Funny Thing about the Tao

/ Papa Gringo / 1 Comment

Back in early March, after 93 days in comedy, Mercury went retrograde, and I hit a wall. 

Before that, I was having a great time.

I really enjoyed going out several nights a week, taking the bus to North Beach to attend comedy classes and to perform at open mics.  It was a great time in San Francisco, especially as the days grew longer as spring slowly arrived.

But getting involved in comedy, I soon found out, was pretty much a full-time job. 

I really admired the younger comics and their dedication to build themselves a comedy career.  But I already have a career, one that’s quickly coming to a close. And I discovered that I don’t really want to devote more time building another career – at least, not in comedy.

Much as I enjoyed writing jokes and building bits and putting together an act, my needing to devote several hours each night, all for only a few minutes on stage, really wore me out.  Much as I enjoyed all that stage time, much as I enjoyed laughing at all the other comics, it really was exhausting.

So, once Mercury went retrograde, I did some serious reflection and decided to pull the plug on chasing the stand-up-comedy dream.  Or, more likely, the Tao pulled the plug.

What the Tao givith, the Tao taketh away.   

In place of comedy, the Tao has steered me back toward my amateur interest in art, sketching and painting with watercolors, a hobby I’ve explored for the past ten years.

Earlier this month, I started sketching and painting more frequently, and I’m glad I did.

Creating a painting in my sketchbook is like building a short comedy bit. Only, once I finish, I’m done!  I can look at a sketch, feel good about my efforts, and it doesn’t require several hours every night waiting for five minutes on stage.

Instead, once I put down my pen and paint brush, I can post a sketch to Instagram and forget all about it. The process is complete. Then, when something else inspires me, I can sketch and paint something new.

Heck — the drama masks at the top of this post took less than an hour to complete.

So, at this point into my pre-retirement journey, I am happy to focus on art — a practice, I hope, that will accompany me into the future.  I imagine myself, once fully retired, taking trips to different locales, taking art classes and/or just sketching what I see. 

The sketchbook is a great companion, and I’m glad to have it around.

======

PS: If you’re interested, you can travel through my ten years of art on Instagram at PapaGringoArt.

The Tao Goes Against the Flow

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment

I saw a big protest outside an elementary school.

Lots of activists, the usual e pluribus complainum crowd.

Big signs said:  “Stolen Land!” “No One is Illegal!” “ICE is illegal!” 

Musta been about forty people there, most of them under four feet tall.

The tall ones with the blue hair were teachers.

It’s not fair that teachers impose their political views on vulnerable kids, at least not before naptime.

That’s an abuse of power. Teachers can find that on Bumble.

So I decided to hold a counter protest — just me and my incredibly self-confident ego.

I got some old cardboard. I got a big black marker. And I wrote in big block letters so the blockheads could read it.

Then, I held up my sign from across the street from the school. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there. It was my John Cusack moment.

Before long, kids started crying. Then, the crying kids started to point. Then, all the kids got crying.

One of the blue-hair teachers came stamping across the street.

“What are you doing? That sign is disgusting!”

“At least, it’s true,” I tell her.

She says: “These kids are six years old! They don’t need you spoiling Santa Claus!”

“Okay,” I say. “You end your protest. I’ll end mine.”

Upshot:  In case you’re wondering, it can take a whole night before you make bail.

Performing at the Peek-a-Boo

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment
Papa Gringo performing at the Peek-a-Boo Hair Salon

I’ve been doing lots of open mics. I did one recently at a Chinatown beauty shop. It’s called the Peek-a-Boo Hair Salon.

It’s very Chinese.

They got glowing red lanterns dangling from the ceiling. A big laughing Buddha with a fat stone belly. Plus, a Great Wall… of two-way mirrors.

(Talk about a captive audience.)

I went up after the Tik Tok Twins, a teenage Taiwanese dance act. I opened with my bit about Pork-Fried Firecrackers.

Nothing! Not a giggle, not a smirk. You could’ve heard an egg drop.

At first, I thought they didn’t understand me. But then one woman started clapping. But she was only drying her nails.

Next, I did my gag about Dim Sum being the name of my neighbor’s idiot kid. I thought I heard a snicker after that. Just a big toe getting clipped.

Then, I got a bit edgy. I did my joke about President Trump and President Xi meeting at a Castro bath house — how they both blew a shot at world peace.

[As Trump]: “Shame, shame, Xi, Xi. Look at what a mess we made!”

That joke made the Buddha blush. The two-way mirrors got hella steamy.

In the end, I did get a standing ovation — from a lady getting up from the hair dryer.

The Tao & the Dangers of Pool

/ Papa Gringo / 1 Comment

For the past month, I’ve attended several open mics in several different SF bars.

Some bars have pool tables. But I don’t like playing pool. Pool strikes me as racist.

Pool is a game with sixteen balls. And the main ball, the cue ball — the hero of the game — is white.

The white ball is set far away from the colored balls, which makes the white ball very happy,

When the game begins, the colored balls are trapped in a triangular prison. Once the colored balls are released, once they’re free, the white ball attacks.

 It fires a shot, and the colored balls scatter.

Altogether, there are fifteen colored balls. But the white ball’s nemesis is the evil eight ball, the tall strapping black ball.

Q: How does this racist game end?

A: When the white ball, the hero ball, sinks the black ball in one of six pockets.

That’s literally white supremacy.

However, if the white ball sinks into a pocket, that’s a scratch. The white ball loses. That’s affirmative action — at least, according to the colored balls.

It’s easy for the colored balls to call the white ball racist. The white ball’s outnumbered 15-to-1.

When the colored balls call the white ball racist, that’s called projection. Colored balls are racist, too — just racist toward each other.

The first three colored balls are all solids — yellow, blue and red. Those are primary colors. They are pure. They are proud. And they are proud of their purity.

But as they stand shoulder to shoulder, secretly sneering at one another, they collectively scorn the secondary colors: solid purple, orange and green.

Secondary colors are not pure. They are, let’s be honest, the embarrassing offspring of two primary parents. Those primary parents are not proud.

Still, all six solids can put aside their prejudice and find family fellowship as they all, together, despise the seven ball.

Officially, the seven ball is maroon or burgundy. But let’s face it: It’s solid brown. All the colors are ashamed of brown. Brown is the untold secret.

But one day, soon, all the balls will be brown.

Until that time, the brown ball is welcomed by its six solid cousins for a holiday tradition of hating the stripes.

Q: And why do the solids hate the stripes?

A: Because the stripes are all half white.

Bottom line:  Racism isn’t a circle of hate. It’s sixteen balls on a green felt table.

That’s why I throw darts.

Happy Birthday, Capricorns!

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment
Mountain goat in a suit and tie seated at a smoky bar with a whiskey glass and birthday umbrella.

I love Capricorns.

Capricorns are earth signs. At first, they can come across as a bit old-fashioned, a bit stuffy and cold.

Like Kim Jong Un.

The Capricorn symbol is the goat. The rugged mountain goat. The one that scales rocky peaks, then looks back and wonders why it’s all alone.

Like Richard Nixon after Watergate

Capricorns are ruled by the planet Saturn. Saturn is the CEO of the Zodiac.

The Jeff Bezos of Amazon.

That’s why Capricorns are all so damn ambitious, so damn determined, and so damn boring at parties.

Take Capricorn Denzel Washington. Star of stage and screen. Two-time Academy-Award winner.

But do you really want to party with a Pentecostal Preacher?

“Excuse me,” you say. “Reverend Washington, would you care for another cocktail?”

He fires back with brimstone: “Follow not Satan down the road of cock and tail!”

Consider four-time NBA-champion Lebron James.

You do not want to bump into this guy at a party.

One accidental nudge and he’s screaming: “Foul! Foul! He touched me! He touched me!”

It is the mission of every Capricorn man to find himself a mission in life — something to strive for, something to pursue.

And it’s the mission of every Capricorn woman to find a man with a mission.

Michelle Obama found herself a future president.

Kate Middleton found herself a future king.

What happens when a Capricorn woman does not find a man with a mission?

That’s when you get Greta Thunberg. Always angry. Always complaining. But always out to save the Earth.

What do You Think?

Are you a Capricorn yourself or know one close enough to confirm or deny? Let me know in the comments.

The Tao & the Art of Bombing

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment

Well, I gave it a shot.

I heard about a Thursday-night comedy open mic at a bar on Dolores Street not far from my house. I walked down earlier this evening to check it out.

I arrived just as the show was about to begin, There were only a few folks sitting at the bar, plus a few others shooting pool in a nook toward the rear. Everyone had their backs to the small stage and microphone stand.

By the front door, a half dozen nervous comics were sitting around as if waiting for the results of a blood test.

Brady, the evening’s MC, took the mic off the stand and said hello to everyone. No one turned to look at him, just the nervous comics.

When the first guy got up, despite no one paying attention, he launched into his set, but it was hard to hear. I tried to keep my focus on him, and I laughed when he presented each premise, but I couldn’t quite catch his punch lines. The next comic was equally hard to hear.

Finally, this one comic got up, one with questionable pronouns. They did great! I could hear them perfectly. Clearly, they’d had some prior public-speaking training. Though they were reading off notes on their phone — something I’ve been told to avoid — I really did enjoy their energy.

Then the MC called my name.

All day, I’d been rehearsing this bit I’d written about the Ohlone Indians. Soon as I got up to the mic, I knew that no one would listen. So I decided to simply practice reciting my memorized lines at the microphone. I did get one laugh from one of the other comics. Mosly, I got nothing. Two-and-half minutes passed like two-and-a-half hours.

All in all, I’d say it was a bomb — the whole show! But bombing can be a blessing.

Everyone busts their cherry some time, and now I’ve busted mine. It was good to get a chance to practice speaking while holding the mic. Good to get a chance to keep addressing different parts of the room. Good to lose my place at one point and then recover from an awkward pause. No one was listening, so none of it mattered.

After the last comic performed, the MC thanked the patrons in the bar — none of whom seemed remotely aware that comics had been performing.

How surreal!

Still, afterward, I got to know a few of the comics, most of whom were heading out to another open mic at another club. They invited me along, but I was wrecked after busting my cherry, so I walked back home while they caught the bus up to Market Street.

Even though the event was a bomb, I’m grateful to have gotten a chance to practice — and to meet some other comics and exchange our contact info. I look forward to seeing them again and joining them on the open-mic circuit all over San Francisco.

How About You?

When was the last time you tried something new, only to discover it may be more challenging that you thought? Let me know in the comments.

Ladies & Gentlemen… Papa Gringo!!!

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment

Now that Saturn’s gone direct, it’s time to move forward with the stand-up comedy classes, which start tomorrow night in the heart of San Francisco’s legendary North Beach.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been jotting down ideas on a yellow legal pad, sketching out jokes and bits for introducing Papa Gringo to an imaginary crowd.

Here’s one possible opening. Please let me know what you think.

==========

Hi, I’m Papa Gringo.

Yes, that’s a fake name.

The name Donald Trump has got to be a fake name.

If not, that’s child abuse.

Trump, alone, sounds frumpy and dumpy.

Then you add Donald Duck.

No wonder he’s a quack.

Take the name Ronald Reagan.

As an actor, that was the president’s stage name.

His real name was… Ronald Reagan

In his case, the name was real but the man was fake.

And why are the Republicans’ two biggest presidents named Ronald and Donald?

Ronald McDonald is a fake name.

The point is, with a fake name, you can be the real you.

So, here are some real truths about the real me….

==========

What Do You Think?

Should I give up my day job? Ideally, I need a few good laughs in the first thirty second. Let me know if you got any ideas.

Saturn Goes Direct in Pisces

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment

Something exciting is happening Thursday, and it’s not Thanksgiving.

The planet Saturn, the CEO of the zodiac, is about to turn direct after four-and-a-half months in retrograde. When a planet goes retrograde, its symbolic elements begin to go haywire. That means, since last July, our individual astrological CEOs have been going bonkers to some degree.

What’s more, Saturn has been retrograde in the sign of Pisces. That means, the CEO of the universe has been swimming in a sea of emotional uncertainty. Its intuition has backfired. It’s been drowning in empathy, feeling everyone else’s pain while ignoring its own.

That all ends on Thursday night.

At that time, when Saturn turns direct again in Pisces, our celestial CEO will awaken as if from a horrible dream. However, the details of that dream will linger; and, as Saturn regains its forward motion, emotional uncertainty will stabilize, intuition will clarify, and daily life will provide calm waters for smooth sailing.

Come mid-February, Saturn will leave Pisces and enter the sign of Aries. At that point, the direct and impetuous energy of the cosmic Ram will likely promise an exciting spring fueled by youthful enthusiasm and eternal hope. Recent anxieties from the past several months will soon be forgotten as Saturn puts our dreams into action.

Careful, though: Saturn turns retrograde again next year in late July. When that happens, expect surprising conflicts to quell the Ram’s excitement, at least till Saturn turns direct again in December 2026.

Personally, I’ve been expecting a big stock market crash this month. While a crash has not occurred, a long-term correction may have started on November 12th. Its trend may continue downward but turn bullish in mid-February, giving investors hope for future gains. But that may all come crashing down again next August.

I’ve got my own new plans to act upon once Saturn goes direct.

Starting in early December, I’ll be taking a stand-up comedy course and will likely perform a short bit for graduation around mid-February. After that, I may attend a bunch of open mics, enjoying them and improving my sets — at least, until mid-summer.

Time will tell.

How about You?

Have you been feeling out of sorts this autumn? Have your dreams seemed to have stalled? Tell me all about it in the comments.

The Tao of Trusting the Tao

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment
Papa Gringo Performing Stand Up Comedy

Last summer, the Tao kicked my butt, reminding me that retirement’s coming soon, that I should start thinking about life post-teaching. One idea was to start this blog. I liked that idea. I still like that idea.

But now I’m getting kicked in the butt again.

Earlier this month, while replacing a burnt-out bulb in the kitchen, something sparked in my mind. I suddenly thought of pursuing stand-up comedy.

Thirty-five years ago, back in L.A., I had taken some stand-up comedy classes. I did a few open mics. I had a couple good shows.  But I never took it beyond that.

I didn’t like the late-night hours or the waiting around for my two-minute turn.  Instead, I went to grad school, got myself a masters, moved to the Bay, then started a career teaching college writing. 

The teaching path has served me well.  I’ve been blessed to have served as a Bodhisattva for so very many students. Standing at the front of all those classes even allowed me the chance to dabble around with standup skills.

However, even today, the thought of attending late-night open mics, of waiting around for a sixty-second spotlight, just doesn’t sound appealing.  Still, I’d like to start a regular joke-writing practice.  I recently got a couple books and found some writing tips online.  

Writing jokes could be fun.  Like solving crossword puzzles, it can keep my mushy mind sharp.  And I can start an Instagram page and a YouTube channel, both featuring brief video clips of me reciting one-liners or extended little bits.

Writing bits and putting them online is something I could do from anywhere — not only here in San Francisco, but also down south by the Rio de la Plata or up in the hills of Guanajuato.  

To be honest, the thought makes me feel a little nervous. I’m afraid I won’t have the talent to write or create consistent funny material. I’m afraid my videos will suck. But even if they do, so what?

It’s fun to try and go with the flow, especially when the Tao is running like a wild summer stream.

What About You?

Have you got any crazy dreams you might be afraid to pursue? Let me know in the comments. I could use a little empathy.

“The Natural” Way of the Tao

/ Papa Gringo / Leave a comment

The recent passing of screen-legend Robert Redford got me thinking of his understated performance as Roy Hobbs in the 1984 film The Natural.

Redford as Hobbs, a mysterious baseball prodigy, embodies the Taoist practice of wu wei — the art of unforced action. Hobbs’s natural talents flow effortlessly; and when he plays ball, he flows in harmony with the rhythms of the universe. He doesn’t chase fame or fortune; he simply plays the game he loves.

Taoism teaches that, when one aligns with the Tao, life unfolds with ease. Hobbs’s journey to the major league, though interrupted by tragedy, resumes with quiet determination, not dogged ambition.

Nature as Natural Teacher

The film’s visual language, photographed by Caleb Deschanel with Barry Levinson’s direction, is steeped in nature — golden fields, twilight skies, earth-toned fashions, plus the crack of a bat in the open air.

Taoism reveres nature and its pastoral simplicity. Hobbs, a rookie to big-city corruption, finds ultimate solace and peaceful healing far from the stadium roars, farther still in the quiet countryside with his childhood love and their future dream.

Taoism urges us to live in accordance with nature, and Hobbs’s redemption is only possible when he reconnects with the natural flow.

Characters of Yin & Yang

The film’s characters are rich with duality: good and bad, youth and age, shadows and light. Hobbs’s off-field opponents — gamblers, a manipulative team owner, a blonde femme fatale — represent imbalance and greed. Iris, in contrast, Hobbs’s childhood love, symbolizes light, balance and truth.

Taoism teaches that life is a dance between opposites, that harmony arises when these forces balance out. Hobbs’s own internal struggles — tragedy and redemption, humility and ambition — mirror this Taoist tension. His final triumph is more than athletic; it’s spiritual. Hobbs opts for integrity over fame, restoring balance to his life and the game he loves.

Transcendence & the Tao

The film’s climactic moment, Hobbs’s game-winning homer, means more than victory: It represents transcendence. The ball shatters the stadium lights, raining sparks like stars, a visual metaphor for enlightenment.

In Taoism, the Tao is the eternal Way that underlies all existence. Hobbs’s final swing is a moment of pure alignment with the Tao — no thought, no effort, just being; his eyes on the ball as it cracks off his bat and sails into the sky.

What Do You Think?

Have you ever seen The Natural? What were your thoughts on Redford’s performance? Redford himself, always aligned with nature, surely followed the Tao to success.