This week I'm heading to Boston University, Madison and then Green Bay. And I'm just starting to come to grips with a show I did a few weeks ago, which I'd like to call "the cancer show incident." It all started when I was asked to perform at a children's' charity Golf Tournament in New Jersey. So I said yes, because secretly I enjoy golfing and so does my brother, Joe Bags, who is America's guest.

So we show up at the golf course bright and early and we're met by the guy who had booked me. So I ask him a little about the event, trying to feel out whether it's going to be a tough gig. Let me preface this by saying that I love my job. I thank Allah every day that I can tell jokes for a living. But once in a while I am put in a situation that doesn't help the cause of making people laugh. Whether it's a bad sound system or I'm following a juggling goat, I'm always wary of situations where I walk up on stage and I don't stand a chance. So I say to the guy, what kind of show is it that I'm a part of and he says "Well, there are a few speakers, and then the golf awards, and then you." And I'm a little concerned about the part when he says "a few speakers," because that could really be anything. But I say ok and we go play golf. And the whole day in the cart we kind of bounce jokes back and forth about golf that I could do in the show. And I'm feeling pretty good, and after golf, we head over to the clubhouse for the event, and this is when the trouble begins.

So Joe and I are sitting in the back of the room as the first speaker is introduced. She is a woman whose son died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome at the age of 5 months. Now let me be very clear that I am not making fun of this woman. As a matter of fact, it's one of my greatest fears in life is that I'm holding a baby and the baby just dies and everyone's like "Mike killed the baby." But it is also one of my greatest fears to have to perform comedy to an audience who has just heard a woman give a speech about her son who died from SIDS. Now I hate to say it, but it gets much worse. The next speaker is an 11-year-old boy with leukemia. And guess what, he's not doing his best five minutes on panda bears and his wacky brother who sells his kitchenware on Ebay. As a matter of fact, he focused on his recovering from leukemia bit. So at this point Joe looks over at me as though I've just been diagnosed with leukemia and says, "this ain't lookin' so good." But it gets much worse. Because the last speaker to get up is Phil Simms, beloved New York Giants Hall Of Famer and network television broadcaster. Simms gets up and gives the most charming, heart-warming and funny address; he also tells a couple of jokes about golf while he's at it, mostly the same ones that Joe and I had written earlier that day. It was like watching the last drops of water spill out of my joke canteen. And at the end of his speech, there is a standing ovation, and of course there is, it's clearly the end of the night. Certainly, there couldn't be someone more famous than super bowl champion quarterback Phil Simms. But wait, there was. It was unknown comedian Mike Birbiglia, who HAD NO BUSINESS BEING AT THIS EVENT. So after Simms, three quarters of the audience just gets up and leaves, as they should have, leaving 45 people left in a room that fits about 300. Why do they stay? Because after the unknown comedian, there is a raffle. Well, desperate situations call for desperate measures. So did Mike Birbiglia rise to the occasion? Oh no, he didn't. As a matter of fact, he slipped into his trademark move of making awkward situations even more awkward. About five minutes into his set, he meandered into material about his first sexual experience in high school, the one where the girl he was dating whispered in his ear "rape me" and he didn't know what to do because he hadn't even had sex regular. Needless to say, this joke was way over the head of 11-year-old leukemia survivor sitting in the front row. A little free advice for any aspiring comics out there, when you're performing for a Children's Charity, stay away from jokes that have the words "rape me" in them.

About 11 minutes into my 20 minute-set, I threw in the towel. I walked off and I don't know if I've ever been more embarrassed. I said "Joe, we're leaving." And that's when Joe said "I can't Mike. They're just about to start the raffle and since everybody left, my odds are amazing." So I waited in the car alone. Twenty minutes later Joe Bags arrived with his arms full of raffle prizes. He had a Merino Wool Sweater, a dozen golf balls, and a Callaway umbrella. So I guess we both got something after all. Joe got some new items for EBAY and I got this story.

That concludes this entry in my Secret Public Journal.

Dear Journal,

I just got back from Salt Lake City, Utah. I'm not sure you can spend time in Salt Lake City without giving some thought to organized religion, because it's 40% Mormon, and those people are very organized. I had heard some interesting things about Salt Lake City before visiting, and it turns out, most of those things are true.

Like for example, you can't just go to a bar, but you have to sign in at bars with a membership as though you're joining a private club. This, of course, means that you can't drown your sorrows in liquor without first signing your name on a piece of paper, which is perhaps a subtle way of encouraging you to drown your sorrows in a little drink called Jesus. I was raised Catholic. I went to Catholic grade school where I developed an acute sense of guilt and an extensive collection of plaid ties. I was an altar boy, but not in the way you're thinking. A lot of people are bitter at the Catholic Church for the molestations. I'm more bitter about the fundraisers. Because every year, they would make us go door to-door to strangers' homes with a cardboard suitcase full of knick-knacks like potholders and piggy banks and letter openers. And if we sold enough, they gave us a pair of aviator sunglasses. The Catholic Church was like my knick-knacks pimp. So I would go door to door, and the problem was that the stuff had been so carefully placed in the suitcase that once I was in the stranger's house and had taken the stuff out, there was no way I could fit them back in. So here I am in their living room, desperately trying to fit the knick-knacks back in the suitcase, and I'm apologizing, and I end up being there so long that they would molest me out of boredom. Plus, my aviator sunglasses broke in like a week. So thanks for nothing, Jesus!

That being said, I was very involved with the church during grade school, and I think I OD'd because in high school I went through my atheist phase, which is just as annoying as any religious phase. Atheists can go either way. I've met great ones but I've also met those annoying ones who take that higher ground, like "ever read a science book, man?"� like people who go to church are so stupid that they skipped their 9^th grade requirements to go on a 6 month-long novena. Of all the religious groups, I think atheists get the worst rap in the media. If the news runs a human interest piece on a tragedy, they'll say "Molly Simmons was a mother of 4, and a devout catholic who went to church every Sunday."� But if the person's an atheist, they don't say "Bill Johnson was a great atheist. He didn't believe in an afterlife, but it sure seemed like he did, "˜cause he was so nice."�

So I went through my atheist phase and then when I was 19, I found out that I had a tumor in my bladder. And when you find out something like that, you start believing in anything. You're like "Hello? Jesus? Buddha? Mohammed? I got a situation over here. I know that I just went through my atheist phase, but if you remember, when I was in 4^th grade I sold all those "Kiss the Cook"� pot holders and Daffy Duck pencil sharpeners and my aviator sunglasses only worked for a week, so I'm gonna need a hook-up."� Fortunately, Jesus/Buddha/Mohammed heard my request and after the tumor was taken out, it didn't recur.

So here I am now, somewhere in between. My gut reaction to Mormonism is that it's kind of funny. They have special underwear for different rituals. They eat green jello. They're always on the lookout for "the devil."� But the people in Salt Lake were some of the nicest I've met, so whatever color jello they want to eat is cool with me. I like pink jello and would eat pizza from a gas station. That doesn't make me a freak. When I die, I just hope they say "Mike Birbiglia wasn't sure about his religion, but he wore special sweat-resistant underwear when he played tennis, he briefly owned a pair of aviator sunglasses, and he was so nice."� That concludes this week's entry in my Secret Public Journal.