What's new?

New, new, what's new...

• I've just posted a new blog entry at HumorMeComedy.com about Open Mike Night experiences.
• My brother is ailing, has taken a recent turn for the worse. I hope he's back in the pink soon. He's a good guy who had enough trouble before crippling pain and disability threw gravel under his skateboard. Things like this are the reason that if there was an omnipotent God and I could meet him on the street, I'd kick him in the nuts.
• My son has started soccer practice, with his first game next week.
• I'm considering replacing my digital camera, which is several years old.

Long weekend

I had a good weekend.

I busted out housework like it was going out of style. I'm usually pretty good about that, but I went above and beyond this weekend.

I feel bad for my poor wife. She's had a nasty two weeks, pushing herself through a terrible cold and crippling backache. A new schedule and maybe too strenuous a pace could be forcing her to take it easy for a change. I tried to help out so she could slip into a lower gear, but she's still burning some oil. I hope she feels better soon.

I do wish I'd spent more time with my son. I flipped between two modes: busy as hell and fairly exhausted. Neither really made for excellent parenting modes. The boy was happy enough doing his own thing, but I can do a better job.

Big Day

I woke up this morning with the realization that today is my son's first day of kindergarten. It was no surprise and the anticipation hasn't really affected me in the preceding days, other than logistical concerns involving who drives where and when.

Still, as I opened my eyes I had the distinct sensation of a roller coaster car reaching the final, clanking, uphill procession, and that of a passenger looking down at an unstoppable, exponentially speedy trip down a nearly incomprehensible and frightening series of twists, loops, volcanic leaps and stomach-torquing drops.

Here we go. Too late to get off now. And breakfast isn't sitting so well at the moment.

Head cold

I have a cold, which is turning out to be a real family heirloom. My son gave it to his momma, who gave it to me. My wife is suffering from it much more than I, sadly. I have a low-impact job indoors, and have been careful to take lots of water, and lay off the sauce. My woman, on the other hand, appears unable or unwilling to take it easy, and suffers from headaches, backache, chest and head congestion and general malaise. Sucks!

The first Open Mike I've run

Last week I ran an Open Mike Night at "The 19th Hole" in Avery, CA, the first time I've done so. I've performed at them several times now, but this was my first time being responsible for the whole thing - the equipment, the tone, the promotion. And it was a total blast.

I rushed over directly from work, set up my equipment and got started. I introduced myself and the concept open mikes in general. I did about 5 minutes of my material and it was very well received. It's true that several people in the audience were friends and acquaintances of mine, and I know that buddy-laughs are different than stranger-laughs. Still, laughs are laughs, and they sounded genuine to me. An even stronger confirmation of their legitimacy was the fact that some gags fell a bit flat - not a night of bombs by any means, but the crowd provided enough variation in response that I knew the laughter wasn't simply Pavlovian, "that's my buddy up there" giggles, generated to save my feelings.

Beyond the reception of my own material, the night started off a bit slowly. It appears that open mikes and down-to-earth performance art in general are pretty novel here, and I could sense the crowd's uncertainty as to what this production was going to look like. That's part of the reason I explained (and will continue to explain) what open mikes are about. I think it helps to get the uninitiated up to speed. But the evening rolled along, and I was proud of myself: I trod a careful line between cajoling the hesitant attendees and acknowledging the awkwardness that is natural to approaching a microphone.

Unfortunately, there are precious few (maybe none at all) aspiring comedians in this area, and no musicians saw fit to attend, either. So, talent was a little on the lean side, and our only hope for entertainment, aside from me, was to get the crowd involved. If there was one angel of mercy in this regard, it was an elderly woman named Liena. After my repeated prodding of the crowd to take a whack at it, she finally took the mike - she utterly mangled a street joke that began: "Okay, there's this eye-talian guy..."

Although it didn't end up being an ethnic slur, it sure started out like one, and this bold start from a frail old granny was ideal for breaking the ice! After her, there was a steady stream of participants; it not only provided a quantity and diversity of material, I could feel the audience become invested in the show, as their friends bought into it and supported their cohorts.

By the end of the show, everyone was loose and there was a definite buzz in the air. Even the shyest person in attendance had shuffled up to the mike to share a funnier-than-expected story about his near-death experience, falling out of a fishing boat in full gear. All my trepidation at this new experience had morphed into exhilaration as the evening was as much a success as I could have asked for. Three nights from now I get to do it all over again, and I can't wait.

I've gotta write some new material!

An evening of foxes and fires

With the windows open during summer's muggy stifle, my wife and I heard the chickens muttering unusually loudly and nervously outside. For the second time in a week, I crept my chubby frame onto the creaking deck and caught sight of a fox making his skulking retreat into the back 40. For the second time in a week, I wished I'd had my rifle handy for procuring a new pelt.

Minutes later, my wife and I posted a leisurely watch overlooking the sloping back yard. While I sipped refreshing adult beverages and adopted an appropriately reverent and blissful state of mind, I caught the distinct aroma of smoke on the wind, and remarked that someone was burning wood out there. Not long after, smoke billowed from just beyond the adjacent hillside, and several CDF aircraft swung circle after circle over the point of what was enough of a blaze to close the nearby road and prompt my wife and I to calculate how long it would take to load horses and dogs and make a getaway.

In the end, the fire was snuffed out without further event. All's well that ends well.

... ten minutes ago, I faced down a rattlesnake. He got away.

Another quiet night in the country...

HumorMeComedy.com

I've been applying my efforts for several weeks now, building a labor of love website devoted to stand up comedy in my region: HumorMeComedy.com. I've been irretrievably snagged on the decision of where to blog about its progress. Do I blog events and thoughts here, in my personal blog? Create a new blogspot blog? Create a blog at the website itself?

Blogging at the website itself is reasonable in the sense that blog entries refer to behind the scenes viewpoints about the site and regional comedy. Unfortunately, it would amount to content about the site, not about comedy, and therefore wouldn't belong on the site, in my estimation.

Second, I've got enough unloved blogspot blogs already - one more littering the place would only embarass me as more evidence that I start and don't finish things.

Blogging here is imperfect as well, as the topic just seems more rightly placed elsewhere. Hmph.

As is my nature, I dithered and did nothing. That's never good. Certainly here is better than nowhere, so I'll start here.

Goodbye Michael Jackson. Close the door on your way out, willya?

Michael Jackson died this week, and in my sphere of awareness there were yawns all around. Was this guy relevant anymore? Was he ever? The answer is yes, but not in my world. Not at all.

And what of some of my favorite (some former) comedians? Nothing from their collective websites. How will I know what to think, if they don't tell me? The answer: see previous paragraph.

I've heard a few overwrought tributes about how people will listen to his music forever, and that his effect on music will be nigh-eternal. There's a whisper in my ear that a guilt-ridden public are over-eulogizing a very creative artist that they cheered, and cheered for different reasons even as his fame rose like a wave to wash him farther and farther from normalcy and the human experience. Now that he's gone, they realize he'll never regain his former glory, and they'll never be able to apologize for the sickening tabloid muck pit that they herded him into.

Yeah - maybe saying nice things now that he's dead will level the scales of inequity regarding the rise and fall of public figures. That way, we can hurry on to the next celebrity flame-out with what passes for a clear conscience.

Four A.M., really?

What the Hell is it with waking up at 4am lately? What am I, in the Army, I gotta wake up at four? Shit. Have I got crops in the field that need tending, is that it?

I slowed down on the beer so I could get some decent sleep, and now I'm surfacing from the depths of slumber at four in the goddamned morning. I'm with Marc Maron on this one: "What the fuck?? This is bullshit!!"

"Sucks to your ass-mar!"

I just finished reading "Lord of the Flies" by William Golding. The title of this blog is Ralph's mispronounced and reflexive rebuke of Piggy's asthma, an excuse for not being more involved in physical endeavors of survival on the island. It cracks me up, and I immediately adopted it into my own lexicon as a general reproof.

I like that the book has so many allegories and ironies in such a short book. Some are approachable and easily picked out, some not. I can see why it is popular as required reading.

I am... Superman

I just realized something about myself, and it's taken some getting used to. I'm Superman.

I know; I didn't believe it either at first, but I've proven it. For example: I'm looking for my shoes this morning, and I look where they belong, right next to the bed. Nothing. I go to look in the living room, fail, come back, and there they are, right next to the bed! Another example: the sugar bowl is running low, and I know we have a bag in the refrigerator, from which I can fill it. I looked on every shelf of the fridge three times, moved things around, and fully explored the 18 cubic feet of this unit, top to bottom. I ask my wife, she tells me where it is, and >poof< there it is.

Clearly, I have X-ray vision. In the space of two days, I have looked completely through two solid objects! Now, if I can just control it, I'll really have something.

Look! Up in the sky! It's a dork! It's a dipshit! No, it's Clueless Man!!

An excellent problem

Exactly a week from now, I am faced with the slightly embarassing luxury of an entire day devoted to my own enjoyment. After performing the minor miracle of arranging weekend days off for this major event in a minor life, I have before me the pleasant task of devising an itinerary, its only purpose to maximize my own gratification and the celebration of my birth.

My feeble imagination has only cranked out two desires so far: French food early, and stand up comedy late. The French food we've got covered, with A Taste of Brittany's website advertising an early opening for breakfasts and lunch, and yesterday's e-mail Newsletter, in an intriguing coincidence, advertising a new chef and menu starting on the very day I'll be there. It's like they knew, and are celebrating my birthday with me! Okay, maybe it's not, but life is more fun with your own, willing hallucinations. Ask the religious, they'll tell you.

Stand up comedy is providing its own challenge. There's an attractive show at Modesto's Fat Cat on Saturday, but Friday night is really the preferred night. Pepperbellys in Fairfield has a show, but distance and a cool regard for that night's show disqualify it from the running. Regular shows by Laugh Track Live at Stockton's The Matinee "are on summer vacation." Nothing going on at "The Grand" (not that night, nor damned little besides) in Tracy, which is troublingly distant and traffic-choked anyway, especially anticipating a Friday night. Nothing at the Aqua. Damn!

I don't imagine I'll have a birthday party, I am a little sad to say. I have yet to figure out the alchemy of a) distance of attendees, b) cost, c) effort, d) certainty of a good time and e) my own random mood. The essence of this decision is that I'll be much happier bird-dogging my own good time. I'm odd, and sometimes can't just sit without worrying that others aren't enjoying themselves. Very odd.

I am pessimistically searching for other options, both for comedy (comedy clubs in the area but not mentioned above would be great) and for fun-loving in general. Creative ideas for spending the day are eagerly solicited.

Beer is an inferior intoxicant

It's been too long since I've written anything. Pardon me while yank some malformed, misshapen thoughts out of my head:

I'm so bored with beer. It's just lost all its promise and mystery for me. To examine the reasons, I start with the mystery:

I must acknowledge the zero-sum game inherent in its intoxicating effects. Every evening (or early afternoon, as it happens) the decision to imbibe is necessarily accompanied in a mature person by another decision, that of sacrificing the following morning's sense of wellness for the revelry of today. While that has a certain fatalist, write-a-bad-check appeal to it, I am sick of the bargain. I am coming to realize that the sensation of waking up with internal organs that are well-rested and pumping out essential juices and chemicals in their appropriate amounts is a valuable thing indeed. I don't wanna get all "ABC After School Special" on you, but it's almost a "high" in itself. The loss of that near-euphoria is deceptively undetectable, like a slow erosion, but it's real. Maybe it's just my age and my historical affinity for the "research" on this subject that have taken their toll, but the more I comprehend that value, the more I am overcome with buyer's remorse.

On to the promise: that implication that I might have more fun with a few belts in me. Certainly, I'm a jolly ass for a while, but the loss of the senses and logical thought robs me of something whose use I miss more and more lately. Some people can drink and enjoy reading, playing music or other mentally proactive pursuits, but I don't find myself among them. Since I rarely get outright sloshed anymore, I find that there are few tasks I cannot perform after having my fill of lager, but do I enjoy those activities? I really don't.

Add to that the fact that I tend to get cranky and impatient between drying out and hitting the sack, and as you may imagine, the balance of the day is much less fun.

So, scratch fun, as well as my own experiences in the matter. I'm not swearing off beer altogether, but clearly, I've turned my own little corner. But is beer inferior?

A little objective thought will reveal that anything you can cook up in your bathtub or a prison toilet is suspect, whether it's gin, brandy or beer. In my mind, it compels comparisons to methamphetamine and other homemade drugs, and it's not a flattering comparison. Granted, Heineken and the Glenlivet warrant some form of exemption in this analysis, if only because they bring a lot more to the "enjoyment" side of the equation. They are quality products, and deserve to be set apart from the cheap shit with which I've been poisoning myself in for years. Unfortunately, the downside effects are equally deleterious, if not worse.

All this begs to lead to comparisons to other choices of intoxicants, alternative versions of mental bubble gum. Certainly, it's not an exercise to leapfrog past that and wonder why not just abstain, and leave your poor brain alone? Surely it has enough to contend with absent all these chemical disruptions and distractions.

That's a worthwhile question, too.

Monday morning

This morning is an albatross, wobbling and honking during a laughably ungainly takeoff.

I haven't had my usual, good night's sleep since last week, and it's very odd for me. I usually sleep like a baby on Ambien and whisky, and I have to wonder if I've stripped some sort of gear.

I'm trying a "Java Chip Frappucino" at Starbucks, in order to prime the chemical pump. So far, it's cold enough to hurt that one tooth that always gives me trouble (the chink in my dental armor), and the little chocolate chips are an annoyance, like oral debris, making the whole drink feel dirty, and not in a good way.

Shit.

Gift ideas

Comedy CD - Final Engagement, Marc Maron $14

I only feel a little crappy today

What I thought was a hangover turned out to be something worse. With my hypochondria, I was convinced I shut down vital organs (I picture liver, kidney failure) due to Heineken overdose.

In any event, my body aches, fever, sweats and lethargic malaise have largely subsided, leaving me only with the sore throat, swelling in glands in my neck like an irradiated bullfrog, and the same aches I normally get from lifting weights in my own useless, sporadic fashion.

My energy level is starting to come back, and it's about damned time. I get impatient when I don't feel well. I don't know how my brother manages.

Must... stop... the pain!

I went and lifted some weights yesterday, and then I've somehow contracted the Brown Bottle Flu. It's not as bad as swine flu in that it's more fun to catch, but I imagine it no less painful.

Both have left me moaning and torpid this morning, and I want very little so much as I want a good night's sleep. That's one argument for legalizing marijuana you don't hear often enough: hangovers are less-severe or even non-existent. So I've heard, anyway, being clean and all.

Ow.

Gift ideas 2 - Celtic theme

Continuing with affordably-priced gift ideas for those who are in the market for such things (God love ya):

Cullan's Hounds - Year of the Dog - $13


Flogging Molly - Float CD - $13

Glenlivet Scotch - $24

Gift ideas 1 - Circus theme

My birthday is now less than a month away, I can't think of jack to ask for. Two months ago - full of ideas. Now - blank. My wife would like to know, so she can get me a little somethin'. Part of the problem is that I'm very fortunate to have plenty of good things in my life, tangible and intangible. Great problem to have. But if I had to try:

Throwing knives
Anything under $5 is fine. I love cheap shit.
Arm Bandits Throwing Knives SD9015
3-pc. Teardrop Point Throwing Knives

Juggling pins
Juggling pins? What's wrong with me?? I wrote this out, then thought about taking it down. Screw that, I want what I want. Judge me if you must.
Duncan Juggling Pins at Target $25

Avenir Deluxe Unicycle (20-Inch Wheel) - $60

New project, busy day

I am starting a new project using technology I got fairly deep with months ago. I am remembering how much I've forgotten. It'll come back to me...

I'm looking forward to about 3pm today, when the bulk and pressure of the day will be behind me, and I plan to unclench certain muscles and breathe a sigh of relief. I may use the time to further the above goals, or I may just noodle about. I'll decide then.

Until then, I'll struggle on and try to look like a responsible adult. It's not my strong suit.