I just got back into Seattle from LA. I always leave LA a little broken. With a little less of a soul than I had, and feeling down about my comedy career. I honestly don't know why I keep going down there and doing that to myself. It's like light S&M.

LA is always on fire. They could have filmed Mad Max on I-5 in north Hollywood and it would've worked out fine. Seattle, on the other hand, is always raining. Move that shit south. Problem solved. We need to build giant fans.

I'm only in Seattle until Tuesday morning, then it's off to Utah for a comedy festival, then back east for some hard road work this winter.

I was driving around downtown today listening to the indie rock station. Indie rock these days is really bad folk, end of story. Folk isn't folk anymore. I can dig some good folk. Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, etc. But folk USED to be about getting the world to grow up. Now it's about getting the world NOT to. Too many ukeleles and glockenspiels. It's turned into lullabies for adults. Juno soundtrack hogwash. And fake alt-country. Rich kids playing dress up singing songs about drinking problems they wish they had. I demand good satanic grunge after listening to 5 minutes of indie radio.

My generation scares me. I can't talk to people my age. I'm 22. We don't do anything. Last night I performed for this thing called the ESYPS, or the East Side Young Professionals Social. It was a networking thing for young republicans essentially. My set went alright. The issue is that while everyone else my age sits around talking about Descartes and contributing nothing, these people are taking over from the inside out, and in 30 years when they're running for office we're still screwed. The path of least resistance has turned into a super-highway. I'm no better. I tell dick-jokes for a living. Ask me to build a house and my head will blow up.

Anyway, that's what was on my mind this afternoon as I was driving around downtown Seattle so I could go to the bank and then the post-office. I had to deposit some cash so my 2 dollars and 47 cents in my checking account could pass for a utility payment. Then I had to re-direct my mail to my folks' address so I can still pay bills when I'm back east in the winter.

After the mind-grueling paperwork mess that these errands involved, I was hungry.

Let me say this...Seattle has 4.7 homeless people for every Thai Restaurant. If you've ever been here, you'd know that's a shitload of homeless people.

I went to eat at Pagliacci Pizza, because for 6 bucks you can get a Mexican Coca-Cola in the bottle (made w/ cane sugar, not corn syrup and much more tasty) AND a big plate of penne pasta with pesto and peas. The good peas, that snap in your mouth.

Outside was a homeless guy, asking for change for food. The blanket rule in Seattle is that the homeless people are crack-heads. That's a blanket rule because it's 99% true here, unfortunately. Thanks Reagan. This guy, however, I'd seen before. I'd given him a to-go box of food once and he was really grateful for it and ate it all.

I told him today that I might have change after I ate. I sat down, enjoyed my meal, and then took 2 bucks out of my wallet. Then I bought 2 more Mexican Cokes and went outside. I gave him the 2 bucks and a Coke, and we sat down against a record store and drank and talked. His name is Jermaine and he was an architect.

It was like a fucking commercial. A car drove by playing the intro to "sweet emotion" by Aerosmith, as we wiped the sweat from our brows and enjoyed a rich, delicious bottle of suds. I felt like the polar bear during Coke's holiday marketing drive, giving a bottle to the penguin (which by the way, lives at a different pole of the earth...learn some geography you shit sniffing Coke advertising execs).

For a brief moment, he forgot he was a homeless man trying to get on his feet, and I forgot about career troubles, shitty indie "rock", the rain, writers block, and how my generation very well may run the world into the ground.

We were just two guys, taking a break from it all. You could have filmed it and Coke sales would spike this quarter.

At first I was upset at myself that Coke had tricked me into having such a beautiful moment. I felt used. But then I remembered that it was MEXICAN Coke, and the moment was just that much sweeter. I think that makes sense, right?

The effin End.