Exclusive Excerpt: Kissing USA

 
William Cane achieved international notoriety when he published his bestselling book, The Art of Kissing nearly 30 years ago. A spark of creative genius guided him to turn his book into something that would take 400+ American colleges and universities by storm: The Kissing Show – a loosely-rehearsed, skit-based show that brought his book to life for young adults living in the sexual evolution in the 90s.
In his new book, Kissing USA: The Story behind the Story of the Legendary Kissing Show, we get to follow his comedic and unexpected journey from starving artist to international kissing expert. Some people may love his rom-com like adventures as he follows his various “muses” to success and fame. Others may develop a very different take. Was he truly an entrepreneurial genius, something less, or something more?
Regardless, you cannot argue the fact that this book is a one-of-a-kind, nostalgic snapshot into the 90s and into just how risque and jaw-dropping a simple Kissing Show could be.

But having a college student as your muse can sometimes lead you into making a fool of yourself—that was always the danger. And I had the kind of reckless energy that compelled me to take those kinds of risks, always pushing my luck in an attempt to improve audience reaction. So when I got my next brainstorm I rushed it into production without considering any negative consequences

it might cause. First thing I did was call my friend Bryant Alvarez to tell him what I was going to do. Bryant is an attorney whom I met while working at a real estate office in Newton, Massachusetts, when I was in law school.

“Don’t do it, Bill!” he said.

“Why not? I think I’d enjoy trying stand-up.”

“But what if you bomb?”

“I’m not afraid of that.”

“But for the rest of your career you’ll have an inferiority complex. You might not be able to speak in public anymore.”

“I already have an inferiority complex,” I said, “and I do fine speaking to audiences.”

“Not funny.”

“Trust me, I’m working on some good jokes.”

Bryant thought for a minute, and then he offered his final argument: “I speak to groups all the time. They’re elderly people who want estate planning advice. My method is simple: I just keep talking until I say something funny. I don’t even plan it in advance; an idea just pops into my head while I’m talking, and I say it and people laugh. But I would never try stand-up. It’s too risky.”

When I got off the phone I told myself to ignore his advice. Bryant was smart, but he wasn’t me. I knew what I could do and what I couldn’t do. I bought a portable tape recorder, and whenever something funny occurred to me I would ad-lib into it. Then I transcribed these monologues and worked on making them shorter and punchier. At this time, in 1998, I also started visiting comedy clubs in Boston, Brookline, and Cambridge. While doing this I met Chance Langton, one of the most hilarious professional comedians I had ever seen. Chance used a lot of one-liners, and he had one specific joke that I loved above all his others. After he did his set, he would pause briefly, smile at the audience, and then say: “Are there any requests for any of the jokes I already told?” He usually killed them at the Comedy Studio, which was located over a Chinese restaurant in Harvard Square. Chance and I became friends, and he also became my mentor. I even took a class with him on comedy technique. Naturally, I also ran my jokes by Cathy.

In the summer of 1999 I had mailed a video on spec to an MTV producer, and although he didn’t use it he suggested that I submit a few interstitials—short promos for the network—to their sister channel MTV2. I invited Cathy to act in one of these film projects, and during a break in shooting I tried one of my jokes on her. We were in the kitchen of the house that I had rented for the shoot, and I told her a silly story about how I used to get disciplined as a kid, put in the corner, spanked, and sent to bed early.

Cathy cracked up.

“You think it’s funny?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“’Cause I know exactly what that’s like.”

“Are you serious?”

“My father was a strict disciplinarian.”

I think Cathy’s strict upbringing and closeness with her dad had a major impact on her personality. Although she possessed a rebellious streak, she also had a pronounced tendency to act extremely compliant around men who had authority. For example, when I directed her in the MTV shoot or in class she slipped into an almost automaton-like state. She once told me, “I’d like to find a man who could tell me what to do, and I’d do it. But I’m afraid of that side of myself.” In some ways she had a Jekyll and Hyde personality: when she wasn’t being rebellious and bossy, she treated me like a father figure and respected my ideas and instructions. I respected her opinions too, so after she gave me this positive feedback on my joke I decided to lead off with it in the stand-up routine that I was developing. I planned to do my first performance in downtown Boston at an open mic night hosted by a local comedian. I set up my camcorder in the back of the room to record my show, and I sat waiting my turn. I had decided to use a new stage name for the set: Jack Hackensack. Folks, I was stunned because when I was announced people started laughing even before I walked up to the microphone. It turns out that they thought my name was funny, and let me tell you, it’s a wonderful thing for a performer when an audience has a positive feeling about you before you even open your mouth. I was nervous, but I had spoken before so many audiences that I thought I might have an aptitude for doing live comedy. Unfortunately, I learned that my ability as a lecturer on the subject of kissing didn’t exactly translate to the comedy arena.

That first stand-up experience got me a decent amount of laughs, but I felt naked on the stage. The problem was that I didn’t have my kissing demonstrators up there with me. I even included a few jokes about kissing, but again I felt they would have worked better with the couples present. All the focus was on me at the comedy club, and even though I had rehearsed my material thoroughly and didn’t forget any of my jokes, I didn’t feel comfortable with the setup. In fact, when I compared myself with other young comedians who tried out their material at these open mics, I could see that they looked relaxed whereas I felt too nervous to enjoy it. Still, I pushed myself to perform seven or eight times in Boston, Cambridge, and New York. Ironically, about twenty years later Cathy started doing stand-up too—and she got more laughs than I did.

Now here’s where stand-up harmed my speaking career. While researching material to add to my performance, I studied the work of successful comedians, including Woody Allen, Lenny Bruce, and Andrew Dice Clay. Clay had a technique of dealing with hecklers that I thought I could incorporate into my kissing show in the event that I encountered troublesome audience members. Most college crowds were friendly and polite, and up to that point I hadn’t encountered any hecklers, but I wanted to be prepared just in case. His technique, which is used by many professional comedians, is to call the heckler an asshole. There are actually two common put-downs that the pros use: one is to insinuate that the heckler is a drunk or so intoxicated that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the other is to call him an asshole in hopes that he’ll shut up.

Shortly after I started dabbling in the world of standup, I was booked to do a gig at a school that had a reputation for late-night parties, especially on weekends. My show was scheduled for Friday night, and when I started speaking, I immediately realized that this was a terrible crowd. Although the room was overflowing with about four hundred students, I couldn’t hear myself talking because they were so noisy and disruptive. I figured I had to shut them down, and fast. The room had a balcony, and it too was filled to capacity with students. One girl yelled out some nonsense, and I looked up at her and used Clay’s line.

“I think you’re an asshole.”

The room instantly became quiet.

“And by the end of the evening everyone here is going to think you’re an asshole.”

This shut the girl up, and she promptly left. So, in that sense, wouldn’t you say I did the right thing?

Oh, noooooooo! Not by a long shot.

When I got home I received an angry call from Kevin.

“You’re in trouble,” he said. “The school wants its money back. You called one of the students an asshole.”

“I know, but they were a bunch of drunks. I mean, you literally could not hear me talking even though I had a microphone. And I was worried for my demonstrators, the kids who had rehearsed for an hour. They weren’t being treated right either.”

“But you can’t use that kind of language.”

“Why not? I got the idea from Andrew Dice Clay. He’s very big and he uses it.”

“But he’s a professional comedian working in nightclubs. He’s not beholden to a college that paid him to speak to students.”

 

 

Kissing USA by William Cane is available today everywhere books and ebooks are sold. Or, even better, support your local independent bookstore and place your order through them!

Amazon • iTunes • Nook • Google Play • Kobo

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Guest post from author Autumn Bardot (ft. a Bonus Excerpt from Legends of Lust!)

 

This month Cleis Press is proud to bring you not only a delicious excerpt from Autumn Bardot’s debut collection of short stories, Legends of Lust: Erotic Myths from around the World, but also the inspiration behind her writing – her passion for history, myth, and travel. We will start things off with an excerpt from Autumn’s blog about a recent trip to the Greek Isles. After we’ve gotten you in the scenic mood, you’ll find an excerpt from “By Sword Tip,” an epically arousing encounter between the Queen of the Amazons, Hippolyta, and the ancient hero, Theseus.

Sexy vacations. Who doesn’t want to go on one?  Actually, any vacation is sexy in my book. I get to visit a new place, learn history, sample different foods, and pretend, if only for a week, that I am a globetrotting Jetsetter. I get to unwind, spend some quality time with hubby, and explore the world beyond our little corner of Southern California.

One of my favorite vacation destinations so far was rambling the countryside of Kalamata, Greece. We went with another couple. Leah spoke pretty good Greek—or so she thought until she conversed with the natives! Oh, and during the flight over the pond Leah read a very early version of “By Sword Tip”, one of the short stories from Legends of Lust (excerpt featured below).

Kalamata. Sounds familiar? Yep, that’s right. That’s where all those yummy Kalamata olives come from.

We went a week before high season, so the rates were low and the Aegean not yet warm. But no way did a little brisk water stop us from swimming. It was warm once you were in for a few minutes.

This was the view from our room. Stunning, right?

We made a three-hour side trip to Athens to see the Acropolis. O.M.G.  I wanted to sit there all day and bask in the aura of ancient gods, goddesses, muses, and nymphs. Hubby asked the tour guide all kinds of questions. I merely wanted to feel its history. And if it had been possible, I would have sat down with my laptop and pounded out several stories.

I was in awe. Tried to imagine how the Acropolis looked in all its glory, before time and wars had left it a mere skeleton, only the bones left for us to admire.

I tried to imagine the people milling about….their voices and songs to the gods…

Here I was, standing amid history, among the very buildings dedicated to the gods of Greek mythology!

“Shhh,” I told hubby, “I want to hear the gods.”

“You’re weird,” he smiled and began reading the informational placard in front of Zeus’ temple.

Then after the muses took pity on me and whispered a few story ideas, we looked out over the Acropolis hilltop and marveled at the view of Athens from our vantage point.

We spend about three hours wondering the Acropolis. And sadly, we arrived too late to tour the museum at the base of the Acropolis, which I heard is fabulous.

“Are you history buffs?” asked our petite, curly-haired, perfectly English speaking tour guide as we set off in her BMW SUV up the Peloponnese coast. “I can talk for hours and give you all the local history if you like.”

“Yes!” Four eager tourists shouted.

The blood of the ancient Spartans runs through the Mani people who live in the Peloponnese countryside. They were a tough people living in a harsh land too arid and rocky for farming.

The Mani is a culture of blood feuds, kick ass warriors, fierce family loyalty, and about a million miles (well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration) of waist high rock walls built helter skelter to divide their wee bit of property.

Those are my olive trees, not yours!

Yes, our tour guide said, blood was spilled over olive trees and boundary lines.

We stopped at Diros where we climbed onto small boats, and rowers guided us through the waist-deep water into a confusing maze of gorgeous caves.

There are many sunken pirate ships in the small bays along the coast. A haven for scuba divers. From the road above we could see a few of them.

We dined on Aegean fish caught that day by local fisherman, gorged on succulent enormous octopus, slurped delicious Greek coffee, supped on many local Greek dishes, drank too much ouzo, and danced the night away at a local Greek club.

I guess the muses worked overtime on this writer, because I got several solid stories ideas from the trip. Any trip that provides that kind of fun and creativity is definitely SEXY!

Hippolyta, at his immediate right, could scarcely keep her eyes off of Theseus as they marched to the palace. He was a strapping man, taller than she, and with a presence so commanding she knew the stories about him must be true. Here was a man who might be worthy of her respect. Even more so because not once did he leer at the warriors’ shapely buttocks swaying back and forth in front of him.

Hippolyta inhaled his scent, a blend of sea and air and male, that for some strange reason she found quite enticing. She snuck peeks at Theseus’s hands. They were large and muscular, with thick fingers and clean, square-shaped nails. Hands that were more suitable for pummeling a Minotaur to death than writing treaties or caressing a lover. She imagined what such powerful hands might feel like on her body, then looked away, horrified by her lewd thoughts. Theseus was just a man! And men were…well, Amazons had no use for men.

When they entered the great chamber, the squadron moved into formation, rows of Amazons at attention in front of Hippolyta’s lion-skin throne.

Theseus stood before the vacant throne while Hippolyta, standing with her squad, waited for him to grow impatient. He did not. In fact, Theseus never shifted his weight or clenched his fists.

The Amazons stood silent as statues, a show of military training that Hippolyta knew Theseus would appreciate. After a few noiseless minutes, Hippolyta issued a silent “at ease” and strode past Theseus to sit on her throne.

Theseus bent down on one knee and dropped his chin.

“Arise,” said Hippolyta.

Theseus stood, his handsome face and confident stance indicating nothing less than utmost respect.

Hippolyta felt a strange heat creep into her cheeks. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I had to meet the illustrious Queen Hippolyta.” Theseus’s bright blue eyes pierced her regal demeanor.

“You’ve met me. Now you may leave.” Hippolyta shifted about. The man unsettled her, his gaze too penetrating for comfort.

Theseus rubbed his bearded chin. “I had hoped you would be interested in discussing our common interests.”

“What are those?” Hippolyta rested her hands on either side of the throne, her long fingers dangling over the arm in seeming disinterest.

“We are both bold leaders seeking to enrich the lives of our people, we are both skilled warriors who thirst for adventure and conquest, and we both have mutual acquaintances. Surely, a multitude of topics might warrant any number of discussions.” Theseus touched his chest. “I, for one, would enjoy hearing your side of the whole Hercules girdle-stealing incident.”

Hippolyta tilted her head. “Why?”

“Hercules is proud. And pride and truth are poor companions.”

“Ah, so you are a seeker of truth.”

“Truth, as you well know, comes in many guises.”

“A philosopher king,” Hippolyta teased, her dimpled smile taking Theseus by surprise. “I also seek truth.” She leaned forward. “Join me for dinner and explain those adventures of yours that are beyond belief.”

“I would be honored.”

Their eyes locked, not as two rulers vying for dominance but as two people confessing their attraction.

Melanippe went to Theseus’s side. “I’ll show you to your chambers.”

As Theseus was ushered from the great chamber, he looked over his shoulder to steal another glance at the Amazon queen. She was fierce and sexy. A heart-breaking combination.

Once the warriors departed, Hippolyta joined her mother on the balcony.

“Mate with him,” said Otrera.
“Mother!” Hippolyta sat on the low stone wall. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it. The man oozes sex, and he’s far superior to any of the Gargareans we visit in the spring.”

“He is well built.” Hippolyta threw her legs over the wall and stared at the sea. Just thinking about the size of his muscular thighs caused a rare stirring.

“It’s time you had a daughter,” said Otrera after giving her daughter time to consider her suggestion.

Melanippe joined them on the balcony. “I locked Theseus in the room.” She gave the key to Hippolyta. “Is dinner to be a formal affair?”

Formality meant braided hair and wearing heavy dresses from head to toe.

“No, informal attire.” Hippolyta straddled the wall. “Let’s see how the noble Theseus handles a roomful of breasts and legs.”

 

Not tempted enough? Check out the book trailer!

Legends of Lust is available for purchase at all eBook retailers. Or feel free to purchase a copy at your local bookstore!

Amazon • iTunes • Nook • Google Play • Kobo

Follow Autumn Bardot!

Twitter • Facebook • Instagram • Website

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,