Thirty Days in the Air

The flight in was glassy smooth until we passed down through the cloud cover hanging over the city.  I recently started investigating flying lessons; even took an introductory flight.  Every one of these Jet Blue trips is a thought experiment in whether or not I’m going to pursue it.  This flight was one check after another in the “for” column until we hit the cloud bank; then it was 4 and a half minutes of “meh, probably not.”

Boston very wisely separated their airport from their city by bodies of moving water, so that they would have an excuse to dig tunnels under the whole city. I mean….if you’re bound and determined to find a reason to hate where you are *and* a means to escape it, you can’t do much better than hiding your airport on an island.

I bought a 1 day “Charlie Card” public transportation pass and hopped the Silver Line into the city. Walked from South Station to the Commons just to get a lay of the land.

Statue commemorating the Boston Massacre

Few people realize the Boston Massacre actually started when British soldiers started razzing the locals about “pahhkin’ the cahh in Hahhvahhd Yahhd”.

I settled into a Dunkin Donuts to write for a while…long enough to discover they didn’t have a restroom.  Neither did the Starbucks across the street.  I felt some glimmer of understanding about why everyone seemed to be irritated and impatient.  In Manhattan I’d gotten shoved around in an intersection by a BMW and at least that lady was indifferent.

I decided to start counting the Ronnie James Dio look-alikes perpetrating a puffy-chested rooster-walk when I realized I still had to pee.

I hopped on the Green Line, D-train and took it down to Chestnut Hill, because Roggie’s is on Chestnut Hill.  Except the Chestnut Hill stop isn’t on Chestnut Hill.  I rode the train a couple more times until I figured out which stop got me closest.  Guess what. No bathrooms at the train stops.

You can read about the Roggie’s open mic in a previous post.  It was a positive experience and well worth the effort.  Also, nice bathroom…sorry about the over-spray.

Cabbed it to The Middle East club, which is also the subject of another post, and then figured I’d catch the Red Line down to its other end where the conglomeration of maps I was consulting estimated I would find a Ramada…see, the plan was to hit town, tell some jokes and then grab a cheap hotel room on a public transit line that would make a short trip back to the airport…except the trains stop running at 12.  Fuck you Boston.  Where the hell are the homeless people supposed to sleep?

So I got a cab, and we tried 2 different hotels before someone (the cabbie) remembered that there was a Microbiology conference in town, and as we were rooting around in the general MIT area, there were probably no hotel rooms.  The next hotel we tried confirmed that, to a point.  The nice guy behind the counter found one room at one hotel and gave me the address. I gave it to the cabbie.  He said, in a thinned out Palestinian accent, “Chad I have driven cab in this city for 18 years; know every corner.  I never saw a hotel at that address and if is one there is not a place I would leave you.”

Ringing endorsement.

“I tell you Chad, I slept three nights in Paris airport one time.  Missed all my flights, it was fucking shit.  I still think you better off sleeping at airport.”

Ok.  Well, Chez Aeroflat it is, then.  Tack on another $60 cab ride (I tipped him pretty well for looking out for me) and picked out a likely bench in a restaurant inside the airport.  And it was no mean feat.  There were a lot of people sleeping in Logan Airport that night.

Dear Boston.  Walk around your bus station and airport at 3am sometime.  If there are more than half a dozen people sleeping there that you didn’t smell first, maybe build another hotel or something.

Could I have harassed various comics until one of them coughed up a couch?  Probably.  Is that how I treat people on a regular basis? No.  No it isn’t.

Some perspective: if you’re prideful about not being a burden to people you’ve just met, you end up sleeping in the airport.  I’m either going to have to get over asking strangers for help or plan better.

Boston comic Josh Gondelman was kind enough to turn me on to a couple of open mics for my brief foray further north.  The first of these was in a basement bar under a pizza joint.  Cute bartender, huge beer selection, and a room full of comics.  Very grateful to host Matt K for getting me a spot, and one early enough to let me do 2 shows in one city.  Kind of sorry I missed the rest of the show; there’s some neat stuff going on here.

The vibe is around here is supportive in the way that tight group of comics can be….which means there were more than a handful of in-jokes, shit-talking eachother from the stage, and the obvious pressure to bring new stuff to your peers.   From the outside I suppose it might look a little caustic but comics know that when you can make a room full of comics laugh, you’ve got something worth working on.

…ok usually you’ve got something worth dumbing down so a regular audience can get it, but still.

Host: Matt Kona

Format: first come first served, 5-7 minutes

Size: more than 20 comics.

Results:  Eh.  I was tired, the room was tiny.  Still knocked out a respectable set, got laughs, got off on a laugh.  Call that a win.

Finally managed to drag my ass back to New York in time to get off the A train and hike two avenue blocks (the long ones) over to Hog Pit NYC at 37B 26th St.

Venue:  BBQ restaurant

Booker/Host/Show runner: Paul Oddo

How I found out about the show: Daniel Kilpatrick

Format: booked showcase, 7-10 minutes, most Monday nights.

Results:  Went up last; crowd had dwindled to loud people insistently playing pool and comics.  Got laughs.  Held attention.  some punchlines fell flat; it was kind of a nodding crowd and there were regional translations that may need work.  Did two of the three accidental-racism bits and didn’t get stabbed by the very large Black guys playing pool.  Bobbled the closer on Carmello’s.  Still got off on a laugh.

Not my favorite set ever but overall still pretty effective.  Got rave reviews from my friends who showed up.  Paul had some nice things to say afterwards for which I’m grateful.

Also had the privilege of running into Trey Galyon and Mike Creed.  Strange to say this, but *now* I finally feel like an Austin comic.

There aren’t words, really, for the emotional recharge that can be had at the hands of four healthy, energetic children with an x-box at their disposal.

Rather than force myself home to Austin to get laundry and bills done, I cut short that leg of my trip and stayed over at the Green mansion in Owings Mills.

This choice yielded the following results:  I got to bake some cookies and eat like a king.  I got to lay around on my ass and play video games like I haven’t done since college. I got to play with smart, vibrant children and watch good parenting in action.  I got to take an RX-8 down some of the test roads used by MotorWeek at speeds quick enough to put a little shake into the car’s owner as he rode in the passenger seat.  Thanks, Joe and Free.  And T, S, C, and E.  I left your home remembering what I loved about the way I grew up.  I’m honored to call you friends.

Of course, I did get up late and have to change my flight back to NYC  *yet* again.  Even this mistake offered a rich harvest.  I was able to schedule lunch with my friend Chris who works on K street.  I used to call him my brother-in-law.  Then my ex-brother-in-law.  After yesterday, I think I can safely just call him my friend.

Each day of this trip grants me a moment that alone would have made the cost worthwhile.

The minute I got to Owings Mills, MD on Thursday night, the name of the town started ringing in my head. Owings Mills, Maryland….a mythical place I heard invoked every Sunday afternoon when I went to worship at the Automotive altar.

See, if you were an average male child in the 80′s who didn’t have cable, there was one reliable source of information to keep you on top of that most important topic: cars.  That resource was MotorWeek.  Before Top Gear was available in the US, before American Chopper/Hotrod/other-dumb-reality-show, before the cable-TV explosion of DIY automotive know-how, there was only MotorWeek and its holy Triumvirate: John Davis, producer and presenter, Pat Goss’s Garage, and Lisa Barrow with automotive news.

I checked out of my hotel, spent a few minutes gathering my thoughts and requisite information:   Maryland Public Television,  11767 Owings Mills Blvd, Owings Mills, MD.

No agenda, no advance call, no list of questions to even pretend to be a responsible journalist…I just went.  Pulled in, had a lovely conversation with the guy at the front desk and then he just waved me back to Studio A.

I had inadvertently wandered into the taping of the 30th Anniversary episode of MotorWeek.  The actual filming was over.  The massive Charm City Cakes rendition of a V-8 short-block was decimated.  Only the standing around and gabbing remained.  I strode in, found the man I wanted to see and shook his hand.

and then I stole a mouthful of cake.

Sadly, I had already evidently missed Pat Goss.  But still.  Fortune does favor the valiant.  Second most amazing five minutes of this whole trip.

Still can’t talk about the actual most amazing five minutes.  Maybe later.

Location: Topaz Hotel Bar, Washington, DC

Booker: Curt Shackleford

Runner: Dawn MacLear

Host….forgive me, I forgot…I’ll figure it out and update.

Format: Not really an open mic.  Booked show with a few really good comics, a few workin-on-it comics and a couple of newbies.  I went up in one of the newbie slots.

Results: see for yourself.

The AYCJ open-mic tour: Washington, DC.