Almost any time you have a group of stand-up comics talking the subject of the weirdest place you’ve performed comes up. There are more comics than there are stages, so if you offer us minutes, there’s a decent chance that we’ll say yes without sparing a second thought to logistics. We comics don’t tend to be terribly logical beings.
I’ve performed at a banquet hall near Bridgewater, a coffee shop in Robbinsville, a restaurant in East Windsor, a hotel on Roosevelt Blvd in Northeast Philly, the basement of the Hyatt Regency on Route 1 in Princeton, a grill and bar in Naples, Florida, and a barn in Basking Ridge. I spend Wednesday evenings on the second floor of an insurance agent’s office broadcasting on The Robbinsville Trainwreck.
The New Jersey Turnpike and I have a love-hate relationship and I’m actively contemplating installing a dash cam in my car to capture what I’m told are my funny road rage-fueled rants and my ridiculous facial expressions while parallel parking. Until recently I had only parallel parked successfully once: when I was 17 and taking my drivers test. I grew up in rural South Jersey, so being a country bumpkin I had no real use for fancy city parallel parking until after college. Road rage and parallel parking challenges aside, if you offer me minutes and a mic there’s a good chance you’ll probably get me there. No matter how bad the ride there was, I’ll forget all about it the second that mic’s in my hand.