I have been busy working on a film shoot this week. The wizard editing together our comedy pilot had her Grad thesis production last week, so I donated my body to "Switchboard." A, the editor, cast me as a crazy homeless woman for the first day.
I spent several years crewing on everything from student projects to professional independent ones, but when I am playing a role, my mind goes romping down a dark alley and never really comes back. I spend most of my time entertaining people around craft service (food service) than really doing anything else. I can't help it.
When I was asked to go to hair and make-up, they dressed me in this long red hippie skirt, which I put over my jeans and army boots. I asked to wear the pink t-shirt which I wore over a grey thermal. They threw on a kind of trendy faux fur trim jacket that was one size too small, a scarf, a USA Olympic winter hat with a hole in it and voila! I was homeless.
Make-up asked what I was and I said, "I am the type of homeless that is on drugs and occasionally whores herself out. Occasionally. Only when I am in a pinch."
So what do they give me? Three sores on my face, chapped lips, deteriorating teeth and grime all over my face. Now I had to amend my character from druggie-occasional-whore to just fucking nuts.
The 3o-something yr old, male actor in the chair next to me faced the make-up artist waiting to transform.
Make-Up: "Are you allergic to latex?"
Male Actor: "I don't know."
Me: "Yes . . . you do."
Make-Up: "So I will take that as a no."
I got out of the passenger van on set, a park in downtown Los Angeles, and saw The Comic (who was crewing on the set out of the pure goodness of his heart). I shook my knockers at him and said, "Ya want me now?" His face tightened with something resembling a smile. "No."
I pranced to set and was placed among some real homeless people in a real park. The Comic followed and said, "I think you found the perfect deterrent actually, for keeping me far far away from you."
A (the director) came up and asked make-up to tone me down. I begged to keep a sore or two on my face.
It takes time to set up shots, and seeing as I was just in the background through most of the shoot, all I had to do was sit there and look homeless. The transient behind me said, "Wow, you look like you fit in." He and I got to talking about life. He said, "I spend 20 days a month out here. The rest of the time I am in Vegas. I lose. I always lose. But then I come back, get a bologna sandwich. It's alright. It's my decision. This is my life."
During bouts of silence, I would pull up my Facebook on the iPhone to waste time. Two police officers scouted the park. Apparently, they interview the homeless, looking to apprehend those high on drugs. The homeless insist the worst psychotic offenders are usually left alone because they are more trouble than they are worth.
They approached me, "The iPhone is your only give away. Very convincing."
The prop department gave me a bag of stuff to use during the scene. I pulled out a hand held mirror and brush then gave myself the crazy business of thinking my hair was growing out of my jacket. What is weird about acting is you can say to yourself, what if that was my hair growing out of this jacket and in some parallel universe, you start to believe it. The make-up was itching my face so I used the mirror and brush to relieve any itches and then tried brushing my hat, with the occasional "bang my face against my reflection" and that was it.
Another homeless actor, "I don't know what the hell you were doing with that mirror, but you it worked really well."
When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I thought, "Wow, I really look fucking crazy." One eye was squinting a little more than the other. My wrinkles were pronounced through all the make-up and dirt on my face. It was alarming. You wonder, is this what I would look like if my life took a different turn?
Another pair of officers approached, this time wearing plastic gloves.
I said, "Are you dealing with bodily fluids today?"
Cop, "Today? Oh, every day. The iPhone is the only thing that gives you away."
I said, "I heard that." Obligatory chuckle.
Cop, "Yeah, and you're too smiley."
I said, "Good note!"
Cop, "Try lots of sudden movements."
I asked them if homeless women were raped a lot. The cop said, "Eh, we are only called in when its a bad business transaction if you get my meaning."
While under the craft service tent, which Em was handling quite seriously, I got into one of my usual rants regarding fellatio for the entertainment of the Comic and a strange, quiet, large, bald black man. I said, "I don't perform oral sex, well, I do for the boyfriend but that's because he is Jewish."
The Comic, "Jewish?"
Me, "Yeah, his people have been through enough. I only perform oral sex for the Jews. And maybe for the blacks."
The Comic, "Really?"
Me, "Of course."
The Comic, "What about Native Americans?"
Me, "No one deserves it more than Native Americans."
Em, "Everyone, but you, basically."
The Comic, "I wouldn't say that because I am white, I have lived a privileged life."
The quiet guy under the tent suddenly found his voice. "Not having a privileged lifestyle to someone like him is not having a summer home. Its only having one sports car to drive around on Sundays. Less people to clean his house."
The Comic's eye brows started bouncing up and down. "Oh yeah ...summer homes, sports cars, that's me ... all the way." The Comic lives in a bachelor pad in downtown Los Angeles.
Black Bald Guy, "Oh ... I know. Your stocks not doing so well this quarter? Worried you might have to work for your money?"
The banter took off from there, mostly between myself and the Comic. When the bald, black guy got quiet, I turned to him and said, "You are getting a free show. Someday you are going to have to pay for this kind of comedy."
Bald, black guy, "Who? Misa?" I realized, he was saying, "Me, sir?" in an exaggerated southern accent so from that point forward I called him Misa (mee-sah).
Misa, "I'm gonna have to pay, sir! Oohhh, I feel so lucky then."
I said, "Oh, Misa. You are lucky."
The Comic, "Is that a southern drawl?"
Misa, "Ooooh, yessir!"
Me, "Are you an actor?"
He slowly nodded his head.
Me, "What other accents can you do?"
Misa (with absolutely no accent), "English . . . 'Hello, darling, would you like a cup of tea? I can also do Scottish. (also with no accent) 'By golly, it is 10 o'clock."
Then he stood up and said he had to go. This was strange since all we had seen him do was plow through cookies and juice boxes off the craft service table. No one had seen him actually do something for the production.
Me, "Next time I see you, I want a monologue for a drama, a comedy, a dramedy, a period movie and one with an English accent."
Misa broke into a dramatic monologue about a father disappointed in his son. I listened attentively. I had no choice when he stuck his finger in my face and towered over me like I was a black teenage boy. It was kind of good.
Me, "Was that the comedy or the period?"
Misa answered quite seriously, "Its a drama."
I said, "Where is the dirt underneath your fingernails and the wedding ring for your character?"
Misa examined his hands seriously.
I said, "Commit! Commit! (beat) I don't have time for this."
He started gathering his things.
I said, "You can't leave, I need you as my laugh track."
Misa laughed. I raised my arms up halfway like I was conducting an orchestra. Misa's laugh erupted from his belly, louder and even more exaggerated.
I stuffed Fritos in my mouth. "Very good."
Misa left and I never saw him again.
Thursday I was expecting Abe to show up to set. We had tickets to a comedy show on the Universal City Walk and planned on hitting Halloween Nights afterward. Abe is not thrilled and feels the need to remind me that he is not thrilled.
Me (on the phone): You don't understand, I love Halloween Nights so much, every year, the day after I go, my Facebook Status Update reads 'I am now the furthest away from Halloween Nights I will be all year.'
Me (on the phone): "I love Halloween Nights so much, I would rather have tickets than a Christmas AND a birthday present. You won't have to buy me anything until Valentine's Day. Even then, we are talking something minimal like a modest floral arrangement . . . if that."
Abe (on the phone): I'm sorry, I am not sure if its the reception or because you are talking so fast, but I don't know what the hell you are talking about.
Me: Just take me to Halloween Nights. I will love you forever.
(He just bought tickets as I wrote this blog)
The Comic felt that I shouldn't boast about my look with my homeless garb on, but there is something thrilling about being ugly- when you can go back to pretty. As I settled more into the character, I became relaxed. I behaved as if no one could see me. Huge stretches and yawns, terrible posture, moving at my own pace, just being oblivious of the world around me. It was a very tranquil experience, actually.
My close-up was mildly more intense. I got to rant about some crazy shit. Very curious to see how that turns out.
During a scene, I was cued to walk over and sit next to someone at the edge of my concrete ledge in the background of the shot. I turned and stared at him with a blank expression. The guy said, "What the FUCK are you looking at?"
I mumbled, "You aren't supposed to talk when the camera is rolling."
He kept mumbling. So I went over to the assistant director and said, "Is that guy an actor?"
The AD said, "Oh no, he is just some guy that wondered on set. But we love him there in the shot."
Great, I wish I knew that I was staring at a paranoid schizophrenic before committing to the action in the scene. Now I had to repeat the same action with every take, so everything could be edited properly.
Next take, feeling a little nervous, walked over, sat down and stared at a homeless, paranoid schizophrenic. He kept looking at me over his shoulder. Yeah, the cops were right, sudden movements.
Me to Schizo, "So, you aren't an actor? That's amazing because did you see the creative genius we just created?"
Schizo, "No, I have this bus ticket. Its 1 to 100."
Me, "Oh, well, sorry I stared at you and made you uncomfortable. But, aren't you impressed?"
Schizo, "Not really. If you were a man, I would have punched you in the stomach."
Abe never made it in time for set. Now, normally I would be annoyed, and give him the silent treatment to prove a point. Time is valuable, and when you don't communicate, you are wasting someone else's. The fact is, to love someone, you have to let them be who they are. Abe isn't punctual. He is floating through life right now, and I think that is part of my attraction.
My family is so possessed with the desperation to work work work, even when they are retired. At the wedding in Vegas, my whole family didn't "attend" it, they "worked" it. My sister was taking pictures while fighting over which dishes should be removed from the counter. My mother was putting my father to work, like he needed a job every 20 minutes to keep him moving. The theory being if you stop working, you get depressed, slow down or shut down.
In a way, I think people regard you with less respect when you behave that way. Its almost like, in their minds, they justify that you want to serve them. It took years to smother my compulsion to carry out other people's bags in the grocery store, or volunteer myself to do something for someone else for no other reason than I could.
I like that Abe doesn't feel like he has to work all the time. I like that right now I feel like I don't have to work all the time. I was so tired last year. Tired of filling up every day or minute with something to push me forward. Its exhausting!
In fact, if I ever have a family of my own, I want them to grown up thinking highly enough of themselves that they aren't running around a wedding collecting dirty plates. I want them to grow up with one sturdy backpack every academic year, instead of 5 cheap ones that fall apart while they walk down the hallway for the whole school to see. I want to upgrade my life and my bloodline.
On the flip side, perhaps Abe will grow to love and depend on work the way I do, in an effort to define character.
Abeism: "No one ever calls me in for an interview. I don't know, I just don't think I was meant to work."
Abeism: "Can we just sail away and live off the family fortune?"
Abeism: "I am late . . . again . . . of course."
And, I also like that Abe doesn't associate any guilt with his time, or his slightly high regard for nice things, nice meals, nice cars . . . I find it refreshing that he takes everything in stride. Then I take all that expectation I have on him to be there, to be on time, to do what I want and I let it fly away. He isn't a doll. He is my boyfriend.
He came out later that night, Jaq had tickets to a comedy show on the Universal Walk. Everyone was late to the rendezvous point@Em's place. I was late. Abe was late. Jaq was late. The only one who wasn't late was Despondent Ray (Em's roommate and now Jaq's boyfriend) and that was because he lived there.
Jaq came up to grab him and took off, so rushed, she didn't acknowledge me or Abe. So Abe and I said our goodbyes, then we hopped in the car, drove over to Universal Studios, parked on the roof and smoked a bowl. Then we wandered into the comedy club 15 minutes after it started. And guess what? We beat everyone there.
We went up to the balcony to get a bird's eye view of the audience, since we couldn't spot Jaq or Despondent. We sat at a table and one of the comic's said, "Hey, is that Dog the Bounty Hunter up there?"
I looked over and saw a white, bleached blond mullet in some kind of moccasin/cowboy get up. Dog got up and waved to the crowd.
We found Jaq and all went down to a table on the main floor. Now, another detail of this story, true yet totally bizarre, is The Comic . . . that is my Comic, was performing in this particular show. This is purely by coincidence.
During one of the comic's acts, whose routine centered around his trouble with the law, Dog the Bounty Hunter randomly walked up, gave him a pensive glare, pointed at him, and, without a word, exited stage left.
I turned to Abe, "I am way too stoned for this."
After the show, I introduced Abe to the Comic. There was some casual chit chat about the show, this and that. Meanwhile, I noticed that Jaq and Despondent Ray were gone. I told Comic that we were going outside to look for them, and we had plans to all go to Halloween Nights.
The Comic said he would meet us out there.
So when I was freezing my ass off outside, while Abe smoked a cigarette and realized that Jaq did in fact ditch us, I felt awkward about leaving since The Comic left it on the "see you outside" note.
The Comic came out and offered to walk with us down to Halloween Nights. When we got there and I found Jaq and Despondent, I decided to wait to do Halloween Nights on a cheaper/warmer night,walked back to Abe and the Comic and suggested food.
Here the Comic said he was hungry too, and walked with us to Johnny Rocket's which was still open and actually serves the Streamliner (a vegan burger). There, we sat in a booth and listened to a handful of drunk, frat boys perform several Sublime songs for karaoke in the middle of the restaurant.
We walked in and I said, "Who could forget this 50s classic?" Tip of the hat to you, Daniel Clowes.
The Comic was very serious and sat across from us with chili cheese fries and a beer. Already, he made mention that I am too engaging with strangers and discuss sex way too much on set. Abe fell silent for a second and I reminded him of how I am. I was incredibly sexual on the set Abe and I worked on together, but never "picked up" or "hooked up." Its all bizarrely clinical for me. Not primal in the slightest. Not even a little bit.
Then the Comic asked about Abe's work schedule, fully well knowing that Abe is unemployed and, if he had a flaw of any kind, it would be his lack of drive. It was a soft punch.
The Comic, "Staying up late, huh? I bet you can get lots of work done at night so you don't get distracted."
Abe stared at him with ganja heavy eye lids and then said, "I have been lacking motivation lately." I gotta hand it to the kid, he doesn't give a fuck what people think about him. I don't have to protect him. That is incredibly sexy.
Abe was still kind, gracious, inquisitive, genuinely interested, conversational and charming. I was really proud of him. After Abe picked up the bill, we walked out together and the Comic gave Abe a fist pump before walking to the other side of the parking lot.
I mentioned how impressed I was with how generous and kind he was to the Comic. Abe said, "I just hope he doesn't go home and kill himself tonight." I laughed. Abe, "I am serious."
Since the Comic and I got honest over a pint of beer and a few games of pool last month, he has grown on me. He seems more natural and relaxed, I don't know. I am becoming a friend, and less of a conquest. Not to mention, he is constantly encouraging me, complimenting me. It almost makes up for my parents. I try not to worry what it all means. Am I an asshole for enjoying his company now? I don't know. It is what it is.
The man is an enigma. Why would he want to hang out with me and my boyfriend all night?
Saturday came around and I was back on set. There was a middle-aged Native American guy there, a bit shorter than me in full head gear and costume. He introduced himself.
Reuben: "This is our traditional handshake, like this (grabs my wrist) to help avoid the spread of disease."
Me: "Sorry that didn't work out for you."
Reuben: "Oh its working out. Casinos . . . are you kidding me? We've got the upper hand."
Me: "I always say, I refuse to give fellatio to white men because they just haven't earned it. Except for the Jews of course. What can't we do for them?"
Reuben: "Yeah, we get the women. I am dating a Scandinavian. I have dated women from all cultures, they LOVE me. You can see all of them on my Facebook profile."
Ok, its clear right around here that Reuben is going to puff up his feathers, so to speak, because he thinks stupid shit like this matters to girls.
Reuben: "Women somehow know that we are gifted. Why do you think we get along so well with the blacks?"
Me: "I didn't know you got along with the blacks."
Reuben: "Yeah, and the Jews. We always say the cowboys wiped us out because our cocks are bigger. That's why they call my Big Feather."
Me: "Big Feather because of your . . ."
Reuben: "Oh, yeah. All 8 1/2 inches of it. And we aren't circumcised so we get that extra sensitivity."
Me: "That extra inch of skin really goes the extra mile, huh?"
Reuben: "You're funny."
Now, when men say stupid shit to me in an effort to impress, I like to repeat it in the company of others, deadpan. This way, they can hear how ridiculous they sound. I am really just trying to help them.
Me: "This is Reuben. He is in an open relationship with a hairless, bi-sexual Scandinavian."
Reuben: "Oh yeah, she prefers women. She is over there doing her thing . . . "
Me: "Pillow fights with her girlfriends . . . "
Reuben: "And I am here doing my thing. She sends me a box of condoms for my birthday and tells me to go have fun."
The Comic: "Sounds more like she is trying to break up with you."
Frank was a German actor on set who, in the short time it took to make a pot of coffee for craft service, confided in me that he hasn't really dated in several years, but has had casual intercourse with a variety of women. He has only used condoms 5 times in his entire life.
Me: "This is Frank, he has an aversion to prophylactics."
Frank (German accent): "Prophylactics. I don't know what this word means."
The other good one about Frank was when he found out that I loved champagne and offered to share a spare bottle he just happened to have in his fridge at home with me the next day if I hung around after the production wrapped.
Me: "This is Frank, he has some spare champagne he is donating for when we wrap tomorrow."
Poor Frank was very German and replied in defeat, "Well . . . I only have one bottle."
On Sunday, The Comic brought in a friend, another comic named Jamar, to help with the set. Comic and Jamar spar over 'Your Mom' jokes, which sounds really juvenile, but it was a delightful way to pass the afternoon as we tore down a set.
(*Jamar is black, that may help explain some of the following jokes)
Me: "You know what's sad about Jamar's mom, you can't unscrew her."
Jamar: "Your mom is so loose, they had to rescue Chilean miners trapped inside . . . and then the Goonies."
Me: "Your mom is so dirty, she uses this bottle of hand sanitizer as lubricant."
Jamar: "Your mom is so loose, child birth was like this" (Jamar walked out calmly, dusts off his shoulders)
Me: "Your mom is so dirty, child birth was like this" (I smell something bad, and walked away in distaste)
Jamar: "Your mom is so loose, a marching band came out as afterbirth." (Jamar marching while playing imaginary trombone)
Me: "God, chipping off this glue is like chipping white man sperm off of Jamar's Mom's mouth."
Me: "Can you spread your mom's legs and open this can of coke for me?"
My energy was waning. We were waking up around 5am so we could be on set by 6am to have coffee and breakfast ready for the cast and crew. After a few days, it really started taking its toll on me. Sunday, with all the physical labor, I thought I was going to pass out. An actress' diet is not substantial enough to support crew work.
I was circling the taco truck outside, waiting for the crew to break for lunch. I asked them for a plate early. I grabbed a few vegan tacos and headed back to the table on set.
Em and I were sitting with the rest of the crew, while Jamar (who I met just an hour before) took his plate to an empty table next to us.
Me: "Hey, Jamar, it's not 1952 anymore, you can sit at our table."
Jamar was growing silent. He stood up and sat next to me, quietly. We finished eating and The Comic asked if I was going back for seconds.
I said, "I was going to give myself a break first, but I was under the impression Jamar's mom didn't take any breaks."
Jamar quietly took a bite out of his taco.
I said, "I am disappointed. (to The Comic) Next time, bring me a real stand up comic."
I walked away. While waiting in line, the cook asked how everything was.
Cook: "The beans?"
Me: "Very good, great texture."
Cook: "The rice?"
Me: "Perfectly cooked, not too hard, not too soft. You should be on Top Chef."
The guy behind me said, "Did you say Top Chef? I work on that show."
I said, "You do? Well, I have an idea, how about a Top Chef season of roach coaches, or taco trucks?"
The guy behind him said, "I like that idea. I will pass it by the producer. What do you do?"
Me (hanging my head in shame): "I am just an actress."
Top Chef Guy: "Oh."
After lunch, Em left. Then the Comic and Jamar. I did another hour of work and then made my way towards the exit. I ran into a boy that was working on the cinematography. His eyes were watered down and red. My first thought was he was sprayed in the eyes with something toxic.
I said, "What happened?"
He said, "My grandfather had a stroke."
I leaned in and gave him a long hug.
Me: "I'm sorry. Come on, lets go smoke cigarettes."
Now, I do not smoke anymore. I like the smell, but as for really smoking a cigarette since my revelation, it doesn't do anything for me but hurt my throat. That said, under specific circumstances, I don't care who you are, you need to have a smoke.
We walked downstairs and outside of the studio. It was dark now and he couldn't stop crying.
Boy: "I haven't cried since I was 4 yrs old."
Me: "That's ridiculous. Have you seen Titanic?"
He laughed. Thank God.
Grandpa was in Tulsa and still alive but not doing well. The boy felt helpless. It started drizzling.
Me: "See? Now the angels are crying."
Boy: "I need a pill."
Me: "I wish I had some valium for you."
Boy: "I was thinking something stronger, like heroin."
Boy: "I just want to get high on heroin and sleep for a few days."
Me: "Everything that you sleep through will be waiting for you when you wake up."
Boy: "I just needed one more solid visit with him. You know?"
Me: "It wouldn't matter, we always want one more. If you saw him last week, you would want one more visit. (beat) Look at it this way, this is the worst it gets. This kind of pain is the worse you can go through. Unless, of course there is a Holocaust. That is only once every few generations."
Boy: "Eh, I don't know, that seems like it would be the same thing."
Me: "You're right, its the same thing in slow motion. That's depressing." I was too stoned for this.
Frank was leaving set and came up to say goodbye. I said, "Frank, you have to add me on Facebook."
Frank (German accent): "I did, I accepted.
Me: "No you didn't, Frank. I checked."
Frank (German accent): "I pushed the button."
Me: "I don't know what button you pushed, but it was the wrong one. I am sure you have heard that before."
Frank wanted to stay and feel out if he actually had an opportunity with me, but was asked to move his car for the equipment truck as soon as possible. So he waved goodbye and left.
A producer came up to tell the boy he was needed on set. He said he couldn't talk about it with her, and started tearing up. He asked me to explain the situation, so I pulled her aside and gave her the run down. She was gracious, of course.
I came back to the Boy, who was still crying, even more now.
Me: "We don't have to talk about that, you want to know what is really disturbing? Watching ducks mate."
I put myself in the shoes of a 24 yr-old male and one upped him on sexual fetishes. At least this skill had some kind of real life application.
He brought up Mr. Hand who died by horse cock.
I brought up the farm animal whore house.
He brought up necrophilia.
I brought up Japanese horror films and cheerily topped it off with a reenactment of the Human Centipede.
He finished with "Two Girls and a Cup", and then threw in "Eight Girls and No Cup" for good measure before I left him. He was going to be OK.
The Boy: "Thank you for taking my mind off of it and cheering me up."
Me: "Anytime." Sometimes we spend a really important 30 minutes with a total stranger.
The Boy: "And let me know if you find any heroin."
I went home to eat soup and to figure out if I had enough energy to go to an Open Mic later that night. Before Jamar left he told me to come, hit my hat further over my eyes and said, "Come on. Get your shit together." That made me feel good, like I passed the test of comic banter and now was obligated to follow through.
I walked over to the IO West a little after 10:30pm, exhausted and cold. I opened the door to the Open Mic and saw Jamar on stage with the microphone. He stopped and put his hand over his brow, then squinted to see me through the lights.
Jamar, "Hold on . . . hold on! Is that who I fucking think it is?"
I haven't been up on stage for over a year. I am shy. I dodged around all the doorway loiterers.
Jamar, "Hey! HEY! Eh, fuck it. Who is next?"
I came in and sat down among the comics waiting to go up. The smell of body odor hung over head with the dust dancing in the stage lights. Not the most hygienic group of people.
Open mics are kind of a painful process. Everyone is trying to work out their material, so nothing really comes across as polished or particularly funny. Mostly, its just a string of awkward moments and stories with no punchline. That is how you work out a stand-up routine.
Jamar kept looking at me from across the room, asking if I wanted to go up. I declined. I had no idea he was MCing this event (aka. hosting, handling the list of comics).
The Comic went up and had some priceless "Your Momma" banter with Jamar. The audience was laughing from the gut, it was the one moment of actual comedy.
The Comic, "Jamar's Mom is so fat, she needs a scale for each foot."
Jamar, "___'s Mom is so old, her crabs are on crutches."
The Comic, "I got Jamar's Mom off so hard last night, she almost dropped her cheeseburger."
The Comic was on fire.
The acts didn't pick up after that. People went up, pitched their observations/jokes/love for female genitalia and suffered through the heavy silences from the crowd, then eventually walked off stage.
At the end, Jamar said, "We have five more minutes, so we are going to bring up a very special guest [My full name]."
I thought, fuck it. I have a few more Jamar's Momma jokes. I walked up and Jamar said, "Thank you everyone for coming out. We really appreciate it. Lots of good comics tonight, lots of good comics. GOODNIGHT!"
I waited, even though I realized what he was doing. He called me up on stage just to make me stand there while everyone left.
I reached for the microphone and he pulled it away, then unplugged it. So I fucking projected with my voice.
"I was going to come up, but after going down on Jamar's Mom, I didn't want to have to perform in white face."
That got a reaction.
"If you take a step back from stage, you can get a bird's eye view of Jamar's mom giving birth."
Jamar, "Are you taking my fucking jokes, now?"
Me: "Ha! That's not your joke. (to the audience) You know if you are into Jamar's mother, (I shoved my fist and forearm through my other hand) You are IN to Jamar's mother."
Jamar held a frozen "angry black man" expression then cracked into a smile. "Were you sitting there thinking of these the whole time?"
I nodded and smiled.
The few comics left sitting in front of me on stage said, "I don't know what the fuck I am watching."
You are watching a baptism, mother fucker. A baptism into the world of stand-up comedy.