Sunnyvale, Headshot Story, and Eating FRAICHE!
Went back up to northern California this past weekend – should I capitalize the “n” in Northern since it’s a region and not a direction in this case? I don’t know. Anyhoodles, I went to play Rooster T. Feathers in Sunnyvale, which is about 30 mins south of San Francisco and 15 mins west of San Jose (I think). Small club, small but fun crowds. It’s always interesting to play a club that’s close to a big city, but far away enough to have its own identity. I usually end up thinking, “I wish I were in the big city and not this place.” While that certainly was true of Sunnyvale I should point out that everyone I met there was really, really nice. You are not allowed to be mean up there. Hence the name, Sunnyvale. I had a great time and worked with two of the better young comics I’ve worked with in a long time. When you go on the road you never know who you are going to get matched up with. Usually it’s either really bad, somewhat awful, or just tolerable enough that you won’t kill someone or yourself before the week is over. I don’t know why some clubs have such a hard time putting together a show. You’ve seen every variable possible in the “how to put a show together” equation. Put douchey openers with douche bag headliners and they’ll have a great time douching it out as one. I lucked out and got Grant Lyon from San Franisco and Geoff Tate from Cincinnati by way of Philadelphia. Geoff and I hung out and acted retarded all weekend. It was good times.
During my time up North (do I capitalize it there too?) I learned that I was almost not invited to Sunnyvale. When I asked why, I was told by one of the managers that another club had recommended me, and in doing so, had sent Roosters the email that they used to promote me for the week that I was at the first club. In other words they forwarded an email they had sent to thousands of people the week I was playing their club as a way to promote my show to the people at Roosters and said, “you should book this guy.” Seemed pretty standard to me. So I asked, “What was the problem with the email?”
“Well, it wasn’t the email. It was the picture.”