The Daily Derenger

8/16/2003

I've never claimed that life on the road as a comedian is the best life there is. At times, it can be, though. However, tonight was not one of those times.

Here's how a comic's day can go. (Perhaps one of the longest Daily Derenger's to date so only continue if you have some time. It should go in the journal but that's left for only Wrigley entries now.)

You awake around 8 a.m. and play tag with your snooze bar twice. Since you're at your mom's, your home for the time being, you try to get out of there as soon as possible once getting out of bed. And out the door you are by just after 9 a.m.

While running some errands in town, you decide to call the booker of the gig you're setting out to leave for, get voicemail and leave him a message. It includes asking for directions to the club since it's in the town he's based out of. Because you've met him only once, you also include that you were hoping to see him at a show and line up some more work.

He calls you back a few minutes later and you think, "Man, if only I would have appeared so needy in my many other messages left for him." He proceeds to immediately tell you that "you're high maintenance." You freak out and ask why, knowing that you've burnt so many bridges in your day that you should have a contract with Kingsford lighter fluid. He says nothing to that and proceeds to give you directions and then even ask for your open dates the rest of the year. At this point, the high maintenance was apparently a joke of sorts. You give him the dates and then he says that you'll talk about it at one of the shows. Exactly which show is unknown, though.

You head into the local establishment where your beer koozies are being made. You received a call the day before saying that they were in. You have your checkbook in hand to pay for the outstanding balance. They look as good as could be expected and you're pretty happy, knowing that they will sell because people drink at comedy clubs and will buy them. You also know that the koozies could be your ticket out of debt, sad as that may be.

After getting the koozies and writing the check, you bullshit with the 2 balding guys in the make-shift office about their line of work and yours in general. You even try some jokes on them, one of which you wrote earlier in the week but were unable to do until then. You mess it up and they both give a courtesy laugh. You still know it's a great joke, you bid farewell and head out.

Hopping on the highway, you see that traffic is backed up considerably. It's a little before 10 a.m. so you wonder what the deal is. On the radio, they report a major accident on the road on which you need to be. They also report a car fire on the same road on which you're on. Although the fire has been put out, people going both directions are still stopping to stare. This backs up things for everyone. You're now pissed because you're kind of running late and still have to stop and see a buddy and his young son visiting from out of town..

You take an alternate route to this buddy's dad's house, where he's staying while in town. It's a place you have been before but don't remember too well. You get lost and this makes you even later.

You arrive at the house and the buddy and his dad are happy to see you. The baby is fast asleep. They help you fix your laptop, since you haven't a clue as to why the connection and other things are slow on it. You show them your new business cards, headshots and beer koozies and they pretty much approve, which is some support you were in need of whether they knew or not.

The baby wakes up and cries the whole time you're there. Your buddy says it's 'cause of you. "He doesn't like bald guys," your buddy tells you. That confirms the notion that you don't want any kids yet. Shortly after that, the baby is packed into the car and he and your buddy are back on the road home. You leave to head to your show, which you are running very late for now.

The highway is totally backed up and you know tolls are still ahead. "Fuck," is all you can say, in a repeated fashion with many more words to follow and precede it.

You call a comedienne friend of yours and tell her the same joke you told at the koozie shop. This time the delivery is smooth and she laughs hysterically. You trust her and her tastes so you feel good about using the joke later in night.

Traffic frees up shortly after that and you figure you'll make it to the comedy city in time. Once past Chicago and Indiana, the ride goes by fast. You have the Cubs game on, which makes things fly by. You hear that Academy Award winner Russel Crowe is the guest 7th Inning Stretch conductor. You wish you were working the game in hopes of meeting and getting a picture with him, one that would look nice on this Web site.

You stop off for gas and a bite to eat about an hour south of your destination. You've contemplated what to eat for the last hour. You've got your heart set on a Spicy Chicken sandwich from Wendy's. You want to get back into shape and stop eating shitty, but you're craving this sandwich. You get it with no mayonaise to better justify it as a healthy selection. You accompany it with a Dr. Pepper and small chocolate Frosty. No justifying them, unless you rationalize that it's hot and humid outside and your body needs liquids constantly.

Across the street from the Wendy's you stop for gas. Every pump is full and some even have cars waiting behind. Normally you would be annoyed at having to wait but you have your Wendy's with you. You finish virtually all of the sandwich and most of the soda. The Frosty sits there, no lid on it so you can see it melting in the over 90 degree temperature. You sip it before pulling up to the pump. A guy in a large BMW pulls out to allow you to have the spot. You follow the instructions and begin pumping the gas. Nothing comes out, though. A voice from the other side of the pump asks, "Could you show me what I'm doing wrong?" You immediately go around to her car and assist her. You feel qualified for such a task because you worked 3 years as a petroleum transfering engineer, or the guy who pumped gas at a local station while in high school. But still nothing. You walk in and ask the young schmo behind the counter, the same kind of schmo you were 10 years ago, what the deal was. He said you had to hit "pay inside." This was clearly not part of the directions posted on the pump. You go back to help out the lady next to you and she has now used a credit card and begins pumping the gas. You do the same with your gas.

She says that she thought you were her local postmaster from the sound of your voice. That begins some brief, friendly chatting. "Are you from Nebraska?" she asks, seeing that your t-shirt says "Nebraska Band" across the front. You tell her you just got it when you were passing through and that you're from Chicago en route to Grand Rapids. "How far is it to Grand Rapids?" you ask. "About an hour," she says. You exchange a few more words, go in a grab a bottled water, pay and come back to your car. The lady pulls away just as you return and you yell "Have good day." She hears you and wishes you a good trip.

You check in to your hotel about 3.5 hours before showtime and try to hurry the front desk guy so you can catch the last inning of the Cubs game. It's about 6 hours since you first left your mom's.

"We don't get WGN," he says. You go back in to your car, turn on the radio, crank the AC and wait 'til the game is over. Cubs win 2-1 and take the lead in the NL Central. You still know the Cards and the Astros play later so their stint in first place may be short lived. Nonetheless, you enjoy the fact that you're at your destination and that the Cubs won.

You get in your room and love it. You love the fact that you're away from your mom's and the chaos that echoes throughout that abode. The room has a refrigerator and a microwave and you're elated at this. You set up your stuff: laptop on the desk, shave-kit on the sink, clothes on the rack and Cubs highlights on ESPN.

You turn on your computer, check some e-mail and get to the porn ASAP. You know you need to workout and get a nap so you try to masturbate as efficiently as possible. However, there are some good girl-girl-guy 3somes on the sites, so your work is made tougher. You finish, clean up and then head to the gym and pool area.

You see that the workout room consists of only a treadmill, a stair climber and an exercise bike, none of which excite you at 6 p.m. You want to use some weights. Leaving that room disappointed, you head to the pool room adjacent to the workout room. Upon removing your shirt and shoes to enter the hot tub, you realize that there is some aftermath from your masturbatory actions in your bellybutton. You kindly remove the goop and head into the tub. 2 small children, a boy and his younger sister, are in the tub, too. Their parents both cringe at the sight of a bald, disturbed-looking man in the tub with their young. Since you still hadn't shaved the sideburns off from the 70s night at your job earlier in the week, you look the part of something scary, giving them something to be watchful of. They leave a few minutes later and you have some peace and quiet.

You come back up to the room and begin to ShaveYourHead.com. You know that it will involve some serious effort simply because you haven't shaved it in over a week. You thank your lucky stars that you weren't stuck on the East Coast when the blackout happened. Your shaver may have needed some charging halfway through the shave and then what would you have done? You finish your head and then proceed to shave your pubes. And why not? The hair falls right on the floor in a hotel room for them to vacuum up.

You then set up the iron and board to do your jeans. Although some people question your reasoning for ironing jeans, you know it's the right thing to do. You'll be in front of maybe 300 people so you must look presentable. The iron sucks and leaks water all over the board and your jeans. You hope the wet spots near your crotch are dried by showtime so not to make you look like you just pissed on yourself.

While the shower is running and the iron cools down, you do some pushups on the floor near the TV. You haven't done any working-out since the last road gig you had, but you feel this is getting something done. Since the pushups pump so much blood to your chest, you flex in the mirror like you're prepping for some muscle show instead of a dick-joke-telling-display. You see that you're not nearly as fit as you once were and question your work ethic and drive. You hop in the shower, struggle to apply soap because your arms are sore from the pushups, and enjoy more hot water. You jump out, dry off, get dressed and leave for the show.

You make your way down the hall only to realize that you've forgotten the directions in your room. You get them and head back out to your car. Once in the car, you figure out that the directions should have you there with in about 10 minutes. No problem.

You follow the directions and find the club. It's a nice one in a part of town you were unaware was so nice. You try to park in about 3 spots before finding some free parking near a "No Parking" sign. You gamble and head for the show. While passing some people sitting on a tavern's deck, you realize that you have sandals on instead of shoes. You scamper back to your car and slip on the shoes hiding in your trunk.

You get to the club, head upstairs and see a very nice room, lit with candles and featuring some nice looking people, both men and women. You introduce yourself to the girl checking coats just outside the comedy room and she tells you who to go see. The manager and the other 2 comics introduce themselves and the manager calls you in his office for a little "pow-wow" as he calls it. He tells you that you're going to be welcoming everyone to the club and then introduce the host of the show. This will all happen from the back of the room. Still, you are strangely nervous with having to do announcements and introductions. You question this style with the other comics as soon as the manager leaves. They question it, too, but realize the show must go on and assure you it's no big deal. You concur and wait about 15 more minutes 'til showtime.

You ask the headliner how clean or dirty you should be as well as if he minded that you sold some stuff after the show. He said, "thanks for asking" and said he was totally fine with whatever you did, as long as your act didn't include a lot of pussyfart jokes. You crossed them off your set-list and then assured him that all would be okay.

The music went on and you began the announcements. Within seconds, you fumbled through some things and looked like an ass. You recovered nicely and didn't think anyone even remembered your goof 20 seconds later.

The emcee brings you on and you have a great 30-minute show. Did you tape it? Of course not. You figured you would be rusty so why tape it? You did try the new joke you did on the koozie guys and your friend. It killed. You delivered it a bit shaky but you also know that it will always kill with some tweaks and timing work.

After the show, you selld5 koozies. A group of 3 girls came up to buy some. You talk to them briefly and ask where you should go and hang out. "You" meaning the other comics and you, yet really meaning that "you" meant the girls and you, the selfish bastard you are. They claim that they have to work early the next day and head home. You continue to sell your koozies, selling maybe 2 more after the girls leave.

3 minutes later, one of the girls comes back to invite you out with her 2 other friends. You're considering since nobody else has really invited you out. You have issues, though, because the headliner has no car and there are 3 other bars in the same complex as the club you just played. You know your game and mojo are best worked when done so at the club at which you are known. You know if you go to some club where nobody knows you're a comic, you'll just be some bald guy not from those parts. You tell the headliner about the 3 chicks who asked you to go out and he opts to head back to his room, taking a ride from the emcee. He wishes you good luck with the ladies, you finish your beer and leave the club.

You don't really know the ladies names. You've met 2 of them but the one who is the most appealing to you is the one you've yet to formally meet. You notice the rings on 2 of them, one being the one you dig. It's not a wedding or engagement ring but is on the left ring finger, so now you're thinking up ways to inquire without seeming too forward. One of them parks near the club and drives to another bar 5 minutes down the street. She misses a few parking spots and decides to park illegally in a park parking lot.

Upon leaving the parking lot, you see a street parking spot open up. The 3 girls stand in the spot and you parallel park the car. All are impressed, including you, at your parking job.

You all enter the club and meet a friend of one of the girls. You make some small talk, use the bathroom and then follow 2 of the girls to the bar for drink orders. The first round at this bar is on them. You then talk at a table with the 3 of them about things like dating, one-night stands and their jobs. The girl whose car you parked is 22 and married. The one you dig is 27 and has a boyfriend. The other girl is 22 and single but seems as interested in you as a Mexican with a ravioli recipe. There is some talk about sex between all of you. The married chick asks if you ever have one-night stands. You divert the attention from the question and put the focus back on them. They don't really sense you doing this, though. The one you dig then reveals that she has an 8-year-old daughter. Not a big deal and you briefly talk about her.

Karaoke keeps going on and you consider, aloud and to yourself, why you came here, again knowing where your mojo is. To repeat, 2 of the girls are happily in relationships and the third one just got out of a 4 year one last month. Again, no worries. You're not drunk and they, as a whole, are good conversation. Plus there is still the chance of hooking up with the third one. After all, you ask them why they came back to invite you out and the 2 in relationships nod towards the third one. However, she plays dumb and you think about the pizza and porn you could be enjoying.

You leave the bar and head back to the club where the night began. You try to pull some clout at the door, telling the guys that you're one of the comics and the girls were at your show. It works and you're in. You dip into the dance club-portion of the complex and see that's it dark and loud. You all leave and head upstairs to the dueling piano players. This bar is huge yet sparsely filled. You get the first round because you sold the girls on this bar any your having some connections. You also hoped that maybe some people from you show would be there for you to hang out with. Again, more free drinks. For you at least. You also know that you're digging into your koozie cash and preventing debt from being taken down. You rarely buy chicks drinks, especially 3 of them, unless you know it's a sure thing. However, you know that you have writing to do and plenty of porn in your room. You also figure you'll see more koozies tomorrow night, being more creative and aggressive with the sales pitch

The girls picked a table right next to the stage where the piano dueling was going on. It's around 12:20 a.m. and last call will be around 1:35. Plenty of time to hang out still. The one you dig tells you the single one thinks you're cute. You think, "Really? Am I in 6th grade again?" You then think about the sleep you're missing. The single girl follows up this revelation with absolutely nothing expressing the least bit of interest. Because you weren't digging her to begin with, it's really no loss to you. You all talk more about sex, underwear, dildos, and other fun things. You even try to guess guess what kind of underwear the single girl is wearing, with the help of the married chick, and "guess" it correctly about 5 minutes later, successfully playing off the assistance. The single chick appears shocked and impressed but still won't give you the underwear, the prize awarded you if you guessed right. You didn't expect her too, though. You expected the dueling piano guys to play some Marilyn Manson before you would see any underwear other than you own.

You buy another round for all except the chick you dug and no longer do. She claims that she's in love even though she's been dating the guy for 5 years and he now lives in California. You don't get into that, though. You drink, look at the other chicks in the bar and listen to the dueling songs. The chick you dug hopes the duelers play some 80s rock like Poison or Def Leppard, bands which you happen to love. No such luck. The 2 of you sing the beginning of both "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" as well as "Fallen Angel" by Poison as you simultaneously watch SportsCenter and see the girl sitting across the bar uncrossing her legs while wearing a skirt. You talk about tattoos and they inquire about yours. You say that you have one on your shoulder. You show them where it is through your shirt but they want to see the real thing. You show them. You see the ones they have, nothing extravagant but ones to talk about. You then get talking about working out and they ask you how fit you are. Because you have nothing more to lose at this point other than a ride back to your car, you unbutton your shirt and show them your chest, stomach and arms, all well developed although not as defined as years ago. For a brief moment, you think that your body, coupled with your humor, may sway a last minute hook-up. Nope. Still, you invite them back to your hotel room because you have a 10-pack of mixed cans of beer as well as a huge bottle of Margaritas. They don't budge. It's last call and you watch the other patrons try to haul-in last minute numbers and feels.

You leave the bar and head to their car. You say you'll be fine walking to your car just a few blocks away. They insist that they drive you there. They express interest in coming to your last show tomorrow night and you assure them that you will do different material. You may, but why? You know that at least they would be better company than being alone but you also like your chances on your own. You enter your car and immediately begin contemplating all that has gone into this entry.

You go the wrong way on the highway back towards your hotel. You crave some Taco Bell but know that at 2 a.m., nothing will be open. You then realize that you have some food in your trunk, possibly a can of Chef Boyardee. You then realize that for sure you know the Chef Boyardee is in there. You drive faster, think more about what this entry will entail and think about the fattening pasta to be consumed in about 12 minutes.

You get to the hotel, park way around back, almost run to your room, rip open the cooler where the pasta is, throw it in a pasta-sauce-stained Tupperware bowl, and put in on 2:25 in the microwave.

See how it all comes back to the amenities on the road. The microwave takes the place of a the late-night hookup. As soon as this is posted, surely there will be some porno looked at, some more SportsCenter watched and then something boring to put me to sleep.

I hope you enjoyed.

8/10/2003

Maybe I have found my calling in life. To live, in an odd and somewhat envious sort of way, vicariously through my married friends. Another couple has taken the plunge and there is no sign of others slowing down.

The most recent couple is Becky and Walter, two great people I met while working at J. ALexander's. They came to many of my shows while I was at J's. They both seemingly pride themselves on still being able to recite parts of my act, verbatim no less.

At their engagement party over the weekend, Walter intorduced me to some of his friends as a comedian, among other things. He then gave his rendition of "The Best of Scott according to Walter." As flattering as it is to have Walter as an avid fan, misquoting and poorly setting up my jokes does little to help my career. His friends, who had never seen a show of mine. will in no way want to see one. Why? 'Cause Walter did MY jokes, with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other - a pretty good look for a comedian, however. But I was left defending the improper set-up and missed timing and assuring them that I was funnier than his efforts indicated.

I guess it just comes with the territory. As a comic, I leave myself wide-open for scrutiny, applause and booing. Oh well. Walter's a teacher now. I'm going to invite him out for drinks with my friends and act like him in the classroom. We'll see how that goes.

He and Becky have a huge and beautiful house and deserve all the glory that comes with it as well as that which will come from the rest of their lives together. Instead of trying to make jokes last night, I simply took in all that was their glory and the sharing of it with them. After all, I haven't worked at J's in 17 months and I was still invited. That was something to hang my hat on.

Perhaps I will just make a feature on ShaveYourHead.com about my married friends: their kids, their real jobs, their luxurious cars, their pets, their homes, their new furniture, their jewelery, etc. While I know that some of them may live vicariously through me and my travels and wild nightlife living, a part of me lives through them and their stability and having that special someone to come home to.

I'm off to go balance my checkbook and have a good laugh in the process. Even Walter can't screw up that joke.