Catch me this Sun. 9AM-12 PDT on JIMMY’S POTPOURRI, L.A.’s #1 eclectic underground Internet radio show featuring James Gautier w/Derek Reynolds & the Zuu Crew. Hear interviews I recorded this week of artists living and working on the streets of downtown L.A., learn how to promote yourself online for free if you don’t have a website, plus hear genius music, comedy, poetry, & more. Live at killradio.org. UPDATE: THE SHOW ROCKED. Will post the podcast of it soon. Will be back on the air on Sept. 9!

The full 5-minute video footage of “Seed” — my psychic-surgery-with-citrus performance I unveiled in Ventura last month — is finally up on YouTube.  I had no idea a grapefruit could make sounds like that….

I’m uber excited to be opening for Elisha Shapiro’s THE FUNNIEST NIHILIST one-man show at the Hollywood Fringe Festival. Believe in nothing? Then this show’s for you! Producer of the Nihilist Film Festival, creator of the Nihilist Olympics, 1988 Nilhilist Party presidential candidiate, and more, Shapiro weaves a hilarious tale of a life about nothing that you won’t soon forget (and if you do, that’s ok with him too…heh). June 24+25 @ 8PM in L.A. Tix are FREE, but they’re going fast—get ‘em while you can!

I got up on the Comedy Store’s main stage last night. The show went well—I was fifth up—a good slot. I had a solid set with decent moments of kill and met some new faces, including one comic who had just been on the Tonight Show, and another who won a recent season of Last Comic Standing.

Halfway through the show, a new comedian from Jersey came out on stage wearing a cheap suit, did some ranty cheesehole schlock about wanting to “fistfuck breast cancer in its dime-sized asshole,” ran off stage, and came back wearing a strap-on 10″ dildo over his suit pants…he ran around, took a bow, removed the strap-on, stuck the dick in his mouth, and slobbered into the mic, “I love this thing!” Apparently.

The backstage green room was porno slick—hi-gloss black and shiny with vanity lights, and in the middle, a 2′-high black piano-shaped table with a mirror top. A comedian told me that that 80s comics used to snort mountains of coke from it. I looked up close and yeah, there were deep razor line nicks all over it—click on the picture for a close-up. I considered rolling up a bill and sniffing around for Pryor’s leftover punchlines.

After my set I stepped out back onto Sunset. It was starry out but freezing and smelled like rain. Skinny hookers in 6″ heels and leather pants wobbled past on the sidewalk while frat boys in an Escalade drove by slowly to whistle. I walked around to the club’s outdoor bar. There was a famous comic hanging out. I ordered a gin and tonic and the bartender whispered, “That comic takes home a different woman every night…he likes the sluts.”

I sipped my booze and watched the bartender make a sloppy Long Island for a guy who was high as a kite. The guy took a sip, spit out some drink, shrugged, then walked away, apparently satisified…maybe he was hallucinating that he was in Napa….

This morning I have a splitting headache…not sure what gin the bartender used, but it must’ve been cheap shit—head’s thumping behind my ear…I keep reaching back there and expecting to feel Lars Ulrich’s foot. I am some kind of monster.

Today I leave work early to go stand in line in the rain at the Laugh Factory on Sunset…livin the dream.

In the 2 months that I’ve been in L.A. I’ve hit a ton of mics so far—some open and some booked—and without a doubt, most have been overbooked with too many comics. 3-hour shows are not uncommon here. Some bookers seem to think audiences can last that long, but of course they can’t, especially when faced with a good percentage of newbie comedians and an endless march of bad dick jokes. 2 hours maybe if they’re watching a high energy act like Robin Williams, but 3 hours? No way. NO WAY. The laugh chakra can only take so much in a sitting until it’s cooked.

On the other hand, these marathon shows build endurance, albeit painfully. Because you’re waiting and waiting in the back of the club, praying that you’ll be called up to the stage next (but you don’t know for sure if you will because of course there’s no lineup posted) and so your hopes are dashed when the next comic up isn’t you, or the one after that, or after that, over and over and over…then finally…2 hours in—and that’s early for this beast of a show—the MC approaches in the dark and says, “Hey: you’re up next. What’s your name, again?” Fantastic…it’s your time…except that YOU ARE FUCKING EXHAUSTED. Your nerves are raw. You’re dehydrated and starving and need a nap. But you’ve gotta muster it…because by now you know the audience is pissed off after being forced to sit for 2 hours. The MC gets on stage and tries to rouse some enthusiasm, but fails; it’s more of an apology for the marathon than a proper introduction for you. The audience seethes. They’re burnt, baby, BURNT…some have even left…and for those remaining, their Long Islands have long worn off, leaving them cranky as hell. Luckily you have a weapon: you KNOW the audience is pissed, so you can use that—use it by acknowledging it. You run up on stage and crack some jokes about this being the longest running show ever, that the audience members are saints for sitting so long, that you just can’t believe the number of dick jokes the comics have trotted out (“Unlike Paris Hilton’s vagina, they couldn’t fit another dick in here!”), and that every possible topic that could’ve been covered HAS been covered in the past 2 hours except maybe for (INSERT OBSCURE BUT HILARIOUS TOPIC HERE) and you’re off and running…the audience remains skeptical at first, but when you get your first laugh at 15 seconds, then another at 25, then turn up the energy so high that the agent trainee from Creative Artists wearing the $12 pink tie like a cheap Ari Goldberg at table 12 (yeah, I saw you, punk) laughs his ass off and dribbles O’Douls all over his pants, YOU’VE WON, BABY. 7 minutes speed by, you get the red light, hit the closer, and run off with a wave, 30 seconds early, giving high-fives to the back of the room, where the MC mutters with venom, “Way to bring them back.”

Congratulations. You just survived another one. For now. Muhahahahaha.

One 17′ U-Haul truck, 6 hired movers, 10 hours of driving in 90 degree weather, and a hundred unpacked boxes later, we made it to West Hollywood. Welcome to comedy central! The Comedy Store is only 2 miles away; and god, the Laugh Factory is just down the street. The weather has been in the high 70s with very little smog. Locals have been incredibly supportive and sweet (except for a handful of hipster douches in Silverlake…put down your cigarettes and stop looking so emo-ironic for just one second, PLEASE).

I did a short set at Elderberries, a lively mic run by Rebecca O’Brien (Jimmy Kimmel, NYPD Blue) and the crowd was great. The opening musical guitar act was a woman who looked familiar—then suddenly I realized it was Heather Stewart, a classmate from my old high school. I should add that my high school is 215 miles away—what are the odds? Apparently quite good.

Also caught über-talented Rick Shapiro at Vlad the Retailer on Melrose. Vlad’s is a bizarre storefront of arty objects that might be for sale — I’m still not sure — with a small comedy/performance/smoking room in back. Rick lasted 2 hours and 45 minutes. My ass was hurting by the end, but his riffs, stream-of-consciousness, and performance artesque moments were worth it. The guy knows how to blend crowd work and written material, and he’s a dynamo on the stage (or at Vlad’s, the 6×6′ slab of wood). Highly recommended. But bring plenty to drink. My Colt-45 was empty 15 minutes in. Oh, and people smoke (and by “people”, I mean EVERYONE), so if you’re asthmatic, wear a mask.

The cellphone photo above is from our balcony—you can see the Santa Monicas (that’s Runyon Canyon in the background). Click on it to zoom. I’ve heard celebs go up there to hike and sweat. I can’t WAIT to run them over with my bicycle!

That’s all. Not bad for week 2.

Yes, it’s true—my comedy-partner-in-crime KayDee Kersten and I are moving to L.A. July 31st.  The reasons for moving are many—more time with family, a more vibrant performance art scene, and of course, California’s most challenging comedy fishbowl. I’m so excited I could scream—check back here in August for the beginning of a side-by-side comparison of comedy in San Francisco vs. Los Angeles!—but I’m also already missing SF’s hills, fresher air, food (A16, Spork, Cav, Papalote), bars (Zeitgeist, Alembic), and our friends. We’ll be living near the foot of Runyon Canyon in West Hollywood about one block from Sunset—know of any breakfast spots we should hit? Oh, and where can we find a good plastic surgeon? Haha

Our last pro comedy show in SF is Wednesday July 21 @ 8PM with me, KayDee, and a cast of SF’s most hilarious comedians. Only $10 gets you in—swing on by for some laughs and drink!

And if you’re looking to get us a going-away gift, how about some jam made with
Lady Diana’s hair? Oh my god, yum!