Peter the dick

A LETTER OF APOLOGY

I can be a real dick sometimes. It amazes that someone as insecure as I can be can also sometimes be such a cocky fuck that someone should smash a beer bottle over his head. Or I should say sometimes I attack a bit with so much aggression after its over I realize the bit wasn’t funny.

Recently just such a thing happened. I was drunk. Not an excuse or a set up for “in my defense” it’s just a fact. On the boat we have this weird status where we can go to some of the crew areas, but not the actual crew bar. Yet, if there is a crew party in another part of the ship like the helicopter landing deck or the beer garden we can go. We love going to these things because so many of the crew are the only consistent things that we have and its great to hang out with them in a social setting, instead of making awkward small talk in a buffet line. Anyway the booze is free at these things and I had just gotten over with a terrible accounting issue on the boat which had left my bank account for a short time in shambles. I was ready to get a bit ripped up.

So anyway afterwards a couple of my cast members and I were hanging out after the party and I’m not sure what led to me acting like a complete asshole and doing an ugly bit but basically I started being belligerent and demanding he inform the others there of how great I am. How I have this amazing reputation back home, how well known I am. Looking back on it now I am ashamed any of those things came out of my mouth. While I am good at what I do I haven’t had any successes in my career that would warrant that attitude and even if I had it would still not excuse acting like that. To make matters worse I jokingly and offhandedly accused the cast member of jealously. Which at that point the cast member in question would have had every right to smash a chair across my fat face and make me eat my words as well as my teeth. Since the cast member has absolutely nothing to be jealous of.

The cast member is insanely talented and has achieved a lot in a short amount of time. If anyone should be accused of jealousy it would have to be me to be in the presence of someone who so clearly knows what they want, and have the confidence, talent and ability to get it at an age younger than my own. The work that they do is nothing short of exceptional and what they bring to cast is beyond priceless.

So my sincerest apologies for being drunk, and arrogant asshole. It is not a side of myself that I am overly fond of and will try to change. Thank you for being the better person and not calling me on my bullshit but in the future feel free to do so, as my wife will tell you it’s the only way I seem to learn. Thank you for having the decency I so sorely lack sometimes and forgiving my act of stupidity and still being willing to work with me.

Now the thing is I had already apologized to him in person, so why put this up here? Well for one thing another cast member had done a bit where they were making a call to LA and would I like them to check on the status of my reputation. Awesomely funny bit but the bit made me realize even more of what a prick I had been. The bit had the same searing bite to my conscience as a well placed caustic one liner from my Dad. (Which my brothers can attest can be some brutal medicine). So instead of sitting in my room hating myself I would put my self-loathing on the page. Since sometimes saying you’re sorry can be almost too easy an out, but writing it and documenting one’s failures as a person is a little harder penance. This way it’ll be on record that while I may be good at what I do, I can always be better at who I am.

Oh and to the other cast member who was there I’m sorry you had to swim in those awkward and uncomfortable waters I created.

To the rest of my cast who heard about the incident, my apologies.

To the NCL production company member who was there I’m sorry I needed your approval so badly. In the future I’ll just buy you a drink.

To the rest of the NCL production company I apologize for dancing in your presence. I know watching bad improv is a painful experience for myself. I can only imagine what I’ve put you through between my karaoke singing and dancing to Cotton Eyed Joe.

To the staff at Blue Lagoon I’m sorry for making you listen to my stories at three o’clock in the morning when I couldn’t find cigarettes.

To the Sunday company at Groundlings, again my apologies for that sketch that I wrote that one time. Real dick move.

To my parents my apologies for the years 1990-1997 if my cast member becomes famous and does me the charity of giving me a part in a film of theirs, I will try to financially make it up to you. For now I will just try to call you guys on a regular basis.

To my family for bitching about not having a debit card and my accounting issues on the boat instead of talking about the countries I’ve been too.

To my wife my apologies for the snoring, the back hair, the fact I’m on a boat, and that you have to read about me doing something stupid. Oh and the times when I said I was cleaning the apartment but instead was dancing around it to Outkast.

To Dave of daveonacruise.com fame I am sorry that I haven’t lived up to your shining example of how a blog should work, or a cast member should act. I bet you don’t tell people to look you up on the internet at www.funnyordie.com and in the search area type in the actor episode 1,2, or 3 and tell people 4 will be coming soon. I’m sure at your weekly dinner with Jesus, Jesus mentioned this episode of mine and for that I’m embarrassed. When he helps you get the html format right on your next blog let him know I tried to make amends.

To God, I am still sorry about that one thing that one time. I know it was a real slap in the face.

To black people I am sorry that I don’t have more of you as friends. I tell myself its because not a lot of you do improv, but its probably because I’m shy and I’m worried that I’ll say the wrong thing or get drunk and ask you to google my civil rights reputation.

To “that guy” I take back my apology. I only said it because I didn’t want any trouble for my friends but you were being an idiot by getting in my face with what I was dealing with.

To soups of the world do not take this letter as a sign of weakness. My castmate is human and you are soup. I will holocaust you. Especially you, cream of mushroom. Chicken broth I have learned you are not technically a soup you may work in my airplane engine factory.


MY BIGGEST FAN or GOD DELIGHTS IN SYMETRY

The last two weeks since our reposition from New York to New Orleans we’ve noticed a noticeable difference in the audiences for our shows. In the respect that they have been really, really good. One could make the claim that we have gotten better. We’re far more comfortable in the material as well as working with each other. I say that the people of New Orleans have a much better sense of humor than the people doing the tour of the northeast. I shouldn’t be surprised, the people of New Orleans (at least with all my experiences) are people that know how to enjoy themselves. They don’t seem to be easily offended and in fact in our improv shows truly encourage us to be more risqué.

The days after our shows we have lines from the show repeated back to us, drinks are bought from us, and we are told ad nauseum how great we are. You would think that someone who just had to write a letter of apology based on his hubris would welcome people coming to give him accolades. It’s schizophrenically not the case though. While I could listen to glowing statements from my peers and family all day long, strangers quite frankly scare me. I’m terrible at meeting new people and have extreme difficulty in not being awkward around people I don’t know. It takes a few tries before I start to resemble a human being. It’s a problem I’m working on, while on the ship but thankfully we don’t have to do meet and greets.

Anyway this week the shows were exceptional. We hit everything perfect. I broke during the sketch pictionary when Ma-chine guessed that what I was drawing was ‘The Scarecrow and Mrs. King” Me coming close to breaking or actually breaking is one of my favorite things about what I do. I think I do this mainly because I get to be surrounded by people who make me laugh, and also like I belong somewhere other than a comic book convention, or a zoo. So after the first show we have a ritual of going up to Raffles (the buffet) and having coffee and keeping each other entertained so that we have plenty of energy going into the second show of the evening. I was trying out a new bit I was working on that involved Spider-man and web shooters (big surprise) when we noticed a young girl had walked up to our table. She stood there very stiff, hands locked firmly together. She looked very nervous and her mouth was working but sounds weren’t coming out yet. I guessed her age at between eleven and thirteen. She was tall with a very sweet face. Slowly the entire cast realized her presence and we all turned to her.

I could see in her eyes that when we all made eye contact with her, that she might just run away. That her nerves and shyness might get the better of her and she would decide maybe to try to say hello under less stressful circumstances such as giving a note to the front desk receptionist before she left the boat and to have them give it to us with the expressed instruction that we were not to see the note until after she had disembarked. She took a quick breath and finally let out a quiet “I really enjoyed y’all’s show.” We all said thank you and I could see relief wash over her face. It was an expression that I was familiar with, or I should say an expression that I assumed has swept across my own face many a time. It’s the look of relief that one has when they are steeling themselves for disappointment, meanness, possible taunts and hurt feelings and instead are greeted with smiles, interest, and acknowledgement that they have something of interest to say. She had put herself out on a limb and the branch hadn’t broken.

What I don’t think she had counted on was us saying more than “Thank you.” Or “See if you’re parents will let you go to the next show.” She seemed a little stunned when my cast started asking her difficult questions like ‘What’s you’re name?” , “Are you enjoying the cruise?” , “Where do you live?”, “What’s you’re favorite subject in school?” I could tell she was debating if maybe she should just quit while she was ahead and make a break for it. There was something nagging at the back of my brain though, while she was going through her own internal debate. This whole experience had such a strong sense of déjà vu to it. Why was this scenario so familiar to me? I was mulling this question pretty hard as she started to quietly answer.

“My name is Isabella and I’m eleven. I’m from Shreveport Louisiana, so it was funny when you guys mentioned it in the show. I was like oh my gosh, they just said Shreveport but it isn’t as bad as how you guys made it sound. But it is pretty small. I’m on the cruise with my parents and yeah, its fun. We went and got to swim with the dolphins today. I don’t have a favorite class…exactly. I’m in a lot of gifted classes and we do really hard puzzles and I like those. My brother is on the boat too, and he laughed a lot at you’re show.” She finished and waited to see how would we react. Had she said too much? Were we just being polite and now she had jabbered on and interrupted us from our important work of drinking coffee and pretending we were Spiderman? Had she just made a fool out of herself in front of us? The way her hands clasped even tighter together so that they were becoming white, showed me she was preparing for the worst. Once again she was greeted with smiles and warmth and more questions about what the dolphins were like, had she been born in Shreveport, etc. etc. When the next round of questions came, her hands finally unlocked and the light in her eyes told me that she had found her bravery. The weird feeling I was having though was just getting stronger, why was this so familiar to me?
I began to think that me and Isabella just shared the gift of shyness. Being a tall girl from what I understand is not easy, its like being a boy who has no idea how to throw or catch a baseball. A condition that I can say with confidence to this day that I am still afflicted with. Then there was the whole gifted class thing. Maybe I felt that this was familiar because I have a sibling who did gifted classes all through school, and those gifted kids may understand the physics behind why nothing can travel faster than light, but don’t understand why their knowledge of this makes them targets to other kids. Now I know I am making a lot of assumptions about this girl based on a small interaction with her and that I could be totally wrong on my assesment on this girl. The one thing I know was true was that for her it was a big fucking deal to be talking to us, and an even bigger deal that we were talking back.

Then James asked a question and everything clicked into place. I suddenly knew exactly what was happening and who I was meeting. James casually asked her the question “Whose you’re favorite comedian?” I’m sure James was hoping she would say Bill Murray, who is James’ favorite comedian. When he asked the question though, Isabella thought for a moment and then her hands locked again. She let out a quiet and slightly worried “Uhm.” At the sound of that uhm I was propelled faster than the speed of light and traveled back in time to when I was twelve or thirteen. I was sitting in a theatre in Arlington Heights and watching people file out of the show that I had just seen. I wasn’t going to be leaving the show yet, because the aunt and uncle of one of the few friends I had at that age worked for this theatre and they were going to take us backstage to meet the cast of the show. I was terrified. I loved the show it had been so funny, and so different than anything I had ever seen. The people on that stage had just made up the funniest things off the top of their heads. What they could do was magic. I had fallen in love with them, and what they could do and I desperately wanted to do it. Yet, how could I do something like what they do? I was just a clumsy, slightly fat kid, who couldn’t throw a baseball and was terrible at meeting people. People who could be that funny on a stage, were probably really good at meeting people.

Now I was going to meet them, and they would probably be polite and then when I would leave they would probably laugh and make fun of me behind my back. I could just imagine them saying “What a stupid fucking kid! I bet he can’t even throw a baseball! He probably passes out at the sight of blood.” The thought of that made me want to leave that theater immediately. The last thing I wanted was these people to know what a loser I was, it was too heartbreaking. I thought maybe I could slip away, I could just tell my friends later that I just had to go to the bathroom. Then I realized if I did that I would have to endure a whole car ride home of my friends telling me how cool they were or even worse that they had showed them how to do that magic that I just saw. That image made my hands lock up tight and dig deep for whatever pitiful reserve of courage I had. We were then led backstage to meet the cast.

The backstage was amazing to me. Holy crap! They had a couch! And a TV! And a bowl of chips! And beer and soda was there! Did they get that stuff for free? Or did they spend the thousands of dollars they were making on that stuff? Because if they did, it was really cool, because if I had thousands of dollars I would buy chips and soda too! Maybe they were just like me. I stood there staring at them for what seemed like a year and finally they all slowly realized they had guests and turned and smiled at us. Before I could stop it I whispered “I really like you guys’ show.” Oh what a stupid thing to say. They probably heard that all the time and from more important people than a kid in an ill fitting sweatshirt. I was doomed. Instead they thanked me heartily and started asking me all sorts of questions about school, if I had seen their shows before, where did I live, what was I doing in school. The best part was there was no hint of malice, no weary look of lets just get through this so we can drink more soda and get back to these ruffles. They actually enjoyed talking to me, and I found I could talk back. Then one of the guys on the couch asked me “Whose you’re favorite comedian?”

I immediately felt very insecure again. My honest answer at the time was “you guys.” That answer seemed for lack of a more politically correct term; really, really gay. I was also scared they were testing me, that they were inspecting me and seeing wether I was worthy of being instructed in their particular brand of magic. I wanted to answer this right. Should I say them? Or would it look desperate that I wanted their approval. I did desperately want their approval, but I didn’t want to look like that. I wanted to look cool, so they would they think I was cool, and if they were cool and they thought I was cool maybe they would keep talking to me. But what if I was supposed to say John Belushi? Or Bill Murray? Maybe I should say Eddie Murphy? Or that new guy on Satuday Night Live Dana whatshisface, the guy who does the church lady. But what if they hated those guys, and my liking them was wrong. So I said “uhm” to buy myself some time. Then I was transported back to a small table in a buffet restaurant called Raffles on the Norwegian Spirit and I knew exactly what Isabella’s answer was going to be to that question.

I nearly mouthed the words I was so certain of what was coming. “I like a lot of things.” She answered. The perfect thing to say, it vaguely covers all your bases. It gives you some protection from any rebuttals to what your opinions are. Because the things you like and the things you love and the dreams you carry at that age are so precious and fragile, and once broken they are so very hard to replace. I became very worried that my cast might press us on the issue, and if pressed that she might say “Larry the cable guy.” Thankfully my castmate Tabetha who was also seeing some of herself in this girl, gently and sweetly let her off the hook, by saying “ Yeah, there’s so much funny stuff out there I can never choose.” Isabella looked at her with relief and said “Yeah, its hard.” Isabella then decided to retreat. She had just walked through fire and survived, she deserved the break.

We went back to our coffee and we all agreed what a sweet girl Isabella was. The next thing we knew a young boy walked up to us. He introduced himself as Tanner, and wanted to know why we were dogging on Shreveport. He immediately told us he wasn’t really mad about it and that he was Isabella’s brother and he liked the show, and that he thought we were funny. He then left. He seemed like a nice kid, a nice kid who probably had no problems throwing a baseball. Yipes, gifted classes and a brother who has no problem meeting people. Rough combo for Isabella. I decided to go have a cigarette and clear my mind before the show.

As I came back in to Raffles I was stopped by a man a little shorter than myself. “You got a problem with Shreveport?” He asked. “Christ! Is everybody from fucking Shreveport on this cruise?” I thought. All I knew was that the longer I spent in an uncomfortable conversation with this man, the less ready I would be for the show. He then opened his wallet and showed me a Shreveport sheriff’s badge. “What do you think of this?” he asked me. Great. I was familiar with this situation too, after living in the south for a few years. It was the Southerner tries to intimidate Yankee game. “Look I fought for us to use Marietta, Louisiana in the sketch.” I told him, hoping the quip would be enough for me not to have to engage in the torture of small talk.

“I’m just kidding.” He said, with a laugh and a slap on my back. How do people talk to strangers like this? Where does that come from? What chemical in my brain am I lacking that makes social interaction with new people so damn difficult. I just wanted to get myself out of it as quickly as possible. I prayed he would quickly tell me good show, and then I could tell my cast the funny story of how I was accosted by a Shreveport sheriff. He kept looking at me, like he was working on the right words to say to me. “Oh no, he’s going to start giving me suggestions for material.” Was my first thought, but then I saw that his face was not the face of a man ready to tell a joke. There was a deep worry in that face. A worry that bordered on pleading. “ I’m Isabella’s Dad. She told me she talked to you guys. That took a lot for her to do that.” “Yeah, we loved her. She’s such a nice girl. Really great.” I told him, feeling relieved that he wasn’t going to tell me I should hear some of the stories of the things he’s seen being a cop. Then I got it. This wasn’t a Sheriff talking to me, this was a Dad. A Dad who had seen his daughter really light up at something, a person who I felt also knew the value of dreams in one Isabella’s age. “I know you guys have a show coming up, but would it be possible at all for you guys to wait a few minutes. Isabella ran back to the room to get a pen so you could sign her program. She’s going to rush right back, I promise.” In that moment, in that man’s eyes I got the faintest glimpse of what it truly means to be a parent. The hope that others see in their children the same amazing people that they see, or at the very least people will be kind to them so they can keep being amazing without fear.

“Yeah, of course.” I told him. I rushed back to the table and told nobody to move that Isabella was coming for autographs. I hoped my cast didn’t realize that I was freaking out a little bit, I was seriously worried that Isabella would get up there and we would be gone. God, I wish when I was that age I had the balls to ask for an autograph. She came up and we had to sign an autograph for her and her brother. As I was signing the autograph for her I told her that she should come to Chicago when she’s older and see the shows there and maybe take some classes. She brightened at this for a moment and then seemed a little disheartened. “Tanner is the funny one in our house. He would be great at this. I don’t think I could do it.” Sure you could. “ I immediately answered back. “All you need is to take the classes, that’s how we all learned to do it. I bet you’d be great. Anybody can do this.” Of course not anybody can do what we do, but I am certain Isabella can. She has all the right things going for her to be a good comedian.

So she left happy and we went and did our second show. I didn’t think about Isabella because I was too busy acting like an asshole and then needing to apologize for it. Then last night we went to dinner once again at Raffles. James went to go get some water and I was agonizing over a sketch I was editing at my laptop when I suddenly looked up and there was Isabella again. She smiled at me and she smiled back. “How are you Isabella?” I asked. She then quickly said “I just wanted you to know. You’re my favorite one.” And once again time shifted and I was back at that theatre on a different night. I had begged my parents to take me to another show. I had just seen a short guy with a hawk like nose, do things on that stage that made the first cast I saw look like fat kids in ill fitting sweatshirts. My parents were waiting in the car they had given me ten minutes to see if this guy would come out so I could maybe say hello. I think my parents knew that dreams were fragile for a kid my age. I really wanted to meet this guy, he was amazing, he was incredible, he the best one. He came out pulling out a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. I pushed my fears away just long enough to say “Hey, you were my favorite one.”

So to Isabella I said the same thing that guy said to me “You’re my favorite one, too.” And just like I did Isabella mumbled a quick thanks and rushed away. Maybe cursing herself for not saying more, or maybe just glad she said anything at all. All I know is in Shreveport Louisiana I have an excellent reputation with one little girl. That’s a reputation worth bragging about.


Of course who knows with kids, maybe she was just fucking with me and she’s throwing baseballs with Tanner. Fucking Tanner he probably eats soup all the time.


*AUTHORS NOTE: (Parents may not want to read this, actually mom, dad just don’t)
The first show at Second City I saw Amy Sedaris from Strangers with Candy was in the cast. She had done a sketch where she had been working out then poured water on herself and then pushed her boobs together. I think the sketch was about how people go to health clubs to meet people instead of working out. I really on remember wet boobs getting pushed together. So after I gave the cast backstage my vague bland answer to whom my favorite comedian was, Amy then asked me if I wanted to see a picture of her ideal boyfriend that a cast member had drawn for her. I said yes, secretly hoping it would be a fat kid in an ill fitting sweatshirt. Instead what she showed me was a picture of a humongous cock going into her mouth and smashing out the back of her skull. I went home that night and went through a rite of passage every boy goes through at that age, and it was too the image of Amy Sedaris. So second city brought me to great joys improvisation and sketch comedy and getting off to really funny women. Of course now I am married that never happens anymore. So all the very funny women I know can breathe a sigh of relief….yeah you dirty really funny women….that’s right sigh, sigh so those breasts heave. GROSSS! I’ll stop.

Maybe next week I’ll actually talk about the countries I’ve been too. I wouldn’t count on it though. As next weeks article is tentatively titled FLU-CHI CHI, FLU CHI CHI OH SO LOVED BY CHACHEECHEE