I laughed until it hurt. And then all that was left was, well, you can see all that was left.
You think I’m joking, don’t you?
Well, you’d be half-right. But which half?
Guess you’ll just have to keep reading, won’t you? (They don’t call me the Queen of Cliffhangers for nothing.*)
I discovered this comedian with whom I’ve fallen in fun-love. He’s my ideal humor-hunk. What gifts does this Adonis of Comedis have, you ask?
- He’s clever. He rarely curses because he doesn’t have to. He knows real words and uses them effectively.
- His humor is either observational or self-depricating, so it’s almost universal in its appeal (at least I think so, and, let’s face it, my opinion is what matters most).
- He has kind eyes and a sweet smile. Awwwwww.
- Okay, he’s tall (6’6″), dark, and handsome (if you like those heroes in romance novels with long hair…the men…the Jewish ones).
He has a few Netfilx specials and YouTube videos. That’s how I discovered him. I’m not a talent scout. Please don’t flood my comments section with audition tapes.
He’s been on every talk show. Ever.
If he ever gets famous, he’s gonna be, well, incredibly famous.
His name is Gary Gulman. Imagine what’s beneath that manly purple shirt. No, not the undershirt, silly.
He had a show at the Helium Club in Portland on December 9. Philip and I went.
I was, to put it mildly, excited. But, being 59, I had to pace myself.
The two comedians who opened for him were doomed from the start. Kind of like the winner of a local karaoke contest opening for Rhianna. But, remember, we were in Portland. We’re chill. Also a little drunk (or high). We gave these guys some love, but we all wanted Gary. Gary. Gary! Gary! GARY! GARY!
You get the picture.
Enter Gary. My comedic dreamboat.
My, my, my…had his shower broken in his hotel room?
He looked, in a word, homeless. Portland homeless, but homeless.
Grungy jeans, sloppy plaid flannel shirt (I think it was buttoned correctly, I wouldn’t swear to it), hair either wet or greasy, hadn’t shaved recently, poor posture. Come to think of it, maybe he was trying to fit in.
Maybe it’s the newest look? I hope not. I’m an old-fashioned gal. I like my guy shower fresh, not shower less.
No, he didn’t look well.
Okay, so the Helium isn’t Carnegie Hall. Why gussy up? Comedy is comedy. You don’t need a tux to bust a gut!
He didn’t think our applause when he entered was effusive enough. We gave it another go. Better that time, but he said, “It doesn’t count if you have to beg for it.”
I thought, “This isn’t starting off very well, but it’s Gary he-da-man Gulman. Give him time to warm up.” I did.
He had some hysterical lines and observations, but the majority of his hour-long show was about his battle with depression. Yes, depression.
At first, I laughed along with the crowd at his confessions about his:
- negations with himself to get out of bed
- lack of motivation for self-care
- self-medication with comfort foods
- general lack of enthusiasm
We’ve all had one or 45 of those days, Honey. We can relate. But, Sweetie, you’re killing my buzz.
We’ve all experienced some of these things and can relate. That’s why I laughed.
Then I got sad. He kept repeating things. His performance was disjointed.
I wanted to rush the stage and hug him…not because I wanted a hug from him, but I thought he could use one from me.
I thought of Robin Williams and, well, you know, other famous comedians who suffer(ed) from depression. I’m sure there are others, but, hey, this isn’t a freaking research paper for Psych 101.
I worried about his wellbeing. What would he do after the show? He wouldn’t be alone, would he? When would he wash his hair?
I talked to Philip on way the home. He said comedians use small shows to work out their material for their taped specials. “Don’t worry,” he told me.
That sounded plausible. But I’ve been watching videos of his performances and he looks so much healthier in those videos.
I can’t stop worrying about this very clever, very funny, very different man from the one I fell in fun-love with in cyberspace. (How many times have women lamented that one?)
You didn’t look quite so, um, intense in your profile picture. Remind me what you do for a living. Ah, yes, professional mourner and professional scarecrow. Two separate degrees? Inspiring.
So, I went to his website…
I haven’t contacted him yet.
What do you think? Should I send Gary a little note telling him how awesome I think he is?
Or should I stop going to comedy clubs because clearly I’m in over my head.
*No one has ever called me the Queen of Cliffhangers. I stay at least 20 feet from any cliff. Heck on a deck, I try to avoid curbs. They don’t call be a Dizzy Blonde for nothing.**
**I am dizzy and blonde, so, yeah.