Show #10: Cap City Comedy Club

On October 6th, which was technically the last day of the All You Can Jet special on Jet Blue, I pulled my first hosting gig at Capitol City Comedy Club in Austin, Texas.

Venue: See for yourself.  http:\\www.capcitycomedy.com

Host: Me.

Headliner and feature act, in order: Daniel Kinno and Kerri Lendo.  Daniel’s been on Bob and Tom, Carson Daly,  and the Just For Laughs festival.  Kerri’s an Austin comic who’s toured with Maria Bamford and was a finalist in our  Funniest Person in Austin contest.

The show was kind of small and was in the lounge, as opposed to the big showroom.  But it went great.

Today, as I was running Daniel around on some errands he asked, if I’ve been doing this for five years, why is this the first time I’ve hosted at Cap City?  The answer is that I wasn’t ready…and everybody knew it but me.  Could I have done it long before now and put on a decent show?  Yes.  And if I had pressed the club management I’m sure it could have happened a couple of years ago at least.  But I didn’t press.  Because I believed that waiting and patience were the way to get what you want.  Turns out they’re not.

You have to take what you want.  You have to stop defining your life in terms of working your way from the straw house, to the wood house, to the brick house.  You have to change the story, be the wolf, kick the fucking door down and feast on suckling pig.

I’m ready.  It was a good show.  The second night KP Anderson, the head writer for The Soup, did a guest spot.  Afterwards he told me I had funny stuff and to keep at it.

It happened when the time was right…but the time was right because I finally decided that it was mine to take.

San Francisco – More

I’m home safe in Austin as I write this.  My travel ended yesterday even though AYCJ is technically over at midnight tonight….which means I can totally count my Cap City gig as show #10.

Anyway.

San Francisco is beautiful and amazing and cold and hot but apparently all the damn time.  I would lose track of time there without the burning days of Texas summers reminding me how much I’m going to be griping about the cold when it comes for a few weeks in February.

I did some of the tourist crap.  On the morning of my first post, I just walked walked to the West Portal neighborhood and took the L train to the Embarcadero station.  From there I walked to the TransAmerica (no alt-gender jokes, please, they’ve heard them all) pyramid and then up and down Columbus street.

I found my self in the middle of a funeral in Chinatown.

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Which crossed paths with the Susan G. Komen 3-Day walk that had started in San Jose the day before.  Having walked in honor of my dearly departed mother-in-law, I felt some kinship and cheered them on when I crossed them.

Lunch was at The Stinking Rose.  40-clove Chicken. Can I be honest?  This did not meet my expectations.  It was yummy but the carbonized rosemary on the outside sort of killed the complexity with the taste of burnt wood.  For years I’ve wanted to eat at this restaurant and when confronted with reality; my preconceptions had to take a back seat.

Bought souvenirs, stumbled around looking for The Purple Onion.  Sometimes when you build something up in your mind, your expectations can cause you to miss what’s right in front of you.  So I walked by it at least twice without realizing it.

Somewhere in there I lost the jacket that was on loan from my friend in Milwaukee.  There was a Men’s shop that marked the exact border between the Italian section and Chinatown.  Every place to the right of it was a restaurant and every place to the right….well, I don’t actually know, since shop signs were in Chinese.

And true to form, the contents were all Italian suits…made in China.  I found a jean jacket that would be a decent substitute.  In the end I never had to put it on, so I’ll send it to Rob as a substitute until I can replace the better coat I lost.

Kind of a metaphor for the whole day.  The image I brought with me I had to leave behind, but what I came home with was just as good.

Backtracking a little….Laugh Factory

So, I want to talk about the show at the Laugh Factory for just a second. Here’s the order:

Host: Allan Stephan, comedy “legend” and producer extraordinaire.  Material: Played “what’s your job” bingo with the audience until he found something he could work with, which I guess technically crowd work.  Told two jokes that I remember, and I remember them because I’ve heard them before on TV and I’ve never seen him in my life.  ”can’t look tough drinking out of a straw” and “When I was in school all I had was a pencil and the kid next to me and I think if he would have applied himself, I could have been somebody”.  Gave the impression that hosting was not what he would prefer to be doing at that particular moment.

1st feature: Erik Griffin.  Pretty funny actually.  If I make fun of the differences between the way white people and black people have sex, it’s racial material.  If I make Barrack and Michelle Obama the Black couple in question, then it’s political.  I’m so topical.

2nd feature: Buddy Lewis.  I did not laugh one single time during his set but I am admittedly a tough crowd.   Material:  My wife’s trying to make me fat, I’m old now, and the doctor stuck her finger up my butt this year.

Headliner: Ian Bagg.  I stomped, wheezed, spit my drink, and guffawed  during his set.  More than half was crowd work and it was clear that he had a deep well of material he could jump on if the laughs started to peter out at any point.

Half way through the show I was thinking to myself, “seriously?  These guys are all working on TV?  What the fuck am I waiting for?”  When Ian took the stage I remembered.  I’m waiting until I can to *that* to a crowd.

San Francisco morning.

I woke up this morning, the third time, with a 75lb pit-mix named Jimmy breathing on my toes.  I was grateful; his breath was far warmer than my feet.  He was snuggled up to my legs under the covers.  For a long time I lay there and missed Maddy.  I missed her until I decided it was time to get off my ass and get moving…..

The first time I woke up was to say goodbye to Turbo.

Turbo rides bikes.  Today is the beginning of a pretty big ride.  It’s called Ride To Recovery; an event dedicated to raising funds for and awareness about taking care of the folks  who’ve been hurt, physically and mentally, in the service of our country.  I may not agree with the reasons why we put our folks in harm’s way but they still went.  Their duty was executed.  Ours is to see that they’re looked after now that they’re home.   Read about it.  If you feel like I do, click this link. Fill in the name of Dan Horndasch.  He’s going to be on the road for the next five days.  It would be a nice surprise if he got online in LA on Friday to discover that his efforts were a little more appreciated than when he started.

Long Beach on foot

I…uh…am kind of dealing with some unexpected news.  So instead of blabbing…here’s a look at my afternoon walking around Long Beach.

Portland, the rest.

I’m not terribly good at taking pictures. Neither is the camera built into my cell phone.  As a result, I haven’t posted many photos.  Some of you may, in fact, be wondering whether any of this adventure is real or if I’m just sitting around at home, occasionally photoshopping myself into exotic locales.

Fair enough.

I offer into evidence this photo of me and my friend ileana.  It is bona fide in that a) she lives in Portland, and b) if I were going to photoshop myself into a picture with her, I’d shave and glamour-shot out the double chin.

This is us, atop Mt. Tabor in the middle of Portland.

And here’s what Portland looks like from there:

It sure is pretty.

So, we climbed a mountain, my right knee screaming the whole way up and worse on the way down.  What was that Einstein said about hot stoves and pretty girls?

We ate…..ugh….healthy…food….at a place called the Whole Bowl and it was actually pretty damn good.  It was a taco salad with brown rice at the bottom instead of mystery meat and I was full for hours afterwards.

Then on to a play reading at the Milagro theater where her boy and a few friends of hers were workshopping a piece called “Tio Pepe”.  To my South Texas ear, it was a little jarring to hear them pronounce the Spanish correctly instead of talking like Puerto Ricans, but the play is actually really well written and I could easily expect to see it finding its way onto the regional theater circuit…unless Jenny From The Block or somebody options it into a film.

Meh.

We went to a bar called the side door, where the tables were all doors…on their sides….and I drank too much Jameson.  Illy carted my drunk ass to her place where she had made me a bed in the basement.  Deepest sleep I’ve gotten the whole trip.  But I woke up to this:

which was a little disconcerting.  So we got coffee elsewhere and Illy dropped me off at the airport.

PDX is a great airport.  There’s food and souvenir shopping outside of security, there’s locally-owned fare available. There’s a 6′ blonde in the security line that I debated on pissing off on the off-chance of a pat-down….

Eh.  On to Long Beach.