FireVaney

If she calls, that means it's on. And if it's on, I'm keeping the condoms in the car. And if I need them, my life will change. I'll have a girlfriend. One HELL of a girlfriend. That is, if it's on. It might not be on, though. She could forget to call. She's a busy gal. Lives moment-to-moment. My buddy says, “Mid-afternoon, send a text to remind her.” I'm thinking I will. And if it's on, I've got the condoms in the trunk. That, and the candle rose. Assuming it's on, to keep the condoms, even just one, in the wallet could jinx it, the whole thing. Especially if one falls out. It’d probably make her laugh, though. Definitely, it would make her laugh. But maybe not. Or, when I'm paying for dinner — again, assuming that it's on — or paying for the flick, or for mini-golf, or bowling, or bocce, or whatever we do, she might catch sight of the circular shape of it, the condom, pushing up from inside my wallet. Yeah, but she's the type to smir...

Hello.  [Wave.]  Question for you:  Are you happy with your hair?  Really happy?  Perfectly happy?  [Assuming silence, replies of “No,” or boos:]  Ah.  So you hate  your hair?  You  loathe,  detest,  or at least  disagree,  vehemently,  with it?  [Assuming applause and/or cheers:]  Well, in that case,  perhaps we’ll bond  over this next bit…  [ ALT. I: Assuming cheers, replies of “Yes,” and/or applause:]  So you’re happy  — completely happy — with your hair, huh? Mm? Eh?  What do you love  most  about  your hair?  [Repeat answer(s).]  Ah. Yes, I can see that.  [Lean in.]  Just between the two of us,  I envy your hair.  May I borrow it?  [Assuming “No.”]  Smart choice.  I might not give it back.  Would you please stand,  so that  everybody can  marvel  at your  exceptional...

08/10/16 : This is an opportunity. Take advantage of it. Why not? It will cost you a trip on the L-train. There and back. How much is that? Four dollars and fifty cents. True: It’ll cost more if you are assaulted. But assault is unlikely. Particularly in the middle of the day. Especially since the authorities are on “High Alert” following the most recent spate of assaults. None of which have occurred in the middle of the day. But consider: if you are assaulted, you’ll have something to write about. Assault —for the author — is an opportunity. (Assuming the author survives. Assuming no permanent brain damage.) What’s more, you have no pressing commitments. You can afford to take advantage of this opportunity. So… do so. Even if you aren’t assaulted, you’ll come away with something. And let’s be clear: What, at root, is it, i.e., this opportunity, after all? * From the moment you set foot outside you are confronted with the possibility of inspiration. Shouldn’t that be enough? Again, t...

APRIL 6, 2008 : This is not the time to stay dancing on the floor of the night ballroom of the Purple Hotel that I will miss because it is Purple and I will not have the time or the change to detonate a charge of indignation toward those who destroy things unique in this world. This is the time to change the time in the line of the aforementioned data stream but it will not happen because I am lazy and need to continue with this. I am not mad I am mad but I am not. For this is the time to remember that I will bleed the knowledge and the interesting case of the dog and the cat where it is not time saving my head feels strange. Now, when you eat, you’ve got to eat things that taste good. Otherwise, what’s the point? I understand you want to eat healthy food so you won’t get fat, but what can you do? You don’t have as much conscious control as you think. That’s why I’m doing this. I’m doing this to dispense with conscious control. I don’t want to quote pop-culture characters like Yoda. I...

JULY 14, 2004 : The new toilet upstairs drives me nuts. "Flush the shit,” said the plumber, “then the Charmin.” But Pop, Betty, and me, we keep forgetting. *   So that new toilet upstairs, it keeps stopping up, it keeps overflowing. This means more plunging. It means cleaning up a flood of piss and poop and spent Charmin squares on a damn near daily basis. That my Toyota Echo’s front and rear bumpers are scraped and nicked up, that there's a ding in the driver's-side door, and another and near the fuel door hatch, and that none of them are my fault, and this is my first new car; and the cost to repair all these scrapes, nicks, and dings will run me between one and two grand — it drives me nuts. What the devil happened to rubber bumpers, anyway? † I blame the body shop lobbyists. That Pop pushes food onto his fork with his forefinger — so that the knife stays clean — it also drives me a little nuts. That he doesn't believe me when I say we’ve got a slight ant / spider ...

[Take the stage and pull the microphone out of its stand. Thank the emcee and the venue. Thank the crowd for attending the show. Comment on how great it is to be back in _________. Assuming there’s nothing else with comic potential to take note of, begin the bit/chunk/routine:] Question: What one annoying thing do trucks, SUVs, minivans, and bulldozers have in common?  [Repeat answers, if any, and, if applicable, consider following up with, “What’s annoying about that?”] The one thing that annoys me most about trucks, SUVs, minivans, and bulldozers is this: Whenever the driver throws any one of them into reverse, the damn thing goes: “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!” [Back up slowly as you...]  “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!”  [Stop and pause.]  “Beep-beep!”  [Stop and pause.]  “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!”  [Continue until laughter, if any, abates.] If you live in suburbia, it’s no big deal, right? A minor inconvenience. But if you’re an urbanite? And the ...

OCTOBER 30, 2001 : Earlier this month, the government warned us about the potential for another terrorist attack. Soon thereafter, two U.S. senators, several newspapers, and the news divisions of multiple TV networks were mailed envelopes full of anthrax spores. Then, a day or two ago, the U.S. Attorney General issued yet another non-specific warning to the public. Police agencies nationwide are already on their highest state of alert. But without something specific to go on, what more can be done? Maybe the CDC should send each of us a hazmat suit. Ask my stepdad, and he’ll tell you that opening the mailbox is now a lot like defusing a bomb. We can blame his wariness of opening the front door to his house on TV news — cable TV news, in particular — which exists to cause its viewers stress. In sooth, if news of newborn puppies and bunnies held our attention as fully as news of strife and calamity, we’d be an entirely different species — and likely extinct by now. But stepdad’s inflame...

Up on the stage, under the spotlight, The FireVaney draws the back of his hand across his damp forehead. He’s “dying” up there. Nobody’s laughing. Their silence is “murdering” him. FireVaney  People…  [He tries to swallow, but his throat is drier than the Sahara.]  People say...  [He reaches for the glass of water sitting on a nearby stool. In his haste, he nearly knocks it over. He panics and takes too much care to prevent it from spilling. Several members of the audience snicker. The water in the glass quakes in FireVaney’s shaky hand as he brings it to his lips, sips, and then carefully sets it back down. He clears his throat.] People say I’m stiff—  too stiff, too rigid—  herky-jerky.  Throughout my entire life,  I’ve been referred to  as a walking, talking  ramrod;  less flexible  than a lamppost;  from head to toe,  a potential toothpick  for,  say,  King Kong. You’d think at least I could dance...

SEPTEMBER 28, 2001 : Yesterday made the list of my top five worst days at work. I’ll tell the whole story tomorrow. I’m too tired right now. I’m going on something less than three hours of sleep. * Donny, the guy I worked with yesterday afternoon, is a stubborn son of a bitch. He also lacks common sense—which is common of stubborn sons of bitches. I got pushed to the edge yesterday—it wasn’t entirely his fault—but he did send me over. I worked a double and then some, without a break, during which two lunatics really got under my skin. One was a “guest” and the other was a drunk Donny should’ve left alone. I’ll explain tomorrow. SEPTEMBER 29, 2001 : Here’s the story—it’s a pathetic story, but it happened; and I suppose it sums up why I avoid coffee shops…  So I’m scheduled to work a double, starting at six in the morning. It’s a typical AM shift at the Chicago Coffee Cadre (store #7) on the corner of Broadway and Aldine. Donny clocks in at noon and takes over the espresso bar. Two...

(The FireVaney takes the stage.) FireVaney Good evening.  Mmm.  That looks refreshing.  I hope you’re enjoying it.  But I can only hope.  Because when it comes right down to it, I don’t know a thing about your taste buds. And that’s sad. It’s sad because if I knew about your taste buds…  and your taste buds…  and your taste buds…  we’d all have a fighting chance at achieving global taste bud harmony. But why would we want that? We’d want global taste but harmony because it’s become impossible to agree on anything. Our culture is so fragmented that society is unraveling. We can’t get on the same page anymore because we can’t even agree on what the page is. How can you get on the same page about anything when the other guy (or gal, or nonbinary carbon based unit) …hates paper? So I say:  Forget the page.  Just… recycle it. If nothing else, you can tell Larry that you made some progress on the deal.  Alec Baldwin as Larry: ...