Hello. I am Dan Eastman

01/12/2012: A Weird Day

I woke up early around 9am with anticipation of the show eating away at my gut. I was anxious but not nervous. I was prepared. I’d gone over my material several times and then some. It was the second time I’d be opening for Dave Hill. After falling flat a year ago, I practiced harder and pushed myself to be funnier. I could not have been more ready.

Around 11:30am, I receive a Facebook friend request from a familiar name. I hadn’t seen the name in years but it stayed fresh with me. My father, who I haven’t seen since age six, was attempting to contact me. I’d wondered for years what would happen if he were to come back into my life. After all, he just upped and left without explanation. Would I freak out in a shitstorm of emotional outpouring? I thought I’d have to ponder forever when I had nothing better to think about (eg. Breaking Bad, George Saunders, selection of lunchtime hoagie, etc.) but here it was, the moment of truth.

At first I wanted to just totally lose all of my shit and freak out on him. However, before a complete loss of shit, I made the relatively level-headed decision to check out his profile a bit. I find a haggard, balding 40-something looking fat but strung out, wearing a tattered Harley Davidson t-shirt. Under education it read: “Jefferson County Jail ‘10”. Yeah, so cool. It seemed too pathetic to even poke fun of. That was until I noticed the message he attached to the friend request: “just wanna see what a loser u r”.

I could let it slide, I thought. I’ve been called worse by people way more successful than he’ll ever be. As far as I’m concerned he’s just a piece of shit on the internet looking for attention. I can just let it go. “Hold the fuck on,” a devil on my shoulder hissed in my ear. “This piece of shit is your father. You two have a connection. You can ruin him!” It’s on motherfucker! And I did what any man would do:

I called my mom.

“Mom, look, my dad contacted me. I need the dirt. Gimme all the dirt.” After explaining that “the dirt” was code for harmful information that can ruin his reputation, she proceeded to give me the dirt. As it turns out, my father doesn’t really have a reputation to ruin as a result of too much dirt. The reason he left all those years ago is because he was going to jail for multiple DUI offenses. He’d also been charged with rape, spend time in a mental institution, and had several illegitimate children from multiple women, one of which I remember: a baby girl whose mother was on so many drugs during pregnancy that she was born without thumbs. He used to tease her and call her Thumbelina. I don’t remember her real name.

I went back to the internet to respond to the message: “I will not accept your stupid Facebook friend request. I don’t associate with filthy rapist criminals, stupid. Why don’t you go to the trash because you are garbage. No wait, why don’t you go jump in a toilet because you are shit. No wait, why don’t you go back to Jefferson County Jail? Yeeah! You need to know two things about my life, I’m successful and you’re not going to be involved with it.” And then I blocked him so he couldn’t respond to ensure I got the last word in, which was great.

Not five minutes later, I receive a link to a write-up from BiteTV for their Comedy Spotlight. It would have been cool to send in the Facebook message but I’d already moved on. This was an incredible feeling.

Around 7:30pm, I’m in the dressing room with Dave and Nikki basically getting into my own head before the show. I would be lying if the word “loser” wasn’t lingering on my mind now. I could go out there and let this guy win. I could let the memory of my bombing last year come back to haunt me. Or I could just go out there and make something good happen. When Corey, the booker, introduced me I basically started shitting my pants through the first minute of my set. Then I sort of blacked out and started running on instinct.

8:20pm. I get off stage and run out back. My mouth is dry. My head is spinning. I go outside with Corey. “That was awesome,” he tells me. People approach me after the show for my information. “Dude! I don’t wanna sound gay or nothin’, but can I get a picture with you?” High fives and handshakes abound. I recall doing poorly at open mics and it was worth it. Butch women have threatened to murder me and called me the N-word. But it made me better. I have never had more fun in comedy than Thursday, January 12th, 2012.

After the crowd finally filed out, I went to Wawa for ice cream because I won.