Heath Moore Glimpses

[Vassagon]

Laughs Unlimited is a comedy club and lounge nestled neatly in the Historic District of Sacramento, right in sight of the Tower Bridge. Its talent it hosts ranges from Open-Mic Night to celebrity Comics with a spectrum of calibers. Next month features Pauly Shore if that gives you an idea. Heath was set to go on next. He wasn't famous yet, not really, but he had started building a career five years ago and it was starting to give him some credibility. This time it was a new town, and not some dive hideaway either, but a real city comedy club. He'd have to thank Randal, his agent, for setting it up. It'd be a paying gig, but if he wanted to make it in this town he needed to make an impression.

He nursed the glass of scotch he held, watching how the stage lights played off the blocks of ice floating in the amber liquid. The guy up on stage was young, a decade younger maybe. Heath should have been that young too, if he had started when he meant to. But now he was making up for lost time. The trade off was that he still felt young. The change Arcadia had on him had given him an extended life. Yet since his escape the lines of reality were blurred, broken in some places. Those places he avoided when he could. All he wanted was to entertain, to make others forget their worries and just enjoy life. Making people laugh was what overcame the fear he felt that he blocked out in his mind.

"Let's give a big round of applause for Jhonny the Maniac. Next, we've got a new comic just starting tonight. He's just dropped in from Washington having performed in Rainier Beach and Tukwila. Let's show him some California hosplitality and give him a hand, Heath Moore!"

Heath stood up and strode out on stage at his cue, the scotch still in his hand. His wild sandy brown hair brightened and his even complexion smoothed in the lighting, hitting him in his big brown eyes that seemed to glisten as he squinted against it. Looking out into the crowd he saw it was of modest size, not a huge turnout, but not awful either. Heath smiled and waved, and as they often did the crowd smiled with him. "Hey, thanks for that," he said to the announcer as the mic was handed over. He pulled it up to his chin and waited a few beats for the crowd's applause to die down as he pulled his thoughts together.

"Well you can see I've brought my prop for the evening," lifting his glass and then setting it by the stool where a bottled water sat to refresh the entertainers. "I hope you've brought yours too because it's just more fun when you've got your best friends right there with you. Jack, Morgan, Gordon, & Jim. I brought the Christian Brothers myself. I'm not sure where the other one went off to but I'm sure we'll meet up later." The audience murmers a few chuckles. Heath is at ease, you have to be when you're on stage. It's got to feel more normal than normal or else everyone sees how sense you're really feeling in the pit of your stomach, right next to the liquor.

"Yes, I'm Heath Moore," he continued, introducing himself, "And yes, I've come down from Washington. Anyone here from Washington?" He got a few yelps of acknowledgment out of the immediate silence. Heath peered out at them and clapped lightly himself, "Nice, nice. When I'm out of state people always come up to me and ask what you're supposed to call someone from Washington. Is it Washingtoners, Washingtonites, Washiganders? It's quite a mouthful, isn't it? We've already got three syllabals as it is, right? God, I'd hate to be from Massachusetts. They don't even want to be associated with the word. They call themselves Bostonians. People from Washington might as well call themselves Seattlites, but then we'd just be asked what we're supposed to be orbiting. I mean, you can't be expected to say the whole thing. So when people ask me what you call someone from Washington, I just tell them that there's a much easier word you can use. Hippies." He got a bigger rise of laughter that time as he continues to smile and walk about the stage.

"You know why, right?" he asked, speaking over the fading chuckles. "It's not just our obsession with organic foods either, but back in the 80's we were pretty famous for the grunge movement, cause that's where Nirvana and Pearl Jam started up. So we've got a lot of indie rock culture for the past few decades, and ultimately a lot of those socially alienated angst filled youths grew up into adults. And instead of drugs and sex to distract them from their problems, well, now they have coffee and babies. And everyone knows we drink a lot of coffee. I mean a lot of coffee, so much that we invented Starbucks and bottomless cups. I read an article on some Starbucks statistics that we consume more coffee than any other state. And I'm pretty sure even those Bostonians drink a lot of coffee so to drink the most has got to be pretty extreme. Grunge isn't exactly music you can get tweaked out to though, so I'm guessing we invented that to balance out the caffeine."

The audience was laughing more now, some who got the jokes, and others who were getting caught up in the merry atmosphere. A flash of teeth and it was smooth sailing from there. He could feel the energy in the air, building up. It was sheer joy, glamour, a raw emotion brought out by the power of laughter. He could feel it filling him, their smiling faces warming his broken soul. He'd do alright here, he thought.

[Vassagon]

Heath strode out on stage once more for another routine performance. His eyes darted around the seats, searching for the Miens of familiar faces he had met recently at the Spring Coronation but couldn't quite make any out. All the same he smiled, bright and genuine, ready to spread joy and humor to the eager mortals.

"Hey, hi there. Thanks for coming out everyone, the more of you there are the better that makes me look," his cocky confident demeanor won him a few sparse chuckles. "So I was reading the Sacramento Bee this morning. On the internet of course. I mean, who actually has the energy to pick up a piece of paper and physically move each page. Might get a papercut. It's a dangerous world out there." Some more grins spreading out on some people. "Right, so I was reading the paper and I see there's an article about a girl scout troop mother who was secretly stealing money from the cookie sales. I know, I know, heartless. What kind of person steals from poor little girl scouts. I mean, they are relentless. Have you ever had a girl scout come to your door? They will ride your wallet like a pony, if they're not pleading or guilt-tripping you with those sad looking faces. And some of them get mean, I mean tantrums and I swear to god one even threatened me. If I was this woman I'd be putting extra locks on my doors. Hell, I'd change my name and move out of the country. I mean that's like dipping your hand into the mafia's cookie jar. Tiny mafia girlscouts with cookie cutter switchblades. And this just happened today, I kid you not. I bet you tomorrow's paper, woman finds pony head in bed. It's a message, you better listen, lady!"

The smooth-talking Fairest smiles as he lets the general ripple of snickers and chuckles subside. "That's right, I stay up to date with current affairs. I like to know what's happening in my town. Well, actually it happened in Arcadia. Arcadia, California. Anyone from Arcadia in the building?" A lull grips the silence that follows. "Oh good, well then we can talk about them behind their backs then. I don't even think they have their own sports team, not like our Sacramento Kings!" A few voice in the crowd cheered out a dedicated basketball fandom. "Oh wait, the season's over for them, isn't it. So much for current events," Heath sighed in mock exasperation. "Oh well, I hear they're supposed to be moving to Anaheim anyways. Pretty sure that's right next to Arcadia. Whoops, maybe I shouldn't have spoken so soon."

"So, raise of hands, how many of you are single?" Heath waits for a moment as he looks about the room. A few of the eager audience room members raise their hands and then a few more in silent aggreement that they'd participate in this little game. Heath then raises his own hand with a knowing grin. "Oh yeah, would you look at that," he says, sending a wink towards a young lady in the front row with her arm raised. He bends down the end of the stage towards her and asks, "What's your name, miss?" and directs the microphone her way. Clearly embarressed, but laughing, she replies, "Mary."

Heath straightens up again, eyes still on Mary and then looks about the room, "Hey, could I have a moment alone with Mary, you don't mind do you? We can clear the room for a couple of minutes right?" Another soft ripple of laughter rolls through the crowd as he walks away from Mary onto the center stage. "Heh heh, a couple of minutes. Not exactly motivating, right? No no, I suppose that would be wrong of me. But it's good to be single, don't you think? Means you've got options. It means you've got potential. Potentially the right person is just around the corner. Which means until you round that bend you can make as many mistakes as you want and it's okay. Because Mister or Miss Right is still out there. As long as you don't meet your potential. But don't tell your significant other that or they might not be so significant for much longer." A few uncomfortable laughs go through the room, and maybe some sideways glances. "Well you can't be expected to wait around forever for Mr. Right, right? You've also got the potential to get laid." A few peals of delight emenate from the crowd.

"But hey what do I know, you probably shouldn't be taking advice from a single guy anyways," says Heath slyly, getting warmed up for the rest of the evening.

[Vassagon]

Heath stood up before the mic once again at the Comedy Club, ready for another show using his latest routine.

"So Father's Day is just around the corner. For some of us it's a time to suck up to the old man so he won't be so pissed when you call later asking for more money. Usually a bottle of scotch does it best. He thinks it's better that way than because your mother the battle ax won't give him hell over buying his own liquor. He'll accept it gladly and you can expect he'll put it to good use."

"I don't know, maybe some families actually get along without booze and dollar bills to grease the wheels and keep things civil. I think I was pretty lucky with my folks, they were so run-of-the-mill it forced me to find ways of entertaining myself. All my success is thanks to those old fogies. Course they also gave me my good looks, so I really I owe a lot to them."

"Now you may have noticed I speak of them in past tense, yes, they've passed on. No no, no pity please, they lived a long and happy life and had a great child to show for it. It's not like I'll turn into costume-wearing vigilante obsessed with fear and death. Though it would be cool to have some of those gadgets he uses. Fly around town with a cape... Anyways I imagine they're smiling down on me and telling me I look too thin and am not eating enough."

"But with dads it's a little different I guess. 'Got a real job yet, son? Ya got a girlfriend yet? Why not, you've got my good looks, don'tcha?' Just the practical, avoiding all unnecessary speech. It's like that Verizon Wireless commercial, anyone see that? Where the son and father are trying to stay connected by getting a smartphone. I'm sure they'll save a bundle on minutes of that's what he's really using it for. Boys and their fathers operate on a unique level of manly understanding, primarily through body language and simple inflection. It's like our secret code developed to combat the complex system women use to keep us from understanding them. Taking it off their radar by oversimplifying it."

"In any case it's been pretty easy getting a father's day gift each year. Usually a vase and flowers does the trick, which probably wouldn't have flied when he was alive. 'Son, get your mother flowers, get me a beer, or if you have to, a tie.' But for everyone else out there, I hope you'll appreciate your dad and enjoy the time you have with him. And dad's, make sure you don't screw up your kids. I'd hate to think it could get worse than your generation."

There was more to Joy than simple humor. If fathers and their children could be happy and thankful for one another and enjoy then that was all the Joy he needed.

[Vassagon]

Another evening comes about and Heath Moore makes his way back onstage for another comedy performance.

"Whew, it's hot out there. I don't know if you know this, but there aren't many fans backstage. And I'm talking about the spinning air-moving kind just so you know, haa ha," mocking a deliberate laugh. "All that heat just builds up so I couldn't wait to get out here under these 2000 Watt spotlights." A soft assortment of chuckles rise from the crowd. The comedian paces a bit, fingering the mic in his hands and smiling. "I just came from the back entrance a little bit ago and I had to take a bottled water shower just to avoid fusing to the green room couches. So that's why I'm wearing this t-shirt," Heath says as he stretches the shirt out for all to see. "I suppose it illustrates how I feel on the inside. I'd be really ironic if this guy were an opponent of global warming. Or maybe he was for global warming and tried it at home, I dunno," he remarks dismissively.

"Anyways, hello, Sacramento. I know you don't want to be reminded of this heat wave we're going through but it's like an elephant in the room, isn't it? You go to work, walk straight to the water cooler and there's a guy there saying 'Oy, how 'bout this weather?' cause everyone's thinking about it, having to deal with it. We've all got our cameras ready for the first fellow to spontaneously combust so we can start complaining to someone that a line's been crossed. Our country's got scientists smashing atoms together like a billiards game and they still haven't come up with climate control. That's something I'd put my taxpayer money towards, don't you think? It's no wonder why we're the leaders in solar power, cause we're getting so much of it. Half the state's a desert and half the state's a beach."

"I mean, it's colder inside my body than outside of it. Shouldn't that be a sign that something's amiss?" Heath paces back over to the stool that holds his water bottle. He takes a swig and his eyebrows bob knowingly.

"Hope everyone had a fun fourth of July," he says nonchallantly which spurs some patriotic cheers. "They say it's America's noisiest day out of the year. Anyone get their hearing damaged? I SAID, ANYONE GET...Oh, oh right. Gotta love those fireworks though. Any excuse to start blowing things up, am I right? Would have to be an American tradition. China didn't know what it had. Now they glitter, sizzle, stream, crackle, and branch out into colorful shapes. And some will change shape and color several times before they go out. I blame the entertainment industry. Now we can't look at fireworks without expecting them to do more. Each one's got to have a trick that makes it different. Soon they'll have fireworks that form pictures or something till we're all stuck with our eyes glued to the sky. Might as well have a laser show while we're at it."

"Who am I kidding, I was out watching them too though. Fireworks are the sort of thing you can't look away from even if you've seen 'em a hundred times. People bring out their kids and then you've got an accompaniment of 'Oooo' and 'Aaaah' and 'Woooow' to go with each one. They just cycle between the three on repeat. I was tempted to hand one a thesaurus so they could discover new interjections."

The night continues on amid giggles and guffaws...

[Vassagon]

The smiling Minstrel sat outside a bistro in downtown Sacramento under the sunny light of day. His eyes were hid behind a pair of large sunglasses to hide the fatigue in his eyes from a late night of drinking. He was doing quite well in his performances and had the means to celebrate but his agent had demanded to drive to Sacramento to meet with him that day with some important news.

A short and stocky man, with nubby fingers and a receeding hairline that came together in a ponytail, sat down across from Heath, wiping his hands on a collection of napkins. He had this nasty habit of sweating when he was excited and in this heat it was even more of a problem.

"Heath, baby," said Randal in a sort of croak that reminded him of an olympic smoker and an expression that was meant to be kind. He opened his arms for a quick rehearsed hug which Heath obliged him with an uncomfortable smile. "I've got some great news for you, something I couldn't tell you over the phone. We've hit the big leagues, Heathy. Punchline, that comedy club down the street. They actually called me this time and said they had to have you for their line-up. Seems one of their scouts had attended your last performance. They were amazed!"

Heath nodded, smiling, despite the headache he felt as his brain jostled around in his skull. He could tell that Randal was exaggerating, as he often did. Probably to make Heath feel like the star he was supposed to be, a form of encouragement. "Punchline, yeah, I've heard of them, they're up near Arden-Arcade. Pablo Francisco is supposed to be performing later this month I think," responded the Fairest as he rubbed the temples of his head to sooth the ache with less enthusiasm than he aught to be showing.

"Yeah, you got it. But Punchline's a growing franchise with another club in San Fran. And they're both part of Live Nation. You score big in one and you've got your pick of the rest. We're talking tours and name recognition. Hell, I'll have to drop the rest of my clients just to have enough time for you!" he cackled. Though of course he wouldn't really drop his clients. The man had more sense than to put all his eggs in one basket.

Heath continued to nod, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, trying to get comfortable enough for a genuine smile. "Hey, great going, Randal. You're the man," he offered with a majority of sincerity. Randal had always promised a lot and had delivered on most of it, but it seemed like Heath had been at this for years without any real sense of recognition in the comic circles.

Randal pulled out a card and started writing in a pen on the back of it. "This is the number you've got to call, they'll set up a time for your rehearsal. They'll probably want to go over some of your material so show 'em a few gems. I don't think they're be any problems."

Heath took the card with some surprise. "A real rehearsal? Not just a mic check? This is the real deal, isn't it?"

"Now he gets it," Randal laughs and slaps the tabletop energetically. "Didn't I tell you I'd get you to the top? Now where the hell's our waiter, I'm starving. You look like you could use some coffee, what'd you do last night anyways? You get in a fight with a dirty Scotch or get hit by an Irish carbomb?"

Jeez, everyone's a comedian...

ooc

Prelude to Harvest Performance. Coming soon to a thread near you.

[Vassagon]

The stage itself is just a strip against the wall but gazes over a large room of tables and bar tops, housing a vast audience of expectant viewers. They've paid good money to be here, good money for drinks. They expect to be compensated with a good time, good jokes, and relief from their busy lives.

Heath feels faint with anticipation. He was supposed to warm these good people up tonight, the precursor to the proven comic. He initially thought he was supposed to be the main act, but that really would have been a miracle. Still, this was his big break and he couldn't blow it. Oh god oh god, what am I going to do?

Naturally he drank, downing the small vials in the green-room mini-bar with ease. They warmed his stomach but it would be a few minutes before the tension in his muscles laxxed. His face was stiffened into a smile, always present when he was nervous. When he was nervous he made bad jokes. That would be a problem.

Finally he heard the music cue up outside and the noise of voices and clinking glasses faded, replaced by the call of an announcer that had taken up the stage. The door to the green room opened and a young man in a headset hissed over to him, "Mr. Moore, you're on in one minute." Not being a religious man, he nevertheless crossed himself and mouthed a silent prayer that everything would go okay.

"Please welcome, our newest addition to the performers of Punchline, Heath Moooooore!" said the stage announcer, throwing his hand in the air to his side in the direction of Heath as he walked in from side-stage.

The announcer relinquished the mic and headed off in the other direction leaving the quirky comic to his trade.

"Wow. Just wow," said Heath looking impressed. "I am so thrilled to be here tonight. You're all excellent people for having me. Some of you may not know me yet. Well I'm here to rectify that. I am here to jostle your noggins and wiggle your funny bones. It's going to get real personal for some of you, and for others it's just more Saturday night foreplay."

"Ladies, you are looking exquisite. I have to say," mentions Heath, drawing the attention of a group of young attractive women in the front seating. They were dressed to turn heads so he knew they'd relish in the spotlight. "Welcome to the show. I hope you came together tonight, cause if not maybe I can help with that too," he cooed suggestively.

Looking back to the rest of the audience he continues, "But I would never date an attractive woman. It's too much work. I've got things I want to do in life and I can't be worrying about whether I measure up to those stunning...volumptuous creatures..." he trails off, gazing lovingly before shaking himself out of reverie. "As the man, I've always got to prove that I'm worth sticking around for. Fancy dates, presents, encore performances. It's exhausting. And sometimes even if you do everything right for them they'll still disappear for a night with Suavo McMeathead. Not for spite or attention but because they want to be reassured that they have options," he lilted the last word sardonically as he looks exasperated on stage.

"Well of course they have options. All women have options. Men will throw themselves on inanimate objects if unable to come across something remotely female, not that we don't have standards. It's just we're the ones that have to jump through hoops. It's probably how most major accomplishments are achieved, some guy trying to impress his lady. Take the wheel for instance." Heath furrows his brow and hunches over, speaking primatively, "Oo, loook, dear. I fix problem of sore feet from walking. I make curvy ting that roll instead of walk. Now we bam-bam?" Heath smiles, exiting the pose. "Sorry, Mr. Caveman, I'm afraid those are the only curves you'll be getting tonight."

"That's probably why Fred Flintstone was always trying to get a promotion, and probably why he was always so cranky. You look at Barney, that guy is always happy and easy-going. Most likely because Betty Rubble actually puts out. I bet the real reason Wilma feigned a headache every night was because Fred would keep screaming Yabba Dabba Doo when he climaxed."

"No one's going to look their best the next morning anyways. The reason you've got your high-maintenance women is because it takes a lot of work to look that good all the time. It all washes off at the end of the day. At least there won't be any surprises dating a low-maintenance girl. 'Oh, I'll just a minute, darling, I just have to put on my face,'" mimicks Heath in a light feminine voice before switching to a deeper masculine one. "'Your face? Well what've you got on you nowwwwoooooOH MY GOD!'" he yells in surprise. "Oh, honey, I didn't know that...you...were a space alien. Are those tentacles? No wonder that felt so good..."

He breaks from his character, "Oh, for the record, tentacles do not feel very good. You don't want those suctiony things stuck...on you. Not that I'd know. It's not like I've tried it...or...anything. But they really should put warning labels on octupus tanks. Ya know, just in case. What? Men are curious!"

He laughs it off not bothered by being the subject of the joke. "You ever see a warning label that has no business being on a product? When I was out shopping last week I came across a few items. I was reading the label for a hairdryer thinking, oh hey I wonder if there's anything I should know about this before buying. Says 'Do not use while sleeping'. Oh. Well, that's good advice, I guess. If I'm sleepwalking one night and happen to read the label I'll probably want to know that. Or a curling iron, cause sometimes I want to try something different. Label said, 'Warning: This product can burn eyes.' Oh, thank got I saw that first, I wouldn't want to burn by eyes, then I wouldn't be able to see the label and know of the impending danger. This one I found at a public toilet is my favorite: 'Recycled flush water unsafe for drinking'. You know the whole reason they have these is because it's happened. Some jackass out there needed to be told not to. 'Well, since there's no sign I guess it's okay.' Really? No, no you knew just what you were getting into when you decided this was a good idea."

Though the act was a little more risque than usual he managed to coax a number of laughs from the audience, which broke any unease some might have felt about the topics. In order to get people to really let themselves participate in their joie de vivre they needed some prodding. Being edgy was risky but paid off in full and only successful comics were willing to push the envelope. People wanted to laugh about things that normally made them uncomfortable. It was freeing, from the confines of polite society and social restrictions, being 'politically correct'.

Of course he didn't want to offend anyone, and maybe a number of men or women might normally find the statements to be offensive. But he had the home field advantage. They came because they wanted to laugh and they knew not to take the comedian too seriously. It was reassuring, this unspoken understanding, and Heath revelled in it. He could feel the emotions pouring forth, saturated beyond his ability to absorb, and it filled him with such energy. He was addicted to this feeling, the stage, and the satisfaction, something he'd acquired...somewhere else. He didn't know if it was unhealthy and he didn't care. This was something he wanted to his core and he'd be damned if he wouldn't keep walking the path till the day he died.