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.

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.

watch?v=TOAtoyoJVCs

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.

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.

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.

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.

I broke fast at Suki’s (as mentioned in an earlier post – cute bartender, cute cook, quiet corner with an outlet…I am so blessed) and spent an hour or two collecting thoughts and writing.  Then two comics from the night before came in.  I can’t remember their names; for that I’m sorry.  They were planning a little writing kibbutz and invited me to join.  We sat for about 10 minutes and I listened more than spoke.  The nice lady comic threw out a couple of premises and sort of waited for us to write material for her.  The somewhat shy male comic had a bit started but needed some punch lines.  I threw something out; it wasn’t good but I felt like I was at least participating.

Then he told a joke with a familiar punch line.  ”It wasn’t a white baby, I’m not a monster.”  The baby part wasn’t familiar; the monster part was; I’m pretty sure it’s a Norm Wilkerson punchline.  He answered my unasked question by saying “Brick gave me that…”

Me: “Brick Andrews?”

Him: “yeah….”

Her (without being asked, but seeing the look on my face): “Oh, I know the whole story…”

Me: “Really?  What story?”

Her: “Well, you know…” I stared. “That whole misunderstanding…” I stared, still. “Where those three women accused him of … you know… sexual assault.”  I said I didn’t know that story and asked her to tell me.  She regaled me with a tale so sweet and believable….see…Brick can’t really be responsible for everything those girls are saying.  Brick even admits that, in at least once instance, he doesn’t know what happened; he was a blackout drunk.  He’s genuinely sorry for everything and he’s working to make amends and he’s a good person and he’s been good to her and to everyone around them.

I.

Could.

Not.

Speak.

I caught my breath, wished them well and left.  The story of repentance carries with it an inherent refutation to any question I might ask; that being that I just don’t know the new Brick and if I could just give him a chance….

But I don’t have to give him a chance.  He didn’t do anything to me except pretend to be human in my presence.  I haven’t asked any of the other parties involved if he’s actually contacted them, apologized, offered to come back to Texas and stand trial…I don’t need to.  I would not have met him in Portland if he was truly repentant.

The Suki’s open mic would be familiar to old-school Velv comics. The host (Dax Jordan) makes the list on the fly accounting for venerability, uniqueness, arrival time….you know…pulls it out of his ass.  He also interjects with readings from a gay cowboy novel using his forefinger as a substitute mustache to great effect.

I tried to look Brick in the face….see some sincerity…find some compassion in my heart…but it’s just not there.

By the time I went up, my body thought it was after 2am.  I went for broke and abandoned the structure I’ve been working on and just started shooting jokes from the hip.  Results were exactly as expected; I choked a punch line or two, flubbed the timing on two of my guaranteed-go-to jokes, went over by at least a minute, and briefly abused a drunk comic who talked during my set.

But I also got some laughs.  So not a total loss by any means.

Venue: Suki’s Bar and Grill

Host: Dax Jordan

Time: 5 minutes

List: first come first served at host’s discretion.

Results: about as bad as a good set at the Velv.

Fuck it.

I had a great set, I got to hang out with Mario DiGiorgio for a bit, I think I made a decent impression on the club management…but to do it, I had to look Brick Andrews in the face.

If you want the Brick story, find my email address or post a comment.

OK…fuckin’…jesus.

Back to the task at hand.

I had a great set.  The club is awesome.  The Portland comedy scene rivals the Austin one perhaps more-so even than the Boston group, taking my limited exposure into context.

Stand out performances for me came from the host, Nathan Brannon, Jesse McCoy, Todd Armstrong, Jesse Case, and the “headliner” Ian Karmel.

The rest of the comics I frankly didn’t see because I was too busy wanting to puke and/or giving the Helium bartender the lowdown on why she should never never let Brick buy a drink for a girl.

I told jokes here last night.

Today I’m staring at a plate with one remaining tater tot; its other contents already obliterated by an appetite that’s still on Central time.

Err…no more tater tots.

The very cute bartender has just made her third unnecessary visit to my table….in a city reputed for lazzez-faire service.

Portland started for me Monday night.  My scheduling mistake a week ago put my planned lodging off kilter. A woman I haven’t seen in more than 20 years and with whom I had only reconnected on facebook stepped in to rescue me.  Kira and I shared an acting class before Shia LaBoof was out of diapers.  She tried to live The Life in NYC for a while; moved into a grown-up-sleepaway-camp in the Pacific Northwest and settled in Portland when the right man came along.  She picked me up at PDX and shared her home with me.  I met her handsome husband that night and her two beautiful kids the next morning.  They provided me with, in order: the best corned-beef and cabbage I’ve had ever, a comfy bed, a hot shower, and a yet again more perspective on my own life through having shared their own.

I had the privilege of spending the morning with Kira, Gia, and Miles and then got dropped off at Power’s bookstore.  Austinites will understand if I describe it as a Half Price Books the size of two Book Peoples, crossed with Hogwarts.  The rest of you can use your imaginations; it’s a used book store.

I farted around in there until I heard from my other friend in Portland, an actress with whom I’d been cast in Midsummer Night’s Dream.  We caught up over Ethiopian food and then she dropped me off for what was to be the first of two open mics last night.

I lied last night.  I don’t think I was very convincing; but I was being lied to at the time and my only real responsibility was to accept his lie at face-value.  And for each of us the choice was the same. Lie…or go to jail.