jazz comedian - david zasloff - Writings

Why No One Lives In The Moment

Sun, 11 Jul 2010 00:00:00 -0700

Why No One Lives In The Moment

People who say they live in the moment

Are full of shit.

As soon as you say you’re in the moment

You’re out of the moment.

You can’t say you’re in the moment and be in the moment

In the same moment.

And the guys who wrote the books about living in the moment

They were stoned.

I’ve been in that moment.

The stoned moment is not the same as the unstoned moment.

The stoned moment is way longer.

You know who lives in the moment?

Birds.

They sing when they feel like it.

They fly when they want.

They shit when they need to.

They don’t hold in anything.

The world is their toilet.

They’re living in the moment.

Horses too.

They live in the moment.

They shit whenever they want.

Right in the middle of a parade,

While people are looking,

Maybe even other horses they might wanna fuck are watching.

They don’t care.

They don’t even know someone’s been hired

To clean up their shit.

The world is their toilet.

They’re living in the moment.

But as soon as a person needs to shit

The first thing they do is start thinking.

“Oh shit! I gotta shit.”

As soon as you’re thinking about shitting and not shitting,

You’re out of the moment.

You’re up shits creek.

Then the next thought is, “Where can I shit?

Now you’re worried about finding a toilet.

And not just any toilet but a clean one.

Which takes you more out of the moment.

No one lives in the moment.

Not even Ekart Tolle.

The guy who wrote “The Power of Now.”

He holds in his shit.

He’s not in the moment.

People who have a lot of money

Can create the illusion they live in the moment

Because they have greater access to toilets.

If you wanna live in the moment, wear diapers.

Fri, 16 Dec 2005 00:00:00 -0800

Jogging In Burbank

I just moved to a nice house in Burbank. Never knew Burbank was so peaceful. I like peace, it’s quiet. One day I looked at the mountains East of Burbank and saw lots of trails going to the top and I thought, “Hey, great place to jog.” The next day I drove to the bottom of the mountain and found a trail. At the beginning of the trail there was a sign with a picture of a mountain lion and the words read something like, “Watch out, there are lions in the hills. They’re rare but they’re there. Don’t hike alone. They don’t often attack people. They’re a natural part of the ecosystem and they are predators.” In other words the sign said, “If you get attacked by a lion there’s no one you can sue. If you get chewed up, eaten or even scratched by a mountain lion, we told you so. Good luck. Have a nice hike. If you die it’s not our fault. You been warned.”

Then I remembered I’d heard of people been attacked, bitten, ripped open, killed and eaten by mountain lions while jogging in California. But I couldn’t remember if this was the mountain where it happened. Didn’t matter, the sign had already done it’s damage. I couldn’t get mountain lions off my mind. I walked about twenty feet when I met a woman coming down by herself. As we passed each other I said hello and jokingly asked, “Seen any mountain lions?” She said, “No.” Then she opened her hand and handed me two rocks she was carrying to use as noise makers to let the lions know she was there. She did not want to surprise a lion for surely then they would attack her, rip her open and eat her. She said, “Here, you can have my stones.” I took them. She was serious. As she went downhill to safety, I went uphill into danger thinking, “She’s got guts. If she can do it I can do it.” There I was hiking alone, like the sign said don’t do, banging the stones hard enough to make them crumble. Then I had to bend over and pick up new stones when I remembered reading mountain lions attack best when their prey is leaning over making them more vulnerable than when standing. So I picked up stones real fast. Every step I took I was looking for lions. I looked behind every bush. I was constantly scanning the hillside for movement of any type. The whole trip my mind was on lions. I was so obsessed with lions I got worried I could manifest a lion. I could make a lion appear when there really wasn’t one there. Every now and then I’d turn around fast to see if a lion was hunting me. I’ve heard lions attack from behind and make very little noise. So I kept turning around to show the lion I knew what he was up to. I was ready with my rocks. I was prepared. I was gonna throw rocks at him. Wasn’t he gonna be surprised when the animal he was attacking, the animal he thought was easy prey was fighting back. I wasn’t gonna be no easy meal. I thought about his claws, and how sharp they were, how it would hurt when he ripped my skin. The lion is wild. When he fights he has no fear, no reservations, My death was his life. I better be ready for that kind of struggle. He wasn’t gonna hold back anything, or wait until tomorrow to see how things work out. He was hungry now.

I kept on hiking higher and higher, further away from the parking lot. The further away I was I knew it was gonna be harder for people to hear my screams, my yelling for help. At some point I realized I’d gone beyond the point of no return. There I was, by myself. Me and the lion. I couldn’t expect any help. Whatever happens, happens. That’s it. After a long hike I got to the top of the mountain thinking, “I made it. No lion yet.” But I still had to go downhill. For some reason I didn’t think my chances of being attacked while going downhill, out of his territory, were as great as getting attacked while going uphill into his territory. I don’t know where that logic came from. As if the lion cared where he ate me.

On the way down I was thinking, “I’d like to do this hike again.
But I run the risk of being attacked, this is lion country, the government made it clear they’re not liable. What can I do? So I said, “o.k. the next time I go jogging in Burbank I’m bringing a gun. Just to even the odds. I don’t wanna kill no mountain lion. I love cats. Mountain lions are rare. But if it’s a choice between my life or his, I’m living. Maybe I can wave the gun at him, scare him away, shoot the gun in the air, frighten him off. I’d feel safer with a gun than I did banging stones together.”

I got to the end of the trail, obviously nothing happened. Never saw a lion, never even heard a noise in the brush. Walking to my car in the parking lot I said, “Look at me, I did it. I didn’t get eaten today.” I felt like a tough guy. I was proud of myself. And welcome to Burbank.

Thu, 23 Jun 2005 00:00:00 -0700

The Birth And Death Of A Joke

I’ve been doing comedy for 25 years. My first attempts at being funny didn’t work because I was always stoned. I had funny thoughts I thought would make people laugh, but because I was always stoned I didn’t spend any time trying to figure out how to communicate them. I knew I loved being onstage. I did everything I could to get there, but once I got there, I had nothing to say.

One night I was onstage loaded on cocaine. My brain was exploding with anxiety, made the whole scene way more dramatic than it was. I looked at the audience, there wasn’t many of’em, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was, I was onstage. I looked and acted like a comic, but had no jokes. I looked at the audience again and realized that they were expecting me to make them laugh. I thought that was funny, so funny it made me laugh. I couldn’t believe they were waiting for me to make them laugh. How ordinary of them. I started laughing harder. As soon as I heard myself laughing, I realized I was in a funny situation. Being aware the situation was funny made the situation funnier. I started laughing harder. The audience had no idea why I was laughing. It didn’t matter. They could tell my laughter was genuine and genuine laughter is contagious, so they started laughing. Which made me laugh even harder. Pretty soon the whole room was cracking up, people laughing at each other laughing. I don’t know what they were laughing at, but I was laughing at the fact that they thought I was supposed to make them laugh. Which is, without knowing it, exactly what I did. I just did it in a way no one, not even me expected. It was one of the funniest nights of my comedy life.

Another night, at the beginning of my career when I had no jokes, just as I was about to go onstage, a great comedic concept popped into my brain. I was gonna get onstage, act like a monkey in a hotel lobby, standing in front of a vending machine with a coin, trying to buy a candy bar. I thought imitating an ape in a hotel lobby would remind people we’re all just animals in drag. Truth is, no matter how sophisticated we appear, and no matter what the church says, we’re monkeys. When we deny our animal needs we suffer, and suffering makes for great comedy. I think as monkeys we do some pretty incredible things. As people I’m not very impressed. But as monkeys we’re fantastically advanced.

So without saying a word, I went onstage, faced the audience and imagined that a vending machine was between me and them, so that they were facing the back of the vending machine. Of course they couldn’t see a vending machine because I never told’em it was there. I thought for sure they’d figure it out. I started jumping up and down like a happy chimpanzee. I let my arms swing the way monkeys do. I walked around the stage like a caged gorilla. I made gorilla faces and acted like King Kong. I thought they’d get my ape impression right away and laugh at the similarities between monkeys and people. I could hear no one was laughing. I could see they looked confused. I think they got the ape impression, but they missed the concept. Some people in the audience stopped trying to figure out what I was doing and started ignoring me. I freaked out. Pretty soon the whole room ignored me. After a few minutes of unbearable rejection, I tried to figure a way to get off stage without being noticed. When I ended my act there wasn’t even a polite applause. Not one hand clapping. No recognition that I was even there, which is worse than being there. As I got offstage, I saw other comics in the back of the room waiting to go on. I knew all of them. Not one of them came over, as is customary when you get offstage, to shake my hand, fearing the audience might see them shaking my hand and think that if they knew me, then they must not be funny. No one even said to me, “you sucked.” That’s called bombing. Comedy is not as easy as it looks.

Thu, 09 Jun 2005 00:00:00 -0700

Women’s Prison Gig

A friend called and said, “You want a gig?” I said, “Yeah” She says, “It’s a woman’s prison.” I said, “O.K.” She says “Pays $175.00” I said, “Terrific.” That’s was $150.00 more than I usually made. I was happy. There were three comics in the show.

Then I started thinking, “What am I gonna say to 300 female inmates? These women robbed banks and killed their boyfriends. So whatever I say has to be bigger than murder.”

The more I thought about the gig the more doubt started creeping in. I can’t relate to these women. I have no idea what it’s like to be in prison. I’ve never been in prison. I don’t know any women who’ve been in prison. I knew some women who should’ve been in prison. I dated them.

Plus I was told my act had to be clean, no cursing. How do you talk to a prisoner without saying “Fuck.” Prisoners say “Fuck” all the time. They’re gonna expect me to say “Fuck. If I don’t say “Fuck” they’re gonna think I’m weak. Fuck!

A few weeks before the gig I had to submit my name, social security number, birth date and drivers license number to the prison system so they could check to see if I was a criminal. If I was on a wanted list then I couldn’t get into the prison. My record was clean so a week later I got clearance to get into prison.

We were told we couldn’t wear jeans in prison because inmates wear denim and if there’s a riot the guards might not be able to tell the difference between a comic and a prisoner. A comic mistaken for a prisoner would have a hard time getting out. O.K. I’m wearing slacks.

The day of the gig we get to the prison, and we had to wait. We’re not told why. Prisons exist in their own time zone. You do things according to the warden’s watch. Part of the waiting was because they had to check and make sure they checked to make sure we weren’t criminals.

After two hours they let us in. I hear the clang of the iron doors. Boy those doors, when they close, make a loud noise. As soon as I walked into the prison it felt cold. The prison is all concrete and steel. Nothing frivolous like a plant. No sign of life. No art. It’s built so when it needs to be cleaned you just hose it down. There’s nothing to ruin. It’s a zoo for people.

We’re escorted to the prison auditorium. A big room with nothing in it. I go backstage and find myself in a small room with one of the prisoners who’s helping run the show. After an awkward few moments with a female con we started talking. She tells me she was convicted for killing her boyfriend. She tells me she didn’t do it. I believe her. She seems nice. I feel sorry for her stuck in prison for life for something she didn’t do. Afterwards I tell the guard I didn’t think she killed her boyfriend because she told me she didn’t. The guard tells me they all say they didn’t do it. I never thought of that. I still think she didn’t do it and the guard is a cynic. I could tell from the tone in her voice she was innocent and if I was the judge she’d be free.

From backstage I hear the prisoners coming into the auditorium. It’s almost show time. I’m still wondering what the fuck I’m gonna say. One thing I know I’m not saying is “Fuck.” Then I hear the host of the show introduce me. I start walking to the stage. As soon as I step out from behind the curtain and the prisoners see me, they start whistling. They haven’t seen a guy in a while. When I get to the microphone, they’re still whistling. A room full of three hundred woman all wearing the same clothes, which looks odd, and they’re all whistling which makes a loud noise. They’re whistling so much there’s no chance for me to say anything. They’re having fun. And there’s nothing I can say to stop’em from whistling. So I just look at’em. I see a few women I’d love to date. After ten minutes of whistling I figure the best thing for me to do is whistle back. So I whistle at’em. Which makes them whistle louder. Pretty soon I got a whistling conversation going on with 300 inmates. I start making gestures with my arms to go along with my whistling. Simple whistling talking stuff. Like, “How are you? How you been?” They whistle/gesture back. I don’t know what we’re saying but we’re all laughing. By now I only have a minute left of stage time and I haven’t said a word. Whatever I’d thought of saying never happened. The emcee gives me the signal my time is up. Before getting offstage I felt like I had to say something. The first thing that popped out of my mouth was, “Wish I could spend the night.” As soon as they heard that, the whistling got louder. A few of’em yelled out suggestions as to where I could sleep. I walked offstage to the loudest whistling applause I ever got. Was a great show. They were sweet people.

Wed, 25 May 2005 00:00:00 -0700

Credit Cards

I don’t use credit cards. They’re evil. I’ll tell you why. Let's say you buy something on your credit card, and you spend $300.00. Now you owe the bank $300.00. But when you think about it, this $300.00 is money nobody ever had. You didn’t have the money. The bank didn’t have the money. Nobody had the money. But then the bank takes the money nobody ever had, and calls it an "asset". Now it’s an asset, the bank can charge you interest on money nobody ever had. Then the bank takes the money nobody ever had and loans it to Mexico. Now Mexico has the money you never had. Well they don't have it either. But both you and Mexico are paying the bank interest on money nobody ever had. So the bank is making a lot of money off money nobody ever had. The only person with money is the guy who had the idea to give you money he didn't have. He’s livin' in a big house which he built with money nobody ever had. Eventually, you keep spending money nobody ever had, you go bankrupt. But once you go bankrupt, you only have to pay back part of the money nobody ever had. As soon as you pay back part of the money nobody ever had, the bank will give you more money nobody ever had. Because they want money you don't have.

Right now the amount of money nobody ever had is enormous. I’d bet all the money I don't have, there isn't enough printed money in the whole world to cover all the money nobody ever had.

Most of my money is money people have. That’s why I’m so broke. I’m trying to make more money people don't have. That’s where the big bucks are.

So if you buy my book, please, use your credit card. I’m trying to make more money people don’t have.