8 September 2015
It’s around 11.30am, Arizona time. Doug Stanhope is at home, dealing with another fresh hangover in his own special way. He’s applied eye drops, he’s on his second cigarette, and he’s explaining a new coping mechanism he’s developed: an evolved version of hair of the dog.
Tonight, the stand-up comedian will head to Tucson airport, so he’s in position when the airport bar opens at 6am. From there he’ll begin an #airportpubcrawl (it’s a thing, apparently). He’ll board a plane to Tokyo (with stops at Salt Lake City and Portland), drinking vodka grapefruit juices and Manhattans in the airports along the way, not venturing outside until he gets to Honolulu, where he’ll use the 12-hour layover to visit one of his favourite Tiki bars, and maybe read a book. ‘I’ll be back home in 48 hours,’ he mumbles.
It could seem like an elaborate way to unwind, but as with so many things, the logic, when explained by Stanhope, makes astonishingly good sense. ‘As soon as I’m onboard, I’ll take a Xanax, maybe have a couple of cocktails. I get the best sleep when I’m flying, I absolutely love it. I think it’s because you’re moving, going forward or something. Plus at home you’re surrounded by your shit; the dog wants fed and the cats are crying. Fuck that. This is the kind of thing you can do when you live below your means, and you don’t have kids. I live in a town where you can buy a house for $60,000. So I have a disposable income, and a bunch of air miles. Plus my wife is away so I’d probably just be bored if I hung around here; I’d rather be in motion.’
Stanhope’s #airportpubcrawl will also provide a breather from writing his upcoming book, focussing on his life with his mother, Bonnie, who committed suicide at age 63. ‘She was the one who told me to do stand-up. She was this angry, crazy, miserable, awful person, with a truck-driver mouth,’ he says, with a wheezy laugh that belies his obvious affection. ‘Writing this book makes every day feel like the day after taking ecstasy. Plus my memory is such dogshit that I have to call up friends I’ve not spoken to in years to check the facts.’
Besides looking at their relationship and casting a backwards glance over his days as a Las Vegas stand-up and then a Los Angeles barfly, the now 48-year-old Arizonian will presumably get a chance to expand on some of his libertarian views too. He’s rattled a few cages in the past with his right-to-die opinions, an issue that’s understandably close to his heart after being present at his mum’s death when she chose to overdose on morphine, while suffering from emphysema.
A quick Google search for ‘Allison Pearson’ should cover the key points to Stanhope’s argument on end-of-life care. But he recaps today, calling the Daily Telegraph journalist with whom he had an online spat in 2012, ‘ruthlessly crass, uneducated, with a poorly thought-out op ed piece.’ He still feels just as strongly. In fact, this morning’s hangover is from last night’s city council meeting, where they were discussing right-to-die legislation, and Stanhope was speaking. ‘I happen to live in a very progressive town [Bisbee, Arizona] in a state with a lot of redneck retards. Elsewhere they dress it up; they’ll do anything to avoid buzzwords like “mercy killings” or “euthanasia”. But some people require physician-assisted suicide, or maybe even farmer-assisted suicide; maybe they just want to be taken out back and put down like Old Yeller.’
While Stanhope is candid and willing to air his anarchist, libertarian views (his regular podcasts,Twitter and Facebook posts are full of them), he says his upcoming UK tour won’t focus on politics. ‘Fuck, no. Who cares? It’s so boring. It’s this circular argument. Talking about Donald Trump: what does that do? It’s the Kardashian effect, talking about them just makes the problem worse.’
He’s deliberately not revealing what the content will be for his UK shows, but claims material-wise, ‘I have a loaded gun. Usually before I do dates in the UK, I have ulcers and worry that this shit won’t work for British audiences.’
This time, three years after his last UK visit, he’s had time to accumulate plenty new material, and doesn’t have the usual panic. He even confesses to having a soft spot for Scotland, owning up, slightly shamefully, that he recently discovered his great-grandmother was born there.
‘I know, I know, American douchebags talking about their family history in the same way people talk about their astrological sign . . . But apparently I’m part Scottish and some English, with German rising, or something. I really do enjoy being in Scotland. I’m sure it’s psychological; like, maybe if you told me I was in Scotland when I was really some place in England, I’d just feel better. I don’t know why I like it; you guys still don’t have proper condiments and everything’s made of that ugly stone everywhere. But I usually have a good time there.’