Mother's Day

About five or six years ago, I was riding as a passenger in a car where the driver noticed an immigrant-looking woman walking with two small children on a long, empty sidewalk. The three of them were by all indications neither near their starting point nor their destination. The driver made a joke. I didn't laugh.

I immediately thought of my mom. She’s Filipino, having moved to the United States shortly after marrying my dad in 1969. For several years, Mom didn't have a driver’s license, and would have to run all her errands on foot. This was especially difficult when my dad, who was in the Navy, was on a months-long deployment in some ocean. She had no choice; she had two young children to raise. Shit had to get done. Groceries had to be bought. Kids had to be taken to school.

My memories of this time are scant; she got her license when I was in about 3rd grade. But one that does stick out: When we lived in Springfield, Missouri, we rented a small two-bedroom house with no air conditioning, which over the Summer Mom decided was intolerable. So we went, by bus, to buy an air conditioning unit from a department store.

Have you ever tried to lift an air conditioner?

I have no memory of the sales people or which store we bought it from, but I can only imagine what they were thinking when they saw my tiny 5”1’ mom and me—all of six-years-old—lug that unit into the parking lot and off to the bus stop.

Then up onto the bus. Then down off the bus, for the long walk back home.

I often wonder what it was like for Mom, moving to an entirely new country, not knowing anyone, not having any family nearby, responsible for two kids, with my dad gone for months at a time. But I know this: she never once hinted to my sister and I that it was hard on her. She was always loving, supportive, and positive.

She’s definitely been a hero to me, and the best Mom a son could ever have.

Happy Mother’s Day, Norlina P. Simmons

NYC Trip Update II

I'm posting this from the train station in the Woodlawn area of the Bronx, sitting on the steps pretending like I'm a New Yorker. Everyone here seems to be coughing, sniffling and hacking, so I fit right in. This Goddamn cold hit me the day before I left for the Big Apple, and hasn't left me since. It's been more committed to me than any of my last three girlfriends. I'm starting to fall in love, I think. What's a good engagement gift for phlegm?

The last seven days haven't gone exactly as planned, but what a whirlwind. Upon arrival at the apartment of fellow comedian Devin Barnes (and his beautiful girlfriend Ashley Hughes) my body told me: "It's time to sleep for about a week". I had a temperature, cold sweats, a sore throat, and congestion. Devin asked me if I wanted to rest for a couple of days. Yeah, right. I'm in NYC. No stupid fucking cold is stopping me. It'll probably be gone in a day or two, anyway.

(Author's Note: that last sentence was repeated by me every single day of this trip. I'm now pretty sure I'll have a antibiotic prescription in my future)

I'm on the train now. It's packed. Where are these people going at 10:38 at night?

I've only performed twice this whole trip. I really thought I'd get on stage more, but shit happens. More importantly it's been eye opening seeing the comedy up here. It's just...different. I'm based in Florida, where most of the crowds are either rednecks or octogenarians that are a broken hip away from death. They want simple, easy to understand jokes. Here in New York, you can write complex multi-layered bits and the crowds actually get it. I'm like in heaven.

Shit, I need to hit "Post" because I'm about to lose service in some damn tunnel. I know these statuses are weird and unevenly written, and I swear, the moment someone pays me for this shit I'll worry about that.

I love you all. Make me famous.

~J

NYC Trip Update

I'm currently at about 30,000 feet in a Delta airplane the size of a tube sock. I hate everybody in here. I'm sitting on the aisle and fantasizing about tripping everyone that walks by. If we crashed it would suck because I would die, but everyone else getting killed would take the edge off.

Okay, I know I sound bitter. I'm on three hours of sleep. Plus, I have not been sick in two years and NOW my dumb ass body decides "hey, why not pick up a hacking cough so everyone on the plane loves you?" Yeah, trust me, if I died no one on this plane would shed a tear.

In case you're wondering, I can post this because I paid for Internet access for my phone. OF COURSE I had to pay. Just like I got charged $25 for checking one bag. I'm pretty sure on my next flight there'll be a pay toilet. They'll also announce "due to worsening economic conditions, we no longer pressurize the cabin. For your convenience, we do offer oxygen for $30 per hour. Please enjoy your flight".

I'm on my way to New York City to perform comedy. And they just announced I have to turn my phone off. Don't rob my house.

Facebook

Facebook looks back at me in grayed-out words and and asks "How's it going, Joseph?" like it gives a shit. It doesn't. It just knows that getting you to post something--anything--is the key to facebook. Heck, it's more than the key, it is the everything of this "social network".

Facebook produces no content, it just organizes billions of megabits of keyboard diarrhea into easily digestible forms for consumption by an increasingly A.D.D.-afflicted population. It's a wonderfully programmed, sterile, blue-on-white-on-blue sublimation of desires to have an actual social life. It looks back on you and asks, "what can you do to get your Likes and Comments today?" And in your attempt to get your rat pellets, you produce page views, which produce ad images. The picture you just uploaded of your toddler with cookies on her face just bought facebook's campus a new park bench.

The word "everything" in my first paragraph? I wanted to italicize it for emphasis. I couldn't, because facebook doesn't permit that. Too many options for the commoner. Facebook is created to crush creativity to the point where no one stands out, meaning that everyone feels comfortable. Hey, MySpace allowed creativity, and we all know what happened there. Bad things, man. Bad things.

If Facebook commits crimes against creativity, Twitter is a serial killer. 140 Goddamn characters. That's what you get, fucker. Now even NBA players can be twitterific. Christ, did I just type that word?

I'm not complaining. This post has no point. I don't even know what the problem is. But I just decided that NyQuil is the solution.

Comedy vs. Cancer vs. Local News

Two years ago, I was asked to perform with a few other comics at a charity event for cancer. Well, I guess it was against cancer. Or something. It was one of those "Relay For Life" things where people trek around this high school track for hours, and I was to perform on a stage right in front of said track.

First off, I've never understood how people walking around in circles fights cancer. I understand that they accept pledges that a certain amount of money will be received if they walk for a certain amount of time, but, uh, what's wrong with someone just donating money for, you know, the cause? Are there really people out there that think, "look, those namby-pamby cancer patients aren't getting my money for nothing. Maybe if somebody sweats for me."

From what I remember, sweating was something a lot of those walkers could stand to do anyway. It's ingenious how they convinced people to pay them to get their fat asses off the couch, where they then could feel good about themselves for sending that money to the "fight against cancer".

Jeez, I sound like a douchebag. And I haven't even gotten to the story yet.

Anyway, right before showtime, veteran comic Bryan Hamilton rounded up myself and the few other comics and told us the ground rules. Basically, no cursing or adult subjects. Which basically removed about 95% of my act back then. I had to go to some very mediocre jokes, including one I had discarded long ago about how self-centered the local news is in their reporting of world events. Now, every single time I had told this joke previously,

1. I never mentioned a specific news organization, and
2. No one ever laughed.

Well, #2 remained consistent, but for whatever dumbass reason, I decided to add "you know how you watch local news, like ABC-7 or Fox 4..." to the bit. A bit that makes the anchors seem kind of stupid.

Well, guess who turns out to be a HUGE sponsor of Walk For Life? And happened to have a HUGE booth in the middle of the football field inside the track, with anchors and reporters signing autographs? Yeah, that would be Fox 4, who apparently didn't see the humor in me saying that if Key West fell into the ocean, they'd only report on how it affected traffic in Southwest Florida.

 The next day, a representative of Fox 4 called Walk For Life and threatened to pull sponsorship completely. I never knew how the conversation went, but when I imagine it, Fox 4 says "Quit hurting our feelings, or your fight against cancer can go fuck itself". Whatever was said, I got a tongue-lashing from Bryan. Oh, and we haven't been booked by Relay For Life ever since.

I love you all.  Make me famous.