His comedy ranges from irreverent and silly to demented and diabolical, and for whatever reason he doesn’t currently host a local open mike (club owners, take note). My father came from Poland, bought a house, and then another in the early 80s, kind of on the border of Humboldt Park and Ukrainian Village. My dad was a mechanic and my mom was a quality-control inspector. There was a comedy showcase that came on at, like, 3 AM. Gilbert Gottfried—he was real weird, and I like that kind of weirdness. That’s how it usually happens—and then you bomb the second time. Then I was like, “This ain’t me.” And I just started making fun of my own jokes.
If I saw Richard Pryor and some dude in the front row kept yelling, I’d say, “Shut the fuck up! Sometimes I feel like I could sing a song and tell a joke—and then someone throws a tomato at me.
So let’s start off with the murdering, suicide, and torture.
If you’re like me and still have at least seven movies to watch ahead of the 90th Academy Awards this Sunday (7 p.m.
on ABC) you might want to get out of the house once the ceremony actually rolls around.
We didn’t have cable, so we didn’t see a lot of stand-up other than what was on Letterman. My first open mike was during a music showcase at Phyllis’ Musical Inn. When you’re new you think you’ve got 30 minutes, but in reality you have zero. I didn’t start doing what I really wanted until maybe a year and a half or two years ago. When you see a reaction from the crowd, that’s awesome.