I was reading through a travel journal I kept on a trip around the country my family took when I was 10 and thought I’d share a few excerpts:

“We went to McDonald’s for breakfast. I had hotcakes & sausage.”

“We went to a nearby KOA campground to their drug store and I got a lot of comics.”

“The Grand Canyon was beautiful. The shades of rock were pretty colors. The length could make you sick.”

“The Petrified Forest was nothing like we expected. All it was was wood everywhere, no forest or trees.”

“We were right next to a waterslide. We went on it for an hour. I somehow always ended up going backwards. When we were supposed to get out I kept going for a 1/2 hour. I could’ve gone longer but I figured I better get home.”

“The arcade was gnarly. Today I got 2 or 3 free pinball games. Lucky me.”

“I got over 100,000 on a soccer pinball game. I also got 3 free games to play. I’m having a lucky streak.”

“The pool had a slide and diving board. The game room was gnarly.”

“We were all getting a bit cranky. While everyone set up, John and I had to stay in the car. What a bummer.” (Note: for the life of me, I can’t figure out why that was a bummer).

Mama Smurf

“The other day I played the funniest joke on Jodi…”

“John met 3 friends, 2 were total babes.”

All the identification information was filled in except for my weight and I abandoned the journal after just two weeks. Basically, what I learned from reading this and checking out the pictures is that, other than declaring myself a Christian and showing some maternal instincts in keeping my first smurf warm while I froze my ass off on top of the Empire State Building, I haven’t changed all that much since I was 10.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2008. |
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#1- I was living in my first LA apartment after returning from Hawaii. When I moved in I thought, “Great! I’m right up the street from a fire station.” Then I realized, “Fuck! I’m right up the street from a fire station.” I figure it’s probably similar to the reaction people have when they cheer their proximity to an airport until they realize it’s a bad thing more often than it’s a good thing.

My apartment had new cream carpeting and I took advantage of Hawaiian traditions in requesting that people take off their shoes- everybody. One day there were some repairs being done on the pipes and a couple workers needed to come into my apartment. I saw their filthy boots and requested they take them off. Naturally, they were annoyed but obliged. Of course I felt bad about it (especially since they had to make multiple trips in and out) but I’m sorry, it was cream carpeting.

Later that night, I returned home and as I pulled into my parking space there was something blocking the way. I could see it was some sort of cushion and got annoyed that someone had left it there. I arrived at my apartment to find the door had been busted in. Apparently my cat had knocked over my halogen lamp, which landed on my futon and caused it to smolder. Yeah, turned out the annoying cushion in the parking area was mine. But get this, there was a post-it note on the door that said the fire station that had responded to the call wasn’t the one across the street- it was one about half a mile away. That’s right, because of zoning, the station whose trucks I had to listen to night after night weren’t even the ones who could help me. I was at the mercy of a station that was interrupting someone else’s sleep.

Here’s the real kicker. The next day the workers had to return for more repairs on the pipes. When I opened the door they could see that the walls and floor of the living room were covered in soot. With a sense of satisfaction they asked, “Do we need to take our shoes off?” And all I could do was hang my head down and say, “No.”

#2- This could fall into the category of top ten idiotic moments in my life. A few years ago I was playing chess online in my current apartment. I smelled something burning and saw that the plug was smoking. I immediately thought, “I have to turn off the circuit breaker!” I then thought, “But if I turn off the power, I’ll lose the game!” I’m thoroughly embarrassed to admit that I paused to consider other options before turning off the power.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2007. |
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I just got word that a friend’s house I’d adored when I stayed there this summer was spared in the San Diego fires. You wanna talk about close calls? That’s his house on the left in this photo. All he suffered was some minor damage to the side like a melted screen door. Even the fish in his Koi pond that separated the houses survived. At the time I visited I thought a side yard was an odd place for a Koi pond but who knows? Maybe it helped in some way.

While I can’t fully fathom what it’s like to suffer the kind of loss his neighbor did, I can sort of, barely relate because we had a house fire when I was a kid. Here’s the story:

It was the first day of school in second grade. Dad was still at work and Mom had fixed us cold tuna sandwiches for dinner because it was such a hot day. Midway through dinner we heard the fire alarm go off and saw smoke coming from down the hallway. Mom told us all to get out and I took off running down the street yelling like a maniac that our house was on fire. I passed about five houses before I realized this wasn’t the movies and my house probably wasn’t going to blow.

Mom had been wearing just a bra and underwear so she wrapped a towel around herself to cover up. The man from the house below ours ran up the hill and hopped the fence to help. He grabbed the towel off Mom- I guess thinking he could put the fire out with it- so she pulled out the first thing she could from the hallway closet: a half-length fur coat (don’t hate- Grandpa was a furrier back before it was uncool to do that). So there we were, most of the neighborhood standing in our front yard in 90 degree heat while Mom stood there in a fur coat and no pants (a scene that totally belongs in a movie).

The fire had been caused by a faulty tv that had been loaned to us by the repair shop that was taking way too long to fix ours. While the house didn’t suffer major structural damage, the smoke and water damage was enough to force us to live in a Howard Johnson’s for a month (which, I’ll admit, I really enjoyed because it had a pool and we got driven to school instead of having to walk). And we lost a few items that, at that age, seemed rather precious. There was the carpeting in the playroom that had a bunch of games designed on it and the three story doll house with the elevator that Mom had built for us. And my sister- my poor, poor sister- I think she still has nightmares over the loss of her beloved pair of Dittos. Who can blame her? They did wonders for a fifth grader’s ass.

People always say that in situations like this the essential items to rescue are their loved ones and their pictures/videos. And I take some comfort that in this digital era more and more people will be able to preserve those. I’m just so thankful that my brother recently took the time to digitize about 20 years’ worth of videos so we’ll never have to worry about losing those. I can only hope that other victims of the fires were able to escape with their scrapbooks intact.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2007. |
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I just read that Merv Griffin passed away. I had a great experience with him a few years ago and thought I’d share.

I was asked to be a part of a new show called “The Court of Common Sense.” It was sort of like “Judge Judy” except that the decisions were based solely on common sense rather than the law. Needless to say, I loved the concept.

Every day for about a week we did run-throughs in Merv Griffin’s Beverly Hilton office. A run-through is when you test out a show and hopefully work out the kinks before the pilot is filmed. There were only a handful of us involved in this- me as the wisecracking court reporter, the always-funny Steve Seagren as the sidekick bailiff, the show creator, Merv Griffin and one of Merv’s top development execs. We auditioned several people to be the judge, including Howie Mandel, Bobby Collins and Adam West. Yes, the original Batman. He was my favorite as I thought his dry sense of humor was a nice contrast to Steve’s goofy style and my smart ass style.

Quite often during the week, Merv would ask for my opinion on things since I was the only female in the room. I remember being surprised the first time he did that because I wouldn’t expect someone of his stature to even notice I was there much less care about what I thought. But he was so friendly and kept commenting on how lovely I was that I thought he was flirting with me and I told a friend that. My friend said, “Uh, you know Merv Griffin is gay, right?” Apparently I missed that issue of the National Enquirer but it made perfect sense since the ‘Mo’s love me (I think it’s because at my former height of 5’10″ and with my broad shoulders I resembled a bad drag queen).

When we actually filmed the pilot, Joe Rogan held the role of the judge and it was absolutely hilarious. I was certain that the show was going to be an enormous hit but for some unknown reason it wasn’t picked up. Serious error in someone’s judgment.

But in a town full of phony, conceited nobodies, it was nice to encounter someone at the top who still acknowledged the little guy with respect. Merv Griffin seemed like a class act to me- R.I.P.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2007. |
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I thought it was interesting because Larry King once embarrassed me (cue the blurry squiggly lines)…

Back when I attended the University of Hawaii, the managing editors for newspapers across the country held a convention in Waikiki and our journalism department was assigned the task of creating a daily newspaper covering the convention’s events. Certainly the most interesting assignment I was given was on the topic of the right to privacy in the media. I interviewed leading experts in the field and a couple well-known victims. One was Patricia Bowman, the woman who accused William Kennedy-Smith of raping her and whose private information was aired throughout the media. I remember being surprised by how different she seemed in person from the way she’d been portrayed in the media: rather than some drunk, party-girl floozy, she came across to me as soft-spoken and intelligent. I knew instantly that Kennedy-Smith was guilty (do I need the wink)? The other victim I interviewed (via phone) was former tennis star Arthur Ashe, who had been forced to reveal to the world that he had AIDS when he learned that USA Today was going to publish that information. Ashe died shortly thereafter.

Ok, Larry King had nothing to do with any of that, I just thought it was interesting. Here’s the Larry part:

Larry King was the keynote speaker for the convention and even though I wasn’t covering the event, I decided to take advantage of my press pass and listen in. I took a seat at an empty table in the back corner and a short time later Larry joined me. I probably gave him a polite nod or maybe a simple “hi” like I would anybody else but I typically leave celebrities alone. However, he started chatting me up. Once that door was opened, I thought, “Here’s my chance to get an exclusive!” (Yeah, I was a real fucking Lois Lane. What a dork). We talked for awhile until he was introduced to speak.

He began his speech by saying something about how journalists are always on the job. He then said, “Like just now, I was speaking with this young journalism student named Jenée and there I was trying my hardest to flirt with her and she’s drilling me with questions like she has a five o’clock deadline.”

Now, I am not one who is easily embarrassed- I take almost everything in stride. But the entire room turned in my direction (oh, they all knew exactly who Larry had been talking to) and they were roaring with laughter. I was absolutely mortified. Sure, if it happened today I’d think it was hilarious but I was still a kid at the time. This was to be my future career and I was forever going to be remembered as the wide-eyed journalism student Larry King hit on even though he was like 150 years old (clearly thinking quite highly of myself that anybody would remember me at all). I dug out as soon as the speech was over but not without hearing one or two “Hey, you could do worse than Larry King” jokes.

So there you go, Mike Wallace. Larry King may not have set out to embarrass me but he certainly succeeded.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2007. |
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A couple years ago, I was performing at Kunsan Air Base in South Korea and after one of the shows some soldiers asked if I wanted to go off base to O-Town (or maybe it was called A-Town. One was a reality show band, the other is a rinkydink town in Korea). Having a total disregard for personal safety, I agreed to accompany this group of complete strangers in a foreign land.

O/A-Town is just a few miles from the base and consists of a couple of blocks of dingy bars and restaurants. I was immediately introduced to the local flavor called Soju, a potent concoction that tastes like juice so you tend to consume way too much of it. It’s so sweet you have to chase it with a vitamin drink to prevent hangovers. Just to show you the powers of the Soju, a guy in a kilt (in Korea?) allowed me to get photo documentation of what’s underneath his kilt and this is how one of my loaded companions captured the once-in-a-lifetime moment. And so the answer to one of life’s big questions remains unproven.

We stopped at a few bars, all of which were mostly the same: tiny holes with about 10 tables and one bored (or maybe scared) Korean girl in a bathing suit (not a bikini) dancing with a pole looking like she’d been sold into her profession by “evil Japanese business man.” The Mama at one of the bars was awesome. She was about 4’5″, cleaned the tables with a lit cigarette in her hand and barked angrily at all the soldiers she’d probably been sick of dealing with since 1955. I love characters like that. She’s so cute I even published this ghastly image of myself so you can see her. She took a liking to me so I asked if I could make my pole dancing debut on her stage. At first she refused but the guys assured her I wasn’t in the military so she agreed.

I took the stage and must say, I think I missed my true calling in life (damn cellulite)! I whipped around that pole like I’d been doing it since childhood, which I think is when all the great strippers get started. This action shot shows I was no timid flower up there. Unfortunately, my hair took out three innocent bystanders. After a few minutes I was joined onstage by another girl (as you can see, the “gift with the pole” is not posessed by all) and the crowd went wild, hoping for a little lesbian action. Their dirty fantasies were cut short when Mama started yelling from the front door, “Get down! Get down!” It was Terminator Mama! Like a scene from a bad sitcom, she literally had a military police officer’s head wedged in the partially open door, as if that was preventing him from seeing inside. We hightailed it to the dancer dressing area, which was about two square feet surrounded by a curtain and missing the complimentary cocaine you’d find at the American equivalent. We hung out there a little while until the MP’s had left (they routinely patrol all the bars). Apparently the girl who joined me was a soldier, which could have caused some problems for her and/or the establishment. When I sat back down, one of the guys handed me $10. Ten bucks and I didn’t even take off any clothes. I think that’s a real testament to my pole skills (or maybe it was just in appreciation of the fact I didn’t take my clothes off. Whatever- I’ll take it).

We headed back to base with about 20 minutes until lockout and the guys started hassling our cab driver about the price. He got mad, pulled over and told us to get out. A dark road littered with the occasional decrepid building is not the place where you want to be stranded in the middle of the night with five random miltary men. I don’t know if one of the guys sweet-talked him or if I’m now unknowingly married to a Korean cabbie but somehow he agreed to take us the rest of the way. After a mad dash to the entrance we made it inside just in time. Naturally, the plan after that was to get even more drunk and belligerent at parties on the base (for all my discussions in here about alcohol consumption, I feel I should mention I actually don’t drink very often but when I do, I usually get hammered. Or I guess “bombed” would be more appropriate for this story).

Five a.m. rolled around and one of the guys asked, “You wanna paint a bomb?” I had absolutely no idea what that meant so I quickly said, “YEAH!” (After a few cocktails, I’m as big an idiot as anyone). He grabbed some paint cans and took me out to a hangar full of actual bombs. He told me to have at it and I did, so drunk that it never even occurred to me that I was defacing federal property. I just figured if the officer said I could do it, it must be okay (which I’m pretty sure is the same brilliant thought process that led to the Abu Ghraib scandal among others). Not an experienced tagger, I proceeded to write “Jenée” on one and “Jenée’s Bitch” on another. Real smart putting my name on there while posters of me were hanging all over the base. I might as well have written, “You can arrest me at this address: 265…” I’m guessing some soldier raped or killed a local, thereby deflecting attention from my crime, as they never came for me. Whatever the reason, it was a lucky break for me!

I don’t know if bombs have an expiration date but I assume my babies are still on active duty not far from the demilitarized zone (DMZ). Obviously, I hope the North Korea situation is handled peacefully… but if it isn’t, look for my bombs on CNN!

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2006. |
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Back to Rickles. I brought a couple friends to Vegas but could only bring my partner in crime (or so I thought) Courtney to his show. We were delighted to find that our fourth row center seats were a couple rows better than the ones Aaron Spelling, Paramount Studios chief Sherry Lansing, Ernest Borgnine, Linda Thompson and a few other movers and shakers had. My friend had seen Rickles in Vegas before and promised he was awesome. He started out strong and then… plunk. I was a bit disappointed. Almost half of his hour-long show was singing and the response to much of his comedy material was somewhat tepid. But it was free, so I couldn’t complain.

When the show was over, the audience worked its way out and we noticed Rickles on the edge of the stage talking to some guests. Courtney and I decided to hang out a bit and see if we could meet him. Neither of us is the starstruck type so we probably had some delusional notion that he’d see us as two cute female comics and want to make us his prot?g? ‘s. Believe me, we wouldn’t cut into our gambling time just to meet some celebrity unless we thought he could help our careers. We stayed in our seats a little too long and by the time we got up to approach him, he’d left the stage.

We noticed all the VIP’s being led to a side door. I grabbed my friend and we jumped in line. She was nervous about being caught. I asked where her sense of adventure was and told her to just act like we belong. I figured what have we got to lose? The worst that could happen is they’d kick us out, which in itself would be a funny story. The best that could happen is we’d leave with development deals to star in the next bad Spelling vehicle.

She wasn’t thrilled with the idea but she went along and we made our way through the door (even the security at the Paris sucks). As we were all standing in a hallway waiting to squeeze into a small reception room, the Borgnines made small talk with us. Fucking Courtney panicked and blurted, “We must have gone through the wrong door. We shouldn’t be here.” I inflicted multiple mental stab wounds upon her. “We’re just a couple comics who wanted to meet Mr. Rickles.”

Tova Borgnine, who’s a close personal friend as opposed to a MySpace friend of Don Rickles sweetly said, “It won’t be a problem. Go on in and meet him.” Cool! I had my pass. I squeezed my way in (the room was seriously that small- conversation with the bigwigs was inevitable) and grabbed an appetizer and a glass of champagne (I had to look like I belonged there, right)? As I glanced around, I spotted Courtney, still standing in the hallway looking like a naughty puppy who’d pooped on the living room carpet. I motioned for her to get in there but she wouldn’t. I would have even been fine with her leaving altogether. As it was, I was totally embarrassed and couldn’t pretend like I belonged with her standing there like that so we escaped in a hurry. Instead of enjoying an intimate party with Hollywood’s elite, we braved the freezing strip to join the mob of revelers puking, pissing and passing out.

I’m still a little bitter about the whole incident but I guess I now have a story to tell Don Rickles if I ever do meet him.

© Jenée for Comedian Jenée: People are Idiots, 2005. |
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