I'll Fill in the Title Later

Wow, it's only day five, and the well of ideas is already beginning to look like 30 straight days of 90+ weather in July in Ohio. Of course, that would never happen. Plus I'm really in a ticked off mood today, what with the government collapsing and all, but I promised myself this site would remain upbeat regardless. We have enough virtual cesspool in our lives with which to deal.

I like that. Let's make VCP the new syndrome for everything in our lives that feels like a virtual cesspool. "Lunch today, Tom?"

"Nah, I've got a touch of VCP."

Luckily for you, I have some experience at turning crap into creme brulee. When I was performing stand-up in the mid-eighties in Los Angeles, I had to be able to turn it on at the drop of a hat. You don't want to step in hat droppings, trust me.

One night I was to perform in the 10:30 slot at the Comedy Store. Just hours before I had experienced a miserable break-up with my girlfriend of 18 months. We were both in tears and I felt like I had just slipped under a steamroller, before being pounded by twenty angry chefs with meat tenderizers. My eyes were puffy and red and I kept stepping on my bottom lip. As a desperate maneuver, I scrapped my A material and ad libbed about five minutes worth of my break-up on stage. I had one of the best sets of my career. To this day, I am convinced that every person in that audience believed I was making up the break up story, right down to making my eyes puffy. I used the material for months afterward.

After all, where do you think most comedians get their material? They are largely neurotic. In fact, I am fairly confident that my normalcy prohibited me from being a more successful comedian. Gabriel Iglesias has based an entire career on being 400 pounds. He's set for life. If he ever pulls a Jared, his career will be finished. Anybody remember Joe Piscopo? He became serious about bodybuilding and instantly was dubbed unfunny.

From 1987 to 1991 I hosted a morning radio show--two years in Marion and two years in Parkersburg, WV. As my daughter will attest, I am not a morning person. To paraphrase a popular Folger's jingle, "The best part of waking up, is going back to sleep." Did you sing it? It helps if you sing it. Meanwhile, back at the story. For four years, I had to wake up before the sun did. It started enthusiastically at 4 a.m. for my first gig, and not-so-gradually waned into 5:30 by the time I got to Parkersburg. I did my show prep for the next day after my show, and winged the rest of it.

The point is, regardless of how miserable I felt on the way there (which was every morning) I was able to adopt the demeanor of Barney the freakin' purple dinosaur by 6 a. m. None of my faithful listeners had a clue that I essentially felt sleepy for four years. Case in point. A young lady called one morning and asked, "How are you able to be so cheerful every morning?"

"Multiple overdoses of Xanax," I replied. She laughed.

To this day, I can't tell you how I developed a penchant for turning it on and off. Oh, yes, I could downshift just as easily when my radio day was over. I attribute it to the survival instinct. Think how funny Darwin could have been if he had discovered humor was nature's catalyst for survival. What did the monkey say to the man fixing his bike chain? Excuse me, sir, is this your link? Would have killed at the Dayton Courthouse Laff Stop (site of the Scopes monkey trial).

You know what? I feel better. Try it sometime. Take your worst day and realize how absurd life is and that you can't do anything about it. Share your misery with friends. If they are having a bad day too, I guarantee they will laugh at your misery, and they will feel better. It's the Robin Williams version of paying it forward. And if you should develop an act out of your misery and you become famous, I expect ten percent.