Helberg was already outside his apartment in what I call the "Frying Pan of Hollywood". Stuck in the middle of the griddle where the fossil fuels baste you like freedom fries in a French Whore's home, the actor was in repose - coffeee (Yes, with three eee's )and cigarette - A Sinead O ' Connor cover of some lost timeless song - A Jarmushian recipe for those in the know to relax - Can't feel too healthy in the "Frying Pan" - You'll feel out of place like a Guinea Pig in Griffith Park just before the coyotes come out - Invincible, But someone will see those extra hit points and make a meal out of you....Transients in L.A. hunt much like Coyote - In posse. I have heard that some burn candles and make offerings when "Entourage" airs - Studying its writing like the Talmud. Helberg is golden. He is ready. He hops in the car with a smile and altitude that reminds me two more phone calls and I too will grin like that. Chillin with Helberg may be at times chillin with the Cheshire cat - If in fact I actually chilled with that cat - It was a very relaxing night with some tea - I saw eyeballs in the corner and a grin - They made me smile - Signature Cheshire visitation but then - The circles I travel in are very self amusing and I know a lot of jazz musicians.
"Call Cairos! That is your job today. Call Cairos!!" I say with the stress and command of an investment broker to Director of "Underbelly Blues" Phil Messerer. "He returns to Vegas today and he is expecting you to make an appointment to scout his pad." I hang the Iphone up with the memory of being able to slam a phone in the days of dial up. Zane looks at me as though he has not seen this tension, and he is right - He has not - I have the need for speed and a trip out of town. Tits to wits. Pedal to metal. A road trip with Burns Daly was just what the doctor ordered.
We pull up to an abandoned warehouse that clearly is being turned into something - evidence of a garden - Standard classic skillful squatting. Daly bangs on the trunk surprising us - entering as usual from our blindspot. Helberg spies the gigantic Scottsman (Scotts/English) and automatically offers up the Shotgun. "No Need", Says Burns. "Pop the trunk, E and let's get Lucas Dick." I follows Daly's instruction as I have learned to do without question and motor to Dick's Pad.
Lucas was waiting outside for us as a funeral wake was getting started. He jumped in the unlocked door as it was moving with three taco's from tacobell ( Not a Taco Bell endorsement, just a demonstration of our economic standing) offering them to any who hungered in the car - "Good Gravy - The Car is Moving,!" I chortle impressed at his grace. Lucas Dick replies "All good. I been to this rodeo before - Let's roll." With that we were off for San Diego. I made the 101 and girly - wanting to impress the boys - I tore out as thought it were a clear route 40 to New Mexico on a golden night of no traffic. But there was slowing, traffic, and the guys were not all that impressed. I blamed it on my road lust for undisturbed drives. Boys suffer testosterone. Girls suffer breastosterone. Tits to the wits. Pedal to the metal.
When traffic patterns began to move as swift as silver fish surfing Maui, Burns wanted to pull over - A. He had a blunt rolled. B. He wanted to make adjustments. C. We needed gassing up. Helberg bolted to smoke a cancer stick. Lucas - a free soul - wandered toward a field probably to listen to the wind and jam more on his Pandora hip hop station - Always feeding his soul with tales of indestructibility and calm. I don't know what Mr. Dick's heritage is but the native Indian and Irish Shaman in me spies the wind whispering to him often. I risked using the lavatory which I am pleased to report was run by hospitable Pakistani's who were proud of the oasis they had made of the miraculous running water we have in the USA - Flowers, Incense, affirmations - Amazing.
Returning I see Helberg's taken a stance of awe grabbing his hair unaware or indifferent to his burning Cancer stubbin. Lucas is facing the field with his arms extended like Kevin Costner diagnosing the weather from the corn blowing, collecting the corn and wind power feeding it into his storage banks for the coming show tonight, Oblivious to Burns "Adjustments". I followed Zane's focus to see what mischief Burns was brewing.
There was Burns. On top of my car's hood like a winged gremilin on the exterior of an airplane on a stormy night in the Twilight Zone armed with a blowtorch. That's right. Blowtorch. No one seems to notice beyond Helberg who is now didging and dodging around incredulous of the lack of authority reigning down on Burns. I myself was mesmerized by the Blowtorch which had a vintage quality to it - looking like it was welded and formed by a shop student in Guatemala with shoddy American vacuum cleaner parts. A closer look as I managed to avoid shock revealed a lighter magnetized into a flame as effective as a blowtorch -- I am unqualified to go into the mechanics but man - Was it effective! "This is what I made to piece together the Chopper I took from Tijuana to LA this last time. I should have pulled the car away from the pump before I did this... (Zane has broken into white balls of sweat) I just figured we could use a convertable for the journey." And Daly is off the hood and entering my car without one glance from an onlooker. Kicking the hood out from within the car, Daly Looks a bit like a Kangeroo in a WB cartoon.Hong Kong Foey. Fred Flintstone losing his temper. Two Hockey Players loosed to duke it out in a 2004 cherry red malibu. Top comes off without a hitch after about twenty minutes. Zane is watching in unfamiliar shock. Dick is still mediatating with the birds. After the top turned over and ploppled to floor, Berns daintily stepped out of the car, checked to make certain all seatbelts worked, brushed the debree off his pants, and as he walked around the car mumbled " A beer will taste good when we get off the road, eh?" Zane nodded needing to be shepherded through this shocking part of his career as a "Roaddog" of comedy. "No worries, Helberg," Daily smiled seeing the green in this seasoned comic. "E had four cases of Flying Dog delivered to the condo. We'll be watching waves and toasting one another's talents by sun down. My turn to drive." I toss Burns the keys probably the only person who knows it is better to trust him than to fight against his current. "What's the corn Shaman's name again?" "Dick," I reply. "DICK!" bellows Burns. "TRAINS LEAVING!" Dick turns and runs to the altered vehicle with not one ruffled feather. He buckled in with the rest of us. Then he whips from his backpack like someone who studied the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy - not the Adam's books - The GUIDE - a thin terry towel the size of which a basketball player could easily towel dry and ties it into a hammocked head rest shielding him from the sun and the wind. Helberg admires Dick's work with a Fonzie felt "Nice" letting the trail like air from a tire. "I told you all when we started - I been to this rodeo before - Phat changes Burnz- Let's roll" Amazed - I put on Lenny Kravitz and sing at the top of my lungs. I have not been driven round in a long bit, and to have a convertable ride - brilliant. Knowing that there are four cases of Flying Dog Beer at The Comedy Store Condo waiting for us as the waves roll in and out on the beach - I smile with the sun warming my closed eyelids as I praise those who guided me on this gonzo path to those who have gone before. "Hunter would be proud." I yell "TITS TO THE WITS, BURNZ!! PEDAL TO THE METAL!!!! WELCOME TO THE REBEL YELL HELBERG!!!!"
We made it. Zane White knuckled his seatbelt and back pack and had a powerful thirst by the time we picked up the condo's keys and popped our first Flying Dog Beer. Walking from the parking garage to the balcony he had told Daly his families stories, confessions of immature discretions ( As "w" presidentially credentialed the behavior), and goals of great apptitude and compassion. You gotta love a man who loves his family. Greatful to be alive, greatful to have the gig, greatful for Flying Dog, Zane's second move was to call his mom in Arizona. Fresh from the wilds of Montana, Dick fell asleep as though this rodeo bored him. Daly and I quashed beers knowing he would be returning to Scottland for 8 shakes of a full jar of weed. Daly and I worked often together. This was the first time he trusted me with my opinion of talent. I picked Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick knowing their talent would make me look good. They are perfectionists in every aspect of their lives as far as I could tell. My dream of being a producer and cutting people slack and paychecks were coming true... Craft Dreams, Craft brew, Craft Comedy. I managed to watch the entire sunset and turned off my phone for the show ahead.
The show itself was a rodeo that even Lucas Dick could not conceal awe. Twas Fantastic! Jeffery Peterson - the 420 comic drove into town - Headlining movie diva comic Leslie Jones made an appearance with Erik Marino and singer Becca Fischer entouraging. Med Mike to stage time. Phil Mazo drove in separately from H- wood and was reunited with a beauty from his highschool dayz who was so cool her glass bowl had NEW York Giants logo blown into it ( And she CARED like a man for that football team. She was awesome. I invited her back to the condo with all of us) Americans for Safe Access San Diego Chapter took home 900 bucks they didn't have before that night. Everyone went home happy. I signed a lot of autographs. We retired to the condo.
We retired to the condo where we drank Flying Dog Beer and played poker. Helberg and Dick took the crowd by their heart and I was so high on success I could not play poker - I could only lean to my right and giggle as I dropped cards. I retired first, blowing up my king size airbed and sleeping out on the balcony underneath the stars and moon listening to the waves do their thang...Burnz was happy, Phil and his squeeze were reunited, Zane in accord with Lucas won and lost numerous hands in the chosen game at hand. Breakfast couldn't be beat like Alice's Restaurant on Thanksgiving and the ride home was easy and breezy except I was to report to Messerer at Sugar Factory films. Set day for Zane and I was close at hand. The director wanted to chat with me about costume and character -
What did you think I was going to tell you Helberg and Dick's jokes? Maybe toss one or two to the hungry readers? Perhaps you expecting a critique of the show? Henry Winkler once told me regarding the pursuit of a successful career - It is not what you achieve that matters. It is the journey that is most important. Regaling this tale you it all sounds tall - Tall as the Gonzo days of Hunter S., Abbie Hoffman, and the misguided Weathermen. Sure - I grant you - this tale is tall - Taller than most sentimental yippic adventures. But not as tall as the comedy I witnessed executed by young masters like Lucas Dick, Zane Helberg, Leslie Jones, Jeffery Peterson, Phil Mazo, Burns Daly. ..... And yes - I had a great set too.... And I do speak solely of my breastosterone. The peace created between the sunset, the waves, supporting fellow talent while crushing Flying Dog Beer was enough to last me to set day. "Underbelly Blues" beckoned with whatever task needed tasking. My dog and I would not be going for a spin around the moon again until we wrapped. Did you know Frank Sinatra originally sang "Fly me to the Moon" to his dog - Alfred? If you believe that, I suppose you'll also believe that PBR really does have a blue ribbon. I really have a convertable... Anything is plausible. Few things are well crafted. Flying Dog Beer is crafted. Flying dog beer is crafted almost as well as the comedy I witnessed that show. Pay attention to where Zane Helberg and Lucas Dick go - the answer is places. :)
Until Zen, Folks.
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