The Tiny T. Rex of Comedy

I get a lot of e-mails from comedians who want to perform on the UCBT stage.

Werner Koczwara is one of those comedians.

As you may be able to tell from the tiny words in the pic above - Werner is a comedian specializing in "schnell, frech, intelligent und garantiert rabenschwarz," which - honestly - is something we've been lacking at UCBT.

Color me intrigued! And imagine my excitment as I read the e-mail Werner sent detailing what he'd like to do at UCBT.

Hallo,

I am a German comedian and have a rather unusual question:

Would your theatre be interested in performing German comedy? First of all: there is a German humor. It really exists. What I am doing is a kind of humor which I think will also work in the US, especially in NY. It’s German law-humor.

Holy Rabenschwarz! Werner doesn't just want to do German humor! He wants to do German LAW-humor!

And I know what you're thinking. "Is Werner saying he tells lawyer jokes?"
NO! Werner is saying he tells GERMAN lawyer jokes.

Werner continues:

I would like to bring to the NY-audience the most fascinating aspects on German law. In english, off course. And presented with a very black humor. My kind of comedy isn’t hard to describe, it’s some kind of Woody Allen talking about German law (please don‘t tell this to Woody Allen).

Honestly I was five digits into Woody's phone number before that parenthetical stopped me in my tracks. Touche, Werner Koczwara.

But I know what you're thinking. "Didn't Werner say his comedy was not hard to describe and then subsequently describe it in the bizarrest way possible?"

NO! Werner is not saying he's like Woody Allen. He is like "some kind of Woody Allen."

Which kind? The kind that talks about German law (i.e. your favorite kind).

More:

My fridge is full and my chimney smokes, so there’s no need for me to earn a fortune in NY, I would just be interested in performing in the US.

Let me know your opinion!

Sincerly,
Werner Koczwara

Of course, some things get lost in the translation. If you're not sure what Werner is talking about here, I'll tell you - "Let me know your opinion!" is roughly the German equivalent to the English "Git-R-Dun!"

Werner's hilarious impression of the Strafgesetzbuch

May-Tags

One of the weirder things we saw in the French Quarter when we were down in N.O. last weekend was a huge number of refrigerators sitting on street corners and sidewalks and other public and paved areas.

Apparently everyone in the city had to throw out their refrigerators because of some kind of vicious mold that built up when the city was evacuated.

But the fridges didn't just sit on the street corners. They spoke to us.

Some felt like they knew us:

Some were more concerned with themselves:

And some just wanted to stir up trouble:

Others were like crazy, murmmering homeless guys:

Or bitter and sarcastic:

But I think the most poignant were the ones that spoke to the shared experiences of love and loss:

May I Help You Carry Your Bucket?

Ghost Town

The Sun Goes Down In The South

Kate and I had planned to go to New Orleans in October, you know, before the city got destroyed. So after a little debating (“Too soon?”) we took the trip this weekend with the idea that we could bring some of our measly tourist dollars to the Crescent City and help jumpstart, if nothing else, its alcohol sales.

We weren’t sure what we’d find, but all reports were that the French Quarter was spared the flooding and was pretty much open for business. I’ve been to New Orleans twice and never really left the French Quarter (except to ride the streetcar and go to the zoo) so I figured we’d at least be able to eat a beignet at Cafe Du Monde, get a muffaletta from Central Grocery, drink some hurricanes at Pat O’Briens, and stagger drunkenly down Bourbon Street (you know – like the locals do).

Me Drinkum Fire Water

Truth is, the French Quarter is only partially open for business. While those major touristy institutions are open (with limited hours), they’re mostly empty. A lot of the Quarter’s shops and restaurants are still closed with hopeful hand-painted signs in the windows that say, “We’ll be back!” or “The tradition will continue!” Jackson Square is also deserted. In earlier trips to N.O., I remember jazz musicians, fortune tellers, panhandlers, and crazy unicyclists all performing in front of the church there. It’s quiet now. The crazy unicyclists ride no longer.

We ate lunch at a cheap and delicious restaurant on Decatur St. called Cafe Maspero, and a guy who I think might have been the owner started chatting with us. He told us business was slowly picking back up, but that his restaurant wasn’t at full-staff yet, so they couldn’t really handle a big crowd anyway.

And that seems to be the real problem in New Orleans. Any business that is open has a “Help Wanted” sign in the window, because while the Quarter itself wasn’t badly damaged during Katrina, its employees mostly lived in the Ninth Ward and other areas that were flooded. That’s where the jazz musicians and fortune tellers lived too. Those people are gone and the big worry is that a lot of them may not come back.

Of course it’s still New Orleans, so while its a smaller party than usual, it’s still a party. Every crappy T-shirt store on Bourbon Street has brand new T-shirts that say stuff like “Katrina Gave Me A Blowjob I’ll Never Forget” or “Girls Gone Wild” with pics of Katrina and Wilma where the tits should be.

100% Angry Cotton

At night there’s music and drinking and a few people throwing beads off of balconies. And it’s still the kind of town where you can get totally trashed on hurricanes, wake up in your bed covered in Zapps potato chips, and honestly say, “The last thing I remember is hugging a horse.”

Yeah...Friday night I drank three hurricanes and hugged a police horse...for a long time. A hurricane is 4 oz. of hurricane mix and 4 oz. of rum - which is...ridiculous, so after three of them, I hugged it out equine-style for about fifteen minutes until a cop came out of a bar and yelled at us to leave his horse alone. That’s the last thing I remember (though the photographic and physical evidence suggests I also hugged a refrigerator and somehow acquired a turkey sandwich).

Level 5 Hug

Saturday night we got drunk at Fritzel’s European Style Jazz Club and jammed out to some traditional Nawlins Jazz while watching a creepy, mustachioed dude who looked like a cross between Carson Cressley and Richard E. Grant pick-up and leave with two pseudo-hotties in less than ten minutes (“You girls like blow?”).

Then, Sunday night – we drank more hurricanes and watched two Italian dudes who were so drunk they kept knocking over their drinks as fast as they could order them (which they thought was HILARIOUS).

I guess what I’m saying is – go to New Orleans. The locals we talked to during our trip all seemed resigned to the situation and anxious for things to get back to normal. Trouble is – for New Orleans to get back to normal, they need a lot of people from the rest of the country to come there and act anything but.

Show Me Your Tits?

Basis Wanted

My friend Porter is an illustrator and comicstrip writer. He has a comic strip called:

This week we were chatting and he oh so casually mentioned that one of the characters in the strip has my name.

It's true! There's a page on his site titled, "Strips with Anthony King, the music agent."

Pretty sweet. Mostly because, by all accounts, I have now "made it." The money and fame should come rolling my way any day now.

Here are the two strips that feature me (or rather Anthony King, the music agent).

THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX

Crippling Awkwardness

A few weeks ago, I went to see a play in a really tiny theatre space in midtown. As I climbed the stairs and entered the theatre, I saw that sitting on the other side of the theatre, there was a quadraplegic.

He was sitting in an elaborate wheelchair and and as I passed by him, we locked eyes and he said, "Hey!"

I nodded and realized - "Oh shit! I know that guy!"

I had no idea how I knew him, but I knew for sure that when I did know him he was definitely not a quadraplegic.

So after the show, I was talking to the director and he said, "Did you say 'Hi' to Winkie Donahue?" and he pointed to the quadraplegic. (The guy's name is not really "Winkie Donahue," but I don't want the actual guy to google the word "quadraplegic" and find this).

Ends up, the quadraplegic was a guy I used to know when I worked at Manhattan Theatre Club. Two years ago he was walking down the sidewalk, slipped on some ice, fell, and was instantly paralyzed from the neck down. Which is...ridiculously scary.

Anyway, I found myself not knowing how to handle it. Should I talk to Winkie? Should I not talk to Winkie? What am I supposed to say to him? It's not like I can say, "Hey, how's it goin'?" The last time I saw him he was not a quadraplegic and now he is a quadraplegic, so obviously it's not going very well.

And should I even acknowledge that he's in a wheelchair? The accident happened TWO YEARS AGO, so it's a little weird to say, "Whoa there Winkie! What happened to you!?"

Just then, Winkie blew in his tube and started rolling my way. He was looking right at me and was obviously coming over to talk to me. So...I left. I pretended to be completely oblivious and I walked out of the theatre.

Later I tried to justify it to myself:
"I mean, I was never really friends with Winkie. If he wasn't paralyzed, I probably wouldn't have talked to him at all. So really, I'm being an asshole if I DO talk to him. It's pity small-talk."

Right?

Truth is, I got totally freaked out and I ran away. I must have made Winkie feel like total shit. And I definitely made myself look like a jerk.

If I had it to do over again, I would totally just walk over to him and say, "What up, Wheels?! Did you hate that play as much as I did? Awesome. I'm outta here."

And then I would run away.