Check out this video: Subway Love - w/ Isotoners, featuring Soce the Elemental Wizard
"Subway Love" is a fun old Isotoners track that I co-wrote with my former bandmate, Clint Asay. This track was produced and recorded by myself and James Bentley at the Fort Brooklyn. We took a little digital recorder with us out on the subway to get those subway voice and train sounds. Props to Soce’s wicked rhymes.
Hosted By: Diana Alutto When: Saturday Mar 22, 2008 at 7:30 PM Where: The Parkside Lounge 317 E. Houston St (btw Ave. A & B) New York, New York|33 10002 United States Description: Diana Alutto
Underground comedy heroes the Bastion somehow caught wind of my Chicago dates, and did a little interview with me. I am not sure exactly what they do, but I believe they are the Underground Comedy Railroad. I haven't completely connected the dots on how they found me (they never reveal their identities for their own protection), but I believe this train stopped at Jessica Delfino Station and was then guided safely to the Bastion by Underground Comedy conductor McKenzie Condon.
Click here to read the interview written by Elizabeth McQuern, a young lady who sold her stage fright on eBay for $102 so she could become a stand-up comic. Seriously, follow the link to her site and listen to the Chicago Public Radio interview with her. Now she is the producer of "arguably the hippest room in town," Chicago Underground Comedy.
Back to my continuing saga, where I was drawing a parallel between my own struggle for stage time with that of African-American slaves struggling to stop being human chattel, Elizabeth is the Harriet Tubman figure of this little train wreck. Much thanks to Elizabeth and the Bastion and all of the faceless people in the night who helped my comedy dreams gain their freedom in Chicago. I've pasted the interview below, or go to the Bastion and see me there.
Time Out’s 1 thing to do on Friday is... my show at Sidewalk!
Time Out New York - "Strung Out"
"Ben Lerman and his ukulele make one funny gay pair."
In this week's Time Out, I'm featured in the Gay & Lesbian section with a full interview. The critics at Time Out have impeccable taste, and they've made me the "1 thing to do today" for Friday! See you at Sidewalk Café on Friday at 8 PM (SHARP!!! They start that shit right on time at Sidewalk).
It's not the same online as it is in print where I'm sandwiched between glamor shots of shirtless male TV stars toward the front of the mag and shirtless male sex workers to the back of the mag. It's still good though, and it's still about my favorite subject: ME!
Also, go to my website: www.benlerman.net and come to my show on Friday at Sidewalk!
Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh I got a new attitude. –Patti LaBelle
Please visit benlerman.net immediately. Send an email to ben@benlerman.net to tell me what you think and if I spelled your name wrong.
Oh and come to my tour send-off show at Sidewalk Café on Friday, November 16th, at 8 pm sharp. They start that shit right on time at good ol' Sidewalk.
Listening is not the same as screaming.
Current mood: frustrated
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers
So, sometimes, I perform at bars where people are screaming at each other because it's so loud that that's the only way they can hear each other. Bring on the ukulele songs, right?!
Last night I played at Adam Sank's Electroshock Comedy Hour at Therapy Bar, a gay bar in Hell's Kitchen. I've played this show before with great success. The last time I played, people had come to see the show, and listened like a good audience does. They loved my songs, and my time on stage flew by. Not so much last night.
Starring Adam Ant as Adam Sank
Adam Sank is a lovely man. He's sexy, he's funny, he's smart, he thinks on his feet, he's a very experienced comedian. He had just returned from headlining a college auditorium show. He got up to start the show and it was as if nothing had happened. The people just kept right on talking. No, not talking. Screaming. When you're at a bar that has all brick walls, the sound bounces off the walls and right back into your ears. So when everyone's talking at once, you have to scream in order for your friends to hear you, even if they're standing right next to you. This was the situation.
"These people were so abusive, for a moment I thought my family had shown up."
While Adam tried to do his set over this, I pitied him. Then I remembered that I was going up next. Then I pitied me. They were so loud, that despite Adam's very funny material, nobody could hear a thing. The host of the show couldn't get the house to shut the fuck up. What chance did I have? Ugh.
Ironically, I had asked Adam for extra stage time because I wanted to try out a new song on a mostly gay audience. I was still thinking of the positive experience I'd had playing the room a couple of months ago. But as soon as he called me up on stage, I wanted off. And I should have listened to my instinct to flee. These people had not come to see a show. There has got to be a way to make people want to shut their mouths and watch a show. I just don't know what it is. These people were so abusive, for a moment I thought my family had shown up.
I suffered through my first song. It was like getting punched in the face repeatedly. Which is normally a huge turn-on. I stopped in the middle. I zoomed straight ahead into my ukulele cover of Li'l Mama's "Lip Gloss," which only the people in the first three rows could hear and seemed to enjoy, and then I got the fuck out of Dodge. I said something to the effect of, "I'd love to play more songs, but I've got to get the fuck out of here immediately and have eleven drinks."
Those people didn't want a show. Am I supposed to scream my songs at people? Am I supposed to confront them? Therapy is a big place. There is an upstairs and a downstairs. If those people had not come to see the show, they could talk all they wanted downstairs. Why stand in the back and talk over people who are trying to perform?
Starring the Donner Party as my family
Is there a good way to handle this situation? Someone please tell me.
Mary from Memphis made my Graceland dreams come true!
Current mood: satisfied
Today I booked another show on my tour, the Java Cabana in Memphis. Mary, the friendly proprietress made my day when she let me talk her into it. Now I get to see Graceland! It's going to be a quick visit because I'll be in St. Louis the day before and Nashville the day after. But I've GOT to go. Sorry, St. Louis, I'm going to have to pass on the arch if it means I get to see the toilet Elvis died on. Do they let you see it?
That brings me to a very important question. Why can't I find any Elvis toilet seats? I need a new toilet seat. My cheapo Martha Stewart K-mart seat is all cracked, and I need to replace it. I looked all over the internet for an Elvis toilet seat and came up with bupkis. If I had the means to produce them, I'd make a bunch and sell them on tour.
Starring Mary Tyler Moore as Mary
Currently
listening
:
Christmas Album
By
Elvis Presley
Release date: 25 October, 1990
Going on tour and... Maybe Jessica’s comin’!
Current mood: bouncy
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes
I'm going on tour! I just woke up one day and decided to drive around the midwest and stop and play shows at bars and coffeeshops and theaters and Walgreenses and wherever they'll let me.
My friend Jessica Delfino might come with me part of the way. That would be awesome because Jessica is a lot of fun to be with. If you aren't familiar with this lady, know this: she likes to make fun of the homeless. I love to make fun of people with scleroderma. How hilarious would a homeless scleroderma victim be? See that's why we're gonna make a great team. Plus, I hate to sound old-fashioned, but I just feel comfortable knowing there's a fragile, pretty lady with a rape whistle sitting next to me as I godlessly tear across the Bible-belt. Plus what if I need a tampon for something. Like if I spill Big Gulp and I need to sop up that mess. Maybe I'd need a tampon for that. Or what if my vagina won't stop bleeding? I'll definitely need a tampon if that happens. Miss Delfino actually crafts her very own tampons and sells them at her shows. That's another thing I love about her: There's nothing she won't sell.
Marco came to get his shit
Current mood: anxious
Category: Friends
My ex-boyfriend Marco used his key to come into my house and get his shit. Maybe It would have been better if I just hadn't been here. Maybe that's what he was expecting. Why else wouldn't he knock. You don't break up with someone and then use your key to get into their apartment. Even if they're expecting you.
Which I was. I was drinking coffee for an hour so I had a nice twitchy edge all set to snap. I wore my "Lovers' Paradise" t-shirt from Intercourse, PA.
We had some moments of awkward silence and two-word exchanges. He looked at me and said, "Sorry."
I said, "Bye."
And he left with his shit, and now I have my keys back and my Netflix DVDs.
I captured this lovely footage at Nick and Diane's wedding. This wedding season, let Steph Sabelli (www.myspace.com/absolutsabelli) teach you how to catch the bouquet.
A Message to Oldies: You siver silver surfers are a menace.
Current mood: thoughtful
A Message to Oldies: You silver surfers are a menace.
A NORC in New York I live in a NORC on Manhattan's Lower East Side. Not an en-oh-arr-see. You don't spell it out like other acronyms related to senior citizens, like AARP (American Association of Retired People) or SSA (Social Security Administration) or OTB (Off Track Betting). You just say it. NORC. Rhymes with Bjork and pork. Do not confuse a NORC with a hot, teenage, undercover cop from 21 Jump Street. That's a "narc." In fact, few residents of a NORC can jump at all anymore—without the help of a defibrillator. NORC is an acronym that means Naturally Occurring Retirement Community. All over the US, where there is a large concentration of oldies in one residential area outside of a planned retirement community, that area can be designated a NORC by the local government. If it had been up to me, I would have given it a more colorful name, like a DECAF (Destitute Elders Can't Afford Florida).
Forgotten, but not gone This phenomenon is also known as "aging in place." That term gives you a sense for how NORCs came to be. It's simply old people doing what old people do best: standing still. "Aging in place" has a quiet dignity that says, "What's the point in moving? I'm just going to stand here motionless until I die." NORCs provide and perform special services that Oldies-but-Goodies desperately need, like bingo, for example. But NORCs are not just distribution centers for hemorrhoid pillows and online real estate scams. They provide a community with social opportunities, continuing education, and meal and transportation programs. Some NORCs provide housing maintenance services and preventative health programs. When old people die, young people move into their old apartments with furniture that isn't covered in plastic. This is the circle of apartment life. I have lived in this NORC for six years, after an old man with musty closets passed away. Every other week there are new death notices posted on the bulletin boards in the elevator lobby. However, I have never seen a single corpse being removed from the building. Is it possible that the NORC is quietly disposing of bodies late at night, under the cover of darkness, so as not to rattle the other heaven-bound passengers? Is the NORC sawing bodies apart and smuggling them out in NPR tote bag-sized pieces? We may never know to what extent this shadowy, arthritic organization operates. Many of the NORC beneficiaries, or Norkies, as I like to call them, take these secrets with them to their death. You see, when Norkies talk, it is a wheezy, black-toothed reminder that you are going to die someday. So it's difficult to pay any attention to whatever it is they've been yammering on about. You just have to smile, nod, and walk away with a mild irritation that lingers, lingers like the rotting odor a Norkie leaves in an elevator.
Broken hip? Broken hypocrisy! NORCs are hailed as a responsible social solution to the problem of how disgusting it is to be old. However, this system of handing out benefits to the helpless is as brittle as an eighty-year-old femur. The "elephant in the funeral parlor," as it were, is something no one dares discuss: age discrimination. NORC services ignore the strain they put on able-bodied young people like you and me. There are no counseling services or support groups for the non-Norkie NORC resident. For example, I was not born with a coping mechanism for waiting fifteen minutes while a Norkie haggles with a Rite Aid cashier. Some of these "silver surfers" need manager approval more than they need that cumbersome oxygen tank strapped to their Rascal. No one ever taught me how to navigate through a walker brigade of Norkie pedestrians. I had to learn on my own how to weave through them without knocking any down like glass bowling pins. Perhaps most insidious of all is that they are allowed to vote. If a candidate wants to sweep my neighborhood he promises fifty cents off a case of Ensure.
A plea for change Until NORC services address my needs, I'm taking a stand with my youthful muscular legs. From now on, I will not politely indulge a Norkie while she blathers on about how expensive everything is. I am not going to hold a door open for the two hours it takes a Norkie to wobble through it. I hereby refuse to read the ingredient list on a can a soup to a Norkie at the grocery store. I am not a walking magnifying glass. These old people are so entitled think they can just run you over with their motorized wheelchairs, forgetting you have the motor function and reflexes they lost years ago. People forget how old people have pillaged our vocabulary. They've already stolen the words "twilight," "silver," and "golden" from us. What's next? "Incontinent?" I'm not going to take it any more. Someone's gotta teach these Norkies a lesson, and soon, before they die. Time is running out.
Put them in a new "home" Young people of New York, please join me by standing up to people who have difficulty standing—and before we're too senile to remember what the hell it is I'm talking about. Let's not just be talkers, whiners, complainers. That's their tactic. We don't need to stoop or hunch over to their level. Let's be doers. I propose that we can solve two problems at once, and that we start tonight. Let's fill every Chinatown bus and every horse and buggy within a 50-mile radius with Norkies and send them to New Orleans. That city is desperate for new residents. Separately, we can grudgingly tolerate these sentient bags of gas and ill-humor. But if we work together, we can make old people disappear entirely. Just like the children.
animated
frustrated
satisfied
bouncy
anxious
annoyed
thoughtful
