It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth (13 page)

Well one of the girls at The Comedy Arms was NOT in show business, didn't want to be in show business, could care less about show business, she was what we called "a civilian". I had the typical starving actors apartments. Brick and board bookcase, sofa made from pillows on the floor, director's chairs, plants and bed on the floor. Everything was on the floor, the nice thing about finally earning money; you can see what's above the baseboard.

So we're sitting around the pool one day and Michelle says, "I want those Pompadour Grass things for my apartment."  (These were tall grasses with a puff of fluffy cream-colored balls at the end. They're used as landscape on freeways out here.) As luck would have it, I had noticed that they just planted some of these grasses at a new housing development off the freeway. AH, FINALLY HE'S GETTING TO THE STORY.  And we decided that we could go there and cut some for Michelle's apartment.

We make the long drive to the Sepulveda pass, where the grasses are growing, and park our car on the steep road that leads to the housing development.  Michelle walks down the embankment to start harvesting her crop. I stay with the car. It's not six minutes when an LAPD cruiser pulls up behind me. "Anything wrong?"  And I say, "Oh no, we're just on our way to look for a house when my wife dropped her high school graduation ring out the window." WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT???!!!!!!!

Now you have to remember these were 2 million dollars homes and I was driving a beat up Toyota station wagon with a hanger for an antenna.  I call out to Michelle, "Honey, the police want to know if you found your ring?" And Michelle drops the grasses and scurries up the hill. "Come on dear, we'll be late for our appointment." I say, and pull her into the car. Once out of earshot of the cops I explain and head up the hill to the sales office. The police follow right behind us. They follow us right up to the door of the sales office and then go inside as I fill out an application for a two million dollar home. I was working in a Photomat booth at the time.

So the cops leave and now we are left with a real estate lady on commission. This is like leaving a cheesecake with an overeater. This bitch is determined to sell us a house and does not stop talking  "These homes are of the finest quality, only the finest woods and appliances have been used, everything is custom, we pride ourselves in the design and their energy efficiency of your home of the future." Now she's got my attention. "What type of heating are they using? " And Michelle looks at me like I just shit in her purse. "Why don't I show you." and the real estate broker has me under the arm and is escorting me to the model.

We enter this mansion on the hill. "This is a our Savannah. Notice the use of crown molding in all the rooms." And suddenly I'm on an inspection tour. "Is this what they call a linen closet? My God look at the size of that thing, you can't use this for a linen closet, I'd have to rip the whole thing out and start over again." Michelle sits. Her mouth is open. The Broker says, "No that will be quite adequate for linens.” to which I angrily add. "Maybe in your house. "  So now the broker and I are fighting over the guest closet, the linen closets, the bathroom fixtures, the size of the guest room and the placement of the door from the maid's room to the kitchen.   Michelle is still sitting in the living room plotting to get me committed.

The broker and I are really getting into it. "I couldn't live here." You have to remember I'm living in a hundred and sixty five dollar a month one-bedroom apartment.  "Sir. I don't think this development is for you.", says the broker. "I agree." and I grab Michelle "Honey, we're taking the place in Malibu."  And I storm back to my rusted car.  "Are you out of your mind?" Michelle says. "Me? That effing moron is trying to sell us a two million dollar house without closet space, who's the fool here? "  The broker runs after us. "Did I give you my card?" Michelle looks at me and looks at the broker, then back at me... on the fool question, the jury was still out.

We never got the grasses we came for.

April 2, 2006 -
YET ANOTHER TEMPLE GIG

I slept on the sofa last night. Why? I was upset.  I couldn't sleep in my bed. I needed to punish myself. I did another one of those gigs.

Steve Mittleman called me. You remember him; he's the comedian who was on extreme makeover. Anyway, he asked me if I would do this charity gig.... IN.... A.... TEMPLE. Oh God no, not another one of those Temple gigs!  Please God, can't you raise your own capital? Must you torment me?  Mittleman is probably one of the nicest guys doing comedy today and I couldn't say no to him despite the fact that I hate doing these unprofessional venues. But I figured if Steve was doing it, how bad could it be; Very, is the answer.

Anyway, it started from the moment I arrived. I was told there would be parking. And there was parking, for everyone but me...and there was no street parking. What should I do, bring the car in with me? Ah! There's the attendant.  Attendant? A 14 year old with acne.  "My mother told me to wait for you. Who are you?"  So he tells me to park over there. "Are you sure? I'll be blocking a car", "Yeah, my mother said it was OK." Again with the mother.  Who is this woman, chief of police?  So I park my car, blocking a Hummer and enter the facility. Facility, ha! The Marvin Hamlish Memorial Bar Mitzvah Hall.

I walk into a scene from Forrest Gump. The entire I.Q of this group is 7...combined.... with a curve.  They are huddled around the "cookie table" and are dressed like extras in "Portnoy's Complaint". I look for a friendly face but there is none, Steve and the other comedians have not yet arrived. So, I sit in the kitchen, next to the unopened boxes of Costco cookies.

It takes six minutes before the parking lot kid comes to find me. "You gotta move your car. You're blocking someone.", "But you told me to park there.", "They're angry, hurry."  I run out to the parking lot and Hulk Hogan is pacing. "I'll move it. I'm sorry. They told me to park there.... Ma'am". Biggest woman I've ever seen, nice mustache though.

So I move my car, take her space and go back to the kitchen where I sit in the lavish splendor of show business. Takes five minutes and a woman comes in. Picture every Jewish cousin who has ever dropped out of Weight Watchers. She begins with that nasal, New York accent... the sound of her voice makes me want to confess to crimes I didn't commit. "Hello, I'll be you're producer tonight. HA! Look at me, I'm a producer."  And I think, "Ziegfeld was a producer. You're a J.A.P. with a sinus infection." “Just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you." ," Is there a dressing room?" , "NO", "What about stage lighting?" , "NO", "Can I get a stool for the stage?" , "NO. Is that all?"  She was right. She was a producer.

The show begins with my favorite of all favorite things. The announcements. "If you didn't get tickets for the raffle. The clothing drive is going well but we need more shorts. Memorial service for ... " and I'm out of the room to pull my hair out. At this point my producer, Aunt Miriam, wants to go over my material. "Don't say shit." I think she's using "shit" as a verb not a noun. "What shit don't you want me to say?", "Any shit.", "I can't say any shit?", "Right", "What would you like me to do up there, shadow puppets?". "I don't care what you do don't say shit, fuck, pussy, asshole, ass, bitch or mother fucker."  This is a scene in a movie that I'm going to write some day and I egg her on. "Wait. I can say fuck or I can't say fuck. ", "NO! No fuck, no motherfucker, no fucking.", "No fucking? How will I have children?" She just looks at me.

I do my set and it goes very well. I know what I'm doing when I hit the stage. It's backstage that has me tormented. If they would just leave me alone; Let me do what I do, but they insist on telling me to block in The Hummer.

I went from the stage to my car. I didn't say good night to Aunt Miriam, Steve or the kid's mother in charge of the parking. I just went home and tried to sleep. Could not sleep so I went upstairs and started watching a Holocaust Documentary and it was then I solved the mystery of the dog vomit.

My dog has been throwing up this black crap for two days. I could not figure out what it was but I knew it was some part of my house. I have a large, expensive, leather shag rug in my great room. It appears Sully is eating it.  I buy him the finest dog food money can buy, he hates it... my furniture he eats.

April 5, 2006 -
HOWIE MANDELL

When I first started working, and made some money, the very first thing I did was invest in real estate. I had a share in an apartment building and lived there as manager/owner for over a decade. Over the years many people filled that eight unit building... many who became famous. Kim Fields and her mother Chip, Comedian Bob Zany, Infomercial King Jim Caldwell, Steve Tyler and my favorite, Howie Mandell and his wife Terry. It was an interesting time in my life, it was right after my divorce. I was doing a lot of stand up at the time and had to juggle a lot of balls to keep the building going and be on the road, but I did it. Remember, I'm a survivor. I do what has to be done. 

Howie Mandell is truly one of the funniest human beings I know. There are comedians who are technicians, who have learned if I say this set of words and stop, the audience will laugh and then there are people like Howie Mandell, Elayne Boosler, Cathy Ladman, David Letterman.. etc , etc who are genuinely funny people. They think funny because they are funny.

Here's an interesting Howie story, one he may not be aware of.  It's because of Howie that I decided I should not pursue a stand up career. Howie was living in my building when he got the part on St Elsewhere.  We were friends at the time since we saw each other daily. He called me one night and asked me if I wanted to go with him to the Improv, he was doing a set. I asked, "Why would you do a set? You're on a series."  And Howie answered, “I need to."  And at that moment I knew I would never be a star. You see, I DIDN'T  "need to”. Yet I was in a business of people who did. Those people would do anything they could to reach the top. I would not and so on that night I slowly began to withdraw from my dream. At the time I thought it was a healthy thing but in retrospect I think that what I did is what I've done all my life. "I'm not good enough. There will always be someone better and they will get the prize...not me."  Survive? I don't know how I did.   Let me tell you a Howie story.

Howie and I are walking down Ventura Blvd. in Studio City, now this is just before he was cast in St. Elsewhere. We were deep in conversation and in mid sentence he says, "Wait. I need to do something." and I follow him into a one-hour photo place. He says to the guy, "Listen, I told my parents I was going on vacation but I spent the money. I need pictures of vacations, any vacation...  without people in them."  I wanted to die because I know this is a bit. The guy behind the counter barely spoke English. " You wanna what?" " I need photos of other people's vacations. Just places no people."

So the guy starts bringing out photo after photo.  And Howie is going through them, "No, this one has a lady in it.  The background is good. Do you have this without the lady?"  "No!". "Ok, do you have anything of Paris?" And the guy exits to the back room. "No Paris". "OK, then what about the Bahamas but the good side of the island not where the cheap hotels are." 

Howie stays in the shop for a half an hour all the time I am in the background stifling a laugh. I'm stifling a laugh and staring in amazement that he could pull this off without laughing.  I knew then he would be a star... and I was right.

Years later, when Howie had moved out of the building,  I was out having dinner when Howie and Terry walked in. We waved to each other and I continued to eat. I called the waiter over. "Did you know that today is Howie Mandell's Birthday?" (It was not) And the waiter said, "We'll take care of it, sir. " And within five minutes the entire Mexican wait staff was singing HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Howie in Spanish. Howie laughed and looked right at me. "Touché". He knew!

April 11, 2006 -
MY INSANE LIFE

Ya know how I've been telling you how nothing bad has been happening in my life. Well yesterday was one of those days we all wait for. Shit happened by the truckload.

It starts at 10:00 a.m. I'm driving to a doctor's appointment and I'm on a narrow country road. There is a girl on a bicycle in front of me.  (What is it with bicycle riders and joggers? There is a perfectly clear sidewalk right over there but they think they're in their own personal 10 K Marathon and have to jog right in the middle of the street. Makes no sense.)  Add to that, this kid thinks she's Lance Armstrong. She's in and out of traffic; she's on the curb and then swings back in the middle of the street. She's weaving like she's making a bedspread for her hope chest. She darts out in front of me and I tap the horn because I don't think she sees me. She gives me the finger. The little dweeb flips me off! I think, "That ungrateful little bitch!" And I start to fume.  I get to the red light and she pulls up next to me and she starts screaming at me. Like an idiot, I roll down the window. "I'm trying to protect you from getting hit by a car and you have the nerve to flip me off?"  "Listen Pops! You're too old to protect me." And it's like my entire body shuts down.  I hear nothing else but.... LISTEN POPS!!  Who does she think I am Arthur Fiedler? (Look him up) And she peddles off. POPS? She called me POPS. I have the neck of a 30 year old and she calls me POPS.  I pull the visor mirror down and take a look at my face. No one has ever called me Pops in my life!  My ego is mortally wounded.  EFFING POPS!  I think "asshole" would have been much more appropriate here. Don't you? Even mother fucker would have been nice...but POPS?