Sound Off: Table of Contents Universal Adjective End of the universe...re-visited Lewis@The MGM Grand Lewis@Great Adventure 1 Lewis@Great Adventure 2 DNC 2004 Sound Off: Judge J writings ROAE tapings season 2 NoCal booksignings ROAE taping Pt I ROAE taping Pt II

Me of Little Faith NoCal book signings
submitted by: Judge J

A Tale of Two Cities

This article is lovingly dedicated to the memory of George Carlin who I have admired and emulated from the first instant I saw him as Al Sleet, the Hippy Dippy Weatherman His lasting legacy of biting, brilliant and brave satire, and groundbreaking, searing social commentary made us all laugh- but more importantly made us all think. His amazing body of work has inspired me creatively and his "Seven words that you can’t say on TV," acted as a primer for all I needed to know about the 1st Amendment in order to pass the Bar. Although, it’s impossible to put into words the profound sadness we feel at his untimely passing; I believe the following seven words accurately express how eternally grateful we are to him for bequeathing to us one of comedy’s rarest of treasures: "Thanks George for having faith in Lew."

When asked to describe his second bestselling book, Me of Little Faith, or as we lovingly like to call it, the Lew Testament, comedy’s reigning resident genius, Lewis Black, who’s currently en route to the pinnacle of his comedic prowess, decried from on high, that it’s a book "for people stumbling toward the light."

Well, Lewis, whether we be stumbling, fumbling, staggering, slipping, sliding, crawling, careening, rocking, reeling, tripping, teetering or tottering to our fluorescent finality, you can put your faith in this: . . . wither thou goest- we will go too, Lew. That is of course as long as your friggin’ tour bus does a law abiding 60, doesn’t violate the fast pass rules on the Golden Gate Bridge, unceremoniously take a wrong turn on Interstate 580 thereby dumping us at the gates of San Quentin or tries to block the access to our favorite gas pump when it goes in for its thrice weekly $1,200 a pop diesel fill up.

OK. Who am I kidding? Deal or no deal, we’re all along for the long lewhaul. So, fasten your seatbelts because you’re about to whisked away on Lew’s two day dual city Northern California book tour.

O Come All Ye Faithful – June 17th- Palo Alto, CA

And what rough beast, its hour round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

Whoa…Hold it a fucking sec! Beast? Slouch? Bethlehem? I know what you’re thinking: "Fucking A! What’s this - a poetry lecture? You just said that we’d be winging our way to some sort of Lew'd induced literary nirvana and instead you’re dropping some stale homework assignment from English Lit 101 on us. Uh-Uh…No Way. And just in case you hadn’t noticed, Your Honor, school’s out for the year and the entire student body has already left the building. And, OH- BTW Judge J: FYI: Your timing really sucks. It’s the beginning of summer for Christ sake and we didn’t enroll in any summer school course that required us to figure out why in the world Yeats’ stupid little poem, with all of its creepy religious imagery, has anything remotely to do with Lew. So hold on to your robe because you’re about to be officially overruled!"

But hey, before you heave this article into the trash like last month’s 45 page 'bundled' phone, TV and DSL bill - hear me out: Lewis hates Christmas - I hate Christmas and probably some of you reading this do too. Tis the season? Well, as Lewis would probably say, 'fa-la-la- go fuck yourself!' So, what better time than just a few days this side of the summer solstice, when, as I pen this - there’s still 182 days, 56 hour and 46 minutes left for you to do your Xmas shopping, Santa’s on hiatus having a bit of liposuction done before his presidential campaign revs up, the Pope’s at his villa on Capri for a little R&R with Oprah and nobody but nobody’s fucking expecting it, to avoid the lines and the last minute rush and get Christmas over and done six months early by spinning the following Lewtide tale.

Part One of our story opens in the toney and intellectually affluent city of Palo Alto- our own Oh Little Town of Bethlehem by the Bay. For you linguists out there Bethlehem or Beit Lehem in Hebrew means House of Bread. And 'bread' as in 'dough' or 'gelt' is exactly what the roughly 60,000 uptight, excruciatingly white, upwardly mobile and uppity residents of this elite enclave have plenty of.

Paly, as it is affectionately called by some of its biggest breadwinners, is located in Silicon, as in computer micro chips, Valley. This should not be confused with Silicone Valley which is exclusively inhabited by our Low Cal-low brow southern cousins who use and abuse this unnatural resource in overly abundant proportions - mostly 36 DD.

Inn wise – Paly is filled with tree lined streets where large estates and historic houses belch bougainvillea and ooze old money, where cash buyers think nothing of shelling out up to $10 mil just to live there. Big shots like George Schultz and big leaguers like '49er Steve Young all come home to roost in Paly. And, until recently, Paly was also the local hangout for Koko, the signing Mountain Gorilla and her significant other simian, Ndume.

Wise men with names like Hewlett, Packard and Jobs abound a-plenty in Paly. And, although none of these gents lists “Magi” on his resume, they all come bearing their fair share of nifty high tech gifts which nobody but nobody ever returns or re-gifts and which make the gold, frankincense, and myrrh bestowed by the 'We Three Kings' look like chump change.

As for Virgins -blessed or otherwise- Paly offers a wide variety of divinity, which, depending on your personal taste, ranges from the secretarial(Condoleezza Rice) to the sexy ( Terri Hatcher) to the sweet ( Shirley Temple Black) to the sublime (Michelle Pfeifer). Paly also gets bonus brownie points because it's where Debbie Fields was born and opened her first Mrs. Fields Cookies store.

Thus, was the setting into which our Absolute Beauty of a Beast, a Messianic Mentch named Black, guided by his very own Star of David, came upon a Midsummer’s Night not so clear and alighted upon Lew’s manger de jour, the Cubberley Community Center to deliver an Epistle or two from the Gospel according to Lew to the 400 faithful who had come from far and wide to adore him.

German shepherding the flock (which included one kickass 77 year old retiree) was the event’s sponsor - the rump..pah..pah pompous Commonwealth Club whose sense of humor had evidently taken a very early Christmas break and whose single minded goal was to herd its flock in a straight line, single file while handing out pre-ordered books, nifty 3x5 lined index cards for questions (points were given for neatness) and shocking pink 3X3 post-it notes (with pre-printed directions on where to stick it) all of which they dispensed with the solemnity of communion wafers at Midnight Mass. Little did they know however, that whatever high hopes they had that this evening would conform to one of their typical "silent, holy or otherwise night divine" book signings would instantly evaporate the minute Lew let the first "FUCKING A!" fly.

San Jose Mercury Reporter, Mike Cassidy, Lew’s interviewer, later confided that, although he initially jumped at the chance to interview Lew, he later had serious second thoughts (accompanied by dry mouth, cold sweats and nightmares), about accepting this gig when it dawned on him that he might be voluntarily going headfirst or ass backwards into a buzz saw and end up like Steve Buscemi in Fargo.

However, much to Mike's relief and surprise, Lewis turned out to be the antithesis of his onstage persona as well as far and away the smartest celeb Mike said that he had every interviewed. My favorite moment was when one of the Wealth’s droids handed the packet of 3x5 cards to Mike, and Lewis leaned over and playfully snatched the first one off the top of the pile, jammed into his pants pocket and cracked that he hoped it was a menu for some local bistro. Suffice it to say that he was, in true blue Lew fashion nothing sort of divine – personable, screamingly funny, thoughtful, touchingly candid and fall down Fucking A outrageous.

Some excerpts from the Book of Revelations according to Lew:

About writing the book: "Typical day: I wake up. Before I do Pilates, I touch myself, get out of bed, get some coffee, read the paper and then spend 4 to 5 hours writing. I’ve found that I have to write the first draft in longhand. If I come to an impasse I used to just stop and spend a lot of time thinking about writing, then I’d go take a nap, wake up, touch myself again, go out for coffee and continue thinking about what I wanted to write. Now when I come to any impasse, I don’t think about what I’m gonna write, I just keep writing and eventually I get down what I really want to say. I’m still learning to talk to people on paper. But, I think this book is better written than the first."

Root of All of Evil: "Hands down around here - LA. It’s the pinnacle of all evil and what’s worse (glaring into the audience with an accusatory finger stab) they’re your fucking evil brethren so you better keep a god damn fucking close eye on them."

Fans pose with Lew at the Cubberly Center in Palo Alto

Lewis then spent the next hour or so meeting and greeting the adoring throng who, despite the Wealth’s repeated attempts to keep everyone moving and in line, managed to get up close and personal and into some great photo-ops (which are now posted on Lew’s official website). Through it all, Lew remained true to himself and his disciples - kind, patient, sweet, friendly, accommodating and generous of spirit. His not so random acts of kindness made even the most doubting of Thomases true Lew believers that night.

God Bless Ye Merry Gentilemen – June 18th, Kentfield, CA

Act Two takes place in the swanky – albeit sleepy dell of Kentfield in the heady headlands of Marin County. Inn and income wise, Marin has the distinction of having the highest per capita income as well as the highest density of BMWs in the US. Put simply Marin's a ritzier and glitzier - more laid back and ‘tudeless version of its uppity step sister from the south. Like Paly, Marin has its share of wise men (and women) like Wall Street Wiz Charles Schwab and Congresswoman Barbara Boxer but it also has room for wise asses and wisecrackers like Andre Agassi, Sean Penn and Robin Williams. And although virgins in this neck of the Muir Woods are as rare as immaculate conceptions, Marin can boast that both George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch and San Quentin State Prison have set up shop there; meaning that, depending upon what type of force (blunt or otherwise) was with you, you’re either busy making movies or license plates.

It was against this backdrop that 400 of Marin’s genteel gentile folk descended on Lew’s chosen crib, the tacky, unairconditioned, outmoded and dilapidated Olney Hall. I’m not exaggerating when I say you that just one glance at this dump would have caused the Herald Angels to start molting and hit a sour note or two. In fact, you’d have to go to hell and back to find a mangier manger than this. It did have one thing going for it: unlike the prior night, because this event was free, its sponsor, Book Passage, now on Good Shepherd duty, wasn’t into lining up, stationary supplies or selling books.

After being introduced by longtime friend, local comic Will Durst who pointed out that Lew’s new book was No. 9 on the bestseller list, Lewis bounded up to the 1934 podium and said: "The only reason my book is number nine is because I've become a logo," "It's called branding, and I'm a brand. Since I'm a brand, I'm allowed to put books out. My name's above the title." He then quietly remarked that he didn’t consider himself a major celebrity at all.

Then scowling at the peeling walls, leak stained ceiling, grimy turquoise blue one ply nylon carpeting and ancient wooden school desks he quipped, "I'm a little stunned, having been in Marin before....This is the room?" "Is there no paint? Can I buy a couple of buckets? There are common cleansers, you know. I can contribute a few of those. There's gotta be some money somewhere."

After carefully scrutinizing the heavily marred desktops which had circa 1965 graffiti carved into them, he rolled his eyes in disgust looked out into the crowd and snorted, "No Child Left Behind? Kiss My Dick!" Of course all of this was met with wild applause which reached a fever’s pitch when the building’s custodian yelled from the back of room that the hall was being closed in 3 months and demolished in 2011.

Looking out at a smattering of empty seats in the back of the room he sarcastically quipped, "Usually, I expect a full house, but, since this is Marin, it's seven o'clock and it's time for pilates, or meditating, or some kind of crystal hoo-hah. The grand Sherpa is visiting down the road. You don't want to miss that." "However, since we have a quorum, we should have a town meeting to figure out when you're gonna get your fucking shit together especially.

When a clueless looking woman wandered in a bit later and walked directly in front of him, Lewis waited until she took her seat and then commented, "We said whoever came in last would have to pay to renovate the room." Ten minutes later when two not too gnarly surfer dudes hit the beachhead in front of Lew, he stopped in mid sentence and said, "At last the painters are here. Grab some brushes guys and start slapping it on."

And so it went for the next hour and half, Lewis - lively and as colorful as ever did a brilliant stand-up routine laced with riotous improvisational rants, riffs, outrageous satire and local off color commentary which had his adoring crowd in stitches. Things even got zanier when the audience got involved:

On recent root work : When asked if he'd had a root canal done at UCSF last September, Lewis, after running his tongue carefully over his back molars and cryptically rubbing his jaw, said, "Nooo, but I’m scheduled to see the dentist in a couple of weeks. Are you psychic?"

The Back in Black Theme Song: When asked by an elderly woman about the origin of the music for his Daily Show segment, Lewis nonchalantly replied, "Oh Back in Black- What am I referring to? It’s just the AC-DC song. Really, That’s all, That’s it." Apparently, not satisfied, the woman then repeatedly corrected Lewis by insisting that the name of the segment was Back and Black. After several minutes of going back and forth on this issue Lewis, who had by now left the podium and was in the audience mused: "What? Black and Black? What? First the fucking Root Canal guy and now this? What? Black and Black? What is that? Is there something I should be getting money for? Seriously. Huh? What?" When someone from the back of room finally shouted something that sounded like 'Backgammon,' Lewis immediately shot back: "Backgammon Black? No… What? BACKGAMMON BLACK? That can’t be it. What? Huh?" "Oh I see she’s got the title of the song wrong?" Then after slowly making his way back to the podium, he sighed, shook his head and said "Wow…I feel like my brain’s just been cleansed." Yeah, I know you had to have been there to fully appreciate this, but take my word for it- it was a hoot.

On recent Root work (the show): Although on the show he ruled that Oprah was more evil, Lewis said that this was only because "legal" told him that the network would be sued if he ruled that the Church was the more evil. This caused him to muse out loud about what the newspaper headlines would be the next day: "Lewis Black, JEW- Decides Catholic Church More Evil… Pope Seen Fleeing the Vatican!"

On same sex marriages: When Lewis mentioned that same-sex marriages which had been legalized the day before the audience broker into wild applause to which he responded, "You guys really are like in a different time zone," "You're maybe 30 years ahead." Fucking A- Happy Lesbians a threat. That’s a fucking laugh." He then went on to say the after watching a female rabbi wearing a yarmulke perform the first same sex marriage of two woman in West Hollywood under a huppah on TV yesterday he was certain the JEWS would now get blamed for Lesbianism too.

On his parents: "Pop is 90 and my mother will be 90 in September," and then looking up to the heavens and rolling his eyes, "Ah yes, 180 years of fun. They recently moved into a very nice senior citizen community in DC where my Mom complains that there are way too many Jews and my Dad gripes that there isn’t enough cleavage."

Expletives Deleted: Finally, when asked if he’d ever had his mouth washed out with soap when he was younger, Lewis smiled and said, "Hell no. My mother’s got a much dirtier one than me."

When the applause finally died down, Lewis took his seat at a peeling Formica topped folding table which, like the podium, had been festooned with bright Orange Geberia Daisies and Blue Victoria Salvia. Unfortunately because they had all been recently watered, muddy slime had started seeping from the bottom of their original white plastic containers precariously near Lew’s right arm as he sat patiently waiting to tend his flock.

No sooner had his tush touched down on the dented metal folding chair, when all hell broke lose and in a scene that bears more than a passing resemblance to a Griswold family Christmas, a sea of fans descended on him en masse from all directions books in hand and camera poised. For the next 45 minutes Lewis ministered to the their needs, as his laid back fans who, throughout this controlled chaos continued to politely step over one another while simultaneously avoiding the oozing annuals, got their books signed, pictures taken and spent a few minutes with Lew.

And just as the dust was beginning to settle, a homeless man wearing a yellow nylon windbreaker who had been sitting on the aisle across from me during what appeared to be his dinner hour, went up to Lewis, who was dutifully signing yet another carton of books, and placed a neatly wrapped half of a Subway sandwich in front him. He didn’t have a book and he didn’t ask for autographed. As he turned and slowly walked away, he looked back at Lew and nonchalantly said, "Sorry buddy - I ate the other half and there were some chips and a pickle that went with it, but I ate them too." Wish I could describe the look on Lew’s face- but you just had to have been there – It was absolutely priceless, the piece de resistance and the perfect note on which to end this Christmas Carol.

Thus it was Dear Readers, that, after having all of our greatest expectations met, our Lewtide tale came to a close wherein it came to pass that, for two glorious Midsummer nights in June, our Star of David suddenly appeared in the western skies and illuminated and entertained the star struck who came from far and wide to briefly gaze at its brilliance and bask in its warmth.

And although the vantage points, the stargazers and even the atmospheric conditions were totally different and unique at both sightings, above it all and eclipsing all else was the one true constant named Lewis, who despite 18 days of exhausting cross country book touring, remained true to himself as well as his fans - funny, kind, patient, sweet, friendly and accommodating. Christmas Miracle? God only knows. Miracle worker? Well, you be the judge. But remember - you’ve got to have faith in someone. Right?

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