But now I don’t care what the temperature is.
Lately, I’ve been following Norman Cho’s blog about his experiences doing standup comedy across the pond in England. It’s been over 20 years since I last told a few bad jokes before an audience of live drunks. Thanks to Norman in England, it seems the old comedy eye of the tiger has been working away at my gut. I’m thinking about banging out a few bits and dragging my tail out to a local open mike night.
But am I still funny?
My five year-old thinks I’m the funniest man in the world and so do her little squirt friends. Sometimes a random neighborhood pipsqueak will show up at my door.
“Hello,” the kid will say.
“Hello.”
“Are you Sophia’s dad?”
“Yes I am.”
“Can you sound like Goofy?”
“Yes, can,” I say before executing a dead on Goofy impression, “Yuck, yuck. Hey Mickey, you wanna go fishin’? Yuck, yuck.”
“Ahh ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” The kid goes in to hysterics.”That was good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Bye.”
“Good bye,” I say, shutting the door.
Yeah, I can crack five year-olds up. If only I had that kind of power over half-drunk adults in low rate comedy clubs. If only they had kiddy comedy clubs. Yeah, I’d slay ‘em sitting there at their little kiddy chairs and tables. Yeah, it would be comedy Heaven - a laugh a minute … until the milk came up someone’s nose.
OK, it would have to be a milkless kiddy comedy club.
I dug up a few snap shots from the glory years.
"What is this, an audience or an oil painting?"
"Hey, where're you guys going? I'm just getting to the good part." 
Did I mention I watched a lot of Miami Vice in the eighties?
