"..sharing a bathroom, however, with someone who gets a senior discount requires a certain nasal insensitivity.."
Condo-mania, March 11, 1997
One of my co-stars this week is sixty years old. I will call him Eddie,
not his real name. Eddie is a grandfather, he's working on his Tonight Show
set and that's fine with me. Stand up comedy is brutal; young comics free
of arthritis and dentures surrender to day jobs, health insurance and home
ownership all the time. Anyone who hasn't given up yet is my hero, so I
say work it baby. Sharing a bathroom, however, with someone who gets a senior
discount requires a certain nasal insensitivity. And matches. Books of matches.
Hell's fireplace shaken and emptied of all it's matchbooks just about does
Approximately once a month I allow myself to throw an "I'm not a star" temper tantrum. Ordinarily, I like my money saving life. It's a game. How little can I spend this week and still have quality of life. Can I use the bus instead of a rental car? Can I trade passes to my show for a movie, a massage or a meal? Will security catch me if I steal this CD? Et cetera. But sometimes I can't hack it. I want more. I want power. I sit in my assigned condo room and give out fantasy orders to imaginary personal assistants.
"Bring me Brooke Shields' head on a plate!"
"Yes, Miss Kilmartin."
"Spread a rumor about Janeane Garofalo!"
"Right away, Miss Kilmartin."
"Was I funny last night?"
"Extremely, Miss Kilmartin. Ouch, you're hurting my hand."
I have seen New Mexico by air. When I was in Santa Fe, Will Getter's dad took me up on his little two seater airplane and showed me all over Taos. On Friday, Rick and Brian from the Castle Dream Hot Air Balloon Company took us up up and away. They'd seen our show on Thursday and we shocked them by accepting an offer for a free ride. We cruised over Albuquerque for an hour; I touched the top of a tree. The landing was a little rough and I ended up underneath five guys for several minutes. I think they took their sweet time getting off me. Ty Abrams and I tried to look poor and one of my piledivers bought our breakfast at Murphy's, an old hotcake joint run by a broad named Betty.