I have been in Edinburgh for roughly two weeks now. I’ve lost a lot of blood and several of my organs have already shut down or are at least just sort of giving me the finger. Other than that I am having a really nice time. The two shows I am doing here- Big in Japan and the Dave Hill Explosion- are going well and I have been getting really nice reviews unless you count the old man who walked out of my show one night and called me crap, which I choose not to because it hurts my feelings. I’m pretty sure his wife gave me the finger too. This town!

As rumored on the Internet, I let Fix editor, man-about-town, and major asshole Harry Deansway stay in the guest bedroom of my palatial apartment here in Edinburgh for a few nights. As you can probably imagine, it has been a complete nightmare. Most days, I wake up to find Harry sitting on the couch in a wrestling singlet and mud mask while chain smoking Menthol cigarettes and crying in front of whatever is on TV at the moment, even if it’s just a commercial for a local auto dealer. Sometimes I try to complain but Harry just stands up, throws his cereal on the floor and starts screaming about how he will “fucking ruin” me. Then he locks himself in the bathroom until just about fifteen minutes before I have to go on stage. I enter the bathroom to find the tub filled to the edge and all of my personal effects thrown into a tub full of soapy, yellow water.

Other than the previous paragraph, I would describe my Edinburgh experience as being really positive. A lot of chicks want to make out with me and I have fingered almost the entire staff of the Tesco near my apartment. Today is my day off and I am using it to go see some shows and maybe get some cosmetic surgery to make sure things finish really well for me up here. I am excited to see Rich Fulcher as Eleanor later this week as he is awesome and also- being a fellow dirty American and all- one of the few people I can understand from the beginning of each sentence right up until the end minus a couple words here and there.

Speaking of language, yesterday I learned the phrases “yummy mummy” and “bum chum,” both of which have to do with people who end up getting banged at some point.

Okay, I have to go clean the tub now as Harry has pretty much lined the entire thing with enough pubes to make a sweater or “jumper” as they seem to be called over here.

Oh yeah, the picture above is of me on top of Arthur’s Seat, one of the popular mountains here in town. I climbed the f@#k out of that thing with the lovely and talented Charlyne Yi the other day. No one could believe it. Also, go to my website, follow me on Twitter, and listen to my podcast. There- glad I got that out of my system.

Love,
Dave Hill

The Festival may look like a walk in the park for performers but behind the facade there is an undercurrent of despair, depression, financial ruin and failure, comedians share the tears behind the laughter.

Whilst performing at a preview in London of my 2006 Edinburgh show I noticed a lady in a wheel chair in the front row. Not to let her feel left out I decided to talk to her. On my approach I could feel the audience clam up, so I thought that I would make a point by saying “Oh they don’t like it when I talk to you; it makes them feel uncomfortable you being in a wheel chair! Imagine if you were black as well”! They saw my point.

Later, during a performance at the festival, I had a man sitting in the front row in a wheel chair. I thought I could do again what I had done a few weeks earlier in London and make a point! So, I approached the wheel chair bound gent and said. ” They don’t like it when I talk to you, you being a wheel chair and all” now for the final point only this time I got my wording wrong, you don’t realise the power a sentence can have just by losing and moving a few words!

“I mean it could be worse” here it comes the big laugh, “You could be black and in a wheel chair”! Well As the words left my mouth I felt on toes bite into my shoes, knowing what I had said. There was no way back from this. I felt so stupid and ashamed. But I didn’t mean it, it had just come out wrong! And why was I trying to make a point anyway! The worst thing for me it was about five minuets into the show! Needles to say there was no encore.

Terry Alderton

Terry Alderton: The Pleasance Dome 21:20 http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/terry-alderton

My parents have a room which is rarely used in their house. It’s a posh room, used only when there are guests or at Christmas. My friend Chris called it a “Drag Queens Dressing Room” and I thought I’d just simply list what’s in it. Because it’s horrific. First up red and cream walls, adorned with old maps of Ireland and watercolours of plants. There is a 5 piece suite which is floral and dark green, plumped with hot pink cushions, a black and white cushion, brown cushions and gold, floral cushions. In the corner is a broken 4 foot tall lamp, whose bulbs bloom out of 12 tulip shaped sockets. My dad took it out of a skip. On the fireplace there is a marble egg, a picture of me looking like a peadophile in my graduation threads, a Toby jug and a small 10″ bust of Julius Caesar which my dad says ‘your grandfather took from Hitlers bunker.’ He was a chef in the Navy. Scattered around are pictures of family, including one of my Mum and Dad dressed up as a cowboy and a barmaid, taken in the 1980s. It looks like it was taken in the 1830s. Then there’s my dead Nan’s ornaments in a cabinet. Porcelain babies on their hands and knees above 17 wooden horses depicting the story of ‘The Horse Trying to get the Flea off its Back.’ The piece de resistance is the Christmas present to my dad from my 83 year old next door neighbour. It’s about the size of a wine bottle and is made of pink cardboard. It is shaped like a Disney turret whose bricks and windows have been drawn in Biro. At the top is a label which says ‘Brendan’s Christmas Bell Tower.’ Keeping the tower erect is a box. My dad opened it and found a large slab of Cathedral City Cheddar Cheese. A cheesy bell tower. I think I’ll end it there.

Eleanor’s 10 Tips for Eating Inexpensively in Hotels.

1.  search your purse for any type of fruit or sandwich items you may have stolen the night before.

2.  wring out towel or robe in sink for a nice, healthy juice.

3.  old room service trays are especially nice.  Remember, NO ONE EATS ALL OF THEIR TOAST.

4.  check if last night’s sleeping partner(s) has any spare food left in his/her/it’s mouth.

5.  replace mini bar items by stuffing cotton and bed lint into the original wrappers.

6.  sleep all day… then you don’t have to eat.

7.  try conventions.  if calling yourself Debi Schlicto, Naval Zombie Analyst will get you several spinach pastry puffs and a handful of gumbo, then by all means, go for it.

8.  swallowing mucous is not only healthy (it cleans your system) but makes you tired (see no. 6).

9.  people with loads of food on them – diabetics.  Easy prey and slow runners.

10.  9 is the new 10.

Rich Fulcher is performing in An Evening With Eleanor The Tour Whore at the Udderbelly from 21 - 30 August at 23:30. CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS

The Festival may look like a walk in the park for performers but behind the facade there is an undercurrent of despair, depression, financial ruin and failure, comedians share the tears behind the laughter.

Like many performers, I frequently get anxious before shows and sleep badly as a result. Last year I stumbled across the legendary Scottish nerve tonic Buckfast whilst I was trying to retrieve my shoe from a bin. I invested in a bottle and had several large glasses before bed to aid restful sleep. It was of little help, and I had a terrible nightmare in which I was staggering naked around the botanical gardens, trying to pick a fight with a swan and claiming that I was the “new David Dickinson”. When I awoke the next morning, I was covered in bruises and ferns, and I had smeared myself all over with mud. How that happened I’ll never know.

Jeremy Lion

Jeremy Lion Goes Green, Pleasance Dome, 20:20

The Festival may look like a walk in the park for performers but behind the facade there is an undercurrent of despair, depression, financial ruin and failure, comedians share the tears behind the laughter.

Not so much an Edinburgh nightmare, more an indication of the sort of narcissitic personality disorder that is the inevitable by-product of walking around a city that has A1 posters of your face plastered everywhere. We had our second preview last night and, just before the show,
I walked past the queue and heard an enthusiastic 20 something discussing Pappy’s: “I saw them live and they were great, then I saw them on TV and they were SHIT!” Now, although he’s right (we tried very hard with our TV pilot but, ultimately, it wasn’t great) it was still a bit upsetting to hear it aloud.

After the gig, the same fellow came bounding up to me to say how much he’d enjoyed the show. For some reason my brain decided to accost him on his earlier assertion and I blurted out, “I heard you talking about us earlier… about us being shit on TV.” I had no second move planned, except perhaps to explain how tricky it is to make good television, but was utterly unprepared for his response, “I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about Horne and Corden”.

Hopefully, this has taught me a valuable lesson about self-obsession. Only the rest of the month/my life will tell. But punters beware, even your most private conversations may well be eavesdropped on by a fragile performer so, if you can’t say something nice… at least explain in no uncertain terms who the nasty shit you’re saying is about.

Matthew Crosby

Pappy’s: All Business – Pleasance One 7:20pm

Hi. How are you? Today I write to you from scenic Edinburgh, Scotland, where I am totally living for the entire month of August as I tear it up at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I am doing two incredible shows, “Big in Japan” and “The Dave Hill Explosion.” If you find yourself in these parts, I insist you come to both shows multiple times. And if you are not completely satisfied, you can kick me in the privates and make me eat month-old haggis (speaking of which, had some yesterday- it was delicious. Not sure what all the negative press is about). Right below this sentence is a lovely preview video of my incredible “Big in Japan” show made by my director and close personal friend, the great Jeff Tomsic. It will help you get sense of the mayhem that awaits. Brace yourself:

And speaking of Edinburgh in general, I got here yesterday and am so far having a lovely, lovely time. The photo above is of the view outside my apartment window. As cemeteries go, it’s quite lovely. I hope the ghosts are on my side.

This morning, I woke up and ran/jogged/walked/struggled/cried my way up to what appeared to be the very highest point in all of Edinburgh (and maybe even all of Scotland for all I know), where I screamed at the top of my lungs and listened to Dio on my iPod. It was a magical experience. Before I headed to the top of the mountain, I assumed no one had ever accomplished such a feat and I expected to find the remains of many who tried along my ascent to the top. When I got there, however, I was greeted by a number of families, many of which included small children. This caused me to feel slightly less manly for a second until I decided to comfort myself with the possibility that I got to the top faster than anyone else did that day. You gotta hang on to something, I figure.

Anyway, now I’m taking to the streets in search of a fog machine. This is because I’m an entertainer who likes to give my all to the people. If you come to see me in Edinburgh, expect fog and much, much more from me every night. Quality is job one. And as long as I’m not on the topic, please be sure to listen to my new podcast, Dave Hill’s Podcasting Incident, each week here and on iTunes, where you can totally subcribe and everything. So there.

Okay, that about covers it for now. More as this story develops.

Love,
Dave Hill

Neil Hamburger, America’s $1 Funnyman, plays a lot of shows in the Land of the Free. They are connected by roads. Why travel publicly, he explains, when you can customise your own vehicle to serve your every need?

A touring comedian’s life is a brutal one. Having achieved a certain amount of success due to my appearances on television and film, I have been able to forego budget coach services, and recently acquired my very own vehicle with which to drive to the nearly 399 shows a year that I perform.

We comedians must customise the vehicle to work for us. My new (old) car is a four-door sedan. As I travel alone, my first step was to remove the back seats. Using a saw, a propane torch, and a hammer, I accomplished this in ten hours.

Next, I needed to convert this newfound space into my own private sleeping quarters. I visited an estate sale, and purchased a dead child’s mattress from the grieving family at a very low price, and laid it down in the back of the car.

I then took some of the dead child’s old clothing (purchased cheaply from the same grieving family), and used a pair of scissors (stolen from the Gone Bananas Comedy Nightclub in Pensacola, Florida) to fashion a set of curtains in order to provide privacy at night whilst sleeping in my new “bachelor pad”. The child’s ex-pajamas created quite a spiffy set of curtains, affixed nightly to the windows using a roll of packing tape, also from Gone Bananas.

Mixing water into a bag of cement from a construction site, I poured it on to the front passenger-side floor, embedding a large metal bowl into the mixture. When the cement hardened, I had my very own homemade barbeque pit! Toss a bit of charcoal in, and you have a perfect place to cook corn-on-the-cob, or to reheat found pizza slices.

Finally, I found an old transistor radio at a thrift store, and affixed it to the dashboard with a nail. The trunk (boot) of the car is spacious, and works well as a place for me to store my tuxedo, hair gel, cans of fruit cocktail, and bills. I have truly created a “home on wheels”, and I urge all travelling comedians to avoid having to sleep on a park bench post-show, by doing the same.

Neil Hamburger will be joining us on these fair shores at the Edinburgh festival and in London too

I’d like to start by saying I’m not afraid of you people. I used to be terrified. About 95 percent of my energy as a performer went into pretending not to be afraid. Fortunately, most of that fear is gone now. Unfortunately, fear was what drove me. My creativity was fueled by panic.

I recently taped a Comedy Central Presents Special. I was prepared. I was excited. I couldn’t wait to get on stage. In other words, I was in trouble. I was afraid of not being afraid. So, I immediately began to manufacture fear. It had to be deep and immediate. It couldn’t just be bombing, that’s nothing. It had to be spectacular.

Cut to: I’m in the wings of the Hudson Theater waiting to take the stage. There are several hundred people excited to see me. I am ready, I am a pro and I am asking myself,

“ What if I get out there a just start crying?”

Those tears are never that far from the surface. Could happen. It was stretch, but it could happen.  It wasn’t enough.

“What if I just start crying and. . . I pee.”

That was good.

In my mind, seconds away from stepping on stage, is an image of me taking the mic out of the stand, bursting into to tears and pissing my pants.

Then I thought, that might not be such a bad career move. I’m a horrible self-promoter. If I was caught on tape on stage crying and peeing and that tape got out it would be infinitely more popular than anything I would say in my act. And it would get out. It would probably get like 30 million hits on youtube and be the most downloaded clip of the day. I pictured groups of giggling teenagers worldwide huddled around held video cell phones laughing and saying, “Dude, check this out. This is that comic guy who cried and peed. It’s fucking hilarious, dawg”, in several different languages. I pictured AOL’s homepage headline, “The Leaking Comic, comedian falls apart on stage, watch now”.

That’s what they’re looking for now anyways. That’s what show business has become. I’ve been doing standup twenty-five years. I’ve got a point of view, a lot to say, I’m funny and I’ve sat across from executives who say, “We need 90 second clips that can be downloaded. That’s what people want. You’re perfect. Don’t you have any weird characters or 90 second rants?”
“Yeah, I do, how’s this–are you fucking kidding me?  Are you guys that stupid? Are we that disposable? Don’t you know what I do? You assholes have ruined this business in the name of the bottom line and fear of losing your jobs. The gifted get pushed aside to make room for amateurs and hacks. That’s what people want? 90 second clips, huh? And Talent contests full of earnest attempts of amateurs who deserve nothing? Giving record deals to American idol winners is like giving a million bucks to people who sing well in their cars. And people want Reality Shows too, right? Shocking, stupid moments of lost control, pain, embarrassment, violence and sex of the pathologically uninspired. That’s what you need? 90-second bursts of unbridled, unavoidable authenticity that can make the brain dead multitudes feel like something real is happening at the cost of someone else’s dignity. Was that 90 seconds?”

So, the golden age of show business is over. Dignity seems to be dirt-cheap these days. How much was it ever worth? This is, after all, still show business.

Then I’m thinking, is that such a horrible legacy? Being that guy that cried and peed? No name, just bodily functions, secretions and excretions. How would I top it? You would hope that it would end my career. I would think I would quit out of self-respect but who knows. The siren song of the lights and the stage calling me might win out. They say you never know when your big break will come but be sure you are ready to make it when it does. I am ready to ride the wave of piss and tears into immortality.

MARC MARON at Soho Theatre July 28th-August 2nd at 10pm
http://www.sohotheatre.com/pl1898.html

At the time of my Grandmothers death, we couldn’t afford a casket and so had to seek sponsorship. We finally ended up with Pringles, the party crisp. They said they’d sponsor the funeral under the condition that the coffin was actually a gigantic Pringles tube, and that in flowers we had the saying, ‘Once you pop… your clogs… you can’t stop… this burial.’ Finally we all came to an agreement that my Grans face would still be seen through a window in the tube. It was at the funeral however that I realised Pringles had the last laugh, as when my Gran was lowered into the ground, then and only then did the family remember her gigantic handlebar moustache and bowtie.