Chicago Comedian : Scott Derenger

The Daily Derenger

5/09/2008

Showtime's in an hour. A Rocky Rococo salad awaits first.

As the headliner and I drove west on 29 this afternoon, we stopped at a casino-gas station. We stopped here the day before, too. I played $5 on Thursday and won nothing in the slots. On just one machine. Today I put in another $5. On a different machine.

The song 'Take The Money And Run' was playing overhead throughout the small, slot-machine-only casino. It was a truck stop, too. Cartons of cigarettes really cheap. A family restaurant just inside the front doors.

I hit two credits and pulled the lever each time. Nothing. A few credits won. Nothing. A few more credits won. Then nothing. I had no real idea what I needed to get to win. The machine had three lines on it and if you got lucky, any one of the three lines could feature one of a kind and you win. If all three lines feature one of a kind, you win bigger. If all three lines each feature the same things, you win a shitload. Which is an unofficial terms for hitting the jackpot.

It was nearing the end of my credits - 20 for five bucks. The song was ready to cease as well. Just then, the machine stopped. Lights began flashing. People turned to look. I turned to make sure they were looking. I knew something good was happening. Sounds and beeps and lights and more sounds. And then it all stopped, just as an old man with an oxygen tank called me a lucky SOB.

I still had no idea what just happened. Instead of cashing it out for coins, I hit TICKET and waited for a receipt.

$107, it read. I had won $102. In about eight minutes of 'work.' For a comedian getting fucked without any kind of lube at the gas pump, this was huge.

Just like Steve Miller had so eloquently sang seconds before, I took the money and ran.

Time to go iron my jeans and Jack Daniel's shirt.

5/09/2008

The view from my tiny porch Thursday night. Today is overcast and not nearly as colorful.

A Cinco de Mayo party combined with Carlos' daughter's birthday. Why there's a basketball hoop at a Mexican party is beyond me. Four guys missed conventional free throws so they kicked the ball in the net. Made 5 in a row, too.

Tim and I joined the amigos Sunday. Danced to Latin music. Check that, I danced and they watched, pointed and laughed. That's the same sombrero I bought in downtown Cuernavaca, Mexico back in December of 2005 when I visited their hometown. Last Sunday it felt like we were back in Mexico, sitting around drinking beers and eating. They ran outta buns so I had to toss a bratwurst on a corn tortilla, a first in my lifetime.

The backyard featured little grass, mostly dirty, very soft from the previous day's rain. "Man, for a bunch of Mexicans, this yard's in horrible shape. You mean to tell me none of you work for a landscaping company?" They just laughed and cursed me in Spanish.

With Ryan, Alice, and Katy at Wise Fools Pub Tuesday night.

A few minutes later I handed Katy my camera and she dropped it. I figured she owed me a cleavage picture for that. She obviously didn't see it that way.

A Room With a View
On the Road with Scott Derenger

So here I sit, at a round, wooden kitchen table. The chairs are wooden, too, cream-colored. There's a flower-patterned pullout couch to my left, a kitchen to my right. Just beyond the trees I can see clearly Lake Michigan, a much different view than I'm afforded in Chicago. It's very quiet up here. In a few weeks, though, for Memorial Day, things begin a rockin'. So they say.

The place we're staying at is a resort of sorts in Door County. They have hot tubs all over the place, a giant indoor pool, a giant outdoor pool just outside my back deck. It's empty now. I bet by July 4th it'll be filled and surrounded by plenty-o-tourists. Tennis courts, golf courses, places to pick cherries and vineyards to visit. It's a summer vacation destination. But last night it was a Thursday dinner package. 20 bucks for buffet and the show, or just $15 for the show.

Yesterday I bitched about the drive. While it's still ridiculous to drive this far with gas prices as they are and for the money I'm getting, there is something about a place like this that makes it all okay. If only for a night. Checkout's in an hour. And back on the road to Wausau we'll be. Bye Egg Harbor.

But not quite yet.

Last night's show featured high highs and low lows. When they laughed heartily, they also included some applause breaks. It was kinda weird. 'Cause when they didn't laugh, you could hear ice being scooped in the bar two rooms away. There was middle ground. All or nothin'.

Our itinerary said to be clean. A PG rating. With the long drive so out of our way, I upped it to at least PG-13. Maybe NC-17. We'll see if I get a call about that later today.

After the show I joined some friends from Lemont, Illinois, about 20 miles north of Joliet, at the bar. I say friends 'cause we talked the night away about people and places familiar to us. The husband attended my high school when it was run almost exclusively by priests and nuns, Joliet Catholic. "I had to take a bus from Lemont and walk a ways when I got to Joliet. I didn't like that. And I had a smart mouth and they didn't like that." So he finished high school elsewhere and then went to the military. I think. A glasses-clad brunette with the sexy librarian look distracted me. Focus was random. Facts were foggy.

They were each 60, owning two units in this resort. Both retired, they come up about 4-5 times a year. When they're not here, the units are rented out. Possibly even used by the comedians or whatever entertainment is here for the week.

The wife shared that her husband drove some 251 miles back - one way - to Lemont to cut their grass Wednesday. He didn't deny it, noting that "if you let it get too high, you'll ..." I can't remember exactly. But I did ask at what age a man becomes this concerned with his lawn.

"When you retire," Ed said, in a distinguishable Midwestern accent far different from the Wisconsinites. "Hell, I fall asleep when the sun's still out and wake up around 4:30 in the morning. Things change. Wait till you get this age, kid." At 33 it's nice to be called a kid.

The wife tossed back a few cocktails as her husband let his one drink melt away. I got one free drink, they bought my second and the emcee/waiter, Steve, bought my third. My second consecutive night of getting by without buying a single drink. I sold one CD to a girl who yelled from the crowd that I looked like Bruce Willis, so I had money to tip Michelle, the bartender.

A small group in town for a wedding gathered in the corner of the bar. What began as three mid-20's girls had turned into their boyfriends and parents, drinking the night away. You see friends and families laughing and having fun and all you want is for someone you know to be alongside. Sure the new people are fun, full of new stories and grass cutting quirks, but they're eventually gone. And then you're alone, walking through the dark parking lot, nature's sounds echoing from blackness unfamiliar to you.

But that's life on the road. In small town America. Wausau here we come.

5/08/2008

With Krista and Naomi, the ladies doing the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Chicago May 31 and June 1, and comedian Josh Alton at Wise Fools Pub Tuesday night. Ha Ha's for Ta Ta's was a rousing success. Thanks to all donated and all the comedians who performed.

A JCA high school reunion of sorts. L-R: Joe, Sue, douchebag and Nate. Joe's now an attorney, Sue's a recruiter for JCA and Nate's a high school teacher and the drummer in Halfway Jane. Check 'em out all over Chicagoland this summer. Me - I'm a waiter who also tells jokes, drinking on the job and hoping that after said jokes, some co-eds will buy my underwear.

This is Mariah, who works at the hotel we're at right now. She checked us in yesterday and as I was heating up some soup, Mariah came into the continental breakfast area to brew fresh coffee.

"I wish I could come tonight," she said.
"To the show or are there problems in the bedroom?"
She laughed helplessly, cornered in a room with the strange bald man.

Then she continued about how much she'd enjoyed the shows in the past, especially when the comedians make fun of people in the crowd. "Like people who text all the time. It's so rude," she shared. A light began to flicker in my head.

"This one comedian was so funny. He did this joke about his sister having a big butt and wearing sweatpants with words on ..."

I couldn't help but interrupting. The light was now shining brightly. I finished the joke. My joke. Mariah was talking about me. My joke. At the show I did on Valentine's Day of last year. And she still remembers it. So I gave her a JUST SHAVE IT shirt for making me feel special. Then I sold not a single stitch of clothing after my show. That special feeling was nowhere to be found.

This is Samantha, the bartender from She-Nannigan's in Eau Claire, WI. I have to put my pants back on before continuing. Sam graduates in 9 days from UWEC with a degree in advertising/marketing. Not sure if that's a double-major or what. Kids these days.

She's in class right now or else she loses 45 points. That's part of her final grade, I learned, as I sat at the bar before the show, trying to figure out what jokes to tell the college kids while also trying to figure out how to explain the wet spot on my jeans. I had spilled some hot tea as I also enjoyed that Sam's shorts were shorter than my underwear. Gadzooks! Sam's moving to Scottsdale, Arizona in five weeks. I now have something else to look forward to come Spring Training next March.

On the Road with Scott Derenger
From Eau Claire, Wisconsin

The headliner is waiting for me in the lobby. He smokes so maybe he's doing that outside. It's a gorgeous day. We have a five-hour drive to Egg Harbor for a show tonight. Where the fuck is Egg Harbor, you may be wondering? It's an hour EAST of Green Bay. Yep, way the fuck over there. Tomorrow we drive back to Wausau, which we will pass through today, and then Saturday night it's Duluth, which means we have to drive back through Eau Claire to get to. I'm an asshole for agreeing to this, especially because the alternative was working at Wrigley Field for three days where I'd ride my bike. Alone. And make better money. And eat for free.

Today's bagel was free but so what. A tank of gas was $46 yesterday. I cried a little bit.

Bye.

5/06/2008

It's been awhile. Or a while?
Drivel from the Dining Room

I'm not in my dining room, though. I'm at the Panera near my mom's. Came down this morning to grab my IRS check. I went to say hello and goodbye to yiayia, but she was sleeping on her freshly made bed, dressed on her day's outfit. And I thought comedians were the only people to wake up in order to get ready for a nap.

(Tonight is the fundraiser for The Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. 8pm at Wise Fools Pub in Chicago. Hope to see you there!)

My Internet connection is no longer at my apartment. Well, at least not of the free variety anyway. Time's are tough. Gas prices are outta control. So bad that me and a comedian I barely know are driving back and forth across Wisconsin the next five days. Never have I done this for four different days of shows in four different cities. No telling what kinda guy he'll be as a travel companion. I think he smokes. Fine. My automobile flatulence rivals nobody I've met. And when it's my car luggin' the miles, bombs away!

All I wanted was free Net access from an unsuspecting, never-met-before neighbor across the alley. I'm far from savvy enough to figure out another free option. That's why I haven't written in a while. Or is it awhile? I used to know the difference. Unless on the road in free hotel rooms with free Wi-Fi, my writings may be few and far between this summer. Which is fine with me. I have my first book being published this summer under a yet-to-be-decided title. I have lots of work ahead of me. Should be ready for purchase by September 1.

Once again my Web site is inaccessible at Panera. Wish I knew that before I ordered breakfast. I can't even check my Web email. Both sites fall under the 'forbidden content' umbrella. I checked redtube.com, a porn site, to see if that made it through unscathed. Nope. But come on! Tonight I'm doing a fundraising comedy show for breast cancer. You know, Ha Ha's for Ta Ta's. I'm not sitting in her floating in lotion with four orgies being viewed at once. Damnit Panera and their delicious new breakfast sandwiches. They're making hating them very difficult.

Mom had told me about a box of baseball cards she recently picked up. Which is to say someone - a total stranger - threw out their trash and my mother picked it up from the curbside and threw into the back of her wheelchair-accessible van. The cards were neatly organized in a three-ring binder, team by team. Some Hall of Fame players graced random pages, so I thought more of mom's find that the usual "Why the hell did you pick up this shit?"

There were Tom Glavine and Ivan Rodriguez rookie cards, along with others from Wade Boggs, Cal Ripken and Ryne Sandberg. Players of my youth. I remember some of their rookie seasons. And here they are, bald and/or gray, and already in Cooperstown. Not sure how much they're actually worth in today's steroid-infested world, but remembering back to my days of innocence and virginity, when girls were evil and the boys of summer were anything but. Those memories need nary a dollar sign.

I left mom's and came to Panera, ate my sandwich, and squeezed four lemons into my hot tea. My hands weren't washed. An hour earlier I was sifting through garbage day baseball cards from who knows whom or what, and then I all but licked my fingers. I make my own stomach turn more than is humanly acceptable.

Last night I took my friend Jason's dog for a walk. Jake's a stocky Pitbull that eats fire. Not because he's tough like that, he's just that stupid. I put on his leash to keep him away from the fire. Then Ana, Jason's wife, suggested I take Jake for a walk. We crossed the street toward a wheelchair softball park. And since I went 1-3 in slow-pitch, underhand, 16" softball, I might at well try playing next week in a wheelchair.

I closed all four gates surrounding the field, which is all concrete. Wheelchairing around on dirt and grass just wouldn't be fair. Although their parking's basically inside the dugout, which I guess is fair.

As Jack and I chased each other around, Jake eating and tugging at his own leash, he decided to stop near second base and unload a rather healthy dump. I had no bags with me. It wasn't going to serve as fertilizer for the cement, either. I thought about pulling one from my mother's bag of tricks and sifting through the nearby garbage cans, but I didn't wanna wake the homeless man sleeping against it. That and I just didn't wanna do it at all.

I left the heaping pile of canine dung glisten in the moonlight. Today it bakes, possibly sizzles, on the painted handicapped infield. I may swing by the park tonight before my show to see if a paraplegic slipped and fell trying to leg out - I mean wheel out - a triple.

5/01/2008

Wise Fools Pub is an awesome venue for LIVE! entertainment. Come on out to see some of Chicago's hottest comedians and enjoy $1 Budwesier drafts. Your $10 suggested donation will benefit The Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, in Chicago May 31 - June 1.

Look what I've done now.
Drivel from the Dining Room

So last night the Cubs won 19-5. The game lasted well beyond three hours. It seemed like the players had forgotten they have a dreaded day game the next day. Then again, when the game ends they simply shower, go home, go to bed and rise the next day, probably around 8. A full eight hours of sleep has been enjoyed.

But we're not all that lucky. The Cubs play late into the night and we - the peons - leave after midnight, actually closer to 1 a.m. We can't fall asleep right when we get home, either. You'd think the million dollar players would consider the plight of those people restocking coolers and emptying garbage cans up above. Stop whacking the ball over the right fielder's head. Stop taking walks. Stop fouling off pitches.

It's time for bed.

I thought it was gonna be much colder than it was so I wore longjohns again, this time with pants. My first time this season in pants. People make comments, appearing shocked that I actually own pants. I was hot but too lazy to remove them.

And after the 19-5 win, of course I'm wearing them again today. With pants. It's sunny and very nice out. I'll be miserable way before I'm on the clock.

Go Cubs!

4/30/2008

Prescott Tolk, as seen on Comedy Central's Premium Blend.

Hannibal Burress, as seen on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson and Comedy Central's Live at Gotham, airing July 25th.

Laura won't be there. I simply received this in the mail last week. She played Sydney on 'Melrose Place.' I loved her. A few years later she appeared on '90210.' Last year I learned that a guy who owns some comedy clubs in Iowa is her step-brother. And now I have her autograph. Take me now; my life's complete.

All things must come to an end.
Drivel from the Dining Room

The Cubs lost last night 10-7. I wore my longjohns to work, just as planned. However, I did something I had never done before - I kept them on under my cargo shorts, bunched up above my knees, a very uncomfortable look, which, at times, you could see when the pant legs crept below the bottom of the shorts. Surely the fans seated below could see this as I walked back and forth along the ramp.

I felt awful. Physically awful before the game. I was too tired to actually remove the longjohns, knowing that this could ultimately affect the game's outcome. And it did. I take full responsibility for the Cubs loss. Had I done what I had always done while the Cubs went 7-0, they would be 8-0 today and still in first place. Instead the hated Cardinals are in first and Milwaukee's right on the Cubs heels.

I'm sorry, Cubs nation.

*******

I often times have epiphanies that my life needs to be cleaned up, that I need to stop taking sultry pictures of and with women, that I need to stop selling thong underwear, that I need to stop talking and thinking so perversely, and that I need to rid everything in this apartment of pornography.

Then two things happened that told me to 'Fuck That!"

I pulled a book outta my bookcase to use it as a mousepad. I was sitting on the couch and my built-in laptop mouse sucks. As I fussed around, trying to get the perfect postioning of said pad, a CD fell out. Well, from my angle it looked like a CD. Nowadays it could be a DVD or some computer thing. Upon turning it over, I found it to be a DVD porn movie. A seven hour masterpiece. I thought they had all been given away or traded to the amigos for helping me move.

Like any good little porn freak, I removed every single book from my case, hoping to find another movie or maybe some money. Instead I found receipts, and notes and jokes written on napkins and hotel stationary.

It was a calling from the porno gods to not lose sight of all that is good in nudity and anal beads.

Then, later that night I was emailed, IM'ed and texted by a friend teaching the class of all classes.

A friend of mine is conducting a blowjob workshop. She's a family therapist and I guess a good idea to keep a marriage together is through fellatio. I had many questions and comments, of course, not the least of which being why can't I be there?

She alluded to the fact that women would be uncomfortable with me there, as if they wouldn't be uncomfortable enough with a rubber dick in their mouth. Gay men can go but not straight men. Which is flat-out sexism. Because I don't suck dick I can't go and help women to suck dick better? How does that make sense?

If there were a straight guy - and I'm sure there is - teaching a class on how to administer oral sex to a woman, I would sure as shit hope women would be there. At least one, preferably a tan brunette spread-eagle on the coffee table with her pie graph showing.

In an email blast announcing the class, my friend writes that "And guys - if you have a gf who doesn't quite have the oral skills you'd like, be gentle if you do bring up this workshop." Now, it's one thing if your girl has packed on a few pounds, and you decide to replace the frozen pizza with edemame, but how the hell do you say, "If I pay for a blowjob class, will you go?"

She closes the email by writing, "And no worries - there will be a lil' alcohol to loosen the group up before instruction begins ;)"

Of course there will. That's how is usually happens. The girls get shitfaced and then the blowjobs commence. Wouldn't have it any other way.

This is all serious. If you're at all interested in such a tax write-off, email Anita at yourpolishgirl23@yahoo.com

Off to Wrigley. Go Cubs!

4/29/2008

Nothing new to report on. Well, nothing that I have time for anyway.

Wrigley Field the next three days. Cubs are 7-0 with me and my unwashed longjohns. They have lost 3 of their last 5 so maybe they need my thermal undies. It's actually cold enough to wear them tonight without looking like a total douchebag.

Greek Easter was Sunday at my cousin Mike's. His 2 and-a-half-year-old son, Ryland, sang 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame' and it's easily the most adorable thing ever to grace the Internet. As soon as I make time and clear space on my computer to work on it.

Greek Easter is also a family gathering where my mother cares not where she falls asleep. Actually, any gathering has that. This time was right at the dining room table about 90 minutes after arriving. A half-dozen desserts surrounded the diabetic, which makes us partly to blame. The woman's got some issues. I'm glad she's passed that genetic quality on to me. I could use a nap right now except I have a head to shave and my bed's too cluttered with clothes. My clothes, though, unlike my mother's home.

Hope to have a few pictures and maybe something funny to write tomorrow. If not, you'll live.

Go Cubs!

4/26/2008

Photo courtesy of Will Byington Photography. 2008 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue Cover Girl Marissa Miller threw out a first pitch at Wrigley Field April 18. Here Ryan Dempster tells her the true meaning of a spit-finger fastball. Miller wets her lips, possibly both sets, in adjulation.

To see more Marissa Miller pictures and those of the Cubs 10,000 Win flag, check out Waiting at Wrigley.

4/25/2008

Wednesday I had lunch with my friend, John. He was bartending and during my meal, his wife called to share some info with him. Their 18-month-old daughter had eaten for the first time totally on her own, using utensils even. Later that night I was back in the same bar and John's wife was working. We talked again about their daughter's eating. "She figured out that if she put the spork into the ravioli," Erin shared, "she could pick it up easier."

Yesterday some picture mail came to my phone. It was from Erin. The message read 'Brooklyn's first bathtub poop,' complete with a picture to support the claim. The life process had come full circle in about 24 hours.

*****

Cyndi and her fiancee, Peter, came by last night for my leftover dinner creation. Peter loves to cook so anytime I attempt to, I know it's nothing special. I'm sure he knows, too. Unlike me, neither of them have cable but when they finally move in together in a few weeks, cable will be had. Cyndi can't wait. Their October wedding may be in jeopardy because of HGTV and other reality shows.

I didn't know what they were watching but I heard Cyndi say "that's someone's daughter" to which I said, "I know. I think about that when watching porn. I know I'm a freak for watching it, but how much worse are the people who do it?"

Then I got deeper into it, pun possibly intended. "Especially the homemade ones on the Internet. They're everywhere. There's even this one where this guy asks who appears to be his girlfriend to sit on a baseball sit. And she does. You can totally tell it's homemade."

"The baseball bat?" Cyndi wondered aloud.

Peter and I were quite amused, mainly because Cyndi was dead serious, having no idea how what she said actually sounded.

"Yes, Cyndi, the baseball bat was homemade. Kinda like 'The Natural meets Backdoor Funseekers.'"

"Go pick me out a winner, Bobby. So I can ask Mercedes to sit on it later."

Go Cubs!

4/24/2008

Lots of love, colors and stripes in this shot. Libby warms my lap as Joelle and Cassie round out the fantatic foursome.

Sometimes red velvet cake should be enjoyed unconventionally.

With the bride-to-be, Sara, and her inflatable boss, Eric.

The limber Libby has a spread that makes Vegas blush.

It was a long homestand; massages were definately in order. Don't the gals look like they're having fun? Maybe we should've done what the sign says.

I could understand if this were a gas station or maybe a record store, but it's not. They sell tools here. Hell, the beaver is holding a hammer. You mean to tell me they can't fix the letters?

Thanks President Bush! Now get the fuck outta office.

How can you pass up a beer called Phuk-et?

Softball starts; my undies are on fire!!!
Drivel from the Dining Room

Two days in a row enjoying a bowl of Smart Start. I love cereal. Makes me feel young. I used to manage with a marketing company that handed out free samples boxes of Smart Start cereal when I lived in Phoenix. I got to make sure supply was being distributed on the campus of Arizona State University in Tempe. I was 23, tan and buff. The co-eds were plentiful, yet I was a lame douchebag with no game and a giant van loaded with cereal. Not exactly a catch.

I took cases of Smart Start home with me. My roommates were grateful. We had breakfast for months. Until one day, while I worked as a detention center coordinator, when I found something crawling in my freshly poured bowl of cereal. I guess the Phoenix head had gotten to my free food and biology took over. The Smart Start turned into a Smart Finish. Seven cases sat on the curb and in garbage cans. That was, of course, before the Fear Factor days.

The Cubs won again last night, the 10,000 win in the teams' storied history dating all the way back to 1876. The day before I wore my longjohns to work and saw 'em beat the Mets. Cubs are now 7-0 at Wrigley when I don the johns.

Softball with the Swingers began last night. The team looks pretty decent this year, which is to say we didn't lose by slaughter rule. I still have yet to win a game with them in four seasons. I can only play a few games with shows and Cubs games this summer.

Last night I lined out to a fat, old pitcher in my first AB. Second time, with two runners on base, I stepped in front of the plate to hit an outside pitch. Ump called me out for doing that. I had no idea such a rule existed. Nevertheless, it was a shitty pitch and an inexplicable error on my part, displaying Soriano-like impatience. Third and final at-bat saw a pitch rise to the heavens and eventually fall into the hitting zone. There's no height limit in this league, and somehow I managed to hit the ball into rightcenter for a single.

My eyes are playing tricks on me with flyballs. I catch 'em with little confidence. When I was a kid, my glove was where flyballs went to die. And those were smaller, harder balls hit on frozen ropes or through the pearly gates. I caught them all. Now, as a 33-year-old with the bladder of Wilford Brimley, it's a struggle to make a routine play. Can you smell diabetes, anyone? Probably not but maybe a dog can.

The Cubs play in 90 minutes. Seven in a row, baby!

4/22/2008

The lovely bride-to-be is Sarah and one of her bridesmaids is the delicious Emily, Saturday night in Rochester, MN.

JUST SHAVE IT panties walk the Minnesota streets. Or maybe they simply stayed in their purses. "Where'd I get these?" "From the bald guy last night." "Oh."

Even though the Cubs lost last Thursday, the last time they lost by the way, I found this table adorned with Kristin's cleavage in Stevens Point, WI.

Another swarm who didn't even see the show. Now that's how to have fun in 'Sconsin.

Aleisha and I enjoyed martinis in Stevens Point. Who knew, right?

And who knew licking the salt off my face would be better than her hand for tequila shots?

Long-underwear bring the Cubs to 6-0, 13-6 on the season!
Drivel from the Dining Room

I was a little leary yesterday when leaving for Wrigley. My cousin Chad stayed with me and we walked for half the trek, and took the bus the rest of the way. Thought that may have jinxed 'em since my longjohns weren't worn while riding my bike.

But after a 7-1 Cubs win, my still unwashed thermal undies were waved around in celebration. Anyone within a whiff knew it was comin'; they fled the scene, leaving me to sing "Go Cubs Go" alone. And I didn't care one bit. Cedeno and Pie coming through in the clutch? Nobody in Vegas had that shit on the books.

Today is a day game after a night game. Little time to recover from the night before, whether drinking was involved or not. Which it was. First Full Schilling in Wrigleyville, then Konak's in Andersonville. Then my kitchen.

An alarm clock is arguably the worst sound invented. I dumped Chad at the train and hurried home to share all this most valuable info with you.

Last weekend's comedy endeavors were pretty good. Five solid shows, including Sarah's bachelorette party of 30 chicks. At first they loved me, even on stage. After the show they bought panties for the bride and a few others. Cameras flashed left and right. I was in the middle of it all, my ego firmly planted on top of the pseudo-celeb mountain. Then I joined 'em downstairs in the bar. Again more pictures. Shots were bought, some kind of bomb. Maybe a cherry one. Which reminds me, Mellencamp is playing in Chicago July 22 on Lake Michigan. Who's with me?

The late show crowd was waiting for the show, finishing drinks and dinner while this bald guy was being mobbed by married women, engaged women, single women and maybe some freshly divorced. Odds are likely with 30 of 'em.

If I get married, there's no way I'll be able to round up 29 guys to hang out with me. While I know 29 guys, they're scattered all over the country. Then again, why stop at 29? Why not invite any guy I've ever talked to come out and wear plastic vaginas around our neck and carry bouquets of Blow Pops to sell to bar chicks?

Or we could just go to a baseball game and then a strip joint. Original? No. But it's me we're talkin' about, remember? And since it's me and marriage in the same story, not likely to ever happen, kids. So ladies, you're free to continue groping.

By the time I joined the party at a local bar after my late show set, my pseudo-celeb status had noticably dwindled to a 'there's that guy again.' I stood around and talked, watched 'em shoot pool and slap each other's asses, and took pictures with an inflatable doll named Eric, their boss. Then it was back to sell more shirts and panties.

After that ceased and I bade farewell to the Goonie's staff, the bachelorette party was found outside of another bar. They were beat. Some quite drunk. Others plain tired, sitting on the curb, wishing only for bed. They didn't even bother to acknowledge me at this point. It was more a look of, 'Really? Nothin' else to do?' I had gone from 'Oh my God were you funny! And you smell good, too' to 'Come on girls, let's go. Bye whatever your name is.'

And just like that, the ring leader lead the circus away into the Rochester night, swerving along the sidewalk and up to their hotel rooms. I watched with a flacid ego and a tail between my legs.

The tail of the outfit inflatable Eric was wearing, no less.