Bad Weekend
I had a few sips of wine between the 8 and 10 PM shows on Saturday. I was working with my old friend Greg Behrendt, who wrote "He's Just Not That Into You." He sat on Oprah's couch, had a talk show. Pretty impressive for a guy who used to loiter around with me at the Holy City Zoo in San Francisco. Back in the day.
I started feeling a little queasy. Couldn't imagine why, exactly. Yes, I had a tiny bug, but that's been the norm since KilBaby started daycare. Kids are always sick, and if you kiss your kid, you are too. Hadn't had much to eat, but I woke up late. Emotionally, I was not at my peak. KilBaby's father had left the day before for an extended trip back home. Was that it? Don't know. But here's what I remember. Barry Weintraub was hosting (another old buddy from San Francisco) and during his set, I threw up. I had enough time to wipe down my face. I looked high and low for perfume or cologne to mask that oh so specific vomit smell, but couldn't find anything in time.
Barry brought me up, and I was shaky. The club was close to sold out, Lisa Loeb had been at the first show. I assume there were celebs at this show, too. Downstairs with Barry and Greg, I'd mentioned I was feeling weak. We started trading stories of the times we'd been sick offstage, but as soon as we hit the stage, the adrenalin would take over.
Everything was going well. The crowd couldn't tell I'd just hurled. I started coaching myself through jokes. As if I were reading them off my brain's teleprompter. Things flowing, just do 9 more minutes, you can do it. Oops, transposed two words. Shoot. The lights got very bright. They doubled, or blurred together. I kept reading. I wondered if I should cut my set short. No, no, my adrenalin will kick in.
The lights became a horizon of hot whiteness. I got cold. I remember leaning on the mic stand. Then I passed out. One of the managers said he saw it coming, which is how he caught me before I hit the floor. Barry did what I can imagine was some awkward time-killing as I was led out of the showroom and to a bathroom. During the 8 PM show, I had been laughing at a story Greg tells in his act. Part of it includes the humiliation of crapping one's pants in public. Oh boy, that would suck.
It did. Luckily, there wasn't much ammo loaded in the chamber, but I lost control of my entire body, in front of a Saturday night crowd at a really elegant club. I can think of a thousand comedy clubs where shitting your pants wouldn't clash with the decor or ambiance and Gotham isn't one of them.
Damn.
Came home to the teenage babysitter. Hate to be rude, but here's your money and do not stand between me and the shower. Today, KilBaby got minimal parenting. It was all on me, and I didn't have much.
Blogs suck
First, Gawker writes a piece about classic a-hole yuppie parents and uses KilBaby's name for the pretentious kid of said assholes. (Not linking to it, none of your business). Then Jezebel reports that mothers of boys are more likely to have post-partum depression and a lower quality of life.
Two negatives, one positive?
KilBaby has two little friends at daycare, one boy and one girl. The three of them sit in a corner and babble to each other, laugh. He's quite the people-baby, KilBaby.
At his 15 month appointment, the ped told us his head had caught up with his height and weight, in the percentile game. They are each in the mid-90s, which means he's a big boy. So far. I don't want to get invested in his stats because every parent that does sounds like an asshole. Besides, the best news is that he's already got a girlfriend and a best friend (or vice-versa), and that means that maybe, just maybe, Kilbaby won't be a depressed loner like mom and dad.
Can two negatives make a positive? I hope so.
I taped an appearance on Fox and Friends on Super Tuesday. I met Bill Kristol on the way in. One of the architects of the Iraq war, which I was against back in the day, when people like that were called unpatriotic. But Bill Kristol, in person- nice guy. KilBaby's Dad and I will be taping the WiseGuy Show on Sirius Radio with Vincent Pastore (Big Pussy, The Sopranos) on Wednesday, Feb 13th.
Sam Donaldson, Eugene Mirman and me
An interview for ABCNews.com. That's Eugene on the left.
Making a man…
I'm torn.
They would both be excellent. They're equally wonkish, and both have plans for health care, ending the war and the middle class. Barack would bring fresh energy, and Hillary has been preparing for this job since she left Wellesley. I can't make up my mind. But I've never been this excited about a presidential primary.
A baby gives you a reason to stop being cynical. I did make a difference, beyond telling a jokes to a couple million people over my lifetime. My son will leave a footprint on this earth, my line will not die with me. It's KilBaby's business if he wants to continue it. I'm going to teach him how to be a good citizen and a good neighbor. Kind to animals and old people. Empathy. We're going to help build a Habitat for Humanity, and visit dogs over at Best Friends. Feed the homeless on a holiday night. Take a summer and visit India or Thailand.
I'm making a little man here, people. And he's going to do great things one day. In fact, he already has.
Tantrum thrown after I left for the gym.