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