This was a post from July that was too heavy for me to post at the time. The subject of the story passed a few years ago this month. I miss him dearly. The sun shines and the rain falls on both the good and the evil. Live every day like it is your last. One day it will be for all of us. Leave no regrets on the table...
I sit surrounded by my 3 dogs. Amazing Grace, My Pekingese, is sprawled out unphased by the shock and awe of the fireworks outside. Fiona Apple Schmutzie, My Japanese Chin, is confused and jumpy looking to her canine companions for proper behavior during the noisy onslaught. Fabian, My 80 pound Black Lab is a wreck, completely shell shocked by the hell of aerial warfare attacking his senses. We go through this yearly. My wife sleeps soundly in bed. I rough it on the couch cajoling the animals through the night. They give me great comfort. A nights loss of sleep is glad repayment for their unconditional love for me and my family.
I am reflecting on this date today and one's of the not so distant past. I'm starting with the end and finishing with the start. I hope you and your family have a safe holiday and you realize the precious gift of life that is handed to you each morning. Handle with care. Of course I will relate my story to addictions. Mine were primarily alcohol and drugs. They also included porn, money, work, power, prestige, stuff, objects, more work and all of the 7 deadly sins. Maybe you can relate to my story. I was into me, my and mine. Reality, friends and family had to fit into the "me" agenda or were dismissed or ignored.
On July 3rd, 2007 I was "dry" but on the herbal recovery plan. Squeaky and I were enjoying the fireworks display from our driveway. My cell rang. It was a good friend of mine who was really struggling with recovery. He was loaded on the works and insisting he was going to shoot his neighbor if any fireworks landed in his yard. I told him that was a silly thing to go to jail for and being the Fourth of July weekend made the odds of a landing pretty high. We were close and he just needed to vent. He did. First on me. Then on Squeaky. He had a heart of gold and an insatiable thirst for vodka. He unloaded on us but there were no reports of anyone unloading on a neighbor due to fireworks in the paper the next morning.
He refused to go to recovery meetings or return to rehab. He could "handle it on his own." Addiction gives the addict that same line of crap daily, endlessly. I called. He picked up the phone less and less. I stopped over. He didn't answer the door. We drunks love to isolate. He drifted farther into darkness until he drifted into eternity September of that year. He refused help from many. His solution to ease his misery was to buy several gallons of vodka and bug spray. He had pets including a cat I had given him named Louie.
The booze was to feed his master. The bug spray to kill the fleas that had infested his home. He did not die from alcohol poisoning. Day after day he was spraying himself with the bug spray to keep the fleas off. Finally enough of it soaked through his skin, into his blood stream and it shut his system down. He didn't feel a thing. He did not commit suicide. He committed insecticide. I loved him like a brother.
He joined me for a job I had installing inflatable Sponge Bob's on Burger King roofs throughout the south in the months before his passing. We had a great time navigating the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee, into the small towns of Indiana and Southern Illinois. The disease was too big for him and the vice like grip of alcoholism too powerful for him to shake. It's too strong for anyone to shake alone. He was sober on that trip. I'll never forget the first night we stayed in the motel and he dropped his drawers to reveal leopard bikini underwear. He was damn near fifty and a lady killer. I laughed so hard I nearly got us thrown out of the place.
There are lots of success stories in recovery. There are as many or more stories of those who don't make it to the other side and back to reality. This cat had a heart of gold and would give you the shirt off his back and the skin of his teeth. Addiction doesn't care if you're a sinner or a saint. I miss him. I think of him every time I hear a Zep tune. There are times I wish I could have done MORE to help. I couldn't.
The only person who can get an addict sober is the addict. We can't do it alone. That is for sure. You can love. You can beg. You can cry and plea for us to stop. The sad reality is that only about 15% of addicts find any long term sobriety. Of those only about 5% find permanent sobriety. The odds are lousy. The rewards are great. I love the day to day concept. Today I am sober. It's cool. Tomorrow I'll try again. My buddy is up with Bonzo and Moony. He is at peace and sees fireworks in the clouds everynight.....I love you Twister...
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Rally's and Alley's a "BOSS" DAY! (Soul Parole)
I am grateful to have been asked to emcee and perform at Rally Round Recovery 2012. It is an honor. This is from 2011 and a chapter preview from Soul Parole.
Time: 8:00 am. I'm sitting in Joliet's Hotel Plaza restaurant in the heart of the city, just across from the library. It's been here forever. I'd call it a diner. This is my kinda joint. It's no frills, good food and great prices. The place has a feel about it. It breathes. You can feel the history as you slide into your booth, sticking halfway into place.
There's a handful of tables and the prerequisite single stool bar. A couple of regulars checker the place. The waitress knows everyone by name and what they want as they sit down. She treats me like she's known me for years as she offers me coffee, a menu and my choice of newspapers. That's service.
I know what I'm going to order. I am a creature of habit. It'll be two eggs over medium with hash browns and ham well done. She takes my menu and flashes a smile while tucking it under her arm and spinning toward the kitchen. It's waitress ballet. I have been here, and by here, before as both an alcoholic/addict and in recovery. In a few short hours I will be standing in front of the Will County Board, the County President and State's Attorney. I feel my nerves and blood pressure beginning to build.
The men's room is just around the corner from where I am sitting. I can't help but notice a group of photos hanging in a bunch along the way. They have shot an episode of "Boss," the new Kelsey Grammer series debuting this fall on STARZ here. There is a picture of Kelsey and an autographed pic of Director Mario Van Peebles on a bulletin board along with some other celebrities. I smile, grateful that I have been blessed to work on a 4 episodes of the show. Several of the episodes are directed by Mr. Van Peebles. I am a featured extra as a school teacher in one episode. The irony is staggering knowing that in years gone by I have bought drugs not far from this very spot. I have also talked to struggling addicts here trying to get their lives together.
I return to the table and my food awaits. The egg whites are cooked but runny. Perfect. I have no idea what I am going to say when they present the County Proclamation to me as Spokesman and Emcee of "Rally Round Recovery 2011." I know God will give me the words when my moment comes. I just hopes he gives me good ones. Whatever they are, they will be grateful ones. I skim the newspaper and am careful not to get food on my clothes. I am a slob. I am the guy who drops a meatball down his shirt even when he's not eating a meatball.
I pay my tab and tip the waitress. I begin to make my way toward the courthouse only to realize that the event is at the county building. Joliet has changed so much in the last 20 years. The downtown area is gorgeous. I stroll past alleys where I once looked for "dates" or chemical escape, happy to be alive and sober. The sun is shining and I am on the right side of the street. I have a choice today not to use. There was a time when I had no choice. I begged my addiction to spare me for the day but it always managed to find a reason to beat me into submission again and again. Not today.
I arrived at the Will County Commission building before nine. One of the beauties of sobriety is I am not late. I greet Robert Snipes and Paul Lauridsen, organizers and bigwigs from Stepping Stones Recovery home and Southwest Alliance for Recovery. We sat in the gallery amongst the political elite. It was fascinating watching the District Commissioners talk in millions like you and I would talk in hundreds. I loved the fact that a prayer was done before the session. Forget Church and State. I want God to bless any meeting that has to do with my money!
As they called us up and Commissioner Dralle called me to the podium I was still shaking. Representative Larry Walsh handed me the plaque recognizing "Rally Round Recovery 2011" and September as National Recovery month. I thanked the commissioners and council members for their support and for having me there by invitation, not by SUBPOENA! It was a truly humbling moment, and one I will never forget.
I can't recall what I said beyond the joke. My recovery mentor says if I don't remember when I speak in situations like that it came from the heart or GOD, not me. I like that. In a few moments we were whisked off and the next group to be recognized was ushered up to the podium. I was still shaking.
David Brenner told me if you don't get butterflies before a performance get out of the business because it means you've lost your passion. I believe that. I have a genuine passion in sharing my story to let people know they are not alone but can not do it alone. The 28 years I suffered through and put my family through were hell. I see more and more in my sobriety as I help others in recovery and those with depression issues that those days were not spent in vain. I would not wish that hell on ANYONE.
As each day goes by and I share my message of hope, faith and the wonders of sobriety I am giving away what was given to me by those who came before me. I am a garden variety drunk and addict with a cool job. I am grateful to GOD that he continues to give me work in the business. I love both acting and comedy. I get my greatest satisfaction showing people the wonders of sobriety and living with the choice not to use.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Look at ME Dammit!
One of the biggest struggles I face as a recovering addict and man is balance. In addiction there is only black and white. The grey area of life does not exist. There is only yes or no, right or wrong, my way or the highway. I tend to live my life either swinging dangerously from the highest branch on the tree of life or clinging desperately to the trunk, afraid to slide out on a limb even a foot.
At the core of my being is a desire to be liked and loved by the whole world. This isn't restricted to the people who make up my circle of friends, family and acquaintances. I want people in the most remote villages nestled in the mountains of Tibet, who don't even know me to love me. Of course it's irrational. It is, however, the way I want the world to be.
The paradox of this desire to be accepted and loved is that it is not required that I love, or even like everybody. Add to that the fact that if you love me too much I will begin to think I don't deserve it and push you away and the complexity of my addicted mind and how I have problems functioning in relationships becomes clearer in its fuzziness.
I have read in recovery literature that alcoholics and addicts have big egos and poor self-esteem. That fits me to a T. I don't think very much of myself but I am often all I think about. It is unintentional. It gets better daily but it is still there. I am still childlike in my desire to hear the parental-like words of my fellows ring in my ears, "Tommy you're a good boy. You did real good. I'm proud of you."
At 45 it seems silly to be seeking such simple affirmation from those around me. I know I am loved. I am confident that I am a useful messenger of God. I see that I am growing in my husbandry, fathering and friendship skills. I know I am doing the right things with my life for the right reasons and my motives are noble and honest. Yet why this need for adulation and adoration?
I have that same black and white effect on people when they meet me. They either think I'm funny, genuine and a sincerely likable guy or an egotistical prick. There's no grey area here either. I have a God given look on my face that says step away. When I talk and walk it is with bravado and cock sureness. I picked up these skills early in life as a facade to mask the fear that crippled me inside. It was a survival method and a way to throw the dogs off the scent of my internal insecurities. I didn't want you to see that when it came to living life I was clueless.
When I was on the street using, the "warning do not approach" looks were great because the underworld of addicts is filled with people who are looking for your weakness to prey upon. They are like lions looking for those they can devour. By appearing poker faced I was left alone for the most part. I could also control, manipulate and use those around me with a glare or stare to get what I wanted to continue to use.
Fast forward to now and I am a few years sober after 28 years of chemical delusion. I am a man child at times. On most days I perform the tasks of a 45 year old decently and by the book of how things should be done correctly. There are other days that I am a kid like Tom Hanks in "BIG" standing in front of the mirror as an 11 year old in a man's suit. He is perplexed at recognizing the suit and knowing he is a man yet trapped in the body of the small boy staring back at him.
My career has been amazingly successful in the last year. Moving from the comedy stage to extra work and now feature roles is a blessing I am grateful for. I have worked very hard to get so far so fast. The gifts of a sense of humor and acting are God given. Some of my acting skills were learned from my years on the streets running and gunning, trying to score or being people that I wasn't. I have lost so much of my life to addiction. I am a man driven to succeed and share my success stories of hopelessness to success with those still suffering, hoping they provide inspiration to seek help and recover.
Where things get lost in translation is that people judge others by their actions and not their intentions. This is reality and the way all of life is. I may mean well and have a bigger picture in my head but often all that comes out of my mouth is me,me,me. That is what the world is going to draw their conclusions about ME from. It really is quite simple but not everyone reads my blog or knows I'm in recovery. Some do and have overcome great obstacles of their own and don't give a hoot. To them it reads as a big "look at me" post!
I think that posting something online about a project I have landed is encouraging to a person based on my 28 years of addiction. In that context it is. But not everyone who reads my posts knows of my journey and lost decade. My wall looks like a running ad for Narcissist Weekly! I lose sight of the fact that my addiction story is inspiring but we are all trying to fight for jobs and all have stories of success to share.
There are only a few people I need to worry about when it comes to how they feel about me. They are God, my family, friends and me. I need to share the triumphs of those around me that inspire me. There are so many. I may look and act a certain way but I can't control how I look. I can, however, change the way I act. Inside I am a good and decent man. My mouth is the troublemaker!
I will end by saying that I am a human, prone to mistakes. I am an addict in recovery learning to switch from me to we. I am glad that I am open mined enough to see and learn. I am grateful to be alive and am always willing to share with others my growing pains and share my success and failures. Thanks to you for your love, dislike or indifference but mainly for being with me on this journey. I have so much to learn and so many teachers to draw from.
At the core of my being is a desire to be liked and loved by the whole world. This isn't restricted to the people who make up my circle of friends, family and acquaintances. I want people in the most remote villages nestled in the mountains of Tibet, who don't even know me to love me. Of course it's irrational. It is, however, the way I want the world to be.
The paradox of this desire to be accepted and loved is that it is not required that I love, or even like everybody. Add to that the fact that if you love me too much I will begin to think I don't deserve it and push you away and the complexity of my addicted mind and how I have problems functioning in relationships becomes clearer in its fuzziness.
I have read in recovery literature that alcoholics and addicts have big egos and poor self-esteem. That fits me to a T. I don't think very much of myself but I am often all I think about. It is unintentional. It gets better daily but it is still there. I am still childlike in my desire to hear the parental-like words of my fellows ring in my ears, "Tommy you're a good boy. You did real good. I'm proud of you."
At 45 it seems silly to be seeking such simple affirmation from those around me. I know I am loved. I am confident that I am a useful messenger of God. I see that I am growing in my husbandry, fathering and friendship skills. I know I am doing the right things with my life for the right reasons and my motives are noble and honest. Yet why this need for adulation and adoration?
I have that same black and white effect on people when they meet me. They either think I'm funny, genuine and a sincerely likable guy or an egotistical prick. There's no grey area here either. I have a God given look on my face that says step away. When I talk and walk it is with bravado and cock sureness. I picked up these skills early in life as a facade to mask the fear that crippled me inside. It was a survival method and a way to throw the dogs off the scent of my internal insecurities. I didn't want you to see that when it came to living life I was clueless.
When I was on the street using, the "warning do not approach" looks were great because the underworld of addicts is filled with people who are looking for your weakness to prey upon. They are like lions looking for those they can devour. By appearing poker faced I was left alone for the most part. I could also control, manipulate and use those around me with a glare or stare to get what I wanted to continue to use.
Fast forward to now and I am a few years sober after 28 years of chemical delusion. I am a man child at times. On most days I perform the tasks of a 45 year old decently and by the book of how things should be done correctly. There are other days that I am a kid like Tom Hanks in "BIG" standing in front of the mirror as an 11 year old in a man's suit. He is perplexed at recognizing the suit and knowing he is a man yet trapped in the body of the small boy staring back at him.
My career has been amazingly successful in the last year. Moving from the comedy stage to extra work and now feature roles is a blessing I am grateful for. I have worked very hard to get so far so fast. The gifts of a sense of humor and acting are God given. Some of my acting skills were learned from my years on the streets running and gunning, trying to score or being people that I wasn't. I have lost so much of my life to addiction. I am a man driven to succeed and share my success stories of hopelessness to success with those still suffering, hoping they provide inspiration to seek help and recover.
Where things get lost in translation is that people judge others by their actions and not their intentions. This is reality and the way all of life is. I may mean well and have a bigger picture in my head but often all that comes out of my mouth is me,me,me. That is what the world is going to draw their conclusions about ME from. It really is quite simple but not everyone reads my blog or knows I'm in recovery. Some do and have overcome great obstacles of their own and don't give a hoot. To them it reads as a big "look at me" post!
I think that posting something online about a project I have landed is encouraging to a person based on my 28 years of addiction. In that context it is. But not everyone who reads my posts knows of my journey and lost decade. My wall looks like a running ad for Narcissist Weekly! I lose sight of the fact that my addiction story is inspiring but we are all trying to fight for jobs and all have stories of success to share.
There are only a few people I need to worry about when it comes to how they feel about me. They are God, my family, friends and me. I need to share the triumphs of those around me that inspire me. There are so many. I may look and act a certain way but I can't control how I look. I can, however, change the way I act. Inside I am a good and decent man. My mouth is the troublemaker!
I will end by saying that I am a human, prone to mistakes. I am an addict in recovery learning to switch from me to we. I am glad that I am open mined enough to see and learn. I am grateful to be alive and am always willing to share with others my growing pains and share my success and failures. Thanks to you for your love, dislike or indifference but mainly for being with me on this journey. I have so much to learn and so many teachers to draw from.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
I Want My Sausage WITH Peppers AND Onions!
As a person in recovery, long after the booze and dope is out of your system and you have begun to live life the way it's really coming at you, there are incredible moments of growth and personal victories. When your emotional IQ has been frozen in time by the effects chemicals have had it is like catching up with your body and actual age when you get sober. There are times when as a recovering alcoholic-addict, or maybe just as a human, I see myself regress. The difference between the using me and the recovering me is that I can reflect on my actions and be confident that I don't have to use over the rush of emotions. Then I review my day to search out the real cause of my regression.
I had one of THOSE days yesterday. I am working on a benefit for a dear friend and things were not going MY WAY, the great distress of any addict. It was one thing after another. With each rejection for a donation I was getting more irritable and I did not sleep well the night before. I have been nursing a pain in my side that I am convinced is either a twisted fallopian tube, Tay Sachs or Sickle Cell. As I made my calls and was pummeled with unsympathetic replies I was making notes for my memorial service soundtrack.
My son came home and asked if I wanted him to start dinner. As a budding chef and generally pretty good boy I jumped at the offer. The menu for the night was to be hot Italian sausage (sossage for those outside of Chicago) with onions and peppers on hoagie rolls. This is fine dining in my world. Soon the house was filled with the sweet smells of the "Holy Trinity" of cooking and the crackling sounds of what would be a culinary combination that rivals only corned beef and cabbage and surf-n-turf.
I feeling a little better at the table knowing a great meal was coming and a sit down with the family. My boy was starving and had one of the tasty creations as we waited for the queen to get home. I started wrapping up my work and waited for the dogs to rush the office door downstairs, a sure sign that Squeaky was home. In mere moments there she stood ravenous and beat. She had been through a similar day at the office as I had.
I know my wife has had a rough day when she puts her things down, grabs a plate and a soda and makes her way to the table. I finished the last of some follow-up emails. I could see my son was sitting down with another sausage slathered with peppers and onions. My wife prepared hers and asked me if I wanted her to make mine. From behind the screen, as I was hitting send, I said yes.
I moved my computer to the left of our dining room table and folded my hands for grace. I thanked the LORD for his blessings and some other points I needed to hit and opened my eyes. I looked down at my plate to see a poor naked sausage laying naked in a hoagie roll! I was horrified! Speechless! I looked at my wife and son stuffing the falling bits of pepper and onion back onto their sandwich. Then glanced back down at my lonely, naked, orphaned pork delicacy wannabe.
My emotions ran rampant! I was filled with jealousy and hurt. I was left out. Why hadn't I gotten any peppers and onions? Upon questioning my wife dryly replied, "Sorry I finished em'. There weren't that many left. You can have some of mine if you want." 'IF YOU WANT.' the words rang in my ears like I was taking the last dime from a starving orphan! I was doing math in my head realizing my son had TWICE the number of his allotted share of peppers and onions! I sat for a moment at the naked wiener on my plate with disdain. Who are these people at this table? Are there pods under their beds?!
You can't have french fries without ketchup! There is no peanut butter without jelly! I will not eat green eggs and ham! It was all there and I was pouting. I didn't say a word but my face spoke volumes. Eating the naked sausage felt like sacrilege. I didn't make a peep. That is very rare for me so they both knew I was unhappy but munched along in happy oblivion.
After dinner I mentioned to my wife that my feelings were hurt. When I was using I would have made a scene or stormed out the door. I realized I was tired. I knew I was smarting from the rejections I had all day. Trying to help a friend with little success was the real thing that was making me hurt. The peppers and onions were just the tipping point. I went up to bed early and spent some time talking to Squeaky.
When I woke up today my message box was filled with offers of donations from friends and strangers. From paintings, golf rounds and financial support the response was overwhelming. Everyday I learn more. I am grateful I have no desire to use but I am sorting through a lot of the "ic" that comes along with being an alcoholic. WE recovering addicts don't get our panties in a bunch over death, divorce and calamity. We do when there's no peppers and onions.
I had one of THOSE days yesterday. I am working on a benefit for a dear friend and things were not going MY WAY, the great distress of any addict. It was one thing after another. With each rejection for a donation I was getting more irritable and I did not sleep well the night before. I have been nursing a pain in my side that I am convinced is either a twisted fallopian tube, Tay Sachs or Sickle Cell. As I made my calls and was pummeled with unsympathetic replies I was making notes for my memorial service soundtrack.
My son came home and asked if I wanted him to start dinner. As a budding chef and generally pretty good boy I jumped at the offer. The menu for the night was to be hot Italian sausage (sossage for those outside of Chicago) with onions and peppers on hoagie rolls. This is fine dining in my world. Soon the house was filled with the sweet smells of the "Holy Trinity" of cooking and the crackling sounds of what would be a culinary combination that rivals only corned beef and cabbage and surf-n-turf.
I feeling a little better at the table knowing a great meal was coming and a sit down with the family. My boy was starving and had one of the tasty creations as we waited for the queen to get home. I started wrapping up my work and waited for the dogs to rush the office door downstairs, a sure sign that Squeaky was home. In mere moments there she stood ravenous and beat. She had been through a similar day at the office as I had.
I know my wife has had a rough day when she puts her things down, grabs a plate and a soda and makes her way to the table. I finished the last of some follow-up emails. I could see my son was sitting down with another sausage slathered with peppers and onions. My wife prepared hers and asked me if I wanted her to make mine. From behind the screen, as I was hitting send, I said yes.
I moved my computer to the left of our dining room table and folded my hands for grace. I thanked the LORD for his blessings and some other points I needed to hit and opened my eyes. I looked down at my plate to see a poor naked sausage laying naked in a hoagie roll! I was horrified! Speechless! I looked at my wife and son stuffing the falling bits of pepper and onion back onto their sandwich. Then glanced back down at my lonely, naked, orphaned pork delicacy wannabe.
My emotions ran rampant! I was filled with jealousy and hurt. I was left out. Why hadn't I gotten any peppers and onions? Upon questioning my wife dryly replied, "Sorry I finished em'. There weren't that many left. You can have some of mine if you want." 'IF YOU WANT.' the words rang in my ears like I was taking the last dime from a starving orphan! I was doing math in my head realizing my son had TWICE the number of his allotted share of peppers and onions! I sat for a moment at the naked wiener on my plate with disdain. Who are these people at this table? Are there pods under their beds?!
You can't have french fries without ketchup! There is no peanut butter without jelly! I will not eat green eggs and ham! It was all there and I was pouting. I didn't say a word but my face spoke volumes. Eating the naked sausage felt like sacrilege. I didn't make a peep. That is very rare for me so they both knew I was unhappy but munched along in happy oblivion.
After dinner I mentioned to my wife that my feelings were hurt. When I was using I would have made a scene or stormed out the door. I realized I was tired. I knew I was smarting from the rejections I had all day. Trying to help a friend with little success was the real thing that was making me hurt. The peppers and onions were just the tipping point. I went up to bed early and spent some time talking to Squeaky.
When I woke up today my message box was filled with offers of donations from friends and strangers. From paintings, golf rounds and financial support the response was overwhelming. Everyday I learn more. I am grateful I have no desire to use but I am sorting through a lot of the "ic" that comes along with being an alcoholic. WE recovering addicts don't get our panties in a bunch over death, divorce and calamity. We do when there's no peppers and onions.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Put Your Hands on the Television and for $19.95 your prayers will be heard!
I am a Christian. I am proud of it and I will never back down from it. I am willing to die for my faith. I am also tolerant of other religions. I do not think my God is better than yours. My beliefs are rock solid and yours are yours. There is plenty of room for us all.
The fact that man tries to define God and his universe, how or what HE is, and how HE wants things to be is where the problems lie. I am fairly certain that living peaceably with each other, tolerance and respect for each other and providing a decent standard of living for all humanity is what any creator would want.
I have had my problems with Christianity along the way to today. I have found a church that I am very comfortable with. It is simple and Gospel based. All monies collected by the members are open for review to any member and all of it goes to help the needy around Chicago and the world. The Pastor, Dr. Tim Harlow, delivers his message in jeans and welcomes people "as they are." It is not a fashion show or "Who's Who of member importance." All are welcome to take part in communion, a loving God and the sacrifice of his SON for US is the focus.
Strictly as a spectator I see why many people are "troubled" by religion and "Church." They are the creations of men. Spirituality is between the CREATOR and the man. It hurts me to see some of the apples spoil the bunch for those who really might get a lot from the fellowship and service to the community that comes with belonging to a church. A church is not a building, it is the people who are in it.
Today, after an audition for a part in a teen Christian TV Series "The In Crowd," I was drawn to the sounds of beautiful gospel music floating down Chicago's Oakwood Drive in the Boulevards neighborhood. The sounds of laughter and southern cooking filled my nose as I made my way west down the 600 block. I found my self at Holy Angels Church Stone Soul Picnic for St. Clotilde. As Chicago's oldest African American Catholic Church, Sister Stephanie and Renatta greeted me lickety split. They didn't care how I looked. I wasn't a member of the church. I was a child of God and they took me right in offering me wonderful food, fellowship, music and laughter. That is a church!
How can the skeptic not be driven farther from the doors of a church when they see the Pope talk about the plight of the poor while he shuffles along corridors adorned with gold and multimillion dollar paintings covering every inch of the walls in the comfort of his Prada shoes? TV evangelists speak of humility and convincing the less fortunate they can have all the riches they want while asking them to send in their last dollar. The camera lights go out and they slip into the back of their Bentleys and review the financial statements for the day.
I am not saying that these men are wicked or should live in caves. I do think it is hard to discern for those caught between wanting to believe and fearing the greed of men and the corruption power brings. When I was in California last week there was a guy baptizing people in the river just outside Old Sacramento. It really got me. He was doing it for nothing but the desire to serve GOD and help the willing to be reborn. He was right out of a movie. He was dirty, driven and happy to be right where he was at. He had a cardboard sign with John 3:16 written on it and was soaking wet when he walked by. Business must have been okay.
In addiction I have always felt most comfortable talking about my problems with other addicts. I certainly wouldn't go to a dentist with crooked teeth. I think that's where things get sticky for folks in TV religion. I would like to point out that I do think there are some exceptions to the rule. Naming them would be pointless and irrelevant. It's hard for me to have compassion for a chubby guy complaining that he doesn't have enough to eat. Whoever said money isn't everything was right but probably was rich. A guy in a Versace suit stepping from a Benz just doesn't know the same day to day problems I have.
If a guy is on TV in a $5000 dollar suit and tells me that I need to send in $19.95 for my prayers to be answered and his ministry to continue, the first thing I think of is why don't you shop at Walmart or Sears? That would save you about $4900 right there. Multiply that by all the shows you do a year and you won't have to ask any old ladies for a dime! God takes you as you are. He doesn't have "a list" and guys outside looking for the "right folks" to get on the prayer list. Everyone is welcome.
I'm sure there are those that will take the side of the well dressed evangelist. I see nothing wrong with dressing your best for God. I also know some of these people raise millions for the less fortunate. There is a thick line between humility and overindulgence. I also know the best dressed, worst dressed, filthiest dressed, torn dressed are all welcome in God's kingdom. You don't need $19.95 for God to hear your prayers. All you need is a simple statement. "Hello God. It's me and I need you." The rest is free.
The fact that man tries to define God and his universe, how or what HE is, and how HE wants things to be is where the problems lie. I am fairly certain that living peaceably with each other, tolerance and respect for each other and providing a decent standard of living for all humanity is what any creator would want.
I have had my problems with Christianity along the way to today. I have found a church that I am very comfortable with. It is simple and Gospel based. All monies collected by the members are open for review to any member and all of it goes to help the needy around Chicago and the world. The Pastor, Dr. Tim Harlow, delivers his message in jeans and welcomes people "as they are." It is not a fashion show or "Who's Who of member importance." All are welcome to take part in communion, a loving God and the sacrifice of his SON for US is the focus.
Strictly as a spectator I see why many people are "troubled" by religion and "Church." They are the creations of men. Spirituality is between the CREATOR and the man. It hurts me to see some of the apples spoil the bunch for those who really might get a lot from the fellowship and service to the community that comes with belonging to a church. A church is not a building, it is the people who are in it.
Today, after an audition for a part in a teen Christian TV Series "The In Crowd," I was drawn to the sounds of beautiful gospel music floating down Chicago's Oakwood Drive in the Boulevards neighborhood. The sounds of laughter and southern cooking filled my nose as I made my way west down the 600 block. I found my self at Holy Angels Church Stone Soul Picnic for St. Clotilde. As Chicago's oldest African American Catholic Church, Sister Stephanie and Renatta greeted me lickety split. They didn't care how I looked. I wasn't a member of the church. I was a child of God and they took me right in offering me wonderful food, fellowship, music and laughter. That is a church!
How can the skeptic not be driven farther from the doors of a church when they see the Pope talk about the plight of the poor while he shuffles along corridors adorned with gold and multimillion dollar paintings covering every inch of the walls in the comfort of his Prada shoes? TV evangelists speak of humility and convincing the less fortunate they can have all the riches they want while asking them to send in their last dollar. The camera lights go out and they slip into the back of their Bentleys and review the financial statements for the day.
I am not saying that these men are wicked or should live in caves. I do think it is hard to discern for those caught between wanting to believe and fearing the greed of men and the corruption power brings. When I was in California last week there was a guy baptizing people in the river just outside Old Sacramento. It really got me. He was doing it for nothing but the desire to serve GOD and help the willing to be reborn. He was right out of a movie. He was dirty, driven and happy to be right where he was at. He had a cardboard sign with John 3:16 written on it and was soaking wet when he walked by. Business must have been okay.
In addiction I have always felt most comfortable talking about my problems with other addicts. I certainly wouldn't go to a dentist with crooked teeth. I think that's where things get sticky for folks in TV religion. I would like to point out that I do think there are some exceptions to the rule. Naming them would be pointless and irrelevant. It's hard for me to have compassion for a chubby guy complaining that he doesn't have enough to eat. Whoever said money isn't everything was right but probably was rich. A guy in a Versace suit stepping from a Benz just doesn't know the same day to day problems I have.
If a guy is on TV in a $5000 dollar suit and tells me that I need to send in $19.95 for my prayers to be answered and his ministry to continue, the first thing I think of is why don't you shop at Walmart or Sears? That would save you about $4900 right there. Multiply that by all the shows you do a year and you won't have to ask any old ladies for a dime! God takes you as you are. He doesn't have "a list" and guys outside looking for the "right folks" to get on the prayer list. Everyone is welcome.
I'm sure there are those that will take the side of the well dressed evangelist. I see nothing wrong with dressing your best for God. I also know some of these people raise millions for the less fortunate. There is a thick line between humility and overindulgence. I also know the best dressed, worst dressed, filthiest dressed, torn dressed are all welcome in God's kingdom. You don't need $19.95 for God to hear your prayers. All you need is a simple statement. "Hello God. It's me and I need you." The rest is free.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Ring Around The Rosey...
It's been said that I chase my tail in my writings, that I go around in circles. Some say that my writing is inspiring. Yet others say they are predictable or that I share a simple every day occurrence and wrap it up with a warm and fuzzy ending. To all of my readers I want you to know that my chapters come from the bottom of my heart and are done in one sitting. That is why they are occasionally a little rough around the edges. When it comes to chasing my tail, or going around in circles, that may be true but each circuit is a new trip for me.
I have read in some of my addiction literature that active addicts don't have the capacity to form true bonds with other people. I am not stating that as a fact or expert. I do believe it. I would take it a step farther and add that this would go for any kind of "ism" or "ic." From the workaholic to living with an "ic" of any kind, the condition demands 24 hour attention from the sufferer and unfortunately often at the expense of those around us.
I grew up in a family where my dad was a definite workaholic. My mom worked as a single mother and had my step dad's issues to deal with. As a kid that left little time to squeeze me in. I don't say that with self pity. That was just the way it was. I knew they loved me. They were just wrapped up in their own thing and my troubles, worries, triumphs and ramblings were not at the top of the honey do list.
As I got older and formed relationships with friends and women, I had the capacity to engage but was riddled with insecurity and fear. There were jealousy and abandonment issues. Control and anxiety flourished. Ultimately things revolved around ME and my feelings. I could be the greatest guy in the world as long as you were reacting the way I felt you should be to my actions and needs. I always felt I deserved or didn't deserve more love or attention. Often I felt I deserved nothing so chaos or self destruction was a logical response for everyday interaction in any relationship.
I had all the scenes played out in my head for the people in my life. As long as you were in character and on cue I was thrilled. If you had different reactions than those I expected I pouted, got angry, ran away and was generally miserable. I did not have the capability to take others' feelings fully into consideration or to appreciate what they were going through in the moment. The disease of alcoholism and addiction centers in the mind. My mind was working full time trying to force the world to be what I wanted it to be. Since it only worked out like I wanted it to, occasionally I was miserable and looked for escape! I lived in a parallel universe that was not reality but very real to me. The world isn't filled with trained poodles. We are all human and that burned me up.
At family get togethers I couldn't wait to escape and get drunk the way I wanted to drink. At my kid's parties I watched the clock praying for the parents to come get their kids so I could go get high. I did not appreciate their happy faces as they tore open gifts and played pin the tail on the donkey. I rushed through every moment of my life chasing something that I couldn't catch. I was running from me, myself and I so I certainly couldn't fully relate to you or anybody else. I loved and spent time with the kids and loved ones but my fears of them getting hurt, or hurting me or the world not matching my grand plan left me one click away from completely connected.
I was sure I knew how everybody should lead their lives best and doled out advice like Dr. Phil. But I couldn't even balance a check book or separate the whites and the darks. I would half listen to all the people in my life while internally judging, convicting and passing sentence on them for all of their weaknesses. My mind would not shut off so I did what I had to do to slow it down a few notches. In that state I was neither here nor there.
Sobriety is about living life in the now. Right now. I love it. I have only been living in it for a few years now. It is like I have been Rip Van Winkle for the last 28 years and have just been awakened. I try not to take anything for granted because I used to take EVERYTHING for granted. What you may find inane I find fascinating. I was blind but now I see! Imagine not remembering a decade or more of your life. Can you do it?
If you can, imagine how your children have changed. You have gotten older. The world is different but your mind is what it was when you fell asleep. I may be going around in circles but they are new and fascinating trips each time. I am growing. I was stunted in my emotional development for years. I was a middle aged teenager. Drugs and alcohol stop you dead in your tracks upstairs. I am grateful to have a chance to "see" again. There are many who don't get the chance.
Sometimes I feel recovering addicts and alcoholics are the lucky ones and earthlings are the unlucky. In recovery I have learned to treasure life. I have learned that trusting God is way easier than worry. Worry doesn't get me anything but sick. It has also given me the chance to repair some damage I have done along the way to today. Most folks just carry the baggage. My load gets lighter by the day. I have learned to forgive because whoever I hold a grudge towards isn't at home thinking about me so why should I let them have power over me?
Mostly I have learned that every day is a gift. I can't change the past. PERIOD! I can make an honest attempt to make things right. If I want folks to forgive me I certainly have to return the favor. I also know tomorrow will take care of itself. I can make plans but I can't plan outcomes. Worry is not a God given emotion. Today is where it's at. Each day is exciting. Sometimes they're shite! All of them I feel exactly as they are meant to be.
I have read in some of my addiction literature that active addicts don't have the capacity to form true bonds with other people. I am not stating that as a fact or expert. I do believe it. I would take it a step farther and add that this would go for any kind of "ism" or "ic." From the workaholic to living with an "ic" of any kind, the condition demands 24 hour attention from the sufferer and unfortunately often at the expense of those around us.
I grew up in a family where my dad was a definite workaholic. My mom worked as a single mother and had my step dad's issues to deal with. As a kid that left little time to squeeze me in. I don't say that with self pity. That was just the way it was. I knew they loved me. They were just wrapped up in their own thing and my troubles, worries, triumphs and ramblings were not at the top of the honey do list.
As I got older and formed relationships with friends and women, I had the capacity to engage but was riddled with insecurity and fear. There were jealousy and abandonment issues. Control and anxiety flourished. Ultimately things revolved around ME and my feelings. I could be the greatest guy in the world as long as you were reacting the way I felt you should be to my actions and needs. I always felt I deserved or didn't deserve more love or attention. Often I felt I deserved nothing so chaos or self destruction was a logical response for everyday interaction in any relationship.
I had all the scenes played out in my head for the people in my life. As long as you were in character and on cue I was thrilled. If you had different reactions than those I expected I pouted, got angry, ran away and was generally miserable. I did not have the capability to take others' feelings fully into consideration or to appreciate what they were going through in the moment. The disease of alcoholism and addiction centers in the mind. My mind was working full time trying to force the world to be what I wanted it to be. Since it only worked out like I wanted it to, occasionally I was miserable and looked for escape! I lived in a parallel universe that was not reality but very real to me. The world isn't filled with trained poodles. We are all human and that burned me up.
At family get togethers I couldn't wait to escape and get drunk the way I wanted to drink. At my kid's parties I watched the clock praying for the parents to come get their kids so I could go get high. I did not appreciate their happy faces as they tore open gifts and played pin the tail on the donkey. I rushed through every moment of my life chasing something that I couldn't catch. I was running from me, myself and I so I certainly couldn't fully relate to you or anybody else. I loved and spent time with the kids and loved ones but my fears of them getting hurt, or hurting me or the world not matching my grand plan left me one click away from completely connected.
I was sure I knew how everybody should lead their lives best and doled out advice like Dr. Phil. But I couldn't even balance a check book or separate the whites and the darks. I would half listen to all the people in my life while internally judging, convicting and passing sentence on them for all of their weaknesses. My mind would not shut off so I did what I had to do to slow it down a few notches. In that state I was neither here nor there.
Sobriety is about living life in the now. Right now. I love it. I have only been living in it for a few years now. It is like I have been Rip Van Winkle for the last 28 years and have just been awakened. I try not to take anything for granted because I used to take EVERYTHING for granted. What you may find inane I find fascinating. I was blind but now I see! Imagine not remembering a decade or more of your life. Can you do it?
If you can, imagine how your children have changed. You have gotten older. The world is different but your mind is what it was when you fell asleep. I may be going around in circles but they are new and fascinating trips each time. I am growing. I was stunted in my emotional development for years. I was a middle aged teenager. Drugs and alcohol stop you dead in your tracks upstairs. I am grateful to have a chance to "see" again. There are many who don't get the chance.
Sometimes I feel recovering addicts and alcoholics are the lucky ones and earthlings are the unlucky. In recovery I have learned to treasure life. I have learned that trusting God is way easier than worry. Worry doesn't get me anything but sick. It has also given me the chance to repair some damage I have done along the way to today. Most folks just carry the baggage. My load gets lighter by the day. I have learned to forgive because whoever I hold a grudge towards isn't at home thinking about me so why should I let them have power over me?
Mostly I have learned that every day is a gift. I can't change the past. PERIOD! I can make an honest attempt to make things right. If I want folks to forgive me I certainly have to return the favor. I also know tomorrow will take care of itself. I can make plans but I can't plan outcomes. Worry is not a God given emotion. Today is where it's at. Each day is exciting. Sometimes they're shite! All of them I feel exactly as they are meant to be.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Welcome to Zanie's for the First Time Tommy Connolly!
In the last chapter Ain't Life Zany?, I mentioned that performing there represented a closing of the circle for me from addiction to sobriety. It was also opening a door of comedy opportunity and a milestone in my new life. It nearly didn't happen at all.
Bert Haas is the "man" at Zanies. Average in size with an infectious smile, he is all business. When he says be on time it's not a California suggestion. It's a Judge's edict. I was coming in from Plainfield and left the house at 6pm thinking 90 minutes was more than enough time to reach the club with time for a quick bite. Squeaky and my oldest daughter Andrea were accompanying me on my peacemaking journey and we were in for the ride of our lives.
Every conceivable traffic snarl, accident and construction slowdown was thrown up in front of us. The trip down the double nickel usually took 40 minutes. 40 minutes into this trip we were only at Harlem Avenue. Thankfully God graced someone with GPS design and technology. We shot through Berwyn and Cicero and all of the back streets that shot off of Ogden Avenue. We literally pulled up to the club at 7:30. I double parked in the bike only lane, kissed Squeaky and made a mad dash for the front door.
The wonderful girl at the door must have been expecting me because instead of a "Hello" I got a "Through the kitchen and up the stairs." I arrived at the top of the club out of breath, sticky and panicky. Mr. Haas was there too. He curtly greeted me with a "I was just coming down to look for you." I was the last guy to make it. I have been told if you are late you are out of luck.
I have done dozens of showcases in comedy clubs around Chicago. Loosely speaking a showcase is a show that features a variety of comics. There is no feature or headliner, just an emcee and a parade of hopefuls. This was a true SHOWCASE. It is where you are showcasing your talent for the booker to play at the club or other clubs the booker handles. Bert gave a great crash course on comedy, expectations, jokes, being a pro, rejection and life. It was priceless advice for a comic or anyone trying to achieve any goal in life.
I was the old guy in the room at 45. The average age of the other comics was about 25. The mix of size and shape of my fellows was diverse in race and ethnicity. It was a comedy melting pot. My head was spinning but I wasn't nervous. I really didn't have heady expectations about the performance. As I sat looking at the talent around me I was grateful to be among the few who get the chance to play such a legendary venue.
I was performing tenth or there about. The walls were covered with signed pictures from all the greats. I could fill the rest of this page with names alone. I smiled when I saw David Brenner's photo hanging across from the bar and a short distance from the ladies room. He had a ringside seat to all the action. He would like it that way. I snapped a picture to send him as a memento. It was also a reminder of those days when I walked by in a different dimension. In that moment I was in crystal clarity.
The house was packed and many of my friends came to see me perform. The youngsters that hit the stage before me were good. Some of them amazing. A couple of them will be stars. I sat with my wife and daughter at the rear of the club waiting for my number to come up. I was lucky. My number should have been up a long time ago.
I stroked Squeaky's hair and looked at my beautiful daughter and some new realities hit me and old ones were solidified. As for the new, I am a good comic but it is becoming a young man's sport. These boys had game. I will not become the "next big thing." I am cool with that. The new breed is faster and sharper. I didn't start performing comedy until I was 40! There is a market for guys like me. I have come pretty far pretty fast in five years, two and a half of them sober.
I am a story teller. I look forward to the release of "Soul Parole" and getting out on the road and telling people the story of my life as a depressed drunken caterpillar and my new life as a sober, functional, husband, father, actor and comic butterfly. I enjoy my work with Comics for Convicts. I will never stop performing. It's in my blood. Making people laugh is my greatest high and no one gets hurt when I use it.
Bert Haas is the "man" at Zanies. Average in size with an infectious smile, he is all business. When he says be on time it's not a California suggestion. It's a Judge's edict. I was coming in from Plainfield and left the house at 6pm thinking 90 minutes was more than enough time to reach the club with time for a quick bite. Squeaky and my oldest daughter Andrea were accompanying me on my peacemaking journey and we were in for the ride of our lives.
Every conceivable traffic snarl, accident and construction slowdown was thrown up in front of us. The trip down the double nickel usually took 40 minutes. 40 minutes into this trip we were only at Harlem Avenue. Thankfully God graced someone with GPS design and technology. We shot through Berwyn and Cicero and all of the back streets that shot off of Ogden Avenue. We literally pulled up to the club at 7:30. I double parked in the bike only lane, kissed Squeaky and made a mad dash for the front door.
The wonderful girl at the door must have been expecting me because instead of a "Hello" I got a "Through the kitchen and up the stairs." I arrived at the top of the club out of breath, sticky and panicky. Mr. Haas was there too. He curtly greeted me with a "I was just coming down to look for you." I was the last guy to make it. I have been told if you are late you are out of luck.
I have done dozens of showcases in comedy clubs around Chicago. Loosely speaking a showcase is a show that features a variety of comics. There is no feature or headliner, just an emcee and a parade of hopefuls. This was a true SHOWCASE. It is where you are showcasing your talent for the booker to play at the club or other clubs the booker handles. Bert gave a great crash course on comedy, expectations, jokes, being a pro, rejection and life. It was priceless advice for a comic or anyone trying to achieve any goal in life.
I was the old guy in the room at 45. The average age of the other comics was about 25. The mix of size and shape of my fellows was diverse in race and ethnicity. It was a comedy melting pot. My head was spinning but I wasn't nervous. I really didn't have heady expectations about the performance. As I sat looking at the talent around me I was grateful to be among the few who get the chance to play such a legendary venue.
I was performing tenth or there about. The walls were covered with signed pictures from all the greats. I could fill the rest of this page with names alone. I smiled when I saw David Brenner's photo hanging across from the bar and a short distance from the ladies room. He had a ringside seat to all the action. He would like it that way. I snapped a picture to send him as a memento. It was also a reminder of those days when I walked by in a different dimension. In that moment I was in crystal clarity.
The house was packed and many of my friends came to see me perform. The youngsters that hit the stage before me were good. Some of them amazing. A couple of them will be stars. I sat with my wife and daughter at the rear of the club waiting for my number to come up. I was lucky. My number should have been up a long time ago.
I stroked Squeaky's hair and looked at my beautiful daughter and some new realities hit me and old ones were solidified. As for the new, I am a good comic but it is becoming a young man's sport. These boys had game. I will not become the "next big thing." I am cool with that. The new breed is faster and sharper. I didn't start performing comedy until I was 40! There is a market for guys like me. I have come pretty far pretty fast in five years, two and a half of them sober.
I am a story teller. I look forward to the release of "Soul Parole" and getting out on the road and telling people the story of my life as a depressed drunken caterpillar and my new life as a sober, functional, husband, father, actor and comic butterfly. I enjoy my work with Comics for Convicts. I will never stop performing. It's in my blood. Making people laugh is my greatest high and no one gets hurt when I use it.
The true reality of the night was seeing new friends and old school mates in the audience there to cheer me on. I have a great wife and kids. I have wonderful people in my life that I can have true working, functional relationships with. Addicts don't have that luxury. I may not make it as a big star or play Vegas. I have appeared in and been featured in some great films already with some amazing actors in just 10 months. I have played Zanie's. I am rich beyond anything Ben Franklin's can provide.
I held my own on stage. I did not slay 'em nor did I bomb. I held my own. I hugged my friends and I thanked Mr. Haas. Then I thanked God for all his grace. I got in the car with my beautiful wife and daughter, the true riches in my life, and headed home. The ladies were dosing off as I reviewed my performance. I always think I can do better. I don't know where things are headed but I trust God. He's been doing a great job running my life when I let him. The sounds echoed in my ears..."Please welcome to Zanie's for the first time Tommy Connolly." It was the first. It may be the last. But it was.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Ain't life Zany!
I'm just back from the left coast. Man I dig California. There is nothing I can think of that I don't like about the Golden State except the traffic during rush hour. As a Chicagoan even that was just an irritation, not a real frustration. While I was there I sought professional treatment for a phobia I have had for 30 years. I'm not ready to talk about it yet but I am grateful to say that the therapy worked.
When I woke up in my hotel room after my 17 hour odyssey from Chicago I was greeted by an email I have waited and prayed on for years. It was an invitation to perform at the "Rising Star Showcase" at Zanie's Comedy Club on Wells street in the heart of Chicago. That particular Zanie's is the original location and the jewel of the franchise. It is THE comedy club a comic shoots for coming up in the Chicago circuit. It is one of the elite comedy franchise names in the country.
I had been trying for several months to get a spot on the showcase but was coming up short with every email of rejection. Last Sunday, July 24, 2011 Bert Haas confirmed a slot for me in a simple to the point reply. Be at the club at 7:30 August 1, 2011. Clean Material. Bring a Press Kit. That was the gist of it. I was thousands of miles from Squeaky and had no one to share my elation with. That is with the exception of the big guy upstairs.
During the 4 on and off years I went to Columbia College I would walk up Wells Street and stop by the famous club where the greats had performed. I knew Carlin and Brenner, Williams and Martin had stood in the doorway and on the stage just behind the locked doors. I imagined myself doing jokes there. The roar of the crowd deafening. I would slay 'em.
The reality of my life was that I was high or drunk and was on my way to the porn shops that were farther up Wells, beyond the sterile area where the comedy shrine stood. I had never picked up a pen and put it to paper. All my dreams of comedy and acting and simply living life as a responsible human being were in my head. It was all about what I was going to do tomorrow or someday. Not today. Today I was high. I just wanted to be high.
I flipped my way through the pages of the magazines feeding darker addictions that took me out of myself and my racing thoughts. It wasn't the pictures. It was the rush and the naughtiness, the long walk and the anticipation of what awaited me. Addiction is just as much, if not more ritual, than the actual using. It is the whole package, not just the high.
On the way back down to the school I would pass by the club and dream some more unrealistic dreams and hop on the train back to Mokena downing a six pack for the hour ride home. Zanie's always stayed in my mind. It was just in my mind like everything else. Little did I know that the club would come back into my reality when I was working for Harrah's Casino in Joliet.
In 1991, as a member of group sales, it was my job to go to bars and restaurants and set up trips to the casino. My drinking was at an all time high or low depending on perspective. My boss gave me a lead which was Zanie's on Wells. I met a limo driver named Paul A. He was trying to set up trips from the club to the casino. We met and went to the club. I was mesmerized. My eyes went in and out of focus from awe and a killer hangover. I had made it back, still no jokes and a bigger drunk. My follow up was terrible with Paul and Harrah's and both relationships ended on poor terms.
Tonight I return to Zanies as a performer. At 8pm I will be humbled beyond words. I am sober. I am a new creature. By the grace of God and other alcoholics, addicts and those who suffer from depression I no longer feel alone or that I am a victim or martyr. The beauty I see in women is in my wife. I have put my pen to paper and have written jokes. I have also put my soul into these pages. I hope I have shown others that there is choice. You don't have to use. You do need to ask for help. You can't get sound advice from an unsound mind. When the light hits my face tonight and I stand where the legends have stood I don't care if a single sole laughs. I caught the dream and will remember it.
When I woke up in my hotel room after my 17 hour odyssey from Chicago I was greeted by an email I have waited and prayed on for years. It was an invitation to perform at the "Rising Star Showcase" at Zanie's Comedy Club on Wells street in the heart of Chicago. That particular Zanie's is the original location and the jewel of the franchise. It is THE comedy club a comic shoots for coming up in the Chicago circuit. It is one of the elite comedy franchise names in the country.
I had been trying for several months to get a spot on the showcase but was coming up short with every email of rejection. Last Sunday, July 24, 2011 Bert Haas confirmed a slot for me in a simple to the point reply. Be at the club at 7:30 August 1, 2011. Clean Material. Bring a Press Kit. That was the gist of it. I was thousands of miles from Squeaky and had no one to share my elation with. That is with the exception of the big guy upstairs.
During the 4 on and off years I went to Columbia College I would walk up Wells Street and stop by the famous club where the greats had performed. I knew Carlin and Brenner, Williams and Martin had stood in the doorway and on the stage just behind the locked doors. I imagined myself doing jokes there. The roar of the crowd deafening. I would slay 'em.
The reality of my life was that I was high or drunk and was on my way to the porn shops that were farther up Wells, beyond the sterile area where the comedy shrine stood. I had never picked up a pen and put it to paper. All my dreams of comedy and acting and simply living life as a responsible human being were in my head. It was all about what I was going to do tomorrow or someday. Not today. Today I was high. I just wanted to be high.
I flipped my way through the pages of the magazines feeding darker addictions that took me out of myself and my racing thoughts. It wasn't the pictures. It was the rush and the naughtiness, the long walk and the anticipation of what awaited me. Addiction is just as much, if not more ritual, than the actual using. It is the whole package, not just the high.
On the way back down to the school I would pass by the club and dream some more unrealistic dreams and hop on the train back to Mokena downing a six pack for the hour ride home. Zanie's always stayed in my mind. It was just in my mind like everything else. Little did I know that the club would come back into my reality when I was working for Harrah's Casino in Joliet.
In 1991, as a member of group sales, it was my job to go to bars and restaurants and set up trips to the casino. My drinking was at an all time high or low depending on perspective. My boss gave me a lead which was Zanie's on Wells. I met a limo driver named Paul A. He was trying to set up trips from the club to the casino. We met and went to the club. I was mesmerized. My eyes went in and out of focus from awe and a killer hangover. I had made it back, still no jokes and a bigger drunk. My follow up was terrible with Paul and Harrah's and both relationships ended on poor terms.
Tonight I return to Zanies as a performer. At 8pm I will be humbled beyond words. I am sober. I am a new creature. By the grace of God and other alcoholics, addicts and those who suffer from depression I no longer feel alone or that I am a victim or martyr. The beauty I see in women is in my wife. I have put my pen to paper and have written jokes. I have also put my soul into these pages. I hope I have shown others that there is choice. You don't have to use. You do need to ask for help. You can't get sound advice from an unsound mind. When the light hits my face tonight and I stand where the legends have stood I don't care if a single sole laughs. I caught the dream and will remember it.
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