New Orleans Comedy Arts Festival - Day 0
It's now 5 p.m., Eastern Standard Time. I'm in the air over clouds and some scattered cities. It's actually quite nice outside, although I've been asked to keep the shade shut for sensitive eyes. It's too bright out to see the in-flight movie and, I must admit, having the window seat with the window open does let the light reflect off the dust on my glasses. This makes for a horrifyingly frustrating reading, video gaming, typing, and/or living experience.
I've been reading “Mother Jones” for the past hour and a half. Articles about the housing crisis and torture, that sort of thing. I've just discovered “Mother Jones.” My well-read friends are shocked by this fact as if I had just discovered what the little knob in the bathtub does. Really? I can get water from above or below? Why didn't someone tell me inventions such as these existed?
Nevertheless, I can only read it for so long before I need to shut it for sensitive eyes. I find the stories groundbreaking and heartbreaking, but even more so because the editor's opening letter is quite right – it's hard to make people care about anything their mind is already made up on.
As the flight attendant who looks like Chyna's little sister (same austere face with almost sarcastically applied make-up, much smaller build) gives me peanuts, I realize my mind is made up on hating peanuts. No publication will make me think otherwise. They're too salty.
Maybe terrorists are also very salty. I could see hating a people I've never known if my superior officers told me how salty they were. But if I were a deer, I'd find them even more attractive. The two secrets I would hide from my superior officers would be that I'm attracted to terrorists and that I am a deer. Those two facts can ruin any man's chances at making Sergeant.
Neal Stastny is picking my flying party up from the airport. He is a hilarious man.
Just got back from Franky's and Johnny's. Neal brought us. Good food. I hate a giant fried catfish. I just re-read that last sentence and realized I put “hate” instead of “ate.” But fuck it – if you're willing to ingest a thing, you must have some level of disdain for it. People don't not eat dogs because of the lack of nutritional value. Hey now!
I am indeed fat, and that will stay so for some time.
I am now checked in now at a near-French Quarter hotel. The bed is very large and very, very soft. Outside the window is a oddly appealing view of what I believe is St. Charles Ave. I may very well be wrong.
Tomorrow the festival begins. I hear there's also an open-mic worth hitting.
I've been reading “Mother Jones” for the past hour and a half. Articles about the housing crisis and torture, that sort of thing. I've just discovered “Mother Jones.” My well-read friends are shocked by this fact as if I had just discovered what the little knob in the bathtub does. Really? I can get water from above or below? Why didn't someone tell me inventions such as these existed?
Nevertheless, I can only read it for so long before I need to shut it for sensitive eyes. I find the stories groundbreaking and heartbreaking, but even more so because the editor's opening letter is quite right – it's hard to make people care about anything their mind is already made up on.
As the flight attendant who looks like Chyna's little sister (same austere face with almost sarcastically applied make-up, much smaller build) gives me peanuts, I realize my mind is made up on hating peanuts. No publication will make me think otherwise. They're too salty.
Maybe terrorists are also very salty. I could see hating a people I've never known if my superior officers told me how salty they were. But if I were a deer, I'd find them even more attractive. The two secrets I would hide from my superior officers would be that I'm attracted to terrorists and that I am a deer. Those two facts can ruin any man's chances at making Sergeant.
Neal Stastny is picking my flying party up from the airport. He is a hilarious man.
***
Just got back from Franky's and Johnny's. Neal brought us. Good food. I hate a giant fried catfish. I just re-read that last sentence and realized I put “hate” instead of “ate.” But fuck it – if you're willing to ingest a thing, you must have some level of disdain for it. People don't not eat dogs because of the lack of nutritional value. Hey now!
I am indeed fat, and that will stay so for some time.
I am now checked in now at a near-French Quarter hotel. The bed is very large and very, very soft. Outside the window is a oddly appealing view of what I believe is St. Charles Ave. I may very well be wrong.
Tomorrow the festival begins. I hear there's also an open-mic worth hitting.
posted by Mike Drucker at
7:03 PM
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