Put Me in Your Feed, Darlin'

Setting out to focus solely on booze and Jews meant winding up hearing about condoms in a vintage bowl by the bed.

Walking into Cabell Library for the "Jews and Booze: America in the Age of Prohibition" lecture, the only woman friend I know capable of singing opera - and now with two little ones under 5 - exhorted me, "Keep on writing! It's the only way I know what goes on in Richmond anymore. You're in my feed!"

I swore to do my best.

Naturally, I'd expected the talk to have its share of students and it did - including the guy next to me who claimed he was there solely because "that period of American history fascinates me," bless his heart - but there was also a large adult Jewish contingent because Cabell is now the proud owner of an 18th century Torah that had just been put on display.

Having learned at past forays to events at the JCC that I could never be mistaken for a Jew and decades past being mistaken for a student, the only group I neatly fit into was "people who take off their glasses to read," as exemplified by the guy reading a (gasp!) newspaper in the row in front of me, his glasses resting across his thigh.

Just as I was about to force conversation on a complete stranger and suggest we look for others like us in the room, a fellow culture-lover I've known for years took the seat in front of me, saying hello and then whispering that her father used to run liquor.

While processing that unexpected nugget, the program began and author Marni Davis began explaining the long and complex intertwining of Jews and alcohol.

It wasn't so much that Jews were drunks, in fact, she pulled out much period evidence to the contrary: testimonials from back in the day asserting that they could consume alcohol with rigorous moderation and that reason would overcome any passion for drunkenness.

But they'd brought from their home countries a deep-seated knowledge of how to make (mostly whisky) and sell it, convenient since U.S. residents had been heavy drinkers since the Colonial period. And truly, would you have stayed in this god-forsaken wilderness without alcohol? Exactly.

That appetite for booze offered a way for recent Jewish immigrants to establish themselves economically since all you needed to start a saloon was a few bottles and someplace for men to stand around and drink. Their needs are really very simple.

Then the Protestants decided that Prohibition was a great idea and proceeded to force it on the entire country, railing against the Irish immigrants and their whisky and the German immigrants and their beer and putting out alternative facts that these drinkers were having a negative effect at the ballot box. Horrors!

Part of what the Protestants got their panties in a wad about was that the Jewish saloon keepers saw no reason not to serve blacks and whites, problem being that whitey didn't like that, especially with Jim Crow taking over. How dare Jews not follow the well-established color divide in this fine country?

Gadzooks, when you look back right through to the current administration, it's tough to find a period in this country's history when arrogant and clueless white men weren't imposing their will on everybody else.

Like a good speaker, Davis had found a local link and showed an image of a label reading, "Straus Gunst and Company, whisky distributors, Richmond, Virginia," as if we didn't already have some sense of how long Ole Virginny's been making hooch.

Instead of staying for the post-talk reception and looking like a fish out of the Chosen People's water, I instead went to a comedy show at Crossroads Coffee along with scads of other people inside and on the patio. As many times as I've been there for music, I've never seen a crowd this size being entertained.

Of course, this new world order means everyone could use more reasons to laugh, too, besides at the inanity of those in charge.

I found a safe spot with a good view by a table with a gay couple who insisted I wasn't crashing their party by getting so intimate with their space. The more vocal of the two also provided running commentary about each of the bits ("Oh, no, she is not going to talk about that!" Um, she did), which I enjoyed immensely since it was delivered in such a soft voice.

There were four comedians scheduled, followed by an open mic night for which 20+ people had signed up for 13 spots, so things never lagged and the reasons to laugh kept coming, just from different faces at the back of the room.

No surprise, aspiring comedians riff on what they know. Their exes (and why they don't want to hear about your ex). Why lifeguards should charge by the pound for rescue. Having a bookie grandmother who ran numbers. How it's easier to give up crack than food because there are no crack commercials on TV to tempt you.

There was even dating advice. "Sleep with a Mom! They have the best snacks ever!" I've heard of a lot of reasons for sex, but snackage is a first.

One guy - bearded, large belly with a generous shirt - got up, looked over at an audience member - gray bearded, large belly with a generous dashiki - and announced to the room, "Look, that's a future version of me." Ouch.

The always-entertaining Mary Jane French took the stage to say,"I'm one of those trans-gendered women you've been reading about," before sharing that after surgery, her new girl parts looked so sore and swollen that she looked to her mother for advice. Asking her when the traumatized bits would look human, her Mom (sounding as sensible as mine), gave her the blunt truth.

"Human? I don't know, but it'll look better with time." Some mothers just don't want to talk vaginal beauty with their daughters. MJ assured us that she'd been given the real thing, though, no scientific simulation or pale imitation. "This isn't a Hydrox, this is a real Oreo."

The same comedian who'd asked for a show of hands of who's ever peed on a couch before (there were several in the air) ended with a clever comedic sign-off, saying, "Thank you for having me. I apologize."

As anyone's bookie grandmother can tell you, better to toss out an apology later than ask permission beforehand. Just as long as the apology's not too late.

And, please, keep it real. No Hydrox, thanks.

Comedy Central

Churchill said a joke is a very serious thing.

Which means things were way serious tonight for Ramapalooza, an evening of comedy to determine who's the funniest ram on campus.

Walking to the Singleton Center, a guy drove by me and called out his window, "Are there a lot of spaces around here to park?"

Hell if I know, buddy. Drive around and find out.

Inside, I got my ticket and a Snickers, ready for whatever was to come.

The assistant chair of the theater department got the ball rolling, winning over the students right away by saying, "I'm here so our chairman, David Leong isn't out here giving a speech because no one wants that," and introducing our emcee.

That would be John Porter, he of the purple suspenders and shoes, and a familiar face to me from the Ghost Light afterparty.

Through him we met the three judges, comedians all.

John would introduce a comedian, there's be a blast of smoke and the comedy would begin.

First was Kevin getting everyone warmed up by saying, "Let's all admit I have the body of a god. Okay, the god may be Buddah."

Using a recent cut finger as a starting point, Morris said he'd done nothing for it so naturally the cut got infected. "That's when I realized I'm the absentee father of my body."

Connor, our first female, came out and immediately took a pratfall on the carpet before saying she'd begun reading Fifty Shades of Gray, admitting, "My relationship with household objects has changed."

Sounds like she's pretty rough with them these days.

James had great delivery, saying, "I have a friend who lives near Lowe's. I buy potted plants from in $20 increments."

His rant on texts from this guy always came down to one phrase, "Yea. Come."

Shelby's routine centered on people always wanting to talk current events with her.

"News is hard," she wailed. "I just catch up and the next day, there's more!"

Introduced by the emcee as "Just another punk trying to make it in show business," Glynn, a faculty member, was the oldest performer we saw.

Of course she riffed on that. "I blew past cougar about six years ago. I'm closing in on snow leopard now."

Across the theater, I could see her husband leaning forward in his seat, hanging on her every word.

When she finished, one of the judges indicated he wanted to ask her something, so she paused.

"I just want to hear you say motherf*cker one more time," he said.

As a friend of Glynn's since the late '90s, I couldn't understand the allure, but maybe it's because of how many times I've heard her say it before.

She's a master storyteller, albeit a salty one.

A male Connor (apparently Connor was a big name in the early '90s) came next and used his girth as material.

"So when god was looking for adjectives for fat people, he thought about attractive, but that was used for skinny people. He considered smart, but that's for Asians. So he decided, we'll just make them funny."

Arta told us about his Dad's "gnarly dating advice," which involved squeezing girls' breasts, disturbing because Arta was watching "Sponge Bob" at the time.

Clearly it was tough to be a child of the '90s.

After intermission, Dixon took the stage in full self-deprecation mode.

"I'm oddly proportioned. Perhaps you can't tell because of my trendy layers," he joked, striking a pose, "But I have child-bearing hips."

Grace laid out her plans. "I want to joke about my Mom a little. My Mom is an overbearing Catholic from the midwest."

Knowing laughter followed and she looked at the source. "Yours, too, huh?"

Matthew also went the parental route, mentioning that he had the most masculine father, who must have been surprised by his son.

"You know, The Lion King was the first black Disney movie. No, not because it's set in Africa. Because Simba doesn't have a Dad."

Becky joked about being excited to see a listing for a film called Yo, Robot, only to discover it was a Spanish version of "I Robot."

Saying her mother was from El Salvador, she cracked, "We get in plenty of fights, like any mother and daughter. Mostly physical. She'll say to me, I don't want the blue things."

What's a few bruises between family members?

Afterwards, one of the judges asked how much she'd charge for that yo, robot joke.

Eilis came across as very comfortable.

"Recently I've been having vivid sex dreams. Just like my regular sex life, they're sort of disappointing. Don't tell Dixon."

Mikayla told us about how hard it had been not to be invited to prom.

When she mentioned her disappointment, a friend had told her, "It's because you look like a bitch all the time."

"Oh, okay," she'd said, happily accepting the explanation. Is that all?

Patrick brought props, a cane and a bottle of water, the latter for the purpose of having his notes on it.

His deadpan delivery of, "It sucks when things burst into flames. It would be much better if they burst into a BLT. You'd come home and your house is gone, but there's a sandwich."

The audience about lost it.

Elliot came out in a vest and told us he was part English, part Irish.

"Pretty ethnic, huh? Not really. It just means I should be in an air-conditioned room or in the rain. Or I'll go bad. And that's not good."

He had me doubled over when he went off on why Snickers bars are called that.

"Why call it that unless they're trying to hide something?" I'm not sure that I want to know what.

And with that wisdom, the show ended and it was time to tabulate the judges' decisions.

Our host pointed out that it might take a while since it was being done by art majors who never had to take a math class.

The judges had to whittle the field from 16 to eight and they'll come back tomorrow night to face off for the final round.

We'd seen some funny stuff, so I didn't envy the judges their responsibility, although I had an opinion or two.

I was happy to see the judges determined what I already knew - that my friend Glynn is hysterical, choosing her as one of the eight.

The thing is, I won't be able to be there tomorrow night to see who wins.

Doesn't matter. Winner or not, she cracks me up every time we get together.

Like Ghandi said, "If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide."

And that's the motherf*cking truth.

I Came for Comedy at The Camel

Staying in town for a holiday instead of fleeing as most do always affords a different kind of rva experience.

It's not just the abundance of parking spaces in the city, it's seeing a couple playing Frisbee right smack in the middle of Clay Street in the middle of the afternoon.

It's driving through the Fan and seeing most restaurants close to empty (Acacia being the exception; it was hopping), despite nearly everyone being off tomorrow.

It's knowing that no matter where you go, you're going to run into other people in the same boat, looking for a little activity on one of the slowest nights of the year.

Fortunately for me, a friend had organized a comedy showcase at The Camel; he was also performing.

The six comics had different styles and shticks, so it was fun to give each one my full attention and see if they could make me laugh.

Some of the material was groan-worthy and some was quite funny.

One guy was only 18 and very new to this, but acquitted himself well for one so young.

Another guy's entire monologue was based on self-denigration, but he seemed to be okay with that.

One guy read us clever haikus he had written.

There was much talk of sex and weed because, after all, they were all guys.

I laughed a lot at the music jokes, but maybe I just don't get enough music humor in my life.

Talking to my friend afterwards, he admitted he'd been pretty nervous during his set.

After all, it requires him to stand in front of a crowd and put himself right out there.

Of course, blogging can also involve putting yourself out there, but at least you don't have to see your audience's faces while you do it.

I haven't decided if that makes him more courageous or just points to the fact that I'm not nearly as amusing.

No matter.

I prefer being the amused to the amuser any day of the week.