Friday, June 30, 2006

North, South, East, West, in my humble opinion...

The Upper East Side is the closest thing to a ring of hell.

I've been traveling around more so than usual lately.

Two weeks ago I started doing a lot more stand up and I was all over Manhattan, in places I hadn't been to in a while, some even never before. I went to the East Village, the Lower East Side, The Upper West Side, Jersey City, and Atlanta*.

But last night, I went to the Upper East Side. I have to say, hanging out past 90th street is a magical place. Because I really don't believe that naturally humans could become so vapid and lose all sense of humor. Out of the thirty people or so I met last night, let me say this - the Kareoke night at Brother Jimmy's BBQ is a great touristy fun spot, there are some very cool people who hang out there. There are also a lot of rules, no bums outside, girls having fun with their girl friends but hating other girls having fun that aren't their friends.

The most frightening group I met though was at this "Irish Pub**".
There was a guy there who doesn't laugh.
And not in the - oh I don't laugh out loud, but yes, that is amusing.
And I'm also not claiming that I have some master power to make everyone laugh.

But this dude, this dude was beyond serious to almost comatose personality. When I spoke of how I don't normally hang around these parts, he asked me how the girls looked down there and if he would be considered "a gay" if he came down with his friends, who are all male and all good looking. Girls that are just friends with a guy are just "sad".

Hey, did I mention all my friends are guys?

"You did"

Wow. You do have a personality - it's asshole.

This is when I decided to stop drinking, because no amount of alcohol consumption in the world would make the pain of such stupidity go away.

On my way out I saw my friend who lives in the neighborhood, I said good night and went to hail a cab - this is when she decided to teach me how to hail a cab***.

Folks, let me say right here that there are very few things that really fry my fanny.
I just found out last night though that a big fanny fryer is someone trying to teach me something I've done a million times. It's like someone walking into the bathroom while you're brushing your teeth and being like "Oh, you gotta go up and down with the brush, up and down, yeah, ya know what- let me help you with that...."

In summation, I must admit that maybe all the people in the Upper East Side aren't bad, but I think a lot of them need to realize that they aren't great - in the sense that they are just like the people who live all over this overly populated island, and they're not any better just because Daddy got them that super fabulous job and apartment.

*Which by the way the term Hotlanta, isn't because it's so much fun and thrilling no, no - Atlanta is oppressively hot and sunny and seems to be not yet ready to be a city because there's so much construction. I'd recommending waiting about ten years before going to Atlanta and see how they build it up.

**I don't even think the owners had a potato in their life let alone any Irish ancestry.

***I think the best part was telling me I could go to another avenue and asking if I could do it myself - really? really? you can walk up a block and get to another avenue? Can you explain the number system to? It's totally mystifying to me.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

And Now A Word From The "The Sue Funke" Staff

Greetings and salutations readers,

It has come to my attention that a lot of people* read this here blog.

Thank you, I love to write, I majored in Creative Writing in college and had an absolutely amazing time doing it**.

In an effort to make the site more user friendly, there is now an "E-mail Me!" link at the bottom of every post. If you have a response that you'd like to share but don't want to sign up for this fine service that is Blogger, you can now contact me directly. This is thanks all thanks to my good friend/on-again-off-again Director, and Website Extrodinaire, Urban.

In Other News...

I have THREE stand up shows coming up in July.
If you are in the New York City Metro Area, please come out and support live comedy:

~Friday, July 8th at 7pm
New York Comedy Club
241 East 24th Street, b/w 3rd & 2nd Avenue
Please call for reservation, say you're seeing Sue Funke (I need 6 at least people in order to get 6 minutes, please please please make a reservation :) )

~Wednesday, July 12th at 8pm
Wicked Laughter - With DJ for the pre-show and some of the best female comics in NYC
Madame X
$12 at the door

~Monday, July 31 at 7pm doors, 8:30 show time
Luke & LeRoy
$5 cover, apparently there is a drink there known as "Giggle Juice" which is only $4, which sounds as if it has to yield interesting results after consumption... There will also be shot specials after the show, and I don't drink until after shows

--This could be a great night because there's also a DJ, and some of you know how I enjoy to live up to the hip name when it comes to dancing....
This show will definitely help you through a "Case of the Mondays", but might give you a wicked bad day Tuesday.

*When I started this blog, I sent it around to some co-workers, friends, family. It has come to my attention that not only the people I've sent it to that I know read it regularly, but there's another audience who read this, which is cool. So hey other readers! (i'm waving at you)

**I then I started working full time and writing short funny things downthat I said or happened to me, and voila stand up comic.
yadda, yadda, yadda... I stopped writing things of substance. Like, oh say, that feature length script I've written or the plays that held "great potential", yeah...not so much anymore.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Hippie Hearted

It was when I was eleven years old when my mom started calling me her "hippie dippie"

She would often look at me in my bellbottomed jeans, wrinkly shirts, long hair, and say "where did I pick up the flower child?"

I'm not really sure.

And, at work, I'm often taunted (lovingly) about how I'm a dirty hippie.

Now, Mom, don't worry I am (usually) showered and looking lovely (maybe not ironed, I'm sorry Ma) but I'm wearing a pink floyd shirt and old Birkenstocks.
My brother, Matt is forever telling me he wants to put me on "What Not to Wear"
If they laid a hand on my concert t's, I would bite them.

It's not just the clothes though, it's also the political affiliations - I voted for the Green party
I was in college, young, maybe on a little green.

A big part of my hippiness though, is the music.

So, on Tuesday, when I went to see Tom Petty I was excited.

I've been a really big fan of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers since I can remember liking music.
I'm getting happy just walking to meet my friend, Jill, after work to get my ticket and head over with her to the Garden. Finally, I was seeing Petty LIVE!!!

As we walk into the Garden I see my ticket for the first time, "TREY ANASTASIO" written under Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers...

"um, Jill, is this ticket right?"

Jill looks like I'm still voting for the Green party, then shakes her head "yeah Sue, it's right"

"Trey Anastasio, from Phish, is opening up the show?"

"yeah," she says acting like I just learned how to read.


"Oh, and Stevie Nicks is performing too"

And something happened to me that night that is


I was speechless.

Jill said I looked :

It was like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and my birthday all together - except really really really good.

My favorite moments:

Watching Trey jump around stage, he was really having fun. The whole set was muffled because MSG's sound system kinda blows, BUT, it was still pretty chill to listen to live. It was like hanging out with you're buddy in a crowded stadium while listening to the best live background band ever.

Tom Petty's energy amazed me, because by 11:15 I was exhausted from rocking, but he's like three times my age and was heavy rockin' for three more songs. He was also adorable with his love of applause, raising his arms up and pointing at sections at the end of each song, even the ones that no one was listening to because they were new, and in NYC if you're not giving us something we can sing along to or the next big thing, the crowd isn't going to be impressed enough to listen, which is a little annoying, but I'll let it go.

When he introduced Stevie, it was pretty sweet. He called her their little sister, and she came on in a long shawl and sang all mellow, smooth and sultry. It was everything I imagined her to be, so much so, that it seemed as if I was watching a fairy tale on stage.

It was an amazing experience, even though I was getting sicker and sicker every waking moment this week, including during the concert.
The cold/cough I thought I beat two weeks ago, came back and banged around my head, which delayed a lot of normal life things I do, especially blogging.
Hooray for great doctors who will give you free samples of antibiotics! I feel better already :)
and writing about Tom Petty/Trey and Stevie, well that's medicinal in and of itself.


Sunday, June 18, 2006

Happy Fatherless Day!

About a week before I turned 16, my father died.
I've been fatherless for 9 years now, and Father's Day has always been a weird day.

I'm always struggling to find a place to hide away from all the happy families and sweet little girls with their proud Papas.

This year there was something to actually celebrate: The movie "Prairie Home Companion"

My father was a big NPR fan. We would listen to it every weekend*. There were many long Sundays spent driving around Long Island or even upstate NY listening to Classical music, News shows, but best of all was Prairie Home Companion.

Sometimes, I really thought my father not only believed in a place known as Lake Woebegone, but was searching for the standards in his life:
"Welcome to Lake Woebegone,
where all the women are strong,
all the men are good looking,
and the children are above average."

When I was about 8 years old my father took my mother and I to our first Town Hall taping of A Prairie Home Companion. It made me appreciate radio and life a lot more after I walked out. I'm not sure if it was the singing, the story telling, the experience of seeing live sound effects, or just the look on my father's face as he laughed, and then got annoyed at me for fidgeting too much - I've always fidgeted too much.

Seeing Robert Altman's film written by Garrison Keillor tonight, made me feel very similar to our trips to Town Hall. It definitely captured all the magic and tenderness that I felt every time we'd watch Mr. Keillor speak in his smooth soothing voice. I even tapped my toe to the lively music the same way I did when I was a little girl.

And although my father wasn't sitting next to me, I know that he would've loved to have been there, and that he would be proud to know that I was there.

He taught me to appreciate the finer funny things in life.

So, today was a very happy Fatherless day for me, because it was the first one in a long time that I was actually able to celebrate my Father.

*Except when there was a Met game, then we would be listening to the Fan
Let's Go Mets! F-A-N do-do-dooo


if there was traffic we'd listen to 1010Wins traffic on the 10's.
"you give us ten minutes, we'll give you the world" every time I heard I remember telling my father that I felt gypped because after ten minutes I would get a pretty abbreviated version for the world. He liked that joke, he would give me a look like 'you've got moxie kid'.

P.S. I would like to thank my friend Debbie for being my "date" today and putting up with all my tales of Prairie Home Companion viewing.

Friday, June 16, 2006

Radiohead, Live

I said I'd never go to church again,

but then I saw Radiohead live, and I'm pretty sure I saw Jesus and Mohammed and yes, of course, Buddha - those Radiohead kids are dirty hippies.

Actually the crowd was really diverse, but I guess that's a given in NYC.

It was a truly transcendent experience.

They played National Anthem,

and everyone was so near,

and I almost cried ------ but then someone started talking.

Maybe it's because my first "concert" I ever went to was the Pops at Carnegie Hall*, but I'm a bit of a music purist.

Unless you're asking someone to move so you can run to pee, or if you're saying "This is flippin' fabulous"( because I appreciate the gay excited praise)
Shut the Fuck Up!!!

Why are you talking?
Do you not see Thom Yorke convulsing, he could die up there he's performing so hard, you stupid ungrateful retards. Good people would've paid good money for that ticket but because Daddy is a banker with the right investment pals, you said ok to the free tickets so you act like you're VIP for a night that you won't appreciate, and you're bugging people who are living the dream.

I did not like those people. All I liked was the band, the lights, and the overall feeling of amazingness once they all were silenced by the world wonder that is a live Radiohead show.

Well, I'm not gonna give you a complete set list, because I'm just not that kind of blog.

All you need to know is, I'm a born again Radiohead fan.

Seeing them live was like taking me to the river and making me praise Yorke and say I believe in isolationist, dramaticlly beautiful and kick ass rockin' music and then putting me in that holy water - he turns the water blues, i turn the water greens - and voila! Born Again Radiohead, no alarms, no surprises, then it's just our bodies floating down the muddy river.

All praise Thom Yorke!

Can I get an Amen!?

*My sister took me to my first "real" concert, which was No Doubt. Thanks big sister Jen!! :)

**None of the links are to the show I went to, I saw them at MSG on June 14th.**

Monday, June 12, 2006

Oh Comedy, You Whore

People who can't get laid pay for it.

People who don't get laid and are neurotic about it, pay to do stand up comedy.

I am often humbled when people often comment, "you actually pay for stage time? they don't pay you?"

Nope. In fact I did an open mic tonight where I had to pay $5 and the audience got to pay $2.

Now, I understand it's a business, and I'm honestly grateful for the stage time but come on-
How many jokes about comedians being poor have to be made before we're thrown some sort of bone?

I guess if we were thrown a bone we wouldn't be doing this, hey-oh!

A couple of months ago* I stopped doing stand-up. I had a lot of stuff to do, there was a shitstorm, there was shit storm aftermath, I was disenchanted with my horrific audition, my direction in life, and my wallet always being empty.

I started this blog thinking - I'll go back to writing, I mean it was what I got my degree in.

But then it happened, I was at a bar** and I was talking to friends and everyone laughed at me, and then went on talking.

Um, excuse me, I would like to remain center of attention, I've got some other material for you...

That is when I realized that maybe I really do put the funk in dysfunctional and that I'm really only comfortable in front of a mic.

So, I went to an open mic and did my set and realized -

I am coo-coo for comedy
I'm addicted to sweet lady stage time.
I'm riding the black mic
I'm addicted to the adrenaline high...

I am so desperate for it I will give up my free time, my habitual television habbits (not entirely, thank you DVR!), I will give up any chance at finding a man, and yes -

I will pay for it.

The weird thing is, I don't really want to be famous. All I want is to travel around and make more people laugh, make minimal money and keep my darling day job.

Well, I can dream....of course dreams are prefaced by sleep, so for now I'm gonna go work on that.

*maybe more, maybe less. There's no sense of time in Sue Funke Land where days can be a week long with 4 hour naps that occur every 20 hours or so.

**I know, what a shock, you're thinking, Sue? at a bar? That's insanity. You're such the teetotaler, come on!
If you know me you're probably thinking - is she going to bring me up? We drink together a lot.
Sorry pal, it's all about me tonight.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

I'm sick and a machine

In the past weeks I've been in a steady decline into illness.

But I don't get ill like other people, because other people stop and rest.

No, no, I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day - while listening to hip-hop and maybe Mike Doughty and Modest Mouse - matters the mood.

Two weeks ago I fell outside of bar, ripped open the top of my leg, got a real nasty bruise. So gross, but the kind of gross that you just kept looking at it being like - ewwww it hurts to look at.....ugh I can't stop looking at it!!

I got so scared I called my brother in law, Greg, he is an EMT.

I tell him how I got the cut by falling outside of the bar because- I was not aware of the step- and I was in upstate New York- and I didn't want to ask for help because I didn't want to seem all weak and girly- because I was hanging out with all guys.

He told me to admit that I was a dolt, clean it with some soap, put a band aid on it.

This week, in a typical move of dirty-hippieness, I fell asleep on a screened in patio on the beach and woke up with a horrific cough*.

After sleeping a ton and having fits of coughs that lasted for hours, I was shocked no one called 911

-then remembered that it sounds like they throw the baby for exercise upstairs, and the kid across the hall hangs on me like I'm his savior, and I'm not calling anyone. Ahh, Queens.

Today, one day of full rest under my belt, I'm up at 6:30, getting laundry, getting medicine, getting over medicated in order to survive, getting to work and functioning and then getting on stage actually able to do a solid five minutes while my head was slowly filling with all the illness I had surppressed all day.

I even stuck it out an extra hour to chat it up before I decided I'll drink more tea for dinner and spring for the cab.

YaY, I am feeling better!**

And in 15 more minutes, I'll be ready for my next 12 hour dose of meds and it'll be time for sleepy sleep.

I am a rock, I am an island, I am a crazy woman who will watch another hour of television before sleep.

confession - I'm staying up for the Janice Dickenson could either be heavenly trainwreck or reality hell.

*I don't regret it though, because the feeling of being wrapped up in a hoody and a sleeping bag (thanks to the ills - Will and Phil), and the sound of water against shore was a wonderful way to sleep off alcohol.

**Better means my eyes sting, my throat feels like a bubble, my nostrils hurt a little and my ears feel clogged - but at least I'm not coughing anymore.