#2538 - Joe DeRosa

Cheers. I landed on the AeroPress: grind beans, boil water, one simple cup. I’m trying to get plastic out of my life, man. I just want pure coffee without a bunch of bullshit.

I bought those Italian espresso machines twice. They grind fresh, then break a year later, and repair is an hour and a half away. Fuck this shit. I miss waking up to a big pot: two hot cups now, two cold ones for afternoon.

You want volume. Make a French press: steel pot, coffee, hot water, wait, push. Get an electric kettle. You’re acting like boiling water is crossing the goddamn frontier.

I wake up with the dread of humanity already in my brain, so I need coffee immediately. But a timer on the kettle could work. Maybe a steamer too—not for milk; Alton Brown used one for absurd foamy eggs.

You’ll avoid coffee prep, then go out of your way for egg foam. Fry the eggs, maniac. Still, steak tartare and toast points? Tremendous. Austin is ridiculous for food: Jay Carver’s, Eddie V’s, Red Ash, Jeffrey’s.

When I moved back, I needed somebody to load my map with restaurant pins. Traveling, I’ll search for the best Italian sandwich in town. Sometimes it’s paid-list nonsense, but finding the right spot is beautiful.

The real leap with money isn’t shoes or a car. It’s ordering what you want without fearing the bill. My manager thought I had a gambling problem after my first development deal. No—I was finally eating steak and lobster. I’d been poor.

For me, it’s filling a supermarket cart with whatever I want and knowing I can pay. Not everybody gets that. Coming from nothing can build appreciation, but a waiter should be able to work, buy a home, and live normally.

That’s not socialism. Wages and affordability are out of whack. A working guy in the fifties could support a family more easily. I wonder if hardship builds discipline, or if good parents can teach: nobody gets a free ride; work.

Trust-fund kids aren’t automatically useless. Eden Brolin worked regular jobs, hosted at a comedy club, played music, did her own thing. Her dad’s famous, but she never had that gross entitlement. It’s how you’re raised.

A lot of famous actors are more normal than people expect. Woody Harrelson is warm, present, zero ego. Matt Damon hugged me at an Italian restaurant after I noticed his photo on the wall. Weirdly meta, but plenty of them are solid.

Woody came to Kill Tony, drank with us, and remembered my special’s title from a plug hours earlier. He said he’d watch it. That tiny detail told me everything: good dude. He pays attention.

Sitcom acting wasn’t especially hard for me. After stand-up in front of live crowds, pretending in a newsroom beside great performers felt easy. I auditioned for two shows, got both, and lucked into Hardball and then NewsRadio.

You should act. Multi-camera comedy is hard: jokes must land while the scene stays believable, and you were great. NewsRadio got me through COVID. You seem natural because you never look like you’re showing off your acting.

Before comedy, I fought. I won state taekwondo titles and went to nationals after trying for the 1988 Olympics, but there was no money in it. After sparring, my head rang. I saw fighters slow down and thought: I’m doing brain damage for free.

I quit before major cognitive problems, though I’m sure I got rattled. Hard workouts keep me sane. Without exercise, I’m anxious and irritable. Do hard things on purpose, and regular life feels less hard.

I need a physical outlet without getting crushed day one. Chuck offered to train me at my apartment and start slow. I get overwhelmed, so that’s how it works. Road work knocked me out of a routine I’d been building.

Slow is right. Don’t take a Prius onto a racetrack sideways. Start walking, bodyweight squats, ten pushups, maybe a weighted vest. A trainer fixes form and builds gradually. Jelly Roll went from struggling with stairs to running miles. It takes time.

Momentum makes discipline easier. Write the workout down and check it off. Don’t always train to failure: if ten kettlebell reps are hard, do five clean, rest, then five. Get the work without wrecking form.

Austin keeps me sharp. I didn’t move just for Kill Tony; I wanted challenge and a city where young comics can afford to live. Follow hungry unknowns swinging hard, and you’d better bring your best stuff.

We built a ladder: open mics, feedback, showcases, spots, then clubs within walking distance. Kill Tony is one minute—no applause-baiting, just jokes. It’s a meritocracy, and sometimes somebody sleeping in a car suddenly has a career.

Walking into Kill Tony at the Vulcan felt like Thunderdome. Tony said it sold out in a minute; I couldn’t believe it. Then Madison Square Garden happened twice. I knew the tiny-room version, so: what the fuck have you been building?

The Vulcan crowd during COVID showed me Austin needed a club. Ron White went up after months off, the room exploded, and he came offstage fired up. The Mothership has punk, Stevie Ray Vaughan, movie history. We wanted a home for comics, not a machine squeezing them.

That’s corporate life and health insurance: shareholders demand more every quarter, ruthless people squeeze harder. I understand anger at Luigi’s target, though you can’t murder somebody in the street. If people pay for years and life-saving care gets denied, they feel played.

I pay hundreds monthly when acting or writing doesn’t cover insurance, and still wonder whether it protects me when something happens. It’s a TV plan finding reasons not to cover the screen. Young people hear they’ll never own land, then everyone acts shocked they’re hopeless.

Capitalism beats the alternatives, but greed is the flaw. What’s enough once you succeed? At the club, we wanted to break even, pay comics well, and make people happy. Make a better product; don’t charge the same customers more for less.

That’s why stand-up and podcasts matter. Gatekeepers can decide we’re unwelcome, and we can still work in a bigger lane. Violent Heterosexual is out through YMH Network and on my YouTube, Joe DeRosa Comedy. Please check it out. Love you, brother.