The Daily Derenger
1/04/2003
An occasional perk of being a comic working the road is getting free stuff. Like passes to a local gym. Usually there's a trade-out - free passes to the show for free passes to the gym. It's a win-win for both businesses.
Last night at the show in St. Cloud, some employees of a local gym attended the show and offered me some passes to their gym. I called for directions today and this is how the conversation went with Shannon at the front desk.
"Thank you for calling St. Cloud Athletic Club. This is Shannon," she said.
"Hello Shannon. I'm one of the comics playing in town this weekend. Some of your employees were at the show last night and gave me a pass for today," I said. "Where are you located?"
After figuring out where my hotel was in respect to where the gym was, Shannon proceeded to give me directions.
"Take 23 to Washington Memorial Drive. You'll see a Burger King on the corner," she said. "Turn left there and take it to Roosevelt."
"Okay, lemme write that down here," I somewhat mumbled as I jotted down the information in a notebook. "Then where after I get on Roosevelt?"
"Left on Rooosevelt and down a few miles. You'll see us just after a funeral home. We're on your right," Shannon said.
With that, I became puzzled at her choice of landmarks for getting me to a gym.
"Well Shannon that's interesting. I'm trying to get to your gym and you use a fast food joint and funeral home as boundary markers," I said with a hint of comedic sarcasm. "Is that to say that if I instead go to Burger King, I'll eat shitty fried food laden with mayo, have a heart attack, die, have a wake at the funeral home and never make it to your gym?"
Shannon just laughed and later said that she had never before used the funeral home as a landmark. There are 2 gas stations on the other side of the gym that she could've used. But had she done that I wouldn't have found it as funny nor have taken the time to tell you about it.
I turned into the parking lot of the gym. Or what I thought was the gym. I saw the word CLUB in big bold letters on a sign outside of the large gym-looking building.
As I gathered my things to head inside, a Middle-Eastern man in all his native gown-like attire made his way for the door. He had no bag with clothes to change into.
"Maybe he has a locker inside," I though to myself. "If not, how in the heck is he gonna work out in that outfit?"
I entered the building and saw no gym signs of any kind nor any site of workout facilities. I had taken a very wrong turn and was in some beard-havin', funny hat-wearin' religious underprivileged food shelter. I think. I didn't stick around to ask any questions and made the assessment on my own. It could've been a bingo hall for all I know.
I jumped back into the Prizm and made my way down the drive to the gym which sat behind the other place. When I got to the front desk, Shannon was there and we laughed about our conversation as well as my brief visit to the possible bingo hall. She didn't know what it was for sure, either.
Also with Shannon as the front desk was the quite attractive brunette with a tight lil' bod named Alison. She had been at he show the night before with a big group of gym rats. I had seen her at the bar outside of the showroom before the show and she wasn't obnoxious. That all changed when the lights came on and I hit the stage.
She seemed to not take a liking to some of my jokes. And she made her feelings known- out loud - with ewwws and ohhhhs like I was juggling decapitated turkeys. I eventually got to some sexual material and she was still voicing her feelings. I asked her boyfriend if she was that loud in bed. Before he could answer, a guy at the other end of the table said that she liked to be spanked. At that point, I wasn't sure what kind of freaky shit was going on with the group and I went on with my set, closing a few minutes later.
At the gym, Alison confessed to being really drunk last night. I should've figured as much. I tried to heckle her while she was working. I kept on asking her the price of Gatorade and what her favorite new flavors were as she was helping customers. I also asked if the protein shakes gave her the shits.
I don't think Alison will ever heckle at a comedy club again. If she does and the comic isn't as nice as me and shoots her in the face, at least she'll know where the funeral home is.
1/03/2003
I just checked into my hotel for the weekend. Upon entering the lobby, I walked into some mid-conversation between a long-time hotel guest and the front desk clerk. It went something like this.
"Well it needs to be cleaned up. It's huge and right in the middle of the hallway," said the guest.
"I don't know where it would be from? I don't think there's a dog staying here," replied the clerk.
"Maybe it's from a cat. Over the last 4 or 5 days, I've seen this cat roaming around," said the guest as he grabbed a local newspaper from the lobby's coffee table.
"I wonder if it's the same cat I saw over the summer. It went away for a while but then maybe it's back," said the puzzled-looking clerk.
"Well that shit ain't from no cat unless there's a mountain lion in these parts," laughed the guest.
Just then the apparent owners of the hotel walked in. They appeared to be married.
"Is there a dog staying in one of the rooms?," asked the clerk to the wife.
"No. Why?," asked the wife.
"The guy in 274 says there's a huge pile of shit in the middle of the hallway right in front of his door," said the clerk.
"That guy's weird. It ain't from no dog," said the wife. "I bet it's from the guy in 274."
With that the wife went into the office. I saw her a few minutes later cleaning up the shit in question.
Not only was this an odd conversation to take place but it was even more odd that they all continued with it while I was checking in. I've worked at many places where such conversations, although funny, shouldn't take place. It's their business and they're talking about some mysterious shit on the floor where their customers will walk.
Maybe they went on with the conversation because they knew I was a comic. Whatever the case, it was surely worthy of writing about. I hope. Or maybe it's one of those 'well maybe you just had to be there' situations.
It was also pretty ironic since this hotel is a different one from the last 2 times I played in this city. Before I got to the hotel, I talked with one of the owners of the the bar where the shows are held. He told me there was a new hotel and it should be better than the old one.
I guess so. If the last one had dead rhinos and buffalo shit on the walls.
1/01/2003
HAPPY FUCKIN' NEW YEAR!
Best of luck in 2003.
I will have my laptop back tomorrow, January 2nd, and a plethora of writings will ensue. Be sure to check the journal to read about my rather interesting show on New Year's Eve. The details are many although the laughs were sporadic at best. I'm off to eat and watch football.
12/31/2002
My friend Sue and I were out last night for a drink. The bar was somewhat lame for it being the last Monday night of football season. The fact that the game was one that meant nothing for the playoff picture may have had something to do with it. It was also the night before New Year's Eve and people may have been home preparing for a night of drinking, drugs and debauchery. Then I'm sure they'd leave the house.
As it were, some patrons were there. We even saw 2 guys that we went to high school with some 10 years ago. They didn't look much different than I remember. I guess that, since I've travelled the world and have lost my hair, everyone should have the experiences and should have endureed similar changes.
Perhaps these 2 fellows have travelled more than me and have also had a 3-some with the Queen of England. For all I know, they could've each lost a limb in a tragic kite-flying accident. Since I was across the bar, I couldn't detect a limp nor an awkward grasp of a beer though.
From what I could tell, their looks hadn't changed and that, since they were in a hometown bar, I just assumed they had been in that same bar since we graduated from high school. Not likely. But with my poor excuse for a bank account, I was hoping that their lives had led them astray and into the world of brokeness and moving back in with mom. I never found out though.
Directly across from Sue and I sat some interesting people. One was a gentleman in his mid to late 30s with the looks of Jesus. He had the facial hair but in the form of a goatee. I don't recall seeing Christ with such a look and would bet that the Jerusalem Walgreen's didn't have a Mach-3 or beard trimmer to accommodate such wishes.
This bar patron also had the long, brown hair to accompany the beard. Had he worn sandals and a white cloak, I would've asked him to change my water with lemon into a Jack and Coke.
The person sitting to the right of the savior had long, wavy yet slightly curly black hair and resembled that of Howard Stern. The only monkey wrench in the comparison was that it was a woman. She even had a long pekid face and wore glasses. Now had there been a microphone near her and an 18-million dollar salary, I would've showed her my junk in hopes of getting famous.
In short, she wasn't Howard Stern and her friend wasn't Christ. But had they been, just imagine the conversation.
"So what kind of work do you do?," asks Stern to JC.
"I preach the good news to the people," replies JC.
"Oh yeah, I kind of do the same thing," says Stern with a suddenly interested look on his face. "I talk shit about poor white trash and lazy black people. Occasionally I'll even talk with women who want their boobs made bigger. They show me their tits and sometimes their shaven vaginas and at the end of the week, I get paid for it! Once in a while, I even get laid by a stripper."
"Interesting. I'm friends with a woman named Mary Magdalene who has been known to 'share the wealth', if you know what I mean," says JC. "She no longer shares her wealth and instead talks to those ladies who do share their wealth about an alternative to sharing. Perhaps I should introduce these strippers you speak of to Mary?"
"Man why the hell would I want you to do that?," emphatically questions Stern. "If the strippers stop sharing their wealth, I will have to look elsewhere. I may even have to go back to my wife."
"Now what would be so wrong with having a monogomous, loving relationship with you wife?," asks JC.
"You high buddy? Have you met my wife? She's such a bitch. Plus she only wants sex missionary style and that sucks," confesses Stern while making a fist and jerking it back and forth.
"To answer your questions one at a time, no I'm not high," confirms JC. "Although the herb called marijuana is natural, I choose not to go down that path. Drugs can lead to other, more dangerous things. And on top that, I'm not a big fan of Doritos nor Twinkies."
"And I have met your wife, a charming, charismatic woman is she," JC says to Stern. "Perhaps you should converse with her about you concerns with your sex life. Then, thank her loving you and giving you 3 beautiful daughters ..."
"Wait a minute. 3 beautiful daughters? Those little bitches are taking after their mother. I can't stand to be home," announces Stern as JC sips some warm cider from a flask. "That's why I'm either at work or at the strip clubs. At least there the women love and respect me. And in the bathroom. I can piss on or leave the seat up."
"Being a man, I can appreciate the last part. This cloak can sometimes wreak havoc when I have to go," notes JC. "Hanging around with the guys as often as I do, we have similar thoughts about bathroom etiquette."
With that, JC made his way from the bar. He put the cider on his tab as well as Stern's drinks.
"I'll see you next week," said JC to the bartender.
"Perhaps I'll see you next week as well," said JC to Stern. "Now I have to get home to watch Letterman. I love that guy! Tonight he's got on stupid leper tricks followed by the Top 10 Lies Overheard at the Last Supper. My VCR is broken or else I would tape it. Come on back next week and we'll talk. Go on and love your family. Give the strippers a rest."
Stay tuned for the next outing with JC and Stern right here at ShaveYourHead.com
12/30/2002
Back on the horse my friend. The computer is fixed. However, it's not back in these Daily Derenger-writing hands yet. My friend Matt is fixing it and it should be in my possession on Thursday.
In other news ...
Erin and I are okay. For the time being. I think it's 'cause I'm irresistable. She maintains that that has little to do with it and that I'm simply an asshole. Now that I think about it, she's right. But in my own lil' world, the irresistability factor is going full-force.
My Christmas was interesting last week. It began with the usual Christmas Eve dinner at dad's. Cyndi came along since most of her family lives in Florida or Texas. My brother and I got into it and he stormed out to drive in the falling snow. He eventually came home without landing in a ditch.
My sister, father and Cyndi and I decided to attend midnight mass. That's generally the best mass to go to because the music and singing is great. We got there at 11:30 with plenty of time to spare and debated whether we sit in the car and visit or go in to the church. We should've gone with option one.
Once inside, we found that not only was the church as desolate as an ENRON Christmas party, but that those who were there were about to walk the plank in a self-inflicted way as a result of the choir's performance. I know it's the time of year for giving and being nice, but holy shit were they bad. It was open-mic night. Without a cover. Now had the choir been a little better, I may have given more at the halftime show. Or offertory as it's called. Instead, I managed some change and coupons for voice lessons.
I never claimed to be able to sing but I may have been able to bellow out some better tunes. And some of the songs weren't even of the Christmas variety or if they were, they had just been written that day during lunch. It was really bad, folks. And then the mass began and the church was maybe half full. For midnight mass? I had never seen such a thing. I guess those no-shows caught wind that Roseanne Barr and her merry women would be the musical talent and opted to dring egg nog instead.
The choir even had a flautist. I only call her that because she brought a flute with her, not because she excelled at the art of playing the flute. That display was horrible. I would bet money that the girl received the flute for a gift. A Christmas gift she got on the way to the church that night.
I'm pressed for time and must make my way for the door. Have a safe and Happy New Year. Look for new features including daily installments of hip-hop coversations and marquee readings from the biggest gay bar in Chicago. Thanks for reading ShaveYourHead.com this year and see you in '03!
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