High above Butte, Montana stands a 90 foot tall woman. She's stoic and made of steel. Her only known name is "Our Lady of the Rockies," but I call her Tess--after a girl I met at Gyro Planet of Helena, MT. I don't know if that was gyro girl's name, but if it wasn't, I think it should've been. She was beautiful, and so is the 90 foot tall woman, so I call them both Tess. Because I think it fits.
The Tess that I'm talking about today is the 90 foot tall one that overlooks Butte, Montana. According to the postcard, "Our Lady of the Rockies is located on top of the Continental Divide at 8,510 feet. The non-denominational statue has a four-foot long nose, 3 foot-wide lips and weighs 80 tons. According to me, she's a hottie.
Like, I really like her. I mean, it's nothing serious, yet, we're still dating other people, but I really like, you know think she's neato.
There's something about her that makes me completely comfortable, and she's got this nonchalant attitude that makes her even more attractive. Yea, there's that whole height issue, but I just wear really tall shoes we're when together which puts me right above her ankle. When we go to dances it's a little awkward, so we don't dance anymore, in public.
I met her yesterday. I was driving through Butte on the way to Helena. She was just standing up there acting like she was trying not to look at me, but I know she was. I'd look back occasionally and there she'd be, staring directly at me from the top of a mountain (she's not a very good actress). Most girls will look away after they make eye contact, with that semi-embarrassed, cutesy face. Not Tess. She'll stare at you like she's trying to boar through to your soul. Well, she got mine.
So, tomorrow I'm driving back to Butte. I invited her to the show, but I don't know if she'll make it. She doesn't move around much. Not at all, really. Maybe that will make it or break it for us. As much as I like her, I just don't think I can handle someone who doesn't move--like at all. I mean, move a little at least. Show some emotion, maybe. I know, she's got that whole hard to get thing happening, but really she's taking this too far.
A lot of Friday was spent Mainely on a boat, in Maine. It was a beautiful day, one of the best they've had here in a looong time it sounds like.
It wasn't necessarily a cruise, it was more a mailboat. A friend of mine introduced me to the strategy of seeing the island communities off the coast of Maine for a mere eleven dollars. Isn't that fantastic?! Granted it's a mail boat making deliveries, but the scenery is the same no matter what boat you're looking at it from.
It was a nice little three hour tour...a three hour tour (insert the theme music from Gilligan's Island here). No mishaps, just a perfect day on the water delivering refrigerators and coupon books to island dwellers off the coast of Maine. We actually didn't have to physically make deliveries, but if the crew had asked for help, I would've gladly pitched in to get the mail out.
Today the newspaper said that Martha Stewart faces 30 years in prison, so I take a walk.
It's one of my favorite walks. I take it whenever I'm in New Hampshire. I start at a beautiful, large 17th century farmhouse that sits where the pavement turns to dirt. I follow the dirt.
The road is roofed with overhanging tree limbs and lined with ancient stone walls that look like they should topple at any second but somehow manage to remain steady.
A pale man wearing a very large red beard and riding a small blue tractor is driving toward me. My first thought is how patriotic. My second thought is he looks out of place on that tiny tractor, much like Martha Stewart would look very out of place in prison.
I start to notice everything that is out of place. I walk by an aged country home--the squarest red brick building I've ever seen. In the driveway sits a sleek, silver-toned Audi TT. At first I'm angry, but then I begin to realize that contrast can create beauty. Although, the beer can sitting by the side of the road contrasting with nature doesn't seem to be beautiful to me at the moment, so I conclude that not all contrast is beautiful--It must be the right kind of contrast.
When I get to my destination, a small stream dumping out of a glassy pond, I catch the glint of a bright yellow bird flicking through the green trees at the water's edge, and I think, maybe Martha Stewart in prison will be art.
I was in Boston on Tuesday to compete in Comedy Central's Laugh Riots competition. I lost. We drew numbers out of a glass. I drew the number one spot--I'm not making excuses, but it really is difficult to be first in a competition. The club was packed with about 450 people, I'm told. The emcee was great, so that helped. But, I was nervous, frankly. I'd never been on this stage and the other competitors had, I'd never performed in New England, I only had six minutes, and I was first. I psyched myself out a little bit. I opened strong, but lost it after that and never recovered well. I sped through my material and wasn't very animated and just looked a little unfunny. So, I lost, but the guy who won was great and deserved it.
The club manager liked me enough to invite me back to do a set the following night, and it went great. The crowd was about half the size, but I was relaxed and it was fun.
I also did a showcase at a club in Portland, Maine that went fantastic and got a spot at a smaller Boston club that was good too.
All the comedians have been friendly and extremely helpful. Thanks, all!
At any rate New England is nice. I'm sitting here this evening at a friend's home in New Hampshire watching it rain and helping with dinner. I'm taking tonight off. I could go into Boston and possibly pick up a spot, but I've performed or been driving every night for a long time now, so it's a welcome evening off.
I fly home tomorrow morning, and it will be nice to be back for a few days before a week-long trek into South Dakota and Montana. And, hopefully a little stint at home in Idaho.
home sweet home! drip, drip, drip.
I can't remember the last time I updated this "blog," because I have never updated it. I am told that blog is short for web log, but I think it could also be used as a nickname for bologna. Nevertheless, today I shall start recording my adventures and musings here for all and anyone to peruse. Think of it as my web log.
I've been out and about the country over the last few weeks performing in such states as Minnesota, Iowa and Wisconsin...also, Massachusetts and Maine (Maine being a secondary state and not really the "Main" one at all) Additional states included disheveled and blissful.
I know what you're saying..."well, what about Iowa, Ryan?" Exactly. What about Iowa, indeed.
The shows were great. Two shows Friday and Saturday at a place called The Funny Barn. It's in a small touristy town called Spirit Lake which is actually on Lake Okoboji (pronounced Oh-Ka-Bo-Gee, also another possible synonym for Bologna). I never saw any Spirit Lake...erie, yes? (No, not Lake Erie you fool, just erie, as in the adjective.)
Saturday, the town had a summer festival doo-dah happening. They blocked off the streets and brought in carnival rides and everything. This is the first time a town has ever done anything like this for me.
We were forced to participate. I say we. I was traveling with a comedic headlining friend named Bengt Washburn (probably not a great name for Bologna, but good for a comic). We were asked to participate in the water fight happening up the street. After we said no, then we were told to participate in the water fight. So we obliged (pronounced Oh-Bly-gd, you'd be stretching to use this as another name for Bologna, but you just might pull it off--try it and LET ME KNOW HOW IT GOES).
I don't know if water fight conveys the meaning well. Two firehoses were laid down the middle of the street facing each other. It was probably high noon. A metal barrel attached to a pulley hung on a rope above the street that would slide when the hose fired upon it. The concept was to use the firehose to push the barrel back above the opposing team--similar to tug-of-war in a way. We were on a four-person team for this single elimination tournament. The dress standard was fireman's coat and helmet, so we went with that.
Our first competitors were actual firefighters! Needless to say we lost. You know, whatever it takes for them to get their kicks, but if it means beating some comedians with a firehose then I would hate to be them.
When it was evident that we were going to lose. Our team leader hosed the onlooking townspeople. It was a nice touch, I thought.