The above-mentioned woman was not me.

1. I would never wear skinny-heeled strappy sandals.
2. I would never publicly shout "This is a real New York Moment." I may think it, recount it to friends, write in a ridiculous blog about it...but never publicly shout it.

Sigh. As if I needed to clarify that. As Ann Landers used to say, fifty lashes with a wet noodle, or something like that.

Which sounds kind of icky. I think by the thirty-seventh lash, the noodle would be gross and awful, and you'd have a starchy butt. And it's not much of a punishment, because WET NOODLES DON'T HURT.

Unless they're hot.

Ok, I'm done now. Rant over.

In other news, I've been invited to participate in a ranty-styled comedy show. Fun! Don't get me started....


This is a New York Blog Entry.

A woman was racing across East 39th street, carrying lots of shopping bags. She loses her black strappy sandal in a slight pothole. She turns around, only to helplessly watch in horror as her lonely sandal gets run over by a speeding taxi cab. She scurries back, hopping on one foot, and picks up her lonely lost shoe, which is apparently bruised but unbowed. Balancing on one leg, stashing her shopping bags between her legs, she slips the shoe back on, announcing to no one in particular,

"Now THIS is a New York Moment!"


Analysis via DVD

Okay. So shopping leads to thinking (Broadway flea market day again) and thinking leads to the question, If I were the kind of person who owns DVDs (that are not sketch comedy collections), what DVDs would I own? (The only ones I own are random thing that are given to me or cost some tiny amount or were found by the ex, things like that).

So, I started thinking.

A short list was formed (including some I saw at the market, and did not buy, cause I couldn't or didn't justify the minimal cost): - In no particular order
Moulin Rouge
sex lies and videotape
Love Actually
Bull Durham (I did own this but gifted it to my Mom for her birthday)
Glengarry Glen Ross (similar fate, I believe)
Animal House
Breakfast Club
St Elmos Fire
All That Jazz
Little Shop of Horrors
High Fidelity
Murder by Death
Annie Hall
the Christopher Guest et al films (Spinal Tap, Guffman, Best in Show, Mighty Wind)
In the TV arena: Homicide, Oz, Your Show of Shows...I didn't pay this much mind. Possibly AbFab.

Okay. Now, this breaks out into a few distinct areas.

1. Quirky or screwball comedies.

2. Guy films. (Caddyshack fits categories 1 or 2). Actually Homicide and Oz are fairly male-dominated.

3. Doomed/quirky romances. (Bull Durham fits into Categories 2 and 3) The couples in these films are disturbed or 'off' in some way. The guy does not necessarily 'get' the girl or vice versa; someone dies (Moulin Rouge, Little Shop of Horrors), gets shackled (Secretary), or you're not quite sure where this is headed (Bull Durham, High Fidelity), or they're outright broken up (Annie Hall) or on a plane (Casablanca). Love Actually has a bunch of these, I think.

Theory: Kevin Costner should only be in baseball films (see Bull Durham, Field of Dreams), and possibly political films (JFK, that one that just came out a couple years ago. oh, maybe not political films).

Theory: The James Spader character in "Secretary" is the older version of the James Spader character in "sex lies and videotape."

4. And a couple of sentimental favorites (St Elmos Fire is a terrible movie, and fits into Category 3 and 4. Murder by Death is kinda odd, but I loved it when I was like ten.)

Whatever, I really do have better things to do.

And I bought 2 videotapes. Barney Miller episodes. A buck apiece. Sweet!

Fuck Proust.

When do you stop remembering? Or, more properly, associating?


The time-zone display thing could get annoying, I suppose.

Just watched the first half of the first episode of NY-LON on BBC America.

Notes to self:
1. Go back to London.
2. Do significantly more solo bar-hopping.
3. Abandon general distaste for overly-manicured sideburns. (Still, what's up with them??)

Yeah, that guy's hot. She's not 'all that.' It gives a girl hope.

She is a New Yorker, though. "Do you have any REAL coffee?"

Shallowly yours....

(I can't say if this series looks anything less than crap, though. Hard to say. Already got the bit.)



I feel like i've been beaten up. I get about one migraine a year, but this one was hard. And it took me about six hours to locate the tylenol and codeine, which is all i can take for them. I hope it's unrelated to the monster quantity of blood thinners I'm currently on.

I think I threw up in the middle of the night but I'm not entirely sure. I still feel nauseated and achy.

I said horrible things to my mother. Pain makes me angry. Not that they weren't true, but still.

I can't handle most people right now. Even though I want them to help me, I think. I don't know. I can't deal with human fraility. Anyone's.

But tonight, I will be hilarious. I promise.


Funeral Flyby

Did you ever wish you could watch yours?

I wish I came from a religious, or movie-watching tradition, that allowed for that possibility in my psyche. 'Cause I would sooner plan one that I'd be around for. I've got that paranoid-party-host fear that I'd throw a funeral, plan all the food, the hall, the music, and NO ONE would show. Or worse, be boooooooring.

How do people figure out who to invite? I've got numbers in my Palm desktop, my email accounts, and my cell phone. No one has my gmail password, clearly, that one's tough. Maybe I should leave it somewhere?? Hmmm, too many embarrassing....Oh, bother.

Do people get up and say stuff, or is that TV material? It's like really short weddings; TV material. That is, until I went to my first Protestant (Episcopalian, I think) one. Boom! Quick! Just like on the TV.

But pretty much - and this always made the man nuts, he who believed in post-mortem ghosties and the eternal soul and all that Catholic stuff - I've been into 'you're dead, you're dead.'


(That's yukkier when you're contemplating your decomposing plain-pine-coffin corpse. And I know that's de rigeur amongst the Judaica set, but I hate the idea of taking up extra land and stuff. I partly relish the idea of donating myself to a hapless first-year medical school class....ahh, who knows.)

I'm sure people would show up for the food. The food would be great. Seriously, that much I can assure you. If there's one thing my family knows, and can agree on, it's a freaking buffet.

No problem there.


Show plug.

Please come to my show!

Tuesday September 20th
Laugh Lounge
151 Essex Street
212-614-2500 for reservations. Or, better, call or email me and I will reserve for you.
830 PM
$10 + 2 Drink Minimum

Nothing better to do.

Lots to do. Just not done. Except watch that show "Open Bar," about the opening of a gay bar in West Hollywood. Fun!

I don't know if he's gonna be able to open that bar or not. I am seriously worried. Seriously.

observations on the AFI 100 Movie quotes

1. Ray Romano has had Botox, and what the fuck is he doing here?
2. George Lucas has a low forehead.
3. Dennis Miller is not completely sucktarded.
4. 25% are from Casablanca
5. Pierce Brosnan is sucktarded.

Top quote? "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Coulda told you that. But it's still a pretty good Top 100 list, as these things go.

I have had two Xanax and sleep will not come. But the stress remains.


About #3

Besides providing me more material than I can bother to write down, and helping me with ideas for various projects, she let me in on this little gem.

When she was in junior high, she had to do a speech project (one of those public speaking things). Terrified of getting up in front of people, she wrote the piece itself on "Stage Fright."

I said, "That's meta." She said, "I don't know what the fuck that means."

Stage Fright. Awesome.
My mom knows how to "fuck your fear," instinctively.
Amazing. And not a single lesson.
Why the fuck isn't she on stage?

Random thoughts.

1. Thanks for the IM! But I was asleep at the proverbial wheel.
2. I won't be calling anyone. You want me, you find me.
3. My mom is the source of all hilarity in the universe, at times I believe this to be true.
4. Butterscotch Krimpets have gotten smaller.
5. Jon Voight has really big lips. That in part explains Angelina Jolie.

I'll be fine, I'm sure. I apologize for the shock-value-ness of the prior post. Goddamn camera phones.

Another Friday night in the city.



If you placed highly (but did not win), in a Sex Toy Reviewing contest, for a potentially embarrasing product that would give people a slightly-too-large window into your private life, would you advertise that fact?

Nah, me neither.

Just curious.


Ever had your soul ripped out your left nostril with a crochet hook?

Uh, no, me neither.

Just wondering.


How I made my aunt weep. Sponsored by Starbucks.

800: Outfit: Oversized black jacket, red tank, short black pleated skirt, off-black Berkshire panty hose, low heeled pump-type shoes, black. Purse and briefcase. Pleasantly cool out.
830: Appear at criminal court to meet client. Check cell phone, wait outside part.
915: Sign in second on list at part. Calm client. Enter notice, get brushoff from ADA.
935: Bark at client. Bully my way past massive wall of defense attorneys, grab ADA, bark deal at him. Get case done.
1000: Enjoy delicious cup of cart coffee in Police Plaza and have girl/comic talk with client. Make post-case video on her phone.
1100: Downtown shopping (J&R WorldWorld, Staples) and long stroll. Realize fully how much I love lower Manhattan.
1215: Lunch on lower Broadway (delicious ginormous latte, impenetrable fruit salad) at Starbucks with friend, refreshingly free of comedy in-chat. Still look relatively good. Temperature creeping up; jacket open.
130: Conference call/meeting in Midtown about publishing contract.
300: Walk to meeting at relatively pleasant placement agency with placement staff who is alumna/former actor. Down 2 glasses of water because afternoon temperature is near 90 degrees.
400: Walk to mother's office to pick up mail order clothes. Call aunt on cell phone.

"I'm walking to-OH SHIT"
"What honey? Are you ok?"
"My panty hose just collapsed."
"muffled laughter Can you fix them?"
"I am on Fifth Avenue and I am holding a very short skirt"
"barely muffled laughter Can you stop somewhere"
"No, I could go to the library but by the time I got up the stairs they'd be gone"
"choking Can you pull them up?"
"screaming, sobbing with laughter, I'm SORRY but you'd better keep this in your act because I am HYSTERICAL"
"I'm almost there (clutching skirt halfway up thigh with collapsed Berkshires, off black, in hand, grumbling)

410: Restroom. Grab.
545: Another delicious latte and low fat coffee cake at Starbucks on 15th and 9th.
620: Collapse on loading dock behind Chelsea Market. Pantyhose now welded to skirt and ass due to heat of loading dock.
645: Meeting with director. "Why don't we go to Starbucks?" Chai tea latte.
730: Rehearsal. Panty hose disposed of.
1015: Phone call.
1030: Phone call.
1145: Phone call.
1230: Fell asleep near bowl of cold couscous.


Sadly, you learn something new...

I'd listened to the names all morning, numbly.

I'd heard the name of the wife of a childhood friend, lost heartbreakingly three months after their wedding. My mom listened too...."I waited for the F's..." Yeah. "But I couldn't wait for Ivan's (my cousin's) friend." "WHO?"

I didn't know that the brother of one of my high school classmates was lost too. I had no idea. Was it him? I checked the lists...checked the testimonials. Yes. The youngest of six, there was a NY times article about him, with lots of quotes from my high school classmate (we were junior-high friends more than anything; he was cute as hell.) Read the testimonials, brothers and sisters of the families of my younger days.

Yeah, that's him.

Familiar, Italian-American and Irish-American names. Good kids. Lost too soon.

Rest in peace, Christina Donovan Flannery and Pete Siracuse.


My brother in law George died in August 2001. He never saw all this.

And the Yankees haven't won a Series since. If you knew what a serious fan George was, you'd know I wasn't being glib.

Rest in peace, George Esposito Jr.


Now that I'm linked to my web site, I guess this is kind of Google-a-ble.


In other news of the mundane, I am trying valiantly to revive my iPod. Jeez, planned obsolescense is one thing, my poor track record with losing/destroying small electronics is another thing..but come on, Apple! It's not been THAT long!

In other other news, my favorite improv team, Monkeydick will soon be no more. This makes me saddy sad sad (which I believe is a line I stole from them). They had the best mix of personalities and teamwork you're ever likely to see, and were just smart and goddamn funny. I'm not good at recalling specific scenes and stuff, but they did do my favorite Harold group game ever ("This meeting of the House Unamerican Activities Committee will now come to order...").

They're also adorable. Click above for the schedule for their last few shows, and go catch them if you can.

In other news, while waiting for cell phone recovery (another story), I saw the end of a movie that I never have to see all of, because the last five minutes were so amazing - "Before Sunset" with Ethan Hawke (one of those boyish looking dudes I generally want to smack, but who I can't resist) and Julie Delpy - I never saw the original, never saw this one, had no desire to....but the last five minutes, and the last lines SPOILER ALERT are amazing:

Celine: Baby, you are gonna miss that plane.
Jesse: I know


In other random movie news, anyone seen this iFC thing called Ten Tiny Love Stories? I saw bits of it on Friday, and the Debi Mazar one was stunning. Looks like I'd like to read them, perhaps.

I also need to get some sitcoms. Sitcoms!

In other news, I drink too much; is that news?


I need to sleep. Need to, indeed.


Things I like about Mike

1. "I'm great at making snap indecisions."
2. The worlds' greatest single song mix tape (ten or eleven versions of "All the Things you Are." alas, on a regular old tape.)
3. Passing me in Physical Chemistry by teaching me at least a semesters' worth of partial differential equations in two nights, in exchange for cookies.
4. Nineteen years' worth of injokes, terrible mixed drinks, poor wardrobe choices, near misses, quotes, oddly shaped vegetables, music, yaks, cartoons and generalized hilarity and goodness.
5. Just making me feel like a consistently fabulous person.

If I could remember the thing about the flute, the sax, the fingers, and the lips, I'd put that in too.



Things that make you slightly down; cause or effect?

Tom Waits, The Early Years
A fullish laundry basket
Popcorn and salad dressing for dinner


Things that are making me giggle...RIGHT NOW

Channel 102

Go to "cancelled" and watch the "Fun Squad," if for no other reason than to watch grown men in brightly colored tshirts nut-punch each other.

Headphones suggested if you're at work. Any episode will do; I just watched the first one.

(Please note that I am a huge fan of many Channel 102 series including but not limited to Gemberling, My Wife the Ghost, Purgatory, Shutterbugs, Cat News and many others, so no bias is indicated - they're all outstanding. And I secretly wish I had the skill and talent and stuff required to put one of these together.)

That being said.....Sometimes one needs a five-minute dose of something excrutiatingly silly.

Things that are annoying me RIGHT NOW ... or not.

Why do I always scrunch down in photos, especially? I enjoy my height and know that good posture improves the look greatly, especially when I am conscious of it. I also know that when I am exercising, that my posture improves (my brother pointed it out), so back to the pool it is. This still doesn't answer the photo question, but looking at the photo below, given the shoes I am wearing, I should be nearly as tall as the gentleman in the back row. Nearly.

My grandmother (still, at age 88, about 5-6 1/2) and aunt (about 5-11) on the paternal side were always on me about standing up straight. My grandmother had the technique; my aunt would regale me with tales of slouching her way through high school and being picked on and how I should NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO ME. Whatever. Her daughters are 5-9 and 6-0 and constantly wear heels; their brother is 6-5.

I am not outstandingly tall for a woman - 5-9 or so, barefoot - but have always wanted to be taller, because I was not the tallest woman in my family. I'm large, sure, but I like to think I'm fairly well-proportioned. And only recently, say, in the past few years, have I discovered the wonder of heels.

Guys who are not intimidated by tall women don't necessarily mind the extra height.

No guy under about 6 feet tall or so appears tall to me. I have to admit to being slightly shallow about height; although, I have no reason to be shallow about appearance, now do I? Does anybody? But then again, aren't we all, a bit?

Questions, questions.

This started out as "things that annoy me" but ended up as a rambling about height.

I am slightly annoyed I didn't update my iPod, slightly annoyed with myself for being less than productive this weekend, slightly annoyed with my current employment situation (more than slightly, actually) and a few other things.

Carry on. I do like this skirt and jacket I am wearing, though. It's actually OK.

But the run in my Canadian stockings, well....that's annoying me.

Although some men find that sexy too. Men are strange.


What kind of mix? And what's a semi-sadist?

I offered to make a friend a mix CD after a long liquid evening, where we acted like fourteen year olds - planning my hilarious dream wedding, trading sips of ridiculous drinks with too many sugary ingredients, dishing dirt about certain acquaintances as if we were in high school. Ooh, wouldn't you like to know. Tough titties, folks.

Anyway, I asked what she liked/didn't like. The only thing that was settled on was 'upbeat.'

Fuck. Upbeat? My music collection? That's a challenge.

I'm working on it now, and even stuff I think sounds upbeat is kinda gruesome - "Miss Ottis Regrets" (Bette Midler) is about, I believe, spousal murder, and "The Rest of the NIght" (Warren Zevon) is, well, the self-written eulogy of a dying man. Lots of ABBA songs - bouncy bouncy - have dark undercurrents. Like they said in an interview, "We are Swedes...it is okay, you know, to be sad."

I even tried to challenge myself to try to find 'upbeat' songs by wacky messed up favorties of mine like Hole. It's hard. Trying to vary up genres and artists and such. This is a very chicky-mix so far, alas.

Some ones that are on the list for real:
Your Body is Music - Afroditee
Beautiful - Carole King
Shopping Cart of Love - Christine Lavin
I got you babe - Sonny & Cher (An old karaoke favorite, actually)
Big O - Kristina Olson
Home at Last - Steely Dan
N.Y.C. - Steve Earle
Scottish Pop - Spearmint
Fell in Love with a Boy - Joss Stone
When I am King - Great Big Sea
It Takes Two to Tango - Raul Malo/Shelby Lynn

This is hard! Already taken off a bunch of songs because I have weird taste. And it's not like I don't have tons to do today. Laundryless, foodless, workless, and tired.


I downloaded 1/3 of "Little Shop of Horrors." I did manage to get "Somewhere that's Green" Coolest rhyme - "I know Seymour's the greatest...but I'm dating a semi-sadist." Nice one!


These are my people. This is no joke. This is HARSH.

This is HARSH. We will be doing a hurricane benefit on Wednesday. (If you got here from my web page, you know this. If not, you know now.)

HARSH: Longform Improvised Tragedy
Directed by Ari Voukydis
Wednesday, September 7 @ 1030 PM
Juvie Hall
24 Bond Street between Lafayette and Bowery, New York, New York
$10 includes many free shots/drinks
Please make checks for admission/donations to Mercy Corps.

Look at these faces. HARSH is in the business of making you laugh and wish you hadn't'; cry and surprise yourself that you did; gasp in shock and surprise.

At least, that's the look we're going for.

Read more about us here: Yesand.com Article about Dramatic Improv by Jill Bernard - this was done as a preview to the Toronto International Improv Festival, where we kicked some serious ass.

It'll be a good show, for a good cause.
And if we know us, the tragedy will come shining through the clouds.


Wish I had a camera NYC Moment #1 (but I keep forgetting I had a Camera Phone)

West 47th Street, 1015 AM or so I think:

Spotted amongst the usual array of Orthodox men in yarmulke and shirtsleeves and Hasidim in baggy black suits (it is 80 degrees out) and beards and women in long dresses and wigs running out to get tea and run back behind the counters of the endless diamond stores along the street - the women work the counters, the men all seem to be out on the sidewalk, running and haggling.

A twentysomething guy in white polo shirt, curly dirty-blond hair and baggy cargo shorts, toting a half-crushed bottle of Poland Spring and peering nervously in the window of a jewelry store towards the end of the block. I could spy the outline of a woman inside, bewigged and pointing, as he nervously peered within. A few feet away from the doorway. Almost there.

Awwww. Something's coming, something's good.

The strangest things occur to one.

I felt compelled to contact my first ex-fiancee (oh, what a heartbreaker I am) - who I broke up with, so sweetly, the weekend before Valentine's Day, 1989, in Union Square. Anyhoo....haven't spoken to him since January 1990 (another story for another day, believe me) - I may have had a letter or two after that - and thru the magic of the Internet, I've managed to track him around over the years. Never contacted him (G always found that super-weird of me). Never felt the need, or the desire to make this guy feel bad, or to dredge up a long-gone past.

But, I don't know....I knew he lived in Alabama, although not coastal, I thought, maybe his wife's family, or his own, had relatives down there (his family as far as I knew were still in SC)....I knew he used to live in NO...I'm sure his students (he's a professor) were affected, I don't know. I felt like I had to check in, somehow.

Talk about awkward. I don't know how or why I did it, but again...I just felt...I don't know. And I'm sure he was baffled, to say the least. I don't know what to expect. I'm sure my college buddies would be stunned.

Sometimes you get the urge to do stuff like this. Maybe it's a mortality thing?

It just occurred to me, he's probably located this by now. I'd originally intended to print the correspondence; out of respect, I don't think I will. Wary, curious, pleasant, not necessarily in that order, would be how I would describe it. He's married with children now.

We were almost married, once. Almost half a lifetime ago. Engaged when I was nineteen, a tiny diamond I proudly showed off at the MSE Library at JHU (I had to go to work, you see, after our little excursion to the mall led to our picking it out, and he getting driven to the mall with his friends to pick it up, then he had to go to work)

He did the bended-knee thing on C-level, the Science Periodicals section where I worked.

The mall excursion was fun, White Marsh, I believe, where the "Metro" ran to...one of the jewelry stores was having a party and we slugged some champagne with the drunk-ass staff. We bought the ring elsewhere, at Littman. Had to get it sized, for my big piano-playing hands.

We didn't have a particular plan. But my god, things are coming back to me clear as day.

I read Bride's magazine from time to time and picked out a shocking red Mexican wedding dress.

My friends making fun of Brides magazine with me.

Thought about getting married on campus.

I did give the ring back. The story of that weekend, and the subsequent days, in my apartment, is a long one. The previous days, too.

I seriously, seriously haven't thought about this in years, much less gotten choked up, emotional about it.

Yes, I'm human. Terribly human, after all.

The strangest things occur to one.


Hooligans then and now

American (Hunter S. Thompson, 1972 as photographed by Annie Leibovitz)

English (Not Hunter S. Thompson, 2004, as photographed by the author)

Back on the horse, so to speak

Ahhh...Wednesdays at the Lantern Late Show. Nothin' like it. My improv show HARSH (Wednesdays at 1030 at Juvie Hall for those who don't read my web page or plugs) was down last night, so I went to my old home away from home.

Man. I miss those fuckers. I miss the craziness.

I miss the leaky bathroom and the dark back sofa where I candle-write my 'set list' (and I use the term loosely, being semi-retired from stand up - another term I use loosely, in that I haven't taken the stage solo in two, three weeks? That long? Shit.) I miss the crowd, who actually (wow) misses me. Crowd, another loose term, meaning the late night comics - Edward, Bob, Rob, Angry Bob, Mr. John Morrison (I love calling him that), Dan, Vito, Katie, Rachael. host Dave Baldwin, looking oddly groomed. How domesticated! Shake out that ponytail and ramp up that smokers cough! Haven't seen Baldwin in ages - I remember the first time I batted my eyes at him from stage. Ages and ages ago, it seems.

Erszi and I have pre-show dinner at the Olive Something (not Garden - a fabulous Mediterranean super-cheap and super-tasty place above the Comedy Cellar....to dream the impossible dream. Avocado salad, yogurt dressing, hot sauce, black bread, honey lemon tea - something like six bucks.) The waiter is hot and chatty.

I pass Emily and Raquel on the way out - I haven't even done the early show in ages, and chatted with them for a bit - they are fabulous funny ladies.

They've cut the show down, timewise - it used to run up till 230 - they've been dicky about the 2 drink minimum - they've slapped on a $20 card minimum - but hell, it's still the Lantern, and we're all still there, talking shit and hanging out in the bathroom, in the booths, on the stairwells.

We have civilians, drunk and up front, heckling like shit. I got up about halfway, not bad, considering it's been months, and got a suitably lovely-nostalgic introduction. For some reason, one of the brawny-rummy hecklers has fallen in love with me. He lurches bulkily to the back after my ranty bits on life and lobotomies and porn (not totally freeform, but energetic). He loudly throws himself my way, belching my praises and disrupting Liam McEneany's set; I am mortified. Within seconds the totally sweet Victor Varnado body-checks him; I assure him that I am fine, as Drunky McHeckler is slurring to me how totally gay he is so that the drink he (and his straight girlfriend?) is buying me is strings free. Victor stands by as the guy FINALLY leaves, to receive deservedly foul treatment from Liam, who I hope does not hold it against me. My comedy class pal Sparky tries to get me to order a Sam Adams for him but the waitron brings me another JD/Diet Coke (I am pussying out tonight, my stressed out tummy incapable of dealing with straight hooch and needing an acid/carbon dioxide dilution. Go figure.)

Just in time, as 130 approacheth, Vito Fucking Lantz (the worlds most wonderful late night Chicagoan comic drinking musical singing comic dart playing human...the list goes on) and I flash the signs from the dugout meaning "Macdougal. Ale house. Pitchers. They will come. We go now."

Thus the evening begins.

PBR. Jen the hoooooot bartender (#3 on my gay list) is there, we remember how much we totally miss each other (I shit you not, I am in love). Actually she is outside....when we get there, we see why, as there is a douchebag of fratties (how's that for a collective noun?) occupying way too much space and ruining the jukebox.

We find the back room, acquire darts. The rest of the lingerers from the show arrive, we play the darts game whose name I forget (the 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, bullseye one.) I am surprisingly not bad, for a drunk with no depth perception. One is dull and unbalanced, like at least one or two comics on the standby list. (BOOYAH!) Anyways...Pitchers empty. Shots get shooted. Vito and I finally commander the jukebox and Steve Earle, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash come pouring out.

"Put on Janis Joplin, the bartender will TOTALLY sing!" Yes, indeed. "Put on Georgia on my Mind, Baldwin will cry!" Yep.

We wander about, never finish the game; we were winning. Baldwin discusses the merits of the Willie v. Ray versions of "Georgia." Vito brings up the James Brown version and is glared upon.

After 4, Jen can't sell to us, but she can give it away. What the fuck, one more. I dig out all my cash to tip out, and commandeer Baldwin to escort me to the bank machine afterwards. I'd been meaning to leave the bar for hours (I don't usualy enter so cash-poor), but it would have broken the flow, you know?

Vito and I talk about Minneapolis, about Chicago, about improv, about performing for yourself. About getting some road work in the Midwest if I make it out there in the spring. Cool cool stuff.

Finally chased out, we hit the bank machine. Stumble across the road to the Ma to try and cadge some more drinks. Why? Why the fuck not. Foiled, alas.

The evening (evening?) winds up in familiar fashion.

I've got a bit of a headache today (understatement), a bellyfull of Diet Coke and a slight cough (after being wearily handed my own Camel Light to chew on. Bad, bad.)

Damn, I miss that.

And damn, if I didn't forget to tape my set.

Which was, all in all, a pretty sweet set. Not perfect, a little blue, a little raw, but pretty sweet.

All of it, was pretty sweet. Sometimes you gotta go...