Dear Diary-

Went to bed at 10, it’s now 2:30 and it looks like I’m up for the day again, what the hell? I need a sitdown. Who needs to poop at 2 in the morning? I do, that’s who. At least here, we’re not having to use porta potties yet, we’ve got indoor plumbing, the portas are coming though, you know that my friends, they’re coming. I’ll will say this, after last nights excursions in the men’s room, I’m not having biscuits and gravy today. It’s a shame though, B’s and G’s are delightfully delicious, but it wrecks my internals. I’m sorry about the discussions of bathroom breaks, but it’s a huge part of life over here. Eating, sleeping and pooping, the cycle of life if you will. Much importance is placed on these things, and not just with us, these things are important to everyone here. It’s how you know you’re alive. You need that stuff to look forward to, the next meal, the next nap, the next good bowel movement. Without those things to look forward to- what is the purpose of life? That’s the question to ponder here my friends, with out those things to look forward to in our lives- what’s the point?

We’re taking off at 8 a.m. for Ali Al Salem, we have to catch a flight to Iraq. We’re hanging at the PAX terminal (airport) waiting for a C117 that will take us up north. After 3 trips to the portas, we’re reading to load up the bus. The bus is full of soldiers heading up range so it’s tight quarters. We get half way to the flight line when we’re called upon to return because of a mechanical problem with the plane, thank God they found it now as opposed to an in-flight discovery. We head back to the PAX and wait. Another 2 sitdowns and I’m getting chapped. The paper in porta potties isn’t what you would call “top shelf” it’s definitely from the discount pile. Rough, coarse and un-wielding, just what you want on a sensitive bum. It’s been raining for 2 days and it’s humid and clammy, not ideal weather for sitting in a porta pottie. You don’t sweat like you do in the summer heat, but it’s just enough sweat to make things uncomfortable and damp. Plus we have our body armor now, another 20 lbs of gear to carry around.

The flight to Al Asad was uneventful. I fell asleep right when I heard the announcement “We’ll be landing in 15 minutes.” Perfect, I’ll get 15 minutes of shut eye, that should rejuvenate me just fine.

We did about 5 tours today. We did a long one at the hospital. I never did feel comfortable walking around talking to the wounded. I’m a huge puss and seeing injured soldiers is heartbreaking. Most of the injured weren’t hurt too bad, but they’re still all patched up and heavily medicated. We did what we can though and we did it without breaking down, that was a plus. We finish our tours and head back for some chow and a shower. We’re in the DVQ barracks. (Distinguished Visitor Quarters) I’m in the exact same room I was in during the 2006 tour. I mean the exact same room, last time I was here we got mortared, I hope this night brings more quiet. I don’t feel like sleeping in a bunker tonight. I’ve been up almost 22 hours and I’m starting to wind down. This place used to be called Camp Anaconda, but the Air Force took it over and changed the name to JBB or Joint Base Balad. Clever. The show was great, there were about 600 people in a huge movie theater. This was the biggest show of the last tour as well. It will be the last show we do like this. Tomorrow we head to the FOB’s. (Forward Operating Base) I’m totally wiped, call time is 0600, I hope I can sleep past 2 in the blessed a.m.

Dear Diary-

We started out the day with a chopper flight to Camp Paliwoda, I had been there in 2006 and it was being mortared on a daily basis. It was the Camp where we had to run out of the choppers, get into a bunker and wait for the birds to take off. That really sucked, having to run with all your armor on and dragging your bags along. This is too much weight to run with, I came here to do comedy, not train for the Ironman. Isn’t there a bell hop on this chopper? No, there isn’t. Get your shit and boogie. This time it was a little more serene. We gently strolled off the bird on a clear, cloudless day. No rush, no panic, just a stroll. Sweet. They’ve actually got Iraqi’s guarding the compound; progress in full view. We had a great little show for about 40 guys, it’s welcome back to the FOB’s boys, no more 600 seat theaters, packed to the gills, back to doing shows for a handful of people in a tent or dirty courtyard with the aroma of overheated porta potties gently caressing your face. Ahh, back in Iraq.

Now we’re at FOB Brassfield-Mora and I’m back in the porta. I don’t know what it is about coming over here, but it wrecks havoc on my internals. I’m not eating weird food or anything but none of it stays with me very long. What gives? Huh? What gives? I’m eating twice as much as I normally do, but it shouldn’t cause this-should it? I’ve noticed that there isn’t much dawdling in a porta, you don’t bring anything to read in there, it’s all business and then move on, and business is brisk. The welcoming crew had a little sandwich buffet lined up for us, but only one light in the room worked and I admit, I was a little hesitant, what with my problems previously mentioned. The last thing I needed was to eat something else that would play “hurry up and get out” with my lower tract. I don’t like eating in the dark. The room was dark and the table was set up in the very furthest recesses of the room. It was cast in shadows and the beam of light that was reaching out, was full of dust, sand and other microscopic blots of unknown origin. I’m straining my eyes because I need to see what I’m looking at before I put any of it on my plate. It’s just how I roll. It turned out to be delicious and I had two big sandwiches, a bag of chips, 2 apples, 2 gatorades, a cookie, a banana, an orange, a chewy granola bar and a cupcake. Hey- maybe that’s why I spend so much time sitting in a plastic pooping box. The crowd is light. It’s Sunday, so there’s no lunch being served, so no one really showed up for the show. It was MRE day, which are meals in a bag, not a big draw, so there were about 15 people scattered around the chow hall. And I mean scattered, if a grenade landed anywhere in the room, it would’ve only taken out one, maybe two people. Now, that’s scattered. We didn’t generate much energy, you know, 15 people in a room the size of a gymnasium. But we got through it, we’re done and ready to hit the choppers, but wait. A group of guys that didn’t come to show, want us to come over and say hi, and join in their barbeque. Even though we just ate, there we are, eating brats and a burger, along with 2 sodas, another apple and another bag of chips. I can’t believe I’m still eating. It’s not like I’m burning up thousand of calories, why am I eating like I’m storing fat up for winter? I’m full now, and I need a sit down. I wonder what’s up with that?

Now we’re at FOB McHenry near Hawijah and there was nobody there. Two guys came out to greet us and informed us that there had been a “skirmish” and the rest of the camp had left to assist. I asked the Capt. about the “skirmish” and he said “Sorry, that’s classified.” When I asked what made the info classified he replied “that is classified as well.” So I knew the camp comedian had been left behind. So we sat in the VIP shack for about 70 minutes, then the choppers came back to get us. No show at McHenry.

Now the choppers are taking us to Camp Speicher and the fellas decided to have a little fun with us. Midway through the flight, we drop from 1000 feet to about 200 feet in seconds and the machine gunners open up on both sides. They wanted us to think that we were under attack, ha, ha. When we dropped like that I thought we were crashing, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. I do admit, for a second there, I thought we were going down, I thought we had been hit and the chopper was crashing, I actually lifted my feet up so no rounds would come through the bottom of the chopper and hit my feet. It had the zero gravity thing working like on a roller coaster, but the waiting to hit the ground was what I didn’t care for. There really didn’t seem to be time for my life to flash in front of me, all I remember thinking was “fuck, we’re going to crash.” Then we made some sharp turns and my stomach was flying all over, I’m dodging brass from the machine gun, it’s flying all over, including one down my sweatshirt, and yes, it’s hot, they’re hitting me in the face, on the neck and I’m just holding on for dear life. I think that’s when I realized they were just flying around, playing. Ok, that’s cool, we’re fine, no worries, I’m not going to die, whew, ok, cool, everything’s cool, it’s all ok, we’re not crashing, it’s all good, ok, we’re fine, I’m fine, he’s fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine, I need to hug someone. Then I noticed Flip screaming at the top of his lungs. The noise inside a chopper is deafening, which is why you have to wear ear plugs. The engines were screaming, the machine guns are pumping out rounds and suddenly, all I could hear was Flip screaming, I couldn’t believe I could hear him over all that noise. Then I glanced his way and noticed he had a little green tinge to him and it looked like he was holding back from spraying the inside of the helicopter with vomitus. As we’re into our 40^th second of defensive maneuvers I’m having a blast, I like the feeling of having your stomach in your chest cavity. It’s cool. I’d never been sideways in a helicopter, it’s an interesting feeling. Thank God we’re wearing seat belts. I’m like a kid at an amusement park, I want it to go on. Flip didn’t feel that way, he’s just staring at the floor, trying to hold on to his insides. I would’ve laughed if he hadn’t looked so terrified. He had even stopped video taping, so I know he was close to losing it. Then he started with the “I’m going to puke” look and we leveled out. The pilots thought it was hilarious and I must admit, I was enjoying their antics as well. But all good things must come to an end and now we’re approaching the landing pad, I’m hoping they do a combat landing, because you really get tossed around doing those, but sympathy for Flip prevented them from doing any other fancy moves. No one wants puke in the helicopter, too many crannies.

We’ve arrived at our lodging for the night and it is sweet. It’s called Freedom Base and it’s usually used for soldiers who need a couple of days off from battle. We’ve got individual rooms and a.c. That’s all a girl really needs isn’t it? Just a room and some air conditioning. There’s food available 24 hours a day, sweet. We get back from chow, I enter my room and all I can smell is feet. Not everyone’s feet, just mine. I’ve got my dirty socks in a separate bag, but the bag apparently doesn’t hold in odor. I’m using plenty of powder on my tootsies but my room still reeks of sweaty feet. I may have to turn the a.c. down to chill the smell. Does that work? Make it too cold to stink? I don’t know, but I’m trying it.

We did an impromtu show for the some of the pilots on base. It wasn’t scheduled but they’re just sitting there, why not do a show. I am out of juice, I’m totally wiped out and can’t wait to hit the rack, I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight my friends. I am so looking forward to crashing tonight, I’m going to shower, wipe the dust off and sleep the sleep of a thousand dreams.

It’s now 2:30 in the a.m. and I’m still awake. I finished one book and got half way through another. I don’t get this, I’m tired as hell but can’t get my mind to shut down. I finally took a pill and slept like a rock from 3-6, hell, three hours is all I really need, isn’t it?

Dear Diary-

My sleeping meds haven’t worn off yet, so now I’m groggy, perfect. This day is going to be about 20 hours long and I can barely keep my eyes open. Glad I’m not piloting.

As we’re sitting in the PAX terminal waiting for our choppers, a soldier approached me and asked if I was in Milwaukee  last week, I was and he had seen me at Jokerz comedy club there. How’s that for a small world? Friday night he sees me in Milwaukee, the next week he sees me in Tikrit, Iraq. We were wearing different clothes, but it was us. That was cool.

We’re off to FOB Doria, a mud soaked, sand wall enclosed camp that had no amenities. They didn’t even have a proper shower, they would go out to a shed with a washcloth, a bar of soap and a couple of water bottles, remind me not to complain about anything again. The place was a mud pit, when we arrived they were trying to spread gravel around so they could move vehicles. Most of the camp was out on patrol, so we only had about 20 for the show, which is better than none for the show. This camp still had pee tubes, which are plastic pvc pipes shoved into the ground and you pee into them. Crude? Sure, but with no plumbing, you have to make due. Or doo doo.

Now we’re back on the birds heading to FOB Summerall, outside Bayji, Iraq. We’re doing this show in the DFAC (dining facility) and it’s huge. I usually find these shows to be the worst of the bunch. The room is too big, people are eating and unaware that there’s a show coming up and it’s just too much distraction. People are sitting down, facing away from you, talking etc. But we’re here to do a show and by God, that’s what we’re going to do. We blaze through the show and pulled it off, it wasn’t the best show of the trip, but we got some laughs, and that’s what matters isn’t it?

Now we’re off to Kirkuk and Camp Warrior. The four of us, the three comedians and our escort Kenny are all bunking together. It’s just like camp. I mean, I guess it is, I never went to camp myself.

The show went pretty well, it was in a outdoor courtyard type of setting with the fast food joints surrounding us. Sometimes people would have to wait for their food and when it was ready it would be announced over the loudspeaker. Every 20-30 seconds you would hear “number 217, your order’s ready” and it was loud enough to drown us out. You would have to stop each time you heard the click of the intercom. I guess things can’t always go smoothly in a war zone.

Dear Diary-

I finally slept through the night. Well, not all the way through, I had to get up twice and use my pee bottle, but it was in all other ways, a good nights sleep. It only took five days. We’re leaving Kirkuk and headed to Korea Village to do a show for the Marines. I was at KV in 2006 and it was pretty bleak so I’m not expecting much. We’re riding in a Chinook helicopter and sometimes it can be a little bumpier than the Blackhawk. I’ve got my ipod working and Stranglehold by Ted Nugent starts to play and it was amazing. I’ve heard the song a million times since high school, but listening to it while in a Chinook flying over Iraq was the best. It seemed fitting. The flight to Korea Village is about an hour. There are only 8 people on this flight and 15 minutes into the flight, Flip looks a little green again, I see him lean over and say something to Scott, who then makes the puking gesture. That means Flip is getting sick and needs a barf bag, which they don’t really carry on helicopters. I look up at the machine gunners and make the puking signal and I’ve never seen machine gunners move so fast, they were tearing apart everything and anything to find a barf bag. When none can be found one of them grabs the fire bucket and starts to pass it back when the other one empties out an MRE bag and passes it back, just in the nick of time too. Flip grabs the bag and lets loose. I felt bad for him, no one likes to puke, especially on a helicopter, it was the one incident that I didn’t capture on film. I just don’t think he’d want a picture of him heaving into plastic bag while trying to keep in his seat. He puked off and on for almost 40 minutes, poor little slugger. I could tell in his face that he was expecting to land any minute, but alas, no, there is still some flying to do. We finally get on the ground and along with his gear, he has to bring his little barf bag with him to dispose of properly. Good boy. We get settled into our quarters, which was just a plywood building, but it’s got floors and walls, and that’s what really matters. The Marines ask us if we want to hit the range and of course, we do. We haven’t gotten to fire any weapons on this trip and that’s always a highlight. Scott and I have done quite a bit of shooting, not so with Flip. I don’t think I’ve been around anyone who’s never fired a weapon since boot camp and I’m sure it’s going to be interesting. We go through a little safety talk because no one wants to get shot by the comedians. Scott and I go first just to let Flip get a feel for the action and then it’s his turn. He fired the M 4 first and it was the funniest thing we saw all week, until he fired the pistol. He did ok with the rifle until they put it on burst, which fires 3 rounds each time you pull the trigger and he was kicking up dirt 10 yds in front of him. He unleashed a full clip into the dirt and Sgt Alvarado called him “one bad ass worm killer.” We had a good chuckle over that, then came the 9 mm pistol firing. We thought the rifle was funny, I’d never seen Marines scatter like that when he opened up with that pistol. The rounds are flying everywhere, anyone lying on the ground would have been toast. Anyone standing in front of the target would’ve been fine. By the time he was done, there was a straight line of people directly behind him, no one wanted to stand off to the side in case he ricocheted one off the rocks. It may have been the biggest laugh we had all week. Thank you Flip.

As we head back to our hooches, the wind starts picking up and you can feel something in the air. By the time we got back, the wind was blowing about 50 mph and there is a sandstorm coming. This trip has been one of the dustiest and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get any better. As we look north east, you can see a dark brown/reddish wall coming at us. I asked what it was and was told “sandstorm.” Really? A sandstorm? I’m going to get my camcorder. As I’m standing outside the rooms, you can feel the sand start to hit you, it’s about the color of dusk out even though it’s 4 in the afternoon. I stayed out as long as possible, but when you’re getting sandblasted, it’s hard to maintain your place in the out of doors. I can feel the skin peeling off my arms and the exposed parts of my face and Flip is screaming, “get in, get inside, come on.” It reminded me of all of Bill Paxton’s lines in TWISTER. That’s all he said during the entire movie “come on, let’s go, get of there, come on, let’s go.” Great writing.

I’ve eaten 4 times today and am back to regular sit downs. The portas at KV were the cleanest ones I’ve ever been in and I found out why. The locals on base clean them every 2 hours and if you’re in there, they start anyway. They’ll knock on the door and I’ll say “occupado” because I can communicate with anyone, and they start on the outside. The outside is cleaned with a sprayer and they go top to bottom, but there are vents at the top that don’t stop the water from getting in, so you get a nice little shower of porta pottie disinfectant. Thanks Hadji, maybe you could wait 3 minutes for me to finish up in here, or maybe start on the next one etc.

The show was great. We had to move indoors though. They wanted to do it outside, but you can’t do a show with a sand monsoon blowing at your ass. When we got back to our hooch, the place was covered in dust. I slapped my pillow and it billowed red and brown dust. I had a mini Mount St. Helens going on in my room. I had to put a t shirt over my pillow so I wouldn’t wake up muddy. I went to take a shower and once again, I had mud puddles at my feet upon completion.

Dear Diary-

We’re at the PAX terminal waiting for a 10 a.m. flight to Ramadi. There is a dust storm at Al Asad so they’ve been delayed. No flights take off in “red air.” Sit tight and wait. We have a 7 p.m. show for the Marines in Ramadi. At 5 p.m. our choppers still aren’t here. We may miss a show because of it. At 6 our flight arrives, they can’t get to Ramadi, so it’s back to Al Asad for some late chow and back to Arifjan for a day off before we head back to the states. We’re taking a C130 cargo plane back to Al Asad and when it picks us up at the VIP pad, there are only the three of us on the plane. We had this entire cargo plane to ourselves. They asked if we wanted to sit up in the cockpit and Flip went up. Scott and I had been up there before so we declined, I needed a nap. When I woke up Scott told me that they let Flip fly the plane. That’s right, actually sit in the pilot’s seat and take the controls. Oh well. He screamed on one chopper, puked on another and shot the shit out of the dirt, but he got to fly the plane. I guess it all works out in the end eh? We’ve got an overnight here then back to Kuwait.

Dear Diary-

We had the night off last night and went to the movies. We saw PUSH and I have no idea what the movie was about. It had something to do with watchers, shadowers, pushers, movers, etc. I couldn’t write up a synopsis if I had too, thank goodness I don’t. We’re sitting in the Kuwait airport waiting on our 11 p.m. flight to DC. 13 ½ hours, that should be fun.

I got an exit row seat, I know I said I would never take an exit row seat on an international flight again because it turns into the stretching, waiting for the bathroom, chatting area, but I needed the leg and elbow room. Slept like a baby for 3 hours, then it was time to “kill time.” I finished one book, started another, did some puzzles and then watched a few movies. I saw YES, MAN with Jim Carrey, that was OK, THE EXPRESS, that was pretty good, something with Daniel Craig about Jews escaping the Germans, and MARLEY AND ME. Marley and Me was a story of “the world’s worst dog.” It wasn’t though, what it was really about is the world’s worst pack leaders. This Grogan guy and his wife are obviously too stupid to own a dog, they should’ve stuck with a cat or maybe some fish. They have no control over their dog, how sad. Get a clue, watch the DOG WHISPERER or something. I felt bad for the dog, he just wanted a pack leader to boss him around, instead, he got these morons. Are we there yet? I can’t bear to look at my watch. We have to be at least 10 or 11 hours into this flight don’t we? I checked the map and no, we’re still only 1/3 of the way across the Atlantic. I keep glancing out the window looking for the sunrise and it’s not coming. We finally get to DC and cruise through customs. We only have about 1 ½ hours between flights, so there is a small sense of urgency. I get to my gate in plenty of time for my departure. Four hours later, my flight is ready. I don’t know what the delay was, I just kept repeating, “serenity now, serenity now.”

Going to Iraq or Afghanistan always changes my perspective when I return. Nothing is that bad or that urgent, just relax nimrod, no problem I have in the states can compare to what the guys and gals over there confront on a regular basis. Just keep your cool, they just announced that the flight will be here by 9. Then 9:30, then 10. Allright you mofo’s get your shit together and learn how to fly in the rain. Yes, it’s damp and wet, I don’t give a shit, just do your jobs. Oops, “serenity now, serenity now.” At 10:45 my plane arrives, I’ll be home soon and Iraq will be another memory. Until next time.

6/3/09

Dear Diary-

I’m in Overland Park, Kansas. The day I got here I saw three station wagons. Not the SUV’s made to look like a station wagon, I mean a station wagon. Three of them! The odds have got to be astronomical. I mean once in awhile you’ll see an old wagon still making the rounds, but three? In one afternoon? Craziness. I used to live here about….38 years ago and you know what? Nothing’s changed. The trees are bigger and there are more strip malls, but that’s it. It’s kind of refreshing, it brings me back to a time when life was simple. We went to school, we played with our friends and summer was the best part of the year, every year. There were only home phones and no one had an answering machine. Why? Because they hadn’t been invented yet. Wow. That’s taking us back.

I went by my old house and noticed that it had changed a little. I thought it strange though. I had been back here once before about 10 years ago and nothing had changed, why now? The basic house shape was the same but there was only a one car garage. Hmm, I wonder how they made it from a two car garage into a one car garage. I also noticed that they had changed the address from 9809 to 9767, that too, I found strange. Not outrageous mind you, but strange. The house we lived in while in Chicago had an address change so I knew it could happen. But not in Overland Park. Not here, not this house. I took a couple of pics and then noticed a couple of huge trees in the back yard that I don’t remember. Again, perplexing, but I knew exactly where I was. Exactly.

I told a friend about this and was told, “you had the wrong house.” Poppycock. You’re telling me that I don’t know which house I lived in? That’s nonsense, I KNOW what house I used to live in. I used to live there. It was bugging the hell out of me, so I decided to go back and take another look and do you know what? I had the wrong house. I was two houses off. What a dumb ass! They had painted it gray and it threw me off. I mean who would’ve thought they’d paint the house sometime in the last 4 decades? Nimrod.

6/4/09

Dear Diary-

The lodging here in O.P. had recently changed. I don’t know what happened but we ended up at the house of one of the employees who took over his recently deceased Aunt’s home. I’m guessing from the décor etc. that she was a senior citizen. I mean like in her 80’s. Every room has flowered wallpaper and those heavy, full, monstrous drapes with the thick, layered bunting on them. It also has those roll up shades that you have to keep pulling on while it rolls up and down until you find the right spot. Every day I spend about 10 minutes trying to get them adjusted properly. Yank and roll, yank and roll. Why is this so hard?

I had lunch today with a Marine buddy I hadn’t seen in 28 years. I couldn’t believe how much time that really is. 28 years, that’s a whole lifetime to some. We’re the same, I mean we look older, and don’t see as well, or feel as well, we’ve got a few more wrinkles, a touch of extra neck and belly weight, we don’t drink as much, or stay up as late or get as wild as we did, but we’re the same. It was great to see him again. You forget a lot about your past until you spend time with someone who knew you back in the day. We reminded each other of many things we had forgotten about ourselves. It was cool. Then we went for a ride with his 15 year old daughter who has her driving permit. That’s the first time in my life I’ve ridden in a car with a teenager driving and I don’t want to say I was afraid, but my head was on a swivel. I looked like a bobble head doll, just checking our perimeter for any hint of sabotage. Ready to alert our young driver of any impending doom. I sat in the back seat too, I can’t remember the last time I sat in the back of someone’s car. There’s no control back there, you are totally at the mercy of…well, everyone. The only thing you control in the back seat is how far your window goes down, and if the child safety latch is on, you can only get it half way down, so even that control is taken away. She did a fine job but thinking about the fact she’s driven less than 1000 miles in her life was a bit unsettling. We didn’t get on the highway, just the side streets, but there’s plenty of danger there. She’s just driving along, talking to us, singing along with the radio while Kenny just kept saying, “slow down, slow down.” Yes please, for the love of God, please slow down little girl, I’ve got my whole life ahead of me. I never really thought about since I was learning, but 15? We teach 15 year olds how to drive? It seemed fine when I was 15, but now I have second thoughts. It’s a different world then when I was a lad. (thank you gramps) There are too many distractions these days. We didn’t have phones and texting and twittering when I was a teenager. The only distractions we had were beer, pot and rock and roll. Much safer.

6/05/09

Dear Diary-

I went through the Taco Bell drive through last night on the way home and had quite the time ordering. The lady who took my order had what I can only describe as a Mexican/Canadian/Fillipino accent. We spent 10 minutes together through the intercom and I didn’t understand a word she said. Ten minutes of trying to order while I keep saying “excuse me?” and her replying with a ramble that ended each time with “taco?” By the time we were done I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my cheeks. It was hilarious, how did she get to work the window? It seems like you would have to pass some type of language test to take orders, not here. I made the turn not knowing what I was getting or how much it will cost me. A total surprise awaited. I pulled up to the window and damned if she wasn’t a tiny Fillipino lady who was also about 8 months pregnant. She was all smiles and had gotten my order perfectly right. Except they had just run out of chicken, she tried to tell me this and I just kept saying “uh, huh, yes, ok, right.” No idea what she was telling me. Again the only word I recognized was “taco.” Then the line guy leans over and says “we’re out of chicken do you want regular tacos?” Oh, sure that’s fine. She handed me my change and smiled. As I drove off I faintly heard her do her incomprehensible spiel and then, distinctly the word “taco.”

6/6/09

Dear Diary-

We found out something today, this house doesn’t have air conditioning. It gets hot in a house when there’s no a.c. Night time isn’t too bad but afternoons were a little sweltering. I’m not even sure sweltering can be little, it’s either sweltering or it isn’t. For some reason I love that word. Sweltering. It even sounds hot doesn’t it? Hot and miserable. I love to swelter. I tried to take a nap today and it worked for about 10 minutes, then I woke in a pool of my own sweat. I felt like a cast member of “Cool Hand Luke.” Which, by the way is the sweatiest movie ever made. That was nice. There was an attic fan. Remember those? A huge ass fan in the ceiling that would pull air through the house and “cool it off.” Again, it worked pretty good at night, during the day it just pulled that 90* air through the window so it could lovingly caress my bod. So no naps this week. That’s a bummer. Oh- and there’s no t.v. I mean there is one, but there’s no cable to it. Just white noise. I’m getting a lot of thinking done. Mostly thinking “it’s hot in here” and “I wish the t.v. worked.” Oh, the difficulties we have to overcome and conquer as comedians. It’s not for everyone. I’ll probably leave after the last show, I normally wait until morning so I don’t hit deer #5, but I don’t think I want to spend another night in “the box.”

6/23/09

Dear Diary-

I'm back home just in time for the summer.  We didn't get spring in St. Louis this year.  We went from cool, wet and rainy to temps in the upper 90's with high humidity.  Delightful.  It was a weird trip, I saw odd things this week, and I happened to catch a couple on camera.