FRIDAY

      Tonight I got to perform at Fly Ass Jokes, Portland’s longest-running comedy show. I’m not sure how long that means (I feel like at one point my old pals at Chicago City Limits touted themselves as “New York’s Longest–running Show!” and of course The SWARM takes pride in the fact that many years ago someone thought it would make good copy to refer to us as “The UCB’s oldest and most dangerous improve cadre”- a quote we’ve slapped on everything since. Not funny, hilarious, amusing- not brilliant, inspirational, otherworldly-  just "oldest and most dangerous").

Gregg and his buddies used to push me around a little when I was in 7th grade (they were all 8th graders).

            The show was in a space called the Brody Theater, a small theatrical room with a stage and bar (and a bunch of chairs). It was a great space, and the show was really fun. But the best part was that my old nursery school buddy showed up and watched the show.  Gregg and I used to carpool to nursery school together every day when I was 3 years old. We both look different. Though the show was really fun, it was definitely what used to be called an “alternative” comedy show- in other words, not at a comedy club. And there was a crowd, and they were into the show, but it wasn’t a huge crowd. Like, last weekend both shows I did at the Tempe Improv had hundreds of people in the audience. But I was glad Gregg got to see a show that was more in line with my career- weirder, more experimental, and less focused on the business in show business. Then we went looking for a place to grab a drink. In Portland. Harder to find than you would think! The first place we went into had a cover charge, and as we waited on line, I realized that a) it was a drag bar, and b) perhaps because of that, or maybe it was unrelated, the terrible dance music was unbelievable loud, which would have had an effect on our conversation. Finally we found a shitty sports bar and caught up on the haps since the last time I saw him, 37 years ago.

THE TOUR BEGINS.

      I headed out of Los Angeles this morning in my stuffed Toyota Corolla, knowing there were lots of things I hadn't remembered to pack, and lots of things I hadn't taken care of before I left, but also knowing that it was at the point where it didn't matter anymore. Hit the 5 and headed north for Sacramento. The great Tony Camin had seen my Facebook post about heading to Oregon and asked if I wanted to stop and do a guest set at the Sacramento Punchline, which, yeah! The headliner was Mark Normand, who I'd met years ago and didn't really remember anything about except that I remembered he was funny. And I was right! So, fun show.

Tony Camin: "Childless? How about fun-MORE!"

      Then I went to Starbucks to grab a coffee for the road. I went to use the bathroom. There were two guys waiting on line (yes, I'm from New York). Both of them went in and neither of them locked the doors. So both doors still said "vacant." Another guy walked up and immediately brushed past me and went to open one of the doors. I told him there was somebody in there, and he started to disagree based on the sign, then he realized that he recognized me as an employee of the Starbucks. "You work here, right?" "No." I recognize you. You are the guy from over there.." "Nope, not me." "Yes." "No." "Well, you look like that guy." OK.

      Then I drove a couple more hours and stopped in Redding. A Motel 6 with a very bustly desk clerk. Seems like not a lot to do as a desk clerk, but that's not how she looked at it. "Are you okay staying on the freeway side?" "I guess... I mean-" "THat's all I have so you better be okay with it." I guess I am then. 

      DIdn't realize til the next day how glad I would be not to charge into the Mt. Shasta National Forest at midnight, where Interstate 5 turns into The Cyclone in Coney Island. Glad I didn't do that at night.