Performing 4 shows with the legendary Tony Woods (Dave Chappelle’s comedy mentor).

This weekend (Jan 10–11, Friday and Saturday), 4 shows at the famous comedy club: Carolines on Broadway.

Come to the show. Hang out afterwards in the bar! NYC is pretty boring and there’s nothing else to do.


The last time Tony and I performed together was in Chicago a few weeks ago at Zanies.

I got to the airport that morning and I didn’t have my passport. I had no photo ID at all. I was so upset at myself.

“How could I forget my ID? I’m so stupid! I’ve never done this before!”

That sort of thing. Over and over in my head. “Idiot!”

Until I figured, “ok, nothing I can do about this. It is what it is.”

Robyn said, let’s go through security anyway. I almost said, “are you insane?” But I was at the airport anyway.

No need to lash out. It’s not her fault. It’s my fault. I’m a loser.

I’m such an idiot, I kept thinking. I’ll never perform with Tony Woods. He’ll never trust me to show up.

Like I usually do in these situations, I wanted to cry. I think I did cry for a second.

We get to security. “No driver’s license? No photo ID? No password? Nothing?” the TSA guy didn’t seem to believe me.

Nothing. My pockets were empty. I forgot everything.

He called his supervisor. The supervisor looked me up and down. “No photo ID at all?”


I pulled my pockets out. Empty.

He looked at my tickets. “Where are you going?” he asked even though it said right on the ticket.


The TSA guy and his TSA supervisor looked at each other, looked at me.

“Ok,” the supervisor said, “Just go on through.”


Later that night, after performing, Tony, me, Robyn, others, went out to a bar.

I was riding high. I felt I had done good. I felt like I talked more about the things that were important to me.

But then I got carded! The guy at the door probably 10 years younger than me carded me and wouldn’t let me in.

“I’m 51 years old!” I said to the guy.

“I don’t know that until I see ID,” said the guy at the door.

Tony said, “He’s got gray hair!”


Other people at the bar had just seen us perform. “These guys just performed next door at Zanies.”

“Means nothing to me,” said the door guy. “I need to see ID.”

I had no ID. Nothing.

Tony said, “How are you going to get home tomorrow?”

“Well, I got here so I guess I’ll get home.”

“Man, it’s one thing at an airport at NYC but you’re in Chicago now. What, you think a bar here won’t let you in but Homeland Security will be A-OK?”

I left the bar. Next morning at 5am went to the airport.

“Where are you going?” said the TSA guy and his supervisor.


They nodded their heads and just let me through.

At least I don’t need to have an ID to get to Carolines.

For some reason, I’ve turned myself inside out and all my guts have spilled onto my blog. One day I’ll run out of stuff but not yet. http://bit.ly/2blmiaG

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