How I Almost Ended Up Getting PC'd on New Year's

Sit back, my chillen's, and let me tell you 'bout how the NYPD's finest had their hands full with your li'l ol' pal on the eve of 2005...

Okay, well, I'm no Uncle Remus, but sit back anyway, this might take a while. So, as previously stated on this very webpage, I was to be in NYC for the Black 47 show at Connolly's, and ringing in the new with my new pals from my Ireland trip. I was told by certain folks at an employer who shall remain nameless that it wouldn't be a problem for me to scoot early, as the day was sure to be slow. RAWK!

Well, the day WAS slow, but for some reason, my hall pass never materialized. So not only did I not get to leave early, but due to the inane rule of Everyone Stays Until All the Work is Done, I had to hang out and extra 15-20 minutes, even though my work was done hours before. Great, so I'm already in the hole, timewise, before I even leave Boston. But God was on my side, chillen's, because traffic was virtually non-existent, and I managed to beat Mapquest's estimated ETA by about 20 minutes.

Now, my buddies had left the hotel much earlier, because I didn't want anyone to have to wait around for me, so I got to the room at right about 9pm, just missing the 9 o'clock shuttle into the city. Okay, I'll have to wait for the 10, fine, I can freshen up and start drinking (btw, unbeknownst to me, several members of my entourage were pretty pie-eyed by this time, and I counted a sizeable pile of empties in the adjoining rooms we'd rented for the night). So, 10pm comes around, and myself and several other would-be revelers pile into the hotel shuttle for the trip through the Lincoln tunnel onto 41st and Dyer, not all that far from my destination of 45th and 6th. From what I'd been told, as long as I had my e-ticket for the show, I shouldn't have too much trouble finding a sympathetic cop to let me through the police barricades. And it's only about 10:15. Sweet!

Not sweet. Not sweet at fuck-all, because only one cop let me past the barricade, at 46th and 8th, only for me to be turned back at 46th and Broadway (that would be Time Square proper). For the next 13 blocks, I tried as best I could (to the point of almost getting the ol' bracelets slapped on me) to persuade someone to just let me walk FOUR BLOCKS OVER, so I could get to my show. I ended up at 59th and Central Park South, making my way back down the other side, so I could finally get to 6th avenue at 58th street. Awesome, only 13 more blocks to go.

By the time I finally made it to Connolly's (three songs into the show), I was exhausted. My feet hurt, my back was killing me, and I was almost too tired to drink. Fortunately, my friends would not let me use that as an excuse not to, as they began pouring the Guinness down my gullet with gusto. Lemme tell you something: that stuff has magic powers, I swear it's true. The night ended up being great, and even better, I didn't have to stand on a stage and try to talk over drunks with noisemakers for so-so money (which is what usually happens to me on NYE). So I've decided, I'm officially retired from performing comedy on New Year's. Unless someone wants to offer me huge bucks, I'm just going to spend it like normal people do: getting drunk and enjoying myself. No pressure, no having to wait for the event organizer to take his hand out of his secretary's blouse long enough to pay me, no more bullshit. I resolve to enjoy myself or go down swinging for every 12/31 henceforth. Ya heard me!