Andrew J. Lederer

and it's so sweet that they came to drive us the rest of the way from the train.

now, how do we get out of here?


(written, while tired, out of town.)

with my body straining against itself as if it were attempting to change from larva to pupa.

a trip to the bathroom,'round 4 am, gave me the oh-so-sweet relief of rejecting recent meals, but i'm still something of a spent vessel.

it couldn't have helped that my friend and his colleague spent hours with the windows closed, seriously smoking up the place, and i was subsequently told i couldn't open the window 'cause it was too cold.

you know that link they've reported on between smoke in the house and cot death (sudden infant death syndrome or crib death in the states)? well, i can understand it -- it was like my body was rejecting something it didn't recognize as air. (not a good combination with my apnea.)

i'm somewhat better today but blog-brother tiernan douieb was kind enough to switch me over to the next fat tuesday show.

now, i can rest up for my halloween visit to the terrifying village of braughing.

at the very crowded "kitchen and pantry" coffee house in notting hill --

non-native english-speaker: "see, this is just like "friends" but with no room."

from "how to succeed in business without really trying" to an insecure friend at the end of my set tonight.

i had the idea just after leaving the flat today, which means i might have been (illegitimately according to the rules and regulations under which i live my life) influenced by the ambient pot smoke that lingers where i've been staying.

but where women are concerned, rules go out the window -- it was a good idea and i determined to implement it, hoping it would make my friend feel special.

of course, when i thought up the thing, i imagined an emotional moment, whereas, in reality, i hammed it up for the audience and didn't focus so much on my friend.

but i guess she knew it was for her and nothing could change that.

i even made sure i had my trousers pulled up to the proper waist level so i did not look like a parakeet. (more on that later.)

you know, sometimes you're trying to be funny but your timing is off and the other person somehow gets hurt. but how does this happen with people who you know, who ought to know that you mean well and would never set out to hurt them?

i mean, you'd think you'd get some indulgence but i guess the mistake is thinking that other people are inert boards against which which you can simply bounce your feelings and thoughts.

talking to someone is, in reality, more like setting off a chemical reaction or becoming part of a mathematical equation -- the other element interacts with your elements in ways that may not be predictable but which produce an unavoidable result, casting relationships in new, disturbing lights that seemingly can't be turned off.

i suppose another lasting regret will be found inside my christmas stocking.

thank god i'm a jew.

didn't tell me 'til today that it's likely the crumbling paint in her building's stairwell contains asbestos. (she was kind enough to tap the walls and send potentially deadly material flying as she did so.)

this was before we went outside -- at 5:30 pm -- and she fretted that she had not put on her sunblock. (asbestos si, uva, no.)

later, on the way back in, i started to hold my breath but for some reason -- possibly because the walls seemed intact -- i forced myself to breathe.

maybe it was because i feared i'd otherwise, just short of asphyxiation, have to suck in a shitload of air at the exact spot where the asbestos-laden walls were crumbling.

of course, my self-protective breathing began just as the danger zone came upon me.

meanwhile, bookended by these invitations to mesothelioma, elise and i took a trip to the movies where i worried that the smell of a sardine-stained napkin in my pocket and the perhaps-related bad breath would offend her.

i've been cautious about hygiene with her since she told me how last year, when we went to the science museum, i stank. (i'd intended to use the washing machine that morning but my host had laid claim to it and i had to put on sweat-steeped clothes.)

i don't think i stank today but, fortunately, talk-spitting -- not one of my usual afflictions -- seems to have placed me in it's grip and i rained on elise's facial parade a couple of times, to her understandable chagrin.

now, she's brought me a cup of tea, which is on the floor within shedding distance of the sneakers in which i walked on carpets that are likely imbued with years of asbestos dust.

i guess i have to drink the tea or make elise feel bad by spilling out something she took the trouble to make. (i just presented her with the notion that the tea may be tainted and she didn't seem to want me to discard it.)

ulp.

to get out of there last night. (see yesterday's entry.)

there was just something about the vibe that felt off. it could have been due to an unspecified pre-show conflict alluded to onstage or it could (largely) have been me generating my own discomfort.

all i know is i didn't like being around so many people whose judgments i feared.

also, the show was sluggish (perhaps due to too many canadians in a row). of course, i can only speak of the first half, 'cause i left early in the second.

i did get the chance to test the simon munnery situation, asking if his latest child had yet arrived and saying "mazel tov" when told she (miranda) had, sparking no obvious fury. but the pleasure of congratulating the new papa faded as my nerve ends grew increasingly agitated beneath my clothes with each additional minute i hung out there.

still, i wanted to show ava i cared, so i determined to stay through her set, seeing as how she was, she told me, going to be next.

but she wasn't. instead, the lovely hils barker -- beautiful but too thin for me to gaze upon in my nervous state -- took the stage.

i followed (i thought) ava out of the room, but she seemed to vanish, so i continued out into the world, toward regent street and the 94 bus, the gently cool air soothing my too-frayed nerve endings, but not assuaging my guilt.

i should have stayed for ava, i thought, and considered turning back all the way to the point at which i found myself on the bus toward home.

the gentle air, the bus ride home, and a phone conversation about brand-naming conventions with my friend elise harris made me a new man by the time i hit royal crescent.

i promised ava by text that i would be a better friend (i have a history of disappearing suddenly) and washed the dishes before heading for another venue, that most cherished place called "dreamland".

at the phoenix on old cavendish (as opposed to the phoenix on charing cross). brett vincent and martyne green(e?) just went outside to have a cigarette.

i'm sitting at the same table as they are but i'm not with them. the room is filled with people of some (social, at least) comedy scene eminence, including the genuinely eminent paul byrne and a girl who goes out with nick doody (i think), who is always friendly to me in edinburgh but doesn't acknowledge me too much here (and she saw me do my awful set at the king's head in crouch end last month).


(show started)


it's now the interval. (turns out the [possibly] nick doody girl is named kirsty.)

i didn't feel like i could push myself into the vincent/green(e?) pre-show conversation and didn't necessarily want to but as i listened to it, i realized their conversation (also involved was a blonde woman i don't know) was full of the basic small talk i would have contributed but with an underpinning of familiarity and implied relevance that my small talk would not have had (the same words from me would have seemed forced.)

i was supposed to meet ava vidal here and after the show started i kept checking my cell phone for texts from her, hoping the visible checking would make me -- sitting at a table with people i kind of knew but not interacting with them -- seem connected to someone (or something) and therefore not just a lonely lingerer at other people's party.

eventually, i resigned myself to the fact that ava -- who had been uncertain about the location of the show -- was not going to come.

but she did. (hooray!) . . . and almost immediately went off to to work on her set.

of course, i had greeted her conspicuously and gotten up to go over to her but by the time brett vincent arrived at the bar to get another drink, she was focused on prep and i was again alone and noticeably so. (sigh.)

tiffany asked me if i wanted to maybe do the show next week. (hopefully, actual involvement will make me feel more comfortable then.)

i should have a drink to induce comfort now, seeing as how i'm not going on (i thought i might so i didn't pay to get in -- i hope i wasn't "caught") but if i can spend only five quid a day (i haven't been doing well at keeping to that), i can make it to january.

maybe ava will buy me a drink.

second half has just started. (simon munnery is headlining. i was standing near the door when he came in and hoped he wouldn't attack me about the anti-semitic thing with his wife, who, by the way, i love.)

i think i'll venture back into the (rather sedate) maelstrom.

in restaurants and other public places, for being too loud. (i call it enthusiasm).

i generally don't wish i had heeded his advice, but in london, where loudness is equated with americans, i find i suddenly represent not just myself but also my countrymen.

the other day, in a restaurant near leicester square, a classic, cranky, english dowager-type loudly (and without irony) chastised me for my volume as i passionately analyzed the anti-michael moore film, "manufacturing dissent".

and today, a classic, cranky, older gent wouldn't shut up (again without irony, though brits believe they are suffused with it) about what he saw as my loud and lengthy phone conversation in a local cafe.

well, this is the kind of offense that actually mortifies me, since loudly talking into a cell phone is one of the most obnoxious things people do and i've mocked others -- in their presence -- for this rude obliviousness.

unfortunately, when you get lost in the world of a phone call, you can suffer a diminished awareness of the physical world around you.

still, though sometimes they're unavoidable, these technology-inspired affronts are the ultimate responsibility of the affronter and i was deeply embarrassed when confronted with my sins.

but . . .

the offended dowager, protecting the gentility of her beloved britain against boorish americans, was doing so in a "cheap eats"-listed chinatown hideaway where she was about the only brit present and one of the few people even speaking in english. (where, exactly, did this "classy" dame imagine she was eating?)

and the cranky guy this morning wouldn't shut up even after i immediately took control of my volume and was clearly responding to his criticism.

frankly, it made me not want to apologize to him.

but i did anyway, because it isn't just me in the indiscriminate, "you're different than we are", redhead-mocking eyes of the british (though my father could tell them otherwise).

i represent americans.

have a nice day.

reg hunter today.

seems promising; an idea he had the first time we met that i decided we should pursue.

good preliminary session, after which it was on to debenham's with my friend elise.

neither of us has money but we treated the place as if it were part of "normalland", a theme park replicating the environments in which normal people with homes to furnish and regular paychecks spend their time.

of course, we bought beverages as one would in any amusement park. then we looked at towels, beds and bric-a-brac as if they were things we might actually be able to buy and take home with us. (ah, sweet fantasy.)

who knows? maybe if the project with reg (or something) works out, i'll be able to buy a towel.

who almost never performs anymore. he loves live performance and wishes he had more opportunities but basically does nothing in that arena.

now, he's been called in to audition for a major stage musical.

and worries he could "go crazy" doing the same song "every night".

unattended bags. you're supposed to report them 'cause they could contain a bomb.

so, this afternoon, in the subway under edgware road between marble arch and bayswater road, there was -- an unattended bag.

it was one of those laundry carrying bags you see around here and it looked benign enough, but who knows what was under the stuff on top and anyway, i don't wanna be responsible for the deaths of innocent citizens, so i figured i oughta call the police.

but was it really an emergency?

i wasn't sure what with all those people walking by and also maybe saying something (though they probably didn't) and i didn't know a non-emergency number, so i decided i'd tell the first officer i saw on oxford street as i walked toward oxford circus.

unfortunately, i didn't notice a single officer along the way.

not one.

on the busiest shopping street in the center of one of the biggest cities in the world with people from pretty much every nation crowded together on the sidewalk, there was not even a token police presence to intimidate, for example, pickpockets or other "petty" thieves.

now, i don't know if i've mentioned it to you (except constantly over the last couple weeks), but i was recently a victim of "petty" crime and it seems clear to me that there is no will to stop it in this city. i had to make my crime report in ladbroke grove, near where i'm staying, because there's no police station in or near camden town -- a hotbed of criminal activity.

this is crazy.

it ain't the artful dodger out there folks -- no musical numbers, just a disrespect for others' rights and property.

they're not fuckin' "the man", they're fucking you. (well, me, anyway.)

in the sometimes crazy political point of view that prevails in this country, it probably seems less fascistic, less american to have cameras everywhere instead of having uniformed personnel roaming the streets.

but you know what? there were cameras in the pub where my computer was stolen and it didn't change a thing.

however, if a man had been watching the area, the robber might have thought twice. (consequence has a human face.)

all i'm saying is if a bunch of people get blown up near oxford street today, it wasn't my fault. it's because you guys can't get beyond your dickensian indulgence of criminals and your self-defeating reluctance to appropriately use authority.

did i tell you the officer on duty when i made my report told me he felt safer in new york than in some parts of london? (this was a london cop.)

be careful out there.

(i think that's what it was) offered me a giorgio armani jacket and another article of clothing in exchange for a full tank of gas from the shell station east of queensway on bayswater road.

now, i can use a nice jacket, but his story -- that he had to return to italy after a trade fair at (or near) harrod's, had two samples it wasn't worth taking back with him, had lost a lot of money at the casinos last night and therefore had to ask someone -- in this case, me -- for the money to fill his tank sounded too good to be true.

perhaps i would have been more trusting had i not recently suffered through the diversion trick that lost me my computer.

though it's not certain that's how it was stolen my newfound awareness of such trickery has rendered me extra-wary. it seems london has taken away the wide-eyed naivete that formerly defined me.

maybe that's why i feel so comfortable here.

my flight home is scheduled for next thursday but i really don't want to go. today, i was walking through bayswater when i got a call from lewis schaffer saying ava vidal had told him we were hanging at the comedy store tonight and he wanted to come along but couldn't 'cause he has his kids tonight.

we talked about his gig opening for reg hunter and other comedy-type thangs, then ava called to confirm our hang.

it's like i live here. i even (kinda, sorta) have friends.

i wonder if i can get the old pal i'm staying with to let me stay longer.

or if it's even advisable.

the computer i wanted anymore so i scoured the tottenham court road area for a similar deal to no avail.

then, unexpectedly, i was handed a flyer outside the googe street tube station for a computer fair in bloomsbury.

fortunately, i ignorantly went the other way, ending up at a different computer fair in a ucl-related hospital where i found an astonishingly powerful laptop for the price my benefactor was willing to spend.

unfortunately, he had been mugged the night before by a gang of teenage, bicycle-riding hoodies and was in no mood to meet me at the fair. now i gotta wait 'til saturday rolls around again (only two more days!) or head out to the seller's storefront in an industrial park in acton. (i think i'll wait 'til saturday.)

meanwhile, i've been killing the time between computers by hanging our with a girl i like. (don't know how she feels about me.)

dancing the dance of interpersonal enthusiasm is somewhat draining and i might have run away from the dance had i the opportunity to lose myself in gigs.

but i haven't had any for a while, so i've had to lose myself in life, which would not necessarily be my preference.

the show i did is featured on the main page of the radio peckham website.

(today, peckham. tomorrow, stoke newington.)

on radio peckham yesterday.

radio peckham.

the supervisor-y guy said i was the funniest guest they'd had. (on radio peckham.)

i guess context is everything.

it was fun but it's strange trying to consider it in directional terms; in a career context.

did it indicate forward movement?

it's hard to know but i'll tell ya one thing that is moving forward -- it's my gut.

for the mathematically inclined, the relevant equations:

inappropriately hot laundry settings partially foisted upon me by circumstances = shrinking clothes

shrinking clothes = ill-fitting garments

time spent in cafes staying out of my friend's hair so that he continues to let me stay in his place = too much eating

tiredness due to staying awake 'til my friend goes to sleep + getting up early and leaving to stay out of his hair = weariness

weariness = not much exercise

not much exercise + too much eating = expanding belly

expanding belly + ill-fitting garments = a body made for radio.

and i was good enough on radio peckham to make listeners visualize me in a positive manner.

but the radio peckham people insisted on photographing me for their website.

forward movement?

but, as regular readers know, i have resolved in this life to successfully battle my demons cold sober or die trying (at least when it counts), so the fact that i didn't consider changing my phraseology from the conclusion of the previous post 'til i was typing inside an invisible cloud of my friend's marijuana residue meant i could not change to more sensitive wording, as that would be sensitivity born of a second-hand (almost) high.

meanwhile, the same friend who so generously supplied the second-hand thc has offered to buy me a new laptop as payment for the outline of a movie we've been discussing. i found a place (with help) that had an amazing model for a sufficiently low price (nothing else in that price range even comes close) but the place only had two, including the floor model, as of yesterday and my friend doesn't have time to get it today.

that means i may have to get a crummier computer. (sigh.)

on the bright side, a trip to whole foods in kensington high street revealed an even better array of samples than you get in new york.

life, it seems, is an up and down thing. (more references to my enthusiasm for samples can be found here.)

by the way, i may be second-hand high -- which is not my alma mater -- even now.

btw, the last line of the previous post was not aimed at all comedy chicks nor meant to imply that all comedy chicks are judgmental. it was very narrowly targeted and really just a colorful way to end the post.

downstairs at the kings head last night and did great, perhaps the most effective in a line-up that included natalie haynes reading from her new book and owen o'neill presenting a short film he made in ireland.

in a bridge-mending frame of mind, i kept a respectful distance from natalie haynes, hoping to eliminate the stalkerish tinge generated by my decision to base my set on hers at the book club and by my follow-up e-mails featuring trivia about dick van dyke. (related posts at http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer?s=natalie+haynes&sentence=AND.) to keep said distance, i stayed away from peter grahame's office, where natalie sat hangin' and chattin' before the show.

well, staying out of the office meant sitting in the showroom, so i was in a position of high visibility when susan murray, who recently accused me of creepily staring at her mouth and breasts (at a show where i was otherwise so triumphant, the audience practically carried me out on their shoulders) suddenly strode into the room.

now, it's true that i tend to stare but generally not at the things or for the reasons perceived by others, something i'd tried to point out to susan. still, when the attractive woman i was chatting up was asked by andrew clover if she was with me, her answer -- that she had come alone -- seemed to provoke some murray mutterings, no doubt about the unwanted advances i was foisting upon this unwary maiden.

well between a rock and a hard-place, personal image-wise, i nevertheless managed to be sympathetic in a story i told about (not) asking a girl to dance when i was a child. then, i accompanied the attractive, unattached audience-member part of the way home.

we had a great conversation and may get together on sunday.

take that, judgmental comedy chicks!

here's matt crosby's recent blog post about his relationship with camden, the area where my computer was stolen:
http://matthewcrosby.blogspot.com/2007/09/save-camden.html

(pay close attention to the nice things he says about "anthology", which i valiantly proceeded with right after the theft.)