Bret Calvert

I suppose that before I entreat you to read my ramblings and nonsense that I should do my best to introduce myself.

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice…oh, wait…that was somebody else.

I was born in Houston, TX in 1977.

“Big deal!” you say. “So were a lot of people.”

I guess you have a point. I’ve never really thought about it that way. But of all the births that took place in Houston in 1977, mine was probably the most important to me.

I have very vague memories of our time in Houston. I remember we had a train that pretty much ran through our backyard. My older brother, Todd, and I would stick pennies to the rail with gum and then collect the flattened pennies after the train had passed. I know it’s not popular to talk about growing up in a family who could throw money around like that. But I take pride in the fact that my parents worked hard enough to give us that extra 6 or 7 cents of (literally) disposable income each week. It is a testament to Mom and Dad’s tireless work ethic that we never wanted for flat pennies.

I also remember one time stepping on a lamp cord that was apparently frayed because I shocked the ever-loving shit out of my 4 year-old self. It’s kind of a blur, but I remember a flash of light and then both of my parents frantically trying to wash my adorable little hands in the sink because my fingers had turned black. In most cases, this would have resulted in me having some sort of superpower where I could shoot lightning bolts from my hands or control generators with my mind…(kinda like Jamie Foxx in “That Outstanding Spider-Guy, Too!”)…but alas and alack, I remained a regular kid. Total bullshit!

We moved to Hunt, TX when I was almost five so my dad could run the local drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. The Hunt School was a one-building schoolhouse with a separate library/cafeteria built across the playground. Only Kindergarten got a room all to themselves, the other grades were paired up and shared a room and a teacher…1st and 2nd, 3rd and 4th, 5th and 6th.

I’ll have plenty of stories from my time at Hunt School coming up…but here is a fun little preview…My kindergarten teacher had once been a roadie for the Monkees who said the first curse word I ever heard when she spilled hot popcorn oil on her foot. My 3rd and 4th grade teacher was on the short list of candidates for the Challenger mission and is, to this day, the most influential and inspiring educator I’ve ever had. My 5th and 6th grade teacher was on national news several times for the innovative free-enterprise teaching system he developed, basically incorporating the class and teaching math, English and social studies as part of running the business…(this was during the Reagan years when free-enterprise was our national religion)…he also sometimes threw chalkboard erasers at us, had a collection of paddles to “motivate” us with the threat of a beating and occasionally used the N-word during his lessons! And once a Gideon came to give us bibles but he fell down and cracked his head on a desk and we had to call an ambulance…thus skewing my view of religion for the rest of my life. Make sure you stay tuned for all of that!

I went to Junior High and High School at Tom Moore in Ingram, the next town over. For the first few years, this part of my educational experience drifted into the arena of “typical.” The jocks ruled the school. I was awkward and uncool. Girls wanted nothing to do with me. I cracked too many jokes in class. I really only had one friend at a time. In Junior High it was a kid named Bullfrog (someday I’ll tell you about the time he was airlifted from a party) and then for the first couple years of High School there was a fella who would eventually be known as Doughboy. He was the best friend a guy could ever have. I will have plenty to say about him…God rest his chubby little soul.

I was big into debate, forensics and one-act-play as well as a couple of years in a sweaty costume as the school mascot at football games. Can you believe it…even with all of that, I couldn’t get small-town Texas high school girls to be interested in me? I’ll give you a minute to let the shock wear off.

…

I tried to play basketball one year but I was pretty terrible. One time, Coach Schaake and the coach from the other school decided to let all the benchwarmers play at halftime. We played 3 on 3…their losers against ours. I had four steals and ten points during that halftime. Schaake must have thought he misjudged me because he put me in the actual game once it resumed. I had one assist and then missed an 8 foot jumper. That was the extent of my organized basketball career. My disorganized basketball career on the park court down by Kerrville Dam is a whole ‘nuther story.

I also played baseball one year and was much, much worse at it than basketball…although I did hit a double once AND I set a district record for being hit by the most pitches! If you needed a guy to step in and take one to the ribs and then sit down while you send in a pinch runner…I’m your guy.

About midway through my Junior year, I became friends with 3 more guys. Along with doughboy, the 5 of us would become practically inseparable for the next two years. We even had t-shirts made. Those guys saved my life more than once. There is not enough time or distance to ever make me forget how much they mean to me.

I also had my own version of Betty and Veronica…although I was Jughead. But those two ladies (you know who you are) drove me constantly to be a better guy. Even though there was no romance between any of us during our time in Ingram, they developed the standard that would be set for every woman I met for the rest of my life. Most of the women out there in the world didn’t stand a chance.

After graduation, I moved to LA with giant dreams of being a movie star…and it took practically no time at all for the city to kick those dreams in the collective nuts and send me scurrying home with a badly bruised tail between my legs…but I did get to be on The Price is Right AND Singled Out! In fact, I had close, personal contact with both Bob Barker and Jenny McCarthy…that’s a lot of living packed into such a short time.

I headed back to Texas and went to college for a couple of years…it didn’t take…and during this time I fell into improv comedy. I performed with troupes in San Antonio and Austin, as well as starting a troupe on my college campus in San Marcos. It was through an improv festival that I landed the opportunity to fly back out to LA for a screen test…which just happened to be during the same week as finals. As you can guess, I didn’t get the gig, failed most of my classes and drove the final nail into the coffin that held my formal education. Don’t get me wrong, I learned plenty after that, I just never got a piece of paper to show for it…mostly just bruises.

The main thing I gained from my time in college was another incredible friend…Grant. I have never met anyone who enjoyed life as much as him (until he got married) and he taught me a lot about letting go and being comfortable with who I am. He’s been gone a little over a year and I hear his laugh every day.

I went to lick my wounds on Dickinson Bay for a summer and then, thanks to a performance at that same festival, I landed an audition to perform comedy on the Disney Magic. I drove to Minneapolis, sang a song that my brother wrote called “Lord, let there be a place to piss in Lamesa” and performed the monologue I had written on burger king napkins on my way up there. I came back the next day to do improv auditions, which included meeting a man named Bruce Green who would become one of my dearest friends and comic educators.

As you probably guessed, I got the job and spent the next two years on the high seas. Well, they weren’t really that high…except for one time…and that ended up with me being drug tested while using someone else’s pee. (See? There’s all kinds of wholesome stories to look forward to!)

I even managed to get my brother on board for my second contract…the first one having been one of the most excruciating working experiences of my life. I loved Bruce and 99% of the rest of the cast…but one lousy improviser with a shitty attitude kind of made the whole experience a living heck. (Q: Why would he use the word “shitty” but then back off from using hell? A: Who are you, Clarence Darrow?)

But that second contract with Todd, Mike, George, Nancy and Matt will always be held in my heart as one of the most enjoyable professional experiences of my life…mainly because we acted fairly unprofessional at most times. We were consistently the highest rated entertainment attraction on the ship and we loved each other fiercely. Somewhere during this time, George and I pulled off the greatest prank in the history of pranks…not because it was overwhelmingly elaborate or had an incredible payoff…but because I was so convincing in the set-up that Mike is still mad at me to this day for something I pretended happened. Not mad that I pretended…but mad that I didn’t act differently in the made-up scenario. It’s hard to explain…but then again, so is Mike. Regardless, I have no reservations that I gave the single greatest acting performance in the history of the world that day. Sir Laurence Olivier can kiss my turd-cutter. (I might be the first person in history to type that sentence)

After the boat, I moved to Dallas for a bit to fulfill my lifelong dream of waiting tables and not having a car. Todd went on to NYC and one day called me to tell me that the singer-songwriter responsible for our favorite album of all time, Willis Alan Ramsey, was going to be in New York giving his first concert in 30 years. The managers at the restaurant where I worked loved me, I was the first three employees of the month, so they paid for my ticket to fly to the concert. It kinda backfired on them, though, when I forgot to come back for four years.

This was in April of 2001. I got a job my second day there, waiting more tables at a horrible theme restaurant/tourist trap. As bizarre and awful as the work experience was, some of my dearest friends were made there. I could go on and on about all of the ridiculous/disgusting/heartwarming things that happened in that building…and I probably will…for now, let’s just say that I had to tell tourists that rats were “part of the show”, worked alongside topless lesbian vampires and once served a plate of absolute garbage to an honest-to-goodness Iron Chef.

I was just getting used to the city when the towers came down. It was awful, inspiring, hopeful, nerve-wracking, terrible and reaffirming. I’m not going to write much about that.

It was shortly after that I got my first PA gig with Comedy Central…which is what I was doing when the blackout hit and I had to drive a cube truck full of props and equipment across town for 8 hours with a stripper in the cab with me. (See how I just drop those little nuggets to convince you to come back later to hopefully read the whole story?)

I eventually left New York, hung out in Texas for a year and then followed my brother when he moved to LA. With his help, we finally convinced a great producer to give me a shot writing jokes…and that’s all I’ve done since. (Professionally, I mean…I’ve done lots of other stuff…drive, eat, poop, see a blimp.)

10 years later, I’m still here and still writing and producing TV shows for fun and profit…mostly fun. There have been countless stories from the world of television production…like the time I made Jeff Foxworthy laugh so hard that coffee came out of his nose or when I spilled red wine all over D.L. Hughley while my boyhood crush, Vivica, looked on. (If you haven’t yet realized the trend of me teasing stories and then not paying them off in an effort to keep you reading…you may be too dumb to read blogs. Try Highlights magazine. I hear Goofus is up to some crazy shit!)

During that ten years I got married, lost some friends (I mean they died…I didn’t misplace them), misplaced some friends, gathered three adorable pets, got put on Lorazepam, and had a midnight adventure with a possum and a pack of coyotes…among other things.

So, there you have it…the short and sweet version of my whole life. If you’ve read all this and feel like you just can’t wait to learn more…stay tuned…you’ll get your chance. If you’ve read all this and are trying to figure out a way to crumple up a blog and throw it in the trash or line the bottom of a birdcage with it…you are entitled to your mean, lousy opinion.

On Friday, I’ll have been on the Earth for 37 years…if you don’t subtract all the time I’ve spent in airplanes. I’m not saying I’m the most interesting guy…or the best writer…or super funny…or any of the other reasons one might want to read someone else’s blog. But I’m trying…and sharing this stuff makes me feel good. So, much like the people who are both here and queer, you’ll just have to get used to it!