Erin Judge's Open Salon Blog

Authenticity, Etc.

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 13:01:43 -0500

I'm extremely surprised by the news that Eddie Brill is no longer booking for Letterman. I'm surprised because I've never seen such a direct consequence for making derisive comments about women in this business.

Eddie Brill deserves credit for booking alternative comics and people of color (well, men of color) over the past several years. By booking Hannibal Burress and Kumail Nanjiani and Joe Wong, Brill and the others at Letterman challenged the idea that the middle of the country can only relate to white dudes.

Still, I really believe that the problem here is/was that, while these men can bring themselves to relate to the experiences of black men or South Asian men or brilliant Chinese chemists turned brilliant American comedians, they really simply do not relate to women. That's when women become/remain objects, along with a very narrow set of assumptions about what we're really like and what we must therefore be faking.

And that brings me to the real moment of reckoning for our industry and our culture.

Journalists have been the driving force of the gender discussions in comedy over the past decade. Jason Zinoman, Irin Carmon at Jezebel (now Salon), and, yes, even Christopher Hitchens forced all of us to speak about this topic which has remained stunningly taboo within the comedy world. One of the first lessons I learned as a comic was "Don't talk about that stuff," meaning "the woman question." Considering what an uppity bitch I am, I bet everyone will be surprised to hear how much I tried never to talk about it. Of course, I often failed in my attempts to keep my mouth shut...

But the truth is that I've been afraid. I didn't always speak my piece about women in comedy and entertainment because I didn't want to be blacklisted.

If you're a man who doesn't enjoy or relate to female musicians, writers, filmmakers, comedians, or visual artists, there's something really fucked up about that. And if you're a female comic who doesn't like female comedians, or who doesn't want to go to comedy festivals run by women or perform on all-female showcases or generally be lumped in with, you know, women, then God help you.

Gender and sexuality in society are the primary subjects of my comedy. Just as Tori Amos is a female musician who makes music about female archetypes, I'm a stand-up comic who dissects the gender bullshit that pervades our society (insane wedding culture, gender stereotypes, women's magazines, etc.). So it's been hard for me to know how exactly to approach the "women in comedy" question in my comedic art. Authentic Female Comic is my first real attempt to tackle the specific nature of gender bullshit as it applies to the comedy world. Thanks to everyone for the feedback.

In closing, I'm not psyched to see anybody get fired, and I think Eddie Brill is a politically progressive person who really does take a sincere interest in the work of comics of color and a lot of underrepresented voices.

But if you just plain do not relate to or like female artists, then you shouldn’t be booking a show. Or curating a gallery. Or judging a poetry contest. Or programming a music festival. Or staffing a magazine. Or reviewing theater. Or ….

Step One

Sun, 15 Jan 2012 14:01:17 -0500

I wrote the following for submission to a humor magazine. The only guidelines were to be "dark and absurd."

Strangers often ask me how I became a fitness expert/ weight-loss expert/ reality television star/ best-selling author/ A-list blogger/ self-help guru/ regular religious-type guru/ millionaire/ billionaire. “Hey Erin Judge!” shouts almost anybody who evades the armed guards deftly enough to maneuver within earshot of my person. “How did you do it all? How did you become a guru-slash-blogger-slash-advisor to the stars?” Usually people forget several of the things that I’m famous for when they ask me how I got to where I am. And who can blame them? I myself left “advisor to the stars” off the above list of my credits. (To clarify, I did not forget the fact of my glamorous and remunerative vocation as advisor to the stars; rather, I forgot that you regulars see my advisees as special famouses: heads of state and pop stars, the subjects of the blind items in the gossip publications. To me, they’re just Matt and Ben, Barry and Michelle, Mads and little Lola. Guess which weight-loss-guru-blogger-billionaire just hit “ignore” on a call from a two-time Best Actress Academy Award winner?)

Anyway, if you ask me how I got to where I am today, the easy answer is that I lost a thousand pounds. But you knew that already. “Erin Judge! I saw her on a talk show a few years ago. She’s the one who lost a thousand pounds.” And indeed, that is me, or was me, a side bar on your Us Weekly cover, a fourth guest on every B-list daytime talk show. The real question is, how did I turn that thousand-pound weight loss into my current manifestation as a focal point for wealth and fame, a serious contender for Acting Vice-Chair of the fictive but intoxicatingly powerful High Council of the Illuminati?

Well, you see, losing a thousand pounds was a bit of a personal boot-camp in miracle-making for me. Everything I struggled through in order to reach that jaw-droppingly impressive goal aligned my chakras and focused my energy and enabled me to, once thin(ner), redirect my weight-loss energy toward my quest for fame and fortune and others’ quests for flawless advice and substantive online content.

Every individual must find his or her own soul-focusing struggle, of course, and not everybody is equipped with the grit and genetics to lose one thousand pounds. For me, it was the first step that proved the hardest: gaining one thousand and twenty-five pounds. A lot of people simply can’t stomach that much white pasta with fois gras sauce. Like, can’t can’t. Their organs shut down and shit. In my case, I’m proud to say I managed to bulk up to my full half-ton glory without a single liver transplant or dialysis session. Those early victories helped me to keep the faith throughout my ordeal, as well as all of my limbs. And I had to trust those who came before me. I knew from my diligent research that the last 25 pounds would be the most stubborn, so I went ahead and planned for that instead of risking a lifetime with the less-than-catchy moniker of “woman who lost nine hundred and seventy-five pounds.” Clunky. Ineffective. Unbrandable.

My point is, that initial step is always the hardest, but I cannot overstate how crucial it will prove to be. Take it from me, the most successful 25-pounds overweight white woman on Earth, possibly ever: You first gotta fuck up your life, mind, body, soul, family, and/or credit score pretty Christing brutally if you expect to get anywhere in this guru game. Just like that bicycle guy with the ball cancer, or my devotee Oprah Winfrey and her shitshow of a freshman year of high school (Google it), we all have to start by plunging down to someplace, and the lower (or fatter) you manage to go, the higher you will ultimately fly.

Authentic Female Comedy

Sat, 14 Jan 2012 12:01:22 -0500

After the New York Times article about Eddie Brill, complete with his quote about female comics, I started this:

On a more serious note, upon reading the article and seeing the subsequent internet shitstorm, one of my dear friends in the New York comedy scene asked a group of us if she should just quit. The following is adapted from my response to her.

I went to a women’s college. It's a different, strange world, and a wonderful one. I spent four years in a place where women were the president of everything and 100% of the math majors and 100% of the comedy troupes, and so after that the idea that women can’t do any one particular thing isn't angering or offensive, it's just dumb. Like, I think people who believe that are stupid. They're simply not as smart as people who realize women are, you know, fully-functioning human members of society.

There is a huge amount of this kind of stupidity in the comedy and entertainment world.

It really wasn't that long ago that people said women couldn't be lawyers or doctors, at least not in equal numbers. Now more than 50% of law students are women, and the med school gap is closing quickly. (Be sure to check out the graduation rates.) Whenever a clear set of expectations (MCATs, pre-reqs, lab experience) are put in place for a particular career path, women can simply do that shit and get in on the action.

Our business of comedy and entertainment, however, is all about nepotism and protection of the status quo by the people who guard it.

Anybody who's read even a speck of Malcolm Gladwell or Jonah Lehrer knows that we often make judgments with our gut, then justify those after the fact with our intellect. Bookers, agents and contest judges like Eddie Brill are constantly making gut judgments and then retroactively coming up with an imaginary set of rules and ideals that they follow. My favorite part of the Brill article is when Zinoman (the writer) gives examples of famous comics, like Steven Wright and Seinfeld, and Brill has to somehow fit them into his all-encompassing vulnerability matrix. The truth is, Eddie Brill just goes with what he likes.

The first time he saw me, he told me I wasn't genuine at all, that I was completely not vulnerable and just doing my impression of a comedian. In his defense, the second time he saw me, he changed his mind. Of course, I was terrified of him by then and probably seemed more frightened on stage than ever before. After that second performance, he also told me that I shouldn’t give a fuck about what people in his type of position think. Mission accomplished.

In my comedy, I talk about how I don't hate myself despite the fact that I'm plus-sized and queer. Maybe it’s difficult to fathom that, given my circumstances, I wouldn't just be weeping and cutting myself all day. I can't tell you. I don't really get why somebody wouldn't get me. Most male audience members and my male peers in the stand-up world don't seem to have any trouble picking up what I'm putting down.

And that's my point. The current root of the gender problem in comedy seems to be precisely with these gatekeepers and their commitment to the status quo. When you have one or two spots designated for women (as many late-night writing teams and high-profile comedy showcases do), you create this idea that you're struggling to find the talent to fill that spot when there is none available. What you're really doing is disqualifying half the population from 90-95% of the jobs.

The current statistics on women in entertainment are grim. The percentage of women writers in television recently dropped 14% (from 29% down to 15%). That could be evidence of discrimination in hiring, which is actually, you know, illegal in this country. Roseanne’s piece in New York Magazine opens with a comment that so little has changed. The culture behind our popular culture is full of broken institutions, but there are still ways to make an impact and have influence.

One thing that helps me to keep going is remembering how relatively easy I have it in a global and historical sense. I am so upset by sexism because I was raised to see myself as a full person, as equal, like everyone else in my generation. We were brought up believing we were equal to boys, that our tastes and talents were just as important as theirs, that our contributions to society were on the same level as theirs. Being told repeatedly that we're not as good by our industry is unacceptable, but it shouldn't defeat us. It should just motivate us to prove what we know to be true. And we have to come up with creative means to do so.

If I were rich, I'd start a production company/agency to tap into the unbelievable creative potential of young comics, particularly young women. There is a ludicrous (and LUCRATIVE) amount of unrepresented female talent in New York, LA, San Francisco, Austin, Boston...and I'm not even terribly familiar with Chicago.

Finally, after hearing an extremely talented fellow female comic say she's ready to give in to the gender wars of comedy, I’m no longer willing to refrain from weighing in on these periodic assessments of women and our collective comedic worth by the male gatekeepers who have tremendous influence in the comedy world and, consequently, our entire culture. Keeping my mouth shut in hopes of getting one of the few token spots for women is a failed strategy.

And I didn't become a stand-up comedian in order to bite my tongue.

Brooklyn Yards

Sun, 3 Apr 2011 18:04:21 -0400

This is a re-print of Helen McLaughlin's biweekly column in the Bay Ridge Courier of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

I mean, honestly, can we get the cops around here to do something about a situation or not? Why do we pay them these crazy pentions if they can't even respond to a distress call from one very distressed model citizen: ME?!?!?

I know they're always busy with those hooligans who get let out of Fort Hamilton High School way too early -- in my day, we had school from 7am until dusk and then we went to our after-school jobs at the Woolworth's counter making forty cents a week, thank-you-very-much -- but can't Brooklyn's Finest find just a smidgeon of time to help me deal with these crazy characters who seem to be moving in all over the neighborhood?

It started first with the first new neighbors, the Canadians with the big Canadian flag hanging in the yard. Sure, coming from Brooklyn all my life you get used to foreigners -- and incidentally I'm sure Brooklyn's Finest are busy figuring out what's going on in the basements of all those Moslem Mosques and quote-unquote "Islamic Centers" and hookah-pipe establishments all up and down 69th Street, where God knows what gets discussed, and thank God for them paying attention to that nonsense -- but hanging out the big red Canadian maple leaf is, in my honest opinion, pledging alegiance to a socialistical and potentially hostile foreign government. Anyhow, these Canadians seem nice enough; the father, young guy, works at that big blue Swedish place that gives you a free Allen wrench every time you buy some cheap furniture. But then one day, you know what I see? I see them throwing out their garbage in the shed behind the house in the backyard! Now, I just happen to be looking out there, out my back window from time to time, because of how, you know, I write back here, and, you know, this is Brooklyn, so's you can see a lot, as, you know, as you can imagine. So I just happen to be looking and I just happen to notice them bringing out all kinds of garbage: coffee grinds, egg shells, onion skins, unbelievable! So I give the police a call, number three on my speed dial, just under Father Flannery -- or what used to be Father Flannery but now it goes right to that Polish one, nice enough priest but can they find somebody who speaks English already? I mean come on! -- and the police tell me they can't do nothing about it! "Composting," they call it, and they say Marty Markowitz thinks it's a great idea! Now if you ask me, that doesn't sound like the Marty I've known all these years, to be in cahoots with some wack-a-doo Canadian loyalists, but anyhow the point is the lady at the police department says to me, she says, "Sorry, Helen, but we can't do nothin' about it."

Well.

Next thing you know, we got these new kids moving in the top floor of the building just across the yard from me: young couple, seem nice enough. I saw the girl getting her hair cut at that salon up the block that charges an arm and a leg to make you look like you stuck your finger in a light socket, but hey, it's a free country, whatever floats your boat, that's what I always say. Anyhow, one day, I'm working on my biweekly column, you know, that I've had for the Bay Ridge Courier for seventeen years now, and I see the husband of the couple, the guy, and he's looking straight back at me with his binoculars! I swear to God I almost had a heart attack, just like anybody would, you know? So I close the blinds and I immediately call the police -- three on the speed dial; thank God for speed dial -- and I tell them we've got a Peeping Tom in the neighborhood, and they tell me they'll send somebody right out. Twenty minutes later, I see the cruiser pull up between the buildings, so I put on some dark sunglasses and I pop around the block to see what I can see, you know, like anybody would. So down comes this guy, and he looks like a lumberjack or a farmer of some kind, like all these kids do nowadays, with his plaid shirt and blue jeans, and he's talking to the cops, showing them his binoculars. Then the wife, Mrs. Peeping Tom, the one with the crazy hair, she comes down with some books and hands the books to the cops. Next thing you know, Brooklyn's Finest are shaking Peeping Tom's hand, at which point I take my Shih Tzu Mitzy and I high-tail it back around the block because I know in a minute they're gonna come around talk to me. And wouldn't you know, a minute later, the cruiser pulls around and the cops come out and ring my buzzer, and you know what they say to me?

"Ornithologist," they tell me. "Bird watcher." He's a bird guy, a scientist or some nonsense, and he's just using those binoculars to look at birds all day long.

Well. Here's what I got to say to that: YEAH RIGHT, BUDDY! You think I was born yesterday? You know what, I've lived in Brooklyn my whole life, and we got two kinds of birds here: little brown ones and pigeons. That's it, that's all the kinds a birds we got! You want to tell me this guy studies pigeons for a living? Please. Give me a break.

In any case, I talked to the cops, tried to reason with them, you know, begged and pleaded with them, and they says to me, they says, "Helen, sorry, but, you know, we can't do nothing about it."

Welp, there it is, Bay Ridge! That's what Brooklyn's Finest have been up to, helping Canadians feed rats in their backyard and letting Peeping Toms off the hook while dangerous terrorists smoke hookah-pipes down the block right under our noses. You know, sometimes I say to myself, I say, "Helen, why you still living here, huh? Why don't you buy a condo in Florida next to your sister and drink margaritas all day long? Huh?" And the answer is because somebody's gotta look out for the neighborhood, that's why.

So I say to you, I say this, Bay Ridge. I say, you're welcome. You know what? Don't even worry about it.

The Date Rape Squad! ....any takers?

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 11:02:42 -0500

I woke up today and read about this:

Krysten Ritter set for Title Role in ABC's "Don't Trust the Bitch" Comedy Pilot

Said title role being "the Bitch." And no, she's not voicing a talking dog.

When Shatner scored the lead in similarly edgily-titled show, at least he was playing the role of the Dad and not the role of the shit.

But, if the American Broadcasting Company is ready for "Don't Trust the Bitch," then it seems I'm going to need to rethink my whole approach to the comedy business.

I'm a stand-up comedian. I've been one for almost nine years. I've focused most of my efforts and development on what's often called the "alternative comedy scene," mostly because that's how you get the cool writing gigs and interesting festivals. Uh, you know, sometimes.

I also attended a women's college (where I was lead to believe I could, you know, do stuff (perhaps I should sue)) and am totes a feminist (totes), but I still REALLY WANT TO MAKE IT in this business.

So, here are some new show ideas I'm officially willing to pitch:

The Date Rape Squad

I play Mrs. Fartselby, a morbidly obese 50-year-old widow who's always trying to thwart the Date Rape Squad's harmless fun.

Punch That Cunt!

I play Officer O'Cuntington, the hapless ladycop trying to catch our hero, a nerd-turned-masked-vigilante who takes revenge on all the girls who didn't talk to him in high school by sneaking up and hitting them in the face. I myself withstand multiple blows to the head and neck in each episode. Co-starring Snookie as herself!

Legislative Justice

In this Capitol Hill drama, I play Congresswoman Isadora Justice, the gentlelady from New York's Nassau County who is fed up with all the unfair advantages women have over men in our society. Despite protests from bitches everywhere, I cut funding for Planned Parenthood and legalize roofies. When my arch-nemesis, NOW president Terry O'Neill, gets too up in my face, I know there's only one way to settle our differences: a sweeps-week mud wrestle. Also, I make out with Sarah Palin. Then I make out with Bristol, this time at a bar, because a male constituent asks me to and buys me a shot.

Alright, come to think of it, "Date Rape Squad" might be a little over the top. Let's switch that one to "How I Date Raped Your Mother."