Good morning patient blog lovers. I'm back, and I don't even know where to start. I have way too much to write about. I'm realizing an important lesson about blogging. You should do it everyday if you don't want the work load to pile up. Like cleaning. A good blogger is like a person who cleans up after herself everyday. She never lets her home turn into a slobbery(SLOBBERY: a word I made up. Definition: a place that looks like shit; i.e. my place.) So now there's a slobbery in the creative wing of my brain. I have tons of writing to do(and cleaning for that matter.)
I could write about Dave Martin's birthday show at the Eton House last night, or the countdown to my show in Haliburton tonight, or the fact that I thought I was going to keep this blog annonymous. Instead, I'm choosing to write about my recent trip to London. (London, England, that is. Not the London with the Beef Baron.)
For a comic, London has a similar appeal as New York, or L.A. Maybe even more. In New York and L.A. you're always showcasing, and not really making money off comedy. In London, comics are actually making a living from doing shows. Good pay, good crowds. Sounds just plain dreamy.
So when I planned my trip, I thought I should definitely pre-arrange some shows. I've had a business card in my wallet for over a year from some English comic who said he could book me if I gave him notice. I have comedian friends who live over there who could help me get gigs. I have the internet... Do I use any of those resources? Of course not. I still pack my favourite stand-up shirt, just in case.
My first full day in London consisted mostly of sightseeing. Later, we(I was travelling with two of my co-workers from the bar I work at) stumble across a pub with a sign that read, "Comedy Tonight! Second Floor!" Okay, the comedy scene is right at my feet now. No excuses, Christina. Get your ass in there and make some connections. We walk in and grab a beer downstairs before trekking up to the show.
"Okay, so lets make sure we sit in the back. That way no one will notice if we leave before the end of the show," I say. Plus, no comic wants to sit up front at a comedy show, whether they're on it or not. That's just f'ing uncomfortable. We walk up the stairs, and enter a hot, stuffy room with a friendly bloke taking cover.
"Three pounds, please ladies." I pay for all three of us. The room is not what I expect at all. It's tiny and very hot. Sitting in the back is not much different than sitting in the front. It's clear that most of the people in the room are on the show. The host hits the stage, but unlike the hosts here in Canada, who warm up the crowd, this one just introduces the show, and brings up the first comic.
Comic by comic, I wait. I wait to see something hacky, or similar to material I hear in Canada. Everybody was actually quite unique, whether funny or not. The two girl comics were certainly higher energy than me, but still quite charming. After six comics, the host announces that they are taking a short break, and the show will resume in ten minutes.
"You should ask to go up!" My friend says. Oh God. As much as I planned on trying stand up in the U.K., I don't know if I want to right now. I need to comb through my notebook, and eliminate stuff not relevant here. I'm scared, nervous, and don't even have the balls to ask the host if I can do a spot.
"No, no." I say. "The show's already booked. I don't want to bother asking. He'll probably be annoyed- Hey do you guys wanna go eat dinner now?"
And that was it. That was the closest I got to doing stand up in London. I didn't get business cards, I didn't make new Facebook friends. I just completely chickened out. Pathetic, eh? With confidence like this you probably think I suck. I actually have a comedy special coming out this fall. I know I'm funny. I'm just not... what's the word I'm looking for... aggressive?
Days later, as I stand in the massive line up to check-in at Gatwick, I contemplate extending my trip. "Just five more days," I think to myself. "And I promise to bust open that Time Out Magazine and see as many shows as possible. I promise to introduce myself to everyone I meet, and even ask for a spot." Two hours, I am in the sky, on the way back to Toronto.
Last night at the Eton House, a British comic approached me after my set. I had mentioned I just got back from the U.K. on stage. He came up to me, and introduced himself. Something I should have done a week ago.
"So, did you do any shows while you were there?" He asks. I shake my head.
"You really should. North American comics do quite well over there."
My heart sinks. What a waste of a trip to England. I even had a note from Mike Wilmont written to some guy named Maff Brown in my notebook. Mike wrote,
"Yes, Maff. She's funny. Signed, Mike Wilmont."
I never used that note. And my favourite stand up shirt was the only thing in my suitcase I never wore.
The lesson here? I really need to start working harder. Getting my face out there more, no matter what. I'm not saying I would have become a huge star in one week there, but every little connection helps. We've all heard it before: You never know, unless you try. I don't want to still be waiting tables when my arthritis kicks in.
So here I come people.
comedian girl
(christina walkinshaw- that's right! My actual name! Let's get it out there!)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Blog 5... maybe...? I should write more.
Hi again. Remember me? I'm the blogger who blogs whenever I feel like it. Not consistently, just when ever I want. By doing so, I also save you from reading about my mornings watching "The View," and my hard ships waiting tables. You'll thank me someday. But today, I have to write. I just have to. As comedians, we know that funny shit doesn't happen every day. Sometimes you have to dig for it. Somedays, you don't.
I was getting off shift from my serving job. A moment I love. Especially since I was "released" at 9:15pm. That's pretty early in the serving world. I have two birthday parties I want to attend. One, is my new agent, Sarah's. A quality chick, who I have not spent much time with. As much as I would love to go home, and watch the season finale of 24 (it's been in my PVR for a month-it's not going anywhere,) I feel some beers at Sarah's birthday party will be more exciting. I head for Osgoode Station.
Every time I ride the subway, whether I'm in a rush, or not, I get this uncontrollable urge to run the second I enter the subway. It doesn't matter if I can hear the train coming or not- I just run. The thought of standing around waiting for a train, or anything for that matter, drives me crazy. In fact, two weeks ago I walked home from a Jay's game, just because the subway was down. I don't splurge on cabs when the sun is still out. But I do buy street meat for the walk home.
I enter the station at the Four Seasons entrance. At Osgoode Station, I feel like this is the nicest entrance. I even press the big round buttons on the wall that automatically open the doors, as I walk in. Not for me, but for the people behind me. As I do so, I hear the train. I sprint. I run, and I run fast. I swipe my TTC card, showing to bystanders that I am NO tourist. As I hear the tones of the subways car opening, I run faster, and note that the escalator is working in my favour. As the second set of tones pipe up, I know the train doors are about to close. I run, and I just barely make it in. A small triumph for the day, but I'll take it. I find a seat(another triumph) and just as I'm about to start reading my book, a guy approaches me.
"Wow, that was pretty amaizing!" Says Bill, or Ted, or somebody on an Excellent Adventure.
"Thanks," I say, as I bust out my book.
"I'm recruiting for an all girls Volleyball team, and by Volleyball, I mean Roller-derby, and by Roller-derby and mean tennis- and by tennis, I mean I know nothing about sports- you would be perfect. It's clear you can run," he says. He's scrawny, not visably drunk, but definitely eager.
"Well, I don't really have a lot of spare time," I say. Obviously. You guys know that, otherwise I'd blog more. I pull out my ipod.
"Wow! You have an ipod and a book. Cool! " Yes, I can read and listen to Lily Allen at the same time. One of my two talents. As I try to ignore him, he keeps talking.
"What's your name?"
"Christina." I've never been good with fake names.
"I'm --------." I could write it, but I'm too nerdy. I protect the innocent... or the weird. He keeps speaking-shocking, I know.
"What do you do that keeps you so busy? You must have a controlling boyfriend that you're running home to?" I love that he asks this, cuz he is giving me an opening to say "yes, I have a boyfriend. Go home to Plenty of Fish, or EHarmony." Of course, I don't really say that-I'm too nice.
"No, actually, my boyfriend is quite nice."
"Oh, well, I'm a comedian," he says. This is when I perk up. He's a comedian? Are times as an open mic-er so bad these days, you try to make random chicks on the subway laugh? He doesn't know who he's dealing with- and I'm glad. Sure it's sad he doesn't know who I am-nobody does. But I still believe I'm slightly ahead of him in the game.
"Oh, you're a comedian?" I ask. "Where do you perform?"
"Yuk Yuk's, Absolute... all over."
I start to giggle. I can't help it. Finally I have to let him in on what I do.
"Well, actually I work for Yuk Yuk's. I'm actually on my way to Sarah's birthday party right now. Do you know Sarah?"
"Umm... no...I know Jessica..." He says, getting nervous.
"I know Jess. Cool chick, shoulder length dark hair, tattoos, doesn't like Celine Dion... that Jess?" Okay, I know that's way too many details about Jess, but you get the picture. I know Jess.
"Ummm... No, I know Jessica the waitress at Yuk Yuks."
At this point, he starts to lose all confidence. Heaven forbid that approaching a random girl on the subway, and claiming you're a stand up comic, should come back and bite you in the ass.
"Well, this is awkward now..." he says. The only honest thing he's said between Osgoode and Museum Station. At St. George Station, we both get off.
"Are you going to Sarah's birthday party too?" I say. We walk down the stairs to the Bloor Line.
"It'll be mostly comics there. You must know some of them."
Is that bitchy? I didn't mean to seem bitchy, but if this guy is really a comedian, even if it's one I've never heard of before, that uses the TTC as a form of practicing crowd work, he could certainly drop by.
"Uh, well I know some comics... um... Gilson Lubin.." I pipe in, right away.
"I love Gilson! He's great." Bill/Ted is more terrified that I recognize his reference.
"And Kenny Robinson...." he continues.
"I love Kenny too!" I say. I know you're probably thinking this guy is black, but he's not. He's as white as my inner upper thigh. And I'm only pointing that out because I want you to know that most of Kenny and Gilson's fans are NOT this tacky.
Not much else happens between me and random "comedian" after this. I think I've shocked him by being a comedian. Later in the night, I ran into Rodney Ramsey(whom I mentioned in the last blog- a fantastic comic/buddy) and I relay the story to him. As it happens, Gilson was out tonight too.
"Tell the story, but make sure you drop the name of the "comic" at the end." - Rodney.
Tons of laughing happened tonight. Most of it was off stage. That's the best part about being a comic: Hanging out with comics. We bond just like any other co-workers. And I haven't even started on my comedian friend Claire and her "Manbatical"(check for blog links on my Facebook page.)
So next time I enter a subway station, I may not run for the train. Like Gwyneth Paltrow in "Sliding Doors," my fate is my fate. I have many destinies, but only one can transgress.
lol,
comedian girl.
PS If you have seen that movie, just note that I prefer myself with long hair. I hope that doesn't Fuck up my life.
I was getting off shift from my serving job. A moment I love. Especially since I was "released" at 9:15pm. That's pretty early in the serving world. I have two birthday parties I want to attend. One, is my new agent, Sarah's. A quality chick, who I have not spent much time with. As much as I would love to go home, and watch the season finale of 24 (it's been in my PVR for a month-it's not going anywhere,) I feel some beers at Sarah's birthday party will be more exciting. I head for Osgoode Station.
Every time I ride the subway, whether I'm in a rush, or not, I get this uncontrollable urge to run the second I enter the subway. It doesn't matter if I can hear the train coming or not- I just run. The thought of standing around waiting for a train, or anything for that matter, drives me crazy. In fact, two weeks ago I walked home from a Jay's game, just because the subway was down. I don't splurge on cabs when the sun is still out. But I do buy street meat for the walk home.
I enter the station at the Four Seasons entrance. At Osgoode Station, I feel like this is the nicest entrance. I even press the big round buttons on the wall that automatically open the doors, as I walk in. Not for me, but for the people behind me. As I do so, I hear the train. I sprint. I run, and I run fast. I swipe my TTC card, showing to bystanders that I am NO tourist. As I hear the tones of the subways car opening, I run faster, and note that the escalator is working in my favour. As the second set of tones pipe up, I know the train doors are about to close. I run, and I just barely make it in. A small triumph for the day, but I'll take it. I find a seat(another triumph) and just as I'm about to start reading my book, a guy approaches me.
"Wow, that was pretty amaizing!" Says Bill, or Ted, or somebody on an Excellent Adventure.
"Thanks," I say, as I bust out my book.
"I'm recruiting for an all girls Volleyball team, and by Volleyball, I mean Roller-derby, and by Roller-derby and mean tennis- and by tennis, I mean I know nothing about sports- you would be perfect. It's clear you can run," he says. He's scrawny, not visably drunk, but definitely eager.
"Well, I don't really have a lot of spare time," I say. Obviously. You guys know that, otherwise I'd blog more. I pull out my ipod.
"Wow! You have an ipod and a book. Cool! " Yes, I can read and listen to Lily Allen at the same time. One of my two talents. As I try to ignore him, he keeps talking.
"What's your name?"
"Christina." I've never been good with fake names.
"I'm --------." I could write it, but I'm too nerdy. I protect the innocent... or the weird. He keeps speaking-shocking, I know.
"What do you do that keeps you so busy? You must have a controlling boyfriend that you're running home to?" I love that he asks this, cuz he is giving me an opening to say "yes, I have a boyfriend. Go home to Plenty of Fish, or EHarmony." Of course, I don't really say that-I'm too nice.
"No, actually, my boyfriend is quite nice."
"Oh, well, I'm a comedian," he says. This is when I perk up. He's a comedian? Are times as an open mic-er so bad these days, you try to make random chicks on the subway laugh? He doesn't know who he's dealing with- and I'm glad. Sure it's sad he doesn't know who I am-nobody does. But I still believe I'm slightly ahead of him in the game.
"Oh, you're a comedian?" I ask. "Where do you perform?"
"Yuk Yuk's, Absolute... all over."
I start to giggle. I can't help it. Finally I have to let him in on what I do.
"Well, actually I work for Yuk Yuk's. I'm actually on my way to Sarah's birthday party right now. Do you know Sarah?"
"Umm... no...I know Jessica..." He says, getting nervous.
"I know Jess. Cool chick, shoulder length dark hair, tattoos, doesn't like Celine Dion... that Jess?" Okay, I know that's way too many details about Jess, but you get the picture. I know Jess.
"Ummm... No, I know Jessica the waitress at Yuk Yuks."
At this point, he starts to lose all confidence. Heaven forbid that approaching a random girl on the subway, and claiming you're a stand up comic, should come back and bite you in the ass.
"Well, this is awkward now..." he says. The only honest thing he's said between Osgoode and Museum Station. At St. George Station, we both get off.
"Are you going to Sarah's birthday party too?" I say. We walk down the stairs to the Bloor Line.
"It'll be mostly comics there. You must know some of them."
Is that bitchy? I didn't mean to seem bitchy, but if this guy is really a comedian, even if it's one I've never heard of before, that uses the TTC as a form of practicing crowd work, he could certainly drop by.
"Uh, well I know some comics... um... Gilson Lubin.." I pipe in, right away.
"I love Gilson! He's great." Bill/Ted is more terrified that I recognize his reference.
"And Kenny Robinson...." he continues.
"I love Kenny too!" I say. I know you're probably thinking this guy is black, but he's not. He's as white as my inner upper thigh. And I'm only pointing that out because I want you to know that most of Kenny and Gilson's fans are NOT this tacky.
Not much else happens between me and random "comedian" after this. I think I've shocked him by being a comedian. Later in the night, I ran into Rodney Ramsey(whom I mentioned in the last blog- a fantastic comic/buddy) and I relay the story to him. As it happens, Gilson was out tonight too.
"Tell the story, but make sure you drop the name of the "comic" at the end." - Rodney.
Tons of laughing happened tonight. Most of it was off stage. That's the best part about being a comic: Hanging out with comics. We bond just like any other co-workers. And I haven't even started on my comedian friend Claire and her "Manbatical"(check for blog links on my Facebook page.)
So next time I enter a subway station, I may not run for the train. Like Gwyneth Paltrow in "Sliding Doors," my fate is my fate. I have many destinies, but only one can transgress.
lol,
comedian girl.
PS If you have seen that movie, just note that I prefer myself with long hair. I hope that doesn't Fuck up my life.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Okay, I'm the worst blogger ever. I'm not consistent, regular, I miss many opportunities to write. I don't even remember if my last blog left you on a cliffhanger. If it did, I want you to know I'm okay. I'm on my couch, drinking beer, watching T.V. My comedian buddy Rodney Ramsey said "This blog is a great idea. But like any blog, you got to make sure you write it all the time, whether you feel like it or not." I think he said that a month ago. For me, blogging is like going to the gym. I really like it once I get there. When I leave, I think "I'm definitely going back tomorrow." Then, I don't go for 3 weeks. I'm no creature of habit.
Tonight, I'm not even performing. I'm sitting at home, watching "Dice-Undisputed." It's past 2:00am and nothing's on TV. Suddenly, I remember I have "Dice-Undisputed" on my DVR. It may not be as popular as "Glee" or as scandalous as "Melrose Place"(please don't cancel "Melrose Place,") but I can't help but be intrigued by any show having to do with stand up comdey. My boyfriend walk's in the room, with his Stouffers Thai Ginger Beef microwaved dinner.
"Who's this guy?" He asks. That's the best part about dating a younger man. He doesn't know who Andrew Dice Clay is.
"He's a dirty comic from the 80's. He actually used to be quite famous."
Ewwwwwwww. Did I just defend Andrew Dice Clay? I didn't mean to. I was just trying to justify the shows I plug into the PVR.
"Okay, Cutie. Don't rot your brain with this stuff," he says, as he leaves the room. I'm sure my boyfriend isn't the only person Dice has walked in the last 20 years.
I continue to watch the show. As a partially working comic, I need to know which comics are getting their own TV shows. Are they funny? Am I funnier? Do they have better connections than me? Probably. But I'm well known at the Keg. In this particular episode, Dice is going to Boston, to do a live show. He's determined to crush. The show comes back from commercial. The letters "IFC" pop up in the top right hand corner of the TV. Don't brag about airing a show unless you think it's good, IFC. Then, on the top left corner, it says, "Coming Up Next: Dead at 17." Enough said.
Wow. I wouldn't want to play "Count the beeps on this show." Swearing isn't funny. Swearing has it's place in life for sure, but it's not here, on this show. Swearing is appropriate when you get to the Beer Store two minutes after it closes. Swearing is appropriate when you stub your toe, or get naked and realize you're out of condoms. Swearing is NOT so entertaining, when an old comic from the 80's and his three buddies are pinballing between each other during a reality show.
There's another commercial break. I'm not even fast forwarding the commercials anymore. I'm actually trying to remember what other F words sound like. What companies are airing their ads during this show? Cuz these are not companies I'm buying anything from.
We're back. Dice has entered the building of his big show. Artie Lang is going to bring him up. I should wake up my boyfriend and see if he knows who Artie Lang is. I wonder if my boyfriend knows who Bob Hope is? I hope so. I love Bob Hope. I don't care if it makes me sound 60.
Oh no. Dice is getting heckled. Dice is dropping F Bombs, the heckler is dropping F Bombs. I have no idea what is going right now. Oh shit. The show just ended. That was it? He goes to Boston, does a show, says the F word a 1oo times, gets heckled and leaves? Did the Producer lose funding half way through the show? I'm confused. Is this a series or was this a one time special, shot by the director of the Hills? It's not clear. What a waste of time. I could have been writing jokes for the last hour. Or writing a blog... Oh, ya. I just did.
xoxo
comedian girl.
ps I know I'm a Vegetarian, but I still hang out at the Keg.
pps The commercials I saw during this show were for Mr. Clean, Ancestry.ca, Always Infinity, Gilette, Febreze, Ram Trucks, eHarmony and Duracell. I don't know what "Clean freak, family loving, menstrating, hairy, ordor-phobic, off teraining, soulmate searching, vibrator users were watching this show tonight, but I have a feeling these companies missed their target audience by a long shot.
Tonight, I'm not even performing. I'm sitting at home, watching "Dice-Undisputed." It's past 2:00am and nothing's on TV. Suddenly, I remember I have "Dice-Undisputed" on my DVR. It may not be as popular as "Glee" or as scandalous as "Melrose Place"(please don't cancel "Melrose Place,") but I can't help but be intrigued by any show having to do with stand up comdey. My boyfriend walk's in the room, with his Stouffers Thai Ginger Beef microwaved dinner.
"Who's this guy?" He asks. That's the best part about dating a younger man. He doesn't know who Andrew Dice Clay is.
"He's a dirty comic from the 80's. He actually used to be quite famous."
Ewwwwwwww. Did I just defend Andrew Dice Clay? I didn't mean to. I was just trying to justify the shows I plug into the PVR.
"Okay, Cutie. Don't rot your brain with this stuff," he says, as he leaves the room. I'm sure my boyfriend isn't the only person Dice has walked in the last 20 years.
I continue to watch the show. As a partially working comic, I need to know which comics are getting their own TV shows. Are they funny? Am I funnier? Do they have better connections than me? Probably. But I'm well known at the Keg. In this particular episode, Dice is going to Boston, to do a live show. He's determined to crush. The show comes back from commercial. The letters "IFC" pop up in the top right hand corner of the TV. Don't brag about airing a show unless you think it's good, IFC. Then, on the top left corner, it says, "Coming Up Next: Dead at 17." Enough said.
Wow. I wouldn't want to play "Count the beeps on this show." Swearing isn't funny. Swearing has it's place in life for sure, but it's not here, on this show. Swearing is appropriate when you get to the Beer Store two minutes after it closes. Swearing is appropriate when you stub your toe, or get naked and realize you're out of condoms. Swearing is NOT so entertaining, when an old comic from the 80's and his three buddies are pinballing between each other during a reality show.
There's another commercial break. I'm not even fast forwarding the commercials anymore. I'm actually trying to remember what other F words sound like. What companies are airing their ads during this show? Cuz these are not companies I'm buying anything from.
We're back. Dice has entered the building of his big show. Artie Lang is going to bring him up. I should wake up my boyfriend and see if he knows who Artie Lang is. I wonder if my boyfriend knows who Bob Hope is? I hope so. I love Bob Hope. I don't care if it makes me sound 60.
Oh no. Dice is getting heckled. Dice is dropping F Bombs, the heckler is dropping F Bombs. I have no idea what is going right now. Oh shit. The show just ended. That was it? He goes to Boston, does a show, says the F word a 1oo times, gets heckled and leaves? Did the Producer lose funding half way through the show? I'm confused. Is this a series or was this a one time special, shot by the director of the Hills? It's not clear. What a waste of time. I could have been writing jokes for the last hour. Or writing a blog... Oh, ya. I just did.
xoxo
comedian girl.
ps I know I'm a Vegetarian, but I still hang out at the Keg.
pps The commercials I saw during this show were for Mr. Clean, Ancestry.ca, Always Infinity, Gilette, Febreze, Ram Trucks, eHarmony and Duracell. I don't know what "Clean freak, family loving, menstrating, hairy, ordor-phobic, off teraining, soulmate searching, vibrator users were watching this show tonight, but I have a feeling these companies missed their target audience by a long shot.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Okay, so I know I haven't blogged in a while, but to be fair, that night I was preluding to in the last blog was so tragic I had to get really drunk to blog again. I even mis-typed my login name when signing in. I'm hammered, eating pizza by the slice, listening to an "On-the-go" mix I made for the gym... another place I haven't been recently.
That night... that show... I knew I didn't want to do it. And I know some of you have read that creepy book "The Secret," but I haven't. Even if I had, I'm still sure that show would have gone the way it did. As usual, I take public transportation there. I check into the street car on "FourSquare." The points I get by doing so, might be the highlight of my night. On the way there, I get a text saying "We're running ahead of schedule-you're going on earlier." Great. Just what every comic wants to hear. Everybody's still sober.
I walk in the bar. It's my first time at this venue, and secretly I hope my name is not on the list. Nope. My name's on the list. And they've made me a name tag to wear around my neck. I immediately hit the bar and buy something bottled. I see another regular from my work.
"Hey! I hear you're doing comedy here tonight! Can't wait!"
I'm not going to lie. I don't know his name, but I know what beer he likes to drink, as well as his favourite menu item. I force some enthusiasm, and shove the neck of the bottled beer safely into my mouth. Then the regular that booked me for the show spots me.
"Hey, there you are! You're on next!"
Next? I've been here for two minutes. Thanks for the warning. I follow him back stage. He introduces me to the host, who has clearly ignored the intro I gave him, and downloaded something word for word off the internet.
"Now, remember to keep it clean," he says.
"What? I was going to do all blow job jokes." I say. Everybody back stage laughs. This is the best laugh I will get all night.
As I stand off to the side of the stage, I watch the host.
"And now it's time for the comedy portion of the night!"
As he says that, every kid in the room runs to the front of the stage and sits cross legged. They are excited. I think they mistook me for a clown. They're highlights. I'm no Carrot Top. I take the stage. I hope I can dig myself out of this...
I do the traditional thing of asking the crowd how they're doing. They seem to sound okay. The children are excited... for now. I start to hear noise behind me. It's the band.
"Oh, don't mind us. We're just going to do our sound check while you're on stage," a bandmate says. Ummm, excuse me? You're just going to fiddle your guitar while I'm in the middle of my act? It's bad enough I have to curb my act for the elementary school that's just plopped itself in front of my stage, but now I have to speak over instruments? How am I supposed to make fun of the Leafs like this?
And I did. I had no choice. Every time I was half way through doing a joke, I heard the bass, the guitarist, or even worse, the drummer. No comedian wants to hear "Ba-dum-sshhhhhh!" after a joke.
Two minutes into my set, I adandon my act, thinking, "I'd rather eat shit talking to the ten year olds, rather than eat shit with my actual act." At one point, I believe the kids are digging me, but that was probably just good old fashion comedian's delusionalism, keeping my ego in tact. I leave the stage, at least five minutes before I had to. I make no eye contact with anyone. I head staight back to the bar.
Sometimes its hard to get a drink in a bar. You know the feeling, "Am I invisible to the bartender?" Not tonight. She saw me, and came dashing over.
"Steam Whistle please." I say. She turns away and grabs the beer. As she pops it open, she shakes her head, and says, "Tough crowd." Oh great. Just when I thought the people in the back of the room weren't listening, it turns out they were.
"Well, I didn't do what I normally do. I couldn't. There was kids here." Oh God. Does that sound like an excuse? It's not. I really did NOT do my act. Do children even know what a vibrator is? Hopefully not.
"Sure... Six dollars."
So, I ate shit, and paid full price for beers. The kicker? The regular from my work who made me do this show, was in the band that followed me. The second number they did was a cover of "Who Let The Dogs Out." And sadly, that got a better response than me.
xoxo
comedian girl
That night... that show... I knew I didn't want to do it. And I know some of you have read that creepy book "The Secret," but I haven't. Even if I had, I'm still sure that show would have gone the way it did. As usual, I take public transportation there. I check into the street car on "FourSquare." The points I get by doing so, might be the highlight of my night. On the way there, I get a text saying "We're running ahead of schedule-you're going on earlier." Great. Just what every comic wants to hear. Everybody's still sober.
I walk in the bar. It's my first time at this venue, and secretly I hope my name is not on the list. Nope. My name's on the list. And they've made me a name tag to wear around my neck. I immediately hit the bar and buy something bottled. I see another regular from my work.
"Hey! I hear you're doing comedy here tonight! Can't wait!"
I'm not going to lie. I don't know his name, but I know what beer he likes to drink, as well as his favourite menu item. I force some enthusiasm, and shove the neck of the bottled beer safely into my mouth. Then the regular that booked me for the show spots me.
"Hey, there you are! You're on next!"
Next? I've been here for two minutes. Thanks for the warning. I follow him back stage. He introduces me to the host, who has clearly ignored the intro I gave him, and downloaded something word for word off the internet.
"Now, remember to keep it clean," he says.
"What? I was going to do all blow job jokes." I say. Everybody back stage laughs. This is the best laugh I will get all night.
As I stand off to the side of the stage, I watch the host.
"And now it's time for the comedy portion of the night!"
As he says that, every kid in the room runs to the front of the stage and sits cross legged. They are excited. I think they mistook me for a clown. They're highlights. I'm no Carrot Top. I take the stage. I hope I can dig myself out of this...
I do the traditional thing of asking the crowd how they're doing. They seem to sound okay. The children are excited... for now. I start to hear noise behind me. It's the band.
"Oh, don't mind us. We're just going to do our sound check while you're on stage," a bandmate says. Ummm, excuse me? You're just going to fiddle your guitar while I'm in the middle of my act? It's bad enough I have to curb my act for the elementary school that's just plopped itself in front of my stage, but now I have to speak over instruments? How am I supposed to make fun of the Leafs like this?
And I did. I had no choice. Every time I was half way through doing a joke, I heard the bass, the guitarist, or even worse, the drummer. No comedian wants to hear "Ba-dum-sshhhhhh!" after a joke.
Two minutes into my set, I adandon my act, thinking, "I'd rather eat shit talking to the ten year olds, rather than eat shit with my actual act." At one point, I believe the kids are digging me, but that was probably just good old fashion comedian's delusionalism, keeping my ego in tact. I leave the stage, at least five minutes before I had to. I make no eye contact with anyone. I head staight back to the bar.
Sometimes its hard to get a drink in a bar. You know the feeling, "Am I invisible to the bartender?" Not tonight. She saw me, and came dashing over.
"Steam Whistle please." I say. She turns away and grabs the beer. As she pops it open, she shakes her head, and says, "Tough crowd." Oh great. Just when I thought the people in the back of the room weren't listening, it turns out they were.
"Well, I didn't do what I normally do. I couldn't. There was kids here." Oh God. Does that sound like an excuse? It's not. I really did NOT do my act. Do children even know what a vibrator is? Hopefully not.
"Sure... Six dollars."
So, I ate shit, and paid full price for beers. The kicker? The regular from my work who made me do this show, was in the band that followed me. The second number they did was a cover of "Who Let The Dogs Out." And sadly, that got a better response than me.
xoxo
comedian girl
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Night 4...sort of
So, I guess if you're going to be a blogger, you should do it more than three times, right? I swear, I've been writing for the last week, but the weather got nice and I really wanted to sit on a patio. You can't write on your computer outside, because the reflection from the sun will make it impossible to see your screen. That, and the lack of electrical outlets. I did write in my journal, though, while enjoying sunshine and pints of Keiths. I can honestly tell you the shows ROCKED- amazing crowds. As the other comic (yes, the dude I once bing banged) put it, "It was like the Apollo, without the black people." Oh, and in case your wondering, no, nothing kinky happened on the road. The only thing I cheat on is my vegetarianism. (I did go for Lobster- I couldn't resist. And let me tell you, it took FOREVER to get the smell of it off my hands. The plus side? I enjoyed going up to guys asking them to "smell my fingers.")
I meant to file all my Halifax stories over to this blog, but right now I'm too stressed. I'm about to do a show I don't want to do. A show I KNOW I should have said "NO" to. I'm such a sucker. And now I'm terrified. Ugh.
A regular of mine(at my bar job) is in a band. I've been supportive, and seen them play. I appreciate all artists, whether they're actors, singers, painters, etc. He's seen my show too. Before I left for the Maritimes(Oh, ya-I'm back in Toronto now,) he asked me for a favour. He's doing a fundraiser show amongst some other bands and was wondering if I would do the show too. I explained I was going to the Maritimes to do a tour, so probably not.
"When do you get back?" He says.
"When's the show?" I say.
"April 15th." He says.
"I think I'm still away." I say.
"For sure? Can you double check?"
Fuck. I'm such a bad liar. I agree to get back to him, knowing in my stomach I don't want to do it. Don't ask me how I know... I just know. I avoid him for as long as I can. Then, one morning as I'm leaving the gym, he spots me on the street(see-going to the gym is not always good for you.)
"Hey, you haven't go back to me. Can you do the show?"
Ugh... endorphins. All that Pink blasting on my ipod made me run for a long time, and now I feel feel good.
"Sure, I can do it."
He's super excited, and says he'll email me the details. It takes about a half hour for my workout high to fade. Why did I just say "yes?" Fuck. Don't think about it now. Think about it later.
Now is later. My first morning back in Toronto he came into my bar.
"You still set to do my show?"
Should I claim I got amnesia? Use the new beer special at work as an excuse that I can't get Thursday nights off work anymore? Cry?
"Yep, can't wait."
Great, now I'm a good liar.
He smiles. As he walks away from the bar, he has one more uplifting remark.
"Oh ya, and I forgot to tell you. It's all ages. So it has to be squeaky clean."
All ages? All ages!!! You've seen my act! I talk about vibrators and end on a blow job joke. And now you're telling me I have to go write five new minutes on Hannah Montana and the Suite Life of Zack and Cody? That's like telling a stripper to keep her clothes on half way through Mambo #5. Why did I agree to this? There's no money involved. My self esteem is at stake here, people. Yesterday, I got another email from him. In it he writes,
"Don't forget to keep it clean because the Secretary of Cabinet and other High Level government officials and teenaged kids will be there. See you tomorrow."
Fuck. Who's the Secretary of Cabinet? High Level government officials? I haven't filed my taxes in two years. Though to be fair, I bet the teenaged kids will be bigger perverts than I am.
Fuck. Fuck, I should probably practice not swearing for the rest of the night. I better go now. Must surrender myself to humiliation. Ugh.
fuck, shit, fuck, shit,
comedy girl.
ps I swear I'm going to file taxes this year.
pps If this blog seemed all over the place, it's cuz I was just drinking with my friend who is ten years younger than me. I don't know if she's my enabler, or my muse. Either way, I like her.
I meant to file all my Halifax stories over to this blog, but right now I'm too stressed. I'm about to do a show I don't want to do. A show I KNOW I should have said "NO" to. I'm such a sucker. And now I'm terrified. Ugh.
A regular of mine(at my bar job) is in a band. I've been supportive, and seen them play. I appreciate all artists, whether they're actors, singers, painters, etc. He's seen my show too. Before I left for the Maritimes(Oh, ya-I'm back in Toronto now,) he asked me for a favour. He's doing a fundraiser show amongst some other bands and was wondering if I would do the show too. I explained I was going to the Maritimes to do a tour, so probably not.
"When do you get back?" He says.
"When's the show?" I say.
"April 15th." He says.
"I think I'm still away." I say.
"For sure? Can you double check?"
Fuck. I'm such a bad liar. I agree to get back to him, knowing in my stomach I don't want to do it. Don't ask me how I know... I just know. I avoid him for as long as I can. Then, one morning as I'm leaving the gym, he spots me on the street(see-going to the gym is not always good for you.)
"Hey, you haven't go back to me. Can you do the show?"
Ugh... endorphins. All that Pink blasting on my ipod made me run for a long time, and now I feel feel good.
"Sure, I can do it."
He's super excited, and says he'll email me the details. It takes about a half hour for my workout high to fade. Why did I just say "yes?" Fuck. Don't think about it now. Think about it later.
Now is later. My first morning back in Toronto he came into my bar.
"You still set to do my show?"
Should I claim I got amnesia? Use the new beer special at work as an excuse that I can't get Thursday nights off work anymore? Cry?
"Yep, can't wait."
Great, now I'm a good liar.
He smiles. As he walks away from the bar, he has one more uplifting remark.
"Oh ya, and I forgot to tell you. It's all ages. So it has to be squeaky clean."
All ages? All ages!!! You've seen my act! I talk about vibrators and end on a blow job joke. And now you're telling me I have to go write five new minutes on Hannah Montana and the Suite Life of Zack and Cody? That's like telling a stripper to keep her clothes on half way through Mambo #5. Why did I agree to this? There's no money involved. My self esteem is at stake here, people. Yesterday, I got another email from him. In it he writes,
"Don't forget to keep it clean because the Secretary of Cabinet and other High Level government officials and teenaged kids will be there. See you tomorrow."
Fuck. Who's the Secretary of Cabinet? High Level government officials? I haven't filed my taxes in two years. Though to be fair, I bet the teenaged kids will be bigger perverts than I am.
Fuck. Fuck, I should probably practice not swearing for the rest of the night. I better go now. Must surrender myself to humiliation. Ugh.
fuck, shit, fuck, shit,
comedy girl.
ps I swear I'm going to file taxes this year.
pps If this blog seemed all over the place, it's cuz I was just drinking with my friend who is ten years younger than me. I don't know if she's my enabler, or my muse. Either way, I like her.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Night 3
Is it possible a pint of Keiths actually tastes better in Nova Scotia? Or does beer just naturally taste better at three o'clock in the afternoon? I'm in Halifax now, in case you didn't guess. I finally downloaded a new CD, to prevent Ke$ha from rotting my brain even more than it already has. I'm in my gym clothes, cuz I thought my day would consist of coffee and a workout, but alas, a sunny day and a pub patio pulled me in another direction.
I'm playing on Facebook right now. Did you know I'm friends with 9 Jeffs? That's a lot of Jeffs. And 7 Jasons, 4 Ians, 4 Davids....I'm bored, can you tell? The new CD I'm listening to is great. Her name is Anuhea, in case you want to play along. "Charismatic SOB" is a great song. The Bud Lite Lime umbrellas are up in full affect on this patio. Oh, B.L.L... are you going to contaminate this summer again, like you did last? Better question: are Fish n Chips in my future? I hope so. My dinner last night consisted of beer and nachos. I would have done anything for a slice of pizza after the bar... I mean bars(plural.) Speaking of yesterday...
I arrive in Halifax around 2pm. I wait forever in the airport for my shuttle bus-don't judge me. I save 30 bucks this way. After writing on at least a dozen people's facebook walls(via iphone,) I finally board my bus. Oh, I also polished off a bag of Tostitos, without salsa. That's how hungry I was. The bus is running 15 minutes being schedule. For a province full of Sydney Crosby fans, you'd think they could move a little faster. I stop playing on my iphone, as I want to soak up my first trip ever to Halifax. The further we move away from the airport, the happier I am not to be in a cab right now, watching the meter move up my bum hole, and deep into my wallet. The first stop for the shuttle bus is the Holiday Inn, Dartmouth. So this is Dartmouth. I've heard of it. One of my good comedian friends is from here. We let off the nice couple, and hit the road again. We cross a bridge. I was hoping we'd cross the bridge. It's very Lions Gate-esque(for you Vancouverians.) Three lanes. Who builds a three-laned bridge? I'll never understand this. Second stop is the Four Points Inn. The solo backpacker guy gets off. Next stop, The Westin. That's me. Don't be jealous. Usually our accommodations are not this cool. Remember the house by Boston Pizza in Newfoundland?
Now, there's something I should tell you about this weekend of shows. The line up has changed. I'm still working with the headliner from last week, but the host is different. Instead of the guy I know from Ottawa, with the stripper intros, I'm working with a Toronto comic... A Toronto I've slept with.
It's not rocket science. The whole world knows the repercussions of sleeping with someone you work with. In comedy, it might seem less risky, since we don't work with the same people every weekend. You might get off scott-free, and always get booked with someone else. Not this time.
The original scene of our one night stand(yes, it was a one night stand) was Toronto. Roughly two years ago. You might think two comedians picking each other up would be hilarious, and in this case, you're definitely right. We were at an after party for the Great Canadian Laugh Off. He was in it. I was there for support- or the open bar. Most likely the latter. There were a lot of industry people there. When I say "industry people," I'm talking about people that comedians are always trying to impress. Me and "him" have been friends for years. Nothing kinky, just comedy buddies. I don't hang out with him often, but given the right moment, we'll always have some beers together, and shoot the shit. So here we were, drinking for free, amongst "industry people." Good times.
"You guys look like brother and sister," says some lady, who's name I clearly don't remember. "Are you guys related?" He answers, "Ya, she's my sister." He's got good improv skills- never "block-" always "yes and." Oh, but this isn't improv, this is real life. Does it matter?
The conversation keeps moving. We manage to convince everybody in the room that we are brother and sister. The more we drink, the sillier it gets... until...
We're in a circle of people, talking about how great "our" family gets along. "We just have a way, in our family. You know..." then he starts giving me small kisses on the lips. I have to do everything in my power not to burst out laughing, to keep the charade alive. But fuck, I wanted to laugh so hard. Before I knew it, we were full on, making out in front of people who truly believed we were siblings. I think one woman spit out her drink.
Eventually we burst out laughing, and confess we're not related. Not even cousins. Our fair complexions and blonde hair are totally a coincidence. This calls for another drink. Or was it drinks... it's not clear.
So, you know how the story goes. I already told you. The making out was supposed to be a joke, but it was still kind of sexy. We drunkenly sleep together, and life goes on.
Now back to the present. I'm going to be sharing accommodations with this guy for the next five days. I know nothing's going to happen. I have a boyfriend. He has a girlfriend. But I will be very surprised if that night doesn't somehow come up in conversation.
We sit on the couch, enjoying a bottle of local beer-Propeller IPA. It's tasty. He flicks the remote for the T.V, and lands on the Discovery Channel. "Mayday" is on. It's a documentary show about plane crashes. It's also the same show he watched the night we... you know... "hooked up." I know what you're thinking. What kind of a girl seduces a guy with plane crash documentaries? I have a vagina. I can get away with anything.
He leaves the T.V. on this channel, acknowledging that I like this show. He might as well say, "Hey, remember the night we slept together? Haha!" It's a repeat. For all I know, it's the same episode we bing banged to. I'm getting hungry. It's my first time in Halifax. I also want to see the city. He agrees we should go out. We invite the other comic to come with us, but he declines.
The first bar we hit is the Economy Shoe Shop. What a great name for a bar you want women to frequent. We enjoy a quality dinner of beer and nachos, me eating all the jalapenos he's picked off his chips. After "dinner" we decide to move to another bar. The Carleton. A guy who looks like Smith from Sex and the City, approaches us at the door.
"Are you guys here for the show?"
"What show?" We respond. The Smith guy explains there's a band from the UK here, and there's a $35 dollar cover. For some reason, he lets us in, free of charge. Must be our brother and sister look.
The band is good. So is the wine. There's an older man beside me. He keeps looking at us, smiling. Finally, he breaks the ice.
"They're a lot like the Moody Blues, eh? But you're probably too young to know who the Moody Blues are!" I smile, enjoying the fact I look young tonight. He pipes up again(I'm pretty sure he's on his fourth glass of wine.)
"Is that your husband?" Oh, God. Here it comes. "If he's not, you're headed in that direction, aren't you? I can tell these things. I'm very intuitive." I try not to burst out laughing. This guys intuitions need a tune up. I can't tell whether we're going to play the "yes and" improv game again. It's been a few years. The drunk man gets closer, wedging himself right in the middle of us. We try to convince him that we're just buddies, but he doesn't believe us. "Oh I know how that goes, you start off friends then blah, blah, blah..." Okay, he didn't really say "blah blah blah," but I got distracted by the fact he's wearing his university ring on his wedding finger. Decoy? Or is he in love with his university? Finally I try to shut him up.
"Listen! Here's the deal. We slept together two years ago, but we're just friends. We've known each other forever. We're just two stand up comics working here for the weekend." See, I knew we couldn't work together for a whole weekend without bringing up the one night stand. I hope we don't end up mentioning it on stage.
"Oh! I knew there was something different about you guys! Stand up comics, eh?!" Oh God. I forgot. Never tell drunk people you're a stand up comic. They eat that shit up. We let him babble on for a bit, but then politely escape-or try to escape. He follows us to the door, then makes us re-enact an Inspector Clousseau joke. Luckily, I don't get a big part. But Bing Bang(no names, sorry) did. I don't know if you've ever been forced to re-enact an Inspector Clousseau joke in the front door of a bar before, but it's quite awkward. I can't decide whether to laugh, or run.
Crap, I have to go. I have a show in two hours and I'm still in my gym clothes. I should probably shower too. I know I didn't actually work out, but I need to shower the smell of beer off me.
LOL,
Comedy Girl.
I'm playing on Facebook right now. Did you know I'm friends with 9 Jeffs? That's a lot of Jeffs. And 7 Jasons, 4 Ians, 4 Davids....I'm bored, can you tell? The new CD I'm listening to is great. Her name is Anuhea, in case you want to play along. "Charismatic SOB" is a great song. The Bud Lite Lime umbrellas are up in full affect on this patio. Oh, B.L.L... are you going to contaminate this summer again, like you did last? Better question: are Fish n Chips in my future? I hope so. My dinner last night consisted of beer and nachos. I would have done anything for a slice of pizza after the bar... I mean bars(plural.) Speaking of yesterday...
I arrive in Halifax around 2pm. I wait forever in the airport for my shuttle bus-don't judge me. I save 30 bucks this way. After writing on at least a dozen people's facebook walls(via iphone,) I finally board my bus. Oh, I also polished off a bag of Tostitos, without salsa. That's how hungry I was. The bus is running 15 minutes being schedule. For a province full of Sydney Crosby fans, you'd think they could move a little faster. I stop playing on my iphone, as I want to soak up my first trip ever to Halifax. The further we move away from the airport, the happier I am not to be in a cab right now, watching the meter move up my bum hole, and deep into my wallet. The first stop for the shuttle bus is the Holiday Inn, Dartmouth. So this is Dartmouth. I've heard of it. One of my good comedian friends is from here. We let off the nice couple, and hit the road again. We cross a bridge. I was hoping we'd cross the bridge. It's very Lions Gate-esque(for you Vancouverians.) Three lanes. Who builds a three-laned bridge? I'll never understand this. Second stop is the Four Points Inn. The solo backpacker guy gets off. Next stop, The Westin. That's me. Don't be jealous. Usually our accommodations are not this cool. Remember the house by Boston Pizza in Newfoundland?
Now, there's something I should tell you about this weekend of shows. The line up has changed. I'm still working with the headliner from last week, but the host is different. Instead of the guy I know from Ottawa, with the stripper intros, I'm working with a Toronto comic... A Toronto I've slept with.
It's not rocket science. The whole world knows the repercussions of sleeping with someone you work with. In comedy, it might seem less risky, since we don't work with the same people every weekend. You might get off scott-free, and always get booked with someone else. Not this time.
The original scene of our one night stand(yes, it was a one night stand) was Toronto. Roughly two years ago. You might think two comedians picking each other up would be hilarious, and in this case, you're definitely right. We were at an after party for the Great Canadian Laugh Off. He was in it. I was there for support- or the open bar. Most likely the latter. There were a lot of industry people there. When I say "industry people," I'm talking about people that comedians are always trying to impress. Me and "him" have been friends for years. Nothing kinky, just comedy buddies. I don't hang out with him often, but given the right moment, we'll always have some beers together, and shoot the shit. So here we were, drinking for free, amongst "industry people." Good times.
"You guys look like brother and sister," says some lady, who's name I clearly don't remember. "Are you guys related?" He answers, "Ya, she's my sister." He's got good improv skills- never "block-" always "yes and." Oh, but this isn't improv, this is real life. Does it matter?
The conversation keeps moving. We manage to convince everybody in the room that we are brother and sister. The more we drink, the sillier it gets... until...
We're in a circle of people, talking about how great "our" family gets along. "We just have a way, in our family. You know..." then he starts giving me small kisses on the lips. I have to do everything in my power not to burst out laughing, to keep the charade alive. But fuck, I wanted to laugh so hard. Before I knew it, we were full on, making out in front of people who truly believed we were siblings. I think one woman spit out her drink.
Eventually we burst out laughing, and confess we're not related. Not even cousins. Our fair complexions and blonde hair are totally a coincidence. This calls for another drink. Or was it drinks... it's not clear.
So, you know how the story goes. I already told you. The making out was supposed to be a joke, but it was still kind of sexy. We drunkenly sleep together, and life goes on.
Now back to the present. I'm going to be sharing accommodations with this guy for the next five days. I know nothing's going to happen. I have a boyfriend. He has a girlfriend. But I will be very surprised if that night doesn't somehow come up in conversation.
We sit on the couch, enjoying a bottle of local beer-Propeller IPA. It's tasty. He flicks the remote for the T.V, and lands on the Discovery Channel. "Mayday" is on. It's a documentary show about plane crashes. It's also the same show he watched the night we... you know... "hooked up." I know what you're thinking. What kind of a girl seduces a guy with plane crash documentaries? I have a vagina. I can get away with anything.
He leaves the T.V. on this channel, acknowledging that I like this show. He might as well say, "Hey, remember the night we slept together? Haha!" It's a repeat. For all I know, it's the same episode we bing banged to. I'm getting hungry. It's my first time in Halifax. I also want to see the city. He agrees we should go out. We invite the other comic to come with us, but he declines.
The first bar we hit is the Economy Shoe Shop. What a great name for a bar you want women to frequent. We enjoy a quality dinner of beer and nachos, me eating all the jalapenos he's picked off his chips. After "dinner" we decide to move to another bar. The Carleton. A guy who looks like Smith from Sex and the City, approaches us at the door.
"Are you guys here for the show?"
"What show?" We respond. The Smith guy explains there's a band from the UK here, and there's a $35 dollar cover. For some reason, he lets us in, free of charge. Must be our brother and sister look.
The band is good. So is the wine. There's an older man beside me. He keeps looking at us, smiling. Finally, he breaks the ice.
"They're a lot like the Moody Blues, eh? But you're probably too young to know who the Moody Blues are!" I smile, enjoying the fact I look young tonight. He pipes up again(I'm pretty sure he's on his fourth glass of wine.)
"Is that your husband?" Oh, God. Here it comes. "If he's not, you're headed in that direction, aren't you? I can tell these things. I'm very intuitive." I try not to burst out laughing. This guys intuitions need a tune up. I can't tell whether we're going to play the "yes and" improv game again. It's been a few years. The drunk man gets closer, wedging himself right in the middle of us. We try to convince him that we're just buddies, but he doesn't believe us. "Oh I know how that goes, you start off friends then blah, blah, blah..." Okay, he didn't really say "blah blah blah," but I got distracted by the fact he's wearing his university ring on his wedding finger. Decoy? Or is he in love with his university? Finally I try to shut him up.
"Listen! Here's the deal. We slept together two years ago, but we're just friends. We've known each other forever. We're just two stand up comics working here for the weekend." See, I knew we couldn't work together for a whole weekend without bringing up the one night stand. I hope we don't end up mentioning it on stage.
"Oh! I knew there was something different about you guys! Stand up comics, eh?!" Oh God. I forgot. Never tell drunk people you're a stand up comic. They eat that shit up. We let him babble on for a bit, but then politely escape-or try to escape. He follows us to the door, then makes us re-enact an Inspector Clousseau joke. Luckily, I don't get a big part. But Bing Bang(no names, sorry) did. I don't know if you've ever been forced to re-enact an Inspector Clousseau joke in the front door of a bar before, but it's quite awkward. I can't decide whether to laugh, or run.
Crap, I have to go. I have a show in two hours and I'm still in my gym clothes. I should probably shower too. I know I didn't actually work out, but I need to shower the smell of beer off me.
LOL,
Comedy Girl.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Night 2
Okay, so at least this time I know I have to write directly on the blog site- no writing on Microsoft Works Processor(don't ask what year my computer is from) then deciding whether or not to cut and paste it onto the web. This is it. I'm writing my thoughts on "blogger.com," then hitting "publish." Scary, isn't it?
Tonight is my last night in St. John's, before I go to Halifax. I know I said I'd give you highlights from my Friday and Saturday night shows, but since I know I only have three followers, I will just write whatever I want(a bonus of being unpopular- no expectations to fill.) Last night I decided to go out, and cheat on vegetarianism. I am on the Atlantic, after all. I even showered and dressed up for the salmon, not that anyone noticed. I went to a nice restaurant on Water Street, called "Merlo's Press & Bean." I may have chosen the place based on the name, as I was craving red wine. I actually walked by this place the other day, but I thought it was a coffee shop. (Seriously? "Press & Bean?" Wouldn't you think they were selling coffee?) I walk in, and grab a seat at the bar. I'm the ONLY one at the bar. It's fine. It's a Monday. I brought a book. The menu is amazing. I want everything on it(easy for a vegetarian to say- we have restrictions, and want everything we can't have.) The bartender walks over. "What are you reading?"
"The menu," I respond.
"No, Maam. I was talking about the book beside you."
Oh shit. Don't be cheeky unless you're absolutely sure you're the smart one in the conversation.
"Oh, it's called, 'I Heart New York.' I love chic-lit," I say. He responds.
"I used to live in Manhatten- I just moved here three weeks ago."
WTF? Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking? Who moves from NYC to Newfoundland? As great as Nfld is, New York is my dream. I constantly fantasize about being a stand up comic in New York. Newfoundland... well, it's just a base I've been posted at.
"Wow... why?" I ask.
He takes my half litre of wine, and tops up my glass.
"I lived there for 18 years. I'm an actor. I've worked on Broadway, worked as a model for Ford... But the past couple years I've been working as a personal assistant to a woman who runs a gallery... She was a crackhead...not pleasant." Up until that sentence, I was picturing Charlotte York. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I decided to come home... re-evaluate things... find myself again..."
Craziness. I always think I need to go to New York to find my "self." I guess others need Canada to do the same. Though, 18 years in Manhattan might do a number on someone. I was already noting that his service as a bartender was impeccable.
"And I didn't tell a sole," he says. "I just left."
This shocks me even more. I'm on Facebook, Twitter, Foursquare, MySpace(though I rarely check that account anymore.) How does anyone just vanish these days? It seems nearly impossible, unless the unthinkable happens. I've made a lot of big moves in my life, but none as bold as this man's. He's genuine, so deserving. How did he end up back here? I get my "pipe dream" on. I should write a script, and cast him as the lead! (I may be 30, but I still dream like a kid. ) Then, he could be back in New York, and he woudn't have to work for that Amy Winehouse Art Gallery lady anymore! (To be fair, I love Amy Winehouse, but I think we all understand she has some serious vices.) I would love to help this man succeed in big ways, but sadly, I'm no screenwriter. I don't even have connections past getting him another restaurant job. Who knows if I'll even be back here in St. John's again? Hopefully, yes. The coconut shrimp is delicious. That's the tricky part about travelling. You meet a lot of people, and it's not clear whether you'll see them again.
The restaurant is closing early. It is Monday night, after all. Ten o'clock is super early for a Toronto girl like myself, especially one who still works in a bar. He reassures me there's no rush to leave. I think he knows I'm intrigued with his story. He's how I picture the waiter in the book, "Waiter Rant," by Steve Dublanica. When I mention this to him, the other girl working lights up. She loves that book.
I get my bill. I tip like an American, as I always do. Before I leave, he mentions how he's a big believer that everything happens for a reason. This is ironic to me. I would do anything to live in New York. He's been there, and given it all up. I'm jealous, yet I know he's done it all for the right reasons.
It's funny. I think most stand up comics would be out tonight, re-watching sets they taped on the weekend, trying to punch up their acts. I don't know what I accompish on my nights off. Sometimes I go out in hopes of finding my next great joke. And sometimes, I go out and just meet great people. Nothing wrong with that. And just so you know, you're not the ones I chose to make fun of.
xoxo
Gossip Girl.
Or should I say,
LOL,
Comedy Girl.
Tonight is my last night in St. John's, before I go to Halifax. I know I said I'd give you highlights from my Friday and Saturday night shows, but since I know I only have three followers, I will just write whatever I want(a bonus of being unpopular- no expectations to fill.) Last night I decided to go out, and cheat on vegetarianism. I am on the Atlantic, after all. I even showered and dressed up for the salmon, not that anyone noticed. I went to a nice restaurant on Water Street, called "Merlo's Press & Bean." I may have chosen the place based on the name, as I was craving red wine. I actually walked by this place the other day, but I thought it was a coffee shop. (Seriously? "Press & Bean?" Wouldn't you think they were selling coffee?) I walk in, and grab a seat at the bar. I'm the ONLY one at the bar. It's fine. It's a Monday. I brought a book. The menu is amazing. I want everything on it(easy for a vegetarian to say- we have restrictions, and want everything we can't have.) The bartender walks over. "What are you reading?"
"The menu," I respond.
"No, Maam. I was talking about the book beside you."
Oh shit. Don't be cheeky unless you're absolutely sure you're the smart one in the conversation.
"Oh, it's called, 'I Heart New York.' I love chic-lit," I say. He responds.
"I used to live in Manhatten- I just moved here three weeks ago."
WTF? Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking? Who moves from NYC to Newfoundland? As great as Nfld is, New York is my dream. I constantly fantasize about being a stand up comic in New York. Newfoundland... well, it's just a base I've been posted at.
"Wow... why?" I ask.
He takes my half litre of wine, and tops up my glass.
"I lived there for 18 years. I'm an actor. I've worked on Broadway, worked as a model for Ford... But the past couple years I've been working as a personal assistant to a woman who runs a gallery... She was a crackhead...not pleasant." Up until that sentence, I was picturing Charlotte York. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I decided to come home... re-evaluate things... find myself again..."
Craziness. I always think I need to go to New York to find my "self." I guess others need Canada to do the same. Though, 18 years in Manhattan might do a number on someone. I was already noting that his service as a bartender was impeccable.
"And I didn't tell a sole," he says. "I just left."
This shocks me even more. I'm on Facebook, Twitter, Foursquare, MySpace(though I rarely check that account anymore.) How does anyone just vanish these days? It seems nearly impossible, unless the unthinkable happens. I've made a lot of big moves in my life, but none as bold as this man's. He's genuine, so deserving. How did he end up back here? I get my "pipe dream" on. I should write a script, and cast him as the lead! (I may be 30, but I still dream like a kid. ) Then, he could be back in New York, and he woudn't have to work for that Amy Winehouse Art Gallery lady anymore! (To be fair, I love Amy Winehouse, but I think we all understand she has some serious vices.) I would love to help this man succeed in big ways, but sadly, I'm no screenwriter. I don't even have connections past getting him another restaurant job. Who knows if I'll even be back here in St. John's again? Hopefully, yes. The coconut shrimp is delicious. That's the tricky part about travelling. You meet a lot of people, and it's not clear whether you'll see them again.
The restaurant is closing early. It is Monday night, after all. Ten o'clock is super early for a Toronto girl like myself, especially one who still works in a bar. He reassures me there's no rush to leave. I think he knows I'm intrigued with his story. He's how I picture the waiter in the book, "Waiter Rant," by Steve Dublanica. When I mention this to him, the other girl working lights up. She loves that book.
I get my bill. I tip like an American, as I always do. Before I leave, he mentions how he's a big believer that everything happens for a reason. This is ironic to me. I would do anything to live in New York. He's been there, and given it all up. I'm jealous, yet I know he's done it all for the right reasons.
It's funny. I think most stand up comics would be out tonight, re-watching sets they taped on the weekend, trying to punch up their acts. I don't know what I accompish on my nights off. Sometimes I go out in hopes of finding my next great joke. And sometimes, I go out and just meet great people. Nothing wrong with that. And just so you know, you're not the ones I chose to make fun of.
xoxo
Gossip Girl.
Or should I say,
LOL,
Comedy Girl.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)