Motorhead

Motorhead                 8663  (1863)

Friday, August 10, 2007-3:15 A.M.

"I should be tired/but all I am is wired/ haven't felt this good in an hour."

It's another week of summer under-employment as the Ralph Tetta North American comedy tour takes another brief hiatus.  I was originally supposed to perform in Niagara Falls, New York this weekend, but the club went dark for the summer due to lackluster crowds despite being the only game on the U.S. side of the border.  So I replaced it with a gig in Charleston, South Carolina, and then that gig imploded slightly, forcing me to cancel it, and now I have the weekend off.  I'm going to Niagara Falls tonight anyway, as I understand they are mounting one semi-pro show to give the open micers a place to work out, so I'm going to support, and will tread the boards if given the offer.  I'll be making the trek with Steve "The Nuclear Guy" Natarelli, who was kind enough to offer to pick me up on his way west.  It should be an interesting time as two "old guys" bust in on the young turks of Buffalo comedy looking to show them what-for.

Tuesday, I hosted the open mic at Comix Cafe in Rochester, and we had our usual selection of talent represented...I'm amazed sometimes at the 20-or-so comics who will show up every week or every other week or so, it's always a good mix.  We have ordained ministers, older folks, college kids, college-aged kids who never went, African immigrants, teachers, strippers, drug addicts and magicians who show up every week, vying for the cash prize or their part of the stage, their time to shine, to live their show-biz dreams.

And then there's Dr. Will.

Dr. Will is a guy who I'm pretty sure is not a real doctor, or if he is, there is more wrong with our health care system in the United States than the manner in which we pay for services.  He comes out most every week, signs up, and then almost always draws the last number, or near the last, and then sits on a bar stool near the door, like a bouncer ready to check I.D.'s, and once in a while, he disappears into the parking lot, possibly to get high as many a comic has joked before.

This week, we had ten comics and about the same number of patrons, and I wasn't going to green-light the festivities until I got word from the owner.  After all, he would have to supply the winner of the open mic contest a cash prize, and pay me for my services for the evening, a budget of about $75, on top of payroll for the club.  We got the O.K. to run with a truncated cash prize, $25 rather than $50, and we were off to the races.  I was happy; I had to cancel last week when we had 14 comics and six patrons, and I needed the money.  Some folks had gotten back to me that they felt I canceled because I "didn't feel" like doing a show, but there's nothing farther from the truth.  I do comedy for a living, not as a hobby, and I need the stage time as well as the income.  Believe me, summer has been shabby enough this year that I've had plenty of time to bond with my family, I need to balance it out with some work.

So we ran the open mic, and Dr. Will drew number ten out of ten....last.  While performer number nine was on stage, Will came over to me and asked to scratch his name off the list, but somewhere during number nine's set, Will decided he wanted back on.  Two weeks previous, he had scratched his name off the set list and did not perform.  I don't know his rhyme or reason, but I respect it regardless.

So Will goes up tenth, and goes over his time by almost double, but I let him go because we were on schedule, he was last, and he was doing what I thought was his closing bit.  But he was dragging it out, repeating a lot of things, and just generally trying to get milk out of a rock...it just wasn't happening.  I didn't care that he was last, Joel the bartender and I (the judges) had already determined the winner and Dr. Will was going to have to have a far superior set to win the money, and at the five-minute mark, he hadn't scored enough points to make it into the top three, if we had such a thing.

After the show was concluded, I announced the winner (not Will), and one of the comics on the show (who I had scored in the top three but not the winner), took me to the side and wanted to speak in private regarding my viewing and critiquing a tape he had made at another show.  When we returned to the lounge from the back showroom, Will had barracaded himself in the men's room (a one-seater) and was hammering on the fixtures and fighting Joel and Gary, one of the club's security guys who had stopped in because the club's softball team's game had gotten rained out.

I had to call 911, and by the time I explained the situation to the operator, Will was out of the bathroom and moving to the exit.  I called off the police, and thanked the operator for her time.  Then, someone came running in and yelled "They're fighting in the parking lot!"  Luckily, when I called the 911 center, I got the same operator I had just spoken to, and she dispatched officers to the scene.  Long story short (or is it too late for that?), four Brighton police officers responded and the cute blonde female officer went to question me while the three white male cops went to go talk to Will, the scary, bald-headed black man.  Suffice to say, another fledgling comedy career has been nipped in the bud as Will has been barred from the premises, and that's sad because just three weeks ago, Will was quizzing me as to what he had to do to get on stage in the main room on the weekend.  I'm pretty sure I told him that he had to have strong material that he did week after week, instead of going on stage and ranting, but I guess that sounded like "Lock yourself in the bathroom and bash on the fixtures, and then get in a fistfight in our parking lot."  A lot of people don't know this, but that's exactly how Brian Regan got started.  And then his brother Dennis Regan rode on his coattails, but that's another story.

Wednesday, Pammey's family had a mini-reunion, as folks from her mother's side of the family converged on Rochester, and we had a nice cookout.  It was a good day for it, clear with just a little wind, and we had a great time.  I worked the grill all day, and then had to leave around six o'clock to start heading east to Geneva, New York, for a one-night engagement at the Ramada Inn.  I brought a change of clothing, but it wasn't until I got in the car that I smelled how smokey I smelled, having stood in front of the grill all day sacrificing beef patties and white hots to the gods of lighter fluid.  I called ahead to the Ramada and asked about being able to use a shower in one of the meeting rooms (they always have the full bathroom in there), and they said they were sold out so they didn't know what they had available, but when I arrived, they let me into a guest room and I was able to shower up and dress and still had time to watch two episodes of SCRUBS (my favorite show these days).

The gig was fun, mostly older folks, about 90 of them, gathered together at the Ramada for some event called "Farm Days" (don't ask me) and they were very receptive.  The headliner, Tom Anzalone, who goes by the title "The Worst Musical Comedian Ever" had a great show, and it was good working with him again.

So now I'm basically dry-docked, except for tomorrow, until next week when it's my triumphant return to the Reading Comedy Outlet in Reading, Pennsylvania.  I haven't played there in a couple of years (and no clue why the hiatus in re-booking me) but the important thing is that I'm back and I'll enjoy the big, fluffy pillows at the Sheraton and all of the culture and nightlife that Reading offers (meaning our show, and then hang out in the lounge and watch young Hispanic people dancing to songs I've never heard of).

Peace be with you all!  Zweigle's White Hots rule!  (Google it if you don't know!)

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY