Awaken. Complete packing. Lug suitcase and duffel to Onion offices, which lie roughly between home and bus station. They're pretty damn heavy- I'm gonna need a cab the rest of the way. John Krewson & Maria Schneider show up too. Split cab with Maria. John packed so lightly he is able to walk to station.
Meet the gang at Badger Bus: Self, Maria, John, Rob Siegel, Todd Hanson, Carol Kolb, Mike Loew.
12:30 bus East to Milwaukee, followed by airplane West to Denver. This is why gas is so expensive. Pick up rental van, begin many-hour drive to condo complex in Snowmass Village. Van registered in Mike's name, therefore he is the only one who can drive it all weekend. Staff alcoholics delighted.
Rob not doing so well. Fever, flu-like symptoms. Talks very softly. Maria, drawing on wellspring of Rob-induced maternal instinct, falls into nursemaid role, hosting Rob's head on her lap. What a trooper.
Arrive at Condo God knows what hour.... around 11:00 MST. Two two-bedroom condos are reserved for us. Maria, Rob take 3301, rest of us crammed into 2202.
Hopes are high for the festival. John has well-publicized ambition to molest and be assaulted by Janeane Garofalo. Mike brought his screenplay. Todd Hanson would love to meet Catherine O'Hara, one of his favorite actresses ever. I'll be happy to meet Conan O'Brien or Andy Richter, so I can give them my card for passage to Jon Glaser, old friend of mine now on writing staff. Everyone excited about possibility of hanging out with David Cross and/or Bob Odenkirk, notorious Onion supporters. Staffer who will remain nameless wishes to obtain "fat bag" of controlled substance. Staffer is convinced snowboarding community is the key.
Aspen's altitude half again as high as Denver's. Air very thin, a Swanson's chicken broth compared to the Campbell's Chunky Sirloin Burger air at sea level. The temperature is surprisingly warm... despite the altitude, we are further South than Wisconsin. I for one need none of the Winter clothing I packed. My thrift-shop small-time reporter getup of jacket and hideous tie topped with grey fedora suffices. The whole region obviously very expensive... the money exists, plus where else can you go? Grocery store closed, so we have to spend a great deal on a single meal at the only place open... an establishment which is primarily a bar. OK food, horrible service. Some of us are finished eating before others are served. John becomes blitzed on bourbon and Cokes. I express a wish to be in bed w/lights out by 1 A.M. MST. It's close, but I make it.
Minus Rob, we pile into the van and head into town.
Aspen is a place like no other.... closest comparison is Boca Grande, Florida with skiing in lieu of boating. Wealth is everywhere (endless jokes from us about "Aspenholes," "Asshole-spend, Colorasshole" and "Snowmassholes"), and for some reason I am far too poor to comprehend, getting lunch is a huge ordeal. The vast majority of restaurants are closed for several hours during the afternoon. Do the rich simply understand and tolerate this? Baffling. Turns out the Ute indians, referred to on South Park, are a real tribe... Aspen has businesses with names like the "Ute City Bar & Grill."
Collective groan from the group as we realize that Cartoon Network is one of the corporations with their finger in the U. S. Comedy Arts Festival pie. As we stop at an intersection, huge costumed characters of "Cow & Chicken" (One person in a Cow costume 'holding' much smaller Chicken), Scooby-Doo and Shaggy cross the street right in front of us. Shaggy waves at the van and is flipped off by a quorum of Onion staffers.
The Hotel St. Regis is ground zero for the festival. Most of the stars staying there, the basement crammed with sponsors, tables and giveaways. Turner Classic Movies is giving away free bottled water in TCM bottles ("Nothing will quench your thirst for movies like Turner Classic Movies.") Free lollipops to promote the film "Suckers." We get our press passes (someone's "cute" idea since after all, we work for a "newspaper"), and the celebrity glimpse-fest begins.
Ben Stiller and Janeane Garofalo are hanging by the Cartoon Network "pavillion," taping appearances for some CN special where celebrities describe their favorite animated shorts which are owned by Time/Warner, then the shorts are shown. Non-celebrities are also welcome to appear, but I don't bother.... not sure what short I'd pick. Probably Duck Amuck or Hillbilly Hare.
Saw SLC Punk!, an independent film about punks in Salt Lake City during the '80s. Inarguably well-done. Entertaining for all. Todd and John particularly thrilled having dabbled in punk culture in that era. Inspired by the film, Todd kicks trash can on way out of theater.
Hit the Supermarket. Over $150 spent on food. Frozen pizza, ice cream, Coke, tuna sandwich fixings for Rob... Some genius buys several cans of Progresso lentil soup, forgetting it'll be seven of us crammed into one van all weekend. Beer & wine purchased at nearby Drug/liquor store.
Drive back to Aspen for Comedy Central party at Su Casa Mexican restaurant and adjacent Cigar Bar. David Cross is there, but I only get to glimpse him where other staffers actually meet him as I'm off being buttonholed by the director/screenwriter/stars of Pitch, a documentary lambasting the Hollywood system. Producer of "Slaves of Hollywood" distributes free promotional switchblade combs. Seems like we will never get sick of "don't make me groom you" jokes- takes at least half an hour.
Back to the St. Regis for "Janeane II," A Garofalo-hosted revue of alternative stand-up. Our press passes are marginally prestigious, but we take a back seat to ticket holders and Black Diamond passes. Lots of standing and waiting in a holding area. Budd Friedman walks by. I shake his hand as I did in 1992, he comically pretends to remember me (squinting at my pass: "Oh, yeah.... TIM!"). Eugene Levy enters ahead of us, my first SCTV sighting. I might have spoken up, but he seemed rather distant, almost somber. We finally enter the showroom, on "the list" as David Cross' guests.
Martin Short takes the stage to introduce Janeane. Show very entertaining, particularly the last two performers, Paul F. Tompkins and David Cross, who loses some audience goodwill doing many minutes of experimental never-performed stuff. Still one of the coolest people alive. As great as the show is, it goes awfully long, and the thin air makes you tired.
Rob still sick. Chooses to stay cooped up another day.
No wonder Eugene Levy was so down... he'd just learned Second City patriarch Del Close had died. Onion manager David Miner informed us over lunch. He had been the one to inform Levy. Paul Tompkins and friends are at nearby table.
Another strange thing about Aspen: the bronze-statue industry appears to be key to the local economy. They're all over the public thoroughfares, and several local businesses deal solely in bronze. A particularly odd piece depicting a monkey and child walking hand in hand sells for some $7000. Puns built around the word "asshole" only intensify on the third day.
Glimpsed David Steinberg downstairs at the St. Regis, James L. Brooks and Penny Marshall in the lobby. Ran into Jerry Minor. Discussed mutual friend Tim Pryor, future of Mr. Show (grim). For some reason Michigan's Richard Golden from D.O.C. Optics is walking around.
Cartooning legend Peter Bagge designed the fest poster, and is selling and autographing them downstairs at the Regis. I have to be informed that he is a cartooning legend- there's just too much on the rack nowadays to read it all. Todd, Maria especially worshipful fans of Bagge.
Chance encounter with Dave Foley on staircase. He loves the Onion, told me to call him- we'll hang out.
Back at condo, I call Foley as asked. Aspen is so small and the fest so exclusive that the front desk just connects me straight to his room. He says he's attending the Ben Stiller Show tribute, so plans are to meet him there post-show.
Moon Zappa is headlining an alternative comedy show at the "Raw Space" theater which we are unable to get into. Our passes are enough to gain admittance, we find seats and we watch the whole thing, but we are unable to get into it. Character-driven stand-up labeled as alternative for no overpowering reason. Also, one guy doesn't talk for his whole performance- more vaudeville than alternative, which would have been great if it was great vaudeville. Ms. Zappa dresses immodestly and cavorts like a firebrand. Not in my day!
Ben Stiller reunion at Wheeler Opera House, 10:30 PM. Glimpse Larry David walking up the aisle. Todd gets his Catherine O'Hara encounter, wishing her a happy birthday (yesterday) as she shuffles toward her seat. Reunion started slow, like an amateur talk show (not to impugn host Andy Richter), and eventually built to an uproarious climax (no spoilers for HBO subscribers). Andy Dick brings warmed-over Andy Kaufman performance art, driven by shock value, admittedly funny to witness live. Bob Odenkirk could not attend, but sent very funny videotaped appearance. At comic high point, David Cross' brilliance combined with thin air makes me reflexively stop laughing to keep from blacking out- a rare thrill indeed for a comedy connisseur. Seize any opportunity to watch this reunion. Air dates will be posted on home page when learned.
UPDATE: It never did air on HBO, but a dedicated Ben Stiller Show fan has posted a complete transcript here.
Outside showroom, we re-encounter Foley, who introduces me to Dave Thomas as he whisks past. I had not even recognized him- he seems to have lost weight. Less round-headed. Thomas is effusive in praising The Onion- "You guys are hotter'n pistols," he intones in his warm, deep Canadian accent.
Foley seems to have no plans to party tonight, but says to call him tomorrow and we'll do drinks.
Unnamed staff member still has not acquired controlled substance. That's what you get for burning bridges with Shaggy.
Finagle our way into private party at Mezzaluna. Fun, but last call in Colorado is 1:30 AM, and a short while after, wait staff is required to remove unfinished drinks from the table. We were in a mood to party all night, so we head back to the condo and persist well into the night. Remarkable segment on Aspen public-access cable. Music, crude animation, satire... a pizza shop as allegory for the political process, a song about buying stuff... hard to evoke in text form. More info here if and when I get it.
UPDATE: The shorts are by two brothers who call themselves Ingredient X. There is presently no link on the site to the pizza shop cartoon, but the "stuff" song and many other entertaining shorts are viewable at the site.
John makes pancakes. Called Dave Foley at pre-arranged time of 1 PM. he was still in bed. First time in my life I ever rousted a Kid in the Hall from sleep and he didn't mind. He said he'd meet us in the lobby of the St. Regis at 3 PM.
Rob, bless him, is actually in a mood to come with us! Illness still present, though.
Arrive at St. Regis. Short wait as Foley tapes some sort of interview. I wander the first floor. Back in the lobby, Rob tells me that the entire SCTV cast just walked through the lobby. I glimpse Joe Flaherty, but am too polite to interrupt. Encounter Dave Thomas again in lobby area. Give him most recent Onion issue (35-8). He implies we'll hear from him after he reads it. I take the opportunity to give him my card. While seeking the opportunity to re-encounter Thomas, I miss Conan O'Brien. Rob and Mike catch him, though, and he's effusive in praising both the Onion and his xerox of Our Dumb Century. I'd complain about missing him, but in the big picture I hardly have the right.
Foley is finally able to hold court with us in the off-lobby lounge. Lots of warm praise in both directions, chat about creativity, the business, the festival. Todd gives Foley Our Dumb Century pre-release preview. I spend much of the time staring out the window at giant Cartoon Network balloon of Johnny Bravo several stories high. Flaherty is chatting with friends at nearby table. On other side of fireplace from us is sofa full of performers including Tompkins and Kathy Griffin.
We resolve to attend Foley's unreleased two-year-old film, The Wrong Guy. En route, we have a street-corner Foley-facilitated rendezvous with Ben Stiller, Garofalo and entourage. Entourage does all the talking. Ben and Janeane polar opposites of Canadians named Dave- Silent sunglassed monoliths. I can barely hand Ben a copy of the Onion. John does not even come close to accosting Garofalo. Insists the whole desire was a joke- What a pussy!
The Wrong Guy is an excellent film. Apparently distributors were disinterested because it had no major stars and wasn't a direct parody of anything. Hollywood sucks. Conventional wisdom is wrong. This film is entertainment for the whole family, yet still loaded with sophisticated "stealth" jokes for hipsters. Foley plays a nebbish who goes on the lam believing he's been framed for murder, when in fact no one at all suspects him. Countless tired movie cliches turned on their heads is the likely reason Hollywood got scared- they don't want the audience to wise up.
As we walk down the street after exiting the theater, Foley trots after us to talk some more. He is an Onion geek. We practically had to tell him to split. You turn around, there's Foley. Worse than Wynton at Jazzfest.
After failing to gain entry to "This American Life" at Wheeler Opera House due to popularity and wrongly publicized time, we return to the condo for dinner- steak and mashed potatoes masterminded by John. listened to "Our Dumb Century" audio book. Universal agreement- the print version is the big attraction.
Back to Aspen for "White Trash Wins Lotto" at the Raw Space, a Gilbert & Sullivan-style musical about the life of Axl Rose, written by and starring former "Wall Of Voodoo" lead singer Andy Prieboy. Todd forgot his ticket. I give him mine to hang at a downstairs party at the Regis and meet more celebrities. There aren't many. Short chat with Andy Dick and his manager, glimpse Mickey Dolenz. Might have been nice to meet Dolenz, but after I take a bathroom trip, he is gone. The Dolenz, he is slippery, like the eel. Upstairs, Maria has drinks with Peter Bagge before trotting off to the show.
It's an awfully fancy party. Giant bowl of tortilla chips has pairs of metal tongs in it, so chips can be retrieved without getting your grubby hands up against chips that someone else will have to eat. Retrieving the tongs from the bowl without touching any chips is quite a chore. There's a dance floor and DJ, but the thin air makes dancing an athletic event. Also, my graceless Frankensteinian clomping horrifies more than fostering an attitude of fun, so I abandon the notion.
Eventually, I head to Raw Space figuring "White Trash" is about half over, and by then there are often seats available due to wealthy scum leaving 10 minutes after curtain as though the show is not nearly as desirable as the simple status of having gotten tickets. Aspen is not a comedy hotbed. Local magazines carry full-page ads for the Crystal Palace, where dinner is followed by a musical comedy revue in which everyone is fair game for satire: Viagra, Martha Stewart, Elton John, too many to name.
Not only do I get admitted, but the show started late and I only missed three songs in a song-packed show. Andy Prieboy is on to something here. Far and away the best Gilbert & Sullivan-style Axl Rose bio at the entire festival, no matter what the "Aspen News" reviewer says. It's the kinda thing you have to see to dig. Paul Tompkins featured as well- quite the renaissance man. Look for cult following to tail "White Trash Wins Lotto." Dave Foley's attendance at the performance was at least his third (My logic being: we saw him enter a previous performance already raving about how great it was).
From Raw Space to the St. Regis (right next door) to check out the party. Conan and his head writer Jonathon Groff are there. Everyone is impressed by Conan's towering 6-foot-4 frame except myself... I've heard him joke about it for five years. Just staring at the man and hearing him compliment the Onion is quite a thrill, but I intend to get my opening with him so I can leave him my card for Jon Glaser. Finally my little light bulb goes off, and I realize Groff will be a much easier touch. Groff is polite and happily accepts my card.
Eventually the hotel staff has to corral everyone in a single direction towards the staircase. They do a good job- experience in controlling hordes of assholes shows. On the mid-staircase landing Detroit's Mike Bonner recognizes me. I can remember nothing more than his name. He tells me the Comedy Castle's Mark Ridley is also attending. I certainly didn't spot him.
Stampeded out of the St. Regis, we return to Raw Space for a rumored party. Prieboy is there, says he's a big Onion fan. Foley's there as well (surprise, surprise). Todd introduces me to two guys who work on Space Ghost: Coast To Coast. We're generally too tired to party in earnest, so we leave after a time interval no one can agree on.
Back to the condo, where tension about having to leave the festival manifests as an argument about philosophy that goes past 4 AM.
The last frozen pizza is sacrificed to the breakfast gods. We get on the road by 12:30. Carol works to stifle laughter during check-out as the desk clerk's name is "Assalone." She doesn't take the time to explain.
Rob informs us Stanley Kubrick died. Much fretting over whether Eyes Wide Shut was finished in time. Todd bemoans that now "A.I." will not be made. UPDATE: It was.
En route to Denver airport, we wind through an enormous river canyon and feel tiny and insignificant.
John sees a ski lift hoisting the well-to-do up a mountain far in the distance and ad-libs, "They look like little ant-holes."
At a gas station snack break, John discovers a five-dollar Smokey the Bear beanie toy for sale. It is so popular four writers have purchased their very own Smokey before we pull out. For hour after hour, the Onion writers perform surreal and filthy puppet shows with their Smokeys, ad-libbing witticisms like "Only you can prevent severe anal trauma." I am unmoved by Smokey, as my heart is one of filthy black carbon. John may adore his Smokey more than anyone- between the cooking, the stage fright next to celebrities, and doting on a stuffed toy, I don't know where he gets off wearing a mohawk half of the time.
We must return the van before 5:30 to avoid being charged for another day. At 5:27 we pull into the Enterprise lot- not too shabby.
Another close call at airport as majority decides to grab dinner with our gate far on the other side of enormous Denver airport with 45 minutes or so before scheduled departure. Everyone makes it in the end. Switchblade combs are a big hit with airport security- we've never felt more popular.
Flight to Milwaukee. Much colder here than Aspen. Shuttlebus to Greyhound station, where we learn that there are no tickets waiting for us, as the business office was to arrange. Fortunately, Mil-town to Mad-town is only nine dollars. We'll be reimbursed. Every single seat on the bus except seven appears to be filled, and it's past midnight, so virtually all of us are crammed next to a dozing stranger. Arrive at Badger Bus, which is closed, so we have to stand outside to call & wait for cabs. Finally the warm clothing I packed comes in handy.
Shuttlebuses included, it took six vehicles to get from condo to home.
Copyright © 1999 by Tim Harrod