As I watched myself on the video, dodging makeshift missiles and even a couple of small children, my mind traveled back in time to something that my mentor, Jared Bosta, the accordion-playing Christian impressionist, told me before my first gig: "Steve, timing is everything."
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Watching myself fending off the gentleman who was trying to stab me with a broken picture frame, it hit me that Jared wasn't just talking about comedic timing. He was talking timing in life!
If I had allowed a little more time after the Korean Pentecostal bit, or if it had been any night at the Christian Community center other than the night of Mike' wake, people would have laughed-a point that I tried to explain to the crowd as I held Mike' widow, Cheryl, hostage as a human shield and backed my way out the front door.
And as I sat in my apartment that night, watching the routine over and over on my camcorder, I started thinking back to all of the other things I had blamed on myself that could just as easily have been written off as "bad timing."
The time I got drunk and drove my Prius into my ex-wife' wedding reception, the time the police burst in on me with the Nixon mask and all that pig' blood-even the timing of my life. Had I been conceived, say, 10 years later, when my 16-year-old mother would have been allowed to get an abortion without asking her father for permission, this whole predicament could have been avoided.
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