What's happening beautiful people? Happy 420! Its been a while since I wrote something, I'm sorry but I've been busy with tour dates and a One Man show and the cats, you know how it gets but I'm here now so lets do this.
For the last few weeks I've been on the road and its amazing the response I've gotten concerning the podcast. Whether its "Beauty and Da Beast" or" The Joe Rogan Experience", people always come up to me and say they enjoy it or I'm funny and that's OK. Its the people that were coming up to me saying that listening to the podcast changed their life or it kept them together on a weekly basis, those were the remarks that had me worried because if I'm the guy that keeps you together, you really have problems.
I thought about it for a couple of days and it hit me. As you know, when I was 14 I lost my mother. Life at the time was as hard as I made it. I was really down on life, on myself, the people around me but most important, God. My central belief system had died. It happens to a lot of people. It happens when your done with life and it happens to a human later on in life, but when it happens to a young kid that's real bad. Your confused, lost and nothing is possible in your world. At this pace your just a walking time bomb. This is when your weak and any thing could take over and its usually negative. Negative people, negative thoughts,and the next thing you know your in a jail cell or dead, all by your own creation because we were weak at that particular moment.
I know about these feelings because this is what I went through, I didn't know it then but years later I realized it. One of the things that stopped me from taking out a whole building and then icing myself was the comfort and acceptance I found from listening to Black Sabbath at the time. Albums like "Master of Reality" and "Sabotage" but the album that hit me the most was "Sabbath, Bloody, Sabbath". The song became my anthem because it was about revenge, for what life had done to me.But in all that anger and confusion, this music gave me another day, it gave me hope as stupid as it sounds.
In my heart I felt Ozzy had written these songs for me. It felt like he had gone through all the things I did and knew what I was going through. I would get a gram of Coke or a hit of acid and play those albums over and over again. While listening to the music I would go through every emotion that was in my heart at the time. I would always start crying in the middle of my trip but by the end of it I knew it was going to get better because somewhere in that music Ozzy told me it would get better. Does that sound stupid?
So after thinking about this, I understood what people were saying to me. Sometimes we get inspiration and comfort from the simplest things. When I started doing podcast whether it was with Felicia or with Rogan or anyone else I decided that I wouldn't be a comedian but a human being. Radio for me is so we could sell our dates and merchandise and what not. I felt that podcast were the next level, so we as entertainers had to take it to the next level but it wasn't going to be with jokes and cute stories but with our lives.That what sets us apart from each other because we all have a funny 30 minute set, but our lives are all different and very unique. Who would have known telling you guys about burning a hookers wig, or my times in prison were going to make you like and understand me. If this is what gets you through and keeps your powder dry..............Thank you. It makes what I do a lot easier, which is being me and at the end of the day that and Staying Black is all that really matters. Have a great week, much love and always be yourself!!!!!!
About Me
- madflavor
- I'm a Comedian who loves to write blogs about my past experiences, no matter what they are.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
MY BARTENDING CAREER
Hello beautiful people! Happy Tuesday! I know I'm supposed to write on Mondays but I was still recuperating from Portland not to mention I was busy. Things have slowed down a little now so I'm ready to rock.
People always ask me, What did you do before comedy? For starters I always had dreams of being an attorney. Once I got out of North Bergen I figured I'd establish residency somewhere than after a year apply to some small College that was dumb enough to accept me, and in time I could transfer to a big school than Law school but for the time being I was a full time hustler, burglaries, selling drugs, credit cards, all the bottom level street stuff, its lucrative but lets face it, its small time.
In 84' after a short stint in Colorado, I decided to move back to North Bergen with a plan to take over the crime syndicate. When I realized that was impossible I looked for strait work. I worked in an Electrical warehouse for a while, it was Union and it payed well, but it wasn't me. I grew up in a bar, why don't I bartend?
I checked around, people said to start as a bar back, or get a shitty day shift until they promote you but I didn't have time for that shit, I wanted to make big money now. A dear friend called and said his brother could get me a Union Bartending job for a small fee, the best thing was they sent you to school.
I payed my dues and got my book. Part of the training was 2 weeks at "The American Bartending Institute" in midtown Manhattan. I worked a Banquet shift in the day time and went to class at night. The night of the big test I was offered a shift at the main bar so I blew it off because at that point who gave a fuck about a diploma. After about 8 months I started fucking up and ended up getting suspended and eventually loosing the job. In June of 85' when I left Jersey, my plan was to get a bartending job wherever I ended up.
I applied for jobs in Boulder but wasn't there long enough to get any calls. I got involved in some credit card shit and had to leave in a hurry. When I got to San Francisco, I went out for about 2 weeks and with no luck, gave up. I did some hustling for a while, and one day while I was cashing in some stolen traveler's checks and I spotted a sign, "American Bartending Institute".
I went in there and told them some story about there lifetime placement deal so they said they'd make some calls and get back to me. The next morning there on the phone saying that I didn't finish the program. I'm like, how did I get the job then? Call the Hotel and ask them. They call back and say, the hell with it. The New York School is fucked with there records. We have an interview for you. It was at 10:30AM at some fancy restaurant. At the time I'm living in the Tenderloin at some hotel that was crazy. I take a bus early the next morning. I get there 45 minutes before my interview. I was a fuck up but at the same time a go-getter, the early bird gets the worm.
I walk in and theirs nobody around. I'm saying hello! Nothing. I walk to the back and I see the office door wide open and the safe door open to boot with the last nights take plus the 3 cash registers that were ready to go. I left it alone and did a once over for cameras and what not, I really needed the job but who the fuck would turn this score down on a Thursday morning?
I had a suit on, I started filling every pocket with bills, change, envelopes, everything. I found an old school canvas deposit bag and filled it to the brim. I remember when I was walking out my jacket was long on one side from the weight of the change. As I'm walking out someone yells, can I help you? I start talking Spanish and walk out. As I'm walking out of the door, I see a bus at the light and I start running like a motherfucker! I'm huffing and puffing but I make it. I walk to the back, slide into the long seat and just sit there in shock that someone would leave that much money in a room wide open. At that point I decided, fuck bartending this shit is too easy. My take was about 3 grand, unfuckingbelievable! A hundred of that in quarters!
Its crazy but it's my life. Thank you for reading! Brea Improv April 13th 8PM! Have a great week and STAY BLACK! At the end, that's all you got!
People always ask me, What did you do before comedy? For starters I always had dreams of being an attorney. Once I got out of North Bergen I figured I'd establish residency somewhere than after a year apply to some small College that was dumb enough to accept me, and in time I could transfer to a big school than Law school but for the time being I was a full time hustler, burglaries, selling drugs, credit cards, all the bottom level street stuff, its lucrative but lets face it, its small time.
In 84' after a short stint in Colorado, I decided to move back to North Bergen with a plan to take over the crime syndicate. When I realized that was impossible I looked for strait work. I worked in an Electrical warehouse for a while, it was Union and it payed well, but it wasn't me. I grew up in a bar, why don't I bartend?
I checked around, people said to start as a bar back, or get a shitty day shift until they promote you but I didn't have time for that shit, I wanted to make big money now. A dear friend called and said his brother could get me a Union Bartending job for a small fee, the best thing was they sent you to school.
I payed my dues and got my book. Part of the training was 2 weeks at "The American Bartending Institute" in midtown Manhattan. I worked a Banquet shift in the day time and went to class at night. The night of the big test I was offered a shift at the main bar so I blew it off because at that point who gave a fuck about a diploma. After about 8 months I started fucking up and ended up getting suspended and eventually loosing the job. In June of 85' when I left Jersey, my plan was to get a bartending job wherever I ended up.
I applied for jobs in Boulder but wasn't there long enough to get any calls. I got involved in some credit card shit and had to leave in a hurry. When I got to San Francisco, I went out for about 2 weeks and with no luck, gave up. I did some hustling for a while, and one day while I was cashing in some stolen traveler's checks and I spotted a sign, "American Bartending Institute".
I went in there and told them some story about there lifetime placement deal so they said they'd make some calls and get back to me. The next morning there on the phone saying that I didn't finish the program. I'm like, how did I get the job then? Call the Hotel and ask them. They call back and say, the hell with it. The New York School is fucked with there records. We have an interview for you. It was at 10:30AM at some fancy restaurant. At the time I'm living in the Tenderloin at some hotel that was crazy. I take a bus early the next morning. I get there 45 minutes before my interview. I was a fuck up but at the same time a go-getter, the early bird gets the worm.
I walk in and theirs nobody around. I'm saying hello! Nothing. I walk to the back and I see the office door wide open and the safe door open to boot with the last nights take plus the 3 cash registers that were ready to go. I left it alone and did a once over for cameras and what not, I really needed the job but who the fuck would turn this score down on a Thursday morning?
I had a suit on, I started filling every pocket with bills, change, envelopes, everything. I found an old school canvas deposit bag and filled it to the brim. I remember when I was walking out my jacket was long on one side from the weight of the change. As I'm walking out someone yells, can I help you? I start talking Spanish and walk out. As I'm walking out of the door, I see a bus at the light and I start running like a motherfucker! I'm huffing and puffing but I make it. I walk to the back, slide into the long seat and just sit there in shock that someone would leave that much money in a room wide open. At that point I decided, fuck bartending this shit is too easy. My take was about 3 grand, unfuckingbelievable! A hundred of that in quarters!
Its crazy but it's my life. Thank you for reading! Brea Improv April 13th 8PM! Have a great week and STAY BLACK! At the end, that's all you got!
Monday, March 28, 2011
GRAND MA!
Greetings cocksuckers! Sorry I didn't post anything last week. As you know I was on the road. When I go out I have to decide between my sleep apnea machine or the computer because I'm not hauling both of them plus luggage and all that shit, so guess who wins? The sleep apnea machine. It's good to get off this thing from time to time so you could live your life again as a POW for a few days, like a Soldier!
Before I went home last week I was excited about all the people I was going to see. People like George K., Lubes, Lisa Tizzio and old friends I hadn't seen in years. While I was making hotel reservations and trying to figure out where I was staying George suggested me staying with his Grand Ma for a few days at first I wasn't sure but after thinking about it, I agreed George's Nana is a COOL motherfucker.
I met Nana for the first time in 1985. I was 23 and she was 63. By this time she was retired. I met her grandson George in North Bergen summer school in 79 and we always stayed in touch. In 83 when I got in trouble and split for a while, we lost contact. In 85 when I made a comeback I was still laying low living in Tenafly. One day while I was walking around looking looking for what to rob next, I saw a familiar face landscaping, George. We exchanged numbers and as crazy as this sounds I got to use it that night when I called him to pick me up from Bergen County Jail. I had gotten picked up for selling stolen property but at the time I had a warrant. George got me out. When I arrived at my home, the landlord was throwing me out so George brought me to his home that night and in a way, I never left.
When I got to his home he introduced me to his mom and his grandma. I immediately felt the love. Even though I was broke they fed me and shared whatever they had. I immediately started looking for work to get on my feet. I took a job as a construction helper with this scumbag. I didn't have transportation or tools so the guy rode me hard. I was a young idiot at the time waiting for my next score but I wanted to learn a trade so I kept my mouth shut. One day the guy gave me a check that bounced and I had no dough all weekend. When I saw him Monday he said he made a deposit and this and that but he knew what he did.
A couple of weeks went by and he did it again. There I was Friday night with no dough, Fuck him. He would make me go all the way to his house even though he was going to drive past my corner so I knew where he lived. It was in Palisade Park somewhere. I had George drive me and I told him to stay put. I break into his house, I find my cash and a little extra which was going into my pocket for pain and suffering. I clip some jewelry, a little more cash but on the way out I saw something that I knew would fuck with him. His famed bottle of that ass water DOM PERRIGNON. It was a Magnum and a collectible for some reason or another and the asshole wouldn't shut up about it. He thought it was his key to Hollywood or something. So on the way out, I took it to go.
When we got home George and I looked through the loot, but Grandma saw the bottle and in her classic nature she asked, What's that Coco? I looked at George, he looked at me. We both said, Champagne! She asked, what are you going to do drink that? We didn't know. Our plan was to sell it to a liquor store and go into the city to a club.
We went to a couple of spots and no one was interested. Were sitting at the house when Nana comes back from Bingo and asked how come were not out yet. We looked at each other, got a cork screw or whatever the fuck we needed and pooped that bottle. George, Nana and me drank the whole magnum. We caught a good buzz then went to a restaurant called Picallisimo in Fort Lee, New Jersey and eat the best Lobster Fra Diablo you ever tasted. We want back to the house, danced with Grandma for a while then we all passed out. I had a great time in a family setting for the first time since my mom had passed. It gave me a certain strength that I had forgotten about, family love, there's nothing like it and when you don't have it you don't miss it because you don't really know it exist until your back in that energy. It made my path clearer.
I've loved grandma ever since. I never really knew my Grandmothers or remember them for that matter so in reality she's the first grandmother I've ever had. Later on that year I got my shit together and put together a little something and made the long awaited decision to move to Colorado, settle down and get away from the shit or find myself That was June of 85.
In February of 94 after my divorce I decided to move back to North Bergen to get my life together. I had nothing going on but I wanted to do stand up. Mitzi, George's Mom had moved out and there was room at grandma's. I could throw her some Bingo money and pick up some meals and do whatever she needed. George came back to. He was on one trip and I was on another. He the H, me the powder. Every night was an adventure and grandma was in the middle. She knew what we were up to. As soon as her light went out, it was on. George would run to the bathroom and I would stay right there and do bumps. I could do my bumps first so I would put it away and bust George's balls. Grandma had a Gong on the wall. I would wait till she was good and rested then I bang that motherfucker and she'd come running out and ask? What the hell was that? She'd look around then ask? Where's Georgie? She'd run to the bathroom and bang on the door, George what you doing in there? I'd be to coked out to laugh by that point.
Later that year I went back to Colorado to go after a comedy career. But I always thought about grandma. Before I got on the plane this last time, George told me she was old. Its been 26 years later, she was old when I met her. She's 89 and she doesn't stop all day. She sweeps, she cleans, she shovels snow, she argues with her dog and she's loosing her hearing but she's still alive a funnier than ever, that kind of shit inspires me but between you and I, she always inspired me. She'd talk to me about Cuba even though she's from Panama and she always said that Cuba got what was coming to them for all the gambling and the prostitution, that's a weird way of looking at it but she ain't lying. She also once told me that I had to act a certain way because I was Spanish that I should always be proud and respectful.
It seemed like every time I failed over the years I found a certain strength in Grandma that would set me out on the world on fire.When I went home this time I wasn't failing but in a way I've been feeling alone out here in L.A. lately not to mention, I hadn't been home in two years, so now I think it was a good choice to stay with her as a reminder of my life and where I've been but for the cold reminder that you have to live your life every day, she does.
Thank you for reading this shit, its my life. Have a great week most importantly Stay Black!
Before I went home last week I was excited about all the people I was going to see. People like George K., Lubes, Lisa Tizzio and old friends I hadn't seen in years. While I was making hotel reservations and trying to figure out where I was staying George suggested me staying with his Grand Ma for a few days at first I wasn't sure but after thinking about it, I agreed George's Nana is a COOL motherfucker.
I met Nana for the first time in 1985. I was 23 and she was 63. By this time she was retired. I met her grandson George in North Bergen summer school in 79 and we always stayed in touch. In 83 when I got in trouble and split for a while, we lost contact. In 85 when I made a comeback I was still laying low living in Tenafly. One day while I was walking around looking looking for what to rob next, I saw a familiar face landscaping, George. We exchanged numbers and as crazy as this sounds I got to use it that night when I called him to pick me up from Bergen County Jail. I had gotten picked up for selling stolen property but at the time I had a warrant. George got me out. When I arrived at my home, the landlord was throwing me out so George brought me to his home that night and in a way, I never left.
When I got to his home he introduced me to his mom and his grandma. I immediately felt the love. Even though I was broke they fed me and shared whatever they had. I immediately started looking for work to get on my feet. I took a job as a construction helper with this scumbag. I didn't have transportation or tools so the guy rode me hard. I was a young idiot at the time waiting for my next score but I wanted to learn a trade so I kept my mouth shut. One day the guy gave me a check that bounced and I had no dough all weekend. When I saw him Monday he said he made a deposit and this and that but he knew what he did.
A couple of weeks went by and he did it again. There I was Friday night with no dough, Fuck him. He would make me go all the way to his house even though he was going to drive past my corner so I knew where he lived. It was in Palisade Park somewhere. I had George drive me and I told him to stay put. I break into his house, I find my cash and a little extra which was going into my pocket for pain and suffering. I clip some jewelry, a little more cash but on the way out I saw something that I knew would fuck with him. His famed bottle of that ass water DOM PERRIGNON. It was a Magnum and a collectible for some reason or another and the asshole wouldn't shut up about it. He thought it was his key to Hollywood or something. So on the way out, I took it to go.
When we got home George and I looked through the loot, but Grandma saw the bottle and in her classic nature she asked, What's that Coco? I looked at George, he looked at me. We both said, Champagne! She asked, what are you going to do drink that? We didn't know. Our plan was to sell it to a liquor store and go into the city to a club.
We went to a couple of spots and no one was interested. Were sitting at the house when Nana comes back from Bingo and asked how come were not out yet. We looked at each other, got a cork screw or whatever the fuck we needed and pooped that bottle. George, Nana and me drank the whole magnum. We caught a good buzz then went to a restaurant called Picallisimo in Fort Lee, New Jersey and eat the best Lobster Fra Diablo you ever tasted. We want back to the house, danced with Grandma for a while then we all passed out. I had a great time in a family setting for the first time since my mom had passed. It gave me a certain strength that I had forgotten about, family love, there's nothing like it and when you don't have it you don't miss it because you don't really know it exist until your back in that energy. It made my path clearer.
I've loved grandma ever since. I never really knew my Grandmothers or remember them for that matter so in reality she's the first grandmother I've ever had. Later on that year I got my shit together and put together a little something and made the long awaited decision to move to Colorado, settle down and get away from the shit or find myself That was June of 85.
In February of 94 after my divorce I decided to move back to North Bergen to get my life together. I had nothing going on but I wanted to do stand up. Mitzi, George's Mom had moved out and there was room at grandma's. I could throw her some Bingo money and pick up some meals and do whatever she needed. George came back to. He was on one trip and I was on another. He the H, me the powder. Every night was an adventure and grandma was in the middle. She knew what we were up to. As soon as her light went out, it was on. George would run to the bathroom and I would stay right there and do bumps. I could do my bumps first so I would put it away and bust George's balls. Grandma had a Gong on the wall. I would wait till she was good and rested then I bang that motherfucker and she'd come running out and ask? What the hell was that? She'd look around then ask? Where's Georgie? She'd run to the bathroom and bang on the door, George what you doing in there? I'd be to coked out to laugh by that point.
Later that year I went back to Colorado to go after a comedy career. But I always thought about grandma. Before I got on the plane this last time, George told me she was old. Its been 26 years later, she was old when I met her. She's 89 and she doesn't stop all day. She sweeps, she cleans, she shovels snow, she argues with her dog and she's loosing her hearing but she's still alive a funnier than ever, that kind of shit inspires me but between you and I, she always inspired me. She'd talk to me about Cuba even though she's from Panama and she always said that Cuba got what was coming to them for all the gambling and the prostitution, that's a weird way of looking at it but she ain't lying. She also once told me that I had to act a certain way because I was Spanish that I should always be proud and respectful.
It seemed like every time I failed over the years I found a certain strength in Grandma that would set me out on the world on fire.When I went home this time I wasn't failing but in a way I've been feeling alone out here in L.A. lately not to mention, I hadn't been home in two years, so now I think it was a good choice to stay with her as a reminder of my life and where I've been but for the cold reminder that you have to live your life every day, she does.
Thank you for reading this shit, its my life. Have a great week most importantly Stay Black!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
COMING HOME!
Greetings! Hope everybody is having a great Tuesday. Sorry I'm late with this thing but I've been busy. Besides, every bodys off kilter this week because it's St. Patty's Day. People wait all year for this day to get fucked up. Some of the best parties I went to were on this day. Thank God those days are over. I couldn't handle one of those hangovers now.
This weekend I get to home for the first time in 2 years. I'm very excited, but at the same time very apprehensive. I left North Bergen 28 years ago. When I left yes I was in trouble, but it was in more ways than one. I had problems with certain people and yes I robbed certain people but that really wasn't it. That was the push to make me go. I wanted to put myself in that position in a way because I wanted more from life, but I didn't know what. I thought a change of scenery would give me the answer, but it didn't. I was stuck with me.
I moved, but still found myself being involved in shady shit. It was following me I thought. So I went back because it seemed it was all I was good for. When I moved back and got in deeper trouble in 85', I swore if I left I would never return. I went back to Colorado got locked up, got out, got married, had a kid and I was still involved in crazy shit. When that came tumbling down what did I do in 94'? I went back to North Bergen to get my head clear and see what was in my future. After 10 months I went back to Colorado and dove into Stand Up comedy and never looked back.
Last week I was talking to a friend of mine that still lives in the neighborhood. She told me that she couldn't wait to sell her house because there was nothing there, and how this sucked and that sucked and in a way it reminded me. Those were the exact things I would say, how the place was no good, the people sucked, and so on. Years later I realized it wasn't the place it was me. I have many successful friends that still live there problem free and I have friends that live there and its a grind, it was about them the same way it was about me. The reason going back gives me anxiety is because this is where my pain and my dreams both started. Walking those hills and thinking about getting out. Walking around as a young man after my mom dying realizing I was alone. I would cry thinking about my next move and my future.
One of my dreams was to make a big score, leave and come back a millionaire to prove the people wrong, that I wasn't really a piece of shit, that I had just lost my way. At 48 years old I'm not a millionaire and I don't have a show or a mansion but I'm going back with me, that's the most important thing.
Next week when I go home I'll look around at all the things that made me. The Deli's and the schools I went to, the corners I hung out at, my old house, my mothers grave and the place were her bar used to be. And remember the good times and not think of the bad times because there are really no bad times at home, it was all apart of us growing up, insecurities and all.
Thank you for reading and have a great week! Much love and Stay Black!
P.S. While I'm in the New York area I'll be performing one night March 22nd at The Bitter End at 9PM! Come out and say hello! I'll also be at The Comedy Club in Webster New York March 24th -26th
This weekend I get to home for the first time in 2 years. I'm very excited, but at the same time very apprehensive. I left North Bergen 28 years ago. When I left yes I was in trouble, but it was in more ways than one. I had problems with certain people and yes I robbed certain people but that really wasn't it. That was the push to make me go. I wanted to put myself in that position in a way because I wanted more from life, but I didn't know what. I thought a change of scenery would give me the answer, but it didn't. I was stuck with me.
I moved, but still found myself being involved in shady shit. It was following me I thought. So I went back because it seemed it was all I was good for. When I moved back and got in deeper trouble in 85', I swore if I left I would never return. I went back to Colorado got locked up, got out, got married, had a kid and I was still involved in crazy shit. When that came tumbling down what did I do in 94'? I went back to North Bergen to get my head clear and see what was in my future. After 10 months I went back to Colorado and dove into Stand Up comedy and never looked back.
Last week I was talking to a friend of mine that still lives in the neighborhood. She told me that she couldn't wait to sell her house because there was nothing there, and how this sucked and that sucked and in a way it reminded me. Those were the exact things I would say, how the place was no good, the people sucked, and so on. Years later I realized it wasn't the place it was me. I have many successful friends that still live there problem free and I have friends that live there and its a grind, it was about them the same way it was about me. The reason going back gives me anxiety is because this is where my pain and my dreams both started. Walking those hills and thinking about getting out. Walking around as a young man after my mom dying realizing I was alone. I would cry thinking about my next move and my future.
One of my dreams was to make a big score, leave and come back a millionaire to prove the people wrong, that I wasn't really a piece of shit, that I had just lost my way. At 48 years old I'm not a millionaire and I don't have a show or a mansion but I'm going back with me, that's the most important thing.
Next week when I go home I'll look around at all the things that made me. The Deli's and the schools I went to, the corners I hung out at, my old house, my mothers grave and the place were her bar used to be. And remember the good times and not think of the bad times because there are really no bad times at home, it was all apart of us growing up, insecurities and all.
Thank you for reading and have a great week! Much love and Stay Black!
P.S. While I'm in the New York area I'll be performing one night March 22nd at The Bitter End at 9PM! Come out and say hello! I'll also be at The Comedy Club in Webster New York March 24th -26th
Monday, March 7, 2011
MY BROTHER JIMMY
Happy Monday! Its a beautiful day to be alive. The sun is out, the dogs down the block are barking and I'm ready for the week. This week is Ash Wednesday and I'm sitting here thinking what I should give up for lent. I usually don't give anything up I just stick to the regimen of no meat on Friday but I felt that's too easy because it gives me an excuse to smoke a bone and go to the all you could eat Sushi spot by my house. Where's the effort in that? So this year I have to figure out something.
People always ask me how I ended up in Colorado? I tell people that in 83' my friend Jimmy and I packed up a car and went out there. I wish it was that easy. I was 19, I was into some crazy shit and like every other kid my age, I was looking for the answers. There I was living a life of crime 24/7, doing drugs and simply going nowhere. I had the answers but I didn't know where to start. One night I'm sitting at a bar called, Joe and Mary's in New Jersey. It was my usual hang at that time of my life. I'm sitting there and there next to me is this guy. He looked familiar. I wasn't sure if it was who I thought. I had heard that he was in Colorado at The Air force Academy. I asked him if his name was Jimmy and he immediately remembered me. We had met years earlier at some function in my home town. I asked him what he was doing there? He said he had gotten thrown out of the Academy and was now coming home to get his stuff together to move to Basalt, Colorado a town thirty minutes from Aspen.
During our conversation I asked him about the job market and how much the rent was and if I needed a car, general questions. I was looking to get out. He could feel it so he asked? I told him it would take me a week or two to put some finances together which meant, I had to rob some people. He said that we needed a car to drive out there so we needed to buy one. They had a house and I could stay there till I got situated so I told him I was in. We bought a car and set a date to leave. We were a week a way from the journey and I still hadn't put all my pieces together so he told me he was leaving without me and I could fly out when I was ready. I could tell he was mad. I begged him to wait a week but he said he had to get back.
I was waiting to hit a drug dealer that got his product once a month and would stash it in a parking garage with the proceeds from that score I was going to pay a loan shark debt wait a week or two then hit him for a huge loan and split. I finally hit the drug dealer. I'm out celebrating with my friends and who do I bump into? Jimmy! He said the engine blew up in Pittsburgh and the car had to be towed back. It was a sign! Now I had to go back.
We fixed the car, I beat the loan shark and on April 25th, 1983, I left North Bergen, New Jersey for a new life. It took us 3 days in a car, with 2 joints and one 8 track, Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti, but we made it. We lived in Basalt for a while then Jimmy and I got a apartment in Snowmass Village. I lived with Jimmy for a year till I fucked up and moved back to Jersey.
I always kept in touch with Jimmy after that. He was my friend. When I moved back to Colorado in 85, he gave me his house sitting job because he was now moving to New Jersey. He was getting married and starting a family. We would talk every two weeks and we always made each other laugh. Last fall I was talking to Jimmy and he mentioned that he was coming to San Diego in November so we made loose plans to see each other so I booked a gig down there. The night of the gig I get a call from him saying that he's going to miss the show because he's going to spend time with his family, he has a brother there and his wife and son came out also. In a way my feelings were hurt. To make things worst I don't hear from him the rest of the time. I thought we probably out grew each other, he has a family, I have cats, he's a working man, I'm a fucked up comic, what can you do?
It's early January and I'm on the phone with a dear friend of mine and he asked if I had heard from Jimmy that he had heard from his parents that Jimmy was real sick. I immediately called the house and left a message.Two days went by and I heard nothing so I called again and he answered. He told me that he had skin cancer and that it had gotten into his lymph nodes and spread into his lungs. He also told me it didn't look good. That he had found out about it in September and wanted to tell the family while they were all together, that's why he couldn't see me. He said that the cancer was a strong one but he was going to fight it and that he didn't want anyone to know because he didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him that he was going to live his life. I was blown the fuck away!
I'm going to new Jersey next week on my way to Rochester. I'm going to see my friends, eat some food, put some flowers on my mom's grave, do a show in the city but the real reason is to say hello or goodbye to an old friend. I pray everyday that this cocksucker beats this or stays alive long enough for me to make him proud, for the chance he gave me knowing I was crazy, for talking to me about History while we did bong hits for Jerry's kids, for not judging me while I was robbing drug dealers left and right while we were living together but most importantly for saving my life in 1983, and for not changing the oil in that car before the trip, because if he would have, I wouldn't be writing this right now.
This one was a tough one to write, thank you for reading. Have a great week but most important...............STAY BLACK!
BREA IMPROV MARCH 9TH
THE BITTER END MARCH 22nd
THE COMEDY CLUB WEBSTER NY MARCH 24-26TH
People always ask me how I ended up in Colorado? I tell people that in 83' my friend Jimmy and I packed up a car and went out there. I wish it was that easy. I was 19, I was into some crazy shit and like every other kid my age, I was looking for the answers. There I was living a life of crime 24/7, doing drugs and simply going nowhere. I had the answers but I didn't know where to start. One night I'm sitting at a bar called, Joe and Mary's in New Jersey. It was my usual hang at that time of my life. I'm sitting there and there next to me is this guy. He looked familiar. I wasn't sure if it was who I thought. I had heard that he was in Colorado at The Air force Academy. I asked him if his name was Jimmy and he immediately remembered me. We had met years earlier at some function in my home town. I asked him what he was doing there? He said he had gotten thrown out of the Academy and was now coming home to get his stuff together to move to Basalt, Colorado a town thirty minutes from Aspen.
During our conversation I asked him about the job market and how much the rent was and if I needed a car, general questions. I was looking to get out. He could feel it so he asked? I told him it would take me a week or two to put some finances together which meant, I had to rob some people. He said that we needed a car to drive out there so we needed to buy one. They had a house and I could stay there till I got situated so I told him I was in. We bought a car and set a date to leave. We were a week a way from the journey and I still hadn't put all my pieces together so he told me he was leaving without me and I could fly out when I was ready. I could tell he was mad. I begged him to wait a week but he said he had to get back.
I was waiting to hit a drug dealer that got his product once a month and would stash it in a parking garage with the proceeds from that score I was going to pay a loan shark debt wait a week or two then hit him for a huge loan and split. I finally hit the drug dealer. I'm out celebrating with my friends and who do I bump into? Jimmy! He said the engine blew up in Pittsburgh and the car had to be towed back. It was a sign! Now I had to go back.
We fixed the car, I beat the loan shark and on April 25th, 1983, I left North Bergen, New Jersey for a new life. It took us 3 days in a car, with 2 joints and one 8 track, Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti, but we made it. We lived in Basalt for a while then Jimmy and I got a apartment in Snowmass Village. I lived with Jimmy for a year till I fucked up and moved back to Jersey.
I always kept in touch with Jimmy after that. He was my friend. When I moved back to Colorado in 85, he gave me his house sitting job because he was now moving to New Jersey. He was getting married and starting a family. We would talk every two weeks and we always made each other laugh. Last fall I was talking to Jimmy and he mentioned that he was coming to San Diego in November so we made loose plans to see each other so I booked a gig down there. The night of the gig I get a call from him saying that he's going to miss the show because he's going to spend time with his family, he has a brother there and his wife and son came out also. In a way my feelings were hurt. To make things worst I don't hear from him the rest of the time. I thought we probably out grew each other, he has a family, I have cats, he's a working man, I'm a fucked up comic, what can you do?
It's early January and I'm on the phone with a dear friend of mine and he asked if I had heard from Jimmy that he had heard from his parents that Jimmy was real sick. I immediately called the house and left a message.Two days went by and I heard nothing so I called again and he answered. He told me that he had skin cancer and that it had gotten into his lymph nodes and spread into his lungs. He also told me it didn't look good. That he had found out about it in September and wanted to tell the family while they were all together, that's why he couldn't see me. He said that the cancer was a strong one but he was going to fight it and that he didn't want anyone to know because he didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him that he was going to live his life. I was blown the fuck away!
I'm going to new Jersey next week on my way to Rochester. I'm going to see my friends, eat some food, put some flowers on my mom's grave, do a show in the city but the real reason is to say hello or goodbye to an old friend. I pray everyday that this cocksucker beats this or stays alive long enough for me to make him proud, for the chance he gave me knowing I was crazy, for talking to me about History while we did bong hits for Jerry's kids, for not judging me while I was robbing drug dealers left and right while we were living together but most importantly for saving my life in 1983, and for not changing the oil in that car before the trip, because if he would have, I wouldn't be writing this right now.
This one was a tough one to write, thank you for reading. Have a great week but most important...............STAY BLACK!
BREA IMPROV MARCH 9TH
THE BITTER END MARCH 22nd
THE COMEDY CLUB WEBSTER NY MARCH 24-26TH
Monday, February 28, 2011
MANUEL ELISEO DIAZ.............................MY FATHER
What's up beautiful people? I hope everyone had a great weekend. It was the first weekend I had off from Comedy in a couple of weeks so I just relaxed. It's amazing that its the end of the month already. Its March! Can you believe that?
Anyway, enough with the chitter, chatter. I talk a lot of shit on stage and on podcast. I talk about my mom and my crazy step dad and all the other great and unusual people that have been put in my path. There's one person I never talk about and that's my father. His name was Manolo Eliseo Diaz, his street name was Manolo Camaguey, after the City he came from in Cuba.
He was born in Cuba but grew up on the lower East side of New York City. He died a week after my 3rd Birthday, that's why I remember him, but I don't. While I was growing up I heard great things about him. His kindness and his generosity. His love for my mom and for me. I heard about how he came to this Country and was taken in by Jews, and how he borrowed money from one of them and opened a Cuban restaurant in Union City in 1956 with my mother called El OK. That was what put him on the map and how he became the first Cuban committee man with aspirations of politics. I also read his obituary, and how he died of a heart attack, and how my mother took his body back to Cuba to be burried, it was amazing.
When I was young I would spend my Summers in Miami with my Godfather Rodolpho. He had grown up with my father. One night while he was having a few drinks, he broke down. He said there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think of my Father. He asked if I knew the story? I replied yes. He thought I knew the real story so he started to tell me how all these years he lived with guilt because he felt he could have saved him. I asked him how? He said if he would've been there and Manolo would've gotten the stuff from him. What stuff? He said that my father was at the bar with my mom celebrating and that they were looking for cocaine. He had it but didn't want to leave because he had business that morning. My father and mother kept calling but he wouldn't answer.
A few hours later my Father found something. He told my mom to walk him to the bathroom but there were customers so my father went in by himself. When he came out my mother said he was pail. It was heroin and it killed him with in minutes. They kept calling Rodulpho and when he answered and they told him the story he still didn't believe it so he didn't go down.
I went home and confronted my mother about the story and she told me it was true. She said she was waiting for me to get older to tell me. I couldn't believe it. The newspaper story, the obituary, nothing mentioned drugs. When I asked my mom she shrugged it off, then years later she died and I never really got an answer.
While she was alive she always mentioned a Prudential insurance policy my father had left, but she never collected on it because she was saving the money for my college. I looked into it and he had left me a huge policy! A half a million dollars, that was in 66' when he died. Could you imagine what it would be worth in 79? I contacted the Insurance company and said the claim was good. The required certain paperwork and wills and what not. There was a problem. His death certificate and autopsy papers were never signed. How did this happen. I hired an attorney and the only thing that we could do was to go to Cuba and dig up the grave and have it tested. Can you believe this?
I gave up on this situation and was trying to go on with my life. It was 84' and I was getting ready to move to Colorado, so for a few extra bucks I got a job with some Puerto Ricans numbers bookies I knew that had been partners with my mom in the early days. One day one of the guys told me that there was an old friend of my Fathers that wanted to see me. His name was Angel, he too had grown up with my father and knew what had happened. He told me that my Father and him ran Heroin for the Jews in the early 50's and made a fortune, that's how he got his first restaurant. My mom and him fell in love and had my Sister than me. My father was a legitimate business man but his side business was Heroin and numbers. He said that the night he died, he was at the hospital with my mother and since my Father was a Committee man and he was rolling with influential people that they would be embarrassed by this so they made up the whole thing of the heart attack and got him out of there. He was buried in Cuba and the most important thing was that he did love me.
The reason I'm writing about him was because this past Saturday was the 45th anniversary of his death and I never really think about him that much. I tried to write this 2 or 3 times today, but couldn't get it right. As a child I came to terms with it very easily and today I know why. It always seemed to me like he was always there. At times as a child I could feel his warmth. I know it sounds crazy but it always seemed like I would see him again. Even after my mother remarried, I kept his name because he was never really gone to me. In fact he gave me the name, "Coco' and every time I hear that for a split second I think of him.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Have a great week but most important, STAY BLACK!
MARCH COMEDY DATES
The Brea Improv 9th
Moondoggies San Diego 15th
TBA New Jersey 19th
The Bitter End NYCITY 22nd
The Comedy Club Webster New York 24th-26th
Anyway, enough with the chitter, chatter. I talk a lot of shit on stage and on podcast. I talk about my mom and my crazy step dad and all the other great and unusual people that have been put in my path. There's one person I never talk about and that's my father. His name was Manolo Eliseo Diaz, his street name was Manolo Camaguey, after the City he came from in Cuba.
He was born in Cuba but grew up on the lower East side of New York City. He died a week after my 3rd Birthday, that's why I remember him, but I don't. While I was growing up I heard great things about him. His kindness and his generosity. His love for my mom and for me. I heard about how he came to this Country and was taken in by Jews, and how he borrowed money from one of them and opened a Cuban restaurant in Union City in 1956 with my mother called El OK. That was what put him on the map and how he became the first Cuban committee man with aspirations of politics. I also read his obituary, and how he died of a heart attack, and how my mother took his body back to Cuba to be burried, it was amazing.
When I was young I would spend my Summers in Miami with my Godfather Rodolpho. He had grown up with my father. One night while he was having a few drinks, he broke down. He said there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think of my Father. He asked if I knew the story? I replied yes. He thought I knew the real story so he started to tell me how all these years he lived with guilt because he felt he could have saved him. I asked him how? He said if he would've been there and Manolo would've gotten the stuff from him. What stuff? He said that my father was at the bar with my mom celebrating and that they were looking for cocaine. He had it but didn't want to leave because he had business that morning. My father and mother kept calling but he wouldn't answer.
A few hours later my Father found something. He told my mom to walk him to the bathroom but there were customers so my father went in by himself. When he came out my mother said he was pail. It was heroin and it killed him with in minutes. They kept calling Rodulpho and when he answered and they told him the story he still didn't believe it so he didn't go down.
I went home and confronted my mother about the story and she told me it was true. She said she was waiting for me to get older to tell me. I couldn't believe it. The newspaper story, the obituary, nothing mentioned drugs. When I asked my mom she shrugged it off, then years later she died and I never really got an answer.
While she was alive she always mentioned a Prudential insurance policy my father had left, but she never collected on it because she was saving the money for my college. I looked into it and he had left me a huge policy! A half a million dollars, that was in 66' when he died. Could you imagine what it would be worth in 79? I contacted the Insurance company and said the claim was good. The required certain paperwork and wills and what not. There was a problem. His death certificate and autopsy papers were never signed. How did this happen. I hired an attorney and the only thing that we could do was to go to Cuba and dig up the grave and have it tested. Can you believe this?
I gave up on this situation and was trying to go on with my life. It was 84' and I was getting ready to move to Colorado, so for a few extra bucks I got a job with some Puerto Ricans numbers bookies I knew that had been partners with my mom in the early days. One day one of the guys told me that there was an old friend of my Fathers that wanted to see me. His name was Angel, he too had grown up with my father and knew what had happened. He told me that my Father and him ran Heroin for the Jews in the early 50's and made a fortune, that's how he got his first restaurant. My mom and him fell in love and had my Sister than me. My father was a legitimate business man but his side business was Heroin and numbers. He said that the night he died, he was at the hospital with my mother and since my Father was a Committee man and he was rolling with influential people that they would be embarrassed by this so they made up the whole thing of the heart attack and got him out of there. He was buried in Cuba and the most important thing was that he did love me.
The reason I'm writing about him was because this past Saturday was the 45th anniversary of his death and I never really think about him that much. I tried to write this 2 or 3 times today, but couldn't get it right. As a child I came to terms with it very easily and today I know why. It always seemed to me like he was always there. At times as a child I could feel his warmth. I know it sounds crazy but it always seemed like I would see him again. Even after my mother remarried, I kept his name because he was never really gone to me. In fact he gave me the name, "Coco' and every time I hear that for a split second I think of him.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Have a great week but most important, STAY BLACK!
MARCH COMEDY DATES
The Brea Improv 9th
Moondoggies San Diego 15th
TBA New Jersey 19th
The Bitter End NYCITY 22nd
The Comedy Club Webster New York 24th-26th
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
THE LONGEST YARD
What's up beautiful people? It's a great day to be alive. Sorry I'm late with this thing but I've been recovering from Strep throat and the weekend in Brea with Rogan. If you came out, thank you and thank you all for the great Birthday wishes.
I was feeling shitty last week like we do when a Birthday is around the corner. We think of are past and are mistakes but most importantly we think about the future and what time we have left. When I got into this racket I loved doing Stand up but I also loved movies and television. I always dreamed of being a funny garbage man or cop on a show. I was doing ok in the film and TV world till about 4 years ago when the strike hit and since then it hasn't been the same. Don't get me wrong I still work but not the amount I was doing years ago. Is it my age? My face? My weight? There are always variables involved.
I came to the conclusion that my acting career was done and between you and me, that's o.k. I've done more than I ever expected to do, I never even expected to be out here longer than 5 years but after 13 years, I'm still here so I must be doing something right. In the middle of all this fucked up thinking I remembered when I was younger and my mom died. There was a house and property and jewelry, but because my mom left no will, it went into probate and years later between the paperwork and this bullshit I got nothing. For years I walked around angry and with a chip on my shoulder than one day it came to me, Fuck it! Why am I waiting on this? I'm going to put it in God's hands and live my life. Why worry about this and mind fuck myself when reality is right in front of me.
The same thing happened to me last week. I got an epiphany! I hate watching myself on TV or tape or film or whatever. So I never really watch anything I do. If I have to cause I'm at a screening or something, I try to black it out. It's crazy! I could always tell when the movie,"The Longest Yard" is on because people call me and twitter me or they'll come up to me 3 days later and yell, "Can Of Corn", its amazing. Anyway, Sunday morning when I woke up, it was on and I started watching and I remembered little things like what I was feeling while I was shooting the movie, how proud I was. How I made an audition tape and sent it in when they didn't want to see me because they didn't know who I was. How I was only hired for 4 weeks but after 2 days they hired me for the whole movie, I also saw who else was in the movie and how I was right there with them line for line.
That was when I realized that I had to do the same thing I did 25 years ago with my mothers situation. I'm good at what I do leave it alone, keep doing what your doing but most importantly, put it in God's hands. All I could do is keep writing jokes and doing my podcast to the best of my ability if something happens good, if not I know in my heart I did the best job and gave it the best effort I could. Sometimes you just have to step back to watch the miracle unfold and if it doesn't, the bong is right there. Take a hit and come up with a new idea but why be depressed about something you can't control. Just a reminder because in this fucked up world knowing what I know or better yet what we know we always seem to forget this tidbit about life!
Have a great week but most importantly remember to Stay Black!
P.S. The Comedy Club.......Webster New York March 24-26th Come on Down!
I was feeling shitty last week like we do when a Birthday is around the corner. We think of are past and are mistakes but most importantly we think about the future and what time we have left. When I got into this racket I loved doing Stand up but I also loved movies and television. I always dreamed of being a funny garbage man or cop on a show. I was doing ok in the film and TV world till about 4 years ago when the strike hit and since then it hasn't been the same. Don't get me wrong I still work but not the amount I was doing years ago. Is it my age? My face? My weight? There are always variables involved.
I came to the conclusion that my acting career was done and between you and me, that's o.k. I've done more than I ever expected to do, I never even expected to be out here longer than 5 years but after 13 years, I'm still here so I must be doing something right. In the middle of all this fucked up thinking I remembered when I was younger and my mom died. There was a house and property and jewelry, but because my mom left no will, it went into probate and years later between the paperwork and this bullshit I got nothing. For years I walked around angry and with a chip on my shoulder than one day it came to me, Fuck it! Why am I waiting on this? I'm going to put it in God's hands and live my life. Why worry about this and mind fuck myself when reality is right in front of me.
The same thing happened to me last week. I got an epiphany! I hate watching myself on TV or tape or film or whatever. So I never really watch anything I do. If I have to cause I'm at a screening or something, I try to black it out. It's crazy! I could always tell when the movie,"The Longest Yard" is on because people call me and twitter me or they'll come up to me 3 days later and yell, "Can Of Corn", its amazing. Anyway, Sunday morning when I woke up, it was on and I started watching and I remembered little things like what I was feeling while I was shooting the movie, how proud I was. How I made an audition tape and sent it in when they didn't want to see me because they didn't know who I was. How I was only hired for 4 weeks but after 2 days they hired me for the whole movie, I also saw who else was in the movie and how I was right there with them line for line.
That was when I realized that I had to do the same thing I did 25 years ago with my mothers situation. I'm good at what I do leave it alone, keep doing what your doing but most importantly, put it in God's hands. All I could do is keep writing jokes and doing my podcast to the best of my ability if something happens good, if not I know in my heart I did the best job and gave it the best effort I could. Sometimes you just have to step back to watch the miracle unfold and if it doesn't, the bong is right there. Take a hit and come up with a new idea but why be depressed about something you can't control. Just a reminder because in this fucked up world knowing what I know or better yet what we know we always seem to forget this tidbit about life!
Have a great week but most importantly remember to Stay Black!
P.S. The Comedy Club.......Webster New York March 24-26th Come on Down!
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