Sunday, October 24, 2004
3:06 PM
Shag Carpeting, Pizza, Aryn, a Bowling Alley, and a Throng of Imposters
A Wild, Wacky Weekend

For each of the last four years, I've made a trip to the UP of Michigan and then back down through eastern Wisconsin for comedy work. The very first time was in the fall of 2001, and like clockwork, I've been back around the same time ever since.

On my first visit, I was the featured comedian, only doing 30 minutes before the headliner. The next two times saw me headline, doing about 45-55 minutes. In each of those times, I also drove with the other comedian. That made the otherwise long and uneventful drive a bit more tolerable.

Last Friday I wanted to leave early; for some reason each one of these trips has seen me leave late, arrive late, get no sleep, and get drunk easier. I vowed to leave by 10 a.m. Didn't happen. By 11:30 I had just gotten on I-94 West toward Wisconsin, through Green Bay and en route to Negaunee, Michigan, due north of Chicago.

There's no cell phone or internet service in the UP. And when you see what the locals wear and what their voices sound like, you know why. The Friday night show is at Pasquali's, a pizza place, dance club, pool hall and comedy room all rolled into one. Last year I was there on the same night as a heated high school football game between neighboring cities. There weren't many people at the show. However, this year was pre-playoffs and the place was jam packed well before showtime.

The hotel, The Triangle, located about 10 minutes east of the club, isn't much of a looker. It's more of a cabin-type joint for hunters or snowmobilers. It's family run so much so that the family actually lives in a house connected to the main hotel. Another part of the hotel sits across the highway. The past three times I checked in at the Triangle, a huge Himalayan cat was draped across the counter, the very counter on which I would sign my life away for a room key. This time the cat wasn't too be found.

"Hello. Where's the cat that's usually right here?" I asked the owner as he sat on a chair and looked for the comedian's room info.

"He just left."

And like he heard me talking about him, the cat slumbered out of an ajacent room, past the check-in counter, and continued through a different part of the house/office.

My room was in the building across the street from the main hotel. I had never had such accommodations at the Triangle. Teh previous three times I was in the same room, give or take a few, but it was in the same vicinity every time. This time I had a real show and bathtub. I was used to a phonebooth-sized shower with no tub. I guess since it was fourth time in the UP, why not give me a bathtub?

After managing about a 25-minute power nap, I got ready for the show. The water pressure in the shower has always been warmly embraced. It's not so much strong as it is a lot. Or maybe it's that it's not my shower, so I enjoy it a bit more than usual. The curtain always clings to your body and knowing of the cat's resting area and the overall make-up of the hotel and the middle of nowhere location of the city, I gagged at the thought of the bodies the curtain had rubbed against during the last week alone. Have the maids been known to wash shower curtains? I mean if guests get left notes not to overuse towels because of water shortages, I would think washing shower curtains wouldn't be necessary.

To defend myself against the attack of the shower curtain, I left it on the outside of the tub. And it wasn't even a curtain. It was a one piece of material that appeared to work as a curtain and a liner. Because no liner kept the water in the tub and the water sprayed all over the place, there was a small lake on the floor outside the tub. It stretched to the sink and took every towel and the bath mat to absorb it. Ooops. I rang out the towels and hung them to dry.

Once at Pasquali's, I headed toward the back and the corner of the bar. The headliner, Roger Radley, was there along with some bar regulars. One such regular was a man named Carl. He was a short, slightly stocky man, maybe in his late 50's and walked with a cane. He wore glasses and had a full head of graying hair. He donned a dark blue light-weight jacket and a t-shirt tucked in to his jeans. The bottom of the shirt was unable to stay tucked all the way in over his round stomach.

"Are you guys the comedians?" Carl asked in an overly raspy voice while his squinty eyes blinked excessively.

"That's what we hear," joked Roger.

Roger probably said something wittier, but it's Sunday afternoon and Friday night was a long time ago.

Carl ended up talking to each of us a lot before the show. We were warned that he was a drunk who had been thrown out more times than they could count. With Roger having been on the road for 14 years and me 5, Carl was nothing we hadn't seen before. Sometimes guys like him make a random one-nighter one for the ages. He seemed to have something important to say with each attempt to get up from his chair and hobble over to us. I was wrong, though; he had very little of note to say. We just laughed along with the bartender, Steve, and Carl's fellow UP neighbors.

The show went very well. The stage was decorated with Halloween stuff, but the standard palm trees, located on either side of the stage, were missing. I walked behind the curtains that made the stage very small since it was a huge dance floor without the curtain. In the back against the wall were the trees. I pulled one out and set it next to me.

"There we go. Now this stage is the way it should be," I said to the crowd. Since most of them were loyal comedy supporters, they had been there for many shows. They knew the trees were missing and laughed and clapped loudly. I had won them over.

After the show Carl wobbled up to me.

"You wasn't very funny. You made fun of the handicapped," he told me. He was a bit too loud and the doormen asked him to keep quiet and not bother me. But he kept on, in between looking outside for his ride. He hobbled by me, stepped outside, and then hobbled back by me. Finally the owner came over to shut him up. Carl asked Clark, the owner, for a ride home. Clark told him to wait, but that wasn't heard apparently. He came back through the kitchen and asked about the ride as I was getting paid. Clark wasn't happy and gestured him out of the kitchen.

Roger and I had great pizza courtesty of Clark's mom, Pat. We hit the bars in downtown Ishpeming afterwards.