Being Patient is Sick!

How much of your life do you think you spend waiting?

I am often punished for being punctual. While I strategically plan to land at my destination at the agreed upon time, many others do not extend this courtesy. The excuses travel down the conveyor belt at a furious pace. I’ve heard it all.

Sorry, there was traffic.

I had to pick up my Lexapro and the line at the pharmacy was insane.

My father was found naked, wandering the streets, yelling out the name of his dead wife, so I had to bail him out of jail. Anyway, should we start with some egg rolls?

In the past year, I’ve spent countless hours of my life in waiting rooms. What a privilege. A whole room designed for me to sit quietly, watching precious seconds of my life flicker away at a snail-like pace. When you’re sick, this becomes reality. Appointment times be damned. The doctor will see you whenever she fucking feels like it. What are you gonna do? Cure your own cancer?

This is why they call you “the patient.” It is a word that transcends its usage because when you break it down, it is so much more than a name for an individual that needs care. They are telling you what you need to do. BE PATIENT. We will get to you as soon as we know that we have screwed up your plans for the rest of the day.

Tom Petty was right. Maybe not when he was shooting up large doses of heroin in an attempt to freefall down into nothing. I’m referring to when he said “The waiting is the hardest part.” We are often told how long we will wait for something. The human brain has evolved to be adept at dealing with torture when we know there is a timestamp on how long it will last. If you tell me fifteen minutes, a switch goes off that allows me to relax, knowing this particular period will last as long as brewing a strong cup of coffee.

But when that time has elapsed, and we still find ourselves in limbo, it is a maddening experience. The foot taps become rapid. An itch creeps into our skin. The clock is laughing hysterically knowing that while the rest of the world is moving along, you are temporarily sequestered in a state of desire, boredom, and frustration.

And there is nothing you can do about it.

Patience has never come naturally to me. I’m a delightful mix of stubborn and energetic, neither of which serves me in the waiting game because linear time doesn’t care about either. Of all the lessons I’ve learned from cancer, one of the most important was to slow down. When you are forced to wait, enjoy the downtime. Close your eyes. Deep breaths. Smile.

Beating cancer was a relief. While it pushed the limits of my body, it also tested my patience. The endless calendar of appointments was excruciating. I was pissed at these cancerous cells for swelling up my lymph nodes without permission. Consent is mandatory. But the real rage came from how they intercepted my time. Most people don’t tell you this but along with all the other bullshit, cancer is inconvenient.

The years it takes off of your life are not at the end. They are RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Cancer doesn’t care that you are supposed to be finding yourself at Burning Man, coaching your daughter’s soccer team, or studying for your master’s degree. You have to do what it says. Otherwise, it will obliterate your timeline all together.

An unexpected sensation came along with eradicating my cancer. I felt like I should immediately reach all of the high-level objectives that I have been working towards. “Look, everyone! I’m healthy. I’m strong. Now cast me as a series regular on your animated series and sell out all of my shows!” I went through a traumatic, painful, and terrifying experience which means every tree I’ve ever planted should fruit immediately. I’m ready to receive it!

Sounds reasonable, right? Sure, but that’s not how the world works.

It took me a couple of months to shed that attitude. Like my eczema-laden skin, it flaked off a little bit each day. I don’t shame myself for wanting to get on the express train as I steer myself toward my goals, but thinking that cancer was going to expedite the process is preposterous.

It’s going to take years of processing what I went through before I truly understand how it will propel me forward. By continuing my work as a comedian, relating this experience to others, the trees will sprout branches that reach far beyond what I could have imagined. Keep tending the garden. The flowers will blossom when they are ready.

Gandhi said, “To lose patience is to lose the battle.” He may have been hallucinating from a lack of food but the statement still rings true. I never thought that becoming a cancer “patient” is what would finally teach me the true meaning of that word.

My career will continue to build and along with it will come everything that I am meant to have in this lifetime. A family. A house. A life-size sculpture of pugs playing tennis. I will keep chiseling away at the marble every single day until I have sculpted a unique and beautiful piece of art. You can’t force it. All you can do is work hard, believe, and be patient. Eventually it will come harder than a celibate priest having a wet dream about an underage boy.

All that being said, if you make me wait when we are meeting up for dinner, you’re picking up the check.

37 Tried to Kill Me. Your Move, 38.

It was Easter morning, 2023. Sitting around a table eating brunch with my wife and her family, which of course is now my family as well. My sister-in-law Holly looked at me and in a soft voice said, “it’s really good to have you back, Alex.”

 I had been out of the hospital for over three months so her statement seemed misplaced.  I asked her to elaborate. 

“We didn’t know if we would ever see this version of you again.” That simple statement has been tattooed on my brain ever since. This version. Fun. Silly. Energetic. Illuminated.

When I look back at the last 12 months, almost every day should be forgotten. In my mind, I have skipped directly from 36 to 38. You could call it a series of unfortunate events but that doesn’t do it justice. That’s like referring to the Oklahoma City Bombing as a bad day at work at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. 

Since the moment I turned 37, my life had flip-flopped. The cancer was already inside of me yet we didn’t know exactly what type. All we knew is that it was CANCER. Four months ago, Lauren and I had gotten married on a picturesque beach in Punta Mita, Mexico. We had been together in some form or another for 18 years by then. When we finally made our love official, boom! C-word. For someone who prides themselves on their timing, I rushed the punchline without giving the audience a beat to process the setup. 

The next three months were excruciating. Constant visits to specialists. The testing included blood work, MRIs, CAT and PET scans, bone marrow aspirations, etc. Something is seriously wrong and nobody can tell me what. I became lethargic and unmotivated. The unknown is far more scary than reality.

Finally, we had our answer. Stage 3 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. How loud can a person mentally scream “FUUUCCKKKK?” While it was disheartening, it gave me comfort when the doctors told me they knew how to treat it. My prognosis was good. 

I could bore you with more details of chemotherapy but honestly, you can look at previous blogs if you need that story. The onslaught of misery and pain had begun. Everything was going swimmingly, until one day, it wasn’t. Something was horribly wrong with me and I was too confused to realize it. Luckily my wife saw right through my incoherent stare. She took me to the emergency room. 

When I entered that hospital on November 17th, completely delirious, I had no idea that I wouldn’t emerge for 33 days. Cancer was still in me. But now I had a much bigger foe: Sepsis. The surgery to install my chemo port in my chest had caused an internal infection. An invisible murderous bacteria that was hellbent on putting me into my forever dirt nap. 

Turned on yet? How about a heart vegetation, multiple embolisms, a spleen abscess, and edema. My body swelled up 25 pounds because water wouldn’t drain from my tissues. For the first two weeks, I was bedridden. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even roll myself over.

Doctors told my wife and family to brace themselves for the worst. My body had declared war on itself.  I was a civilian, caught in the crossfire. Eventually I was well enough to do physical and occupational therapy. One step at a time. Literally. My therapists treated me with the fragility of a 90-year-old cripple. I was a long way from the slacklining, tennis playing, ambulatory person I had worked so hard to be. 

To make matters worse,I had to have my knee operated on because it wasn’t draining properly. Another surgery. Was I worried? I’m in here because of the last one so I wasn’t exactly walking on sunshine at the thought. Fuck, I was barely walking on anything. Four more days while I watched colored liquids drain through a series of tubes sticking out of my leg. 

 If all of that wasn’t enough, while I was infirmed, my dad died unexpectedly. Not completely, he was 79 so at that age, anything can happen.  I could barely mourn the death because I had to primarily focus on my own survival. I still haven’t fully processed the fact that he is gone. He was my biggest fan. He loved hearing stories of my adventures. No one understood better than him how dedicated I am to not only my craft, but having an amazing life. He doesn’t believe in the afterlife and neither do I so I can’t even say he’s in a better place. He’s simply gone.

There’s more tragedy. But some of it is too painful and personal for me to reveal here. In time, I’ll talk about these instances. If all of this isn’t enough already, you have a level of sadism that should be studied.

I’ve thought a lot about this past year. It lasted forever and somehow it felt like seconds. 37 was not the magical year I had envisioned. So many times I thought I had hit bottom only to learn I was still in the shallow seas being dragged toward the Marianas Trench. Hit after hit. I was strapped to a wall being bludgeoned by a never-ending train of trauma. I’m a good person who leads with love. I strive to make others feel good about themselves. What did I do to deserve this?

Nothing. That’s the answer. No one deserves this. Well, maybe Andrew Tate and Donald Trump and…nevermind. I don’t have enough time to keep listing monsters. The point is this:  it’s not about what happens to you.

It’s how you react.

Looking back, I am a very proud boy. Dammit. Remember when we could say that and it didn’t mean you were a nazi?

I handled my cancer with courage. I was transparent and allowed others in on the journey. I constantly cracked jokes and turned the darkest moments into hilarious material. Making strangers laugh while I had a noticeable PICC line in my arm was the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced as a comedian. These people paid for babysitters, came to laugh, and now they are staring at someone with cancer. I’m sure many thought, “we should have gone to the movies.”

I did it for myself. I needed to take ownership of the situation. I have been told many times that my approach helped others who were going through similar struggles. I alleviated my own fears by sharing them with the world. I could have switched from a beacon of positivity into a dismal sack of hopelessness. Yet, I didn’t. I found myself bitter at times and checked myself. I can’t change what happened. There’s a reason why the front windshield is bigger than the back. Move forward.

Those 33 days in the hospital were the most painful of my entire life. Even when I got out, I could barely move. Everything hurt. I was on intravenous antibiotics for almost a month, attached to a fanny pack that kept reminding me: YOU ARE SICK. YOU ARE WEAK. But every day when I woke up, I did more than the recommended physical therapy. I made it my job to rehabilitate my body and mind. I listened to “Unstoppable” by Sia hundreds of times. Goddamn, that woman can infiltrate my psyche with empowerment. I got my meditation schedule back on track. With every painful step, I kept telling myself, “This is temporary. This is not your life. This will all be a fever dream if I keep doing the work.” 

I always knew I could bounce back. I kept journaling almost every single day. Most of it was goal-setting, positive affirmations, visualizations, manifestations. I kept track of how I felt and if I look back at the first entries of the year, I recognize how far I’ve come. I was hours away from death, unable to move, completely detached; and now I am literally climbing mountains. My wife and I spent two weeks traveling around Japan where I headlined a show and judged a Japanese Roast Battle. To answer your question, it was in English. I taped a set with Comedy Central where I made fun of my cancer. I’m not hiding from it. I’m using it. I will use every ounce of struggle for personal gain. I will not allow any of my misery to control who I am supposed to be. 

I thought 37 was a year to forget. Now I realize, it may have been the most pivotal year of my entire life. I was forced into lessons that I may not have ever taken the time to learn. I was the hare, running as fast as I could hoping to get to a finish line. Now I’m the tortoise. Methodical. Paced. Able to look around and shove my face in the fragrant, vibrant flowers while still knowing, I have plenty of time to win. Allergies to pollen be damned. I will smell those fucking lilies. 

While trying to burn me to a pile of ashes, all of this ignited a fire inside of me that cannot be extinguished. I am inflamed and it’s not just from my eczema.  I did everything I could to not only get back this version of myself,  but to shed my outer shell and have a complete metamorphosis. I was already a butterfly. But this winged-insect has turned into a fucking eagle. I have proven to myself that through the absolute worst pain, both physical and emotional, you cannot take away my spirit. I am meant to spread love, give joy, and make people laugh until they can’t breathe. None of it was easy, but it was necessary. 

With all of that behind me, I am here to say: Come at me, 38. Show me what you got. I’m ready for every single moment.

Time To Excavate

Brand new suit: Check. 

Fresh haircut: Check. 

Sixty of the people I love most: Check. 

Woman of my dreams: Check. 

Extra cells growing uncontrollably in my body: Check. 

Fuck. What was that last one?

It was one of the biggest days of my life. The Punta de Mita ocean breeze wisped through my hair on this insanely perfect evening.  All of our guests are laughing, crying, and everything in between as we pronounce our love for each other. This wasn’t just any wedding. It was almost twenty years in the making and everyone there knew it. But one attendee was there who was not on the guest list. No one saw or heard them. They were hiding in the shadows waiting to upend our lives. 

As I said, “I Do”, the cancer inside my body repeated the sentiment. I wouldn’t know for four months that I had Stage 3 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, but Hodgy (my cute nickname for it) used that time to throw a giant party. His goal wasn’t to rage: he wanted to destroy the venue. The aftermath would be very expensive. As the cleanup crew of doctors found more issues, the bill continued to grow.

I often look back at the time before I was diagnosed. I was having one hell of a year. In March, Fifteen of my friends and I ravaged our way through Las Vegas on a 36-hour bender filled with dancing, delicious food, lavish hotel rooms, and incredible drugs. It was the bachelor party I always wanted. My nose hated me. 

Sin City to Decompression City. I flew from Vegas straight to Alaska to spend a few days with my brother and his wife. They live in a pristine environment outside Denali National Park. The contrast of being in the center of debauchery and then 20 hours later arriving in a snow-filled wonderland was exactly what I needed. I spent the next four days expelling the drugs from my system as I skied, ate fresh moose, and snorted fresh, freezing air directly into my nostrils. They were ecstatic to have a break after the landslide they were put through in Las Vegas. I ended that week by doing sold-out shows in Wasilla and Anchorage, the perfect cap to a monumental run of pleasure.

It didn’t end there. Less than a month later, my (soon to be) wife and I would live it up for 10 days in beautiful Puerto Vallarta. Five days with family and friends and another five by ourselves at the most posh resort I had ever experienced. To say it was amazing would be an understatement. Shout out to the poolside violinist who made every bite of ahi tuna that much sweeter.  It was only April and I was crushing life harder than a Midwest slaughterhouse. Sorry for the visual if you’re vegetarian or vegan. 

May reigned in two of our favorite festivals: Desert Hearts and Lightning in a Bottle. Lakeside illuminated temporary paradises meant to stimulate every part of your brain. These weekends were adorned with wonderful music, rainbow clothing, and the silliest humans on the planet.

I wasn’t only partying. I was producing. I released my second full-length comedy album and on top of that, a techno song that I created with my friend Sacha. I was in the crowd multiple times when a DJ played the song and to be part of the crowd as they got hyped was something I’ll never forget. On top of that, I was headlining shows all over the country at clubs I had never played before.  I was killing it on all fronts.  My life was like a bowl of Lucky Charms: Magically Delicious.

How did I get here?

Let’s rewind. When I was 17, I hated life with a passion. Terrible skin, horrible depression, and an inner rage that reared its ugly face as often as possible. The world was against me so I would make it my mission to make everyone around me as miserable as I was. I told my parents that I would be homeless and didn’t care about the consequences. Working towards a goal was unfathomable and inhabiting that level of unhappiness in your formative years? A happy life was so far away it might as well be on another planet. 

But under that Mars-like skin, something else was brewing that I couldn’t yet see. Potential. No one knew it was there because it was buried beneath the violent emotional outbursts that influenced my relationship to the world around me. When the entire universe feels like it is squashing you into oblivion, it’s impossible to consider a life filled with love and laughter. 

I don’t have time to go into how I changed or why and honestly, it doesn’t matter. My story won’t be yours and the methods I found to do a 180 are too plentiful to explain. What matters is that I did it. I had no idea that I could use the profound energy flowing through me to help instead of hurt. The potential was always there. I simply had to find a way to harness it.

Fast forward to now. The cancer is exactly the same. I had no clue it was there as I was living a fantastic version of life. I was going 100 mph on a highway with no roadblocks, preparing to break ground in my career and begin a family with my wife. If you put a beat behind those two sentences you could easily transform it into a hip-hop track. I never saw Hodgy until he jumped in front of my car, splaying himself across the windshield.

Thanks to this loser of a guest, my life has reverted to how I felt as a child. Constant doctor visits, new medications, a pause on many of the ways I express myself. It was a time when happiness was only felt in fleeting moments that would skitter away like bugs on a pond. I can’t do live comedy.  I can’t travel. I can’t play tennis or walk on a slackline. I had the worst hospital experience of my life and trust me, that’s saying a lot. I had worked so hard to build a life that even I was inspired to live, and now these radically dividing, uninvited cancerous cells are threatening to strip me of everything I’ve achieved.

But I am not my teenage self. The rebellion is still there and I’m thankful it is because that is what makes me an excellent creative. I learned how to use my stubbornness to my advantage. Angry Alex isn’t dormant. He’s dead. 

I flipped my emotional state once, which means I can do it again. When I was a struggling teenager, I had no idea that one day I would be on stage with the same comedians I was currently watching on TV. I didn’t know that people would recognize me in public and actually be excited to meet me. I didn’t know that joy would stick to me like a fly in a glue trap. What’s with all these insect references?

This isn’t any different. Right now I’m sick. Sick like pulling a quadruple backflip on a motorbike. Fucking sick, bro! But one thing that hasn’t changed at all is my POTENTIAL. There is no medicine on Earth that can cure that. I’ll beat the fuck out of this cancer like a drunk redneck beating up his underage girlfriend. OK, maybe I should go back to analogies about bugs.

My point is, even when you’re at your lowest, when it seems like nothing will ever go right again, when all hope has been abandoned, underneath the surface, you still have potential. It may have snuck into minuscule cracks but it’s still holding space inside of you. You just have to excavate. You may get lucky and it shoots out of you one day like a rocket, but most likely it will take two things: Time and Patience. Uggghhh. I know. 

Don’t be afraid to dig. Like those miners in Jurassic Park that discover the mosquito embossed in amber,  You never know what you’ll find that will change your life. Thank god we ended on a bug reference and not some vicious mention of domestic abuse. Whoops. Sorry. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

Quitting Is Universal

“I will not be returning. Thank you for 12 years of employment. I’m very grateful.”

And with those 15 words, I have officially quit my job at Universal Studios Hollywood. All of the sweet, none of the bitter. I moved to LA on October 22nd, 2008 and began my tenure at Universal on December 6th. I wanted to be a tour guide but alas, they were only hiring for front gate staff, specifically ticket sellers. As a puffy-faced, bright-eyed little schoolboy, I was excited to have a job that would secure my finances until I made it as an actor. I was 23. I planned to be out by the time I turned 27. 

Four years should do it. A few national commercials, co-stars to guest stars to series regulars. I know it usually takes longer but I was confident. Too confident. Had I known I wouldn’t escape until triple that timeline, I’m not sure I would have ever signed up in the first place. The “man” that entered that theme park had no idea what he was signing up for to be an entertainer in LA. Difficult, of course. But the number of times I would crawl back to that ticket booth after having a life-changing night was unfathomable.

Huge comedy shows, TV appearances, epic parties — all of them came with a caveat. “I have work tomorrow.” Every holiday when my friends would be gathering and celebrating. “I can’t go. I have to work.” 

I never felt embarrassed to have a day job. Part of pursuing your dreams is having financial stability. Having to do work that didn’t fill my purpose drove me to go harder at night. But some days, I had to question what the hell I was still doing there. 

So many times I would get called into a meeting with my managers. It’s the same feeling when the principal wanted to see me in middle school. I don’t know what I did, but it’s not good. I’d sit down at a table with my bosses on one side, and me, all by my lonesome on the other. While it was a mere four feet across, the distance may as well have been a mile. Mentally, I was never there. They would drone on about a guest complaint or an inappropriate joke I made to a coworker, meanwhile I would be in dreamland thinking about how later that night I was on a show with Sarah Silverman. I’m on the same flyer with the woman who was my screensaver in college. I probably shouldn’t tell her that. 

Don’t get the wrong idea; I was an ideal employee. I was punctual, had a great attitude, and could upsell a front of the line pass to a family of disabled veterans living off food stamps. But being that the company was so corporate, any discrepancy had to go through multiple channels of disciplinary actions. All of which were a complete waste of mine and Universal’s time. 

Looking back over the 12 years, I spent probably close to a hundred hours in those offices explaining myself for minute, petty, and horrendously arbitrary situations. I almost quit so many times, but constantly reminded myself that it would be the same level of bullshit somewhere else, and I would probably make far less money and incur even more responsibilities. Having a mindless job is paramount to me being a successful comedian.

The reason I never walked in with a loaded verbal gun and began firing my “fuck yous” was simple. I told myself when I was hired that it was the last job I would ever have that wasn’t directly connected to my passion. Had I known that it would last as long as it did, I may have turned that metaphorical gun into an actual weapon and blown my brains out in front of the Shrek Theatre. Sorry kids, an actual ogre has committed suicide. Please go back to the Simpsons ride.”

I often think about the amount of energy I spent dealing with the crap that goes into working for a major company. But in the end, that’s any job. There is always someone there who has to check a box that will undoubtedly take a shit in your mouth. Sometimes intentional, but often you’re just a cog in the machine and they need a certain number of disciplines to offset the pizza party we are getting in the breakroom. Two slices only. Yes, we are watching

They were always watching.

I could sit here and regale you with tales of the countless times I almost got fired over absolute meaningless reasons. I could explain how I was so good at my job that I was often awarded Salesman of the Month, and a couple of times Salesman of the Year.  I outsold my nearest coworker by literally millions of dollars and all I received was a certificate thanking me for my achievements. I could tell you about how I fought back against the establishment because “that’s the way it is” never comforted me as an answer to a question. 

The reason why I won’t is that there isn’t a point. I always knew the job would be temporary and told myself that every day as I strapped on my magnetic name tag.  I dreamt of the day I walked out of there, never to return. Little did I know on March 14th, 2020, I would never step into that uniform again. Coincidentally that was also my first AGT audition for season 15. From my stupid salsa dancer/flight attendant-looking uniform, straight to being lost in Sofia Vergara’s doe eyes and giant melons. I still love you. Please call me back.

I mean it when I say I’m grateful. My employment allowed me to pursue comedy without worrying about how I would pay rent. When I told my management team I needed to travel across the country to do a club during a “peak” week, they did their best to accommodate. While some of my experiences were littered with negativity from superiors that didn’t understand why I was always tired, others were loaded with adoration of coworkers and bosses who thought what I was doing was cool as fuck. One time I walked into the break room and everyone was watching me on Roast Battle, celebrating my victories.

Being surrounded by every walk of life was good for me. Hollywood can be shameful and soul-crushing, but none of these people cared about that. It reminded me of what was important, but also that I had to get out of there so the theme park didn’t dictate when I would tour or go on vacation. Also, I was really sick of getting recognized in the middle of my shift and explaining to a guest who has seen me on TV why I am now asking them for a second credit card because their first one was declined. Thanks for being a fan, you better call your bank.

I accomplished a fuck ton over the last twelve years. When I began that job, I hadn’t even started doing stand-up. The fact that I’m passed at major clubs, have filmed huge TV spots, landed a few acting jobs, even that I have haters, is all because I believed in myself while subsequently never thinking I was better than having to clock in and go to work. Yes, you saw me at the Comedy Store last night. No, I cannot give you a discount. They’re watching...

I’ll tell you the moment I knew I was never going back. During the quarterfinals of AGT, they put me up at the Hilton which overlooks Universal. From my window on one of the top floors, I could see the main plaza. Those four little booths, that I spent god knows how many thousands of hours in, were staring back at me from hundreds of feet below. I was about to shoot live television on one of the biggest shows in the world. Returning to that job was now impossible.

Whatever you do, do it as well as you can. If I hadn’t been a model employee in so many facets of the job, I would have never gotten away with all the favors I received. On more than one occasion, when my boss told me that I couldn’t get time off, I looked directly at them and said, “Then fire me.” They caved. Every time. Yes, I was that Shrekkin good at selling tickets to muggles. 

In closing, I am taking this move to be a big one. I promised myself that would be my last day job and I’m going to do everything in my power to sustain that truth. There will be moments of scarcity, of fear, of gut-wrenching anxiety, but in the end, I’m more prepared than ever. 

I know how to sell tickets. But from now on, I’ll only be selling them to my own shows. And that’s a wrap on Universal Studios Hollywood: The Entertainment Capital of LA. I’m clocked out.