Behold: The First Annual Rooftop Comedy Fatluck, inspired by www.thisiswhyyourefat.com

Oof.

We’re obsessed with pie.

Sweet pie, savory pie, vegetarian pie, breakfast pies, dessert pies. Pies filled with scrambled eggs and pies brimming with plump cherries. Pies with one crust, pies with top crust, flaky crust, dense crust, crumbly crust.

I could go on, using every delicious adjective in the dictionary.

My pie fever isn’t a secret, exactly, but I didn’t realize that anyone in the office shared my burning enthusiasm until Emily opened the Rooftop fridge, saw my lunch, and shrieked, “Vegetable pot pie!? Whose is this?!”

I had a tasty little box of microwavable heaven waiting for me, this seductive little whore of a lunchtime gem:

(It’s heaven in a cardboard box. That’s right, even in a cardboard box, even fresh out d’microwave, pie is perfection.I brought another one for lunch today.)

It was then that we discovered the thread that forever shall bind us together.

And, today, I brought a vegetable pot pie for Emily, so that we can exist, for a moment, in perfect, blissed out, pie-freak harmony.

We’ve been talking about pie all morning. Apparently, there are restaurants/cafes in San Francisco that serve ONLY. PIE. I’m new to town, so I’d had no idea. If I’d had, maybe I’d have moved to the Left Coast sooner. Maybe now, I’ll never leave. You know what, Boston? I’m not coming home. There. I said it. I’m not coming home until YOU can PROVE TO ME that you care about pie as much as San Francisco does. Yes, you’ve got your own signature pie, but, frankly Boston? That’s not going to cut it anymore.

My love for pie? Burns too brightly. An eternal flame. For pie.

I’m even thinking of making a Cheetos pie for the Rooftop Fatluck.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Pie.

Richter himself often just goes with it; maybe a product of his training as an improviser. He’s an actor, a writer, a Jeopardy champion, (cue Trebek!) and, perhaps most recognizably, the yin to Conan O’Brien’s Tonight Show yang (a reprisal, of course, of that same O’Brien/Richter dynamic that audiences first went coconuts for when Richter played sidekick on Late Night with Conan O’Brien).

We were lucky enough to snag an interview with Richter during some Tonight Show downtime, and got him to dish on the show, the biz, and the Trebek. Plus, he used the word “fuddy-duddy” with no irony whatsoever, and gave us a recipe for the Rooftop Comedy Holiday Fatluck, which further cemented him in his position of Rooftop-decreed awesomeness.

ROOFTOP: What was your favorite part about playing Andy Barker, and how much of ” character Andy Barker” is Andy Richter?

ANDY RICHTER: My favorite part was working with Jonathan Groff and Conan O’Brien. Especially Jonathan. He was the head writer on Late Night when I left, and I loved getting to work with him and writing staff on that show. As always, the optimal situation with any job is to work with friends. Having worked long enough in this business now, I know what a rare treat that is. One of the things that’s nice about working for friends is that you know and trust them, and they know and trust you. So,  they’ll let you do whatever you want, within reason. With the Andy Barker character — granted it was written a certain way — I always had a say,  because I’m the one that had to play him. So there is a certain amount of me, in that the character is a co-creation of mine.  The character was much more of a fuddy-duddy than I am, and probably more of an idealist, and probably braver. There’s a lot of situations he got into  in which, in real life,  I would have said, ‘fuck this!’  and gone home. But that doesn’t make for a good TV show.

ROOFTOP: We have to ask – how does it feel to be back on late night television?

RICHTER: It’s great. It really is. It’s so nice to go some place and make a  TV show, and put it on air that day, and then go home. I work with the people who think of the show, and those who execute the show, and that’s it.  I don’t have to talk to too many people, don’t have to justify what I’m doing, the jokes I’m making. That’s one of the things I shoot for when I work;  just to be left alone!  I love it.  I don’t want to be nickel and dimed on every point. I’m a good worker, and I like it when people let me work.

ROOFTOP: Is that “nickel and diming” something that you’ve come across often? What have you learned from those experiences?

RICHTER: I left a steady job that I had for years on Late Night and I came to Los Angeles to try my hand at the much more speculative world of prime time sitcom television.  I did some movies and other things in there too, but there was nothing that was really steady. And when you have a family and kids, your work becomes paycheck focused. You’re always thinking, ‘Oh shit, I’ve gotta make some money,’ to keep ahead of that rolling ball of money-eating-machine that’s always rolling right behind you. Not that I was going for a paycheck or looking for the highest bidder, but I felt fairly consumed by money issues. But, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve cared less about money and more about having idiots shut up,  just leaving me alone so I can work!

I always liken it to people hearing about a restaurant, having read good reviews, and finally deciding to go to the restaurant, and then running back into the kitchen to tell the chef how to cook the food.  It gets irritating when you’re the guy who’s supposed to be funny, and the ones who aren’t think they have good ideas on how you can be funny.  Granted, [comedy] is a very ephemeral skill in that sometimes what you’re doing works and sometimes it doesn’t. So, I’ve learned to put myself in situations where I can do what I do and be happy doing it, and make people happy doing it.  Life’s too short. Have a good time.

I was just talking to Jonathan [Groff] about this actually; somebody sent me a link to a bunch of stories about the Andy Barker P.I. DVD release, and some reviewer wrote,  ‘This clever show represents another one of Andy Richter’s hopeless attempts at prime time stardom.’

‘Hopeless attempts,’ like I have ‘prime time stardom’ needlepointed above the mantle. I’m just trying to make a good show that lasts! The notion of ‘prime time stardom’ is horseshit anyway. [Those articles] drive me crazy because it makes me feel bad about humanity, just how shitty everybody is about everything,. Everybody’s always trying to say something snotty.

ROOFTOP: We promise not to write anything snotty about you! Let’s switch gears and talk about happy things; namely, your crushing defeat of Wolf Blitzer in the name of charity on an episode of Celebrity Jeopardy. If you could hand-pick competitors for another Jeopardy round, who would you choose?

RICHTER: Let’s see. Should I pick dumb people so I could beat them, or should I pick smart people so it’s a challenge?

ROOFTOP: That’s the question of the hour.

RICHTER: What’s interesting about this whole invitational tourney is that it’s spread out over a year, so they’re doing nine initial shows, so there will be nine people in three semi-final rounds in April, which will all be shot on the same day. And then the final. should I make it that far, will be taped on that same day as well.  I’m  just curious as to see, as the time goes one, who my competition is going to be.  I like the fact that it’s different walks of celebrity life; sports people and news people and actors and comedians, a whole different mix. And it’s also good because I think the others think I’m probably dumb. They see me on a talk show being the lumpy guy, and I’ve played a lot of idiots. So it’s good to not be dumb.  Maybe that’s a testament to my incredible acting skills?

I actually did Celebrity Jeopardy 10 years or so ago, too, and that time I was more prepared. This time it actually kind of snuck up on me, and the day before, I thought, ‘Oh my god, I have to go be on Jeopardy!’ But that was good, because I didn’t have any expectations. To have it go so well, well, I recommend it. It certainly is a mood changer. You can pretty good about yourself for a few days after.

ROOFTOP: Why did you pick St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital as your charity?

RICHTER: St Jude’s  is a place that provides free care to kids with cancer. It’s hard to deny the worthiness of them.

ROOFTOP: Amen, sister. So, one final question before we let you go; the holidays are creeping up, and, to celebrate Thanksgiving, Rooftop is holding our first annual Holiday Fatluck. Any suggestions on dishes to bring?

RICHTER: I grew up in a small town in Illinois and a good thing that farm folk used to do at a ‘fancy’ dinner, was, for the bread portion of the meal they would have huge cinnamon rolls instead of regular dinner rolls. I remember going to a wedding rehearsal dinner where the food was ham, roast beef, fried chicken, broccoli and cauliflower smothered in cheese, and cinnamon rolls. And the mother of the family went, “It’s just simple farm food!” but she said it with a real edge like, I know what I’m doing to you, but I’m still playing the country naivete card. You can’t eat anything in Illinois and get out of the way of a heart attack bomb.

Oh, you know, my mom used to make, as our ‘vegetable dish’, this thing with  frozen spinach and frozen chopped onions. You saute them in a ton of butter, and you stir them up with an egg, I think, and then two bags of shredded cheese. Then you dump it in a casserole dish and bake it.

ROOFTOP: Wow. Do you ever make that for your kids?

RICHTER: No way. My wife insists that we eat ‘within reason’.

That’s the sound of 22 hearts, straining against arterial plaque and fatty tissue to beat and squeeze and pump sugar-polluted blood through 22 bloated bodies.

The first annual Rooftop Comedy Fatluck is upon us.

Inspired by the ensuing Thanksgiving gorge-fest and by our hefty heroes at ThisIsWhyYou’reFat.com, our “fatluck” should knock the entirety of the Rooftop staff on our bulbous asses by mid-afternoon on Tuesday.

And the organizers are prepared for that, since we all had to sign a waiver:

So far, the menu includes Chris G’s Bacon-Wrapped Chili Cheese Hot Dog Frito Boat, Annie’s Apple Fritter Pork Buns of Not Steel, SFA’s Buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese with blue cheese crumbles, ranch dip in a fried bread bowl side, and Alex’s Tots Au Gratin.

We’d, of course, love your menu suggestions. Our favorite reader recipe will be made by one of the Rooftop staff, for us all to try. And JUDGE! The winning recipe gets a super-sweet Rooftop prize pack, including a T-shirt. If you can fit your fat turkey gut into it, post tryptophan-atisicm.

[Want to see Stephen live? Who can blame you? Click here for upcoming tour dates in the U.S. and the U.K.]

ROOFTOP: You’re in the middle of what seems like an exhausting  tour. When you’re touring, how do you keep your on-stage energy up and keep your material feeling fresh? Not only for yourself, but for the sake of the audience?

STEPHEN LYNCH: It’s easy for me because I have the overwhelming fear every night that the audience is going to hate me and everything I do. I literally want to puke before I start. Sometimes I have. This nervousness gives me energy and makes me try harder. You know how they say an unattractive girl will be better in bed because she has to make up for her unattractiveness? I am the unattractive girl of comedy. Plus, these people pay a shitload of money to see my show, so I’d better make it worth it.

ROOFTOP: Do you ever worry that, when touring in other countries, your material won’t translate, cross-culturally? How do you address that potential problem?

LYNCH: I had that fear the first time I played in Scandinavia, but quickly realized that they speak fluent English there. Even more better than we do! Everywhere I’ve gone, actually, language has not been an issue. I just skip the places where it would be. That is why I will never tour Japan, Brazil, or Alabama. As for cultural references, the rest of the world has become so Americanized that almost nothing gets by them. That’s good for me, because it means I don’t have to change any part of my show, which I am far too lazy to do anyway

ROOFTOP: Is there generally a rule to your songwriting? In other words, do you tend to start with a joke or a funny idea and try to write a song around it,or start with a melody and then incorporate funny lyrics?

LYNCH: I do both. It’s hard to sustain a funny thought or premise for three or four minutes, so the challenge becomes weaving that thought into a little story, something with a beginning, middle and end. And keeping ahead of the audience is challenging too. As for music, my head is full of ideas; chord progressions, melodies, harmonies. It’s pairing those with an appropriate lyric that is so difficult. For me anyway. Lionel Ritchie makes it look so easy. Son of a bitch.

ROOFTOP: What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you onstage?

LYNCH: I played a comedy club outside of Chicago once that booked a group from a retirement home to come see me. That was the whole audience. About 50 octogenarians, not laughing. At one point I said “This ain’t no Perry Como show” and got a huge laugh from my brother, who was there to “support me.” He loved that I bombed that night. Very embarrassing. That’s why I never played comedy clubs.

ROOFTOP: Are there any particular things (clothes, mementos, snacks, etc) that you absolutely must take with you on tour?

LYNCH: I have my lucky jeans. Also, three or four t-shirts I can’t live without. My ipod. A book. You know, things to occupy me on long flights. I need to have five guitar picks in my back right pocket for every show. We do a ceremonial shot of Jack Daniels or Jameson whiskey before we start a show too. What else… oh the most important thing of all: earplugs. I can’t sleep without them. Especially when I can hear random hotel noises like the elevator, the ice machine, or the extra-loud prostitute I have in my room.

ROOFTOP: 3 Balloons was your first studio album. ­ What does it feel like to play, live, songs that you recorded without an audience? Are you touring with a full band?

LYNCH: I had been playing most of the songs on 3 Balloons live without a band before I recorded the album, so I’m used to it. I did do a live band show at Carnegie Hall in October though, which I will admit is much more fun than being onstage by my lonesome. I hope to incorporate the band into more live shows. And I plan to record my next album live, but with a band. Sort of best of both worlds kind of thing. Did I mention I played Carnegie Hall?

Carlin’s posthumously-released memoir, Last Words, is out this week. Click here to purchase.

Want to win a copy of Last Words? Enter to win the Ultimate George Carlin Prize Pack Sweepstakes. You do NOT have to say it five times fast as part of the entry process.

You know his dirtiest words, but what about his last?

Legendary comedian George Carlin’s (posthumous) memoir, Last Words comes out this week, and Rooftop has partnered with publisher Simon & Schuster to bring you some exclusive, in-depth content. Today? A juicy excerpt from the raw and wrenching manuscript. All week? Audio and video clips featuring Carlin’s closest friends and family, reading from the book and extolling the foul-mouthed virtues of the First Amendment’s best friend.

From the publisher:

As one of America’s preeminent comedic voices, George Carlin saw it all throughout his extraordinary fifty-year career and made fun of most of it. Last Words is the story of the man behind some of the most seminal comedy of the last half century, blending his signature acer-bic humor with never-before-told stories from his own life.

In 1993 George Carlin asked his friend and bestselling author Tony Hendra to help him write his autobiography. For almost fifteen years, in scores of conversations, many of them recorded, the two discussed Carlin’s life, times, and evolution as a major artist. When Carlin died at age seventy-one in June 2008 with the book still unpublished, Hendra set out to assemble it as his friend would have wanted. Last Words is the result, the rollicking, wrenching story of Carlin’s life from birth — literally — to his final years, as well as a parting gift of laughter to the world of comedy he helped create.

In celebration of the man who dared to utter those seven unutterables (and, perhaps more significantly, dared to so brashly assert his right to free speech that the Supreme Court was compelled to step in and quash all the fun), we urge you to spend the day wielding the word “motherfucker” like a hand-crafted sword of justice, striking down any enemies or censors who dare to cross your path.

George and Patrick Carlin (Courtesy of Kelly Carlin-McCall)

Need a little motivation? Download an excerpt from the book: Excerpt – Last Words

Not enough for you, greedy goblin? Click here and enter to win a super primo prize pack that includes Print edition and audio edition of Last Words; Classic Gold, the deluxe 2-CD set including Carlin’s first 3 albums (Am & Fm, Class Clown, and Occupation: Foole); and a collection of Carlin’s top selling DVDs.

Report from the Road: The 2009 Andy Kaufman Awards, NYC

I made it to the semifinal showcase of the 2009 Andy Kaufman Award Contest on Monday, November 2nd, so I planned to give it my best, watch all 24 of my peers on the bill, and soak up the weird. I had my curly blond wig, my billowing poet blouse, my black tights, and my death-lemon ready to roll:

Chicago was heavily represented (I live in LA now, but did comedy in the Chi from 2002 till earlier this year), so it was a bit of a reunion for the seven of us in the show, plus another four Chicago stand-ups had made a roadtrip of the occasion to watch and support erstwhile Chicago comedy legend Shawn Cole, our own Andy Kaufman. 

Executive Producer and Andy’s best college pal Al Parinello and Andy’s brother Michael Kaufman went out of their way to welcome us 25 acts and thank us profusely. It was clear they were fiercely proud of Andy’s legacy and excited to have us on board.

The opening video montage of Andy’s most famous TV moments had me clapping at the screen. When Andy’s foreign-man stage-fright whimper morphs into a bongo chant, it’s so good I could cry. It’s unrepeatable and beyond brilliant. And it was wonderful to watch Andy killing it in full Vegas-era Elvis regalia (Andy apparently worshipped the King and did that impression before almost anyone), singing and strumming an unironically gorgeous “Blue Suede Shoes.”

The show began. I performed 6th, and I gave it my all, feeling a gratifying pick of brow-sweat as I took my bow, and I knew I’d left some art on the stage. The 24 acts that preceded and followed me were the cream of the crop among an overwhelming number of video submissions, and each gave an inventive set in honor of Andy’s memory. So I felt in good company.

Alas, Monday was to be my first and final performance, at least this year. But I’d had a blast and seen my idiot poet character come back to life (and then back to death), so I felt good. Parinello complimented my act the next day and hugged me once I arrived to blog the finale show, and Michael Kaufman went so far as to say we were all now part of the Kaufman family. And I honestly am a big Andy fan, so it was all quite touching.

Oh, and icing on the cake: scene-stealer nonpareil Kristen Schaal, the 2005 Andy-Kaufman-Award Winner, was in the house both nights, and went out of her way to compliment several of us and give us big hugs, and every one of us had artistic crushes (at the very least) on the apple-cheeked bad-ass cutie-pie superstar.

With legendary manager George Shapiro in the Caroline’s audience as well as a producer from the Andy Kaufman bio-pic Man on the Moon in attendance, the stage was set for magic as the finale show commenced.

The big celebrity host: Tony Clifton (was it Bob Zmuda? Was it ANDY? No one knows …) came out to host and stank up the joint like rotten, wet socks. You really got mad at the bastard. He told about eight truly vile, unrepeatable jokes up top and riled the hell out of people as only Clifton can–racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and massively obnoxious. He threatened the crowd and was crude, odious, and unctuous to the core. He called people names, heckled the contestants, and yelled back and forth with Michael Kaufman and Parinello.

I was in heaven. Clifton pulled no punches, and props to Mike Amato and Red Bastard (Eric Davis) for fending the cretin off while they did their acts. The man brought the rude, and clearly no one had told him if this was to be a only a harmless victory lap. He raised hell. I did a bit of whooping both for and against him. Big, big fun.

Without further ado, the six finalists were:

1) Edinburgh Fringe Fest one-man-show vet Mike Amato. He said he’d been experimenting with oxygen deprivation, and he duct-taped a 13-gallon white kitchen bag over his head and said he’d timed his act to finish before the oxygen ran out. I got that old tingle of alarm–it was genuinely scary to see someone tape a bag to their head. Naturally he kept mistelling jokes, wasting time on crowd-work and digressions, meandering, and putting the fear on me that he’d not get through in time. He reported a “film of moisture” inside and began to lurch through the audience, then rave and grow incoherent, calling out to some dead aunt as he wandered out of the showroom to die alone like an animal, clearly in trouble.

2) Then Red Bastard (Eric Davis) came out as a MASSIVELY bloated, evil-faced fiend straight out of the Yellow Submarine and Monty Python cartoons. Red Bastard realized that nightmarish quality exquisitely and did absolutely gorgeous physical work. He taunted the crowd, raved and bounced maniacally, and moved and hopped like a scary troll. He threw a drink at Tony Clifton, and I was on my feet shouting for blood. The Red Bastard had stuffed those huge bouncing balls with the handles that children sit on under a huge red one-piece unitard thing, so he could bounce onto his stomach and bounce right back up. His face was maniacal and he moved like a speed-weasel. It destroyed me.

3) Next came Stinky Marceau. Dressed like a mime, Stinky fell asleep on the stage floor, so Clifton saw it as his cue to kick into overdrive. You genuinely couldn’t tell what was real, because Clifton was heckling BAD. It got way uncomfortable. I was confused. I was mad at Clifton, so points to the old Vegas troll and to Andy Kaufman for getting a rise out of me. Parinello paid Clifton to leave, called security, and replaced him with another host. Stinky was suspiciously missing from both the first evening’s contest and the second-evening contest program.

4) Sasha and The Noob (Steve Gadlin and Paul Luikart) are Chicago comedy staples, the demented children’s-show style hosts of Chicago’s long-running stage mega-hit “Don’t Spit the Water,” where comedy-characters try to get audience members to laugh and spit bottled water from their mouths. (Full disclosure: My character “Earl LaRue” has been one of those comedians like 50 times.) They’re very Kaufman-esque, with Sasha playing an indeterminately Eastern European show-biz star and Noob playing his sidekick, who’s mute because, as Sasha explains while making a knifing movement, “When the Noob was leetle boy he watched his father keel hees mother. Right, the Noob? Remember?” The Noob gives a frightened, helpless wince.

5) Blaine Kneece, sporting a mustache and silver sparkle suit, asked for a suggestion so he could improvise a song. He claimed to have heard “wiffleball” and proceeded to play an improvised INSTRUMENTAL song “about wiffleball.” Good times. Then he started having fun with a video camera, playing back his opening a few times, then showing himself on film leaving Caroline’s via subway, soft-shoeing on the street for money, then taking the subway back to the club. He falls asleep on the train and gets robbed and gets a dick drawn on his face. It was definitely high-concept–he “improvised” his way back and forth through time and ended up back in the club.

6) Robby Roadsteamer, looking like a homeless street performer and ranting incoherently and seemingly improvisationally, taunted Clifton and showed off the loot he’d stolen from the green room: a stapler, a pint glass, a coffee cup, and Clifton’s flowers. Then Roadsteamer sang a song called “Creepy Dickhead Eyes” directed at a guy in the audience with, well, those kind of eyes. In my favorite bit, Robby got a volunteer from the audience and placed her behind the curtain for a future entrance, then whispered to us that he’d done that just to get rid of her and didn’t plan to bring her back out at all. He did indeed leave her back there.

7) Harrison Greenbaum was as close as the evening got to stand-up, as he rattled off some great bits, but also went out of his way to taunt Clifton and smash a few glasses. He told me later off-stage that he was hoping Clifton would take his bait more, since he had some baby doll with the name “Tony Clifton” drawn onto it that he planned to murder on stage or something. I didn’t get all the details. The point is, Greenbaum was there to make his mark, and he did.

Kneece won the trophy and a check for $2,500 at the end of the night, clearly impressing the judges–Michael Kaufman, Kristen Schaal, and George Shapiro–with what amounted to fully realized, sophisticated, film-auteur hijinks. He is this year’s king.

I said my goodbyes and ascended the stairs out into the night.