From the Green Room: Rob Ain't Grievin'

Researchers in the UK have video footage of chimpanzees “grieving” at the death of one of their own, displaying an emotion was previously thought to be exclusive to people. It’s an example of how similar humans are to our simian ancestors; it’s also an example of why stand-up comics…aren’t human.  Because I saw Jay Leno die at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, and instead of grieving, I took great pleasure in his demise.

Comedians are never content with just doing well themselves. They need to know that every other comedian is doing poorly. They say that there is a sweet joy that comes to us through sorrow. Well, for comics, there’s an even sweeter joy in relishing another person’s sorrow. There is nothing funnier than watching a funny man bomb. Last Saturday, Jay Leno was hysterical. More than he has ever been in his career. The problem is, it wasn’t the material that brought the laughs. It was watching him “tap dance on the beach.”  

The I-Man found out, first hand, just how tough that room can be.  Imus had a couple of “crickets” moments back when he performed for President Clinton. Leno had 15 consecutive moments of silence.  Jay didn’t just have flop sweat…his tuxedo looked like he’d just climbed out of one of those carnival sideshow dunk tanks. If you’re a comedian, and you’re getting groans from 1,000 C-List celebrities and drunk, phony, brown-nosing politico suck-ups, maybe you should’ve taken those accordion classes like your mother wanted you to.  

In show business, when a comic gets to Jay Leno level, he no longer has to be funny.  People will laugh because they are used to it. They “trust” that he’s funny, even if, in their heart of hearts, they suspect he isn’t. So it was very satisfying to see Jay return to his stand up comedian roots: one of those “Late Show Friday at The Ground Round in Parsippany” hell gigs. The kind where you hit the stage, open with, “Hey, how’s everybody doing tonight?” and it’s met with a drunk pipefitter’s hearty cry, “You suck!”

It was a particularly good evening for the ol’ karma bank. After the Conan O’Brien debacle, to see Jay struggle so much proved to many of us, the existence of God.  Because Conan did the White House Correspondent’s Dinner a number of years ago, also for President Clinton, and he killed.

Jay should just kill himself.  

From the Green Room: Handlin' the Handler Scandal

It has been revealed that Chelsea Handler has a sex tape.  I suppose it’s better than finding out that Chelsea Clinton has a sex tape, although there’s something creepy about the idea of seeing America’s favorite funny woman butt-naked, on all fours, just a-swingin’ in the breeze.  Not exactly an image you want to have laser-etched into your brain, but now I’ve put it there, so, you’re welcome.  She says it was supposed to be a joke.  I think she has quite a staff of comedy writers there on her television show; couldn’t they come up with something somewhat more amusing than Chelsea, butt-naked, on all fours, just a-swingin’ in the breeze? 

Apparently, her little junior Jenna Jameson act comes in the middle of what was, essentially, an audition tape for a comedy club when she was first starting out in the business.  I don’t know how funny the rest of the tape was, but if I was a typical comedy club owner back in the 80’s or 90’s and received something like that in the mail, I’d have my headliner booked for the next three months. 

She says she wants it back, and I’m sure she’ll get it, and will pay dearly.  Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because she could get it right now, streaming in real time for just $29.95.

But it’s more than you’ll pay for my sex tape.  I only charge $9.95 to see me butt-naked, on all fours, just a-swingin’ in the breeze.  Act now, and you can save $4.95 by just burning a $5 bill in the street.


From the Green Room: The I-Man's Obsessions

There’s a fine line between being enamored and becoming completely obsessive-compulsive over something. It’s a line over which, on more than one occasion, our fearless leader has leap-frogged.  It’s one thing when the I-Man focuses like a willful three-year old on a lollipop when it comes to his brave battle with cancer.  It’s quite another when it’s a four-month monologue about mercury in vaccines.  He went on so much about heavy metals that some members of Black Sabbath switched to playing backup pan flute for Enya.  And it seems like only yesterday the whole Alger Hiss-Whittaker Chambers story was the subject of incessant analysis…probably because it was only the day before yesterday when he finally stopped talking about it.  His fascination with the minutiae of Woodstock typewriters not only made you wish he was filling his time emptying vodka bottles again, but that he’d let you take a healthy swig after downing a handful of sleeping pills.  

Now, with the publication of Hellhound on His Trail, by Hampton Sides, Imus is on the James Earl Ray bandwagon.  It’s not like he wants to have Ray’s birthday declared a holiday, but he’s immersed himself so deeply in the details of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination, he’s beseeching listeners for a copy of the famous photo of Reverend Abernathy and Andrew Young on the hotel balcony pointing across the street.   He’s been droning on and on and on about who was where and when, and how Ray got out of the country. He had five pages of questions to ask Mr. Sides. A person doesn’t undergo this sort of grilling when applying for a job at the NSA. It’s gotten to the point where now, I’m obsessed.  With HIS assassination.  But I won’t be in one of those photos pointing across the street.  I’ll be the one across the street they’re pointing AT.


From the Green Room: Archie's New Pal

“Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is not working too well in the comic book world. The folks who publish “Archie” announced that starting in September, a new character, “Kevin,” will join in the wacky hijinx at Riverdale High with Archie, Betty, Veronica and Reggie. “Kevin” is gay. 

And all this time I thought Jughead was a lesbian.

Apparently, Veronica makes a pass at Kevin, the hunky new boy at school, and is quietly, politely (and, I’m sure, also impeccably tastefully) rebuffed.  Whether he was open about it or not, that action alone indicates the dude is homosexual.  Archie and Reggie are always fighting over Veronica. She’s the spoiled, rich, raven-haired hottie. Poor Betty gets thrown over constantly for the attentions of Veronica, which never quite made sense to me because Betty is a dead ringer, blonder version of her Riverdale rival, albeit not quite as stylishly dressed. It should be noted, she also has much better “gay-dar” than Veronica.  She immediately knew Kevin was a “friend of Liza’s” at the first mention of window treatments. 

The move to include an openly gay character was in the interest of “modernizing” the brand, making the books more contemporary. No mean feat, as Archie and his pals still frequent a malt shop and go to sock hops. It was only a matter of time until their wholesome world entered the 21st century diversity-wise, but openly gay characters  have been featured in other comics for years. “Northstar”, one of the X-Men, is gay.  Among his super powers are flying, moving at superhuman speed, and singing the entire Stephen Sondheim songbook word-for-word.

It makes you want to speculate about which cartoon characters are still closeted.  Charlie Brown’s somewhat tomboy-ish friend Peppermint Patty?  She and Lucy are definitely playing doctor in Snoopy’s doghouse. Why do you think he sleeps on top?  

The secret identity thing is a virtual breeding ground for homosexuality.  Men who are, by day, ordinary citizens but like to run around at night in skin-tight, brightly-colored costumes and capes?  It’s like the Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village, except with crime-fighting.  Batman, and his “longtime companion,” the “boy wonder” Robin?  Whose secret identities are “Bruce” and “Dick?” 

Please.  I’ve read “Death in Venice.”  


From the Green Room: The SEC

The most frustrating thing about the current economic crisis in our country was that nobody seemed to be able to articulate one salient reason for it.  There were many theories, postulations and allegations, none of which really provided any insight into the money meltdown of the past couple of years. Until now. 

Apparently, some of the workers at the SEC, the agency charged with being the “watchdog” of the financial industry, let a few things like Bernie Madoff slip through the cracks because they were too busy downloading internet porn at work. I always suspected those accountants were a horny little bunch. But who knew that instead of keeping track of interest rates and sea changes in the futures market, those nerdy number crunchers were cruising sites like YouPorn. Naughty.com. and Skankwire.  

One wonders what type of porn the frisky finance freaks preferred. Were they watching dirty movies? “Debbie Does Derivatives?” “The Devil and Dow Jones?”  “Deep Fiduciary?” Jenna Jameson, naked in a chair, talking about fixed dividends would probably get them pretty hot. Perhaps the guys at SEC were into B&D. Or S&M.   

Probably not.  Because, when you think about it, we were the ones who ultimately got beaten up.  And then screwed.