When I’m not obsessing about other peoples’ websites (see below), I’m beginning my own little crumbling nervous breakdown that should taper into the road trip of my life.

For months I have been simultaneously agonizing and procrastinating. (A vicious cycle really, since my procrastination leads to guilt that leads to self-recrimination and self-loathing, reinforced by a look around my place, a standing edifice of procrastination, which all, in turn, leads to more agony.)

So, I have set myself several dates. Dates that will help me focus and (I hope) act.

Herewith:
❗ February 24: My last South Shore comedy show at Jimbo’s in Braintree (8 p.m.) (Thanks to Annette Pollack!)
❗ March 2: Turn 41 and work on the bitterness of that pill
❗ March 3: My last New England/Northeast/Cambridge Comedy show. It will be at the ImprovBoston Theater in Inman Square thanks to those wonderful, wonderful Walsh Brothers. (It’ll be 10 p.m. to whenever, and I plan on putting some effort into writing the shit out my swan song.)
❗ March 3: I will also try very hard on this day to not ignore a special birthday boy I know (who quite cleverly is planning ahead on this issue already).
❗ March 4: I have a Friday night party, perhaps like those parties of my youth. (Without my vomiting on anything or anyone or trying to look flirtatious while coming off pathetic. Ahhh youth.) Whilst providing free beer, I will potentially try to take advantage of drunks and sell my final possessions.
❗ March 4: Alternate plan. I try to throw a party and no one shows up. I mope at my loser life and plot revenge against the cruelty of New England.
❗ March 5: Sleep and tie up lose ends
❗ March 6: Woo Fucking Hoo, it’s me, my GPS system and the open fucking roads of legendary proportion that comprise the highways and bi-ways of the U.S. of A. I will be Kerouac, but more sober and without screwing Beat chicks.

(The true logistical challenge will be centered around the party and my desire to invite all the great people I have met through comedy and all of the great normal friends and relations from the real world. Sometimes parts of your life are better left compartmentalized. Although, normal people will likely appear early and leave early (kind of like the norm), leaving the misanthropic morass that is Boston comedy to abuse substances sullenly with its own kind into the wee hours.)

And so I hope it goes.

P.S. If you know me and you read this shit (else how would you come to read this sentence), your invitation to any or all events is implied.

If you’re part of Boston comedy and you have no reason to believe that I absolutely hate you, and assuming you don’t hate me, you are invited to the party.

If you love me and are part of usual waking life, I apologize in advance for the coming wave of neuroses and unbearably egotistical self-involvement. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.