If I Could Eat My Words I'd Never Have to Shop Again!

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am more grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner told him early in his career to "show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or furnaces because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in passionate moments of weakness, trust or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom.

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up, and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why THAT was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows.

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time, under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the uproar. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce court over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior for rules of engagement. These help me with human relations and how comfortably I live with myself. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything.
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good.
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...

The Gap Between Pain and Praise!

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner told him to "Show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around me nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or my furnace because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in loving moments of rapture or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom.

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect first hand example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every classic swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why that was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows.

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the chat. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for Family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior and rules of engagement. These help me with other human relations and how comfortably I live with my self. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything.
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good.
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...

No Ones Dying Words are..." I wish I Hade Made Another Hundred Bucks!"

I commented earlier on my middle daughter Sunny and the regiment of tests she is going through. Today she had a needle biopsy on her lung. The needle was long enough to take a throat culture starting from the arse of a giraffe. She was a champion. My kids are tough. I take little credit for that. Their mom and father started when they were wee little. I came in when they were youngins'. The test was terribly painful and they promised they would put her in "twilight" so she wouldn't feel a thing. I think they meant that they were going to show her the film "Twilight" to distract her while they jammed the spear-like needle into her side because she felt everything, and hates that movie.

Having had the opportunity to work in film, TV and comedy has been and continues to be a growing passion for me. In my chosen line of work I have some control over what situations I am going to put myself into. In comedy I write my own material and once the crowd begins to laugh, I have control over the room. In TV, commercial and film work, I have the decision on which projects I get involved with or audition for. I can say yes or no to my agent or casting director if it seems right for me or not.

That control is comforting and empowering because I have input on both the actions I create and the outcomes of the performances. There is satisfaction and contentment with my work when I have told a joke or done a scene well and the audience laughs or applauds my efforts. However, when it comes to life, I have control over my actions but little or no influence on the outcomes.

I would do anything to have switched places with her and took the needle for her today but couldn't! I would trade my health for what is ailing her in a heartbeat but I can't! I can scream at God for justice and mercy, but how he will act on those cries and prayers are in his hands. For me, having so much love for my kids, who are darn near adults, is glorious and paralyzing at the same time.

When they were little and got sick in the night they would wake me up because Mama sleeps like a rock. Back in those days I would give them some medicine or clean up some puke, slap on a band-aid and all would be well. After a few minutes of Scooby Doo or Space Jam they were fast asleep and I was in for an exhausting but satisfying next day. That was cool because they had a problem, I could fix it and all was well.

Now that they are older I still think of them as the wee buggers they used to be, just in bigger packages and with more sarcastic answers. They don't come to wake me up when they are sick these days. They can find the cough medicine or aspirin and take care of the problem themselves. I used to think they talked too much but now I wish they talked more. The older they get the less control I have over them and the outcomes of their actions. It frustrates me but I know I have to accept it. Worry is not a God given instinct. It is created by the minds of men. My worry and anxiety will not add a minute to a life or change the result of a medical test.

I speak of not remembering the nineties and a lot of the last 20 years because of my booze and drug addiction. You may not have those same issues but where do you stand with the little nippers or big nippers? Has a boat, a job, a hobby, a car, a motorcycle, jogging or some other thing or activity become your addiction? Do you love that boat or Jet Ski with all your heart, all the while telling yourself it's the kids who love it? Do you work to live or live to work? Is who you are outside of your front door more important to you than who you are inside your own home? Is keeping up with the Jones more important than keeping up with your kids, spouse or family?

If you answered yes to any of these questions take a hard look at yourself. There are no "do overs," like when we played kickball in the park. The years I lost to the bottle and pill are gone. I can be there for my daughter through whatever she has to face down the road. I can't control the outcomes but I can control my actions and relationship with her in her hour of need or just every day living.

The great thing about recovery is second chances at life. A boat, car, job, or hobby can be as obsessive and destructive of a drug to you as booze was to me. If it begins to take priority over your relationships, hit the pause and rewind button. You can start over any day you like. That's the beauty of living. Things can be taken from you on any day as well. That is the reality of life. Remember: no one lies on their death bed and says "I wish I had another hundred bucks!"

Dad? I Know It's My First Day of College....I'm In Jail...

Tom Dreesen, legendary comedian and Rat Pack wing man, chimed in on "How to Scare Away The Legends of Comedy in 3 Easy clicks" with some insightful comments on life that illustrate the point of this chapter and a lot of my comedy. As I have written Mr. Dreesen, David Brenner, Mike Toomey and many other comics and actors have helped me with my career, this chapter and with life lessons in general. I have never met them in person but consider them friends. Their willingness to reach out a hand of support to a stranger is rare and refreshing.

In the comment Tom referred to some advice that Carl Reiner gave him while climbing the ladder of comedic success. Reiner said that he should, "Make the people laugh...,"Show them your pain...," "They love to see the pain..." Those comments summarily state my intended purpose here. I share my pain and mix in something to chuckle about so you can relate. I use this platform to expose my pain in hopes that it reaches out a hand of support to a stranger who knows that same pain. I hope I never give you the impression that I feel sorry for myself and that every day was black. That isn't so. Everything that I went through good, bad or indifferent got me to TODAY! If one person gets relief from one of my chapters then my experiences were worth it! God got me through that so I could do this.

After graduating from Lincoln-Way High School in New Lenox, Illinois with the class of 1983 I was anxious to leave for college. I was heading to Illinois State-Bloomington and I was ready for the time of my life. After seeing the movie "Animal House" I was absolutely driven to go to college. It wasn't to receive a good education and forge a path to professional success. It was to party! I wanted to be Bluto Blutarski plain and simple.

I arrived at the state campus in August of 1984. My car was packed to the roof with all the necessities and comforts of home to fill my tiny cubicle-like dorm room. I had arrived with a case of beer, some pot and I was ready for "Delta House!" I parked in a no parking zone and put on my flashers as I began schlepping my stuff up to the 9th floor of Manchester Hall. I took the the fridge and the beer first so I could have it chilled for unwinding after my haul was unloaded. I had a fake I.D. and thought I was going to be the big man on campus.

After my first few trips up and down the elevator to my room I met a returning sophomore. Look at me, I have only been here an hour and I'm already hobnobbing with the upper class men! I offered him a beer, which he accepted, and we small talked our way through the suds. I was naive, and still am, about the motives of my new friend. After finishing his beer he opened up the window and tossed the empty can out of the 9th floor window. He wished me good luck and went on his way. I thought it was so cool. College was just like I imagined it would be!

I finished my can feeling smug and assured that this was the life for me. After returning to my car for the final load of my new home's contents I arrived back at my room only to be greeted by two new friends. One was the resident assistant and the other was a uniformed member of the campus police. I trembled as they asked to search my room for contraband. Upon entering they quickly discovered the beer in the small fridge and confiscated it. I was issued a warning from the R.A. and a verbal undressing from the campus officer. He was standing on the sidewalk near the dorm and saw my new sophomore friend toss the can from the window to the ground below. He counted the rows up and over to the window and matched it to my room. The 22 remaining beers in my mini-fridge were the same brand as the hurled empty and I was busted.

Feeling shaken at the whole incident I was both scared and exhilarated by the encounter. I got away with it. How cool was that? Remembering that I had my fake I.D., I returned to my illegally parked car. Replacing my lost booty would be easy because there was a liquor store just a few blocks away. Buying beer in a college town was a lot different than getting some hooch from one of the isolated taverns around the little village I had just come from. I entered the store and was greeted by a man who asked to see my identification. With complete confidence I pulled the bogus credentials from my wallet and handed it to the fine fellow. I grabbed another case of beer and headed for the check-out line.

As I approached the older looking man at the counter I began to feel uneasy. I kept my cool and slid the case before the cashier and reached into my pocket for some money. As I did so another man walked into the store. It was a fully uniformed Bloomington police officer and he was quickly shuffling in my direction. "Sir, is this your identification?" "Yes." "Are you T. Connolly?" "Uh-huh?" "Sir I am going to have to place you under arrest for trying to purchase liquor as a minor and possession of fraudulent identification. Can you please step outside?"

As he ushered me outside my mind began to race. I had seen movies about prison and "Scared Straight." All of my worst nightmares flashed before me at the vision of me washing my cell mates underwear in the tiny metal cell sink while he called me sweetheart. I turned to the officer and asked meekly "Are you going to put me in a cell with a big guy called Bubba?" He chuckled and said that I would be processed and released if I could post the bail for the charges.

I was already a functional alcoholic by this time and after realizing I wasn't going to become some mutant felon's play toy I laughed inside. I thought it was so cool that I had been arrested! Look at me, the skinny kid from Mokena has a wrap sheet. I will forever be able to spin yarns about the time I spent in the joint. There was no shame or connection that I had been very close to serious trouble involving booze twice that day. I gloated at my good fortune and thought to myself how it was like the movie.

I was finger printed and had my picture taken center, left and right with a tiny placard that stated my name and case number. I don't remember the number or how much bail it cost to get out. I called my roommate. After coming to my rescue we laughed all the way back to the dorm in the cab he had gotten. Upon returning to the store where I was taken down, I saw that my car had been towed. We quickly rerouted the cab and I spent more money getting my car out of the pound. I was not frustrated, ashamed, concerned or troubled with the events of the day. To me it was one big joke.

I made it back to my new home at Manchester Hall and told all my new friends my tale of crime, adventure, the narrow escape from consummation with Bubba and the car being towed. Then reality hit me. I had to tell my parents or at least A parent. I would call my father. He would find great humor in my story and we would both have a huge laugh over the whole incident. I dialed my dad's number and nervously giggled as I retold the events of the day. There was something missing! What, no laughing? The silence on the other end of the line was deafening and the pause seemed to last a lifetime. The weight of my irresponsibility fell on me. The disappointment in the tone of my dad's voice fell even heavier. "It's your FIRST day of college. Is this what I have to look forward to and worry about over the next few years?" My heart sunk. I mumbled an apology to my father and said goodbye. There would be more arrests, more calls to my father and even more empty "I'm sorrys."