This is it. My last post about Edinburgh. I'm joining you from a cafe table at JFK as I wait for my connecting flight to pick up Adriana. I feel great.
Going through my photos just now, I see I missed a picture from the eve of the 24th. I forgot - I was so drunk, I actually met up with Katie and Leah and Ross at the urban garden and made some new friends. This is Tom and his girlfriend (whose name escapes my champagne-soaked brain!) and Jen Pearson, a New Yorker! Yay! We girl bonded that night. Especially Tom and I.
Okay. Now onto Day 22!
Day 22 - Tuesday, August 25
Ross and I had a fun show at The Grape, and some of our audience members decided to take us out for beer. (Well, take me out for beer. That's the advantage of being a lady in the UK, I guess. You still get to drink even when you're broke.) We first headed over to Standing Room, which is an enormous bar that sort of looks like a study/drawing room, and then back to Greemantle, which is definitely my favorite out of the way pub in the 'burgh.
From left: Paul, Adam and Ross from Sunken Luggage, Brian? Dan? shit, what was his name and Sam. Sam is a ginger half-pint about the size of my sister Maria, yet she can drink me (and probably a lot of guys) under the table. Awesome. I ordered haggis (below) and she ate most of it. A girl after my own heart.
Okay - so here's the deal with haggis. It's good! Well, it's not bad. It tastes like perfectly spiced baby poop. (Here's my pal Christina Dunham's take on haggis, as animated by Scott Bateman.) The bartender had me pour a shot of whiskey over the plate, which would have been especially awesome if we lit it on fire afterwards.
Day 23 - Wednesday, August 26
I had the pleasure of performing on the riotous (and very well-attended) PBH and Some Comedians again on Wednesday, which garnered me an excellent review. ("New Yorker Carolyn Castiglia was the funniest female comedian I've seen at the Fringe.") I'm certainly grateful for the praise, but again, I feel it bears repeating that women working the comedy scene in the UK are fighting against stereotypes that as far as I can tell don't represent reality. But more on women's issues in a bit... (I have to go change my tampon).
PBH put together another super-fun lineup, including Aussie John Robertson, who reminds me a lot of Christian Finnegan. It's not just that they have a similar look, but they both have a style that's silly with a slightly psychotic undertone. Devilish is probably a better word than psychotic, but I'm a sucker for alliteration.
John onstage at The Canon's Gait with his uke.
After the show with Yianni, John and Jo - and John's kitty puppet! Kitties consistently provided good times in Edinburgh.
Day 24 - Thursday, August 27
I didn't take any pictures Thursday, and therefore I can't really remember what happened, but my Facebook status update from that night probably says it all:
"I am the kind of girl who turns down blatant offers of sex with strangers because I believe in "romance" and "love" and other stupid potentially nonexistent bullshit and then ends up listening to Dave Matthews for a week to try to... make up for that mistake. Oh please, lover lay down."
Going through my photos just now, I see I missed a picture from the eve of the 24th. I forgot - I was so drunk, I actually met up with Katie and Leah and Ross at the urban garden and made some new friends. This is Tom and his girlfriend (whose name escapes my champagne-soaked brain!) and Jen Pearson, a New Yorker! Yay! We girl bonded that night. Especially Tom and I.
Okay. Now onto Day 22!
Day 22 - Tuesday, August 25
Ross and I had a fun show at The Grape, and some of our audience members decided to take us out for beer. (Well, take me out for beer. That's the advantage of being a lady in the UK, I guess. You still get to drink even when you're broke.) We first headed over to Standing Room, which is an enormous bar that sort of looks like a study/drawing room, and then back to Greemantle, which is definitely my favorite out of the way pub in the 'burgh.
From left: Paul, Adam and Ross from Sunken Luggage, Brian? Dan? shit, what was his name and Sam. Sam is a ginger half-pint about the size of my sister Maria, yet she can drink me (and probably a lot of guys) under the table. Awesome. I ordered haggis (below) and she ate most of it. A girl after my own heart.
Okay - so here's the deal with haggis. It's good! Well, it's not bad. It tastes like perfectly spiced baby poop. (Here's my pal Christina Dunham's take on haggis, as animated by Scott Bateman.) The bartender had me pour a shot of whiskey over the plate, which would have been especially awesome if we lit it on fire afterwards.
Day 23 - Wednesday, August 26
I had the pleasure of performing on the riotous (and very well-attended) PBH and Some Comedians again on Wednesday, which garnered me an excellent review. ("New Yorker Carolyn Castiglia was the funniest female comedian I've seen at the Fringe.") I'm certainly grateful for the praise, but again, I feel it bears repeating that women working the comedy scene in the UK are fighting against stereotypes that as far as I can tell don't represent reality. But more on women's issues in a bit... (I have to go change my tampon).
PBH put together another super-fun lineup, including Aussie John Robertson, who reminds me a lot of Christian Finnegan. It's not just that they have a similar look, but they both have a style that's silly with a slightly psychotic undertone. Devilish is probably a better word than psychotic, but I'm a sucker for alliteration.
John onstage at The Canon's Gait with his uke.
After the show with Yianni, John and Jo - and John's kitty puppet! Kitties consistently provided good times in Edinburgh.
Day 24 - Thursday, August 27
I didn't take any pictures Thursday, and therefore I can't really remember what happened, but my Facebook status update from that night probably says it all:
"I am the kind of girl who turns down blatant offers of sex with strangers because I believe in "romance" and "love" and other stupid potentially nonexistent bullshit and then ends up listening to Dave Matthews for a week to try to... make up for that mistake. Oh please, lover lay down."
That's in reference to the "incident" that happened at Priscilla's, the gay bar in Leith, where I got hounded by the only straight man in the room. You know, he was cute, and I would have done it, but he just came on too strong. Ross and I decided it's much better to cuddle and watch a film than have a one night stand with a stranger. "It's really just a glorified wank, innit?," he said. I suppose that's it. I did end up getting kissed by some random guy Friday night at The Grape, so, like Billy Shakes once rhymed, all's well that ends well.
Day 25 - Friday, August 28
I walked around town taking some more touristy shots, so I could really remember what the place feels like after I got home. Edinburgh is so, so, so wonderful. It's not grandiose like Paris, and it's not lopsided and full of energy like Amsterdam, but it is one of the most lovely places I have ever been.
View from beneath the Scott Monument.
Sir Walter Scott.
I call this, "The Seagull." They're all over town!
National Museum, with colors flying.
This makes comedy look respectable.
Some shots from the shops along Princes Street:
I saw 42G and thought, "What is that?!" Then I realized they're talking bra sizes. But still - imagine this in a 42G??
p.s. - I love the reflection of my flip-flops in the first shot. One night onstage I said, "Wearing flip-flops in Edinburgh is a great way to catch AIDS." It's so true. I only wore them twice the entire month. I think my toes have the plague. Either that or they need a shave.
If I ever get married again, this is what I want it to look like. A handsome man in a kilt next to me... without a head. CUZ I'D HAVE TO HAVE LOST MY HEAD TO WANT TO GET MARRIED AGAIN, RIGHT? Right? (Gunshot.) I make such a lovely bride.
The sign I really wanted a photo of simply says, "Priorities Changed Ahead." I passed it on the bus everyday, but could never seem to find it on foot.
St. Andrew's Square.
Day 26 - Saturday, August 29
After my show, I strolled through town, soaking up as much as I could. I found this quote on the side of a building and think it perfectly captures the essence of my time in Edinburgh:
"City of everywhere, broken necklace in the sun. You are caves of guilt, you are pinnacles of jubilation." The dappled light on the foliage of Princes Street Gardens, the glow of the sun on the old castle walls. The partying and indulgences, and the glee the combination of work and play brings. The literal meaning of the caves, the ones that used to hold plague victims and are now housing comedy shows. The beauty of beautiful people and the magic a conference like this holds.
These are everywhere because of the construction around town, and I really wanted a picture of me posing like a muscle man next to one, but oh well, I was alone, so I took this, and it makes me laugh.
The beautiful Balmoral Hotel at dusk.
I went to see Kurt Braunholer and Kristen Schaal that night at the giant Assembly on The Mound. Their show was a delight. A few shots I took outside:
Neat-o Celtic gobo making shadow art on the walls.
Assembly box office.
Twilight on The Mound.
I walked down the Playfair Steps one last time and paused by the museum to tie my shoe. A woman came up behind me and said, "Boy, I really enjoyed your comedy tonight!" I was so surprised to be "recognized" on the street, but she was very sweet and it made me feel like I had touched some people while I was there, which is ultimately why I do what I do. So more people will let me touch them.
I got down to Princes Street just before midnight in time to see the final fireworks display of the final Military Tattoo. These videos do not capture the sight, but they do sort of capture how I feel about my new favorite summer camp.
If you're reading this on Facebook, click here and here.
When the smoke cleared, nothing but the North Star shone over the castle. Right before I left for Scotland 4 weeks ago, I thought to myself, "You know you've gotten jaded when you look up in the sky at the brightest star and think, 'Eh, it's probably just a satellite.'" Last night, I'm pretty convinced, I saw a star.
I continued home via Princes Street, and had to take a shot of these Carling shirts, in honor of all the pints of Carling (and Deuchars and Tennent's) I drank during my stay.
And then, just as Princes turns into West Maitland, right before Mercat Bar (my solo show venue) and our little flat in Roseburn, I saw this on the ground. It's Stephen K. Amos's Broken Dream!
Proving once and for all, comedy is not pretty, even for those famous for it. But it sure is a hell of a lot of fun.
Day 25 - Friday, August 28
I walked around town taking some more touristy shots, so I could really remember what the place feels like after I got home. Edinburgh is so, so, so wonderful. It's not grandiose like Paris, and it's not lopsided and full of energy like Amsterdam, but it is one of the most lovely places I have ever been.
View from beneath the Scott Monument.
Sir Walter Scott.
I call this, "The Seagull." They're all over town!
National Museum, with colors flying.
This makes comedy look respectable.
Some shots from the shops along Princes Street:
I saw 42G and thought, "What is that?!" Then I realized they're talking bra sizes. But still - imagine this in a 42G??
p.s. - I love the reflection of my flip-flops in the first shot. One night onstage I said, "Wearing flip-flops in Edinburgh is a great way to catch AIDS." It's so true. I only wore them twice the entire month. I think my toes have the plague. Either that or they need a shave.
If I ever get married again, this is what I want it to look like. A handsome man in a kilt next to me... without a head. CUZ I'D HAVE TO HAVE LOST MY HEAD TO WANT TO GET MARRIED AGAIN, RIGHT? Right? (Gunshot.) I make such a lovely bride.
The sign I really wanted a photo of simply says, "Priorities Changed Ahead." I passed it on the bus everyday, but could never seem to find it on foot.
St. Andrew's Square.
Day 26 - Saturday, August 29
After my show, I strolled through town, soaking up as much as I could. I found this quote on the side of a building and think it perfectly captures the essence of my time in Edinburgh:
"City of everywhere, broken necklace in the sun. You are caves of guilt, you are pinnacles of jubilation." The dappled light on the foliage of Princes Street Gardens, the glow of the sun on the old castle walls. The partying and indulgences, and the glee the combination of work and play brings. The literal meaning of the caves, the ones that used to hold plague victims and are now housing comedy shows. The beauty of beautiful people and the magic a conference like this holds.
These are everywhere because of the construction around town, and I really wanted a picture of me posing like a muscle man next to one, but oh well, I was alone, so I took this, and it makes me laugh.
The beautiful Balmoral Hotel at dusk.
I went to see Kurt Braunholer and Kristen Schaal that night at the giant Assembly on The Mound. Their show was a delight. A few shots I took outside:
Neat-o Celtic gobo making shadow art on the walls.
Assembly box office.
Twilight on The Mound.
I walked down the Playfair Steps one last time and paused by the museum to tie my shoe. A woman came up behind me and said, "Boy, I really enjoyed your comedy tonight!" I was so surprised to be "recognized" on the street, but she was very sweet and it made me feel like I had touched some people while I was there, which is ultimately why I do what I do. So more people will let me touch them.
I got down to Princes Street just before midnight in time to see the final fireworks display of the final Military Tattoo. These videos do not capture the sight, but they do sort of capture how I feel about my new favorite summer camp.
If you're reading this on Facebook, click here and here.
When the smoke cleared, nothing but the North Star shone over the castle. Right before I left for Scotland 4 weeks ago, I thought to myself, "You know you've gotten jaded when you look up in the sky at the brightest star and think, 'Eh, it's probably just a satellite.'" Last night, I'm pretty convinced, I saw a star.
I continued home via Princes Street, and had to take a shot of these Carling shirts, in honor of all the pints of Carling (and Deuchars and Tennent's) I drank during my stay.
And then, just as Princes turns into West Maitland, right before Mercat Bar (my solo show venue) and our little flat in Roseburn, I saw this on the ground. It's Stephen K. Amos's Broken Dream!
Proving once and for all, comedy is not pretty, even for those famous for it. But it sure is a hell of a lot of fun.
