So Busy You Forget Your Own Memories....

There is an old adage hung on young baseball players who are entering their second year in the bigs. It's called the Sophomore Slump. It is a reference to players having career setbacks in their second season. Some go through it, some do not. Most of them have some growth, and a few setbacks.

July 21, 2012 marked the second anniversary of my father's death. Ironically the official release of my book SOUL PAROLE is this weekend the 28th. I didn't plan for it to work out that way. The day was based on the publishing date and hall availability. The exact time of Dads' death was 7:27pm.

I decided to write about how I'm feeling a few days before the weekend. I was thinking that his passing was this weekend at 7:21 pm. Thinking of dad, and my mental mix-up is eye opening. My melancholy has been replaced with shock that I had dropped the ball.. I could cry on a dime. When I think about the friends who are coming out to support the book launch, I could cry on that same dime. The first is born from a loss. The second a mark of accomplishment. The reconciliation and personal success was a direct result of teamwork. For this whole week I've been thinking his death was on 7-27-10 at 7:21pm. I was scheduled to do an interview on the 27th. I made a mental note that it was ironic to be honoring his memory on that date. I thought Pop would think it was pretty cool.

I wrote about my Pop in Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself quite a bit. It was a natural. Although we only lived under the same roof for the first two years of my life we were together quite a bit as I grew up. I yearn to hear his unmistakable laugh. I have been so busy, I flipped the date with the time of his passing.

I often write about starting over. We can do it any day, or moment, we choose. Before the Big Bopper moved on to the Isle of Green in the heavens I was given the gift ofgrace before his passing. My despair would be doubly compounded if I had not squared the wreckage of my past with him before he moved on. I am glad he is at peace. I am grateful the book was closed free of regrets.

It is easy to conjure up smells that please us, and some we would love to forget. When you read the words buttered popcorn and burning leaves, the aroma immediately wafts into your mind and nose. They are permanently burned into our honkers. The same can be said for dead skunk. Our snouts have uncanny recall.

My Dad had a smell that was unique to him. I'm recalling it now. They say we are dirty Irish but that refers to mixed blood lines, not personal hygiene. It seems our clan got an extra chromosome of oily hair and skin. With it comes it's own. The smell our hyper oil output creates is not foul. It is just one of those smells I can recall like popcorn and leaves. I have the same condition sans the unique smell. If the day comes that I do, I will know I have lived a rich life, and be reminded of my Pop daily.


When I received the initial shipment of books from the publisher I ripped open the first one like a kid at Christmas. The smell of cardboard, and new book surrounded me. I bathed in it. I felt contentment as I gazed upon the piles of my creation. It was burned into the "never forget" smell file.


There was a time when I thought I had written a book. I now see that my Dad and friends wrote it with me. I just held the pen. There are at least 100 of my friends nestled in the pages. Each one of them should be listed as contributors. I do mention several of them in the  Special Thanks section. If I listed all the people who have touched and enriched my life, it would read like the family trees from the Old Testament.

Last weekend I was relaxing in my garage after work and was enjoying the sights and smells of a mid summer night evening. I could hear the calls of frogs and cicadas. The wind was whispering and a few of the neighborhood dogs were taking claim of the night. Their howls were like challenges between canine warriors. I was just taking it all in.

For a moment THAT smell wafted around me. I turned quickly to see if he was standing behind me. I called Squeaky into the garage. She said she didn't notice. I would like to think he was there. It lingered for about a minute or so. I called out and told him I missed him. I could imagine his pride in how far I have come in recovery and life. The smells I longed for disappeared as quickly as they had befallen me. It was the 21st.

We all have goals we want to achieve. There are people whom reside in the dark places in our hearts. This is called the human experience. How we approach them is unique to the individual. Fear can paralyze us from even attempting to catch our dreams. Difficult, and often deeply seeded pains can keep us from trying to reconcile with loved ones. We get busy, and say we'll get to it.

Nothing compares to the liberation you feel when you reach out for a goal or mend a relationships broken fences. I'd rather live at peace with the world than fight to be right. I would rather try and fail, than never try at all. Regrets are living through the retching of daily self poisoning, without death...ad infinitum.

I don't think anyone would say that facing the pink elephants trapped in our souls is easy. It is rewarding, or creates closure on the poison drinking. I know I have a better day when I'm free of the anxiety of fear and resentment. My moods are directly proportionate to how much good or bad energy I'm adding to the cosmos.

It's never to late to become a new you. The Beatles nailed it in Tomorrow Never Knows. This weekend will  be filled with mixed feelings and conflicting emotions. No matter how I feel I will be contented by the fact that I am reaching for the stars and mending life's fences. There will forward progress and some failures. In either case, I am cleaning up my side of the street. My Dad would laugh at the fact that I flipped the date and times. I say good night to him every time my head hits the pillow.

Learning to say "Never Say Never," is an attitude. I like keeping my mind open. I also know that "missing the bus" is a reality.  I hit the sophomore slump with my revised calendar. It's time to get back to the fundamentals, and start over. In the past I have said  that I would give anything to hear my Dad repeat the things I ignored as a kid. If he could talk to me again I know he would say, "Good job kid." I would look back and say, "Thanks Dad. I gave it my best. I couldn't have done it without you." I think about you every day...



SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 


Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

Adapt! You Son of a So-n-So!

I hate Change, unless it's change I like. That kind of change is usually when things are going my way. It is when the universe falls into line with my grandiose plans. Natural selection dictates that only the strong survive. Adapt or be extinguished. I have made so many changes in the last few years in recovery that I see a different me when I look in the mirror. The fact that I can look in the mirror and be comfortable with the guy looking back at me is a miracle in itself.

I am grateful to GOD for giving me the chance to rebuild my family and start a new career in acting. As for my comedy career I'm at a crossroad. I haven't lost the passion. I still can write some decent material. I hold my own when I'm on stage. David Brenner told me in effect, "if you don't get butterflies before you hit the stage, get out of the business. Your passion is gone!" I do get a little nervous, or more accurately an adrenalin rush, when the emcee is giving me my intro and I hit the stair up on stage. After I have snapped out my first joke I go into the zone.

Chicago is a great comedy town. There are at least 6 major clubs in the city and plenty in the suburbs. I have played all over the city except the east side. I'll have to wait until they have a water taxi and floating club for that. On all seven days of the week you can find an open mic to try out some new stuff or catch the buzz!

When I was "out there" I was completely comfortable spewing out ANY material that would get a laugh. My conscience was set to my standards and that was pretty much, "Tom say ANYTHING for a laugh!" The bluer the better. The nastier the better. Nothing was taboo.

Last night I performed at a club in the heart of Rush Street. For my readers outside the "Windy City," that's the Bourbon Street of Illinois. The crowd wasn't bad. It was a comedy contest with me and 4 other comics competing to move into the semi-finals. I did not make it. I don't feel bad about it. The winner was outstanding. He is a touring comic and left me in the dust.

As I watched my four friends perform I was struck by the fact that my material was rated PG 17 or under. My fellows were rated R to X. That's cool. I know that's what people want to hear when their out partying. I can say without hesitation Carlin, Pryor, Kinison and Williams are personal favorites. Bruce, Foxx, Pryor and Carlin were ground breaking. Carlin's stance on free speech took him all the way to the Supreme Court. I miss ya' George.

Out of all the comedians you see today in the main stream only a handful of them do sets that are suitable for any age audiences. Dreesen, Brenner, Lewis, Foxworthy and Dunham are masters. Last night I became convicted with the fact that following in those guys footsteps is what I am going to do. I love comics who can make me laugh without feeling embarrassed when my kids are with me. Comic note: I still enjoy blue humor. I just don't think it's for me.

As I took the stage last night the other guys had covered coke, sex, hookers and racism. I had prepared my all ages set. As I began the laughs were coming in smatterings. There was one here, a couple there and occasionally I knocked one out of the park. After I noticed I wasn't keeping the crowd rolling I slipped back into the blue. I started throwing out the raunchy stuff from the old days. I was willing to do anything for the laughs again. It worked. They laughed. I left the stage feeling awful!

I was shocked at how quickly I was able to toss out my convictions on doing a PG set, more specifically it made me feel bad about my performance. I was recording the set to send out to clubs and agents. When I went to check on the camera after my set I saw a black screen. The batteries had died. I was actually happy I didn't have to review it. I also felt like the big guy upstairs was reaffirming my decision. That is, from here out I am only doing decent humor. I have to feel good with what comes out of my mouth. The crowd will see my ease and hopefully enjoy the ride.

As I get ready to release Soul Parole, I hope to do some signings and corporate events. I want to weave my comedy and laughter into my otherwise troubling story. I am a story teller. My new choice of decency may limit my opportunities in the clubs. It may also open some new ones. If I end up doing only fundraisers or the Florida Condo circuit, I'm cool with that. I have to remain comfortable in my own skin. If I get too uncomfortable, bad things will quickly follow. That is my M.O.! David Brenner went on to say that, "doing what you want, in a place you like, that makes you feel good is the only definition of happiness I ever found valid."The racy hard core comics rule. My hat is off to you guys. I agree with David. Look out world Mr. Clean is coming out swinging.

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.

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.

Squeeze the Trigger... or Walk Away...

It's been a few days since my trip to the dentist and the pain is easing. I am getting back to my grateful, hopeful, yet cynical self. I have landed a small role in the Joliet Drama Guild production of "Meet My Husbands."  I am grateful for the opportunity. My blog was also voted one of the "Top 100 Addiction Blogs" online. That is a trip. But for the grace of God, there go I. I give the credit to God, my recovery friends and those of you who inspire me to continue with sharing my life story.

We all know what the trigger on a gun is. It is the lever we squeeze that causes the gun to fire. To an addict a trigger is similar to that of a gun. It can have the same consequences of destruction or or even death. One of The American Heritage Dictionary definitions of a trigger is "An action that precipitates another." For the gun, the pulling of the trigger precipitates the discharge of the weapon. What happens after the gun has been fired is the wild card.

In recovery, active addiction "triggers" are emotional, physical, visual, auditory, or psychological cues that make us want to use, or remind us of when we used. In simple terms when you smell chocolate chip cookies being baked you suddenly have the urge to eat one. As addicts we have used in so many places and under so many circumstances that almost anything can be a trigger. When I would keep my mind and finger on that trigger long enough I eventually found the denial and justification to squeeze it. Then it was off to the races.

As you move into recovery it becomes a daily practice to recognize our triggers and stay away from them, or at the very least, not to dwell on them. Sometimes they are unavoidable but get easier to dismiss as we grow in sobriety. Getting high doesn't start at the crack of a can or the opening of a bag. It begins earlier in the mind. Addiction is a mental compulsion, obsession and allergy that becomes "The Trilogy of Terror." As a matter of fact my addiction used to chase me like that little demon Indian who chased Karen Black around her house with that tiny knife in the 1970's movie, "Trilogy of Terror."

As a comedian and actor I am faced with booze, drugs and temptation whenever I work. The final film shot of a day on set is called "The Martini Shot." It is a cue that the day is over and time to relax. In comedy clubs booze is where the money is made. Drugs are a part of the background scene and all the other "stuff" that happens there are work hazards I face regularly. It is vital to state that my sobriety level is strong enough to handle the situation. If you are new to sobriety, hanging out at the bar sipping a Coke or chilling with your boys while they roll one up is an invitation to disaster. All such situations should be discussed with your mentor FIRST. My work is in these places. I have a reason to be there and I have the tools to combat any strange urge that comes my way.

What? I have urges? Heck yeah! If you played hockey for 25 years and retired, the occasional thought of those good ol' days on the ice pop in your head every once in a while. The hockey player doesn't grab his skates and head for the stadium. When an addict is in recovery we need to find new thinking to slide into when the bad thoughts linger. I would be a liar if I didn't say that when a TV commercial for some new fangled blue vodka that turns yellow when you mix it with a lime, the thought crosses my mind that that might be tasty. But I let it go.

I know if I drank the blue vodka shown in the happy love-filled party scene, I would drink it all and search out more. It's not number 43 that gets me drunk. It's number 1! If I avoid 1 I don't have to worry about 43. Active addicts and alcoholics have the ability to tune into the fun parts of the high and dismiss the horror that surrounds the during and aftermath of using. That is one of the mysteries of addiction. In recovery we think about the fights, DUI's, pee pee pants, fights and misery. That keeps us sober. We flip the fantasy of using into the reality of the disasters that occur once we pick up.

The other night I did a comedy gig on the West Side. This is an old school tavern with great food and filled to the rim with tough, no nonsense working folks. I went out for a smoke break because it was an "Open Mic." That means lots of comics and a long night. As I stepped outside to prepare for my set I smelled the burning of that old natural, God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes aroma of weed. I took a couple drags of my smoke and went back inside.

The crowd was drunk and tough on every comic. I ended up in a fight on stage with a heckler and cut my set short. I was pissed off. I went outside to regain my composure and have another smoke. One again, I smelled the burning of that old natural, God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes aroma of doobage. I took a couple more drags of my smoke and watched them with curiosity. I returned to my can of Coke and watched the next 4 or 5 comics.

By now the place was packed and I couldn't breathe so I went out back to get some fresh air. Once again, I smelled the burning of that old natural, God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes aroma of mary jane. I smoked my cigarette and made small talk and then it happened. The average earthling has about 6 or 7 thoughts swirling in their minds at once. An addict has 6 to 700. Our minds work on warp speed. They asked me if I wanted some. My whole life of homelessness, addiction, pain, happiness, hope and fear flamed through my melon in a split second.

If I took a hit no one would know. Right? Wrong! I would. It was all natural and not full of preservatives right? WRONG! I politely declined and did not return outside again. The difference in that split second of CHOICE, for a using addict and recovering addict, is the key to happiness or misery. Back in the day I would have hit the joint and then went in and bought a beer. Recovery has taught me I can never use chemicals safely like normal folks. It is an impossibility. I may be able to control it for a short time but it will return with greater destruction than ever.

I see the beauty and serenity of sobriety in life now. There was a time when I thought living sober was NOT possible. I have gotten my family and respect back. I have begun an exciting career in show biz, and most importantly, I wake up being okay with me. It is hard to live inside yourself when you hate yourself. Sobriety removes that hate and replaces it with self respect and love for others. That dark hole I tried to fill with booze and dope and escape has been filled with faith, friendship and hope. I wouldn't trade my sobriety for all the God created, grown like corn, non-addictive, good for your eyes grass in the world.

We're Just Two Lost Souls Swimmin' in a Fish Bowl, Year After Year..Pink Floyd

I have spoken in recent chapters about being emotionally unavailable or incapable of having functional, healthy relationships with people when I was drinking and using. In my experiences an addict doesn't have the capability to connect fully with another human when they are in the midst of active addiction. The disease creates an obsession, so strong, so uncompromising in its demands, that even when we are with our loved ones, we are not "all there." We are thinking about the next drink, hit, high or escape.

I have had an inability to connect with my mother over the years of my addiction, undiagnosed depression issues, or more specifically, before I ever picked up and learned to live with my depression. Take a moment and think about the people in your orbit. There is somebody who you just can't reach. It's someone you love and you feel that your efforts at making them happy are never good enough. There is someone who you desperately want approval from and a deeper relationship with but that just never materializes.

My mother is a fiercely independent woman, who prefers isolation and solitude over "lovey-dovey" chats. Deep heart felt conversations are rare, if ever, and I accept that. She was never the PTA, go to the game, "rah-rah" type of mom. She had work and her own issues to work through. My grandmother wasn't exactly warm-n-fuzzy. My grandfather, I can tell you very little about, even though I spent a lot of time with him. I know he enjoyed his beer and wasn't much for conversation. I don't know what she has lived through to make her who she is. Nor have I walked a mile in her shoes.

This is not meant as a finger pointing session, but a deep confession of frustration. I don't hold resentments towards her or anyone. Resentments are where we drink the poison and wait for the other guy to die. Any person you hold a resentment towards, probably isn't sitting in front of the fire thinking about you right now. Plain and simply put, I do not let people live in my head rent free. She is who she is. That is a simple statement of truth. That doesn't make it any easier but I am amazed that at age 45 I am still waiting for a magical day that just isn't going to come.

For years I blamed my drinking and addiction on my folks and found myself dialing them up drunk and telling them what complete failures they were as parents. That worked for a long time until the day my mother responded to my berating with a cool reply of "Maybe you're not the son I wanted to have either." That really hit me between the eyes and ended my drunken calls. It was a true statement. I couldn't argue with her. Addicts drink "AT" people. When I quit using it was pointed out to me that I hadn't lived with her in 20 years and continued to use. My excuse was rendered ridiculous. She also never poured it down my throat. I am responsible for my addiction. There was always someone to blame for my woes. I was the one who got me high.

My mom and I are a lot alike. We are sensitive, deep, dark and brooding. I know that plays into the difficulties over our connection. We are like rams butting heads, not in a fight for territory, but because that's the way we are. We go through some good patches and then go on the skids. It's a pattern we have repeated for years. I chuckle to myself, in an unhappy way, that I am a grown man and am still craving love from my mommy, like a 5 year old child.

It has gotten to the point that phone calls are excruciating. I don't know what to say after we have covered her health, her dog and the weather. After that it is like I am forcing conversation that is awkward and difficult. I know one thing for sure. After the phone call is over, I am left feeling sad. There is a hint of bitterness in her goodbyes. My mother can let me know what a disappointment I am just by the tone of her voice. When we see each other it is pleasant, but I always sense that I have treated her inadequately or am on her icky list and don't know why. She always seems to look at me like all I do is let her down. I certainly know I did horrible things as a drunk but this vibe has been there since I fully comprehended that she was my mother.

In the 5 years I have done comedy she has never seen me perform. Her response to my acting and film work is "Do I have to call you Mr. Hollywood now?" She hates FOX so won't see me on "The Chicago Code" and has never heard of "Shameless" or Showtime. I am auditioning for a full feature film thriller. She has already said she won't see it because "she doesn't like films like that." I know I sound bitter. I think this chapter is more for me than you but I know some of you have to share these same frustrations.

I am not some diva or movie star who wants her to "ooh and ah" over my profession. I am pleased with my work and have great passion for it. I just want to be recognized as making her happy or proud or at least not a gaping wound in her life that will never heal. That is what I have wanted my whole life no matter what profession I was in. But why? I know I haven't been the greatest son in the world, but it seems like when I get two steps ahead in our relationship, something happens, and I slip back three.

I know the key is acceptance. I do accept her for who she is but that doesn't make it any easier. When I feel bad or insignificant, the self assuring thought of "oh, well that's just the way Mom is" doesn't cut it. Actually if she suddenly changed and became interested in my life and engaged fully in it, I would probably be even more uncomfortable at this point in my life. I would think she went soft.

In my sobriety, I am really starting to see that we are all messed up somehow, someway. I avoided "feelings" for years through self-medication and drowning in my own depression. We are all just trying to get through this life as happily as possible. I love my mom with all my heart. She is who she is. That is the fact. I am the goof who dreams of a chicken suddenly turning into a peacock. I am sure there are people in my life who feel these same things about me.

I will continue to make the awkward phone calls and choose my words carefully when we speak. My wife, family and friends give me great support and I am grateful for that. I can pray for her to change but the outcomes are out of my control. I will take our relationship like all of life, one day at a time. I will keep the faith, and do what I gotta do.

Thanks for the session. I will leave a check on the credenza and I will schedule another appointment with the lady in reception. Be safe. Do your best. God Bless you all.

Ain't That a Kick In the Head!.......DEANO!

A lot has happened in the last few days and with it comes life lessons and how crazy they can be. God really does have a sense of humor. Maybe George Burns' portrayal of him in "Oh, God!" was pretty accurate. I personally lean toward the Morgan Freeman interpretation in "Evan Almighty."

So much has been happening in the last week that I have lost track of what day it was a couple of times. I need to pause and make a statement about one of the most idiotic things that wives say to husbands or visa versa. I have a weird O.C.D. thing about losing my wallet or car keys so I put them in the same spot. Then, when I feel I have lost them, I can glance over and be comforted that they are in their preassigned seating area.

Last night I was doing a comedy show at Walter Payton's America's Roundhouse in Aurora. I was running behind a little and when I was ready to dash out the door, I noticed that my wallet was not in its parking spot. I looked in my other pants, the kitchen, the bedroom, my office and all the other places it could be. I then mentioned to my wife that my wallet was misplaced and I was freaking out. Her response was "Do you remember where you had it last?" This is the insanity of couplehood. If I knew where I "had seen it last," I would have clearly checked that place and the wallet would not be lost. I want to scream out "NOW WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT!" This is a hats off to all the husbands and wives who bite their tongue and say nothing in response to our partners obviously ridiculous statement.

On Tuesday I found out that my first well paying commercial with Firestone had hit the Internet and has gone viral. Over its first 3 days of airing there have been over 300,000 views. I was on top of the world. I posted the commercial to my blog and Facebook and was proud that I could officially call myself a professional actor. I'm hoping that the commercial's popularity will encourage Firestone to run the spot on TV. If they do, Papa gets paid again. It's a beautiful thing and I am grateful that the commercial has been so well received.

My middle daughter Sunny has been having a pain in her side for a few months which was diagnosed as a pulled muscle. It didn't heal as the doctors said it would. We took her back to the hospital for an X-ray and a mass was found. I went from being on top of the world to "Why are you doing this to us God?" in a matter of seconds. Just when you think you've got the world by the stones you find yourself standing in a puddle of reality tinkle.

In the last few days she has been poked, prodded, scanned and had enough blood to transfuse a rhino. It may be serious or really serious. There is concern but the worst case scenario isn't the worst case scenario. My fatherly side and extreme thinking took me to tragedy and the end. I have obsessed about her future and the impact it could have on her life. Her mother has been a wreck. My son has been distant and sick. We have all focused in with sniper-like precision on what she has been going through.

One of the things that makes me crazy about our health care system is the various doctors you have to visit that fit neatly into your "provider" list. One doctor's prognosis is something out of "Love Story" and the next says "That's nothing. Take two of these and call me in the morning." That leaves a huge chasm of obsession between "it's showtime" and "it's curtains!" After all of the jockeying it has been narrowed down to 2 things, both of which are manageable and not life threatening.

My gratitude and excitement of my booming career are amazing and I'm thankful for all the opportunities and doors that are opening for me. That being said, that day brought me to the real substance of life's importance:  being there for our families. I love my family, friends and co-workers, but I work to live. I don't live to work. Right now the focus is on Sunny and what she needs. There will be lots of gigs down the road, but there is only one Sunny. Have a day!

"Why Would You Ever Let Yourself Become A Comedian?"...David Brenner

In a post on my Facebook wall today, legendary comedian and writer David Brenner wrote, "I understand everything you have done and been, with one exception and, that is, why would you ever let yourself become a comedian?" I don't fully understand the word "let". The fact that such an iconic comedy pioneer responded to a schmuck like me makes me feel like I'm doing something right, or at least making people think. I appreciate the input Mr. Brenner.

I started my professional comedy career (although I still haven't got a manager/booking agent) in 2005. It was 3 months before my 41st birthday and I had wanted to try stand-up comedy before turning 40. I signed up for an open mic night at Barrel' O Laughs featuring Bill Brady in Oak Lawn, just outside the city with days to spare. It was Chicago's longest running comedy venue. The rules were simple. No f-word, n-word, c-word,or p-word. I was cool with that because I think the shock value of those words have taken over the crafting of a good joke. It just isn't necessary.

My love of making people laugh was probably my first addiction. Outwardly I was a happy child growing up in a difficult existence. My parents got divorced when I was two and my sister was five. Our apartment was tiny almost motel-like and a single mother with kids was stigmatized in those days. I would do anything to make a relative, friend or stranger laugh. My mom worked all the time and entertaining myself and others was no problem. The sound of someone laughing at me and my antics drove me. When my mom came home from a long day it was showtime and I would make her laugh until she got mad at me. I felt those laughs in every fiber of my body. It was euphoric and I wanted more all the time.

By the time I started kindergarten at Carpenter Street School in the heart of Mokena, I had a whole new audience. The classroom and playground were like Broadway and Vegas to me. As the laughs grew I got more frantic by saying and doing crazy physical comedy and impressions of kids, teachers and movie stars.

I was happiest in front of a crowd. Once someone asked me how I'm able to stand up in front of so many people and not be terrified. I replied that the terror didn't exist when there wasn't a crowd to entertain but when I was alone with my racing thoughts. Being named class clown in elementary school and high school were my official entries in school newspapers and yearbooks. Every laugh released endorphins in me and I needed more and more. I would definately be put on Ritalin if I was a child growing up now.

As I took the stage that night, the Chicago Tribune was there and wrote a feature story on me based on people taking chances in their 40's and older. The article was titled "First Time Comic Stands up to His Fears and Takes the Stage." September 22, 2006. That added to my terror and made me quite the popular guy with the other comics. I am grateful to say I was sober that night. I was afraid I would forget my material if I was drunk. Bill Brady took me to the side before I went on and said, "Don't worry, we have very low expectations for you." It was priceless and loosened me up. I hit the stage and was blinded by the spotlight in my eyes. I remember thinking what a great idea that was to prevent me from being nervous from seeing the crowd. I later learned that's exactly why it was there.

I heard the first laugh at my words and I was hooked. My set was to last seven minutes and I did twenty. I had no idea what the blue light at the rear of the club was flashing for. I thought it was blinking to let the waitress know her order was ready for pick up so I just kept ripping one joke after another. I wrapped up my set with a joke about Jesus coming back to earth as a union carpenter and being asked to turn a sausage into a thousand sausages at the company picnic. I didn't fail. I wouldn't call it a kill but I felt euphoria. I commented to the reporter that it was like climbing Mount Everest - pure adrenalin.

I think art chooses the artist. Unfortunately my models of comic and material success were guys like Richard Pryor, Steve Martin, John Belushi and Ernest Hemingway. Johnny Carson and Dean Martin always had a cocktail in hand. The dark side of comedy was attractive to me and I planned on following in their steps. Those guys partied hard after they were famous. I was content for many years with the party but the darkness and the material success never arrived. I just drank and used and thought of all the jokes I was gonna write - tomorrow.