I am back from my first trip to glorious Bend, OR, where I went on a comedy pilgrimage to see Emo Philips. Although it took seven hours to drive there and back, and we got pulled over in Redmond for looking weird, and we had curly fries and vodka for dinner, and we sat with a retiree couple who were just glad to be out of the house, we knew it was all worth it when the emcee took the stage and said “I’ll bet you can’t wait for your headliner, Elmo Philips!”
Emo is, dare I say it, even more dashing at 50 than he was at 30, and his jokes are as surreal and mean-spirited as ever. He has gained approximately 3 pounds, so you can no longer see his hipbones rub together when he walks. He was kind enough to chat with us in greenroom afterwards, although I mostly just talked nonsense at him. I’m petitioning to bring him to Portland in July for a show. He’s aching to join us in our pinko outcast majesty, and I believe he has an inkling that he might well serve as our king.