You're Kidding, Right?

You understand THIS makes everyone around you 100% MORE normal, right?
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A Weak-Long HotDog

Already, my week is vacuum packed, tightly sealed, and fully watertight. I have two gigs, a showcase, and most excitingly, the return of HAX-TV!
Tonight, Monday, November 08, 2004, I am heading to the Comedy Uberpants for the final night of the first week of the 25th Annual Seattle International Comedy Competition. I am hoping to see my dear friend, James Inman, perform to the highest of his abilities. I know how these things can really mess with a performer’s head. It’s like being conscious of people’s short-changing your dreams, re-living your childhood without the hope of Christmas morning or a hickey, or having a crush on a fair-skinned, substitute choir teacher in a classroom about 11 degrees cooler than necessary. I am also hoping for a stellar performance from Geoffrey G. Brousseau. He has promised me that he will wear tightly sealed, watertight, dolphin-colored courdoroy pantalones c’est soir.

Friggin’ comedy. It takes and takes and takes, and when you’ve had it up to your favorite premise with these staring blumpkins, BINGO a monster set followed by 4 paying gigs. The Muse flirts with us all, a hermaphrodite of Bowie-like energy, lap-hopping like a blossoming 15 year-old girl who misses her dad… and “Friends.”

And today is that day at work where I am pounded ass-wise by Reality:
I sit among 40-somethings who have been where I’ve been, I assume. Disillusioned with Corporate Whoremerica, wanting to make a difference in their lives and the lives of others. Staring at cubicle walls and making inside jokes at Conference Calls, only to end up twice-divorced at 44, one kid a thousand miles away, a mortgage or two, another crow's-grip of wrinkles and graying hair, and hoping beyond hope in a zen effort to scrape-clean this here yogurt cup. Their shuffling feet finding a slicker pace with rumors of donuts in the breakroom. That’s their only happiness of the day. They create work for themselves by confusing the hell out of people, over-talking every point to death (that sounds familiar). “I am IMPORTANT. See, my phone’s ringing!” So do the phones of hostage-takers. Speaking of which…
It’s really tough to see and interact with people who I am sure that, without this job to be at, would not know what to do with themselves all day. I sometimes feel like instituting a non-violent "Fight Club," like telling someone they're bothering everyone, or giving them a backhanded compliment.
"Wow Bill, you lost a lot of weight. How much more to go?"

{God, take me before that path ever comes under my feet. I’d rather die young and glorious than older and broken, blind to the fact that this is NOT Life. My dad's illness, while often hilarious and frustratingly life-affecting, is part of Life, and I thank you for that challenge, and yes, I'm still pissed about it but I have perspective now so can You please see that it loosens it's grip on the man who once read to me when I was 2 and scared of the nightlight? I'd appreciate that.}

Along with that prayer, I resolve myself to never be broken. To follow the path I am supposed to be on, destined for, through the good graces of powers above me, with the drive to learn how to do what it takes, whatever It is, and the serenity to allow everyone else to go pound their donut holes.
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My Non-Funny Blog.