Cloud Nine

I

Peppy the Cat has emerged from her hiding place. She's stretched out on the bed, catting. Tonight's our big showcase at the world famous Ice House. I asked my coach, Corey, this question:

Do you rehearse till you want to blow your brains out, then rehearse some more? Or is there another method?

His answer? Yes.

Cryptic.

I've been practicing my bit over and over in the hotel room, and in our emptyish house when I’m back for the toaster. In the car, too. I'm thinking of driving out to Cabazon for a date shake. I don't eat sweets, but I feel like shaking things up. What if I get stuck out there? Guess I'll go a different day.

It's six-thirty in the morning. I slept pretty good. But now I'm restless again. Time. Time. My soul’s been psychedelicized.

Tom Petty's Drivin’ Down to Georgia is EXACTLY five minutes long. That's how long my set is supposed to be. I could use it to practice my timing and ability to handle crowd noise. But then I might get tired of this song, which I don't want to do. Maybe it'll be my intro when I hit the big time.

Penny found a guitar in the basement. I vaguely remember buying that guitar maybe eighteen years ago. I really meant to learn this time. Well, I didn't. That's me and the guitar. Good intentions, bad follow through. Maybe I can use it as a prop. Or hang it on the wall. It's probably damaged from living in the basement.

I wanted to be rich and famous in my twenties. A novelist and harmonica player. I wasn't half bad, but I wasn't quite disciplined, either. I got sidetracked. Complacent. Interested in other things.

Mary Lou at the front desk gave me a fresh batch of towels and the phone number for corporate so I could complain about the goddamn door that doesn’t work. She looked at me funny when I said “goodbye heart.” Had no idea who Ricky Nelson was. Set her straight. Young people, here's the thing. Stuff happened before you were born. Don't be one of those people who doesn't know who Ricky Nelson is, especially if your name’s Mary Lou.

I guess I'm a little bit ranty today. Part of me is feeling like I should invest in a pair of stingray boots. That'd be badass for the show. But the boots I'm wearing right now have dragons on them, and that's more than good enough.

We're all at least a little bit superstitious. Dragon boots or stingray boots, hoping for a rope to hang by when faced with our inner demons. I'm excited for tonight, and filled with dread. What if I forget? I haven't so far in practice, but tonight's the real deal. What if nobody laughs? What if they laugh, and I forget what comes next? So many ways this can go south. I'm not convinced the ending is right. That's supposed to be the biggest laugh of all. But I can't change it now. I'll forget.

It's going to be all right. Nothing to do with swagger or bravado. I'm practiced to the gills, up to my eyeballs in this five minute set. I sleep it, breathe it, dream it.

Now if I could just make time crawl a little bit faster.

Now the time has come (Time)
There's no place to run (Time)
I might get burned up by the sun (Time)
But I had my fun (Time)
I've been loved and put aside (Time)
I've been crushed by the tumbling tide (Time)
And my soul has been psychedelicized (Time)

No place to run. Now there's a comforting thought. In our attempts to psych ourselves up, we sometimes psych ourselves out. Don't do that. Breathe, you say. Okay.

When Peppy gets scared, she hides. When we get scared, we hide. Or, we go up on stage, regardless.

II

Turned out more than ok. The audience was amazing. I was worried early on, as I watched the show from the VIP Room. That's the holding tank where comics hang out before and after their turn. The audience seemed subdued for the first couple of comics. Not a good sign. My audience is typically very subdued, which I attribute to my being new and lousy. Coupled with my general sense of anxiety, I was worried. But excited.

The kids in the supposedly clean show were on fire. Hilarious, smart, and cute. Some as young as seven. The crowd for them was raucous. Our crowd for the not so clean show took a while to warm up. But they did. I performed my usual routine of going to the bathroom every five minutes prior to being on deck. As I sat in the on deck chair, I wished I'd gone to the bathroom one last time. And then I was up.

It felt like divine intervention. All the jokes were landing. My fear of going long was justified, because you have to pause for the laughter. And these beautiful people were filling the room with laughter. I only got through half the jokes, ditching material without mercy along the way. I still went over by a lot, I'm sure, despite abandoning ship quickly after the five minute flashing red light.

Penny texted me. “OHMYGOSH. YOU FREAKING SLAYED!!!!” A good sign. Penny is brutally honest. Even when she's not, I can tell when she's trying to spare my feelings.

Corey had me follow him to the dressing room. I thought I was in trouble for going so far off script. I was wrong. He heaped praise on me for doing the best I ever did by far. Back in the VIP Room, Torrance admitted that the first time he ever heard me, when he was subbing for Coach Andrew, he was worried for me. But THIS was great. Other comics congratulated me. I was feeling damn proud.

Eventually, I made it out to the courtyard, where my gang was gathered. Penny and our friend Gretchen, here from Sedona. Our neighbors, Angel and Olivia. Brenda from the Wonder Dog Ranch, and Erin. We yakked till we were the only ones left.

After we scattered, I felt like I ought to be sitting alone in a booth at Denny’s, basking in the afterglow. Instead, I headed back to the hotel, where I couldn't get the goddamn door open.

Cloud Nine wouldn't be Cloud Nine if not for the goddamn door.