Events

[COMEDY] Joey Diaz is ready for a Beef on Weck. But not without some trepidation. Diaz, who loves Buffalo and returns to our mini-metropolis for a series of gigs at Helium Comedy Club this Thursday through Saturday, has recently been striving for a healthier lifestyle. The 53-year-old comic storyteller has turned over a new leaf in recent years. But like so many of our best efforts in life, it’s not a linear process.

“I started this journey at 418 pounds, and I’m down to 303,” Diaz said from over the phone in Los Angeles. “It’s been a battle, but I’m doing it for my daughter and for myself, to help keep me sharper. I was down to 270, but my head got too big and I lost it. People weren’t booking me because my neck looked skinny, they wondered if I was sick. I went back up to 330-something, now I’m at 303. I want to get down to 265, but I gotta find a way to deal with that Beef on Weck, Great Googly Moogly!”

Diaz’s history with Buffalo dates back a few decades. He first visited in 1983, returning in 1987 for a Polish wedding. Having hated weddings until that point, he was taken with the delicious food and marathon debauchery. Later, as a regular at one of North Tonawanda’s comic venues, someone gave him a Buffalo Bills ticket. The camaraderie and good times he experienced tailgating sealed his affection for the city, and now he tries to perform here every year. 

Perhaps a Beef on Weck binge just means a few extra jujitsu classes. ”I joined jujitsu and realized I was so fucking bad at it,” Diaz confided. “I never dreamed of smelling men’s feet and asses in my face, but there I was. I’m still horrible at it, but I treat it with the same discipline as comedy: assume you’re going to suck for a long time. You put the time in, though, and it eventually comes together. You just never know when it’s going to happen, and that’s the fun part.”

Chatting with Diaz, you get the distinct impression he’ll succeed with jujitsu and whatever else he puts his mind to. A viable career in comedy is his midlife redemption after a series of hard knocks left him addicted to cocaine and lacking direction. At 16, he was forced to grow up fast when he found his mother deceased on the floor of her home. Eventually, he landed a stint in prison. He says the experience helped him focus and provided newfound determination to make something of himself, but bad habits lingered a while longer.

“Doing standup saved me,” he said, noting that he’s been at it for 25 years as of this coming July. “I believe the stuff I went through when I got out of prison is part of the reason I’m successful. There was a time I was living under one of those plastic rocket ships in a kid’s playground at a public park. I used to dream of having a life. Back then, standup was the only thing that was working in my life and I forced myself to keep going with it no matter how difficult or painful it was sometimes.”

Diaz doesn’t consider himself a star or a celebrity. Connecting with fans after performances is a huge part of the gig for him—allowing for that sense of accessibility fostered by social media. He also embraces the opportunity to connect with new comics as they come down the pike.

“All these young motherfuckers are going to get TV shows in five years, they’re my future. Who’s gonna give me work when I’m 60? They’re going to keep me in dentures and pork chops.”

Unsurprisingly, Diaz’s anecdotal comedy is largely based on his own experiences. His gangster-esque demeanor makes him a natural for The Sopranos, for which he auditioned twice. Forces conspired to keep him from getting a role, but a MAD TV parody he did was included in one of the show’s DVD packages. In addition to his ongoing standup career, he’s become a recognizable face in movies (Spiderman 2, Analyze That), on TV (My Name is Earl) and is a regular on Joe Rogan’s podcast. He also has his own podcast, The Church of What’s Happening Now. Between all of these outlets, he traverses quite a bit of topical territory, but he insists that it’s the moral of a given story that makes it worthwhile comedy.

“For me, it’s about the ending,” he explained. “It’s something you learn from it. For example, I hate hookers. I don’t like that whole underworld. When I was much younger, someone said ‘let’s get into this guy’s car,’ and he ended up taking us to a house full of hookers. I got into bed with a woman, it felt nasty to me. The moral of the story? Don’t get into some other guy’s car at night.”