With Hohokam Stadium's PA announcer Tim Sheridan and his comedienne wife Theresa at Sluggo's following yesterday's 3-2 Cubs win in the bottom of the 9th. Tim writes a great Spring Training blog where you can see exclusive pictures and videos. The Web site is called The Boys of Spring'.
See how fun it is to be bald. "Come on baby. Rub it like you want it!"
Or you can go the other extreme.
Ladies from Kirk's Bar and Grill. No idea where it is and what it features, aside from the hottie on the left. The other could use a tan. Um, hello, it's Arizona in March. Let's get goin', sweet cheeks. Sweet and certainly white cheeks, that is.
Gadzooks. Standing tall on their own. Thanks for the view MILFy cougar.
Not as many brunettes as I'd like ...
On the field two-time former Cub and 4-time Cy Young winner Gred Maddux pitched for the Padres. Derrek Lee smashed a shot off Maddux's thigh in the first inning but he pitched a few more innings, the wiley vet.
You're right, gramps - that's an ass worth chasin'!
Mike and his gal pal Claudia. How can a guy who runs a t-shirt company not wear his own products? I guess when you shave your chest and are buff, you can. I used to know the feeling.
Why not close things out with a cute lil' kid. Who could very easily be taking sniper photos when he's a 33-year-old bald bachelor.
Cubs Spring Training Game 4 - for me.
(It's currently Saturday morning. I tried to post the entry below yesterday, but it wouldn't work with me. So here we go again. Cubs-White Sox are today in Tucson. I'm driving down with The Heckler crew but one problem - I haven't any idea where their hotel is. I'm in a smoothie joint in Mesa, waiting to hear from any of them. They have the beer and ice and I have a giant cooler. I'd like to think that assures me a spot in the van. We'll see.
I asked the guy at this joint for something with antioxidants in it. "Maybe some green tea. Something to kill all the bullshit I've put in my body this week."
"Um, I don't know what antioxidants are," the Hispanic man said, already pissed at me for knocking on the front door at 8:14. "Sorry, I thought you opened at 8." We do, he said but you could tell he was pissed. You're always pissed at the first customer when your store's a mess and your opening duties have yet to be thought about.
Friday's game was a hoot. Sure the Cubs lost 6-5 as Ryan Dempster and Sean Marshall were roughed up for six runs in the second inning, but it was fun in the sun with friends scattered about Hohokam. I met up with all the people I mentioned below. Plenty of pictures, too.
These Heckler guys better call or ... wait ... calling me now ... hung up ... DAMNIT ... calling back ... meeting them in 20 minutes for the two-hour trek to Tucson. As predicted, I drank all day Friday, which explains the need for the antiox's. He made me some energy smoothie with strawberries, bananas and peaches. What a fag cocktail. Today I may actually volunteer to be the DD. Just cheaper that way. Of course till the first free beer is offered. Stay tuned.)
From Friday morning ... Greetings from an abandoned gas station. I was hoping to pick up the Comfort Inn WiFi across the street but that didn't work. I'm on someone's connection from home. In the shade with my laptop hooked into my cigarette lighter. Total freak, livin' the dream, huh?
Before this I stopped into a Starbucks, looking for a green tea something. The cashier told me that if I sang and danced a Michael Jackson tune, I'd get my drink for free. "No shit?" I'm serious, he said.
But I was hesitant. "And I'm a comic and can't do this." I looked around and barely anyone was paying attention. Even the young gal manning the register was clueless. I then began belting out some of "The Way You Make Me Feel," even trying to fit in my request of a green tea frappucino. It worked. Anything for free when you spent way too much money on beers and food yesterday, regardless if Sluggo's Old Syles are only $1.50.
I'm meeting a friend from gradeschool and high school at the game today. She lives here and has some amazingly hot friends. I may have to stay totally sober to appreciate them. Or I can indulge in the suds once again to ensure more of Scott's Sniper Shots. The Heckler crew is coming, too, so the sober shit is pretty much an impossibility. While theoretically a good idea, vacations and Cubs games aren't meant for sobriety.
Yesterday after the game I talked with HOF Fergie Jenkins and future HOF Lee Smith. They were hanging out with fans, signing autographs and enjoying the retired life of a former big leaguer.
Some guy just asked me for fifty cents. "Nope, sorry." He was looking at both my piles of change but didn't put up a fight. I asked him to throw away my free Starbucks drink, though, and that earned him $.75 cents. It was a free drink and I gave a needy man some money. So it's like I paid for the drink after all.
Bye. Go Cubs!
Click here to see a video I shot for MyStudio.net about my Chicago Cubs obsession.
The Club Red beer tub gals at last night's third annual Laughing for Charity comedy show.
With emcee and event coordinator, Danny O'Donnell, and his niece Morgan, taken just after she ...
... had her hair cut for charity. The shorter little girl is Nora, and that's her mom Lisa on the far right. A wig will be made from Morgan's hair to benefit those with Alopecia.
With Lisa and her sexy elementary school teacher friends. They claimed I was funny, only to leave 10 minutes later. They must teach honesty at an early age, right?
The crowd, the stage and the acoustics were great at Club Red.
With comedian Steve "Short Bus" Krause and the twin brother of comedian Josh Skalniak. Only douchey me would take a picture with the comedian's brother AND not know his name. "Scott, you wanna take a picture with the comedians?" No, just their family members.
With Danny and Lisa, post-show.
This is posted in the men's bathroom, no less. I noted that it was far from the gay part of Phoenix, which is near where the American Idol guy danced at a bar. For guys. Afterwards he went to the infamous gay Denny's for a grand buttslam. Hilarity is the cheapest and truest Scott Derenger fashion.
Spring Training '08, Cubs beat Mariners 6-4 in Mesa.
Colin and Jessica honor the douchebag in front of the KDKB truck at Tempe's Beer Fest.
Really, there's a game going on?
With Kevin and Anne in Hohokam's right field lawn.
How's the weather in Chicago, folks?
Only Chicago fans could enjoy such a thing. Even way out in the desert.
With Utah Mike and his crew after the game.
Beer can holders from Costa Rica.
Inside Sluggo's Sports Bar in Mesa. Cubs legends adorn the walls.
Kosuke Fukudome prepares for a pitch against the A's Thursday.
Kerry Wood, the longest-reigning current Cubs player, warms up in the bullpen.
Anne's long curly hair is the antithesis to my Web site.
Lulu licks my head in her mentrual-necessary diaper as Dr. Drew looks on.
Cubs president Crane Kenney (L) and Cubs general manager Jim Hendry enjoy a front row view at yesterday's game, a 2-1 Cubs loss, dropping them to 2-6 in Spring Training.
One big happy family. L-R: Lulu, Tony, Mia, Angelica and Manuel Antonio III. Not pictured is the fraidy cat, Domino.
Mike (L) and Danny joined Anne and I toward the end of the game.
Dropping the ball - literally.
On the Road with Scott Derenger
Cubs Spring Training '08
Tony's brewing fresh-ground Panamanian coffee that I bought last week from NOVO. It's from Volcan, Panama. When Gellie said that name aloud, Tony sprung up from his chair. "That's near my father's hometown." Tony's father was killed in a car accident on my birthday in 2005. There's real sentimental value in this gift.
Now he's making cinnamon/apple waffles. Such generous hosts Tony and Gellie. And now Tony III, too.
So yesterday was my first Cubs game of the 2008 Spring Training. It was at Phoenix's Municipal Stadium, home of the Oakland A's. Anne and I arrived with ample time to buy tickets from the ticket office, not some street scalper. I knew it wouldn't be sold out. Too early in Spring Training even for the Cubs, and the A's aren't that big of a draw.
We were supposed to get three tickets, one for my buddy Mike. However, Mike called right as it was my turn. "I have one already. Don't worry about me." So we didn't.
The lines for beer and hot dogs were outta control. Not the length necessarily, but the efficiency. Or lack thereof. It seems as if the concessions people are hired the day of each game. No training is involved. You ask for two draft beers and they stare at you, at the beer tap, and back at you. Then they ask what size. You tell them and the aimless staring resumes. Same thing happens for a hot dog. Staring and then wandering for what seems like forever to get the pre-wrapped dog. They're not required to add the mustard and onions. They don't have to take the dog off the cooker and place inside the bun. They just have to get it. Sure there should be a register worker and a food getter, but what do I know?
I watched the top of the first, Cubs at bat. Not to leave the concession cashier's ineptness go it alone, there was no mustard or relish. The game was only 42 seconds old. "Sons a bitches," Tony Kornheiser would say. Theriot grounded to second. Kosuke Fukudome was called out on strikes. His first plate appearance in front of me and he didn't move the bat off his shoulder.
We found our seats in Section 20, Row 14, Seats 3-4. There was a little room to move. Not quite the sardine-packed situation. A guy sitting behind me leaned in to ask, "Is there really a ShaveYourHead.com?" I knew his voice. Very distinct. I couldn't place it, though. He talked more. I turned and saw he was wearing a Cubs jersey. He then pulled out a card after telling me he was doing a documentary on the Cubs Spring Training days. I shared that I was a comedian and a Wrigley Field waiter.
"I'm Tim," the man said, extending his hand. "I'm the public address announcer over at Hohokam Park."
"HOLY SHIT! That's where the Cubs play. I know your voice. I've heard you for the last 11 years. And probably on the radio and TV when I watched the Spring Training games back in Chicago." All this was said in my head, of course. I handed Tim my card. We talked for about 10 minutes. I felt as if my ShaveYourHead.com jersey had already paid off.
Just then some girls approached our row. "We have seats 1-5," a busty blonde said.
"Well we have 3 and 4." I looked at my ticket. "Oh shit. It says Row 9. We're in Row 14." I said bye to Tim, who's celebrating his 25th year at Hohokam. He told me to stop by his booth, where I'll be today to see the Cubs battle the Seattle Mariners.
At the end of the fifth inning, with the Cubs leading 1-0 on a Daryle Ward double scoring Fukudome who had walked, Fukodome caught a flyball to end the inning. He followed Derrek Lee into the Cubs third base dugout. Lee received a ball from the dugout, caught it and tossed it into the stands. Fukudome didn't need to catch a ball; He had the one that ended the inning already nestled in his leather mitt.
The Asian sensation wearing #1, symbolizing that he was the first Cubs player from Japan, the 5-tool savior of the Cubs from the Far East, the man who could single-handedly lead the Cubs to their first World Series title in exactly 100 years, tossed a ball into the air. Underhand, no less.
Anne was standing on my right. I had just snapped a shot of Derrek Lee tossing the ball into the stands. My camera was in my right hand. The camera case in my left. Fukodome tossed the ball into the air. High into the air. I watched its flight, quickly realizing that it was coming right for me. There was no jockeying for position. It was like it was just me and Fukudome playing catch.
And just like that, with my left arm extended and nary another human arm or hand in sight - no glove or hat or beer cup, either - the ball bounces off my camera case and the bounds to the left. A tall, tan brunette in a white tanktop went after it, failing, but not as miserably as me. The ball rolled down the steel stairs and under the seats it went, falling to the earth.
She was in shock. The crowd cried for her, saddened that this drunken broad with a pink giant foam finger hadn't gotten the ball. The ball that was meant for the bald douchebag from Chicago wearing a Cubs jersey with ShaveYourHead.com across the back. "That's what that guy gets," an onlooker behind me had to be saying. "I mean, that loser has on a Cubs jersey with some stupid Web site on the back. Is that even a real Web site? How fuckin' dumb. And look at the number - double zero? What kinda asshole does that?"
The ball was gone. For both of us. Then another foul ball rolled toward the camera men standing 25 feet infront of us. The crowd yelled for them to give the ball to the girl, the same girl who acted as if the Fukudome ball was meant for her. A cameraman handed the ball to a male fan in his early 30's. The girl raced down the stairs in her high-heeled sandals, unfortunately without stumbling. "Here, here. Me, me," she yelled. I hated her. Jealous, envious I was. Embarrassed and ashamed yet again.
The fan handed her the ball. The crowd cheered. Like she dove over the wall to snag a smash down the line. Fuckin' ridiculous. She leapt about like a gazelle playing with her kids. I booed. Loudly and often. "Nice pink finger. You're wearing an A's hat. They're green and gold, not pink. Booooooooo!"
I hung my head in shame and then gathered my wits. That was the first ever chance I had to touch a ball. Never before had I come so close. I've seen OVER 200 games live. My camera case has Fukodome's historic DNA on it, even. But all I have to show for it is this embarrassing, ball-dropping debacle of a story.
As we walked outta the park, the same girl was prancing around with her ball, showing everyone that cared and even those who didn't, which were many, much to my delight. Sure she was hot but she had become obnoxious. I wished her kids public pants-peeing epidsodes through their high school years. I wished her to sip a martini and have the olive pick go straight up her nose, causing her to sneeze in her drink, sending it flying out of the glass and all over her unimaginably priced dress.
And just then, as she jumped with the ball, it fell outta her hand and rolled toward the street. Cabs were lined up waiting to give rides. She ran after the ball and tripped on a sprinkler in the grass, falling to earth and staining her knees. Her face was heading right for the sidewalk. This would be far worse an injury than any martini pick could create.
Miraculously and perfectly timed, she threw her left hand between her head and the ground, catching herself with the giant pink foam finger.
Her knees were stained. The woman was discheveled from the drunken spill, and the ball was retrieved by a traffic officer standing a few feet away. But I was somewhat satisfied by her ruined pants and hilarious clumsiness.
And really, that's all that matters. For today is another day. And a ball will be mine. Even if it's only mine to scratch the whole game.
And those are only the first week of games.
A benefit show this Saturday, March 8 in Tempe, Arizona.
Thanks to Jason Caref for helping to make this happen. It will most certainly be worn every game over the next three weeks.
Anne and I are listening to Tony Kornheiser's podcast. He's reviewing American Idol, which we watched in this Phoenix hotel's bar last night. Jack and water is my new fave drink, forced upon me by giving up pop for Lent. It's healthier than a Jack and Coke. The water grabs the whiskey by the hand and together they cross the street through my bloodstream and kidneys and comes out without any traffic carbonation. If you're gonna be a drunk, why not go the mildy healthy route?
Aside from a second Shamrock Shake and breaking a sweat while washing my car, yesterday was a rather uneventful vacation day. Consider it energy saved for a weekend of baseball game parties, a comedy fundraiser that will be one for the ages, and visits with old and new friends. And their kids and dogs.
Tonight we journey to Tony and Gellie's to see their two month old baby, Tony Jr. He was born just over two months ago prematurely, and is reported to be doing amazingly well. He's already over 8 pounds. His due date was March 1. Surely it was all the home Hispanic cookin' Gellie so perfectly commands.
There will also be Lulu, the giant Great Dane who may've finally grown into her clumsy body.
Cubs at Oakland today, 1:05 MST. Cubs are 2-5 so far in this young Spring. Jason Marquis is toeing the rubber today. No lawn seats in Oakland but plenty of sunshine and Cubs fans. And probably a Ronnie Woo Woo sighting, too.
Chipping away in the Arizona sun. I had no idea what I was doing, evidenced by the athletic pants and sandals. Nice golf wear.
A benefit show this Saturday, March 8 in Tempe, Arizona.
With the Rocky Mountains literally in my rearview mirror. So long skiing and snow. Unless I drive a few hours north to Flagstaff. Hello desert and cactus.
The site of last night's open mic. Yep, that's a fire pit behind the comedian. People gathered around Macayo's Depot Cantina outdoor/semi-covered patio to hear jokes.
The Spring Training Experience begins. Almost.
On the Road with Scott Derenger
My shirt's red. So are my head and forearms. The latter from not wearing sunscreen yesterday while golfing and then drinking margaritas. It hurts to rub my head. Worse to scratch it and much worse to shave it, I'm sure. Could be a shaggy look till the burn becomes a bronze.
I'm in a coffee/pet shop in Gilbert, Arizona, about 25 minutes from the Phoenix/Scottsdale area. There are plastic tubs of dog biscuits an inch away from four stainless steel coffee pots. I'd think keeping pet stuff on one side and people stuff on the other side would be the way to go. Then again, that's why I'm writing about it instead of owning the joint.
The girl behind the counter is exotic looking. Dark hair and skin, very cute. Kinda Hispanic and Asian. Perhaps a perfectly placed mutt. She had on a zippered, black sweatshirt when I arrived and now has on a black tanktop with a black apron over it. She toasted me a bagel and prepped some organic green tea. She's spent most of her time in the back. There's a swinging door hiding her goings on. I'm waiting patiently for her invite to the massage table. Or at least to play with her puppies.
Last night's open mic was arguably the most humbling show of my 11-year career. I began doing open mics here in Phoenix back in 1997. Last night I did one, 11 years later. With over 2,000 professional shows under my belt, I felt like I was right back to where it all began. Like I had made no progress whatsoever. Like my military tours and applause breaks were mythical. Unreachable. Only things I hoped for.
I was nervous, disappointed, self-loathing, and eventually embarrassed and ashamed. I walked off stage, which was literally atop a cement square surround the fire pit, less than 10 minutes after beginning.
Three of my good friends sat and stared up at me, barely cracking a smile much less a chuckle. I couldn't blame them, either. I wasn't funny. I seemed to freeze as flames blew behind me, an ironic reality that surely sheds something more profound than my jaded mind can comprehend. To freeze in fire means something poetic, right? Maybe tragically so, but poetic nonetheless.
My misterable comedy showcase was assisted by a Corona and four Red Stripes. I had only thoughts prepared. My friends hadn't seen my stuff in two years yet I felt there was no worthy new material. They have supported me from the begining, looking forward with much excitement to my annual Arizona visits.
And I walked off stage at an open mic with barely a 'thank you' to the crowd of 20 scattered loosely throughout the patio. I tossed and turned all night on a futon previously slept upon by a 20-year-old man currently serving an 18-month prison term for stabbing two people, wondering if this is the real me. Or if it that person was seen last week in suburban Denver, where I had genuine fun in front of total strangers. Strangers who paid to see me versus those who happened upon a comedy show while really only wanting chimichangas and margaritas.
"Sure, we'll stay for the show. There's no charge for it, right? We can eat and drink out here, too, yes?" Lisa, the lone waitress, ran around with trays of drinks. I thanked her immediately upon hitting the stage.
But that's where my generosity and niceness ceased. I made fun of the wheelchair-bound emcee who was very funny for about 20 minutes eariler in the night. Sure he did some handicapped jokes but he also did great jokes that had nothing to do with his condition. And there I was, making fun of him in the cheapest, most ignorant fashion. I was hating myself as I uttered comments about being able to jackoff with my own hands and being able to walk. I then added comments about the Jewish comedians who went on before me, and how it must've been awkward for them to be so close to a fire. I was as disgusted with myself as ever, yet I couldn't help it. I didn't care. About the other comedians, the crowd, my friends or - most regrettfully - myself.
I even made fun of some guy wearing a Brett Favre jersey. "Thank God that overrated piece of shit retired. Those fuckin' cheeseheads are crying and because it's so fuckin' cold up there, I hope their fat faces freeze."
The guy hadn't said a word all night. My bitterness was unrelenting and uncontrollable. It rose from depths I hadn't previously known existed. #4 was standing near one of the night's funniest comedians, not heckling me or talking at all. They were both looking on, wondering what was so 'special' about this second 'special' comedian of the night.
Nothing was special. Nothing as all. I had embarrassed myself once again, this time in front of friends with undying support. Support that will understandably be second-guessed.
I don't blame them.
Let's see if I can find a dry cleaner and a car wash. I can't fuck those two up, can I?
My first Cubs Spring Training game is tomorrow at Oakland's lawn-less stadium in central Phoenix.
A Huskie at home in the snow. See ya next time, Wrigley.
The lovely Amanda. She was scheduled to work last night but with a small turnout, her hungover, aching head went home. But not before I asked her for this picture. I turned to the young man washing dishes near us. "Would you mind taking a picture of this gorgeous young lady and me?"
"You mean my sister?"
Yep, they're siblings. Sorry, chief. As a guy, he's gotta know that if I want a picture with his sister, that I've already had my way with her mentally. Many times, actually. Amanda's really that outstanding. With a hind quarters that should be placed on a mantle.
That's Lindsay beside me. She saw my show earlier this week. Claims I was funny enough for a second helping.
Mike's the emcee in the middle and that's headliner Ron Feingold. That's my new Banana Republic sweater. Am I an argyle kinda guy?
Oh Mandy! Her oral fetish was very entertaining Saturday night. Between the Blowpop, the cherries, the ice cream cone, the straw and then a cigarette, she was always busy. I bet her boyfriend's a very happy and satisfied gentleman.
Just around the corner from the comedy condo. 'Entrance in the rear' will always be funny to me. Which is also why my humor will never have Letterman's people calling.
Denver can't get rid of me yet.
On the Road with Scott Derenger
There's an older man, maybe 65, sitting at the table to my right, talking with a man in his late 40's. 65 is bald with glasses. He's hooked to an oxygen tank and sipping a cup of NOVO coffee.
In the corner across from me sits a bearded guy with a red stocking hat and tons of facial piercings and other jewelery. He's also not wearing shoes. No socks, either. It's the hippie look at its finest. Now his bare feet are tucked to his side against the brown leather chair's seat cushion. Don't most people hate feet? Why would anyone think that walking around sans footwear and then stickin' them against a chair would be okay ... in public? It's not your house or the fuckin' beach. It's a coffee shop. An all-natural coffee shop. So since feet are natural, I guess it's okay.
He doesn't seem to care, either. The guy he's talking to is a friend, it seems. There's a lady on her computer sharing the couch with the friend. She seems unaffected, too.
I guess I'm the asshole. Who will be walking around Arizona without a shirt on for the next three weeks. Maybe someone will write about me like this, my flabby, fleshy love handles and gut blowing in the desert wind.
Shows are done for this tour. 6 weeks and 43 shows. Over. "The Final Countdown" was blaring in my car as I pulled into the Wits End parking lot last night. So perfect. (I do have a few in Phoenix. One's a fundraiser Saturday night. Another is tomorrow night at a Mexican cantina, Macayo's. There might be something at the IMPROV and possibly a show near the Cubs Spring Training home in Mesa. Stay tuned.)
Sunday shows can suck. Some have rocked but with yesterday's morning snow and high winds, many people stayed away. About 50 came out. They were great, too. A group of black folks sat in the middle. They, too, had seen our show earlier in the week. A few of them anyway. I talked about skiing again, asking the crowd, by a round of applause, who's skiied before. None of the black people clapped. I figured as much.
"If black folks see white powder piled that high, there's usually a straw involved."
Nothing ground-breaking, I know, but that produced my biggest laugh of the night. I've been bullshitting through my last few weeks of shows. I know what jokes work and am beyond bored with them. Talking with the crowd and trying out new things has kept it fresh for me. Kind of.
"I'm wearing Nunn Bush shoes. Nunn Bush. I went to 13 years of Catholic school. There's nothing comfortable about Nunn Bush. It's rather disgusting, actually." Again, my high brow comedy at its finest.
I had a breakfast burrito at NOVO today. Not the best choice for my 13 hour drive to Phoenix. Surely a few stops will be made to get gas AND get rid of some, too. I have Febreeze holstered at my hip.
Call me to make sure I'm not sleeping on the side of a mountain somewhere. Thanks.
That's my buddy Clay in the middle, looking like a total pile of douche. Nice smile. Saturday ISU played CU up in Boulder. I joined the Cyclone alumni for some beers at The Sink.
I can't get enough of the mountains. Saturday was gorgeous, 70 and sunny. And off in the distance you can see the snowcaps. So freakin' awesome out here.
That's the incomparable Michelle in pink, another reason Denver is quickly becoming my favorite city.
She moonlights as heart-breaking, heart-throbbing, beer tub dancing gal and by day Michelle's a personal trainer. "Let's Get Physical," huh? Just show me where and when to sign up for lessons.
I'm pretty sure by my third consecutive night, Michelle was beyond annoyed with me. But there's only so much will power one man can possess. My camera just leapt outta my pocket whenever the hip hop music came on. I guess it knew Michelle would be shakin' in her fishnet stockings. I hope the guy on the left isn't her boyfriend. He doesn't look too happy with me.
Bidding farewell to Denver - hello Phoenix!
On the Road with Scott Derenger
Yesterday was an amazingly beautiful day. It was warm enough that I sweated in my car driving to Boulder, windows down. Seeing the snowcaps didn't cool me off, either.
Today I woke to see the comedy condo deck covered by snow. I opened the front door and an 8-inch snow drift said hello. I know it was 8 inches because I was naked and used my weiner as a tape measure. I like being hung like a snow drift, although frostbitten balls are almost as painful as blue balls. (It's Sunday and I shouldn't be writing like this. Sorry, mom. Leave this out when reading aloud to yiayia.)
I'm back at NOVO Coffee for one last hurrah. I've spent more money here this week than is financially healthy, even if all the goods are organic and natural. A bagel is toasting right now. Mary's gonna spread some cream cheese on top and the caffeine will have company in my tummy shortly.
When I arrived here today, a girl was sitting at the corner table, studying for some kind of test it appeared. She rose from her seat to welcome me. A star-like tattoo sat in the middle of her right forearm. She wore trendy black glasses with hints of red. Her dress was brown and loose, her teeth very, very white.
I later learned that she was nervous talking to me, that she didn't 'get' standup comedy, that she suffers occasional social anxiety, and that she was studying to be a pilot.
"You work in a hip coffee shop serving the public AND you wanna fly the public all across the globe, yet you grow anxious around people?" She bit her nails, stood with her legs crossed and giggled uncomfortably. I tried to make her at ease. They got busy, though, and I'm not sure if I accomplished that.
Her friends met up with her here a few hours later and they left together after her shift ended at noon.
"Good luck," I said as she walked out the door. I had one of my cards ready to hand to her but she was already gone.
"Thanks. You have fun in Phoenix." And out the door she went, into the blowing, slushy snow.
Walking through downtown Boulder yesterday, the CU students were out in full force. It's a very liberal college town known to party hearty. Females were sunbathing in the front yards of sorority houses. And I wondered again why I never tackled real college life. I could still get my degree and live on campus but what girls are gonna wanna sunbathe around a creepy, old bald guy? Especially one who posts pictures of unsuspecting sun lovers?
I bet a few, at least.
Today is much different. Bikini tops have been replaced with wool hats and scarves. The short skirts and sun dresses are back in the closet and hoodies and fury boots are on stage.
Speaking of the stage, last night's shows were pretty good. Well the first two. I was tired and my veins were littered with whiskey. The first show was actually my favorite. With a 5:30 start, I would never have guessed them to be so much fun. I recorded it, too, and will watch it eventually. When I'm thinking about quitting comedy again. Which will probably be in a few days.
Talking about my skiing experience has gone pretty well. I think it's endeared me to the locals. Not sure if ski jokes will go over where skiing doesn't happen, but that's just another of comedy's challenges: to get the audience to be right there with you. On the slopes, knees trembling and cheeks rosy red. Facial cheeks, that is. Unless you're bent over behind a shed trying to really join the Mile High club. Of course your knees would be trembling from that, too. And lips chapped. Yes, both sets.
Between this coffee shop, the slopes, and the Electic Cowboy, metro Denver has more of my money than Chase Bank.
Off to hang out with my cousins and play with their dog, Wrigley. He's the Huskie, so seeing him in snow will be kinda cool. And free, too. Just the kinda entertainment my wallet needs.
One more show tonight and then it's all over, 43 shows done. I need a vacation and the Cubs. Cactus League Spring Training, here I come!
The view from the comedy condo deck. Sometimes I say this comedy thing sucks; other times you enjoy a cup of coffee while gazing at snowcapped mountains, getting paid while doing so, no less. Life rocks. At least today it does.
Some people from last night's show. We headed next door to the Electric Cowboy, the first one I visited located outside of Arkansas.
And inside this is what I found, the lovely shot girl, Heather, and her cowboy hat.
This is Michelle, one of many beer tub gals.
Dancing in your underwear was highly encouraged, whether you worked there or not. And even if you're like me and not a dancer, it was a very enjoyable spectator sport.
There's never a worry that you're underdressed when you see this kinda shirt. After all, it was Ladies Night; why wouldn't you wear a 'big dick' t-shirt.
Inside NOVO Coffee today. Jerrika's in the green. She's in a band with her two sisters called Quinn Elizabeth. However, the sisters still live in Wisconsin. Kinda makes playing together pretty tough. Impossible, actually. I'll be playing near Jerrika's sisters this summer. I mean near where they live, not like telling jokes standing beside them.
Why life on the road is the only way I know.
Week 6 - Westminster, CO
On the Road with Scott Derenger
Hello again from NOVO Coffee in Arvada, CO, about 10 minutes from the comedy condo. This place is awesome. The staff, the music, the coffee, the atmosphere and the patrons - all great! Mary co-owns it with her hubby, Herb, who came in for 43 seconds to give her a kiss and shake my hand. Well, he didn't plan on shaking my hand, I bet, but he did so about three times, which is a lot in under a minute.
Mary made me one of her personal concoctions this morning, a White Dragon White Mocha with all kinds of spices and other surprises, topped off with whipped cream, and seated in a huge Carolina blue mug which sat on a white saucer. How'd she know of my love for the Tarheels?
The walls of NOVO Coffee are half blue and half brown. I'm reminded of my high school days, where Joliet Catholic Academy's colors were brown, blue and white. But this place won't detain me for being sarcastic. It's more like an extended, incrediblly fun study hall. Go Hilltoppers!
As I talked with Jerrika today, I asked about her band, and if I could hear their music. She directed me to Quinn Elizabeth's MySpace page.
"Do you have any CD's for sale?"
"Yeah, but not here. They're all back home in Eau Claire."
"Well you should get 'em here. I'm sure Mary would let you sell 'em here. And hell, why not play 'em here, too."
Jerrika thought it was a pretty good idea, so I emailed her sister Elizabeth. She concurred and hopefully the CD's are in route as you read this. Then I wondered aloud to Mary if Jerrika could play her stuff through the computer for us to hear. And within seconds, Quinn Elizabeth was blastin' away throughout NOVO Coffee.
Quite the marketing genius, I am. Now if I could only do the same for me.
The road can be a very lonely place. If you make it that way. I could sit in the condo or the hotel room and aimlessly flip TV channels or surf the Web. Or I could get out and meet the locals, making new friends along the way. Today I've made a few, and hopefully they'll come to a show this weekend. I have cards for free cups of NOVO Coffee to give away at my discretion. Perhaps with the purchase of a Scott Derenger 'Bald & Bold' CD. (That marketing genius rearing its bald head again.)
Last week I wrote that I may quit comedy at year's end. But really - why? Sure I'm not rich and famous, but so what?! I have to remember how much I enjoy the travel and the people I meet along the way. As my friend Jennifer said last summer, "People will pay me to live my life." And that's what's been happening with comedy and the Cubs. I love them both dearly, so it would be insane to stop doing this. With more focus, dedication and - ultimately - results, I'll have enough stories, pictures and friendships to make Hollywood wonder "Where's this guy been hidin'?"
It's gorgeous outside once again. I need to end things here and get outside to read in the sun. A Jack Kerouac book is serving as my mouse pad. But not for much longer.
Rest assured there will be more 'Tric Cowboy pics from this weekend. Tomorrow I'm heading north to Boulder to watch Iowa State battle Colorado. A long, long Saturday. Beers cracked open at 1 and then THREE shows. By the third one, I'll be sleeping on stage.
Unless those beers are 'root' beers. WAIT. Gave up pop for Lent. Guess I have to booze it up.
Have a great weekend!
The State Capitol building in downtown Denver.
Wrigley had a play date at doggy daycare. "Gimme a break" is right.
One of the country's most popular ski resorts. For my first time in the mountains, no less. I don't mess around.
You can't go wrong running after and then unloading on a beaver.
This is where I was directed. They left off 'idiotic adults with nerve but no insurance.'
The view from our first life ride. I would lose Chad minutes later and not meet up with him again for nearly two hours. Well worth the $59.
Real snow with a real view made real skiing pretty damn sweet. My shins and knees are second guessing my decision the day after, however.
My momma didn't raise no dummy.
I eventually found my bald cousin and our heads were ready for a tan at 12,000 feet.
Apparently something was more exciting to Chad's right.
The view from Taco Bell's parking lot. Nothing says 'fun times skiing' like spicy chicken burritos.
Now I went to 13 years of catholic school. No where did I read that Jesus was the creator of coney dogs and hot chocolate floats. Or maybe he turned water into cheese curds? Hmmm. The miracle of the loaves and fish? Who knew it would become an A&W at a ski resort.
Skiing with the big dogs - and living to write about it.
Week 6 - Denver, Colorado
On the Road with Scott Derenger
There's a Panera just across the parking lot. However all outlets were in use and those available were in the ceiling. Yep, the fuckin' ceiling. Makes no sense to me, either. So I came across the street to a mom and pop joint called Novo Coffee. Free WiFi along with a great green tea latte and ham and turkey sandwich on toasted wheat bread.
The weather is freaking amazing in Denver. Probably 55 or so, a few thin clouds and bright sunshine. I already did my morning cardio. 45 minutes and 530 burned calories later, I'm ready to go back for a real workout with weights. I figured the day after skiing I wouldn't be able to get outta bed, but not so. Perhaps my previous workouts on this tour readied me for the slopes.
Our drive on I-70 west took us past signs for Big Horn Sheep, animals that I'd never seen before. Unless you count the ones I shot on Big Buck Hunter Pro. Chad spotted a few sheep minutes following my reading the sign aloud. "Where damnit where?" He tried to show me but the road was winding through the mountains and he was driving. I cursed myself for missing them and tried to take a nap.
I asked Chad if I needed my ID as we parked the car at the base of the Breckenride Resort. "Probably. At least so they can identify your body."
Eric's borrowed ski boots hurt like a sonofabitch. Chad moved around like a sprinter in his loose, almost casual snowboard boots. My shins and feet were throbbing and we were only in the parking lot. I had on three pair of socks, maybe one too many judging by the discomfort. But the fit was tight as it was supposed to be. I compromised that pain for the possible broken ankles or torn ACL.
We rode the first lift to the top and got off without a hitch. "We'll meet at the two-chair lift to the right," Chad told me. Now he'd been to Breckenride like 15 times already this season. It was my first time EVER. Down I went. I fell once but nothing major. Up I stood and back down I continued. At where I thought Chad would be, he wasn't. I waited for a few minutes. I had no cell phone on me, figuring I would fall enough times to break the fucker. Chad called me a rookie asshole for not bringing it. "Thanks for letting me know, coach."
I waited some more. Still no Chad. Not wanting to waste my $59 lift ticket, I continued and hopped on the lift. An instructor and three little kids were waiting in front of me. "He needs an adult to go with him," the instructor said in my direction. "Would you mind?"
"Yes, actually. I'm terrible. He'd have a better chance going it alone. I'm waiting here for an adult myself. Sorry, man." A lady moved in front of me and escorted the little guy up the hill via the lift. I rode alone and fell outta the chair as I got to the end. Again, nothing major but embarassing nonetheless. Especially with the trio of aforementioned kids looking on, pointing. "Look, he wasn't kidding. He is terrible. Poor guy, skiing alone. Loser."
I asked people what I should do. "I lost my partner. Well, we didn't breakup or anything. He's my cousin and he's much better on the slopes than me. I don't have a phone, either." One guy suggested I go back to the bottom. Another said I might find chalk message boards on which I can write my whereabouts.
No such boards were found, though. I had to call my mom's house to ask her to call my brother to have him call Chad to tell him where I was, which was at a small lodge sitting outside and soaking up the sun, the snow and the awesome view. I couldn't be upset - it was too damn beautiful. And because I'm writing about it now and talked about it last night on stage, I get to expense it all.
But mom wasn't home. I paid $.75 to get voicemail, which my mom will never figure out. I'd be left frozen in the mountains before she'd realize, "Oh, Scott called last month."
I finally went down to where Chad and I took our first lift. And there he was, walking toward the stairs, his bald sweaty head making me squint from its glare. I still had my hat on, using my cousin Todd's $150 goggles to keep my hat in place. Quite an expensive headband. The goggles wouldn't fit over my glasses, unlike in high school football when I wore my helmet over my glasses and proceeded to make back to back facemask penalties in the fourth quarter with JCA up by three touchdowns.
We ate lunch and went back on the slopes. I wanted to get my 59 bucks worth. Chad agreed to go halves on a harness to keep tabs on me. We made about 6 or 7 more runs, including one where I nearly got plowed over by a snowboarder coming from my left. The sign said LQQK in big bold black letters against an orange background. "I did look. I saw him but I couldn't stop." Chad claims that I would've died instantly, that the boarder was bigger and going much faster.
But I didn't. And we continued up and down the slopes.
Back at the car all I wanted to do was get my boots off. With a chainsaw, an ax, a machete - whatever. I had walked on my heels all day and the dogs were barking furiously. My pain threshhold is weak to begin with, so enduring the pain all day bordered on sadistic. Had there been the entire Colorado University cheerleading squad waiting for me, oiled up, wearing only their skirts, and wanting to collectively fellate me OR had there been a homeless man willing to take off my boots for a dollar each, I would've made the chicks wait.
At tonight's show I'm gonna tell the crowd that all CD sales go toward another lift ticket Friday. If that happens, I'm hittin' the slopes again tomorrow. Minus a pair of socks and with a fully charged cell phone.
Who's with me?
That's foxy Roxy on my right and her voluptuous friend whose name I've forgotten. Sorry.
I guess the Wichita women simply couldn't get enough.
The lovely Megan, a server from the bar adjacent to Loony Bin, Back Stage.
These three were at Saturday's early show and took pictures the whole time I was on stage. I learned afterwards that I look like a co-worker, thus explaining the countless flashes during my show.
Roxanne from 107.3 The Road once again. She made it out to Saturday night's late show.
A Headblade user and showcaser of 'the shocker' near Wichita State, home of the Shockers.