Todd Barry - Thank You for Coming to Hattiesburg: One Comedians Tour of Not-Quite-the-Biggest Cities in the World

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I ts always a crapshoot when two things you love join forces.

Sometimes its a perfect union. For example, I love Stephen Sondheim and I love history. So when I discovered Stephen Sondheims musical about the opening of Japans borders in 1853 ( Pacific Overtures ), I felt it had been written exclusively for me.

Or when my friend Lee got a treadmill in his apartment. I love running on treadmills and I love hanging out with Lee. Another perfect union at the center of my personal Venn diagram.

But sometimes, this marriage doesnt work out so well: For the last several years, I loved watching the scrappy Golden State Warriors basketball team. During this time, I also loved watching the elegant Kevin Durant, who played for the Oklahoma City Thunder. But this summer, Kevin Durant joined the Golden State Warriors and they became that horrible, elitist Goliath that so often ruins competitive sports. They became too much of something good; the double-stuffed Oreo, the mnage trois, the thirty-minute shower.

So when Todd Barry told me that he was writing an anthropological travelogue of the secondary cities on the standup comedy touring circuit, I was cautiously excited.

I love reading travelogues (Pico Iyer, Paul Theroux, Rory Stewart) and my degree in college is anthropology. Im from New York City but currently living in a secondary Midwestern city and I love analyzing the differences and immersing myself in what feels different.

I also love standup comedy. In particular, I love Todd Barrys standup comedy. I have listened to Todds albums so many times that, at one point, they were my go-to comforting sounds in moments of distress. That is, Todd Barrys wry observations about modern life were my Babbling Brook, my Autumn Thunderstorm.

Luckily, I discovered that Todds hysterical travelogue, Thank You for Coming to Hattiesburg , delivers on my highand very specificexpectations; it is Pacific Overtures , it is Lees treadmill. It is not Kevin Durants Warriors.

But what makes these stories really compelling is that, just like in his standup, Todd manages to create a self-portrait that is as honest as it is enigmatic. In his standup, Todd masterfully performs as a kind of neurotic braggart, somehow convincing as a man who a) lives in a ten-room apartment and b) recently bought his parents a crack house because he couldnt afford to buy them an upgraded suburban home. In his standup, he dates Julia Roberts but is too nervous to talk to strangers; hes as successful as the Rolling Stones, but still receives e-mails from the audience asking what time his shows will begin. Is it hubris? Is it self-deprecation? Its not really either and its not really both.

Todd is an enigma. And this book, by design, does little to unravel him. But if you choose to wade through his funny anecdotes and ironic reflections, you will begin to see the portrait of a performer who, like any great performer, worries about their craft. Like all thoughtful artists, Todd is much more likely to remember his one bad South Bend, Indiana, show than the ninety-nine shows that went perfectly. To paraphrase a telling line of his, The show must have gone well because I dont remember it. He fastidiously assesses how many people were at each venue, analyzes the effect that the height of the stage and the opening act have on his performance (an analysis I found most surprising), and laments the location of most venues bathrooms, which force him to be seen by the audience prior to a show. Whether intentional or not, Todd reveals himself to be someone who is obsessively vigilant about his work and he is able to thoughtfully (and humorously) contextualize it for us.

And thats what makes Thank You for Coming to Hattiesburg such a successful travelogue. Its nominal focus is on secondary cities on the standup comedy circuit, but it ends up revealing the experiences of someone who cares deeply about what they do.

I read Todd Barrys Thank You for Coming to Hattiesburg in the intensive care unit of Tucsons University Medical Center while waiting for my wife to come out of a coma. Of course I hadnt seen the coma thing coming when Id initially agreed to write the foreword for Todds book and was surprised when Todd said not to even worry about writing it under the grave circumstances. I kind of expected him to say something to the effect of But you did promise...

I underestimated his humanity.

Also, I had already had to cancel my own tour due to this disastrous turn of events, some gigs specifically mentioned in Todds book. Ive prided myself that in more than twenty-five years in comedy, Ive never canceled a show for any personal reason save for a few rare television appearances. I knew that reading his book would reinforce why my wifes life might be more important than disappointing a boozed herd of humps at Sally Tomatoes in Rohnert Park, California.

Todd and I both have an affinity for playing secondary markets as he likes to call them. I refer to them as shitholes generally. We enjoy them for a lot of the same reasons. The appreciation of small-town audiences, the lack of stress, the curiosity of visiting new places.

But while Todd and I cover quite a bit of the same territory, a lot of the same small comedy clubs or stinking roadhouses, we almost never cross paths. Todd is a different kind of animal. While you will find him in your finer coffeehouse, I will be slumped over the mahogany of your most barren gin joint. Todd will be complaining about the grimy condition of the clubs toilet, unaware that I was the one who befouled it so egregiously in the weeks prior. Todd wants bottled water in his greenroom. Im happy to even have a greenroom, and the only time I drink a bottled water is if I need to empty it in order to have something to piss in when the greenroom has no toilet. And then Im upset I had to drink water.

Todd Barrys book will no doubt give you plenty of insight into the life of a comedian on the road in Middle America. Youll learn our distinct nomenclature, dos and donts and how to not be an aggravation as either a new comedian or an overzealous audience member. Even I was perplexed at some comedy bombs he dropped within these pages. He speaks of things like contracts and riders, ideas foreign to me when shoveling out a load of drunken vitriol and sodomy jokes in Little Rock. Im usually drunk enough by the time I get paid that I simply have to put blind trust in the paymaster, like a blind man counting on human decency that the currency hes been handed is in the proper denominations.

Todd uses spreadsheets, apps, and programs to keep track and organize his payments and expenses. I have balls of receipts in my pockets, some with poorly scribbled notes on the back, some that have been through the laundry. He gets uneasy when he spots an audience member whos too intoxicated. I freak out if I spot one more sober than me.

Yet we are both still drawn to these much neglected gems of the road less trampled. Brand-name comedy club chains serve their purpose, but if you limit yourself to only the safe bets, youll never see anything new or frightening or fun. You need to jump into the muck if you wanna wake up with a good story. The more hideous the better for me. I love to complain about the shitholes because thats where the funny lives along with the bacteria. Todd loves to complain too but I think its because he really likes to complain and really doesnt like fungus. To each his own.