[Editor's Note: Up-and-comer comedian/actor Alex Falcone—who you've seen perform with Action/Adventure theater, as well in the live talk show Late Night Action w/ Alex Falcone—will be furnishing semi-regular updates from the road to give us an inside peek at the real life of a struggling comic. Want more Alex? Check out his website and follow him on that Twitter contraption (@alex_falcone).]

Episode 20: The End

Saturday, August 11 - Late morning - The Comedy Condo
I'm about to go to breakfast with a stranger. He's a fan of my podcast and wants to pick my brain about comedy so he offered to buy me food. This is obviously a bad idea, but since my profit for the weekend is about $12, it's really hard to turn down free breakfast. I really hope he doesn't kidnap me, take me back to his house where he has a shrine of me, chain me to a throne naked at the center of it all, and then every morning force me to tell jokes for pieces of lettuce.

And don't think "Oh, if I'm reading it, he survived." I've set this up to auto-post even if I'm incapacitated by some evil but slightly erotic abduction.

Saturday, August 11 - Early Afternoon - Back at the Comedy Condo
False alarm. He just wanted to talk about comedy. I'm not disappointed. I'm not. Really.

Saturday, August 11 - Late - The Club
My flight back to Portland tomorrow morning is at 5:30am. The club will not give me a ride to the airport that early, so instead of going back to the condo for a couple hours and then paying $40 for a cab, I've decided to just have them bring me to the airport now. I'll catch some sleep on the benches like a white-collar hobo.

Road comics frequently sleep in their cars at rest areas to avoid paying for hotels, so this is coushy. On the other hand, I feel like I'm slumming it when I have to sleep on a queen sized bed. I'm terrified.

Sunday, August 12 - Holy crap it's early - Tucson International (Really? You can say that if you fly to Mexico once a day?) Airport
False alarm. No sleeping at the airport. Or anywhere else.

My ride asked if I wanted to tag along to a party for one of the club's cooks, and since I didn't have to be anywhere until 5:30, I said sure. The party was at some kind of desert mob compound. Two sets of locked gates on the drive in. Three RVs and a handful of dilapidated cars. 10 or 15 dogs. Sprawling yard with a pool, dirt basketball court, and a large deck with thatched umbrella coverings. There are six people sitting around blasting 90s music, getting fucked up, and talking about whether or not aliens have visited earth.

Instead of napping on an airport bench, I get to party all night. This is a perfect set up for almost every other comedian, but I'm a real bummer at parties. I'm as square as it gets. "I'll just have a soda. No thanks, I don't smoke. There are no aliens."

Nobody will play H.O.R.S.E. with me because I'm too sober. I'll actually make baskets. I'm super boring. This is why people want to talk to me about comedy instead of kidnapping me and giving me sweet, sweet torture that I'm in no way asking for.

The best part of the party was that Kenan Thompson was there. He was so great in All That!


Sunday, August 12 - No idea - Portland, OR
And thus ends my first summer on the road. Next week, I'll do a wrap up that includes some stories I didn't want to talk about right after they happened because it would have been too obvious who they were about. I'll also have some FAQs about life on the road. If you've got questions, post them in the comments. Otherwise I'll make some up.