Did You Ever Hear the One About Regret and Minor Resentment?

Odds are, you’re not overly familiar with a comedian named Bl*ine C*p*tch. The 49 year-old writer / comedian’s highest profile gig was as the host of the second season of the Comedy Central game show, BEAT THE GEEKS in 2002. He’s also appeared on a handful of stand up shows and most recently on Chris Hardwick’s @MIDNIGHT (where he also works as a writer).

And if the name does ring a bell, it’s probably because of his former writing partner, Patton Oswalt, who frequently name drops C*p*tch as a friend and comedian whose work he admires. C*p*tch is a fairly major character in Oswalt’s new memoir, SILVER SCREEN FIEND. In fact, Oswalt mentions C*p*tch so often that one can’t help but wonder if it’s not an attempt at a little nepotistic career boosting.

That’s cool, I’ve got nothing against nepotism in the arts (Rama Kushna knows I’ve benefitted from it a few times). And I respect Patton’s loyalty. But every time I encounter the name or visage of Bl*ine C*p*tch, I can’t help but wince a little bit. Y’see, way back in 1987, Bl*ine C*p*tch committed the cardinal sin of stand up comedy: He stole a joke, outright. I know this because he stole it from me.

The typesetter misspelled my name. Ha.

It was the stand-up comedy boom of the ‘80s, a time when every room with a stage hosted the funny at least one night a month, and Chameleon, the tiny rock club in Lancaster, PA (where I worked as a cocktail waiter) was no exception.

A local impresario (whose name currently escapes me) convinced Chameleon owner Rich Ruoff to dedicate the last Wednesday of every month to stand up. He would book the comedians, but they needed a regular emcee for the gigs. I don’t remember if I was approached or volunteered, but, despite an utter lack of experience, I was loud and (according to some people) sufficiently amusing to fit the slot.

On August 26, 1987, the first Comedy Night at Chameleon, one of the acts was Bl*ine C*p*tch, who was from Lancaster’s sister city, York. I remember being impressed by C*p*tch’s professionalism, but he wasn’t my favorite stand up that night (that would’ve been the fantastic Warren Hutcherson, who went on to write for SNL).

I opened the show, doing about ten minutes of material before introducing the first comic, then a few more between each subsequent performer. My first time as a stand-up comedian wasn’t exactly a hit; I have a vague recollection of doing a joke about having my penis laminated to prevent STDs, but now I really had to pee, and then some bit about how comedians feel no compunction about sharing shockingly personal anecdotes onstage, theorizing that there was a connection between the verbal intimacy of comedian and audience and the phallic nature of the microphone. Not hilarious stuff (as the lack of laughter from the crowd proved), but I still felt mostly at ease in the spotlight.

After the show, I was talking to some friends about the then-current sex scandal involving televangelists Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker. The Bakkers were typically histrionic and over-the-top caricatures, and Tammy Faye was known in part for her clownishly heavy makeup. To illustrate how much makeup Tammy Faye wore, I joked, “This is how she puts on foundation,” and mimed Bakker holding a large bus pan, dunking her head into it, and swishing it around to completely coat the face.

Again, this wasn’t something I said onstage, I was just joking with some friends. But C*p*tch was standing nearby, and made a point of telling me that he thought it was a funny gag. I said thanks, and thought nothing more of it.

That is, until a month later, when Bl*ine C*p*tch made a return trip to Chameleon’s Comedy Night… And did the Tammy Faye Bakker joke. Onstage. Verbatim. Right down to the physical part of the bit.

I stood at the back of the club with my mouth agape. I’m pretty sure I turned to one of my coworkers and spat something about him stealing my joke, but I did not confront Mr. C*p*tch about it.

I’m guessing that he forgot exactly where he got the joke, or he probably would’ve left it out of his set that night. Or maybe he just didn’t recall that it wasn’t his idea in the first place. That happens sometimes. Or maybe because I told it offstage and I wasn’t a “real” stand up comic, C*p*tch reasoned it was fair game. I dunno. But the facts as I have presented them here are cemented in my brain as indelibly as any pivotal event in my life.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration. Bl*ine C*p*tch stealing my joke wasn’t as life altering as, say, the first time I had a comic strip published, or losing my virginity. But it did have an impact (and not just on how I react to the guy in 2015).

But my brief stab at stand up comedy is one of those burning “What if” questions that tortures me sometimes. I don’t know exactly why I decided to stop doing stand up. By the end of the autumn, I was doing okay, I enjoyed it, and the booker had offered to put me into venues other than just the Chameleon. But for whatever reasons, I declined. When Chameleon stopped doing its comedy nights, I stopped doing comedy. Maybe I was scared. Maybe I didn’t think I had “it.” Or maybe the Bl*ine C*p*tch incident left such a bad taste in my mouth that I felt more comfortable sitting alone at my drawing board.

Over a decade later, in the early 2000s, I was living in Hoboken NJ, and my friend Mark decided to take a stab at stand up, taking a class at Caroline's Comedy Club. I accompanied him to some open mic nights in New York City, and felt a tiny bite of the stand up bug. I started writing down potential material, keeping both a file on my computer and a physical notebook that I carried in my messenger bag. I wrote more than enough stuff that would've filled a short open mic set.

But I never got onstage again. Certainly, the New York City comedy scene was more intimidating than Lancaster’s, but I think it was more lethargy than fear that kept me from jumping back into the fray. And now, well, I think I’m just… too old. Too tired. I dunno.

I like Patton Oswalt quite a bit, even if I feel like his prediction about losing his comic edge when he became a parent turned out to be sadly prescient. He’s still smart and frequently funny, but he’s not really ANGRY any more (which I feel is the main prerequisite to really good comedy). He and I have a lot of the same tastes and opinions. So I have to imagine that Bl*ine C*p*tch—being one of his closest friends—is a good guy (the C*p*tch written about in SILVER SCREEN FIEND certainly doesn’t seem like a villain). Maybe this was the first and last time C*p*tch ever stole a joke from someone. And I’d wager that the odds that he remembers this incident range from slim to none. But I do.

Don’t misread me, I’m not elevating one stupid stolen joke to the import of steering me off what may have been my true career path. But it didn’t help.

I’m not even sure of my impetus for posting this tale. I’m not trying to impugn Bl*ine C*p*tch’s reputation, honest. In fact, I’ll probably feel like a real shithead if, somehow, he ever reads this (even though I stand by the facts). I guess it’s just something I’ve been wanting to get off my chest for a long time. And there’s nothing like a midlife crisis to make you clean out your closet of regret and mild resentment!

The Pops Gallery: Jack Davis Album Covers!

Jack Davis is more than just one of the ten greatest cartoonists of all time (yeah, I said it)... he's a freakin' national treasure. His work in comics and illustration spans over five decades, numerous genres, and practically every major media outlet you can think of. While there have been a handful of books dedicated to his work, the definitive monograph has yet to be compiled.

Below is a Pops Gallery of some of Davis' best album covers, in as hi-res as I could find on the webby web. Sheer, unadulterated, manic genius.

Anchorman 2: The Publicity Tour Was Better.

I like Will Ferrell. I do. I think he’s funny and charming and likeable and all that stuff. But when it comes to his movies—particularly the Judd Apatow productions directed by his pal Adam McKay—I am almost always unmoved (their short films on Funny or Die work much better for me, no doubt in no small part due to their brevity).

So it was with some trepidation that I snuck (about five minutes late) into a screening of ANCHORMAN 2: THE LEGEND CONTINUES after seeing AMERICAN HUSTLE with my ladyfriend at the sprawling AMC multiplex at Clifton Commons the other night. Movies like this are usually best left for the small screen these days, what with the diminished returns in light of the boorish behavior of so many theatergoers (which we were mostly spared due to having to sit fully reclined in the second row).

And almost immediately, I was reminded why I don’t like these movies. ANCHORMAN 2 is a sporadically amusing exercise in self-indulgence that seems like it must’ve been way more fun to make than it is to watch. Ferrell and his co-stars (the eternally-endearing Paul Rudd, the perpetually-grating David Koechner, and the usually-effective-but-not-in-this-case Steve Carell) riff both individually and in tandem, with the results being more wacky than funny (let’s face it, this ain’t Michael McKean & Co.). Even the cameo-packed news team battle at the climax (a tired retread from the first film) comes off as nothing more than a wink-nod amongst superstar pals towards each other. The movie seems to think that the mere presence of a gaggle of well-known actors goofing around with each other is enough to entertain the huddled masses glancing at the screen between text messages.

Certainly, Apatow productions are not known for highbrow humor, but the frustrating thing about ANCHORMAN 2 is that there are a few tiny glimmers of the movie that could’ve been. Positing Ron Burgundy and his clueless crew as the progenitors of the superficiality of 24 hour cable news is a great concept, and the handful of scenes that exploit that conceit are the movie’s bright spots. If McKay and Ferrell had the balls to make the entire film a satire of what CNN hath wrought (a subplot about corporate synergy and the network’s Bransonesque CEO trying to kill a story about his airline’s faulty equipment gets the short shrift), this could’ve been their first great movie.

Who knows, maybe the comparatively tepid reaction to their last collaboration, THE OTHER GUYS—which mixed wacky cop comedy with a pretty strong statement against the banking industry—frightened McKay away from smart satire. Personally, I think THE OTHER GUYS is far and away their best film together, and the fact that it’s not produced by Apatow or co-written by Farrell (rather their FoD co-hort Chris Henchy) may explain why.

As it is, the smart stuff in ANCHORMAN 2 takes a back seat to lowbrow hijinks, silly non-sequiturs, Stoogey slapstick, and a third act left turn in which Ron loses his sight, moves to a lighthouse, and nurses a sick shark back to health. It’s dumb, pointless, and unfunny... like most of the film (another subplot dealing with Ron’s poor parenting skills is likewise forced and unsatisfying).

Ironically, this is a case of the publicity tour being far more entertaining than the movie itself. Ferrell’s talk-show stops (both in and out of character), takeovers of actual local newscasts, and even his Dodge Durango ads have, for the most part, been much funnier than almost anything in the film (that DAILY SHOW debacle notwithstanding).

Lest you think I’m above appreciating the goofy, I’ll go on record that my favorite Will Ferrell movie is ELF, which certainly traffics in some lowbrow humor and lots of wackiness. Like I said at the top, I like Ferrell, which is why movies like ANCHORMAN 2 kinda bum me out. It’s not just a lazy insult to the audience’s intelligence, it’s like there’s a great movie lost somewhere amidst the bowling balls to the ‘nads.

The Pops Gallery: Christmas Comic Book Covers

As a pop culture obsessive who also happens to love the holidays, there are a lot of chunks of Xmassy media that stir up my bubbly Christmas bowl of nostalgia. In addition to the music, TV shows, books, and movies, there are the holiday themed comic books from the entire history of the medium. Not every story is a gem, of course, but there are some books (including the fantastic ARCHIE COMICS DIGEST #3, featuring a slew of gorgeously rendered holiday stories mostly from the 1950s and '60s) that I pull out every December and re-read while sipping some spiked egg nog. This installment of the Pops Gallery gifts you with a whopping stocking full of 101 classic Christmas comic covers from the Golden, Silver, and Bronze ages.