It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth (2 page)

February 14, 2006
- CHINESE RESTAURANT

And now for today's tid-bit. As you may or may not know I was production manager on an HGTV Show called SURPRISE GARDENER. Or as I called it...Surprise Anything Got Done Gardener. I have this gift, it's from my Dad; it's a design thing. I just can see things in my head like a picture and am able to
reproduce them in real life.  So plotting a garden or designing a room is easy for me. It's like how the “Chooch” people can bargain... second nature.

So I made a lot of friends on the show and few enemies who I hope are in hell rotting in their own vomit. But one of the friends, Tito Romero, gave my name to a Sushi Restaurant owner who was in need of a designer. The guy, Jimmy Woo, contacted me and I designed his restaurant. That was four years ago. Today I get a call from Johnny Chan. "You help. You good designer. You come Burbank. "  Excuse me? "Jimmy Woo say you good. You come Burbank. Design restaurant" And then there was a long sentence in Chinese that sounded like I was ordering take out.  Don't ask me why, but I agreed to see his restaurant. But my guess is, if you think the Garage Sale Stories were fun... wait until you get me in a room with this Chinese guy and a book of fabric swatches. 

2:29 p.m. 

Many of you may ask yourself, "Doesn't he have anything else to do but enter into his book"? Well you're reading it, aren't you?  So who's wasting time here?  At least I get the aerobic exercise of typing.

In any case, I am a little testy today because I just got off the phone with India. I didn't call India, I didn't want to talk to India but I had a technical question for Apple Computers and now it appears those questions are answered by people in huts in Bombay or some other place that worships cows.  Here's my basic problem... call me crazy but shouldn't the person who is answering your question be able to speak ENGLISH!!!!! Shouldn't they be required to communicate in a common language with you? 35 minutes of "Vat sis-tem r u using?"  35 minutes to get that question out. I wanted to fly over there and rub off her little red dot. I wanted to sit in front of her and eat a hamburger. I WANTED REVENGE!

I couldn't take it any longer and I hung up. I called back a second time and got her cousin. His English was good, his comprehension sucked. "Vat is yur number".... " 310 475"... "Ok, 410 425”, "NO!  310 475". "Sorry. 410"  CLICK, DIAL TONE. Now I like Sanja Gupta as much as the next guy but he speaks English perfectly. These tech people are what I call "wire backs" they're illegal aliens who never enter the country. They phone in.  People want to keep out those wonderful, hardworking Mexicans who do the work we wouldn't think of doing... but the government allows some guy in a cave to solve my software problems over the phone. Are we crazy keeping out those hardworking, good-natured Hispanics...? Keep them out; I want a subway from Tijuana to my front door. Who's gonna clear off my hill, Dick Gephardt?

I redial Apple's 800 number... 1 800 WE DON'T SPEAK ENGLISH.  The recorded voice begins.... "What product are you calling about?" "OPERATOR". " IS THAT AN APPLE PRODUCT?" "OPERATOR" "DO YOU WANT TO TALK TO AN OPERATOR" I'm thinking...is this a trick question? " AMERICAN OPERATOR." (Ring) "Hello, can I help you."  It was an American voice, his name was Todd. TODD!!! An all American name!  And I begin, "Todd, I know you are not in charge of this but we are being recorded and I wanted to say your tech people must be able to speak English. MUST". Todd was very sympathetic and worked with me on my problem. But when it came to the software issue he needed to transfer me. "Todd, you're leaving me?" Little beads of perspiration dripped down my upper lip. "You're going to transfer me? I want an American, Todd. They must speak English." "Don't worry, sir, they will" And I swear to God to you when I got transferred this is what I heard. "C'est des ordinateurs Apple.  Comment est-ce que je puis vous aider?"  CLICK DIAL TONE

February 15, 2006 –
CREDIT CARD WOES

I JUST LEARNED MY CREDIT CARD NUMBER WAS STOLEN. Those little cockers in India got their revenge. There were two charges to Apple Computers on my Visa bill that I did not make and Visa told me "cut up your card honey... we'll send ya a new card in 10 days."  "But I need my credit card to live." (Beat) "Ok we can get you one in five days. " " Five days? Let me speak to your supervisor", which is also the name of my next book.  LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERVISOR.   Long pause and he comes on the line. I explain the problem and tells me his. "We have a cut off time of 3 p.m. EST to get you a card by the next day. So tomorrow I'll put in the change of cards and you'll have it Friday." (Me.) "Friday is the day I bring my car in for repairs from the garage door." Long pause...he didn't read the book.  "Well then, I'll hold it till Thursday and submit it on Friday. And you'll get it Saturday if Fed Ex has a weekend delivery in your neighborhood." By this time my head is spinning. It would just be simpler if I drove to Columbus, Georgia and picked up the new card myself...then again, I won't have a car.

So I sit here without a credit card soon to be without a car...while some little goat herder in Tibet is charging service to air missiles to my account. I wonder if I get bonus miles for that?  If anyone would like to buy my life it's for sale. I'm looking for a nice gentile life in Utah in a quiet neighborhood, a life that hasn't been used too much and has two bathrooms.

February 16, 2006 -
THE SHREDDER

I had no idea what I should write about today then I looked down at my shredder and got inspired. Printed along the top of the shredder is a picture of a paperclip with the universal red slash through it.  Next to it is a picture of a hand, with the same universal sign. And I'm thinking who goes into an office and thinks, "Gee, I wonder if my hand will fit in the shredder?"  Our society has become so sue crazy; manufacturers feel they have to protect themselves by putting all these stupid warnings on their merchandise.  People will sue for anything... I'm fat, it's McDonald's fault. I'm anorexic it's Lean Cuisine's fault. If they hadn't built that freeway, I wouldn't have been going to McDonalds and today I wouldn't be anorexic. What we all need to do is take a deep breath and stop shoving our hands into our shredders.  Kennedy, the good one, hit the nail on the head when he said, "Think not what your country can do for you..." Today it's "Think not who can sue for you but who you can sue."  I was sued by a man who said that beating me up and breaking my rib caused him to have a heart attack...at a wedding...a year later.  He got five thousand dollars. It pissed me off so much I sued him and got 65 thousand dollars. He counter sued my counter suit and was thrown out of court. This process took a year out of my life... and wasted a lot of people's time. However, I did buy a new home out of the deal.  So basically I'm a pimp and you shouldn't listen to a word I say. It's my fault there's that stupid air bag warning on the visor of your car. Basically I'm just as bad as the next guy... only he doesn't design Chinese Restaurants OH! Do me a favor...  promise me you'll keep your hands out of your shredder and if you should happen to do so, please don't sue Target, I love their towels.

February 17, 2006
- PASADENA PLAYHOUSE

Last night I went to the theater to see a friend in a play at the Pasadena Playhouse. Honestly, it was my pleasure because this man is a brilliant actor, with impeccable comedy timing. Whatever he's in, I run to see. And last night was no different he was simply wonderful.  The entire cast was wonderful; there wasn't an untrue moment in a single line. The costumes were eye candy. The sets were inventive and beautifully constructed.   The lighting was perfection. The script sucked.  I don't want to say it was bad but by the second scene people were passing out Cyanide capsules. I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said, "I'll give you fifty thousand dollars if you kill me right now."  Annie Potts played a self-obsessed actress and she is such a brilliant actor that you hated this character from the first word she uttered. And she uttered a lot of words. There was no chance to like her and so you sat in the theater watching a horrific character say horrific things until your eyes start bleeding.

How does this happen? Let me tell you. In Hollywood it's all about what you've done lately. It doesn't have to be good as long as you do it. So if you're a writer and you write one crappy show after another, then write a movie that gets scathing reviews... you can get a play produced in Pasadena.  OK, let's say we owned a bakery and the first loaf of bread we baked killed 2000 people, and then we went on to make bagels and they choked a baby... do you think Sarah Lee would buy our company???? But not in show business... in show business you can shit on a script and if some studio exec has taken enough drugs that day, they'll produce it. And if an artistic director with the taste of a 13 years old thinks it's funny... you get a play produced at The Pasadena Playhouse.

This is the second thing I've seen at the Playhouse that sucked. A few months back I saw the whitest revival of Purlie I have ever seen, a gospel choir with all the soul of a Mormon Crusade. The young woman who played the lead, and is referred to in the script as a "pickaninny", looked like she had just stepped out of Saks. This play set race relations back 150 years. What in the hell is wrong with the Pasadena Playhouse? I'll tell you, the audiences. The area attracts people who don't get out a lot... who are white and like it that way. Make them think or stretch and they go home with a headache. What the Pasadena Playhouse needs is more Cyanide for its audiences and someone under the age of 116 making creative decisions.

And now about me, I have been booked on a cruise ship. You may not know this about me but I detest doing stand up, my love is writing. However, sometimes writing doesn't pay the bills if there is no Chinese Restaurant to design and so I take stand up gigs. Now dig this. Last night, after my fun night in the theater, I get an email from my agent... "Here are the details of the gig. You leave March 2 at 1 a.m., have a 3 hour lay over in Houston, arrive at 9 p.m. and do a show that night."  Is he on crack? Let's go back to the bakery.  Say I had to deliver bread... would I expect the baker to deliver it at 1 a.m. and then bake all day? I think not.  For those of you in Indiana and Iowa and Illinois who think show business is glamorous...how wrong you are. I know a doctor who inspects assholes all day. HIS job is more fun. I hate show business and most of the people in it. I swear to you, if I had any other skill besides being funny.... I'd be collecting tolls on the New Jersey Turnpike.

Here's why it's hard to type with a gun in my mouth.  It's a few hours after my last entry. This is my today.

Exhibit A

I never wanted to do a cruise ship... ever. They offered me a lot of money and my little Jewish genes kicked in. I told the agent I would do it... but I don't want to do it. Cruise ship comics are the outcasts of show business. It's where you go when you can't get work.  It's on the way down. And I don't feel I'm on the way down. I ma
y be delusional but that's how I feel. I said I would do the gig but I'll only do it on my terms and that's where the problems begin.  How dare I ask for a room with a window, not to fly on small planes like the one that killed Amelia Earhart or to have to depart LAX at 1:10 a. effing m. I should be honored to
just
be offered the chance to entertain for
THEM
. I should be happy that
THEY
picked
ME
. The fact that I have been treated like a piece of hammered monkey dung means nothing; I should be honored they asked.

Let's get serious here for a moment. Here's what's really bothering me about this entire gig. What has happened to common decency? What makes their needs more important then mine? I am not asking for the unusual... I'm just asking and they find that offensive. It's so sad... an industry that brings so much joy to so many can cause so much pain as well. It's not fair, it's not just and I'm fed up with it.  I'm trying to find the humor here but there is none for me. No matter how many people I call, the ghosts of an abusive childhood lingers. The fear that I am a "bad boy" haunts me... but how can protecting yourself from your fears make you bad?  It's the enigma of my life, which I carry like a suitcase on the road.

Exhibit B

The building inspector just left my house. The permits that I was told, one year ago, were completed and closed...were not. I've got the letter saying so... but they never did the paper work on the city's end. So now a new guy is on the case and he wants to see the damage but it's a year later and the damage is under a foot of foliage. He's gonna have to see what I need to do to fix the hill behind my house. He needs to make a few phone calls. He's gonna get back to me!

(The sound of a gunshot fills the room. The smoke lingers as the writer's body falls to the floor with a deadly thud.)

2:06 p.m.

My desk chair arm just fell off... I swear to
God!