I've been nominated for a "CLOG!" award.  At first I was wondering who found out about my toilet issues, but it turns out it has to do with the Seattle comedy scene.

You can vote here:  http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=qjs9yOj_2frQoVepO0BdIxQg_3d_3d

It's weird.  I don't mean to bite the hand that feeds me, but as I said in my last blog, turning comedy into a competition is a bit rough on the psyche and I'm not sure it's the best for the art-form.  Plus all the nominees are friends with one another.  If I was up against douche-bags, I'd bulletin the shit out of this.  But if I currently bulletin the shit out of this, people will vote for me that don't live in Seattle and have never seen Ross Parsons or Xung Lam perform.  That's not fair at all is it? 

That being said, it's an honor to be nominated, so thank you, anonymous academy of people that I'm friends with.

So go vote for the other 2 guys, Ross and Xung, because they're really funny and I won't be in town during the awards ceremony, which I assume is a black-tie affair and I didn't have my tux dry-cleaned since the last spy mission.  But yeah, vote for Ross and Xung.  I love those guys.  I love you guys.  I love guys.  WHATTT?!  to the window, to the waaalllll

I'm in Ogden, Utah, about half an hour outside of Salt Lake City, at the Peery's Egyptian Theater Hampton Inn. It's pretty swank. The bathroom is bigger than my apartment. I can't figure out what continent the continental breakfast is from, but it's delicious. They have things like penne pasta cheeserdoodle tater scrambles. How can I NOT put that in my body?

Tonight is my last night in Utah, then I'm driving for a few days back to Nashville, where I'll stay for a little while in between working clubs in the east, with a family reunion thrown in the mix as well. I'm really homesick, and in demand of taking my dogs for walks around the neighborhood loop, and sleeping in my old bed in my old room and getting back on stage at Zanies, the home-club of home-clubs.

I miss my folks and my friends, and sitting at a Waffle House until 4 in the morning talking to schizophrenics, old men, metal-heads, and D&D kids, and combinations there-of. I miss jogging at Edgar Warner park and chain smoking with Beth Donahue in between episodes of whatever melodrama she's addicted to at the moment.

I was here in Ogden for the Rocky Mountain Laugh Off. It's a comedy competition. I'd never done one before. It was 9 shows over 6 nights and took place in Wyoming, Ogden, and West Valley at a variety of Wiseguys comedy clubs and a college. The clubs are really nice, and Keith, the booker, is a solid gold guy. He bought all the comics dinner this afternoon. He watched the shows and laughed, and he's developing local talent. As bookers go, that's gold in my book.

Comedy competitions are strange in general, and don't make much sense to me. First off, judging comedy is impossible. It sucks or it doesn't, and funny is funny. Leave the rest of the analyzing up the comics. Leave us our smokes and mirrors please. This competition was, as I understand it, exceptionally grueling on the competitors.

The judges were picked at random from the crowd. The extremely red state, Mormon crowd. Not particularly my demographic, as anyone who's seen me can confirm. There were 17 comics from all over the place, most of which had to go through prior contests to reserve a spot in the competition.

The scoring was based on 3-tier system for stage presence, originality, and audience reaction, and each category was rated 1 through 5. Then the scores were added and you received your total score for that show. The highest number from all the judges tallies won the "night", and they announced the top 5 comics per show.

Your rank from the show (1st through 17th) was then put down on another sheet of paper, and your total rankings were added up at the end of the competition. The LOWEST number then won the competition, like golf scoring, with prizes awarded for 2nd and 3rd as well. Confused yet? Me too.

Some of the funniest comics I've ever seen where in this competition. Andrew Sleighter, one of my favorite Seattle comics, was here. My competition room-mate, Brett Hamill, is a relative new-comer and is already becoming a monster on stage. Xung Lam and Sean Ottey are also great and came from Seattle as well. They always ensure I'll be in the back giggling uncontrollably. We had a strong sub-group here. Sean has found himself lucky enough to be dating Laura Park, a Wisconsin transplant living in LA now. Super funny, super charismatic, and super awesome to eat Cracker Barrel with. She's already making huge strides in this industry, and is continuing to. Last year she won best film at the Boston Festival.

Two Boston guys, Dan Smith, and Tony Moschetto, need to be checked out by you immediately. They've both been in comedy for 10 years plus and have more chops than a late 1800s hairdressing catalog. They're side-splittingly funny and the fact that they're not incredibly famous makes me lose what little faith in show-business that I had. They both have some of the best premises I've ever heard, ever, period.

The local guys are strong comics. I never knew that SLC had such a ha-ha scene. Spencer King, Dave Metcalfe, and Sina Amedson, to name a few, all did really well and are all very funny.

This is where the judging breaks down though. All of these guys should have done better. They should have placed better than they did. The fact that Andrew Sleighter, Dan Smith, and Tony Moschetto didn't tie for first every night tells you that there are flaws in the system. Those guys are GREAT comics, and destined for great things. Andrew just moved to Boston and will eventually, like most Boston comics, transition into New York, where he'll thrive. You can't just give 4 random people score-cards and expect fair results.

The finale tonight was fun though. Everyone did well and fucked around because why not? Marcus (the winner of the competition from last year and 2nd place on Last Comic Standing this year) popped in to do the "stall set" while the judges where tallying the scores and we talked for a while after the show.

After leaving the club we all went out to get some food at a bar. Utah has a strange bar law where to smoke and serve hard drinks it has to be a members only club. Otherwise you're walking amongst Ned Flanders. They brew beer especially for the state, so it's less than 3% alcohol volume. The separation of church and state doesn't exist in Utah. Humans could go extinct and the animals here still wouldn't allow gay marriage or smoking. We played the out of town comics card and got treated well at these "private clubs, " or as I like to call them, "normal places." The regular bars...not so much.

Then a few of us headed off in search of a Utah strip club. It's like looking for a unicorn. But I support the fine arts and it was an important venture. We found one. It was still just a bikini dance club, but laughs and good times were had, and it didn't burn a hole in the wallet.

Now I'm back at the hotel, typing this, while Brett Hammil saws logs.

Oh, who WON the competition you ask?

ME, that's who, fucking ME! I'm buying an island! I'm ABOVE THE LAW!

A good end to a stressful, strange, yet great week in a weird, weird fucking place. I'm driving back east tomorrow with some new stories, some new friends, and some new cash moneys. So thanks to everyone that came out and supported, and thanks to all the comics and club employees here for being such great hosts. Also a big thanks to Dave and Angela at Laughs in Kirkland, Washington, for getting me into this thing. And a big thanks to Keith Stubbs for putting the thing together. Congrats on winning best morning radio show. I'll be back in Utah soon, Utahans. I had a blast, in a "having a blast in Utah" way.

...Plus I already married, like, 6 girls this week so there's that.

I just got back into Seattle from LA. I always leave LA a little broken. With a little less of a soul than I had, and feeling down about my comedy career. I honestly don't know why I keep going down there and doing that to myself. It's like light S&M.

LA is always on fire. They could have filmed Mad Max on I-5 in north Hollywood and it would've worked out fine. Seattle, on the other hand, is always raining. Move that shit south. Problem solved. We need to build giant fans.

I'm only in Seattle until Tuesday morning, then it's off to Utah for a comedy festival, then back east for some hard road work this winter.

I was driving around downtown today listening to the indie rock station. Indie rock these days is really bad folk, end of story. Folk isn't folk anymore. I can dig some good folk. Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, etc. But folk USED to be about getting the world to grow up. Now it's about getting the world NOT to. Too many ukeleles and glockenspiels. It's turned into lullabies for adults. Juno soundtrack hogwash. And fake alt-country. Rich kids playing dress up singing songs about drinking problems they wish they had. I demand good satanic grunge after listening to 5 minutes of indie radio.

My generation scares me. I can't talk to people my age. I'm 22. We don't do anything. Last night I performed for this thing called the ESYPS, or the East Side Young Professionals Social. It was a networking thing for young republicans essentially. My set went alright. The issue is that while everyone else my age sits around talking about Descartes and contributing nothing, these people are taking over from the inside out, and in 30 years when they're running for office we're still screwed. The path of least resistance has turned into a super-highway. I'm no better. I tell dick-jokes for a living. Ask me to build a house and my head will blow up.

Anyway, that's what was on my mind this afternoon as I was driving around downtown Seattle so I could go to the bank and then the post-office. I had to deposit some cash so my 2 dollars and 47 cents in my checking account could pass for a utility payment. Then I had to re-direct my mail to my folks' address so I can still pay bills when I'm back east in the winter.

After the mind-grueling paperwork mess that these errands involved, I was hungry.

Let me say this...Seattle has 4.7 homeless people for every Thai Restaurant. If you've ever been here, you'd know that's a shitload of homeless people.

I went to eat at Pagliacci Pizza, because for 6 bucks you can get a Mexican Coca-Cola in the bottle (made w/ cane sugar, not corn syrup and much more tasty) AND a big plate of penne pasta with pesto and peas. The good peas, that snap in your mouth.

Outside was a homeless guy, asking for change for food. The blanket rule in Seattle is that the homeless people are crack-heads. That's a blanket rule because it's 99% true here, unfortunately. Thanks Reagan. This guy, however, I'd seen before. I'd given him a to-go box of food once and he was really grateful for it and ate it all.

I told him today that I might have change after I ate. I sat down, enjoyed my meal, and then took 2 bucks out of my wallet. Then I bought 2 more Mexican Cokes and went outside. I gave him the 2 bucks and a Coke, and we sat down against a record store and drank and talked. His name is Jermaine and he was an architect.

It was like a fucking commercial. A car drove by playing the intro to "sweet emotion" by Aerosmith, as we wiped the sweat from our brows and enjoyed a rich, delicious bottle of suds. I felt like the polar bear during Coke's holiday marketing drive, giving a bottle to the penguin (which by the way, lives at a different pole of the earth...learn some geography you shit sniffing Coke advertising execs).

For a brief moment, he forgot he was a homeless man trying to get on his feet, and I forgot about career troubles, shitty indie "rock", the rain, writers block, and how my generation very well may run the world into the ground.

We were just two guys, taking a break from it all. You could have filmed it and Coke sales would spike this quarter.

At first I was upset at myself that Coke had tricked me into having such a beautiful moment. I felt used. But then I remembered that it was MEXICAN Coke, and the moment was just that much sweeter. I think that makes sense, right?

The effin End.

Hey there south. I love you guys. I noticed on the news that there's no gas and the gas you CAN find is 5 bucks a gallon and anarchy is breaking out.

I've ALSO noticed that this spiked the shit out of McCain's ratings. So let me remind you that the REASON there's no gas is because the hurricane shut down the REFINERIES, not the DRILLING. We HAVE plenty of oil right now. This still would have happened if we had all the oil in the world and drilled in everyone's backyard.

So basically what I'm saying is, kill all the polar bears you want, hurricanes will still cause a gas shortage for the south-east. And perhaps a certain black guy with a funny name could handle the mayhem better. Just a thought.

I was born in Kingston, Ontario.

When I was too young to remember, my mom and dad decided to move to Madison, North Carolina, in Rockingham County, where my dad was raised. He's American and mom's Canadian. I'm a dual-citizen and get to pick what to tell people. When I entered school, I remember being extremely proud that I was from Canada, because I didn't really like the kids I met and didn't want to be one of them. Keep in mind that I am an only child and up until the age of 5 had only ever really interacted with adults. It was a very isolating childhood and I didn't really like Madison all that much. Madison is a shit-hole. It's really poor and quite racist. I remember wondering at a really early age why white people treated black people differently. My mom and I would go on lots of walks and hikes at parks in the area to get away from everyone. They treated her weird too, for being a foreigner I suppose, even though you can hardly consider a Canadian a foreigner. Those were my favorite times, going to parks.

Even though I didn't remember Canada I really wanted to go back there to live. In my head it was a utopia, full of weird ice buildings where people only drank hot chocolate and listened to spacey music.

When I was in the 5th grade, my school teacher, Mrs. Dalton, told us about the 5th grade trip to Washington DC and how she needed some of our parents to come along and keep the kids in line. My mom, although she's not authoritative, volunteered to go, because she'd never been to DC. I think she went to Cuba once when she was young, but she's not very traveled.

The bus ride wasn't that long it seemed and left at night. When we arrived in DC it was still dark. I remember waking up just in time to see the Washington Memorial in the window, lit up from the ground. It looked massive. I was too young to realize it's a giant white dick, thus not real.

Our first stop was at about 5am at the Vietnam War Memorial. It was going to be a full day. I was blown away by the memorial, all the names. I couldn't conceive of that many people. Especially that many people dying for this country. This is before I knew that they died for politics.

Next stop, the Smithsonian. It was amazing. We saw dinosaur skeletons and R2D2, all in one swoop. In the afternoon the class visited some more memorials, like the Lincoln and the Jefferson. I really started to grasp that this country was founded on an idea of freedom from oppression and a will to start taking personal responsibility for our actions. For the first time in my life, at the age of 11, I was proud to be an American.


For the last 8 years, that feeling has been gone. I am no longer proud to be an American. And in November, we'll see if this country proves me right again. What I am speaking of, obviously, is the election. I'm sorry for writing another pro-Obama blog like everyone else you know. But the truth of the matter is that talking about it on stage in Seattle of all places is preaching to the choir, and I don't have any solid red-state road work until after the election, so I have to reach out here.

John McCain must not be allowed the presidency. Don't get me wrong, McCain has done some fine things over the years, but they're far outweighed by supporting genocide. Just my opinion of course.

I'd call Sarah Palin the devil, but that would validate her insane belief system. This woman believes that man and dinosaur walked the world together 4000 years ago, even though there's proof in the town she wants to run that they did not. I've seen the skeletons, they're much older than we are, trust me. When McCain's cancer tumors get Parkinsons or whatever the fuck kills him, and she has access to the button, I'm not even sure that her kids Bristol, Trigger, Speedbump, Chumpy, and Skeletor can talk her out of killing us all.

Also, we can't as a country allow Roe Vs Wade to be overturned. Abortion is a political argument like no other because it's a personal one. That's why I'm pro-choice.

If I got a woman pregnant would I ask her to get an abortion? No, of course not. I'd make sure she "fell" but I wouldn't ask her to get an abortion. But my personal views should never be inflicted on you. Ever. I'm agnostic, but I'm okay with you believing in a man in the clouds. That's fine with me. Whatever gets you through your nights. Barack Obama will get American through it's.

Plus, aren't republicans supposed to be sexist? You don't want some WOMAN in the white-house do you?! Did you know that the president gets their own private chef. Do you want a MAN cooking for a WOMAN?! Eeeeewwwwww. Obama may be a colored folk, but at least he ain't got a 'giner.

I still prefer walking in parks to people, and I'd prefer they stay oil-drill free. Also I don't want to start seeing illegal abortions in the park, which will happen with a McCain win. Not right after breakfast. So Barack Obama, I'm officially endorsing you. I fully expect an autographed 8x10 now.

TOPIC 1:

I get mistaken for a homeless guy at least once a day. This dialogue has happened on several occasions:
ME: excuse me sir, do you have the time?
YUPPIE: sorry man, I'm broke.

I look homeless to handicap myself from being too awesome in the public eye. If I looked dapper all the time I'd have to carry a cane to beat off the women. But the ISSUE is, you'd think it would catch on and I'd be hip. I'm glad that HASN'T happened, mind you, but it's strange that poverty always becomes the trend. Fake poverty is cool because then you can tell your grand-kids that you "roughed it" once, even though it was in a controlled, safe environment (you'll leave that part out of the story). That's why hipsters drink PBR. Sure, they're paying for it with trust-fund money and they could AFFORD an expensive micro-brew, but they'd rather have the beer that tastes like dead babies, so they look broke drinking it.

Take pizza for example. Pizza didn't start as gourmet, or even acceptable by the working class. I promise this conversation happened at least once when pizza first came around (updated lingo):

"dude, did you see that homeless guy outside?!"
"yeah man, he made a plate out of bread and squashed a rotten tomato on it!"
"yeah, and then covered THAT with like 5 kinds of cheese and some meat and vegetables that were laying around and he's just eating it with his hands."
"gross! that'll never catch on!"

But it DID catch on, and now you can get gourmet bread pudding too. Take also, the grunge movement in the late 80s and early 90s. These bands were broke squatters, but put em in a music video and fashion designers everywhere are pre-ripping the jeans and selling them for 100 bucks a pop. Designer flannel was around for a minute or two as well.

So the fact that my unshaven hoodie and jeans combo isn't getting me the ladies means I'm ahead of my time. I think. Sounds good to me.

TOPIC 2.

The Jonas Brothers are on the cover of the Rolling Stone magazine this month. If you haven't heard of the Jonas Brothers, they're like those Hanson kids. They're about 14 and they cameo on every show Disney makes now. The caption below them reads
"rock n' roll, girls, and God."

Let me explain something, and get it out of the way. If you don't rock for SATAN, you don't rock.

"But Jesse, I'm Christian and I like rock n' roll."

No...no you don't.
OR you don't understand what you're listening to. If you're Christian and you like Led Zeppelin, you will NEVER understand Led Zeppelin lyrics. Those guys had black masses. They put shark guts in a groupie's beav. You're already Christian. You ALREADY get a heart full of warmth and no fear of death's uncertainty...you don't get my fucking rock n' roll too. WE get rock n' roll.

Go fuck yourselves Jonas Brothers.

TOPIC 3.

The world isn't going to end in 2012. End of story. People say that the Mayan calender ends in 2012, so the world must end in 2012. Well, the Mayan calender ends in 2012, on the winter solstice, because we go below the Milky Way's equator, and there will be a few new stars we can see, so astral projection was impossible for them. It happened before, it'll happen again.

AND, what the fuck do the Mayans know anyway? They're not smart enough to not go extinct! When's the last time you went to a Mayan party? You didn't, is the answer.

Saying the world will end in 2012 is a psuedo-intellectual way to follow the path of least resistance. If the world ends in 2012, it's because you're a douchebag, and you listen to the Jonas Brothers. It's an excuse to litter. Shut up and take responsibility for your planet.

And while you're at it, I'm selling ripped jeans and bleach stained hoodies for 500 dollars.

Dear Hotels of America,

STOP with the foldy trick on the toilet-paper. Nobody cares about the triangular piece of toilet paper at the end of the roll. It's not a scented linen at a French restaurant, it's a roll of sweatshop 1-ply. There's no way to make the product classy. It's used to wipe your ass while you try not to laugh, end of story. I'm trying to squeeze one out, figure out how to smoke without getting caught by the hotel smoke-nazis, and I've already put my testicles on the lamp-shades out of boredom. So knock the shit, and give me just regular toilet paper that I don't need to worry about. You can't class up the Best Western anyway. (Yes, I'm rich, and only stay in the FINEST 2 star resorts, and no Ethiopa, I don't think TP is a legitimate problem that deserves a blog)

On a lighter note, I'm in Eugene, Oregon...at the Best Western. I was just in LA for a week, and as some of you know already, I despise LA's thin-ness. There's a war on, and they're winning. NO fat people there, except for the tourists. So I come to Eugene thinking, "awesome, finally a small town that doesn't count calories, I'll spot some of my doughy brothers and sisters" and I get here only to discover that the track event Olympic trials are in town. I think I'm about to run into my kind and the OLYMPIC ATHLETES are here?!

I just saw two girls using a marathon runner for their jump-rope. I thought I'd arrived to a town of giant twizzlers, but it's just sunburnt sprinters making out. This is bullshit.

THAT'S why they fold the toilet paper like that. It's one of these athlete's bed-spreads. HEYOOOO, BAH-ZING!

I DID however, manage to have some fun in Los Angeles and got some quality stage time and quality friend time in. SO, thanks to Beth and Robert for introducing me to their friends and for the great hangs. Thanks to Alysia Wood for the pep-talks. It's always great to see you. Thanks to Amber Tozer for the awkward safety walk. Thanks to John Sanders for fighting the good fight. Thanks to Henry Phillips and Nick Swardson for making me forget what I did one night. Thanks to Pedigo in advance for the two (just two) days on your couch next time. Thanks to Madigan for the delicious cola. Thanks to Eddie for pouring me the delicious cola. And thanks to Eric and Rita @ the Improv for giving me a place to enjoy such a delicious cola.

FUCK that was a good cola.

Now if you'll excuse me, the food I had for lunch is catching up with me, but I have to factor in UNFOLDING time now.

Sorry for the lack of blogging. I've had an awful writer's block because of the move, and I just broke it a few weeks ago, so I've been going non-stop and performing like a madman. It's a busy time, and a more entertaining blog will pop into my head soon enough I suppose.

First of all, watch Letterman this Friday. My friend Tommy Johnigan is the comic performing, and he's great. It's his Letterman debut. Pretty big deal kiddos!

Also, thanks for all the e-mails about Last Comic Standing. I signed an encyclopedia sized document saying I wouldn't give away any results, but I CAN tell you that there will be no need to vote for me. So for all the "we're pulling for you" e-mails, pull for someone else. I'm on one episode. It's the San Francisco episode. Watch it. I'm banking on next year, and the whole experience was a huge learning curve that I'm grateful for, and it was a step I needed.

In other news, this Monday night I'll be at the Blarney Stone in Seattle and on the 30th I'll be at the Faire Gallery. Good times.

That is all.