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The Matt Ruby Newsletter - Issue #10

Lots of fun random stuff below but a quick NYC show update before getting to the goodies... 1) I'll b
The Matt Ruby Newsletter - Issue #10
By Matt Ruby • Issue #10 • View online
Lots of fun random stuff below but a quick NYC show update before getting to the goodies…
1) I’ll be at New York Comedy Club (4th Street) tonight (2/27) at 8pm for our Wednesday night HOT SOUP show. Free tickets with code SOUP here. 2) Then I’ll be at New York Comedy Club (24th Street) Friday night (2/29) at 11:15pm ($5 tix with code SOUP for that one). 3) And we’re starting a new HOT SOUP at Printers Alley on Tuesday, March 5 at 8:30pm (free show). There’s an email list for HOT SOUP (sign up here) if you want to get weekly lineups.

Raw power
a couple years ago, i did a “healing bodywork session” with a brazilian shaman. I know, I know. I had no idea what that meant either. but the wellness underworld is a lot of word of mouth where you just trust someone who tells you to try sound healing or whatever. my lead on this was a girl i met at an ayahuasca (hallucinogenic plant medicine from the jungle) ceremony. she told me he was incredible and that he was visiting new york and i should see him.
so i gave it a go. went to a wellness center near the UN where he was holding court. he was a normal looking dude. spoke english alright, but not great. told me he was from the jungle. then we started. first, he talked to me for 10 mins about my life. then i did “breath of fire” (a rhythmic breath with equal emphasis on the inhale and exhale) for a long time. then the real stuff kicked in. he gave me a deep tissue massage but like way more intense and i laughed for 10 mins, cried for 15 mins while excavating memories of my mother who had passed, and then my forearms and calves cramped up and it was super painful. i asked him to stop but he told me to work through it because i was unleashing my “raw power.” this made me feel like my inner iggy pop was coming out so i let it happen.
eventually my body made it through to the other side. after we were done, i had to sit in the waiting room for 45 minutes before i could actually leave the building. i was sore and devastated but in a good way. it was the most intense non-psychedelic experience i’ve ever had in my life. then i went and met up with the girl i had been dating and broke up with her because we both had known it was over for a while but weren’t doing anything about it. she understood and we went out to get indian food.
i still think about that day a lot. it made me think about how our culture tries to divide priests, masseuses, and therapists into three separate things and how other parts of the world must think we’re insane to think you can do any of those things without integrating it with the other two. your body carries your mind and your mind carries your body. we can try to divide them, but we’re only fooling ourselves.
my hunch is a lot of the prescriptions we take and addictions we have are buffers that prevent us from doing the harder, real work. they numb our pain when what we really need to do is get in the mud with our pain and wrestle it and release it. the answer isn’t to push it down, it’s to figure out a way to let it go. like iggy says, raw power got a healin’ hand.
🎶 Look in the eyes of a savage girl
Fall deep in love in the underworld
Raw power is sure to come a runnin to you 
If you’re alone and you got the shakes
So am I baby and I got what it takes
Raw power is sure to come a runnin to you
Raw power got a healin hand
Raw power can destroy a man 🎶
“And then she texted me this. What do you guys think it means?”
“And then she texted me this. What do you guys think it means?”
Once we’re bored with Tinder, the next step in dating should be single people sitting on a conveyor belt that rolls by like at baggage claim or one of those conveyor-belt sushi places and you pick the person you want and they come with wasabi.
Amazon shoulda just offered to fix the subway and everyone in NYC woulda been like “YES PLEASE WE WILL GIVE YOU THE NETS TOO IF YOU GET THE 7 TRAIN TO RUN ON TIME”
It’s not okay that Trump keeps referring to Elizabeth Warren as Pocahontas. He should really be calling her Dances With Taxes.
“Open relationships never work.” You know what else never works? Almost every relationship.
I’d buy Google over Facebook stock. Facebook knows who we pretend to be. Google knows who we really are.
Used to think I wanted to date her but now I see how much her current boyfriend has to film her Instagram stories and I’m starting to feel like I dodged a bullet.
Online dating must be tough for cops considering how many women on dating apps are looking for a partner in crime.
I read that Times profile of young Beto and how he used to be a nanny and loved Fugazi (Presidential candidates, they’re just like us!) and now I keep thinking that “The Fugazi Nanny” sounds like a serial killer we haven’t caught yet.
I don’t care what Teleprompter Trump said because Teleprompter Trump is not actually President. Twitter Trump is President.
Instagram has taught me that the American Dream is to constantly be anywhere but America.
Still can’t get over the idea of a bunch of high school boys attending a pro-life march. Ridiculous. If you’re a dude who’s never ejaculated inside a woman, I could not care less about your views on abortion.
You’re not a real comedian until you learn that you should never tell a stranger you’re a comedian.
Working both ends
Hey, I know we’re having fun bashing Feinstein for not high fiving those kids but also history shows the way change happens is when you’ve got both the outside agitators and the incremental work-with-the-system types both doing their own thing at the same time. Like Malcolm X and MLK.
We’re prob gonna need both the AOCs and the Pelosis and if we keep hanging anyone who fails some radical purity test then that’s gonna be more losing for the left and we can’t afford that. The right is united and moves in lockstep. The left cannibalizes its own.
Suggestion: Hate the people you truly oppose, not the people who are just slightly different from you. Besides, it’s healthier to not just hate everyone who ain’t from exactly the same religious/political sect as you. That crap just gets fatiguing and you already got a lot of people tryna drain you of this energy. Freud nailed all this years ago. Google “Narcissism of small differences.”
And that, my friends, is how you do a political mindfulness “it takes a village” post that name drops Malcolm X, Drake, and Freud!
BreakThru Radio Weekly: Ep 83 // Luisa Díez on Comedy + Anthropology / ‘Can You Ever Forgive Me?’ // BTRlisten
Ghosting doesn’t make sense as a term when you think about how ghosts behave. Ghosts never leave you alone. They’re much more like stalkers: “This guy keeps texting me and coming by my place and I don’t want him around but he will not take the hint.” “Ah, he’s GHOSTING you!”
And when someone disappears on you out of nowhere, that should be called “ozone layering” because that person used to be there and now they’re gone and you’re not sure why.
Before there was Billy and Ja, there was this...
Before there was Billy and Ja, there was this...
AOC vs. Cardi B
I keep meeting people who hate the 1% and billionaires yet love Cardi B and Ariana Grande. Um, heard their new singles all about how cash and shopping solve everything?
“But nothing in this world that I like more than checks (Money)
All I really wanna see is the (Money)” 
-Cardi B
“Whoever said money can’t solve your problems
Must not have had enough money to solve ‘em
They say, ‘Which one?’ I say, ‘Nah, I want all of 'em’”
-Ariana Grande
And on and on. How do you sing along with this stuff while also thinking AOC is right on everything? These sound like the theme songs for the 1%. How are you gonna tear down neoliberal capitalism while simultaneously elevating artists who gaudily celebrate its materialistic version of success? Socialism will never work in this country because the true American dream is I MAKE MONEY MOVES.
What do you hate? If you really hate it, then maybe don’t lip sync along to it.
At least hippies in the 60s had a consistent worldview. Their politics and art intertwined. They never would have sang along to a Bob Dylan song called “Masters of War” with lyrics about how much he’s a master at starting wars which is really great since there’s nothing in this world he likes more than war because, y’know, whoever said war can’t solve your problems must not have had enough war to solve ‘em.
Everyone's a DJ
The worst thing about tech is how it’s made every single person think they are the ones who should be playing music at a party. “What’s the wifi password?” “Can I just play one song?” “Hey Alexa, play smooth jazz.” “What? No! Hey Alexa, play Iron Maiden.” I can’t handle it. If one more dum dum tries to take over the Sonos so they can play their deep house meets dubstep playlist I’m gonna throw the bluetooth speaker in the trash and speaking of that, don’t get me started on the value of actual stereo speakers (two of em! that can actually play bass!) instead of some pill-shaped toy merely because we’ve decided capitalism and efficiency are more important than physics.
We are all marooned
Everyone’s shitting on Maroon 5. But they did exactly what they were supposed to do. Be anodyne. Harmless. Inoffensive. Don’t pull down the mask. Cash those checks. Fill time between the ads. Keep fooling us. Let us pretend this is exciting. Just be good enough that the wheel keeps turning.
Fire and lanterns and ONE LOVE and all that crap. Andy Warhol selling Burger King. Bob Dylan selling Budweiser. Don’t worry. Chew their food for ‘em. No one’s gonna think too hard about it. The jets doing a flyover. We all love America. Support the troops. Cut to the owner’s box. Look, the old man with money and the sons he will give it to when he croaks. Turn the page.
The only real thing happening in that stadium is grown men giving each other brain damage for our amusement. But hey, dog fighting is gross –– because it’s dogs instead of humans I guess. They’re dying for us. Everything else around it is ribbons and bows. Everybody knows.
Man, I wish Big Boi had ripped off that fur coat and shown the world a Kaepernick jersey underneath. He’d be a hero. What could they have done? You can’t bleep a jersey. But nah, he played the game. America’s true anthem: Cash those checks. Don’t rock the boat.
And we all tweet about it and eat some dip and wait for the next event that they tell us is important so marketing directors and ad agencies can collude to funnel Google commercials down our throats.
Ugh, those ads. “Look, it’s a 90’s celebrity. I used to feel things! Nostalgia! I was young once and this reminds me of that so now I feel good.” See you at the Oscars when we all pretend we care about whatever handicapped/minority/ethnic/oppressed group is up for celebration this year by a bunch of poseurs wearing borrowed jewelry while rich, old white men own all the rights and use the cash to buy off politicians to give them tax cuts so they get even more money.
Of course we get Maroon 5. We deserve Maroon 5. I just ripped my shirt off. Look at all my tattoos. I am dangerous and edgy! Tattoos! Iconic sign of rebellion: Check! “I’ve got the moves like Jagger.” Have you seen Mick Jagger? Watch Crossfire Hurricane. Senator, I served with Mick Jagger. I knew Mick Jagger. Mick Jagger was a friend of mine. Senator, you’re no Mick Jagger.
Sometimes I think the only person who really sees America for what it is and who we are is Vladimir Putin. Just send the electric bunny around the track and we’ll all giddyup after it.
Is this all sounding too gloom and doom? It ain’t all bad. Go put on Link Wray. Take some psychedelics. Log off this crap. Screw someone and do something naughty. Get drunk and talk. Hang out with kids. Pick something that you chose and that wasn’t chosen for you by the machine. It’s out there. You just have to turn over some rocks. ONE LOVE. Not the Super Bowl lanterns version. The kind that grows in the weeds and that’s filled with worms. That’s where it’s at.
We’re all gonna be food for the worms eventually. It’s cool. Just don’t waste your time on your way to being dirt because capitalism can squeeze your blood for a few extra cents so some billionaire can build a doomsday shelter in New Zealand that keeps him safe when the shit hits the fan and leaves you banging at the gates wondering how it all went down this way. It’s going down that way right now and we are all witnesses. We are all Maroon 5 unless we make an active choice to stop being Maroon 5.
Irish Exit closed!
The door never closed. The roof leaked. The bartender had zero peripheral vision. The heater didn’t work. The manager changed every three months. They’d delay our show so finance bros could do their fantasy football draft. It was in a neighborhood that I’d never hang out in otherwise. The only good thing about the place was Katie, our amazing server, and Alex, the barback who really shoulda run the place since he was the only sane one around.
So it’s no surprise that Irish Exit closed this week. Honestly, it’s surprising it lasted this long. That means no more HOT SOUP Comedy Show on Tuesday nights. We’re still going on Wednesdays at New York Comedy Club though (including tonight at 8pm).
Sad day but we had a great run over the years. (FYI show was at O'Hanlons and Ella before that.) And we built it from nothing to something. (Secret: First few years we had a bringer on each show so there’d be bodies in the room.) Eventually it started filling up. The quality of the show got better as we got better as comics.
The place was crappy, but it was also a fun/fair room. It was a place to DO THE WORK. Zero momentum. Each joke was like starting over. Dan Soderalways joked that performing there felt like giving a eulogy at an Irish cop’s wake. And you had to look at yourself in a mirror across the room from the stage. Very third eye to bomb and look at yourself in a mirror while bombing.
But when it was rolling, man, it really got cooking. Felt like REAL comedy. You could take chances there. It was a place to do that bit you would never try anywhere else. And we got some great comics on that tiny stage too. Ali Wong, Roy Wood, Bamford, Hannibal, Gaffigan, Silverman, David Cross, Aziz, Nick Kroll, Jeselnik, Ilana Glazer, and He Who Shall Not Be Named. Jeremy Levenbach did a great job booking it all. FYI he doesn’t hate you, he’s just picky about who he books. And kudos to Gary Vider and Mark Normand for co-producing and making the thing sing and putting up with me working on my joke about how werewolves are just dudes jealous of their wife’s PMS which I’ve been trying to make work for 7 years because it can’t be a coincidence that the lunar cycle and the menstrual cycle are both 28 days, riiiiiiiiight!? It’s been inspiring to watch them both get better as comedians and disappointing to watch them get worse as human beings.
Good news though: HOT SOUP is still alive and kicking. We’ve been killing it on the Wednesday night show at NY Comedy Club (4th Street location). It’s a great room, the shows have been packed, and you can get in free if you use the code SOUP. Tonight at 8pm it goes down again.
So, y'know: One door closes and another one…wait, the door never closed in the first place. OK, forget that analogy. Onward!
Update: New venue coming for HOT SOUP show on Tuesday nights. We’ll be at Printers Alley.
New home for Tuesday night HOT SOUP!
New home for Tuesday night HOT SOUP!
Thanks for reading! Shoot me an email with any thoughts/comments/ransom notes.
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Matt Ruby

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