Although all of us here at the Lowbrow Sophisticate boast about the numerous stars we resurrect – there is one star that needs no help from us. He is the personification of cool and unlike Mickey Rourke, he was able to box golden gloves AND act without looking like Jocelyn Wildenstein. Although considered by most an outstanding character actor, this gentleman can hold his own on screen and on stage and he always gets the ladies. So, if you’re out there reading this Ron, this one’s for you:

Eldard’s paramedic actin’ makin’ you seaze/datin’ dat curly haired nurse, Julianna Margulies/He’s Shep, yo, in da ER/He’s shootin’ pervert Bacon in dat Hell’s Kitchen bar/Playin’ doze dark beings, fools you can hate/ and Sportin’ golden gloves since 1988/Man’s beyond underrated, top of his game/outside da movie seats, he’s bringin’ broadway fame/Wears the suit of Biff Loman, and iz bros with Mr. Kaufmann/Was gettin’ Doubt noise before Phillip Seymour Hoffman/Droppin’ farts with Rob Schneider, when they were Men Behavin’ Badly/Not to mention Sergeant Manning on HBO’s Trumpets Fadin’ sadly/He’s Shep, yo, in da ER/He’s shootin’ pervert Bacon in dat Hell’s Kitchen bar

“Wrap it up, Wrap it up,” fool we ain’t even near/He’s dirty Oran Monash, hushin’ dat Deep Impact fear/ He’s Life on the Streets, homicide’s his fate/Shootin’ pucks in Miz-turee, as “Skank” da hockey great/And Hartnett’s not the only Black Hawk heart throb/Eldard’s flyin’ whirlybirds through dat deep Somali mob/Back with Julianna, in a true life skinny dip/ while pairin’ up for scares on that sinking Ghost Ship/Sluttin’ it up – diggin’ both kinds of clams/Killin’ it in Diggers, fightin’ corporate Uncle Sams/I know you think it’s gettin’ winded, but no room for debate/y’all catch ‘im this weekend ‘n’ “Spielbrams” Super 8/So let me deposit this rap like a rhymin’ armored guard/This be an ode to the great Ron Mutha-Actin’ Eldard.

Word.

As our loyal fans are aware, we here at the Lowbrow Sophisticate recently acquired grant and fellowship funds from a couple major literary think tanks. We had to present a proposal describing what it is we planned on doing with the money if we were to receive it, which we did. We all have burned out stars close to our hearts, actors, writers and performers whose light has dimmed over the years making our chest cavities feel cold and sleepy. Well, the Lowbrows are here to change all that.

With our grant and fellowship money, we have been able to resurrect some of these fallen heroes’ careers by coaching them ourselves and landing them a role of a lifetime and who better for us to follow up Edward Blatchford than with Mr. Vincent Ventresca.

You may remember Vinny best as Fun Bobby: the lovable and giggle-inducing inebriate who played Monica Gellar’s better half on Friends. After his stint as Fun Bobby, Vincent got the deal of a lifetime playing The Invisible Man for 45 episodes and then the fun pretty much stopped. Vinny got a couple gigs here and there playing forgettable characters on The Mentalist and Shit My Dad Says (a real turd sandwich canceled before its first season was complete) and now… nothing. Well, we’re going to change that.

We have been working night and day with Vincent and have landed him in what is being discussed as the next great super hero series: The Green Dummy. We cannot give much away here, but we can say that a mint green Vespa is the source of his powers and he may not be that big of a dummy! So stay tuned for The Green Dummy airing Novermber 24th, 2009 on Antartica’s most watched station, KFB Channel 2 – The Penguin!

Last month, some friends and I headed late one evening down a long, seemingly empty street in Chicago’s old meat-packing district.  We drove down a line of what looked like old, abandoned warehouses until we came to the correct address.  We parked and looked around at not much of anything.  We were there for El Circo Cheapo, a monthly amateur circus and vaudeville show that routinely sells out a month or more in advance to those lucky enough to be in the know.  And this night we were among them.  We ascended a staircase with a handful of others and gave our names at another, wholly non-descript door upstairs before entering the theater, if theater is defined very loosely.  We were in a large room with cement walls.  A tight-rope was stretched from one corner to another.  From the ceiling a large rope was hung.  It was like stepping into a void or black hole and finding two unexpected objects seemingly placed there at random.  After everyone was seated, the ringmaster and emcee, Chicago-comic Cameron Esposito came out to warm the crowd up and introduce the first act.  From that moment onward a breath of life swept into the room and the wonderful action did not relent as we went from tight-rope walking to acrobatics, from magic to Chaplin-esque clowning to women on flying trapezes, all the while interspersed with Ms. Esposito’s witty dialogue and commentary.  She has a rascally but loveable presence, like if Wile E. Coyote had a night of ghostly visitations like Ebenezer Scrooge and emerged the next morning with the same penchant for mischief but a bigger smile.  If you haven’t been to El Circo Cheapo, look them up now.  It is among the most rewarding (and cheapest) nights you can have in this great city. 

This past week, I had the pleasure of interviewing Cameron Esposito about her tenure at El Circo Cheapo as well as her time as an improve comic in Boston and, now, as a stand-up here in Chicago.  She is currently prepping for an hour-long show, “Side-Mullet Nation”, in this year’s Just For Laughs festival (June 15^th, 8:30pm, Playground Theater).  It was a pleasure to have gotten some of her time amidst such a busy schedule.  In it she mentions how the circus artists are bleeding gracefully during their contortions; it is a good description of her brand of comedy. 

LBS:  Your first comedy cd, “Grab Them Aghast” (available on iTunes), was released a little over a year ago; do you currently have plans for a follow-up?  Also, is something tangible like that something that you still take a lot of pride in or something you have left behind you?  I can recall, as a writer, getting my first big publication and being fairly startled by how little something like that, something that all aspiring writers are after, ended up affecting me; how quickly it gave way to all the rest of day-to-day life.

CE:  Oh for sure.  The goal of that album was to have something tangible to put in people’s hands as they left a show and to throw some jokes at ears that weren’t at a live show.  And it’s done that.  But man,I didn’t think about how static a tangible product would remain… comics change from show to show, week to week, etc… and how unusual my slow, descriptive style might seem on tape.  That album’s gonna be a collector’s item in like five years, I’m sure of it.

LBS:  Seeing you on stage as ringmaster and emcee of El Circo Cheapo, I was very struck by the rapport you have with your audience.  It was the first time I really questioned whether or not Kermit the Frog is was the world’s best host.  Whether you were talking about successfully urinating through leggings or just teeing up the next act, people seemed to love you.  What are the main differences between your persona on-stage and your persona in what we call real life?

CE:  Well, thank you, first off.  I’m actually a pretty shy person, and a true introvert.  I love people and I want to chat and chat until I really don’t want to chat anymore and then I want to go home and research special effects nonsense on the internet or talk to myself in the shower.  The stage is so intimate for me.  It’s like one giant bedroom and we’re all in it.  Except that my parents come to shows sometimes, so maybe I’ll get back to work on that analogy.

LBS:  Outside of comedy, what are your favorite artistic forms as a spectator?  Or are there others that you yourself like to try your hands at? 

CE:  ACTION MOVIES!  Oh they are just such a pure art:  the drama, the athleticism, the explosions, the hot ladies… what’s not to love?  I’m just a sucker for hyperbole and overwrought tension.  And on a completely different note, I’m pretty into dance.  Cuz I can’t do that at all.  My bod is expressive, but it loves to just stand on its legs.  Watching someone really move, watching the circus gals really move for that matter, it’s a moment of insight into what a body can actually do if it isn’t just used as a joking slinging vessel.

LBS:  Do you still get lost in each El Circo Cheapo act even after seeing it over and over?  I can recall walking into that big, impersonal loft in the middle of nowhere and thinking it felt so empty and sparse and… normal.  It seemed impossible to me that the magic of people’s personal, oddball talents could fill that entire space and hypnotize a crowd but they absolutely did; it became another world entirely.  It’s such a hidden gem, a bit like the magic theater in Hesse’s “Steppenwolf.”

 CE:  There are some performers that I’m floored by every time.  Especially since they have let me try some of the circus equipment, and I want to state above all else: those performers are in pain.  It hurts.  They are probably bleeding, gracefully. 

LBS:  Do you think the hypnotic effect of the arts on the spectator mentioned above applies as well to the performer?  In my own attempts at standup, that was always the one part that was missing for me, I never have been able to become lost or caught up in my own performance on stage.  Do you ever feel like performing is an ecstatic act that you gain just as much from as the audience?

CE:  Oh heavens yes.  When it feels like that, like you are channeling things you have written beforehand but also responding to the room, the mood, the people in it, well that’s what it is all for.  For that feeling of speaking on behalf of the group and being lost in time.  Don’t tell any surly, drunken male comics I told you that.

LBS:  You run an all-female comedy class here in Chicago called Feminine Comique: what about this course do you think specifically lends itself to the feminine sense of humor and perspective? 

CE:  So I guess this brings us back to surly, drunken male comics.  Those dudes are my peers and my friends; I feel totally comfortable in the standup scene.  But I do think it is harder for women to begin a career in standup.  I think ladies spend less time watching standup, and see fewer successful female comics, so there isn’t as clear a starting point or goal for gals.  Blah.  What I mean is: the class isn’t about a feminine sense of humor, it’s about building ladies up so that they trust their own voice and everything that voice has to say about periods.

LBS:  Well put.  I think that these days, since the Bush administration maybe, comedy has made a heavy swing back toward the comedy of politics and away from the comedy of, say, pure joke-crafting.  Do you think that comedy is an important catalyst for social change or do you think that people should (as the aliens advised Woody Allen in “Stardust Memories”) just “tell funnier jokes?”  For instance, I like subversive comedy at times, but one could argue that the mere popularity of a show like “Will & Grace” did more for the acceptance of gays and lesbians than any so-called shocking jokes could ever accomplish.  Or that Louis Armstrong did more for African American social equality than Malcolm X.

CE:  Yes, the old sneaking of the agenda in through the back door vs. getting all Lewis Black on the people.  Both have a place.  The overt politics of the Daily Show, the culturally critical but subtle hilarity of French & Saunders (and if you don’t know French & Saunders, stop reading and acquaint yourself).  My comedy is purposefully subtle, but I also dig watching someone like local Chicago comic Drew Michael try and defend an overtly subversive position to the end.  Then again, I’m an asymmetrically haired lesbian circus ringmaster: my entire existence is subversive.

LBS:  Having come up in improv in Boston and then moved to stand-up here in Chicago, do you find yourself approaching comedy more as a writer or as a performer?  Do you wrestle with the wording of jokes like Jacob wrestling with God, come up with them on-the-spot on-stage or is your process somewhere in between?

CE:  Wording comes last for me.  First, I’ll pull my bike over and send myself a text message about some joke nugget I thought up while riding.  Next, try and remember what I meant when I sent that message.  Then, work it out on stage at an open mic.  Tweak the wording over the course of a few sets.  Done!

LBS:  What shows and projects do you have coming up that we should be especially looking out for?  How are you upcoming shows and projects advancing you as a comedic artist and where are you ultimately hoping to go in the comedy world?

CE:  I’m doing an hour long spot at this summer’s TBS Just for Laughs Festival in Chicago.  (SIDE MULLET NATION, Playground Theater, June 15, 830 PM)  I’m hoping to get a run of that show at a small theater in Chicago, sell that out like mad, get some sweet reviews, take it on the road, and end up at the White House in 2012.  Like just in the cabinet or something; I’m not reaching to be President or anything.  Yet.

LBS:  As a self-proclaimed “purveyor of fine jokes,” what advice would you have for we here at LBS who run something more akin to a comedy consignment shop (or to any other coming-up comedian for that matter) in terms of turning this thing of personal inspiration into anything approximating a livelihood?  And is there a joke of yours that is so old and worn out that you would like to hand it over to us for a few dollars of gas money?

CE:  Just do the work.  Remember, late at night, when you find yourself stricken with a bout of Restless Legs Syndrome and can’t watch Cabaret any more times that week for devil may care inspiration, that if you are putting your time into writing and telling jokes, there’s nothing more you can do.  And for gods’ (plural gods) sake: go to bed.

LBS:  Well thanks a thousand for your time.  We will have to chat again next year.  Here’s hoping the chairs in the Oval Office are more comfortable.

For more information on Cameron Esposito, check out her website at: www.cameronesposito.com

For more information on El Circo Cheapo, check out their website at: www.elcircocheapo.com

Hey Loyal Lowbrows – you can now catch founder of lowbrowsophisticate.com writing words about words and literary art forms at D.R. Monroe’s Word House on Santa Fe’s premiere entertainment website www.thesantafevip.com

Come read Monroe’s words and support local websites! http://www.thesantafevip.com/about/the-santa-fe-vip-com-team/d-r-monroe-writer/

In the wake of Osama Bin Laden’s death, numerous journals and diaries were confiscated from his Abbottabad residence. The US government has stated it will take weeks or months to have them all translated, but you can get a preview here at lowbrowsophisticate!

April 1st, 2011

My April Fools trick fell flat today. I replaced Afshan’s morning goat’s milk with cow’s. He did not notice. Just like him to do such a thing – hurt my feelings. I guess I cannot be the best at everything. Watched Harsh Times with Christian Bale last night on cable. Better than Batman. Afterwards I had a dream about blowing everything up around me and then I woke up and I thought, Have I seen the error of my waves? oops! ha ha ha, I meant ways. LoL.

March 29th, 2011

“Hey handsome, its me! Like you can’t tell from this scribbly hand-writing. Well, its nearly April now and the weather is sooooooooo nice outside but I never get to go. The people who are sheltering me are SUPER nice and I know they’re just trying to keep me safe, but I am sooo tempted to sneak out the window one night and just run out under that big funny moon and let its light tickle my face, maybe pit ten fresh olives from one of the trees and put them on each of my finger tips so I look like I have frog hands! It’s been so long since I played with fire or blew anything up. ‘Night night! – O-Bin.”

March 27th, 2011

“I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet Sasha and Melia. Probably not. Ugh.”

March 11th, 2011

“It’s raining again. Will Spring ever come? I’m so bored. Much more bored than last month. I wish I could leave, its silly I’ve been in this compound for six years and everyone’s looking for me in Afghanistan… I wish they were looking for me in a good way though – like an Jihad Egg hunt.

Seinfeld’s on again. I don’t like George. He yells too much and I’m getting very sick of Babrak telling me I look like Kramer. I get it, jeez. Uhp, gotta go, m’ nachos are ready.”

March 3rd, 2011

“I watched Magnolia for the third time in a row… I wish I would have gotten braces. I really think I would have had more opportunities. Julianne Moore is an attractive lady for an elderly infidel. My youngest wife just told me we’re having falafel again tonight for dinner. AGAIN! I didn’t put in a $75 dollar kitchen for friggin’ falafel every night. Well, better go read my Mad Magazine. Night Night.”

2011 – Lowbrowsophisticate writer Daniel Monroe continues to insist he is a scientist, despite his only “experiment” being how much one man can snack in an evening.

1992 – “Smells Like Nirvana” by “Weird” Al Yankovic hits #35 on the Billboard charts, ensuring Kurt Cobain’s death by suicide two years later.

1990 – Jim Henson passes away, ending his tyrannical fisting-reign over the Kermit the Frog and the rest of the Muppet-people.

1980 – Brian May of the rock group Queen collapses on stage from Hepatitis, forcing the band to cancel multiple tour dates.  Fans were forgiving of the inconvenience, but their patience wore thin the following year when he collapsed again from Chlamydia.

1975 – Junko Tabei becomes the first woman to reach the summit of Mount Everest.  Also, scientists discover the freezing temperature of vagina.

1960 – Theodore Maiman operates the first laser in a California laboratory: 34 wounded, 17 dead.

1931 – Amelia Earheart eschews her daily studies of aviation and navigation yet again in lieu of taking a scenic walk and flirting with boys.

1874 – A flood on the Mill River in Massachusetts kills over 130 farmers and members of their families, but provides nutrient-rich silt to their farm lands in a wonderful example of irony.

“Yessir, Mr. President Osama, Sir.”
“It’s Obama,” the Hawaiian Muslimy voice says on the other end, but it was too late – the other end had already hung up.

Jack Grabber had never directly been asked to do a mission by the President of the United States before and he had never heard of this Osama bin Laden character before either. Apparently he had something to do with the events that took place on September 11th 2001 and that was good enough for Jack. Of course the first thing Grabber did was call his old friend and at-times mission partner, Samir Godot. He had met Godot in Iraq and thought Samir and Osama sounded like they came from the same geographical region and one thing Grabber knew more than anything was that outside of the United States, people with similar names that lived in the same geographical area almost always knew one another. Godot didn’t answer his phone the first, second or even thirty first time Grabber rang him.

Grabber needed to make a stopover in DC. Luckily he was in nearby Annapolis giving the commencement address at St. John’s College graduation. He cut his speech down to three minutes in order to reach DC in time. He spoke mostly about Godot and hypothesized on why he did not answer his phone earlier that morning; the students were confused, but after all, there were more pressing matters at hand. Grabber was debriefed in a suburban parked two blocks from the White House and took a C-130 to Italy. On the flight over, Grabber informed his handler what he would need once he landed in The Boot, before taking his connecting flight into Pakistan where he would approach bin Laden’s compound in Abbottabad on foot. Grabber wrote down what it was he needed on a notepad he was carrying with him: Night vision goggles; two water bottles; a rain jacket; three pairs of dry socks (one with poms); a flashlight; a map of Iraq (to see where Godot might be); thirty pairs of bat-cuffs and a bat-arang; nachos; two nine millimeter side arms with ammo; chapstick; back up chapstick; a bag of hair; a turban; a full set of king-sized sheets; M4 Carbine; M249 and accompanying ammo and that was all. At the bottom of the page were three drawings: one of a ringing phone with question marks surrounding it; another of a plate of nachos and third of a cartoon bird with a comically sized penis. Grabber told his handler to disregard the drawings.

The Italy/Pakistan transfer went without any hiccups and Grabber was dropped from a helicopter 6 miles from the bin Laden compound. Grabber found his bearings, licked his thumb and adjusted for wind. He knew he had a six mile trek ahead of him and that’s what the nachos were for. He gobbled up his nachos, knowing that nothing gives a soldier more energy and stamina than tostada chips covered in room temperature powdered cheese. Grabber did the first five miles in less than thirty minutes; it was the last mile that he had to approach with caution. He could see the compound: he approached from the back which had a ten foot wall, a gate, and beyond that gate a twelve foot wall. From inside he could see a housing building with a seven foot tall privacy wall. Grabber assumed it would take about forty minutes to get the job done. His first thought was to bomb the hell out of the place, but that could make it difficult to gather evidence of the individual’s death, so Grabber did whatever any good soldier would do: ring the doorbell. A guard approached but not before Grabber pulled out his back up chapstick, smashed the entire tube in his palms and smeared it all over his face, dumped the bag of hair all over himself and wrapped up in the robe.

“Abullah Bullah Allghah Ahckmah,” the guard says.
“Uh huh,” Grabber replies.

The gate opens and Grabber shoots the guard in the face, “Ahckmah that, goat eater.” Grabber rolls across the compound floor and sees the sign written on the door across the way: Osama’s Man Cave, with a Spike TV logo next to it. That must be it, he thinks to himself. Suddenly, Jack Grabber’s obvious observations are interrupted by the sound of a chopper overhead.
“So they think I need back up do they?” Grabber says as he pulls out the M4, aims steadily and shoots down the back up whirly bird.

As it crashes to the ground and explodes, Grabber whispers to himself, “Looks like you had some mechanical issues.” The ruckus of the explosion brings out three soldiers that Grabber kills with his bare hands. He sprints to the Man Cave sign; kicks open the door and catches Osama with this pants down; using a woman, possibly one of his wives, as a human shield. “Bad day to be married to this dick,” Grabber says before unloading his 9mm into the woman who Osama discards immediately. Grabber takes one step closer, then a second and a third until he is less than five feet from his target. Grabber raises both 9mm and aims them at Osama’s head and just before he pulls the trigger his cell phone rings.

“Hello?”
“Hey, Grabs, its Samir. You called?”
Grabber is ecstatic, “Hey, where the hell have you been?”
“Out, I’ve been out. What’s up?”
“Well, it’s kind of moot now, but I was wondering if you know a guy by the name of Osama bin Laden?” Grabber asks, putting one of his weapons under his right armpit and raises his right index finger towards the terrorist in front of him, signaling to the man to hold on for just a second.
“Yeah, he’s the mastermind behind 9/11,” Samir answers.
“No, I know that, but do you know him, know him?”
“Personally?”
“Yeah.”
“No, Jack, I don’t know Osama bin Laden personally.”
“Oh, alright. We still on for our reading group next Saturday?”
“Yeah, what are we on?”
“Mystic Pizza,” Grabber answers, pulsing his index finger towards the man in front of him whom he has cornered behind two barrels for burning garbage and feces.

All of a sudden bin Laden makes a move, “I gotta go, Sammy.” Grabber lets the phone drop and puts two rounds in bin Laden’s left eye. “Face shots and childhood obesity, that’s what America does!” Grabber shouts as he tosses the dead terrorist over his shoulder.

Grabber killed an additional sixteen individuals on his way out of the compound that morning, none of them Americans. He also torched the downed helicopter just as a second one touched down chock-full of Navy Seals. Grabber handed over the body and hoisted himself up into the chopper. The Seals took Jack Grabber and the dead body to the USS Carl Vinson where President Obama was waiting for them both.

“What now, Colonel Grabber?” the President asks.
“Better drown the sonuvabitch to make sure he’s dead; I read Middle Easterners turn into mummies.”
“I heard that too,” President Obama agrees. “Toss ‘em over boys!”

Grabber received a secret medal of combat valor, the first one of its kind, and as he sat alone on Air Force One, he smiled as he sipped his Four Loko, grabbed the stewardess’s arm as she passed and whispered, “Have you read Mystic Pizza?”