April 27 - Must Ash

I've been feeling the pangs of loneliness lately.

I haven't made the bed in 27 days.

Prob'ly cuz most nights end on the couch.

When I do make it to bed, I sleep next to a Yamaha keyboard.

Isn't that just so emo and cute?

Just like Kurt Coboring.

Oh, and I'm not getting a haircut til after the tour.

And I stopped shaving, too.

I think I'm growing a moustache.

Again.

In The Year 2000, I decided to grow a moustache. I wanted to try it out. Irony was still alive and well (thanks a lot, 9/11!). So why not. What occurred above my lips was a mangy dead caterpillar that doubled as a friend repellent. For the entire summer I resembled an ethnic Unabomber.

So let's do it again, right?

Due to lazy genes, it's going to take a couple of weeks to come in. We're looking at a release date of May 11. But before it drops, I'll be mistaken for a homeless pervert.

This all sounds like smart geniusy stuff, but...

Do I really want to do something I already failed at in my lost 20's?

No.

So this time I'm going to try to make the moustache look presentable.

I might invest in a tiny comb and a wax, or whatever you use to tame it.

Maybe some sleeping snoods.

Then I'll trim it.

My goal is to look like a conquistador.

I may fail at this.

Again.

But at least I will have done something ? ... uh ? with my life ...while Lauren's away ?

Until then, at least I won't have to put on make up for Bitter Tears shows.

I already look horrid.

Verdict: Loss

April 26 - Scaried By The Mob

On the way to a pick up in Barrington Hills, I slowed for a herd of deer. Five of them bumbled around on their tiny stick legs before splitting for the hills. I had just passed a horse farm where real life horsies were walkin' around naying and getting all kooky. Later I would pass a pick up truck with a big American flag blowing in the breeze. Where was I?

At the pick up, I encountered a gate with an intercom. After some beeping, the gates opened and I entered the mysterious estate with caution. The main house stood on the left like a castle, with large wooden spade shaped doors, and cylindrical flanking towers. On the right was a large barn, used as storage for mob corpses. I was looking around for a wheelbarrow filled with 80's cocaine when a voice came from inside the main house. It belonged to a woman.

"Are you here for the briefcase?"

"Yes," I answered in the general direction of the voice. I listened to her footsteps, following the sound to one of the castle doors. She was tall and blonde but surprisingly did not have a scar on her face. She handed me the briefcase and I thought it best to get out of there. I could have sworn I heard the sound of a leashed tiger in the distance.

Weird diet today.

Tardiness to work meant I skipped breakfast. In Barrington Hills I settled for a ham & cheese breakfast shingle from ampm. It was greasy but awful!

I never ate lunch, but around 3 I ate an entire chocolate Easter bunny, alternating bites with handfuls of dried cherries.

For dinner I made tacos for the 412th time since Lauren left.

It was the last night of class at Annoyance. I spilled my soul a little bit at the end, suggesting that improv can be used for things in life other than getting on SNL. We all went out for drinks later, and I played shuffleboard to avoid talking about more improv.

I must've had more to drink than I thought, because I ended the night in the living room scooping cold peppers, onions, and taco meat with tortilla chips, directly from the pan they had been cooked in.

Verdict: Win

April 25 - Nurse Novels Record Finished

John from The Bitter Tears treated Alan and I from The Bitter Tears to a quality breakfast at Meli Cafe in Greektown. Outside in line it rained, adding a soggy quality to the Greek parade floats meandering slowly toward the afternoon’s festivities. Over a jalepeno skillet, poached eggs with sausage, a savory crepe, and apple-carrot-celery juice, we discussed the logistics of a west coast tour. Hopefully this fall.

Rush Limbaugh! The Musical played according to plan sort of. It’s still quite fun to see which lines resonate with the audience and which don’t. It’s never been the same show twice. Only two more left in this run. As Chris Elliot said in the final episode of The Fugitive Guy, “I’ll miss the checks.”

I met Tom and Thea at Greg’s for the final day of recording and mixing of The Nurse Novels debut single. Each song features a guest: Alan played accordion on “War,” Heinz from Civil Servant added pedal steel to “Sea Day,” and Greg joined Alan, providing brass and woodwinds for “Make Me Cry Tonight.”

We mixed until 1am. I think we’ve got a really good first record.

Verdict: Win

April 24 - Method Loser

For the last two nights I've slept in the costume for Chris' film. My character left his wife, and he's had to crash on a friend's couch wearing the same clothes. To accentuate this, I also haven't been shaving or washing my hair.

Yesterday they filmed a scene in a coffee shop. The coffee shop was open for business. Patrons watched as I struggled desperately to remember my bulky lines with patrons watching me. It was pure schadenfreude. Many takes were interrupted by squealing cappuccino machines and customers walking through shots. As the shop was closing, Chris captured the fourth and last take of complicated dialogue between ten actors.

"We're done. Everybody go home."

This morning, to really get my character down, I woke up at 5am on the couch with my contacts still in. I noticed a beer on the living room floor. It was full, save for one sip from four hours ago. So I finished it, watched an Elvis movie, and ate an entire potato. I don't know if my character would have done that. But I did it.

The Nurse Novels are finishing up recording our first single this weekend. Nicole knocked out her vocal parts like a pro, as did Thea. It's great to hear the songs with pretty voices all over them and shit.

I had to cut out around 5 to shoot my last scene for the movie at a house in the tiny southwest suburb of Hometown. I joined the cast in the living room, waiting for Chris and the crew, who were running behind. Together we watched episodes of That 70's Show, Seinfeld, and The Office. I hadn't eaten anything since my misguided Doors breakfast, thinking I would "use" the hunger for my character.

But he wasn't that fuckin' hungry.

So I went to a pizza place and ordered an Italian beef. In the corner stood a coin-op Pac-Man game. For the next 14 minutes I played it, eating pellets, ghosts, fruit, pretzels, bells, and keys, everything but the Italian beef sandwich waiting for me by the joystick. The new Pac-Man King of Hometown racked up over 119,000 points and secured the high score. Sometimes I can't help being a winner.

Meanwhile, Chris and the crew had arrived at the location and were setting up the shot. Hometown peaked out from their screen doors, undershirts, pick up trucks, and cigarettes to see what all the camera nonsense was about.

What they saw was a Wiseauan spectacle of rapid takes and lapses in continuity. But we got my two lines down in two takes and I returned to Greg's to make more music, something I'm better at doing.

Verdict: Loss*

*My portrayal of a loser can be rather convincing

April 23 - Chicago Sucks Tiny Mayor-Cock

It was bound to happen.

I had a pick to up a signal radio part for a communications company from the folks at Metra. I parked in a loading zone marked METRA LOADING DOCK DELIVERIES ONLY. I asked the woman at the dock if it was okay to park there.

"Yes."

I rang a bell that would allow security to grant me access to the lobby. I put my hand on the doorknob to anticipate the click that would open it. I waited with my hand on the doorknob for 30 seconds. I looked at the security camera above me and took my hand off of the doorknob. It immediately clicked, granting me access to the lobby.

In the lobby, the security guard wouldn't let me up to the 11th floor without a contact name. A twenty minute ordeal of making calls, getting transferred, grating hold music, and waiting for a call back ensued. The person who placed the order at the COMMUNICATIONS COMPANY had left and did not leave any information about it. Eventually, someone called me back from the COMMUNICATIONS COMPANY to give me a random Metra employee name.

Meanwhile a changing of guards had occurred. The new security guard said, "They usually just let you up. I don't know why he wanted you to get a contact name."

On the 11th floor, the woman in the mailroom had no idea what I was supposed to be picking up. After five minutes and a phone call to the contact, I was told to walk over to the random Metra employee's office.

The random Metra employee seemed annoyed.

"Can I help you?" she asked as me, the complete idiot.

I gave her all the information, the contract number, a piece of paper certifying a transaction.

She had no idea what I was supposed to be picking up.

"I don't use messengers."

She said it like I was fresh, wet cat shit.

One more set of phone calls and I left Metra empty handed.

When I returned to the loading zone, the van was gone.

Wow.

So it's going to be like this today.

I went to see the woman at the dock, the woman who told me I could park in the loading zone. She seemed surprised and gave me her information. Then I went back to lobby security. Mike the maintenance guy happened to be strolling by and very matter of factly said, "You can't park on the west side of Canal on Fridays," offering a lowercase "sorry."

Sure enough, there was one single sign fifteen feet behind where the van had been.

STREET CLEANING

NO PARKING FRIDAYS 9AM-1PM

APR 1 - NOV 15

TOW ZONE

Because I had backed into the spot, I hadn't seen it.

So now I had to walk to the auto pound over at 400 E Lower Lower Lower Wacker.

It was a nice walk actually.

On the way there I saw seven city tow truck operators being beaten to death with homemade hammers by heroic citizens. The tow truck operators' lifeless corpses were thrown into a vat labeled CHARITY, where they will provide nourishment to needy, hungry AIDS dogs from impoverished countries.

Then at The Daley Center, 329 obese, entitled, all-knowing, never-working city workers all had one large simultaneous fatal heart attack. It was like Jonestown, only nicer. One dum-dum meter maid accidentally slapped the bodies with parking tickets, mistaking their hideous, bloated remains for SUVs. It was a riot. But in actuality, I heard that the blubber from the city workers would be rendered down into oil this winter and used to warm the city's top homeless shelters. I also read that the city workers' brains would be used as practice pucks at Chicago Blackhawks tryouts.

Finally, by Chicago's essential Bean I saw our one and only mayor, King Richard Daley II. It was strange. He was being brutally and anally raped with a serrated, rolled up TOW ZONE sign by several valiant townsfolk. Oddly, his blood was liquid black and when it hit the earth it burst into flames of shit. I waved "hi" but he couldn't see me. Maybe it was the weird funhouse reflection of The Bean or maybe it was because his eyes were yellow, pink, and pusy, and when he opened his mouth a bunch of black bile spilled out, followed by his sickly grey internal organs plopping to the ground with comic thuds. I don't know, but it seemed very out of character for The Mayor.

But all good walks must come to an end, and so I headed on over to the auto pound.

In the dark weird trailer a baby cried constantly. I thought it might be the waiting room music, but when I got inside there was a real baby crying. I think its stroller got towed.

The man behind the counter wore what looked like green janitor coveralls decorated with City of Chicago patches. He liked to talk and take his time. When a woman cut in line in front of me they had an exchange:

JANITOR OF AUTHORITY: Oh, you're gonna have to wait in line.

ASSHOLE WOMAN: I already filled out that paperwork that he got! I'm about to tear this place up!

JANITOR OF AUTHORITY: Still. Once you leave you have to go to the end of the line.

ASSHOLE WOMAN: I'm just so mad! I've got things to do!

JANITOR OF AUTHORITY: Oh, me too. After this I'm going to my other job.

ASSHOLE WOMAN: Where's that?

They proceeded to have a little chit chat while the rest of us listened. It was really great and friendly. The more she talked, the more he stopped everything he was doing to answer her questions and demands. It was like watching raw footage of a reality TV show that would never air anywhere. I'm glad I got to see this rare behind-the-scenes sneak peak into the fascinating lives of people who tow and get towed. And like all great reality TV, it was a wonderful waste of everyone's time.

I was less fascinating.

I only used one word.

The word was "what."

I couldn't understand the cashier behind the glass, who had the eloquence of an angry K-Town crackhead. He was so good at sounding proudly ignorant that I almost ordered a hamburger from him. It's good that the city employs people who know people with rudimentary customer service skills who know people who knew someone who once went to school once.

No, but in all seriousness, The City of Chicago is great and I think Our Mayor And Saviour is doing a terrific job keeping things good and nice and good for the people. I'll just have to send the city a little note about today's misunderstanding. Good thing they stamped my receipt with the necessary information.

Later today on the street an Amish or Mennonite teenager approached me in full garb.

"Excuse me. Are you Jewish?"

"What?"

"Are you Jewish?" he repeated.

"Noo.."

His smiled broadened, revealing braces.

"Have a good day."

I sat in the van with no work for the next four hours.

It was a really slow week.

After gas and towing expenses I spent over $300 this week on work.

I made about $300.

This means, I lost money by going to work this week.

I would have saved more money had I taken the entire week off.

Verdict: Loss

April 22 - Filming With Chris

Lower North-South Wacker is under construction and has become a peaceful little ghost town. I thought it would be hell, but now you’ve got the whole thing to yourself, and you can make those U-turns without the fear of nudging your nose out into 50mph oncoming traffic. Let’s hope it stays under construction forever.

My friend Chris asked me to be in his film. Today was the first day of shooting.

I’ve known Chris since the late 90’s when we worked together as tour guides for the Chicago Trolley Company. In 2000, he persuaded me to pick up playing the drums again, something I had abandoned for sketch comedy. When The Annoyance closed for what would turn out to be six years, I eventually gave in and we formed a band with the unfortunate moniker Los Shut Up.

We started out playing dumps like The Big Horse, The Underground Lounge and Phyllis’. One mismatched bill had us following local metal powerhouse Yakuza. They played for over an hour on a Wednesday to a raucous group of fans who banged their heads, while our four friends waited patiently until midnight to hear our gropes at quirky broken indie rock. At one point in the set, I introduced one of our songs in a metal bear voice, which lead to one of the Yakuza guys charging the stage. Thankfully, two out of three of the people that stuck around held him back, and I was saved a lesson in brutality and ultimate evil.

Eventually Los Shut Up played places like Empty Bottle and Schuba’s, once opening for Neil Hamburger. Our stage show was goofy, and we incorporated comedy into the act. Chris pitched a tent on stage and emerged from it like a pigeon. I made a dummy of Jay Leno and smashed his face with a snow shovel filled with Doritos, covering the stage in tortilla chips. Joanna put on a long white wig and portrayed “Old Hickory,” Andrew Jackson. Yeah, I don’t know what we were.

Sometimes Chris’ quirks would drive me crazy. At our rehearsal space, he stored his guitar in a garbage can neck-first. One time we got pulled over in his crazy, cluttered van. The cops called it a dumpster on wheels. And I will still never forget (read: forgive) when Chris couldn’t afford to buy guitar strings because he had spent all his money ordering Beavis and Butthead DVDs off of the television. By 2004, Los Shut Up was no more.

But it was Chris who gave me the confidence, permission and license to write music. Any other band at the time would be wary of letting the drummer contribute songs. Los Shut Up wasn’t. So at 25 I taught myself piano chords on looknohands.com, and began writing little songs like “1993” and “Nothing.” I still write songs and I have Chris to thank for that.

Filming commenced in the back room of a bar on Damen. A small crew of three unpacked the brand new equipment and set up the shot. They were taking things out of boxes and their shipping contents! After some glitches (no headphones for the boom operator, the owner of the bar is kind of a dick, why are there guys loudly sawing bricks right now?) we got down several takes from several angles.

The character is Sandy. He’s kind of a douche. I think my performance was competent. I don’t particularly enjoy being on camera. It puts me in my head. Two more days of shooting.

My plan was to see Nicole’s band Unicycle Loves You. They played a free show at The Cubby Bear, opening for The Raveonettes. I even RSVP’ed to the Red Eye using the subject line “Bud Light.” Unfortunately, the cheese from my sandwich gave me a six hour spell of nausea, and being in Wrigleyville with a piercing bellyache wasn’t part of the plan.

So I stayed in and watched Coal Miner’s Daughter. This might be the best biopic I have ever seen, unless you count Mommie Dearest. As soon as it was over I phoned a Hollywood producer.

Verdict: Win

April 21 - Carrots As Weapons

Lots of ups and downs today.

I delivered six cartons of programs to a funeral home on Cottage Grove and 79th. Greater Grand Crossing is overwhelmed with flower shops, fast food, and beauty salons (including Le Chateau Cut-Ups). Thanks to Chicago's rigid, unwritten segregation laws, my pale skin stood out in the neighborhood. A teenage girl held up traffic so a man and a stroller could safely cross 79th. She danced really big and really goofy, almost anti-dancing. When she spotted me, she danced even more outrageously, flapping her arms and sticking her ass out. It marked one of the few times in history where someone holding up traffic put a smile on my face. Maybe that was the owner of Le Chateau Cut-Ups.

Assessment: Win

Unfortunately, that spirit toward being held up in traffic didn't last. At 4pm I had to deliver some fucking stupid worthless shit to a print shop in Des Plaines. Traffic became a two hour bore of horror filled with hi-octane acceleration and abrupt braking. It seemed every lane I picked contained someone turning left, driving under the speed limit, stalled, or being a complete asshole fucking cocksucker. I got caught in the trap of road rage when a guy who's ass I was riding vigorously gave me the finger, swerved so I could not pass him, and repeatedly slammed on his breaks so that I would hit him.

What I wanted to do: Strangle his blueberry-sized penis with rusty barbed wire, run over his fingers with a tank, and make him buy a ticket to his parents getting raped at his favorite restaurant.

What I did do: Grabbed a handful of carrot tops and took off my seatbelt. I was going to exit the car and hurl them at his shitty, shitty face. But then I realized that this would attract police nonsense, and that would lead to problems leaving the country in a few weeks.

So I put the carrots down and absorbed my fatigued hatred like a pathetic ShamWow.

Assessment: Loss

I got home with thirty minutes to engorge myself as fast as possible with a frozen pizza.

Assessment: Loss

Tonight was the first Bitter Tears rehearsal with Reid Coker, who will join us on keyboards in Europe. Reid's a cool guy, and really picked up the songs quickly, so Europe looks to be fun. God, I can't wait for Europe.

Assessment: Win

I think I might take up smoking regularly while Lauren is gone. I'm going fucking crazy.

Assessment: Loss

Verdict: Loss