I just scrolled down the page a bit and reread some of my posts: Sorry they've been so melancholy as of late. I mean, I'm not sorry that *I've* been melancholy because, hey, that's where I am right now, but I'm considering backing off of the heavy stuff a wee bit. After all, if you're still reading this god-forsaken thing (may the Lord have mercy on your ever-loving soul), you're an incredibly important person to me, and chances are, I'll reach out to you on a more personal level.
Ho-kay, so where were we? Ah yes: 1990 A.D. Still residing in a house-converted-into-a-studio-like apartment on Milwaukee's hip and fashionable east side, I would awake each morning at 8:00, hop into my beige '85 Tercel hatchback (c'mon - you know you want me now), be on the road by 9:00 and on my way to Cousin's Subs. This was my day gig for roundabout one year; donning that baby blue polo shirt, slapping sub sandwiches together, being treated like a complete waste of space by customers. All of this AND $4.75/hr? Sign me up!
My coworkers were amazing people. My boss, Joan Schroeder, hippie-goddess and 3 Stooges fanatic, made the sub shack one of the most amazing places to have to clock in. She'd give us regular breaks to draw cartoons on sheets of butcher paper mocking the clientele, brings in karaoke tapes for the back room where we could all sing along, and was 100% supportive of my comedy endeavors. It was heartbreaking to quit the place once I started touring around the country, believe it or not.
So this was the year I first began my adventures on, what we call in the business, "the road". My first 2 week, full blown, outta town gig was to North and South Dakotas with Tim Kaminsky, part-owner of the aforementioned "Sir Laughs A Lot Comedy Castle" where I got my start. Tim was a gregarious, over-the-top hack of a comic that KILLED everywhere we went. I mean, the guy would put a hollowed out basketball on his head and do Yul Brynner impressions, but he destroyed in every tiny little town we visited. I, on the other hand, was given a crash-course in what *not* to talk about to small town crowds.
Wait, saying "crowds" infers more than 20 people per show. I've mislead you.
I managed to slug my way through those 15 days, and by the end, began to understand what you had to do as a comedian to survive out in the sticks.
Regardless, I decided to keep performing.
Ho-kay, so where were we? Ah yes: 1990 A.D. Still residing in a house-converted-into-a-studio-like apartment on Milwaukee's hip and fashionable east side, I would awake each morning at 8:00, hop into my beige '85 Tercel hatchback (c'mon - you know you want me now), be on the road by 9:00 and on my way to Cousin's Subs. This was my day gig for roundabout one year; donning that baby blue polo shirt, slapping sub sandwiches together, being treated like a complete waste of space by customers. All of this AND $4.75/hr? Sign me up!
My coworkers were amazing people. My boss, Joan Schroeder, hippie-goddess and 3 Stooges fanatic, made the sub shack one of the most amazing places to have to clock in. She'd give us regular breaks to draw cartoons on sheets of butcher paper mocking the clientele, brings in karaoke tapes for the back room where we could all sing along, and was 100% supportive of my comedy endeavors. It was heartbreaking to quit the place once I started touring around the country, believe it or not.
So this was the year I first began my adventures on, what we call in the business, "the road". My first 2 week, full blown, outta town gig was to North and South Dakotas with Tim Kaminsky, part-owner of the aforementioned "Sir Laughs A Lot Comedy Castle" where I got my start. Tim was a gregarious, over-the-top hack of a comic that KILLED everywhere we went. I mean, the guy would put a hollowed out basketball on his head and do Yul Brynner impressions, but he destroyed in every tiny little town we visited. I, on the other hand, was given a crash-course in what *not* to talk about to small town crowds.
Wait, saying "crowds" infers more than 20 people per show. I've mislead you.
I managed to slug my way through those 15 days, and by the end, began to understand what you had to do as a comedian to survive out in the sticks.
Regardless, I decided to keep performing.
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