Well, I have another year of doing stand-up under my belt, and this year has been a thousand times more intense than my first one. I’m too deep into it to turn back, not that I wanted to, but I’m definitely past the point of no return. This is going to be my life, and I’m gonna make it work one way or the other. Between writing and stand-up, that’s how I’m going to make a living for the rest of my life. Now, if I can stop sounding like a douchebag, here are some of the highlights of my last 365 days as a comic:

--THE ANTHILL PUB – This has seriously been the single greatest thing I’ve done in comedy. To those of you reading this who attend Monday Night Comedy @ The Anthill Pub regularly, THANK YOU!!!!!! You have no idea how much it means to me. Any progress I’ve made as a comic comes back to the pub. I try out brand new shit for you guys every week, I get honest feedback, and I’m able to churn out new bits much faster as a result. I get to bring in my favorite comics every week, and share how hilarious they are with you guys. Two past headliners from the pub have taken me on the road with them for shows. This room is incredible, and its due to you guys coming each and every week, and being such a cool crowd that is ready to laugh and have a good time every Monday night. I cant thank you enough.

¬¬COMEDY JUICE - I have been lucky enough to be a regular performer on the Comedy Juice shows, hailed my Sirius Satellite Radio as “the best stand up show in the country.” They have weekly shows at the Irvine Improv, Hollywood Improv, and The Ice House in Pasadena. The amount of exposure I’ve gotten from being on those shows has been great, and just sharing the stage with the greats has done so much more me.

-- NEW YORK/DC – In this past year I was lucky enough to book a week of shows in Washington DC and NYC, the Mecca of stand-up. I got on stage at Caroline’s on Broadway, and it went really well. They asked me back to do a full weekend spot next time I’m out there! I got to see Dave Attell working new stuff at The Comedy Cellar, which was incredible. It’s a whole different style and life out there, and I loved it. I might live out there for a year or two in the future, just to soak up the stand-up scene.

-- OREGON W/ SADIKI FULLER – My first road trip where a headliner brought me along to feature for them, and it was amazing. Did 35 minute sets both nights, and it went really well. Then Sadiki and I partied with random Oregonians til like 5am both nights. I learned that when you’re outside of LA and tell people you’re a performer from LA, they think you’re a superstar.

-- OREGON/NOR CAL W/TOM CLARK – Been lucky enough to have Tom Clark take me on the road twice already, doing casinos in the middle of nowhere, colleges, and comedy clubs. He is an awesome guy and a hilarious comic. I learned a lot from these trips. We spent an insane amount of time in a rental car, and wrote some funny sketches and pedophile jokes.

I’m sure I forgot a lot of cool shit, if you remember any leave me a comment and remind me! Two years down, the rest of my life to go. Stay tuned.

--Robbie

I live in Santa Monica, CA, where there are as many hot chicks as there are homeless people. And the fucked up thing is that I check out both of them equally, but for very different reasons. Here is a “me checking out a bum” story from yesterday that I wanted to share with you all:

I love a few blocks away from the beach, so I run down there a lot. In order to get to the beach, you have to cross a bridge over PCH, then go down this spiral ramp to get down to beach level. The inside of this spiral ramp, right at the bottom, is a classic bum hangout—as its’ pretty much covered unless you’re looking down from the top of the spiral.

So, I’m looking down the spiral, and I see a bum—posted up on a camping chair, perusing through a magazine propped up on his leg. If it wasn’t for the stench, the dirt, and the orange vest thing he was wearing, he could have looked like some trendy LA guy reading US Weekly at The Coffee Bean. Maybe this was a classy guy. Maybe I’m a judgmental prick that assumes that a guy down on his luck is just a drunk or drug addict and couldn’t possible enjoy sitting back on a chair on a lovely afternoon and read a nice magazine. Who the hell do I think I am?

I jog down the spiral ramp, and now I’m right above him. I slow down and look down to see what he’s reading…. Can anyone guess? That’s right, a porno magazine. There were no words on the page I saw, it was a chick with a giant dick in her mouth. The best part is that he wasn’t like jerking off, or looking perverted with this thing—he was licking his fingers and turning the pages like it was The New Yorker. Classy guy, this man.

Now it’s about 30-45 minutes later, and I’m on the return leg of my run. I’m wondering if this guy is gonna be in a big old recliner, smoking a pipe, reading to a group of children or some shit. I’m excited to see how his day has progressed. I turn the corner, and I see… get this… TWO bums! He brought a friend, and now it’s a bum party. His friend is now “reading” the magazine, while our original protagonist is pouring a brown-bagged bottle of vodka into two ½ full bottles of orange soda. It’s a bum party! Which isn’t that different than a party that you or I go to: liquor, good friends, and women (or pictures of them). Hey, you gotta make do with what you got right? I was tempted to pull up a chair and join them, but even while all sweaty and gross from a hard workout, they said I smelled too good. I got kicked out of a bum party—what an ego killer.

--Robbie

I’ve been working out a lot recently, mainly due to making myself feel guilty with all the free time I’ve had during the day.  My new thing is every other day I lift weights at the gym, and the other days I run on the beach.  I live 9 blocks from the beach, and its just starting to get warm enough where hot chicks are coming to the beach again—my favorite time of year.  But I have a new pet peeve while checking out ladies at the beach:  hot chicks that run like morons.

It's 5:47 a.m. and I'm at the Reagan National Airport in Washington D.C. headed home after an awesome east coast trip. I spent the whole week in New York, and did 3 shows in 4 days. After hearing about the NY comedy scene for so long, and watching and reading about it for all these years, I gotta say it COMPLETELY lived up to the hype. It was my most amazing week as a stand-up comic, without a doubt. Stand-up is so pure out here, there's no bullshit—if you're funny and they'll let you know, and if you aren't funny they'll let you know. There are so many clubs, all of them get at least decent sized crowds for almost every show, and the crowd is full of people who are just fans of good comedy. Maybe this isn't coming out the way I'm thinking it, but sometimes in LA/Hollywood its more about looking/acting like a star and trying to get noticed and star in a movie tomorrow, but out here its simply about being funny.

Tuesday night I was at Caroline's on Broadway, in their new talent showcase. Caroline's is probably the most famous club in New York, right in the heart of Times Square, and I was just so excited to get on that stage and do my thing. I had a lot of friends and family in the area come to the show to see me, which was awesome. I was up 8th out of 10, a pretty good spot, and sat back and watched the others to get a feel for what the crowd was into. Most of the comics were at least pretty good, like any other show there were a million Palin/McCain/Obama jokes, some clever and some not so clever. I'm so tired of political humor, it's been beaten to death so hard lately that there just aren't any more ways to take the topic and use it without sounding like a hack. Anyway, I was lucky because they guy who went right before me was a pro, really went after the crowd and swore a lot and whatnot, but did it well, so the crowd was nice and loose at that point, and nothing I was gonna do was going to shock them after that. I had 7 min, and my set went great. At the risk of sounding like a douche, I had this moment when I first got on stage. I grabbed the mic and said "What's up, New York, how are you guys doin'?" and it was just the fucking coolest thing ever. It's been a year and a half, and I've done about 200 shows—written every single day, studied my favorites, hustled to get stage time, just doing everything in my power to turn this into a career. All of the sudden it hit me: I was on stage at Caroline's on Broadway in Times fucking Square in Ney York City, the stand-up Mecca. Of course, all of this happened in my head in about half a second, so I don't think the crowd noticed what a reminiscing toolbox I was. I had a great set! The crowd was with me from start to finish for the most part, and I ended on a high note and got out of there. I bought the ridiculously overpriced DVD of my set, because what the hell? It was a special occasion. Then I went out with my cousins and friends from home that now live out there, and got really drunk and had a blast.

Wednesday Night I did a set at Broadway Comedy Club. It's a smaller room, but it was a lot of fun. The place was packed, and the crowd was eager. My set went really well, I was having as much fun as they were, and just genuinely excited to be on stage in NY again. After that, I took a cab straight to the Comedy Cellar because I saw that Dave Attell was on the lineup for that night. Attell is the reason I got into comedy, and he is still my hero. I've seen him live a hundred times (slightly exaggerated) but I knew that the Comedy Cellar was his workout spot for all these years, and I wanted to see him working out new stuff. The entire lineup was great—the Cellar is probably the most famous workout spot for the biggest names in comedy and they did not disappoint. Jay Oakerson and Nick Griffin were great, and I can't remember the names of the other two or three but they were all total pros. But Attell had me rolling. He shows up in his huge winter jacket, black beanie, sipping hot tea while on stage. He could not have been more casual. "Halloween, or as the pedophiles call it… The Super Bowl." I was dying. What a fucking genius. Anyway, it was a great night, both as a performer and as a fan.

Took Thursday off from shows, and met up with a bunch of guys from my fraternity in college that live out here now. It was great. We got hammered all night, took us right back to college. It's rough when you get so drunk when its so damn cold outside, cuz you get cocky with your ability to tolerate the cold. It was an extremely chilly walk home—thank god I have numbed all my nerves with about a dozen pints of Brooklyn Lager.

Friday I did a show at Stand Up NY on the upper Westside. On the bill with me was an SNL writer, a guy who tours with Dave Attell across the country, and Godfrey. Quite the company for a small crowd. My set went great and I got a lot of great feedback from these comics that I have a ton of respect for. The general manager of the club told me I did great and to call him on Monday. Hope that means more NY gigs in the future!

Overall, I loved the city and I especially loved the stand up scene. It's amazing out there, and I definitely plan on living there at least for a year or two at some point in my life.

I've been in Washington DC since Thursday night. It's a really cool city, I'm enjoying it a lot. People overhyped how cold it was going to be—the gloves, scarves and sweaters my mom forced me to pack are still in my embarrassingly over-packed suitcase. I've learned very quickly just how much of a So Cal guy I am, that's for sure. Every sentence that comes out of my mouth, people here laugh because I say things like "dude" or "gnarly" about every 4th word. I think I've got a few of them saying "gnarly" now, so I'm trying to represent for us back home.

Friday night I got unbelievably wasted. Happy hour, drinks with dinner, and then out to this place called Rocket Bar in the DC Chinatown. The place was awesome, a huge bar with arcade games and whatnot—perfect balance of being an adult but still thinking like a kid, so I appreciated it. The people here are so different, but I love it. There isn't that pretentious vibe you get out in LA. No one is trying to be cool, or to impress anyone—they just are who they are and embrace it. Dorky guys have no problem acting like dorks, and ironically I think that makes them pretty fucking cool. Its nice to see how different people are, and it definitely makes you think about how fake things can get in the LA/Hollywood scene. Anyway, we're partying at this bar til like 3am, and somehow I end up in an apartment where I only knew like one person, and they start passing around a bong. I am drunk beyond belief, in no condition to be adding to my level of intoxication, but what the hell, right? I take one hit, and I immediately regret it. It was the strongest shit I've ever tried, I literally felt it taking over my body limb by limb. I tried to keep my cool, but ended up passing out on someone's bed for like 15 min (but felt like 15 hours), and then had to get back to my friend's place, who was just as wasted as I was. I popped out of bed, had no idea where I was, and just ran out the door. I knew what address I had to get to, but no clue which direction it was. Did I mention it was pouring rain? I spent about 30 minutes running drunk in the rain by myself in Washington DC trying to find my way home. It's a creepy feeling when you're that wasted and no one is around… I felt like Will Smith in I Am Legend, if he was a borderline alcoholic. It was a trip, but I finally made it back.

I had to make a quick recovery because last night I had my first East Coast show at the Hyatt in Bethesda, MD. I had no clue who the other comics were, what to expect, or if this was gonna be a show with like 10 old people in the crowd. It ended up being AWESOME, I had a killer set, and found out that they like smoking weed and ordering Domino's Pizza in Maryland too! It was a really great experience to finally do some shows outside of Southern California. People dress so conservatively out here. I was told I wouldn't be allowed on stage if I didn't have a button up shirt and slacks. It's a weird feeling doing jokes about masturbation and having sex with a girl who was too lazy to move in bed while dressed up so nicely, but oh well that's what they wanted! Then we got drunk til like 6am after the show… sense a theme in this trip yet?

Took it easy today, getting some writing done. I went for a run, and ran past the Washington and Jefferson monuments—pretty cool stuff. They have all these quotes carved in to the monuments that are really inspiring. These dudes were brilliant. Then I went home and wrote a new boner joke.

Leaving for New York tomorrow! Hope to see some of you at Caroline's on Tuesday!

--Robbie

So, I'm a white guy that enjoys a little rap music… I don't see the harm in it right? I like rap because it's entertaining, I don't take it too seriously, and I can nod my head to some hilariously chauvinistic lyrics while I drive all over California to my shows. Lately I've been buying (and downloading) entire albums rather than just a few select songs, and I'd in the spirit of rap music history, I'd like to declare "beef" on rap albums as a whole. Here's my reasoning:

In every rap album, half of their songs are really tough, gangsta, street cred, "I don't love no ho" type songs. These I love, because they make me laugh and the beats are catchy. These are the songs I usually download off of Limewire, add to my iTunes and my iPod, play it in my car, and that's that. But what they don't tell you, is that the other half of their songs are these sappy, slow, "you're the only girl for this gangsta" type songs. Now what the fuck is this? I didn't pay $14 (or waste 30 minutes looking up each individual track from your album on Limewire to download it for free) to hear this sappy bullshit. It's a cop out, and a terrible attempt to try and tap in on the female market, who won't buy your album anyway. They will, however, shake their ass to it in the club no matter what your lyrics are, granted you have a good beat.

Are girls really falling for these love songs? I mean, on Track 5, you were talking about how you get blowjobs from different groupies before and after every one of your live performances—which is pretty damn awesome if you ask me. But then on Track 6, a single click on the "next" button on my CD player, here is that same rapper, singing shit like "I wanna be the reason you smile." Get the fuck out of here… Are you just hoping that this woman of your dreams didn't listen to Track 5??? I'm sorry 50 Cent, but if your Track 6 Ho hears about your Track 5 Hoes, you're gonna have some explaining to do.

Yesterday was the 1-year anniversary of my first time on stage—A 7-minute set at Highland Perk Coffeehouse in Highland Park, CA. I can't believe how much has changed in the last 365 days. Here's what happened exactly one year ago:

May 10, 2007 – The night before my first show. I stayed up until about 3 a.m. writing my jokes up word-for-word on the computer, complete with "(PAUSE)" written in red at every moment my comedy teacher had told me I need to slow down, because when I get nervous I talk too fast. Then, as if that wasn't anal retentive enough, I got the genius idea of editing my Word documents into separate 3x5s with each joke title so I could glue them onto index cards and shuffle through them all day at work! Oh, and I also had a small sheet printed out (glued to an index card for durability, of course) with my set list on it, that I made sure was smaller than the palm of my hand so people wouldn't notice if I had to look at it. I didn't prepare HALF this well for the SATs.

May 11, 2007 – I got to work at my temp agency, and paid ZERO attention to my work all day—even worse than usual. I clenched my ridiculously overdone notecards in my hands all day, every 10 minutes going through them again to be sure I remembered how each joke went (under the assumption that these jokes were so deep and groundbreaking I guess). I think I went to the restroom about 30 times that day, which was embarrassing because I'd have to pick up the key from the cute receptionist every time—she must have thought I had some serious digestion problems. But I wasn't dropping a record number of deuces, I was going into the bathroom, waiting til no one else was in there, and reciting my jokes out loud in the handicapped stall. I can't believe I'm actually admitting that, but that's exactly what happened. There were a few times where people walked in and I stopped abruptly, now they probably think I was talking to myself on the can.

I got to the show an hour early—again, I was a sad individual. I couldn't believe how nervous I was. It was just stand-up! I'd seen other people do it 50,000 times from working at the Irvine Improv, but I couldn't help it. I stopped at a liquor store and bought a 24oz can of Bud Light, and drank it in my parked car, by myself. That may sound like borderline alcoholism, but it was the only thing I could think of doing to make myself relax.

Fast forward to show time. The place had about 25 people in it when I was next up to take the stage. My palms were sweaty, I was nervous as hell, but as the MC (who was my comedy teacher, in retrospect this was like the safest environment I've ever performed in) was announcing me, I got this kind of attitude I used to get when I took the penalty kicks for my soccer teams. It's like, "ok, its crunch time. The pressure is on, what are you gonna do?" It's one of those situations where you're scared, but you have NO other option than to sack up and do it. So I did. My first joke was about seeing Braille on the drive thru ATM machine, which got a great laugh (I never do the bit anymore, as I later found out this has been done a trillion times) and the laughter made me calm down a bit. I went through my jokes, got pretty good laughs, but was more excited to just be done with it. My right leg was twitching my entire set and I was more concerned about that then my joke-telling, so I was more than happy to see my teacher give me the light—meaning I have one minute left.

_______________________________________________


Now, it has been a year and two days since I first took the stage, and I have done 107 shows (I keep a sheet so I can write off the gas mileage, ok?!). I've killed, I've bombed, I've been nearly molested by a 55-year-old woman who wanted to give me oral sex in the parking lot of the Venice Whaler, I've done a 35 minute set, I've performed for 4 people in a side room in a bar with Darren Carter, I've performed at sold out Improvs, I've gone to San Diego and back on a weeknight to do a show, I've done shows in Santa Barbara on weeknights and gotten 3 hours of sleep and then gone right to work in the morning, I've had a guy rush the stage because he was offended at my joke about a homeless person, I've produced big comedy shows, I've won comedy contests, I've gotten drunk on stage (a lot), I'm running a very successful weekly room, I've driven an hour to do a show with 6 people and bombed miserably, I've made feminists laugh at blatantly chauvinistic jokes, I've done a show with a 75 year old lady that raps (shout out to SJR - The Senior Jewish Rapper!), I've begged friends to come to my shows, I've lost some friends who don't understand what I'm trying to do, I've gained a ton of friends through this, I've been able to see which friends really want you to succeed and will be there for you and support you, I've almost thrown up on stage, I've had high highs and low lows of stand-up comedy… all in 365 days. If this is just the tip of the iceberg, I CAN'T WAIT to see what's in store for the next year, and the one after that.

WARNING: THIS BLOG IS NOT FUNNY


Last night was without a doubt my most enlightening experience in comedy so far. I've performed at the Irvine Improv before, but it was on off-nights where the crowd was about 75 people, so it wasn't a big deal. Last night was different. A completely sold-out crowd, and a lineup of total professionals—I was by far the biggest rookie on the bill. I was the second comedian up, right after the MC. I was sitting in the back, looking at the packed house, and trying my fucking hardest not to get overwhelmed. I kept telling myself to speak slowly (when I'm nervous I rush through my jokes) and to leave long enough pauses to absorb all my laughs (hoping there would be some!). K-von, the MC, did his 8 minutes and destroyed… the crowd was good and ready. Then, he said the words I was ready for… "Please welcome, Robbie Pickard!"

I did one of those stupid half-jogging-half-walking things that douchebags do to try and be cool, shook K-von's hand, and took the stage. Holy shit. This crowd was enormous. I was nervous, but ready… but still nervous. I hit them with my first joke, and received a huge applause. I was so relieved. I could breathe again. Second joke, great laughs. My third joke had a mixed reaction, but I was too excited off of the first two jokes to let it throw me. In retrospect, I was so focused on pacing myself and leaving enough time in between jokes that I think I over-corrected a little bit. I left pauses that were a bit long. Oh well. I was very proud of about 80% of my set, and left the stage to a strong applause. I felt like an anvil had just been lifted off my shoulders.

Was I perfect? Not by any stretch of the imagination. Did I bomb? No way. But I had a solid set, and I learned a lot about myself. I can do this shit. I'm not where I want to be, but I'm hungry to get there. I'm proud of how quickly I'm improving and working my way up the chain, but I'm only looking forward at what I want to accomplish next. Tomorrow will be exactly 11 months since I first took the stage, at a tiny little coffeehouse in Highland Park in front of 2 of my friends, 4 of my family members, and like 6 audience members. 11 months later, I'm getting big laughs to a 300+ crowd at the Improv. What a journey, and this is just the beginning. I got my first taste of being a real comedian last night, and I am starving for more.

Let me just start off by saying things have been going really well for me.  My job is chill, I have plenty of time to write jokes and waste time on Myspace while still getting paid… comedy is going really well for me, I'm starting to book some bigger gigs… no complaints here, right?  This morning, all of that flew out the window, as I was quickly put right back in my place.  This is the story of Robbie Pickard falling in the shower… at the age of 23. 

I had a gig in Camarillo last night, and had a really great set - one of those nights where a 20-minute set feels like five minutes because the crowd is just eating up everything you are saying.  I stuck around afterwards to talk to all three of my adoring fans, and got home at around 1 a.m.  As usual, I couldn't fall asleep until about 2:30, leaving me tired as fuck for work in the morning. 

I'm a lazy piece of shit, so I set my alarm at the absolute latest time where I think I can still manage to get to work on time—and with this method, I'm in the shower about 45 seconds after my alarm goes off.  There's a little ledge in the back of my shower, so my lazy ass is sitting on it, too tired to stand fully upright on my own at this point.  My eyes are still basically closed, and I'm sitting on the edge of my shower shampooing my hair—a really pathetic scene now that I think about it.  Out of nowhere, my right foot slips out from under me (should have spent the $10 for those shower mats) and I fell… hard.  It was a fall right out of a Looney Toons cartoon, where the character literally goes from upright to flat on their ass in 1/100 of a second. 

It took me a while to process this—like I said I was still half asleep.  Did that really just happen? I have never been more embarrassed while completely alone.  There is no place sadder than the floor of your shower, when you had no intentions of being there.  I was naked on a level that you can't imagine, literally and figuratively.  I just sat there, the water raining down on my demoralized face; rinsing the shampoo I had just so liberally applied just a few seconds before all down my hair and into my eyes.  I was crying, but it wasn't from the shampoo.  Not even Johnson & Johnson could have stopped these tears—these were tears of shame.  Shame because I had fallen in my shower, and I'm not 80-years-old.  I'm surprised I didn't break my hip. 

I probably sat there for a good 10-15 minutes.  A lot was running through my mind—a lot more than just trying to figure out how I fell.  What am I doing with my life?  Am I really trying to make a living getting drunk and telling boner jokes?  I should have tried harder in high school… If she told me she was 18, is it still my fault?

I learned something very important this morning.  Nothing makes you reflect on your life and where you stand in accordance to your dreams more than sitting on your shower floor naked with a bruised ass, still half erect from a bad case of morning wood, as shampoo seeps its way into your tear ducts.  I'm taking a bath tomorrow morning...

--Robbie