So Mountain View is pretty much in the heart of Silicon Valley. Google and all that kind of shit is there, right? And, like many a Silicon Valley village, it has your basic “downtown” kind of area, which pretty much in every town around the valley reminds me of Coolidge Corner in Brookline. Some slightly, possibly urban corners, but more pretty good restaurants and the kind of shops where you could maybe get a good book on Pilates and aromatherapy candles.
Except, there’s a complete roadhouse shit-hole bar, in which you walk in and it’s like you crossed a threshold into a magical place apart from all the rest of Silicon Valley. I swear to god, Patrick Swayze could be the cooler and Sam Elliot would end up dead in this place.
There’s even a grumpy, older woman, with long, strung out gray hair, who seems to be a lesbian from her heckles, who wears an eye patch. An honest-to-fucking-god, check me out, I’m Salty Pete the Pirate, black with a black strap diagonally bisecting your face, fucking eye patch. I swear to every deity, a woman sporting a pirate’s patch.
And, this dive among dives (complete with shuffleboard) has a really pretty damn fun comedy show on Friday nights.
It actually has two demographics that it fucking kills me but I usually do pretty well among — suburbanites and kind of the unwashed blue collar will it be Bud or Coors tonight? folks. Maybe it’s a you can take the girl out of Braintree, but blah blah Braintree thing.
M. things it rather amusing that my greatest triumphs have been suburban. And, he doesn’t even know fully and completely the irony, having not grown up or known me way back when in the environment that I have done everything to leave.
Anyway, I did the open mike half of the show and had some rock star coolness after watching a few people sucking it to the sound of crickets. Nothing like a couple of actual punch lines and a little bit of delivery and timing to make you stand out at an open mike.
By the way, anyone out in Boston stumbling on this post — Here’s a thought about something I see here all the time, but never saw in Boston. Do two shows in one. Have an open mike either as a late night thing or a bit earlier in the night thing with all your typical sucking, painful open mike comedy wannabees and strivers. Along side it, either before or after, have some real comedians (and I mean ones with actual jokes at which strangers laugh who have worked at legit places not just other open mikes) do a showcase show. Advertise, hype, flyer, invite friends to the real show (and importantly for return visits, again use actually funny people), and let that show be the showpiece. Then, you might just string along some folks to the open mike, but be clear where the differences are and the treat that is in store when the actual show takes place.
Also for Bostonians, out here a lot of showcases and a couple of open mikes have a tip jar passed around. I’ve seen some pretty stuffed jars and know that folks have walked out with a little cake in their pocket for their comedy stylings. (It doesn’t have to be all douche-y or panhandling, either, just all happy supporting the arts, la la, bullshit.)
Speaking of the tip jar, since I did the open mike not the showcase I wasn’t planning on sharing any of the loot. But, M. and I are walking out at the end of the night, and I spot a $10 bill on the floor. I pick it up and offer to the guy between whose feet it had lain. Turns out to be one of the guys who runs the show, and he was like, “Nah, you found it, you know, and you were up there, you should keep it for your work.”
But, the audience member and bar regular next to him had a different idea. He goaded me to put it in the tip jar “for the comedians.” I said I was one of them, and while he acknowledged that, he insisted that it was free money and I should do the right thing, blah, blah and throw it in the tip jar.
I figured, what the fuck, not my ten spot anyway and tossed it in the jar as we walked out. Easy come, easy go.
Right before we hit the door, the bartender, a gravelly, graying chick who looks like she’s been weathering behind the bar for about how long it’s been standing, comes up behind me. She jams a wad of bar bills into my hand, shakes it and says, “Nah, you were up there too and did good, you should have it,” and maybe “it’s right,” or something.
On top of a couple of people telling me to make sure I email about some shows and a couple more asking about my website, I walked out with a crumpled $5 and five, crumpled bar-bill singles.
is a mighty steep price for irony and costuming.