Sorry I didn’t Blog for a while
I’ve been working and writing and traveling and all that. Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing down thoughts in long form. I rant to twitter or facebook and get likes and favorites and it’s that immediate reaction.
Every time I blog here, I get online casino links and free viagra comments. Just isn’t cutting it for me.
daylight? Check. Front rows empty? check! Comedy!
I’m in Sunnyvale. Northern California. I couchsurfed with a guy here last year when I Was working this club and now everytime I’m down here, I’ll stay with him. He wasn’t here though for Sunday and Monday and I had gigs those nights. So my friend hooked me up with this house full of comics. What could go wrong there? A bunch of comics, in one house, we’ll all work on jokes and go to open mics and I’ll be friends with the cool kids already.
First of all I get out of my show at like 11. It’s still an hour to the house from where my show was. (They lived in San Fransisco) – The guy who I had a number for and was texting said to let him know when my show is out. That whole thing. I text him when I’m leaving my show. when I’m 15 minutes away and when I arrive and there’s no answer. He doesn’t pick up when I call. There’s no doorbell for the house and there’s an outer gate so I can’t even knock on the door. So I slept in my backseat in a sleeping bag, outside of a house I was set up to crash with. Because the dude fell asleep and had to wake up at 6am for his day job.
Sidebar: I can’t IMAGINE doing that, AND comedy. It’s such a taxing process to go to a job where you’re under appreciated, under paid and don’t even have that much fun doing any more. Then you have to wake up early and go to a restaurant! See what I did there? ugh. but seriously. When comics ask me if I have a day job and I say no, they all look at me like I’m a mythical creature. HOW DO YOU DO THAT? THATS IMPOSSIBLE. It’s easy. Just be OK with poverty. and get lucky. Nobody is forcing you to have a nice apartment. I rent a room on craigslit. I hate it every day. My landlord just emailed me and told me he rescued a dog. I’m gonna go home to find a dog living in my house. No consulting. No “is anyone deathly allergic?” email. Just HEY, this happened.
Anyway, I get in to the house in the morning, and they set me up in this upstairs living room with couches and a futon. and look. I’m not a neat freak. but this was seriously the most disgusting place I’ve ever been in my life. There were bowls of food still out, molding with flies on them. Had to have been weeks old. Had to. The couch had weird stains. The futon sheets and covers had weird stains. I got my sleeping bag out of my car and slept in it on top of the futon. Then I woke up at 6am to meet my couchsurfing friend before he left for work, so that I wouldn’t have to spend another day there.
The wifi password for the house was “smokeweedallday” – I thought they were trying to be clever with the Dr Dre song. I was like “Isn’t it Smoke Weed EVERY day?” the guy was like “What?” I’m like “The snoop song?” He just stared at me. Anyway, I went to this open mic that everyone said was the best on the day I had off. but it was at a Cafe. Something about performing for comics in a cafe/landromat just doesn’t do it for me. Plus the only new jokes I had to work on was an old tornado thing from months ago. (actually might be my last blog) I just never worked on it. Then it happens to be on a day when a huge tornado hits Oklahoma. Alright, guess that’s not gonna make it in time for my CD recording.
I wandered around town, I went to this bar open mic later instead. They had free cookies and mini pretzels with stuffing? There goes my bikini body I’ve been working on. I’m glad that was there, because I bombed hard. I tried to open with a joke to ease the bombings before me and sort of erase the tension of performing on an upper floor as oppose to a stage in the middle of a narrow dive bar. “This feels like an AA meeting where we all started drinking.” Then the bartender/owner heckled me. I didn’t even hear it. Then I asked what he said and he just laughed and talked to one of the customers about his joke he just made. Then I ate shit. At times, the bartender came over to the side of the bar to stare and me, arms crossed, as if he heard all the buzz about an out of town comic and was like “Let’s see what this is about. oh. He’s just as not funny as the rest of them.” So then I did the Tornado joke anyway because I wanted to hear the sounds of the words and see if I thought they were funny.
How do people start comedy in those environments? How did I do that? Why do I suck at it now? Why does it make me insecure about jokes that I know work? Comedy is so stupid. That’s the thing I want to talk about. It’s hypnotic. If you ever break out of the trance of comedy, you realize the ridiculous things you’re doing and laugh/cry.
I never really stop to think about what we put ourselves through. I got my oil changed the other day (115k in 2 1/2 years.) and the guy went out to the car twice to check the mileage. He was fiddling with the computer, got to the mileage on his sheet, and then was like “hang on” and went back to the car. “I had to make sure that number was right!” – Then one of my electric plug in sockets (I refuse to keep calling them cigarette lighters) went out, so I brought it to a toyota dealership here in SF and the woman did the same move “hang on I gotta go double check the mileage.” before she could go outside I stopped her “It’s 115. You probably have it right.” Then she turned around. “Yeah, ok. Just thought. hmm. OK. Wow. uh. That’s what it’s made for I guess. Keep driving it. It’s in great shape.” – To me, that’s a weird reaction but to normal humans, that’s the RIGHT reaction. Then when I think about it like “I’ve driven 115 thousand miles? I’m an idiot.” – The guy in oregon shook my hand and had a huge smile on his face. It’s like he thought I was a celebrity.
I kind of am in Puyallup:
Have I posted this on the blog yet? Don’t think so. Did you like it? I wrote the punchline. This deserves it’s own post eventually. Gosh there are so many things to talk about when I don’t write forever.
Tonight I did a fun show. Fun= Paid. CASH RULES EVERYTHING AROUND ME. CREAM. Get the Money. DOLLA DOLLA BILL YALL. The Wu Tang weren’t such bad guys. It wasn’t bad for being next to bright windows and the front rows being empty. I got free salmon and 50 bucks. Beat that. I’ll write more on a new blog after the weekend. That was a good rule. a Blog a week detailing all the interesting things. I’ll try to get back in that habit.
The good news is, I think I’m finally learning how to balance comedy with a real life and friends. Although this is another rant. I had some KILLER sets (and we know how hard I am on myself) at a club two weeks ago and I passed out a few cards. A girl looked me up and we started chatting and turns out she’s really too cute to be hitting on comedians. but of course, it’s the week before my road trip. Luckily it’s only 2 1/2 weeks. So. There’s still a chance she doesn’t hate me when I get back. That always happens though. An old flame that I had a thing with for a few days just got into a relationship. and I’m glad. At least someone is happy around here.
