Let Them Ho’s Fight

I’m going to New York tomorrow for an improv festival. This festival is insane. You walk backstage and there’s a green room, usually in which Horatio Sans is getting high. Then, if you go follow this cavernous hallway you get to the keg room. There you’ll find some of your favorite improvisors (Conan writers, a UCB member or two, the black guy from MadTV) getting drunk as hilarious little skunks. And sometimes; not always, but sometimes, it’s ten in the morning.

I’ve got a couple of pills for the plane ride. I get a little scared up there. Now, it’s not the kind of scared where I start a low humming under my breath that gradually becomes a crazed scream. More like a compulsion to touch the inside of my fingers in a rhythmic pattern and an understanding of how someone might do that hum to scream thing.

These pills though. Holy moly. Remember the feeling of safety that comes from sitting in a hammock as a child, the amber sun warming the logo on your t-shirt? These pills feel like that, plus you’re getting your dick sucked.

So the plane ride should be cool. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going to be staying as of yet, which is hilariously irresponsible, but I’ve got a cell phone and some numbers for when the shit goes down. I’m looking at it as a grand adventure in the spirit of a young Bob Dylan. If Dylan knew a total of four songs on guitar and his uncle lived on Staten Island.

Both of my teams got really good slots too. On Friday night, Let Them Ho’s Fight is right after Ian Robert’s one man show. It’s a huge honor actually, because he’s so hilarious and that show, which is just him improvisiving solo for a half an hour, is pretty amazing. So I’m anticipating a fun, strange weekend.

I need to go pack. I’ve been proscratinating. Last night, for example, instead of doing laundry, I tried out the new bong that we got as an apartment gift. It’s the height of a toddler. Bongs are great because they’re for people that need a foot and a half of smoke in their lungs, immediately. But I would have felt negligent if I hadn’t used it. Like I’d let down my skinny, blue three year old. The one with the pull away bowl.

So hopefully I’ll have a couple of stories for Monday.

SYSC (see ya soon cutie!)