Trolley summer has started.

Today was the first day of the summer where I remembered how hot it gets in a trolley all summer long. And it's only going to get hotter over the next few days. Tomorrow I'm bringing a cooler. And by that I mean that William H. Macy is going to be sitting next to me all day seeing to it that I don't get lucky.

For some reason the engines are right there up front with the driver. Isn't there anyway that they could've had the engine installed somewhere outside the vehicle on a rolling scaffolding where trained monkeys would spend all day dousing it with ice water?

Better yet, get me those ice water spraying primates. They'll make much more exciting passengers for me. They may not tip as well as the humans but, hey, what was I saving all my tip money for anyway? Monkeys. Lots of ice water shooting monkeys.

Rhesus.

Because of the viruses they tend to carry with them.

Next stop Marshall Fields, State Street!

Everyone, everything, melting away. My thoughts are the only thing that's real but...wait-- Where am I? Am I in space? Yes! Yes! I finally did it. I drove the trolley just the right way so that I could get it to space. Sure is cool in space. The air is clean. Diluted but clean. And one molecule of clean air is worth a bucket of diesel exhaust. Hey what's that over there? The Sun! Yay! I found it! There it is--no wait. It's not the sun! It's a trolley engine! The big trolley engine in the sky.

"Excuse me sir. Wake up from your heat coma. The light is green."

It's hot.

Never give up!

Yesterday during the every-Wednesday-in-summer barbecue at work, the basketball goal was wheeled down by the food and we played basketball.
I wasn't really excited about playing an actual game against anyone. But a 3 on 3 game took shape. I had just eaten 3 plates of food and filled up the rest of the space in my stomach with coke and lemonade. Oh and then I chased wiffle balls and hit a volleyball around with some people before the game. And I haven't played a basketball game since I was 13.
I thought since it was a company funtime that joking around would be fine. Apparently, it was inappropriate. First of all, with the exception of myself, these were all serious ballers. One guy could slam. Another one was 18 and probably aiming for a basketball career.
I found very early on in the game that not only couldn't this white man jump but I could barely walk anymore. I was not a positive attribute for our team. We lost. Then I managed to get into an argument with a guy on my team and then he shook everybody's hand but mine after the game.
Weird.
So I took a break, caught my breath and we came back. This time I tried harder.
Then after the games, it turns out the guy who was arguing with me wanted to talk comedy. He did stand-up and sketch comedy in New York for four years. Now he's a tour guide studying at the Second City Conservatory.
To him I say: "Listen, comedy isn't something that can be done only when you feel funny. Comedy is a way of life."
You can't get serious when you're playing basketball. That's giving up.

The spirit of Mitch Hedberg lives on.

I wanted to mention, in honor of the late great Mitch Hedberg, that tonight I opened a Diet Pepsi and found that I had won 1 point. Towards what end? I'm not sure. But if I'm ever 1 point down, I'll pull that bottle top out and we'll be square.

I try to be cool.

Yesterday was the first meeting of the new sketch comedy group that I'm directing. I came to the meeting prepared. I laid out my thoughts and explained myself to them. However, at the table was my wife, my great friend and comedy partner Scott, my other friend and Scott's girlfriend Rebecca and former director and performer at Second City and SNL writer Nate Herman. Scott and Becca are in the group but my wife and Nate are not. We mistimed dinner.
So I they watched me eat for a minute while we waited for a late comer.
When I began to explain my plans, there was too much fun going on behind me. I'm highly distractable. Between, the fun behind me, the waitress around us, and the big open front door of the restaurant through which I expected the late comer, I don't feel like I was speaking English. Or at least, I wasn't putting the words in the right order.
I found that I tend to interrupt my thoughts with anecdotes, hypotheticals, and examples to the point that most need a decoder ring to follow me.
I think it went okay.
Scott gave good feedback as did some of the others in the group.
Abram Rabinowitz (I'm not sure if he's of hebrew descent) mentioned that he could get us a stage to use for free. That'd be cool.
Cathy was positive.
Nate said it sounded like I knew what I was talking about.

So, all in all, it felt like I just fought with some dogs. I was shaken, bleeding and buzzing with adrenaline afterwards but from now on, those dogs will listen. Not that my cast is a pack of dogs. The dogs are in my head.

And they're hunting for excess lettuce.