It's been one week since I moved into this carpeted one-bedroom apartment in an unfamiliar part of Hollywood. The first seven days has had its ups, downs and now diagonals. I can't figure these streets out.

"Where am I?" I scream to page 365 of the Thomas Guide, as I drive to pick my girlfriend up from her job. "Oh, there it is." It won't be so hard next time, she drove herself to work this morning.As far as getting to a stage, I've not gotten very far. One comedy club has an open mic that's run by a comic friend from New York. She invited me to come back every Wednesday. So that day is covered, but what about the other six days?One of the big comedy clubs here has an open mic lottery that's done every week. Here's how it goes. Sign up's at six o'clock and the lottery starts at half past six. It was unusually cold that Sunday night. I found a seat outside after I put my name on a long list of comedians(everything's done outside, no one let's comics in until they absolutely have to). I'm the thirty-fifth one to sign up and I heard that the club only gives out twenty spots. Some comics were dressed up with wigs and flashy clothes. Others brought their prop suitcase.

I remembered what it was like to go to open mics and try to establish myself as a working comic. It was easy to remember, it's happening all over again.6:30 rolls around. A guy emerges from the front door and shouts for everyone to listen for their name.

"Never stand behind me again!" he yells at one comic. It was awkward until I realized that these guys show up every week to get a spot and everyone knows everyone. The crowd of now 40-plus gathers closely to listen. The first name is called and a starry-eyed comic sticks his hand in a bucket, a la Flash Gordon, and pulls out a ticket, hoping there's a number on it. No such luck. He draws a blank and leaves. This will continue until all twenty numbers are pulled from the bucket. I'm recognized by a guy from an open mic earlier in the week. He gives advice on the bucket.

"Feel for the used ones," he whispers. My name is called and I grab what feels like "used". I now have the eighth spot next Sunday. My new friend draws a blank. He leaves without saying good-bye. Seems like I've been to a thousand open mics, with minimal stage time. Ground work is being laid. I'm meeting people and have been booked to host and do spots for a few shows. Hanging out seems to be the route to take. I'm going to have to settle for one spot a night, if I'm lucky.

The drive to anywhere is awful and draining. By the time I arrive, wait for my turn and get back into the car, I'm spent. In New York, spot-hopping was easy, and three spots a night was not unusual.

From what I've seen so far in LA, comics go to one place and hang there for the rest of the night. I should have bought a tent and a sleeping bag. I did see one show worth mentioning. Doug Benson, of Marijuana-Logues fame, hosts a show called "The Interruption." He hosts all night and sits off to the side of the stage and interrupts the comics with his own off-stage mic banter.

The night we saw it, Gregg Proops, Patton Oswalt, Jackie Kashian, and Andy Kindler were on it. It's a great show. I recommend seeing it at M Bar when you're in town.