CHRIS ROCK ENJOYING THE RIDE; THE EMMYS, THE SPECIALS, THE MOVIE ROLES ... IT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE A YOUNG COMIC WORRIED.

Byline: Chuck Barney Knight-Ridder Tribune News Wire

Chris Rock is on a roll.

The gravel-voiced comedian seems to be everywhere these days - pushing his new book (``Rock This''), riding high after stints on the Emmys and the MTV Video Music Awards, cranking out his hilarious HBO show, pitching Nikes as the voice for Li'l Penny, and (just recently) sealing a seven-figure deal to star in ``Lethal Weapon 4.''

It's a jaw-dropping winning streak remarkable even by Hollywood's jaded standards. And it's a pretty heady stuff for a high-school dropout from Brooklyn who, only 12 years ago, stacked dishes as a busboy for Red Lobster.

But Rock, 32, is doing his best to keep his vision in focus and his head from bloating. The way he sees it, the pressure is on.

``Everyone's saying, `He's the funniest. Oh, he's the coolest,' he says in a phone conversation from his Manhattan office. ``But once you start doing something that's well perceived, you gotta keep doing it. You gotta deliver. You gotta be this new Chris Rock guy. Now, if I fall, it's going to be a long, hard fall, baby.''

Career dive

It wasn't long ago that Rock thought he might be washed up. He had enjoyed a three-year tour of duty on ``Saturday Night Live'' (1990-93) but was unable to parlay it into rousing success. Last April, he disgustedly left William Morris and was dismayed to find that no other agency would take him on.

``I had my chances with `Saturday Night Live' and other things, but for whatever reason I hadn't clicked,'' he says. ``When you're the black guy on `Saturday Night Live,' you get compared to Eddie Murphy. If you don't live up to that standard, people view your tenure as a failure. There was that perception out there, so I had to dig myself out of a hole.''

And dig he did - honing his ferocious, tell-it-like-it-is approach and earning two Emmys for last year's HBO special ``Bring the Pain.'' Suddenly, he is very now. Suddenly, everyone wants a piece of the Rock.

``I feel a little like Keith Hernandez on the cover of Sports Illustrated back in 1979,'' says Rock, a passionate sports fan. ``The headline said something like `What is THIS guy doing hitting .344?' ''

Hernandez was a veteran St. Louis infielder in the midst of a breakout season. He had never produced a batting average that high before and never did again. ``I think about that cover once in a while,'' Rock says. ``It's just like, one day: pow! I became the guy. But I'm going to try to stay up there a little longer than he did.''

Rock, however, knows how flighty fame can be. He talks about Hernandez, who later had a cocaine problem. He mentions the flash-and-fizzle show-biz career of Jimmy Walker. He wants to stay sharp. He wants to stay humble.

``I get offered things, but I'm wary. I don't believe it until it happens,'' he says. ``Take the `Lethal Weapon' thing. I could wake up tomorrow and some new guy I never heard of can be hot. And, all of a sudden, Warner Bros. is singing up him to be in their `Lethal Weapon' movie.''

Enjoying himself

He believes some kind of fall is inevitable.

``Oh, it's gonna happen. No doubt,'' he says. ``And I understand that. I don't kid myself. I just hope it isn't as dramatic or as swift as the rise.''

For now, Rock is getting a kick out of it all. Amid the swirl of his breakout year, he married UNICEF worker Maalak Compton (``wanted some order in my life. She calmed me down.'') and he bought his mom a home in Myrtle Beach, S.C.

The eldest of seven children, Rock grew up in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn. His father Julius, who died of an ulcer in 1989, drove a truck for a New York daily. So newspapers were plentiful around the Rock home, and much of the comedian's material was forged by the headlines. It's a scathing, thought-provoking brand of humor that expounds on the African-American experience in a way that plays to the mainstream.

``Good comedy should cross lines,'' he says. ``White people like Bill Cosby, and black people think Rodney Dangerfield is hilarious. Funny is funny. It's not like music with the black charts and the white charts.''

How much has his life changed since the arrival of newfound fame? Not much, he insists.

``Nothing's really all that different. I still go to Knicks games. I just sit in better seats,'' he says. ``I still eat the same amount of food. I just get it at better restaurants.''

Yet, Rock maintains that he'll always remain hungry - hungry to keep writing good material and working on the projects he relishes. Asked if there was anything he wouldn't pitch and he answers, ``Maxi pads, man. No way would I be good at that.''

He also has no desire to do a sitcom, although he gets lucrative offers all the time.

``Yeah, we've got a show for you,'' he says, imitating a producer. ``It's like, `OK, you're a school teacher. ... You're a bus driver. ... You're a bartender

' Uh, no thanks. Not right now. I can be like Dan Aykroyd and do that later in my career.''

Disney even approached him about being the voice for a gorilla in its upcoming animated Tarzan feature - an offer Rock found insulting.

``I was like, I don't want to be a monkey. They couldn't understand why not. That's where they're living.''

Rock, however, is interested in feature films. He recently finished writing a romantic comedy called ``Nice Guys Finish Last.'' It's a project he'd like to star in and direct.

And he insists he will never forsake the craft of stand-up comedy. It's what launched his career, and it's what kept him afloat during the lean times.

``No matter what happens, I'm going to continue to so stand-up,'' he says. ``Mark that down. It doesn't matter how big or small I get. I'll tour. I'll be like the Grateful Dead of comedy.''

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Photo: `Nothing's really all that different. I still go to Knicks games. I just sit in better seats. I still eat the same amount of food. I just get it at better restaurants.'

Chris Rock