Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The Two Coreys

**RIP George Carlin -- one of the first comics I ever watched on television, and still one of the best. You are irreplaceable.**

38 Days Until I Move to San Diego.

I alternate between feeling totally calm and ready and centered about the whole thing and feeling like I can't breathe. The full weight of things I have to accomplish before I leave -- find a renter for my apartment, pack and ship all the stuff I'm taking, sell all the stuff I'm not, forward my mail, transfer my utilities, have a goodbye dinner with every single person I've ever known, and on and on and on -- is overwhelming to the point of panicked exhaustion.

Then of course there are all the things I have to do after I get there, among them buying a car and finding a way to make money. In short, I feel like a minnow swimming against the current at high tide.

Me. Appropriate, given that I'm a Pisces.

On the other hand, I've undertaken enormous challenges before (insert dirty joke here), and I know I'm completely capable of getting it all done, one task at a time, if I just take a breath. Also, I cannot wait to be out there, living with Boy Wonder, and embarking on a whole new life that I can invent from scratch. It makes me feel like 20-something kid again.

If only I still had those 20-something abs.

I'm definitely starting to realize how weird it will be to have my entire family 3,000 miles away -- instead of 45 minutes away. This past Saturday was my mom's 67th birthday. It was the first time in my adult life that she didn't celebrate it on Gay Pride weekend, which was like a little gift from God. Also, for the first time in 28 years, my parents spent her birthday weekend in Summit instead of Amagansett. A good time (and pink cake) was had by all.

Papa Lew and Mama Phy, pretty in pastels.

Family Affair. Clockwise from top left: Cousin Stacey, Cousin Jodi, Sister Laura, Me and Sister Anna, showing some nice tittage.

Granny, 91, argues the merits of Barack Obama with her bald, Republican grandson-in-law, Guy.

The summer TV season is in full swing, and I must say I'm enjoying the return of several of my favorites, including "Weeds" and "So You Think You Can Dance." I was also fascinated by the Season Two premiere of "The Two Coreys."

If you're a man who can tell which Corey is which, you are gay.

For the uninitiated among you, Corey Feldman and Corey Haim were both huge teen idols in the 80s. (They are both now 37, the same age as me.)

Separately, Feldman is best known for "Goonies" and "Stand By Me" and Haim for "Lucas." Together they starred in one mega-hit -- "The Lost Boys" -- and a bunch of forgettable crapfests.

Then they both became druggies, stopped making movies and faded into obscurity for two decades. (Feldman has popped up now and then, most notably as a perennial guest on "The Howard Stern Show" and on season one of "The Surreal Life.")

Anyway, they reunited last year for the purpose of a reality show, the premise of which was that Haim -- still a class A drug addict and all-around fuck-up -- moved in with the relatively stable Feldman and his comely wife, Susie. Tumult ensued, ending with Haim's calling Susie a bitch (which she is).

Now it's season two. The Coreys have supposedly not spoken to one another in six months, and they must make nice if they want to appear together in the straight-to-video "Lost Boys 2" movie (and continue this insipid reality show).

Ho-hum, who cares, right?

Wrong! This new season is awesome. One the first episode, it was revealed that as a 15-year-old, Haim was molested by Feldman's best friend (!), and that Feldman knew, and did nothing about it (!).

"I was being molested at the same time!" Feldman counters.


My first reaction -- and I don't mean to seem insensitive or crass here -- is this: Isn't 15 a little old to be molested? Especially for a boy? Especially if the alleged molester was also a teenager? I mean, is that really abuse, or is it just plain gay?

(Sidebar, I did a bit about this last night at the "Dykes on Mics" show at RubyFruit and ignited fury among all the lesbians in the audience. Apparently, lesbians don't like jokes about sex abuse. Note to self.)

Then it hit me: Who was Corey Feldman's best friend in the 80's?

I'll give you a hint: He wasn't the father of Billie Jean's kid.


Clearly I wasn't the only one to deduce this. The Internet has been abuzz since the Sunday broadcast with speculation that Jacko was the one diddling both Coreys. Feldman has since denied that, but it all seems a bit too coincidental to me.

In any case, I am so watching more of "The Two Coreys."

That's all for now. I won't be hosting Therapy this Sunday because it's Gay Pride, and I'll be off gallivanting.

But come see me host this show (and yes, I know I'm not on the poster, but trust me -- I'm hosting it):

(Click to enlarge)

Oh, and there's a nice piece on gay comedy that mentions me on a site called New York Edge. Read it here.

Homo out.

Coming soon: New audio, new video.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Me on the Radio -- NOW!

Sorry for the last minute warning on this, but if you'd like to hear me live on Internet radio, I'm about to be interviewed tonight (Monday, 6/16) at 10:30 p.m. ET at a site called "Nobody Listens to Us." You can click here to listen to it.

If you miss it live, they'll podcast it in a couple days, and I'll give you instructions on how to download it.

Homo on the air.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Fan Mail

The following arrived several days ago:

Subj: eewwww

I thought you were so cute on last comic, so I looked you up online.
Then I came across the pic with the cig.


Almost had a new fan.

Good! Suck it!

In a very different vein, yesterday I received what may be the most amazing email ever, and I wanted to share it with you, my loyal readers (as well as you anti-smoking activists).

Some background is necessary first. A couple months ago, I wrote a blog entry entitled "My Least Favorite Year," in which I described in excruciating detail the hell I endured as a 7th grader at Newark Academy. If you haven't yet read it, you should do so now; otherwise this story won't mean anything to you.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

In the meantime, a few pics:

Me as a superhero, courtesy of
comedian Dave O'Gara.
I wish he had given me a bigger package.

The view from my roof at night.
Photo by Boy Wonder.

My just-renovated bathroom, complete with new vanity.
Special thanks and kudos to Karl.

Incidentally, if you know anyone looking to rent a FABULOUS Hell's Kitchen condo beginning Aug. 1, please direct them here.

OK, ready for the story? Here goes:

The night I was on "Last Comic Standing," I got tons of emails from people who recognized me from the past. One read:

Hey Adam. Saw you on Last Comic Standing. Did you graduate from Newark Academy? The name sounds familiar.

My wife and I liked your routine.

John Bentz

It took me several weeks to reply to all these emails. Finally, on Thursday, I sent Mr. Bentz the following email:

Sorry for the delayed reply.

Yes, I went to N.A. from 1983-86, 7th-9th grades. In fact, I recently wrote a rather scathing blog about my experience there, which you can read here:


Thanks for your kind words.

Best wishes,

Here's where it gets amazing.

The following day, John Bentz sent me the following. It's worth reading to the end -- trust me:


Thanks for responding to my email I sent to you after seeing you on Last Comic Standing. I read your blog about NA; I believe every word. We had some assholes on our bus that constantly picked on David Epstein. Gum in the hair, snowballs, you name it. I too have fond memories of Ms. Galvin and Mr. Ball. They both impacted me greatly. There were a few others as well.

Now for the interesting thing about your blog, if you will indulge me and read on.

My wife, my daughter, and I watch American Idol. My daughter loves to sing, but she is really shy. She also loves to write, but she is too embarrassed to show us any of her work. She is 13, a tough age.

One night, we were watching Idol and the contestant Brooke began to sing. Only a few words into her song, she stopped and asked to start again. When she finished, she was lauded by two of the judges for her courage and somewhat panned by Simon. My daughter asked me if I thought it what she did was bad. I said no. In fact, I said it showed maturity, passion, and courage. I further stated that sometimes people just simply get nervous. My intent was to pass on a small lesson with the hope that it would help her confidence.

But, there is more. During that same conversation, I told my daughter of a boy in my school named Adam Sank. I told her about the lasting impression he left on me one day when he sang before the entire student body. I shared with her that you stopped your performance just after you began, and believe it or not, I remembered that you said “excuse me.” You then started over and sang beautifully. I was only a few years ahead of you, but that really impressed me. I had confidence problems throughout high school due to an overbearing, controlling father.

I was glad to be able to share this story with my daughter. In fact, I have shared this story with several people over the years. I even told it to a group of junior high school students.

As you can see, that moment has stuck with me. I am sorry that it is a sad memory for you; but I hope that you feel a bit better knowing that someone took notice and did not judge you the way others did. (I recognize most of the names you mention in your blog – they were pricks. Mr. Sweet was an asshole as well.)

Imagine my surprise to see you on Last Comic Standing. When my wife saw you and heard your name, she said “isn’t that the guy you talked about a few weeks ago?” How fucking unreal is that? It is interesting when things come about full circle.

Good luck to you Adam, and thanks for taking time to read this. I would be happy to hear from you at any time.

John T. Bentz
Warren, Ohio

The word "speechless" doesn't really apply to written communication, but it's the only way to explain how I felt after reading this. I had to read it over again a half-dozen times before I was able to begin to process it.

That this lovely man was so affected by something I did in 7th grade that he wanted to share it decades later with others -- including his child and other young people -- is remarkable enough. But the sequence of events and mind-boggling coincidences are, as he succinctly puts it, "fucking unreal."

In fact, I need to create a timeline just to get it all clear in my head:


April 18: For reasons I'm not even sure of, I decide to post a blog about getting abused by other kids at Newark Academy and singing "Corner of the Sky" in front of the entire school. I even include the detail about messing up and starting over again.

April 22: Brooke White forgets the words while singing the first verse of "You Must Love Me" on Andrew Lloyd Webber Week of "American Idol." She stops the band and starts over again from the top.

(A small correction to what John wrote in his email: It was Paula -- not Simon -- who criticized her for doing that. Simon actually told her he'd have done the same thing in her shoes. I myself loathed Brooke White and remember screaming at the TV set: "Learn your lyrics, you stupid bitch!" I am sometimes not a nice person.)

Meanwhile in Ohio, a man who has never read my blog and hasn't seen me in decades (and really never knew me to begin with) tells his wife and daughter the story of a boy with whom he went to school who sang in front of everyone, messed up and started over again.

May 22: Season Six of "Last Comic Standing" premieres, featuring exactly 2 minutes and five seconds of me. (By the way, you can watch the complete Adam Sank montage here.)

Back in Ohio, John Bentz and his wife are watching. Suddenly she says, "Isn't that the guy you talked about a few weeks ago?" He emails me to inquire whether I went to Newark Academy.


And the rest was as described above.

SERIOUSLY -- IT'S INSANE, ISN'T IT? I've had more than 24 hours to reflect on it, and it still makes me dizzy.

Beyond that, I am touched by what John Bentz wrote me more than I can say. It makes me feel somehow more connected to everyone on the planet. And it reminds me that we are all constantly making an impact on the people around us on ways we cannot begin to fathom.

So thank you, John Bentz, for your kindness, your sensitivity and your willingness to reach out to someone you encountered only fleetingly nearly a quarter-century ago (and for giving me permission to reproduce your email in its entirety). I am a better person for it.

Homo out-of-body.

No Therapy show tomorrow night -- it's the Tony Awards! Instead, come see me host it next Sunday, June 22, when my special guests will be Ophira Eisenberg, Reese Waters, Zach Toczynski and Laura Nikifortchuk. Details here.


Wednesday, June 11, 2008

My Storytelling Debut

Last night I appeared in a show called "Stripped Stories" at Comix, hosted by hot chicks Giulia Rozzi and Margot Leitman.

"Stripped" is not a traditional comedy show. Rather it's a storytelling show, in which comics, writers and other artsy types get on-stage and tell true stories about their sex lives. In less capable hands, the show might be vulgar, tasteless and horribly uncomfortable to watch. But Rozzi and Leitman are both elegant, highly skilled performers. Dressed to the nines, they begin each show by declaring the space "a safe room" where people can talk openly and honestly, without fear of judgment or reprisal. The crowd accepts this unconditionally, and the ensuing stories feel less like "performances" than uninhibited, intimate sharing among close friends. It's a truly loving experience, and one of the greatest times I've ever had on-stage.

Giulia & Margot, making themselves wet.

The theme last night was "parties," so I wrote a story called "My Coming Out Party." It was about how I went from being a self-identified "straight guy" to one who could finally, at the age of 21, declare himself gay. I'd never told this story on-stage, and I worried that people would find it neither funny nor interesting.
In fact, I sort of killed.

So I thought I'd share it with you, my blog readers, along with some SERIOUS caveats that I hope you'll consider before reading it:

I have never blogged about my sex life before. It's just not my style, and I also don't want to gross out any of my regular readers, including Mom, Granny or my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Paulmenn.
But this story includes graphic sexual content. It is definitely not intended for anyone under 18, and reader discretion is advised.

While you mull over whether you want to keep reading or not, here are some recent photos of a non-pornographic nature:

My sister Anna, me, Stephanie Schwartz,
and Julie Jacobs at Julie's 40th birthday
at Stone Barns, Pocantico Hills, NY.
June 8, 2008.

Cooking dinner for Boy Wonder.
May 26, 2008.

"Sex and the City" trivia contest at Therapy.
May 25, 2008.

OK, ready? Here comes the story. Consider yourself warned.
And one style note: It's written as an oral monologue (so to speak), meant to be delivered in my voice, so it won't read as smoothly in print.

My Coming Out Party
(Performed in “Stripped Stories” at Comix, June 10, 2008)

I call this story my “Coming Out Party.”

Growing up, I never thought I was gay. I’ve talked to a lot of other gay guys, and they say they always knew. But I didn’t. I knew I wanted to suck dick, but I didn’t think that made me gay. I thought every guy wanted to suck dick! I thought it was this secret thing that everyone desired, but no one talked about.

Like, you know – all guys jerk off, and all guys fantasize that they’re blowing other guys while they do it. This seemed totally logical to me.

And I even had hard evidence to prove it, so to speak. From the time I was 13 to the time I was 18, I messed around with a lot of my guy friends. And we all had girlfriends, we all looked at Playboy and talked about tits. The only difference between me and them was that their favorite albums were by Def Leppard and Bon Jovi, while my favorite albums were “Sweeney Todd” and “Evita.” Which, again, didn’t seem gay to me in the least.

Anyway, this went on until I was a senior in high school. And one day, I remember I was just lying on the sofa watching TV, and it occurred to me: “Maybe I am gay.” And I got really depressed. Because this was 1989; the most famous gay men in the world at that time were Liberace, Rock Hudson and Freddy Mercury. And we all knew how things turned out for them. There was no “Will & Grace.” All the hot movie stars at that time were straight guys. Like Tom Cruise and John Travolta.

So I made up my mind at that moment: No more dick-sucking. I was about to leave for college at the University Michigan, Ann Arbor. And I made a vow to myself that I would not engage in any sexual activity with boys ever again. It was OK to think about it. But when it came to actual sex, I was not going to leave Vaginaville.

And I kept that vow for two years. As soon as I got to Michigan, I did the straightest thing I could think of: I joined a fraternity. And I purposefully did not join one of those hot-guy fraternities where all the guys look like Abercrombie & Fitch models, because I knew nothing good would come of that. Instead I joined Chi Psi, which was filled with skinny, homely engineering geeks. There was no one I wanted to blow.

Except there was one incredibly hot guy named Will. And he was the only person besides me who was Jewish and also from New Jersey. And he was hot. He was like a big ripped muscle guy. But I didn’t worry about being attracted to him, because he hated me. In fact, when I first rushed Chi Psi, every time he saw me, he would leave the room. I was like, this guy’s a dick!

Meanwhile, I fooled around exclusively with females. Lots of them. In the course of two years, I had sex with 10 different women. Like, actual intercourse. And my Vietnamese girlfriend, Chau, thought she might be pregnant with my baby, and I almost figured out where the clitoris was. I was like, “I am so straight.”

The only kind-of gay thing I did during this period was: There was a building at Michigan called “Angell Hall.” And it had a men’s room with like 40 stalls, all painted white. Which meant, they were a magnet for graffiti. And the graffiti was really gay, and really graphic.

Also, there were gay pictures that someone had drawn on the walls. There were drawings of dicks going into asses, and guys mounting other guys. And I don’t know who the artist was, but he was really gifted! I often wonder where he is today. Either he’s got his own exhibit at the MOMA… or he’s an animator for Disney.

They were basically like gay pornographic cave drawings. And remember, this was before Al Gore invented the Internet. There was no online porn. I had no other way of seeing anything like this.

But I could see it in the bathroom, so anytime I was working on a paper, I’d take a break, and go into one of the stalls. And I’d read all the graffiti and look at the drawings, and just jerk myself into a frenzy.

And one day, toward the end of my sophomore year, I couldn’t take it anymore; I left my own graffito in a bathroom stall. I was like “Hot straight frat guy wants to blow another hot straight frat guy. Meet me here tomorrow at 4 p.m. I’ll be wearing jeans.” But here’s the thing: I didn’t want to fool around with someone in the bathroom. That seemed scary to me and also gross. So I wrote, “Meet me here at 4, and if we both like what we see, we’ll go someplace else and talk.”

So anyway, I walk in to the bathroom the next day at the appointed time, and of course there are like 10 nelly queens lined up at the sinks, waiting to meet this allegedly hot straight frat guy. And they’re all like [effeminate voice] “Hi!” And I’m like, “Yech.”

So I leave immediately, and this guy follows me out. And he actually looks kind of cute and normal and “straight-looking” but I’m totally freaked out by the fact that I’ve even attempted this gay rendez-vous. And now this guy is following me, and I don’t want to walk back to my dorm, because then he’ll know where I live, and what if he’s a serial killer?

So I walk to this coffee shop called “Expresso Royale,” which at the time didn’t sound as gay to me as it does now. And I get a coffee, and I see the guy kind of loitering on the other side of the coffee shop, and he’s writing something on a napkin, and I just bolt. And I’m running across the diag as fast as I can back to my dorm, and this dude is in hot pursuit behind me holding the napkin. So finally, I’m like fuck it. And I let him catch up to me, and he hands me the napkin, and then he bolts.

And written on the napkin it says. “Hi. I believe it was I with whom you planned to meet this afternoon at 4 o’clock.”

Very Oscar Wilde, right?

“My name is Joe. Call me sometime.”

And it had his phone number.

So I did nothing for about a week, and then finally I broke down and called him. And he picked me up one night in his car, and drove me to his filthy apartment off-campus. And we talked for like three hours. And then we went into his bedroom. And we got undressed. And he had the biggest dick I had ever seen. In fact, it was so big that his hard-on was sticking out the flap of his tighty whiteys, and it went past his waist-band, so he couldn’t get his underwear off.

Some of you women may not understand what I’m talking about, so let me draw you a picture: Imagine a giraffe with its neck sticking out of the sunroof of a compact car. No matter how you wiggle that giraffe, you’re not getting his head inside that car.

And I hadn’t seen a real live hard dick in two years, and I had never seen one like this, so I made a bee-line for it.

And Joe was like, “Whoah! Actually, I don’t really enjoy getting blown.”

And I was like “Wha?”

And he was like, “Yeah, I prefer to service someone more than getting serviced.”

And that was my first encounter with the human tragedy known as a “well-hung bottom.”

It would not be my last.

But Joe and I played around, and we became really good friends, as well as fuck buddies. And he was gay. He was out. He didn’t pretend to like women, he didn’t call himself “bi.” He didn’t talk about tits. He was like, “I am gay.”

And I still wasn’t there. Joe was my big secret; I didn’t introduce him to any of my friends, and I made sure no one ever saw us together. And I still had a girlfriend. The most I could do was admit that I was “bi-curious.” So bi-curious. But not bi-curious enough to go inside a gay bar. That was still too scary for me.

And summertime came, and it was almost July 4th weekend, and Joe said to me, “I really want you to come with me to Saugatuck.” Which is this resort town on Lake Michigan about 175 miles from U. of M. And it’s nicknamed “Fag-a-Suck,” because during the summer, and especially July 4th weekend, it becomes this huge gay party. And gay guys from all over the Midwest travel there. And I was like, “I don’t know, what if someone spots me there, and thinks I’m gay, and I’m not gay, I’m only bi-curious.” And so forth.

But Joe convinced me that no one would know me this far from campus. So I very nervously accompanied him to Saugatuck for this big gay party weekend. And the very first night, we went to the local gay bar, which was called “The Douglas Dunes.” So butch, isn’t it? So I’m freaking out and hyperventilating, like, “Ohmigod, I can’t believe I’m going to go into a gay bar.”

And we walk in. And I look over at the bar area, and there’s this really hot muscular Jewish-looking guy drinking and laughing with a bunch of other really cute guys. And I go, “Joe, my fraternity brother is here.” And he was like, “No way!” And I’m like, “No that’s him. That’s Will. And he hates me. But he’s here, so… maybe he’s gay.”

And I suddenly felt this wave of bravado come over me. And I walked right over to Will, and I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turns around and he looks at me and goes, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

And I go, “Uh, I’m here with a friend for the weekend.”

And he goes, “Oh. You’re not gay, are you?”

And I go, “I don’t know. Are you?”

And he goes, “Yeah.”

And I said, “I’m gay, too.” Because at that moment, I knew that I was, and I knew that it was OK. Because if Will could be gay, and be totally honest about it, then I could, too.

And I introduced him to Joe, and the three of us hung out together all weekend. And at one point, Will said to me: “You know, when you first rushed Chi Psi, I was so attracted to you that I had to leave the room every time you walked in.”

And I was like, “Well then we should have sex.” And we eventually did, and it was great. And he’s still one of my best friends. And I’ve been sucking dick with wild abandon every since.

Thank you.

Homo out.

Come see me at this show Friday night!

P.S. Spellcheck thinks "Vaginaville" should be "Bougainvillea." Hee hee.