Every comic seems to have some type of point of anger that drives them on stage. Some guys it's relationships, kids, family. For other people it's a vice: hookers, gambling, drinking or drugs.

None of these issues do I really have contempt for. But my point of contention is quickly escalated on the subject of religion.

The other day on stage at an open mic, I really let out some feelings. It wasn't anything major or dramatic. I didn't break down and start sobbing. It was just hearing myself actually say what I felt.

What I see is society forever handcuffed to a dinosaur (religion). We're dragging it into the future with bloodstains on the cuffs and our wrists. The chains have been there so long that nobody ever investigates the dinosaur. We just take it as it is and keep dragging. It makes me wonder what we are afraid of. Why is it taboo to question one's religion? What are we trying to not find out that we really need to KNOW? What's NOT being said that we really need to hear?

One of my many recurring dreams lately has been me finally standing up to the Pastor of the church I grew up in. In person I don't have any problems with the guy. In my sleep he's an enemy. In fact, I have dreams regularly that I'm back in that same church. I have relived parts of that setting many times in my sleep. Each time I get another step closer to freedom.

Today I realized that the psychological damage of my brainwashing is irreparable. That's not necessarily a bad thing because once I was able to admit this, therein was the relief. For most people, religion is a beautiful thing. For me it feels like my soul has been torchered.

Since I'm in a confessing mode, I might as well admit something else. I never wanted to grow up because I always knew once I moved out... I was solo.

What do I mean?:
My mother seems to have this connection with God that very few women have. When I was growing up it seemed like everything she asked for, she got. Mind you, it was never anything major like a new house, car or anything expensive. It was always smaller things that she wanted to see happen: a door opening up here, a door closing there, somebody being revealed for who they truly were. Simple day-to-day things.

When I turned about 18 and left for college, I knew I was in BIG trouble. Most of my life, rarely did any of my prayers actually get answered. And believe me, I tried everything: fasting, praying, give more, love more, sacrifice more.. all that.

Nigga, I was almost at the point where I didn't pray on partly cloudy days! I didn't want the clouds blocking my prayers.

None of that worked. I have seen more doors closing than I have opening. And quite honestly it doesn't even bother me that I'm on a path that I didn't ask for.

I talked to Moms yesterday and she almost pissed me off. We were talking about my experience here in Pittsburgh and I explained how well it wasn't going. You know what she told me? "Pray!". I tried to explain to there that a) I HAVE been praying and b) My prayers don't work! She insists mine SHOULD work despite me trying to explain the contrary. She's my Mom so of course I kept my tone in check. But Lord knows if she was somebody off the street..... lol

What if I'm right? What if we all don't have a friend in Jesus? What if no matter what you do, Jesus actually does play favorites? What if some people have the "connection" and some people don't?

That would explain a lot wouldn't it? Or maybe it would cause more questions. Probably more questions because then we'd have to ask why the meanest criminals live longer than the nicest people. Or why a person can smoke a pack a day for 30 years, QUIT and live another 30 while another cats starts eating healthy and dies while jogging.

So without any answers and a lot of questions I continue this comedy journey. Trying to figure out where all this is going. Opening up my soul to the universe (or at least cyberspace) and following a path I don't fully understand (and honestly can't see).

All this for some laughs? lol

That was probably the worst time in my life. That depression affected me like something I'd never experience. It was a d.r.e.a.m: Depression Rules Everything Around Me.

So of course the "on again, off again" relationship with Ms. Davenport was always in flux. Struggling with depression, feeling like a failure and questioning my religious beliefs all culminated into one unhappy camper. I was grumpy, lethargic and crabby to the point where KIND words sounded like insults. I was totaly miscommunicating with Ms. Davenport with that attitude.

Ms. Davenport: In that outfit you look you're on top!!
Me: WHAT? My shirt IS buttoned all the way to the top!!

I was getting into it with everybody man. My girl, people at church (they WAS talking shit though....) and getting into it with myself.

Out of everything that happened to me, I knew I was going to come out of that funk. That dirty, nasty, stanky funk.. and I don't mean Parliament. I was a porcupine with snake venom. Mean and nasty.

I told Ms. Davenport that I needed her to stick with me. Finding my way was my only other option besides death. After not getting that medical career, I just didn't feel like I had a place in the world anymore. I just needed her to stick with me.

She left. Right after saying "Just because you love somebody doesn't mean you're meant to be with them". Oh? Wow. Insightful.

I remember that time because I was working at Firstar Bank. On my second day the VP of the department said to me: "James, I'm sure you'll do well here with this first job out of college." That statement really bothered me because it implied I wouldn't be there long.

It would be like me being on my honeymoon being told: I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy being my first husband. Nothing can imply 'short term' like the word "FIRST".

From that job I moved on to the Medical College. I'm not sure if God was playing a joke or me or teaching me irony. But of course I ended up doing computer support for doctors. I guess my prayer wasn't specific enough. I said I wanted to work in the medical field. Apparently that was answered prayer somehow.

I ended up getting my Dodge Avenger (which I still have as of this posting). That was a bright spot.

After that I tried comedy for the first time. It came about because I was told after a banquet: "Man you missed your second calling. You need to go to L.A. and bus tables or something til you get discovered.. you are funny!". I was totally oblivious to humor and anything funny. People have always laughed at stuff I said, but mentally it was never an intent to "make them laugh". In fact the more pissed off I'd be in relating a story, the funnier people thought I was.

I ended taking a comedy class, but I didn't feel funny. So I left it alone from about 1998 to 2001. Then took the class again (the week of September 11th). I ended up opening for Brian McKnight (bad bad bad experience) and working the home club. I worked MOST of 2002 and 2003 (mostly M.C.) then I had to take a break in 2004.

The job downsized for one (so that effects unemployment, nickel!!) but secondly I hit a wall. Meaning I was getting unsolicited promises of being moved up to Feature by clubs. I never asked, they'd tell me I was ready...but then wouldn't book me when it was time. It happened so much that I felt I needed a break.

2006 is when I saw a vision. I saw a microphone in the darkness, slowly fading in the distance. I also saw a hand trying to grasp at the microphone. I took that to mean, if you don't get back in now, you'll lose the gift. I literally felt the comedy skill leaving.

It had been almost a year to the day when I got back on stage. The club wanted me to follow one of my favorite comics, Jim Ruel. I saw him as an upperclassman of sorts, since he had taken the comedy class years before me.

I was so rusty! I was the same feeling I get when I haven't been to the gym in a while. It was the same, but mental. Struggling to remember punchlines, timing all off. It was like panting while getting on a treadmill (and not even walking yet). It didnt' take long to knock the rust off.

And that's when I decided to make a go at it for life.

While I was in college, I played the drums for my sister. She sang gospel music (and still does). Despite my encouraging of her to sing R&B (against my mother's wishes) she sticks with gospel. The guilt trip that goes along with "switching" can be heavier than your own destiny.

Our "family" was comprised of a lot of people and talent. The people we knew as family were folks we grew up in church with and saw like... 6 times a week (no exaggeration). So my cousin (C.B.) played the organ, his brother (P.B.) played the bass guitar, and I was on the drums. We'd been playing together for so long that it totaly natural. People would sit in church and literally just groove to us. It was something else.

So before I left college I asked C.B. if he wanted to do music professionally. He agreed it was a good idea. Junior and Senior year of college I kept asking. I'd come home for vacation we'd do some gigs. It was great! Second Semester senior I asked again if we were going to music together. I made it clear that I didn't want to come home and forego graduate school if we weren't going to do music. "Yeah man! Definitely!!!" was what he said.

Needless to say I wasn't even home six months when he decided he didn't want to do music. Needless to say I never made it to graduate school.

It took me a long time to forgive him for that. That was the ONLY reason why I came home. Of course my mother had to go into her diatribe about "the Will of God", blah, blah, blah. BULL. SHIT. The nigga lied.

I can't describe how I felt. It was the letdown and the crushing of that expectation that really set me off. It's almost like opening a CD at a bank, then when it's time to get the return there's a technicality...and no money. Not a good example, but whatever.

So in the meantime, I was sweating the finest girl I ever tried to holler at. Ms. Davenport had to endure the depressive shifts and mood swings I was in. To her it probably felt like falling in love with a rocky road. You know it's going to be a lot of bumps but.. gatdayum.. how many? lol

Poor girl. 1997- 1999 I was not a good man. I was going to church and paying tithes and offering. I had bought into all the church hype about what God is gonna do if you "keep the faith". I did all the praying and fasting and giving. And at the end of the day, alone in the dark, I wished I could bury my skin and just be invisible.

My most memorable prayer was asking God to take me off earth. I was ready. I figured I had done a lot of good and helped some people. So if my purpose was fulfilled and so I was ready. In fact, I laid there with the covers under my arms. I was just waiting. Looking around with anticipation. I'm not sure if I wanted a lightning bolt to hit me.

Actually I was interested in seeing if the Grim Reaper was gonna show up. But I figured if I'm ASKING to be excused from the planet, I should be allowed to go.

I was thinking about where I was about 10 years ago as a person.

1997 I was just graduating from college with a Bachelor's degree in Sociology. Please read that that to mean: I had just graduated from college and was immediately signing up for unemployment.

Like Neo, I was the ONE. Nobody in my family had graudated from college yet. Not in my immediate family or my extended family had this been done. In fact only one other person in my church had actually graduated.

During graduation, I remembered feeling "what am I gonna do now". Initially I wanted to be a Pediatrician. That was a far cry from Sociology (unemployed-ology).

There was no satisfaction in getting my diploma either. I knew I had accomplished something, but I didn't FEEL like I did. I remember walking across the platform and seeing all the fake smiles plastered on the faces of the Dean and "distingushed guests". That mundane, unimpressed, glazed over look you get from people who have been distinguished at one too many graduations. It's just a routine for them. It's a crux for me.

As I walked across the stage and received my diploma, I remember feeling trapped for some reason. Despite the "accomplishment":

Single black male. Check.
Made it to 24 without dying on the street. Check.
Got a edu-ma-cation. Check.
Happy. BLANK check.

From that point, I fell into a state of depression. At the time I didn't know it was depression actually. I just knew that after receiving my diploma, I felt like a total failure. The accomplishment of graduating was telling me that I had "done something". But in my heart I knew that I went there to go into Medicine.

Up to that point in my life, I was good at school. I didn't have the best grades, but at times I would do really well without trying. Other times I would try really hard and fail. College was the latter. No matter how much I studied my brains out, I failed at biology and math. I don't think I could get anymore emotionally destructive at that time.

Emotinally I was never taught how to rebound after trying my HARDEST...and failing.

I know a comic that is Catholic and he said "Catholics are some of the most repressed people on earth".

He's crazy! The Pentecostal Church is BUILT for repression!

1. At Bill's church, he can walk down ANY aisle he wants and sit WHEREVER he wants. He can spot his homeboy Bob and sit right next to him.

You can't sit anywhere YOU want in a Pentecostal Church. Especially an OLD SCHOOL Pentecostal Church! Firstly you have to get through the first line of God's defense... THE USHERS.

And the old school ushers communicated with HAND SIGNALS! If three of us walk in, they throw up three fingers! Initially you don't know if that means "Trey Mob Gangstas" or Father-Son-Holy Ghost!

I gave tithes and offering FAITHFULLY at a church where I couldn't pick my own seat!!

Try leaving the sanctuary! Some people duck real low while holding the index finger slightly above their head. Nobody even knows where that means!!

I SAY:
one finger up means.. "I gots to piss".
two fingers up means.. "I gots to dookie"
MIDDLE finger.. "I ain't coming back next Sunday".

Pentecostal - 1. Catholic - 0.


2. After a Catholic Church service, the members can do downstairs and drink beer.

There is NO WAY you gon' go downstairs after a Pentecostal service and drink alcohol! If you drinking SODA it's accompanied by a chicken dinner being sold to help with either a) the building fund or b) pastor's aid. As if YOU have money after six offerings!!

In fact, after a Pentecostal service, all you want to do is SLEEP! You've jumped over pews and hung on chandeliers for about two hours! Jesus 'dun wore you out!

Pentecostal- 2. Catholic - 0


3. And let's talk about how quiet it is in a Catholic Church. I figured out why it's so quiet. Most of the Catholic people I know come from big families. The parents need a place of peace and quiet!!

I'm not saying silence is repressive. But at least in a Pentecostal church a brotha can jump up and expressively shout .. AMEN!!!

Pentecostal -2. Catholic- 1


4. Since 1968 the Catholic Church has taught against birth control (Humanae Vitae- Human Life) That can be repressive. But at least they HAVE an opinion.

Hey guess what? The Pentecostal church doesn't even address sex (pre OR post-marital). Sex is taboo. Never mind that the teenage girls are getting pregnant. Never mind that the Pastor's an ADULTERER preaching a repressive fire and brimstone message. The Bible says love thy neighbor as thyself and some of these cats are QUITE narcistic (cuz they're loving a LOT of neighbors that they're not married to).

Pentecostal- 3. Catholic- 1.


I will post part two when my mind opens up again... lol

I'm so SICK of where the American mentality is going. Everybody is getting so touchy feely and hyper-sensitive. I started noticing common sense was eroding.

Here are two examples:

THE COLOMBINE INCIDENT
A group of kids at the High School were informally known as the "Trench Coat Mafia" based on their overcoats. After the incident, instead of American schools deploying psychologists/psychiatrists/counselors to teenagers to diffuse BULLYING.... they banned trench coats. THEY DID NOT BAN BULLYING!!

"Fruit of the Loom" Mafia, "The No. 2 Pencil" Mafia, who cares what the name is. Wasn't the issue about bullies?



BANNING THE WORD N*GGER
Who would have thought Kramer would end up sparking this one? But I raise a red flag on this one. (Especially since the crusade is not to educate people on the meaning behind the word.. only banning the word itself).

Banning nigger/nigga or any derivative, based on it being "deragatory", is CLEARLY missing the point. What about hoe, fag, bitch, queer, slut, tramp, kike, towel head, gook, jigaboo, spear chucker, timber nigger, midget, cracker, fat, sand nigger, and honky. All deragatory terms.

In fact, let's ban the entire English language! Any word in the English language can be used negatively. I mean if you call me a twinkie in the right way, it will sound like you mean n*gger!

Also, I'm not a rap fan, but to use rap as the scapegoat?? That's too idiotic. Reverend Al Sharpton (THAT nigga needs to sit down) called the language in rap "gutteral". Which is odd because that's WHERE the language and art form began. So he wants to remove slang and replace it with what? The Queen's English?

Doesn't altering a key component change the art form?

Isn't that like telling a gospel artist "Jesus is getting mentioned WAY too much in your music...... and that's not fair to Satan. Satan has feelings too and he should get some recognition."

Right.

I have been a loser my entire life.

Some people think that statement is a little strong. Since I'm not politically correct, I refuse to say "non-winner". Since I haven't consistently won anything, that would in fact mean I have lost more than I won. A 98% loss rate does in fact override the 2% of winning (and that 2% is stretching it).

By winner, I don't even mean anything competitive. I've never been the type of dude that was into athletics. In fact I grew up playing the drum set. That was almost as impotant to me as oxygen. So I definitely wasn't going to do anything cause an injury.

Therefore by winning I mean the simple stuff: Getting mostly A's on a report card, being picked when when I raised my hand in class, winning a random drawing of any sort, actually getting a girl's phone number when approaching her.

It's the real simple day to day stuff that I noticed I rarely win at.

In fact, when I DID win a random drawing, it was for a lunchbag. The handle was broken.
And I did win this drum competition at church one year. Word is the competition was rigged in my favor. (One of the judges was allegedly a friend of the family...lol)

Now the good thing about being a loser is that its kept me humble. I've never been able to brag, because nobody would believe me anyway. Oh yeah, I could SAY I got an "A plus" on that Anatomy and Physiology test....but everybody knows you usually don't go from 3 D's to an A overnight. (biology grades OR bra size!) .

The fat kid never sleeps with the hottest chicks. So no bragging there. In fact one of the "just ok looking" chicks I tried to date in H.S. wanted payment: some Diadora tennis shoes!
As though a 14 year old can get a work permit!???

That's not to say I've never won ANYTHING. But I'm man enough to admit...the percentages are higher in the losing department.

People irk me when they try to minimize the truth. "You're not a loser" (that is statistically inaccurate). "You're a winner at heart" (Apparently it beats less than 2% of my lifetime).

That is where comedy has come in. I've gotten more laughs than silence. The majority of the experience has been winning, so I'm happy. In fact, since I want to be the best I can be at this, that is encouragement for trying harder.

Laughter in a comedy club reminds me of the sounds of machines at a Casino. Hit the right combination of words....and "I WON!!!!"

MICHAEL VICK

This is a result of what I term "nigga shyt". He got caught up doing stuff that some black people do that everybody either doesn't do or doesn't know about. Even if they do it or know about it, it still seems more prevalent in the 'hood.

Other examples of nigga shy?: I've been to just about every type of neighborhood that exists. The poorest ghetto to the richest suburb. Only in the hood do I see people shooting dice in the alley playing craps.... nigga shyt.

In the pool hall up the street from my house, I"ve seen the following: A guy won a few games with a bettor....only to have them up the bet then run the table on him.... Pool Shark!...nigga shyt.

That's not to say nobody else own a pair of dice or a pol cue. But I AM saying I see black males doing it more than males from other cultures....nigga shyt.

So dog fighting is in the same category in my mind. It's very easy to ask Michael Vick WHY he was fighting dogs.... IF you don't understand nigga shyt.

I would never ask him why he was fighting dogs. I would ask him why was he fighting dogs KNOWING that you only do that to make money to pay bills?? You're not trying to make money for retirement or investments. Bills are due, ends ain't meeting and if you got the skills, nigga shyt fits the bill.

Because usually that's when I've seen nigga shyt going down! To make some money on the side. Betting on pool games, playstation games.. I've seen people betting on dominoes, spades and tiddly winks!

It's called a side hustle.

I feel for Michael Vick for two reasons: a) He got caught. He reached the highest pinnacle in sports: Quarterback, face of the franchise, endorsement deals. And he got caught. And he got caught because he couldn't stop doing nigga shyt.

b) He fell victim to the same plight as Biggie, Tupac and other black high profile black males. What you are used to may not be the best for you. "Hood life" and hustling to survive is only neceassary until a certain point. Once you reach that point, then you cut it off. You made it!

It's easier said than done though. When you grow up, the people you are with are WITH YOU. It's easy to throw millions of dollars at someone and say "forget them..you're rich now". But it doesn't work like that.

We all have an emotional tie to people we've known our entire life. People we've known and things we've done. That's not to say a person can't change because I know they can. I did.
But if you've been doing nigga shyt with people you're whole life... millions of dollars ain't always a deterrent. For some it's an investment to do more nigga shyt. As is the apparent case with Michael Vick.

I have never been that relieved after telling a group of strangers ANYTHING. In fact, the only thing I was thinking was "My Mama gone KILL me when she find this out".

I started off explaining the dream about the Tombstone. Then I told them the comedy stage is my confessional booth. In fact maybe it's moreso an actual conversation with God that everyone else gets to hear?

Anyway, I confessed that the first time I stole anything I was in the 5th grade. I didn't steal anything because I was black or hungry (I was always a fat kid). It was the adrenaline rush of risking getting caught. People do things to get that adrenaline rush. Skydiving, snowboarding...it's not the SAME adrenaline rush I got when I had sex at church. But it was pretty much similar. That one a had a lot more fear in it cuz Bro. Greenhill was walking up the hallway.

Stealing and having sex in church is two different rushes. Imagine getting caught? One beating is to save you from the cops...the other beating is to save you from eternal damnation. I don't even think the sex in the church was an adrenaline rush. A nigga was probably feeling the actual flames.

Oddly enough, no matter how many times I asked God for forgiveness... I never felt it. Last night was the first time I felt relieved...and I wasn't even praying.

Maybe confession IS good for the soul.

"James Ervan Berry 1973-2008: Here I am! I loved my Mama, Twade, big meals, big women and big laughs. I'm off this planet! Peace!"

It was ashy gray with that marbled cement look to it. The lettering was similar to the that Olde English font. Closely matched to the letter "J" style lettering on class ring from college.

Oddly enough I didn't wake up in a cold sweat. I've only done that when the nightmares were about Mama dying. Me dying? Nothing but peace. Peace and a couple of chuckles. Who says "I'm off this planet" on a tombstone. But it's more then appropriate. Earthinglings... UGH!! lol

Death has a way of making me rethink a lot of stuff. My body has been undergoing some stresses that are making my mind go "wtf????". So it's an understandable reaction.

It definitely changed the way I saw comedy the next morning.

I feel a lot more relaxed about being honest onstage. The comedy stage became a confession booth after one glance at my tombstone.

Sounds like I'm about to confess everything and see what happens. lol Uh-oh.