I just spent the weekend in Palm Springs telling jokes and fighting bikers. Where should I begin?
First, let me say if you ever need a beautiful gay man or a very tan senior citizen, Palm Springs is the place. If there’s a more abundant supply elsewhere, then I’ve not found it.
My goal for the week was to record every show and then make a CD for both people who have asked if I have a CD that they can buy. It’s so cute when I set a goal because “This time I’m really gonna do it!”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t my crowd. It seemed as if they were
waiting for me to get off stage so that the MC could bring up Red Buttons.
And so I ended every show by saying, “Enjoy your headliner” even though I was the headliner.
My favorite thing about the road is napping. Oh dear, do I love to nap. It’s the highlight of my day. I plan it while having my morning coffee, which is my other highlight.
The hotel they put us up in wasn’t the greatest, to say the least, but sometimes that can make napping even better. Because when you’re asleep you don’t have to look at stuff and wonder where things went wrong.
So Friday afternoon I was getting ready for my beloved nap. Here’s how it works…
Air-conditioning set to 32 below.
Phone turned off.
Blackout curtains drawn so that the room is pitch black, except for the one comforting stream of light coming through the bullet hole in the curtains.
Then I usually wake up a few hours later, have more coffee, and go to work. Beautiful!
Not this time.
About 15 minutes in, I heard the roar of motorcycles. Then I heard a woman, who’d smoked a lot of unfiltered Camels in her life say, “Get some ice.” Nap over.
The gang of hooligan bikers that had just checked in to the room next to mine stood in front of my window, drinking beer. I think they were having a “Who has the best fake laugh contest.” (And for the record, I would just like to say that I think they were all winners.)
Luckily, it only lasted about for about two and a half hours.
What happened next? Nothing. I just waited. At about three a.m., when I heard sweet, little, drunken snores through the paper-thin walls, I called their room. When they answered, I hung up. Then I waited for about twenty minutes so they could fall back asleep and called again.
Who’s the winner now? Huh, pussy bikers?