Promotion

So I taped that Comedy Central Presents a week or so ago.
That went well and the people were very nice. Comedy Central also aired this special I did for The Bob and Tom Tour last night. So...
Hold on a second.
What?
What's with all the bragging?
I wasn't bragging I was just informing people (fans?) of what I have been up to.
But you're only mentioning good stuff.
Yeah. So...
Well, that's just sheer promotion. You're doing nothing more than tooting your own horn.
Nice contemporary reference.
Be that as it may, if you were truly just

informing people of what you have been up to

, you would also mention the fact that you spend the majority of your time by yourself being exceedingly unfunny. Pacing your tiny bedroom, gulping coffee, chastising yourself for past mistakes, missed opportunities, ugly transgressions and staring at hundreds of photos of naked women.
People don't want to hear that shit.
How do you know what your fans want? You almost never talk to them. Acting all shy and uncomfortable when they come up to compliment you after your shows. You're such a phony.
Maybe I am.
Maybe?
So you think I am?
I try not to be.
How?
Well, I guess by saying as little as possible. That way I am keep track of all my words and make sure they are true.
I just think it is hypocritical of you to chastise people like Jennifer Aniston, Dane Cook, or Sara Jessica Parker, or Bob Saget or that Goo Goo Dolls guy and whomever else decides to put their name behind a product when here you are doing the exact same thing.
But the product is me...
What is so great about you?
Well I just taped a Comedy Central Presents a week or so ago...
There you go again. Stroking yourself.
You asked me a question. I'm answering it, you piece of shit!
So the best thing about you is that you taped some insignificant comedy special on a cable channel? And , oh yeah, I looked it up. They've been giving those specials to comics for the last ten plus years. Ten years, twenty plus comics a year. Yeah, you are truly one in a million, Nick.
Look. I don't want to argue. I'm just trying to do more blogging, because people say that's good to do for the fans. I don't know.
Hey, I'm not trying to bum you out. I'm just trying to keep you from becoming one of those people you hate.
Too late.
No. You're okay.
Really?
Yeah. Now take your pill and go to bed.
I am a little tired.
Of course you are. You're a weak little man with no backbone and zero integrity.
Fuck you!

You Again

You're too uptight.
I'm doing the best I can.
You should do better.
How?
Just do better.
How?!! Give me one suggestion, you prick?
Yelling at me isn't going to help. That's part of the problem. You're so angry.
Of course I am angry. For twenty five years people have been telling me to do better, feel better. But no one has any good ideas on how to do that.
Drink less coffee
Oh, thanks. I can already feel my problems melting away. Less coffee. Of course. Why didn't I think of that when I was paying thousands of dollars for therapy, anti-depressants, double vodkas on the rocks and cigarettes? What a fool I've been.
Oh I get it. You are being sarcastic. And passive aggressive. Another sure sign of maturity.
Who even asked you to show up here?
Your brain.
My brain told you to come and make me feel like shit?
No. He said you were struggling with...everything. He suggested I come down and find out what the problem is. Think of me as a spiritual detective.
I have a better idea. I'm going to think of you as an assheadfuckpoo.
Whatever floats your boat.
How about I jam my boat up your ass?
Sounds latently homosexual to me.
I give up.
Of course you do. You're a coward. An angry latently homosexual passive aggressive coward.
You're the worst spiritual detective ever.
I'm trying to provoke you. It will help me better understand your problems.
My problems are the same as every other person on earth. Disappointment with myself and those around me.
Interesting.
Seriously. That whole spiritual detective thing is a joke. Right?
No. No. It's a real job. You have to take a six week course to get certified. Cost me eight hundred dollars.
You have money? I thought you lived in my head.
What are you stupid? Of course I have money. How else am I going to buy food and socks?
Where do you get food and socks?
At the Duane Reade here in your head. There's always a line.
It's the same down here. By the way, I am sorry I called you the worst spiritual detective ever. I just...I don't really have any experience with people in your line of work. Do you have a badge or a card or something?
Yeah, I got something. A business card. Here. Take one.
Nice.
Thanks. Only cost me sixteen bucks.
Where did you have these done?
Staples.
There's a Staples in my head?
And a Chipotle.
I knew it. my head is a sellout.

Faces

I live in New York City now.
Why did you move?
So I could do more sets and sit on sweaty subways listening to music and looking at people.
What's so great about looking at people?
Their faces.
And?
The way they deal with a packed smelly fucking subway car ride after they worked some shitty job or lost some shitty job or had sex with someone they don't care about or someone they do care about but aren't sure how that other person feels, because he is a guy and a guy will never fucking tell. Because then he is vulnerable, which means able-to-vuln and men aren't good at vulning.
And you couldn't get this in Los Angeles?
I didn't ride the subway in L.A.
I got to be honest, it sounds like you didn't think this out completely.
I know I didn't. I'm horrible at thinking. Thinking and vulning are not my strong suits.
What are your strong suits?
Listening and being quiet.
Anyone can do that.
If you say so.
You don't believe me?
I'm just too tired to argue.
What made you so tired?
Brushing my teeth this morning.
Anything else you want to say?
Nothing comes to mind.
Nothing?
Can I go?

Kilkenny Comedy Festival

I went to a comedy festival in Kilkenny, Ireland a week or so ago.
I think the official name was Smithwick's Cat Laughs Comedy Festival.
Smithwick's is a beer.

I don't drink beer anymore.
Turns out that I'm not very good at it.
That's why I only went to one of the after parties. Also I am horrible at small talk.

Here's a typical exchange between me and another comic at that after party.
"How was your show tonight?"
Good.
"How was yours?"
Good.
"How come you're not drinking?"
I don't know.
"Don't you want to?"
Sometimes.
(uncomfortable silence)

Anyway, it was a lot of fun.
Dom Irrera was there.
I went to two of his shows because he is so fucking funny.
I was going to ask him to take a photo with me but I didn't want him to think I was a dick.
So I didn't.
I wish I had.

The guy in the uppermost pic is Ed Byrne.
He's from Ireland and is an amazing stand up.
He had the best show I saw all week.
Incredibly strong.
Right up there with Dave Attell and Louis CK.

Ed said we met once before in Los Angeles and that we even went out and had drinks.
I pretended to remember that evening even though I don't.
He said I was with a girl the night we hung out.
How could I not remember that?

A lot of the Irish comedians were funny.
Andrew Maxwell, Karl Spain, Ed Byrne.
That's twice I've mentioned him.
Steve Hughes and Carl Barron were good too.
They are from Australia.

You know who was amazing?
Stewart Francis.
You can find out for yourself at his website.
That bastard is from Canada, but he lives in Spain.
His wife is Scottish.

Stewart told me he loves his wife.
He didn't seem to be kidding.
That made me uncomfortable.

Anyway, he's the tallest one in the second picture.
The guy in the glasses in that same photo is one of my favorite comics, fellow American Jeff Caldwell.
Why don't more people know about him?

The other guy is Mike Birbiglia, a fine comic as well.

Ireland was overcast.
The food was not very tasty and it was hard to find coffee after six p.m.
Many of the locals drank a lot.
Who knew?

The people who ran the festival were incredibly nice.
Unbelievably nice.
So nice that a couple times, when I saw them coming I walked the other way.
That is true.

Those people really love stand up.
It is so great when you meet people who are really into stand up.
I am.

I should have asked Dom to take a picture.

Scott

I do things, then I feel stupid.
Cake.
I choose not to do other things and also feel stupid.
Vegetables.

I say things and then think, "Why did you say that?"
Girls.
I keep my mouth shut and think, "Why didn't you say something?"
Girls.

My brain must hate me.
But I'll show him.
I won't use him anymore.

Gibby Haynes drank beer, swallowed drugs and put them in his nose and then sang songs.
It worked really well.

So did Scott Weiland. It sucked.
Scott has tried it without the beer and drugs too.
More sucking.

But Scott gets lots of girls.
He probably gets to second base with them in like twenty seconds.
Second base means he feels the most pointy part of their chest with his bare hand, while simultaneously kissing them (optional).

Maybe if Scott spent less time feeling chest and more time writing and finding out who he really is, the sucking would stop.
Or maybe Scott Weiland's true calling is sucking.
If so, he is doing a good job.
Sucking.

Decaf

You've never had a real job?
I worked at a coffee shop in SoHo and rich people yelled at me.

Why don't you smile more?
My face doesn't work that way.

Why don't you want kids?
They are so loud in the morning.
And they freak out if you don't smile a lot.

Don't you get lonely on the road?
Yes.
Meet me in St. Louis and see for yourself.

You don't get nervous anymore?
No. Just lonely and horny.
Meet me in Virginia Beach and I will prove it to you.

What makes you happy?
Coffee and attractive women with no kids who could care less that I don't smile a lot.

What makes you sad?
Decaf coffee and attractive women with kids who hate it that I don't smile a lot.
And people at bus stops.

Are you satisfied with what you wrote?
No.

Hotel Room

Hotel room.
It's almost five p.m.

I ate a sandwich.
I went to the drug store.
I bought a coffee.
I wrote.

Nothing good.
I sit.
Turn the television on and off and on, the computer too.

My attention flickers.
My stomach churns.
The circles under my eyes widen.

What a fucking waste of time.
I should've studied more, or at all.
I should've drank less, or a lot more.

I'm reading a book that got good reviews from people I like.
Early Bird by Rodney Rothman.
But it's very average.

I shouldn't criticize.
It's hard to write anything.
See above.

I took two pills that a doctor gave me to make me feel better.
Pills.
I'm going to need more than that.

A new head.
Better ideas.

Don't look at lighted screens anymore.
There is something behind the lights.
I think there is something behind the lights.