FRINGEQUEST, Day 19: Let the Record Reflect: I Am Foxy

I'm late today because I had a long day of doing tourist-ing, which I will address in tomorrow’s scintillating entry. Oh yes, it will be scintillating!

Spoiler: it may not be scintillating.

Woke up at the wee hours of 11 AM and then went out and did my now – standard lunch/Internet binge. Did I eat fried stuff? You’re damn right I did. Then I got my act together and headed toward the scrum to do a show called Fast Fringe. It’s curated by Chortle, a popular UK comedy site. It’s designed to give audiences a buffet sampling of various acts at the festival. I’ve been told it can really help draw audiences, so I'm happy to have had the spot. If I may, however, allow myself a gripe: my publicist told me he’s been unable to get me on this show. So I took it upon myself to email them and lo and behold! A spot the very next day. Ummm...? I know I haven’t played this Fringe thing perfectly – – I am not an aggressive self-promoter and I probably should have done a normal standup show for my first time here. But it’s hard to look at a microcosmic situation like that (and a few others too boring to address) and not wonder how things may have played out differently.

Gripe complete!

Fast Fringe was a blast. A quick blast, but a blast nonetheless! Three minutes of stage time to a large, enthusiastic audience, and poof—you’re out. I have no idea if it will help attendance, but you never know…

Afterward, I grabbed a clif bar and did some more flyering outside the venue. The high point was probably getting aggressively hit on by two women who seemed like they were in a community theater production of AbFab.

They didn’t make it to my show, which was okay, given that they seemed moments away from dowsing the cobblestones with regurgitated prosecco. But one of them called me "foxy", and you can't take that away from me!

My show:

I was feeling frisky, so I ditched my show and just an hour of straight stand up. It was a lot of the same material, but I skipped the slideshow and narrative elements. I gotta say, it was liberating. I was able to fuck around and “go with the flow”, rather than feel like I had to plow through my designated program. And I got to do some bits that I haven't done in a month, so that that was fun.

I still believe in the show, as written. And to a full crowd, it definitely leaves more of an impact than a straightforward hour of stand-up. But my main goal now is to enjoy myself while I’m here. I’ll probably alternate between the two for the rest of the run, depending on how I feel that night.

Afterword I did another set at Frankenstein pub (fun!), Then headed back to the Gilded Balloon to use their wonderful WiFi.

On a last-minute whim, I ended the night at  Will Seaward's Midnight Ghost Stories. It's a very simple concept, but totally wacky and absurd in his presentation. The performer was just incredibly charismatic and has one of the all-time great stage voices. It's the kind of thing I'd love to see at QED. It hadn’t really occurred to me that I could also be using Fringe as a scouting opportunity for QED, but...DUH. In the same way that no one here in the UK knows me, I’m sure a lot of these performers would love a friendly little venue to get their New York City feet wet. That’s definitely gonna be on my mind as I continue to see shows for the rest of the festival. I have to go do my show now. Once more into the breach!

FRINGEQUEST, Day 18: Leaning Into Degradation

I'm going to keep this one short today. I say that every day, but this time I mean it (I think)!*

Farted around all morning then went to lunch with Chris Laker and Ramon Rivas. Solid dudes, great comics, so-so food. Had a goopy chicken sandwich and a bloody mary that tasted weirdly like a margarita. I mean, tasty I guess, but is a bloody mary ever supposed to be sweet? Chalk it up to UK weirdness, I guess. 

YOU: Finnegan, this doesn't sound like a particularly interesting meal. Why even write about it? 

Well, I said I'd document my trip and this happened on my trip, so I'm documenting it. 

YOU: Hmm, just seems like the bloody mary thing is a detail you could leave out.

Look, no one forced you to read this! I'm writing this for me!!

YOU: Are you, though? Are you going to look back at this blog years from now and think "Ahhhh yes, the oddly-sweet bloody mary. What a cherished memory..."?

Perhaps! Maybe I keep a personal inventory of brunch-style alcoholic beverages. You don't know!

YOU: Yes, I do.

Oh really, now? How?

YOU: Because I'm your subconscious. I've been your subconscious this whole time.

I...um...

YOU: Didn't you say you were going to keep this short--

Fine, whatever! Moving on...

Went over to do another set on Kirk Smith’s Bar Bados show. Great crowd, good set. There were a few adorable older Scottish ladies in the audience—whenever I said something “naughty”, one would blush, chuckle and cover her mouth. It was like performing for Mrs. Hoggett from Babe. 

It was an interesting contrast with the utter scuzziness of Bar Bados. To give you an idea of the craptasticity: The bottom hinge of the door to Room #4 (there are five performance spaces total, I think) broke off last week, so anytime someone tries to use it, it just opens straight up into the air, like a DeLorean. Considering comics are entering and exiting the room constantly, it’s a tad disruptive. So someone took it upon himself to grab a permanent marker and scrawl “DOOR BROKEN” in giant letters. 

After the show I found some Wifi and worked for a while and then set out onto Bristo Square for some earnest flyer-ing. I am truly the worst self-promoter in the world. But I forced myself to come up with a spiel, which goes something like this:

“Hi, my name is Christian Finnegan and I’m an American comic doing a show at the Gilded Balloon at 8:45. I’ve done lots of TV in the States and I’m very Google-able. But nobody here knows me from Adam, so I’m throwing myself at upon the mercy of the court. My show is about figuring out what it means to be a good person when the world is so awful and I promise it doesn’t suck. That’s the Christian Finnegan guarantee!”

I mean, I don’t just blurt it all out like that, as if I’m reading a perp his Miranda rights—I try to make it conversational, friendly, etc. But that’s the general gist. Is it humiliating? Yeah, a bit. But did I grew up Catholic--if I lean into the humiliation a bit, maybe I can transform it into a kink.

My show:

Say it with me, folks: Fun show, small crowd. My iPad went on the fritz in the middle of the show, so that wasn’t fun.  But we all had a nice chuckle about it. I’m actually considering ditching my slideshow for the next show and just doing a straight standup show. I mean, why the hell not at this point? 

None of the people I flyered showed up, so I guess I’ll have to lean even harder into degradation.

Later that night, I hung out with some super cool people, including Sara (last name unknown), a very cool British middle school teacher who took a summer gig at Fringe—she works the door at my venue and was nice enough to come to my show on her day off. I also had drinks with Scott Gibson, a Scottish comedian with one of the warmest personalities you can imagine. We’d met briefly when I did that weird 1am show last week (Late ‘N Live), so when he saw me at the Loft Bar, he waved me over to have a drink with him and a nice Irish woman (first and last name unknown) who works in the Fringe Festival communications department. Scott seems very popular around Fringe and had zero reason to invite me to sit at his proverbial lunch table, so kudos to Scott Gibson. His reward shall be in heaven.

* I didn't keep this short.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 17: Checking Out Arthur's Seat (BUTT JOKE)

I woke up with a dilemma--I needed to go for a run, but the sky was clear (by Scottish standards), making it a perfect day to climb Arthur's Seat, a dormant volcano the overlooks the city. So I decided to combine the two by jogging over and then climbing up. What a great way to spend a few hours. Arthur's Seat is one of those Empire State Building type deals--an activity that is super tourist-y, while still being 100% worthwhile*.  The difference is, of course, there is no elevator to the top of a dormant volcano. Just a mile of this:

I was actually impressed that the City of Edinburgh hasn't monetized Arthur's Seat in any way--there's no snack bar at the top, no t-shirt stands. It's just a super craggy hill that you can either climb or not. I could upload a bunch of my shitty photos, but if you want to stare at Arthur's Seat (BUTT JOKE), why not leave it to pros?

Okay fine--you need proof that I'm not a dirty liar? Behold:

Not my sexiest photo, I'll grant you that. I was also trying my best not to get blown off the mountain. It felt like standing in the middle of a Dyson Air Blade. HEAR THAT, DYSON? GIVE ME FREE STUFF.

I jogged/walked home and by the end, I felt like I'd...well, climbed a volcano. Writing this a day later, I can assure you that my ankles, knees and hips are currently giving me a prolonged middle finger.

I had lunch at some Italian restaurant that promised Free Wifi, which I assume meant that I was 'free' to go fuck myself if I wanted to get online. It was that worst kind of wifi--where it works beautifully for 30 seconds and then magically disappears. But then, right as you ask the waiter to re-boot the modem, another perfect connection, so that the waiter thinks you're being high maintenance. Then he walks away and...(SFX: fart noise). Rinse and repeat for an hour. I should've known something was amiss when I noticed that the wifi network was "michiganjfrog".  

After wolfing down a functional chicken and mushroom pizza, I wandered back to The Merlin, the local pub that has become my semi-depressing home away from home. I mean, it's a fine neighborhood bar, but the bartender's teeth haunt my nightmares. Given that I've been watching The Terror, it's just too much UK dentistry for one Yank's subconscious.

Went home, did a Nap26 (HEY NAP26, GIVE ME FREE STUFF!), then headed over to the Gilded Balloon.

My show:

Small crowd. Fun crowd. Good show, blah blah blah. No new tales to tell.

Afterwards, I met up with Steve Hofstetter for drinks. Dude is a promotion machine--first day in Edinburgh, already booked himself on five different shows. I'd say I should learn a thing or two, but if I haven't learned by now, how likely is that? We had a long conversation about Nanette (as mandated by law), then I headed back to the flat and spent two more hours to spend another two hours watching a show about terrifying UK teeth.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 16: I Am My Own Cliff Poncier

In yesterday’s post, I forgot to mention that I received another review. It was the most positive review yet—effusive, even! And yet... only three stars. I’m genuinely baffled. Seriously, take a look at this thing. Seems pretty damn positive, yes?

At this point, I kind of throw up my hands. I’ve had two thoroughly glowing 3-star reviews and a 4-star that felt like a backhand. I won’t lie and pretend that it’s not dispiriting. I suspect I’m being dinged for the relatively small crowds—reviewers act as if they see through that sort of thing, but they’re all full of it. A show simply plays better to a full house than to a 2/3 empty room. If I had this to do over again, I’d definitely have asked to be booked in a smaller venue. I think we all overestimated how much American TV credits mean over here. But I don’t want to blame it solely on that—my very talented friends all seem to be drawing fine crowds, so there’s clearly something about me that just doesn’t translate, promotionally. I was feeling down about it last week, but my shows have been fun and I'm digging Edinburgh, so I’m solidly in “fuck it” mode.

I realize that the preceding paragraph reads a bit “I’m not mad, this is actually funny to me”, but c’est la vie. I’m doing my best to capture this experience, warts and all. My days of spin are behind me. I certainly want to validate the faith shown in me by my investors and, yeah, it would be nice to feel like a “shiny new thing” for the first time in a decade. But this is ephemeral and, for an American comedian, ultimately meaningless. My comedy mantra has always been “Good night, bad night—I’m still going to end the evening in my underwear, checking my email”.

Oh right, this is supposed to be about yesterday! Not a whole lot to tell, honestly. I did my normal lunch/internet thing at a cute little place called Cafe Blush. It’s my 3rd time eating there and I am convinced that the waitress there hates me. I have literally no reason to believe this—she’s always perfectly cheerful. Sometimes you just get a vibe.

I went home and showered and then headed in to see a show called Deaf Comedy Fam. If you’re one of the nine people reading this, you probably know that my wife grew up immersed in deaf culture. Hell, she wrote a book (partially) about it! So I wanted to see the show out of curiosity, but also as a bit of recon, given that Kambri herself has a solo show that deals (again, partially) with deaf family members.

Of course, I'm an idiot—never forget this—so I didn’t notice that this particular show doesn’t start until the 16th. So there I was, 4.5 hours early for my show with nothing to do. I’m still a bit comedied-out, so I opted for Break Free, a breakdancing extravaganza performed by six Japanese teens.* Or maybe they were in their 30's--how can honestly say?

I realize this show choice plays against type, given that I'd rather tongue-kiss an industrial fan than dance in public. But I was a huge fun of that MTV show, “America’s Best Dance Crew” (ABDC to true fans--JABBAWOCKEEZ4LIF!!!)*

Break Free was...fine. The dancing was impressive (not quite Jabbawockeez level, but what is?), and it was squarely aimed at children. But there was a lot of tedious comic "business". The narrative involved our breakdancing heroes being pursued by a policeman who kept pointing to a giant "NO DANCING ALLOWED" sign--a hip hop Javert, if you will. I hate to give spoilers, but the policeman ended up having a chance of heart about breakdancing. He may have even joined in with the crew--I'LL NEVER TELL!

My show:

Back to the intimate grind. Another fun show, another too-small crowd. But I'll tell you this: in a 40-seater, this would have been a 4-star extravaganza (grumble grumble). I'll have to settle for being "a joy to watch".

I am my own Cliff Poncier.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 15: Half-Assed Tourism

After 12 straight days of shows, a reprieve!

Yesterday was my "off day" and boy oh boy did I have plans...that I didn't follow through on. My first thought as that I would go on a "day tour". This is something Kambri and I have done a number of times in our travels to Ireland and Australia. You get on a bus bright and early and head out to some beautiful sites in the countryside--geological oddities, a couple of quaint fishing villages, maybe a medieval castle or two. If this sounds a bit snoozy, what can I say--learning about the Middle Ages became more appealing as, yourself, become middle-aged. You see the sites, you indulge the tour guide his goofy little jokes and a fine time is had by all. There are many appealing options here in Scots-land, from Hadrian's Wall to The Trossachs to St. Andrews & Fife. There's even one devoted to locations featured in Outlander--I assume that particular tour is cat-friendly.*

If you're wondering why I didn't end up going on one of the aforementioned tours, I point you to the phrase "bright and early". My schedule is all fucked up here and I just can't see to drag my ass out of bed before 9:30 (and often much later). All of the day trips get back to Edinburgh by 7pm-ish and my show isn't until 8:45, so if I'm able to get my ass to sleep before 2am sometime over the next two weeks, I can try to make it happen.

It was also raining steadily and I was down to my last pair of socks, so I decided to stay put and get my laundry done, eat lunch, write yesterday's blog entry, etc. I didn't leaving Morningside until after 4pm. I still haven't been to Edinburgh Castle, so I headed on over. I knew it was closing at 6pm and they advise giving yourself a full two hours, but I was all by myself and I have a New Yorker's approach to tourism: see the good stuff, keep it moving, then get the fuck out. But upon trudging up the giant hill leading to the castle ticket booth, I was informed that parts of the castle actually start closing at 5pm and that everyone is ushered completely off premises around 5:45. In other words, not worthwhile. Edinburgh Castle is right smack dab in the middle of the city, so that's an easy one to check off on another day. But that's the classic Christian Finnegan approach to tourism: 1) Fart around until you're up against the clock, 2) Hustle out in a panic to do the "fun" thing you could have done in pure leisure, had you budgeted your time properly, 3) Bail at the last minute.

I decided to walk along the Royal Mile, which leads from the castle all the way down to Hollyrood Palace, which I knew would already be closed. The Royal Mile is a beautiful medieval road, predictably littered with shops selling William Wallace refrigerator magnets and (probably) Chinese-made tartan kilts. I did spend a nice 20 or so minutes wandering around St. Giles Cathedral, where I stumbled upon the 1st Marquis of Montrose:

Is it just me, or is that a rather casual body positioning? It says less "British Royalty" and more "It's Sunday afternoon and I fell asleep watching Love It or List It". Dude's sword may as well be a remote control.

Also, you can see someone has left flowers for our dear Marquis. Some women just have a thing for unattainable men.

It had been lightly raining all day, as is the semi-norm (Damian Clark joked that it's like "walking through a sneeze"), so I stopped into a pub for a drink to de-moisten. Was there a Free Fringe comedy show going on? Of course there was! There's barely a square foot of this city without a mic and stool right now. I didn't want to go home, but the last thing I wanted to do was see a comedy show on my night off, so I scrolled through the various Fringe offerings until The Path revealed itself: a Pink Floyd laser show.

Okay, not technically a "laser" show. It's all fancy schmancy "HD graphics" now. But you're in a reclining chair, staring at the ceiling while listening to "Shine On You Crazy Diamonds"--in my book, that's a laser show. I tried to take video, but none of it came out, so here's a still photo:

WHOOOOOOAAA I'M FREAKING OUT! WELCOME TO THE MACHINE, MAAAAANNNNN!!!

I don't think I need to tell you what a Pink Floyd laser show is like--you've either been to one or you couldn't care less. But honorable mention goes out to the museum employee who gave a masterclass in passive aggression whilst giving his pre-show intro. The kid was probably 24 and you could tell he loathed classic rock (and its fanbase) with every fiber of his being. My words will not do him justice, but imagine Martin Starr in Party Down or Martin Starr in Silicon Valley or...Martin Starr.

"Hey, you. No pun intended. Welcome to 'Wish You Were Here - Inspired By the Music of Pink Floyd'. But you don't have to wish you were here. Because you are here. So good for you. This is a movie about Pink Floyd doing stuff. Enjoy. Or don't. Here it is."

Excellence.

Tonight, I'm back at it!



* Kidding! Outlander is a good show, from what I've seen. And cats are fine! Sometimes you've gotta go for the cheap joke.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 14: Chips, Peas or Posh?

I decided to hit an actual gym. Outdoor running is lovely, but I haven't done any real non-cardio exercise in two weeks. Plus, running on hilly Edinburgh streets is brutal on the knees, plus it was rainy outside and...okay fine, I've been all blocked up (thanks, UK "cuisine"!) and was worried I'd be stranded miles from my flat and in desperate need of a mid-jog poop. Happy now?

(For the record, I don't think you're happy now.)

I located a gym a couple miles away and trudged over there in the rain. That's right, exercise en route to exercise--DOUBLE WORKOUT, BRO. My travels brought me through what I am contractually orced to describe as a "posh" neighborhood. I really hate that word. Spice Girl notwithstanding, it's amorphous and mushy-sounding. It sounds, in fact, like some shitty UK side dish ("Okay, that'll be one order of quadruple-fried haddock--would you like that with chips, peas or posh?")

Anyway, this truly was Fancypants Central. Now I understand why locals react the way they do when I mention my flat is in Morningside. My little street (Springvalley Terrace) is quaint and adorable, but it's nothing to gawk at. But you turn a few corners and you see homes like these:

It's not the size of the homes, although they are indeed massive. It's that they've clearly been standing for a few hundred years, at a minimum. And also, they're a few blocks short from the city center. Homes like this don't exist in NYC, but if they did, they'd be priced in the tens of millions.

And then there's this one, which I didn't even have the guts to investigate. I strode confidently onto the gravel, thinking it was a beautiful public park, but then I realized "Oh shit...I think I'm standing in someone's driveway." But what a driveway!

Eventually I made it to The Club Gym (real creative, fellas) and engaged in some functional jogging/weight-training. I also got to weigh myself and, if my conversion app is correct, I've lost about 6 pounds on UK soil. I knew I'd lost a bit, given how my clothes are fitting. But that's baffling, given that I've subsisted on a diet of potatoes and bread and gummies and ale. But I've timed my eating poorly, resulting in a lot of skipped meals. Add to that my increased stress levels and I guess that accounts for my current weight of 14.5 stones. I can only imagine how good my weigh-in would be if could rid myself of the 2-3 stones currently nestled in my colon. I'M CONSTIPATED, IS WHAT I'M SAYING.

My show:

Nothing was going to compete with how well the previous night's show had gone and...well, this one didn't. Another small audience. That said, I'm consistently having more fun and the audiences seem to be as well. The tweaks I made to the setlist were definitely the right move. I just wonder if it's too late for it to pay dividends, in terms of audience butts. But then I remind myself that I'm still only halfway through Fringe, which seems patently absurd. Even if Fringe doesn't provide the creative/career boost I'd hoped for when I signed on, it's been an experience to remember and I know I'll be leaving with a much stronger show than the one I arrived with.

After my show, I stuck around the Billiard Room to watch Dublin-via-Perth comic Damian Clark. Damian's show follows mine, so we've done a bit of chatting during the changeover. A nicer guy you could not find. And his show was a blast--just rapid fire jokes on top of jokes on top of jokes. He had one bit that I've been chuckling over all morning--about babies being cranky because whenever they wake up, they're in a completely different place. I won't attempt to do it justice here, but it's the good shit.

And that's all she wrote. She being me. Gender is a construct!

FRINGEQUEST, Day 13: More of That, Please

I'd had a couple of fun shows in a row, so I decided to reward myself with a bit of RETAIL THERAPY, Y'ALL.

I headed over to Frontiers Man, which is kind of exactly my style--i.e. "clothes for 45 year old men who dress like they're 35, but thankfully not like they're 25". Bought myself an on-sale zip up "jumper", which is a silly UK word that means "sweater". And then I headed over to the tourist haven known as Georges Street to buy a pair of sneakers to replace the nearly sole-less pair I brought with me to Edinburgh. You don't know how badly you need new sneakers until you spend a couple weeks walking over gravel and cobblestone.

I had lunch at some respectable-but-coporate restaurant called Slug & Lettuce. I am happy to report that, while my steak wrap did indeed contain lettuce, my lunch was entirely slug-free. I spent most of my time there online, trying to find something I could have delivered to Kambri to celebrate our 12th wedding anniversary, which is today (as in, the day you're reading this, not the day you're reading about).

If I can take a breather from this scintillating retelling of my shopping exploits, I want to take a moment to acknowledge how supportive Kambri has been of this whole endeavor. She knew she was marrying a working comic lo those many years ago, but this is the longest I've ever been "on the road" and she's been aces about the whole thing. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that's true--which is saying something, given that my heart was pretty damn fond to begin with. I feel so fortunate to have met this amazing woman and even more fortunate that she lets me stick around.

I love that woman. GO TO HER WEBSITE. DO IT NOW!

After lunch I went to see Mission: Impossible 6. Is that where the colon is supposed to go? I'm not looking it up! It was exactly what I wanted it to be--great action sequences wrapped up in an unnecessarily convoluted plot. The best part of the experience was seeing at the Cameo Picturehouse, an Edinburgh landmark. You know when you watch a period picture and there's a scene where post-war British teens are watching a John Wayne movie in a beautiful old movie theater? No? Did I just invent that cliche? Well, that's what it felt like. Here's a pic I found on the web:

My show:

Best of the run! Biggest audience, which isn't saying much, but still a welcome change. And one of my better performances. Put them together and the show felt like I'd hoped it would from the beginning--nice narrative build, constant laughs, lots of smiling faces at the end. I'm not going to get cocky and assume it will be like that moving forward--today is sunday and it's been raining all day, neither of which bodes well. But last night was a blast. More of that, please.

I ended the night with another set at "Escaping Trump's America" and then home to chat with my wife and watch an episode of The Terror. I'm really enjoying the 63% of it I comprehend.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 12: Stars is Stars, Baby

NOTE: I wrote most of this entry on my iPhone and then emailed it to myself. For some reason, the background is all wacky and I don't have time to figure out how to fix it. Yes, I already tried all the typical MS Word formatting things. Also, have I mentioned that I'm SUPER DUPER OLD??

Anyhoo...

Yesterday started off with a nice little piece of good news – – my first 4-star review. Strangely, it’s less positive than my 3-star review from a few days back, but I will take it! I certainly wish that both reviews hadn’t harped on the small crowds (not exactly an enticement for potential show goers, but STARS IS STARS BABY. In the interest of full warts-and-all disclosure, here it is. 

I was also included in this “Jokes of the Fringe” roundup, which I'm told can be helpful. And I think I may have some more promotional opportunities coming up, so all in all, not a bad way to start the day.

Did my standard long lunch/Internet binge and then got myself over to Barr Bados for an afternoon comedy show. I truly don’t know where all the people come from (they certainly haven’t been showing up for me!), but it was a packed little room. This show was part of the Free Fringe, so it was full of younger people, including a couple of families with small children. I’m not sure how he missed the nine-year-old sitting in the second row, but one of the comics launched into an extended bit about butthole fingering. Good stuff, buddy!

Afterwords I headed over to Ghost Machine, a standup show by Aussie comic Laura Davis. She performs most of the show dressed, literally, as a ghost – – blanketed in a duvet cover with eyeholes cut out. She admits up top that it's kind of a gimmick, but it's was an effective one. Her style is very conversational, and the costume played up some of her more surreal tangents. The combination of not being able to see her mouth lips move meant that I probably missed about 20% of what she said (my hearing blows), but it was definitely fun.

I get conflicted watching some of these Fringe shows. On the one hand, an act like this would probably die an ugly death on a NYC comedy club stage. On the other hand… Who fucking cares? I’m not at a New York comedy club, I’m at Fringe. If you’re able to get into the spirit of things, it can really expand your notion of what standup comedy “is”. Still, I couldn’t help the snarky New York club comedian in the back of my head occasionally chiming in. I often suspect that my hyper sensitive Bullshit Detector is the thing that makes me a good comedian and also the thing that stops me from being a great comedian. 

My show:

I’m in no position to be snarky, given that my audiences continue to be minuscule. Still, it was a fun show and I’m hopeful that the good things that are beginning to happen will begin to pay dividends. Either way, I have made a promise to myself that I’m just gonna continue having fun onstage no matter what. I should probably tattoo it on the inside of my eyelids.

After my show, I headed back to Frankenstein pub for “Escaping Trump's America“, the bar show I did last weekend. It was breezy and fun, and I saw a couple of NYC comedy acquaintances I hadn't seen in years. Good stuff.

I ended the night by heading back to the flat and watching the first episode of The Terror. Me likey! It sucks having to purchase shows on iTunes that I could watch for free back in NYC, but these are the perils of not having Wifi. We are, all of us, slaves to Lord Internet.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 11: Hallelujah

Woke up and went for a weak-ass run. I honestly don't understand how I'm not gaining a thousand pounds here. My diet is shite (UK colloquialism!), mostly stuff grabbed from the various Fringe-related food trucks scattered around the city. When I am able to find a salad, it's rudimentary stuff--lettuce, a bit of cucumber, maybe a tomato slice and goopy "creamy Italian" style dressing. And yet, my clothes seem to be fitting okay. This is good, given that my wardrobe options are limited.

I walked around Morningside a few days ago, looking to maybe buy a new shirt. There are what appear, at first glance, to be shops lining the main drive (Morningside Rd). But then you get up close and realize that every single one is a charity-related vintage store. The window displays are all a hodgepodge--a couple shirts, a pair of disco platform boots, maybe Susan Boyle Christmas CD. There must be ten such shops within a half mile of my flat, each devoted to a different charity.*

I have no idea if this is common in other parts of the UK (or the world, even), but it strikes me as bizarre. I wonder if there's any rivalry amongst the various shops. "Have you seem the sparkly jumper in the window over at Pet Adoption? It’s magnificent! And Lung Cancer has that video game everybody was playing six years ago! How are we here at Muscular Dystrophy expected to compete with that??"

Myq's girlfriend Katherine arrived yesterday and she will be staying with us for the rest of the trip. It's not the largest flat in the world but she couldn't be nicer, so it’s “all good”, as folks used to say. But it does mean Myq and I will probably have to cut back on our "guy time"—you know, talking sports and pubes and stuff.

Okay fine, “guy time” consists of 3-5 minutes of “how was your show tonight?” chat whilst standing in the entryway before we each retreat to our beds for the night. BUT I’LL STILL MISS IT.

My show:

Probably my favorite of the run so far. And halle-friggin-lujah! I really needed it, just to settle my brain a bit. Still a small crowd, but I had a lot of fun and I’d go as far as to say they did as well. And there was another reviewer in the crowd, so that can’t be bad. And a couple of nice little things have happened today (to be included in tomorrow’s entry, so I’m definitely feeling chippy-er than I was 24 hours ago.

After my show, I headed over to a fun show called “Head Sets”, where comedians perform short sets with only their heads poking through a black cloth, like a comedy show set at the Game of Thrones’ “Hall of Faces”. The show is the brainchild of QED regular Suzanne Lea Shepherd And it’s a lot of fun. You don’t realize how much of your act involves physicality until you’re performing through a comedy glory hole.

Afterwards I had to crap tacos amidst an outdoor dance club—lots of drunken 20-something Scots awkwardly gyrating to Black Eyed Peas and Sir Mixalot. TARGET DEMO ALERT.

After that I did a short set at Bar Bados, that creepy “Kill room from Saw” place I mentioned a few days back. A lovely little audience, even if they were later slaughtered in some cinematic fashion (I didn’t stay to the end, so who can say?).

All in all, a lovely day. Let’s hope things keep trending upward!



* I’m typing this on an iPad and I don’t know how to upload my photos on it (OLD!), but I will add supporting photos once I’m back in front of my laptop. Enticing, I know.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 10: A Perfectly Skip-able Day

I took it easy yesterday, knowing that I'd be out late. Upon waking, I recorded an episode of Hang Out With Me. This was convenient, given that its host (Myq Kaplan) currently sleeps 20 away. We talked about comedy life and non-comedy life and where to find joy (still looking!). In addition to being smart and funny, Myq has his moral and emotional ducks in a row to a degree at which I can only marvel. Solid dude. Here's his website.

I had lunch at that same little French cafe run by that kid and his dad. Damn fine 'croque monsieur', which is fancy way of saying 'open-face ham and cheese sandwich'. Eventually I got my shit together and ambled down to the Fest. Did some light flyering and then farted around the "loft bar" until my show.

Last night's show suuuuuucked, no two ways about it. Around Fringe, yesterday is referred to as "Black Wednesday", known for particularly small crowds. I definitely noticed a palpable lack of buzz around Bristo Square. Given that I haven't exactly been "packing the house" so far, I knew it was going to be a light...and I was correct! Even better, the door people allowed people to sit wherever, so the sparse crowd was scattered all over the room, so my comedy show felt more like one of the support group scenes from Fight Club.

I should note that a 22 year old (or thereabouts) comedy reviewer sat right up front, silently scribbling down notes through the entire show. Perfect.

After my show I walked over to the Pleasance Courtyard (another Fringe hub) and decided to see Norris & Parker: Burn the Witch. I picked it mostly because I find Goth culture inherently funny and one of the reviews compared it to Fleabag, which is one of my two favorite comedies to come out in the last few years (the other being American Vandal).

I'm not entirely sure I noticed any similarities to Fleabag, but the show was still entertaining. Lots of goofy talk about "sex witches" and Bat For Lashes-style tunes. Like a lot of two-person sketch groups, it felt in-jokey, but I'm definitely happy to have checked it out.

I ended the evening by performing on Late 'n Live, the notoriously rowdy show I spoke of yesterday. It was not rowdy. In fact, it felt downright sleepy. My set was fine--functional, at best. But if I thought performing on the show would catapult my attendance into the triple digits...well, I have been cured of that notion.

I went back to the flat, watched and episode of Killing Eve and stared at the ceiling until daylight.

PARTY!!!!!!!!!!

FRINGEQUEST, Day 9: I Like to Watch

I woke up and did laundry, because I am a big boy who does big boy things. There's a washing machine in the flat, but no dryer. Given that every single thing I brought with me was filthy, I thought it worth a trip to an actual laundry facility, rather than performing tonight in gym shorts and a raincoat.

There isn't a formal laundromat nearby, but there's a tiny dry cleaner with two small washer/dryers. It felt like doing laundry at a stranger's home...if that stranger was making crystal meth. I think I'm still a bit woozy from the dry cleaning fumes, but that also may just be Fringe-related delirium setting in. After eight days, I'm beginning to go a bit nuts. My mood swings wildly--from depressed to panicked to bored to serene. And happy, as well. There are moments of that.

I eventually made my way to Bristo Square, where my venue is located. I awkwardly handed out a few flyers (I cannot overstate how terrible I am at self-promotion) and then I went to see a metric ton of comedy--3.5 full shows, in total.

First up was an Irish comic, picked semi-randomly. The show I'd hoped to see was sold-out, and this woman's show was starting around the same place/time. Yesterday was 2-for-1 day, so I went halfsies with a British freelance theater critic who was also flying solo. She was a chatterbox in the best way--bubbly, charming, full of questions. It was nice to have someone to chat with before/after what was a rather rote "road comic" show. The comic had tons of charisma and there were a good lines, but the premises were Standup 101. I give it a "fine".

Later that night I caught Set List, which is a show that became famous in LA, then expanded to NYC and the festival circuit. Basically, comics are forced improvise a routine based on short prompts projected onto a video screen. The prompts, like the phrases you might see scrawled on a comics' set list, are absurd and seemingly nonsensical, a la "SUGGESTIVE HEADSTONE" and "HITLER DANCE PARTY". I've done the show in NYC and I'm hoping to get on the bill here in Edinburgh, even though it's a rather terrifying experience. Even "playing along" in my head from the audience last night, I drew a complete blank on at least half the prompts. As you can imagine, the quality of the show veers pretty wildly from moment to moment (and comic to comic), but it's super engaging.

After that I caught a show structured like a musical sex ed class. I did not like it. I know that isn't a terribly incisive review, but the performer seems like a nice dude and I have no desire to trash him--especially given that I'm not exactly setting Edinburgh ablaze. I only mention it so that when I read this years from now I can think "Oh right, I saw that." So let the record reflect: I saw that.

Finally, I checked out Late n Live, a Fringe institution that starts at 1am. I only stayed for half the show because I was poooooooped. Also, the main reason I was there is because I'm booked on it tonight. The show is known for being a real slugfest--drunk heckling, etc. The version I saw last night felt pretty sleepy, although one comic did get into it with a trying-to-be-offended audience member. But that was honestly a saving grace; she'd been bombing pretty hard. If I feel my set going poorly tonight, I will pick a fight with the nearest person I can find.

My show:

A larger audience, but it still felt a bit sleepy. Good moments, but not my favorite. So far my small audiences have all been wonderful and my larger audiences have felt a bit tepid.

UPDATE: And I just found out this morning that a "Fringe awards" representative was in the house last night. WONDERFUL! That's fine, really--I don't want to be bothered clearing away precious mantle-space.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 8: In Defense of Technological Leisure Suits

Yesterday I was tasked with conducting a "takeover" of the Live Nation UK Instagram feed. It was a hostile takeover, in the sense that I was annoyed by having to do it. Not that I'm against promoting my show--I desperately need it (we'll get to that later). But you must remember that I am approximately 1009 years old. And I also hate social media. Or maybe I just suck at it. Or maybe I hate it because I suck at it. Or vice versa. Let's just say 'all of the above'.

"But Finnegan," you say, "Isn't this blog a form of social media?" To which I say: how 'social' can you call this when only 8-10 people are reading (Hi, Kambri!)? Also, blogs are a glorious relic of a bygone era, when the internet was fun. In the same way that one's fashion sense markedly slows around Age 30, so I am with technology. The Blog is generation's tech version of a "leisure suit", and that's just fine. Mr. Furley always looked super happy and comfortable.

I know how goofy it is that I'm posting on Blogger, rather than on Facebook. But I'm really just trying to document my Fringe experience for when my inevitable dementia sets in. Also, if we're all coming around to the idea that Facebook is in fact E-V-I-L, maybe we should start looking for other venues?

"But Finnegan," you say, again using my surname in a way I find overly familiar, "Blogger was purchased by Google in 2003. Isn't Google just another mega-tech company like Facebook?"

Yes, but it's not quite as bad. In fact, I believe their motto is "Don't Be (quite as) Evil (as facebook)".

"But Finnegan, you spend 14 hours a day on Twitter, a haven for White Supremacists and misogynists. In fact, you tweet links to this very blog. Doesn't that--"

OKAY, I'M A HYPOCRITE. YOU GOT ME! FUCK ME, RIGHT??

Anyhoo, I spent the early hours yesterday googling things like "Instagram" and "takeover" and "What is an Instagram takeover?" After 40 minutes of confused skimming, I felt I'd mastered things. So I planned a few "spontaneous" things to film. They all ended up being a bust (seriously, too boring even to write about). It felt less like "taking over" and more like showing up at a high school party and sitting alone in a corner, hoping no one would question my presence. But here's a little tidbit:

I'd heard rumors that there was a "wild west" street somewhere in Morningside, the Edinburgh neighborhood where I'm staying. Turns out, it's basically across the street from my flat. It's extremely odd--5 or 6 facades made to look like Old West buildings for no discernible reason. You can read about it here, but I'll also post a few pics I took at the end.

My show:

Another exclusive (read: small) audience, which was too bad, because it was a super fun show. I have some things coming up that should help boost attendance, so until then all I can do is keep turning in performances I'm happy with and hope word-of-mouth does its thing. It would help if there were more mouths forming those words, of course. But I am determined to remain positive.*

* This statement is utter bullshit. I'm terrified no one will ever come to my show.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 7: Golfing goths

My first review came out. Despite my worries and fever dreams, it's actually quite positive. But I only received "three stars"--while perfectly acceptable, three stars ain't gonna do much to put butts in seats. It's frustrating, because I know a larger crowd (or even a smaller room) would have put things over the top. Whine whine whine! Anyway, here it is.

I went for a run. This time I wised up and mostly ran around "The Meadows", a massive park not far from the Fringe scrum. Being Sunday, it was abuzz with activity. My run involved lots of baby carriage avoidance, but that was well worth not having to haul my ass up and down the rolling hills of Edinburgh.

There's a large pitch-and-putt golf course in the middle of the Meadows, with people of all ages and cultural milieus hacking away. I loathe American golf culture with a burning passion, but seeing the way it's embraced here has softened me. In the States, golf represents (in my mind) privilege, sprawl and middle-aged White dudes who want to avoid their families. But it's not like that over here--it's just a "thing to do". When you see a teenage goth jump and cheer after making her putt, your preconceived notions melt away.

In the early evening I went to see NYC comedy compatriot Chris Laker do some time at Bar Bados, a venue that felt like it could be a kill room from the movie Saw. Chris is an effortlessly funny dude. The guy has a very fucked up brain, and I mean that in the most flattering way.

My show:

Easily my favorite of Fringe so far. A small crowd still, but I made a few tweaks to my show and they all paid dividends. I ran two minutes long, so I need to fix that, but I finally feel like the show is where I want it to be, set list/structure wise. That always helps me settle in and deliver a more enthusiastic performance.

Now, if only I could figure out how to make more people show up... Promotion is the bane of my existence.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 6: Gene Shalit Lives On in My Subconscious

I’ve been waking up late so far—bed around 3am, up around 10:30-11am. This is easy to do here, as my “real” life in NYC is five hours behind. Also, I’ve been trying to wring out every last minute of sleep possible, as I pull myself out of this lingering sickness. My throat still feels scratchy, but snot generation has decreased by 50% and my vocal cords are being real troopers, even the one with vocal paresis. I call him Potsie. And I call the good vocal cord Richie, both of whom live inside Ralph Mouth.

Full disclosure: I don't actually call them that. In fact, I just came up with it. Let us never speak of this again.

Given my late rise, I had to hustle to get to a 12pm show, recommended to me by my publicist. Thankfully, it was worth it. It was a fun sketch duo called The Delightful Sausage. The two performers had a charming interplay and the show was goofy and ambitious in equal measures. Granted, there were UK references I couldn't fathom, but I was charmed nonetheless. CHARMED, I SAY! My appreciation for "cuteness" definitely increases when I leave New York City.

One thing I noticed about both The Delightful Sausage and Christopher Bliss show--the UK comedy scene is fixated on small townsfolk with delusions of grandeur. Not knocking it--I genuinely loved both shows. It's just noteworthy. Someone said it might have to do with Brexit, which (fairly or unfairly) is being blamed on small townsfolk. But you see it in UK TV/film as well. Hell, it's the running theme of Edgar Wright's Cornetto Trilogy and, to a degree, The Office. We have some of that in the States (Waiting for Guffman), but it seems like a UK obsession.

My show:

A weird one. The tech worked perfectly and I was definitely "hitting my marks", but the whole thing felt a bit labored and sleepy. It didn't help that the room was sweltering and my crowds are still, shall we say, "petite". It wouldn't have bothered me so much, but my first reviewer was in the audience. Reviewers usually claim that they can see past a light/tough crowd, but I don't really buy it. You can do the same show in front of a full house and it will magically seem "better" than the exact same performance to a half-empty house. 

After the show, I did another set at that bar show I'd done the previous night. I had a super great set. Like, the kind you dream of having. But it left a slightly bad taste in my mouth--if my show had gone even half as well, I'd be looking at a sterling review (which would put butts in seats, blah blah blah).

I went to sleep feeling kinda morose, which led to all sorts of crazy dreams. I dreamt that the review had come out and it was absolutely scathing. Like, brutal and specific. I don't remember much, but it included a short insult poem. Something like:

You go to a comedy show

Expecting to be dazzled

But standup this boring

Will only leave you frazzled!

Gene Shalit lives on in my subconscious.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 5: Being Chintzy Can Cost You

My attempts at willing myself to health have not paid massive dividends. I'm still a runny-nosed wreck and, as predicted, my voice is getting raggedy. That's generally how it goes--the breathy rasp is always the last thing to set in, as my health is otherwise on the upswing. But it's not severe (yet?). I'd say I have about 75% of my range and it's not something an audience would notice. But I sure as hell do. When I'm not at full voice, I tend to push, which makes me come off a bit needy. It's always better to let an audience come to you and it's hard to do that when you feel as if you're shouting to be heard. It may be all in my head, but headspace is precious. No room at the inn, laryngitis!

I'm trying to see at least one show before mine every day and one afterward (unless I have a spot). I mis-timed getting to the show I'd planned on, so I took a leap of faith and hustled over to I Spy With My Little Eye Something Beginning With Why Have You Been Sleeping With My Wife: A Play by Christopher Bliss (yes, that's the full title) and, holy shit, I'm glad I did. Just masterful. Very British in its presentation and references, but not off-putting. God damn I loved this show. Best thing I've seen so far.

As for my show:

I finally got my dumb slideshow to work. All I needed to do was buy an actual Apple adapter from an actual Apple store, rather than a cheap "universal" knock-off from Amazon (and then a second knockoff from a local cell phone store). Being chintzy can cost you, folks.

Last night's crowd, while nowhere near capacity, was the largest yet. A bit older and more polite than I'd have preferred (a lot of ruminative smiling), but I think they enjoyed themselves. They definitely did. I think. Definitely.

Afterwards I did a spot at a bar show called Escaping Trump's America, featuring US comedians. It was fun to do a straight up 15-minute standup set, without having to worry about narrative or flow. A nice, low maintenance palate cleanser. As the month goes on, I'm sure I'll be enjoying these "mixed bill" gigs more and more. I'm already looking forward to doing it again tonight.

I'm officially through my three-show "grace period" and I've been told my first reviewer is coming tonight. Vocal cords notwithstanding, I think I'm ready. Definitely. I think.

FRINGEQUEST, Day 4: Male Toilet

Yesterday I was still sicky-poo. My nose alternated between "leaky faucet" and "block of wood" and I spent the day in a slightly dizzy state, like when you drink champagne on an empty stomach--only, you know, not awesome.  But my head cold hasn't been debilitating and (SFX: FERVENT WOOD-KNOCKING) my voice has held up.

Yesterday's lunch/internet splurge was spent at a lovely place called Montpelier's and I, in my American arrogance thought, "What a lovely tribute to Vermont!" before thinking "Oh right...France". Speaking of geography, here's a an "Italian" restaurant down the street from my flat:

Ah yes, the Incans and their world-renowned Pasta Fagioli!

In the early evening I attended the "press launch" for my venue, The Gilded Balloon. There was some loud hobnobbing, which I mostly skipped to protect my voice (it's not as if I know anyone yet), and then we were all ushered into the large Debating Hall (kind of a rock club vibe) for a sampling of the various acts performing at GB this year. As a newcomer, I wasn't on the bill, but I AM an artist/narcissist, so I will cop to a bit of jealousy...at first. Then I saw what the performers had to contend with. Apparently, the electricity had gone out overnight and when it came back on, the heaters automatically kicked in. So when they opened the venue in the morning, the place was a sauna. They tried cranking the A/C as best they could, but it was a "hot room" in the worst sense of the word. Also, the entire first front was filled with journalists taking notes. Shocking as this may seem, on-assignment writers tend not to be effusive audience members.

A few folks did very well, specifically Zoe Lyons, with whom I spent a month in Western Australia back in 2010 (I'M OLD!). She's one of those effortlessly funny people--goofy and physical while still playing at the top of her intelligence. If you ever get the chance to see her, I highly recommend it.

But many of the performers struggled. Whenever I see seemingly seasoned performers eat a dick, there's always a part of me that thinks "I could turn this around". That's part of a comedian's hubris, and an essential part at that. We comics joke about it all the time--you walk to the stage thinking "I'm going to bust this wide open" and then, 45 seconds into your set, it's "Oh...perhaps not". As a Fringe newcomer, I need all the eyeballs I can get, but maybe not being included on this lineup was a blessing in disguise. Not ALL publicity is good publicity.

As for my show: There was a slightly larger audience, so that was nice. And my performance was fine, runny nose notwithstanding. Frustratingly, tech issues persist. But I've been told how to rectify the situation, so I'll soon be headed to the Apple Store in full rectification mode. Third time's a charm...?

After my show I caught a really fun sketch game show by British troupe Zazu. It was delightfully inane, but delivered with 100% commitment. I don't give over to utter silliness that much in my own comedy, but I really do love it as an audience member. Another hearty recommendation.

And that's all! Oh by the way, I here's I settled on a headline for my future Grindr profile:

FRINGEQUEST, Day 3: It Begins (Awkwardly)

I woke up to the realization that I am, in fact, sick. What can I say--Fate finds me so alluring!

I spent the night in a fever dream, toggling through nightmare scenarios--show cancellations, angry producers, genital torture (don't ask), the whole gamut. When I actually got up after maybe 6 hours of functional sleep, I realized that I was not actually at Death's door. I just have a moderate cold and if I take care of myself and my shitty-ass vocal cords, I'll be okay in a day or two. Still, not the ideal start. I am constitutionally unable to make things easy for myself.

I spent most of the day drinking Throat Comfort tea in the flat. I did spend a long lunch at a tiny cafe called Mugs run by a young French dude and his dad. I love my father very much, but if I had to spend my entire working life in a 10'x25' room with him, it would only be a matter of time before I went Full Menendez.

Then I went to buy groceries. Apropos of nothing, Scottish fruit is teensy-tiny--like, you can eat an entire apple in three bites. It's like these weirdos have never heard of genetic modification!

Went home, showered and headed out to meet Chris Aitken of To the Left PR, who has been charged with convincing folks to review my show. It cannot not be overstated how big a deal "reviews" are at Fringe. It's odd, coming from America, where attending a live comedy show is treated like a trip to the public restroom--perfectly acceptable, but not to be discussed in polite company.* But this stuff is SERIOUS BIZ over here. Everyone's Fringe posters are laden with 'stars' from reputable news organizations (The Scotsman, The Independent) and also publications that seem...less so (Higgledydiggledydo.co.uk**). I've asked for a couple of "preview" shows before reviewers show up, so I'm fully prepared for mostly empty seats for the first week or so.

I killed an hour at the Gilded Balloon Loft Bar, where I expect to be spending a good bit of time. It's performers and Festival employees only, so it's quiet and the wifi is super duper. And then I headed down to the Billiard Room to prep for my show.

Remember when I said that I had solved my tech issues? Well...not so much. Apparently the problem is more involved than a mere dusty port (AMIRIGHT LADIES?). In fact, I think this HDMI adapter is officially a sunken cost. We couldn't get it to connect to the large TV I'm renting (grr...) for the duration of the Festival, so for my very first show I was forced to hold my iPad mini aloft like I was a 4th grader doing show-and-tell. Luckily(??), this was workable because there were only about ten people in the audience. I have absolutely NO profile in the UK, so I'm fully prepared for the fact that these first shows are going to be super light. And honestly, with all the technical snafus, it was a small blessing that things were so intimate. They were a lovely little group, including one wonderful lady I met at the Loft Bar...who happens to be on the Gilded Balloon board. She laughed. I think that's important.

One additional fuckup on my part: I was so frazzled with my tech debacle, I left my bottle of water backstage, so by the end of the show I felt like I was screeching with a dishrag shoved down my throat. It's as if I'm daring Larynxitor (the vocal cord deity I just made up) to smite me. But I made it through the show and was able to form words afterward.

After my show I went to see the beloved Chicago musical sketch/improv group Baby Wants Candy perform "THRONES: The Game of Thrones Musical" because the heart wants what it wants. It was super good.

That's all for now. Toodles!



* I find it off-putting that everyone here refers to restrooms as "toilets". I'm all for calling a spade a spade, but it seems unnecessarily direct. Like, "Excuse me, where can I find one of those holes that people shit in?" Class it up, UK.

**I made that one up, but it's no sillier than a few that actually exist.

FRINGEQUEST, DAY 2: Technically, I'm an idjit

I spent nearly eleven hours in bed last night. Yes, el-muthafuckin-even. I did wake up around 5am and spent an hour holding my phone above my head and using up a good chunk of my international data plan, but I eventually forced myself back to sleep through sheer will. And then I woke up again, and forced myself to sleep. And again. And again. If I showed this sort of determination in my career, I would be running Comedy.* All said, I probably accumulated 9.5 hours of quality sleep, which has to be a record for me. Still, I woke up with that dreaded tickle in the back of my throat--a harbinger of sickness and (more ominously) potential laryngitis.

I had surgery last year to remove a vocal node and I also have something called vocal cord paresis, which means that one of my vocal cords is as lazy as a trust fund kid at a summer internship. My main Fringe-related fear has been that my voice would give out, and I here I am putting myself in jeopardy on Day 1. But for some reason, I was rather chill about it. Yeah, the tickle is there, but I know the drill: get lots of sleep, drink lots of water and avoid loud bars. I have this strange belief that I will wake up tomorrow feeling good (he said, flashing Fate a crotch shot).

After finally tearing myself from the bed, I went for a run. I'm primarily a treadmill guy, but I love outdoor running in foreign cities. There's no better way to get a feel for a place. I once spent six weeks in Australia and my favorite memories, even more than performing, were trudging through backroads of weird mining towns in Western Australia (shout out to Geraldton!). So I downloaded a 5 mile route from Map My Run (free advertising!) and hauled my fat ass onto the pavement. My 5 mile route mysteriously ended up being 7 miles (free advertising rescinded!), but it was dandy all the same.

BTW, Edinburgh has hills. Like, lots of them. Big ones. Like, if these hills had eyes, they'd be Steve Buscemi.

I don't think that joke works, but I'm not going back. Onward!

I came back to the flat, showered, and somehow managed to take a nap. More sleep, dammit! Oh, and if I'm going to pimp apps, I should mention that Nap26 is super good.

Around 3pm I left the flat and headed to Old Town, where the major Fringe venues are located. I'll be performing at a building called The Gilded Balloon, a name which undercuts itself--any balloon covered in gold would be resting on the ground like a paperweight.

I farted around for a while until my tech rehearsal. The Gilded Balloon houses a number of performance spaces and I'm to perform in the "Billiard Room". It seats 106 people, which I'm told is the ideal number for a first timer. Considering how completely unknown I am over here, it sounds about 100 seats too many to me (POSITIVITY!). Every performer is given an hour to work out their tech stuff, and I was expecting to be done in less than 15. I have no sound or lighting cues, so all I needed to do was make sure my iPad properly connected to the large monitor that will be showing my slideshow (Yes, my show has slides--COME AT ME, BRO!). What could possibly go wrong, right?

Cut to: one hour later. I am in full panic mode, as I cannot get the damn iPad to connect to the TV. I am trying not to lose my shit while my very kind tech woman Iona tries to figure out some other possible solution. And then, because all of my near-tragedies are resolved in the dumbest of ways, I unplug the iPad and clean the lightning port with a paper clip. Bingo.

My tech nightmare pacified, I headed over to a Fringe launch party (the first of many, from what I gather), thrown by one of the many fest-related publications. There is an entire industry built up around this durn festival. There was a drag show going on (drag seems to be big here) and it was extremely loud. I stayed for 20 minutes. Did I leave because I was preserving my voice or because I only knew three people, all of whom seemed to be occupied chatting with more important folks? Why pick just one?

I grabbed a bus home (my first UK bus!) and stared at the ceiling until 3am, praying the ever-growing tickle in my throat isn't what I think it is.**

Tomorrow is Show #1. Huzzah...?



* Sometimes I like to pretend that my middling career is merely a result of poor work ethic, rather than an indictment of my abilities. Diversify your self-abuse, lest you build up a tolerance--that's what I say!

** 10am update: ...aaaaaand I'm definitely sick. As these fancy UK types say, "Lovely!"

FRINGEQUEST, Day 1: I'm OK, You're UK

So here's the deal:

This is a blog on which I used to post stuff. Like, a lot. Then less so, then barely ever. And since 2014...tumbleweeds. I'm currently in Edinburgh, performing my solo show MY GOODNESS at the International Fringe Festival. It's quite a slog--26 shows in 27 days. I'm not sure I'll ever do something this immersive again, and my wife isn't here to remember stuff for me, so I want to document the experience. I thought, "Is Blogger still, like, a thing?" Apparently it is!

That brings us pretty much up to date.

I'm writing this for myself, but maybe you'll get something out of it as well. I make no promises about the literary merit of the posts to follow. TALK ABOUT SALESMANSHIP!

And with that, here are some random thoughts about my first day:

I took a red-eye from JFK, arriving in Manchester at what was, to my brain, 5am. My sleep patterns have always been wonky, so I've been semi immune to jet lag...until now. Part of it is that I'm not doing the road as much lately, so I've settled into a more "traditional" schedule--not one befitting a responsible adult, but relatively consistent. The rest I just chalk up to my steadily decaying mortal body. It didn't help that my seat mate was a dude of comparable size. I got about 90 minutes of sleep on the plane, spread out over 3 restless hours. Then I watched Paddington 2 which was, in a word, delightful. Keep in mind, "delightful" is not a word I use on a regular basis. But man oh man, watch that movie and try to find a more apt description. You can't! Forget what I just said--don't even try!

I was bleary-eyed when I got to Manchester, but nothing too tragic. And the timing was such that, by the time I got to the terminal for my connecting flight, I only had ten minutes to kill until boarding. Perfect, right? Yeah, not so much. Two hour delay (which actually ended up being closer to three). I should count myself lucky--whilst waiting, I heard two separate announcements for flights that had been summarily cancelled. Who'd have thunk that a company called "Flybe" might not be the most professional outfit? More like FlyD-minus, amiright?

I slept on a bench in the shithole terminal for another 90 minutes or so. It was one of those desolate airport wings for puddle-jumpers, so no restaurants or shops. Of course, my gate changed at the last minute so I had to haul ass through the "nice" part of the airport anyway. I somehow managed to forget to buy pack of gum, so my mouth felt like a dried up sewer.

By the way, I'm basing this only on the airport, but Morrissey oversold Manchester.

Moving on! I finally got to Edinburgh around 4pm (11am, me-time), where I met up with my hero, Graham. I'm staying in a flat with Myq Kaplan (Google him!). Myq hooked us up with lodging via an old friend, who's father (Graham) seems hellbent on making sure we get the most out of our time here. Just an unbelievably kind fellow. Fuck that--he's a "good bloke". I'm not sure why, but you get over here and the word "bloke" finally makes sense. Graham is not a "guy" or a "dude", he's a bloke. The word nicely implies low-maintenance affability. He's semi-retired, but works two days a week as an art tutor for the disabled. Right?? I mean, COME ON. Graham and I made chit chat from the airport and I have decided that he and my dad are going to be best friends--no doubt about it. My dad is coming here for the final week of the festival and I'm going to Parent Trap them and they're going to get friend-married and then Graham will by my new step-dad-friend.

The flat is simple and clean. It has that barebones "air b'n'b" feel to it, but that's actually perfect for our needs. If it was covered in personal knickknacks, I doubt I'd be able to settle in. I'm taking the one bedroom and Myq is taking the living room/kitchen area, which includes a comfortable (according to myq) pullout bed. It's kind of an even split, in that I have the nicer bed and more privacy, but Myq can go to the fridge whenever he wants without having to disturb someone. The street is a goddamn postcard, but then again, EVERYTHING here is a postcard. I'm already suffering Quaintness Overload. And yes, I am aware that's a very condescending American attitude, but...well, I am what I am.

I unpacked and made the bed (ADULT!) and then managed to drag myself to a pub for dinner. It was all I could do not to collapse then and there. But the flat doesn't have wifi and I had important work to do (read: aimless Twitter scrolling). I headed back to the flat and allowed myself entry into Sleepyland around 10:30pm, sore throat already setting in. A slog of a first day, but...I am here.

Let the onslaught begin.