Laugh Lines: Conversations With Comedians Read online

  Corey: What was your first time onstage like?

  Kathleen: I was nervous at first, but then when I got up there it was no big deal. I bartended for a while so I was used to talking to strangers.

  Corey: When you started, did you have a specific set?

  Kathleen: Yeah, I thought about it. People who don't think about it, no matter how funny they are, are going to find themselves lost.

  Corey: You're Catholic. How far will you go with that in your material?

  Kathleen: I'll go as far as I want with Catholicism. That's because most Catholics have a good sense of humor. So, they're not as rigid about making fun of it. You say something about Baptists in the South, and it could get really ugly. They take it very seriously.

  Corey: Do you notice regulars that come to your shows?

  Kathleen: Oh yeah, in every city certain people come all the time, which is great. I do write a lot, so it’s not like they’re gonna see the same stuff.

  Corey: What about weird regulars?

  Kathleen: Yeah, but you sort of get to know the person. There’s one couple in Detroit—an older couple—and they come every time and sit in the front. It’s so sweet but weird. It’s like, ‘Oh wow, they’re here again.’

  Corey: Do people feel they get to know you because they’ve seen you a lot?

  Kathleen: Yeah, but they do, because after a show I’m around. The old couple in Detroit, I’ve hung out and drank with them. If I was in Detroit and had a problem, I’d call ’em. You know what I’m saying?

  Corey: Car breaks down, you know who to call.

  Kathleen: Totally. ‘Oh, Kathleen, we’ll come and get you!’

  Corey: And then they’ll tie you up in their basement.

  Kathleen: Exactly.

  Corey: You seem like a very laid-back person. Is there anything that gets your ire up?

  Kathleen: The airport. I swear you’re gonna see me on CNN as the crazy lady arrested in some airport. It’s the Irish in me, too. The rules are ridiculous. My sister Kate said, ‘But Kathleen, Barack Obama is so full of hope. Don’t you have any hope left?’ I lost hope for this country when they took the pillows out of coach on American Airlines. If we can’t afford a three-cent piece of shit made in China so my neck doesn’t break, we have lost.

  Corey: Will this be your first time going to Iraq to perform?

  Kathleen: Yeah, I’ve been asked to go before, but the people that were going there were people I wouldn’t want to spend that much time with.

  Corey: Good luck there. That’s pretty exciting.

  Kathleen: You’ll know if something goes wrong, Corey. On the crawl it will say, ‘Kid Rock, Lewis Black and another lady went down in a helicopter crash in Kabul.’ I’ll just be an unidentified lady. You can call and tell them, ‘No, no, I know who that is!’

  Corey: I’ll make sure they say something nice about you.

  Kathleen: Please attend my wake in St. Louis and get hammered with my brothers and sister.

  As years passed, I became more interested in what life was like for a traveling comic. I am happy that Kathleen offered a realistic depiction.

  Kathleen: I just got off a crazy, horrible flight from Portland.

  Corey: And you’re a big fan of the air travel.

  Kathleen: Oy. At some point I wish a gunman would come on. (laughs) And just start randomly firing. And maybe I’d get hit and maybe I wouldn’t! Just start clearing some people out of here.

  Corey: Other than that how’s life been treating you?

  Kathleen: Oh fine and dandy. All’s good. Portland couldn’t get weirder. On my way to the airport I saw these bumper stickers that read, “Keep Portland weird.” I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem. Don’t worry about the weird. I prefer Seattle because it’s a little richer. At this age I’d like to know where the money is. Work is all good. I’m very sad about my friend Greg Giraldo.

  Corey: You don’t have a dark side and your comedy does not come from that dark place. We do see a lot of that. Do you think it’s sort of a requirement to be that type of comic?

  Kathleen: No, I don’t. About 90 percent of my comic friends aren’t that, but the 10 percent that are, are kinda famous, so everybody hears about that. Also, I do think our job will speed that up. If you work at IBM, you can’t just walk in and start drinking at 9 in the morning. People are gonna think that’s weird. If I go to the club and go, ‘Hey somebody get me a beer,’ not only do they do it, nobody thinks that’s weird. Technically, I’m at work.

  If you are so inclined to behave like that, our job affords you a very fast highway to getting there. They will probably look at you oddly if you don’t drink. I don’t know about the drug thing because it’s never been my thing. A lot of the comics I really, truly like, but I know they do really crazy shit, I don’t go out with them after the shows. I politely decline. I’ll just stay at the club and have a beer with the disgruntled waitresses. I don’t need to be getting in a limo with Mitch Hedberg going God knows where. I’m too much of a goody two shoes about the drugs.

  Corey: How are things on the road these days?

  Kathleen: Great. I did an Indian casino in Palm Springs this weekend. They’re the best. They pay you an insane amount of money, and they don’t even make you do radio. They’re fuckin’ awesome.

  Corey: How are the crowds?

  Kathleen: Great. I don’t know how they do it, but they do it. They put up billboards all over town. If I had to put up a billboard in L.A.? Oh my God, I have no idea what it would cost. A million fuckin’ dollars? I’m always shocked they pay me. They do so much advertising for me for free. I wouldn’t say that to them. It’s a sweet gig.

  Corey: I really enjoyed your last show. You’ve always been real, but you’re to this point now where you’re letting it all out there. You talk about the smoking, the drinking, the eating poorly. Who cares?

  Kathleen: I don’t care. (laughs) I do not care.

  Corey: When you are on the road with your opener, Jason Dudey, are you literally on the road together, spending a lot of time together in a car?

  Kathleen: Oh my God, yeah. I’m in this gray area where I’m making more money and doing better than clubs, but I’m also not making enough and cannot rationalize a tour bus. It’s six grand a week. I used to have a different opening act. But we have 23 hours a day off that we’re either traveling or together, and the way we move so quickly, it’s bam, bam, bam. It’s not like a club where you’re there all weekend. It’s go, go, go. Some weekends are easier than others. The last opening act, albeit it a funny guy, we did not get along travel-wise. I have a blast with Jason. The road to me is still fun so I want to be on the road with someone who enjoys being on the road. Even if we’re in a shithole, let’s have fun. Jason is capable of having fun anywhere. He’s always up for fun.

  Corey: Essentially, you’re living with a gay man.

  Kathleen: Mmhmm. We’ve got this couple runs that are crazy, and I’m looking into a tour bus for some of it. It would be so much less stressful. This past winter, I said to my agents and managers, ‘We can’t do this again. We’ve lost our sense of humor. We’re stressed out just getting from Point A to Point B.’ It took us 27 hours to get to D.C. because of a snow storm. All you are is stressed out, thinking, ‘Can I get there?’ By the time I get to the stage, I’m so tired and stressed out. I care about the show, but all I am is pissed. That’s not funny. I would happily go out there and sign shit, like Lewis Black and Ron White do, if I had an hour to spare. If I go out there I’m gonna get stuck for an hour, an hour and a half, which is fine if I had an extra hour and a half. I don’t if I have to get up at 5 o’clock to catch a flight, to catch another flight to drive an hour to the venue. If a tour bus is sitting out back, I can get offstage, say ‘Hi’ to people, sign shit and get on the bus and go to sleep. It’s perfect.

  Corey: I would imagine there’s a lot of comedy to be had on the road. If there was a camera in the car, what kind of show would that be?

  Kathleen: It w
ould be a great reality show. There’s a lot of weird-ass shit people in this country don’t see. Last week we were in Detroit, and I rented a car and did a tour of the worst neighborhood in Detroit. It’s unbelievable. I’ve seen some of it, but he hadn’t. I said, ‘You’ve got to see this shit.’ And I’ve seen downtown Cleveland. I’ve seen downtown St. Louis. I’ve seen the worst of the worst, but this takes it to a whole ’nother level. Fucked up. We had a blast.

  Corey: It’s rare to see someone who has been a 20-year headliner. Is there a secret to it? How do you stay fresh?

  Kathleen: The Brian Regans, the Jim Gaffigans, the me, we just never quit. We’re funny to begin with. We didn’t ever quit to go take a writing job for two years. Gaffigan branches out a little bit more, but he didn’t do that until he had a following. Half the battle is, don’t fucking quit. You have to be funny to begin with. I’ve been tempted. Not seriously tempted, because I don’t have much of a desire. I’ve been offered writing gigs, radio gigs, this, that, but I just said no, because I know the minute you drop out of the loop, it is so hard to jump back in. Again, I don’t have kids or a family where you try and accommodate all that. I understand why people quit. But that’s why there’s quite a few people that should be as well known as me or Gaffigan, but they’re not because they want to do something different for a while.

  Judy Gold is a great example. Judy went and did the one-woman show. She went and wrote for the Rosie show, but that’s because Judy’s got two kids. My friend Chuck said, ‘I’m sick of the road; I want to go be a writer.’ But he was for real, a writer. He worked his way up, and he ended up directing ‘Arrested Development.’ But he made that a career, not something to do for now. I think if you’re gonna drop out, you’ve got to be serious about whatever you’re dropping out for. I think longevity; I’ve just kicked everybody’s ass, that’s all.

  Corey: I want to get into that, too. When you do what you do, it’s not just a job. It’s not, ‘I’m gonna go to the office and put in my 9 or 10 hours and I’ve got my evenings and weekends free to do whatever.’ This is a life, the life that you’ve chosen.

  Kathleen: Yeah. (laughs) It always cracks me up when people say—especially when people say it about gays, the Right Wing—it’s a lifestyle. First of all, not really. I would say doing heroin is a lifestyle. You’ve got to get up every morning and figure out, ‘Where am I gonna get more heroin?’ Then you’ve got to get needles, and you’ve got to talk to creepy people, and you’ve got to come up with the cash, but then you don’t have a job. You’ve got to figure out how to steal something or pawn something. That’s a fucking lifestyle. What I’ve chosen, comedy, this is a life. It’s my life, but I freely chose it, and I’ve had plenty of chances to get out. I like it.

  Corey: Do you ever get scared, because this is your life, and what is it going to be like five years from now? Ten years from now? Fifteen years from now?

  Kathleen: No, the good thing is it’s stand-up comedy. I’ve seen the Joan Rivers, the Don Rickles, the Phyllis Dillers. If I chose to do it forever, I absolutely could. Or you could just be Roseanne and sit in your nice house and put moles on your body on the Internet, comparing to see if you have skin cancer. I mean, let’s say nothing else changes, it all remains the same. Financially, I told my brother, at 55, I want to be able to be done if I want to be done, and that’s assuming nothing changes. Nothing gets any better; nothing gets any worse. So I have a plan. I’m sure I will keep doing it.

  Corey: Did you see the Joan Rivers documentary and get the sense that she’s terrified that there’s not gonna be work, not be something? And she’s 80 years old. I just saw her like six weeks ago, and she’s still hilarious, sharp as they come.

  Kathleen: I saw her in New York. Lewis Black is part owner of a little restaurant and bar, and in the basement there’s a little 100-seater. She’s fucking hilarious. I don’t feel that way. When I look at an empty book, I get excited. When she looks at an empty book, she panics. I don’t need work. If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would go tell jokes for charity. This is the life, but I could build a whole different lifestyle. I could be in Hawaii. I could be here, there. I don’t need to be on stage. It’s fun, and I really like it. Fuck, when I have two weeks off, it’s like pulling teeth to get me to go to the Improv and do a set. The only reason I go is because I’m hungry, and I want chicken wings and beer—for real—or to see my friends. I don’t feel the need to perform. I like it, but it’s not like a burning desire.

  Corey: As your parents get older, does it get you thinking about mortality and ‘I’ve been on the road so long; maybe I haven’t spent enough time with my family as I could have if I was in St. Louis teaching?’

  Kathleen: No, because I think about how much time I am there, which is a shitload. Let’s say I had a real job in St. Louis. I’m still two and a half hours from them in Lake of the Ozarks. I probably would go down there one weekend a month. You get home from work at 8 o’clock on a Friday after happy hour. Do you feel like driving down? I’d see them more, but it wouldn’t be as intense as when I do. If I live in California and I had a real job, and I hear people say, ‘I’m gonna go home once this year for two weeks,’ that would drive me insane. That would not be OK with me. I love the freedom this job affords. I can pretty much do what I want when I want.

  Corey: I can tell by listening to your stuff over the years how close you are with your family. Maybe that’s a Midwestern values thing. What about your friends though? Because of the life you live, does it make more sense to be close friends with other comedians, because they get it?

  Kathleen: It does. Then they never complain about you being gone or not participating or whatever. I think because I started comedy so young, aside from a couple of high school friends, the only friends are comedians because those are the only people I met. I started when I was 23. If you think about all the friends you gather after high school and college, it’s usually gonna be work or somehow related. I do have my non-comedian friends, but most of them somehow are involved with show business.

  Corey: Does it help, too, to have these people that are good contacts as well?

  Kathleen: Yeah, because there are so few comedians, and 90 percent of us are nice. And 90 percent of us are trying to help each other. There’s people above me that try to help. There’s people I try to help. Half of our shit is, do you know about it and are you in the front of my mind? It totally helps.

  Corey: What about the time you spend with your openers, like Jason? Is he trying his new stuff out on you? Are you trying stuff on him?

  Kathleen: Oh yeah. He’s progressed. He was on the road. I can’t have you on the road if you don’t have new shit. I’m a big fan of throwing shit out there. If it doesn’t work, so what? It’s OK. He’s gotten a shitload better. He’s helped me with some jokes. Lew and I are always talking about shit. I golfed with Ron for a couple days, and we talked about shit. I don’t think we consciously think about it.

  Corey: How much time do you spend now putting together new material, compared to 10 or 15 years ago?

  Kathleen: The same. I never sit down and write stuff. Shit happens, and I say it on stage, or shit flies into my head. The only time it doesn’t fly into my head is when I am stressing over serious shit, meaning OK, there goes the flight leaving for D.C. We’ve got a show at 8 o’clock tonight. How the fuck is this gonna work? Then nothing’s funny. It’s work. It’s like I have a real job.

  Corey: Do you keep a journal at all?

  Kathleen: Oh no, Corey. You know why I really wouldn’t do it because Oprah says to do it. Therefore, I won’t. Fuck you, Oprah.

  Corey: What about when you’re old and crazy and your nieces and nephews want to know about your life?

  Kathleen: They won’t care, Corey. They’re just gonna wanna know, ‘How much money does she still make off these CDs?’

  Broken Lizard

  Sort of a suds dud when it was released in theatres, comedy troupe Broken Lizard’s movie “Beerfest” found a larger audie
nce on DVD and cable—sort of like Lizard’s raucous cops breakthrough, “Super Troopers.”

  The former flick follows some reunited college buddies as they train for a secret beer-drinking competition held in Germany during Oktoberfest.

  It also features the ticklish Cloris Leachman as a German granny with a particularly saucy taste for summer sausage, so to speak.

  Three of the Broken Lizard dudes—Jay Chandrasekhar (who also directed the film), Steve Lemme (who plays “Fink” in the movie) and Kevin Heffernan who takes on twin brother roles in the film—called me to chat about their favorite yellow liquid—beer.

  To try and keep things straight, I suggested that Steve sing all his answers, Kevin reply his in a British accent and Jay offer his as if he were very cross.

  The concept only worked for a minute.

  Corey: When was your last sip of beer?

  Steve Lemme: (Singing falsetto style) Just last night!