Asians Need to Be More Angry

There's a sight I've seen way too many times at comedy clubs lately, and I'd like to share it with you. Maybe I'm overreacting but it always helps to get a second opinion. I always cringe when I see Asian people sitting up front at a show because I know they're going to be in for a long night. Every comedian has a few go-to jokes when things aren't going well, or just to bridge the space between jokes. Some people go for fart jokes, and some work the crowd. Comedians know Asians are easy targets because A. everybody seems to laugh at Asian stereotypes, B. most Americans don't actually know anything about Asians or Asian Americans, and C. Asians never stand up for themselves. This never happens with Black people in the audience, unless the comedian is supremely confidant or supremely stupid. The average comedian won't just up and come after a Black audience member, especially if there are a lot of Black people in the audience because, well, we don't play that. We are known to destroy a persons whole character onstage, and sometimes continue it in the parking lot after the show. Seasoned comedians can insult a Black audience because they know how to temper their jokes with truth, or be somewhat self-deprecating at the same time. Above all else, a joke making fun of a Black audience has to be funny.

Too many times I've seen comedians make tired, old, cliche, unfunny jokes at the expense of Asians just because it is easy and because the people in the audience usually respond. I know for a fact that Asians, Indians, Africans, Latinos don't like being confused for one another. It's a sure bet if you call every Latino you meet Puerto Rican, you are taking your life in your own hands. But comedians, and people in general will often refer to every Asian person they meet as Chinese, which really pisses off anyone who isn't Chinese. Asians, like all other races, have their intra-racial stereotypes that cause them to like or dislike each other, and it's pretty insulting to just assume anyone Asian is Chinese, as China is not exactly the most popular country in Asia. Likewise, people who say "oh they're all the same" are just ignorant and useless. On this night in particular a couple of Filipino girls sat up front, and I felt so sorry for them, as many of the comedians used them for every Asian stereotype joke possible. They stoically sat there and took the abuse, but in the back I was angry for them. I have Filipino friends and a Filipino ex girlfriend, so I know a little about the culture. The comedian went on making stupid jokes about eating dogs and things like that. I was offended 1, because those are Chinese stereotypes, not Filipino, and 2, they weren't funny, just insulting. I always say, if you're going to be a racist, be an Informed racist. Have your stereotypes straight with your ethnicity. The #1 rule of making racist jokes is that they have to be more funny than offensive. As the night went on she admitted she knew nothing of them or their country (admitting to ignorance is a personal pet peeve of mine) and kept referring to them as "pinos" which I'm fairly certain is a racial slur. Other comedians came up and made comments making them out to be subservient Asian sex toys, talking about the, ahem, restrictive properties of their uterus and other things that I can only imagine were mortifying for them. All the while I became more and more angry because I thought about what it would be like if those were Black girls, even if that could and would never happen to Black girls. The mostly White audience, of course was eating it up, but I and many of the other comedians just seemed to feel uncomfortable. These were people who came out to an Open Mic and were being supportive, they didn't come there to be insulted. Especially not insulted in an unfunny way.

I feel I should say I am far from against insulting the audience, especially if they deserve it. I am all for making crude and offensive jokes at the audiences expense; this is something I hope to become better at myself. But I think that it should always be done with a sense of humor, and when those people go home they should remember the night fondly and want to come back another time, no matter how badly they got dissed. I feel like those girls had a horrible time, and I hope that they will look past that night and give comedy another chance, just not in the front row.
My point is, Asian people need to act a fool every now and then. Say what you want about Black people, but it's generally accepted that, much like Werewolves and Robert Bruce Banner, it is not a good idea to make us angry. I feel like if Asian people got angry more often, White people wouldn't take such liberties with your culture. I know it isn't very Asian to make a fuss, but there are plenty enough of you who are first and second generation Americans on the East Coast now. You are well aware of how to show your ass when somebody pisses you off, just like a Real American should. To be quiet and respectful is un-American. The next time somebody asks you if you eat dog, make them eat dog shit. The next time somebody asks you if you sucky-sucky, tell them to suck yo dick, bitch. The next time someone makes slanty-eyes at you punch them in the face repeatedly until their eyes stay that way. You have the inalienable right to be an Asshole like any other American, so use it.

Except for Indians. You guys are big enough Assholes as it is.

Upcoming Shows 09/21

THE ALL-STAR COMEDIAN SHOWCASE at STAND UP NY!
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 6th at 8:00 PM.

236 W. 78th St., New York, NY 10024 • 212-595-0850

Featuring as always comedians from MTV, Comedy Central, HBO, Letterman, last call with Carson Daly and Conan O' Brian
Admission is $15 per person with a two-drink minimum.
Very Important: Reservations have need to be called in by Monday, October 4th at 212-595-085 Seating is at 7:15 pm sharp.

COMEDY NIGHT ON THE LAKE SATURDAY 10/16

Saturday, October 16 8:00pm - 9:00pm
Tavern On The Lake 101 Main Street Hightstown, NJ

Come to the Tavern On The Lake for a comedy open mic night. The first event in August was a huge success and I have been asked to host a monthly open mic starting in October. Here are the details:
$5 cover. 2 drink minimum.

This is a great venue. We had over 80 people show up last time and that was on a Monday night so I'm thinking a Saturday night is really gonna rock.

All-Star Comedy Showcase with Bob DiBuono

Stand Up|NY
236 W. 78th St
New York, NY


You are invited to the All-Star Comedian Show and Tweet-Up on Wednesday September 15th at 8:00 PM at the STAND UP NY COMEDY CLUB with BOB DIBUONO. The tweet-up will be hosted by me, John Minus.

This show will be one of the best of the year! This show I have designed as a tweet-up, which means that not only will it be a great comedy show, it will also be a chance to meet up with people you've only talked to on Twitter so far. if y...ou want to spread the word use the hashtag #NYComedyTweetUp

Begin making reservations now as they need to be in no later than MONDAY, September 13th. Seating for this show is at 7:15 PM sharp, but we can meet at the club as early as 7PM to start introductions. Admission is $15 per person with a two item minimum inside the showroom. The club reservation number is 212-595-0850

The IndustryRoom.com Showcase

The Broadway Comedy Club
318 W. 53rd St.
New York, NY

Every week, Talent Scouts, Agents and Managers from Hollywood and NYC come and watch our new and developing comics. Come see them discover the stars of tomorrow(Hopefully, Me!) $15 cover ($12 in advance) and 2 drink minimum. (No Discount tickets accepted.) Guests should call 212-252-4253 to make reservations to come and see you perform. If they do this it will be $10 at the door instead of $12.

The Roadrunner-Free Diet

If you are reading this you probably understand the relationship between the Roadrunner and the Coyote. If not, how the hell did you get to this blog anyway? I will explain, in any event, for those who are Warner Bros. Impaired. Wile E. Coyote spent the greater part of his existence chasing after the Roadrunner. He occasionally branched out from this pursuit in an attempt to steel fat sheep, but he was always stopped in those pursuits by the presence of a lackadaisical sheepdog named Sam. By and large Wile E. wanted that Roadrunner more than life itself, and he wasn't shy about it. Wile E. was a self proclaimed "Super Genius" and had an extremely high IQ. What made him look stupid, however, was his single-minded pursuance of the Roadrunner. No matter how ingenious his scheme, no matter how unlimited his credit with the ACME Corporation was, he could never corral that little bugger. If one really quantified the amount of resources, both time, effort, and monetary, that Wile E. sank into trying to capture and eat the Roadrunner, the effort would hardly seem worth it. With the time and money he put into acquiring the roadrunner, he could easily have had all of the finest foods in the world flown to his desert. He could have learned to become a master chef himself, becoming the greatest cook that the world has ever known. Bounty lay within his claws wherever he looked.
Yet he had to have this one bird. And what is it about this bird that is so alluring, so fascinating, that it is all that the Coyote hungers for? When one examines the Roadrunner, one does not see a particularly meaty bird. He does not seem juicy or succulent. The Roadrunner is portrayed as one of the fastest beings alive, and its musculature reflects that. The Roadrunner is lean, long, and built for speed. None of those traits suggest that it would make a delicious meal. If anything its meat would be extremely gamy from all of the activity and exercise it gets. All evidence points to the fact that the Roadrunner would not make a very good meal, and actually was quite flawed in this area. Yet and still the Coyote spent all of his energy and resources to catch it. What did Wile E. get for all of this effort?

Pain.

Ceaseless, boundless, unendurable pain. The very universe worked against him. The best laid schemes of Wile E. Coyote oft go awry. Gravity conspired against him and the laws of physics broke themselves to ensure his defeat. Objects float when they shouldn't and fall when they should fly. Fire burns according to it's own whims, and explosions are more explosive than usual. It would be one thing if these environmental accidents were random, but they are very one sided, and very much against Wile E. When the very elements of the universe would conspire against him, you would think that the Coyote would give up, but no, he presses on ever more. He bangs his head quite literally against a mountain, each time hoping for a different outcome while the Roadrunner “meep meeps” and zips away into the distance.
This is quite an accurate description of my love life for the last 22 years. I have spent my life since I was 10 years old, chasing Roadrunners. It wasn't so much that I only chased the girls that I could not have, it was more that I could never have the girls that I wanted. There were plenty of girls that I did not want, and they may have been interested in me, but I didn't know, didn't care. I was always very aware and very decisive about what birds I chased, and did so with great aplomb. Some birds kept my attention for a long time, some for only a day, but no matter what I was always chasing somebody. And the outcome of all of my chasing was very similar to that of the Coyote. I was always falling off of cliffs, crashing into mountains at ridiculously high speeds, or being blow up in any number of inventive ways. Of course I don't mean these things literally. I suffered these injuries as psychic assaults and wounds to my ego from hundreds and thousands of rejections from all of the Roadrunners I spent my life chasing. I first remember a bird catching my eye at the age of 10. I was in 5th grade and there was a 6th grader named Angela who I only saw on the playground. I didn't know why, but I would just stare at her the entire recess period, and I found myself lingering on the 6th graders side of the playground. I never chased her seriously, but she got the taste in my mouth. It wasn't until High School that I was in full Coyote mode. I reasoned that the better the trap the easier I could catch the bird. But instead of bird feed, I used romantic stories, Valentine's gifts, sweet words, sweeter acts, and every “friend-ly” act I had at my disposal to win women. And man could I attract them. I had so many female friends I didn't know what to do with them. I didn't know what to do with them because they wouldn't let me do what I wanted to do to them. I was constantly being diverted into brick walls of “friendship” or “I don't like you that way”. But did I give up? Did Wile E. Coyote ever give up? I bounced from Roadrunner to roadrunner, always chasing, never catching, but taking more and more damage all the time. It was this last point that I didn't understand until much later.
There were two points that I didn't understand until I was around 30. One was that every bird I chased was never as perfect or unique as I thought she was. She was always deeply flawed (like the Roadrunner) for my purposes, and never as unique as I thought she was. In fact, it wasn't until much later in life that I discovered really attractive women were a dime a dozen, and that really great personalities were in much shorter supply. My religious fervor in chasing women blinded me to their flaws, and in that blindness I treated them far better than I should have. That was always my first and biggest mistake. The second point that I realized entirely too late was that all the damage I took from Roadrunner chasing had left me completely bereft of self-esteem, which was in turn making it even harder for me to catch any girls. Very self-defeating cycle that is. By the time I was 27 I was dead, done; I had no self-esteem left and I was desperate. I had no defenses, but the assaults on my psyche kept coming. The boulders that fell on me, to continue the metaphor, got bigger and bigger, even after I held up my pathetic little sign that said “I Surrender”.
I would say the biggest, juiciest, and fastest Roadrunner I ever encountered was, well, I'll call her AZ. AZ was the worst for me because unlike the antagonist of Wile E. Coyote, AZ was just as devious and as much of a Genius as I was. The fact that she was so much like me was why I desired her so much. It is also why I had no chance of catching her. She would set traps for me and I would walk right into them. She wanted a game, I wanted to be caught. To this day I can't really be around her, because she destroys all of my mental defenses.
She was the one I wanted the most but not the most destructive. Lots of birds would fight for that title, Ceresa, Kia, Grace, AV, L and others who thankfully I can't remember now. New ones pop up all the time, each more perfect than the last, but in the end, like our friend the Roadrunner, they are never worth the amount of pain I go through to catch them. That's why I am now on the Roadrunner Free Diet. No more chasing birds for me. I can't have Carbs, refined Sugars, or Roadrunners. I am officially off of the market, for all the reasons seen above. I had an epiphany, recently, that if I took all the money and resources that I put into Acme Corp. and chasing roadrunners, and put it into bettering myself and focusing on school, I would probably be rich and famous by now. I have already seen some positive results from this new philosophy.
So to reiterate; no more rocket packs, no more flying outfits, no more painting tunnels on the sides of mountains, no more bird seed, no more giant magnets, and definitely no more dynamite. I'm sure life will throw some absolutely irresistible birds my way, but I will resist. I will stay focused, because I have bigger birds to fry, so to speak. This doesn't mean that I'm going to start to chase men, it just means that from now on, I have no romantic life. I can live without one, and frankly, having one hasn't ever done me more good than bad. So this is my version of the “Fabulously Single Project”. Let life come at me with whatever, but this Coyote, for once is focused on something other than chasing tail.

Like Urination for Precipitation

If you aren't familiar, there is a saying that goes something like “do not piss on my head and tell me that it is raining.” I am quite familiar with this situation because many times in my 3 decades of life I have had people unzip from above my head and subsequently warn me of coming thunderstorms. One of the most pernicious of these bamboozles is the “we can be friends” lie. For a man, and for most women, being put in the friend zone is the kiss of death; there is absolutely no worse fate than being banished, “It's a Good Life” style, to the Friend Zone. (If you don't get the reference, look it up; it's an excellent episode of the Twilight Zone). Like that episode, being banished to the Friend Zone is a cold, horrifying, soul-crushing event from which there is no return. When you have been sent there once your main goal in life is to never be banished there again. But I, for one reason or another, keep finding myself in that particular cornfield time and time again, each time through another hilariously convoluted series of events.

I believe that I have been sent to the cornfield more times than most, because I have a particular personality trait that predisposes me to leaving myself open to getting “rained” on. I have an impossible to ignore need to fix people. Now don't get me wrong; I'm no Mother Theresa/Jesus figure. I would say it’s more of an ego-syntonic drive to do what it is that I think I do best; resolve people's psychological issues. I think that most people like to do what they do best, and I am a very good psychologist, regardless of what people may say. There's another component to this tragedy that I am not sure if I have complete control over; I have a penchant for meeting women who have recently hit rock bottom in their lives. This is a big reason why I have to fix so many people, because I seem to find so many people who need fixing. I'm not talking abut women who just broke a nail, I'm talking about serious, life threatening issues. Most of the time. Sometimes they are just girls who happen to date the same type of homicidal jerks over and over again but most of the time they are women with legitimate problems in their lives that I have some sort of useful perspective on.

If this is just some random cosmic coincidence then I suppose I can't do much about it. I've tried fighting against the immutable laws of nature before, and have always come out the worse for it. I'm tired of beating my head against a wall of physics. Another, less fantastic hypothesis is that I am subconsciously attracted to “damaged” women, which is a common affliction amongst some men. I have written before about my ”Hero Complex” and how I have a inherent drive to save people. What if there is a part of me that, when there is no one around who is in any acute danger, seeks out women who are broken, damaged, or are in acute danger, and insinuate myself into their lives? What if there is a part of me that looks for emergencies so that I can “save the day” and be the hero? Ask yourself these questions if you have a similar pattern of behavior, especially if you often find yourself banished to the cornfields. There is a direct correlation between befriending damaged people and ending up in the friend zone.

What is this connection? Well, I'll tell you. One of those immutable laws of the universe I spoke of earlier is the he or she who fights the battle never lives to see the fruits of their labor. Despite what 80's movies and video games have told us, if you enter the Castle and fight the Dragon in order to save the princess, chances are in the real world that once you do risk your life and do all those acts of daring do, the princess will then immediately hook up with your unemployed stoner roommate. THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is reality. I have learned that whenever I fix someone, they inevitably run out and sleep with/fall in love with the first person they see that isn't me. I have heard stories from several men and women confirming this from their own experience as well. They have had cases where they have helped people to stop drinking, stop doing drugs, stop dating abusive men, stop dating crazy women, get jobs, go back to school, graduate school, etc. and when they finally help this person achieve their goal, they, as Kanye West said “leave they ass for a White girl”.

What I mean by that is whenever you put your heart and soul into helping someone out in life, the chances are good that when they reach that goal they will leave you for someone else, that is, if they were ever with you in the first place. Only very strong relationships don't break up when one person experiences a large change in life/status such as going from dug user to sober, or from having low self esteem to being a fully self reliant individual. The worst part of the banishing procedure is that the person who does it usually tries to convince you that it's a good thing, which is where the great lie about being rained on begins. Rodgers and Hammerstein could not compose a greater song and dance than these people do when they try to explain to you why the fact that they are essentially ditching you now that they are “better” and giving all their goodies to a complete stranger who had nothing to do with their recovery is, in fact, a positive experience for you. Some of them think that you should even be thanking them for it. They are effusive with their thankfulness. Here is an actual text I received in this situation;

“I adore you, you know that. Just not in the way you want me to. Anyway I think you're amazing and awesome and I hate that now things are probably going to be weird between you and I. I hate to lose you. You're the only guy who I've talked to consistently for a year. And I think that's because we never hooked up.”

And this, this is the part where the trickle of piss becomes a downpour;

“You should be happy, I let you in where other guys never get to go.”

Apparently that place she let me in is everywhere but her vagina. The crazy part is that this is maybe the 20 or 30^th time I've heard this speech in my life. I have the unfortunate luck to encounter women who believe that they can only sleep with men who don't care about them, and who they can't care about in return. This is, of course, lunacy. But a surprising number of women think this way. By the way, the above quotes are not doctored or taken out of context in any way. It took me a long time to realize that telling me it's a good thing that “I'm too special to sleep with” is not a good thing. It's piss disguised as rain. It's a sham, and after 3 decades I'm finally learning to grab an umbrella and step out of it. If you care about someone, and they are special to you, you should give them the greatest gift you can, which isn't “friendship”. Besides, what these people consider friendship isn't that, because the relationship is never even. The person doing the fixing never receives the same services in return. That person can never depend on the person they fixed for emotional support. The damaged person, by definition, cannot be a good friend because if they could they would probably possess other life skills that would have prevented them from becoming damaged in the first place. They are inherently selfish, and never ask about the “fixer's” problems. Therefore, the fixer is more of a tool to be used when needed than a true friend. In what way is this a tenable position for anyone? A true friendship is reciprocal, and these relationships are strictly one way. The friend zone is a lonely place, and no one ever has sex there.

So, if you are the type to be a “fixer” and you feel some trickles coming from the sky, ask yourself is this really rain I'm feeling, or something else entirely?

Let's Pretend

(I believe that this falls under the category of "free verse" not quite a poem. be gentle, I kinda of just vomited it up from my subconscious.)

Let's pretend that I took no for an answer. That I let the world beat me, that I never recovered from my mother being snuffed out like a candle in a stiff wind. Let's say that I never recovered from every time I got knocked, no, hit by a car, slammed to the ground, power-bombed and then had a piano dropped on me from three stories up. Let's pretend that I lost the fight with my own mind that I have had to fight every day of my life, the death urge that compels me to fail, to sleep longer and longer until I get to the day when I don't wake up. Let's pretend that I don't hear the alarm in the morning over the sound of my ribs cracking, over the sound of life kicking me again, of the sound of my jaw shattering and my teeth hitting the pavement like a packet of skittles, skittering across the ground. Let's pretend I was late for work because I was choking on my own blood and bile. God don't like Ugly, but he does not mind kicking you when you are down. He must enjoy that sound, the skittering, you see.
See the sideshow, let it begin, can't afford to pass it by, guaranteed to make you cry. See the boy who cried a million tears and not one hit the ground because his pride and his ego refused to let his pain go, so the heartache and the rage and the sadness and the frustration roam his wearied mind like hungry tigers consuming every but of happiness that should clumsily stumble into their path. So he cries on the inside and smiles on the outside and laughs at the cliches that suddenly make sense but don't shed any light and don't give any answers and don't provide any solace or comfort but never cease to miss a moment to destroy any chance at making a better life for himself and those around him.
Let us count the ways in which his heart has been broken, let us count the ways in which his heart has been denied, let us count the ways that he has let down and been let down, let us count how many times he has been told no. Let us see how many times he has been laughed at for daring to hope for something better, for asking for a woman who was never meant for him, for asking for a happiness that will forever be out of his reach. Be careful of the laughter, if you gather it up, all of it every smirk and smile and giggle that has escaped the Candy-Colored Lip-Glossed orifice of his oppressor, the sheer volume of derision would blast your consciousness away as cleanly and as efficiently as those poor souls who where firsthand witness to the splitting of the atom at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. You may hear the cracking, again, the crackling cracking, but it is not breaking it is burning, the singed sizzling away of what was once a human being.
If you were to look for my innocence, my hope, my childhood, my boyish charm, you would find no bone, no ash, no teeth, just a relief, a dark outline against a wall of where all of those positive things about me used to be, before they were destroyed by untold waves of heat, pressure, and light. Blasts from the Candy Colored lips of so many who spoke honeyed words that burned, most literally, like the sun, and left as much evidence of their passing by as a sun would.
Maybe if you looked up you would see those trees with their strange fruit swinging in a cold, ill wind. From the bows of the highest trees swing those things I once held dear, my hopes, my dreams, those things I wanted and want so much in life, hanging dead and decayed, lynched with barbed-wire nooses, by honeyed words and lies and half truths and good intentions. Well meaning diatribes and silences that were meant to speak volumes but instead were like thin steel spikes drilled deep into my living corpse, aimed not to kill but to cause the most pain possible. Steel spikes that never missed their mark, that slid easily, lubricated as they were by the aforementioned tears that I never was allowed to cry. Three swords it says, piercing my heart, but still it beats. Let's pretend that it didn't, let's pretend that my heart stopped and I gave up and I said yes, no, I know, I can't, you won't I'm not good enough, I never will be, I never was, Never will be good enough for you, Not White Enough, Not Jewish Enough, Not Skinny Enough, Not Stable Enough, Not Rich Enough Not Black Enough, Not Hood Enough Not dat Nigga.
Not
Not
Not
Not
Not.
Ever.
Enough.

Let us pretend. That I will never. Ever never be enough.

Let us pretend that I believed that.

That I will never be good enough.

Where would I be? Would I be anywhere? Would I exist? No I think not. So excuse me if I'm Pushy. Excuse me if I'm Arrogant, Creative, Cocky, Overbearing, Antagonistic, Demonstrative, Persistent, Persuasive, Loud, Random, Unpredictable, Uncompromising, Moody, Overwhelming, Intense, Subtle, Stimulating, Arousing, Destructive, Comforting, Seductive, Protagonistic, Heroic, Demonic, Erotic, Feral, Dutiful, Loyal, Reckless;
Excuse me, if I do not take your “no” and walk away quietly into that dark night.
Excuse me, in short, for being Me. Because this is the Me You made, This is the Me I had to learn to be to survive the world You made for Me. So enjoy Me, revel in Me, Because I Am Not going Anywhere. And if you cannot fathom that, well, You can always Pretend that things were Different.