As I’ve probably mentioned (uncomprehendingly mumbled) to you in a bar bathroom at 1am, I’m starting postgrad life with an international stand-up tour (I’m stopping in Canada at one point). I meant to publish all the dates and stuff this weekend, but I accidentally got drunk every day and night for the last four days. I think it’s what the kids call a “bender”?
Anyway, here are the dates for the first leg:
5/7: Philadelphia – Laughs on Philly at Ortlieb’s Lounge
5/8: Philadelphia – Helium Comedy Club (just a showcase I’m not good enough to get booked there)
5/9 – Washington DC – Villain & Saint Music Hall
5/10-5/11 – Washington DC – Underground Comedy at the Big Hunt
5/12-5/13 – Back in Boston if anyone wants to hang out.
5/14 – Toronto – Cameron House Comedy
5/15 – Toronto – Liverpool (Wish it was Weymouth) John’s
5/16 – Toronto – Corktown Comedy
5/17 – Toronto – I forgot to write it down but I hopefully have the email somewhere
5/18 – Chicago – Durkin’s Bar
5/19 – Chicago – Second City (on their like 8th stage)
5/20 – Chicago – The Chicago Rising Star Mic at Davenport’s Piano Bar
5/21 – Cleveland (gross) – Accidental Comedy
5/22 – Pittsburgh – I think? The booker hasn’t answered my email yet so idk.
Anyway, I’m writing this in a Starbucks in Philly all by myself, and it’s already been a hell of a day. I arrived here via the most inconvenient way possible, which was two different Peter Pan Buses. I took one from South Station to NYC. Then one from NYC to Philly, and let’s just say I’m now immune to the smell of human urine. I’m not saying I enjoy it, necessarily, but it’s something I’m okay with. I had a row to myself on the first bus, which is always nice, but I felt like I was on the Amistad on the second bus. Needless to say my dancer legs suffered tragically.
The only positive was that I though of a fun, lighthearted joke about how Peter Pan is a perfect name for that bus because the suicidal thoughts it gives me in traffic make me never want to grow up.
Regardless, I arrived in Philly and checked into the hostel that I booked (this is quite the big budget trip). I was a bit worried about staying in a hostel in Philly, because I was nervous I’d have to go little spoon with a homeless man or something, but it ended up being one of those hippie hostels where everyone is free spirits and shit like that. Not my scene, but neither is being raped. Lesser of the two evils, I guess. The only issue is you have to take your shoes off inside the hostel, and obviously I have a huge hole in one of my socks.
I checked in, and then decided to do some site seeing. I didn’t get here til like 4, and a lot of the museums were closed, so the only thing I’ve seen so far is the Liberty Bell.
I walked in the door and had a lot of trouble getting through security. Then again, I watch the news, so I know how many red flags go off when a white kid deep in his own head walks in somewhere by himself with a backpack. I honestly respect their thoroughness. Also it was mostly because I forgot to take my belt off when I went through the medal detector. It was with good reason though. The waist on my pants is way too big on me, and with an entire middle school class behind me, I didn’t want to risk a Janet Jackson situation and expose myself.
First off, how about this softie park ranger needing his own padded place mat to stand. That’s something you’d never see in Boston. I’m not saying he’s an embarrassment to the entire city of Philadelphia, but he’s not helping their case.
Obviously had to take this uncomfortably close selfie:
The fun part about the Liberty Bell is that it has the only crack in Philadelphia that you can’t smoke.
So now I’m in Starbucks with a really sweaty back googling bars I watch the Celtics game by myself at. If anyone knows any places let me know. Preferably somewhere dark and sad. I’m also on the lookout for Meek Mill, and I get really excited whenever I see a black guy.
I got a thiccc day of sightseeing tomorrow, so I’ll write a full Philly recap then where I definitely won’t make fun of Philadelphia for having a statue built for a fictional athlete. I’m not even going to touch upon how embarrassing of a subject that is.