People say, You must have been the class clown. And I say, No, I wasn't. But I sat next to the class clown, and I studied him.

Thursdays at Bunker Hills golf course is, by far, the most hated night of the week among every employee, no matter what the position. This is due to the combination of the three most obnoxious leagues to ever smack a ball around with a stick.

Those leagues are:

1. Ladies League - This is the most reviled league among all the waitress' because for some scientific reason, females have embedded in their DNA a passionate desire to destroy one another. In this instance, they choose to act hostile and extremely difficult*and spew forth complaints both ridiculous ("That man just swore. I shouldn't be forced to put up with this ear pollution!") and impossible-to-achieve threats ("I'm going to buy this entire place so I can fire you and then sell it back!")
2. The Summit Guys - These are some old farts who enter the bar around seven or eight, grab a pitcher of Summit, and proceed to drain and refill the same pitcher over the next three hours as they solve the worlds problems and refuse to leave at the end of the night, because apparently, they don't have their own garages to hang out it.
3. The Snakes - I shouldn't have to elaborate any further than the simple that they're a golf league that calls themselves "The Snakes." If you just pictured a polo-wearing, chest-bumping, Anderson account nailing, Citron Red Bull swilling douchebag parade that despite any success or talent they may have, you still pretty much get the impression they're just playing house -- you're not wrong.

The saving grace of Thursday nights is after the pro-shop closes, one of the employee's heads over for dinner with his wife. They're a pretty cool couple around my age, the kind of couple that I'd want to double with in the event of a woman deciding that she's lowered her standards so much there's just no possible way of going back. In the meantime, I spend a majority of my time talking to them, joking, and so on and so forth.

About a month or so back, I said something hilarious** and the wife laughed very hard, and afterwards she said, "Have you ever thought about being an actor? You're very funny!"

Two thoughts occurred to me that Thursday:

THOUGHT NUMBER ONE
Holy shit! I've been working here six months, and these people, whom I see pretty much everyday, barely know me! They have no idea I'm an actor/writer.

THE MORE IMPORTANT THOUGHT NUMBER TWO
Holier shit! I've been here six months! My Getting-Back-On-My-Feet job has knocked me off my feet in the other direction! I don't think I am an actor/writer anymore! I go to the BNW now, and say "Oh, another Josh." NOT "ANOTHER" JOSH! I was the first Josh! THE Josh! I kicked off the whole Josh epidemic!

That was the night I decided that it was time for me to get back in the game.

Soon after that, I had lined up three auditions for myself:

1. Seasons Dinner Theatre
   What happens to a golf course during blizzard season? They put on self-written holiday musicals. The few co-workers who knew of my creative past kept insisting I try out, but I refused, due to the musicalness and the whole churchy feel the posters gave me. However, after being informed of the pay rate and that the majority of drinks served during the shows are Brandy Alexanders and Pink Squirrels and various other bullshit blender concoctions. Dude, fuck blenders - I'll dance your dance.
2. Six Ring Circus
   I missed being able to perform regularly, and Six Ring has improved dramatically since I was first a member five years ago. And, on the plus side, maybe I'll accidentally learn to be a team player.
3. Tony and Tina's Wedding
   The interactive juggernaut (Which I've never actually seen) was coming back to the Twin Cities. I had improv experience. I'd get to be the loud, obnoxious at the party and get paid for it. And this is a situation where The Mascot Rule applies, and I can pretty much get away with anything. And the last time this show was in town, it ran, every night, for twenty-eight years or something.

And then I attended the first auditions I've been too since college. I recited monologues (From my own shows. Don't let this slight ambition fool you, I'm still lazy). I sang a little ditty from The Music Man (My go-to musical theatre number, because it's basically talking fast, and they refuse to hold these auditions at a karaoke night).

I approached these auditions with my time-tested and slightly proven secrets of success:

• Throw enough shit at the wall, eventually something will stick.
• Double-book yourself so you're later forced to make an awkward decision that'll screw somebody over, but at least you're covered.

I found out that I was returning to Six Ring the night of the initial audition, and that's been going well, even though the number one note I receive*** is to not be onstage as much as I am, it's been going very well.

For the other two, there was a waiting game, and multiple callbacks.

First, I got into the Christmas musical. As a lead. A romantic lead. With my face. In a musical. About Christmas. Where there's singing, and I'm not playing the Mute King, or the anvil salesman whose only in the first and last ten minutes of the three-hour show.

I had to delay my acceptance, as I had a callback for Tony and Tina. Then after the first callback, I had another callback.

Then, last Thursday, I got the call telling me that I will, indeed, be spending a majority of 2009 at a wedding reception. And, given the timeline of rehearsals and openings, I didn't really double-book myself, since there was no conflict.

Starting in Mid-October, I'll either be in rehearsal for, performing, or doing both everyday until about Mid-January.

And just like that -- I'm a professional actor again.

So, hip wife, answering your question from a month and a half ago, "Yes, I've thought about it. And I'm going to do it. And I'm doing it."

Whatever game we're playing, I'm back in it.

And don't call it a comeback, I've been here for -- aw, fuck that, no I haven't, it's a comeback.

*Except for one group I call my Cougar Club. They are wonderful and can teach me any lessons they want whenever they want.
** I mean, obviously, my mouth was open.
*** And then ignore.