I have been getting up onstage again lately. Most everything with my book is finished. I am back and ready to rock n roll. Yes, I am back onstage as I said. I did a set today which was passable. I didn’t kill and I didn’t tank. But Don Juan and my new stuff is getting on it’s feet decently. Plus it was an open mic set. I mean, you should we workshopping at an open mic. Anyone who does A stuff at an open mic is someone who isn’t writing or doing their homework. Bottom line. I have been on National TV a few dozen times, have been on TV overseas even more, and not to mention I wrote a fucking book coming out in a month. Really, I have nothing to prove to you. Not to mention when I tell people to follow me online I now I have send them to my fan page because I have too many friends. Really, I have nothing to prove to you.
The crazy thing is, because I am not yet famous everyone assumes I am an open micer if I walk into an open mic. There are some pros around the city, washed up divas who really don’t do anything except whine, who demand not to pay the five to do the mic. I could pull the same trip but nah. Plus the thing about an open mic is that you are safe to work on new stuff away from the eyes of execs and agents and stuff.
I had to limit my open mics after TLC because people would be giving updates on whether I tanked or bombed at one particular mic. Plus I got a job as a talking head where I earned money. When is the last time these Golden Boy/Golden Girl headliners who work for twenty five bucks a night did that? Can’t think of it. Plus I was sick of being worked like a dog by a club owner who I did nothing but earn money for.
I was coming out of the open mic last night which was actually pleasant. It was one of the few I feel safe at these days. One guy who was decently funny recognized me from working said club a few years ago. Gag me. He had to bring up that he saw me at the open mic there. Meanwhile I have been on TV how many Goddamn times since then and have done so many things that this was the only thing he could remember me by. Part of me wanted to say something incredibly cunty like, “Well, since that time I have been on TV. Something you will probably never get a chance to do. Don’t worry though, you could always watch me from your living room.” Instead I just let it go. He can google me when he gets home. Plus he wasn’t a bad guy, and he was funny so maybe he will get a TV cred and I will feel like a real tool.
The Village was interesting last night with the mish mash of people running about. One venue a kid tried to bark me in. He said, “The comics tonight all have TV credits.” That’s funny, everyone has TV credits. I asked him to name a few and he couldn’t do it. He was trying to sell me this, they have TV credits. I used to do the same job back in the day. Rattling off names of people and their bonus credentials. There’s a reason the show is free people. The TV credits aren’t real. I almost wanted to tell him who I was and about mine and how I knew the credits weren’t real. But I stopped myself. He could Google me when I got home.
I ended up talking for a minute to one guy who’s credits are real. He met me a while ago and we have several mutual friends and he didn’t remember me. Oh well. Fuck him. We’ll meet again I suppose. Who knows, who cares? He is just one of many names and faces I could either remember or forget depending on how advantageous it is for me.
Then this idiot booker who always emails me his stupidity was putting out something for this showcase that I would be good for. I emailed back as I was interested. This was so good I could bring two or three. Instead he emails me back telling me he hasn’t seen my act in a while. Actually, he has never seen my act. Let’s stop being so sincere shall we? Anyway, he invites me to do one of his mega-bringers. Meanwhile, does he not own a fucking television? Do you not see that I get fan mail from across the globe? I am also a red carpet guest at least once a month somewhere. I have worked with people that you can only watch on your television. In other words, I really don’t need you. I didn’t tell him I didn’t need him, but invited him to use me if he needed an experienced guest spot. He would see my ability to headline at a later date. Bottom line, it was mega-scam time. He wanted to make a few bucks off of me. It wasn’t about his reputation. He has none.
Everyone has a problem with my attitude. I say fuck them. I have earned every little thing that I have gotten including my attitude. Everyone has a problem with the fact I get so much damn TV time. Well maybe they should try having this thing called ambition. Everyone says all I want to do is be famous. Damn Skippy Sherlock Holmes. Everyone says I am crazy. Well you’re crazy if you think you even have a shot at catching up to me, fool.
Sure, I have been out of the game a little bit in between my webcasts that I got paid for, the book I am releasing, and my music that gets radio airplay. I have a career. Maybe they should try it sometime. But don’t try it at home without adult supervision, you might lose an eye.
When my dearly departed friend Roger left this planet I always say he left a part of his spirit with me, the part that didn’t take much shit. I now know this is a good thing. I work hard and play hard. End of the story. The world is my catwalk, my runway if you will. I am a puppet diva.
Turn on the TV, see my face. Turn on the radio, hear my voice. Walk past the bookstore, see my book. Walk past a comedy club, see my name at the top of the lineup. Go to the movies, see me as a star. Bitches, it is happening. My poppy seeds are behind me, and I am taking over the world.
My haters can talk at the back of the open mic, I have done things that they will never do and all the shit talk in the world cannot take that away. This is not the end but the beginning. I will soon be everywhere like a virus. That’s my shade.
I throw it in the name of Roger Revlon, the man who taught me the word.
I came to New York to be a big star. I worked really hard. My dreams are starting to come true.
I won’t stop until I get my star.
That’s my bitch mojo.