I hadn't shaved since November. Did last night.
Awkward day at work, but I needed to trim it off for work tomorrow. Can't be a raggedy mess when I'm repping us to outside peoples. Gotta look SHARP.
I may be drunk but I'm totally serious about that: I'd prefer a solid impression while I represent our company.
We're good, and I'm proud of that . . . for reals.
We fucking play magic on lunch breaks. WE'RE SMART NERDS!
Drunk right now.
I am featuring in comedy tomorrow. I find it magical to say "I am featuring."
It's not what you want; one-nighter* where I'm pretty certain there's no emcee.
It's anybody's guess on whether or not the people in this bar KNOW they're getting a comedy show tomorrow night.
Hopefully they do.
When they don't, I like to call it combat comedy. You're running an insurgency at that point; take no prisoners and see if you can't win the hearts and minds of the people. BUT be prepared to blow yourself up for massive casualties and news coverage. You might not have to, but hey, any publicity is good publicity right?
I drove a bunch of people home in my tiny car tonight. I cracked them up the entire time, and they asked why wasn't that in my act.
If I could be the person I was with them, onstage, I'd never have to do anything but manage my drug intake. Life plans? Taken care of: being funny.
But I'm a pale shadow of that guy because that guy for some reason doesn't give a fuck. The problem is when you're onstage, you do give a fuck. Put a camera on you, or indicate that this gig is more important than previous gigs . . . you're not the Fun Guy.
You're the fight-or-flight ibex running up a cliff-face, chased by a fox. You're not going to beat the fox - the best you can hope for is finding part of the cliff that a fox can't go.
That's me when I think it matters.
The worst and( and most inaccurate ) part is I somehow think performing in front of comedians I like matters. I deserve a beating.
Tonight's set went well. I pulled together a few NPR asides and built an honest to goodness bit. The "I don't know spanish" bombed but I thought it would. It's a true story that is fundamentally funny, I just haven't figured out how to do it in few enough words.
I'm happy with where I am in a sense - I like performing but don't work to do it enough. It's more of a sweet taste than a meal.
It's the cost that hurts; comedy muses desire a pound of flesh.
Comedy aches in me, though. I don't know if I should be doing comedy, but I love doing it. I do it for free, because.
That's the sort of thing you want to get paid for.
I almost hate I'm awesome at computers.
Not really, I have a job and most comics don't! Ha ha! Comedy pay for features hasn't changed significantly with inflation since the late 80s! haha!
I've never had to call a bingo game! ha to the ha!
In other news, I fucking HATE all sorts of grapes, operating on the premise that they're all sour.
* a one nighter in comedy parlance is a non-comedy club gig. These can be awesome, shitty, somewhere in between. It's a crap-shoot where shitty tends to clock in better than awesome, but you get about a hundred bucks for twenty minutes worth of work. As a rule, you earn every penny of it. When you would have done the show for free if it was that good, well, that's why we have such trouble stopping this silly ride.