How do you not lose weight when you do that?

On Friday night, at the NY Improv, I had an audition for the Just For Laughs Festival in Montreal. It’s for a show called “New Faces,” which is a big industry thing where managers, agents, casting agencies, and network people take a look at newer comics. The whole day was a Fraggle-caliber adventure.
First, I’d like to apologize to the people of San Francisco (who have never heard of me and would have no reason to read this) for canceling at Cobb’s Comedy Club, in order to do the Montreal show. I let you down. Please forgive me. I’ll try to come back some other time when you still haven’t heard of me. I won’t let you down, San Francisco. Not again. Don’t be mad. I won’t hurt you.
Now, onto the adventure…
I got up pretty early for a 9:30 Chinatown bus. It was my first time taking the Chinatown bus. I usually take the Hasidic Jew bus (www.vamoosebus.com), which is very nice, and the driver plays slow jams, which keeps the passengers in a sexy mood. My only complaint about the HJB is that the last time I was returning to DC, at around 8AM, they were showing that Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant movie, “Two Weeks Notice.” It’s bad enough that they were playing it, especially that early. But to add another level of torture, the DVD operator must have been new to technology, because he played the entire movie with commentary by Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. I thought they were boring actors, but they’re even worse at being themselves. Do yourself a favor and burn every copy of this movie that you see. Screw laws. Go to Best Buy and start burning.
Back to the story:
I arrived at the bus stop at 9:15, which gave me enough time to go to McDonald’s to enjoy a McGriddle. I know they’re called McGriddles, not McGriddle , but I think McGriddles sounds stupid. So, I started walking to the McDonald’s, which was about a block and a half away from the bus stop, and I was greeted by a homeless guy. He stopped me and said, “You’re looking for a bus? That bus broke down [pointing to my bus stop]. I work for them.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Where you headed?”
“I’m just going to McDonald’s.” McDonald’s was about 50 feet from where we stood, directly in front of us.
“Oh, let me tell you how to get there. What you want to do is, walk down this sidewalk. You see that white sign? McDonald’s is just past that.”
“Yeah, I see it. It’s right in front of us.”
“Just straight down the sidewalk, that’s all.”
“Thanks. Have a good day.”
Then he decided to get personal. Let me first say that I don’t like shaking hands with anyone that I don’t know, or isn’t a friend of a friend, unless we’re in a situation that tells me that their hands are clean, such as a hospital. I’m not a germ freak. I just don’t want TB or dysentery. I never have. But this guy reached out to shake my hand… I tried to wave instead, but he grabbed my hand, began shaking it and said, “My name is Mike, and I’m a bad guy.” Not bad-guy, like the antagonist in a movie, but bad [pause] guy. Regarding the handshake, I wasn’t expecting Calgon-bathed hands, but I also wasn’t expecting Thriller hands. They definitely felt like Thriller hands, which caused me to have flashbacks to seeing Thriller for the first time, when I was about 4, and having subsequent nightmares practically every night until sometime last year, and admitting it for the first time right now in my blog. I was frightened. Then, as he continued the conversation, he turned his hand over, and I saw his palm. Holy shit. It looked like he was playing in a pool of boogers. I almost threw up in my mouth. But, I didn’t want to make him feel bad, so I listened to what he had to say, which was:
“See that house over there? That’s a homeless shelter. They charge $6 for 14 days. I just ran out of time, and if you could help me out when you leave McDonald’s, I’d appreciate it.”
“You want a dollar or something?”
“A dollar? A dollar? Can’t you give me $6?”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Come on man. I showed you where McDonald’s is.”
“I knew where it is. It’s right in front of us.”
“Just give me $6.”
At this point, I was thinking this guy must be horrible at being homeless. It was only 9:15AM, and he would only need to get another $5 for the day to be set for two weeks. If he can’t do that, he’s in the wrong line of work. Sounds insensitive, but you know what I’m saying. Beggars can’t be choosers. Hey-o. You guys are a great crowd. But seriously…
I said, “How about if I give you two dollars?”
“Two? I know you got money.”
“I’m broke. I have $20 in my pocket, and I’m going to New York.”
“The bus is only $15.”
I was starting to get annoyed, but you can’t get mad at someone who doesn’t have a home. It isn’t fair, because they don’t live the same type of life, and don’t have a strong grasp on social constructs. So, I kept my composure and said, “Look man, I’ll give you $2, but I don’t have enough cash on me to give you $6. I’m sure you’ll be able to get it without a problem though.”
He was clearly pissed, but whatever... I didn’t have time to go to McDonald’s anymore, so I walked back to the bus stop. As I was doing this, Bad Guy Mike started yelling at me for not going to McDonald’s. “Come on man. You got time. I’m telling you, the bus broke down.”
I was so disgusted by the handshake that I had to rush back to the office of the bus people to wash the Thriller off my hands. I was careful not to touch any other part of my person on the way. I got to the bathroom. No soap. No soap in a public restroom. They had Pine Sol, but no soap. So, I sat and waited a few minutes for the bus, thinking they’ll have hand sanitizer, like the Hasidic Jew Bus. Meanwhile, I was holding my hands out in front of me, staring at them like I just discovered I have stigmata.
Finally the bus rolled up. I got on and went straight to the bathroom. Not only did they not have soap, but it was obvious that the bathroom was inoperable. I was stuck. I had to accept that I wouldn’t be able to wash my hands until we got to Chesapeake House, a rest stop just north of Baltimore, that the HJB stops at. But this bus didn’t stop at Chesapeake House. It did, however, make a shady stop at a Comfort Inn, outside of Baltimore, but we weren’t allowed to get off. So, I had to continue to sit and stare at my scurvy infected, Thriller hands until we finally stopped, which was at Exit 6 on the NJ Turnpike. For those unfamiliar with the DC-NY Route, that’s around the three-hour mark. I scrubbed my hands for a good 5 minutes, and still wasn’t convinced they were clean.
When I got back on the bus, I was a lot more comfortable though. I had a Cinnabon and a Snapple Peach Tea, which is all I need.
When we pulled in to Chinatown at 1PM, I was greeted with hours upon hours to kill. My show wasn’t until 9PM. So, I called a realtor in Brooklyn, because he was going to show me a couple apartments in Williamsburg. He flaked on me though. The reason: He’s an Orthodox Jew, and needed to “keep holy the Sabbath.” Great with buses. Not so much with realty. One out of two isn’t that bad.
My next apartment viewing wasn’t until 5PM in Chelsea, so I decided to walk to Chelsea. This will, from now on, be remembered as “horrible idea #4,980.” It was a 30-block walk through a sea of drunken St. Patrick’s Day idiots. I’d bet that at least 40% of them couldn’t locate Ireland on a map. And I’d bet that 99% had no idea why we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. “It’s to celebrate when Patrick Roy won the Stanley Cup with Montreal and paraded the streets getting chicks to show their tits, right?” No one said that, but I’m sure it was thought.
How did St. Patrick’s Day get to be bigger than Martin Luther King Jr. Day? I don’t get it. I’m not suggesting people get drunk and wear slut beads on MLK Day, but a little more press couldn’t hurt. It seems like they’re turning St. Patrick’s Day into a season, like Ramadan. Seriously, when is the media going to let up on Ramadan? Let us fast in peace, without cameras in our faces.
After seeing the apartment, which I liked, I had another four hours to kill before the show. I did this by walking around aimlessly, keeping my hands inside the width of my shoulders, so none of Bad Guy Mike’s bretheren could give me a sneak handshake attack.
I arrived at the Improv an hour before the show and had to kill time in their bar. During this time, in an exercise of self-confidence, I changed my set about 60 times. I only had six minutes for the audition, which is tough. I feel like you can get a good sense of what someone’s comedy is like in ten minutes, but six is way too short. My favorite joke, and most memorable joke is four minutes long. So, it’s ruled out in a six minute set. You can’t do two jokes in a six minute set. I probably could have not written this paragraph. Oh well. You’ve already read it.
I was in the middle of the line-up. I don’t want to say anything negative, but the crowd was Baltimore-ish. That isn’t a good thing. New York has this reputation of having great, smart crowds, but my friend Quincy pointed out that the reputation was developed my New Yorkers who think they’re smart and great. Good point, Quincy.
I had the worst set I’ve had in a long time. The crowd was relatively into it. But, I felt off. I rushed things, got visibly angry at the crowd for not laughing loud enough at one joke, and really just went through the motions. It was a poor representation. I got off stage thinking that I had blown it. The Montreal people saw that although the crowd was laughing, I didn’t really connect with them. I talked at them, instead of to them.
Luckily, I did get the callback, which is in May. So, I need to remember not to suck then.

-I think it’s ironic that every fat comic I’ve ever seen is loud and high-energy. You’d think that would cause them to lose weight. Not the case at all though.

-Get tickets to see Demetri Martin, Mitch Fatel, Meat and myself at Lisner Auditiorium on April 8th. Info can be found at www.dccomedyfest.com
-If you go to UMD, clear your calander for April 17th. I’m hosting a sketch mini-festival in the Grand Ballroom, and doing a big show at night. The room holds 1,000. Fill it up, people.
-Mason is in the Sweet 16.