Yes, some peeple dere really do tawk like dat, doughn’t cha no. Borga borga borga. I talk like a moonshiner. Wanna fight about it? Friday marked my grand celebration of the 13th state I have done comedy in, that’s over 25% of the USA, unless you count the 57 states our president referenced in a speech once. I was sick as hell, day two of my sore throat and menopause-like hot and cold flashes. The good news was that the hotel was kick-ass, meaning there were no outlines of dead bodies or lack of three pronged outlets, unlike the place I stayed the night before. The bad news was that parking was $27 for the weekend, which, of course, was out of pocket. The hotel attendant said it with a smile, so it didn’t bother me at all. (It bothered me.)
I showered three times that day b/c of the sick sweat fits, but got to the show early. Laying all day caused my back to slip out of place, which pinched a nerve that ran down into my right knee. I was drinking Walgreen’s version of Chloraseptic so I could actually speak for the 60 minutes of comedy I had to do.
The room was very nice. First show went well and I picked up a couple new tags for jokes. I also learned a lot from the emcee and headliner about the Minnesota scene, which I do enjoy getting info about other regions. Second was a little light on crowd and I started to flag physically. My voice was cracking like Peter Brady and the sweats hit me again, but I got through it. At least I sold one shirt! I had zero beers for the first time onstage since ever, so I can check that off the bucket list. I shuffled back to the motel to enjoy Kroger brand pop-tarts and an attempt at sleep while the town of Rochester screamed in the streets. Sobriety blows.