Sunday, February 12, 2017

February 12, 2017

Dear Diary,

I couldn't get to sleep at all last night, which is odd because usually I take the Lorazepam with dinner at 6:30 and that knocks me out for the night.  I started out just fine, but right in the middle of a good dream, for some reason, my eyes shot open at around 11 PM and I couldn't get back to sleep.  It was a good dream, too.  One of those old MGM musicals, on a big stage with lots of flying carpets, bearded arab princes in flowing robes and maybe a hundred dancing girls in lacy jodhpur outfits just like Barbara Eden wore in "I Dream of Jeannie."  You know the ones where you can see their belly buttons?  I love those!

I tossed and turned, but for the life of me I couldn't get back to sleep.  No matter what I tried, Mister Sandman was not cooperating.  Even when I tried my "alternative method," it was a no go, so after 25 minutes and wearing out two "D" batteries, I just gave up and turned on the TV.  And you know what?  Saturday Night Live was on!  I had no idea that show was still around!  So I toweled off, fluffed up my pillow, and settled in for a couple of good laughs.

I must have been watching for about twenty minutes, when I noticed that none of my favorites were in any of the sketches.  Unless I blacked out for a second, I don't believe I saw Dan Aykroyd, Chevy Chase or Jane Curtain.  No Gilda Radner or John Belushi at all.  I had to check the TV Guide to make sure I was watching the right show!  Bill and I love Bill Murray doing his Nick Rails lounge routine, but last night, all I saw were heavily made-up people running around pretending to be Sean Spicer or anyone else CNN hates other people in the news.

I have to admit, I was perplexed.  I'm beginning to think that maybe all those funny "Not Ready for Prime Time" players I grew up with have been replaced, which would be a real shame, because the substitutes they had last night were definitely not ready for prime time.  I didn't laugh once, and believe me, I can be pretty funny myself. Huma used to laugh at my jokes all the time.

Even when Bill saw what was on TV, he sort of scratched his head like a confused monkey, trying to figure out the jokes.  He wanted to see Garrett Morris, who I didn't remember.  Bill said he was the black guy who sang opera and did a funny bit about baseball, but since I'm not a sports nut, it didn't ring a bell.

By midnight, Bill threw in the towel, sprayed on some Axe and skipped out of the room, telling me not to wait up.  I guess I just drifted off after that.  I mean, how many times can you watch Alec Baldwin pretending to be Carrot Head? It was a real yawner.  See what I did there? Trouble sleeping?  Yawner?

I have to tell you, dear diary, last night was definitely a wake up call for me. See what I did there? I had trouble sleeping, so I had a wake up call.  Now that's funny.  Maybe I should send that one into Saturday Night Live.  You know, just to help out.

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