air: “I date this girl for two years—and then the nagging starts: ‘I wanna know your name.’”4 This was my life. Telling sophomoric jokes with other irresponsible humans (aka comedians). Each weekend, I was in a new seedy little bar doing my shtick—a word used only by my mother and other people in their 70s to describe what a comedian does. The depression overwhelmed me. I bet that more people pray in comedy clubs than we realize. (You would have if you had seen my act in those days.) While I sat in