamiliar."  We'd then load all of the information into a computer and calculate "burn scores," letting us know things like "people like Led Zeppelin, but they'd rather hear 'The Immigrant Song' than 'Stairway To Heaven.'"  It was a lot of fun, and hard work, and most importantly, flexible enough to allow me to do comedy on the weekends, long weekends if necessary.

I was let go in the spring of 1994, and then hooked up with the George Carlin tour, but it still took me a while to get over being downsized.  I remember Stan Main, the Program Director, basically breaking the news to me that I was out, and my team was out, which I should have seen coming as we shrunk from eight team members to four and then finally, three.  I begged to be reassigned, but there was no place to put me, and I got a nice letter of recommendation from Stan that I never used, and never worked a "straight" job again, if you don't count being General Manager at the Comix Cafe, which was more like being a professional bull-rider in terms of the office decorum and corporate culture (that didn't exist, thankfully).  I even wore a denim shirt every day, with the club logo embroidered on the pocket!

When I was at WCMF, I used to stay late after work, and use the computers in the sales staff's cubicles.  I basically taught myself Microsoft Word by trial and error, typing up letters and making cool custom cassette covers for my bootleg tapes (also cadged from the station's enormous music library).  It was like a playground to me, a playground with a paycheck!  Not that the work wasn't hard, it was rewarding, and Stan was relentless in spurring us on.  We'd be on the phones, talking to survey respondents and trying not to let them know what station we were calling from (lest it skew the results), and Stan would come into our room on his way out for the day and give us all a beating, usually either a back rub or numerous slaps on the shoulders while he would yell out things like "We're playing the hits and we ain't popping zits!" and shit like that, which to this day, honestly, I don't know what it means.  Still, Stan was a great guy and he paid me money to be part of the team, and giving me and my department the axe wasn't his decision, it was the guy above him, so in that regard, I hold him blameless.  He probably kept our department alive a lot longer than management wanted him to, in the name of the data that he needed to keep doing his job so well.  But now he's gone, fired, a casualty of the merger with Entercom, or the takeover, or whatever you want to call it.

Dave Kane, the Music Director, Assistant Program Director and afternoon host, was always very friendly to me as well.  My comedy buddy, Ray Salah and I, used to come in in the afternoons and work with Rich Van Slyke, the production chief, making "spec spots" which are basically fake commercials that the sales staff would then take cassette copies out to prospective clients and try to sell them.  We worked hard to make them funny, because funny sells, and I don't know if the sales staff ever sold any of the spots, but Rich wound up taking a reel of those spots and used it as a demo to get a better paying job at a rock station in Atlanta.  Still, those afternoon sessions were fun, and Kane-O was always nice to us, breaking our balls and I think once he had lunch brought in and invited us to chow down.  Compliments are nice, paychecks are good, but share your food with a fat man and you've got a friend for life.

Mark Cronin lost his gig today....Mark's been in radio longer than foam windscreens on microphones.  Marc was the night jock at WCMF, and I saw him every night when I worked.  When you're talking about the nicest human beings on the planet, Mark's name has to come up or you don't know what you're talking about.  He did a pantomime once to entertain some of us in the break room of a guy getting thrown out of a bar, whereby he grabbed his own collar with one hand and the back of his pants with the other and "threw" himself out of the room, a move that I've stolen more than once.  I miss working with a guy like that, and to hear that he's being flushed reeks of  age-ism, and more importantly, a complete lack of respect for the skills that he brought to the table.  He was a workhorse who cut commercials, liners, and spots, all while songs were playing in the other studio, doing the job of two guys.  Now, thanks to corporate culture and the cold, cruel ways of business, he's doing the job of no guys, and the "bum's rush" pantomime is creepily appropriate.

I've been crawling on the web trying to get the whole story, and they are not naming names, but it seems as though about eight people are part of the purge, and I can only talk about the three I know of that were my friends.  I got into radio originally because as a comic, I thought it would help my local standing, but basically it did nothing for me in that respect.  In order to gain credibility as a comic, you needed to be a better comic, not a mediocre one with ties to a radio station.

There are other names that are being bandied about as far as their futures, like Brother Wease and his sidekick Tommy Mule, and rumor is also that WPXY's Scott Spezzano is done for.  Scott's a friend, and he used to host Wednesday nights at the Comix Cafe when I was General Manager there.  Tommy and I have a long working relationship, and I think Wease doesn't like me.  But I hope they don't go down without a fight, whatever happens.

I'll be interested to know where all of this winds up, as you can't work in radio for as long as I did and not be fascinated by the moving and shaking, but for guys like Dave Kane and Mark Cronin, you're talking about literally decades of being a Rochester radio presence.  And Stan Main wrote the music programming software that the station used.

The new guys better be really fucking good is all I'm saying.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Too Long In Exile

Too Long In Exile                                  9576  (2786)

Monday, November 12, 2007-11:44 A.M.

Did you miss me?  I'm back.  I haven't blogged in five weeks.  I went into exile for a month, and then added a week to express solidarity with the Writer's Guild strike.

Ha ha.

Actually, I took a break after a friend of mine made a comment about my running journal.  I guess a couple of local Rochester comics made a remark about my blog (which was funny and true), and it made me become introspective about this blog and the process of keeping it.

When I started keeping the blog, it was with the intention of keeping a running, blow-by-blow account of my life as a standup comic out on the road, an account that my infant daughter could go back to years from now and read about what her father was doing when he went to work.

Well, something along the line hijacked that process.  People started reading it.

I am nothing if not an attention whore.  I was starved for attention when I was a boy, growing up in an Italian household with two siblings, where you had to fight to be heard, much less acknowledged.  My parents encouraged my pursuits, but were not totally aware of them.  Perfect example, my father knew I wanted to be a writer, so he went out and bought me my first typewriter, a nice manual model from Sears with on-line correction, and then later, a fancy electric one.  But he never read anything I wrote.  Dad wasn't much of a reader, just TV guide and the morning paper.

Standup comedy was a cry for attention, just as my foray into working in radio was a cry for attention.  I went back to college three years after I graduated from high school, a victim of my parent's and my ignorance of the college application process.  I was literally signing up for classes at St. John Fisher college in Rochester the day before classes were to begin, and it felt forced and I didn't feel ready, and I aborted the process out of fear.

When I returned to school, it was at Monroe Community College, and I discovered the campus radio station on the second day, the campus activities board and school newspaper a few days later.  And after only a year, I visited my first comedy club and got on stage at open mic night.  I will celebrate the 20th anniversary of that event this coming May.

All of those outlets were designed to garner me attention.  I was very good in school, but always in the top ten percent, usually never first or second.  I was voted "Chronic Complainer" in my Senior Yearbook, but at the same time, earned "Most Spirited."  I ran for Student Council President as a junior and won, because no Senior wanted the job.  I had a landslide victory over a Sophomore, a young lady who wasn't very articulate, and reveled in the prospect of leading assemblys, chairing meetings, and generally making people consume all of the hot air I was generating.

Even as a comic, I regularly lapse into the trap of basically telling an audience "Dig what I have to say," rather than concentrating on making them laugh and enjoy themselves.  My show isn't about them, it's about me!  How dare they sit and stare at me and my offerings?  I can get preachy and ramble on about points that I consider to be important and sacred, but I'm in the wrong venue.  It's about beer and chicken wings, not the indiscretions of the Right Wing.  It's about laughs and dick jokes, not educated discourse.  And if I think something's wrong with America, then maybe I should just write a letter to the editor.

Well, this entry isn't a cry for help, it's the result of five weeks of heavy meditation.  Do I continue to write, and if so, what about?  The "old" blog style was becoming a parody of itself.  I was writing about where I went to lunch, a bad habit I picked up from a comic I used to read who was opening for a big name performer, and he would detail the catering.  I guess I thought it was funny that he was getting almond-crusted tilapia, and I was eating biscuits at Cracker Barrel or making a turkey sandwich in my hotel room out of my mini-fridge.

On a show a couple of weeks ago, a fellow comic was lamenting to me that "Since when did it become the law that if you enjoy your job, it's no longer considered work?"  Comedy is hard work, but a lot of people seem to think it's very easy.  On the surface, it is just talking for an hour or so, and then hanging around in the bar soaking up alcohol and affection, but it's the result of a lot of denial and sacrifice.  Ask any comic who's been in this business fifteen years or more about missing birthdays, anniversaries, school plays, recitals, christenings and any other number of important family events, and the accounts will be legion.  And God help me, I cannot see the forest for the trees, that with a daughter who just started preschool this week, and will be turning four years old in March, will have to go down that road with me, dealing on a daily basis that daddy's never home.

My last blog was about the death of comedy as a business, and maybe it was just my way of excising the feeling I had that I would have to give up this business in the name of having a stable home life, and to do well and justly by my wife and daughter.  It's true, the business is hard and the economy is rough, but comedy hasn't been a cornucopia of plenty since the early 80's, years before I got involved in the game.  I turn 41 on Thursday, and the prospect or idea of changing professions is daunting to me, for a couple of reasons.  First, I would be changing professions at a late age, with no real training in any field other than wise-assery.  Basically, I'm gonna be the sassiest toll-collector on the New York State Thruway.  Second, in no matter what vocation I undertake, I'm most likely going to be robbed of that attention that I currently enjoy, and I do not know how that will affect me on a long-term basis.

A mid-life crisis is a terrible thing, but I believe that's where I've found myself, wondering about the future, lamenting the past, and damning the present.  The secret, a good friend of mine who is basically in my same age demographic, is to not dwell so much on the negatives and give myself credit for the positives.  And to work on myself.

Well, one area that I guess I need to work on is to not be so needy in the area of public adulation.  So that means I'm not going to write as much.  A criticism of my blog, in the past, was that I didn't write with any passion, I didn't talk about things that were emotionally strong.  I fixated on pithy minutiae, and it made for a boring read.  So I'm going to strive to only return to this forum when the spirit moves me, when I get cranked up by something important, when I get touched by an angel or when I get driven to tears.

And hopefully it will be a fitting body of work for my daughter to go back and read.

Yours Sincerely,

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)              9145  (2355)

Friday, October 5, 2007-3:15 P.M. CDT

Standup comedy is over.  The "dead cat bounce" has happened, and we've got bigger things to deal with now, like correcting our world and adapting to the bleak landscape that is stretching out in all directions all the way to the horizon.

Comedy is dead.  I hate to be the one to "call it," but I've seen too much the last few months to be convinced otherwise.  Clubs are closing, or teetering on the edge of absolute bankruptcy, comics are struggling to fill their schedules, work is falling out and except for the few who cater to corporate functions, cruise ships or other secure audiences, our industry as a whole is looking like it is on the verge of a total collapse.

I started doing standup comedy right after the big comedy "boom" of the mid-80's.  During that time, Ronald Reagan was the President of the United States, people were making money, and they were recovering from a very depressing time in this country called the 1970's.  During that time, the economy was in a very deep recession, there was an energy crisis, and American pride was at an all-time low.  Disco was killing rock 'n' roll, cocaine was the only way a lot of people could get up in the morning, Iran had American hostages that we couldn't get released by force or diplomacy, and there was a nationwide malaise.  America needed a shot in the ass.  Along came "Dutch."

Reagan boosted the American economy by artificial means, and prosperity became the norm throughout the 1980's.  Vice President Bush criticized Reagan's plans at the time as "Voodoo Economics" and when the checks started coming due during his presidency in the late 80's and early 90's, he was found to be correct in his assumptions.  There was a great deal of dissatisfaction during the 1980's, despite the prosperity that was all around.  Punk rock rose out of the ashes of decadent disco, as well as the overlying nihilistic themes of heavy metal.  And over in the corner, standup comedy reared it's head, with over-the-top performers like Sam Kinison, Emo Phillips, Howey Mandel and Robin Williams, banging the drum at a manic pace to remind us that something was still wrong.

Comedy thrived because it was a release, an explosion let out in small bursts of laughter in small, dark, smoky clubs.  The spartan brick wall that became the cliche for a standup comedy club was a remnant of the underground coffee houses of the 50's and 60's where visionairies like Lenny Bruce, Mort Sahl and their ilk began singing songs of criticism and discontent.  In the 80's, performers like Bobcat Goldthwait, Bill Hicks and others used their "freedom of screech" to trumpet the call to arms for a generation not to be lulled into complacency.  In Canada, voices like Kenny Robinson, Ron Vaudry and others were adding to the discourse as well.  An art form that came to adolescence on the Merv Griffin show and the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson was now in full-blown adulthood, and itching to make a name for itself in the world.

Well, after a few fits and starts in the 90's and the early years of the 2000's, comedy is looking pretty grey at the temples and just doesn't seem to be able to get around very well anymore.  Clubs are closing, major festivals have called it quits, and the rooms that are prospering are the "one-nighters" out in the sticks, the communities where everyone is about ten years behind the times anyway, and they still squeal in delight when someone sings their favorite song at karaoke night, and the acid-washed jeans are still hanging on like some sort of lifeboat off the fashion Titanic.

The club in Rochester that I once made my home seems to be in similar trouble; flagging crowds, dissatisfaction with acts that kill elsewhere, and currently, an inability to accept credit cards for payment (death for a bar or restaurant) seem to signal a circling of the drain.  The club in Buffalo closed months ago, and other clubs around the country, notably ones in Kansas City, Detroit and Chicago, have reportedly either closed, plan on closing, or are using local talent in an attempt to trim payrolls and hotel expenses in a valiant effort to stay above water.

I worked last week at the Pittsburgh Funny Bone, my first time at that club and an enjoyable experience, despite a back ailment that left me able to walk and stand for only a short period of time, and then virtually crippled.  The crowds were sparse, except for Saturday night, but fun to perform for, and the most interesting experience was speaking with Jeff Schneider, the owner/booker of the club and a man who has been involved in the business for over 25 years.  I was able to speak with him on the level of someone who has booked a club himself and dealt with "big name" comics' agencies, and we had interesting stories to share.  Jeff has a reputation of being a bit of a beast, but frankly, he's another individual who realizes that standup comedy has run it's course and may be "playing out the string."  He spoke passionately about wanting to get into radio, to have a show where he could speak his mind about whatever topics ocurred to him, and he riffed at will about a few things that were engaging, funny and although bordering on crass at times, never objectionable.  It is the spirit that standup comedy was born of.  Obviously, Jeff has always had this passion or he never would have subjected himself to the rigors of running and managing a club for so many years.

As a career comic, I have decisions to make; I can re-tool my approach to the business and start throwing my rope at corporate events and colleges whose big budgets make them recession-proof, but require strict language requirements.  I could go completely underground and pitch myself entirely to fraternal organizations, Moose lodges, Elks, Eagles, Volunteer Fire Departments and others that pepper the landscape like so many mushrooms after a spring rain.  I could even re-invent myself as a motivational speaker, using humor to boost optimism in a corporate setting and putting into play the tools that I've learned throughout my life to overcome obstacles and keep an optimistic view.

I know that sounds funny, claiming to be an optimist while playing Chicken Little and proclaiming the end of Standup Comedy, the single thing that has driven me half my life and consumed almost every waking hour in some way, shape or form.  But I am optimistic, if only in the way that decrees that I will still be able to do what I love, only I will be required to do it somewhere else.  If you are a regular reader, you'll remember that I wrote months ago about an engagement at a volunteer fire department event that went very well.  If I'm performing in front of an appreciative audience and doing it for a fair living wage, then I may sacrifice the fame of working a big comedy club in hopes of being seen and getting a shot at a TV spot that may help make me a household name, but the clubs stopped offering those opportunities years ago.  If the goal of working the road is only to earn a living, then it will still be possible, only it will take a different kind ofmarketing on our parts as comedians to keep our calendars full.

A huge problem with the clubs today rests with the audiences; they simply don't have the money to spend.  The entity booking talent is the one that is rolling the dice; in a public show, a performer is promised X amount of dollars to perform, and the club gambles that they will sell enough tickets, drinks, food items and souvenir paraphenalia to pay the comics, the rent on the building, the utilities, the suppliers and the staff, with a little money left over to call "profit."  In a corporate or college setting, the money comes from somewhere else....an entertainment budget in the corporate sense, and student activities fees in the college arena.  Neither colleges nor corporate talent bookers are dependent on ticket sales to the general public to make their show "work."  They have built-in audiences and no profit requirements.  The fraternal organizations have the same setup; they aren't pitching to the general public, which doesn't have any money to spend anyway, but instead collect "dues" from members and apportion the money to their  events, whether monthly, semi-annually or annually, as their individual case may be.

So the cry now is to diversify, not put all our eggs in one comedic booker's basket, and look for other things to do.  Some clubs will be recession-proof, to be sure, depending on the market and the club's ability to stay relevant in that market.  But now they are only going to be a small part of the picture for some of us comics, rather than the bread 'n' butter.

I am at a club this week that seems to be doing well, the Comedy Club On State in Madison, Wisconsin.  Gus and Mary have cut out their niche through hard work and perserverance, and last night, they had an almost capacity crowd (on a Thursday!) and one of the open-mic guys taped a chunk of my set which now resides on my MySpace page, which I urge you to go check out at www.myspace.com/rabidralph and feel free to send the link to your friends!

Keepin' it Real,

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

 

Fast And Loose

Fast And Loose                       9059  (2269)

Wednesday, September 26, 2007-1:40 A.M.

I know it's a little early in the season for a horror story, but here goes....

I worked in Connecticut this past week, which for those of you keeping track, is my 22nd state this year, and you should know that working a lot of different places usually makes me happy.

And actually, this trip was making me happy until the very end....here are the details.

I took off from Rochester on Thursday morning and had an uneasy feeling about this roadtrip; too many loose ends were hanging.  I was working two consecutive nights for two different bookers, and I didn't have an itinerary for either of them.  I put one together for myself using all of the information, but it was still just put together by me, and I didn't feel "ready" to leave the house without all of the info coalesced on one document.

I picked up Ray Salah, my best friend for the last 19 years and my opener for Thursday and Friday nights, and off we headed on our six-hour journey into Connecticut.  The drive was easy, although New York State raped us on the Thruway tolls, $9.90 one way....thank you, New York.  No wonder businesses are leaving the state by the dozen.

We got to the Motel 6 in Niantic, Connecticut around 5:30 P.M., more than enough time to catch a nap and shower up and get ready for the big show.  We were playing at a place called Raya's in Gales Ferry, CT, booked and hosted by Connecticut comic Dave Zamoider.  Dave's a new jack in the business, and when I put the word out on the internet that I was looking for a companion gig to my Friday engagement, he put together a show for me, which was very much appreciated.

Raya's is an Italian restaurant owned by a middle-eastern man named Muhammed.  It was sparsely attended, but the sound and lighting were decent and the folks who hung out mostly paid attention to the show.  Ray went up and did his thing after Dave's mc set, and I was looking forward to a good barroom show.

Five minutes in, one of the chains holding one of the long lamps over the billiard table gave way, sending the Budweiser light crashing to the slate top of the pool table.  It was just a sign of things to come.

I soldiered on through my show, which becamean open forum for discussion.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy interacting with the crowd, but this wasn't even heckling, they were talking to me like we were at a cocktail party!  I'd get them with a laugh, and then they had stories to tell.  At one point, a birthday cake came out, and Muhammed *shushed* me so they could sing "Happy Birthday."

The high point of the evening was meeting Dave, and Liz, the bartender, a 26-year-old lass who sported a unique tattoo on the back of her right shoulder; it was a heart with a nail through it.  The tattoo, she explained, was relevant because it represented all the pain she had gone through, and it's placement represented that it was all behind her.  I would never personally get a tattoo, but if I did, it would have to be one such as this, with an actual pertinent meaning.  She was delightful to meet and to speak to, and making the acquaintance of people like her, even if only for a short time, is one of the reasons I truly enjoy my job.

The next day we dragged our feet checking out of the hotel, cadging a late check-out by virtue of not leaving on time, and we headed out to lunch and then the library to use the internet (my laptop is in the shop, being de-virused by The Geek Squad), and then we started off on a tour of Central Connecticut's thrift stores.  I found five good ones in the phone book, mostly in New London and Norwich, and we started off on our journey.  I wound up finding quite a few books that I expect to sell for a profit on the internet (a great way to kill time while on the road), and after a series of twists and turns, we started out towards Marlborough, CT, home of the historic Marlborough Tavern.

We didn't get a hotel for the gig as one was not provided, and we planned on just doing the gig and driving the five and a half hours home.  We got started promptly at 8:00 P.M., and started performing for the 40-some-odd patrons in the room.  They were enjoying the show, and every so often, John, the manager (who I found to be of the stiff-upper-lip, soft spoken New Englander variety), would pop his head in the room to see how things were going, and the crowd would always get quiet, like the proctor for an exam had just caught them cheating on a test.

A little while later, at the 50-minute mark, I was closing up, planning on doing an hour, and Ray popped his head in the room and said, "Ralph, you have to get off stage NOW."  I was a little concerned because I was in the middle of an oral sex bit, and I was wondering if I had somehow crossed the line or something.  Come to find out, the booker had a headliner not show up at another gig about half an hour away, and I was being redeployed.

Ray and I piled into the car and headed to Uncasville, CT, home of the Polish American Club, where Ray and I had performed together two years ago.  We were greeted by the club manager, a gentleman whose name I forget, but face I would easily remember.  He was an electrician, and earlier in the week a transformer blew up in his face, leaving his forehead and cheeks pocked with a scarring that looked like a strawberry dipped into chocolate sauce.  He was wearing goggles, so a raccoon mask of pink flesh ringed his eyes, causing him to have a very intimidating stare.

On stage was Sheila Van Dyke, a comic out of Boston who I'd never worked with before, but had communicated on the internet with.  She was rocking the room with what turned out to be an hour of her act, and she wrapped it up and let me take the stage.  I did about 35 minutes, as requested by the booker, and closed up.  The show had started late, about 45 minutes, and then gone an hour and thirty-five, plus whatever time the mc had done.  The sound system wasn't very impressive, either; it sounded like mud coming through three pairs of panty hose.

After the show, I was shaking hands and kissing babies, selling CD's and talking to the folks, and unfortunately for me, I happened to be in earshot of the conversation between the manager and the booker's man-in-the-field, Dave.  Dave was basically being told in no uncertain terms that the manager was not satisfied with the services rendered, specifically the sound being bad, the show starting late, and the slipshod manner in which reserves were called in.  Luckily, none of this reflected on Sheila, myself, or the mc whose name I don't think I ever learned.

So now it's a regular cluster-fuck, with Dave calling the booker on his cell phone and trying to communicate his problem, and the booker insisting that he not leave until he collected the money due.  Scarred-up guy was going back and forth with another gentleman who I think might have been his brother, and his brother was advocating for the comics...we did our job, we should be paid.  At that point, I just wanted to get out of there, follow Dave back to the gig in Marlborough, and collect my money and drive home.  These situations are rarely solved properly in an evening.

So scarred-up guy starts going to the comics one by one, asking us specifically what we were supposed to be paid.  He grabbed the mc first, and the kid didn't know any better so he spilled his guts.  Sheila had money coming from another gig she had worked that was part of the budget, plus the money for this show, so she shot off a figure.  When it came to my turn, I basically just reached into my pocket and drew out the index card that Ray had scribbled his notes on back at the Marlborough Tavern...."35 minutes, $175."  I handed the card to the manager.  He took my home address and promised me a check, which was fine with me...I just wanted this manic night to be over.  Basically the three numbers he received was about half the budget for the gig, and he was pretty sure he was being overcharged.  Also, he didn't like the idea that he was paying one of the comics for a show they did somewhere else....I guess that wouldn't sit very well with me, either.

I helped Dave out with his sound gear, hoping to get him moving back to Marlborough, 30 minutes to the northeast, to collect the money, pay Ray and myself, and let us begin our five and a half hour drive home to Rochester.  While I was helping Dave load the gear into the truck, the manager's brother came out and handed me cash.  They asked me to come back into the club and sign a receipt, that I had been paid, which I did.  We headed back to Marlborough, with Dave in the truck behind us, and we got back to the Marlborough Tavern, which was closed, but with a few employees finishing up their closing duties.  Dave collected his envelope, paid Ray and myself, and we wished him well and drove back to New York.

Long story short, but I guess it's too late for that, when I got back to Rochester, I got an e-mail from the booker that basically said "Thank you for working the other gig, I'm glad you got your money, you're not supposed to talk money with the account, it's not your place, you won't be working for me again."

I've worked for this booker exactly three times in the last four years.  I guess I'm upset because none of what happened really was my fault, if anything, I'm the guy who road in on the white horse and took the place of the comic who was originally booked to close the room.  My sin was talking money with the client, who was unhappy to begin with, and bottom line, was going to argue the point that he didn't get what he paid for regardless of what he was given.  Part of the conversation that I did hear was that Dave tried to calm scarry-face down by telling him that they had already come down $75 on their commission....well, that's basically the difference between what I made closing the first gig in Marlborough and the second one in Uncasville...so they basically came down on their commission by trimming it off the headliner budget, i.e., me.

And I'm fired.

Well, again, I'm disappointed that somehow I'm the bad guy here, although I communicated with Sheila online and she was fired, too, and misery loves company, I guess.  All I know is that I responded back to the booker's e-mail in an even, respectful tone, explaining my position.  This is a business, and if you conduct business poorly, it will come back to haunt you.  The Bible says "Your sin will find you out," and if you're playing fast and loose with the budget with a client, eventually, something will happen and if you're overcharging, then you will have to explain yourself.

This week, it's off to the Pittsburgh Funny Bone, and it's the first time I'm working the club, sharing the stage with Matt Davis from Charlotte, North Carolina, and it's none of your business what I'm making!

Yours Sincerely from the Connecticut Unemployment Line,

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

 

Get In The Ring

Get In The Ring                            9006  (2216)

Tuesday, September 18, 2007-4:50 A.M.

Good morning.  I can't sleep, so I may as well blog....also, I'm getting more and more miserable about keeping this journal; life seems to be getting in the way, but that's good, right?

My week started out with a bang, courtesy of a performance at Turning Stone Casino with Great Lakes Productions' cast of Joey and Maria's Comedy Wedding.  Now, I used to perform regularly with this cast and also with the casts of their 25th Anniversary show and also the spoof show "The Soapranos," but haven't done one of these shows in years.  In their heyday, we were doing three shows a week with the wedding, so I know the show pretty well, and once we got into the swing of things, it was easy to drop right back into place, remembering the lines, the bits and the moves.  It was a lot of fun.  I played Enzo Prosciutto, the usher on the end who has a bunch of gold chains pinned inside his coat and tries to hawk them at the wedding.  I had a great time with old buddy Mike Ruiz, who flew in from New York for the show, as well as cast members new and old.  They really had a great bunch of actors working on the show and the corporate client, Kinney Drugs, were a good audience, the only criticism being that they got a little tired toward the end of the show, but that's on us; if we see them starting to flag, then we should be cutting bits and getting to the end.

Special thanks I offer to the cast of Joey and Maria's Comedy Wedding; Ken Rondo (Joey Gnocchi), Jordan Betts (Maria Cavatelli), Allison McCrossen (Viola Vermicelli), Maly Iorio (Mama Nonna Cavatelli), Adele Cuminale (Theresa Tortellini), Bill Repp (Pastor Faggioli) and Mike Ruiz (Giovanni Gnocchi) with Patrick McCann running sound.  They boosted my while I was trying to remember the show that was such a big part of my life for so many years, and I had a blast.  Thank you all!

Wednesday, I substitute hosted at the Comix Cafe for Leo DuFour and Eric Kirkland.  I'd worked with both of these fellows before, but in a managerial capacity, and it was fun sharing the stage with them.  My back and legs were still a little sore from the Joey and Maria's show because of all the running around, but my pulled groin muscle seemed to have settled in my foot, and actually the extra activity seemed to have massaged it out, so I was o.k.  That's the beauty of hosting...you only need to do about 15 minutes up front (if that) and then you can go sit down for half an hour.

Friday morning, after a series of errands, I loaded up the car and headed for the Comedy Zone in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.  I really enjoy working this particular club because the gig is in Doc Holliday's steakhouse, and they have the Harrisburg West Conference Center adjoining the building, which means the gig, the lodging and a great restaurant are all within 50 feet of each other.  Also, it's right off of route 83, so I've driven past it so many times on the way to and from other gigs that I don't even need to print out driving directions anymore.

Friday night was excellent, and I shared the stage with headliner LA Hardy and our mc was Rich Carucci, the Comedy Steamroller out of New Jersey.  We clicked as a team and I told both those guys that this was the best show I'd been a part of in a long while.  Rich has an in-your-face style of hosting and his spritzing is definitely his strong point.  LA is a seasoned veteran with a great stage presence and perfect timing, and as for me, well, I should be headlining, so I was knocking it out of the park every show.  I set a personal record for merchandise sales going back to March when I was in San Antonio, and I had to work a seven-show week to beat this week's four-show schedule.  And the money is always helpful, believe me.

Saturday I was up with the birds (those birds that get up at 10 o'clock) and out running errands.  I hit the bank, an office supply store (I won't tell you which one, but they sell staples) and the library where I used the internet while my laptop is in the shop getting de-bugged.  They were having a book sale and I picked up some interesting titles, including some religious and philosophical ones, as well as a copy of Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World" that I'd never read before but had been promising to get to.  Then I met Rich and LA for lunch and we chattered about the comedy business and our families and I enjoyed some of Doc Holliday's delicious sirloin-tip chili (one of their best items, in my humble opinion).  Then it was back to the room to grab a nap, anticipating two shows and a five-hour drive home.

The shows were great, not as energeticas the Friday early show, but good nonetheless and for our early Saturday show, we were treated to a guest spot by the area's own Sonya King, who clocked in with a quick five.  I hadn't seen here in years, but she's been working steadily all over and she was fun to pal around with.  I added a bit this week that I'd done before, but only as a stand-alone bit, and I figured out how to dovetail it into a core bit that I'd been doing, and it worked great.  And it was clean!  I always impress myself when I can add a new clean bit to the set and have it get a really strong response, which is the prize you get for trusting yourself, I think.  After the second show, the club settled up with me, I went back to my room to pack out and get ready to head home.

I rolled my luggage out to the car, tossed it in, and cursed myself for packing so quickly for this trip as I failed to bring a coat or a sweater because it was so warm during the day, and now it was down around 46 degrees and all I had was a button-up shirt to throw on over a t-shirt.  I got some heat blowing in the car and called my wife, and just before I got on the exit for route 83, I noticed my wedding ring was gone!

I hung up with her and spun back into the parking lot of the hotel/restaurant/club.  I left my room key (one of those credit card swipey numbers) on the bureau so I had to find the night manager, who was totaling up the club receipts, and ask him to cut me a new room key.  I raced back to the room and found.....nothing.  I was really starting to sweat, as I didn't want to end such a good weekend on a downer, and I started re-tracing my steps.  LA was chilling in the lounge and was yelling at me "Why are you still here?" And I told him that my wedding ring was gone and he yelled back "It's in your car!"

I decided he was probably right.  I ran back to the car, flipped on the dome light and got ready to start tearing my luggage apart, figuring the ring must be in my other pants that I had changed out of.  The ring was sitting, clear as day, on the back seat next to my bag.  I put it on, kissed it like I always do when I think about my wife, and got heading home.  What a relief! It had slipped off my finger when I was packing the car, due to two things; one, I've lost a whole lot of weight since I got married, and the ring fits loosely to begin with, and two, the cold makes my fingers shrink, and the ring has slipped off before, but usually I notice it.  I lost about 40 minutes but not my wedding ring, so I was happy to have made the sacrifice.

Today is Pamela's birthday, so if you know her, feel free to drop her a birthday wish, you can also get to her via my MySpace page (she's the first friend in my top 40, so she shouldn't be difficult to find).  She's not old, but she doesn't get carded at bars anymore, much to her chagrin, so don't tease her about having so many candles on her cake that there's only enough room to write HB instead of Happy Birthday!

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

The Song We Used To Call Wasting Time

The Song We Used To Call Wasting Time   8950  (2160)

Monday, September 10, 2007-8:45 P.M.

Hey, I'm back in New York after my hell-drive home from Charlotte, North Carolina.  Ever bust a windshield on a rental car?  I have....

So I worked Friday night in Morgantown, West Virginia, headlining with special guest Kate Brindle.  I got in early and did some laundry, as I had only packed for the last weekend in Newport News, and didn't plan on continuing on to North Carolina, but did it anyways.  I lounged around the hotel room and made it down to the club (just off the lobby of the Ramada) and was met by Larry, the house mc and an old friend.  He didn't look very happy.

Come to find out, the hotel didn't have my check.  I was basically a fill-in booking, by a week or more, not very short notice but just enough to cock things up.  I had a short chat with the folks at the front desk, and Larry, and the best we could come up with was me returning to Morgantown on my way home on Sunday (I was passing right through) and they would have my check ready.  I'm a pretty easy-going guy, so I agreed, and set off to do the show.

Kate was a little nervous, having never worked in this venue (or anywhere in West Virginia, for that matter) before.  She did a great job, got a couple of applause breaks, and got off just a minute or two shy of what was expected of her.  No problems, she's a veteran and a performer who can do the job on stage.  Now it's my turn.

Well, Larry and I talked before the show, and we were recounting the last three visits I made to Wit's End in the Ramada at Morgantown, West Virginia.  This time around, they didn't have a check for me.  The last time, my feature act got sick and I had to do the whole show myself.  The time before, they were sold out and I had to share a room with the other comic.

I let all the pressure come out on stage, and it was fantastic. 

I don't like to be the guy who crows about how great he does, but I was there, so I might as well tell the story.  I had them eating out of my hand.  I knew what they wanted, and I shoveled it at them as fast as I could.  I ad-libbed, messed with the crowd, and just gave them an avalance of punchlines.  And they loved it!  I sold a bunch of merchandise, handed out a big pile of MySpace cards (the legions are growing), and headedback to my room to settle down and get some sleepto prepare for the big 6-hour drive to Charlotte, North Carolina.

I went down for breakfast (the Ramada in Morgantown has a great hot breakfast buffet...I recommend it highly) and then headed back to my room to shower and pack.  Upon returning to my room, I got a call from the front desk.

"Mr. Tetta, how was your breakfast?"  It was the night manager from the evening before.  "Just fine" I answered.  "I have some good news" she said.  "We have your check, so make sure you stop by the desk before you check out."

Now, not bragging or anything, but if I didn't destroy that room the night before, they wouldn't have gone through all the trouble to get me my check.  Matter of fact, if I ate it, they would have stiffed me on the Sunday and just mailed it to me.  But I got people hopping, and the next day, they were STILL talking about my performance.

Saturday night, it was night and day.  I cashed my check and made the drive with time to spare, and was feeling pretty good about my luck that day.  The luck dried up at the Belmont Comedy Zone at Starz Tavern, which was a great room the last time I played it.  The only thing that changed was the audience, which got real "red-necky" this time around, and they weren't hecklers, but they thought the show should be a conversation, which is great, but that's not the way I wrote my part of it.

Headliner Kerry White was great, and it was great to see him again, and I was working with the mc, Jared Burton, for the first time.  Second show was the nightmare, as a rumble broke out about something Kerry said about religion, and long story short, four police cars.

This week should be a little tamer, as I appear at the Harrisburg, PA Comedy Zone with Mike Veneman, a great comic and an old friend.  In between, I have a "Joey and Maria's Comedy Wedding" show at Turning Stone Casino, and a night as the fill-in mc at my home club, the Comix Cafe, so it's a mixed bag of performances, but enough to keep me busy.

Oh, and the cracked windshield?  Yeah, I caught a rock in the windshield last Friday and was pissed that I didn't take the extra insurance, but when I turned the car in today, the guy said "Oh, we don't care about glass" so I ran away like I stole the car.  Hertz is officially back on the "good boy bench" as far as I'm concerned.

If you have a little spare time and you don't mind integrating a little religion into your life, say a prayer for Buffalo Bills tight end Kevin Everett who got injured in yesterday's game against the Denver Broncos and may never walk again.

Best,

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Power of Positive Drinking

Power of Positive Drinking                                        8918  (2128)

Thursday, September 6, 2007-3:50 P.M.

Well, good afternoon from Garner, North Carolina, where I'm sitting in a McDonald's using their brand-new Wayport Internet service.  It's $2.95 for two hours of internet, but when you can't find a Panera Bread or a public library, it's just the ticket for browsing the web or as us road comics call it, "our day job."

I'm right around the corner from my sister's house, and I'm meeting her and her husband for dinner tonight.  It will be the first time I've seen her since before my father died, and I'm looking forward to the visit.  Hopefully, the conversation won't get too heavy...I'm not really in the mood for it today.

I last checked in on Saturday, before the Saturday evening shows at Cozzy's Comedy Club in Newport News, Virginia.  The first show was pretty sedate, a non-smoking crowd full of folks who wanted to chat, so chat I did.  Straight comedy wasn't impressing them at all, they wanted to discuss things.  It was as annoying as a husband and wife trying to converse when he wants intercourse and she wants to talk about feelings.

Second show, they wanted straight sex, no foreplay.  I said something bitchy about some guy who was drinking a Jaeger bomb, which to the uninitiated, is Jaegermeister dropped into a glass of Red Bull energy drink.  It's God-awful, and I called the guy a pussy and told him "real men don't drop their liquor in soda pop."  So, here comes the Jaeger shot with the Red Bull, courtesy of faggy drinking guy.  I downed the shot and returned the can of Red Bull, unopened, to the server.  "I drink whiskey!" I thundered, and six shots of Jack Daniels' later, I was declaring war on West Virginia and trying to get the Virginia National Guard to go with me.  And to show you what sweethearts the gang at Cozzy's are, the last shot was watered down....thank God....after 5 shots of whiskey and a Jaeger, who knows what a sixth one would have done?  Good looking out Jimmy, you English bastard (Jimmy is the limey bartender at Cozzy's....good guy, but pushes the cocktails like he's on commission).

The next morning, I paid for my indiscretions with a blood sugar count of 300...the proper range is between 90 and 120, if you're keeping score.  I had only a mild buzzing in my skull, not a full hangover, but I wasn't going to play three rounds of racquetball, either.  I took it easy, getting laundry done as I stayed as a guest of the club in their comedy condo (also known as Karen's house).  Karen spent most of the time sleeping, so it was easy for me to stay out of her way.

Monday, I spent most of the day killing time, screwing around on the internet and capping the day off with a six-episode [Scrubs] marathon.  I managed, thanks to the TV section of the Sunday paper, to find six episodes of Scrubs on three different stations thorughout the day, with only a half-hour break to watch Futurama (another of my favorite shows).

Tuesday, it was back to the road and a six-hour drive to Lake Norman, North Carolina and the Comedy Zone room in the Galway Hooker.  I was working with headliner Just June, who I work with a lot, and I had a fun show.  I did a bit on stage for the twelve or so audience members, basically asking them if they wanted to hear my normal comedy act, or would they indulge me in telling a story?  They opted for the story.....had they seen my act before?

Wednesday, I headed over to Greenville, North Carolina, home of the University of East Carolina.  The gig at Tie Breakers was fun, there were about 60 people there, which was quadruple the attendance the last time I played there.  June knocked it out of the park, and I was no slouch, if I do say so myself, although it's getting harder and harder for me to do only 25 minutes.

The highlight of this morning was finding out a little prank my good friend Steve Burr pulled on me....while my laptop computer was unattended, he changed some of my toolbar favorites to porn sites, and didn't change the icons.  Boy, was I surprised when I tried to Google something!  The funny thing was, I was looking for information about Bill Clinton, and I wound up seeing a girl with a cigar.....truth is stranger than fiction, I guess.

Friday I'm back to headlining at the room in Morgantown, West Virginia with feature act Kate Brindle.  Kate's a good kid and we've worked together a bunch before, so I'm looking forward to some good-natured tomfoolery, or in other words, I'll make off-color remarks, and Kate will scrunch her nose and make a face at me like if she smelled something bad.  Look out, Morgantown!

Saturday, it's back to Belmont, North Carolina, just outside of Charlotte, where the weekend has dried up from Thursday through Saturday to just the Saturday.  It's a small club, and the last time I was there, I did really well, so I'm happy to be going back.  The last time I was there, I was with Robert York, the cowboy juggling comedian, and this time I'm with Just June.  I'm starting to feel like a Comedy Zone All-Star!

I'm semi-dreading the 12-hour drive home, but I've gone longer and the weather's mostly nice, so I just need to keep my head down and plow, and try not to dawdle in the morning.  If I can get moving by 7 or 8, I can do the whole drive in daylight, and that will make a big difference, I think.  Also, I spared myself the Labor Day traffic by not going home last week, although I've become pretty homesick.  Maybe if I'm lucky, I can listen to some football on the radio while I'm driving.  That sattelite radio package is looking better by the day.

O.K., that's me out.  Have a good one and enjoy the rest of the summer weather before it splits.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

The Promised Land

The Promised Land                               8873  (2083)

Saturday, September 1, 2007-2:40 P.M.

Good afternoon from Newport News, Virginia, home of Cozzy's Comedy Club.  I'm seated in a cubicle at the NN Public Library, which among other things, provides us wireless interntet users a place to park our laptops.  I'm checking e-mail and droning away on MySpace, like any good road comic with fuck-all else to do on a Saturday afternoon.

I got home from Florida safely and made my way directly to bed, courtesy of the fact that I can't sleep on airplanes.  I tried, and I wore my hoodie to cover my eyes and I actually slept a little bit, but not enough to really feel refreshed.  I had a big cup of coffee with breakfast, and all that did was give me an underlying buzz, like a small snooze alarm in my head parked behind both ears.  Just enough to keep me rattling and away from blessed slumber.

I slept until my internal clock reminded me that I was hosting open mic at the Comix Cafe in less than an hour, and I jumped in the shower and got ready.  I managed to pull a groin muscle wrestling around with fellow comic Steve Burr in the Jokeboy's comedy condo, and it still hurts today, roughly a week later.  I had always heard about groin pulls in the sports world, mostly football players out on injury, but never knew they were so damaging.  I figured the injury would be proportionate to the size of your groin, but that's not the case....mine goes from just under my left nut to just below my left knee....and I guarantee you, I'm being taxed well into the next bracket on that one.

I appeared at the Comix Cafe the next night as well, as they are saving money on high-priced radio talent Tommy Mule in favor of more afordable talent such as myself.  I had a good time working with old friends Valarie Storm and Ross Bennett, who I have had the pleasure of working with before, and while Ross labored under his old stage name, Eddie Strange. 

I was supposed to work the weekend, but a headlining opportunity arose at Cozzy's Comedy Club here in Newport News.  I hadn't worked at Cozzy's in quite some time, and wanted to get back in.  Come to find out, I had been deleted from the roster due to my name appearing on the website of a competing club that was open in the area for a very short time.  Needless to say, I never worked at that club, and I was blackballed for no good reason, but I was offered as a replacement this week and accepted, so my exile must be over.  And that was funny to me, too, because the booker told me that the original headliner couldn't work the weekend because "his wife wouldn't let him."  Now, I'll be honest, my wife's gotten awfully spoiled this summer with me being home so much, but I don't know that I'd ever let her forbid me to work.  That would be cause for a guy to up and get his own place, let me tell you what.

So I rented a car, as my wife needed access to our vehicle this weekend, and I got a nice Kia Spectra to drive.  It's a peach, and good on gas, not that I need it so much this weekend.  Gas here in Virginia is running $2.44 a gallon, quite a change from the $2.89 a gallon I left in Rochester.  I drove all night Thursday to get through Washington D.C. (the worst traffic jam in America) before Friday morning, knowing full well that it's Labor Day Weekend and traffic was going to be double.  I got to Petersburg, Virginia, and parked at a rest area for a three-hour nap.  I didn't crack my windows at all for safety reasons and I didn't run the air conditioning to save on gas, and the morning sun roasted me like a rotisserie chicken.  Not fun.

I worked last night with Richmond comic Ray Bullock, a guy I'd never met before, but clicked immediately with a pre-show discussion of movies, television and literature.  He drove back home so we didn't get to pal around today, which would have been cool.  I'm out on lunch right now, checking e-mail and MySpace and if I don't go around and do some junking looking for books at thrift shops, I might just go back to the condo and rest.  But before I do, I'm gassing up and I'm planning on stopping at the comic book shop over by the club to see if they have any Teen Titans Go! back issues for my nephew William, so I'll have a nice afternoon before I have to start getting ready for two shows tonight.

Next week is a tour of North Carolina with a stop in West Virginia, and then a few weeks of gigs in Pennsylvania and Connecticut, closer to home.  It feels good to be getting back into my "road comic" routine.  Home is great, but when you work on the road, you want to be on the road.

God knows the desire of your heart, and trust in him for all things.

Peace,

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Those Shoes

Those Shoes                                                  8808  (2018)

Saturday, August 25, 2007-2:10 A.M.

It feels pretty gay to tell a shoe-shopping story, but I'm gonna do it.

I'm in Ocala, Florida, home of Jokeboy's Comedy Club (www.jokeboys.com) and nestled snugly into the two bedroom comedian condo with comedy buddy Steve Burr, my partner in crime this week (www.steveburrcomedy.com).  Steve's been complaining that his MySpace page is far outgaining the hits on his regular site, so be a friend and look at his website today...it will cheer him up.

When last I wrote, I had one more show to do in Reading, PA at the Reading Comedy Outlet, and I'm happy to report that the show went fine, even though the crowd was overly happy to respond to every joke I attempted to tell with a little addition of their own.  I eagerly finished my set and turned the stage over to Auggie Cook (www.AuggieCook.com) and went back to my hotel room to pack.  I must have misjudged the time, though, because I started back to the club to try and sell some merchandise, and wound up walking through the crowd as they were leaving the club.  I still managed to move a few pieces, which was encouraging.  It's hard, I think, to enjoy a comedy show when others in the crowd are heckling and making the show a living nightmare for the comic.  It's like assholes who sit up near the projector at the movie theater and keep sticking their hand in front of the lens...you just want to slap the shit out of them.

I drove home in the evening fog, courtesy of a hot day and a cold night.  I wound up taking a strange detour to Allentown, PA, a little out of my way but a nicer, more well-lit road home.  I stopped by my brother's house and dropped off a comic book for my nephew, which he enjoys quite a bit.  It was 4:30 in the morning when I hit Syracuse, so I killed my headlights, rolled quietly up the driveway, and dumped the bag with the comic on my brother's enclosed front porch.  I called him the next day and he collected it along with themorning paper, and I was glad that it didn't just get trampled over as they left the house.

So what about the shoes?

Sunday was a sleep day and Monday was a packing and preparation day for my Tuesday morning flight to Florida.  I was rocking the new contact lenses and they were dried out as hell by the time I landed in Orlando.  I met Steve at the airport as we were lucky enough to coordinate our flights so that his plane from Los Angeles and my plane from Rochester landed within half an hour of each other.  We rented a car and started off north to Ocala.

Steve had very little sleep, having been in the air since 10 o'clock the night before, and I was pretty red-eyed with only about four hours of sleep under me, and we were heading up the 441 when Steve decided to pull a little trick on me.  We were stopped in four lanes of traffic at a light, and Steve honked the car horn and used his driver's controls to roll my window down.  Needless to say, I looked over and caught the glare of two Hispanic girls who were none too amused.  The driver, a hard-faced young lady who looked like she just got off shifts flipping mattresses at the EconoLodge, rolled her toothpick to one side of her mouth, bobbed her head and said "What do you want?"  Actually, she only said two of those words, connected by the word "chew."  Ah, you gotta love the Latinas.

I tried to scavenge as much dignity as I could in the situation, and I said "Sorry, my friend thought you were someone else" to which the girl replied "Yeah, well you look like Peter Pan" which I didn't completely understand.  Then she rolled her window up and back down and then said "You look like a big polar bear" which I guess is a crack at me being big and white, or maybe a comment on the salmon that I was eating that I had just flipped out of the river with my paw.  I sheepishly turned to Steve and said "You can roll my window up now" which made him laugh, because obviously I was too tired to realize that I could have done that anytime I wanted to.  Cute little prank, eh?

We stopped for some lunch and made the drive the rest of the way to Ocala, and stopped by the club to get some directions to the condo, and the keys.  We got the envelope with the keys and directions, but the directions might as well have been a recipe for blueberry muffins, because all they did was make us lost, sweaty and mad.  We finally figured out where we were supposed to be and got settled in, and after unpacking, showering and getting into clean clothes, we both definitely felt better.

O.K., so what about the shoes?

The next morning, we shipped out for Destin, Florida.  It was about a 5 1/2 hour trip, but we traveled up onto the panhandle of Florida, and gained an hour by virtue of passing into the Central Time Zone.  I was so happy to pick up that extra hour, though, because it meant I was able to have a nice nap.  We met early at the Sportsbook Grill and bar, right across the parking lot from the Best Western, and had a little dinner before the show.  Or, I should say, we had dinner before the little show.  The audience was cobbled together from a small amount of folks who had actually come out for the show, members of the restaurant's softball team who elected to stick around, and some folks that were in the bar that the manager decided to comp.  It wound up actually being a very good show, but it was clear that with shabby turnouts like this one, the venue isn't going to be doing comedy very long, and that's a shame, because it was a nice place with a good stage, lights and sound.

The next day, Steve and I hit the road good 'n' early, courtesy of a schedule from hell.  Steve was booked to open for Josh Blue from Last Comic Standing at the auditorium in Ocala for a 7:30 show, and we had the six hour journey, a missing hour courtesy of crossing the time zone, and the basic creature need of getting back home to shower, iron clothes and maybe eat something.  We hit the road early and drove into the sun, and before long, my left contact lens started drying out and basically did everything except shrivel up, jump out of my eye and stick to my cheek.  I drove into a hurricane-spawned severe thunderstorm with one camera on standby...you ever drive a car 80 miles per hour with one eye closed?  It's a treat, let me tell ya.

The thunderstorm was so severe, the radio station we were listening to actually cut away from the song they were playing to go to the Emergency Broadcasting System.  I'm 40 years old and I've never heard anything other than a test from them.  The sky darkened and it rained, but the worst of it was south of us, and I sped down route 10 as fast as possible, and once I hit 75 south, the skies were sunny and clear.

We got home, and everything went off without a hitch.  Our mc, Chase Holliday, opened the show and I guess he upset some of the seniors from the Villages retirement community that came out (in a big bus, no less) for the show.  He asked if they were drinking and they said yes, and he said "Go ahead, the AARP is paying for it" and even though it got him a round of boos, I didn't think it was that offensive.  But some tight-ass called in, and that's a shame, because he was definitely not deserved of such harsh criticism.

Great....how about the damn shoes, already?

Steve got back before I hit the stage, and we both turned in our sets, and did the basic after-show hand-shaking and product-hawking that has become the norm in our business.  Josh came over from the auditorium to take a look at the club, and we chatted for a few minutes.  He was nice enough, but didn't have much to say.  He was heading to Atlanta, and I'm sure after winning LCS, he's probably had his fill of fawning comics, comedy clubs and everyone else that wants to kiss his ass.

Friday was beat, except for the shoes (I'm getting to it, hold on, OK?).  Steve and I set out for radio, early, early in the morning.  We literally had to get up at 7 AM and drive to Gainesville, which is a full hour away.  We got to the Buzz 100.5 FM studios and did about 20 minutes on the Mojo and Leigh Scott morning show, and they were pleasant enough and the spot went well.  After getting back home, we unwound for a few hours (I slept, I don't know what Steve did), and then we went back out looking for lunch and to run some errands.

Well, suffice to say that we continued our lousy trend of getting lost on the winding streets of Ocala and their highways and state roads that all seem to run concurrent of each other and then split off like they were diagrammed by a dyslexic electician.  Steve wanted to get a pair of Converse sneakers, but he was looking for the old-style white ones, not the black Chuck Taylor ones that are fairly ubiquitous.  So we happened into Shoe Carnival, and while Steve was looking around, I headed back to a rack marked "Clearance" to see what they had.  I take a size 13, and they had a pair of Rockports, brown, and a nice looking pair of shoes, I might add.  They were originally $89.99, and I've never paid that much for a pair of shoes in my life, and I never will.  But they were marked down to $49.00, and that's a $40.00 savings.

Now, I'm generally a frugal man when it comes to such things.  I don't make a lot of money doing standup comedy, but I know a deal when I see one.  And I had to think hard on this purchase.  I flipped a coin, measured the weight in my mind, and finally picked them up and headed to the sales counter.  On the way, I noticed that one of the shoes was missing a lace.  A brown lace, for a brown shoe.

I met Adam, the store manager, and I said "Adam, I am interested in these shoes from your clearance rack, but I notice that one of 'em is missing a lace.  What can we do about this?"  I figured Adam would conjure up a pair of laces, hand me one, toss out the spare and chalk it up to the cost of doing business.  But I guess that must have been ruled out when the price was slashed so severely on June 1st, 2007, the date of the first clearance sticker on the box.

Adam looks at me, looks at the shoes, and with the soul of a used-car dealer says, "Listen here. I don't have any brown laces, but I will mark these down to $29.99 and you can get yourself a pair somewhere else, Wal*Mart or somewhere, deal?"  $30.89 later, your pal Ralphie is walking out of Shoe Carnival with some kickin' waterproof Rockports.  So now the fun begins.  We headed over to Wal*Mart, and no brown laces in stock.  We headed to the Paddock Mall, and hit every store that had shoes, but no brown laces.  The first shoe store actually had an "orphan" box of laces, and I asked the clerk to hold on to a pair that were flat, not round, but just a little shorter than the original laces.  After a day's walk through the mall, Steve had acquired a pair of white Converse All-Stars and I headed back to Shoe World or whatever the name of the store was to retrieve my brown laces.  The clerk, a strawberry-blonde-haired beauty, handed me the laces, and I said "What's the damage?" to which she replied "Take them.  They don't have a bar code so I wouldn't know what to charge you anyway."

I wore them on stage tonight, and they looked and felt great.  $90.00 Rockports for $30.00.  I doubt that even my lovely wife, Pammey "Discount" Davis, could have done a better job.  And she'll try running a coupon through a Coke machine if nobody's looking.  And that's the first and last shoe story that you'll ever get out of me, I promise!

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

 

Cinderella Man

Cinderella Man                                                8747  (1957)

Saturday, August 18, 2007-11:15 A.M.

Boy, I will be one happy camper when summer is over.  Comedy in the summer BLOWS.

You can tell that I'm not that much into the summer as I've only been blogging once a week or so....that's a far cry from my original goal of "every day" which I quickly learned is a ridiculous goal.

So last Friday, Steve Natarelli and I ventured up into Niagara Falls, on the U.S. side, and did guest spots at Fatboy's Comedy Club, where I was actually supposed to be headlining for money all this past week.  The show drew exactly six people, and then some more folks trickled in, including a group of folks who were just going out to get a drink, not necessarily looking for comedy, but to commemorate the one year anniversary of their mother's passing.  Fun times, eh?  With six people in the audience, we decided to do some time for them anyway, because they made the trip out and nobody wanted to cancel.

"Evil Jim" from one of the Buffalo radio stations went on first after mc Bernie Rice rolled out ten minutes of the "I'm getting killed over here!" stock lines.  I don't know how much time or money he had invested in the club, but he wasn't making any of it back that night.  Jim turned in a short set, not very emotional but almost like in a "let's get this thing over with" sort of way.  I went up, same crowd, and did half an hour like I was taping a live album.  I started out doing some improv, but they really wanted to hear jokes, so I did my act, peppering it with conversation.  The thing I was sure they wouldn't buy was exactly what they wanted.  Live and learn, I guess.

Steve did his show and then closer James Middleton, who supposedly has been around forever but who I'd never heard of before, did his 20 minutes and got off, and then it was back to Rochester for Steve and myself.  It's important to get those comedy repetitions in or the muscles of the mind go soft.

Sunday I made the scene at Boulder Coffee Company and my wife got a little cranky that I was going, thinking that it should be a "family night."  Well, I've had so much time off this summer, *every* night is a family night!  I need to WORK!  I'm starting to feel like one of those humps in the movie "Cinderella Man" lined up at the docks and they only need nine guys, but there's 150 guys standing there.  Enough, already!

Anyway, the set was good enough....I found an old set list, circa 1995 or so, and I blew the dust off about half the bits and they still played.  I need to start investigating some of my old tapes and see if there are bits that I've forgotten or that have fallen into disuse and can be rejuvenated.  New material is great, but I've already done the work on a lot of stuff over the last 19 years, and I shouldn't let that work go to waste.

Tuesday, I hosted open mike at the Comix Cafe, and it was a "fuck or fight" crowd, complete with two young, drunk heckler chicks sitting in the front row, except for when they were running outside to smoke.  It was disruptive for them to keep getting up so many times during the show, but at least it was a small respite from the one girl's constant yelling out of "Hey-YO!" which the last I looked was an Ed McMahon catchprase from the old Johnny Carson show which went off the air when this bitch was six years old.  One of the open micers brought his buddies from work, and they basically talked through everyone's set and then left as soon as he was done.  There was absolutely no ettiquette to be found, and very exasperating to say the least.  The kid was all juiced that he had friends coming, but that's the worst thing you can do when you're new in the business...friends in the audience don't help, they make you nervous, and when you bomb (and all new guys bomb), you have to hear it from them at your day job/school/wherever you know these humps from.  Not a very good combination.

Wednesday, I was running errands all day and had settled down to get ready for some dinner, when the bell rang for Yours Truly as a call came in from the Comix Cafe.  Seems their regular host, WCMF's Tommy Mule was on vacation or something and couldn't make it, and how soon could I be there?  Showtime was 8:30, and it was five after eight, and I made it there with three minutes to spare.  It was nice to pick up the extra money, especially since my pay for running open mic Tuesdays had been cut.  Well, the Wednesday show was more of the same from Tuesday, almost like the Tuesday audience had trained the Wednesday people how to act, and even though we were working on the main stage, in a room with proper lighting, pre-show music and the like, they were still a little rowdy and inattentive, until I started shouting at them, which got them focused.  Matt Bergman, our feature this week, and Bob Jay, our headliner, both turned in admirable sets but the 140 folks in the room were a tough sell.

One of the funniest moments of the night was after the show, I was hanging out in the lounge with Matt as he was peddling his comedy CD to interested audience folks, and traffic at his table was so light, at one point, a guy playing billiards nearby set his beer glass down on Matt's table while he was shooting.  I guess since it looked like nobody was using the table that there was no harm done.  Matt laughed it off and I promised him that this would go in the blog, and here it is.  Ta Da!

Friday I returned to the road for my first actual sleepover gig in what seems like months (actually five weeks) and headed out to Reading, Pennsylvania, home of the Reading Comedy Outlet.  It's a five hour drive from Rochester, unless you count construction delays, and then it turns into six or more.  I ran into a hassle on the route 80 heading east and decided to four-wheel it on some back roads, and lucked myself into a route that dove-tailed right into 61 south, which heads right into Reading.  I had plenty of time to get ready for the 9 PM show, treating myself to a shave and a hot shower...my back insisted on reminding me that six hour drives are a young man's game, and I'm not in that age class anymore.  Hot water always seems to do the trick for me, though, and I'm suspicious that a lot of it might actually be in my mind.

We had a decent turnout for the show, and afterwards, headliner Auggie Cook and I compared notes; it seemed that the crowd was awfully fickle as to what they would respond to, and I noticed early that dirty material was not so much what they wanted, so I worked away from it, and actually still wound up doing some sexual material, but "walked around" the topic, which they appreciated.  I had applause breaks and silence in the same set!  It was very weird, to say the least.

One last note....gas here is $2.56!  I paid $2.69 when I got off of route 80 and thought I was the king, and then saw it at WaWa for 13 cents cheaper!  I'm tempted to go buy a very large gas can and fill'er up for the ride home back to Rochester, home of $2.94 unleaded and you have to be a wholesale club member to get THAT.

Alright.  One more show tonight and then it's back home for a couple of days before I return to Florida, and some decent-paying road work....plus, my second airline flight of the year....whoo-HOO!  Cramped seat, recycled air and luke-warm beverage service, HERE I COME!

Up The Irons!

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY

Motorhead

Motorhead                 8663  (1863)

Friday, August 10, 2007-3:15 A.M.

"I should be tired/but all I am is wired/ haven't felt this good in an hour."

It's another week of summer under-employment as the Ralph Tetta North American comedy tour takes another brief hiatus.  I was originally supposed to perform in Niagara Falls, New York this weekend, but the club went dark for the summer due to lackluster crowds despite being the only game on the U.S. side of the border.  So I replaced it with a gig in Charleston, South Carolina, and then that gig imploded slightly, forcing me to cancel it, and now I have the weekend off.  I'm going to Niagara Falls tonight anyway, as I understand they are mounting one semi-pro show to give the open micers a place to work out, so I'm going to support, and will tread the boards if given the offer.  I'll be making the trek with Steve "The Nuclear Guy" Natarelli, who was kind enough to offer to pick me up on his way west.  It should be an interesting time as two "old guys" bust in on the young turks of Buffalo comedy looking to show them what-for.

Tuesday, I hosted the open mic at Comix Cafe in Rochester, and we had our usual selection of talent represented...I'm amazed sometimes at the 20-or-so comics who will show up every week or every other week or so, it's always a good mix.  We have ordained ministers, older folks, college kids, college-aged kids who never went, African immigrants, teachers, strippers, drug addicts and magicians who show up every week, vying for the cash prize or their part of the stage, their time to shine, to live their show-biz dreams.

And then there's Dr. Will.

Dr. Will is a guy who I'm pretty sure is not a real doctor, or if he is, there is more wrong with our health care system in the United States than the manner in which we pay for services.  He comes out most every week, signs up, and then almost always draws the last number, or near the last, and then sits on a bar stool near the door, like a bouncer ready to check I.D.'s, and once in a while, he disappears into the parking lot, possibly to get high as many a comic has joked before.

This week, we had ten comics and about the same number of patrons, and I wasn't going to green-light the festivities until I got word from the owner.  After all, he would have to supply the winner of the open mic contest a cash prize, and pay me for my services for the evening, a budget of about $75, on top of payroll for the club.  We got the O.K. to run with a truncated cash prize, $25 rather than $50, and we were off to the races.  I was happy; I had to cancel last week when we had 14 comics and six patrons, and I needed the money.  Some folks had gotten back to me that they felt I canceled because I "didn't feel" like doing a show, but there's nothing farther from the truth.  I do comedy for a living, not as a hobby, and I need the stage time as well as the income.  Believe me, summer has been shabby enough this year that I've had plenty of time to bond with my family, I need to balance it out with some work.

So we ran the open mic, and Dr. Will drew number ten out of ten....last.  While performer number nine was on stage, Will came over to me and asked to scratch his name off the list, but somewhere during number nine's set, Will decided he wanted back on.  Two weeks previous, he had scratched his name off the set list and did not perform.  I don't know his rhyme or reason, but I respect it regardless.

So Will goes up tenth, and goes over his time by almost double, but I let him go because we were on schedule, he was last, and he was doing what I thought was his closing bit.  But he was dragging it out, repeating a lot of things, and just generally trying to get milk out of a rock...it just wasn't happening.  I didn't care that he was last, Joel the bartender and I (the judges) had already determined the winner and Dr. Will was going to have to have a far superior set to win the money, and at the five-minute mark, he hadn't scored enough points to make it into the top three, if we had such a thing.

After the show was concluded, I announced the winner (not Will), and one of the comics on the show (who I had scored in the top three but not the winner), took me to the side and wanted to speak in private regarding my viewing and critiquing a tape he had made at another show.  When we returned to the lounge from the back showroom, Will had barracaded himself in the men's room (a one-seater) and was hammering on the fixtures and fighting Joel and Gary, one of the club's security guys who had stopped in because the club's softball team's game had gotten rained out.

I had to call 911, and by the time I explained the situation to the operator, Will was out of the bathroom and moving to the exit.  I called off the police, and thanked the operator for her time.  Then, someone came running in and yelled "They're fighting in the parking lot!"  Luckily, when I called the 911 center, I got the same operator I had just spoken to, and she dispatched officers to the scene.  Long story short (or is it too late for that?), four Brighton police officers responded and the cute blonde female officer went to question me while the three white male cops went to go talk to Will, the scary, bald-headed black man.  Suffice to say, another fledgling comedy career has been nipped in the bud as Will has been barred from the premises, and that's sad because just three weeks ago, Will was quizzing me as to what he had to do to get on stage in the main room on the weekend.  I'm pretty sure I told him that he had to have strong material that he did week after week, instead of going on stage and ranting, but I guess that sounded like "Lock yourself in the bathroom and bash on the fixtures, and then get in a fistfight in our parking lot."  A lot of people don't know this, but that's exactly how Brian Regan got started.  And then his brother Dennis Regan rode on his coattails, but that's another story.

Wednesday, Pammey's family had a mini-reunion, as folks from her mother's side of the family converged on Rochester, and we had a nice cookout.  It was a good day for it, clear with just a little wind, and we had a great time.  I worked the grill all day, and then had to leave around six o'clock to start heading east to Geneva, New York, for a one-night engagement at the Ramada Inn.  I brought a change of clothing, but it wasn't until I got in the car that I smelled how smokey I smelled, having stood in front of the grill all day sacrificing beef patties and white hots to the gods of lighter fluid.  I called ahead to the Ramada and asked about being able to use a shower in one of the meeting rooms (they always have the full bathroom in there), and they said they were sold out so they didn't know what they had available, but when I arrived, they let me into a guest room and I was able to shower up and dress and still had time to watch two episodes of SCRUBS (my favorite show these days).

The gig was fun, mostly older folks, about 90 of them, gathered together at the Ramada for some event called "Farm Days" (don't ask me) and they were very receptive.  The headliner, Tom Anzalone, who goes by the title "The Worst Musical Comedian Ever" had a great show, and it was good working with him again.

So now I'm basically dry-docked, except for tomorrow, until next week when it's my triumphant return to the Reading Comedy Outlet in Reading, Pennsylvania.  I haven't played there in a couple of years (and no clue why the hiatus in re-booking me) but the important thing is that I'm back and I'll enjoy the big, fluffy pillows at the Sheraton and all of the culture and nightlife that Reading offers (meaning our show, and then hang out in the lounge and watch young Hispanic people dancing to songs I've never heard of).

Peace be with you all!  Zweigle's White Hots rule!  (Google it if you don't know!)

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY