Lots of people have written emails in the past few days asking about Dancing Barefoot and when the next printing will be done. I guess some of you wanted it for a holiday gift, but didn’t grab it before Monolith’s stock ran out.
I don’t have answer that question right now, but I just discovered a couple places online where you can still get copies of the book: Warehouse23 and Powell’s.
I’ve just been informed that Warehouse23 and Powell’s are sold out. Currently (November 25), You’ve made my book sit atop the Bestseller lists in Literature and Sci-Fi! Woo! Thanks for your support, everyone!
Yo Joe!

Oh my god. I am so tired this morning. Last night, I had really involved dreams, and when I woke up, I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. Does that ever happen to any of you? You wake up, and you feel like you’ve been living another life in the Dreamscape, so you didn’t get any rest?
Tired as I am, though, the only thing I remember is sitting on my knees on a skateboard, and using my hands to push myself down Lake Avenue in Pasadena. Weird.
Night before last, I had this dream that I was riding around in Air Force One with Bill Clinton (who was a really nice guy in my dream, incidentally), and every time I tried to enter a room, the Secret Service would search me and make me answer security questions. Really weird.
That sketch I put up at ACME? The “Hip Replacement” one? The rest of the company liked it, and so did the director! This means that my sketch is “on the list,” which means that the director will work with me to refine it, and then we’ll put it in front of an audience. If the audience likes it, my sketch (and I!) may make it into the show. It’s still a long way from being back on the ACME stage every Saturday night, but at least I have started down that road again. I really hope I make the show, because just being there for a few hours on Saturday reminded me how much fun I have with that company, and how much I miss performing there.
After I pitched my material, I stuck around to watch the Bad Taste Show. It’s a collection of sketches that are too dirty, or too offensive, or too “wrong” to be in a regular show, and they are hilarious! I’m totally pitching material for the next one we do.

Anne and I were listening to Fred while we were driving home from Burbank the other day. That stupid “Safety Dance” song came on, and I said to her, “This is the weirdest song, ever.”
“Yeah, who thought this was a good idea?” she said.
“I mean, think about all the steps that went into this: someone wrote down all these words, then composed music, then produced the whole thing . . . and at every step of the way, they believed that this was a song worth releasing.” I said.
“Hey, Neil,” she said, in a really bad British accent, “Let’s make a song about the Safety Dance!”
“Oh, that’s brilliant!” I said, in my own bad accent, “We’ll have them all hoppin’ and dancin’ and –”
I started to giggle, and was unable to continue.
“You can dance! You can dance! Everybody look at your hands!” I sang, involuntarily.
CLAP! CLAP! went Anne’s hands.
“You can dance! You can dance! Everybody’s taking the chaaaaa-HAAAAA-nnnncccceeeeee . . . ” I continued.
“With the SAFETY DANCE!” We shouted out in unison.
“We are such dorks,” Anne said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
We sang the remainder of the song with extreme gusto.
I should also point out that when we got home, Ryan told us that he wants to buy “Thriller.”
I think there’s something in the water here.

I put up a couple of eBay auctions yesterday afternoon.
They are:

1. Autographed Dancing Barefoot, for those of you who missed it, or who
   live outside of the USA (Note: this is a *real* “first edition.” It’s one of the first 250 I printed, and it comes complete with four typos! Can you feel the excitement?)
2. EarnestBorg9 MultiGalactic Tour T-shirt, from my improv / sketch comedy group

I have always been really lucky with eBay stuff. People seem happy to bid on my items, and I’m happy to send them off to good homes. If these auctions are a success, I’ll find some other stuff around here and put it up for your bidding pleasure.
Update: Yeah, turns out I can’t make links. They should work, now. Thanks to commenters who provided the correct links. That’ll teach me to blog before I’ve had any coffee.

I am pitching material at ACME in about two hours. If the director likes my sketches, I’ll make the show, and be able to give up the comedy to the threes of WWdN readers who can make it to a show once it opens.
Only problem is, I’m so focused on Just A Geek and a couple other side projects right now, my brain is about as far from “sketch comedy writing mode” as it can be.
I don’t want to miss another show, so I sat down at my iBook this morning, and forced myself to write something . . . anything . . . that may be mildly amusing.
I was recalling this time when I was 16, and my parents took me shopping for my first car. I was on TNG at the time, so I was lucky enough to afford pretty much whatever I wanted, and my heart was set on the Honda Prelude si 4WS. My parents wanted to make sure that I shopped around, though, so they made me look around at lots of different places.
Of course, I was a huge fucking brat, and I went along, but I was totally sullen and lame the whole time. In retrospect, they could have taught me a valuable lesson if they’d just told me, “You’re being a shit, so no car for you, Mr. Smart Guy. Try again in a few months.”
Anyway . . .
We were out in Glendora at some Chevy dealership, where the oldest, most decrepit salesman in history tried to convince me that the Barretta was the ultimate in sportscar technology.
I thought it was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen, and I just wanted to leave, but I politely listened while he told me, “Oh, it’s a real head-turner. Lots of girls will look at you when you’re driving this . . . that is, if they can see you!” He paused dramatically, leaned close to me, and said, sotto voce, “Don’t tell your parents, but this baby has got a lot of zip!”
I managed to not explode into laughter by biting down on my lip and just solemny nodding my head.
“Would you like to sit in it?” he asked, directing the question more to my parents than to me.
I most certainly did not, but I politely agreed anyway, and he moved to open the door.
It was locked. Again, I bit down on my lip and clenched my hands into fists to retain my composure. This time I drew blood.
He reeked of scotch and cheap cigarettes and wore a three piece, brown polyester suit with a pale blue shirt and dark blue tie. He looked desperate as he searched his pockets for the absent key.
“I’ll be right back with the key,” he said.
He started to go back to the building that apparently held the keys, but I swear to god, he shuffled. He walked so slowly, it took him nearly a full minute to go about 50 feet.
As soon as he was inside, I turned to my parents.
“What do you think, Willow?” My mom said.
“I think it has a lot of zip,” I deadpaned.
Then I exploded into laughter, and told them what he said.
“I’d really just like to leave,” I said, and I could see my dad begin to nod his head, when the salesman appeared in the doorway. Another painfully long minute later, he was back.
With the wrong key.
“Oh, nuts,” he said, “I must have gotten the key for the Cavalier.” He looked at me hopefully. That walk had taken a lot out of him.
“Well, I don’t know, sir,” I said. “Does it have as much zip as the Baretta?”
He sighed. “Nothing has as much zip as the Baretta,” he said, and turned to go.
“That’s okay,” my dad said, “We’ll come back after dinner.”
We shook hands and politely took his business cards before we left.
I spent the longest time today trying to convert that memory into a humorous sketch, but I just couldn’t make it work. So I did a mental command:

[/wil/brain/]$ vim really.great.sketch.idea &
[/wil/brain/]$ konqueror occupy.the.conscious.mind.html

While my background process churned away, I ended up looking and laughing out loud at Hipster Bingo. An idea sprung, fully formed, into my head, and I wrote a sketch called “Hip Replacement.”
Here’s a tiny bit:

Jerry: Are you constantly denied access to hip Hollywood night clubs because you’re too “suburban”? Are you called names like “frado,” “fin,” and “chipper?” Do you get “the fridigaire” when you try to get into a “deck” club?
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, then you need my new video series, “Too Hip for the Room.”
Hi! I’m Jerry Avon, Harvard MBA, former WB network executive, and lifestyle coach. My video series “Too Hip for the Room,” is your ticket out of Encino, and into Silverlake! It’s easy to master the secrets of being a Hipster, and I’ll show you how.
Tape One starts out with Basic Hipster, where you’re introduced to fundamental Hipster concepts like “the ironic laugh,” and “calculated disinterest.” You’ll learn how to utilize passive aggressive posturing: when it’s deck to declare a deck band passe, and maximizing the sigh. You’ll add words like “clothesline,” “bronson,” “sexpack” and “kale” to your hipster vocabulary.
With our proven techniques, you’ll be able to secretly enjoy the concert you’re attending, while making sure all your hipster buddies know you totally don’t want to be there. After 30 short minutes, you’ll know exactly when to proclaim your activity “tired,” and “busted,” for maximum hipster effectiveness.

I don’t know if it will make the show, and I quite honestly expect it to be “The First Pancake” idea, but it surprised me and made me laugh when I wrote it . . . and as a bonus, I found this silly “How Hip Are You” quiz while I was looking up hipster lingo online. You can see my score by clicking “more.”