Friday, October 03, 2003  

Logan Airport - 8:10 am

First leg of my journey to Colorado for gramma Mac's funeral. I'm sitting at a public internet kiosk in Terminal E at Logan, and I find myself trying to wrangle two conflicting impulses. One should be obvious: I want to document this trip, give it some gravity, make sure I remember it. But I find this impulse to be in direct opposition to the fact that most anyone reading this is doing so out of an interest in my comedy, and I'm having a hard time reconciling the two, so I'm sitting here, praying for some wacky occurrence so I can slap it up here instead of waxing maudlin.

Please, god, a rude security guard or stupid fat woman to make fun of! But alas, no such luck. The only interesting thing I've seen today is a man in a gold lame sweatsuit and completely dripping with Bling², which baffled me until I remembered that this leg of my journey goes to Detroit, so it makes sense that he's dressed more or less like a Pip. I now have an image of Detroit where everyone dresses like a motown backup band, where everyone's a Pip, or a Shirrelle, or a Rondell. A Detroit where these have become medieval family names...where Charles Rondell might marry Susan Shirelle and found a new dynasty.

Now I'm just babbling because I'm trying to avoid the sorrow of tomorrow and because I'm hopped on airport coffee brewed so strong it tastes like liquid evil (or, to be more accurate, liquid evil with 2 Equals and milk) and a chromium breakfast drink that tastes like a peanut butter cup.

Gramma Mac, of course, drank enough coffee that this is probably an appropriate way to approach her funeral. Jacked on java, and waiting for the tears to come.

In Memory: Opal McIntire

My grandmother passed away this morning at the age of 92. She taught me everything I know about good coffee, good whiskey, and questioning authority. I guess the hospice chaplain showed up last week and she sent him packing with his tail between his legs. She gave me the courage to follow my comedy dreams, and god, I'm going to miss her.

Unfaithful to my Muse

I realize I haven't written much of substance lately. Sadly, most of my writing juice is going into short stories these days. I'm taking a class in short fiction writing at Harvard Extension School and enjoying it entirely too much. I'm absolutely pouring words onto paper. I've got creative energy that I haven't had in years. I'm falling in total love with fiction.

In a way, I feel like I'm cheating on comedy. Then I remember that comedy's a dirty, filthy whore that ruined my life, and I don't feel so bad.

Jake Ivory's

Just a last-minute bit of advertising. I'll be performing tonight at Jake Ivory's as part of a benefit for America's Walk for Diabetes. I'll be joined by Sam Walters, Brian Gordon, Kelly MacFarland, and a bunch of other great comics. Last time we did this, we raised a ton of dough for the cause and ended up drinking entirely too much beer with the Baltimore Ravens. Yes, really. Doors open at 7:00, show starts at 8:00. There's booze and food available.

Like Lucy and Ricky, Only With More Rock!

Jeniphir and I just had a five minute argument over whether or not Lucinda Williams looks like Tom Petty.

I think the answer is obvious.

Serious Bag Contender

I may have found my bag:

The Dutyman Ballistic War Bag

Anything with a "helmet pouch" has got to make some yuppies cry.