What a Difference a Day Makes
September 4, 2008
Last night, while driving home from my 10:25 spot at the Comedy Cellar, I heard a loud rumbling. I turned the radio down and realized that I was driving on a flat tire. Shit. Luckily I was about seven blocks from my apartment so I parked the car and walked the rest of the way home.
I woke up this morning feeling unmotivated. I hit the snooze button five or six times and finally got out of bed around 10:30. I wasn’t in the mood for much of anything, it just felt like one of those days where you wake up annoyed. I knew I had to get my flat fixed but that seemed like such a big production. Perhaps I wouldn’t even bother. Maybe I’d just leave the car there all day and take care of it the next day.
My friend Jon Fisch texted me around noon asking if I wanted to meet up for sushi. Perfect. I hadn’t seen Jonny in a while and this would be a good way to ease into my day, fish with Fisch.
I mentioned that I had a flat and Jon told me about a place nearby that fixes flats fast and cheap. After a nice lunch, talking comedy and life as we always do, I decided to snap to it and take care of the tire.
Sure enough, when I got there an old Greek guy popped out like a NASCAR pit crew and immediately started unscrewing the lug nuts on my tire.
“Wow”, I thought. “Jonny wasn’t kidding”.
Ten minutes and a hundred bucks later I had a brand new right rear tire and I was back on the road. Sometimes things aren’t nearly as overwhelming as you anticipate them being.
Tonight I was once again scheduled for the 10:25 at the Cellar. I only recently started working the Cellar again after a few years away, partly my own doing and partly circumstances beyond my control. It has been fantastic being back there, a real shot in the arm and reminder that things happen on their own time (the right time) as long as you keep doing your thing. There is something about that club and that location. It’s pure electricity.
After last night’s tire incident I decided to bike into the city tonight, about seven and a half miles from door to door. I left my apartment around 9:25, leaving me an hour. The late summer, early autumn cool night air would be perfect for a bike ride and I wouldn’t be a sweaty mess when I arrived.
I rode over the 59th Street Bridge, from Queens into Manhattan, and then down into the village, arriving around 10:20. I locked up my bike a few blocks from the club on a quiet side street and walked over from there.
Nick DiPaolo was onstage finishing up his set. The show was running a little late, which isn’t unusual. Keith Robinson would follow Nick and then I would go on. William Stephenson, the emcee for the evening, ambled over to me. “Robin Williams might be stopping by. He’s supposed to be here any minute.”
“Okay, cool,” I replied.
I had mixed feelings. I was excited because Robin Williams was going to be performing and I’d never seen him live. But the comic in me was thinking “I hope I get on before he gets here”. When a celebrity stops by you either get bumped off the show or they do a long set and you have to go on after them in front of a crowd that has already orgasmed, comedically.
Although, sometimes it’s fun to try to follow a celebrity on stage. Coming up in NY I’ve had that experience countless times and it’s always challenging, exciting, unpredictable and interesting. I’ve had to follow the likes of Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Adam Sandler, Ray Romano and Dave Chappelle, with varying outcomes. Once you’ve followed comics of that caliber you’re pretty much ready for anything.
Keith finished up his set and still no sign of Robin Williams so I would go on now. William gave me a heads up “I’ll light you when Robin arrives”, meaning the signal to wrap up my set. I did about seven or eight minutes and felt a distinct energy to my set because I knew Robin Williams would be arriving any minute, which provided an extra shot of adrenaline. Soon after, I noticed the unmistakeable silhouette of Robin Williams in the back of the room. Very cool.
I was doing some political material and saw William giving me the light so I wrapped it up and got off stage. I walked over to Robin Williams, who was standing in the hallway, and shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure”, I said.
“Thanks for letting me on. I’m sorry if they cut your time,” he said.
“No, no. No problem. It’s great to see you.”
“We’ll see”, he said. And with that he was off to the stage.
He did about a half and hour and it was a real treat to watch him work, especially at the Cellar where the audience is so close it can be like trench warfare.
Sometimes he lapses into his “stock voices” and his “Robin Williams things” but the man has a sweet, inventive, funny spirit and really works it hard up there. He’s fantastic. At one point I was reminded of the scene in “Good Morning, Vietnam” where his character talks to the soldiers from the back of a truck. You could tell that they just rolled the cameras and let him go and the soldiers’ reactions were all genuine. I was watching peoples’ faces tonight as they were laughing and smiling, enjoying a special surprise moment in their lives, watching a comedy legend perform. I felt lucky, too.
I left the Cellar, got back on my bike and started my ride home. The song “What a Difference a Day Makes” came into my mind.
“Twenty-four little hours”.
Rather than driving home on a flat tire like the night before, I pedaled home on my bicycle, my spirit buoyed by the gift of my career and the magic moments it provides. Keep getting out of bed, Teddy. Keep showing up because you never know the miracles that await.
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