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Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, they say, and at the Vibe Hotel in Sydney, Australia it's also really fucking expensive. 22 dollars a head for the equivalent of what would be a free buffet at any Hampton Inn in the States. But when I threw up quite a bit of the runny eggs and bacon-fat into my mouth, I wasn't concerned about nutrition or money. I only wanted to make it down the long hallway to the bathroom before I let it go. There is nothing I can think of that makes your need to vomit more intense than having vomit in your mouth. So I started to speed-shuffle down the long art-deco hallway to the lavatory only to be stopped dead at the finish line by an elderly Asian man who couldn't tell push from pull with the mens room door. I nearly knocked him down coming over the top of him and shoving him out of the way. |
Once done, I turned to apologize - tears streaming down my face and eyes bleeding from hangover, holding the steel rail of a puke-splattered handicap stall - but could tell by the stoic revulsion on his face that words would only make it all more uncomfortable.
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The abstract condition of my head couldn't have helped the scene. The night previous - full to toxicity with beer and your friend Jager - I'd decided to shave my head before bedtime, as a man is in his right to do. Renee came into the bathroom to find I'd shaved the top part and - damage done - began helping with the rest. Too bad for me, the electrical current in Australia is double that of our own and before she could finish, my Made-in-America clippers blew out with a final bzzaaappp and puff of noxious smoke. One large patch and a few random chunks of the back of my head remained at their normal length then and still now the next morning in my vulnerable state. So how was Australia? It was like that. It was like being hunched over a public toilet, seahorse posture in your own sick, sporting a mohawkish cancer-mullet and desperately trying to break the language barrier through eye-contact and find sympathy in an aged stranger who moments before must have assumed you were trying to take his life. It was pretty good. |
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Sydney itself is a fine city, pleasing to the eye, overpriced with too much traffic and no real enemy or fat people. There are things to do if you're the type to do things that involve more looking at things for money than actual activity and I've never seen a cleaner city for the size.
Laws are seem lax and overbearing at the same time. You can say fuck on television, DUI is .05, prostitution is legal and there are speeding violation cameras on every other block. In fact, there were cameras everywhere, not unlike Vegas. This is bad if you care about privacy rights but good if you like grainy footage to go with your violent news broadcasts. Frivolous lawsuits are a part-time job and the taxes are the highest in the world. Customs announcements threaten that any food items brought through undeclared could lead to jail time, including candy or gum. From our room we watched junkies shoot up in the park, causing no concern to the joggers and the tourists.
Government has their finger in every meathole just like the U.S. and I don't know why I thought it would be any other way. You remember that it started as a prison colony. You forget a lot of those cocksuckers were wardens.
Next time, I'll go to the Outback. Darwin, Alice Springs, Koober Pedy. Sydney is nice but it isn't my kind of place. Sure, I'm judging by a half dozen bars and a trip to the zoo but the fact that I went to the zoo is proof enough. When I mentioned that we might go to Tasmania on our off-days, I was told by several people that that's where inbred - specifically "two-headed" - people live. They said it like it was a bad thing.
It isn't just lazy writing to call Sydney "nice" - that seems to be the overall feel, for better or worse. That doesn't always lend well to good comedy. There isn't the angst of the UK and it is far too Americanized to say anything anti-American without a sense of pandering to the same retard nationalism you are supposed to be attacking.
Again, the slump. Too tired of saying things you've said before and not having much new to say, the agony of forcing yourself to go through the motions on stage in the meantime, knowing you are being spotted as the over-rated fraud that you are, waiting for the next wave of inspiration. I never did hit stride in Australia. (Note - this isn't a desperate cry for help. Seems any time I say something negative like this, I get emails or phone calls from concerned friends thinking I'm falling apart. This is not the case. Sometimes you feel funny, sometimes you don't. I do not have a gun in my mouth. Relax.)
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But I did laugh my ass off a lot thanks to Australian comic Mickey D, whose road stories make the rowdiest US comics - myself included - seem less than compelling. I saw some great Aussie comics, actually and met many more who I never got to see. I can't thank you guys enough for the support. Unfortunately, you'll never see them here as our immigration is as bent on barring a broader scope of culture from us as it is terrorists and housekeeping.
And special Thanks to Pete for bringing me over, Ant and Mandy, that one guy who gave me that AdBusters thing, the other guy, Simone and the angry girl, the sound guys and the one sound guys sound chick, the Kiwi guy who slept on our floor, the other guys who traveled great distance, the Viking-looking guy, the odd purplish-skinned insane person, The Glasshouse folks, The Powers That Be who kept the bar open late, the Melbourne folk, and...you know - fucking everyone.
Hate Mail.
It's been light lately, but here's a couple.
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From : Hey Doug, I just read your letter to the Cable Guy. Sounds like a buncha sour grapes to me!! Larry's got more talent than you'll ever have, you putz! **** n *****, radio morning show hosts on Omaha's *** read your letter over the air, then they talked to Larry on the radio. Unlike you, Larry took the high road and said you were a funny comedian and he can't help people yell GET ER DONE, at your shows. He should have said you're a no talent dick and a hack, that you are. You ran the Man Show into the ground so fast, Comedy Central wasted no time with you. Get a life you alcoholic.........and........................GIT ER DONE!!!! Tim |
(Here is the update mentioned in the previous letter. ~Editor)
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From the Desk of Doug Stanhope
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From : Christian Kramer I'm almost glad you fucked up The Man Show, because now I don't have to watch a previously good show, just to see if the new hosts could be anywhere near as funny as the original hosts. I guess you're just one more of those comedians that "I just don't get." And there's not many that I don't get. But your success in comedy will tell the truth in the long run. In five years, if you're successful, and want to prove that I'm a dumbass, well, then you're welcome to do so. I bet you won't even be able to land a gig with Girls Gone Wild in five years. Chris Kramer |
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From the Desk of Doug Stanhope
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