The Daily Derenger

11/06/2002

I'm not Irish but for today I feel as if I am. Some luck has struck the seldom lucky Scott Derenger.

I lost my wallet last week in a Chicago movie theater. Let me preface that by saying earlier that day, as I was exercising in the park, I lost my car key. It was a single key and fell out of my pocket while I was doing sit-ups. I realized that the key was gone about 30 minutes after the sit-ups were completed. I was with a comic friend of mine and we had to backtrack through our various work out sites looking for the key.

Let me explain some of this. There is a running trail through the park along Lake Michigan on Chicago's North Side. In addition to the running trail, there are also a number of stations at which anything from jumping jacks to push ups can take place. These stations are just a few feet off the trail so one can do some stretching or other work out routines and then resume running on the path to the next station.

Now I have vowed to get back into shape for sometime. I have dabbled in it for a few weeks only to completely throw out the idea and instead lie around and do absolutely nothing. Maybe it was a sign from the couch potato in the sky to not exercise. I went for a jog, tried working on the abs and lost my key. Luckily, we returned to the scene of the first sit-up and the key was there. Chad Daniels, my comic friend who I was working out with, grabbed the key and ran around with it like it was the Olympic Torch. And why not? His wallet and keys were in my car. Had we not found the key, the Prizm would've sat alone until we slim-jimmed the door open. Finding someone with such talent in Chicago couldn't have been too tough, though.

I clenched the key in my fist as we headed back down the trail. Did I mention that at the time I realized that the key was gone, we were about 5 minutes from completing the running/station course? We passed all the stations initially, using them to work out. Then to look for the key, we had to go to each station where I may have lost the key. Hell, it could've fallen out anywhere. I figured it would be somewhere that I was doing sit-ups at but then again, I had done sit-ups at 3 of some 12 different stations. So once we found the key, we had to walk past the stations for a third time. In short, I will never work out again.

So later in the day, Erin, Chad and I went to go see Comedian at a theater near Erin's place. Chad and I had the same clothes on that we worked out in. I was wearing some flannel plants. Now they weren't just any flannel pants. They were Erin's flannel pants but from you couldn't tell they if were made for a man or a woman. It wasn't deodorant with a girlie name - they were a patterned red, white and blue style, not in the patriotic sense but in a comfortable, flannel pants sense. That were nice to loaf around or go running in. Besides, my mom told me to never waste a good pair of flannel pants. My mom's also told me to never waste a slightly chipped, microwavable Tupperware bowl nor a 3-fingered, left-handed bowling bowl. Both of which are located somewhere on her front porch.

The pockets of these pants had no zipper. If there were zippers on the pockets, the entire thesis you read above about losing the key wouldn't have been read nor experienced. I hope you trust that I would've zipped the pockets closed. But who knows? I've done dumber things in my life. They will documented and left for another Daily Derenger.

The pockets weren't overly deep either. In the pockets I had my car keys, the whole set and not the single key I had lost - that was put back in the wallet, my cell phone, and my Costanza-like wallet. How my pants even stayed on was something of sheer amazement. Often times people talk of wearing cement shoes or boots and being thrown in a lake as a way to kill someone. You could just as easily shove my wallet in their pants to accomplish the same thing. Along with my brick of a wallet you'll also find other Bobby Brady-like accessories such as:
*some kind of gum or mints, usually Wrigley's Polar Ice Eclipse sugar-free gum or whatever free mints I hoisted from some hotel or pub
*a digital voice recorder
* a small notebook w/pen
* car keys and those keys to my mom's, Cyndi's and Erin's place
*cell phone without any leather cover or pants-clamp
*loose change and cash
*a 1984 completey minted set of Topps Chicago Cubs baseball cards.
The card would be a bonus. The horrendous play of the Cubs, alone, should send the guy to his death.

Like the single car key saga, I didn't know when I lost the wallet. The last time I remembered having it was when I paid for the tickets. I went back to the theater 30 minutes after the movie and I tore apart my car that night and then first thing in the morning but to no avail. The moral I learned this day was that I would stay out of my girlfriend's pants.

I received a call from my mom a few days ago saying that there was a package for me in the mail. Having not much else to do, mom asked to open it. She said that it felt like it could be my wallet. The package could've been the size of a industrial freezer and she still would've made such a claim just to have something to do besides the dishes or sleep. Sure enough it was my wallet. Everything was as is including the $32 dollars in cold hard cash. I owe a huge thanks to one Tiffany Collins of Chicago. At a time when people are senselessly killing their fellow Americans and our trust in one another is being strongly tested, Ms. Collins made my day.

As a token of my appreciation, she has a pair of flannel pants with zippers and something from mom's front porch in the mail to her. I hope you're also left-handed. Thanks Tiffany!

11/05/2002

Fuddrucker's is perhaps the best place on the planet for a burger. They dabble a bit in chicken sandwiches and desserts but big ol' burgers are their forte. And why shouldn't they be? They've found something they are pretty good at making and have stuck with it unlike some fast-food joints who have everything from tacos to tuna melts to tiramisu.

Erin, Monica, who is my best friend since about the age of 12, and I went to one last night. I hadn't been to a Fuddruckers in quite some time. My was it good to be back. And then we went on to close the joint. Yep, we stayed at Fuddruckers until last call. Or until Jose and Juan broke down the ketchup and mustard dispensers in the dining room.

My burger was cooked medium and topped with 2 slices of jack cheese, chili, pico de gallo, lettuce, melted jalepeno cheddar cheese and banana peppers. My heart has asked for help twice an hour since I was done eating. The selection of toppings and the "do it yourself" build to the burger made for an even better experience. If there was too much chili or not enough onion, I only had me to blame. And I didn't have anyone to tip - a big plus for this broke-ass comic.

It was a Monday night and a slow one at that for the comedy. I forsee a more-happening Tuesday for you to read about tomorrow morning. Until then, be glad that you are not anywhere near me nor the sights, sounds and smells leaping from my chili-and-peppers-laden body.

11/04/2002

Including tip, I paid $13 for a two-way cab ride last night. It's getting cold in Chicago not to mention the ever present "I'm pretty lazy these days" factor so a cab ride was extremely necessary. The Sunday night parking headache was also added to the equation.

With all that said, I'm really questioning the need to tip a cab driver. Up until this past March, I had worked in the service industry for 8 years. I had survived soley on tips to pay bills and wine and dine the ladies. But as a server, I physically exerted myself. I put forth some effort and displayed some personality to earn a living. Cab drivers do nothing. They drive a car. And it's not even a 5-speed transmission that might cause them to break a sweat on a blistering hot July afternoon. There is no door opened for us. There isn't even a hint of conversation taking place. A bus driver at least announces what stop is next and he doesn't get tipped.

So why the need to a tip a cabbie? The bagger at Jewel deserves a tip over a cab driver as does the ticket-ripper at a movie theater or ball game. And while we're at it, let's begin tipping the night club bouncer or the airport security scanners, too.

What would happen if I just stopped tipping? It's not like there are only a few cabs and I'd be recognized as the guy who doesn't tip. Besides, who's decided what a good tip is? If the ride is $5.10, is giving him $6 and calling it even okay? It sure as shit should be - it costs me a buck ninety to open the door, sit down and reveal my destination. If you're not gonna talk to me nor play decent music, you should be lucky to get anything. And if you talk on the phone, especially in a language that resembles that of international espionage, I should be given a discount.

I had one guy even ask if I minded if he smoked while driving. Although I respected his etiquette, I was still a bit troubled by his question. Not only did I have to sit in the lingering stench of a cab but there was going to smoke as well. I was thrilled to have just eaten some chili dogs so I got the best of that stink war.

I've concluded that until they start juggling, telling some good jokes or reciting passages from Moby Dick, cab drivers get the total ride cost rounded to the next whole number. For example, if it's $9.40, they get $10. $13.80, they get $14. What can they do, they've already taken me where I need to go? As long as I'm out of the car when the transaction is made, I'm good to go. Swearing at me in a foreign language won't bother me. I worked in a restaurant remember? I'm quite immune to and even a little bit fond of that.

11/03/2002

Kelly Moran, the headlining comedian this weekend, and I were gambling the other day. Well, he was gambling and I was watching. Since he was primarily playing slots, we were able to shoot the shit and talk about the road work and all the stuff comics talk about - lots of gossip usually.

Now the club here has only been opened for 8 weeks and I was talking with the staff about some of the comics who have been here thusfar. Harland Williams, David Brenner and Bobcat Golthwait have come through. So has Shelly Berman, an old-timer originally from Chicago I believe. He has been in the business for over 50 years and has a number of comedy albums to his credit. His own comedy albums. Not ones he has bought but ones he's made and starred in. (Just wanted to make that clear.)

Berman was part of the Chicago Comedy Festival 3 years ago when I first heard of and met him. He was on a panel discussion/Q&A about the industry, getting jobs as writers, and making an overall career out of it among other topics.

Berman has also recently been to the comedy club here in Bettendorf. He's about 75 or so and most of the staff is in their early 20's. I guess the 2 didn't mesh well. They even have his headshot serving as a dartboard in the office.

So as the headliner and I were talking, I mentioned this story. "Well I guess you can't blame them. The guy's (Berman) old and they had no idea who the hell he was. When they found out, he was a dick to them from what I hear," I said to Moran. "Plus his name's Shelly - a man with lady's name. That's lame, " I sneered.

Then I realized that I was talking to a guy named Kelly. He kicked my ass with the sack of quarters he won and we didn't talk again.