The Road Less Traveled May Be Full Of Holes

Last night I worked a road gig in the SoCal area, driving 144miles round trip. The money was bad, the room was great, my set was a bit sloppy, but I did 30minutes (IN A ROW), and worked out a couple of new bits I'd been meaning to lay upon the friendly confines of comedy shows. This is the equivalent of running 7 miles every morning a few weeks out from a big fight. You gotta stay sharp when your boss calls you in and wants to account for the sticky-notes you seem to be Criss Angel'ing into your hatchback. Funky roadgig. Always a good time. This is unlike most shows, wherein the gig is not only in a bar or restaurant, but the booker of the show tags along. And usually needs a ride.

The booker is in his early 50's, from the sound of it, and not robustly into that decade. Decisions, Life, and Women ain't been kind. Nor have the cigarettes that go down in 4 drags. The booker tags along for a few reasons:
1) It's his show, and he wants to make sure it goes smoothly so he doesn't lose the room, nor the income.
2) At the show, he gets to drink and eat for free.
3) There are some control issues at play that start with...
*Where to pick him up, and end with
*Never giving too much credit to a good comic for a good set (keeps 'em working hard!).

I don't fear him reading this post, because he neither has a car nor any solid grips on his current living quarters. Nearly got evicted again, was his story last night.

I wish no ill upon anybody, truly. That always works in reverse. These are just facts of the story. Facts that, perhaps, need not be shared, but facts none-the-less.

Okay, so we drive the 70 miles TO the show. I was moved from the Opening spot of 20minutes to the Middle/Feature spot of 30minutes. Great! It's been a while since I ran 30, and had a lot of newer material to hone, needing some live fire to do it with. First guy goes up, does a good job, riffing with the audience and what-not. The crowd liked him a lot.

Then I go up, and get going, and let's just skip around:
1) I do some opinionated stuff that is backed up by crazy accusations and falsified facts to bolster my case. But the crowd gets it and laughs a LOT at it. For example, The Elderly (62 and older) should be relegated to shop in grocery stores only between the hours of 9:15am and 11:30am, Monday-Thursday. If you've ever run into one of them going the wrong way in a Trader Joe's (yes, there's a shopping perimeter pattern), you know what I'm talking about. This is to protect THEM, too.

2) The tried & true works greatly, including tag lines on the bit about Women's chest tattoos, and a new format of the JagerBomb joke. I totally forgot to do the joke about giving Good People extra rights, but still filled the time. That was encouraging.

3) Hit the closer, THANK YOU I'm Geoff Lott, Be Good To Each Other, good night. DONE. Accolades in numerous forms, even from the other comics and the bar staff. Felt good, but I slipped here and there and wasn't 100% happy with it. I'd give it a solid A- to a B+.

Fast Foward to the drive home. We leave the gig at 11:45. It's an hour back into Hollywood, where I have to drop El Bookerio off before I get to go home. It's late-ish, I'm tired, and he's half-drunk on free beers. And has a steak sandwich in the car, which will make cameo appearances as we get out of Orange County.

Now, the volume level of the average drunk grows exponentionally in a Civic. This is smoker's breath + Michelob Ultra + Hot Steak Sandwich (extra grilled onions) + Self unAwareness-kind of Loud. And I was doing all the work. The whole way home I hear about a few things for my career. These came AFTER... AFTER.... AFTER... he mentioned that he didn't really watch my set because he was busy doing other things. "Other Things" likely means Free Beer Guzzling, and Outdoor Chain Smoking.

The things I need to do to help my career, from a guy who left my car with 4 plastic shopping bags full of food, drinks, or bottles.
1) I need to stay hungry for time and gigs (I took THAT one, on my birthday, on LOST night, didn't I?)
2) I need to, you know, work on, you know, uh... (drunken pause)... the aspect... (pause to bite sandwich)... of delivery (smacking licks of the smoke-odored fingers).
3) The delivery... has to... match the material. (Like what bit in my act has a bad delivery?) Well, (he) didn't watch most of (my) set, but (I) want to hit different words with varied emphasis.

So, he can't pinpoint the advice, because he didn't watch my set.
He talked time and again about how he can't book guys more than 18 hours in advance because it always allows them time to cancel on him (thus putting the blame/guilt on the comic).
He gave me driving tips, yet has no car.
He ate loudly and stunk up my car.
I dropped him off in a non-descript section of Hollywood, far from where I picked him up.
I got home at 1:35am, with better material and a ringing in my right ear, a better comic for having taken the gig and worked the time on stage with the Intent of bettering my skillz.

There are no quarterly reviews in comedy. What you do is judged NOW. Funny or Not, you know immediately. Life is much like that, if you stop and see how it can go from moment to moment. Otherwise, you end up giving life and career and driving advice from one side of your mouth, while complaining about evictions, carlessness, and free steak sandwiches out the other.

Choose Funny. Stay on the High Ground.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Lotts Angeles - Getting There Is 90% Of the Battle

When I figured out that YES, if I really wanted to make anything out of my wiring for comedy and entertainment, I needed to get to Los Angeles, I talked seriously with my wife about it. It's often weird to think that people make a lot of money while making other people laugh. But at the same time, a lot of money is made by people who make other people cry, or make their food, or make their favorite pets into eternal doorstops. I'm wired for comedy. Thank God. My taxidermy did NOT turn out well. Then again, if you bring me pieces of a cat, I'm not giving you back a whole Seal Point. And NO, you cannot have a refund. YES, I'm talking to you.
Lesson 1: What is for you, will find you.
Be it Love, Luck, Money, Mansions, Heartache, Honky Tonk, or a mis-guided drunken dope-addict on a Harley-Davidson... if it's yours, you'll get it.

So my wife did the right thing with all this LA mess:
SHE CALLED MY BLUFF. Next thing we know, we're renting out our condo and packing boxes and looking at the opportunities that await us in LA, and laughing. Because that's what you do when you've lost your friggin' mind.

Lesson 2: What you don't know, you don't know; embrace that void.
I knew that what was waiting for me was better than what I'd been doing. But I don't know how it's all going to fall into place, though I know that it WILL. Dear Killorn, she said it best when she said "Dude, you can't keep doing that in an elevator full of people. Not funny." She also said, "You two, no, I don't worry about you. I know you'll land on your feet."

I didn't know I was that guy. I haven't ever taken stock of myself as that kind of guy who lands on his feet. But you know what? I'm not ready to expound on the emotional and personal growth I've experienced. I'm still too much in love with the Life and Wife I have been blessed with.

We are in so far over our heads with love of good people, we may never surface.
And if you wish me ill, that's okay, too. I've already forgotten your face.

Let me give you the story of the TRIP. Because it's worth it.

We made it to LA in 3 days. Got in on Thursday night, crashed at the Best Western in Sherman Oaks, the only one around with Room Service supplied by the Denny's in the parking lot. Let's backtrack...

Leg 1, lots of Leg.
The best part of the first leg was seeing my one-legged (temporarily) best friend Russ, his fab wife Katie, and their kids in Vancouver, WA for a bit. The kids got tired, the boogers ran dry, and they succumbed to nap time. Us? We had Grant's Pass to get to.

We drove down I-5 to Grant's Pass on Tuesday, stayed at the Motel Del Rogue. There's little else to mention. I'm convinced that Oregon exists only because, without it, Washington would have been too large. But the Motel Del Rogue, yes. Go there, when you're in the area, and get room #8. It overlooks the slowly-moving Rogue River, and the people are nice as all get-out. Also, mangy cats abound, fertile, all of them I'm sure. Bring your leg snares. The night was highlighted by splitting mini-bottles of Cabernet, eating Cheez-Its, and trying to get the sound of the road out of our heads.

Day 2 found us stopping for the equivalent of a slow roll in Redding, CA, where you don't live... you just "end up" there. It was 95 with no breeze nor outlook. High-tailed it to San Fran from there.
Prior to arriving, we made a swing-over to Santa Rosa to a place called Zazu, which is where Alicia and I had dinner the night we got engaged. It's a roadside 15-table res-toe-rawnt that'll kiss your knees weak with grub if you take a moment and let it happen to you. Go. The exec chef, Duskie Estes, learned under Tom Douglas, and we talked Seattle and fusion cuisine a moment when I went to check on the cat in the car. Great place. Get the Carmody Grilled Cheese and Spicy Tomato Soup for an appetizer. You will be sorry, and not my friend, if you don't. We made it to Redwood City that night, late, and crashed hard. I cannot thank Sally enough for again letting my weary bones drop in her guest room. The world needs more people like her!

Day 3 was The Big Drive, from Redwood City to LA or BUST. We swung over 92 to Half Moon Bay for a very overrated breakfast. It's a town with secrets. It's a place where you live a nice little quiet life after getting teenage pregnant by an aggressive jock, and end up a cop's wife... or switch those roles. Weird little town. Too, too quiet. Nice people though. Weak breakfast.

Took the 1 down the coast, adding 90min to the overall trip, but saving stress and desolation found on the 101 or the 5. Carmel-by-the-Sea was great. We stopped to check it out, and were stared at like MENSA members at the VMAs. Shorts? On a WEEKDAY? I could hear their whispas.
Deals on handbags were found. I got a coffee. Gorgeous, pricey little shopping berg. Back on the ro-ad.

At one point, having seen all the outcroppings and water we could bear, and needing to fill on gas with no stations noted on the GPS for another 40mi, we took a left onto Nacimiento-Fergusson Road. Remember it. Google it. Find videos of it. Because it will haunt you. I just found out it's where this year's Red Bull Motorcycle rally is held. 17 miles of straight-up switchbacks, then downward switchbacks, blind corners, and talking animals/hallucinations. This is a satellite image of the road. It's not as kind as it looks.

The great part is that your butt cheeks? MASSIVE WORK-OUT.
The drive is terrifying, and yet life-affirming. Honking around blind corners, chewing gum being worked to keep from screaming. Topped off by getting crapped out into the ass-end of... YOU GUESSED IT... a military base! Live maneuvers were postponed while the 1997 Civic went all-4-cylinders wide-open across the range. We saw NOTHING. Truly. And officially. This tank is in the middle of nothing on the base.
OH RIGHT, getting gas...

Here's where it got weird. About 8 miles on, we find a "town" that has one gas pump, one grade of gas, and two buildings. One's the mini-mart/gas-station. The other one is for sale. It's hot, still, and nearly silent. We got 2 gallons of gas and peeled out. Lola showed her discontent by sleeping.

From there we decided it would be better to see Santa Barbara on our own terms, so we coasted in for a bite. It put us out of our intended destination another hour or so, but after that much time in the car, what's another hour or three? Sometimes, the best thing before driving all that way is a cold beer. It was lovely, confusing, and heavily Hispanic before you get to the water. Just saying, it was. And is. So don't act surprised with your windows down.

So, there you go. We made it. Flying would have robbed us of all those moments, nay, HOURS of wondering what the hell we were doing.
We are LIVING. That's what. And we're here. Step 1, complete.
Safe. Sound. And the cat has had NO accidents.
It's no accident, that in-shoe-pooping.

I'll tell you more about our new home from where we can see the HOLLYWOOD sign in the next blog.
I miss my family. I miss my friends. But I wouldn't trade this for the world.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad