Home for a funeral.

My friend Chris’s death had me numb for days never really acknowledging what had happened. To me it was all a misunderstanding, Chris didn’t die in Afghanistan. They made a mistake. I haven’t talked to Chris in quite some time. After High School he went off to be an American hero while I went to college and decided to tell dick jokes for a living. (I don’t actually tell dick jokes.) We were good friends in High School and were always making jokes and doing things to get on various teacher’s nerves, the one that sticks out is Mrs. Friend who taught us English 12.

I got in late last night because I had a show in Raleigh, I go on facebook which is a ritual right before I go to bed. I see that the Wilkesboro Baptist Church will be protesting Chris’s funeral. This enrages me, I stayed up half the night thinking of what I would say or do if I saw them at the funeral until I fell asleep. The dream that followed opened the door of emotion that I had padlocked and boarded up.

I was standing outstide of Crest High School where everyone was gathered to remember Chris. I am walking around and everyone seems happy and I am thrown off by this and ask the first person I see “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting so strangely?” his reply was “Oh, Chris is alive. He was just injured in the bombing and the bodies were mixed up because there was another 6’6 guy in the van.” This made little to no sense to me. How could you confuse Chris with anyone else. His size alone would tell you it’s Chris or some mythical beast. So I didn’t believe it for a second. Everyone in my town has lost their damn minds. Until I see someone approaching me. It’s Chris, he isn’t as tall as I remembered him, he is actually my height and he is looking me right in the eyes. I energetically throw my arms around him. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.” I said. “It’s been a long time.” He replied.

Then I woke up.

I wasn’t very emotional even after a dream like that. I got out of bed and began to pick out my clothes for the funeral. That’s when in hit me. My friend from High School, who was my age was killed. I hold back tears and go into the kitchen to eat breakfast with my family. My mom sits down and places a ” I heart NY coffee cup” that my sister brought back from her trip. I stare at the coffee cup and think that when 9/11 happened little did I know that it would lead to my friend dying years later.

I lost it. I fucking lost it.

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Treatment.

Last night I had a show at a new Comedy venue called “Slice of Life” @ The Pulp in Asheville. I get there an hour early because my set takes a little time to prepare. I get everything set up, talk to the sound guy to make sure he knows the ques for playing the CDs. I meet with Kelly Ro who is over the show along with Michele Scheve and she is very kind and seemed to go out of her way to make sure I was comfortable and had all that I desired plus an “All Access Artist Pass”. Which is odd and delightful after spending a week doing open mics in New York. The room was designed for comedy, low ceilings (probably because it is in the basement of the Orange Peel, which was exciting for me because all my favorite bands have performed there. So I performed underneath where all my favorite musicians have performed.) The lighting was perfect along with the sound system.

I take a look at the set list and realize that I am third from last. So I grab a couple of pbrs and sit in the very comfortable sofas that were for “Artist Only.” I watch many comics and my parent’s (to which this was their first time seeing me perform) faces as they sit through dick jokes. Which was comedy in it own right. Then it is time for me to put on makeup and get ready for my set. (I was doing a mime bit to which I don’t actually mime anything.) I put on the makeup with extra care this time because professional photographers are there and I need to look my mime best. Kelly introduces me but not before holding a raffle which gave me extra time to start thinking about getting nervous.

She introduces me as a Raleigh comic who drove a long way and brought my parents.

I go to the stage and give the sound guy the que to start the cd. After an awkward couple of seconds I go over to him to see what is wrong. The CD doesn’t work… the same CD that I have used at serveral venues and never had any issue with. But things happen be it act of God or clown makeup making it onto the surface of the CD. So everything I had planned for the night was out of the question. I am standing on stage with mime makeup on and having never took a miming class or even watched an actual mime ever get out of that damn box. So I just had to do regular stand-up in full fledged mime makeup. I have been thinking of doing something similar but not at all prepared to do it. So I go to one joke that helped me win a competition and has proved to be a good joke to me and then a joke that I had been working on since New York, which got a good reaction that was not expected. It could be that I was talking about Drag Queens while wearing makeup. I probably looked like I was one eyeliner purchase away from having a boob job and learning to tuck the appropriate places.

Granted  everything went horribly awry but I still had an awesome time and was able to make a few people laugh which is the whole reason I do comedy. That and I have no other creative outlet that allows instant gratification.

Handicap Bathroom

I am at the Barnes and Nobel in Union Square NYC. I have had way too much coffee with dairy creamer not to mention two slices of NYC’s best/cheapest cheese pizza. So it comes to no surprise to someone who has a intolerance to milk products that the bathroom would be the next stop. OH, but what is this that my eyes see? But a line in the men’s bathroom for everyone has gorged themselves on coffee and cheap NY pizza. The line is out the door and rumbling in my stomach persist with each and every second I spend awaiting my turn to use this less than hygienic toilet. Finally it is my turn and I enter the handicap stall to do the business that doesn’t need explaining. I am halfway done with my business trip when I hear a large smack on the stall door. “It’s occupied” I scream. ” I am handicap and need to use the bathroom!” the man replies. I reply to his reply by saying “I am taking a shit and in order for you to take your shit I must first finish.” His response entertained me. “It is the law that you get up and allow me to use the bathroom.” I respond to this ignorant fool. “I am unaware of any law that require me to cut my bathroom use short just because a handicap person needs to use the bathroom. If someone is going to shit their pants, it’s better you than me. See, you can blame it on your handicap and I cannot. So until I finish you can stare at the hand dryer. Since you took the time to have a conversation with me I must assure you that it will take longer since you distracted me from doing my business.” This was the first time I ever felt like punching a cripple.

Whiskey and Cigarettes

Whiskey is still in my system but not in its most potent form, probably doing its best to destroy my liver while the smoke from the cigarettes works diligently on my lungs. I lay outside in the cool autumn air which has recently made itself known to North Carolina, smoking cigarette after cigarette glaring at the stars that soon disappear behind clouds that mimic the smoke dispersing from my mouth. 

An old post from Nathan Sloan.

I’m going to devote the lionshare of this post to a man whom I am sure to have inspired but one that has, from not-so-rare-occasion to not-so-rare-occasion, inspired me as well. Someone who is long overdue for recognition in my writings. That man is JaySun Webb. For starters, take his name. It is really spelled Jason, but he seriously insists on spelling it JaySun. Now I can’t think of it any other way. That should tell you something about him. He may not come off as much when you first meet him, but he is the biggest dreamer I know, and unlike most people, he isn’t easily discouraged from this habit.

When I tell people about the nature of JaySun’s “big-dream” personality, I usually tell them something like this. He is a guy who has the most unrealistic aspirations for himself, more than anyone I’ve ever met before. In the year I’ve known him I’ve heard about his novel that he hopes to get published, his desire to start a rock band even though he did not have any idea how to play an instrument at the time, nor a real desire to sing or do anything else that would contribute to a rock band. He has wanted to be an actor and, at the same time, a filmmaker - going so far as to pitch story ideas to me. He has schemed an online store from which to sell his creative material and considered writing for semi-major magazines.

To most people, this seems like someone who has too many dreams and not enough sense to pick just one to follow. It seems downright foolish. But that’s the beauty of JaySun and the beauty, I believe, of all succesful people. They are all foolish enough to believe that it’s possible. When you aren’t foolish enough, you’ll definantly never make it. I am convinced that someday, somewhere, the name of JaySun Webb will be known for something. I’m still not sure quite what but it will because he really believes in himself. I only hope that a little of that drive has rubbed off on me.

JaySun. Don’t forget me when you’re big.