Mister Comedy

Apparently I’m confused. Now I’ll grant you, I’m old enough to remember when ‘reality’ and ‘tv’ were two different things. But apparently, congressional leaders investigating abuses in the war on terror believe that the Fox series ‘24′ may have led to actual human rights violations. Well, stop it. I have had enough of commentators, analysts, critics and other talking heads commenting, analyzing, criticizing and talking about the show ‘24′ as if the show (and that’s gonna be a key word here, people–’show’) should be held responsible for actual incidents of torture from Abu Graib to Guantanamo.

Understand–I believe torture is unequivocally wrong. I also believe that if military or law enforcement people representing the United States are engaging in torture because they saw it on a goddam tv show, then the fault is not with the tv show but in fact is with the real world humans committing the torture. If our agents are so stupidly malleable that they are watching Kiefer Sutherland and thinking “that’s what we need to do–watch this guy–he must know what he’s doing–he was in ‘The Lost Boys’!”, then we need to take a good long look at how we’re training our agents.

It’s all made up, people. And, it’s on Fox–anyone whose worldview is shaped by Fox is already a lost cause.  The whole thing is circular–the show ‘24′ has been given WAY more cultural significance than it deserves precisely because everyone’s worried about its cultural significance. This hand-wringing over Jack Bauer’s tactics (oh, by the way–he’s fictional) is like every other nontroversy regarding art’s influence on behavior. Like when thousands of dollars were spent to prove there’s more smoking in movies than in real life (duh–there’s also more spaceships–they’re fucking movies!) .

Just because I find ‘24′  to be a well-acted, tautly written, compelling action story does not mean I believe the best way to get information from bad guys is to cut off their fingers. Any more than watching infomercials when I’m drunk at 3 am means I believe that I can solve all my financial problems buying foreclosed properties for three hundred dollars.

If the amount of violent acts on television witnessed by children is causing children to be more violent, maybe–just maybe–it’s because parents are letting their kids watch too much television! I have an idea–try parenting! Keep track of what your kids watch and…I don’t know, talk to them about what they see and hey–if you’re not too busy, give them some parental guidance if they see bad things!

And why doesn’t this Svengali-like influence work both ways? It’s not like when tv shows good things and laudable examples of behavior, millions of people started…being good. I haven’t done the research on this, but I doubt that when there’s a new Hallmark Hall of Fame movie about an orphanage, donations to orphanages skyrocket.

If you happened to read my previous post, you know that I attempted to move to New York. Turns out, I ran out of couches on which to crash before I was able to start generating income (I knew it was a long shot), but it was a great experience, and I’ll be back (in retrospect, three hundred dollars probably isn’t really enough money to really make it there)…

So, I’m in Minneapolis, staying with a friend until the winds of fortune blow favorably for me again. And I got to thinking–in all my vagabonding, I’ve formed very specific relationships with each of the cities I’ve explored. Because really, when you move somewhere new, it’s a lot like dating–you get to know the personality of the place, try to figure out if the two of you are meant to be together…sometimes you have to break up with a place, and sometimes you just end up with some great memories. I decided to reminisce about the cities I’ve been ‘involved’ with.

Los Angeles: Ahh, my first love. I really only started seeing you because you were my neighbor growing up. We met when I went to UCLA, and I thought you were fun. But a guy needs more than fun, and besides, you were always dealing with some sort of drama–earthquakes, fires, mudslides–I needed something more stable in a relationship. It wasn’t till after I left you that I realized how shallow and superficial you really are, but I wish you well–I’m sure you’ll find others who get lured by your easy charm.

Minneapolis (the first time):  My first grownup relationship with a city. You encouraged me with your midwestern nurturing…because of you I was able to pursue my career. You cooked me wild rice soup and were always so nice…but like a typical man, I left because you were too nice. I thought I’d outgrown you, and needed have a little more action in my life. And let’s be honest–you can be really cold.

Boston: I’ll admit it–I was a jerk when we first got together. In my late twenties, making good money as a comedian, I was cocky and full of myself…I used you and had no intention of staying with you. We weren’t right for each other, and to be honest I always resented your provincial ways.

Miami: 1987…You were hot. And you got me into a lot of trouble. I’ve got no hard feelings about the time we spent together–but this was just a fling, all sex and drugs and no romance. I actually saw you again recently, and thought you looked good.

Los Angeles (again): I had no business seeing you again, and during our brief reunion I didn’t feel like I had ever really known you. Maybe it’s my insecurities–you’re almost too pretty for me, and though I still think about you, and I still want you, I can’t see you again.

Portland: After living on the edge for so many years, I found you, and I fell in love. You were so comfortable and low-maintenance. But ultimately, we just spent too much time getting stoned, and I was worried I was becoming complacent. With you, Portland, I didn’t have the drive to accomplish much, but it was cool hanging out.

Chicago: Now you were one helluva lady. A shot and a beer kinda gal who could still dress up and dazzle–in a simpler time, you’d have been called a ‘broad’ and it would have been a compliment. We spent three years together, and I think we could have made a go of it, but then I lost my job, my health became an issue, and I became a burden. It just seemed best to move on–guess it was a mid-life thing, and I had to find myself again.

New York: You know, I had heard about you from friends. Friends who thought we’d be great together. Exciting. Open to anything. We only had two weeks, but what a whirlwind it was (you probably don’t remember, but I actually met you ten years before–at the time you didn’t even notice me, and I left without so much as a goodbye). I think we might give it another try someday. But I’m not ready to commit to you yet. You demand more than I’ve got to give, and let’s be real–you’re used to someone spending a lot of money on you. When I get my shit together, though, I will definitely look you up.

Minneapolis (again):  Why do I always come back to you when the wheels fall off? But here I am. You’re not the most glamorous city–I’ve certainly had wilder nights and more adventurous times, but right now your even temper and Lutheran reserve offer the kind of peace I need. You keep taking me back, even though you know that if my muse beckons, I’ll probably leave you again. But for now, maybe this afternoon we’ll make a hot dish, and later we can bundle up like mummies and walk to the Sculpture Garden.

Spoonbridge and Cherry

Well, since I last posted here, a lot has happened. On another site (OpenSalon), in my last rambling piece , I mentioned that I was at something of a crossroads. Well, I cast the die, crossed the Rubicon, took that one small step, threw caution to the wind, and apparently had some cliches lying around I needed to use. What I’m saying is, I packed up my life in six bags and took a train to New York City. What I’m really saying is, at almost fifty years old, I decided to move to the most expensive city in the country with a bum hip, no job, two weeks of housing at a friend of a friend’s and three hundred dollars. In February. If anyone needs a life coach, I’m available.

Basically, having been evicted, I had to move somewhere, and my (at the time) flawless reasoning was that I might as well go to one of the few places where there’s still a standup comedy ’scene,’ that having been my career. And as far as finding the inevitable mind-numbing, soul-sucking day job, well, although New York is obviously getting bitch-slapped by the economic meltdown (which New York was partly responsible for), there are still more job possibilities in New York than in, say, Minneapolis. It’s a numbers game.

So I’m here. And excited. And terrified. And excited. I mean, as I write this, I’m looking out my new friend’s window down Broadway–freakin’ Broadway! But then there’s the fact that in nine days I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping. So there’s that. Forget about mood swings–I’m on a freakin’ mood playground.

When I locked the door to my Chicago apartment for the last time, I realized I am now officially homeless. That’s weird to wrap your brain around when you always thought you were just ‘bohemian.’ It was almost a badge of pride to live a kind of spartan life. I’m an artist, goddammit! Oh, how I wish I lived in the fourteenth century, so I could have a patron. I could write jokes for the king, and live fabulously. Of course, I’d have to write jokes that only showed the king in a good light, but hey it’s showbiz.

Twenty hours. That’s how long it takes by Amtrak to go from being a Chicagoan (“fuckin’ Cubs!”) to being a New Yorker (“fuckin Mets!”). The first stop of any length along the way is Toledo, Ohio. For forty-five minutes. For no apparent reason. All I was told is ‘it’s built into the schedule.’ So I’m in the Toledo train station at 3:30 in the morning chatting with a fascinating Orthodox Jew whose trip ended in Toledo (I’m sure many Passover seders end with the hopeful prayer ‘next year in Toledo’). Now a train attendant told me we would be leaving at 4:00, so at about 3:45 I start getting ready to say my shaloms to Chaim and I see my train…start to move.

Suddenly I’m in a bad romantic comedy, all slow-motion and yelling, as I try to hobble after my train. Incidentally, on said train were my bags, which contained my phone, wallet and laptop. My entire life,or at least all record of it, was slowly, but inexorably, leaving me behind.  After what seemed like, oh, half an hour, or at least enough time to ponder every bad decision I’d ever made up to that point, the train stopped. Great. Now my imagination has me thinking this was some colossal prank, like when you’re hitchhiking and the car slows down, pulls over and then drives away. Very funny, Amtrak.

Turns out they were moving the train closer to some air hose thing (sorry, I wasn’t really processing things well at that point), and I reunited with my life. Also turns out the attendant was speaking in approximate terms with the whole 4:00 thing, and that the train departs Toledo at 3:50. Really my fault for not saying to her as I got off the train “No, when EXACTLY do we leave, because I want to make sure I don’t end up having to stay in FUCKING TOLEDO!” Apologies to any Toledo residents reading this. I’m sure it’s a lovely city.

When I settled back into my seat, I told a guy I had been chatting up on the train the story, and he said the same thing happened to him  at a stop in Cleveland recently. Which leads me to what I call the Toledo Theory. See, I think so few people choose to go to Toledo, or Cleveland, that the state of Ohio has paid Amtrak to leave a certain number of passengers behind, to help the local economy. I believe most of the residents of Toledo, Ohio were actually going somewhere else, and once they were stranded, basically said “Well…I might as well just stay here.” Granted, it’s not as sexy as black-ops helicopters or Area 51, but it’s my first wacky conspiracy theory, I’m kinda proud of it.

Anyway, more details in my next post. I have 8 days of housing left. And amazingly, I still believe in miracles.