The Daily Derenger

5/03/2003

I've often written about many of the perks of this comedy biz. One of them is getting to meet people and maintain friendships with them that I would otherwise not being able to. My travels allow me to venture into their towns, do some shows and hang out. This week has shaped up to be like that. Tonight I hung out with Betsy and her dad, Bob.

I met Betsy a few months back and told her that I would be in Detroit soon and that hopefully she'll be able to make a show. She and dad showed up halfway through tonight's first show and we had a drink and bullshitted before they watched the late show.

Having not known either of them that well, I didn't feel that bad being my crude and dirty self on stage. I figured if they saw the act and then decided to leave I would understand. But I did kind of warn them beforehand as to what my set would entail. I didn't want there to be an awkward moment when I spoke of a shaved vagina and neither Betsy nor dad knew if a laugh was appropriate. They seemed to be great sports throughout my set, though.

However, not many others seemed to be. The second show was kind of rough as I began my set by making fun of the lowly Tigers, the poor excuse of a professional baseball team in Detroit. They are actually a poor excuse of a minor league team, having a 3-24 record to date. If I wake up early enough on Saturday, I will head to Comerica Park to see the Tigers host the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, another sad franchise that's never gotten off the ground and amounted to much of anything. At least the Tigers had 1984 and even Ty Cobb. The Rays have nothing which will certainly make for a fun-filled Saturday afternoon. Plenty of jokes will result I'm sure.

Besty, Bob and I went to a local diner to continue shooting the shit, making a mess of the event as one could expect when it comes to fecal gunfire. I learned about their well traveled lives in addition to other hobbies and movie-quoting skills. Betsy evenhad a biology internship in Africa where she scientifically ejaculated elephants and rhinos for research purposes. What a great bed of comedy! Through the power of science and technology, she jacked-off Dumbo. I will certainly learn more about this phenomena and have it serve as a prime source of my act in future months.

Hats off to Bob and Betsy for making an otherwise dull Friday night in suburban Detroit interesting. Saturday should be more of the same as some other friends from the past should make it to a show or two. Stay tuned to see if their stories can match those of climaxing mammals.

5/01/2003

I'm in the suburbs of Detroit. Maybe this should go in my journal section but I'm going to reserve that mainly for my thoughts on working at Wrigley Field.

Life on the road can be tough and lonely as I've written many times before. Forgetting necessities can make things even more hectic. Certain things you can live without or try to make the most of but not underwear. I only have with me the pair that I wore on the drive here. And those are boxers. Real ones, not the boxer-brief combo. which I am a big fan of. Maybe not a fan. I surely wouldn't cheer for them at a game or anything. I guess I'm more of a boxer-brief advocate, not a fan.

I was considering going commando the whole week. But then I remembered that I wanted to go for a run in the morning and that would be quite uncomfortable for me and for my friend down south. I'm heading to a Meijer to get drawers and some other things. I've been in a Meijer once. Her first name was Debbie. Just kidding. Those stores are huge. They are like a Wal-Mart and a Sam's in one. Should be fun and filled with comedy fodder.

The club would like me to wear a suit this week. That's right, a fuckin' suit. The kind with matching pants and coat and a shirt and tie. It's not mandatory but they would like that. Last night, there were about 20 people at the 350-seat club. A fuckin' suit? How 'bout a fuckin' crowd? I'm just the middle guy. Nobody gives a shit about the middle guy. I'm not puttin' butts in the seat so why should I wear a suit? I have never worn a suit on stage. People in my family have died and I've worn a nice turtleneck with some dress slacks to the services.

Suits are nice. My jokes are not. I talk about anal beads, sexual relations with diabetics, my gay dad, and a lion who comes all day - does that call for a certain kind of attire? Probably not but if so, not a suit. Maybe a straight-jacket instead. But definitely not a suit.

Besides, if I wear a suit and the crowd hates me, I will hate them and the fuckin' suit I have on. Furthermore, I will blame my bad show on the suit because it's not in my style to wear one. And what middling comic working today has money for a suit? If I really had to wear a suit, I would buy just one and then a few shirts and a few ties and just change those every night. Forget that. I'm not wearing a suit. Hell, I'm still debating buying underwear so I'm in no proper mental capacity to purchase a suit. End of story.

4/28/2003

My Big Fat Greek Easter

And I spent it with much of my big fat greek family.

Yesterday was Greek Easter. My mom's mom, known as yiayia in the Greek heritage, is 100% Greek and was married to a German guy. I guess I have something like 25% Greek in me. That may be why I've spent so much time working in restaurants. Greeks are well known for owning restaurants you see.

In the past, Greek Easters have seen the likes of lambs being roasted on a spicket. Those days are long gone however. Now a few Greek dishes are prepapred and a small group of family gets together. Greek foods like souvlakia, which is pork marinated in Greek spices and put on skewers then on the grill were made. In addition, there were creations of pasticio, kopanisti and taramosalata. Trust me, they're delicious. Pasticio is a dish that I say is like lasagna except it has a crust on top. It isn't as saucy and has little, if any, cheese. The tara-thing is Greek caviar. The kopa-one is a mixture of cheeses that includes feta.

There needs to be no special occasion for my family to gather and eat. If the days ends in "Y" it's a day to eat.

My mom's house serves as the consenus host-home because it has the fewest steps. As the years have worn on, many joints and muscles don't move like they used to. I lived for 8 months in a Chicago apartment and my mom didn't visit once. There were about 50 stairs to climb and she would just be making her way down now.

This year's Greek Easter also doubled as my mom's version of her Last Supper. On Tuesday of this week she's having gastric bypass surgery, which has been called the "Carnie Wilson surgery." It's where they go in and staple half of your stomach together which won't allow you to eat hardly anything thus making you lose weight. With my mom not working I wasn't sure about her insurance coverage.

"Staples are so permanent, mom," I said to her. "Why don't you try paperclips first? If they hold well enough, we'll move on to the staples for long term effects."

The entire kitchen counter island was filled with all kinds of food. Again, this is quite a common site especially when the counter is clear of mom's clutter. Within a few days, the clutter will be back where the dips and desserts sat a few days before.

Mom makes some mean beans. And they do mean things to your belly and those people around you, too. For a long time I didn't eat her beans. The funny thing is that I don't know why I let them go untouched. Then one day I gave them a try and it's been no looking back since.

She's been trying to diet to prepare for the surgery. Measuring cups have been used to make sure she's doing it all by the book. This has been something great for my mom health wise. But the relationship with Pepper, the family dog, has been suffering.

You see, mom and Pepper are bonded by the almighty food and just about any kind of it. The diet was so strict at times, Pepper would sit in front of the refridgerator and scratch at it, hoping that someone would open it and feed her something other than a teaspoon of oatmeal. Pepper's diet is filled with more people food than your average person. Seeing her eat right off the same spoon as my mom is nothing unusual.

There was so much talk of the new diet my mom would have to be on after the surgery you could almost see the dismay in Pepper's face. She was not looking forward to miniscule portions of anything. She was noticeably depressed at what was being discussed. Her days were numbered. No more fried chicken or pizza. Had the front door been opened long enough, I bet Pepper would've ran into traffic to end it all.

Pepper's surgery is scheduled for next month. Mom's not going down alone.