Reasons Why (#1)

(First in a series detailing why my Onion gig didn't go as well as I wanted it to.)


"I stipulate from the outset that ultimate responsibility rests with me. Part of the skill is transcending these things." -- Andrew J. Lederer, 2006


Bad Hair(less) Day

I thought maybe I should just wear the hat; the cheap 99¢ stocking cap I'd purchased to replace the expensive $2.98 cap I'd lost. Yes, I've kept the beard and the rest of the hair because women like it but normally, my “man mane” is kind of wild and (dare I say it?) tousled. That night, stupidly, I'd already put on the hat before my hair was dry and the result was the kind of flat, nerdy look it's always best to avoid. Man, it sure was easier when my head was shaved. When you're kinda bare on top but you've got ample hair on the sides -- like I do now -- you gotta be careful about the look.and the look just wasn't makin' it that night.

Heck, I'm no fashionista but I can tell when I look like a clueless high school teacher rather than a compelling guy who just happens to have a deficit of cranial hair. (And to those who say I always convey an unhip pedant -- well, okay -- in that case, I can tell when I look like an incredibly clueless teacher as opposed to one with just a bit of aesthetic retardation.)

Anyway, thank goodness I had the hat.

I looked kinda cool with it on. Kinda like a cat burglar or someone on some other kind of stealth mission. So, I thought maybe I should wear it during the show.

But what if I my head got itchy and I had to take it off? Would the sudden shock of baldness have an even more negative impact than cranial flesh at the show's start? Maybe I should enter bald and then put on the cap, eliminating the emotional scarring of the audience.

But what about me? First impressions count, don't they, and once a bald man, always a bald man -- in this case, a clueless, unpopular high school teacher of a bald man.

And wouldn't people wonder why I was wearing the hat inside? Would wearing it indoors make me look like an ass? Wouldn't it be a betrayal of my bald brothers?

Shouldn't I say it loud, I'm bald and I'm proud?

But wait -- I'm not ashamed of my baldness. I simply didn't like the way my baldness looked that night. Women have bad hair days and wear a scarf or hat or whatever. Why can't men do the same on a bad hairless day?

It was settled. I would wear the black stocking cap all night long.

Except . . .

When I got to the dressing room and no one else was there, I figured it would be ok if I took off the cap for just a moment. You know -- to check myself out and make sure I my decision was sound. And when I did, the other acts and people involved with the show entered the room and saw me -- just as I was.

I could still wear the cap onstage, right?. After all, didn't co-workers see Bing Crosby's blindingly reflective scalp backstage? His rug was for the public, right?

But if my comedy cronies saw me put on the hat to go onstage, they might think I was self-conscious, I self-consciously thought. And weren't they relating to me as if I looked just fine? Why wouldn't the audience?. I mean, I try to run an honest comedy racket . . .

Well, I wasn't wearing the hat when the lights went down and I went on without the hat and that is Reason Number 1 why . . .