It’s about my sheltering in space adventure on a Corralitos, California farm taking care of nine Arabian horses, dealing with isolation and things we’re learning from our life with Covid-It’s also available here: https://goodtimes.sc/special-publications-inserts/50-up-boomer-in-lockdown/
I’ve gone all in on committing to make rooms of drunk people laugh. This is who I am, it’s what I got good at, and I’ve done it 3,000 times. I did my last live show on March 15 at Michael’s on Main in Santa Cruz, and it felt like the crowd was desperate to laugh. There was doom in the room. On March 16, the calls started coming in from agents and bookers—all my clubs, casinos and theaters had closed. By 5pm, my live performance career was over.
I came of age during the glorious experiment of Free Love, before HIV and herpes and just three years after the arrival of the pill that unlocked sex and marriage. A woman with several lovers was considered “popular.” And now 50 years later I have to quarantine for two weeks before I see my wife. I always thought the apocalypse would somehow be more exciting.
I sleep all day, through the night and Tuesday morning my throat is so sore I cannot swallow. I try to coax water down but my throat squeezes shut. I keep my EpiPen handy.
Then my head starts spinning, the walls of the trailer whirl to the left, I realize I’m losing it and push off my kitchen sink to fall backwards onto the bed. That’s the beautiful thing about passing out in the Airstream—the soft landing.
Since we got off the clock we have enjoyed the glorious experience of living with less pollution and we may see a path to our survival. Civil rights seems to be at a tipping point and we may see Harriet Tubman’s picture on the twenty dollar bill. And if I ever do get to stand in front of a comedy crowd again I will be a better comic when I breathe them in like Moose.