The Liam McEneaney Experience

I visited an after-school program last week to talk to kids about being a professional comedian.

I like to think it was a Scared Straight-type deal: "Look at me. You want this to happen to you? Yeah, you think having no health insurance is fun? You think being professionally obigated to have a drinking problem is fun?
"Also, your social circle will consist of nothing but other comedians. And if you think it's all fun and being funny with other comedians, believe me, it's not. I dated a stand-up comedian once, and she decided to play a 'funny' joke on me. She had her roommate call me and tell me she was dead, that she had been shot randomly on the street, and he was going through her cell phone to tell everyone she knew. When I completely flipped out, she got on the phone and yelled at me for having no sense of humor. That is what being a comedian is like."

(True story.)

Anyway, here's a picture of me with the kids:

* Todd Tremble sent me this link, and rarely have I seen anyone as personally offended by a restaurant as NY Times critic Frank Bruni was by the new restaurant Ninja New York.

* Before he opened for the sketch group Stella, Eugene Mirman received several e-mails telling him he sucked. He did what anyone would do; instead of dignifying these e-mails with a response, he invited the guys who wrote them onstage to tell them what he thought of them in person. You should really watch this video.

* The American Society of Magazine Editors voted the top 40 magazine covers in history, and here they are.

* Comedian Aubrey Tennant wanted to sit down and watch NBC's Fear Factor, but he couldn't find that darn remote! In this Flickr slideshow, Aubrey answers the eternal question: "Where's My Remote?"

* * * *

HALLOWEEN - MONDAY, ROCKTOBER 31st
"Tell Your Friends!"
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
8:00pm - FREE SHOW

WITH YOUR MC - Baron Vaughn

FEATURING:
Becky Donohue
From Comedy Central's "Premium Blend," "Shorties Watchin' Shorties," and "Tough Crowd w/ Colin Quinn."

Pete Holmes
From "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever," and he has one of my favorite business cards, which has his face superimposed as the punchine in a Bazooka Joe comic.

Liam McEneaney
From "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever" - wil be dressed as

Eric Kirchberger
As seen on "Premium Blend" and many many many commercials. He was the Oscar Meyer Weiner guy, he was the voice of the Crispy Orange M&M, and he was an IBM astronaut.

Rob Paravonian
This guitar-slinging rock n' roll comic has been seen in multiple appearances on "Premium Blend" and VH1. His albums include "Living It Down," "American Cheese," and "Playing for Drunks." Rob tours colleges all over the country.

AND OUR HOUSE BAND - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they play.
Here's what the press has said:
* "BEST FOLK DUO"
"It's rare that we like a band from the first chord. Yet the first time we saw folk duo A Brief View of the Hudson play at the Bowery Poetry Club we were hooked.
Ann Enzminger and Nicholas Nace incorporate many of the best characteristics of both country music and classic rock without sounding derivative...Enzminger is a tiny woman, a hair taller than five feet, but with an opera-trained voice as big and sweet as a bowling ball–size Hershey Kiss. Nace's twangy talk-singing adds a quirky and ear-catching roughness; we crave the combination time and again." - The NY Press
* "It is not often that a band sounds like nothing you've ever heard & still sounds good.  That's what you get from A Brief View of the Hudson." - The NY Sun
* "A Brief View of the Hudson features Ann Enzminger's arrestingly powerful vocals, which are well tuned to the duo's graceful songs of indie-folk heartbreak." -Time Out NY

WHAT THE PRESS HAS SAID ABOUT "TELL YOUR FRIENDS!"
* Time Out New York called it a "DON'T MISS" twice now, and said: "With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show—and 'workout comedy room'—is sure to please."
* The NY Daily News made it a Monday pick of the day.
* AM New York put it in their "Best Bets" section.
* "Editor's Pick!" - clubfreetime.com

Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney

Here's two things I've heard in the past twenty-four hours or so:
"I think avant-garde chamber music is close to being embraced by the punk rock community. And I feel like, being in both worlds, I can be the one who builds the bridge between those worlds."
- a guy pitching his band to a booker

"I like Staples because it's the anti-Kinko's."
- dumb woman in Union Square Station, who has obviously never heard of, oh, say, independant copy shops

* * * * *

Today I was riding the R train into Manhattan, and I saw an ad for the Headway staffing agency that read, "WE DON'T FIRE, WE HIRE!"

First of all, is there a staffing agency that only goes into companies and fires people?
And second of all, can headway get me a job there?

Because, that sounds like an easy job:
"Hey, um, Tom, yeah, I hate to tell you this, but you're fired. Sorry buddy. Who am I? Oh, I'm a temp. Just here to fire you, actually. Oh yeah, on your way out, could you sign my time card?"

* * * * *
Below is a picture, an "action shot" if you will, from this reading show I did a couple nights ago at PS122 called "The What You See Is What You Get Talent Show."

It's a reading series for the blogger community, which is great to me as I think it's the only "community" that has built up around being bored at work.
I was a little nervous about it, as the story I read is a little more personal than I usually like to get onstage. But it was a tremendous amount of fun.

There's a link to the story I read; I actually haven't posted it here. At first I thought it was because I was too shy or afraid the person I wrote it about would stumble across it and I would be embarrassed. But then I realized that my real fear was that the person I wrote it about would read it and be extremely flattered that I'd even spent that much time thinking about her.
So go ahead and follow the link to WYSIWYG and find the story.

I had a teacher once, I came crying to her because the other kids were teasing me.
And she said, "Just remember, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.'"

And so I said, "So you don't mind if I call you 'fatass'?"

That's when she hit me with a big stick she'd attached a couple of stones to.

* * * * *

I would never hit a man with glasses.

Because the glasses wouldn't hurt him, they'd just break.

That's why I like to hit a man with a baseball bat.

Glasses? Please!

* * * * *

I tried race car driving once. I did really badly.

First of all, I was stuck behind this old couple for half an hour. They were doing 30 MPH in the passing lane.

Finally got out from behind them, and revved up, got up to 150 MPH. That's when I saw the flashing lights in my rear-view.

Cops chased me for 200 laps.

I came in 5th place.

The cops came in 3rd.

They would have finished first, but as they were coming around the finish line, they got stuck behind an elderly couple.

Cry, and the world laughs at you.

* * * * *

It's time for a woman President, guys.

I think we should give women the power to rule the world.

As long we can also take away their power to drive me completely nuts.

* * * * *

I have a technique for picking up the ladies, and you fellas can use this if you want, but my technique is I will be sitting in a place like Starbucks, and an attractive woman walks in, and right away I - stare at her until we're both uncomfortable.

Then after, oh say, a quick hour or two, you can walk over and talk to her about all the things you have in common:
"Yeah, you're right, I also wish the police were here."
"Wow, really? I hate myself too!"

Actually, I just like to see an attractive woman, and fantasize about what it would be like if I were the kind of guy she would ever talk to.
I mean, just really imagine how I could get her into my - long-term relationship. "Oh baby, there you are, wearing something sexy, on my couch at two in the morning, yelling at me 'cause I came home drunk again."

My problem is that every time, what happens is that an even more attractive woman will walk in, and I'll kind of start staring at her. And then I'll be like, "Uh oh, what about this first woman? Is she mad at me? is she jealous because I'm cheating on her imaginarily? What would the experts advise?"

Now, here's the problem: The experts advise open and honest communication. But I tried that with the women I stare at at Starbucks, and it doesn't work out too good:

"I just want to let you know it's not you, it's me. We were drifting ap- OH MY GOD IS THAT MACE? OW, GODDAMMIT!"

"Smothering" is just "mothering" that tries harder.

* * * * *

I'm going to make a million bucks in the self-help book market.

You know how there's this book, "He's Not Just That Into You" that made a bazillion dollars?

I'm going to write a better book that is all stuff women actually want to hear. It's going to be called, "Maybe He'd Be Into You If You Called Him More, Like 8 or 9 Times A Day."

* * * * *

Fraternities are a fun idea. They're the organization on campus where young men elect to just live with only other young men; eat with each other, shower with each other, sleep with each other.

I mean, in some schools that's called "drama club."

* * * * *

If you miss this show, you're missing a great time:

MONDAY, ROCKTOBER 24th
"Tell Your Friends!"
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
8:00pm - FREE SHOW

WITH YOUR MC - Baron Vaughn

FEATURING:
Leo Allen
A writer for "Saturday Night Live" and appeared on "Premium Blend," "Late Night w/ Conan O'Brien," and a "Comedy Central Presents" 1/2 hour special.

Judah Friedlander
He was nominated for Best Supporting Actor at the Independent Spirit Awards for his role in "American Splendor." He's also known as the Hugs Guy in the Dave Matthews Band video, "Everyday." He is a regular on VH1's "Best Week Ever." His standup appearances include "The Tonight Show w/ Jay Leno," "Last Call w/ Carson Daly," "The Late Late Show w/ Craig Kilborn," and "Tough Crowd w/ Colin Quinn."

Liam McEneaney
From "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever"

Bryan Olsen
As seen on "Chappelle's Show"

Livia Scott
A great sketch performer.

AND OUR HOUSE BAND - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they play.
Here's what the press has said:
* "BEST FOLK DUO"
"It's rare that we like a band from the first chord. Yet the first time we saw folk duo A Brief View of the Hudson play at the Bowery Poetry Club we were hooked.
Ann Enzminger and Nicholas Nace incorporate many of the best characteristics of both country music and classic rock without sounding derivative...Enzminger is a tiny woman, a hair taller than five feet, but with an opera-trained voice as big and sweet as a bowling ball–size Hershey Kiss. Nace's twangy talk-singing adds a quirky and ear-catching roughness; we crave the combination time and again." - The NY Press
* "It is not often that a band sounds like nothing you've ever heard & still sounds good.  That's what you get from A Brief View of the Hudson." - The NY Sun
* "A Brief View of the Hudson features Ann Enzminger's arrestingly powerful vocals, which are well tuned to the duo's graceful songs of indie-folk heartbreak." -Time Out NY

WHAT THE PRESS HAS SAID ABOUT "TELL YOUR FRIENDS!"
* Time Out New York called it a "DON'T MISS" twice now, and said: "With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show—and 'workout comedy room'—is sure to please."
* The NY Daily News made it a Monday pick of the day.
* AM New York put it in their "Best Bets" section.
* "Editor's Pick!" - clubfreetime.com

Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney

Last night I did a show upstate for a Latino fraternity.

"How did it go?", you ask.

Well, let me put it this way: You're reading this blog because you've either seen me perform live on stage, or you've seen me on TV. How do you think it went?

I will say that I had an hour to kill before I took the bus back home, and decided to kill that time at a bar. My first beer was five dollars. THEN I noticed that a pitcher of beer was FOUR dollars. In the forty-five minutes remaining to me, I killed almost an entire pitcher of Bud Lite, then staggered onto the bus and called almost every woman I've ever met (except the one who hurt me and I wrote a recent shitty poem about).

To hear the whole story, you're going to have to come out to the show at Lolita on Monday. If that ain't a plug, I don't know what is.

Speaking of plugs, I have updated my poetry page a couple times in the past month or so. I am not a good poet. I am, however, a tremendous drunk.

A friend told me that she was taking a class called "How To Please A Man."
I said, "What are you going to learn? How to pay for your half of dinner?"

I don't hate women.
I just hate the things they make me do to myself.
Like shower. Exercise. Clean my apartment.

I just think that sometimes the world would be a happier place if there was only men.
And also if half of those men had vaginas.

* * * * *

My landlord gave me a smoke detecttor, and it worked fantastic.
It went off whenever I cooked. It went off whenever my neighbor across the way clooked. True!
It worked whenever anyone in my building cooked.

Then a week later, it stopped going off at all. Even if I was cooking. Even if I lit a match under it.

And I was going to complain to my landlord, but I realized that I'd rather be in mortal danger than annoyed. That's the trade-off I made.

Like when everyone had a car alarm. I don't think anyone ever reported a car alarm going off. At 3am? All I would think is, "Hey asshole, if you're going to steal the car then get it over with. The sooner it's away from here, the better."

Seriously, if you ever want to commit a murder, just set off a car alarm first. You'll have as much privacy as you want.

I went to see a psychic. She said, "I see a lot of pain in your face."

Then she punched me in the nose.

Man was she good. Totally worth the fifty bucks.

* * * * *

When I was a child, a magic fairy emerged from a daisy and said, "Blow on my fairy dust and all your wildest dreams will come true!"

So I did, and sure enough, there I was - naked in school, about to take a test I hadn't studied for, which was administered by wolves.

I had an audition thing on Friday. I think my subconscious mind has invented a fun little game called, "Let's Make Sure We Never Get Paying Work." A typical adventure was five years ago when I auditioned for a hamburger commercial, and we were reading the lines off of these cue cards, me and two other actor types. I had three lines, and I managed to read my three lines completely out of order, thereby fucking me and my two co-auditioners.

Anyway, I did an audition on Friday, and I had even bothered to know my lines, and I swear to God, as soon as I was supposed to start the scene, all I could think of - the only thing in my mind at all whatsoever - was the second verse of the great Ice Cube song Givin' Up The Nappy Dugout.

Now, I want you to click on that link, and really read the lyrics of the second verse, really absorb them. The only time I can think it's appropriate to say that particular set of lyrics out loud is if your name is Ice Cube, and you're being paid a lot of money to do a concert of your songs. (Or if you feel like bugging your sketch partner, who is a "woman" and finds those lyrics "offensive.")

I refrained from actually rapping, and after looking at the script for a moment, I managed to get it going. Yay me.

* * * * *

I remember the year I found out Santa Claus isn't real. It was Christmas Eve, and I was very excited, and I was talking to my dad, and I said, "I sure hope Santa brings me a lot of presents this year."

And he said, "Son, I think it's time you knew. Santa Claus isn't real. Your mother and I buy you presents and put them under the tree when you're asleep."

I started crying and crying and crying and my mom got all upset and said, "Now what did you go and tell him for?"

And my father said, "He's old enough to find out, I mean the boy's 27 years old for Chrissakes."

It's been raining for four days straight. I've gained five pounds of what I like to call "rain weight."

I actually had to catch a goddamned ark to work. A goddamned ark! An ark!

And not a nice, Old Testament Noah's Ark. No, this was a New York City ark. When it pulled up, two hippopatomi crushed their way in through the doors, knocking down an elderly giraffe trying to get off, so they could get seats.

Apparently, God had warned MTA Chief Peter Kalikow to build an ark in 1987, but because it was a city-managed construction project it took 17 years to finish and went two hundred million dollars over budget, and now they're going to raise fares by a dollar to pay for it.

And the Sanitation Union's pissed because God flooded the streets of New York, cleaning them without paying a single union due.

And also, today's blog entry is reading like a page from Capt. Bible's 1001 Family-Friendly Laff-Busters!

* * * * *

MONDAY, ROCKTOBER 17th
"Tell Your Friends!" - it's RocktoberFest!
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
8:00pm - FREE SHOW

WITH YOUR MC - Baron Vaughn

FEATURING:
* Nick Kroll, whose short film "I Love the '30s" airs on Comedy Central. He was recently seen all over everywhere as "Andy Roddick's Mojo" in those American Express commercials.
* Charles Star, whose mom worked in my old high school (and still does). He's a torts lawyer!
* Liam McEneaney, from Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever."
* Eugene Mirman, a downtown comedy legend-in-the-making. He's been on "Premium Blend," "Late Night w/ Conan O'Brien," he's opened for Modest Mouse, The Shins, Yo La Tengo, and Stella. He's appeared at the HBO US Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen, the Montreal Just For Laughs Festival, Bumbershoot, and South By Southwest. He's taping an album next week for SubPop Records.

WE'RE CELEBRATING ROCKTOBER WITH A SPECIAL GUEST BAND
Stickerbook - an experimental art-rock comedy cover band. You gotta see this!

AND DON'T FORGET OUR HOUSE BAND! - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they play.
Here's what the press has said:
* "BEST FOLK DUO"
"It's rare that we like a band from the first chord. Yet the first time we saw folk duo A Brief View of the Hudson play at the Bowery Poetry Club we were hooked.
Ann Enzminger and Nicholas Nace incorporate many of the best characteristics of both country music and classic rock without sounding derivative...Enzminger is a tiny woman, a hair taller than five feet, but with an opera-trained voice as big and sweet as a bowling ball–size Hershey Kiss. Nace's twangy talk-singing adds a quirky and ear-catching roughness; we crave the combination time and again." - The NY Press
* "It is not often that a band sounds like nothing you've ever heard and still sounds good.  That's what you get from A Brief View of the Hudson." - The NY Sun
* "A Brief View of the Hudson features Ann Enzminger's arrestingly powerful vocals, which are well tuned to the duo's graceful songs of indie-folk heartbreak." -Time Out NY

WHAT THE PRESS HAS SAID ABOUT "TELL YOUR FRIENDS!"
* Time Out New York called it a "DON'T MISS," and said: "With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show—and 'workout comedy room'—is sure to please."
* The NY Daily News made it a Monday pick of the day.
* AM New York put it in their "Best Bets" section.
* "Editor's Pick!" - clubfreetime.com

Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney

I dated a woman, who got fed up with my self-loathing.
So she said, "Goddammit Liam, I'm sick of all this self-hatred. Either you cut it out, or I'm leaving."

And I said, "Well, I think I'm too old to change, so I'm going to have to say goodbye. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm really going to hate myself for this."

Okay, that was a joke, not a true story. The next two are true stories:

* * * * *

A couple of days ago, I was waiting on the 6th Ave. L train platform, Brooklyn-bound side, next to a column of video monitors that showed the people waiting up and down the platform.

Now, if you don't live in New York, the L train goes through Williamsburg, home of the NYC hipsters. I despise hipsters; to say that they're completely self-absorbed is untrue - they have their heads up their own asses so much, you'd have to call them self-absorbant, like toilet paper.

Anyway, I see this one particular guy on a monitor, I can only see him from behind dressed in a precious blue hoodie, with a satchel slung over his shoulder, messy hair and thick black-frame glasses. And I think, "Lookit at that hipster douchebag. God I hate him."

Then I move my head, and so does he. That's when I realize that I'm seeing myself on the monitor.

* * * * *

I was walking along Avenue A last night in the rain, and a heavy wigger standing in a pizzeria doorway sees me walk past and says contemptuously, "Spic!"

I was completely thrown by this. I mean, I wasn't sure if I should upbraid the young man for being racist or for seeing someone who looks as incredibly Jewish I do and being dumb enough to call me Hispanic. I mean, really, you'd have to have the IQ of a zucchini to make that mistake.

But for some reason, I didn't feel like demanding he take back calling me a "Spic!" and instead call me "Kike!"
Somehow, that didn't seem like the most productive use of my time.

Someone told me that to get to sleep, you have to lie in bed and count sheep.

But that's ridiculous, because first of all, my bed is only big enough to hold three, maybe four sheep at a time.

And secondly, if I have three or four sheep in my bed, then I ain't doin' no sleepin' heh heh heh. Heh.

Some people say nothing is harder than a diamond.
To them I say, "Have you tried sitting through an entire episode of According To Jim?"

* * * * *

Pot is a gateway drug. It can lead to much harder, more serious things, like Phish concerts, and Grateful Dead tribute bands.

All I'm saying is, it's a tragedy when a father loses his son to an AquaTeen Hunger Force marathon.

* * * * *

I was dating a woman who was so hormonal, her name was Estro Jen.
And she kept complaining that I treated her like an object.
And I was treating her like an object.
The big problem actually was that the object I was treating her like was a coffee table.
She got so mad. She kept screaming at me, "Use coasters! Use coasters!"

* * * * *

I'm a terrible writer. I published a book that ended up on The NY Times worst-seller list.

It was a book of dream interpretations. It was called, "Dude, That's So Gay!"

* * * * *

My health insurance plan is terrible.
I don't have Blue Cross.
I have Plain Old Cross.
I have to pray I don't get sick.

I'm from Queens, NY, one of the most diverse places on Earth. Where I grew up you had every kind of person; Indians, Arabs, Russians, Chinese, Koreans, Irish, Jewish, Pakistanis, Zoroastrians, all kinds of people.

And people say, "Wow Liam, that must have been great, so many different kinds of people living together, there must have been no racism."
Oh, there was racism all right, but it was never a problem because there was so much racism spread out among so many different people that it all cancelled each other out.

I mean, don't get me wrong, there were some problems. Like the Pakistani restaurant that was right next to the Indian restaurant. Everything was peaceful, until the Pakistani restaurant announced they'd developed Atomic Wings.

Also, having so many different kinds of friends growing up meant I learned things about their cultures. Like the differences between Asian cultures.
Like my Chinese friends never minded when I called them "Chinese."
Whereas, apparently Korean people really really hate it when you call them "Chinese."

I don't understand stereotypes anyway. Like people say, "Black people are lazy," or "Mexican people are lazy." But where I grew up, the laziest people who lived with their moms until 30 and never held a steady job were all white.
Ad those were the first guys to turn racist; "Oh, black people steal."
Really? And what the fuck do you have to steal? You don't own anything but your pride, and that said bye-bye when you became a 34 year-old man living with your mom and your grandmom in a one-bedroom apartment in Park City.

I was cleaning out my joke notebook, and look what I found. I really like this joke a lot, even though it probably won't do well in front of an actual audience.

My friends and I were talking, and my friend told me he's an "Ass Man," because he likes them big be-hinds. Then my other friend said he was a "Breast Man," because he likes them big boobies. And my third friend said he was a "Leg Man."

And I said, "Well, I guess in that case, I must be an Ice Cream Man. Because there's nothing I love more than some fine, fine ice cream."

And my friends were all mad. "What does that have to do with what you want in women?"

And I said, "I've been out with plenty types women, but I've yet to have one that brought an ice cream cone to the table. Let's be honest, if a woman brought you ice cream without you even asking, that's the kind of lady you don't let get away from you my friend."

I know what you're going to say. "Hey Liam, if you love ice cream so much, why don't you marry it?"

Because of "The Man" and his so-called "laws."

* * * * *

CHECK OUT THESE BAD MAMMA-JAMMAS:

Sunday, October 9
The Million Dollar Bash
at Rififi
332 East 11th, 'tween First and Second Avenue
7:00pm * NO COVER (one drink minimum )

This week's party theme is "Awkward Office Party," because honestly who hasn't had to endure one of those. Choke down eighteen drinks before you tell the boss what you REALLY think of him, scarf down some birthday cake, and then do something so inappropriate with an intern that you'll be blackmailed into writing the world's greatest letter of recommendation.

Join party hosts Liam McEneaney and Claudia Cogan as they welcome this week's party guests, including OSHA-approved acts like TV's Todd Levin, UCB's Christina McGrath, America's Rob & Mark, and the sketch comedy of Brandy & Sara, who belong to no one but themselves. Last week's show was so much fun, no lie, I think I laughed more than I've laughed at any show in the past year.

And then...

MONDAY, ROCKTOBER 10th
"Tell Your Friends!"
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
8:00pm - FREE SHOW

WITH YOUR MC - Liam McEneaney, from "Premium Blend" and VH1's "Best Week Ever"

FEATURING:
* Josh Comers, one of New York's best undiscovered comedians.
* Aubrey Tennant, who will be coming back from the prestigious Vancouver Comedy Festival. I don't want to give too much away; needless to say, he's bringing a smoke machine and a strobe light.
* Tony Camin, cowriter/star of "The Marijuana-logues," and seen on "Late Night w/ Conan O'Brien," "Tough Crowd w/ Colin Quinn," and much more.
* Tom Shillue, had his own half-hour "Comedy Central Presents" special, and has appeared on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart"

WE'RE CELEBRATING ROCKTOBER WITH A SPECIAL GUEST BAND
The Rob & Mark Show, who will be doing something super-special; a two-man musical version of Ralph Macchio's classic cinematic tour de force, The Karate Kid. I caught this once at their show, and you've got to see it to believe it. The two of them do all the parts and everything; the first time I saw it, I was hanging out at their show uptown to see if I could get booked for it, and their musical Karate Kid literally blew me away. Funnily enough, they never booked me for their show, and yet . . . here they are . . . doing my show.

AND OUR HOUSE BAND - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they play.
Here's what the press has said:
* "BEST FOLK DUO"
"It's rare that we like a band from the first chord. Yet the first time we saw folk duo A Brief View of the Hudson play at the Bowery Poetry Club we were hooked.
Ann Enzminger and Nicholas Nace incorporate many of the best characteristics of both country music and classic rock without sounding derivative...Enzminger is a tiny woman, a hair taller than five feet, but with an opera-trained voice as big and sweet as a bowling ball–size Hershey Kiss. Nace's twangy talk-singing adds a quirky and ear-catching roughness; we crave the combination time and again." - The NY Press
* "It is not often that a band sounds like nothing you've ever heard & still sounds good.  That's what you get from A Brief View of the Hudson." - The NY Sun
* "A Brief View of the Hudson features Ann Enzminger's arrestingly powerful vocals, which are well tuned to the duo's graceful songs of indie-folk heartbreak." -Time Out NY

WHAT THE PRESS HAS SAID ABOUT "TELL YOUR FRIENDS!"
* Time Out New York called it a "DON'T MISS" twice now, and said: "With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show—and 'workout comedy room'—is sure to please."
* The NY Daily News made it a Monday pick of the day.
* AM New York put it in their "Best Bets" section.
* "Editor's Pick!" - clubfreetime.com

Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney

I once dated a woman, I had to take her to the opera. Apparently she wanted to go someplace that required "pants," so off we went.

Tickets were $150. $150.00! For that kind of money, the orchestra'd better not be playing opera; they'd better be playing the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Not that I'm cheap; it's just that that's a lot of money for a three hour nap. Hey, I could be bored at home watching 2 1/2 Men for free.

It's not like I'm uncultured. I mean, I read The Barber of Seville in high school. Well, actually, I read the Cliffs Notes version. It was called "SuperCuts." (Oh no, you're welcome.)

Apparently at the opera, you're not allowed to root for anyone. Me, I was really rooting for death. Theirs, mine, the conductor's. Anything so it would be over and done with.

If opera's so "awesome," why don't any of their songs come up in karaoke? In karaoke terms, Skynyrd is 20 times better than karaoke.

Opera is basically rich people's NASCAR. I went to a NASCAR race, and it was just a bunch of guys sitting by a road, watching cars speed by and occasionally rooting for one of them. And they would do this four or five hundred times. And the people around me say, "Oh that was thrilling," and I'm like, "I couldn't even tell what those cars were. I swear, I think someone drove by in a Good Humor ice cream truck."
That's what opera was like for me.

The best part was, at the opera they had all these huge women in armor and horned helmets. I was like, "Oh look! Robot cows! This must be Steer Wars!" (Again, you're welcome.)

My lady broke up with me at the opera. One guy had another guy at his mercy, sword at his throat. They both then proceeded to sing at each other for twenty minutes.
Finally i stood up and shouted, "Hey, either finish him or let me do it!'
The lady said, "Sit down."
I said, "You kidding? I paid $150 for this bullshit. Someone's gonna die."

Eh. Probably never see the light of the stage.

I tried cybersex once, because I was tired of women rejecting me based on the way I look, and I thought maybe if I was able to talk to them online, they'd be able to reject me for who I really am as a person.

I belong to an online service called AOL. If you don't know, "AOL" stands for "Agoraphobes Or Losers," because that's all you'll find on there.

I decided to check out some chat rooms. Here's a tip: be careful of the chat room names. They can be very deceptive. For instance, if the chat room name has the words "role play" in it, it's not about Dungeons & Dragons.

And if it has the word "Dungeon" in it, don't go in there saying you're a dwarf with leathor armor and a double-headed halberd.
Because you will be invited on a magical adventure...
But there's no saving throw against that kind of pain.

So I went into a chat room, and I struck up a conversation with a lady. And right away, I knew we had a lot in common. because I told her that I was a six foot blond Olympic gymnist, and she told me that she was - a woman.

And I'm a pretty smooth operator. We had a pretty good rapport. I was like, "Hey, what's up, HotAss694U?"
And she was like, "Nothing much. What's up with you, MisterMisterTakeTheseBrokenWings87?"

And after a few minutes, we took the convo to a private room.

In a way, cybersex is harder than regular sex, because first of all, how do you get her so drunk she doesn't know any better.
I mean, sure I'm drunk, but if you're a guy trolling the chat rooms for online snizz, you're not going to be too snobby about things little rules like "you shouldn't drink before noon," or "the office isn't an appropriate place to pass out in a puddle of your own urine."

And so we really started getting into it, and it was really weird, when you're having cybersex, you have to write out all the things you would be doing if you were actually having sex. So I was typing, "All right, I'm kissing you in the wrong place. Now I'm crying and apologizing."

And she was like, "All right, now I'm critiquing you. Now I'm yawning and thinking about my grocery list."

And I typed, "Now I'm calling out the wrong name: 'Oh, Derek Jeter.' 'Do it to me right, A-Rod.' "

At one point, she said "Spank me."
And I said, "All right. I'm spanking you."
And she said, "No, spank me harder."
And I said, "How can you tell I'm such a pussy? How does that translate through this monitor?"

But in a way, it was exactly like real-world sex. Because, and how do I put this delicately, at 1:42am, I "logged in."
And at 1:44, she was already faking her first orgasm.

My good friend Robyn Chapman edited an anthology called True Porn 2, a collection of short autobiographical comics that are sex stories, and I'm in it as both a writer and a character. My story concerns the time when I was 17, and turned down for a job as mop-boy in a porn store. Here's the first panel:



You can read all about it in this Village Voice article.

And then you can order it here through Amazon for only $13.57.

For the past few years, I've been using this blog as an online journal; jotting down jokes, sketch ideas, first drafts of ideas that I'm not sure exactly what i would do with. Sometimes I tell true stories.

I don't usually talk about the bad comedy gigs I do, the crazy people or situation that my chosen profession involves me with. Partly because I'm so easily Google-able, and I don't want to hurt the feelings of parties involved. And I don't want to burn any bridges with someone who night want to work with me, or might recommend me to someone who would work with me. Also, it's kind of unprofessional to trash the peopple you work with or for online.

Well, I've decided that as far as the following story goes, fuck each and every party involved. If I never see them again in my life, I'll be happy. I have decided to change the names of every person and place involved, though, partly because I'm embarassed that I have had anything to do with them. And partly because I don't want to have anyone suing me for portraying them as a hair-triggered murderous psychopath.

However, I have left many, many identifying characteristics intact, so that anyone who needs to know will recognize their thinly-veiled characters; so they will be warned to stay away.

A few months ago, I was passed at a comedy club in New York City that I will call "The Overlook Comedy Club," because it reminds me of the hotel from The Shining. Evil and bad vibes seep from every wall; honestly, the first time I walked in I thought, "Man, it feels like a hooker has been murdered in every room of this place."

Now, this club has about the worst reputation a comedy club can have in this city without actually doubling as a crackhouse. A few years ago, a nationally-distributed magazine did a feature on the ways that this club had exploited eager young comics looking for stage time; new comedians stand in Times Square barking in tourists for the club. In exchange for about ninety minutes of work, they'd get five minutes of stage time and a handful of cash.

There's nothing wrong barking in an audience; they've got to come from somewhere, and I spent most of 1998 barking for a room in the West Village where comedians like Colin Quinn would come in and perform. But I got a lot more than five minutes of stage time, and I wasn't expected to, say, move the owner's car or carry ice from the basement, or barback, or a dozen other demeaning bits of indentured servitude that no comedian with any bit of experience and/or backbone should have to put up with.

One time, the owner tried to hint that I should go out and buy the bar some cheese dip for the bar:
OWNER: Liam, you know what would make this club just about perfect?
ME: What's that?
OWNER: Some cheese dip.
ME: You don't have any cheese dip?
OWNER: Nah, we ran out. If we could get some more cheese dip, this club would be perfect.
ME: When's your birthday?
OWNER: May.
ME: May what?
OWNER: May 17th,
ME: Well, on your next birthday, I will buy you some cheese dip.

Like I said, I performed there, but I didn't do any of that shit. I auditioned, passed. Performed for some money, some stage time. But I was finding that the money wasn't so hot and while the stage time could be good, it was more often than not extremely grueling. And I started having some genuinely terrible sets there.

Partly because the barkers are barking anyone in off of Times Square; around the time that I stopped doing consistently well onstage at The Overlook was not coincidentally the same time I started calling every audience member who walked through the club's doors, "That Usual Gang of Retards."

Add to that the fact that there was an insane amount of backbiting in the club. Now, I've always been very lucky that the group of comedians I started in has been insanely, even unusually, supportive of each other. My group of friends, and my extended group of friends, has seen each other win prestigious awards, write for nationally broadcast shows, hugely successful shows, seen each other do TV, do their own specials, tours, you name it, and any ball-busting has been genuinely good-natured and appreciative. And we're talking about some relatively high stakes show-biz stuff.

At the Overlook, it's the exact opposite; the stakes are genuinely low - I tend to abide by the maxim that "It's about the journey, not the destination." Well, if that's your life philosophy, then this club can be considered "The Seedy Rest Stop That You Go In And Out Of As Quickly As Possible So As Not To Catch A Disease When you're Exhausted At 3am As A Break From Your Journey To The Destination." And yet, I've never seen such backbiting, behind-the-back slandering.

Every comic calling each other a hack, complaining about how much time each person goes over the light ("the light" is the red light in the back of every comedy club that lets the comedian know that he or she has one minute left before they have to get offstage. Comedians at The Overlook blow through the red light like they were ambulance drivers), complaining about how much money each person makes. And the funny part is that every person who would talk shit to me behind the other comic's back (and I was a nuetral party, because I was numb like a shock victim and couldn't feel one way or the other, which meant that everybody would come to me to complain about all the other comedians equally), and yet they were all right - they were all guilty of the same exact bullshit.

I'd pretty much decided last week to quit performing at the club altogether. They were always demanding my schedule pretty far in advance, and then calling me the day of the show to let me know that I was on the schedule. I had rescheduled my evening once recently for them, making me cut short a date I was really enjoying a lot.

And the money wasn't that good; a couple weeks ago I'd been at the club for three hours doing shows, and only made ten bucks. One show had been cancelled due to a lack of audience, and the other sets had been really low-energy and bad. Plus, I'd been called on to MC at this club, and due to high crowd turnover (they do hourly shows some nights) and comedians blowing past the light, I was basically getting folks on and off stage, not doing much time, some crowd work, and since my performance was severely affected by my hatred of every paying customer, the jokes I would tell would thud to the earth like a duck shot dead.

But then last week was a good week for me - I'd had a very good audition for a festival that I really want to be a part of (if any festival people are reading this, I don't normally talk shit about the good folks who book me for stuff, I swear it! This is a rare exception!), I'd had some other sets go well, I had a couple of other industry folks expressing interest in me, I'd finally gotten over a sad romantic disappointment that I was being way too melodramatic about - and when I got the call late Thursday afternoon that I was scheduled to host some shows from 8:30 - 12:30 at The Overlook, I thought, "Aww fuckit, I can use the extra money, I got nothing to do on Thursday anyway. I know I swore I'd never go back, but honestly, how bad could it really be?"

Basically, I forgot my promise to myself to never set foot in this club again.

Well, I got a quick crash course on the importance of keeping promises to yourself. The shows were as bad as I'd remembered, and despite the fact that I genuinely enjoyed the company of the waitstaff, the atmosphere was just as poisonous as ever. And the comedians were blowing past the light worse than ever - four minutes past the light, five, and as the MC I'm blamed by the manager that the show is running late.

Now, one of the comedians is a man I'm going to name "The Turd." The Turd was a man I remembered as an open mic'er years ago; he would hang out with another comedian, a genuinely distinctive guy with a twin brother who is an equally talented comedian. They are The Barbarian Brothers of comedy, and The Turd would trail Comedy Twin, appropriating his voice, his act, his mannerisms, his way of dressing, occasionally his material.

When you're ripping off an open mic'er you have no future, and I guess the Turd reaized this, because when The Overlook opened, he disappeared into its dark embrace. He would be out on Times Square every night, barking, working his way up in the club's ranks from Terrible New Comic Who Gets Exploited And Has To Bark For Five Minutes Of Stage Time to the ranks of More Experienced Comedian Who's Still Terrible And Now Thinks He's "Paid His Dues" In Comedy And Has That Attitude That All The Genuinely Successful Comedians Of My Acquaintance Seem To Avoid, Yet The Hacks All Cultivate, The Sense Of Entitlement And Thick Layer Of Phoniness Underlined By A Clearly Visible Bitterness That Their Incredible Genius Has Not Been Recognized. It's a hell of a rank that you won't find in the Army, and yet accurately indentifies many a comedian's station.

My friend Ritch put it perfectly: "There's a difference between paying dues and making yourself miserable on purpose so you can point back to all your misery and say 'see how fucking good I am?!' "

So cut ahead to 1:54 am, at the tail end of the 12:30 show. I'm exhausted after dealing with the kind of drunks that walk through The Overlook's doors for a night of drinking and fucking with the comedians. The 12:30am show was the hardest; just drunks and yahoos and difficulty keeping the back of the room under control. A drunken older Aussie gent had walked in with his extended family from Albequerque, New Mexico (!), and wreaked havoc on the show. He approached the stage twice while comedians were onstage, standing next to them and being part of the show, much to his family's delight and the bemusement of the rest of the audience.

As an aside, here's a tip for prospective comedy audience: drunkenly "being part of the show" is the comedy club equivalent of dancing with a lampshade on at party. You may think you're a scream, but brother the world thinks you're a jackass.

The Turd was onstage at 1:54am, doing what we in the comedy world would label "not as good as he clearly thinks he is."

OKAY, FRUSTRATED ASIDE:
There's plenty types of terrible comedians, and when you're in this crazy business of show you have to deal with them all.
There's the Lazy Asshole, who pays no attention to the show, yet feels compelled to ask the MC questions like, "Where's everyone from?" and expecting you to give them a rundown of the hometowns of every member of the audience. Hey lazy asshole, do what I do - ask them. What am I, your secretary taking dictation for you?

Then there's the Oracle, the guy who tells you all about the important message he's trying to communicate to the audience. Usually, the Important Message is communicated via terrible jokes that are either offensively racist or stolen from Chris Rock.

The hallmark of a certain kind of terrible comedian is if he asks the MC what kind of audience he has to deal with, and then ruefully explains that he has some smart, edgy material he wants to try on the audience, and we'd better hope they're hip enough to get it.
Nine times out of ten, this is followed by his actual act which is standing in the middle of the stage, bellowing "BUSH IS DUMB! BUSH IS AN ASSHOLE!" into the microphone. Oh yeah, very risky, very brave. Lenny Bruce lives still, and he writes for Mad TV, apparently.

This last was The Turd. And at 1:54 am, with the waitstaff tired and wanting to go home, with the audience tired, with me wanting to get out of there, with all the checks paid and the manager having asked me when I was going to end the show because we don't want to drag the night out too much longer, I gave The Turd the red light.

2:00am, six minutes later, there's no sign that he's going to get off. Now, if you're Chris Rock, this is acceptible, going outrageously over the light, because you're a great comedian and nobody wants you to stop. If you're Dave Chappelle, yeah, you have the right to drag the night out for three hours because you're a celebrity and the audience is just ecstatic to be in the same room as you. But if you're one of these guys, you're not going to do that, because you're a professional who knows just how inconsiderate it is to everyone else involved. The only person this ever seems appropriate to is the bad comedian who wants to leave the stage on a laugh. But I knew from experience that if I waited for the Turd to end on a laugh, we could be there until four in the morning.

At 2am I do what I would do at any show if a bad comedian is blowing past the light and holding everyone else hostage to his ego; I approach the stage, and tell The Turd the show is over, that he's gone over the light and it's time to leave the stage. He flips out, tells me to get the manager, tells me that I haven't earned the right to criticize him in this club, that I can't just waltz into the club without paying my dues. Then he asks the audience if they want to see him continue, and three drunks in the back say "Yes!" And although the rest of the audience abstains, he takes this as a mandate to do three more minutes of mediocre material and leaves the stage in a huff. I close out the show, thanking him for his incredible display of professionalism and maturity.

A few audience members thank me for putting the show out of its misery before stumbling into the night. Two minutes later, I'm walking out on Kind-Of-But-Not-Really Famous Street (a nickname), where the club is located. Halfway down the street, The Turd is waiting for me, to get into a screaming argument. I'm ready for a fight; if there's something I hate more than bad comedians going outrageously over the light (and every bad comedian that night was doing that - any rel club in the world, and they'd have the mic shut off on them and asked not to return), it's bad comedians who have spent their time incubating their shitty acts in a shitty club and doing nothing with their lives telling me I've not paid my dues. I've done every kind of awful show you can imagine, both in town and on the road. I've died a thousand deaths onstage, and I've come out of each encounter stronger.

Which is why, when he started in on that old bullshit that I didn't deserve the right to kick him offsage because I'd not paid my dues at the Overlook, I came right back and explained that I'd been doing comedy for nine years, I'd had a couple of TV credits, and that I might have a slightly more developed sense of professionalism than he did. At some point, his eyes flash, and he says, "If you ever do that again . . . If you ever do that again, you have no idea what I'm going to do . . ."

Now, I never physically described the Turd. He's about 5' 4 with a long, unkempt jewfro, 120 pounds soaking wet. Plus he's a comedian, the most passively nonviolent group of pusses I've generally met, so I knew that there was no way violence would ever result.

And so I said, "What? What are you going to do?" At which point he jumped at me, shoving me to my knees. I grabbed his leg and dragged him down. He pulled himself to his feet with crazy person strength and wrapped his hand around my neck and started squeezing, choking me.

He starts shouting, "You think I won't do it? You think I won't do it?" I start blacking out. I start gagging on the complete lack of air. I start thinking about how I never expected to live to a ripe old age, but that I'd hoped for it, and that if I had to die young I'd always hoped for a dignified, not-completely-ridiculous death. As I gagged, as the blackness encroached in tendrils across my field of vision, he let go.

The screaming match that ensued was epic. It's rare that someone can get me screaming mad, but when I get screaming mad I don't back down. I don't get scared and I don't calm down easy or at all. He starts telling me that he had only attacked me out of self-defense, because I was "threatening" him. If you've ever spent more than two seconds in my presence, then you know that of the many pejoratives you could use to describe my personality, "threatening" isn't even in the Top 1000. But to quote Billy Joel, "You should never argue with a crazy mind."

We're shouting back and forth at each other, and I'm about to take a swing that will break his nose. Or at least, that's what I'm hoping. I've been in exactly two fights in my life, and in neither fight had I lifted a fist in anger. I am aware that if I miss -and I probably will - this guy is psychotic enough to actually kill me, and that there's no one on the street to stop him (New York City has one magical property: the streets are extremely overcrowded until the exact moment when you need witnesses around).

Out of nowhere comes a young fella with a shaved head; he approaches us as we're shouting at each other. He's wearing a jaunty sporting black Andy Capp cap and leather jacket. His girlfriend is watching from a safe distance. He puts his hands out placatingly. "Guys, guys."

He turns to me and says in a tone of voice that a hippie god would use talking to a crying 7 year-old sitting with a gun, "I've seen you perform," which is such a surprising obviously untrue statement that I'm taken completely offguard. He turns to The Turd and says, "And i've seen you perform." Now my brain is reeling from the audaciously untruthfulness, and when he delivered his next statement I almost laughed, "And I think you're both funny. But you're neither of you listening. You think you're right, and you think you're right and you're not communicating."

The sheer incongruousness of it all gave me breathing room to take a step back and realize that whatever was going on here was not worth my time, my energy, or possibly my life. To make an already way-long story slightly shorter,, three minutes later I'm walking down the street hearing The Turd shout after me, "Just because you were on some shitty Comedy Central show doesn't make you better than everybody else!" Which I think summed up his real problem with me in a nutshell.

I walked away into the New York City night, vowing to ruin his career to the extent that I was capable, vowing to give him a bad name with anyone I could think of that mattered. The next morning, I woke up with a clearer head and realized that as The Turd is a terrible comic who has found a cozy niche where he will never be challenged and never improve, I had very very little work to do in that regard.

Physically, the only real damage I sustained was to my iPod, which, when I found out, made me angrier than anything else about the whole encounter.

* * * * *
PART II:
OH DEAR LORD, THERE'S A PART 2?!?!
This is a quicker story about how the NYPD is able to keep New York's crime stats down. Any time a mayor in the last twelve years has wanted to tout his accomplishments, he always points out how for crime has fallen under his watch.

I went into the neighborhood precinct the next day to file a complaint. Now, as a white guy I've always heard rap tunes like "Fuck Tha Police" or "911 Is A Joke," about how the cops don't care. And I've always listened sympathetically, all the while thinking about how terrible it is that racism in this country means that some people get disregarded by the police, while others (me) get preferential treatment.

Well let me tell you brothers and sisters, I now know that it has nothing to do with racism; the police genuinely don't care. I walked into a stationhouse that had all the care and decor of your average inner-city junior high school. I was sat down at a desk with a woman who was blasting a radio on her desk, making it hard to talk with her. She asked me what i was there for. I told her I'd been attacked the night before. She asked why, and I said, "Well to make a long story short - "
She snapped, "Make it short!"

She started taking my complaint, and we were interupted twice by a friend of hers who had come over to chat. They chatted (my complaint ws not as important as their plans for after work, which I totally undersand. I guess this was part of the process of "making it short"). She was pretty rude throughout. When I got home, I found that the complaint receipt I'd been written said that my complaint was, "Harassment." Now, I'm no legal scholar, but I'm pretty sure I know the difference between, say, "Assault," or "Attempted Murder," and harassment. But when that's entered into the city's CompStat program (used to track crime across the city), the precinct still has an impressively low crime rate. And I was effectively discouraged from following up on my complaint.

I wish this story had a moral, or a neat ending.
Ah well, at least you may have gotten some amusement value out of my misery.