cyniccave:

Friday Aug 22nd
Cynic Cave presents Barry Rothbart
An actor, filmmaker and comedian. Who has brought his talent to Film, TV and National Commercials. He also does stand up and sketch everywhere.His credits include: “The Wolf Of Wall Street”, “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno,” “Conan” and “The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson”, “Adam DeVine’s House Party”; and just co-directed his first documentary, “Hungry,” about the “weird world” of competitive eating.Hosted by George Chen & Kevin O’Shea8pm & 10pm$12

cyniccave:

Friday Aug 22nd

Cynic Cave presents Barry Rothbart

An actor, filmmaker and comedian. Who has brought his talent to Film, TV and National Commercials. He also does stand up and sketch everywhere.

His credits include: “The Wolf Of Wall Street”, “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno,” “Conan” and “The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson”, “Adam DeVine’s House Party”; and just co-directed his first documentary, “Hungry,” about the “weird world” of competitive eating.

Hosted by George Chen & Kevin O’Shea
8pm & 10pm
$12

"Nikola Tesla meets Thomas Edison" Competitive Erotic Science Fan Fiction! by Mary Van Note ( maryvannote )

This was The Competitive Erotic SCIENCE Fan Fiction show filmed at The Academy of Sciences for SF Sketchfest 2014. The funny thing was that everyone else on the show did erotica based on science fiction and I was the nerd that did erotica based on science! Science history!

I Don’t Dance (Trailer) by Brent Weinbach (SF00s)

Trailer for Brent Weinbach’s short film “I Don’t Dance”, coming soon. With Fahim Anwar, Kat Foster, Natasha Leggero, Moshe Kasher, Melissa Kay Anderson, and Andre Hyland.

Had fun at writeclubsf last night. Really enjoyed the personal reflections on math (and, consequently, the loneliness of 1).
1-2: David Cairns ( drcairns ) and his trophy. He put booze in his cup; he’s really drinking up his victory
3: Carey Callahan (of awkwardsexshow ) with a badass and tawdry piece about vampires
4. Baruch Porras-Hernandez on being OBTUSE (first set of the night)
5. While sitting in the wings, I became obsessed with the “shot clock element”. I made a little gif of it during Carey’s set.

[Every third Tuesday of the Month. Make Out Room on 22nd St. $5.]

Beth Stelling @ Supperclub SF by Adam Parmalee [via facebook.com/supperclubcomedy]

Beth Stelling @ Supperclub SF by Adam Parmalee [via facebook.com/supperclubcomedy]

I will miss you.

I will miss you.

(Source: acidsmooth, via courtingcomedy)

[After years of running and gunning alone, Courting Comedy becomes open to public submission]

djrealsmells:

Fight
Check out the new Nick and Mary video - “Fight”! Featuring Mary Van Note executing killer cartwheels.

(via punchlinesf)

Exclusive: “So… I Quit Comedy”: A Journal by OJ Patterson

I quit comedy on July 7th 2014. It was glorious. Upwards to twenty people underlit by candles in a Mission-Protero eatery: the Rite Spot Cafe. Despite years of yearning, I had never played there, so, I reached out to my friend, hilarious rapscallion Trevor Hill, and he put me up to, ostensibly, put me out. I did well on a show chocked with loved peers and luminaries. The room was rough all night but I got them, I fucking got them. 

I had played the Rite Spot the week before. I did terribly. I tried to work “new” jokes to a sleepy, sparse audience. The next comedian, super smooth Gary Anderson, had the set of the night. I felt horrible. 

Good thing I had a contingency show. My farewell show. 

Comedy years are like dog years. After six months you feel like pro, after two years you feel grizzled. That grizzle refreshes. It’s a license to complain, to spat, to tell tired jokes, to side-eye newbies and hope-eye clouted colleagues. You can burn yourself out on that. Not me. I went bonkers. I was ubiquitous. I was jubilant. A sprinting, spewing, evangelizing, all-encompassing embodiment of my absolute desire. 

Like all great things, something changed. A lot of things changed. Hard comedy living was my post-collegial grad school (where I basically did all the things I should have done as an undergrad). I laugh at the idea of “maturing” through the most juvenile time in my life, but I did. In the midst of growing, I felt a shift, a push. I fell in love. I dove. I cannonballed. 

I don’t know who I am anymore. When you elect to lose yourself in somebody, you indeed, by my experience, lose yourself. It’s amazing.

It’s also frightening. My identity as a comedian was forged longer and spoke truer than any other ideology in my life. After a while I became less and less (less mics, less supporters), changed more and more (new job, new apartment) and then, BOOM: I’m not the comedian I want to be, not the comedian that puts in the work, not the comedian touring on planes, trains and automobiles, not the comedian hanging in the back, hanging at the bar, hanging at the house party, not the comedian producing shows, or hosting mics, not the comedian spreading the most accurate information (shouts to Matt Gubser). Most of the aesthetics I covet as a comedian requires a lifestyle I no longer have (or, arguably, no longer need). So, in order to claim my chaos, to protest my irrelevancy, to break the cycle of weekend warrior compromise, I said goodbye. 

I quit comedy on July 7th 2014. It is liberating. I love telling people that I quit. It bums a lot of fellow comedians out. I love seeing them squirm at a maniacal reflection of their creative mortality. No, I will not covet your stage time! No, I will not do your show! No, I will not cover for your mic! No, I will not roast you! No, I will not be rejected by your comedy club or your festival or whatever else inspires semiprofessional jealousy. No, I will not be the characteristic laugh during the awkward folly! I will not! I will not! I will not! I’m dead! 

Three things makes “quitting” the funniest thing in the world. One, fuck me, right? Who gives a shit—in a macro sense—about San Francisco comedy as a lifestyle. Two, in comedy, you HAVE to quit. Most people fade out, few make a show of, and those who do are (usually) using a false finish as a promotional stunt (shouts to Justin Scales). Three, it’s a legitimate satire. The great times were good, but the good times weren’t that great. Comedy is self-righteous suicide. I killed myself thrice over to chase the dream, but, in a city with little industry, having no transportation, little capital and less business sense, I got as far as I could professionally/financially. Maybe that’s good enough. 

I’m committed to this. I’m prepared to be the Sammy Obeid of burying my talents in the backyard. 1001 Days of Tragedy. Still, I miss it; miss more than the stage, or the rush, or the definition.  Comedians are my family, my tribe. They speak my language, I’m understood. Maybe I should get therapy, do yoga, start a hobby. Maybe I should find a balance, figure out a cure for my innate tunnel vision. Maybe you’ll see me around, maybe not, maybe later, maybe tomorrow.