M a c k L i n d s a y

Will Hook for Food

Mack Lindsay — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 19:58:40 +0000

A lot of my friends in comedy do commercials to make ends meet. It’s not really my thing. I can’t get into it. I feel like I would be losing a part of what matters to me as a stand up if I were to do one. And that just goes for me. Not everyone feels the same, …obviously. Bill Hicks had that bit about marketing which is forever used as a point of reference for comics doing commercials. He said something to the effect that actors/entertainers who are struggling get a pass on doing them. But people who have already achieved a level of success, whatever that may be, do not. In his words, you do a commercial and “you are off of the artistic roll call forever”. I don’t necessarily agree with that. First off, I don’t consider most people in entertainment to be artist. As a matter of fact, they belong on commercials. They fit quite nicely on a conveyor belt hustling products. And then, there are some who wont do commercials,.. but they might as well. Integrity doesn’t equal talent, …you’re going to need the money. Go ahead,… push the hamburger. Maybe they will let you eat it afterwards, because lord knows know you’re hungry.

I personally don’t want to do a commercial because I would feel like a clown. hypocrisy is not the issue for me. No one, however sturdy in character, is spared that scarlet letter. We all fall short of an ideal. I just think commercials are an embarrassing medium. And no matter how funny you were when you booked the commercial, once you’re on it, now you don’t tell jokes, you are one! Now most of my friends do not seem to have a problem with it. Its money in the bank. And I can’t argue with that. But they do seem a little ridiculous talking about it. Dude I just booked a Weenierschnitzel gig! And immediately, other comics are jealous. Even me sometimes! It’s the money, not the credit. I guess its a difference of values. But they’re listening to this guys hot dog story and are actually envious. All of a sudden it’s this passive aggressive sowing circle of insecure comedians, who are bitter because only one of them gets to pimp a processed meat product. It’s kind of a humiliating scenario for those involved. Because it’s not like the person who landed the thing is humble. He thinks there is some competitive edge he’s gained by being chosen for the shit. Like looking good standing next to a weenier isn’t something you can learn, like you have to just be born with the sausage to face ratio IT factor!

And I know a lot of comics who do advertisements. And what I think of the whole situation aside, they are my friends. They can do what they want. It’s just not what I want to do. I may need money, I may consider going out to an audition, but that’s where it stops. I have given a lot of thought to it and It’s simply not for me. People are always like, “Mack you have a good look, All the Tattoos, you could book something”. I don’t want to do the whole tattoo minstrel show. I’m not going to be the type cast dirt bag boyfriend, hey I’m here for your daughter bro! Because that’s what I would be. And really, that’s not who I am. I think I would lose a lot of self-respect doing a commercial for anything I don’t feel passionate about. Or at least something I think would be funny. I would probably do a commercial for a defense contractor. A tattooed scumbag boyfriend moving cell phone plans is one thing. But a junkie tricking for mirved warheads is just pure entertainment! Sometimes when I’m doing all the obnoxious scummy things you assume I do because of how people who look like me are portrayed in our culture, I get a craving for modern colonialism! Thats why I use Lockheed and Martin daisy cutters! Get some!

All in all, I have given up the fight to either condemn or co-sign commercial acting in comedy. I don’t do it, you do, ok. Who cares? I am not trying to change society by refusing to partake in it. I am merely accepting what will work for me as a person.

The State Machine Killed the Coffee Shop Star

Mack Lindsay — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 05:02:04 +0000

I walked down to my favorite local coffee shop the other day, grabbed a cup, sat out front with my notebook and lit a cigarette. I love smoking and writing, it’s one of the only things besides comedy and my girl that bring me pleasure in this world. And so this guy walks up and says, “Sir you cant smoke here.”

Excuse me! Do you work here? Because if you don’t, and you’re simply one of those bitch-made non smokers who like to pull rank over the “No smoking 15 ft. in front of the door” sticker, fuck off. I don’t really have any patience for grown ass tattle tales who envy people that are willing to get over on a bullshit rule.

But that wasn’t the case. He did work at the shop, and he’s not a dick. As a matter of fact, he’s a smoker himself. He was obviously embarrassed to have to be the smoke Nazi and shut down fun time. It turns out there is a city ordinance here in Los Angeles. Apparently smoking is not allowed on restaurant or coffee shop property. So if a police officer sees me smoking he can take the cig out of my mouth and replace it with a ticket. Then the city fines my coffee shop as well…even if they preferred I smoke!

Not only are the dead walking, they’re winning! Where am I supposed to write now? I have to smoke when I write. And the coffee shop is where I do it. I mean, what’s a cup of coffee if you can’t smoke with it? You talk with friends, eavesdrop on strangers, and write…all amidst a delicious cloud of pungent blue grey.

It’s bad enough that I can’t smoke inside, and now they are going to take away my right to do it outside!? It didn’t really sink in until today. I woke up and wanted to go work on some new material. I started walking to the shop, and then I remembered. Oh yeah, I’m living in smoker apartheid. At least that’s what it feels like. Like at any moment I’m going to be reported for being in public without a gold cigarette patch on my sleeve. Am I the only one frustrated and confused over the displacement? Where are all the other lepers going, I wonder? They’re probably still at the coffee shop in denial. They probably think they can deal with it. They’re telling themselves they will just get up and off the property when they need a cig. No big deal. It’s nothing, smoking in the middle of the street! I can see the front page now: Smokers Dying In Mass All Over Los Angeles. No, not from cancer, they’ve been run over by buses.

I don’t know, I guess I’m putting a big fat X on coffee shops for now. I’ll just chalk it up to another point for the pod people! I smoke– it’s my right. It doesn’t make me dirty or a less suitable citizen. So just like karaoke and the mechanical bull at the Saddle Ranch, I wont go to coffee shops anymore. I won’t get up every 15 minutes to seek a hiding place in some dark alley, shamefully hovering over an American Spirit like a cultural vermin. It’s too emotional and distracting, especially for writing. I need one static location. I tried writing at a park even though you can’t smoke in those either. But the people there don’t really mind because most of them are homeless and they smoke a lot of things. Anybody else is probably just a Guatemalan nanny, and if they try to tell me anything I’ll threaten them with a call to the INS. Anyway, the park was a pointless gesture. It’s too hard to get comfortable. I had to balance my notebook on a big ass rock, and the grass was cold and soggy. Am I supposed to come here every day and sit in a puddle just to write with a cigarette in my mouth? Nah, fuck it. You win SHIT HEADS! I’m going home. I’ll make my own coffee and burn a pack in private until they take that away too.

Dear Comedy, I’m affraid of your followers

Mack Lindsay — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 23:08:53 +0000

I just got home from a two week road trip. What an exhausting experience! I hardly felt that anything good would come from it. After the first three days it started to look like the last nail in the coffin for my confidence, career, life…just everything that matters to me. Let me paint a picture for you:

Roswell, Georgia. A comedy club inside of a tri-level arcade the size of a city block. There you go, that’s it.

I’m at the Funny Farm. Go-carts and stand up, what a great idea! Why hasn’t anyone else thought of such a wonderful concept?! Why not put a pinball machine in an art gallery while you’re at it?! Needless to say, immediately upon realizing that I was going to do an entire weekend at this southern fried neon abortion, my heart sank. Great, I’m competing with whacka-mole and I don’t spit out tickets when you hit me.

You know, it’s like I work so hard to get booked at a club and then this is what it turns out to be; a gaudy, tacky, blinking grotto for infantilized adults. And I bet the last thing they want to hear is me making fun of it, which is all I can do. Every single show was a nightmare. I felt like I was in some sort of comedic Gauntanamo Bay. And the audience, more like the CIA, was going to water-board me with their silence until they got to hear what they wanted.

“Where’s all them jokes about Charlie Sheen?! Don’t you think gay people are faggots?! Say it! Say faggot!”

I just can’t, and I just won’t do it. Even if it means never getting booked there again, which is probably the case. I guess it’s my fault for expecting a pit of retarded vipers to lay still while I poke them with a stick of reason. We just don’t share the same sense of humor. I ended up having a conversation with one of the locals. She was this bleached blonde, Coors guzzling, camo wearing, militia klan member, and I am not exaggerating. She wanted to argue about Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, and how it pertained to health care.

She was like, “The gubment empowers the weak and weakens the strong!”
I was like, “Stop reading. It doesn’t suit you.”

But alas, that’s the kind of crowd you can expect when the club you’re performing at is in an arcade. That is, in fact, the status quo. And not only in Georgia, but most comedy clubs in this country. I think it’s elevator music they want. After four nights of that shit I really began to question things. Do I really have a chance? I mean, I love comedy and I love performing– just not for the typical people who go to comedy shows. I can barely stand to watch a lot of performers, and I certainly can’t handle the comedy on tv. It’s boring, pedantic, and uninspiring. Unfortunately, if you want to do comedy you have to go up in clubs at some point. These clubs and their clientele do to comedy what Christians do to the Bible,…give it a bad name.