The Daily Derenger

6/21/2002

I need a job. I've been trying this comedy thing as my sole means of income and it's not working. I was so broke last week that I spent Friday night rearranging my closet. I still have no money but now my crew-neck shirts are all together.

While Erin was shopping in Chicago a few weeks back, we visited a few stores like Z. Gallerie, Pottery Barn, and Crate and Barrel. They were hiring but I was not about to work there. I wasn't qualified. I don't administer fellatio, I don't have a lisp, nor do I wear capri pants. There is no rainbow sticker on my Prizm, I have no high-pitched shriek when I hear Cher, and my hair has no frosted tips. In short, I'm not gay enough to work at these stores. And I don't plan on getting gay enough to work there for eight bucks an hour. Now for 20 bucks an hour, I may wear a tight, sleeveless shirt and sell some lamps. Or a vase or two.

6/20/2002

Sorry. I had a streak of 12 weekday "Daily Derenger's" and then came yesterday. I didn't write one. I didn't have access to a computer. But for good reason: I was stuck in Chicago for two Cubs games, one Tuesday night and one Wednesday afternoon. And let it be known that another streak came to an end last week as well. Erin and I had spent nine straight Tuesdays together up until last Tuesday, June 11th. We were together the previous four days out of town having a blast; I figured what's one missed Tuesday, right? Wrong. You thought I had cancelled "Dawson's Creek" all on my own. She was livid. For a few hours anyway. Then she got over it.

This past Tuesday was spent again with my Morrie. She's been great, taking care of this broke-ass comic like it was part of some community service. She bought two tickets to the game verus the Texas Rangers. (Inter-league play rules!) Our seats were upper-deck box, second row. Nobody sat in the first row so we did. Some of the best seats I've ever had for a ball game. We were able to see the whole field while the plays developed; they would've been prime football game seats.

At one point I told Erin that Kenny Rogers was signing autographs. "Really? Is he gonna sing 'take me out to the ballgame'," she asked. "Nope. He pitches for the Rangers," I told her. "Man, his career has taken an odd turn," replied Erin. "Ughhhh. He's not 'The Gambler' Kenny Rogers. He's the left-handing throwing Kenny Rogers who's about 30 years younger," I belted back with. "Oh, okay then," was all she could muster.

She also wanted to leave in about the 5th inning. She's wasn't much for talking baseball strategy like why the Rangers would make Todd Hundley bat right handed nor why a 3-1 breaking pitch was called with A-Rod on deck. But she can tell you what a 6-4-3 double play is. Keeping things simple we are. And writing like Yoda I am.

What am I gonna do with this girl I ask? More importantly, what would I do without her? I don't care to find out. Thanks again Morrie.

6/18/2002

Baseball is in my family's blood. As you may already know, my cousin Todd got drafted by the White Sox last week. I played for 11 years as a kid, as did my brother Brian and Todd's brother Chad. The four of us would eat a baseball instead of an apple if possible. This past Sunday, I attended a baseball game Brian and Chad were playing in. We just can't get it out of our systems. They've played a few years in this International Baseball League in Joliet, our home town. It's often referred to as "the Mexican league." I now know why. In addition to the run down pick up trucks, cowboy hats and Coronas, and Latino tunes blasting from the trunk of the '88 Cavalier with tinted windows, there were actually Mexican ball players. Lots of them. Some teams were all Mexicans. Their jerseys read "Gonzalez, Rodriguez, Hernandez, Ruiz, or Benitez." I wasn't sure if it was a baseball team or a restaurant kitchen staff. Or it could also be the company name on the side of a lawn service truck.

Brian and Chad's team consisted of washed up 24-year-olds who had it good for a few years in high school and little league. They've since traded in the Gatorades for Marlboros, and the throws aren't as strong while the wheels aren't as quick. For some, the wheels never were too quick anyway. But they still played to win, cheering eachother on for a good play or solid hit. The team even greeted Chad and Brian at home plate following their home runs; Chad's was a grand slam while Brian had two solo shots. Meanwhile, my 27-year-old broke, comedic ass was sittin' in the stands listening to the Cubs lose and the Mexicans curse in Spanish. But I could understand most of it so I had some genuine laughs.

About 25 cases of Corona into the afternoon, the hombres had gotten a little drunk. They started pushing one another and nearly coming to blows. This was a welcomed site since the game was boring at first; seeing Fernando give a round-house right to Enrique would've made for great, live action. I thought it seemed a bit premeditated though 'cause Fernando had JoseQuervo.com painted on his back. Boxing promoters are insane.

Yep, baseball. Mexican league style. Catch it. Or catch a broken beer bottle upside your head.

6/17/2002

Being broke sucks. I'm so broke that I won't go out unless I have it in writing that I won't spend a dime. It's not so bad though. 'Tis the season of graduation parties, jello shots, and kegs of beer. Such things scream a night of cheapness and greatness. The one I attended this past weekend I wasn't even invited to. I was totally prepared for a night of doing free shit, not even driving unless it was to some married friends' place where they have food and beverages. That wasn't to be though. And why should it have been? There were vats of meat balls and Italian sausage that couldn't go to waste. Nor could the 4 bags of Dorito's nor the chocolate chip cookies. So I guess being broke isn't all that bad. Being broke and without free stuff coming your way - now that woud suck.