Marc Maron's advice to younger comics

Marc Maron's advice to younger comics from his keynote address at Montreal’s JFL 2011:

  1. Show business is not your parents. When you get to Hollywood you should have something more than, “Hey! I’m here! When do we go on the rides?”

  2. Try to tap into your authentic voice, your genuine funny and build from there.

  3. Try to find a manager that gets you.

  4. Nurturing and developing talent is no longer relevant. Don’t expect it. If you want to hear about that talk to an agent, manager or comic from back in the day….but don’t get sucked in. They’ll pay for the meal but they’ll feed on you naïvete to fuel their diminishing relevance and that can be a soul suck.

  5. If you have a manager there is a language spoken by them and their assistants that you should begin to understand. For example when an assistant says: He’s on a call or I’ll try to get her in the car or he just stepped out or I don’t have her right now or their in a meeting or he’s at lunch or she’s on set or or or…. All of those mean: They’ve got no time for you. You have nothing going on. Go make something happen so they can take credit for it.

  6. Sometimes a ‘general meeting’ just means that executives had an open day, needed to fill out their schedule and want to be entertained. Don’t get your hopes up.

  7. If your manager says any of these: We’re trading calls or I have a call in to them or they said you killed it or they love you or their having a meeting about you or we’re waiting to hear back or they’re big fans. These usually mean: You didn’t get it and someone will tell you second hand.

  8. There is really no business like show business. Except maybe prostitution. There’s a bit of overlap there.

  9. This is not a meritocracy. Get over yourself.

  10. Dave Rath will be you manager

Nice shoutouts to Giraldo, Schimmel, and DeStefano at the end too.


The Johnny Cash of comedy, mushroom trips, and The Green Room

Dave Attell and Doug Stanhope exchange [via SM]:

Stanhope: Here’s a Dave Attell story: Dave always talks in the same cadence, so you never know if he’s kidding or not. So he’s like, “I’m going to New Orleans. Remember when we were in New Orleans, and we got drunk and did an open mic, and then you hopped a freight train?” And it sounded like a joke, and I laughed, but he’s like, “No, I’m serious.” I’m like, “I’ve never played New Orleans.” What happened is Andy Andrist and I drove like hell to see Lewis Black, Dave Attell, and Mitch Hedberg on the same bill. We had played Georgia, drove 12 hours to be there, saw the show, got s***-faced, and we ended up at an open mic, and then, evidently, I jumped on a freight train by the (?) place, just to see if I… But I thought he was kidding. And he’s like, “No, you jumped a freight train…” [Laughs]

Attell: He’s great. He’s the Johnny Cash of comedy.

Stanhope: Yeah, I went one hundred yards.

Attell: He actually took a hobo trip to the next gig.

Stanhope: One hundred yards, and then I ran back going, “I jumped a freight train!”

This video also goes behind the scenes during season two of The Green Room with Paul Provenza. Quote from Joe Rogan: "If you want to write a new hour, you need at least one big mushroom trip in the mix." And here's the Belzer book Stanhope goes after up top.

Hot Soup w/ Gary Gulman

The lineup for Friday (July 29) night's show:

Gary Gulman
Calise Hawkins
Seaton Smith
Jason Saenz
Andy Hendrickson
Mark Normand
Matt Ruby

Hot Soup!
Every Friday at 8pm
O'Hanlon's (back room)
349 E 14th St between 1st and 2nd Ave. (map)
Produced by Matt Ruby, Mark Normand, Andy Haynes, and David Cope


Funny comebacks from Tom Petty, Phil Spector, and Elvis Costello

A few good music lines...

1) Joe List told me the first one: Bruce Springsteen headlined a concert in the 70s that also featured Tom Petty, Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne, and some others. The crowd was riled up to see Springsteen. Raitt told Petty not to worry if he was onstage and thought he was getting booed because they were actually shouting, "Bruuuuuce." Petty's reply: "As if that's any better."

2) The second one was told by songwriters Cythia Weil and Barry Mann during this interview on Sound Opinions. They wrote “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” and presented it to producer Phil Spector, who thought it'd be great for The Righteous Brothers (Bill Medley and Bobby Hatfield).

When they got together and played the song for Bill and Bobby, Phil explained the arrangement: Bill would sing the verses, Bobby would do harmonies on the chorus, and they'd trade off on the bridge. Bobby wasn't used to sitting out parts of their songs though. So he asked Phil, "What am I supposed to do while the big guy's singing?" Phil didn't miss a beat and replied, "You'll go to the bank." (Insert joke here about how Phil Spector really knows how to kill.)

3) And then there's one of my favorite quotes ever. It's from Elvis Costello (or maybe not) when he was asked, in 1983, how he felt about music critics. His reply: "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture — it's a really stupid thing to want to do."


Nick DiPaolo's first Letterman set

This joke is a thing of beauty:

I can never get quiet people living above me. It's never an old lady by herself. It's always like three Sumo wrestlers wearing clogs learning to tap dance. I'm coming down the stairs they're headed up with a gallon of Häagen-Dazs and a Gregory Hines album.

More DiPaolo.


Bottle episodes

On a recent episode of Community (written by Megan Ganz), Abed announced it was a “bottle episode.” So what's that? Bottle episodes are shows produced on the cheap using zero (or very few) non-regular cast members, effects, and sets as possible.

Example: The Seinfeld episode that takes place entirely in a Chinese restaurant. (The AV Club has a list of 19 TV episodes largely confined to one location.) Not sure if it technically qualifies, but I always like the restraint of how each Party Down episode takes place in just one location: the party they're catering.

Anyway, good inspiration for making web videos (or other stuff) on the cheap. Proves you can still make compelling fare without using tons of locations, sets, actors, etc.


Old Richard Lewis panels on Letterman

It was interesting listening to Richard Lewis talk about his Carson and Letterman appearances on his recent WTF interview. Here's a couple of his Letterman panels:

Hadn't watched Lewis in a while. It's interesting how he's a high energy, physical guy yet he's always talking about how depressed and neurotic he is. It's like Woody Allen on meth.

You can watch of couple of his full specials online: I'm In Pain and I'm Exhausted.


Why Letterman keeps his studio so cool

Never been to a Letterman taping. But I've heard the studio is chilly due to Dave's orders.

Was talking about it the other day with someone who knows the show well. His version: The studio is actually kept at 55 degrees. Audience members are warned in advance so they can bring additional clothing.

Why 55? Apparently back in the 80s, Dave experimented with different temperatures on different shows. He tried 75 one day. 65 another day. The day he went with 55, jokes really hit and from then on that was the temperature.

There's even an article about the Letterman studio on the site of Multistack, the company that makes the theater's chillers.

Some folks say David Letterman doesn’t want to break into a sweat during intense interviews under hot studio lights. But, according to George Clarke, Theater and Building Engineer for CBS, the cool air makes the sound crisper and keeps the audience more alert. “Crowd reaction is very important in this business, and the comedy stays fresh in the cold, too” says Clarke...

At about 5 o’clock each week night, Clarke and his boss, Joe Soldano, Building Manager, must make sure that the temperature of the Ed Sullivan Theater is pulled down to 50° F before the audience arrives. The MULTISTACK chiller has never failed to cool things down. “The stagehands call this place ‘the refrigerator’.” In the filming rooms everyone sits around in winter coats, hats and gloves. They, too, are kept crisp and alert by the cool temperature.

Related: Comedy Feng Shui: 10 things that ruin comedy shows [Sandpaper Suit]


Latest We're All Friends Here episodes are alive

The newest We're All Friends Here episode on Breakthru Radio is up. We're taking off this month so it's a clip show featuring juicy stuff from James Adomian, Michael Che, and Tom Sibley. Thanks to Marcus Parks for getting 'er up. Next WAFH show will be at The Creek on August 6 at 8pm.

Oh, and I forgot to post the previous episode here: BTR episode 06/21/2011: Jason Good, Rae Sanni, Thomas Dale. It's another good one.

Previous episodes. Subscribe via iTunes or RSS feed.

The guy with the neck brace during Justin Timberlake and Jimmy Fallon's History Of Rap, Part 2

Oh man, I can't get enough of this dude in the audience with a neck brace when Timberlake and Fallon go into the crowd (4:20 into video).

I'm happier believing he's a plant so let me think that. Here's the clip [via Splitsider]:


Grand Unified Theory of humor?

Peter McGraw is a professor of marketing and psychology at the University of Colorado. He thinks he's found the Grand Unified Theory of humor. It starts with the idea that tickling is only funny when it's done by someone you know.

McGraw and Caleb Warren, a doctoral student, presented their elegantly simple formulation in the August 2010 issue of the journal Psychological Science. Their paper, “Benign Violations: Making Immoral Behavior Funny,” cited scores of philosophers, psychologists, and neuroscientists (as well as Mel Brooks and Carol Burnett). The theory they lay out: “Laughter and amusement result from violations that are simultaneously seen as benign.” That is, they perceive a violation—”of personal dignity (e.g., slapstick, physical deformities), linguistic norms (e.g., unusual accents, malapropisms), social norms (e.g., eating from a sterile bedpan, strange behaviors), and even moral norms (e.g., bestiality, disrespectful behaviors)”—while simultaneously recognizing that the violation doesn’t pose a threat to them or their worldview. The theory is ludicrously, vaporously simple. But extensive field tests revealed nuances, variables that determined exactly how funny a joke was perceived to be...

The ultimate takeaway of McGraw’s paper was that the evolutionary purpose of laughter and amusement is to “signal to the world that a violation is indeed OK.” Building on the work of behavioral neurologist V. S. Ramachandran, McGraw believes that laughter developed as an instinctual way to signal that a threat is actually a false alarm—say, that a rustle in the bushes is the wind, not a saber-toothed tiger. “Organisms that could separate benign violations from real threats benefited greatly,” McGraw says.

The professor was able to plug the BVT into every form of humor. Dirty jokes violate social norms in a benign way because the traveling salesmen and farmers’ daughters that populate them are not real. Punch lines make people laugh because they gently violate the expectations that the jokes set up. The BVT also explains Sarah Silverman, McGraw says; the appalling things that come out of her mouth register as benign because she seems so oblivious to their offensiveness, and “because she’s so darn cute.” Even tickling, long a stumbling block for humor theorists, appears to fit. Tickling yourself can’t be a violation, because you can’t take yourself by surprise. Being tickled by a stranger in a trench coat isn’t benign; it’s creepy. Only tickling by someone you know and trust can be a benign violation.

He managed to ask Louis CK about his theory. CK's response: “I don’t think it’s that simple. There are thousands of kinds of jokes. I just don’t believe that there’s one explanation.”

One takeaway from this "benign violation" idea (if true) is the importance of making an audience feel comfortable and safe. This is the problem with so many mics and crappy shows where there's only a few people in the room and there's some dude onstage telling jokes about rape or whatever. At that point, things stop feeling benign and start to feel genuinely creepy. It starts to enter "tickled by a stranger" zone.

If that's the energy of the room, your first job becomes getting everyone unified and feeling like they're in "a happy place." It's sort of like being the host for your own set.

The article ran in Wired's recent Humor issue which also has a Q&A between Chris Hardwick and Andy Samberg and The Secrets to Lonely Island’s Success.


(Video) Made With Love: Baked Parsnip Chips

A Sandpaper Suit production: When Gideon and Vanessa Schwartz cook, everything is made simply, made with fresh ingredients, and made with love! In this episode, the couple shows you how to prepare baked parsnip chips.

Matt Ruby - Gideon Schwartz, Writer
Brooke Van Poppelen - Vanessa Schwartz, Writer
Matt Lament - Director, Editor
Christian Olson - Director of Photography


The secret to Eddie Murphy's SNL success

A profile of Eddie Murphy from 1982, right after he finished shooting 48 Hours. [via JK]

In the piece, there's a good performance/auditioning tip: Think of the camera as just another person.

Ah, the ol' "smile with your eyes." Joe Piscopo also talks about Murphy's smile/vulnerability.

Here's some vintage Eddie from those days:

More clips of Eddie on SNL.


The Kaplan-Ruby Letters, Part Two

The second (and final) part of an email exchange between Myq Kaplan and myself. (Check out Part One.)


Interesting that you feel your writing outpaced your performance skills. I feel like there's a certain confidence you get from performance reps that is hard to fake. It's like audiences can tell if you've been in the trenches before and for how long via some invisible transmission.

Sometimes that's the way I feel about shitty gigs — each one is another...well, let me backtrack. I feel like every standup needs a suit of armor. And the audience can tell whether or not you've got this suit. But the only way you build this suit of armor is one little piece at a time. Each shitty show or dingy mic is adding one more tiny piece of armor to that suit. So it takes years to get a full suit together.

Or at least that's what I tell myself so I feel better after shitty shows and dingy mics. After all that crap you begin to think, "There's nothing you people can do to me that hasn't already been done." And I think people sense that and respond positively to it.

As for your questions about my early days, I think I was probably more confident than I should have been when I started. For one thing, I had been performing music live for years so I think that helped me with feeling comfortable onstage. And early on, I lucked into some good gigs and got semi-regular spots at a club for a bit. So that prob made me think I had more juice than I really did. I think that lasted for six months to a year and then I started doing more rooms and things shifted and I started reevaluating everything. Around that time, I started taking more chances and trying different things (characters, one-liners, changing how I delivered jokes, doing weird videos, etc.) in order to figure out what felt most right for me. That involved more failure but I think I learned a lot from it. I also started to figure out who I wanted to be onstage more. That helped me filter out what I did and didn't want to talk about.

Oh, and We're All Friends Here started three years ago and that had an impact on me too. It's the most fun I have performing and it's all about being real and tension/release. Sometimes we get laughs at that show that just feel deeper and more human than the ones you get from doing jokey jokes. It's made me want to bring that same vibe to my standup. Also, I'm amazed when a standup is offstage and being really interesting talking about their own life and then they go onstage and talk about silly pop culture shit. I don't want to be like that.

(But then again, I have a newish quick joke about the Black Eyed Peas that I tossed off but it does well...so do I really give that up? It's a wrestling match inside my brain. Now I'm trying to figure out why I care about the Black Eyed Peas and trying to see if there's a way to frame the joke so it's about me and my worldview instead of just "those guys are dumb.")

And yes, I do like confident performers. Doesn't everyone? Maybe the ideal is someone who is confident yet also taking chances at the same time. So there's a hint of "this may not go well" involved too. Danger is exciting. (Also, criminals are sexy.)

Back to you: Is there a system to how you prioritize material? What do you know now that you didn't know years ago? Do you just trust your gut or do you have a way of knowing what's worth working on? I could see you with a spreadsheet of topics/jokes. But maybe that is because I feel like comedy, in some ways, is a series of math problems to you.

Also, you're performing for much bigger crowds now post-LCS, right? How has the size of the audience changed the way you perform? Is it a letdown when you come to a struggling NYC show and the audience members are apathetic?


First, is your Black-Eyed Peas joke that you want to give them black eyes and pee on them? Because if it's not, then it's mine now. Whether I want it or not. But if it is yours, then I like it.

Regarding comedy being mathematical to me, I'd say there's some truth to that. I'm a mathematical person, though I'd say that a lot of us are, maybe not as explicitly, but most of us will do a cost-benefit analysis at some point of "I like this joke but the audience doesn't, so how much time and energy and work do I put into shifting those scales before I decide to cut my losses?" Ideally, the equation is "I like it + the audience likes it = everyone wins," and I would say that my prioritization is based on a shifting equilibrium of the components of that equation. (I would say that if it made sense, that is.)

I'm not sure exactly why or explicitly how I'm better at prioritizing now. Probably it's some combination of knowing what I like about myself and my comedy now more than in the past (when I'd be more beholden to what the AUDIENCE liked), along with just having lots more opportunity for stagetime to stick with the things that I like and push them into being what I want them to be. So maybe it's not prioritizing at all. Maybe if I prioritized differently, I'd still net positive results.

One thing that I do now that I didn't do as much in the past is riff a lot more when I'm working on new material. Two big inspirations in that vein are Rory Scovel and Micah Sherman. Seeing Rory leave his material and just follow any tangent to its logical (or illogical) conclusion is wonderful. Same with Micah, just always willing and able to just keep creating based on whatever twists and turns are happening right there in the then and now (where now is also then). A lot of punchlines of mine ended up being the result of just continuing to speak after I thought the original joke that I had conceived was over. What Paul F. Tompkins does is also a major inspiration, with his show-starting riffing.

And that actually goes along with why I love doing shows like Hot Soup, or Chelsea and Aalap's show that I just did last Friday. I sometimes have MORE fun with a small audience than with a gigantic one, depending on the circumstances. I just did a weekend headlining a club in South Carolina, and while Friday and Saturday had packed houses, my favorite show was Wednesday, which almost got canceled but at the last minute about 20 people ended up being there, and it was the most fun. Sometimes a packed Saturday night crowd brings with it the feeling of obligation to "play the hits" or "put on a good show," as opposed to what I did with the smaller crowd, which was just being more present, more in the moment. And that's not to say I don't try to do that with bigger crowds also; when crowds are good, I'll go off book as much as possible, forging new joke paths and birthing new joke babies. But when there are fewer people, sometimes the capacity to do that is optimized in a way that isn't quite when the room is full. Or maybe it's a constraint I put on myself.

Here's a question: you're a person who I believe enjoys comedians who are in the moment, AND comedians who are revealing deeper truths about themselves. Does one hold more sway over your comedy heart than the other, if they're at odds? By which I mean, someone can perfect a routine about their most recent heartbreak, someone could do a hilarious and poignant one-person show about a wrenching issue. But someone else can be in the moment and just be creating hilarious nonsense. Obviously some folks are capable of both. Rory says real things in his standup, but also some of my favorite moments of his are just spontaneity that doesn't necessarily have a higher point other than being hilarious. For you, is there a way to say that one moment is more meaningful than another?

The way I write my comedy now, in its ideal form, is shifting back and forth between having a spontaneous moment on stage, and then analyzing and mining that moment later for future use, which will lead to future spontaneous moments, which can then be capitalized on in the future-future. Etc.

I think that sheds a little light (to me) on the way I prioritize as well. Every time I listen back to a set where something new (and in that moment, real) happened, I am excited about getting onstage again to share that moment with the next crowd, to see what will come of it then. And if it's happening with different jokes, new tags arising, new lines of thought that I want to follow, it's like a series of intertwining streams of consciousness that are choosing to be told rather than my doing the choosing (or I am choosing it, but simply for the reason that I'm interested in covering as much new ground as possible, mapping out a wider and wider area for my comedy to cover). I don't mean to get too new agey and decree that I'm some kind of vessel or anything.

I just love coming up with new things and perfecting them as much as possible, and seeing where that perfecting leads, to other new things. Perfect makes practice.

With regard to the idea of taking something positive out of every lousy gig, I fully support that, and have experienced it, and still do. I go into every show situation optimistic, and aim to come out that way as well. Hopefully at least one new thing happens in each show. You're a step ahead of where you were. One new horrible audience didn't destroy you. You're ready for the next horrible audience. Or readier to make them a good one.

The right combination of caring and not caring is key, I think. Do everything you can, but know that not everything is within your control, and that makes more things BE within your control. Know that we all die eventually, so why not be fearless when we're alive. The only thing there is to fear is death and pain. And those will happen anyway, so why add fear to the mix?


Re: in the moment vs. deeper truths. The easy way out is to say a hybrid of the two is ideal. Maybe an 80/20 ratio of prepared/riffed material? (Look, we brought math into it. Pareto!)

But if I had to choose, I'd go for the prepared, deeper, truthful material. This is why I prefer standup to improv. It lets you have a point of view. You can actually make points and say something. I think it can lead to real philosophical insight and deep truths. That's pretty rare in improv.

Don't get me wrong, improv/riffing can be magical. It's often the stuff that makes me laugh hardest. But it also tends to "evaporate" practically instantly. You can never tell someone about a great improv show you saw. Well, you can but it's kinda like telling someone about one of your dreams. They are items #1 and #2 on the "you had to be there" list of things. Great standup lingers more.

I do think riffing is a good way to develop material though. In my experience, it comes out sounding a lot more organic than written material. Related: One of my favorite things onstage is when something gets a laugh and I have no idea why it got a laugh. I feel like that's the audience teaching me that something is funny.

PFT's opening riffing is interesting. I've seen him live several times and it seems like it's a challenge to himself to see how long he can go riffing. As if that's the most fun part of the show for him. The way I often feel about riffing — unless you're a master at it like Rory or Jimmy Pardo — is that it's a bit selfish (i.e. more pleasing to the performer) while the prepared material is generous (i.e. more pleasing to the audience). Or, said more simply: riffing is for you, prepared material is for them.

Also, you bring up a good point about the freedom you get from doing less than perfect shows. Paid gigs/big crowds come with a different set of expectations. You've got to deliver the goods instead of just doing whatever you want. I like that pressure but I can see how you'd also long for a low stakes environment after a while of "ideal" shows.

Phew, well exchanged. Any final thoughts?


Final thoughts! Boy, do I have them! Get ready!

First, let me say I'm a huge fan of deep truths and philosophical insights. Furthermore, let me say, what if the deepest, truest, most insightful philosophy leads one to being in the moment? I'm no zen master, but I am a zen dabbler. And I'm not just trying to do semantic tricks here; sincerely, wisdom of the ages has often lauded the moment, the now. Not to say that the future doesn't exist (but does it?), or that we shouldn't consider it (but should we? yes, probably)...

This is actually something that I consider whenever I eat psilocybin mushrooms. As a person concerned with having the richest, fullest experience in life, I find myself (present) at odds with myself (future). Should I just experience the amazing time I'm having right now? Or should I attempt to remember or record important parts of that experience for later? Sometimes it seems like just laughing in the present is the way to go, and sometimes it seems like important truths are reached, sometimes during those laughings, and they should be retained...

And that's only considering myself, and not an audience. The idea that riffing is for the comedian and doing prepared material is for the audience makes sense, in a way, but also misses something. Some people love seeing material created before their eyes and ears (next to their ears?), even if it's in the rawest form, some ESPECIALLY in its rawest form. I definitely have had times when a riff leads me somewhere that I and the audience know might be more polished in the future, but is more real in the present. And it's not just fleeting things. I saw Stanhope one time at Comix do a show where he spoke to a real-life therapist, as part of a concept show where the therapist would just chat with the comedian about his actual potential problems. Stanhope was just being himself, in the moment, and also saying very real things that were lasting and insightful, made MORE powerful by the fact that they were in the moment.

Though that is going back to the copout you addressed initially, that obviously if both are possible, that could be the best. And it's an additional copout to use Stanhope as a reference, because I think he's one of the best thinkers and funniest comedians, and not many people do what he does as well as he does.

But that said, riffing isn't ONLY for the comedian, when I do it, at least. Number one, I'll only really get into it when I feel like the audience is there with me for it, and them being into it is part of what makes me able to keep going with it. And yes, sometimes I might reach a point where, if it were prepared material, I might have stopped a moment sooner. And perhaps if I re-create that with another audience in the future, I will indeed stop before I reach that point. But that means that riffing wasn't just for me in another way; it was also for that future audience. Riffing in the present serves the future crowds for whom it will no longer be riffing. Comedy as time travel.

That said, of course I don't have all the answers. And maybe the monks who just sit all day being in the moment don't either. But there is something very real and truthful about a moment, even if it cannot be explained without "you had to be there"-ing. But maybe that is the ultimate truth. The monk doesn't say "you had to be there." He says "be there." Or maybe he doesn't say anything. Or maybe he's a woman. A bald lady monk. My point is, become a monk, do some mushrooms, and start riffing. Somewhere in there, you'll find the truth you're looking for.


Surprising yourself

From Black Swan:

Nina: I want to be perfect.
Thomas: [scoffs] Perfection is not just about control. It's also about letting go. Surprise yourself so you can surprise the audience. Transcendence! Very few have it in them.

Applied to comedy, it's a good argument for abandoning the script onstage. Surprise is key to getting laughs. And if you're surprised by what you're saying, chances are they will be too.

I had no idea where I was going during this set. That's why it was so gratifying when I actually wound up somewhere. Felt like completing a wobbly tightrope walk.


Video: On The Street with Mark Normand - Gay Marriage

Mark Normand finds out what New Yorkers have to say about the legalization of gay marriage. Filmed and edited by yours truly. More fun videos on the way soon. Stay tuned.


Hot Soup w/ Adomian & Chicago dates

The lineup for Friday (July 8) night's show:

James Adomian
Damien Lemon
Andy Sandford
Adam Newman
Nore Davis
Andy Haynes
Matt Ruby

Hot Soup!
Every Friday at 8pm
O'Hanlon's (back room)
349 E 14th St between 1st and 2nd Ave. (map)
Produced by Matt Ruby, Mark Normand, Andy Haynes, and David Cope

You can also see me at these shows:

July 6 - 9:00pm - Gandhi, is that You? @ Lucky Jack's
July 10 - 6:30pm - Strawberry Hanukkah @ Coco 66
July 12 - 9:00pm - Chicago Underground Comedy @ Beat Kitchen (Chicago, IL)
July 13 - 8:00pm - CYSK @ Timothy O'Tooles (Chicago, IL)
July 14 - 9:00pm - Rotten Comedy @ The Oakwood (Chicago, IL)
July 15 - 8:00pm and 10:00pm - Red Bar Comedy Club (Chicago, IL)
July 16 - 8:00pm and 10:00pm - Red Bar Comedy Club (Chicago, IL)

More shows

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