March 3, 2003
Dear Diary,
I’ve been working out my act at a few clubs around Los Angeles. Last night went great. Of course, at this stage of the process I haven’t memorized anything, so I’m still reading off notes I’ve written all over my hands. The audience didn’t seem to mind. Even though I started out every joke with “Hands sure are funny, aren’t they?” while staring intently at my palms…
March 7, 2003
Dear Diary,
I leave in two days, so I guess it’s time for me to think about what I’m going to bring. When I’m on tour I usually travel with about fifteen steamer trunks. The hardest part is figuring out what I’ll wear for each show. Should I wear a pair of pants? Or should I wear pants instead? I weigh the options. Pants? Or pants? Then I realize I’m usually most comfortable onstage in pants. Still, bringing along some pants is probably a good idea. Just in case I change my mind…
March 8, 2003
Dear Diary,
I’m going to stop writing “Dear Diary” at the beginning of each entry. There’s no need for it. I’m just writing to myself. I suppose I could begin with “Dear Ellen,” but then it would be as if I’ve got a second personality with the same name and personality as my main personality. Anyway, spent most of my day working on my act. Getting my material just right for an audience takes a lot of serious preparation, so I practiced my routine in front of my cats. They always have pages and pages of notes for me. The critiques usually focus on why there aren’t more jokes about cats in my act. Why don’t I have a “Phone Call to a Cat” joke or a “What if Gloria Estefan Was a Cat” bit? I try to explain to them that my audience does not usually consist of cats, but they feel that I’m limiting myself. Maybe they’re right. You know what they say about a cat’s intuition…or is it the nine lives of a good woman?
I’ve also decided to learn about each city I’m visiting on my tour. It’s so important to connect with the crowds at my shows. When I take the stage I want to say more than just: “It’s great to be here in (insert your city here)!” With the intensive research I’ve been doing, I’ll be able to open with: “Hello, Kansas City! Did you know that your annual relative humidity is 60%? You guys ROCK!!”
March 9—Luther Burbank Center, Santa Rosa, Calif.
Well, I’ve finally hit the road. I just finished up two shows in Santa Rosa, California. Both performances were sold out! I was so excited when I heard. I was afraid I was going to have to take a bullhorn to the mall and give the tickets away. Since I didn’t have to, I had more time to shower and change before the show.
Speaking of which, my act is really starting to take shape. The best part was that the audience was definitely laughing with me and not at me. Like the time I performed with my oxford shirt on backwards by mistake. You’d think someone would have told me before I went on.
The staff at Luther Burbank Center was so accommodating. The theater had a very nice greenroom. “Greenroom” is a fancy showbiz term for a backstage waiting area. It’s not actually green. But no one dares ever mention that. Not if they want to keep their jobs. The room was appointed with my few simple requirements: just a big bathroom, a comfy couch, and a kiln, in case I want to calm my preshow jitters by fashioning an urn.
March 11—Capitol Theatre, Yakima, Wash.
I was a little nervous about performing in Yakima. It’s a pretty small town. Very quaint. I didn’t know if they’d accept a city girl like me, coming in with all my fancy city ways—my highlighted hair, my constant use of the word “barista,” my subway tokens. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The people of Yakima (“Yakimites,” as I now call them) were so warm and kind and polite. And they love to laugh. I’m now putting Yakima on my list of top ten favorite cities along with Paris and Rome.
March 14—Kansas City, Mo.
Arrived in Kansas City late last night. Checked in to my hotel under my usual alias, “Nelle Sereneged,” but the hotel clerk wasn’t fooled by my little charade. He said, “But Miss DeGeneres, that’s just your name backwards.” With my cover blown, I hastily checked in as Gwyneth Paltrow, only to notice Gwyneth waiting to check in right behind me. What are the odds?!
March 18—Grand Junction and Colorado Springs, Colo.
I loved performing at Kansas City’s Midland Theater, a beautiful old building built in 1927. Sammy Davis Jr. and Dolly Parton have played there, so I guess it was only a matter of time before I did. As a performer, I’ve always felt I was the perfect mixture of those two, with a dash of Carol Channing for zest. Then it was on to Grand Junction, Colorado, and Colorado Springs. Both shows were a delight.
Have I mentioned my opening act? Karen Kilgariff is the head writer for my new talk show and she’s been traveling with me for the entire tour. She’s been doing an amazing job warming up the crowds. Having a warm-up act is kind of like having your own personal food taster. Karen bravely goes out there to see if the crowd is good; that is, if they “taste” good to her. Some audiences of course are an acquired taste, but if Karen thinks the audience is “poison” (meaning sleepy and unresponsive), I don’t go on. Instead, I am whisked out the back door to the safety of a cozy neighborhood bistro….
March 19—Colorado to Seattle
I’m writing this as we drive through the frozen tundra of Colorado toward an airport that might be open so I can get to Seattle for a 7:30 show. There was a huge snowstorm; most of the roads are closed. We’ve been driving in the storm for two hours and have a couple more to go. We’re all hungry, but there is not one store or restaurant open. In a desperate attempt to eat, I tried ordering room service, but realized that our hotel would have to airlift the food to our car.
The Denver show was canceled because no one could get to the theater in the blizzard. I’ll be back in Denver March 26. Hopefully the weather will cooperate. Getting to the show was no problem for me. My hotel was right across the street, but I guess other people live farther away. To pass the time during the storm, Karen and I have been gambling, playing cards, and pool hustling—all at once. It’s been causing great confusion and consequently we’re making a killing.
Actually, I heard that a few expeditions did try to make the trek to the Denver show, but most had to turn back. A five-person team from Argentina had trained for six grueling months for the event. They say their spirits were not broken and they vow to make it to the rescheduled March 26 show.
So here we are driving along, Karen, my assistant, my tour manager, and Lewis, my choreographer. We’ve got to make it to Seattle! Of course since we’re all from L.A., where a cold snap means high 60s, none of us has warm enough clothes on.
I’m kicking myself for wearing my favorite travel sarong, and I know Karen is questioning her tube top choice.
I’m getting a little concerned. I see cars on the side of the road abandoned by their owners. If we break down, I have a backup plan to go by sled. I’ve been systematically collecting animals along the way to assemble a “team.” So far we’ve picked up one squirrel, two dogs, and something that could be a hedgehog or a possum. I’m not sure. But if he can pull, he’s in. If the sled idea doesn’t pan out, I don’t know what we’re going to do. I don’t know how to build an igloo or prepare whale blubber.
Later that night, at the Paramount Theatre in Seattle
We made it in the nick of time. After using several modes of transportation, including a car, plane, and finally a collapsible canoe (that wisely I had packed just in case), we arrived safely in Seattle. It was all so worth it. The Seattle show went so incredibly well that I’ve become giddy. I love the people of Seattle, every single one of them. But I especially adore the people that came to my show tonight. Being onstage and making people laugh is really an amazing feeling. I wish I could explain it. I wish I could book all my fans into select venues across the country so they’d know what it’s like.
I’ve just been informed that we’re heading out to the Great White North after spending about four hours in Seattle. The only sightseeing
I got to do was reading a brochure for a Space Needle tour. It sure looks neat.
March 21—Orpheum Theatre, Vancouver, B.C.
I was very excited to perform in Canada again. It’s like a whole different country! Learning about new cultures is so interesting. It’s very important when visiting other countries to at least try to speak their language. During my set I made sure to pronounce “about” as “aboot.” It’s the key to winning over Canadian audiences.
Went to dinner after the show and sampled one of Canada’s local specialties: Funions. At least that’s what they told us.
March 22—Schnitzer Concert Hall, Portland, Ore.
Well, I’m back in the United States of America, in a beautiful city called Portland. It’s taken a bit of getting used to, after my whirlwind international experience.
I’ve been on the road for almost two weeks now. I miss my animals. I wanted to bring them along, but then my “posse” would include mostly cats and dogs. I think a posse is considered cooler if it’s primarily people. Gotta wrap this up; we head out to San Francisco in the morning and I’m going to need about twelve hours of sleep so I can make it up those hills.
March 24—Davies Symphony Hall, San Francisco, Calif.
I always love visiting San Francisco. I lived here so long ago, when I was just a penniless stand-up comic just starting my career.
I took a cable car to see where I used to live. It’s amazing, as you get older, how much smaller everything seems. Turns out, my old apartment was actually a galvanized steel garden shed (8’W x 3’D x 5 1/2’H) from Sears. I’ve come such a long way. For lunch I ate all the famous local foods, all at once. RICE-A-RONI (the San Francisco treat), Ghirardelli chocolate, sourdough bread, and a refreshing glass of wheatgrass juice.
Afterward, I felt a little queasy, so I clipped on my safety rope and made the steep ascent back to my hotel.
Davies Symphony Hall is a perfect place for comedy, because symphonies are always so damn funny. I came prepared. In case the crowd demanded a tune, I brought my autoharp onstage with me.
March 30—Majestic Theatre, Dallas, Tex.
It’s my last night in the Lone Star State. You know, what they say about Texas is true. Everything is bigger. The food portions, the hats, the bed-linen thread counts. Remember that TV show Walker, Texas Ranger? That was HUGE. I rest my case.
Okay, here’s more proof that everything’s bigger in Texas. You know those teeny tiny miniature shampoo bottles you get in hotels? In Texas they come in five-gallon jugs—which makes stealing them a logistical nightmare.
April 2—Dodge Theatre, Phoenix, Ariz.
Each night, at the end of the show, I’ve been doing a little Q & A session with the audience. It’s fun, and since I’ve been talking nonstop, it’s nice to give somebody else a chance. The people’s questions range from wanting to know the status of my latest projects to their asking me to define the molecular structure of certain kinds of cheese. Not all the questions are ones I can answer. But I always try.
April 4–6—Wiltern Theatre, Los Angeles
The Wiltern Theatre is incredibly beautiful. It was originally called the Historic Wiltern Theatre when it was built in 1931. Now it’s just called the Wiltern Theatre, without the “Historic.” Why would they have called a building that was just built “historic,” anyway? Would you call a brand-new restaurant Ye Olde T.G.I. Friday’s? I think not.
April 10—Palace Theatre, Columbus, Ohio
Had a splendid show at the Palace Theatre and then back to my hotel room to get some rest. I am getting so used to living in hotels now. They’re like a second home to me. I’m trying to organize a block party on my floor, but so far no one has responded to my flyer….
April 15—Tower Theatre, Philadelphia, Pa.
Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a home-cooked meal? When you’re on the road you eat every meal out. Every one. All I want to do is make myself a tuna melt and eat it standing up in my kitchen. I almost never order room service when I’m touring because it’s hard to justify eating a $10 boiled egg.
April 20—Symphony Hall, Atlanta, Ga.
It’s so nice to be back in the South, back on familiar turf. Atlanta is one of the friendliest towns around. Everything is “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am.” My favorite is “y’all” (which I still use). It’s such an economical way to talk. “Y’all goin’?” is so much easier to say than, “Are you presently considering departing?”
Went to a Krispy Kreme donuts. The woman behind the counter was amazingly pleasant. In L.A. if you go into a store it’s never like that. At the end of a purchase you say, “Thank you for letting me shop in your store.” To which the shop person usually replies, with a shrug, “Whatever.”
April 26—Massey Hall, Toronto, Ont.
Well, back on the plane again. Being in a different city every night is getting kinda wearing. So much packing and unpacking. By the time I’ve put everything away it’s time to pack it back up and go.
I do make sure to keep each room I stay in neat and tidy. The whole “trashing” thing isn’t really my style. Instead I like to leave a little something behind to make the room just a bit nicer. Sometimes I leave a houseplant. Or, as I did in my hotel in Toronto, I repainted the bathroom. I chose a charming French Blue, which I then “ragged” over with a vibrant Sun-burst Yellow. I sure hope the hotel management appreciates it.
April 27—Benedum Center, Pittsburgh, Pa.
I’ve been on the road now for almost two full months and today I finally got around to writing some postcards. Now if I just had time to get stamps…Maybe I’ll get them when I’m back in Los Angeles.
I wanted to see the Andy Warhol Museum (he was born in Pittsburgh) but didn’t have time, so I just popped into a local supermarket and contemplated the Campbell’s Soup section. It was the best I could do.
April 28—State Theatre, New Brunswick, N.J.
The show was sold out—what a great night! Next stop is New York City to tape my HBO special at the Beacon Theatre.
The next time I write I’ll be in NYC, “the city that never sleeps.” I’m a tiny bit concerned because I don’t want my audience to be sleepy. I need them to be alert and on top of their game. I hope New York takes a nap before my show.
May 1–2—Beacon Theatre, New York, N.Y.
Just finished taping the show for HBO at the Beacon Theatre. Before the show I had a meeting with the director from HBO. The man has incredible insight into his craft. When I asked him, “What’s my motivation?” he thought for a moment and then responded simply, but with great conviction, “Be funny.” Let me tell you, those are two powerfully inspiring words. Well, actually his complete answer was, “Look, I don’t have time for this. It’s a stand-up show, right? Just be funny, for God’s sake.” But I knew what he meant.
May 5, 2003
I’m finally home! The tour is over and the HBO show is “in the can.” It’s hard to adjust to being in my own house after living in hotel rooms for so long. When I dial “zero” on my phone to tell the front desk that I need more towels they hang up on me. It’s weird. Anyway, I don’t think I’m going to tour again for a long, long time. Not unless I can beam myself to the various destinations. When some sort of transporter device has been invented, tested, and sold to the public, I’ll go on tour again.
I’m thinking maybe early spring 2086.
A Scientific Treatise Regarding
a Matter of Great Entomological
Concern to All of Us
What is it with bees?
It’s Just an Expression
The other day I had an epiphany while eating a bag of potato chips. The bag was so full of air, I had to burst it like a balloon to get it open, and inside were only five or six measly freezedried spud slivers. It got me thinking how people fill conversations with trite expressions and phrases, creating the illusion they’ve said something significant, just like a deceptively puffed-up bag of chips.
Well, not really. What actuall
y occurred to me was that snack food is a huge rip-off, but that’s beside the point.
My point is…and I do have one (which, by the way, was the name of my last book—if you haven’t read it, you really should, but please finish this one first) is that we no longer say what we mean or mean what we say. Do we honestly think that interjecting “Every dog has its day” or replying with “Is that so?” contributes to the conversation? No, all it does is prolong the meeting, party, or intervention, cutting into time that could be better spent at home zoning out in front of the television.
Take this overused phrase: “Honesty is the best policy.” Is it? Honesty is good, yes, but not always. Up to a certain point you should be honest, but just imagine if we were all honest all the time. The world would be terrible. It would be a cold, cruel place.
“Gosh, Sarah. Have you gained a lot of weight, or what? You’re so puffy.”
“Boy oh boy, that breath of yours is something else. I’m about to pass out. Seriously, that has to be the worst breath ever.”
“Has your ass always been that flat or am I just noticing it now for the first time?”
I’ll tell you what’s really bad—going up to your friend whom you haven’t seen in a while and saying, “Oh my God, you’re pregnant!” and they’re not. I’ve done that, and I’ll tell you—the look on his face! He looked at me blankly and said, “As far as I know, men can’t have babies.”
I tried to cover, but it was no use. “Oh, I thought I read somewhere they can.”
How many people can honestly say they’re completely honest? Not too many. That’s why people have to put their hand on a Bible and take an oath to testify in court. Everyone just assumes that people lie. We have to say “I swear to God” or “I swear on my mother’s life, may God strike me dead!” if we really want to be believed.