I'm moving into the final stages of formatting with the printers and designers of Soul Parole. I had no idea so much went into the process. The experience has been rewarding and frustrating. I have learned so much! The book could have been released months ago. Film and TV projects like "Boss" and "My Extreme Animal Phobia," my "EXTRA HANDS of HOPE" charity and the decision to launch a publishing company of my own, Soul Parole Productions, Inc. instead of publishing traditionally were God's detours. Margins changed and monies to charity will benefit. The company is also ASCAP.
My vision of helping artists get their works to market without losing their rights to the material is being realized. My yet unrealized reality is to have a think tank or communal group of artists that will be a central low or no cost council of elders to young artists is forming on the horizon.
The biggest obstacle has been in the editing process. Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that keeping it short isn't part of who I am. I am volumous. People unsubscribe to my Facebook feeds because I chatter. I also am not a polished writer. I am a talker on paper. The challenge has been in "keeping it real and raw," like it was when I was writing it. I don't like rewrites on my thoughts. I don't see commas float out of my mouth as I speak. The book will not be grammaticlly perfect. So be it. It will be emotionally accurate.
This is one of my first blogs with mention of David Brenner. When I got sober I sent my stand-up to Tom Dreesen, David Brenner, Mike Toomey, Marsha Warfield and Billy Connolly. I told them all I was an addict and wanted to be a recovering alcoholic addict comic! Tom basically said showing your pain is important. We wrote back and forth and he has been amazingly supportive. David has been the street wise Pen Pal. He always answers my notes but is more of a realist. He says stuff like, "don't tell people not to drink in a bar where the guy who's paying you gets his money from people who buy drinks." We have not been as close as me and Tom. Both have been very supportive of my mission to reach those still suffering from depression and addiction. Neither call me when they are in town. I have met Tom and talked with him more than a few times. He is Chicago comedy....
4th blog December 2010
"Why Would You Ever Let Yourself Become A Comedian?"...David Brenner
Legendary comedian and writer David Brenner once posted on my Facebook wall, "I understand everything you have done and been, with one exception. Why would you ever let yourself become a comedian?"
I don't fully understand the word "let". The fact that such an iconic comedy pioneer responded to a schmuck like me makes me feel like I'm doing something right, or at least, making people think that. I appreciate the input, Mr. Brenner.
I started my professional comedy career in 2006. It was 7 days before my forty-first birthday, and since I had made trying stand-up before turning forty-one of my bucket list items, I signed up for an open mic at Barrel' O Laughs featuring Bill Brady in Oak Lawn, Chicago's longest running comedy venue. The rules were simple: no f-word, n-word, c-word, or p-word. I was cool with that, because I think the shock value of those words have unnecessarily taken over the crafting of a good joke.
My love for making people laugh was probably my first addiction. I was a happy kid outwardly, while growing up in a difficult existence. My mom and dad got divorced when I was two and my sister was five. Our apartment was tiny, almost motel-like, and a single mother with kids was stigmatized in those days. I did anything to make a relative, friend or stranger crack-up. Mom worked all the time, so entertaining myself and others was no problem. The sound of someone laughing at me and my antics drove me. When Mom came home after a long day, it was show time, and I would make her laugh until she got mad at me. I felt those laughs in every fiber of my being. It was euphoric, and I wanted more, and all the time.
When I started kindergarten at Carpenter Street School in the heart of Mokena, Illinois I had a whole new audience; the classroom and playground were my Broadway and Vegas. As the laughs grew, I grew more frantic saying and doing crazy physical comedy and impressions of kids, teachers, and movie stars.
I started my professional comedy career in 2006. It was 7 days before my forty-first birthday, and since I had made trying stand-up before turning forty-one of my bucket list items, I signed up for an open mic at Barrel' O Laughs featuring Bill Brady in Oak Lawn, Chicago's longest running comedy venue. The rules were simple: no f-word, n-word, c-word, or p-word. I was cool with that, because I think the shock value of those words have unnecessarily taken over the crafting of a good joke.
My love for making people laugh was probably my first addiction. I was a happy kid outwardly, while growing up in a difficult existence. My mom and dad got divorced when I was two and my sister was five. Our apartment was tiny, almost motel-like, and a single mother with kids was stigmatized in those days. I did anything to make a relative, friend or stranger crack-up. Mom worked all the time, so entertaining myself and others was no problem. The sound of someone laughing at me and my antics drove me. When Mom came home after a long day, it was show time, and I would make her laugh until she got mad at me. I felt those laughs in every fiber of my being. It was euphoric, and I wanted more, and all the time.
When I started kindergarten at Carpenter Street School in the heart of Mokena, Illinois I had a whole new audience; the classroom and playground were my Broadway and Vegas. As the laughs grew, I grew more frantic saying and doing crazy physical comedy and impressions of kids, teachers, and movie stars.
Those were my happiest times in front of a crowd. Someone asked me, “How can you stand up in front of all those people and not be terrified?” The terror didn’t happen in front of a crowd, but when I was alone with my racing thoughts. “Class clown” was my official entry in elementary school and high school newspapers and yearbooks. Every laugh released endorphins in me, but I craved still more. If I was growing up now, I would absolutely be labelled as having attention defecit disorder.
As I took the stage that night, the Chicago Tribune was there and wrote a feature story on me based on people taking chances in their forties and older. The article was titled First Time Comic Stands up to His Fears and Takes the Stage, September 22, 2006. That added to my terror and made me really unpopular with the other comics. I am grateful to say I was sober that night, but only because I was afraid I would forget my material if I was drunk. Bill Brady took me to the side before I went on and said, "Don't worry. We have very low expectations for you." It was priceless, and loosened me up. I hit the stage and the spotlight blinded my eyes. I remember thinking, “What a great idea,” because I couldn’t see the crowd. I later learned that's exactly why it was there.
I heard the first laugh, and I was hooked. My set was supposed to last seven minutes and I did twenty! I had no idea why the blue light was flashing on and off at the rear of the club. I thought a pizza order was ready for the waitress and just kept ripping. I wrapped up my set with a joke about Jesus returning as a union carpenter and being asked to turn one sausage into a thousand sausages at the company picnic. I didn't fail. I wouldn't call it a kill, but I felt euphoria. I told the reporter it was like climbing Mount Everest: pure adrenalin.
I think art chooses the artist. Unfortunately my models of comic and material success were guys like Richard Pryor, George Carlin, John Belushi, and Ernest Hemingway. Carson and Dean Martin always had a cocktail in hand. The dark side of comedy was seductive to me, and I planned on following in their steps. Those guys partied hard after they were famous. I was content for many years with the party and the darkness, but the material success never arrived. I just drank and used and thought of all the jokes I was gonna write...tomorrow.
As I took the stage that night, the Chicago Tribune was there and wrote a feature story on me based on people taking chances in their forties and older. The article was titled First Time Comic Stands up to His Fears and Takes the Stage, September 22, 2006. That added to my terror and made me really unpopular with the other comics. I am grateful to say I was sober that night, but only because I was afraid I would forget my material if I was drunk. Bill Brady took me to the side before I went on and said, "Don't worry. We have very low expectations for you." It was priceless, and loosened me up. I hit the stage and the spotlight blinded my eyes. I remember thinking, “What a great idea,” because I couldn’t see the crowd. I later learned that's exactly why it was there.
I heard the first laugh, and I was hooked. My set was supposed to last seven minutes and I did twenty! I had no idea why the blue light was flashing on and off at the rear of the club. I thought a pizza order was ready for the waitress and just kept ripping. I wrapped up my set with a joke about Jesus returning as a union carpenter and being asked to turn one sausage into a thousand sausages at the company picnic. I didn't fail. I wouldn't call it a kill, but I felt euphoria. I told the reporter it was like climbing Mount Everest: pure adrenalin.
I think art chooses the artist. Unfortunately my models of comic and material success were guys like Richard Pryor, George Carlin, John Belushi, and Ernest Hemingway. Carson and Dean Martin always had a cocktail in hand. The dark side of comedy was seductive to me, and I planned on following in their steps. Those guys partied hard after they were famous. I was content for many years with the party and the darkness, but the material success never arrived. I just drank and used and thought of all the jokes I was gonna write...tomorrow.
