I have a theater degree, which is about as useful as a typewriter repairman certificate, so I’m feeling good about my life choices. You have to re-invent and re-assess, so I’ve come up with something new, a fall-back plan. I’m going to start panning for gold in the Sierra Nevadas, because it’s smart to come up with something practical.
Which brings me to a point, a breaking point for sure, but a point none-the-less. You get one crack at it and it’s hard to know how much to risk in life, so if you got some stones on you, go for it. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself as I battle flashforwards to me eating stewed tomatoes and cat food later in life.
I joined some dear friends on their podcast and it was as natural as rain. “You’re telling me all we have to do is sit in a room, and wear headphones, and kick it and laugh and share stories, like we’ve been doing for years and people will listen and enjoy?” That’s what I was assigned to do and asked to do with my boys Ryan Sickler and Jay Larson. It was a revelation and I can’t wait to do it again.
Check out The CrabFeast on Itunes and holler at a brother. Nothing like going home. Here’s the link episode dated 5/29/12
Back from the Big D. NFC East territory in the Southwest (never understood that). Been there a few times, but never got to kick it in the downtown and uptown parts of the city. Good times. There are so many bars per square foot I thought it was unseasonably warm in Wisconsin or it was dry in New Orleans.
Being a Jersey Boy I had the same wrong idea about Dallas as they had about me. It’s a cool town and I will be back. Thank you Dallas.
I was doing a particularly shitty gig in Fresno and was trying to inspire myself to face a crowd that was indifferent to the proceedings. I brought a shirt on a hanger and was putting it on in the bathroom. It had french cuffs, because I’m classy, and I thought I might take a picture in the mirror. The lighting almost gave color to my usual pallor. I got off a shot without the flash burst and somehow captured a feeling a lot of comics can relate to – “what the fuck am I doing here?” The set went well and I was rewarded with a bar tab and a 4 hour drive home telling myself over and over, “this is all voluntary.”
Growing up I thought it was the height of luxury to find out my neighbors had a refrigerator in the kitchen and the basement. Other friend’s parents had an extra fridge in the garage. We had the standard kitchen-only fridge policy and it was just fine.
In LA I couch surfed before I moved into an apartment that had an old fridge whose freezer was frozen solid. I suppose I could have defrosted the fridge, but I was worried my Gatorade might spoil. I moved out of that place, partly because it had an interior beehive and moved into my current spot.
My new place didn’t come with a fridge. I haven’t had to worry about this shit since birth, now I’m in the market for the biggest appliance in the store. I bought used and got a year out of the first one, bought used again, got a couple more years out of that, and that croaked too. I wised-up and bought new, because you get what you pay for, but this grown-up shit sucks sometimes.
I drive a beater, a clunker, a hooptie. It’s reliable and grey, and I never valet. I lived in New York after college and didn’t drive much until I moved to Los Angeles. I am actually driving the first car I have ever owned.
People always wax nostalgic about their first car. “I had a ’67 Mustang rag top,” or “I had a VW bus that we used to get baked in before class.” My story begins and middles with an ’89 Honda Accord, a name that would drive George Carlin crazy, so from here on out I’m gonna lie and say my 1st car was a Plymouth Fury, because fury trumps rage and aren’t we all full of the rage on the road?
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