Front Row Seating

Although Paul F. Tompkins is now an actual acquaintance of mine, I can assure you that I shill for no one. So I trust that you will believe me when I tell you that The Paul F. Tompkins Show this week was as brilliant as a show could be without simultaneously being mistaken for a lighting device. I will miss it next month when it is in England and not happening. Jon Brion and Dave Foley and Derek Hughes were splendid. And Paul F. Tompkins slumping over dead on a stool was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. I mean it ranks up there with that video of the monkey that smells its hand and falls off the branch. I even got hit in the face with shards of breakaway glass. And I don't have health insurance. Talk about getting Martín's money's worth. Speaking of which, Martín and I only narrowly escaped being enveloped in a panic when it turned out he had no idea what he was doing with regard to making reservations and paying attention to what time they were for, but it all worked out painlessly in the end. Which is lucky for Martín, as I wouldn't have thought twice about leveling him. Side note there, I think Martín is the anti-buzz. It seems I can down half a dozen bottles of beer with him and feel no chemical change whatever. Whereas I can drink two bottles of the same beer in a room with someone else, and suddenly I'm telling "romantic" stories and concocting excuses for playing strip card games. It's a curiosity. And a shame, really, because in my recollection, getting sauced with Martín was always a good time. The last few occasions we were drunk together were among the finest of times.