Molly

Even more so, I was moved by Molly, an eloquent nine-year old girl with brain cancer, who gave a heart-wrenching speech.  Nothing funny about it.    Molly said it was tough to be in and out of the hospital and away from school and friends, but the service dogs that visit make it more bearable.   She said she worries about her big brother Ryan who has to be alone whenever she and her mom are away for treatments.   And she said she hopes the tumors are gone when she goes for her next scan.    Standing ovation.  Not a dry eye in the house.  (And Snooki gets the book deal).  She was like little Miss Sunshine in her thick glasses and flower girl dress.    After everyone sat back down, she told me a joke:   How do you make a tissue dance?   Put a little boogie in it.   Then she sashayed off the stage as she gave a Miss America wave to all.

Jordin Sparks could have shown up, sang her songs, and left, but she didn’t.   She sat in the audience the entire night.  She bid on auction items (landed a green scooter for her brother going off to college), and asked Molly’s brother Ryan if she could sing a song just for him.   And that’s how she closed the night singing Battlefield to a beaming 11-year old boy and his happy little sister.   What a class act -  Jordin, Ryan, and Miss Molly.

By the way, Molly’s charity?   She raises money for service dogs.                                (I know, I can’t take it either).

The Rebel Charlotte

I overheard a young woman, a Columbia University student,  seated next to me at a restaurant on the Upper West Side, chatting with her dad about school, say “I don’t understand why we need a course is women’s studies.  What’s the point?”

The point?  The point is that there was a time when you couldn’t vote or own property or hold a job outside of the home, when you had to subjugate your hopes, dreams, and desires to those of your husband and motherhood.   If you yearned for something different, perhaps to write, paint, or lecture, and you fell into a depression because you couldn’t do those things, then you were considered diseased or crazy.  You were put on bed rest, where you were to suppress any thoughts or stimulation about a career.  Visits, especially from your intellectual friends and relatives, were limited so as not to ignite that side of you. Thinking too much was your problem.   You may have been given a mixture of cocaine and alcohol to lift your spirits and get your head “right.”    You were labeled an unnatural woman.  You were told if you would just accept your role as wife and mother, your God-given role, your higher self, then your depression would disappear and all would be right in the world.   Problem is:  one role doesn’t fit all. 

This is what happened to writer, artist, social reformer Charlotte Perkins Gilman, author of “The Yellow Wall-Paper”, a short story about a woman going mad while on bed rest. You don’t have to know CPG or “The Yellow Wall-Paper” to have empathy for what a woman went through in 1880 because she wanted to write.   Read Wild Unrest, the story of Charlotte Perkins Gilman and the Making of “The Yellow Wall-Paper” by Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz.  It is not only about CPG, but about the human spirit, the soul, depression, creativity, transformation, change, and hope.  

After years of increased suffering, CPG finally bucked the advice of her doctors and the will of her husband.  Without financial means, she moved to California and divorced, saying:

“I have given up trying to assimilate. I have determined to be myself as far as I can in spite of circumstances. It is astonishing how my whole nature responds.”

Unimaginable in the 1880’s!  “The Yellow Wall-Paper” became a success and CPG began lecturing around the country for women’s economic and social freedom.  Her second marriage was to a man who delighted in her independent spirit.  As her creativity increased, her depressions, while still visiting, decreased in intensity and frequency.

I have friends on anti-depressants.   Some need them, of course.  Others, I wonder if it’s because they’ve lost the core of themselves so completely.

One hasn’t painted since her third daughter was born.  Another stopped the running she loved after the demands of motherhood consumed her.  Another can’t leave her house or drive her car because the more she stays home the more frightening the outside world becomes.    None of this is meant to disparage marriage or motherhood.  It’s homage to the soul of a woman in or out of marriage.  It’s a realization that the core of who we are lives or dies by what we do (or don’t do).  

To read of CPG’s journey is to read the history of women.  It’s to know what they suffered, the price they paid so that we can speak our minds, make our money, write our stories, live our lives – according to our own inner dictates.    That’s the point, oh young Columbia student.

                             ###

Handsome Little Devil

I recently performed at the Throckmorton Theater in Mill Valley, California, my favorite little theater with the best audiences in the country. Robin Williams was in the greenroom. He wasn’t performing.   Apparently, he lives nearby and likes to pop in to be around other comics.  I met him two other times when I performed at the Throck.   I’ve never said anything to him other than “Hi, I’m Maureen,” to which he’s responded, “Hello, I’m Robin.”

Each time I’ve been there, he’s been gracious, holding real conversations with the other comics – some famous like Mort Sahl, others known only to the local comedy community. And each time, I sat back and took it in.

This time I asked Robin if I could ask him a question for my blog, which was ridiculous to ask because I should have just asked the damn question and not asked if I could ask. Sometimes, I forget that I’m not a reporter anymore and still feel a responsibility to ask if a conversation can be “on the record.” I have this thing about respecting people’s privacy. I’d never make it as a journalist  today.   Sure, I have the cleavage, but I don’t have the blonde hair. Plus, I have standards. Crazy me.

My question wasn’t anything monumental.  After hearing too many comics talking about masturbating on their roommate’s computer,  I wanted to know:  Is comedy different today, more base, than when you were working the clubs?”

“Oh, no,” he said instantly, “there are many terrific comics out there.” He started to name names and then stopped in mid-sentence. “Please don’t repeat that. I don’t want to leave anyone out. There are so many who are good, many who are my friends, and I wouldn’t want to disrespect any of them by forgetting to include them.”        Not a word.

He went on to say, “Comedy isn’t different today. It’s always had its low points, but it has its moments that are like listening to great jazz. You walk into a club and you hear someone unique and wonderful and you realize you have come across a talented performer and you think ‘yes there it is!’”

“You really like comics, don’t you?” I said.

“You bet I do.”

Lovely Edinburgh

I just came back from performing in Edinburgh, Glasgow, London, and at the Winnipeg Comedy Festival in Canada, where I was named one of the BEST of the FEST.      I came away from this tour with the realization that there is not only a market for what I do, but a real appreciation for it, too. 

 http://www.uptownmag.com/arts/features/The-best–and-the-rest–of-the-fest-119800959.html?viewAllComments=y

Big Lunchtime Comedy Chat in Glasgow

In the UK and Canada there is a respect for comedy as an art form in and of itself as well as a respect for comics of all ages and points of view. In the UK, audiences listen as if they are watching a theater show. There are short intervals between acts for folks to grab a drink or two and bring it back to their seats. The standing room only audiences lining the walls of the clubs listen appreciatively. No talking during the sets. No wait staff walking in front of the stage. No checks being dropped during the headliners act. Civilized.

No one is particularly impressed with your television credits. As the booker of Edinburgh’s The Stand said, “Why do the clubs in the US only care what TV credits comics have? Who gives a crap? Get on stage and show me what you do.” The fact that I’m a comic in my 40′s is irrelevant. What I bring to the stage is what matters. I love that.

On stage at the Comedy Cafe in London

Tom Stade, brilliant UK Comic

I met comics from New York, Ireland, and Canada now living and working in the UK and doing well. Tom Stade, a brilliant comic and transplant from Vancouver and New York, who’s been hitting the stage for over 20 years, told me he is making great green headlining clubs and sold-out theaters in his new homeland. Keith Farnan, a lawyer turned comic, said that after five years in the biz he’s making nearly as much as he did as a lawyer. Perhaps he was an underpaid public defender, but I don’t think so. I’ve been at this for 14 years and am hoping to make as much as I did when I had a paper route.

Payne & Pue - Funny!

In Canada, I was impressed by the originality of the comics: Nikki Payne, Rob Pue, John Hastings, and Ryan Belleville. See Nikki once and you will know why Canada goes crazy for her. (Having to follow her one night, I told her I wish I had a hair lip, too). Pue is a powerhouse whose work is original and smartly written. He did a bit about having his catheter removed by a young nurse with sparkling blue eyes who held his manliness in her hands like soft little clouds. The bit was terrific and Rob didn’t lose an ounce of testosterone in the telling, but showed how brilliant he was to convey it as he did. The same goes for John Hastings and Ryan Belleville. These are young, hip guys, but they’re not too cool for the room. They have careers and they aren’t talking about “jerking off on their roommate’s computers,” which is a premise I’ve heard too many times at clubs in New York. 

Langan & Tingle

Belleville asked me why he doesn’t see more of a range of performers on American television, particularly Comedy Central (and this is a guy who could easily get on Comedy Central). He pointed to the diverse group, myself and the   great political comic (and gentlemen)  Jimmy Tingle included, gathered at the Pantages Theater in Winnipeg for a national Canadian television taping. I said I know that Comedy Central, in general, caters to the male, college demographic. But what about the late night shows? I used to think it was an over 40, female thing, but I’ve spoken with a number of U.S. male comics in their 40’s and 50’s—accomplished, seasoned, funny guys—guys you know, who said that they’ve been told directly that they are no longer the right demographic for late night television. Craziness. Where would we be comedically without the greats who had careers based on their abilities, not their ages: Jonathan Winters, Joan Rivers, Phyllis Diller, Don Rickles, Bob Newhart, George Carlin…and on and on? They came up at a time when comedy, I believe, was considered more of an art form, much like in the UK and Canada today.

The late night shows should be putting MORE over 40-comics on their shows. The boomer generation is the largest market in the country, and they are considered largely obsolete by advertisers and the TV industry. Do these folks really think the 20-something tech geeks are watching TV? They’re iphoning, Facebooking, blackberrying, notebooking, and ipadding and huluing. It’s the over-40 sect who is tuning-in and then tuning-out because there is so little for them on the tube (and in the clubs). They have disposable income, and women make most of the major buying decisions in their homes. Yes, I’ve done the research.

But there are exceptions. There always are.  And that’s what keeps me going.  When I see a talented comic of a certain age on television, I am inspired. When I perform at a club or theater and someone stops to tell me they relate, I am inspired. When I recall the respect with which I was treated in the UK and Canada, I am inspired. So for now, if you don’t mind, I will hold on to my dream of performing on The Tonight Show. If it doesn’t work out I can always move to London.

I had a great chat with Robin Williams about the current state of comedy  which I will post soon….

Ok, so my name wasn't in lights, but it was in chalk. And that's permanent until the next Glasgow rainfall.

The Glasgow comedy festival earns its ‘international’ tag with a generous smattering of genuine intercontinental visitors in shows such as this intimate back-of-a-pub offering, which can’t have earned Maureen Langan much more than the cab fare from the airport, let alone her plane ticket from her native New York. ….

Headliner Langan’s sass was of a more pointed kind; less aggressive but more caustic, coming from a genuine sense of bitterness at how screwed up society has become.

The daughter of a Bronx garbage collector, she was brought up to believe that talent and hard work would get you places. But her university education and years of experience as broadcast journalist count for nothing in the media that prizes the cosmetic above the competent. So she’s understandably resentful that newspaper columns are given to hookers who gain notoriety from political sex scandals, not intelligent middle-aged women such as her.

Bitterness is a useful comic tool, though, and Langan wields it with skill and precision. ‘I feel like Canada,’ she gripes. ‘I’ve got so much to offer, but nobody gives a shit.’

Her time in front of the camera has given her a poise and confidence on stage, and she shares her tart, opinionated views with wry charisma. She does occasionally slip into the crass, with her routine about how old men get laid but old women don’t featuring a few hacky Stephen Hawking jokes as well as the very unfortunate line ‘he discovers black holes – and I don’t mean African American vaginas’, but this is definitely atypical of her otherwise smartly piercing wit.

This is a consistent, well-constructed 45-minutes of elegantly feisty stand-up, which will surely secure Langan much bigger venues than this in the return visits she’d be more than welcome to make.     Date of live review: Monday 21st Mar, ’11  

In between gigs, I found myself in Cabo San Lucas in a hot tub with three young hunks of burning love from Homer, Alaska.   I had just come from a hike and was soaking solo when they showed up.       

I thought I was gazing upon models from the Alaska 2011 Calendar.  It turns outs that Keith, Joel, (aka Matt Damon), and Javin are commercial salmon fishermen (not to be confused with professional fishermen who do it for sport and money; these love chunks do it for money).   I never realized how much I cared about salmon until these fisher fellows started talking.   Sometimes it’s not the message; it’s the messenger.       There are five species of salmon.   Some are valued for their meat, some for their roe.   Riveting, I know.

King (Chinook)  – The best,    Red (Sockeye),  Silver (Coho),   Dog (Chum)*   – *The Japanese dig the Dog due to its roe.   Humpies (Pink) – Mostly canned.

I like these guys.  There are young, earnest, and respectful.   Yes, I made them pose and busted them for being them, but I wish them good things.  I told them they can’t be on The Deadliest Catch.   I’d worry too much.  However, if I were the head of the salmon industry, I’d have them sitting in hot tubs around the country touting the benefits of salmon.   I’d listen.  Oh, and wait ’til you hear all about Alaskan King Crab….

I’ve often wondered what happened to Sally Lawler.  I first met tall Sally was when I was a freshman at Montclair State College.  She floated across the cafeteria with her blonde hair cascading down her dramatic black cape, her elegant hand waving in the air as she crossed the room to join us.   My boyfriend Ray knew her from his politics class and said we’d become fast friends. He was right. 

Sally played the flute, visited Caracas on winter breaks, and spoke as if she’d gone to boarding school.  Had she told me she’d been raised by servants in the French countryside, I would have believed her, though there wasn’t a pinch of phoniness to her.  She’d actually grown up in Rockaway, New Jersey, lived in a humble home, worked at the Shop Rite, and at 19 was engaged to marry Joe McEvoy, the 27 year old store manager.   Still, she was the most naturally sophisticated woman I had ever met. 

We’d play pool downstairs next to the Rathskeller, where she’d throw her head back, laugh at my jokes, and say, “Oh, let’s do this again soon.”    And we would.

She invited me to have dinner with her and Joe at Gino’s Italian Restaurant in Dover, New Jersey.   After dinner, with Joe sitting by her side, she handed me a wrapped gift and said “You’ve been such a lovely friend to me.  I want you to have this.”    I opened the box and inside was a gold bracelet.   It wasn’t my birthday.   We weren’t exchanging Christmas presents.   She just wanted to give me a present for being her friend.

After that night, I avoided Sally.   I was embarrassed.   I couldn’t afford to treat for dinner the next time or buy a gift in return.   So, in shame, I walked away from Sally’s friendship.  It’s something that’s bothered me over the years.   I thought who I was wasn’t enough, and maybe for some it isn’t, but for many it is.  I see that in the good friends who are in my life today.   I only wish I knew it sooner.  Accepting graciously and letting people love you for who you are is a fine, fine gift indeed.     Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, especially to you Sally Lawler, wherever you are.

Before the Big Broadway show w/ Rosie

Backstage with Rosie at Town Hall in NYC

This was one of the most special nights I’ve had in nearly 14 years of standup comedy – performing with Rosie O’Donnell at Town Hall on Broadway. My good friend Ange took a picture of me outside the theater. That’s when it hit me, Holy Moly I am performing on Broadway with Rosie O’Donnell! Yes, I felt like a big kid. Rosie was friendly, gracious, and funny. She said to the comics, “Please, feel free to bring anyone you’d like backstage to say hello.” My sister Katie nearly had an aneurysm because she loves Rosie and she couldn’t be there that night. Ms. O’D hosted the show and introduced five comics to one of the best audience ever. Knowing that such smart, appreciative people are out there is what keeps me going in this crazy biz. Not only was the energy from Rosie and the audience terrific, the camaraderie among the comics, who each killed was wonderful: Bonnie McFarland, Adrienne I, Wendy Liebman, and Judy Gold. As female comics we rarely work together, so it was a special night, indeed!