Maria Bamford: Can’t Stop the Voices

by John Delery

“Quirky” doesn’t even begin to explain Bamford’s approach to stand-up comedy. She’s so much more than that. Just ask one of her personalities.

By John Delery

If Maria Bamford ever needs extra cash fast — say, to help gas up the Comedians of Comedy tour van — she could charge rent to the multiple personas inhabiting her impressive imagination. Without magic or makeup, Bamford, with just a change of pitch, transforms herself into a lifetime supply of characters, including a condescending “lady boss,” a creepy cult leader, and her supportive, amusing but often fretting mother, Marilyn.

“I prefer theatrical environments to comedy clubs,” she says by phone while heading to Louisville, Ky., the destination at the time for the van transporting Bamford and the other Comedians of Comedy (Patton Oswalt, Brian Posehn and Eugene Mirman) on their tour of the laugh track encircling the nation. “I like it when people come to see something more rehearsed. My strength — or what I feel is my strength — is the stuff I rehearse in front of the hotel mirror  Maybe I have other strengths, I don’t  know, I don’t know,” she adds, changing the subject and voices.

One of the alternative voices of comedy sounds rather girlie instead of womanly (“My voice,” she self-deprecatingly declares in her act, “does not get the respect and attention I believe I deserve”). No need to shout onstage, though, since Bamford differs greatly from so many younger comedians, who, judging from the volume of comedy specials these days, consider themselves products to promote loudly in an attempt to accelerate their careers.

Instead of color-by-numbers comedy (premise, punch line, premise punch line, premise punch line, pause for applause), Bamford paints hilarious word pictures through the various characters she introduces to the audience. With points, not barbs, Bamford deflates people with airs, like the demeaning superior who pretends to be her subordinate’s “girrrrrrrrlfriend” so she can boss her around in and out of work, or the severe “Christian teen from Christ camp,” who sounds as if she needs couples counseling to help take her personal relationship with Jesus to the next level.

Onstage, in her Comedy Central Presents special and on her CD, The Burning Bridges Tour, Bamford, more of a comic actor than a traditional stand-up comedian, performs what amounts to a 10-woman show starring a cast of one. Entertaining at concert venues — as she’s doing on this tour — gives Bamford the space she needs to perform her broader jokes. Her sardonic style, neither in-your-face
nor out of place, also fits the room better.

“At comedy clubs,” she explains, “the headliner is someone who’s been doing stand-up a long time and is supposed to blow the show out of the water — presumably make everybody stand and scream and sing the national anthem or whatever. That doesn’t really work for me. I don’t have an explosive act.
I can’t make people go crazy.”

Besides, she grew up in the theater, well, more like the all-purpose room of her elementary school in Duluth, Minn., her childhood hometown. Her acting career began there in the Western How the West
Was Really Won (technically a spaghetti Western since the performance did take place during a school-sponsored spaghetti dinner).

“Few people know this,” she says, “but the West was won through a series of bad jokes,” all written by sixth-graders.

About 10 years ago, Bamford, now 35, packed her adult sense of humor and comic aspirations and moved from Minnesota to Los Angeles. Like all professional comedians, she kept performing until the right people saw her, which is “the key to comedy,” Bamford says comedian Emo Phillips once told her. “Now I realize what Emo told me is true — not exciting, but true.”

That she sounds sort of like Lisa Simpson probably explains the cartoon work on her resume, including the voice of Shriek Dubois on the Nickelodeon series CatDog and the voice of Mrs. Beady in July’s  animated movie Barnyard, also starring Kevin James and Courteney Cox. In addition, Bamford is currently prepping a new CD called How to Win! and a DVD recording of her one-woman show, Plan B.

A family vacation, that’s what the Comedians of Comedy tour sounds like, though maybe an Addams Family vacation.

“I love seeing new places, traveling with the guys,” Bamford says. “I never had brothers when I was growing up, so it’s like having brothers, super-funny brothers. But they still don’t want to play with my stuffed animals or Barbies — unless they’re gonna take the heads off of them. Anyway, that’s a joke.”

That’s what all comedians say.

For more info, visit www.mariabamford.com.

Greg Warren: Fresh Face

by Jessica Agi

Interview by Jessica Agi

Greg Warren is a stand-up comic who’s been on the rise for the last decade. He’s currently part of the Friends of the Bob & Tom Radio Show Comedy Tour with Mike Birbiglia, Henry Phillips, Mike MacRae and Auggie Smith and is one of RooftopComedy.com’s favorite talents. From his Cincinnati home, the St. Louis native made time between his shows to talk about his life, his career and his affinity for the Cheesecake Factory.

How long have you been doing comedy?
Seventy-four years (laughs). I had a lot of false starts, so it’s hard to put a marker on it. Full time, I’ve been doing it for about six years. I quit my job [ed. selling Jif and Pringles for Procter & Gamble] about six years ago but I was doing comedy pretty regularly. So, 12 years. I started doing it and didn’t want to stop.

How would you describe your style?
It’s a blend of chocolate ice cream and pizza— and toasted ravioli, the St. Louis delicacy, which is basically fried pasta. It’d be a blend of Ben & Jerry’s Heath Bar ice cream and toasted ravioli. Actually, I do a lot of characters in my act, but it’s always in transition. I sort of tell stories, and it’s pretty personal. The stories are about my life, and sometimes I exaggerate (laughs).

So far, what has been the lowest point of your career?
You couldn’t start with the highest point? Well, I threw a phone one time; it’s something I’m not really proud of. Two people in the front row were talking on the phone so I asked to see the phone and I threw it. But there was a certain satisfaction to doing it. The guys wanted to kick my ass. All the comedians at the club were trying to back me up but they weren’t the most combative type of comedians, like Dan Mintz— he’s a very funny comic, but he’s not exactly the kind of guy— probably not in the top 10 guys you want on your side. But I’m forever indebted to him.

What was the highest point?
Comedians live about 20 high and low points every day in their career. I think the high point is always when you have a new joke that works. The first time you do a new joke and it works is every comedian’s high point.

What was it like to become the white dude who went 8 episodes on BET’s Coming to the Stage?
That was an interesting experience. It was humbling and I was very honored. When I moved to LA several years ago, one of the first clubs where I could perform, most of the audience was black and Hispanic. So I got a little bit of a taste of how to perform in front of those crowds. In St. Louis, there were tryouts for the show and I stopped in just to see what it was like. I got on the show and thought maybe I could go a couple of episodes. Then I did well and it was actually pretty cool. I sort of ran out of material that was relatable to that crowd five or six episodes in. But those comics were some of the nicest people I’ve ever been around.

If you could have dinner with any three people, what would you eat and who would you invite?
You don’t wanna be the guy who just says, ‘I’d just like three hot chicks.’ But I think that’s everybody’s answer: three hot chicks that were incredibly interesting and really found everything I said to be very funny. And they’d find me crazy attractive. I’d probably have some sort of pork chops with some asparagus on the side and cheesecake— I’d go to the Cheesecake Factory. I like chain restaurants.

If I have to come up with names, probably my brother – he makes me laugh more than anybody – and Eddie Murphy. He was the guy who sort of influenced me in my life. I’d probably have to throw in a hot chick again, maybe Scarlett Johansson if she wasn’t currently dating Josh Hartnett or just decided that moment at dinner she’s gonna leave Josh Hartnett for me.

You play the clarinet. Besides that and comedy, do you have any other talents or skills?
I can still wrestle pretty well. I’m a former wrestling coach, and if the kid is anywhere below 150 pounds and still in high school I could still pretty much take him. Let’s revise that: if he’s 140 pounds and under the age of 17, I’m pretty confident that I could still beat them.

What can a comedy fan expect from one of your shows?
I don’t normally throw phones. I think they’ll be happy if they came. I tend to be sort of a strong PG-13 or a weak R. I’m not really that offensive, but I’m not that vanilla. I try to talk a lot about people and the human condition.

For more Greg Warren fun, check out www.rooftopcomedy.com and www.gregwarrencomedy.com.

Ron White: Let Him Tell You a Story

by Dylan P. Gadino

On the heels of a wildly successful new CD, this Blue Collar comic is set to unleash a DVD, a book and an animated series. It seems this Tater Salad is far from spoiling.

By Dylan P. Gadino

Six years ago, Ron White was a Dumpster dweller. At least he was the day he realized he had thrown out – along with a box of tomatoes mailed by his mother – a $100 bill. At that point in his life, he almost had to dive in. You see, when the comedy-club chain he was working for cut his pay, he told them to “go eat a steaming bowl of fuck,” and then moved to Mexico, where he began making and selling pottery to make ends meet. Mom White knew times were tough. So inside one of her regularly mailed packages of her famous homegrown tomatoes, she slipped something special. Bad timing. White was away for two weeks while the tomatoes were rotting in a Texas post office just over the Mexican border.

 

When Mom called Ron at his home in Mexico later that day, she let him in on the monetary surprise. “I got back in my car,” says White, “drove back to the US, drove back to the post office, climbed in the Dumpster, started rummaging around in all of this shit for 30 minutes, found the box of rotten tomatoes, opened it up, got the hundred bucks, hopped out and went to eat.”

“So if you see me driving the Bentley, don’t judge me too quickly,” White laughs. “I had accumulated a lot of debt. I was insolvent with no hope of ever becoming solvent. I thought it was unfixable.” He pauses. “Turns out it was fixable.”

White, of course, is referring to his career and how three years ago it all turned around when the Blue Collar Comedy Tour — now a franchise that includes, along with White, Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable Guy and Bill Engvall — hit 90 cities, grossed more than $15 million and spawned a Warner Bros. movie and a video that has sold well over 4 million copies to date. Later in 2003, White’s popularity had grown so much, he was able to release the CD Drunk in Public, which is on the verge of going gold.

When White says his former situation was fixable, he’s understating on purpose. He’s not kidding about the Bentley. He recently snatched up a twin-turbo V12 Flying Spur, a car that fetches upward of $185,000. He’s also just purchased a $1 million tour bus. It’s actually a good investment for someone who has played nearly 10,000 shows and continues to tour in earnest.

Keep in mind that when White isn’t playing 5,000-seat theaters, he’s traveling and doing two shows a night at clubs to work out new material. In fact, he’s about to embark on a 29-day road trip that will have him and his wife, Barbara – Jeff Foxworthy’s former interior designer, whom Ron married in June 2004 — crisscrossing the country, hitting states like Mississippi, Washington, California and Pennsylvania.

“It’s all good,” says White. “I wanted to be a famous comedian, and now I’m a famous comedian.”

THE TATER RISES
White’s fresh out of a meeting that ran a bit longer than expected. He hasn’t eaten a thing all day. He’s with Barbara, his financial adviser and a friend as they pull up to a restaurant somewhere in Georgia; White lives in Atlanta. “Honey, order me something fried,” he tells Barbara, and he stays to chat.

Raised in Fritch, Texas, a Podunk town not too far from both the New Mexico and Oklahoma borders, White never really thought of getting into stand-up comedy when he was a kid. A lot of things had to happen first.

When he was 17, White joined the Navy. His naval career lasted 18 months and three days. He was honorably discharged through the Naval drug rehabilitation center under medical conditions. “I came out of the navy with a pretty respectable drug habit,” says White. “I was shooting dope at least three times a day. Then I got into some trouble back home for stealing stuff to help support this little habit. I was probated by the courts to a drug-abuse program.”

White started working for the program as a counselor and eventually became its primary public speaker, going to high schools armed with his life story. “Every time I told my story, it just became funnier and funnier,” he says. “They started to complain that drug abuse shouldn’t be that funny. So I said, ‘Well tell them your fucking story then.’”

Twenty years ago, while working as a window salesman, White, 29 at the time, used his experience as a public speaker and started his stand-up career in Arlington, Texas. “My brain is good for one thing and that’s for what I do,” he admits. “I have a 10th-grade education. I’m completely inept in everything else.”

By now, even casual comedy fans know Ron White. He’s the guy with the Texas drawl, who’s never seen onstage without his cigar and glass of Scotch on the rocks. He’s the one they call “Tater Salad,” his nickname ever since White began anchoring his act with an eight-minute story about how he was thrown out of a bar in New York City. (We’re not even going to attempt to summarize it here for fear of committing third-degree butchery).

His new album, You Can’t Fix Stupid — which peaked at #14 on the Billboard Top 100 — is an excellent documentation of his story-telling style. The man barely tells a traditional joke. He’s as far away from a one-liner comic as you could possibly get. He’s like Bill Cosby — a white, southern Bill Cosby who says “fuck” a lot and compares his dick’s length and girth to that of a cheese wheel.

The new disc also finds White relating a few other gems. He tells stories about his ultra religious grandmother giving him enemas when he was a kid and how she caught him losing his virginity. He also relates an idea he says his wife had on how to fix the planet’s overpopulation problem: “Stop spending money for research for the development of products like Viagra and Cialis, and instead invest that money in research to develop a product that will make semen taste like chocolate.”

Regardless of the occasional raunchy themes, a Ron White show almost feels like theater. He has the restraint and delivery of a classically trained stage actor. His timing is impeccable and his punch lines are powerful. And as far as stand-up style-stories go, they are of epic length, always feature a clear beginning, middle and end and rarely disappoint. “I don’t know why I ended up sounding different than other comedians, but I’m glad I did,” he says. “I try to deliver a story like I’m talking to one person,” he explains. “It seems to make them more personal.”

NO REST FOR THE WICKED
While Stupid is still flying off the shelves, the DVD version of the same performance — filmed at the Majestic Theatre in Dallas — is set to come out March 28. But White’s not going to lay low anytime soon.

He’s signed a deal with TBS to develop an animated series based on his stand-up act, which is tentatively scheduled to debut this summer. In June, White is also coming out with a book, I Had the Right to Remain Silent…But I Didn’t Have the Ability; the title is another reference to the famous “Tater Salad” story. The book will not only contain stand-up bits but also drawings by Matthew Schulz, who has interpreted his stories through illustrations. “It’s just me trying to make more money off my fans,” jokes White.

And in case you thought Blue Collar was all but dead, White and company are hitting D.C. to film the third installment of the tour movie, Blue Collar Comedy Tour: One for the Road.

Even now, despite his successes over the past few years, White has a difficult time understanding why it’s all happened. “I never saw myself becoming a real big comedian,” he says. “I saw myself as Jeff Foxworthy’s opening act. I would’ve done that for another 20 years. It paid well, it was easy, and I was working with my buddy. I saw myself like Willie Nelson’s harmonica player— just 30 years of blowing that fucking thing. That would’ve been fine with me.”

So is retirement far off for White, who will turn 50 in December? “I don’t think so,” he says. “The only thing we know for sure is that this is all going to come to a screeching halt at some point. How long its going to last, I don’t know. I would hope it’s a five-year run. Or it could be more. I could be one of those old geezers that could still do work in Vegas when I’m 70 years old.” He pauses. “Like, I’m ever going to be 70.”

For more information, visit tatersalad.com

 

Lisa Lampanelli: Highly Insulting!

by Dylan P. Gadino

Stand-up comic Lisa Lampanelli has made a career out of insulting us. So why do we keep coming back for more? On her new CD, DVD and Comedy Central one-hour special, this Howard Stern favorite gives us plenty of reasons.



By Dylan P. Gadino

How are things with you?

Oh, good. I mean, God, this has been the week of my life, I suppose, because I was on Stern yesterday, again, which was awesome. Then I was on the Tonight Show for the fourth time last week, so that was great, because I’m always wondering when my luck’s going to run out on the Tonight Show. It’s like, when will I say ‘cunt’ by accident? And then suddenly I’m the bad guy. So I’m always going, ‘Oh please, God, don’t let me get banned from that show.’ And the CD and DVD are coming out. So it’s really cool.

And they’ll be airing it on Comedy Central.

Yeah. That’s really good, because my other one was on after 1 a.m., so it wasn’t seen by as many people as this one will be.

Right, it was part of the whole Secret Stash thing they have?

Right. And it’s cool, because this one I was watching and I go, ‘Wow, even though it’s not Secret Stash, it’s totally more hardcore than the other one.’ I was like, ‘OK, cool, as long as I’m as hardcore, that’s fine.’ Because I didn’t want to water it down for 10 p.m., because my manager was like, ‘Look, man, if you have to water it down too much, we’re not going to do it.’ I love that. I love somebody not telling me what to do.

Yeah. I was actually a little surprised to see that they were airing it so early.

I know. Well, you know what a lot of it is too? They’ll show the Secret Stash version later in the week. But it wasn’t a lot of cursing. It was more like the subject matter’s really edgy, so they went for it. I was shocked. I mean, the shit we got them to play, it like squeaked through the censors. It was like literally weeks of just going back and forth and compromising, and it was so cool. So it’s good. I need to be rich. I love it. I’m not money motivated, but it does help.

Well, that’s good. Maybe this is a good sign of the times. Maybe we’re loosening up our conservative constraints.

God. Yeah, I mean, it’s just so bad, this political correct bullshit. I don’t want to ever change anything I do, so it’s like if the times change, that’s better for me.

Especially for you, being the type of comic who specializes in insulting just about everyone. How did you fall into this type of comedy?

When I was growing up, I never even watched stand-ups, so I didn’t even know how it was done. But I watched those Dean Martin roasts on NBC and I thought that’s what comedy really was— like it was all people standing around making fun of each other without anybody getting pissed off. So it ends up I’m like, well, that’s what I like to do. And I remember the first time I ever went up, I made fun of the emcee or somebody in the audience, and I should have noticed that early on that that’s really what I’m having the most fun doing.

Because if you’re a comic and you’re having fun, the audience is going to have fun, so you should always do what makes you laugh when you’re listening to your tape. So when I’d listen in the car to my sets and stuff, I’d go, ‘Man, it’s so much more fun when I’m not doing material, when I’m just cracking on everybody.’ That’s when I decided I’ll do a little more of that. And then the roasts started happening and it took over the whole act.

So yeah, it just kind of happened. And also, the better you get, the more edge you can get away with. I could have never said the N-word 10 years ago. At that point, you’re just not good enough to do a joke where you could do that justice. So the better you get at the skill, the more chances you can take.

Right. You could get away with more now whereas a decade ago you’d just be some hack cursing on stage.

Sure. If you’re not a good comic, you can’t talk about subjects like rape or AIDS or cancer. It would sound like it’s just for shock value. So it’s better to just be like, ‘OK, you know what, I’m going to wait until I’ve really grown into my persona to talk about those things.’

When was the first time you went on stage?

I think it was 30 or something, so about 15 years ago.

So at that point, did you actually sit down and write material?

Yeah. It was typical woman stuff. Well, not even really typical woman stuff. At the time, I was dealing with a lot of family and weight issues and dieting and all that bullshit, and it was still funny, but it was definitely more material-oriented. And then I started taking more and more chances and having fun and fucking with people more in the crowd. And I love that. So I think that’s why it’s just ended up to be the direction I went in.

So you took those little breaks in material, when you veered off into talking to the crowd, and that actually became your show?

Yeah. At one point, I erred on the side of too much crowd work, and I was doing 30 minutes without one joke. And I was just having a blast and so was the audience. But club owners would be like, ‘Well, you need some material too.’ Like when you’re an actor, you’re too dramatic, then you’re not dramatic enough. And it has to come back to the middle. So at first I wasn’t doing enough crowd work, then I was doing too much, then it kind of got back to where it was half and half. That’s kind of where I am now.

And the thing is, I listened to the new CD, Dirty Girl and I’ve re-watched your older DVD, Take it Like a Man and it’s interesting, because you do so much crowd work and you weave your material in so seamlessly that you barely know you’re doing material.

Right, right, right. Well, yeah, because it’s so much fun for me to do that. Just when the crowd thinks I’m doing a bit of material, I say something to somebody in the crowd and it takes them by surprise. With Don Rickles, it’s all insults. With me, I guess I’m like, ‘Oh, well, I’ll just weave it in like that, and it just comes off— that’s what I have most fun doing. So I’m glad you can’t really tell where the joke begins and the crowd work ends. That’s good.

It’s funny, because you’re 20, 30 minutes into watching your act, and you think to yourself, has she even told a joke yet?

Right.

And I don’t know, maybe you have, maybe you haven’t, but the point is people are laughing.

You know what’s so funny? It’s like most of the stuff starts off as crowd work or angry rants. Right at the beginning of one show, I said something like I hate these people in Connecticut, they’re looking at their watch going, ‘Oh, I have to go check on the babysitter. I’m like, screw you bitch, I hope your kid gets molested.’

And I was just really mad about something that night, and I forget why I brought that up, and I just said it like that, and people laughed really hard. I’m like, ‘Oh my God, let me just do it again and again.’ So you just… you rant about something that you’re really pissed at, and then all of a sudden it’s part of your act. I’m like, man, it doesn’t matter if it’s a hard punch line or not. If people are laughing, that’s cool.

A lot of what you do deals with exploiting stereotypes. What is it about something so basic as a stereotype that’s so funny?

Well, because the fact is they’re so stupid. The whole point is to make fun of stereotypes. You’re making fun on two levels. Your audience could get it on two levels. The first level would be like, ‘Oh, she said the N-word.’ Well, that’s not really the people you want to appeal to.

And the second is the level of, ‘Wow, she’s really making fun of the people who say the N word and who really believe that all Hispanics steal or all blacks kill people. Because the stereotypes are so stupid, that to hear them put out there in such a blatant way sort of pokes fun at the people who believe them. So it’s better to do that. All fa**ots have AIDS. I mean, it’s so blatantly untrue, that it’s funny.

Every day I’m amazed that one of my biggest laughs is when I just go, ‘The sp*cs, they steal.’ And I swear to God, I have no idea why that’s that funny, but it’s like the biggest laugh I get all night. And I’m like, jeez, that was easy. Because it is that ridiculous and that base, that people go, ‘Wow, that is kind of stupid that we think that.’

Do you think you create an environment where it’s safe to laugh at things like that? People may be looking to laugh at the same things at work or at home, and they can’t. But then you just create this safe room where anything goes.

Right. And then everybody kind of makes friends. It’s weird, because after a show I’ll be signing stuff, and they’ll go, ‘Hey, there’s Hector,’ or ‘Hey, there’s the black guy,’ or a guy will come up and be like, hey, I’m the dirty fa**ot. And it’s like they embrace these nicknames and they really embrace what I just said about them. And I’m always shocked and amazed that people have that kind of sense of humor. And I’m like, cool, works for me.

Do you think – even in this day and age – there are still people that don’t get what you’re trying to do, kind of like a lot of people never got what Andrew Dice Clay was doing?

Yeah, definitely. It’s funny, I did a show once in Dayton, Ohio, and I was all upset, going, ‘Oh my God,’ because that’s right near where the Klan started. And I had a black boyfriend at the time. I said, what if they’re laughing for the wrong reasons?

And he goes, well, just as long as you stick with your jokes about having a black boyfriend so they know you really aren’t racist, then you’re OK and you’re not to be held responsible for anybody else’s ignorance. So I just do it, I put it out there, and the right people get it, the wrong people don’t. And it’s like I know what’s in my heart, so that’s really all that counts. And also, then I’ll donate some money to the NAACP just to make myself feel better.

You say that in your act. Is that true?

It’s absolutely true, dude. I would feel so guilty. Because once I did a thing where this guy from the NAACP got mad. I felt so bad, because I know what I really feel. So I was like, ‘Oh, let me donate something and see what I could do.’ What else can I do?

Is there a type of comedy you don’t like?

Well, the only annoying thing to me is that most women comics are fucking horrible. And you know that and I know that. Whether they want to admit it, they don’t work as hard as us— us guys. You know what I mean? First of all, the ones in LA pretty much are just throwing their cunt around hoping to get a deal. And the second part are women who just don’t bother working hard enough to get punch lines, and ramble on and tell stories.

Men are like, ‘Look, whore, if I want to hear a woman comic bitch and moan, I’m going to just stay home with my wife.’ So the whole thing is that men don’t want to pay to see women, because it’s usually just something their wife says without a punch line. So that’s why women comics kind of bug me, because I’m like, ‘Work harder getting the joke out.’

And also, I just don’t like safe comedy. I like edge. I love Jim Norton and Dave Attell. I love edge, because it takes some chances. These people who are just putting together seven minutes to get a sitcom shot, it’s not going to work. Because the last guy to get a deal that really worked was Ray Romano, and it’s not because he had seven minutes. It’s because he had a lifetime of history with his family and with comedy, and that’s a sitcom. So that kind of safe, I’m-going-to-get-a-TV-deal type of comedy really bothers me.

Where are you living these days?

I have a place in Connecticut, and I just bought an apartment in New York. I live in Connecticut because my parents are there and they’re probably going to die within the next 10 years, and I want to be around for it. And I wanted to hang out with them. And I’ve been there for the last three years, and it’s been great, because I see them all the time when I’m not on the road. But then I also just bought a place in New York so I could be single and not look weird. Because in Connecticut, to be single is just like… ‘What?! You must have half an arm.’ You get strange looks.

Whereas when you’re married in Manhattan, you get strange looks.

Exactly. So for me it’s going to be like Sex and the City, but ugly. It’ll be great.

You were raised in Connecticut, right?

Yeah.

Do you think that had some kind of effect on the way your act turned out? Is there a sense of you acting out against a suburban upbringing?

I think it’s more that I always felt like an outsider in that kind of town, so I always identified more with minorities. In other words, my family and my friends and the environment kind of treated me like a minority, so I have more empathy for minorities and how they’re treated. Like the people who don’t fit in, the guy who’s the only black guy at the high school because they recruited him to play basketball.
So I always identified more with people who were on the outskirts than people who were right in that mainstream Connecticut life. And also, we were Italian in Connecticut. We were the blacks, you know? At that time, people were like, ‘Oh, hey, the Lampanellis, they’re the ni**ers.’ So it’s like a different environment than you’d think.

It wasn’t typical Connecticut, like typical WASPy Connecticut, but it definitely was predominantly white. I didn’t meet a Jewish person until I went to college. That was just weird. I think I called somebody a kike. I was just joking around. The fucking guy had a fit. So I think early on I learned that, uh-oh, you’ve got to really know how to do this right. You can’t be doing it just indiscriminately.

A while ago, I interviewed Greg Giraldo. And upon meeting me, he said, ‘Who knew that a guy with his shit so much together would have hair like Lisa Lampanelli’s fuckhole?’

Oh, that’s great.

So I wanted to give you the opportunity to retaliate.

Oh, no, no. I like Greg. He’s what we call the smart Hispanic. You know what I mean? He doesn’t end his jokes with ‘fucker.’ He ends them with silence. And it’s like Greg is great. I love him. I view him as a Hispanic who actually has a job, which is very enlightening in this day and age. And I’m a very big fan. Although I must tell you, do you know he’s clean and sober now?

He mentioned that he was in the process at the time, yeah.

Did you know he brought a sponsor on the road with him? Which is weird, because if I had to sit through Greg’s act, I’d be on heroin. That’s a few good insults for you. Thank God I roasted Greg, so I had a few in my back pocket.

Lisa Lampanelli’s Comedy Central special premieres Jan. 28 at 10 p.m. Her new CD and DVD, Dirty Girl are in stores Jan. 30. For more information, check out www.insultcomic.com.

The views expressed above are not necessarily those of Punchline Magazine.

Filed Under Archives, Features 

Mike Birbiglia: Two Drink Mike

by Dylan P. Gadino

February 1, 2006

On his sophomore stand-up disc, Mike Birbiglia admits he’s not much of a political comedian. And that’s probably a good thing. It seems he’s got too many smiles in him to effectively execute a string of bitter, scathing tirades on the country’s current political climate.

But the one joke he does about the presidency kills with the Washington D.C. audience, mainly because Birbiglia doesn’t try to be someone he’s not. Instead, he embraces his East Coast suburban roots by likening George W. Bush to “Whiffle Ball” Tony — the guy at the barbecue everyone loves because he always starts the Whiffle ball game.

The problem begins, Birbiglia explains, when Tony is put in charge of everything: “the burgers and the potato salad? I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.” Overly competitive Tony starts pre-emptively launching burgers over the neighbor’s fence, only to find out “they don’t even have hamburgers. They have hot dogs, but they only throw them at each other, so it’s cool.”

The joke speaks well to Birbiglia’s style. Whether he’s expounding on vanilla topics — the joys of eating pizza; his glee upon spotting puffins on his trip to Alaska — or on seemingly darker things like rapists, drugs and race relations, he’s able to keep it clean yet edgy, and, most important, really funny.

Maintaining that tone throughout, Birbigs hits on an amazingly wide variety of things, including his technologically deficient parents, the pitfalls of high school sex, the downside of playing Scrabble with Jay-Z and staying at questionable hotels: “A lot of the bad hotels pretend to be good hotels,” he says. “Like they’ll have the soap be called “Purity.” And I’m like, ‘Until you get the ejaculate out of the curtains, we’re going to go ahead and call this one…’Soap.’”

Near the end of his set, the Massachusetts native also debuts a few hilarious acoustic songs, most memorably “The Guitar Guy at the Party,” whereim Birbiglia plays the role of that obnoxious dude looking to, “sleep with your girlfriend.” In the song, he concludes: “Maybe if I play ‘Free Fallin’, somebody will give me a hand job.”

Two Drink has Mike pushing the envelope a bit further than he did on his debut, Dog Years. But he’s a skilled performer, so he knows that pushing without an end is pointless and therefore he never steps on his own punch lines. The collection of jokes here is only a fraction of the proof that young Birbigs has an amazingly bright future in stand-up comedy.

Filed Under Reviews