"What's that noise you're making with your throat?"

I adore the Paul F. Tompkins Show. (Even if I am now referring to it in intimate company as the Paul F. Tompkins Has a Girlfriend Show.) Paul F. Tompkins really has no business not being the most successful man in comedy. There is no one in the world who better deserves fame, fortune, and a grandiloquent wardrobe. Although, in a way, I'm certain I will rue the day he explodes in the collective consciousness and is suddenly too big to do these shows each month. I look forward to them more than most things. And I'm someone who overheard a guy at Canter's explaining to his lady friend what the word "rapture" means for Christians.

I saw Alex off at the airport today. He was boarding a big, giant Air New Zealand plane with the faces of the stars of The Lord of the Rings painted on it and something about it being the way to Middle-Earth. In fact, if you go to the Air New Zealand web site, it appears that they are actually calling New Zealand Middle-Earth now. Hasn't this gone far enough? I mean, are maps being redone? Movie characters are on the En Zed stamps. Are they also on the money? And are the film's stars being given giant keys to Auckland? Have they been crowned honorary royalty? What I really want to know is why were those bastards in Tunisia so ungrateful when George Lucas turned them into Tatooine? Where's the Skywalker commemorative stamp issue? I'm wondering if the employees of Air New Zealand are forced to correct passengers who insist on saying they want to fly to New Zealand. Maybe they won't let you on the plane until you admit that you believe you're actually going to Middle-Earth. Maybe that's what they stamp on your passport. I also wonder how the Maoris feel about all of this. It's like New Zealand is a fake country now. A giant, country-sized theme park. How degrading. Well, who am I kidding. I live in Los Angeles.

So, Alex is a rock and roll journalist now. And I am jealous. I keep managing to not happen upon the chance encounters that would turn me overnight into a success of massive proportions. I'm growing impatient for it. My web site was mentioned in Rolling Stone Magazine once, but that was a long time ago, and I've long since surrendered the bragging rights. I need new laurels to clutch.

Not just in this respect, but I do feel as if I am waiting for something to happen. It's terribly trying. Every day I find myself wondering if this is going to be the day. But I have no idea what I mean by "the day," nor have I any idea what's supposed to happen. I'm just waiting. Shifting from foot to foot. Somewhere -- maybe just around the next corner -- something is about to spring on me, and it will change everything. I know it. I'm just hopeful that it won't be a disfiguring incident involving acid in the face.

Labels: comedy, Paul F. Tompkins

posted by Mary Forrest at 2:16 AM | Back to Monoblog

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