They’re always a group of sit-com-ish friends playing wiffle-ball. Matching windbreakers playing tennis. Whole Polo teams show up on Wednesdays and somehow, after I move past measuring the circumference of my thighs and weighing myself, they also make me feel bad for not owning a boat. Dogs and the occasional drug deal are the only things I look forward to.

I thought it would be cool living by a park. You could just go there. Do park stuff whenever you want.

I went over there once. “Yep. I’m in a park. My house is right over there. I’m thirsty.”

I used to wish I were more outgoing and willing to run for long periods of time each day in an endless pursuit of good health. Why was shot put already written on my list of events at the 7th grade mandatory track-meet?

Whatever it is it’s the same reason why, instead of riding my bike as a kid, I’d turn it upside-down in the driveway and pretend it was a cake factory.

Rusty was admired among friends for his “words of wisdom”. Some would deem them sentence fragments but, among a group of alcoholics around the dining room card table, he was a soothsayer. In one heated political discussion he suggested we cripple our government by not paying taxes. This was followed by applause. For all his engraved faults he was just a good guy with a bad job in a small town. For most people the choice was easy; leave Janesville or… punch in.

Some weren’t aware they had a choice and ended up staying, getting tattoos, and investing in a pool cue. Rusty had fallen victim to Janesville long ago and has since embraced the beer-mirror reality we called home.

The funny part was that he referred to his outfit as “urban camouflage”.

It actually says in the contract that I am not allowed to seduce the wait staff or club patrons. Damn. I have always dreamed of settling down with a nice boy from Bloomington and getting matching wind breakers. Whatever incident prompted that inclusion I feel sorry for all parties involved.

The crowds were the kinds of crowds you get in a college town when college is not in session. Groups of 40 – 50 people out for a big night on the republican town. There was one couple that came out for the show despite the fact that their newborn triplets were still in ICU. I can’t decide if that’s right or not but, regardless, very noteworthy.

I have to admit, I had my doubts. It’s hard to entertain entertainers, especially really sarcastic ones. I had imagined comedians throwing themselves off balconies out of boredom but instead the balcony was full of comedians watching every show. Laughing.

Robert Hawkins had the whole house in tears. Matt Braunger’s hate-filled owl thing was definitely a highlight. Chris Porter and Auggie Smith were huge crowd pleasers and Robert Buscemi was just fun to watch.

Even the college competition was a great surprise. I originally was against the whole idea of it. “College kids? They aren’t real comedians.” But again, I was not only proven wrong but left impressed with how much talent and unique perspectives there really were. Check out Reid Faylor… he was my favorite.

So again, good job Rooftop. Nice set.

Who is Aisha Taylor you ask? She hosted Talk Soup and, if you saw her, you’d realize you might have seen her before.

Mike told me today that she was preempted by a 2 page article in the Cleveland paper titled “Actress Comes Back to Comedy”. Described as “conversational humor” and “a storyteller” the editorial writes as if his job depends on it.

Now I am not here to rebuke her status as a comedian. I’m sure she’s hilarious. But you can’t have perfect skin and toned triceps and be considered a “real comedian”. At least not to me. Eat Taco Bell for two weeks and then take a good look at yourself.

“You need a nap.”

“What do you mean? I slept for close to 17 hours today. This is me after a nap.”

A lot of people tell me that just because someone is void of personal pain doesn’t mean they can’t be truly funny. I believe that. I also believe in aliens but, I have never met one of them either.

My first time was a misunderstanding.

I started going to open mic nights at the St. Louis Funny Bone because I had no friends and I liked watching other people fail. I always liked stand-up comedy. I didn’t lie awake at night reading How to Be a Comedian books but I did own a VHS tape of Bill Hicks and can name a handful of Evening at the Improv favorites. (Emo Phillips, Drake Sather, and some other guy that I thought was Jake Johansson until a few months ago)

I never intended on actually going up and doing it.

I went to three open mic nights before the bouncer (Jeff) approached me and asked why he had seen me three weeks in a row at the show by myself. Thinking there could be no other reasonable explanation he asked if I wanted to go up and try it myself. It’s as if he knew I would say yes.

That’s when it happened.

I said yes and found myself in a hallway surrounded by other hopefuls and a few of the most famous people I had ever met up until that point. After a few short announcements the group dispersed to notebooks and half/priced Bud Lights while I scribbled on a napkin and took full advantage of the employee pricing of domestic beer.

Opened with a low-road-line about how I didn’t have a dick so it was a whole new show. I made it through. People laughed. Although it was only three minutes about Husky Jeans and tattoos, if you had seen me in my car swerving the way home you would’ve guessed I just headlined Carnegie Hall.

For a minute inside my Hyundai I thought I had comedy figured out. Until the next Tuesday night when I learned how to fail … like everyone else. Miserably.

Weeks later, after more failed attempts and some little glimmers of hope, Jeff told me that he never thought I would’ve gone on stage that night and he was actually just hitting on me.

Welcome Paolo and good luck,
Andi

Most times the people who make me laugh are rarely trying to do so. It’s usually the weird guy who believes in his WWE t-shirt a little too much that I find to be so funny. Finding who you think is funny is a personal choice. Finding your favorite comedian is an acquired taste.

You usually go through phases. Eventually you graduate from Boones Farm (I remember when I liked Judy Tenuta.) to something imported from France containing a rare piece of cat shit.

Being a comedy fan is a lot like wanting Obama to win and then finding most of the country generally still likes Boones Farm.