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.
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