Dwayne Perkins from Comedy Central & NBC's Funny Blog. Amusing Musings

I got off the plane in JFK and immediately went into Native New Yorker mode.  Now, perhaps I wasn’t fully awake or am in need of “New York” recalibration.  As I walked down the E train platform at the Jamaica-Sutphin station pulling my rollie carry-on behind me, a train pulled into the station and hoards of people going to JFK got off.  I needed to be near the front of the train when I got off so I was walking to the spot on that platform that mapped to the spot where the exit is on my departure platform.  Being near the right exit can shave off a full 30 seconds. New Yorkers treat time like rollover cell phone minutes. Always trying to trim time as if that time can be applied to anything other than tales of how quick you made the trip.

So instead of letting the wave of people leaving the station pass first I opted to roll upstream against the current of purpose driven travelers.  They were going to a flight,  I had just got off one.  No way I could match their intensity or urgency.  Still, upstream I went.  This was a move best left to someone who had been in New York longer than 5 minutes. It was like going into a game during crunch time without warming up.  They’re lathered up and limber.  I was stiff and about as alert as a deer in headlights.  With people standing waiting for a train and a parade of people exiting that left little room for me to go against the grain, rollie in tow.  The shoulder bumps were taken in stride by both sides.  That comes with the territory when your city is packed like a can of sardines. Rolling over someone’s foot however is not on the list of acceptable contact.  I got greedy and tried to fit into a space to small for me and my luggage.  That resulted in me rolling over a guy’s foot. I knew it could get ugly. I apologized profusely and while I tried to make amends, two things happened.

We both noticed that he was wearing nondescript sneakers or to be less diplomatic, rejects (aka bo-bos).  I could see in his face the pain from my bag going over his foot turn into relief that he was wearing a pair of sneakers he cared nothing about.  He was almost happy that his plan had worked.  Like he was saying “I told you so” to the ghost of getting dressed past. His plan had worked. His Jordans had lived to see another day because he opted not to make a fashion statement on the E train. Plus he saw that I saw. I knew his sneakers didn’t carry any prestige.  He was left only with the pain to complain about but a half empty carry-on can only hurt but so much.

If you’re going to rollover someone’s foot, it’s best that they be wearing bo-bos.  The second thing that happened?  He gave me the tourist pass. He could tell I was coming from the airport and may not be versed in the ways. I didn’t set the record straight.

When I merge onto the freeway in Los Angeles, I always yield to a car not as nice as mine.  After you my friend in the Chevy Nova.  But if a Bentley is vying for the spot I want, I gun it. Never go to war with someone who has nothing to lose or less to lose than you. Does this now make me a war strategist?

A friend of mine recently moved back Los Angeles. He lived in the city of Angels a few years back but moved back to his native Boston and is now doing his second stint in Lala Land.  None of this is particularly noteworthy except for a conversation we had just before left LA.

“Conversation” is probably too tame to describe what it was.  I think he would classify it as a spirited debate.  I would say it was an argument and a near fight.   He wasn’t privy to the latter, but I was.  And why did the thought of physically assaulting my friend come to mind?  I was at my wit’s end with him and another friend as we drove to a gig.  In retrospect, maybe they were messing with me. Hopefully, they were messing with me.  That would actually make things better for me as then it would all make sense.

While driving, I casually mentioned that cars would soon drive themselves.  I think I said in 10 or so years.  I said the technology was basically in place but would just need to be fine tuned a bit.

My fleeting thought swelled into a full on debate with me on the side of self-driving cars and them on the side of “never gonna happen”  Not only did they question the technology aspect but they also said people would never give up driving.  As if it was a second amendment right to put your hands at 10 and 2.  On the technological front I assured them that people smarter than us all who work in labs could figure it out.  We already had GPS that could tell you to turn at the next light.  Why not tell the car directly and cut out the middle man?  Also, as a Native New Yorker who would have never learned to drive had I not left New York, I can assure you that they are legions of people who hate driving.  People who hate being fully focused and worrying about the carelessness of others…and themselves.  I used to read and do homework on the subway.  I would pay handsomely to be able to program my car where to go and sit back play Bejeweled and return calls as my car did all the work.  In a sense a self driving car would give the masses the ability to have a “driver.”  Sitting back and relaxing wouldn’t be reserved for only the rich.

My friends thought self driving cars could never coexist with people driven cars and thus self driving cars could only become a reality if everyone was forced to buy a self driving car.  Again, I assured them that some guys in a lab would figure out a way to share the road.  Plus, the fail-safes in an “auto”-mobile would be superior to the reaction time of the human mind and body.  I felt like I was the head designer of project “Knight Rider” and they were some out of touch CBS television execs from 1968.

Neither side would budge and the tension reached a head when they told me I was talking over them.  I reminded them that I was right and thus had more right to talk. (I’ve always had a problem with being clearly right and simultaneously diplomatic.)  And so we had to drop it, lest I drop my friends.

That conversation has always bothered me.  I remain flabbergasted by their collective wrongness.  When Lexus introduced a self-parking car, I thought about calling them but self-parking isn’t driving.  Then, when Google tested a self-driving car, I thought about calling them but I was trying to be a better person.  Then, when a law was passed to allow testing of self driving cars on actual roads, I thought about calling them.  Again, perhaps my energy would be better served elsewhere.  Now that my friend has moved back,  I think I will be forced to re-open that discussion.

It’s okay to have different opinions but when evidence doesn’t support your opinion, either change your opinion or get new evidence.  I hope my friend came back to LA in a self-driving car but I’ll settle for him reading this blog.

http://www.cnn.com/2012/09/25/tech/innovation/self-driving-car-california/index.html

Cruise ships are more fun than I remember.  Of course I’m still just working out and going to the coffee shop, like I do at home (or anywhere else in the world).  I’ve turned this floating city into my mobile headquarters.  There’s something cool about running things remotely.  I’m closing million dollar deals in the middle of the Atlantic.  Well, in my head I am.  In actuality, I’m writing blogs and doing status updates.  I think I’ll name my laptop rhythm because I’m a slave to it.  I’m also a slave to puns.

For the 1st few days of the trip, up until my show, I was the odd guy carrying a book bag everywhere.  Now, I’m the funny comedian carrying a book bag.  Now it’s all making sense to them.  It’s like once people know you tell jokes, that explains everything else about you.

Why does she put kool-aid on her cereal…Oh she’s a comediane.  That guy moonwalks everywhere..oh he’s a comic…of course.

I’ve said my share of air-headed statements that people just took as me being funny when I was really being dumb.  Did I feel a little silly walking around with a book bag while others sun bathed?  No not really.  I’m not exactly classified as a passenger, although all the services are available to me.  Like, today I did yoga.  I gotta think doing an upward dog on a rocking ship has to be a tad bit better for your core than doing one on dry land.  My goal is to take the stigma out of the phrase hard core.  Let’s put it back into the yoga lexicon where it belongs.

I’m also not a crew member.  I don’t know the lingo and I don’t have the international street-cred.  Many crew members are from foreign lands.  In the crew section of the ship  you’re expected to at least speak two languages.  English is the common language of course but it seems that in the belly of the ship people like to let loose and let their native tongue fly.  It’s like not being able to dunk a basketball on a team of high flyers.  You’re always a little on the outside looking in.  Or looking up as it were.

So I reverted to my regular daily routine and that routine calls for a book bag filled with a laptop and IPad.  Me telling jokes doesn’t really explain the book bag thing but for many people stand-ups are so exotic that there’s no telling what our process is.  All of a sudden me carrying a book bag doesn’t make the other passengers feel self conscious.  There’s a reason I’m so oddly studious and they don’t need an excuse for loafing around and eating all day.  They paid to do just that.  I’m getting paid to break up the eating with a bit of merriment.

I think I’ll use my free time to bone up on Spanish.  Next time I come on a cruise I want to be dunking or at least clapping the backboard.

Other Blog Entries For You And Yours

Wuss For Dinner

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone

Hustle and Go

A 10 second conversation in the elevator to the cruise ship I’m on served as a perspective builder for me. It didn’t give me pause as much as it slapped me in the face and made me pause.  I was  there in the lift with an elderly woman.  We both got in on the first floor.  This is where the crew stays so you don’t normally see passengers on that level unless they’re exiting or boarding the ship.  Staying down with the crew is cool but I feel like I’m the only one who wouldn’t be able to help if something went down.   I made a note to myself to learn how to tie a few knots so I can at least fill in if all the other knot makers get sick.  By the way, they don’t like when you answer everything with an “ay ay captain.”  Who knew?

The lady was coming from the nurse’s office. The ship is really choppy today so I figured she had gone for some dramamine as I too was teetering on the edge of cookie tossing.  As she stepped off the elevator she said to me.  “My sister and I finally took our first cruise…and she fell and broke her hip.”  I barely had enough time to say how sorry I was to hear that before the elevator door closed.

My first thought was how sad that these elderly ladies looked forward to this trip for who knows how long and when it finally happened this injury also happened. Is it just fate, something to not be questioned, or is it a wake-up call to me and others to stop and smell the roses before doing so breaks your hip? Of course I got off the elevator and came to write this blog.  Should I have taken heed to the cautionary tale and maybe gone and challenged a blue hair to a game of shuffle board?  I guess fun and duty are a precarious balance.  I guess it’s also silly to refer to a blog as duty.  That’s just it though.  It’s like fun and duty.  And carpal tunnel is more a risk than hip breakage, even if I am still blogging into my twilight years.  Of course then we probably won’t type anymore. Just think the blog and it’ll be uploaded directly into all my “readers” heads.

I’ve never heard of someone breaking a hip in classic tales or in the Bible.  Maybe back then you just fell and died and they didn’t really pinpoint that it was the hip.  Or maybe people fell less?  I’d like to think it’s progress that we now know about hips and can treat them.  Maybe eventually even make the whole thing preventable.  I’m not sure how far off in the future we’re talking but in the meantime do something you’ve always wanted to  and stay on your feet.

Don’t put off till tomorrow what your hip can do today.

Other Blogs:

Still Ballin’

Wonder Woman – PHD

It’s Gonna Be a Bumpy Ride

Operation HAWPO

Last week I spent a few days with my family in Gainesville, Florida.  I’m always humbled by their generosity and kindness.  The word that best suites by Aunt Joyce is ‘solid’.  She’s the matriarch of her family and rules with a kind heart.  She uses honey to catch more bees but is never a push over.  She’s organized and methodical to the point of it becoming art.  Smooth sailing gets lost in the hustle and bustle of New York or Los Angeles but dotting your I’s and crossing your T’s makes for a less anxiety filled life.  Being calculated and ambitious are not mutually exclusive despite what busy New Yorkers and Angelenos might tell you.

My Aunt struck a deal with my little cousin.  She could get a cell phone as long as she paid for it.  And to pay for it my cousin has taken to selling Ices to the kids on her block.  Kids within walking distance of my Aunt Joyce can knock on her door and for ¢25 get a cupful of a frozen sugary kool-aid delight.  The business seems to be focused on volume as they get anywhere between 5-10 knocks per day after school and the weekends are just crazy.  I never had a lemon-aid stand or newspaper route.  Although, I probably could’ve done fairly well just delivering papers to the 400 or so apartments in my building.  I could’ve made off like a bandit without ever going outside, working on my throwing aim, or riding a bicycle.

I was impressed by my Aunt/cousin’s business acumen. I did however have some ideas for maximizing profit.  For one, I told them the cup sizes were too big.  I also thought my Aunt adding chunks of real pineapple to the pineapple flavored kool-aid cups was a nice touch but cut too much into the bottom line.  I hinted that they raise the price to ¢50.   The blank stares from my Aunt let me know that I was doing too much.  I guess when you live on the same block as your clientele a focus on value is key.  Plus, no one in their right mind can complain about something that costs ¢25.

My aunt knows what she’s doing and she’s not trying to corner the ice market or build an empire off sugar water.  She’s trying to provide refreshment for the neighborhood children and pay for her Grand daughters cell phone.  I was bringing nervous energy into her carefully crafted and well executed plan.  The city boy was trying to turn her rural operation into Wal-Mart.  Only this time the Mom and Pops won.  Ices are holding firm at 25 cents, the cup size is remaining the same and the pineapple cup still has chunks of pineapple in it.  And that’s how it should be.

I can proudly say that this blog was written in a Mom and Pop.

Recently at a show at the Comic Strip in New York, I walked on stage and noticed a women immediately whisper something about me to her friend.   I could tell the whisper included me because she did it right as I got on stage and was looking at me as she shared her secret.  Audiences grossly underestimate how much the person on stage is aware of.  I can do 45 minutes and, without talking to anyone in the crowd, tell you who’s on a first date, who else got beat up by a girl in 8th grade and who’s shorting their friends on the bill.

Sometimes I let things go other times I inquire as their may be comedy gold in ‘dem there whispers.  I surprised the ladies when the first thing out of my mouth was “what were you guys talking about?”  When she said, “oh nothing!”, a little too fast, I knew it was something a little embarrassing thus a humor extraction was called for.

Perhaps I should have let that sleeping dog lie.  Instead I poked it with stick of persistence.  I wanted in on their secret.  Did she think I was cute? Maybe she always wanted her boyfriend to sport a goatee like mine. Maybe she thought I would be a great subject for her naked portrait class.

Turns out they were a mother daughter team from The Netherlands.  And the what mom had  whispered to the daughter as I got on stage was “Wow, they are short over here!” Comedy gold with me as the butt.  The guy before me was sub 5’8” so yes I would classify him as short.  But I’m 5’10” and while I’ve never been accused of being a giant (well once in Papa New Guinea),  I’ve never been called short.  The average height of a Netherlander man is 6’1”, tallest in the world.*

5’10” used to be exactly the average height of U.S. men.  So I’ve always been too dignified to mention that I’m really 5’10 and 3/4”.  I’ve also been too cool to mention that I play basketball like someone who’s 6’2”.  And that’s not even a skill thing.  I have a long wing span.  My outstretched arms are equal in length to a person who’s 6’2”.  Besides, If I wear shows I’m basically 6 feet even.

I guess subconsciously I knew I’d have to break out my short guy excuses one day.  Why would I have them cued up at the ready if I didn’t?  I was hoping that day would come later.  I blame all this on steroids in the food.  Next time someone says “oh nothing”, I might just let it go.

*The average height of a Netherlands man in 1850 was 5’4”

For me the key to travel is to do as the locals.  Although many locals don’t partake in their own claims to fames.  For example, I know a slew of New Yorkers who’ve never been to The Statue of Liberty.  They’ve never walked her hallowed halls but they can tell you where to go for the best bagels and killer pizza. I guess the key to a good vacation is following the locals while throwing in a smidgen of touristy things.  Get the foremost pizza AND see Lady Liberty.

I was recently in Gunnison, Colorado for a show at Western Colorado State University.  Gunnison feels like the old west with large streets that beg for a show down at high noon.  The streets are paved but it doesn’t seem right.  Like a guy dressed in a tux who looks okay but would be more comfortable in jeans.  The large streets are lined with coffee shops and restaurants that still very much resemble the saloons that once stood where they stand.

The show went well and we went to “town” afterward to eat.  The inside of the restaurant looked even more like a saloon then the outside.   Caribou heads hung from the walls.  I felt the urge to hit someone in the head with a bottle just because it seemed like that’s what should have been happening.

When you visit Chicago you have to get deep dish.  You can’t leave Maine without getting lobster.  And the thing to do in Gunnison, Colorado is to have Rocky Mountain Oysters…unfortunately.  When in Rome, eat bull testicles.

Luckily they weren’t served in spherical form.  They were flattened which caused every guy at the table to give a moment of silence.   As hard as it is to imagine anyone or anything’s “boys” being crushed it would have been even harder to eat them in their natural shape.  Another plus was that they came heavily battered.  Deep frying is the Spanks of food.  It makes anything look tempting.  Just make the outside appealing.  How about the inside?  Let them deal with that at the moment of truth.

Like most things it kinda tasted like chicken.  Well, chicken gizzards to be exact with a kind of liver aftertaste.  Okay fine, without the batter it would’ve been tough.  I wouldn’t say this was on my bucket list but I am glad to say I did it and without even being a contestant on Fear Factor.

The question is do Coloradans really eat Rocky Mountain Oysters or is it a massive prank they play on the rest of the nation?  As I washed down the “oysters” with my Arnold Palmer, I thought to myself.  Did I just do a local thing or a touristy thing?

Have blogs, will travel and eat:

Greek Restaurant:  Enough With The Sauce

Splitting The Bill (Yikes!): Split is A Four Letter Word

Cafe in China: At The Diner On The Corner…

I have a buddy who has no idea what a Hipster is.  I’ve tried explaining it to him but I think he still only gets it on a very academic level.  He thinks anyone wearing a skull cap in the summer is a hipster.  I try to tell him that’s a safe bet but that person could also be a skater.  Too many classifications and not enough time.  This same buddy doesn’t have cable, has never seen a full episode of “Friends” and wouldn’t know who Carly Rae Jespen was if she slapped him in the face with a live fish and said “Carly Rae Jespen did this to you!…Call me maybe?”

So I don’t take it too personal when he calls me a hipster.  But now i’m involved with something that pushes me closer to the brink of hipster-dome than anything else I’ve done so far. I recently joined a video store.  A physical video store that you go to, rent a movie, and then bring back in a few days.  Now before you call the psych ward on me let me say that they have DVDs not VHSs.  Was that a collective “whew” I just heard?

Video stores are about as relevant and needed as cobblers or milk men.  But this video store specializes in rare finds, cult films and foreign films.  I guess what I’m saying is if this makes me a hipster than so be it but there are practical reasons that I joined.  It’s not purely an ironic thing like wearing an orange T-shirt that says “Tide”.

First of all, technology has pretty much eradicated accountability and urgency.  I like having only a few days to watch.  If you don’t watch a movie in 4 days you’re not going to watch it in 40.  This point made by my Netflix dvd i just dropped in the mailbox after it sat on my coffee table for 2 months.  Secondly, the video store is a place where there are actual people.  Not a picture of someone on a screen.  Real people traversing the aisles sharing thoughts, energy, spirit.  Thirdly, the guys who work at the video store and love movies are a great resource. I still think my local movie buff can point me in the direction of a good movie better than an algorithm can.  Hey Netflix, I don’t want to watch the same movie over and over again but thanks for trying.  Sorry I don’t fit neatly into one of your consumer boxes.   Sure I love “The Royal Tenenbaums”  but I still wanna watch Jason Statham beat people up.  And fourthly, (yes it feels like a typo to me but there’s no squiggly line underneath it so…) fourthly,  I’m sure you burn more calories hauling yourself to the video store than you do clicking a button on Netflix.  Fifthly, (okay now i’m just being silly) Fifthly, I’ve always wanted to time travel.  So until I get the flux capacitor to work in my car, i’ll just trot down to my local video store and tell myself it’s 1998.

I won’t list this as another reason but there’s something good about not getting your way all the time.  Something grounding and character building about the movie you want being checked out.  I’m pretty sure having whatever you what whenever you want diminishes your coping skills.  How can you be prepared for tragedy when you’ve never even had to wait for a movie?  In the future we will send our kids to the DMV just so they learn how to appreciate what they have. “I know you can register online but go down there and feel the pain that is bureaucracy.  It’s going to hurt me more than you.  Not really but i’ll see you in 8 hours.”

Shout out to Vidéothèque in South Pasadena.

http://www.vidtheque.com/

Other blogs you might like:

I’m Becoming A Stripper…(Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

Take This Money!

Man Vs Machine (A Very Funny Blog)

If I were ever to give a graduation speech, I’d be remiss to not include in my general advise to the graduates the practical advise to always fill up their gas in the daytime.  Gas stations are a magnet for scammers and garden variety crazy.  Gas stations at night are where the undead go bum a cigarette and scare the bejesus out of the living.

ME: You know cigarettes kill.

UNDEAD: Yeah but they don’t re-kill…You got a dollar?

ME: Sorry, just using my card and could you not kill me please.

Like anyone giving advise it would help if I myself remembered to follow it.  Too often I find myself driving back from a gig on empty or tired and I’m forced to stop at a gas station.  My latest zombie encounter happened at a Petrol Station in Irvine, CA of all places.  Irvine looks and feels like a place where all pain, dirt and anything on the margins has been extracted and what’s left is a sterile place where people can live perfect lives as long as they never leave.  Like a west coast Stepford, idyllic yet ominous though you can’t completely figure out why.

Even in Irvine though, nighttime fuel pumping isn’t a good idea.  I stopped for gas and sure enough like every gas station they’re seemed to be people hanging out without a purpose.  I wasn’t thrown by this but then as I walked toward the cashier a guy approached me.  He sported tattoos that covered 73% of his face. (that’s just a guest-ti-mate though)  As if a face tattoo wasn’t daunting enough, he walked with a hitch in his get-up that suggested he was on a mission. I’m thinking his mission didn’t involve saving the planet or helping kids.  I felt him getting closer so I slowed down.  No need wasting my energy walking fast if it was about to go down.  I got to the door before him and turned ready for whatever.  I didn’t think a guy with a face tattoo would be an easy win but then again neither am I.  I opened the door and faced him.  It’s like I was saying “you can go ahead of me into the store and we can be cool.  Or we can see if your crazy can match my inner Brooklyn”

It was the showdown that wasn’t.  He didn’t walk into the door I had opened for him but he didn’t spark anything either.  He mumbled….

FACE TATTOO GUY: No, I’m trying to find some food stamps.

And he kept walking passed the gas station store and into the abyss.  It was hard not to catch up to him and ask him where he was going to find food stamps at 12:30 at night.  Was he asking me if I had food stamps?   Was there a food stamp scavenger hunt going on in Irvine?  Maybe Irvine doesn’t believe in welfare unless it’s combined with a fun late night game.  In any event I was relieved that I didn’t have to go toe to toe with a tattooed face.  God only knows his pain threshold!   I got myself a bag of pretzels and even more reason to fill up in the daytime.

I often find myself in commercial auditions where I have to play dad to a small child.  Though I wish I didn’t have to use my good looks to help the man push soap powder I do dig on being a father for a few minutes.  My fake kids are so precocious.

I usually leave my dad auditions feeling like my “son” is going to grow-up and be somebody and it’s all because of me.  And right before I say you’re welcome to the real parents, I’m hit with their reality.  Off to do homework, play soccer, pick up their younger sibling!  Maybe my temp son will grow up and be somebody because of his real parents.  What a novel thought.

Being an acting dad is even better than being a Grand Parent.  I get to help the child adorably say the catch phrase and then give them back to their real parents to do all the real work like dealing with sugar highs. I imagine pretending to be a dad is like pretending to be a priest.  You get why someone would want to do it.  Both probably do wonders for your soul on a good day.  Ultimately though, you’re not really worthy to be a father or a Father unless you’re actually doing it.  Unless you’re dealing with the job at it’s low points, you don’t deserve the glory of the good days.  You get to brag about that perfect spelling test only after you’ve faced bed wetting head on.  Well, not head on but you get my point.

Still my brief encounters with partially reared kids gives me hope.  I’m sure not every adult actor can get a 6 year old to say “uh-oh…mommy’s home!” and hit all his marks.  I’m sure not every non-parent is patient and willing to be upstaged by a child.  And I always show my fake wives the utmost respect while making sure I make their jobs easier by bringing home whatever product we’re auditioning for.  I know they don’t give out Daddy of the year awards for 2 minute stints but if those two minutes are any indicator I just may be honorable mention for World’s Best Dad when and if the time comes.

My other blogs that touch on parenting:

Video Killed the Parenting Star

Please Listen to My Demo (Funny blog from Comedy Central’s and NBC’s Dwayne Perkins)

I Get A Kick Out of You

Where Are They Now