Nevada Recollections

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

Today’s temperature in Las Vegas cooled down to below 90 degrees, or about 32 Celsius, and I celebrated by only going out to put gas in the car for tomorrow’s journey, and to walk to a silly shop a block away called Stupidiotic to pick up some novelty gifts. Other than that, I’ve pretty much remained inside this climate-controlled, almost too cold casino and hotel for today, having already gotten my share of sunshine and swimming the past three days.  But this is a mere teaser to the weather that traditionally hits this desert every summer, where the temperature can rise to nearly 120 Fahrenheit. My sympathy goes out to the many homeless folk that I see hanging out in the walkways, and what they have to endure. I do like the one guy I saw today whose sign said, “Why lie? I need a beer!”

Today also marks the end of my week-long run here, mostly a good one, with no complaints from anyone, so I guess that’s a good sign. They’re pretty strict about the times of the show, so I’ve had to stick to my allotted 20 minutes, and only twice this week did I take any audience requests. I’ve relied mostly on material, though as often happens when you’re working a whole bunch of shows in succession, I actually did come up with a quick bit that appears to be a keeper at least for the rest of this year. It concerns Justin Bieber, and surprisingly, it’s not a piss-take. Not on him, anyway.

I’m reminded, when I think about Nevada’s strict union regulations, of a week in 1979 that Rick & Ruby was working in Lake Tahoe at Harrah’s. We were alternating sets with Jan & Dean, who understandably packed the room, even though Jan was a bit of a zombie, having never recovered from a serious auto accident 13 years before. People still came in droves to watch the spectacle. By comparison, we would have maybe 50 people in that 400-seat room on a good night. I was hating every minute of our shows, even though only three years before, this was the room that we were always looking up to as some major benchmark.

On the final night, a Sunday, we weren’t told that our first show would be at 7:00, and I only found out by accidentally walking by the venue and noticing showtimes posted. However, I didn’t send this news flash to my partners, so I was behind the curtain and ready at 6:59, but totally solo, though I’d set the entire stage as if we were all present and accounted for. The stage manager was on the headset, and managed to convince the venue to hold the opening of the show ONE WHOLE MINUTE, as though my partners would magically appear in that time. I assured the stage manager that if necessary, I could cover the whole hour, though I was scared shitless of that prospect. As I launched into the opening bit (and I used to start the shows solo anyway), I did it as turtle-paced as possible. After maybe two minutes, I noticed my other two partners moseying through the casino, probably congratulating themselves on being so early for the show. They were no doubt eyeing me as if to say, “Why is he on stage?” Reality set in, and my view of Ruby scrambling to run to the dressing room while our keyboardist scurried on stage in street clothes to catch the end of my first bit was so funny I couldn’t be mad at them. At least with the shows I’ve been doing this week, they all happen at the same time each night.

I hope to return here as long as they’ll have me, though there’s a bit more pressure than I used to have back in the day when The Comedy Store had its room at the late lamented Dunes Hotel on the Vegas Strip. In fact, the only pressure I ever felt back then was the first set of the first night when the Store’s owner would be there to critique and offer suggestions. As soon as she was gone, we went back to what we were comfortable with, and for the most part, it was a pretty cushy job. There would be five of us on the bill, each doing 10-12 minutes, as once again, union rules prohibited the show from going more than 70 minutes, or all staff would have to be paid for overtime. To be on stage for a mere 12 minutes two shows a night (3 on Saturdays) left a lot of time to party, though for me that often depended on who else I was working with. Let’s just say most of the time I did my share.  By contrast, I’m the only one of the three of us on the bill this week who has even had a beer!

So tomorrow it’s on the road back to San Francisco, a 578-mile journey which usually takes around 10 hours, but there’s a gig available for me if I get back by a certain time. Yeah, I’ll be tired, and I also have a gig in Mill Valley Tuesday that I truly love. I’ll sleep on the plane to London Thursday, which is a lie. On that 10-hour flight, I’m lucky if I sleep a half hour!

May 16th, 2016



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