"...You're never more than one gig away from an Indian casino, I always say..."
Take 12, Nov 23rd, 2004
The last hoax drained me and I took a week off. On Wednesday, the boyfriend and I took off for two road weeks- one in Seattle and the other in Austin. I love the Comedy Undergroud in Seattle so much that I do it even though it's only a Thu-Sat and the surrounding Wed and Sun are often hideous one nighters that make you question the existence of God.
After Wednesday's seven hour flight, the emcee picked us up at the hotel, and drove us to an Indian casino in a town that Al-Queda should attack immediately. I don't know if it was the mullets, the chain smoking, or the constant ringing of winning penny slots, but I wanted to kill myself and everyone near me. Like all gigs at Indian casinos, the "theater" was open to the pit, so if someone won 50 cents, I heard about it, one penny at a time. The audience was far away and stupid. Setups were meant to be interrupted, and about five minutes in my set, I felt sad, for the first time ever onstage.
"You know where I was two weeks ago," I asked the emcee.
"Where?"
"Writing for a tv show," I said.
"Wow. Now I'm depressed."
You're never more than one gig away from an Indian casino, I always say. The next shows were at the Underground and they were OK. Thursday's attendance was light, so I fucked around alot. Friday wasn't packed, but my sets were up and down. Is it me or them, I worried at the hotel. The audiences were the white, liberal types who think material about race is
scandalous and
shocking. I was getting an Edinburgh vibe.
The Saturday shows were packed, and I added some hackier stuff up front, to build what George Bush refers to as capital, which I would later spend on darker material. That help immensely, and then a table of giggling Hindus up front helped sell the Islam stuff. Saturday was great- that's the Seattle I remember.
Some jokes feel so old, I want to get right to the good (new) stuff, immediately. The spots in New York are short, and the goal is to spend as little time as possible on crowd-pleasing fluff. I forgot that in the North/South/Midwest area, I have to pad the top with silly shit. It annoys me, but I have forty five minutes to cram in my favorite stuff, and even that is only ten minutes.
It's ok.
My manager called me about an audition on Monday, which I'll miss. They want to watch me perform six minutes of current events jokes. I don't know how long you think it takes to write six minutes of material, but Leno does about 20 minutes a night, and he has at least 15 writers. And I've taken a break from current events after the awful election and the end of Tough Crowd. I decided to not know what that rat president of ours is up to til the New Year, but oh well, it's back to reading newspapers.
"Can you send over my reel, and I'll email jokes on Monday." I asked my manager.
"Yeah, we could do that. Can you videotape yourself and send it to them?"
Uhhh.
"I"m on the road, I don't exactly have a production studio with me."
"Well, think about it. If you can do it, that would be great."
Shit. When my manager says "think about it," that means "do it."
Chris brought his Hi-8 camera, and has video editing software on his laptop. I decided to tape on Sunday night, after the show, so I could write up to the last minute. Then we'd save as a Quicktime file, put it on my server and send the transcript and the link to the .mov file to the producer.
I told my plan to my manager.
"Can you send over a VHS tape?"
"I don't have a VCR with me, just Chris's Hi-8."
"Well, think about it."
Shit. Ok, we get to Austin at 10:30 on Monday night, we can drive to Chris's mother's house in San Antonio by midnight, copy the Hi-8 to a VHS, and Fed-Ex it to NYC on Tuesday morning.
"Great."
Then it all unravelled. We couldn't tape on Sunday, because we found out on too late that we had to rent a car and drive 3 hours roundtrip to the final one nighter. I wasted the morning (which was really the afternoon) writing a few more things off the Sunday papers. We got back to the hotel past midnight. THe light was low and awful, and I was wiped put.
"Let's do it tomorrow morning, before our flight. How long will it take you to edit," I asked Chris.
"About an hour."
CUT TO:
Scene 1, Take 8, Seattle, the hotel room, 10 minutes before checkout.
Opening Joke: Poppy fields are blooming in Afghanistan. Countries like the United States have pressured Afghan president Hamzi Karzi to stop the increase in opium production. Karzi replied that a stoned Muslim is a happy Muslim. He then stuck a hypodermic needle between his toes and fell over.
Chris: Slate your name.
Me: Laurie Kilmartin
Chris: Whenever you're ready.
Me: Poppy fields are blooming in Afghanistan. Countries like the United States are pressuring Afghan president Hazmi- FUCK.
Chris: Ok, take nine. Keep your head still.
Me: Ploppy fields- FUCK.
Chris: Ok, take ten.
Me: Poppy fields are blooming in Afghanistan. (etc. Perfect, perfect... then)
SFX: Knock on the door.
Housekeeping (from hallway): "Are you checking out today?"
Me: FUCK
Chris: (to housekeeping) We'll be out in five minutes. (to me) Take eleven.
Me: (perfect til).. he then stuck a hypodernic FUCK.
Between my palsied enunciation, the knocking, the front desk calling, the last minute edits, and my near sighted eyes squinting to read text from my computer while looking into the camera, six minutes took an hour.
Upon reviewing his footage at the Sea-Tac Cinnabon, my boyfriend Stanley Kubrick decided a movement I made during one joke was weird, and we should re-shoot that joke. But since we're re-shooting one joke, we must (for continuity's sake) re-shoot the whole thing. At his mother's house, at midnight, in Texas. Then we'll edit for an hour, save to Quicktime, load it on my server, save to a VHS tape and FedEx it to New York City, very early on Tuesday morning.
Did I mention that I've read these jokes so much that none of them are funny anymore? They're all a bunch of words I never want to see again?
CUT TO:
Scene 1, Take 13, San Antonio, Chris's mother's living room, 1:15 AM, Tuesday.
Me: And finally, the Polish woman taken hostage by Islamic fundamentalists in Iraq was returned safely on Saturday to Polish authorities, who immediately beheaded her.
Chris: Let's try one with your hair down this time.
