November 2006 Archives

Laugh Your Axe Off is an event that happens during Big Game week at UC Berkeley. At its inception, it mostly involved sketches written by people from the Squelch, Cal's only intentionally funny campus publication. Later, they added stand-up, and when the Squelch stopped writing sketches, they added an improv troop and an a capella group. One might question how much laughter either group provides, but better to let wannabe Whiffenpoofs sing the "Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego" theme song than to have the show clock in at only 20 minutes.

Last year, Laugh Your Axe Off was an electric event. Rally Comm, the campus organization behind the event, had scheduled the show for Room 2060 in the Valley Life Science Building. It was an interesting choice, as opposed to somewhere like the Bear's Lair or Blake's. 2060 isn't even one of the largest rooms in VLSB. It also lacks any kind of stage or equipment for the amplification of sound.

On the lineup that night were two standup comedians – myself and John Jackson Waste - an improv group, and an a capella group called Artists in Residence. We didn't even get through the introduction before there was trouble. Once the crowd applauded for the first time, the professor from Room 2050 stormed in. He yelled, "There are students taking an exam next door! We need quiet!"

The Rally Comm girl in charge looked flustered. She said we would try to keep it down. The professor shot back, "You will keep it down." He returned to his classroom, and it was a little awkward. For a stand-up comic, there's nothing more encouraging than when your audience is ordered to remain as quiet as possible.

Inevitably, the crowd got loud again, due to a hilarious sketch where a Rally Comm member pretended to be a Stanford student. He wore a red shirt, and a red cap. In a conclusion that was in no way predictable, he took off the red clothing to reveal Cal gear underneath. He wasn't a Stanforder at all!

The professor re-entered the room, and this time, he was furious. The crowd immediately booed him. Oski the Bear imitated him in a mocking manner. The professor yelled "Quiet!" as loud as he could a few times. This did not lead to quiet.
After he announced that our event was OVER, John had had enough of this professor. He stood up and yelled, "Who here wants to listen to this old crank?" The professor left Oski and the Rally Comm girl to get in John's face. He demanded John's student ID. I told John, "As your attorney, I advise you not to show anything to this old crank." This made the professor madder. He threatened to call the police and have John arrested for trespassing. As John's attorney, I knew the old crank lacked the authority to do so.

The old crank kept yelling about the police, but he was losing steam. John waved the ID in his face, then asked, "Did you get my name? How about my ID number?" Old Crank tried to grab the ID but missed. I told the old crank he was making a fool of himself. The crowd started the "Na Na Na Na Hey Hey Hey Goodbye" chant. Old Crank shoved Oski aside and stormed out of the room, as John shouted, "Comedy, One. Old Crank, Zero!"

The irony was that John's name was mentioned many times during the show. Had Old Crank stayed for five minutes more, he would have seen John's introduction, though he still wouldn't know his ID number.

This incident changed the entire tenor of the evening. Suddenly Rally Comm wasn't just a bunch of dorks in blue and gold rugby shirts. They were enemies of censorship, and crusaders for free speech. The improv kids got huge applause with their sketches, tentatively titled, "Stanford Has Wealthy Students" and "A Tree is a Subpar Mascot". No one knew why the a capella group sang "Under the Bridge", a song about shooting heroin in Los Angeles, during an event devoted to the Cal-Stanford football game, but it got huge applause as well. John got a big reaction by claiming to have had sex with the Old Crank's mother, despite the unlikely nature of such an occurrence. The crowd even joined in my cheer of, "Give 'em the Axe/Right in the crotch!" You can generally get a standing ovation by simply yelling, "Stanford sucks!" at any Rally Comm event, but this was the first time I'd seen people shedding tears of pride at the reminder of Stanford's suckiness.

I wouldn't have been surprised if the crowd had marched as one next door to further disrupt Old Crank's exam. Throngs of students stomping their feet, yelling about Stanford's suckiness, and refusing to let Old Crank or his assistants correct papers. "Put down that red pen! Put down that red pen!"

This year, while our performances were better across the board, the show lacked the same defiant spirit. In the same way that Cal fans are less excited about the Big Game when Stanford's football team is terrible, so were we less excited about the show without Old Crank to oppose us. The a capella group performed the same songs as in 2005, including "I Touch Myself", meaning they believe the Big Game is about masturbation as well as heroin abuse. John's routine was strong, particularly his joke about Stanford losing their football game to ITT Tech ("The game was played at night, over email.") In hindsight, it may have been a mistake to declare that fifty years ago, we'd have had Stanford students upside down with a fucking fork up their asses. Too soon.

For most families, Thanksigiving is a time to come together, eat turkey and stuffing, and watch nine-to-ten hours of televised football. For my father, Thanksgiving is simply another opportunity to force his children to hike. First, it was only Dad's birthday that meant a mandatory forced march. Then he announced the first Father's Day hike a year later. Finally, just because he loves seeing his children sweating, complaining, and wearing dorkass fanny packs, Dad added the annual Thanksgiving Day hike. While the rest of the nation enjoys C-list celebrities and inflatable cartoon heroes at the Macy's Parade, the Keanes lace up their hiking boots and start complaining about leg cramps.

Everyone has tried to avoid the hikes at various times. Oversleeping, injuries, and suspicious "on-call" shifts have thinned the ranks of hikers in the past. I missed one birthday hike by going to the Winter Olympics. My little sister tried the dangerous gambit of Wednesday night binge drinking a few years ago. She got out of the hike, but also slept through most of the holiday and vomited before dinner. My new brother-in-law is a habitual non-hiker, because he only pretends to enjoy hiking so he can meet women.

Dad wanted to do a longer hike this year. We generally hike at Briones Park, along with our beloved dog Cassidy. Sadly, Cassidy passed away in May, so our little dog kennel would be empty on the way to our hike. We might have to carry someone for the last part of the hike, but it would be Dad and not the dog.

I guess that dead dog had been holding us back from our mountain-climbing destiny for years. Dad thought we'd pay tribute to our deceased pet by hiking somewhere new: "With Cassidy no longer with us (except in spirit, of course!), we are free to do Mt. Diablo State Park (where dogs are not allowed)."

We remember Cassidy by going somewhere that wouldn't allow her in. It's kind of like golfing at a whites-only country club in the South for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Later, we would feed turkey scraps to raccoons in our backyard, and let the neighbor's cat sleep in Cassidy's old bed, just to show how much we loved that old dog.

Dad's email went on to describe how easy this year's hike would be:

"Although MDIA includes this in its "Ten Demanding Hikes" section (as opposed to its other two sections, "Ten Moderate Hikes" and "Ten Easy Walks"), it isn't really that hard. It's only five miles round trip, and only steep for a fairly short period."

However, a website for Mount Diablo says it is "arguably the steepest trail in the park", with a climb of 2200 feet. Luckily, most of that climb occurred over one single arduous mile.

Man, did this hike suck. Our legs got cut up by branches, it was cold, I kept twisting my ankle, Kelly hurt her hip, Dad almost slipped and skidded into a ravine, and we were all extremely cold. Dad even neglected to bring his usual hiking bribes - slices of salami and animal cookies. Yes, even though we are all adults, my sisters and I are motivated by the same things as an elementary school soccer team.

We got to the car, shivering and barely able to stand. As we cranked the heater, I asked Kelly is this was indeed the worst Thanksgiving hike of all time. She said yes. And yet, we were already laughing about our misery, our sore feet, and Dad's silly floppy hat.

Perhaps this was Dad's plan all along. Some people dread the holidays because they worry about spending time with relatives. We only fear mountains, loose rocks, and a shortage of snacks. Some siblings fight with each other at family reunions, but my sisters and I bond every time, united against our father and his insane devotion to the outdoors. Maybe, just maybe, uniting against both nature and your parents is the true meaning of Thanksgiving after all.

The following is an impromptu monologue delivered by a man sitting behind me on the #15 MUNI bus:

"Those white stars? That's for white power. The red stripes, that's the blood of the slave labor that fuels the power. Flags means something, man. You can learn a lot from symbols. Like chess. If I can come in there, take the king off the board, that's meaningful. It means I can dominate the woman. I can take control of the children. That's how it's gotta be. You gotta get a piece of that pie. You know what I'm saying? That's how Saddam Hussein got to how he was."

Stranger Than Fiction basically sucks. It's like a hybrid of The Truman Show and Adaptation, only written by someone dumber and less creative. To its credit, the film does not star Nicolas Cage. I saw it with Louise, just after seeing For Your Consideration. After thirty minutes, we would have asked for our money back, except we snuck in for free.

Here's the plot: Will Ferrell starts hearing a disembodied voice narrating his activities, and quickly learns that he's a character in Emma Thompson's novel. No one thinks this is all that weird. No one notices when he starts yelling at the narrator from a bus stop. When he visits a psychiatrist who diagnoses him with schizophrenia, she cheerfully refers him to a professor of literature, played by wacky Dustin Hoffman.

Emma Thompson spends the film smoking cigarettes, wackily spitting into a Kleenex, and trying to finish her novel. Queen Latifah is her assistant, hired to ensure that she delivers her manuscript on time. Latifah doesn't do anything that we see to make that happen, besides lay out some index cards and give Emma Thompson informational packets about nicotine gum. Emma Thompson is obsessed with death, and it is not presented in a subtle way.

One problem with the movie is that our hero is basically a robot. Will Ferrell doesn't have any interests, or friends, or hobbies, or free will. He's basically a robot, albeit a robot who sometimes pees into a plastic bottle, based on a questionable interpretation of Dustin Hoffman's advice.

He also falls in love with Maggie Gyllenhaal, who plays a wacky baker. Their big romantic breakthrough is based on two absurd premises:

1. Maggie dropped out of Harvard Law School to become an anarchist baker, because she used to make cookies for study sessions, and everyone really loved them.
2. Will Ferrell has never eaten a homemade cookie.

At first, I thought, "Of course he hasn't eaten a homemade cookie - he's only a fictional character!" Would this be a comment on his unsettled fictional past? Would he realize that his own personal history was dependent solely on an author's whim? Nope. It turns out that Will Ferrell's mom only ever bought store-bought cookies. What a scene!

Will Emma Thompson kill her fictional character, who's actually sort of a real person, but maybe still fictional? Will Queen Latifah get her to finish the book on time on with her tough-talking no-nonsense ways? Will Maggie Gyllenhaal fall in love with Ferrell, even though he's an IRS agent who's auditing her? Will Dustin Hoffman take his shirt off for no reason? Will two completely random characters show up for the film's conclusion and still end up in the final montage? Will Louise complain about Maggie Gyllenhaal's poor acting and flirtatious, inappropriately-sexual anarchist-baking style? You'd have to go see the movie to find out, but you really shouldn't see it, so I'll answer those questions after the jump:

I saw the new Christopher Guest movie, For Your Consideration, and it wasn't bad. It's still a Christopher Guest movie, which goes a long way, but it wasn't in the same class as Best in Show or Waiting for Guffman. There are simply too many characters. There are five actors in the fake movie, plus the director, crew members, a PR guy, the producer, the producer's boyfriend/assistant, two executive producers, two writers, an agent, two TV entertainment magazine hosts, and Ed Begley, Jr. as a gay makeup artist. It's not surprising that the plot feels unfocused, and nothing really happens. I feel that funny names, crazy wigs, and elaborate makeup are a signal that the underlying comedic material just isn't that strong.

One of the strengths of Guffman and Best in Show is that the filmmakers have real affection for these characters. Their activities may be somewhat laughable, and their ambitions hopelessly deluded, but they have nice relationships with one another. This film is more mean-spirited, and there's no redeeming moments for the failing characters.

I think the main problems with the last two Guest films is the excessive number of characters, coupled with diminished parts for Christopher Guest himself. Christopher Guest is a great improviser, yet he gets fewer and fewer lines every movie. It's like having Michael Jordan on your basketball team, and nonetheless instituting the Hickory High four-passes-before-you-shoot rule. Here, Ed Begley, Jr. has as many lines as Guest, though Guest has a much funnier wig. Stop running the picket fence with Ricky Gervais and Harry Shearer and give Christopher Guest the damn ball!

(In Flashbacks, we revisit old unrealized comedic material unearthed from old notebooks and post-it notes. Flashbacks are oldies that never had a chance to become goodies.)

Flashback #1

Flashback #2

Flashback #3

Overheard in Berkeley - March 2005

1. At Cheese & Stuff

"'Wassup, wassup.' Pfft. 'Wassup wassup.' What kind of music is this for a store? Rap? Rrrap? I don't like this 'wassup' business? Pffft."
- Middle-aged woman behind the counter (not in a small town)

2. At the Berkeley College Republicans table

"Look, I'm an easygoing guy. but when you start taking my money? That's when I start naming names."
- Republican douchebag (possibly facing a blacklist?)

3. At the juice-and-snacks recuperation area of a blood drive

"I had to take American Sign Language at a community college for my foreign language requirement."
"Do you remember any of it?"
"A little."
"Like, the alphabet?"
"I fucking hate the alphabet!"

- Two guys devouring single-serving packages of Cheez-its after donating blood

I work for a non-profit that provides attorneys for convicted felons on their appeals. Sometimes I get questions about my work, generally about the ethics of helping to defend people that are often really really guilty. I usually say something about the imbalance of power involved in the criminal justice system, and my feeling that everyone is entitled to decent legal representation. Certain attorneys in our office would probably give a better explanation, but also use the words "draconian" and "paramilitary".

In general, I think that there are a lot of people screwed over by the way our country deals with crime. The combination of minimum sentencing guidelines and California's "Three strikes" law means that our office sees many people serving sentences of more than a decade for crimes like drug possession, auto burglary, or in one case, the alleged theft of a carpenter's pencil (no joke!). Prosecutors and judges alike are under pressure to push for high conviction rates, and the longest possible sentences for those same convictions. Every two years or so, Californians vote to punish sex offenders more heavily, tighten their restrictions on residency, or track them from outer space. Some would argue that people simply have a thirst for vengeance and punishment.

In addition, police officers seem to enjoy harassing people and beating them up, even after they've been restrained. People don't seem to mind when bad people get beaten up during an arrest. Abuses from guards, even those against teenagers, are greeted with yawns. Sexual assaults in prison are treated as a joke - "don't drop the soap, buddy!"

So it will be interesting to see the reaction to this arrest by the UCLA police department. (Warning: Disturbing video.)

The student was at the library after 11 PM, without his ID card. Because he failed to leave the library in a timely fashion, police officers stunned him with a Taser at least four times. It's not that he refused to leave; it's that he didn't do it fast enough. Even when the student was handcuffed, officers stunned him, purportedly because he didn't get to his feet quickly enough. Clearly, he was defying their police authority and not simply, you know, stunned from the multiple Taser shots. An officer also threatened to use his Taser on a student who asked for his badge number. I'm sure it was not at all a factor in the police response, but for the record, the student was not Caucasian.

Assistant Chief of Police Jeff Young claims that the police response was appropriate, since beating the student with batons would have been worse. Why were cops patrolling the library in the first place? "Because of the safety of the students."

If the police hadn't been there, who knows what could have happened? An armed gang could invade the library, wearing matching colors and body armor, and use their stun guns on students with impunity. This gang would answer to no authority, call each other by code names indicating their rank in the gang, and carry firearms. Thank God for the UCPD.

Predictably, there is a huge outcry about this at UCLA, and with good reason. It was disgusting, and I hope a lot of people are going to get fired and/or sued. Still, I wonder what happens in all those arrests where there isn't a video camera present. I'm also curious what the reaction would have been like if this had been a "bad" person on the receiving end of the stun gun.

CYA counselors deal with a young charge who refuses to leave his cell in a timely fashion

So much time, so little hype! Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it. There's two big Sean Keane shows coming up, both at the San Francisco Comedy Club. On Friday, November 17th, I'll be performing as part of the showcase, with the very funny Rob F. Martinez headlining. Essentially, I'll be Rob's set-up man - the Mike Stanton to his Mariano Rivera, the Mike Teevee to his Charlie Bucket. The show starts at 8, costs $10, and is funnier if you're drinking. Fizzy Lifting drink is not going to cut it, and your constant burping will be annoying. Maybe if they hadn't installed the enormous ceiling fan it would be different, but right now, you might as well suck it up and have a beer.

On Saturday, November 25th, I will be headlining at the very same SF Comedy Club. If you're in the Bay Area for Thanksgiving, either because your family lives here, or your family lives far away and they don't love you, do check out the show. The only thing I ask is that you not disclose my punchlines to the dastardly and mysterious Mr. Slugworth. He wants to ruin me and sell my jokes to Cobb's Comedy Club, so avoid this man!

Both shows begin at 8 PM and cost $10 or one golden ticket. The San Francisco Comedy Club is located at 50 Mason Street in San Francisco, near the Powell Street MUNI/BART station at the edge of the Tenderloin. The neighborhood is full of Wangdoodles and Hornswogglers and Snozzwangers and rotten Vermicious Knids, but it's well worth the journey.

I never watched 60 Minutes with any regularity, but I was always a fan of correspondent Ed Bradley, who died today at age 65. I met him once, when 60 Minutes was filming a story on the Berkeley campus about campus pariah David Cash. Docta V and I happened upon a round table discussion between outraged students and Cash, taking place at the Campanile, and moderated by Big Ed.

I was interested, because it was 60 Minutes, and also because I had been exchanging anonymous emails with David Cash, pretending to have sympathy for his plight in order to trigger some hypothetical future prank against him. Hypothetical pranks took up a lot of my attention at age 19. An assistant was keeping passerby from walking through the shot, but didn't seem to mind our standing in the back. In the television broadcast, his mom claimed she could see the Docta's red fedora in the background.

After the interview had finished taping, we went up to say hi. David Cash bailed, probably afraid of further harassment. Mr. Bradley was very gracious, shaking our hands and autographing a promotional rubber ball the Docta had picked up at a job fair on the way over. We really wanted to have him write, "Was he...aroused?", a Bradley quote from his legendary interview with Clinton accuser Kathleen Willey. It would be a much better story if we had.

We decided not to push it, requesting instead that he write, "60 Minutes Rules!" Showing the intelligence and poise that epitomized his journalistic career, Ed Bradley improvised another tagline, "Keep on ticking!"

60 Minutes is the Cocoon of television newsmagazine shows. If Mike Wallace and Andy Rooney are any indication, Bradley should have had at least another decade left. Ed Bradley was a nice guy, and it's a shame he couldn't keep ticking a little longer.

Watching the 49ers this year has been a painful exercise at times. They're 2-5, and have been throughly routed in four of those losses. When the 49ers play San Diego or Chicago, it doesn't even seem like the teams are in the same league. San Diego scored 35 points at halftime, and Chicago was up 41-0 after two quarters. There also doesn't seem like a lot of animosity in these games. Both teams will be playing hard, but there haven't been a lot of personal fouls or trash-talking showdowns.

That's because the 49ers are the Little Brother of the NFL. Games look closer than they should because other teams shut down their offenses after halftime, so as not to rub it in. Every game is either a miraculous, inspirational victory over a bad team, or an out-and-out ass whipping from any average or better opponent. In the San Diego game, a scrappy 49ers defensive end forced his way to the quarterback and sacked him for a safety. After the San Diego free kick, the 49ers fumbled on the next play. By the second half, San Diego was running on nearly every play to run out the clock, the football equivalent of putting a hand on the 49ers' forehead, while the 49ers fumed and punched the air.

Being a 49ers fan is kind of like following your little brother's football team. They have the worst TV announcers every week, since the good announcers work on the big kids' games. Fans are amazingly supportive, cheering loudly even when the team is down 25 points in the third quarter. Only at 49er games will you hear fans say, "It's still a four-possession game." Even when the team gets killed, game stories praise the team's spirit, and focuses on where they might have made improvements. Much like kids being dragged by their parents to their little brother's game, TV viewers have no choice but to watch the 49ers each week.

The 49ers are not very good at football, but they sometimes to do cute things that are tangentially related to football. Against the Chargers, they ran a reverse in the fourth quarter, trailing by 22. The ball carrier fumbled. They've got a bunch of former college quarterbacks playing wide receiver and running back. Maybe they aren't good at the new positions yet, but those guys are heroes for trying.

It's also possible that the 49ers are not the NFL's Little brother, but the NFL's Li'l Brudder, a football team like a three-legged dog. Alex Smith has got the heart of a champion. What am I doing with my life? I'm thinking of getting into male modeling.

"I'm gonna be a quarterback when I grow up. I'm gonna throw for 2000 yards."

Here's a feature on the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble done by an up-and-coming Bay Area filmmaker currently working at the New York Times. Enjoy the hell out of this short, because it's good, and this stuff isn't gonna be free forever. The internet is a fad! You hear me?

The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble is going to Germany soon, so catch them in New York while you can.

Gunshots rang out at 10:40 PM last night on Market Street. Less than fifteen minutes later, a guy walked by with a fake bullet wound on his neck and declared he was a "Castro Shooting Victim". Someone booed. "Too soon?" he asked.

A few minutes after that, a girl walked by wearing a short skirt and a bandage on her head. "Naughty Castro Shooting Victim" went over much better with the crowd.