$Control$

I am something of a control freak when it comes to money. I realize -- and have for a long time -- how very irritating that can be to family members, and I sympathize, somewhat. However, if I were not a control freak, now that my annual income has basically been halved, we would not have been able to keep our home, and would likely be in public housing, dodging meth mongers and bullets, at any given time.

Thus it is a source of consternation to me when people are loose with cash, and have little knowledge and no control, for the most part. I was divorced at the tender age of 23 years, and remarried around four years later. In that span of time, my checkbook was out of balance once in the amount of $0.05. That's a nickel for those of you who don't follow cash-flow charts. It took me a couple of days, but I finally worked out where the mistake had been made, thank God, because then I could sleep again.

Several years ago, I was confronted by a co-worker with the old saw "time is money," and -- for the first time ever -- I really put some thought into the saying, and came up with this core philosophy: Time is not money. The exact opposite is true. Money is not the paper bills you receive from the bank and spend at retail outlets. Money is not the gold stored in Fort Knox, up yon in Kentucky. And it absolutely is not that seemingly magic plastic in your purse or wallet. Money is all of the time that I am forced to spend away from my home and family at labor for an employer. The numbered paper bills and credit cards are mere pale representations of the time I must spend at my job, keeping the earth spinning on its axis.

Thus, one of my core philosophies: Money Is Time.

When one desires a particular manufactured item or a nice meal, one must decide if it is worth the time spent gathering the funds necessary. When I was employed by Tate & Lyle, I worked a good deal of overtime so that I could pay cash for my vacations. And we had some outrageous vacations that were worth all of the time it took to pay for them. Our hiatuses were paid in full before we left the house, and if the credit card was used, it was because it had been prepaid.

In my in-between years -- my early to mid-twenties when I was a swinging bachelor -- I lived for a short time in Cougar Town. I had a tendency to date women of a certain age, because I found that, mostly, they were less pretentious, and approached life with a cynical eye forward, as I did.

At one point I was seeing a woman who was more than a decade older than I, and had two sons, thirteen and seventeen. I had received from work, as a safety award, a $50 gift certificate to the restaurant of my choice. I chose Chesapeake's, a Knoxville seafood emporium, given to fresh seafood and excellent service. I left Athens with my gift certificate and $150, cash, in my possession.

The meal consisted of cocktails, an appetizer, our chosen entrées with appropriate wine, and dessert. When the repast was done, the waiter brought the check, and I dug out of my wallet the certificate and necessary cash to take care of the bill and tip. My date, however, was absolutely incredulous that the gift certificate had not covered the cost in its entirety. I looked at her. Then I asked how long it had been since anyone had taken her to a decent place to eat.

She admitted that it had been some time since she had been confronted with an atmosphere of Chesapeake's caliber. I told her then that, when I intended to have a dinner the likes of which we had just finished, along with a tag-along date, I never stepped out of the house with less than $200, ever. She was flabbergasted. I then told her that $200 was always more than enough to cover the check, but better too much than not enough. However,had the money not been in my possession, we would not have gone there. Foreknowledge of the potential expenditure is part of the control aspect.

And, of course, I always kept a running total of my available funds pinned to the bulletin board in my head. I still do, but the funds are less impressive these days, so there are a lot fewer meals out than there were, back in the day. Vacation, of course, is a distant dream, as I believe in taking enough cash to burn a wet mule.

Which brings me to Exhibit B.

More than twenty years ago, my Young Bride and I took our first trip to Walt Disney World. We had friends living in Orlando, and the plan was that we would spend three nights in a local inn, then four with Jim and Peytyn. Also, the host couple planned to accompany us on our third day at WDW, spent in the Magic Kingdom.

We had an okay day there, and when it got on toward time for dinner, we shopped about for an eatery. The Liberty Tree Tavern looked workable, so Jim and I stepped into the foyer to look at the menu. When my best friend got a gander at the prices, he got that look on his face. "I can't afford this," he said. Remember, he was not on vacation. I asked to see the menu.

It was gourmet fare, surely, with escargot on the appetizer menu and various types of steak and seafood for entrées. I did some quick math in my head and said, "Buddy, this one's on me." Let's not forget that this couple was putting us up for several days, gratis. That philosophy of having enough money to light up a creature of equine heritage paid off. And, let me say, without hesitation, that this favor has been paid back many times over in the intervening decades. That's how it works.

But, had I not been able to afford the meal, we could have easily eaten hot dogs at Casey's, or burgers at Cosmic Ray's. The ability to do simple multiplication also helps in the arena of control.

And if I ever have that kind of cash again, trust me, off we'll go. But I won't leave the hacienda until I have the money/time my hands; 'cuz that's the kind of control freak I am.

Big Comedy From (Some) Small People

I am a nut for comedy. Some of my favorite films are "Bringing Up Baby," featuring Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, as well as "What's Up Doc?," one of the films it inspired. Also, Dudley Moore, as "Arthur" is an all-time great in my perfect world. Of all the cable channels available, Comedy Central is one of my top picks, along with ESPN and Discover, mostly because they both have amusing content at any given time. Those of you who are fans of "MythBusters" and "Pardon The Interruption" know from whence I emerge.

I have seen a respectable number of live comedy shows over the years. My eyes were opened in the early '80s when some smart person in Knoxville first opened a place called The Funny Bone, a low-rent comedy club located behind an unpainted furniture store on Kingston Pike. That was my first experience with live, stand-up comedy, and I fell in love with it to the point that I actually took a stab at it once on open mic night. While I didn't totally bomb, I can see with clear 20-20 hindsight that I am not cut out for the comedy stage. I'm not adept enough, in the verbal sense, and I have a tendency to go ugly-sarcastic more quickly that I ought when heckled.

However, let me tell you about the big-time names I've seen through the years.

Years ago, in the early '90s, my Young Bride and I saw Paula Poundstone at the Comedy Catch, in Chattanooga. We also saw Pam Stone there, she who played Dauber Dybinski's girlfriend on the TV show, "Coach." At that show, we were seated front and center, and Ms. Stone quizzed us and bantered openly with us for improv material. Those were both very good shows. I also saw, at the Comedy Catch, my high school buddy Bart, and his comedy troupe that worked out of St. Petersburg, Florida, in the waning days of his service in the United States Navy.

In the early part of the past decade, my Young Bride was visiting her sister in Las Vegas. My sister-in-law, Amy, called one afternoon to inform me that she had scored tickets to see Kathleen Madigan at Harrah's Casino, and they would attend that very evening. I called Amy ugly name, and charged her with getting me an autographed T-shirt. When my Young Bride returned, T-shirt in hand, I almost forgave them.

However, only a few months later, I learned that Ms. Madigan would be headlining at Zanies in Nashville. I was, at the time, still employed by Tate & Lyle, and had ready cash and loads of vacation to burn, so I nearly ripped my hip pocket off to nab my VISA for procurement of tickets. It was at that show (photo above -- my autographed T-shirt in evidence) that we first saw a youngish man named Keith Alberstadt (It's Pronounced Jenkins). Now, opening acts are always a roll of the dice at comedy clubs, as the entrepreneurs normally rely on local "talent." This is understood; however, we were blown away by Mr. Jenkins and his observational humor.


Turns out he is a graduate of Vanderbilt University, which doesn't suffer fools, and has since moved from Nashville to Manhattan, where he writes, now, for Weekend Update on SNL. He has also been across the oceans to entertain our military troops several times, and appeared on David Letterman. All of these things can be learned on his website, keithcomedy.com.

And, lest we forget, the trip was made to see Kathleen Madigan, whose career I had followed since the early 1990s. Smart, self-deprecating, and loves to rip on her Irish-rooted family (something we have in common). She was rip-roaring funny, and my diaphragm hurt for a couple of days afterward.

At the post-show line-up, I got a photo (above), and a hug from Kathleen, which I still can feel when put my feeble mind to work. She's hot, don't you know? And little. She must get the bulk of her clothes from Gap Kids. I also wrote a column about it for the local rag, which she posted on her website, kathleenmadigan.com.

Since that show, we have seen Keith three times in Knoxville at the club that began as The Comedy Zone, and has evolved into Sidesplitters. We have also seen Blake Clark there, twice, and I acted as a host for a charity golf tournament sponsored by Mr. Clark, who is the nicest, most down-to-earth guy ever to be forced to live in the insanity that is Los Angeles. After the first time we saw him, we waited in the bar at The Comedy Zone. He had gone to his hotel to change clothes, as the lights cause anyone to perspire profusely.

When he arrived in the lounge, he and the Young Bride had old home week, because they both originate from Georgia (the state, not the former Soviet country), and exchanged pleasantries about places only they knew.

At Mr. Clark's golf tournament, I played babysitter to Tom Parks, one of my favorites from the late '80s and HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." The night before the golf began, we were introduced at a hotel off the Cedar Bluff exit. We chatted, as middle-aged men will, and I was explaining to Mr. Parks that, if I began acting erratically while on the golf course, he should instruct me to drink my juice, which would be in the cart with us. He rolled his eyes at me, and withdrew an automatic syringe from his right pocket. As co-diabetics, we watched out for each other.

Since that time, we have seen Ron White in concert twice, once at the Civic Auditorium, and once at the Tennessee Theatre, both shows rib-graspingly hilarious. We also saw Lewis Black at the Tennessee Theatre, and his anger-inspired, physically demonstrative comedy was even better live than it is on "The Daily Show" and HBO.

Recently, I got notification from Keith Alberstadt ('cuz I'm on his mailing list) that he would be appearing in Knoxville yet again, and we should come see him, which we did. He's as good as ever, though he seems to be misplacing more and more of the hair from the front of his head, which he covers more than adequately in his program (the "losing-his hair" subject, not his balding head). Now, while at Sidesplitters, we learned that only the next week, none other than Bobcat Goldthwait would be appearing there at Sidesplitters.

Let me iterate, here, Bobcat is one of my top favorites -- ever. His HBO special, "Is He Like That All The Time?"(1989) is a remote tosser at my house to this day.

Okay, I don't have that great-paying job anymore (which, we understand, I only had for 27 years, so no great loss), but -- come on -- it's Bobcat. So I jinked a little here, juked a little there, and came up with the cash for three tickets down front, stage right. Bobcat, if you know who he is, has a history of interaction with people near the stage, and he had a blast talking to The Boy, because he's eighteen years old, and looks about thirteen. He also had a heckler get on his bad side about half-way through the show, so he had a mid-show snack, and I cried, it was so funny.

After the show, of course, we stuck around to see if he would emerge in the lounge. He did, and -- you can believe this or not -- he was as gracious and nice as any celebrity with whom I have been confronted. Well, he didn't hug me like Kathleen did, but -- hey -- I didn't ask.

And, of course, the photographic evidence of our meeting is on my blog page now, 'cuz it's Bobcat, for God's sake! Notice the similarity of our eye-wear, and how very tiny a person he is. I never realized, but he may be one of those leprechauns that Ms. Madigan talks about in her latest Showtime special, "Gone Madigan (oh, my God, she's still hot)."

Anyway, it was great, and I will remember it much longer than Bobcat does, naturally.

I can hardly wait until Keith AlberJenkins shows up again. I'll go. It's comedy, and I like it.