The Man-Crush Hall of Fame: Andy Kaufman

Thirty years ago today, Andy Kaufman made his eleventh appearance on Saturday Night Live. He wrestled women, as he was prone to do at the time. I also wrestled a woman that day. I was being born.

Exactly twenty years later, on my twentieth birthday (go figure), several of my closest friends from high school and I went to see Jim Carrey portray Andy Kaufman in the biopic Man on the Moon, and my life changed. Yes, Jim Carrey's performance was just that good, but he had phenomenal material to work with, namely the life and antics of one of comedy's most influential, cutting edge voices . . . ever. My exposure to Andy Kaufman's work shaped my opinions of (and attempted participation in) entertainment and news media. He was a force to be reckoned with then, and in light of theories that he faked his death as the ultimate put-on, he's a force to be reckoned with now.

According to Bob Zmuda's biography of Kaufman (pictured here on my desk next to fellow man-crush Les Stroud), Andy didn't perform his stand-up comedy and variety acts to entertain others; he simply sought to entertain himself. While his humor seemed to be at others' expense, Bob was often a plant with whom the audience could sympathize, making Andy (or his counterpart Tony Clifton) the villain -- and Andy understood that the bad guy is often the most compelling character of all. His love of this old vaudevillian rapport with the house didn't jive with audiences then, and I don't think audiences would get it now, but knowing just that much about the man behind the curtain only makes his work that much more impressive.

In 2004, I had the chance to attend the 20th anniversary "celebration" of Andy's death at the House of Blues in Hollywood. Comedians like Jim Norton performed, Tony Clifton made an honorable appearance, and afterward hangers-on were treated to a Mexican wrestling show at the Comedy Store across the street. (Actually, true believers that stayed until the wee hours were treated to more than that, but I was foolish enough to go home and miss out.) Just this year, on December 3, I had the chance to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Andy's death with a special screening of Dear Andy Kaufman, I Hate Your Guts! at the Silent Movie Theater, a montage of rare Kaufman clips hosted by his girlfriend Lynne Margulies. Tony Clifton made a substantially hilarious appearance (you can find it on YouTube), as did Andy Dick and Zmuda, who shared in fans' speculation about Andy's death. Lynne (and Bob) was kind enough to sign my copy of her latest book, a compilation of angry letters Andy received while wrestling women in the '70s. I actually found out about this event when The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson e-mailed me an offer to see another taping and I sought other events in the area to make the drive to Hollywood worthwhile. Obviously, like when I saw Man on the Moon ten years ago, it was meant to be.



So what makes Andy Kaufman a worthy man-crush, not to mention a place in my man-crush hall of fame? Simply put, Andy developed a conscious philosophy about entertainment and pop culture that fueled his career, and more so than any genre of comedy or performance art, he upheld that philosophy until his controversial dying day -- to the point where some folks don't believe he died! He transcended traditional stand-up, was more than any sitcom or sketch show could bare, and blazed a trail so daring few others have walked it as successfully since.

As much as I love pop culture entertainment, this mentality -- the philosophy turned lifestyle -- applies to all things: for me personally, my life has been an attempt to preserve the sanctity, innocence, and wonder of childhood, firstly by maintaining the same likes and hobbies I had as a kid, and secondly by finding a job that helps me inspire others to this philosophy. Today, on my thirtieth birthday, the first day of the rest of my life, I'm faced with the challenge of finding other ways to do that. Andy Kaufman showed us that the sky's the limit -- you can go beyond the sky, in fact. You can be the man on the moon.

In the meantime, Merry Russmas, and enjoy this gift, which may or may not be related to that fateful day I met Andy.

My Ugly Mug at the Ugly Mug

As I've shamelessly plugged on my blogs for a few weeks now (and what else are blogs for?), I was the featured poet at Two Idiots Peddling Poetry last Wednesday, December 16, at the Ugly Mug in Orange, California. As I've mentioned before, I've been an avid attendee and frequent participant in their open readings for a little over a year now, so I was honored that they'd ask me to feature -- and ecstatic when the host, Ben, decided to dub the night "Two Geeks Peddling Poetry." Both Ben and Steve (the idiots, but hardly) are comic book fanboys like me, so they were happy to pick my scheduled feature night to experiment with the geeky format. Mission accomplished.

To celebrate the "Geek Extravaganza," Ben gave open readers an obscure geek reference to quote before sharing their poetry, and some attendees were kind enough to donate superhero action figures for a toy drive that benefited the Boys & Girls Clubs of Fullerton. Many of my friends and co-workers attended, as well, which was initially intimidating, as I knew a crash-and-burn failure behind the mic would be something they'd never let me forget, but in the end it helped me be myself, rather than the pretentious young poet I could easily become with a stage and fifteen minutes of local fame. I was most grateful for the chance to read a poem about -- and essentially to -- my girlfriend, in attendance all the way from Arizona! It was a national affair!

I read poems from my 2009 Poetry Zine series, which concludes this month with nine out of an initially conceived twelve tiny volumes (one for every month, but I combined the summer and holiday months) and a few other "bonus tracks." Indeed, as an open mic and karaoke enthusiast, an open mic poetry gig is the closest I've come to having an "original gig," complete with "set list" and even "groupies." It was both an exciting and humbling experience, and in the end I actually made money from pimping my creative efforts -- something every artist dreams of. I've considered 2009 my most productive year creatively, from the poetry to Karaoke Comics to the other KaraokeFanboy Press stuff I've self-published, so this was a great way to wrap it up and anticipate a hopefully equally inspired 2010. Who knows what a change in scenery might offer . . . but more on that later.

In the meantime, my sincere thanks to everyone that checked out my ugly mug at the ugly mug, and here's "The Difference," the poem that concluded my set and which is whole-heartedly dedicated to my girlfriend. It's wintry, to boot -- just in time for the holidays!

The Difference

The falling snow is a silent symphony
of endless possibility,
each unique flake a crystalline doorway into
a parallel world.
If I could shrink to their size,
I could walk through their icy thresholds
and behold different you’s and me’s:
like wildly successful corporate you,
and drunk and homeless me.
Country music fan you,
jailed political activist me.
Crazy cat lady you,
underground street fighter me.
Religious cult leader you,
crazy cat lady me.
Playboy bunny you.
Eunuch me.

My every instinct to ruin this moment
with what-ifs and where-we-could-be’s
is hushed by the sound of these worlds
colliding outside the window,
little crescendo cymbals crashing, playing,
and laying the groundwork for this world.
Now the only one that really exists.

Upcoming Poetry Feature

I'll be the featured poet this coming Wednesday, December 16, at the Ugly Mug's Two Idiots Peddling Poetry. The hosts were kind enough to agree to coordinating an action figure toy drive with my reading, specifically to celebrate our corporate geekness. All the info is in the flyer above. If you're in the area, I hope to see you there!

Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About

I love talk radio. When done well, talk radio has the uncanny ability to transport the mind from the confines of one's car in rush hour traffic to the edges of the world, with topics ranging in importance and influence. From Octomom to Tiger Woods, from the economy to terrorism in Israel, good talk radio is a no holds barred discussion of global proportions. More than once, it has saved me from boredom and closed-mindedness.

My first and most consistent exposure to talk radio is Southern California's KFI 640 AM. Many years ago, one night in my old dorm room, frustrated with the repetition of mainstream FM radio, I switched to the AM dial and struggled to mind the clearest signal. Enter: Phil Hendrie. Initially, Phil's format seemed pretty standard: a sarcastic personality fielding phone calls from listeners about the day's most persistent topics and news stories. I quickly saw the proverbial man behind the curtain, and while I won't reveal the magician's tricks, I strongly suggest you visit Phil's website and listen to his archives. While he isn't prominent in the Southern California market anymore, I still haven't heard anything quite like him, but I was amused enough to keep my radio tuned in long after his show was over.



I'm reminiscing about talk radio because I had the pleasure of seeing it in action yesterday, as KFI hosted a radio-thon to raise money and collect nonperishable goods for the Salvation Army. They facilitated two broadcast/collections sites, one in Orange and another in Glendale, California. Since I live close enough to the Ayres Inn in Orange, I dared to wake up early for the short morning commute, and I watched Bill Handel and his morning crew push their audience for donations while quipping about Tiger Woods and another recent headlines. Bill interviewed a head honcho from the Salvation Army, and chapters of local Star Wars fan societies arrived in costume to attract a crowd, so I particularly appreciated the emphasis on the non-profit world and geek culture. To see these things I love collide for a worthy cause was more entertaining than I imagined.

I returned in the evening to watch the final segments of "The John and Ken Show." I've seen John and Ken live before, as well, when they were protesting tax hikes in my own backyard last year. Essentially bookending my day with these experiences was highly entertaining and most importantly mind-opening, both reminding me of the inherent needs in society, made most vulnerable during the holiday season, and the power of the media when focused on something positive, like trying to meet those needs. I'm not so disillusioned that I think one man can change the world, but one man with a microphone can encourage others to try, too, and that militant effort is a powerful thing. If talk radio can reach into the dorm room of a lonely geek and change his life for the better, who knows what else it's capable of?

Current Events Round-up: Crash Into Me(dia)

What a difference a week makes. Just eight days ago, Tiger Woods was still a faithful husband and the White House was still the safest place on Earth. Now, two of the planet's most beloved half-black celebrities are struggling with the fallout of two headline-hogging scandals, so much so that I needn't even summarize them here. Everybody knows what I'm talking about . . . and everybody has an opinion. I've tried not to feel anything other than amusement at these stories, because neither affect my life personally, but hearing others' opinions has inadvertently inspired me to formulate my own. Funny how that happens.

So, based on the initial evidence of Tiger's crash Thanksgiving night, my girlfriend, my best friend, and I pieced together what took most media outlets days to conclude -- that Woods' wife didn't rescue him from a wayward drive in the front yard but instead unwittingly caused it by chasing him with the golf club originally rumored to have saved his life. The information that has been released since that night has cracked Tiger's reclusive resolve as much as his car was, but none of it has surprised me. I understand how cheaters need to retain complete control over their lives, which is what that leaked voice mail to Mistress #2 was all about. Just like superheroes, cheaters lead multiple lives and do their best to keep a fine line drawn between them. That voice mail message was Tiger's eleventh hour contingency plan, like Superman's phone call to his shapeshifting buddy Martian Manhunter to do a Clark Kent impression with him in the same room as Lois Lane. Obviously, ultimately neither plan worked out very well.

I can't judge Tiger Woods for cheating on his wife, nor should anyone in the media, since they're also in show business and undoubtedly understand the pressures of 24-hour worldwide scrutiny coupled with the discreet relief frequent global travel could offer. In this context, nor will I demand the Woods family deserves its privacy; we revere celebrities and athletes and if they don't know the dangers of their lifestyles by now, they're stupid and their wealth is undeserved. (Personally, the only reason I justify celebrities having vocal political opinions is our corresponding right to know where they eat or who they're dating, but that's another story.) No, the biggest issue I have with Tiger, Tiger's burning plight is the demand that his behavior violates his place as a role model.

Again, my best friend put it best: "If Tiger Woods is a role model, what's the role?" If America's perpetually susceptible children should consider Woods a role model, it shouldn't be for marital faithfulness -- but for, I don't know . . . how about golf? Still, since I've spent a third of my life trying as a role model for kids -- for a living -- I always wonder (I did earlier this year, in fact) why actors, musicians, and athletes are role models more than teachers, or plumbers, or (gasp) lawyers. Sure, the former get paid more, but the latter actually went to school for their trades, and all achieve success by striving for excellence. That's the real life lesson offered by anyone that masters their field of work, as Tiger has: be the best at what you love to do (uh, or at what your daddy made you do, if I want to include Andre Agassi in that parable). Nowhere in his training as a golfer did he agree to remain faithful to his wife, so in his role as a golfer (the only role that has made him a household name), he should be absolved of these sins. His corporate sponsors think so . . . until this controversy actually affects his game, they probably couldn't care less.

That's why I don't, either. I'm amused, but ultimately apathetic about the outcome, which is why I'm also grateful that this story has legs. It could go on forever and I'd be endlessly entertained . . . honestly more so than I've ever been by golf.

Crashing into things has been the story of the week, between Tiger and that odd couple that snuck into the White House State Dinner. I'm equally frustrated with the media's judgment of the Salahis, and I can sum up why in one light-shedding sentence: No one has tried to get on television harder than the newscasters and commentators that have criticized the Salahis for trying hard to get on television. This hasty, hypocritical scrutiny is why they've become a laughing stock, scrambling to find some story other than the obvious truth: they just wanted to be on television. Mingle and flirt with celebrity. In a culture that nominates nobodies for stardom through singing and dancing contests, we have no right to judge anyone for jumping in front of a camera when opportunity knocks. Heck, essentially breaking into the White House takes more talent than most American Idol contestants have!

Indeed, the grasp for celebrity has become as integral to the American dream as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, from the number of followers one has on Twitter on up to the airwave-choking trend of reality television. Considering the way we adore them, who can blame us? Or do you think I'm blogging for my health? Now, the Salahis are learning the hard way that our stargazing includes an eagerness to see them fall. Interestingly, in contrast to the Woods, nobody has commented on the Salahis' teamwork in crashing the President's party. They're the model for a marriage with singular purpose! Or is the sanctity of the White House guest list more important than family values? Just what we'd expect from a Democrat, eh?

When intertwined, these tales have a clear moral, just like an Aesop fable: Be careful what you wish for. The more you strive to be on the top, the farther you can fall. If you're going to cheat on your wife or sneak into the White House State Dinner, have an alibi. Even the best laid plans have a way of crashing down around you. What a difference a week makes.