November 13, 1986

March 14, 1983

November 1, 1983

January 29, 1988

June 13th 1982

June 13, 1982

My brother saw me bomb twice tonight. I did a gig on the Island and then a late set in the city and both sucked. I haven't had a night like this in over a year and now with Steve in the room I eat two heaping helpings of shit. What happened? Something from childhood? I felt great. Both crowds were a little tough but I didn't get eight good laughs between them. Should I be doing this? I'm not making a living at it and I'm tired of waiting tables. One of the other waiters at work told me that his dream is being on the cover of Time magazine. He didn't tell me how, just why. Fuck that. I don't dream of fame. I just want to make enough money as a comedian so I don't have to wait tables. THEN I want to be a good enough comedian so that when my Brother comes to see me I don't fucking bomb. That's all I want Money and the ability to perform in front of anybody. Is that too much to ask?