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Entries in doug stanhope (4)

Wednesday
Jan212015

Doug Stanhope's Podcast - Where I Outed A Criminal (Who Just Happens To Be My Ex-husband)

TRIGGER WARNING

So, this was cathartic. Very. Doug Stanhope's Podcast  

Doug is an old friend. An unrivaled comedian and beautiful human. I got to do a bit of time up before him when he toured Australia which I wrote about back in November. I got to play to 1800+ of his die-hard Melbourne fans at Dallas Brooks Hall. Stupendous fun and a great experience. Before the show, we hung out together, day-drinking and he recorded our chat for his podcast

Even though we have been friends for a bajillion years, Doug didn't know I'd been married to someone else before I met and fell in love with my lovely, Ben. (Clearly I was some kind of teen bride.)

I was married for 8 months and 1 day to Craig Jazownik. A sub-human version of the species. Someone so vile and reprehensible I've done my best to eradicate all vestiges of him from my life.  Easier said than done... he cut such a egress of destruction through my life, my family, and friends the remnants of which hang on like the festering parasite he is. This all happened more than 20 years ago now and the day before I opened for Doug, I went for my first therapy session to try and deal with the worst of the shit-hangover from Craig Jazownik (it's important to get the spelling right). 

Sheesh lady, you sure sound like a jilted, ex. Well, it's more than a little complicated... I don't want to rehash the story here on my pristine website, so if you're interested, go have a listen to the podcast. What I'd like to write about is, the aftermath.

   

      Doug and I  (photobombed by Bingo) ......................................................................................................... Doug and Andy Andrist

I have zero contact with Fuckface (that's J-A-Z-O-W-NIK). Once the police had been called and the case went to trial and I sat in the witness box to give evidence against him, I never spoke to him again. Not face to face, or over the phone, by suicide bomber or carrier pigeon. There is nothing i care to say to it.  Needless to say, he got a small smack on the wrist for his crimes, and time served so he ran home to Mumsy and Father to Sale, in country Victoria and that's the last I knew.

I moved on with my life. Some days more successfully than others. 

Cut to 20 years later - one of the triggers for me, was listening to the first episode of Doug's podcast where he talked to our friend and shambolic human comedian, Andy Andrist.  Doug and Andy had gone to Florida with a cameraman to confront the man who had repeatedly molested Andy as a kid. It's powerful stuff. Really powerful. 52 podcasts later, it's my turn. 

So - the aftermath. Doug's engineer, Chaille released our episode the night before Xmas. Hilarious turkey-stuffing listening. Gather round kids, shit's about to get dark... My inbox and twitter feed immediately exploded. "How do you spell the fuckers name?" "Where does he live?" "Doug has crazy fans, in basements." "Your ex-husband story on Doug's podcast made my skin crawl." Someone found his LinkedIn profile. "Is this the kid fucker?" That screen capture was shared dozens of times. Some one else found an Aspendale Gardens community newsletter that mentioned him as resident. That got shared. A photo was posted. "Is this it? Yes. No" Lots of messages of support. LOTS. Loved hearing your twisted story, if I'm ever in Australia I know one cunt I'd like to meet in an alley. Someone else found his blog; his new wife's Facebook account; [good lord he remarried and has children *shudder*]... And someone found where he'd posted his mobile number online! I don't know how many times that got retweeted and shared but I saw messages from people saying they'd left him a voicemail. "Funny, it keeps going to voicemail?!" "Me too!" Message after message from screennames and people I have never nor will ever meet in my life. My favourite retweet, Jesus fuck. Mebee the @DougStanhope poscast with@faheyyounger wasn't the most festive choice for some lighthearted background noise tonight.

I'm not going to share any of the links. Nor did I click on any. I want to keep my no-contact pact, intact. Jack. There is nothing i care to say to it.

All this activity happened in 24 hours. These basement dwellers were FAST. Those Cold Case people just need to take details of any unsolved crime to Doug. If he puts it out to his Sausage Army, they'll have that thing sewn up before Detective Lily Rush's close up can be focus-pulled.

Doug asked me how I was feeling, after we'd finished recording (proving he's a tender lover). He wanted to know what felt better, talking about it in therapy or on stage? I thought about it. Both offer relief but I'll say this, pity my therapist doesn't have a nice shiny Yeti mic on her desk.

Thanks Doug and thanks Andy, for the push. Free falling is not as scary as I thought. 

If you need help - there IS, HELP.

Bravehearts

ASCA

HAVOCA

Kids Help Line

Hope you never need any of those links. Ever.

Til next time! ox

Monday
Nov242014

The Time I Played Dallas Brooks Hall And Rolf Harris Didn't Offer To Sign My Chest

Comedy incubates some interesting souls.  Awkward, needy, fragile maniacs. I've made the best friend of my life, in this world. It's where I met Ben. Like any good sub-culture, we have some stories. 

I've just spent an indulgently blissful few days with one of my oldest and favouritest. Doug [Stanhope] has provided me with some of the best stories of my life. Some of the deepest laughs and hands down, the wildest experiences! We haven't been in the same time zone or hemisphere for what seems like, a thousand years, so this past week has been unmitigated joy. Doug has been touring Australia. Sydney, Brisbane, Perth, Melbourne, Adelaide. I got to open for him in Melbourne at Dallas Brooks Hall. The last time I was there, I was 11 and my parents took me to see Rolf Harris. It's ok though, I was in a plaster cast from my chin to my top of my thighs. My parents - intuitives? Time travellers? Suspicious old hippies? Rolf offered to sign my cast - there's a photo somewhere of him signing my pre-pubescent chest. (As soon as I find it, I'll throw it up here and on Doug's twitter feed.) 

This past week has been one of sliding into an old friendship, picking up old stories, kicking them around and remembering. My friendship with Doug pre-dates our lives with our partners. A history that's mucky and hilarious. Sitting around, shooting the shit, drinking cocktails and filling in details for each other. Details forgotten by the passing of time or simple, self preservation "Ohmygod I forgot about that!" "Oh shit, you were there for that?" "I said I'm sorry. I thought it would grow back..." it has been too, too, too much fun. 

My parents have had the same stalwart group of friends since their 20's. They still get together occasionally and pretend it's the 70's. Eating and laughing. Drinking to excess, listening to shit music. I recall many a night from my childhood, being piled on a bed with the 'other kids' like discarded girl children in a Bejing orphanage while our parents, 'partied'. Being woken at 3am, driven home by what positively-was a parent waaaay over the National Blood Alcohol Limit. Now when they get together to punish their livers the conversations are about their grandchildren and their mis-spent retirement plans all yelled at a level which compensates for the hearing damaged by the decades of shit music. When they're together, they don't quite seem like a bunch of geriatrics sharing stories of youthful bad behaviour. Reminding each other of the details of stories long forgotten by the passing of time or simple, self preservation. They grew up together in the 60's and 70's.  I shudder to think what they got up to.

Just as my kids will go in to years of therapy from reading my blogs. Seeing photos of their mother, sitting in a kiddy pool filled with dildos and beer cars from those times she went to Death Valley with Daddy, Uncle Doug and a bunch of other drug-taking, self indulgent, hilarious comedians. The stories about finding a hotel manager to break into another friend's room cause "no one had seen him since the night before and he did leave with woman who might have been a hooker. He's probably dead." [How are you, Rouse?! I miss you, too!] The footage of stand up gigs, back when they played to rooms of 60 disinterested punters to the sold out theatres of a couple of thousand, all baying [Doug's] name. Scream-laughed memories of unchristianful christmases spent drinking Appletinis, watching Badder Santa and Leaving Las Vegas in a beach house in Playa del Rey. In-jokes passed around a party about the time repugnant sub-human Girls Gone Wild honcho Joe Francis invited himself over but sent a body guard ahead to 'sweep the scene' for trouble, first. The parties. The substances. The situations. The people. 

Good luck, boys! My hope for your future is that you make inveterate friends that will shape your lives into a mental pretzel of abundant love, belonging and laughs. I've been lucky. Stupendously lucky.

My best friends have come from comedy. Thanks Doug. Linda. Adam. Ben! And the rest of you. Thanks. 

 

_________________________________

I did Doug's podcast while he was here. It gets pretty intense. Make sure you're following him. Twitter. Facebook. Web

I'm doing the regular open mic thing around Melbourne town. My twitter is here. And Linda and I are getting ready to throw ourselves at MICF again. Miss Itchy's twitter and web here and there.  

Thanks! 

Friday
Nov142014

My First Week Living In Los Angeles [with Doug Stanhope]

My friend Doug [Stanhope] is finally coming to my home town. I've known Doug for about 22 years. He's my generation's comic. There's no one else like Doug. Prolific. Invective. Mercifully merciless.  

I have a million "Doug" stories. Like everyone else who's had the joy of swimming in his orbit - we've all got stories. The Death Valley Parties. When He Talked Hot Neighbour Chick Into Leaving Him Her Car Keys And He Painted Her SUV Purple AND Made A Mixed Tape Of Songs That Contained The Word Purple While She Away. He drove it around to where were living and parked it out front, giggling maniacally as the stereo cranked, Purple Rain. The time we Woke Up To Find A Local Cafe Sign In The House After A Drunken Walk Home and he was genuinely perplexed. The Day After in Playa When Two Girls Stripped Naked To Answer The Door When The Booze Delivery Man Arrived. The poor guy was so flustered he handed over the delivery, the change, all his tips AND his car keys before walking away with a story he knew NO ONE would believe (he had to come back for his car keys). Crossing The Mexican Border With A Wheelchair Andy Had Swapped It's Disabled Owner For a Bottle Of Jägermeister. Fair and square. She need Jäger and Andy needed a wheelchair.  The New Years parties in Bisbee. I came home pregnant from one of those... you get the picture.

One story I was reminded of recently was when I first moved to LA. Ben and I were relocating from Denver to Los Angeles and I went ahead to get things organised. Doug was working on the Man Show [some say, his Magnum Opus] at the time so he handed over his house keys and said, "Me and Andy [Andrist] are staying on The Lot - just help yourself. See you on the weekend." The house that Doug had a the time was a little bungalow in Venice - a little two bedroom shack and a smaller bungalow next door that he used for an 'office'. The little house had an enclosed front yard filled with a BBQ, a giant palm tree, even gianter ashtrays and various oversized TV set props. The office next door had a covered porch and low brick fence. Doug let Patti - a homeless woman stay on the porch.  Occassionally her boyfriend, Van would stay too. That way they were under cover, technically off the streets and hopefully, a bit safer. 

Doug and Andy came home on the weekend and the three of us sat around drinking, laughing and watching movies. It was late. Patti had been wandering in and out of the house during the day. Slightly more agitated that normal. Doug thought that the violent movie we were watching was perhaps not appropriate for Patti [or minors] so he asked her to go 'home'. She stomped through the kitchen and left. A little while later we heard Van screaming. "Patti! Stop it! You're hurting me!" 

All three of us ran to the front yard. Doug was on the phone, he covered the mouth piece and yelled, "Patti!" and to us, "This is why we can't have nice things." Andy leapt up on the [6ft] fence and because he's Andy, then jumped over it - in to the fight. "Put the knife down, Patti!" Doug hung up his call and punched 911 into his phone.

Doug and I, not being Andys at all, went back in to the bungalow and out the front door to get around to the house next door to watch out for Andy. We could hear Van pleading for help, Patti screaming and Andy yelling at her to, "drop the fucken knife, Patti!" Doug handed me his phone, switched his cigarette to the other hand and picked up a chair that was on the front porch. He used that to 'trap' Patti while Andy kicked the knife away. Van was bleeding so I ran back inside and got some towels.

Chaos. Utter chaos. I could hear the boys joking, Patti yelling and Van questioning, "Why would you do that to me Patti? Why? I love you, Patti. I love you." I handed Andy the towels. He pressed them over Van's stomach wound. "Am I doing right? You used to be a nurse. Am I doing this right?" I looked at Van's ashen face, "How are yo, Buddy?" He looked up at me, "I'm so confused." I looked at Andy, "Yup, you're doing it right."

Doug's phone rang in my hand. He was still holding Patti down with the chair, so I answered it. 

"Hullo?"

"This is the LAPD." said the gruff voice. "I understand a black man has stabbed a white woman."

I was incensed! "Actually" I mustered ALL my indignation, "a white woman has stabbed a black man!"

"No ma'am, that's not how it happens. The report I have here says a black man stabbed a white woman. Has the man been subdued yet?"

"Are you shitting me?! I'm telling you... wow. Ok, what the hell is YOUR name?!" I spat. 

The gruff voice chuckled, "It's [Dave] Attell. Stanhope still alive?"

"You hilarious asshole."

"Heh, just get him to call me back later."

The wailing sirens pulled up out front, blue and red lights splashing all over the front of the house. The actual not-as-racist-as-Dave-Attell LAPD had arrived, guns a blazin'! "Where's the knife?"  Lights. Sirens. Sensory overload. Paramedics arrived. The cops put up actual police tape across the front of both little houses (it stayed, pride of place, in Doug's front yard untll he moved. It might even have been listed for sale in one of the eBay yard sales?!) The cops took Patti away, the ambos took, Van. 

I'd been living in LA for a whole 3 days and I was standing in my friend's front yard next to a very large sign that read, "Make Me Hard", giving my first deposition to a very nice boy in very dark blue. 

After the dust settled, the three of us went back inside. Doug walked into the kitchen to get everyone another beer. He looked at the knife block, "Oh shit, she used one of my good steak knives!" 

Doug's probably forgotten this incident by now. For him, it's just one of the thousands of nights he's had that ended with a good story. That sums up my friend. I love him and I'm looking forward to a nice normal night with him, Bingo and Hennigan when they land. It'll be a first. 

faheyxo

Melb tix available here

Doug's twitter

Tuesday
Oct182011

One More Time...

Update on Friday, October 21, 2011 at 8:47PM by Registered CommenterMiss Itchy

Seriously? HuffPo are in on it to? "Men Are Funnier Than Women, But Not By Much, Study States"

On HuffPo WOMEN, no less.

The irony just bit my dick off.

Fox News Says New Crop of Comediennes Combine Funny Bones With Banging Bodies

Female Comedians Need To Be Hot And Funny Or It Doesn’t Count!

Well, der!

Of course this headline is negated by the "Fox News says" at the front but the entire oeuvre shits me to a state where I'm fairly confident I could vomit up a baby's shoe. We see this article every year with out fail, usually around Comedy Festival time and it crops up at least bi-annually on the intersexy in its various forms and guises. And all I can say is, thank god SOME ONE is talking about it... Still. *sigh* 

Of COURSE you need a killer rack to tell jokes. Come on, it's RIGHT there at the very top of the form you fill out to be a comedian. Name._______ Age.________ Sex.________ (if you write, "yes please" here, go get to go right to the very head of queue and collect your Herald Sun weekly column byline) If "Female"Please Attach Recent Photo of Your Ladyness.________ Political Leaning._______ Prop Comic. Yes___ No___

It can't be fairer than that.

 

 

                             

Of course, the VERY best articles about comedy are ones that try to dissect, analyse or theorise the art. It's a subjective beast at the very least, "Oh yeah, he's funny. Or, "Meh" should cover it. But when you add boobs to the equation, suddenly the tone takes a very different turn. There are pages and tomes and encylopedias of articles, discussion forums and theses (thesii?! is that collective?) vilifying "women comedians".  Very often - and by 'very often' I mean 99% of the time - it has little do with what she's saying. Instead it's about what she looks like, what she was wearing and how much or little, cleavage she was showing.  I can't find these same acres of gigabytes about "male comedians".  At best I can see, "I hate X, he sucks." and "No way! We saw X at the Chuckle Hut at our work Christmas party and he was hilarious!" I never ever ever get to find out what he was wearing or how drunk he looked hanging off the MC's arm in the bar after the show. Never!

 

    

About, no not about EXACTLY SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO (give or take a few months) Loob and I along with a bunch of other ladies of the stage; Denise Scott, the late, great Lynda Gibson, Judith Lucy, Christine Basil, Sue-Ann Post, Janet McLeod, etc, etc got together and decided that we needed to put together a night for MICF to showcase the alleged dearth of be-racked comedians who were struggling to get stage time. And seventeen years ago (give or take a few months) on the sticky stage of the Espy we rocked that sold out show to the ground. It was needed. Wanted. Unexpected. But darlings, that was seventeen years ago. (holy shit that was 17yrs ago?!)  I also recognise the fact that 17 years prior to us (give or take a year) the Sal Uptons, Gina Rileys, Rachel Bergers, Noeline Browns, Denise Drysdales, Mary Coustas', Marg Downeys and Jane Kennedys had also travelled the same boob-laden road. And probably seventeen more years from now some young, bright thing will be blazing her own Tassie-mapped trail. Urgh, that's depressing.

  

How about we please, please, puhlease just agree to get to the end of the ad nauseam Are Women Funny? Why Are Women Funny? Women? Funny or Not? Jokes, With Or Without Dicks?, articles NOW. It is, was and will always be, passé. The mere mention of a "very funny comedienne" makes me taste sick (usually, my own) and then there's the chatter if you ARE a hotty (the very curse of my life), you must have fucked your way to the top.  And what exactly IS at the top of the comedy ladder anyway? Dishes?

Comedy ain't boxing. There ain't weight divisions. It's not even like ballroom dancing. You don't have to do it with a gay partner who insists on leading. Comedy is an art form. If you're GOOD at it, it doesn't matter if you've got a pumpkin for a head. Louis CK. It doesn't matter if you've got an annoying personality. Ricky Gervais. It doesn't even matter if you've married your ex wife's adopted child fercrissakes. Woody Allen. Ok, I'll take that one back. That's icky. Ooh! Icky - Todd Barry.

It's a numbers game. Let's say there are 100 comedians. Probably only 10 of them will be women. It's just how it is.  Kinda like plumbers. Chicks can do it, just not too many feel the urge to shove their arm up a muddy pipe.  Like kindergarten teaching. Lotsa chicks, not so many dudes. A numbers game. 

Comedy should make you laugh. That's kinda it. Pretty simple job description when you get down to it. It doesn't matter if there's bumps in the front of the shirt below the face hole that's telling you the funny stuff. It just needs to be funny stuff coming out of that hole.

It's amazing when it's more than that. Sarah Silverman. Sam Simmons. It's brilliant when you're mouth is agape and your heart is pounding. Simon Munnery. Miss Itchy. If you're lucky, it's transcendent escapism. Stewart Lee. Kristen Schaal. Or, it's simply beyond dick jokes. Reggie Watts.  Doug Stanhope. Sarah Millican. Corinne Grant. Andy Andrist. Kristine Levine. Steve Seagren. And there's dick jokes. (You know who you are.)

Can we please just agree if it's funny, we can call it comedy.  From a comedian. Rocking bod. Wil Anderson. Or not. Rosanne.

How on earth has it been seventeen years?!

 

fahey, a comedian xo