Guys, I really like the Twin Cities area. It is clean and has public transportation and the people are nice and the bars aren’t too crowded and there is lots of comedy. I didn’t do too much touristy stuff, but I did hang out at a couple of townie locales to honor the music of the Hold Steady. I also took a picture of the “Grainbelt Bridge” (not really called that) which is mentioned in the song “Party Pit.” See? Also, I met a new friend with a Hold Steady tattoo! Everything’s the best.
I had lunch with friend and super great comic Juston McKinney yesterday at a place called Ike’s where they give you a free huge pecan roll to split as an appetizer. Also the burgers are amazing. It was a good choice. I also got to hang out with terrific comedians such as Tommy Ryman, Mike Brody, Maggie Farris, the aforementioned Tim Harmston and Mary Mack, Seaton Smith, Isaac Witty, great hosts Nate Abshire and Wendy Maybury. Sorry to anyone I missed!
I switched venues on Friday because the booker needed a clean opener for a very funny and accomplished (and clean) headliner for shows containing church groups across town. Friday was great, and everyone was very happy. The venue was beautiful and has large portraits of real people who were also characters from the Bob Dylan song “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts.” So that was classy and exciting!
Saturday night on the late show went a little off the rails! There was a bachelorette party, which is kind of like comedy death. They always want the show to be about them and their penis-related accoutrements. They are loud and talk back and make themselves the center of attention by any means necessary. It’s a weird tightrope walk, too, because if you don’t acknowledge them, they get huffy and leave unhappy, but if you do talk to them, it opens up a pandora’s box of horrors untold. Last night was such a box.
My set went a little rocky. It was not helped by bachelorettes texting and one who actually laughed “HAAA HA,” like Nelson from the Simpsons. I have literally never kept a more vigilant eye on the clock during a 25 minute set. I tried to keep it pretty clean to respect the club and the headliner, but I got a little edgier than I wanted to try and bring them over to my side. I really had to hit them with both barrels (figuratively, unfortunately. I would have liked to have just put them in barrels.) to get anywhere.
Then the headliner went up. He is super super funny and gracious and nice and squeaky clean. And the bachelorettes were not having it. Well, they were, until one lady decide to get up and bring an 18″ (from head to feet) blowup doll of a man onto the stage and ask him to deal with that. Which sort of cast a weird pall over the show. A pall that was not alleviated when a guy in the first row pulled out a little wooden carrying case of weed and offered it to the comic onstage. Things got a little weird. So weird in fact, that the headliner (whose name I will not divulge out of respect) who never curses onstage actually said: “F— you! I hope your marriage fails! F— you forever!” The last part was especially awesome to me, because I like innovative cursing, and I’d never heard that before. So, anyway. Moral of the story is, if you’re a lady getting married, good luck. But please, just go see Chippendales or have a tupperware party or go dancing or whatever girls like. Otherwise, I hope your marriage fails. And f— you forever.
Love is a battlefield,