Yep. Working on fixing it now. UGH. https://t.co/FWVPgWbwuW
Yeah sorry. Gonna change my password AGAIN. FUCK. https://t.co/HtxY7n8O9A
This is just an amazing read. Guarantee it will launch you out of any creative rut. Good Lord do I love… https://t.co/i8eKy1Odiv
i gave hamberders to the football guys and they liked the berders and then they ated the berders and now there’s no… https://t.co/PTsSVRQM0o

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Fri, Sep 24


COMEDIANS OF COMEDY SHOOTING DIARY: AN HOUR OF GRACE

@ 12:00 AM

   

I'm staying at maybe one of the most barebones, plastic-cups-and-rough-towels motels in Eugene, and yet they STILL have wireless internet that blankets the premises like the caramel murmurs of a Capri whore. I'm writing, photographing, and sending this from the "veranda" (three wrought-iron picnic tables near the second floor snack machines) an hour before tonight's show.

I've got my feet up on a bizarre lion's head fountain which serves no purpose except to fool me into thinking I'm making the most of the eastern Oregon "magic hour". I'm two pony shots into a bottle of single malt, 15 year-old Balvenie (in-cask date: August 18th, 1988—exactly ONE month after I started stand-up comedy) and almost finished with Gary Giddins' un-put-downable critical biography of Louis Armstrong.

I don't own any Armstrong records. I'm not a fan of jazz. But one chapter into this fucker, and I want to hear everything Dippermouth every recorded. I'm chasing the Balvenie with generic "Classic Selection" spring water.

Beauty and happiness can mug you in an Olive Garden restaurant, I'm starting to realize.


 
 
   
   
   
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