Delayed in Denver
Delayed at the Denver airport. I was in Aspen this weekend, performing at the Rooftop Comedy Festival. In one short walk, I saw mountains, some snow-capped, some not, a stream, a black and white butterfly and a crow. It's amazing how the trickle of a creek can pry open the pages of a joke book. Tomorrow I'm flying to Las Vegas, but I'm stopping in NYC to see my son for about three hours, if he stays up late. Or less, if this flight gets delayed again.
I stayed up late last night, hanging out with comics. Getting drunk, talking loud in a bar about GETTING REAL onstage and DROPPING THE FACADE and FUCKING FUCKHEADS, etc. Good times. Then our table shrunk to just female comics and we tore THE PATRIARCHY a new one.
In San Francisco a few weeks ago, I stopped by an open mic, next door to a bar which once was the Holy City Zoo. Much of the neighborhood has changed, but the Toy Boat ice cream store was there, and so was Green Apple Books. I bought some books for KilBaby ("Plankton," the story of a plankton, if that creature exists in the singular, and "Slug," the story of a slug. Both books are from the same publisher, and are very compelling to a two-year old.) I also bought a moleskin blank book for jokes. I have been a Meade Composition Book aficionado for many years, I have dozens of them, filled with political and/or anus jokes. My moleskin was preferred by F. Scott Fitzgerald, according to the insert. Also Hemingway. So there.