Business

I have a million things to do, a variety of projects started, in medias res, near completion. For whatever confluence of reasons I find myself blocked on all of them. My only desire is to be a social businessman. To manage those within my sphere of influence, making them more productive as they do the work I wish to have done.

This realization makes me quite nervous. Getting old is a killer (ha ha) but now I fear I have lost the creative energy necessary to do virtually any project. Will I be reduced only to being a middle-man? Which is not to say that position is not perhaps more powerful than that of the artist. When you are young you believe in the unique qualities of your work. Past 40, hell, it really is was and for ever shall be virtually all the same. Just as valuable to collaborate, to be in charge, to direct. This is my future. Delegation. Control.

Yesterday I spent mostly with Hala - a Syrian princess (of sorts). But like having a child! Tempermental, drastic, high maintenance, needing attention. Typical arabic behavior. My lord. She does paint well, incredibly well. So I engaged her, challenged her to think like a business person. At the same time my manager, Remy Weber, sent me to Matthew Guy gallery. To sell my films, not as movies, but as art. Much smarter, hence he is my manager. They were quite receptive at the gallery. Bully for me, bully for my business.

The Opposite of Evil?

This is a bit of a story, so hang in there.

So, I've having a sight unseen Internet date at French Roast, 11th St at Sixth Av. One pm. I arrive. I get a table by the door. Date is late. Other woman, comes in, older than date, VERY HOT. Comes right up to me. " Hi, are you waiting for me?" - with a very appealling I want to sit here smile. I say, well, I actually am expecting someone - and she goes "Oh, you have an appointment, so do I!" My God, she was hot. Maybe 55, but didn't look a day over 40. So I go, why not sit down there, pointing to the next table. You know how close the next table is in New York.

So before my date comes we talk. and talk and talk. She's not American, she's european. She lived in Paris. She draws naked models. I instantly got her phone number. No bra, plenty of exposure. She stayed and smile as my date came. Thank God my date more then held her own. I will, I'm sure see my date in the future. I go to see older woman today, at 1pm. Her place.

Not what you think! You dogs. We are going to the galleries together. I have to sell my movie, which Remy Weber - keyboardist for the Teenage Prayers- says is not a movie, and hence will not sell as a movie. It is a work of art, for galleries. So off I go. He can be my business manager. He has good instincts. Plus, he knows all the people who sell their "movies" in the galleries.

Then I play music tonight with Chris on the sax. After that, I have to go to the Stain Bar, everyone is invited, in Brooklyn, to hear my friend Chiam's band, Benecio and the Del Toro's.

Do you really think we will make it to the galleries?

Oh My God

My world is collapsing. My comedy career is being whipped and beaten by the cancellation of Delfino's show on Sunday at the reasonable hour of 8. Substitute venues are later, past my bedtime. Last night I tarried to the Bowery Poetry Club for the open mic show at 10. It's a great show, but I was slated to go up at 2am and I hung on till after midnight - unfulfilled. This entire day will encapsulate my punishment - nausea, tired, cranky.

My LA gf seems not to like sex. This is going to be a problem. The symptoms were all there before during and after our hook-up in LA. She kept saying, that's too much sex - this just hours after saying "I haven't had sex in over a year!" There's more, but it's nobody else's business. Anyway, this is crushing my little LA/NY routine about girls. The blush is off it. Am being to reassess european babes. No jokes, but at least they like sex. Comedy does not translatee, which, actually, may make my routine easier. She'll never come to the shows.

Am thoroughly unemployed for like the next 3 weeks. might as well go file. Meanwhile, committed to spending money as fast as I can. Go figure.

Piano playing is better, but when I listen to it recorded, it's not there yet. for a minute or two every now and then.

My editor is abandoning me.

I could go on, but why?

Day Off

Blog blog blog. Who really cares besides me? Anyway, I hate writing. boring, unless I'm deep into a story and cranking away and really only writing. Still boring - and tiring! - but at least then gratifying. You sit down, you see results. That simple.

I am tempted almost to write about my personal life here. It's just - well, I lived it. do I want to recount it now? Isn't that a waste of time, rephrased, a waste of opportunity that now, this moment, I could be doing something else? Fresh, new, unknown, unlike a rehash of yesterday's band concerts, piano playing -unfortunately I still think it sounds better when I'm playing it, dinner with friends at a Thai place, etc. Phone calls. Fill in the blanks.

Each day I play the piano I get better. so what I want to have is an affair with an Aries woman (per Chaim) who wants to come over and play the piano. Like today, I played the melody line of a Led Zepplin song, the first little bit. They did not write that melody. It is a much older melody, very beautiful, the work of many hands. It was old when it got to Willie Dixon.

I had a teacher who said you could get an A two ways. Either the paper everyone writes all the time, but do it better, or write a new one. Zep is the first example - all great bands start there, and morph to the second. Gotta go, gonna put on Jumping Jack Flash, live c 1973 and see what it sounds like.

All I want to do is yell at peopl

All I want to do is yell at people

You first! Fuck you to everyone who makes my life miserable. Either you are on my side or you are not. Ha Ha. Think that will quiet the audience? You decide when your silence is a necessary antidote, or just another realization that I am always right.

Why can I say that? Because I can back it up.

Here’s the opening of my comedy routine.

I come out with a piano. I go. Pianos blah blah blah. But I’m not good on that filler yet, I tend to get right to the point. The piano is racist. You got your black keys and your white keys. Totally different. You can play one set but not the other. No one can. So you have to decide: Black or white. Okay, you decide, black or white?
and then you play the audience until you get them yelling
and then you play the choice.


and yes, peopl

Shant is a Word!

Well, what lengths one must go to, just to rile people. But you know it's all true.

Why would I spend time and considerable energy going on about my faults? No one cares but me. Your faults, whoever you are in this nameless placeless god-forsaken dump -- your faults are comedy. Should I go on that some people think I am irrythmic on the piano (or really, irrythmic in general?) No. If I was getting laid, I would talk about it. If stand-up tonight had worked, if the entire crowd of 23 year old filipinos had given me their wallets (since I came on as NYPD and said GIVE ME ALL YOUR WALLETS but only got like 6), if if if if if if if

whatever, go steal your mom's identity, you know her maiden name for christ sake

and remember - I only do Safe Comedy. Imagine what I really could be saying . . .

Last Weekend's Woes

I hope this weekend is better for me. Last weekend was no action for me. A lot of sort of maybe their might be action, just like they might be giants. The german girl on the block – I have to have a german gf! – I saw her with one of her other lovers. I had an uncontrollable negative reaction, but then I stifled it, like hey! I’d better get used to it! She has many lovers, I just want her a once a week, every other week kind of thing. Lying in bed and kissing. She’s hot!

Why do women scoff at the thought that men get pleasure from the sensation of touch?

My Los Angeles gf I talked into coming to NY ostensibly to see me. But not till June 4th. So we had to do the phone thing to coordinate. She’s hot, and needs it. But she doesn’t get into the kissing thing, and blow jobs, to give a blow job she would really have to be “deeply, madly in love.” I tried to explain to her exactly why it is she wasn’t married. And that, whether she likes it or not, since she has all these student loans, and if anyone marries her they get her debt, she’d better be on her knees a lot!

I did buy a slew of candles for our little time together. While she is here, I plan to keep her very, very happy. That’s my MO. Keep the customer satisfied. Hey, you never know, so enjoy every moment, esp with the women!

I still need a NY gf. The iraqi girl I met online – ah ah, that’s me whining, is so hot. But she’s like, I don’t want to be in a relationship, I’m not paying attention to my personal life, don’t get hooked on me, and our mutual friend says she gets hit on by every guy she meets. I plotting the slow approach – I told her she needs to get hooked on me, but I’m still plotting. Hoping. Dreaming. It does not look overly promising.

Had another CL date. I’ve discovered a new exotic disease among fat chicks: they think men will fall in love with them for their mind! I won't even fall in love with a skinny girl for her mind!

PR Men? Lazy?

All Puerto Ricans men are lazy! Look at Asian men, then work, they have jobs. You go to Chinatown, and you see 90 year old men, shuffling down the street after work. In their house slippers, a cigarette in their mouth, happily contributing their little bit to society. Puerto males live at home. They don’t answer the phone, ever. Be it welfare or lazy, you decide. Grandmother answers the phone. Grandmother cooks and cleans, and then GOES TO HER JOB. I know 20 PR’s. Granted Kiki has a job (or so I thought yesterday, but maybe I'm wrong), and so do a couple of others, Fat Felix, probably. But they are passing for white now!

Jermaine used his mothers tax return to buy a piano! He rarely works. His asian fetish gf comes over and sends out resumes on Jermaine’s computer. Once Jermaine is ready, he can move out and live with his Asian gf! She can support him. Jermaine plays the guitar and basketball. Jesus, who would name their kid Jesus? plays video games. All these kids say, I’m broke, and they have $$$$$$$thousands of dollars of games, big screen TV’s, DVD’s. I bust Jermaine’s balls he says “You Jealous! I have the life you want!” What can I say? And Jason, bless his heart, is coming to edit a film we just started, but somehow the thinks this task, that would take a fast industry professional 6-8 weeks of 50 hours a week will somehow get done doing 4 hours a week. Jason’s like, if he has one thing to do that day, he can’t come in. Call it the 12 hour phone call. I don’t get it. I’d call Jason, but he doesn’t answer the phone, so unless his grandmother answers the phone …

(under direct threat from Jason, that maybe, If I'm lucky, he will answer the phone. Generally, now he is saying, consider yourself lucky when he calls back.)

Alanis Morrisette

I tell you this is one hot girl. Not to be a snob or anything, but the supply of vastly intelligent people on this planet is highly limited, and even more so on the female side. My friend Jason was talking about this just yesterday. So before I go off on Alanis, let me explain why there are more male "geniuses" then female. Yes, it is genetic.

The why of it all is this: males, being the surplus DNA that we are, are not as valuable as women, from a historical evolution reproductive standpoint. The female reproductive system is more complex, more sensitive, from a design and structure standpoint. Change one variable, and your female does not reproduce. Bad, and clearly not a self-selecting attribute. Men, on the other hand, don't matter. Men have more genetic variation, more "mutations" to use a word now that now longer actually is correct. Before you get your bra in a tussle, there are significantly more male geniuses for the same reason there are significantly more male morons. We get both sides of the bell curve.

Alanis M. - interview subject, I'm just the observer - but a tight little mind, able to process (her word) her copious observations, which she says she loves to make. Who even likes to observe people these days? For the first 15 minutes she was a joy to listen to. all I could think was, that's the kind of mind I want sleeping next to me!

You can see it all on TV, but it won't be as good as live! I was thinking, I don't own a TV, but I love it so much, that I'm willing to work in TV just to see it first, live!
20/20 June 10th

It's Just a Blog, What Do You Expect?

Decided that Rob Sharpiro, the comic, was going to solve all my problems. Had met him at DelFino’s open mic at Apocalypse Lounge – he had gone up and done like 1o minutes, very professional, no jokes really, just ranting about his gf – at least he had one. And professsionalism goes a long ways. Give me stage presence and a racing mind, and all you need is a good audience to be funny. So I thought, well, why don’t I open for him, now that I don’t have a comedy open mic to attend on Sunday?

So on Friday, I saw he had a show at Bowery Poetry Club. I went all excited, Jason was back at the ranch, editing, and wanted me to go with him and Pete and god knows who else to Bay Ridge for some baccanal (is that a word?). But comedy before alcohol and dreams of … Of course the show was cancelled. I was distraught. Floundering, I spotted Big Mike inside the door. He clued me in. I was going to talk to Rob and volunteer, but Mike said this was Rob’s twin, Rick, doing the show! Imagine, when Rick goes who the fuck are you? Plus, Mike went on, Rick and Rob are feuding. They don't speak to each other, being identical twins and all. Perhaps each is jealous in his own way.

Mike went off for a good 20 minutes. He’s funny. I read his book 81 Pounds. Violence, waste and beauty in the Bronx, circa 1971. So Mike’s telling me all the open mics to go to. Teabag – 30 Mott St on Friday. Collective Unconcious on Wed or something. The one Mon night at the Bowery Poetry Club. Look for me at Teabag!

new look new blog

well, a new look and a new outlook. Perhaps I will start my blog again. Establishing an email base will help. Feedback helps. Rumor has it people come here every day. Let me know. The best blogs all are dialogs, not diatribes. Be part of the picture. Especially you playas! Not naming names, you know who you are.

Clearly the expectation that I have a back-blog of writings to post is true. So, here we go again.