"Bill Hicks and Lenny Bruce are just as relevent today."

You say that as though it's a good thing. When comics are known for commenting on the obvious flaws and let-downs of current society, you'd hope that the sooner they are outdated, the better. But they are not. Ten years, thirty years. Shit gets worse and less care. I'd rather have those comics seen as antiquated as rotary dial or vaginal intercourse than still live in a world where so little has changed. Here's to '06. I'm sure this one will be different.

The Ghost of Christmas Future

Election week 2004, early November. Andristand I are playingZanies Chicago. First night, legendary comedianJohn Foxstumbles into the back door of the club pre-show and hangs an arm around my neck, saying that I was his protege. I'd only met him twice before and the last time he asked me when I'd started doing comedy before I explained to him that comedy is how we knew each other.

John Fox is legendary for all the wrong reasons. He is legendary for being a free-falling spectacle of how things can go so poorly in a lifetime. He's is legendary for nursing the same act for 20-plus years and still fucking it up from years of reckless abuse of vice. He is legendary for being everything we are afraid of as comics you still run in that marathon. We see him at the bar round the corner after the show. "You're not gonna believe the gig they got me doing," he rasps, "I'm opening for The Beach Boys on New Years".

John Fox

The bartender who has obviouly grown tired of turning a blind ear to his bullshit chimes in.

"You told me it was Christmas."

"Ya. Well, it's Christmas thru New Years." he covers but not well enough.

"So why would you say New Year's first instead of Christmas thru New Years?" she says but he trails off rather than have to come up with more bullshit.

_

Big In Japan

John Fox was big in the 80's - as we're 1000 people who shouldn't have been big. He, like me, never saw fit to give up the lifestyle. He spiralled out of control more than I've seen in anyone else. But also in ways I see very clearly in myself. I dont remember how I know you either anymore. God knows my drinking is pathetic to some. On the last night in Chicago that week, John Fox shuffles into the bar just short of last call with the fear all over him. We are well into our pints and we give a cheer.

He overcompensates with a story about only being in the bar to break a hundred dollar bill. He has an early flight to a gig he tells us and cab drivers can never break a hundred. Knowing his need, I suggest he come have a beer with us and he 'aw shucks' us saying it couldn't hurt.

I ask him where he is playing on this run he is heading out for.

"You're never gonna believe it. They got me opening for the Beach Boys."

This isn't Christmas or New Year's. This is early November and he has no idea he's already been selling this pointless avenue of dogshit with different parameters.

"Wow, that's great" I say and I am not mocking him. I am afraid - not for him but for myself.

For he is The Ghost of Christmas Future, and I wonder which drink will be the 'one too many' and I become him. For kicks we checkThe Beach Boys tour dateson the internet and they are nowhere to be found in the places hesaid he'd be opening for them. Not to say that John Fox is among the greats you may infer but consider... For every comic that dies in his so-called prime and you say "It's too bad we will never see how much greater they could have become", remember that they may just as easily become bitter, unfunny, shitty, sell-out, addict wastes or just fucking quit in the face of the pointlessness of it all. Just a thought and a fear I thought I'd share. ~Ebenezer

Failure is in the Eye of the Beholder

"When this 30 days is over, I'm going right back to smoking." "No you are not," says Bingo, "you promised me you'd quit." Bingo isn't like that, no she's not. But she knows it's killing me and she tries to be supportive. Go back to drinking if you like but you have to quit smoking. It's awful for you. That's what she tells me. Bingo put up with my rages and tantrums through two weeks off of coffee, alcohol and cigarettes.

Day 15 she became a bit suicidal from her own troubles and we needed to eat mushrooms to sort things out. Day 15 of 30. Halftime we declared. The "Ides of Sobriety". We ate mushrooms and mushrooms said it was ok to smoke and drink tonite. Enjoy yourselves. "Abstinence is silly," says the mushrooms and they are correct.

Day 16 I felt fantastic and that day and the next I was back on the original course. Today - Day 18 - came the inevitable "fuck it" and I had the Sunday paper with a decaf and a pack of smokes as your God intended it. I feel no guilt. I feel pretty good. The days of sobriety proved pointless. My short term memory still leaked like bird shot. My productivity and creativity flatlined. I felt a bit better physically but was eating at a Brando's pace. And I was bored. Fat girl weekends eating ice cream on the couch watching another George Clooney vehicle. Bored and boring. 30 days was just a round number.

Today we ate more mushrooms and enjoyed my vices and losing football propositions. It's good to love an underdog until your heart plays the books. Bingo is ok with it all. Bingo is still a pillar of strength. Bingo started smoking again after 4 years. I think I might be the devil.