tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18841650048676593332024-03-08T10:24:58.388-08:00StacysFunnyHaHaStacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-45458647744797430632021-10-16T14:24:00.003-07:002022-06-28T14:40:37.684-07:00Must Love Beer<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">With New York in my wake, I have settled at my
friend Alicia’s house forty-six miles south of Boston for a short stint. She
has a cute, altered cape that sits up on a hill away from the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her home is decorated with plants and art and
is perfectly comfortable with numerous extra rooms and a lovely back porch
overlooking a garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My stay is a far
cry from the somewhat isolated existence I was experiencing living in New York
in the pandemic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a lot of
activity in her household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her son, her
animals and people who work for her trapse in and out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends that live nearby visit, and many
evenings we catch a movie and drink wine. Some days, Alicia and her friend come
to the house after work and the three of us put dinner together and enjoy each
other’s company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As divorcees, we relish
in the group effort to cook, and unlike being married, there is help in
cleaning up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">The nights when Alicia is out, I find various
things to do such as getting some writing done, and I also find myself
entertaining her dog and her two cats.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">The cats come and go, but her dog Socky, short for Socrates, is a different story.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">He is a small shnowzer mix with curly black
hair and white eyebrows who, at times, barks with anxiety at her absence, to
the point where I had to develop a strategy. He has numerous psuedonyms such as
Schmoize, Mertz or Chomps, which came about by his incessant chomping at his
dry skin.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Since I smoke, I figured I’d
take Chomps out to the side stairs while I leisurely puff on a few fags, read,
and keep him company. This seems to work.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">On our porch smoking excursions, Schnoiuzenheimer
or Seamus, has taken to eating grass and what is most likely cat dung in
between chewing on himself. The grass eating distracts him from biting off his
own limbs, one by one. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">At different
times of the day, he breaks into a flurry of scratching and biting which is sometimes
accompanied by a thudding sound that comes from his foot clanging on the floor.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Alicia thinks it’s psoraisis, but it could be
nerves or possibly crabs.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Our evenings
spent on the</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">porch have proven somewhat
therapuetic for both of us.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s helped
me burn through some books and he barks less.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">There is a ballet of spinning and kicking that accompany our time
together, but it’s a small price to pay for reading David Sedaris sans barking.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">My time in Plymouth also includes walks on the beach.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">A quick drive down the main road that
parallels the Atlantic Ocean brings me to the Saint Bonaventure Catholic Church
where I park.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Bonaventure sounds more
like a water park outside Philly than a place of worship, but apparently he was
a saint. I make my treck down a private street to the mouth of a cliff that overlooks
a secluded stretch of sand and rock. At the precepice there is an extremely
long set of rickety wooden stairs that are almost three stories high.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I descend the weathered, uneven steps for
what seems like forever onto the divine beach with its large blue sky and ocean
encircling rough, rocky breakwaters like exclamation points in the sand. There is an
elegant breeze carrying the aroma of salt water that permeates my senses. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">The sound of the waves crashing instantly
brings me to a place of serenity and quiet.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I walk toward the water and my problems
seem to vanish.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I breathe and take it
all in.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Finally I can relax.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> I walk past several breakwaters. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Suddenly I’m brought out of my trance.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Hiya.”</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I look over and see a thin man of middle-age with scruffy greying overgrown
hair.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">He is clad in an over-sized t-shirt
with the the arms cut off.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">He looks like
the guy from Shameless (the American version).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Clutching a beer, William H Macy waves.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I look around to see who he could possibly be
motioning to. “I got my eye on you,” he said looking in my direction.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve noticed him on some of my walks with a
shoulder bag of what I can only imagine are beer cans.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I suspect his online dating profile pic shows
him at the beach with his beer like they’re a couple, along with the caption, “Loves
the ocean.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Riveting conversationalist.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Must love beer.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-22326190392209174392021-01-07T11:45:00.006-08:002022-11-22T12:29:20.221-08:00Review of Woody Allen’s 2020 film: A Rainy Day in New York<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">A
friend of mine once called me a pedantic New York snob. I said that was the nicest compliment I ever
received. I think that people who don’t
get Woody Allen erroneously view him with this same disdain, deducing him to a charicature of a nebbish, New York intellectual. I beg to differ. Allen's body of work is unparelleled in its span of coupling humor with an expanse of themes of love, art, social status, death and the meaning of life. His latest film revisits all of the usual
motifs: New York, jazz, love in unexpected places and of course, social
class.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">In
the context of art, it has been theorized that every painting is a
self-portrait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if this could be
said for filmmakers as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Particularly someone as prolific and era-spanning as Woody Allen, there
is no question that his films are revealing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">How
can a painting of trees be a self portrait, one could ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paintings may not be as narrative as film,
but paintings do tell a story.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Some
art may be as the artist wishes the world could be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you look at Van Gogh’s <i>Wheatfield
With Cypresses</i>, it seems like the earth is cradling the swirling clouds
above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are two cypresses off to
the right like witnesses to the emotive sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is a sense of homeostasis despite the strange composition because
of its idyllic yet unorthodox beauty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Starry
Night </i>is the same composition in reverse, with the taller trees to the left
in the foreground like night watchmen overlooking a cooler, dark blue night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cerulean swirling sky flirts with the
foreground in a sassy, raw swagger reminding the viewer that the night sky can
come alive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Some
characters may be as a filmmaker wishes he or she could be i.e. a hustler,
albeit a small one, (<i>Small Time Crooks</i>), or a moralist (<i>Broadway Danny
Rose</i>). Others are more literal self
portraits, such as the neurotic writer in <i>Deconstructing Harry</i> or the
famous director in <i>Stardust Memories</i>.
And of course, there is the exaggerated humorous anecdote of unresolved
mother issues on display in <i>New York Stories</i>.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Allen
is known for saying “I’m a low-culture person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I like watching basketball with a beer and a hot dog.” (which
incidentally is the version I remember, however, the IMDB site quotes meatballs
and baseball, which I’m almost 100% entirely certain is incorrect, especially
considering he is a lifetime season ticket holder of the New York Knicks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe IMDB is utilizing some desperate out of
work Wikipedia contributors.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">The
film opens with a shot of the college campus where the two main characters
Gadsby and Ashley attend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gadsby narrates
over the introductory shots and throughout the film. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bing Crosby
is heard crooning “. . when I got lucky in the rain.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gadsby and Ashley make a plan to go to
Manhattan for an interview that Ashley has booked with a famous director, Roman
Pollard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are phrases and names throughout
the film that serve as subtle jabs, poking fun at directors, himself included.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Pollard is famous for films such as
“Winter Memories” and “Moonglow.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Gadsby
tells Ashley that they must stay under the radar in Manhattan to avoid his
mother’s “apoplectic” need for his attendance at her annual gala.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a carriage ride is mentioned, Ashley
suggests it may not be a good idea because of the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gadsby argues that it would be rainy, moody
and romantic, setting the tone of the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Manhattan, as it has been in many past films, is one of the main
characters.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Pollard
is seen pouring booze into his coffee during Ashley’s interview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He suggests he has a “scoop” for her article.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The many tongue and cheek references to
Allen’s past films aren’t as literal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Allen
directed <i>Scoop</i> in 2006).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pollard
is temperamental and over-sensitive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After screening his film he blurts out “. . you just watched two hours
of an existential pile of steaming shit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Ashley character is the quintessential ingénue in a fish-out-of-water
story, she begins pandering during her interview out of lack of knowing what to
say, “. . you’ve never made one single commercial concession.”</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Ashley
soon finds herself among famous directors, winding up completely out of her
league at a cocktail party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is
attractive, slightly nervous and charming like a younger Annie Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Allen
utilizes the storytelling arc of the love triangle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Ashley is on her interview, Gadsby is
left to his own devices for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stumbles
upon his friend’s film set where he acts in a scene with a former girlfriend’s
sister, clad in a raincoat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you live in
Manhattan long enough, you will run into people in your past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still looking to kill time, Gadsby goes to
visit a friend in his malady over his botched city plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re young, Gadsby, the world if full of
tragic little deal breakers,” his friend adds after disclosing he can’t marry
his fiancé because of her recalcitrant and intolerable laugh.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">There
is another director, Ted Davidoff, played by Jude Law, that Ashley finds
herself entangled with on her day of adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When he asks about her boyfriend, she replies that if Gadsby had his way
he would be an intellectual bookie gambler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This statement reveals that the character of Gadsby <i>is</i> Allen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Woody
Allen has a whimsical ability to reveal the hypocrisy and boorish façade of the
upper class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as if his basketball watching
self is untenably bound to a group that he does not want to belong, but gets
his revenge in his films. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you ever
seen <i>Out of the Past</i>?” Gadsby asks a call girl at a bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He makes fun of people who have money but
don’t know the social moors of the upper class with characters like the nouveau
riche Frenchy who wants to fit in to high society in <i>Small Time Crooks</i>.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Midway through the film, there is a museum scene <i>w</i>here Gadsby is meandering through the King Tut exhibit that cascades with rhythmic guitar music echoing <i>Sweet and
Lowdown, </i>the ode to Django Reinhardt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The </span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Egyptians put
all their money in an afterlife,” Gadsby says after he spots his aunt and uncle and then proceeds to try and dodge them, reminiscent of the main characters in an iconic scene of <i>Broadway Danny Rose </i></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">where they are running away from gun ridden mobsters in </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">a warehouse containing Macy’s parade floats.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then
the film cuts to a poker game with “Misty” playing over it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This is what I love about his films.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Guys smoking and playing poker with a
backdrop of one of the most eloquently written love songs in the American
songbook. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Real life is fine for people
who can’t do any better,” the kid-sister character played by Selena Gomez adds.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Perhaps Allen likes to construct these films from
the viewpoint of a character within the play that is playing life itself, like a
heightened version of real life complete with jazz, cocktails and pert
dialogue.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Sunflowers</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> and </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Starry
Night</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> may be devoid of a musical score but they too, are a vision, an
impression of a heightened existence beyond what we can perceive with the naked
eye.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I
am romanced as the viewer, getting misty by the jazz and dialogue and shots of
Manhattan.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I am lured in by the chaos and
comedy and I stay for the conclusion of the characters’ hopeless circumstances.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Towards the end there is a mother and son
talk that shows that in movies, you can make it right.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">It
could be argued Allen keeps revisiting the same themes, but he skillfully
manages to make every attempt new.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">His theories
point to the same quandaries of living in hyper intellectual New York with all
its neurosis, peppered with some of the greatest music ever recorded, reminding
us that Manhattan in the rain is, come to think of it, beautiful, nostalgic and
romantic, once again.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 9pt;">A Rainy Day in New York was released in 2019 and 2020. Annie Hall is the only comedy to ever win the
Oscar for best picture. Allen has an unprecedented
16 nominations for writing.. All of them
are in the Written Directly for the Screen category.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p>Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-2547517909698386172020-07-03T11:58:00.004-07:002020-08-15T10:32:58.881-07:00Nature Abhors An App Date<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I'm not sure this blog is creative, but I'm
exercising my right to type on this $15 Logitech keyboard. That's what rewrites
are for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to GAF so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just don't anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This is a big problem).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I sleep till noon and wake up, make coffee, and
sit up in bed and read or look at my phone with the coffee (still in bed).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like the Gods are punishing me by
keeping men away from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(it's probably
self-inflicted but God(s) is/are so easy to blame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Other people get up on their day off and crush
the gym.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They probably also do things
with beings that have evacuated their subterranean private parts, and possibly go shopping. I don't
know what people do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm glad nothing
ever fell out of my octopus and then ran around (and asked me for things).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Even if I got a book deal right now, I wouldn't
care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who cares ?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What does it all mean ?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this all happening because my body creates
less estrogen now ?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I will hopefully be going on an app-date
soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But most of the guys seem like
they suffer from mental illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One guy
who asked me on a date looks like a gay tennis player from the 70s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's so ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then he proceeded to be abusive by
text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blocked him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trying dating thing is just a hapless
effort to avoid the stark reality that we all die alone. I re-joined three
dating apps that I had previously deleted then uploaded, then deleted again
from my phone. (or is it downloaded?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you were born under a rock or are just lucky in life and never saw a dating
app, what happens is, divorce and a lackluster attitude compel you into <i>some</i>
kind of action. You get to the point where you are completely demoralized by
the whole universe, you throw your hands in the air and join one of these
ludicrous matchmaking asylum "apps" and swipe through the inmates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You swipe this way and that, and eventually you
match with people whose craniums are of whopping proportion, and then you send
texts back and forth like you're in middle school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some are serious questioners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is a question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't write much in the profile, such as
the fact that I'm an artist, because inevitably, it will provoke yet ANOTHER
question, "what kind of art do you do ?" (insert gunshot noise).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know it's hard to come up with something to
talk about, when in fact, you're not talking, you're typing electronically with
a stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Young people don't even
realize how odd this is because they've been texting since they were in utero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don't particularly enjoy being interrogated
by a complete stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grew up in the
third layer from the sun and my art is about your mother's asshole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why the immediacy ?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I tell you what kind of job I have, will
that make the world any less likely to incinerate within the next decade by a
meteor or an unhinged oligarch ?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will
starving mothers and children in third world countries suddenly be fed ? I
don't think so Riddler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I answer
all of your questions, you will still be lame (and probably bald).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may all be charred embers existing in
another dimension after the earth implodes, but by all means.. as we're
floating out there in the atmosphere approaching Saturn, please, gift me with
another one of your dire, acrimonious motherfucking inquests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Too many questions is tacky, like a poof with a
thin mustache. (reference to previous blog you can get <a href="http://stacykendro.blogspot.com/2020/07/atlasmustachenature-abhors-twink.html" target="_blank">here</a> ).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-22317954558952425222020-07-03T11:37:00.003-07:002020-07-03T11:37:55.100-07:00Atlas/Mustache/Nature Abhors a Twink<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you've never heard Teddy Atlas talk boxing,
you should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's trained some of the
best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he's passionate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I love him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is so riveting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has the vernacular
of an every man, with the wisdom of a sage and the eye of an artist for the
fight game. He is to boxing commentary what Liebling was to writing about
boxing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I envy that because I feel so out of touch with
what used to light me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many
disappointments either make you work harder or they shut you down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did both, in that order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I complain a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I resent the fact that my office job wears me down and drives me to
drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You need time to nurture a
creative career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I get older, I
don’t have the energy, even if I do have the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem also, is that I don't have a
manager, and I haven't had a boyfriend in a decade. (it's longer than that but
who's counting).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I need
anti-depressants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I know I am a creative soul and I know I have a
lot to say/express.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all of the
disappointments have compounded and made my outlook sour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my divorce, I found what felt like a
soul mate, but it was stopped in its tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had a heart attack at forty-four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And then two years later, my father died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All this while I’m trying to uphold a circuitous
comedy career.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I do attend the pity party often because I just
do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This thin-mustached gay felt
compelled and had the lack of taste to point it out to me one evening at a
friend's cocktail party in Manhattan. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was swaying around the piano taking
turns singing showtunes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone had
asked me why I don’t sing.... I felt a pang of resentment about the size of the
Grand Canyon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I responded, “just what I
need, <i>another</i> endeavor that doesn’t go anywhere,” and without missing a
beat, moustache blurted out, “bitter party of one.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK Mr. lanky twink with your ballsy
retort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, you didn’t sing
either, so GFY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, you admonished
me and a friend for catching up in the kitchen (he said, “um, the party’s out
here”) like a strict housemaster in a reformatory school. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Um, who deputized you to be the kitchen
traffic-controller. Third, go back to the South.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then I thought, he’s probably talking
about himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people are harboring
self-loathing, unproductive thoughts, while others don’t even try to follow their
passion outside of the 9-5.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe his snark covers up the fact that he’s
always a side piece and never the main dish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He looks like a muppet with his glasses and big nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, and he probably hasn't ever landed an
audition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I digress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i>am</i> bitter, but I don’t need a
bisexual lamp post to tell me in front of a whole room full of people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-22400785878069024302020-06-01T23:09:00.001-07:002020-07-03T11:23:59.648-07:00It Ruins the Cocktail Party<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There
were some audience members at my show tonight that had been at an open mike
earlier in the evening.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My advice to
them was to quit now.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The audience
laughed at the abruptness, thinking I was being coy, but I meant it.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
assume people think it is glamorous to do standup. The first thing I always get asked is, "how
do you get up there?" They get it
wrong. We love to perform. We're broken people. That might be the first indication of <i>why</i>
we get up there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
hard part is literally everything else. Trying to win over bookers, trying to
make enough money, driving to Rochester for $200, for example, and then it gets
deeper the longer you are in. You begin
to feel a psychic tear in the fabric of the universe if you are not on a
sitcom. Only a select few get the silver
chalice and the rest of us hate those few.
We smile while the resentment poisons our soul. THAT is the beginning of why it's hard. And a sitcom isn’t the holy grail
necessarily, but it kind of is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is probably not widely known that Phyllis Diller was a concert pianist. She had given a show for the queen of England
that was comprised of a 20- minute set of standup and a 20-minute set of
playing a piano concerto. When asked
which was the more difficult of the two, she stated that it was the standup
because when people watch the piano performance, they think, "wow, I could
never do that." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somehow
people secretly think that they would make a good comedian. Generally some people deem themselves as
pretty clever. Comedy does not come from
wit, it comes from pain. These dabblers
in writing and performing standup probably got a taste for the rush of
performing, but may not be aware of just how slanted the business is, or how
nobody calls you back. Nor are they
aware of how judgy it all is. Which
brings me to gender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Women
in comedy is a whole other issue. The
things I've heard many comics (male) state about female comics would surprise
you. The Golden Girls are funny because
they are no longer viewed as sexual objects.
This paradox has got to be God's sense of humor. Or it represents the small mindedness of
people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
insist that my friends never tell anyone that I do standup if we are among
other people, because it, as I explain to said friends, ruins the cocktail
party. What happens is that people can't
stop asking you questions once they hear that this is your career. Any working comedian on the planet will
concur that what follows is the Spanish Inquisition, and it's always the same
questions. Almost in the same
order. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">how
do you get up there (and) what got you started? (compete for first place)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">where
do you perform?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">do
you have an agent?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">what's
your comedy about?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">do
you have writers?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I'm
all, "woh, man. I'm just trying to
have a glass of wine at this New Jersey backyard shindig." (you’re killing my buzz bruh).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
they get defensive, "oh well, ya, I mean, I'm just so curious. I have a curious mind is all. So ..."
(and then that is followed by more questions).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
need at this point for a sedative is powerful.
You want to talk about show business?
I can't think of anything that I would like to do less. People who are so fascinated don't know about
the history of having an act. Sometimes
after a show, comics will share amazingly funny stories. Numerous late evenings I have hung out in an
empty showroom well after the show had finished, listening to older comics
telling the <i>funniest</i> stories.
Woody Allen depicted this tableau in his masterpiece <i>Broadway Danny
Rose</i>. The average person is not aware specifically of vaudeville or the
history of the solo performer. A magician
isn't performing supernatural metaphysical procedures. It's called misdirection. It could be said that these question-riddled
curious people have no manners, or at best are uncultured. There is no other creative endeavor that
creates such an annoying response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
got you started in the mandolin?" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Do
you have an agent for your gardening?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Where
do you do your glass-blowing?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Do
you write your oboe pieces?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
suppose the fascination with standup is that people's biggest fear is being
embarrassed, hence that thing about public speaking. They're so terrified of that notion that you
could be on stage and people aren't laughing, I guess. They can't believe we take the risk. Maybe that's it. I guess they think we bomb regularly not
realizing we are artists. We're
performers, this is what we love to do, now leave us alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You also, incidentally, can't tell people you're
vegetarian</span></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-9396079416457558822020-05-25T12:13:00.001-07:002023-04-21T20:24:58.094-07:00Wood Paneling<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I ate at an upscale place tonight, but I would have
preferred the place with wood paneling and an old bar that looks like it
came out of the movie </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Goodfellas</i><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I love writing I just decided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can definitely be tedious, but I'm not
married, and nobody fell out of my octopus, so I really have nothing better to
do other than obsess about the trivialities of life that peck at my soul,
particularly the drive to murder people who are boundary-less and the absurdity
of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Might as well take that and put
it in writing. Actually, that's probably a really bad idea, but here we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I'd rather be compulsive with writing than with
murder, although murder would be more satisfying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I can turn the aggravation of the
pot-smoking housemate and the loud mouths on the block into possibly something
funny or I could murder them, and it would be funny to me (only).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I'm gonna be weird and on the fringe of
regular people, I might as well write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some people are compelled to do a lot of things like have sex or shop
too much. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since coronavirus there are
even more douchebags making YouTube videos. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure the list of compulsions goes beyond
some simple indulgence at the mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There's a whole virtual world stimuli to get all wound up about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don't particularly like being on the laptop
and I don't care to participate in consumerism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I often think of taking everybody out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My blogs have been about icing various
landlords and other people who truly have it coming to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think Kill Bill, Astoria New York. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My new thing is I make iMovies about killing
other people’s ex-husbands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend
asked “are you ok?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Idiot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">It seems like it’s not worth it to be in New
York if you’re not coupled off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cost
of living in NYC is too high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nature
of roommates is hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Landlords are
pieces of shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need a husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those women with soccer mom bowl hairdos have
husbands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if the prerequisite
of Gen-X nuptials is weird hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
also is true for North Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also wonder
if the prerequisite to live in North Jersey requires one to have a wardrobe of
garments that look like you raided Ru Paul's anal cavity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">No one reads this blog so I can write whatever I
want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I'm obsessed with retro.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve read that people who ruminate over the
past have a deep inability to accept the present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've always had it; 50’s doo wop music, antiques;
shoes from the 40s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's a compulsion
all by itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I own three different
kinds of percolators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of my
furniture is vintage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a 1920's
men's dresser that I love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's
beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might need a trauma
therapist. I love thrift shops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
ovaries sing <i>Oh Danny Boy</i> as I let my hand sift through the polyester
and faux fur 1940s hats at the local vintage shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My new thing is I scroll through eBay on the hunt
for a mid-century sideboard, because obviously that will solve all my problems.
I also search for china cabinets because my mother had mental illness and left
when I was six and subsequently never owned one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a collection of vintage martini
glasses from the 50s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After previewing
my collection that I methodically unwrapped when moving into my brownstone, my
gay Haitian housemate said with open eyes "okay."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we became acquainted and he learned I hadn't
had a boyfriend in a very VERY long time, he exclaimed, "Now I get the cocktail glasses."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gays concur that it may not be mental
illness as much as a deep need within the soul to buy stock in eBay, or perhaps
have a sexual experience with a board member.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Can vintage shops serve as self-medication?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did that question make me think of Carrie
Bradshaw?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never lived in the
village in a brownstone, so Carrie Bradshaw I am not. My miliue is not current.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I should write about Tiger King to seem relevant but ah, no.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-26259018935812388642018-09-21T09:18:00.001-07:002019-02-28T11:16:55.102-08:00UNREQUITED LOVE + DEATH DON’T MAKE GOOD BED FELLOWS<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When you get to the point where you feel you
were meant to be with someone, particularly after the devastation of divorce
and they feel that way too, and then that doesn’t work out either, you find yourself
fluctuating between despondency and being really angry.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Anger is safer than hurt.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s easier to feel.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The energy wants to get up and out of
you.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It helps if you are a kick boxer.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sadness is harder to feel.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It threatens to drown you and make you want
to leave the earth.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It has been
difficult for me on the planet.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have
had so many challenges and I </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">hate</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
that freaking word.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The only way to use anger wisely is to kick something, otherwise you get mad at things like words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The person I fell
for died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> First, you cry for six months. Your life is suspended in the air while you have to grapple with an event so heavy such as death. The other thing that happens w</span>hen the person you love dies, is you have the luxury of pining over what could have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That will haunt you for a couple of
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also that splendid place in
your mind where you can idealize how it would be for the two of you, <i>now</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will never know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You also never got to see the person at 2AM sick
with the flu or completely lose their temper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You never see them grow listless from too much or too little
responsibility, or say, forget the gym altogether or give up on their dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, you can immortalize their persona
of how perfect they were as if frozen in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But of course, no one is perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps this is why trying to get with someone post-divorce in your 40’s
is difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have an unrealistic
idea of what the perfect man is, to begin with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s warped by time, by how it was when you were young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also the gene pool narrows and the only men
that age well are gay and there is a statute of limitations for them too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe you have a type.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tall and stalky or tough or athletic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kind of guy who has a lot of knowledge
about obscure shit with a motorcycle or a Republican who likes to scuba dive or
the guy who has a trike who’s into art. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><--- actually I don’t think those last two go
together. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You come up with a lot of
qualifications that if the person lacks become deal breakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, he asks weird questions like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how was your weekend?</i> and I won’t live
like that,” you think to yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
staggering disappointment of losing something that seemed completely impossible
to get in the first place sets you back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve developed permanent armor as a result.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Friends are not helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say “well you just really need to get
laid.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So then you take personal inventory<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t want to be toiling away at my career any more</i> is part of my latest
thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should be in the Hamptons
yelling at the help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Everyone knows living
room curtains go to the floor.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(idiot).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want an oblivious workaholic husband who’s
never home but has five cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want the
house to be so big that I busy myself decorating and preparing for
house guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll design menus in my
fabulous Cole Haan bathing suit, poolside sipping bubbly rose out of crystal
flutes with the most gorgeous gay men in New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This kind of fantasizing is exquisite if you
don’t want to feel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was so burned by the real one in the past
and not just my marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean when
your heart is sensitive and shit just goes wrong, you’re left to deal with
the fallout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Growing up there was a
suicide attempt, a divorce, a remarriage,
moving to an awful suburb with an alcoholic step monster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the now is re-traumatizing me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents have passed and I’m divorced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
left on my own with a 49-year-old sibling who is developmentally disabled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking death, disease, divorce and
disability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is going to be the name
of my one man show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or should I call it
the one man show with tits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Naw, that's too crude. I'll think a somethin'.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 232.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-57551601804735852502018-09-07T15:22:00.000-07:002019-05-21T17:16:26.470-07:00TRYING TO WRITE A REVIEW<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I hate everything.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s my new mantra.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think I need a therapist but when I get a
little extra money I’m ecstatic so I’m not sure about the therapist thing.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Money is <i>not </i>the root of all evil and money </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">does</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> motherfucking buy happiness.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You know when I’m happy?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I have money.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You know who gets a lot of money?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Therapists.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m over it.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m so frustrated
with the universe right now.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Fuck.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My buddy emails me his wife needs reviews written for
her book and since I’m a huge fan of her work, first reading her articles in New York Magazine (you can find her articles here: <a href="http://nymag.com/author/Mandy%20Stadtmiller" target="_blank">Mandys Articles</a>) </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">and I've read her book (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Unwifeable-Memoir-Mandy-Stadtmiller-ebook/dp/B074ZML8FK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1536347970&sr=8-1&keywords=unwifeable+mandy+stadtmiller#customerReviews" target="_blank">UnWifeable</a>) AND I also love supporting fellow artists,writers etc., I’m committed to doing this.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m having one of those fucked up days, however, that
began with me getting overwhelmed from the jump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I awoke to the “Ripples” alarm sound from my
iphone at 10:45AM and hit snooze twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
alarm was set in order to attend to my car moving duties, which are militant regimens of
egregious alternate side parking assigned to the Brooklyn neighborhoods to
generate revenue for the city<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>Assholes).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boy, if you can’t get up for 11:00AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what I was thinking this morning when
I was groggy and dragging myself in my Adidas track pants and flip flops passed Nostrand Avenue down a few
blocks by the late night liquor store over to my parked 03 Camry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you know the real me hates anybody who
conforms to capitalism (aka gets up early) and particularly when said capitalists look down on night people such as the aging senile dick of an
attorney that I work for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you go to ask a question about work, he
responds with snarky sarcastic questions, “what do you think you’re supposed to
respond with…” and I’m thinking I'm asking YOU for fukks sake, and also you don’t pay me enough to think and frankly I
don’t give a shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He can actually be okay, I just work really hard and burn out quick. </span>I digress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of my frustration with today is I have
some big items that I have to take care of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Rather than just start doing one of the things, I end up shutting down
with a paralysis that causes me to do nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I’m excited to write my friend’s wife’s book review because writing
leads to more writing and will at least get me started on <i>something</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any writer will tell you there will be a
million obstacles in your way before you actually sit down to write like the
bathroom needs to be painted or the cat needs to be scrubbed in a Lawrence Welk bubble-bath or you need more hazelnut in your coffee cake or whatever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hours of this can go on
before you actually start, if at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In my elation of landing this assignment, I
go to get the book which I do remember seeing despite the fact that I recently
moved and I don’t know where a lot of things are, except I can’t find it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually go back out to my car (which is now conveniently parked across the street) because
there are random boxes still in the car from the move and I could quite possibly have randomly put a book I had in my apartment, back in the car in a box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rifle through the boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I go back to my apartment and start looking in weird places like the refrigerator and closets and in cabinets in the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t find the
flipping thing and I know I saw it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now
my mood begins to plummet because this one task was going to be a catalyst into
other productive things! This was going to rescue me from the pit of despair!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t seem to
focus lately and I’m not sure if I have ADD or ADHD or just have pure hate for things. It could very likely be</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> from lack of sex and over-working myself. Yep. Working for the man and no sex'll kill ya. Not enough creative work and a lackluster work situation could drive anybody nuts. Actually, it's a vampire blood-sucking, soul crushing day job. It's only part-time, but still. Then I go from those thoughts (which are true and quite rational) to:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Why can’t I ever make enough money?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why can’t I get work in the arts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any time I’ve tried to work at a gallery it
seems they either want an unpaid intern or a director.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing in between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as if there never was an assistant director
position on the face of the earth, or any galaxy, <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</span> in the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The few listings I have seen require a Master’s
degree which is plain bullshit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</span> so frustrating?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> and I want a Master's degree for fukkkkk.....sssss.... sake.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">All these thoughts barrage me in lieu of the
missing book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enter the pit of despair, but Billy Crystal and Carol Kane are not there cheer-leading my mis-adventurous tirade of storming the castle. Then I have a meltdown. A full-on, punch something, yell and then cry meltdown-to-immediate-depression. My friend
texts that it’s easy to get depressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
a depressing world and seems there are more douchebags than nice people and that
he wants to adopt a dog and move into the woods. This cheers me up some or at
least validates the shittiness of it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally it dawns on me to ask my roommate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might have actually lent it to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere between the
meltdown and the realization about the roommate, I stop to write this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-49075267847645600032018-08-19T11:41:00.001-07:002018-08-23T11:17:51.868-07:00SHUT UP AND LOOK GOOD<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I started comedy a while ago.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A long time ago.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was married.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It was different.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m a comic in New York now, I’m single, and I
am having a hard time.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Well, wait a day
and ask me, and I will say it’s great.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A
lot of my perspective hinges on where I got on last, how much money I made this
month and if my new stuff worked somewhere.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">But generally, and in particular, this week, things are shitty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m not a new comic, but upon moving to New
York I became new <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again </i>in a way,
having been unfamiliar with most of what goes on in the New York comedy scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s par for the course when moving to
another city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But when I ponder my situation a little
deeper, what’s frustrating for me is my gender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There comes a time when you realize, people don’t take you seriously if
you are female.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People used to say “oh
you do comedy that must be so hard.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
the time I thought they were morons for saying so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to think doing comedy was great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You go to a club and work out ideas that
you’ve been banging around i.e. funny thoughts, jaunts and stabs at people that
irritate you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an activity that
makes all the messed up stuff in your life have a shred of meaning and you make
people feel better, including yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
symbiotic and so creative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in time,
I began to see what those annoying people meant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Audiences are reluctant to like female
comics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there’s everybody else.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I first moved to New York a comic at
Dangerfield’s said to me, “men in the Middle East have it right…women should be
covered from head to toe in a berka and kept quiet.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same week another comedian gave me a spot
at one of the clubs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was actually
nice to me and happy to help me out, but the next night when I didn’t text him back
right away, he texted, “Are you drunk or just a retard?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another time, in an effort to help me
assimilate in New York, a friend of mine connected me with an established
comic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long story short, the comic asked
me to three-way with him and his girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The problem starts when you actually want to
make some kind of career out of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you’re just doing your “sketches” at little dives here and there, it isn’t affecting
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re not challenging the
status quo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when you have something
to say, and when you want to be compensated for your work, now you are creating
a wake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some cases, bookers don’t
respect comics of the female gender, therefore, pay them less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is sort of known that back in the day, a
now famous female comic was paid a lot less than all of the male headliners in
Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder she left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In New York, it’s competitive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Male comics will use their yang prowess to
try and intimidate people they deem as inferior, I guess in an effort to stroke
their own ego. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either that or they’ll
hit on you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ll insult you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Times Square Arts Center, one of the
comics said to me “I would never put two female comics on in a row…” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He really should just be embarrassed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also underestimate your<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>intelligence</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t give a fuck what skinny, loser comics
who are high have to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are going
for the easiest target which makes me question <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">their</i> intelligence and just screams insecurity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are trying to make me feel bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look frightened little boy, it’s obvious you
are steeped in self-hatred and exhaustion from having to suppress so many secret
homosexual urges, that your shame only elicits intense insecurity, I’m here to
tell ya, the rest of society takes care of my feeling bad about myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women experience this constantly with sexist,
objectifying images in advertising, in conversations and inappropriate glances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think your stupid comment is upsetting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re just a buffoon, who’s clearly
threatened by the possibility that a female comic will steal your shitty $25
dollar spot at a dump in the theatre district. At the time I didn't respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When frustrated with standup, I used to say “I
should have been a dancer,” probably because society values women by their
looks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They really want us to just shut
up and look good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are socialized to
believe that women are second class citizens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Female comics have to work hard despite this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think some women are confused about where
their gender fits into performing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
dress up too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They dress
provocatively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of skin showing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They look like a friggen peacock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like George Carlin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He dressed in all black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like an artist should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are a singer or a stripper, then by
all means, wear the dress. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just don’t
see the connection with comedy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see
minimalist theatre and they are in all black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They’re not stuffed in a dress, in heels with their arms showing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everybody acts like I’m wrong because I want
to be valued for my intelligence and talent and everything <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">but</i> my looks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I felt I
was good looking, I wouldn’t be doing standup in the first place and female
comics who use their looks are not into the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">craft</i>
and probably want to be an actress. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is a bigger issue than I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because a baby comes out of our person, we
are somehow deemed as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">less</i> than? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
you see a guy comic two years in, who automatically receives more credibility
from the audience than your 14 years, it’s disheartening to say the least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">side
note: I did read Gloria Steinem books when I was seventeen, followed by Camile
Paglia, among others.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blocked it
out for a period of time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think for a
while I chose to look the other way, for fear that I would be miserable if I
was always thinking about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
now that I do standup, and I’m a lot older, there is absolutely no escaping the
staunch reality of sexism and inequality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It only magnifies with time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">People have gone out of their way after a show
to say “we don’t usually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">like</i> female
comics, but we really liked <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A booker of a big club in Boston said to me
while we were backstage about a comic who was on stage, “she’s not that funny
but she’s nice to look at.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Another time in Boston a booker told me right
to my face that “all these paid comics are hacky…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was only referring to some of the funniest
comedians ever on the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also
mentioned my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">then</i> husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why would you say that to someone’s
wife?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I supposed to be impressed by
a guy who never paid comics upstairs from a Chinese restaurant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe people just think that my entire gender
is dumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">[The word cunt
doesn’t offend me at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most of the time when
I use it, I’m referring to a man]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">-Tweet from me: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@stacykendro<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Often society’s message is we’re just arm
candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How quaint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large part of being female (and this is
deep in the psyche of most women) is the need to ingratiate yourself to people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the hard part – being so dam
agreeable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are socialized to make
others feel comfortable, which means if you are a jerk to me, I will smile. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, that is the thing for someone with
manners to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, don’t mistake my
politeness for passivity. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I’m
talking about New York. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an effort to
take the high road, or to make you believe you didn’t really get to me, I might
not retaliate right away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But just know
that I’m Albanian. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be planning
your demise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, at least I will go
home and write about you, but take heed because if you catch me on a bad day,
who knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though “vendetta” is an
Italian word, just ask people in the Bronx and they’ll tell you which
nationality is scarier. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">originally published 12/10/17</span></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-87049508473374758042018-08-06T19:21:00.000-07:002018-08-06T19:21:04.223-07:00THE BABUSHKAS (Astoria, NY)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">This blog is dedicated to how I got out from
doing HARD time for killing a Jihad Macedonian whore. <--- I didn’t do that
but man I wish I did. I had a hostile roommate that had mental problems.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">She and the other roommate fought viciously
for six months about counter space.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">I
stayed out of it.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">She eventually turned
her irate angst in my direction.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">After I
told her “F U” it was silent hostility until I moved out.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">She used to leave her bloody tissues in the
toilet and left a sinkful of dirty dishes every day, just to name a few things she did
around the apartment.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">I nicknamed her Jihad.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">She was a diminutive little peasant who is
frightening without makeup and is the spawn of mountain people from a country
that was formerly who gives a shit.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">It was Macedonia. She was a short swarthy little troll. I didn't ice her, instead I moved to the other side of Astoria. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I moved ALL OF MY SHIT into a 2 bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally (I thought to myself with naiive excitement) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will have time alone !!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> T</span>he new housemate is not home many weekends !!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is going
to be amazing !!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ecstatic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had agreed to live with one, but ah, New
York with its tramps that are always out to hustle you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the most well-intended <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>people utterly just want to swindle you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, after a week or so, it was evident, the
friend lives there too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were from
Ajebejian (I just say Russian).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I not
only live with one, but two sluts ! yes! Two Babushkas !<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s made me so crazy that yes! Now I make
exclamations like the count! Yes! Five! F I V E breakdowns! (ah-ah-ah!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
learn the swindle thing with time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a
tough broad, but I have honor, somewhat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t stiff bartenders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let women walk
first in a crowded store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m relatively
considerate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I genuinely get pleasure
out of helping people and I think it’s important to treat people with
respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t get me wrong, I’m
Albanian, I’m not saying your body might end up in a box in pieces, but I’m
not saying it won’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jihad almost
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>New York wants to kill you, as my friend Momoh explained so eloquently to me
at New York Comedy Club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He's right. </span>It wants to
stab you with a stake like Frankenstein (or is that Dracula?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New York wants to rob you of the essence that
made you want to be an artist in the first place..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Babushkas are out in the kitchen (on the
other side of my bedroom door) speaking their hybrid Farci whatever the hell they speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
they’re speaking about God knows what in their potato language, all the while
possessing very little regard for the fact that I pay half the rent and am on the other side of the door at 1:00 AM.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They’re not American even a little, and may I
add, Americans never use the word “American.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We just don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t think
about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But people who just came here
use it a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They never
assimilate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The real question I should be asking myself is
why the fuck am <i>I </i>in Queens?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went backwards.*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The peasants eat root vegetables and have
very little vision for their lives other than defecting to Canada which seems
like a shit plan if you ask me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is
sickly and really has the worst broken English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She speaks as if she is on her deathbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I guess she has some neurological thing going on but her existence screws
up what I thought was going to be a peaceful apartment situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her dam Russian slut friend screwed me over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s like my sister.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well she’s not my sister and this was
supposed to be a 2 bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> That means TWO people. </span>Oh who
cares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you know the friend (the sickly one, although very nice) she always wants to talk and I
never know what she is saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I will
go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never learned verb conjugation,
the poor thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other one (the lease-holder) is
shtupping a chubby Asian in Brooklyn who has children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How revolting it all is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re lost souls, but maybe so am I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have the wherewithal to save enough money
to begin my New York time with a sensible single apartment, but I’m learning
that nobody really does unless you’re independently wealthy or your parents are
bankrolling you. *sigh* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
understand any of it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never had a
hankering for an Asian, or potatoes or anything Russian (other than vodka).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wanted to do comedy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-26249955363304929762018-08-01T12:42:00.001-07:002018-08-01T12:42:10.156-07:00RANT TO A DEAD GUY<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know why I’m feeling like this
because you’re dead and you’ve </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">been</i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
dead, but I’m still here on the planet and its sucks because something is wrong
with me because I don’t want a boyfriend I question whether my sexuality is in
flux and although women are far superior beings the bad news is I’m straight
but I don’t like anyone even a little prob cuz everybody over forty is a
catastrophe they say things like “cool beans” which was never hip and sometimes
they have small beings that fell out of some other woman’s vatootle that hover
around them who according to their Tinder profile are “their life” well your
“life” smells like he soiled his trousers I can’t believe everything I’m
writing to you so that you will read it from wherever you are (how strange)
even though you were from the Bronx I’m very confident you went straight to
heaven we met at Nicks in Boston my home club</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I just thought you were so good on stage and you were covering for a
comic who incidentally was in my wedding (WHAT) ya it’s weird and then you
didn’t say you didn’t drink but after your set that’s what we all do in Boston,
I did ask you if you’d go out with the gang and you said something that
resembled a “naw” and your girlfriend walked up but it was really weird because
we connected later anyway through Myspace (ridickballs)</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Myspace? feels like centuries ago but you
said hey next time you’re in New York, hit me up and I think you texted
something about going to the Cellar I got really excited because my comedy
career was in a holding pattern at best and New York was on my radar (to keep
with the aviator themed analogy) I was just waiting to get enough money to move
we hung out it was great I totes didn’t </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">like
you</i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> like you, I just thought it was cool to have a new comedy friend one
time we went to the Strip.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After my
divorce moving back to Boston was weird because the scene was younger
douche-bro’s who started after me and not the guys that I knew from waitressing
& from being around the clubs in the 90’s a New York friend was more than
welcomed and I swear I didn’t like you beyond friends but you asked about my
life and if I had kids and about my parents and what was I doing with comedy
and then we went to get Thai food then we went to HA where we waited around
forever and then I bombed in front of 4 people – I ate it so HARD we eventually
went to the Cellar and I thought your shoes were weird.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I didn’t really see anybody else because you
were all I could see and you had the symbols for Om Mani Padme Hum tattooed on
your bicep J.C. on the your forearm and we talked about one man shows and how
all comics need to explore other avenues of expression and I always thought I
would write one and you did a Moth and I wanted to be with you and I couldn’t
eat and I told you about my noir fascination.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">You hugged Geraldo who was surprisingly humble and such a cool guy and
you had to drive me back to Valley Cottage because my 82 year old aunt was
worried and had made me promise I’d get back no later than midnight and
although you both were puzzled at my indulging her request, the three of us
went up FDR Drive and he was frantically arguing with some broad on the phone
who kept hanging up on him which was making him furiously mad and we all
couldn’t help but to laugh because it was crazy. Months would go by and we
didn’t talk and more months and your career got big and you were travelling and
I don’t recall when I took a shine to you because we lived in different states,
maybe it’s cuz you were funny, then you let me crash at your place when you were
away so I could look for a job and I brought your mother raw honey that I got
from Amish people I’m not sure she liked it because it was the kind that’s hard
in consistency because there are no chemicals so you have to put the jar in
boiling water and she was nice and your dog barked a lot but then he warmed up
to me and it’s weird that night you called from a tv contest show you were on
and said you were losing to a dishwasher which despite it being a slam against
his heritage was very funny only because you were incensed that you didn’t
win.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">At your bedside there was a book
about Buddhism with a prologue about Asoka Maura who I had written a paper
about in an ethics class in college and I knew it was a sign I asked you how
you could even do a television show and you said you just have to relax more
time passed and we didn’t talk and I grew bitter and eventually gave up on you.
I was really hurt and disappointed because I guess its because you made my
heart feel so good and I couldn’t even remember having something to look
forward to you finally did call but I was away then you were going to Boston
and expected me to drop everything which I did you kissed me finally after 2
years and it was amaze nostrils because it was soft and unexpected and you were
a gentlemen because we held hands.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
very last text you sent me said “I can’t wait to see you.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How cruel the world is that it took you so
young.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I got that text a couple of days
before you passed.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I cried for six
months which I know you know because the psychic told me it’s really hard to
write about you because it makes me sad I don’t cry any more but it makes all
the blood go to my face and I get weird and some moisture happens around my eye
area it’s like a silent intense cry, but I pretty much am dead unless I’m
performing or writing I guess I could say thank you which is weird but for the
writing part?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was so mad at you for
dying but it’s not like you had anything to do with leaving your body and I
know you didn’t end like completely but I still have good days and some bad
ones I don’t cope well with feelings any more so for now and to end this rant
all I got is om mani padme hum.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>originally published February 20, 2017</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-84853125059865581322018-07-18T12:41:00.001-07:002018-07-18T12:41:07.559-07:00WHY DO I ALWAYS WANT TO MOVE BACK TO BOSTON?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m writing all this out because it helps me
sort out the lunacy of being a creative person in New York. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I got weepy on the plane coming back from
Florida which makes no sense (I don’t really do that).</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I felt I wanted to move back to Boston.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think that coming to New York because
you’re a creative person is a great, yet terrible idea.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think I take one step forward (just
performed at the Friars Club), and three steps back (I drink more now than I
ever did).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I still have this issue where I don’t want to
emotionally commit to comedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s hard to commit to anything, emotionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it’s funny (or not) that men have a
hard time committing to women. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I resist
committing to my career because that’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">way</i>
scarier than giving someone half the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a huge gamble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of
people are doing it (in New York at any given time there is a free comedy show
somewhere, several, even, on a single block).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">New York is a gamble and apparently I’m
Ginger from Scorcese’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Casino</i> cuz I’m
rollin’ the dice baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men don’t want to
commit because it might ruin their life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s the same reason I resist pushing with my career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ah, that little bugger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also
depends on what day you catch me on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I used to work Vegas twice a year, I was, in my mind, in show
business for reals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Comedians are an interesting faction of show
business, because we work the hardest and get the least respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are like boxers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We take all the risk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are the writer, producer, editor,
performer, booking and marketing person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, No, your wife could not be a comedian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder I want to quit often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve only felt that way since moving to
New York so I blame the Yankees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We get the least respect because we are alone
on stage so we get heckled sometimes, and the bookers are all frustrated
performers with fickle personalities, who are just looking for an excuse not to
book you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m going to a Met
game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I got booked in Vegas, I worked at the
Riviera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got a pink hotel room overlooking
the pool and comped dinners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me tell
you something, two shows a night for seven days, I woulda ate Chef Boy Ardee, I
was so happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the reality of a day
job is enough to make you want to die by some epic, old school way like
consumption or sticking your head in an oven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This double life is what is getting to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And I sort of get fired a
lot).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I come back to the day job after
Vegas, back to the meaninglessness and futility of it all, and it’s hard to
take.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder I drink too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all garbage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why I cried on the plane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, I am a New Englander.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being in the 80 degree weather of Florida in
December and then parting from it is reason enough, but as I find I am scrawling
this out in an airport, I’m thinking there are other reasons as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Everybody who is in the arts, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">specifically </i>in New York City has this feeling
I suspect – even if you’re crying, wanting to quit, fearing failure and/or
fearing success). But there is something that we're getting as payoff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect that it is the satisfaction that we
are forging our own way in a city that many don't have the balls to move to,
never mind navigate the pot hole laden thoroughfares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New York demands the best out of an
artist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It requires an amalgam into what we aspire
to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to grow into that person which
requires shedding old parts of ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ultimately it’s what we want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
want to be changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just didn’t know
it was going to be this hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-52041532181379064172018-03-07T19:45:00.002-08:002018-03-29T18:40:19.666-07:00Apartment Ad_Seeking Another Pterodactyl<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">When I
committed to make the move to New York, it seemed evident that I may never get
there unless I do the roommate thing, particularly because I didn’t have a job. It’s
something you can only understand if your conviction to prioritize creative
projects i.e. writing and painting and you're trying to do said projects anywhere
near Manhattan. However, clearly, I need something else to write
about </span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">and </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">this
roommate shit is pure lunacy.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">But for
the sake of accuracy, I will refer to them as the pterodactyls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">A couple
of months after moving in, the Jihad pterodactyl began penning hostile sticky
notes, and donning a general sense of bitchiness and anger. I'm not
calling her Jihad out of a need to racially profile. Rather, I get a
sense that her insatiable inflammatory rage and dark features
together suggest she could secure large amounts of dynamite up her vacuous, sea
urchin-like vagina. She and the other pterodactyl fought bitterly
over kitchen counter territory. They fought for months. Then
Jihad grew mad that she didn’t get a particular shelf in the kitchen. She
kept telling me to move my stuff and when I refused, she made the apartment
un-livable with hostility via slamming doors, bolting through the
apartment like a psycho and never speaking. Refusing to pay the full
amount of electric bill became her act of vindictiveness and then she never did
her dishes. I called her a twat, told her to go fuck herself and
suggested she stop withholding her dish washing capabilities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Eventually
the (first) pterodactyl moved out, leaving me and the Jihad pterodactyl to
roommate seek. Jihad is a programmer, and I’ve been told that that
explains a lot about her rigid personality. Seeking a new roommate
became an abundant opportunity for the control freak to rear its ugly head and
then inevitably enable her to complain that she did all the work. She
posted an ad and proceeded to manage the schedule like an anal retentive,
militant tyrant. Der Fuhrer himself would have been proud. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">One of
the downsides of this mission is that we actually had to
communicate. We went back and forth about the schedule. This
is someone who does not compromise and legit has to get her way. This
person does not know how to speak to other human beings with respect. I’m
a comic, so the word cunt first of all doesn’t bother me, and is frankly not
offensive enough for me to describe her. Also I’m from Boston. I was having a tremendous amount of difficulty NOT smashing her face into a wall. I was still sleeping at night but my eye had begun to twitch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I awoke
to the sound of boots on the tiled kitchen floor. It’s bad enough
that Isis (one of many nicknames for the lizard) had scheduled a cavalcade of
pterodactyl replacements to interview spanning from 12:30PM to 4:30PM, but who
wears boots on a Sunday? (This bitch). I emerged out of
my restless slumber at noon to put coffee on, only to see Muhammad Incarnate
going back and forth to the bathroom doing her makeup and clad in all black. Did
somebody die?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">We saw
several girls who timidly walked through the apartment studying camel jockey
and I. I barely got a word in, because Hitler was busy doing all of
the talking. Her irritability was bursting at the seams and was
clearly on display for the would-be subletters. During one
interview, I said a few things about the apartment, cutting off the
Mediterranean whore, because otherwise I would just stand there mute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">After
they all left, the Black Widow asks if I am available to see more at 8:00
o’clock. I tell her I believe we have seen enough for one day. She
angrily snaps back “well if you’re going to be here anyway then what does it
matter?” It’s actually easier to be pleasant with people you
live with but for some reason, this is just not my year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">This is
why she needs to be thrown from a helicopter. My protests to try and
condense the interview process had been all for naught because she is a rigid,
fear-ridden, slut who deserves to be deported. I’m surprised in all
her inflexibility, that Blackbeard hasn’t yet had high blood pressure. I
also find it somewhat baffling that in the ad listing description, she put “easy
going.” I’m convinced that she just copied that from another ad. I
finally told her to just pick whoever she wanted. And a few months
later, I moved out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-28784499165666308942018-02-17T12:55:00.000-08:002018-03-10T11:07:01.269-08:00DEAD INSIDE/Rob the Mob<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The only upside of getting sick is movie watching. I
seldom read when I’m ill. Although I love reading, somehow when I
have the flu or whatever, I afford myself the luxury of binge watching. It
is something I never do because my television isn’t hooked up and because I
like to do creative things with my free time, oh ya and I’m weird.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At any rate, I watched this movie about a
tough guy. Tough guy is different than Bad
boy. I grew up in the 80’s where “bad
boy” meant a metal or a rock guy with fucked up hair who drank &
drugged. Not my type. I had rough boyfriends who always had weapons
tucked away in various locations and had dubious ways of making money and
dangerous friends, but never did I date a guy who listened to Metal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the movie, the guy gets out of
prison. His girlfriend picks him
up. They’re young-ish. They get drunk, they have sex. Next, he hashes out a heist. They’re in love. They’re in Queens. They smoke a lot. He gets a gun and they drive their giant
Chevy Impala and act out their plan of holding up mafia social clubs in
the neighborhood because he figures out that they have a lot of cash lying
around these joints.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In act three, he looks at her and says “Florida
is nice. We should go there. Marry me.”
This is the point of the movie where a girl tears up. Me=nothing.
Nothing happened. No moisture
developed in either eye socket. Doesn’t
matter if you’re a broad from Boston or not.
There’s nothing like when a man softens enough to say that. And these were great actors. I mean they <i>nailed</i> this scene. He is
brutally handsome and the camera loves his face. She is unconventionally pretty in a down to
earth way. She said yes. I should have been balling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But, nothing.
Am I dead inside ?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I had this marriage that ended badly. I’ve learned over time, you can’t hold on to
how you wish things could be. (I used to
have a line in my act, “I just want to go to my gay boyfriend’s house, listen
to Peggy Lee and cry over what <i>could have
been</i>.” These days I'm less fag hag, more John Goodman.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now that I’m older I see how you
can’t long for the <i>you</i> that was lost
in that time period, that elusive "you" that you can’t get back. BUT, I’m also stuck. I’m not dating. It’s like I’m blocked. Like a giant black box is covering my heart
completely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I can’t help feeling there
is something missing. As if there is
some seed within me that hasn’t been cooked yet that needs time before I am ready,
<i>really </i>ready<i>, </i>to address the black
box. I sort of hate personal growth,
gurus and motivational speakers. I hate
shrinks, I hate mediation and I hate the notion that we all need “fixing.” Shrinks I hate because at the end of a
session you feel awful and then you go, “here’s a hundred bucks.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe it’s exactly
what I need though. Life is nothing if
it isn’t paradox. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I used to cry at episodes of <i>Mad About You</i>. That was the young me. It was a really well written sitcom about a
married couple where they respectively resolved all the dilemmas that plagued
their lives in under twenty minutes. Not
really sure why that did it for me, but it did.
I didn’t even cry at <i>Casablanca</i>
(because boo hoo he’s gonna die). <--- that makes me seem shallow and
vacuous, but I think romance like that plain doesn’t exist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe I’m not dead inside but the old self in
me is dying. Am I headed for a re-birth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-66903097217330330862018-02-17T12:26:00.000-08:002018-03-10T09:44:10.670-08:00QUEENS AND OTHER DEPRAVITIES<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m drinking wine. I just started though, so this won’t read
like shitfaced Hemingway. This may go
off in several directions. Should I start with Dunkin Donuts? Can I get a “HELLO” for Dunks? It’s a Boston thing (well, drinking really
would take first place, but Dunkin Donuts is magic). The first Dunkin Donuts was what pretentious
Brooklyn pseudo dive bars try to emulate: authentic old school 1950’s formica
laminate countertops with metal edging (for example) and stools that are
screwed into the floor. Just writing
this is making me wicked happy. I love
retro anything. I digress. This line of thought leads to what I am doing
in New York. I mean, there are a ton of
places to perform and duh, everything is here.
But it’s getting expensive and I’m getting tired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have this cyclical love/hate with my
lifestyle choices. I do standup and I paint and write. As an artist, I had
to come to New York… I sometimes do up to six shows a week and with that, I struggle to find time to paint while working a dumb part-time office job to pay my rent in Queens (crazy, right?) (<i>and </i>I have roommates so now it’s just like, I need to
get some shit together). This blog helps and thankfully it’s
cheaper than therapy and less painful for my back than zazen.<s><o:p></o:p></s></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m from New England, so it’s not as if New
York is alien to me. I’ve been coming
here since I was an infant. My mother
was from New York state, and my father was from Philly. I came back and forth to visit family growing
up, and then to go see the theatre and hang with my gay boyfriends in my 20’s
& 30’s. Coming back and forth from
Boston isn‘t that big of a departure, although we (us humans) have to do that
provincial thing where we’re like <i>you’re
from Boston, </i>or <i>you’re from Philly…
it’s not the same, </i>and it’s not – BUT, it’s not like I just fell off the
turnip wagon, because there are people from Wisconsin that live in Brooklyn for
fukks sake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">All of that said, I miss Boston and I wonder
what the hell I’m doing. On a good week,
I performed (and got paid) at Dangerfields and the Friars Club (whose abbot is
Jerry Lewis), and I did a show in a big theatre upstate and made a lot of money. I even landed the Tropicana where you work nine shows for the week and stay in a condo on the boardwalk facing the water! And I’ve shown my paintings in Brooklyn more
than once. On a bad week I’m thinking
what am I doing? I don’t have an agent
and I currently don’t have a job except comedy. I worry about my sister, my car is on the fritz, I really need to move, I’m exhausted and my
parents are dead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This older gentlemen at my former job liked
to comment about everything. One day he
said “you look tired.” I wanted to
reply, “you look like you died three weeks ago.” People don’t understand the struggle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Well, that’s it for now. The wine is kicking in. I wore myself out already. My Queens aberrations rant will have to
continue on another day. The message is: stay gold. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-30179063992949409602017-12-10T11:47:00.001-08:002018-03-10T10:47:36.712-08:00RENO<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I
remember discovering the meaning of existential nihilism when I was booked to
do comedy in Reno, Nevada. I think you
would be hard pressed to find a more appropriate setting for such a discovery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">So
I get booked to do standup for a week at <i>Catch
A Rising Star</i> at the Silver Legacy Casino in downtown Reno Nevada. Considering most of the paid gigs I got
booked on at the time were at indistinct wood-paneled function rooms of bygone
hotels or old VFW halls in rural parts of New England from another dimension serving up buffet food and cheap wine, I
welcomed the idea to get out of dodge.
Funny because Dodge City might be what you would think Reno may be like,
but <i>au contraire</i> and even though it isn’t near Reno, it’s definitely cut from
the same David Lynchian landscape. At least, that is how it feels as a New Englander, traveling out West.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Flying
to Reno is not as awesome as flying to Vegas, mainly because it’s considerably
more expensive. Also, when you get off
the plane, you’re in Reno. I’m not
saying it’s not an exciting place, in fact, I relished in the retro signage and
time-capsule feel of the place. I’m not
sure if it ever had a heyday, but it’s known for where people used to go to get
a divorce. Since I technically got
divorced twice to the same person, Reno seemed a completely apropos place.
I was living in the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I
get my airfare, pack a huge suitcase and I feel like a road comic again. Leaving Boston in December at the time was
exactly what I wanted to do. On the
plane after being up in the air for some time, peering out beyond the clouds, the
vegetation began to change dramatically.
By the time you’ve crossed the second time zone, the earth looks
like another planet. Everything has
changed from green shrubbery and giant emerald pines to a flat desert of burnt
sienna browns and beiges. After five
hours, I land at the airport and right away, it is staggering. There’s a life sized sculpture of several
bighorn sheep in a realistic wildlife setting right there on the carpet. I’m thinking, I just want to get my bags and
maybe a drink. I wasn’t ready for fake
animals. I’m an artist. I specifically went to school for drawing and
painting, but taxidermy at the airport is more perplexing than any abstract
expressionist shit I’ve ever seen. There’s
more disturbing sculptures and paintings as I make my way down the long, narrow hallway
that leads to baggage claim. I pass a
few slot machines, get my bag and then head outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The
casino has a free shuttle. Because of
this I have gotten spoiled and have been dismayed to find out other airports
don’t have free shuttles to the gig. It’s
exciting to fly to the big show though.
A lot of what I had done up until that point in standup was host and
feature shows wherever I could get booked.
The most exotic places I’d worked were Vegas and Florida, so Reno
follows suit, in that it’s the type of town if you’re heading there, you should
pack a gun. When you feature in a standup show, you go on after the host and before the headliner. You perform roughly for a half
hour. There’s something about getting
out of your usual digs and traveling. I’m
elated to be in the desert even with the eerie sculpture welcoming. Plus, <i>Catch</i>
has a legendary history including discovering and/or nurturing the careers of
guys like Robin Williams and Jerry Seinfeld, so this adds to the elation. After checking in, showering and spraying my
hair, I head down the elevator through the lobby and down an escalator to the
club.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The
room is set back in the back of the casino on the ground floor of the Silver Legacy
casino. You walk through the lobby, passed all the shops and a few bars, down an escalator where you can peer at the tables and slots from a birds eye view. Then around more slots to the entrance of the club. You walk in to a carpeted little number with rows of chairs all facing a rather large, well-lit stage with a
piano. The emcee is Barry Gibb. Not literally, but he could enter and
possibly win a look-alike contest, if there were such a event. Although I was born in the 70’s, I never have,
nor since, seen this hairstyle coupled with a beard in real life. He ends up being the nicest guy in the
world. You couldn’t ask for a room to be
warmed up any better. He plays the piano
and jokes with the audience for a good 20 minutes before bringing up the
comedians. I’m so thrilled to be
performing on a real stage, with real drinks, sans wood-paneling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">With my excitement of being in Nevada and my retro sensibilities in tow, I
persuaded my friend Christian who was the manager to take me to The Sands after
the show. Its legendary title suggests
Vegas swank and old school charm, as in jazz and beehives. But the Reno version is anything but. He reluctantly agrees. We walk about four blocks west passed a casino and through a large
parking lot through snow to get to the infamous tower. The worn carpet of the lobby mocks us as we head toward alcohol. The yellowing formica bar seemed to mirror the females' sour faces that glare at us like something from a Hunter S. Thompson novel. The waitress’s gum chewing made me somewhat uneasy, but as a writer I had to confess, “This is perfect!”
Christian on the other hand, is about as
excited as cat about to get a bath. We
both look at each other with wonder at the people-watching potential, but
we try to play it cool even though we’re secretly fascinated, or <i>I’m</i> fascinated. We ordered drinks and began to talk shop;
comedy, writing, etc.. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">We
talked about life, wine, the Smiths and <i>The
Cosmic Trigger</i> while the extras from <i>My Name is Earl</i> that peppered the bar chatted. The brightly lit countertop of libations held
the same amount of glamour as a bingo game.
There wasn’t going to be any rat pack crooning at this trailer park. I loved talking with Christian because of his wit and intelligence. We talked real shit. I wish that dam gig was still around. I talked about my family and how I’m
dark. “Dead inside?” he asked. I laughed.
He is funny too, by the way. I
told him I felt like it’s all a big nothing.
Christian explained, "Existential Nihilism embraces cause and effect
in that all feelings and bad experiences are from prior causes . . as a result, there is no free will and nature
v. nurture is bullshit too, confirming the futility of it all." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">“Basically,”
he went on, “the world lacks meaning or purpose. All existence; actions, suffering, feelings are senseless. It literally <i>is </i>all a big nothing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“Oh
my God !!! That’s it ! ! ! That is exactly how I feel ! ! !” I exclaimed with exasperation. I’m so excited to receive validation of what had
been simmering inside of me. The
brooding, the apathy which naturally I was experiencing as a result of death, divorce and disease had a name ! This is nothing short of a
revelation, I thought. Just then, the
guy next to Christian, clad in a wife beater with a drug dealer hoodie and Adidas
shorts, fell completely off of his barstool. </span></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-7483691551120977452017-12-10T11:26:00.001-08:002018-08-19T11:40:26.505-07:00SHUT UP AND LOOK GOOD<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I started comedy a while ago. A long time ago. I was married. It was different. I’m a comic in New York now, I’m single, and I
am having a hard time. Well, wait a day
and ask me, and I will say it’s great. A
lot of my perspective hinges on where I got on last, how much money I made this
month and if my new stuff worked somewhere.
But generally, and in particular, this week, things are shitty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m not a new comic, but upon moving to New
York I became new <i>again </i>in a way,
having been unfamiliar with most of what goes on in the New York comedy scene. It’s par for the course when moving to
another city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But when I ponder my situation a little
deeper, what’s frustrating for me is my gender.
There comes a time when you realize, people don’t take you seriously if
you are female. People used to say “oh
you do comedy that must be so hard.” At
the time I thought they were morons for saying so. I used to think doing comedy was great. You go to a club and work out ideas that
you’ve been banging around i.e. funny thoughts, jaunts and stabs at people that
irritate you. It’s an activity that
makes all the messed up stuff in your life have a shred of meaning and you make
people feel better, including yourself. It’s
symbiotic and so creative. But in time,
I began to see what those annoying people meant. Audiences are reluctant to like female
comics. And then there’s everybody else.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I first moved to New York a comic at
Dangerfield’s said to me, “men in the Middle East have it right…women should be
covered from head to toe in a berka and kept quiet.” The same week another comedian gave me a spot
at one of the clubs. He was actually
nice to me and happy to help me out, but the next night when I didn’t text him back
right away, he texted, “Are you drunk or just a retard?” Another time, in an effort to help me
assimilate in New York, a friend of mine connected me with an established
comic. Long story short, the comic asked
me to three-way with him and his girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The problem starts when you actually want to
make some kind of career out of it. If
you’re just doing your “sketches” at little dives here and there, it isn’t affecting
anything. You’re not challenging the
status quo. But when you have something
to say, and when you want to be compensated for your work, now you are creating
a wake. In some cases, bookers don’t
respect comics of the female gender, therefore, pay them less. It is sort of known that back in the day, a
now famous female comic was paid a lot less than all of the male headliners in
Boston. No wonder she left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In New York, it’s competitive. Male comics will use their yang prowess to
try and intimidate people they deem as inferior, I guess in an effort to stroke
their own ego. Either that or they’ll
hit on you. They’ll insult you. At Times Square Arts Center, one of the
comics said to me “I would never put two female comics on in a row…” He really should just be embarrassed. They also underestimate your<i> intelligence</i>. I don’t give a fuck what skinny, loser comics
who are high have to say. They are going
for the easiest target which makes me question <i>their</i> intelligence and just screams insecurity. They are trying to make me feel bad. Look frightened little boy, it’s obvious you
are steeped in self-hatred and exhaustion from having to suppress so many secret
homosexual urges, that your shame only elicits intense insecurity, I’m here to
tell ya, the rest of society takes care of my feeling bad about myself. Women experience this constantly with sexist,
objectifying images in advertising, in conversations and inappropriate glances. Do you think your stupid comment is upsetting? You’re just a buffoon, who’s clearly
threatened by the possibility that a female comic will steal your shitty $25
dollar spot at a dump in the theatre district.
At the time, <span style="background: white;">I didn’t respond. But I probably should have at least told him
to f**k off. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When frustrated with standup, I used to say “I
should have been a dancer,” probably because society values women by their
looks. They really want us to just shut
up and look good. We are socialized to
believe that women are second class citizens.
Female comics have to work hard despite this.<a href="file:///C:/Users/johnny%20kendro/Desktop/Writing/Blogged/ShutUpAndLookGood_DONE.doc#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> Everybody acts like I’m wrong because I want
to be valued for my intelligence and talent and everything <i>but</i> my looks. If I felt I
was good looking, I wouldn’t be doing standup in the first place and female
comics who are trying to use their looks just want fame and are not into the
craft and probably really want to be an actress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is a bigger issue than I thought. Because a baby comes out of our person, we
are somehow deemed as <i>less</i> than? When
you see a guy comic two years in, who automatically receives more credibility from
the audience than your 14 years, it’s disheartening to say the least. <i>side
note: I did read Gloria Steinem books when I was seventeen, followed by Camile
Paglia, among others.</i> But I sort
of blocked it out for a period of time. I think for a while I chose to look the
other way, for fear that I would be miserable if I was always thinking about
this. However, now that I do standup, and
I’m a lot older, there is absolutely no escaping the staunch reality of sexism
and inequality. It only magnifies with
time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">People have gone out of their way after a
show to say “we don’t usually <i>like</i>
female comics, but we really liked <i>you</i>.” A booker of a big club in Boston said to me
while we were backstage about a comic who was on stage, “she’s not that funny
but she’s nice to look at.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Another time in Boston a booker told me right
to my face that “all these paid comics are hacky…” He was only referring to some of the funniest
comedians ever on the planet. He also
mentioned my <i>then</i> husband. Why would you say that to someone’s
wife? Was I supposed to be impressed by
a guy who never paid comics upstairs from a Chinese restaurant? Maybe people just think that my entire gender
is dumb. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">[The word cunt
doesn’t offend me at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most of the time when
I use it, I’m referring to a man]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">-Tweet from me: @stacykendro<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Often society’s message is we’re just arm
candy. How quaint. A large part of being female (and this is
deep in the psyche of most women) is the need to ingratiate yourself to people. That’s the hard part – being so dam
agreeable. We are socialized to make
others feel comfortable, which means if you are a jerk to me, I will smile. Sometimes, that is the thing for someone with
manners to do. However, don’t mistake my
politeness for passivity. Now I’m
talking about New York. In an effort to
take the high road, or to make you believe you didn’t really get to me, I might
not retaliate right away. But just know
that I’m Albanian. I will be planning
your demise. Well, at least I will go
home and write about you, but take heed because if you catch me on a bad day,
who knows. Even though “vendetta” is an
Italian word, just ask people in the Bronx and they’ll tell you which
nationality is scarier. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div>
<!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/johnny%20kendro/Desktop/Writing/Blogged/ShutUpAndLookGood_DONE.doc#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">I think some
women are confused about where their gender fits into performing. They dress up too much. They dress provocatively. A lot of skin showing. They look like a friggen peacock. I like George Carlin. He dressed in all black. Like an artist. If you are a singer or a stripper, then by
all means, wear the dress. I just don’t
see the connection with comedy. You see
minimalist theatre and they are in all black.
They’re not stuffed in a dress, in heels with their arms showing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-80452414974197481772017-10-27T08:47:00.001-07:002018-02-28T10:57:16.528-08:00 UFC v. Old Guy<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Let’s
talk about men. Yes the security guy at
the front desk is cute, he does some kind of mixed martial arts, but he’s
young. Gay boyfriend was puzzled about how
that could be a problem. My thinking is
this: that guy can’t take me to the Essex
House where I can comfortably sink into a fancy leather seat to drink top shelf
martinis while taking in the wondrous aroma of whiskey and cigar smoke and talk
about the latest Paul Krugman piece and possibly about art (whereas, an older
gentleman can). He probably shaves his
pubes off. And he wrestles with other
men. Gay boyfriend was still
puzzled. So in an effort to elaborate, I
will do a compare and contrast argument with older v. younger, and I will entitle
the latter “UFC”. UFC definitely doesn’t
have a beach house where I could drop the day job and go write my memoirs. Even if that translates into squandering the
time drinking too much and getting nothing done, where my ultimate and inevitable
return would produce little writing and one big hangover, at least the
opportunity to attempt a first draft would be there. And I’d be tan. UFC guy wouldn’t take me to fancy places like the
Hamptons or Cape May. His regular
watering hole is probably in Bayonne.
Although, he most likely wouldn’t drink in lieu of fight preparation, so
I imagine spending time with him could entail moseying around Prospect Park
drinking energy drinks and green tea.
Maybe he’s not from Brooklyn but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like parks. I like the ocean and I like men who want to go
boating. UFC guy would grow completely
weary from my intellectual rantings regarding the mastery of Peter Bogdonavich
and how I need to go to San Francisco to remember the artist within that I feel
I somehow left there. Even though he’s
handsome, he smells like cabbage. He’s
got that trimmed beard with a crew cut thing going on that’s wicked hot, but
I’m at least ten years older than he is. If in conversation he didn’t know of Mr. Roper
(or some other important cultural icon), I would be mortified.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">My
father was forty-two when I was born.
His heyday was the fifties. He
used to prowl the Wildwood boardwalk with his drinking buddies and go listen to
jazz. I’ve taken just about all of my
musical influence from him, from Harry James to John Coltrane. And then there’s comedy. That generation loved Johnny Carson. He explained to me who Jack Parr was. Growing up he used to play old Spike Jones
records for me and do imitations of Peter Lory.
UFC guy has never even seen <i>The
Pink Panther</i>. Maybe what I’m saying
is </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have retro sensibilities, but more importantly, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I think I'm saying I’m an old soul. My friends all say i look young so I should go for it, but the truth is, that is not who I am on the inside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">An
older gentlemen would have a beach house.
He would think it was cute that I like vodka for dinner and he would always
be concerned that I was alright. He would call a lot and ask where I was. The old school man wants to keep tabs on you because that's how they roll. "Where are you?" is a common text and they get mad when you don't respond. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Old guy wouldn’t think anything of coming to get me, wherever I was. In New York, you’re lucky if you get a guy to
leave his borough. Another thing, it doesn’t
have to always happen, but it's nice when a man scampers ahead to get
the door, which seems somehow like a lost art. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">UFC
guy has had so much pussy waving around, he doesn’t understand how to make a
princess feel like a queen. Old guy
does. Old guy also gets the whole
jewelry thing too. UFC guy has tattoos
which is kind of cool but the first time I caught him looking at himself in the
mirror, I think it’d be over. Also he’s
had more than one threesome and I’m just too old for that shit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">And further, New York guys don’t think they need to <i>do</i> anything. They take you to a wine bar once and then
expect sex. It’s absolutely
unacceptable. Old guy would go so far
out of his way to please his future bride and he would have the couth and intuition to wait until the time was right.
He would buy stuff and go for long weekend trips. UFC picks up women from bars who dress
sparingly and look like they’re twelve. An
older gentleman knows how to feed the Cinderella complex. The only complex UFC is familiar with is
Napolean. I think I’ve made my
point. It is something I had to write
out, because having several cougar friends, I just wanted to get my side heard. But cheers to both types because God knows what we would do without contrast! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-32612819243916875262017-08-27T20:19:00.002-07:002021-11-19T12:19:45.437-08:00Unofficial Bridesmaid<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span>I have a roommate who I call No
Tits because she broke my balls from the jump when she first moved in (having
fits over tablecloths, not having boundaries, criticizing my belongings and just generally being a rude
entitled frizzy haired wench).</span><span> </span><span>Surprisingly, someone moved in
after her who was worse.</span><span> </span><span>The new
roommate who moved in, I refer to as the premenstrual-dysphoric-disorder-riddled-Jihadist-Macedonian-with-borderline (Jihad for short) has become extremely
difficult to live with, thus has rendered No Tits and I, buddies.</span><span> </span><span>(Jihad actually replaced the former roommate
who was an obsessive-compulsive-anorexic-vegan-</span><span>germaphobic-</span><span>violinist-singer).</span><span> At any rate, t</span><span>he other day, the Jihadist and
I had it out.</span><span> </span><span>It was a short burst of an
argument that escalated very quickly, ending with me calling her a twat.</span><span> </span><span>I haven’t been that proud of moment in a
while.</span><span> </span><span>As a result, No Tits and I have a
new found <i>almost </i>friendship, and subsequently </span><span>I was subjected to a
long-winded story about the pre-matrimonial celebration of some other bird,
whom I imagine is also from Queens.</span><span> </span><span>(how
revolting).</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><span>No Tits informed me that she
would be partaking in her best friend’s wedding as an “unofficial bridesmaid.” It is not clear why she was given the less
than desirable title of an un-thing. I
suspect that the bride had too many candidates to choose from and did not want
to create a hierarchy or pit members of the would-be bridal party against each
other. It’s as if she is saying, “the matching
dress thing I can do without, but I still need someone to do all the
pre-wedding party stuff, so we’ll have to call her something pretty close to
bridesmaid.” So, No Tits doesn’t get a
real title. She does all the work
without the glory. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span></span><br /><span>Bridesmaids usually are kind of
strange looking with their weird taffeta dresses and goofy up-do’s. I often wonder what happens to them, because
you know what they say; once a bridesmaid . . . . she’ll probably get an abortion and
move to Reno . . .(and I imagine she goes on to live
a sad, loveless life as an alcoholic residing in some small town with an old
powder blue Chevy Malibu on blocks in the front yard, sad and forgotten about,
like the love she'd always wished she were pretty enough to know). </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span></span><br /><span>No Tits planned the engagement
party, the bridal shower <i>and</i> the
bachelorette party. Lack of being blessed well endowed aside, she is doing a service to her friend out of love and she informed me
that the other bitches are chiming in, because they don’t like her having a
position of power (however unofficial it may be). They drop comments. They dis her planning. They walked out of one event because it
wasn’t open bar, leaving No Tits with a $300 alcohol tab, which she paid. Proper etiquette dictates that the family of
the bride should host the shower.
According to Emily Post, “it is not within the responsibilities of the
bridal shower to do so, although they can if they want.” Also, I’m
pretty sure the maid of honor shouldn’t be doing all three events i.e. <i>everything.</i> </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span></span><br /><span>Because of the mother’s absence,
the other fraulines should have stepped up.
Instead they criticized the almost bridesmaid who is handling all three
events. Poor No Tits. I can’t believe I am feeling compassion for
someone who caused me much grief in the beginning of our relationship. She is grinning and bearing it for her
friend. No Tits is a bigger person than
me, because I wouldn’t have lasted through the first half of the <i>not</i> open bar engagement party as an
unofficial bridesmaid. I’da been all “I
don’t think so sluts.” Not because of
lack of booze, but because these people have no class. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><span>The problem with this unofficial
bridal party is that every female should be working together to pick up the
slack to make the celebration happen, <i>where
the mother clearly has dropped the ball</i>.
But instead, they are being outright rude and entitled. Maybe they’re pissed they weren’t
bridesmaids. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span></span><br /><span>I got all this information in the
kitchen, which is where N.T. and I usually converse. At the end of her story, she divulged that
she will be wearing a very low cut dress for the bachelorette party, but that
it didn’t matter because she has no tits.
Life does take strange twists and turns, but I honestly found my way
around from really not getting along with this roommate, whom admittedly, I
gave a terrible nickname, to cheering her on in her battle over the senseless gaggle
of nit-picking hens. </span><br /><br /><span>reference: emilypost.com/book/emily-posts-wedding-etiquette/</span></span></p>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-38983746701545776192017-07-29T12:45:00.002-07:002018-07-03T19:14:29.072-07:00CRASHING: INTERVIEW WITH GENO BISCONTE<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’ve been recording a podcast with a friend of mine.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">For weeks we hadn't launched it because
we’re comics.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">What that means is we’re
not organized.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It took a while but now we have it <a href="https://soundcloud.com/comicly-unstable/sets/comicly-unstable-podcast" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
podcast is called Comic’ly Unstable.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This
week we interviewed Geno Bisconte, who is a great, funny comedian and best
friend of the host, Tommy A.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Geno has
his own show on the Cumia Network and you can go check it out here: </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><a href="http://www.compoundmedia.com/show/in-hot-water/" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">www.compoundmedia.com/show/in-hot-water/</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We all go way back and the connection is
comedy and Brooklyn.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Those two lived
together at one point and although it was a great interview, the bromance
between them was practically filling the room like a big, thick cloud.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Comedy careers have ups and downs and are completely unpredictable. My experience is sometimes you’re in Vegas
making serious money and sometimes you’re in rural Pennsylvania telling jokes
to a drunk bridal party for $100 bucks questioning all of your life decisions
up until that point. After talking
with Geno it became evident that his timeline has been no less dramatic. Recent highlights for him are appearing in
HBO’s <i>Crashing</i> a new sitcom starring
Pete Holmes about standup comics in New York.
He was invited to roast Gary Busey at the Friar’s club which is a New
York staple for show business. It was
founded by Milton Berle and the current abbot is Jerry Lewis. All that said, the interview was more about
hard times and how to endure them, and coming out the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">He told us at one point, he was living in his car. The lease ended at his apartment and his then
roommate was going to LA and rather than deal with getting a new apartment
right away, he decided to wing it. He
slept in Jersey at his aunts at times, and much like Pete Holmes character in
the aforementioned show <i>Crashing</i>, he slept
on friends’ couches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">What I came away with after listening to him is that it might get
impossibly hard, but it will be worth it to stick it out. New York and living for your art is pretty
challenging. Particularly, (<i>especially)</i> if you’ve chosen either New
York or LA. You have ups and downs and
take risks that would cripple other people.
I suspect most people would never wager such a bet because it definitely
blows up in your face at times. You do
shows, you get work, you get fired, you get rejected. You do shitty gigs, and you probably develop
a drinking problem, but here’s a side note, if your life is in the toilet but you
are grateful for those gigs, you might be headed in the right direction. I’d rather enjoy myself at a dump in New
Jersey and have a good time than be sitting in the back of the room rolling my
eyes and lamenting at how shitty it all is.
But we’ve all been on either side of that fence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The business is tough. You
have to have conviction. I suspect that
the wake that is created by trying to be true to yourself will be made up of
the good, the bad and the ugly. <----
but how amazing is that? You have to
deal with the shit, but you ultimately will revel in the glory. I think this is what he was getting at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">My take after doing standup 14 years, and the point of a lot of
what Mr. Bisconte was getting at, is the fallout that sticking to your guns
creates is, at times unbearable, albeit fucked up. You lose relationships, apartments, jobs, cars. There is no safety net and it’s terrifying,
but you have to stick it out. <--- (this is exactly what I’m currently going
through with comedy + life). But isn’t
it strange i.e. the universe’s timing of this interview and my own crisis? <--- (maybe not. Most comics are having crises).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">If you are gifted the freedom of a catastrophe, but then get to
the point where you’re <i>not</i> ruined by
it, I bet it’s the best feeling in the world. I’m still going through it, so I’m suffering
somewhat, but Geno seemed content. I
must state this again because none of the comics I know feel this way --->
he seemed happy ! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We’re all sort of waiting for the reward, but I’m sensing that it’s
already here. <--- the trick is to
feel that way regardless of circumstances. Artists live life on their own terms, which
isn’t always great, but I think it’s the conviction of saying “I can do this”
that is so empowering. You can come out
the other side and say you didn’t die.
You’re still here as Elaine Stritch epitomized. At present, I have a part-time office job,
roommates from hell & my car got totaled so I’m not 100% feeling this, I’m
sort of mad at the universe, but you know who isn’t? Geno Bisconte. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Twitter: </span><a href="https://twitter.com/genobisconte">https://twitter.com/genobisconte</a></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-6137124099371660792017-07-12T12:06:00.001-07:002017-07-29T13:06:52.812-07:00GREEK FORTRESS<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have a lot
going on right now. I live with awful roommates. I’m
always trying to <i>not </i>be home so I don’t have to see one of the
pterodactyls. That’s what it’s come to. I’ve assigned a
nickname of an ugly prehistoric bird to the people that I share an apartment
with. I live in an abundantly-tiled Greek house that resembles a
fortress that begins with a nose-bleed angled, city code-defying cement
staircase that leads up to the main floor. The first floor is half in
the ground. They call that “garden level” in New York, which was
probably invented by real estate agents, because all feasible square footage is
rented out in this city. In other states, what towns call a cellar,
in New York is a shitty basement apartment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The landlord of
said dwelling lives upstairs. He is a plump, talkative Greek man who
speaks as if he has a swollen tongue that’s gotten pinned while wrestling with
the rest of his mouth to spit out the English language. After he
has spoken in his long-winded, overly self-indulgent manner in extreme broken
English for what seems like an eternity, I often say, “what?!” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I cannot begin to
express the violence I feel for all of these people. Because of this,
I realize I do need to work on myself some, while simultaneously feel
completely validated in imagining their untimely, somewhat horrific demise.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yesterday I heard
a knock at the door roughly around 5:30PM. I had a sneaking
suspicion Aristotle Onasis was on the other side of the door waiting to
proclaim his case for bothering me in grunts that resemble
communication. Avoidance doesn’t really work with this
fisherman. After several tries at knocking with no answer, he walked
back down the hallway towards the foyer, opened the front door to the house – a
grown man mind you – reached his arm outside and rang the buzzer to my
apartment. The shrill, earsplitting decibels of the buzzer could
wake up an entire submarine regimen. He leaned on the buzzer too, to
be extra annoying. </span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">How quaint.</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> I still ignore
it. After the fourth or fifth time, I begin to reach exasperation, I
virulently open the door to ask him what he wants. I yell at him
stating that I’m not really dressed and what the hell is so important (clearly
he doesn’t get the hint that nobody wants to talk to him). Even his
wife sleeps in Flushing. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">First he asks if
we have a washing machine in the house, which is just “THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE
RINGING THE DOORBELL LIKE A FUCKING PSYCHO FOR ??????? REALLY!!??!!” First of all, the
pterodactyls can’t afford soap or paper towels, so it’s funny to me that he
would even think that they bought an appliance. Then he says he’s
bringing the ladder for one of the roommates (the one I choose to call the Macedonian
whore – she’s in a different blog). I
proceed to just yell at him, telling him to leave it in the hallway because I’m
in my pajamas and then shut the door.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Lack of
understanding American social moors or boundaries might be what he hides behind
as a disguise to get people to interact with him. That aside, describing him as wildly
inappropriate doesn’t seem to stress enough what he is. He tells the
neighbors I’m his girlfriend. He makes offers of taking me to
Greece. One time he and his family had
come back from a wedding (this was before his wife retired to another part of
the borough). It was late. The weather was nice, so I was
sitting outside, smoking. Most likely he spotted me from his balcony
about, then rushed downstairs to bother me. He was in a robe and his
rotund, watermelon-like stomach was sticking out. He made small talk
and then quickly proceeded to show off his construction chops by showing me
pictures on his phone of the Athens condo that he built out. I may
have been indulging him because the rent was late, I can’t remember looking
back. I </span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">am</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;"> a comedian
after all, I can’t really just walk away when people are being
ludicrous). But also I had had some wine and it was kind of
entertaining. In hindsight, I’m
questioning </span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">why</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;"> I was so polite toward Baklava. Sometimes
you have to be gracious in the face of others’ rudeness. He has invited me to go live with him in
Greece on more than one occasion. He’s so lucky I don’t have a gun. It’s just so wrong that I can’t even make it
clever. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I did get him
back though. He asked me how old I
thought he was once, and I said seventy. It’s not clear exactly how
old he is, but he’s arrogant, so in his mind he’s still in his fifties, and by
his reaction it’s clear I was way off (but not by much I
suspect). A hundred bucks says he’s sixty-nine.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-84148778596350465182017-06-18T13:10:00.000-07:002017-09-01T13:32:55.728-07:00LETTERS TO ROOMMATES<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Letter to Roommate #1</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Dear Roommate #1 (aka the Jihadist): Everyone knows leaving hostile sticky notes
is just bad form. So, don’t take this
the wrong way, but when you wonder why you’re floating up to heaven, the answer
is that you didn’t belong on the planet.
The mere existence of your person is just completely wrecking my
universe. I’m sorry you have a lot of
periods, but (a) I’m not sure why you want to share that with me and (b) there
are things you can take for that (for fuck’s sake). And why, mother of God, is every light in the
fucking house on? I swear to God if it’s
the last thing I do on this earth, I’m going to disconnect the fucking awful
florescent lights that you insist on keeping on 24/7 in the kitchen. But let’s get on with the real issue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I know you’re European and everything (so you think tight jeans
and boots is a great look, but I’m here to tell you, they don’t have rodeos in
Queens. Also walking around the kitchen
back and forth in said thick-heeled, slut boots at 9:00 a.m. is weird and kind
of rude. You do this early in the
morning on a Saturday when people are trying to sleep. You do it in the middle of the afternoon on a
Tuesday. Does it make you feel thin, or
more horse-like? I just want to get a
sense of why, particularly because I’m trying to get some god forsaken sleep,
but I can’t, because I’m bewildered by your strange domestic patterns. That, and what’s with you and the fucking
kitchen. Get a life. You shouldn’t stay holed up in the house all
day it’s not healthy, and your hair is greasy and there is an odor coming from
your Etruscan cave of a bedroom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">You’re crashing dishes and whatever around too – <i>my</i> dishes, incidentally, because you
don’t own anything. You leave them in
the sink until things are growing from them.
God forbid anyone make a request that the dishes be done more frequently,
because then you blow up like a PMS-ridden-guerilla-psychopath. It felt very satisfying to block you on my
phone, by the way, because I refuse to read text rants, which until I saw them,
I didn’t believe they existed. Your
generation doesn’t know how to do anything unless it’s on an app, so I get it,
but it doesn’t make it valid. My
generation doesn’t text. We want a face
to face where I will break your nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I don’t even want to be writing this shit, but I am so exasperated,
I’m about to buy firearms. I suspect
that is the nature of the roommate situation, but that is giving you too much
credit. To act like a cunt over a
cabinet shelf and leaving bitchy notes around the apartment means you have
mental issues. I doubt you are in
therapy considering you seldom buy anything that resembles a paper product, and
you don’t seem to be getting any relief from that meditation class. I’m trying to keep this light because really
I’m praying that you get captured by ICE on your trip back from the motherland,
because you’ve been nothing short of a tyrannical nazi whore. PS – I don’t want any fucking Turkish coffee. Americans don’t like that shit. PS2 – no one will ever marry you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Letter to Roommate #2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This is a sincere continuance of the roommate letter, but to the
other, more pterodactyl-like one who has, and whom I will now refer to as, No Tits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Dear No Tits: I know you
like to come home and talk on the phone <i>really</i>
loud to whoever is on the other end, which, I find astounding that anyone would
actually listen to you, because your voice makes me want to scratch my own eyes
out. I’ve never before felt the urge to
run across a room and dive out a window than after I’ve heard a diatribe coming
from your trachea. And loud, loquacious
vocalizations in the living room the way neurotic cats tend to do at 3:00 a.m.
probably makes sense to your rather pigeon-like brain, I’m sure, because although
you have a room you could go into to do such things, why not make sure the whole
house is disturbed? You laugh a lot, but
it’s like a nervous, right before you lose touch with reality type laugh, and you
have weird frizzy hair and seem somewhat dim-witted. In my act I refer to you as Pennsylvania
barnyard stupid. But, since it creates a
furrow in my being, I have stopped talking about you on stage, except to say
the part where I believe you sleep upside down in your closet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I know this probably seems somewhat hostile, especially
considering I smile and try to be pleasant, because that is, in fact, my
nature. But really it’s because I’m
imagining your untimely and fairly brutal demise. It’s the only way I can get through this
phase of living in New York affordably, which clearly, I should have thought
out better. My hostility started when
you began making comments about my furniture.
You wanted to organize my
belongings which frankly are none of your business. You made comments about my armoire. The irony is that when you moved in, you didn’t
own anything. Not even a lamp. You threw a fit because of a table cloth and
then minutes later offered me some salmon.
Maybe your medication is off. I
can’t even list it all because I feel more gray hair coming in as I type.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And although I usually cringe at your stories that disclose
personal information about your dumb life, when you told me that you had celiac
and couldn’t shit, I nearly wept with joy.
I must admit, however fleeting, I was almost grateful for the debacle of
my artist-led existence in this over-tiled Greek fortress of a house in stupid Queens. I found myself almost faint. Even though living with you has overshadowed
other unfortunate living situations, such as the alcoholic who made puppets or
the Hawaiian violinist who was in Cabaret on Broadway and referred to its star
as “Al” (Alan Cumming) because they were buddies, your having an issue with
your dairy air made me almost feel guilty for calling you NTBN – (which is
short for No Tits Big Nose). I would feel
guilty except it’s caught on with all of my friends and it provides humor that
clearly this household lacks. And P.S.
fuck you too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-62659586229758135992017-06-18T12:35:00.000-07:002018-03-10T11:00:57.199-08:00PEOPLE NEED TO DIE. <div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">a list of people and their douchebaggery</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lately
I want to quit standup almost every day.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s not performing itself that is driving me crazy.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think it’s New York.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have a lot of (don’t say irons in the
fire!!!) things going on.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe my
problems have two prongs like a kangaroo (look it up). </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Prong 1: I seem to get overwhelmed with unstructured
time.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Prong 2:</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">people are generally awful.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are so many things that suck about New York that I won’t even mention the constant
smell of urine and halal. I moved here going on four years ago. My first set of roommates were great. One was
an editor and the other made puppets.<---- sure they drank beer and whatever
but they were nice guys. My second apartment in the beginning was awesome. I lived with two sane women. That was the last time I would be able to say that because after those two moved out, my living situation that followed had been comprised of reptilian dwelling PMS ridden floozies. I was so distraught mainly because the first set were so great. That's what delineates everything else as so abhorrent. The first two I clicked with. I moved in and we all got along beautifully. There were no petty quibbles or trivial
objections about towels or who put what where.
I like to think that I am pretty easy going. I never would comment about other people’s
furniture particularly after having moved in last. I would never break balls about an antique or
a table. You know who does that? <i>Bitches
with no furniture.</i> <----- I wrote about this particular topic having
coined a new pseudonym for this specific roommate of “pterodactyl.” The two amazing roommates ? one went to Houston to get married
and the other moved in with her Bulgarian boyfriend in a different part of
Astoria. Sadly, they were replaced by juvenile
water dragons with perpetual PMS. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Eastern European wears skin tight jeans with whore boots. There must be a rodeo in town (I don’t
believe Queens, New York hosts such types of activities but I suppose one never
knows). The other one is a textbook
narcissist with an enormous rear end. I
must have been like a serial killer in a past life to have been given such a treacherous
plight. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">You can read about them in more detail </span><a href="http://stacykendro.blogspot.com/2017/06/letters-to-roommates.html" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">here</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While roommate drama is threatening my very sanity, I did a show for a theatre in
Massachusetts. I don’t want to name
names but I’ll say it something Center for the Arts. It was in Natick. After the show, the headliner and I were
standing at the doorway greeting the audience as they were slowly filing
out. People commented how much they
liked the show. A friend of the
headliner came over. They greeted each other
with a hug and then the friend proclaimed, “I was waiting for you to do that
bit about the underwear.” The female comedian replied “well there was enough filth that went on before me
that I left it out,” implying that the other comedians, which - I was the only
one standing there at the time, did too much dirty material for her to then
follow with some stupid bit about underwear.
(insert gunshot noises grenades, rocket launchers & flame throwers) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">MORE
LATER. SIGNING OUT. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">-the
Albanian Detractor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-70833282657977078802017-06-09T16:10:00.000-07:002017-12-17T11:10:27.576-08:00WE WON'T GET SWOOPED AGAIN<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">This
is my blog. It’s sometimes about being
an artist. A lot of times it’s about
people that aggravate me. This one is about
the heart. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Here we go--->It instantly
turns you into an emotional catastrophe when you care. When you don’t care, you have total control. Nobody can get to you (it’s pretty awesome).
The only downfall is oddly, in time, you find yourself having a strange
hankering to play lacrosse. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The
cute ones get to ya. I hate that. It’s not fair. I am not self-absorbed and I am not full of
myself, BUT lately a lot of persons of
the male persuasion have been barking up this tree. My gay boyfriend Eddie says “throw one of
them a bone.” None of them are even in
the right galaxy. I don’t want to sound like a
jerk, but everyone is out of my league… <i>except</i>… hence, where the trouble lies… the fucking
good looking one. That makes me sound
superficial……… and I’m not. I’m talking
about the guy that makes you stop eating, hit the gym, shave your legs, do your
toenails and do your hair. Let me tell you something: I have
not had a boyfriend in ten years. So, if
I actually shave something or get my feet done, it’s fucking real. My writing is suddenly taking on an epic Maury Pauvich-like quality. I’m not meaning to be
dramatic <--- RIGHT THERE !!! I’m being dramatic !!! OH fuck.
This is not good. For several
years, I’ve been dressing and acting like a gym teacher. I don’t want to characterize, generalize or
sound like there is anything particularly wrong with saying gym teacher instead
of lesbian, but I do want to stress that morphing into a basketball coach is
just a defense mechanism I use to protect myself from getting hurt. I’m no genius, believe me, but I suspect if
someone makes you stop wanting to organize an indoor gymnasium kickball game, it is
serious business. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">But
when you really like someone, they ruin your life. You begin to obsess about how you will get to
see them. You scheme. You ask your friends. You follow his stupid Instagram. If he doesn't like stuff on your Twitter, you’re crushed. That’s just weird and stupid. And, when you don’t see him it <i>hurts</i>. This is love my friends. It doesn’t strike often. The risk is you might have a fiery romance that
can potentially end abruptly, and then you are left crying on the kitchen floor. Funny, I’m already jumping to the breakup.
Another absurd symptom that you’ve fallen hard; oscillating between
bliss and plummeting into despair, and disaster-izing about a relationship that
doesn’t even exist. Holy smoking ovaries
Robin, I’m bat-shit!!!! The stupid thing is
I <i>want</i> this. Love swoops in. You can’t control it, you certainly can’t
change it. You can’t do anything about
it. You’re fucked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">What I find completely recalcitrant is the
other kind of swoop. Love is</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> never portrayed accurately in tinsel town.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> At least not now. Why is the leading man ugly can I just put that out there? Has anyone seen Rock Hudson? <i>That</i> is a leading man. In modern movies, w</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">hen the girl
character gets her heart broken, the ugly guy makes his move.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’m sorry but, first of all, gross.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Second of all, this happens in </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Under The Tuscan Sun. </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This got under my skin so bad that in an
effort to assuage the ickiness that that particularly ridiculous Hollywood ending creates in my brain, I’ve
coined the phrase the “ugly guy swoop.” </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After
the handsome guy doesn’t work out, she’s given up and begun decorating her
Etruscan villa, the tall, goofy, big-nose, curly-haired doofus shows up and
gets her when she’s vulnerable.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Um,
Diane Lane is </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">gorgeous</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She’d never fall for an ugly guy swoop, even
if he is a writer.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It just wouldn’t
happen.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Disbelief not suspended. </span></div>
</div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1884165004867659333.post-85447288310228258602017-04-19T21:40:00.000-07:002017-08-04T15:15:46.483-07:00THIS IS A TOUGH ONE<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
short version=I got a divorce and I haven’t dated.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
longer version=<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
tough girl shell is thick. Recently I
heard something on the radio that was describing men as distant and
unemotional. I grew up with my dad so I
have taken on many male characteristics like drinking and watching boxing, and what they mentioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Writing
about what is happening <i>right now</i> is really intimidating because you gotta be honest and junk. It’s not that I want to remain a mystery (I
suspect that is exactly what I want), but I will go as far as to say that I
don’t like people knowing more about me than I want them to. This is all me just prefacing.<s><o:p></o:p></s></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
haven’t even gotten to my career and my situation. I’m still prefacing. (Is that a verb?) I am aware that I am guarded. The most incredible human (this guy Michael who
passed) told me so. I don’t like
anyone. It’s kind of a problem. So I’m writing this to figure out what is
going on, so that I can get some insight and then maybe get passed it. I have a feeling that the act of writing is
going to assist me. (insert gunshot noise)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
love to go around the world with my ideas before I get into what is true, the core stuff, which is the meat of it all. I
should always be trying to go for that, because I am an artist. Growing up with a sick mother who left, and a
dad that was working and drank and then married an alcoholic monster, I
learned to pretend everything is ok to such an exquisite perfection that half of
the time, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
I’m getting better at sorting it all out. I’m figuring out that the stuff that is buried
is where the gold is. <s><o:p></o:p></s></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
do stand-up comedy. Kinda weird. It sets me apart from the ordinary human
inasmuch as I am a being, who writes and then performs what I write, and then
people give me money for it. Simply put,
this is not a traditionally female thing to do (not my opinion and/or not me
being sexist, it’s more of an observation of society and I’m trying to get to a
hypothesis as to why I’m still single).
On stage, alone, on the proverbial soapbox, saying my plea to the masses
is sort of what it is. In old times vernacular
they called it an orator. It is not
something that is yin energy. It is
yang/male energy. Because I’ve been
around comedy a while, I’m here to tell you that when a male person is doing
the aforementioned type of performance, it is extremely attractive to
women. Not quite rockstar status, but in
the same way. Because, I guess, the
person is taking control, they are performing, it’s creative and thus, a
turn-on. But when a woman is on stage,
it does not have the same effect on men.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
of that is true, which is convenient if you are trying to sort of hide from
your own sexuality. (I wear men’s Adidas
pants <i>only, </i>and lately I sexually
identify as a janitor). I don’t want to
give my failed marriage the dignity of writing about it. I want <i>Sunshine
of the Spotless Mind</i> for that chapter of my life. That was that movie where you could go to a
place and they would erase all your memories from a relationship. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
just that my divorce was so Shakespearean. People used to ask me about it and I didn’t
even know how to respond. I was so
traumatized by it. If we had parted ways
maybe two years sooner, it still would have sucked, but it wouldn’t have been
so epically tragic. (I kind of want to
write this whole thing over again). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Why
is this so hard? I feel like Carrie
Bradshaw in <i>Sex in the City,</i> except
I’m having no sex and my articles aren’t published. Although ironically, I recently met Chris
Noth. His friend was hitting on my girlfriend Laura <i>hard</i> at Mimi’s on Second Avenue. At any rate, Noth is still hot, albeit gray,
but he’s Greek (they’re the worst) and married. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you truly love someone, like for reals, with all your heart and soul, and you
love spending time with them, you go before God and all, I’m here to tell you: it
still might not work. What the hell
kinda fucked up shit is that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now
the article has started. This right here
is where I’m stuck. I never got my
answer. I decided it was God’s fault
(since we got married in church in Southie, with the candles and
the procession and everything). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is a tough one because I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to write
about it. I want to be like Woody Allen. His screenplays are so honest and are
nothing short of brilliant. In <i>Manhattan,</i> Woody Allen’s character tries
to run over his ex-wife’s new lesbian lover.
The ex-wife is publishing a tell-all.
He is so specific in characterizing neurosis. Instead of furiously posting to my zero
followers on blogspot, maybe I should write a play. Or try to run someone over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Well
let’s close out this debacle of a blog so I can write a play about a vindictive Albanian princess who plots the untimely demise of people who have wronged her and Chaz Palmeinteri will play the sleazy villan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Stacy Kendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17392150475320573221noreply@blogger.com0