New York Cares

New York Cares

So I’m in New York and find myself in the exact same room that I had the last time I was here (Well, one floor different, but the view is the same and it’s laid out the same way, so effectively my body sees this as the same room. So I will run with that). One thing I learned from the last time I was here is that Angry Bob (don’t look at me…that’s the name he goes by) runs a room across the street from the palatial Milford Plaza at a place called Charlie O’s. You’ve never been? It’s fantastic. They sell chicken fingers.

The last time I was there I tried to get on-stage on a similar Monday show that Angry Bob runs as well. Sadly, no spot was available then, but we talked about getting spots in other places in the city. Into the room, I go, spot Bob who instantly hits me up for a cover charge for the show. I replied that I was actually looking to do a spot. “Do I know you?” came the reply. So, the song and dance begins on how I was there at the beginning of the month, I looked for a spot before, yadda x 3. So the deal comes thus. He was in Dutch with the restaurant owners about the small crowd (very small…one table of people from Spain ignoring the show and talking amongst themselves), so I was to sit in the audience, order some dinner, and then, and only then, would I get a spot at the end of the night. Fine.

One plate of chicken fingers later (see?) I was put on at the end of the night after guilting a fellow Canadian in the audience into staying until I hit the stage. For the half-dozen or so that was there I was able to make Canadians, Texans, and the other comics laugh. So…result. Turned out the guilted lady has relatives in Perth so we commissed. Good times. Glad I was able to get one spot under my belt before the Gotham show on Friday. No idea how that one’s going to go. Apparently there’s another open mic in Greenwich Village but apparently it’s a brutal gig where you get blank stares from the audience comprised entirely of unforgiving comics. Obviously they’ve never done Zembra’s Lounge in Toronto. Stares blanker than Paris Hilton’s written summary of useful skills.

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