Well it’s definitely incumbent upon me to explain who I really am as I’ve been receiving emails and comments asking for my professional opinion regarding everything from Aspertame poisoning to zoological cures for migraines. Please stop sending me emails about your headaches. I’m not really a doctor. (Please don’t try to bypass 9-11 by calling me directly either. My wife can’t sleep.) Everyday over the past month I’ve been writing under a different name. Yesterday was no exception. In fact these daily blogs are brainstorming sessions for me. 
     I’m a stand up comedian from Los Angeles and this blog is my attempt to stir up a bit of buzz regarding my next extreme comedy performance. I’m going to be doing my routine from the Vincent Thomas Bridge where I’ll be heckling Hispanic drivers and then bungie jumping over the edge. It’ll be interesting to see how irate people get and what they’ll make of my quick escape. (Will they cut the bungie ?) Yes, it’ll be extreme, extremely hilarious !!
   Stay tuned for more details.
   For the time being here’s a story that has nothing to do with bridges, comedy or zoological cures for migraines…



Sleep Disorderlies



    I don’t see it as a sleeping problem, or a bizarre condition or even an obstacle to my daily routine. It’s just who I am and in fact I often forget that I’m supposedly different from the vast majority of human beings on the planet who simply put their heads to their pillow, straw or rock and fall asleep.  And you know if I think about it I’m sure there are people out there just like me in the middle of Africa or China or God knows where.  We just don’t know about them because they don’t have the internet to blog about themselves. People that take maybe nine or ten hours to fall through even more hypnagogic stages of falling asleep.
    “This day has kicked the bucket,” was what my dad always said before he went to bed. It took me a long time to figure out what he meant by that. For me there’s no cut and dry distinction between being asleep and being awake. I mean I know I’m awake now but there are so many stages of falling asleep for me. Some people experience the hypnogogic state of feeling like they’re falling just before they fall asleep and sometimes people have images that flash through their mind before their lights are out completely. Apart from these moments more people are awake and then they’re asleep and it’s as simple as dying. The day has kicked the bucket, is how my dad put it.
    So the first stage of falling asleep for me begins while I’m still on my feet doing something. I’ll be finishing dinner or watching t.v. when my body starts twitching. This goes on for about half an hour. When I was a child my parents thought I was trying to dance like Michael Jackson in that Thriller video and I guess because of all their oohing and ahhing I just smiled and let it go on. I got a lot of Michael Jackson paraphernalia for Christmas and birthdays – even after the start of his weird years. It wasn’t until I was nineteen that my dad sat me down and questioned my interest in Michael Jackson. I said that I actually hated him.
    “Oh you’re just making fun of him then. Good. You had us worried,” was his response.
    After the first stage of shaking and twitching I enter this second stage where I hallucinate things. I’ll be watching television and I suddenly see my parents clapping while I’m twitching beneath a Michael Jackson hat and wig or maybe I’ll see some event from the day. I rub my eyes and then open them and it’ll be back to a really obese woman opening a silver briefcase in front of a bald guy. I’m used to the hallucinations and can recognize them now. When I was a kid and I started talking to them my parents just thought I had a busy imagination. 
    “Some kids have one imaginary friend. Tommy has an army of imaginary friends,” was what my mom said.
    The third and forth stages I’ve never been able to explain. It’s like trying to describe a color to a blind man. You just talk a lot around an impossibility. I’m not saying I’m better than you I just can’t explain the feeling that accompanies these states. It’s kind of like playing hockey in a Sumo suit in a giant vat of grape jell-o and then you’re body checked. Sort of. See I can’t explain it. 
   The last stage is the hardest because I’m basically living out dreams but I can talk and walk and even put myself to bed. I’ll be brushing my teeth when my toothbrush becomes a mic and I start singing into it with toothpaste flying out of my mouth, dreaming that I’m Bill Murray in the karaoke bar in “Lost in Translation.” Every night it’s completely different. Last night I was writing a note to remind myself to take out the recycling in the morning. I was writing on a post-it note and then I started writing a letter to my heart (Go figure.)  “Don’t forget to keep beating. One-two. One-two. One-two. Just like that and then I swallowed it. After I started choking, my wife kind of yelled at me for carrying a weird joke too far. (She loves our nightly dancing but kind of gets embarrassed when I get up in the middle of a dinner at a friends place and start shaking it. “Here’s the original dancing machine,” is what everyone else says about me.) 
    So that’s what I go through over four or five hours every evening. I’ve never gone to a doctor. I’ve figured all this out on my own and up until now I’ve been letting the world think that I’m just clowning around.
    I’m not.
    I’m just like you.

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