You know, that thing we're I'm like "let's write down all the things I don't like about myself" and it turns into 10 pages of self-critique and cynicism? :P
Anyway, I had my 21st party a week ago. And though I was insistent early on that my mum not go to all this trouble for all these people, I'm glad she did. It was super fun :D All my friends were there, all the family friends were there, and there wasn't a single moment where things went wrong (apart from when the heater ran out of gas... sorry everyone >.>).
But more importantly, it cleared something up in my head. For a very long time, I've genuinely wondered if my friends care about me. I don't mean I wonder if they like me, or if they think I'm a good person, or if they don't hate me -- I more mean if I'm in their thoughts, if they remember stuff about me, etc. It seems rude and cruel to think those thoughts, but when I reflect on how often I interact with my friends (which isn't very), I begin to wonder if I've really earned a place in their minds. "Do I talk to them enough? Do I host enough meet-ups? Am I annoying, particularly when I make jokes all the time?" I bascially begin to doubt that what I do for them is really worth anything.
But my birthday cleared that up very very fast. They do care, and they care a lot. The cards basically proved that outright--not cos of the money or the gifts that came with them (though I certainly appreciate them), but cos of the cards themselves. Every card I got from a friend either a) was handmade, or b) had something unique written inside. There were zero exceptions to that rule: not a single card was merely store-bought with no penmarks. Two people made their cards: one had this really cool multi-layered cardboard cover with 'Happy Birthday' written in haphazard fashion on the front; the other had a painting of Ratchet & Clank on the front. And all the others wrote a few sentences on the inside, with one friend basically covering the card in words, and another having to write on the back.
It may seem weird to highlight that fact, but it's very siginificant to me. It means that they didn't just buy/make/write in a card cos it was just anyone's birthday: they bought/made/wrote in those cards cos it was my birthday, a friend's birthday. They tailored the cards to me, their friend. The one who painted her card remembered I liked Ratchet & Clank; the one who made her card with the crazy cover put time and effort into it. The ones who wrote stuff on the inside took the time to think of what to say. They didn't have to, but they did. And it means a lot :)
I'm feeling a lot better about myself on the social front, due to both my 21st and some reflection into my past. A year ago, I made a few blog posts about how I discovered the seduction subreddit and went "OK, time to improve myself!" And though a lot of the higher-level stuff is all about how to be attractive to women, how to flirt, how to get laid, etc. (resulting in my unsubscription: cos that shit's useless to me right now :P), it has had at least some impact.
A year ago, I would see talking to strangers as a chore. If I had to do it at uni, or at any social occasion, it was difficult cos I simply didn't want to do it. They'd ask questions and I'd respond with quick, short answers, without any follow-up questions. And the conversations would often die cos I wasn't sustaining them. Because, of course, other people are annoying and need to leave me alone, right?
Buzzer noise
Now I find talking to strangers way easier than before. It's not the easiest thing in the world--I still get nervous and make mistakes--but I'm not nervous, at least not very. I can usually think of responses without much effort, I find it way easier to be funny (which helps cos at least 50% of the automated responses are jokes :P), and I'm far better at asking follow-up questions. I actually want to talk to people now, rather than thinking of it as a chore, and that simple change of mindset makes everything else possible. I still can't approach strangers (that still scares me shitless), but everything that comes after introductions is ten times easier than before.
And I've actually made new friends. I have zero friends at uni (I've given up on making them in class, it's fucking impossible at this point :P), but I would be lying to say I've made no friends this year. I really get along with all the people I met at that sleepover in February, and even if I don't see them very often, it's never dull or awkward when we meet up. The friend I met them through is having a sleepover in late September, so I'll get to see them again soon; and I'm gonna invite them to a sleepover at my place in late November, which I'm sure will be just as awesome. I feel a bit weird being that one guy in the group who's not from their college--I can feel like a bit of a third wheel at times--but it doesn't stop me from getting on with them, not by a long shot.
I even somehow managed to befriend my ex again. I've seen her a few times this year, even inviting her to my 21st, and it's never been awkward, not once. I can make her laugh (always important for me :P) and we can talk to each other without any problems. Again, it seems like nothing, but I'm glad we're both mature enough to put the past behind us and enjoy each other's company like we do with all our other friends. It's just a really positive thing :)
Where I fall down is the romantic/sexual stuff. It's always there and frequently messes with my head. On a short-term level, even reading about other people's experiences makes me envious. It's like "you have people interested in you? How? How do you do that? Where can I find someone who'd be interested in me?" Or "you've had sex? Man, I wish I knew what that experience was like." Just the usual "goddamn it I'm behind everyone and need to catch up" shit.
I can usually counter that with hope. I like thinking about being in a relationship: it makes me happy. I like thinking about hooking up: it makes me excited. The idea that someday, eventually, some girl is gonna see me and get that giddy feeling in their stomach, or see me and think about what I look like naked, those ideas enthral me. Even though I don't know where or when it'll happen, I look forward to it. I dream about hugging girls, just wrapping my arms around them and holding them, or having them put their arms around my neck so they can look deep into my eyes, or moaning with satisfaction as I move my hands over their skin, not wanting me to stop. I can't wait for that to happen--well I can wait, cos I do wait, but I anticipate it a great deal.
Those thoughts must be magnified by a factor of a hundred when I crush on a girl, cos then the thoughts are like "I could be hugging you? Talking to you? Learning about you? Making love to you? Be wanted by you? REALLY? :D" When the right girl replaces the silhouette, it's like:
The United Emotions General Assembly has unanimously passed a motion requiring you to ask that girl out. Troops from the Confidence & Risk-taking Initiative will be deployed to your character in the next forty-eight hours. Possible modes of courting include
a) A movie
b) Coffee, followed perhaps by a short walk
c) That place with the really nice chocolate stuff, I dunno what it's called but it's fuckin' good man
It's one reason I really wanna meet more people: so I can feel that way again. The feelings I had for that girl in February were fuckin' intense, so intense that I just had to ask her out. I know I can do it if I've got the feelings backing me up and giving me incentive. But I can only find more girls to like if I meet more people.
And I don't even really wanna hook up right now. There's girls I know who are hot, sure, but they don't reciprocate that lust (not as far as I know), and to fuck them for any reason other than 'because they've got the hots for me' isn't what I want. So even if they did offer, unless they were offering cos they were horny and wanted to fuck me specifically, I'd say no. I definitely wanna have that experience eventually, but for now, I'm happy to wait, even if it takes a while. And I think if I get into a relationship, lose my virginity there, then have that relationship end, I'll have been introduced to sex and be far more likely to seek it out, seeing as I'll know first-hand how good it can feel. I really wanted to look into hooking up last year--I remember repeatedly asking a friend if she was going out to a club just so I could go with her and test the waters (that must have been fucking annoying, good god :P)--but it's faded away, mostly. If I meet a hot chick by pure chance and we hit it off, it's not like I'm gonna pass up that opportunity. But I don't wanna pursue it right now, at least not actively.
I've also realised why that hope goes away: it's when I use the word 'never'. "I'll never be in a relationship again. I'll never have a girl think I'm hot. I'll never touch a girl or have a girl touch me. I'll never have those experiences." It's a powerful word, that one, so powerful that the tangents of negativity it's initiated have lasted hours and led to tears. It really hurts to feel that unwanted. I can deal with not currently having a crush, I can deal with not having had a girl want to fuck me so far, and I can deal with not having the skills to get laid at the moment; that's fine, it'll happen soon enough, just gotta let life take its course. But if it'll never happen, that just erases every ounce of hope I've got, as well as all the self-worth I have.
I also believe these thoughts are stopping me from asking to do stand-up at uni. One thing stopping me from doing that (cos it's been ages since I mentioned it and I've brought it up repeatedly, so I think I owe an explanation here :P) is that I think they might react negatively. If I email the person who runs the UniBar, they might get the email and think "...this guy wants me to set up a stand-up night just for him? Just one person? Does he actually expect me to do that?" I fear the incredulity that could result from my lack of insight into how things are run at places like this, cos I've no clue how it works over there with organising things. I also have no connections, so my name will definitely not be known to them in any light. Even via email, it's frightening to even think about making this first step.
But in addition to that, these negative thoughts always find a way to tie themselves into a perceivable reality, and they usually tie themselves into my potential adventures in uni-oriented stand-up. Like, some group at uni responding negatively to a joke and defaming me, or being openly mocked for my eating habits/teetotalism, or even being accused of going into stand-up simply to get laid, with them finding this blog and going "Hey, he's just out for pussy!". They're obviously ridiculous scenarios that almost certainly won't happen, but when I'm sad, just the fact that they're possible is a real downer.
You might ask "why not talk to a counsellor or something?"
Cos I don't want to. I wanna deal with this on my own. I know I can;
it's just a hard thing to do. I firmly believe that if I can tackle this
on my own, I'll be far better off in the long run cos I'll have
developed the skills necessary to deal with similar problems in the
future without external help. I also feel far better about taking
direction from myself rather than taking direction from someone else;
I'm not a fan of doing what someone else tells me to do, even if it's in
my own interest :P
I also don't wanna talk to my friends about this (at least through any medium other than this blog) cos it's always the same fucking shit and they'll get tired of it. They can't do anything to help me; only I can help me. Sometimes I really want
to, but I stop myself because I'm like "s/he's heard this before, don't
bother them, they can't fucking do anything". In the past, I've often
resorted to a blog instead in the hopes that perhaps they'll respond in a
comment, primarily because that response is optional, meaning they weren't forced to say anything and thus weren't disturbed by my bitching and whining :P I know they can offer support and stuff, which I appreciate, but I believe I can also offer myself support, so I think I'm mostly OK there.
I even put off writing about the depressive episodes and the crying in case anyone who reads this blog freaks out, particularly my best friend who's going away on exchange very soon and doesn't need more things to worry about. I mean, first off, we're talking 'tears running down face', not 'sobbing into a pillow and wanting to kill myself' so it's not that bad anyway. But more importantly, though it's far more frequent than I'd like it to be, it's still relatively infrequent overall. I think it's important I vent, though; and I'm glad I waited cos I think I managed to express my thoughts a lot clearer here than I would have if I'd written earlier.
Saturday, 30 August 2014
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
So Robin Williams died...
Looks like it's a suicide—not many other explanations for death asphyxiation, though nothing's officially confirmed at this point.
Many people have been saddened by his death, which makes sense, really. The guy had unworldly talent, and was an inspiration to millions of people during his life as a performer, primarily his roles in film. And there's no denying he was one of the finest actors on the planet: I doubt anyone could find a role he couldn't become. There aren't many actors who can pull off comedic and dramatic roles to the level he could. He made you laugh in Aladdin, then creeped you right the fuck out in One Hour Photo. Motherfucker got a full scholarship for the Juilliard School for a reason.
But, given my background, and my experiences of Williams, I'll always remember him as a comedian. And it was only after reflection today that I realised how much I've got to thank him for.
I was in a lecture, and we had a five minute break, so I headed onto Facebook to chat with a friend. And there it was, up in the corner, first headline: 'Actor Robin Williams dies at 63'. "...the fuck?", I thought? "He's dead? Wow. That certainly came out of nowhere." Initially, I was more surprised than anything. I don't think anyone saw it coming, at least not this suddenly. He did have problems with substance abuse, and he did suffer from depression and bipolar disorder, so with that taken into account, it's far less of a surprise. But still, I wasn't expecting to see that.
My friend asked if I'd heard the news, and I said I had. I briefly mentioned his influence on me, and my friend said "I'm sorry" and offered a hug (a digital one :P). She must have thought I was saddened because I'd lost an idol; and while that makes perfect sense, I didn't really feel sad, nor do I currently. I felt disappointed that I'd never get to see him live, to meet him and thank him for the inspiration he's given me as a comedian, but I didn't feel sad that I'd lost him. As the day's gone on, I've actually felt really glad.
I'm not glad he's dead (needless to say, that would be awful). I'm glad because I've realised how lucky I am to have experienced his works, because they've changed the course of my life for the better.
Without Robin Williams, I would never even have thought of doing comedy at all. Were it not for his comedy, whatever I'd be right now, it wouldn't be a comedian in any sense of the word. Not only would my hobbies and career interests be different, but my personality would be different. My identity would be different. And only today, only after recollection and reflection, have I realised the full extent of this man's influence on me.
First off, I almost certainly wouldn't have gotten into stand-up, at least not as quickly and thoroughly as I have done over the past six years. I remember going to my local DVD shop once, and seeing a DVD in the comedy section that stood out. The cover featured Robin Williams' face, along with a few poses, with the title Live on Broadway near the top. I had no clue what it was, but I was curious as all fuck. Why was it just him, all by himself? And Broadway—was it a musical or something? I didn't even read the back; I just grabbed it. I knew I loved Williams' in his films, so this would probably be good too, right?
When I got home and popped it in, I was proven right. I was proven the most right I ever had been, and probably ever will be. It was fucking insane. There he was, on stage, by himself, doing stand-up, for ninety minutes straight, never stopping, never pausing, just going and going and going. It was the hardest I'd laughed in a long time. It was just this stream of consciousness, full of zany characters, spot-on impersonations, political humour, and fuck jokes. It was incredible. I didn't even know you could do stand-up for any longer than five minutes, because I'd only ever seen stand-up performed on TV in five-minute chunks, through things like the Just for Laughs gala in Montreal, and the Melbourne International Comedy Festival (which I was hardly even familiar with at the time). That was my first ever HBO comedy special, many of which I've watched since then, including all three of Williams' other specials.
At the time, I had a crush on this girl at my high school, and I couldn't muster the courage to talk to her. But I thought about Williams' comedy special, and went "hey... maybe, if I do a performance like that, I can tell that girl I like her without having to talk to her in person!" I didn't immediately start writing, but that plan never left the back of my mind; I even solved the problem of getting her into the audience (by having her 'win' a ticket in a rigged raffle or something). Eventually, probably around eighteen months later, I decided to start writing. Not long after I began making notes, I ended up asking the girl out in person anyway, but that didn't stop me from writing—in fact, I ended up writing about both how I liked the girl and how I asked her out, seeing as I'd now actually done it. My initial motivation remained so, just in a different way. The eventuating script, which I still have, very much in Williams' style (seeing as he was the only comic influence I had at the time): it's full of voices and characters, with lots of movement and rapid-fire delivery. And however silly that plan might have been to actually carry out (it would've been rather embarrassing to be called out in a crowd and asked on a date, especially at that age :P), that was the beginning of my adventures in comedy.
I've always thought that the girl herself, through her mere existence, her mere charm, was very responsible for my start in comedy. And that's true, no doubt—without her to be attracted to, I wouldn't have had the push to start writing, at least not as soon as I did. But really, Williams was the one who provided the initial spark. Williams was my doorway into the world of comedy; the girl (or at least my infatuation with her) was what gave me the urge to actually step through that door. And when I did, I never wanted to leave.
It's as if Williams himself was an actual door, opening up to my fourteen-year-old self, his hairy arm extending from the handle inviting me in, his voice telling me I could come in whenever I wanted. And it took a while, but I eventually took his advice. Without those first steps, I'd have never discovered Mitch Hedberg and become fascinated with wordplay. I'd have never discovered George Carlin and (rediscovered) Bill Hicks, having my mind expanded and my critical faculties refined. I'd have never discovered Jim Jefferies and Steve Hughes, performers I've gone to actually see live (and meet personally, in Jefferies' case). And I'd never have started writing jokes poking fun at my school, my government, my culture, and myself, much less gotten on stage to perform said jokes for hundreds of strangers. I can't imagine who I'd be or where I'd be if not for those experiences.
Incidentally, Williams was also responsible for my introduction to improv, via his appearance on Whose Line is it Anyway? Not long after I started writing stand-up, I must have been searching for videos of Williams on YouTube, where I saw this video of him on a TV set of some kind. I hadn't seen the video before, and the thumbnail didn't really give much of a clue as to what the video was about. But, just as with the DVD, it's Robin Williams—I've no reason to expect anything but greatness.
And again, I got more than what I expected. There he was, in a Hollywood Director scene, pretending to be an Italian cook in a kitchen full of rats, who then had to do the same scene as a hillbilly chef, followed by a seductive chef. Not only was Williams quick on his feet and witty as fuck, but so were those performing alongside him: Ryan Stiles, Colin Mochrie, and Wayne Brady, three performers I've now watched for what must be weeks' worth of real time on YouTube, as well as seeing Colin with fellow Whose Line performer Brad Sherwood perform their two-man show last year. And just like with the stand-up, I want to do improv, though I have considerably less improv experience than stand-up experience. While Williams was only on the show for one episode, it only took one episode to get me hooked, and his refined improv skill juxtaposed with his creative insanity was the best teaser one could hope for from the Whose Line universe.
And most importantly, were it not for these introductions to comedy via Williams' work, I'd never actually become funny. Not that I'm objectively funny or anything, but 'funny' is my mindset. Comedy is a permanent filter in my head; it's always there and it's always processing what I sense in the world. When I converse with people, it's just my nature to react with jokes. It's not even conscious; I just do it. That's the kind of thing that takes years to develop, and while I obviously have a whole range of people to thank for that development, many of which I've listed here (not to mention the family, friends, and staff at my old high school), Williams was the one who opened that door—the one who was that door—to this amazing world I'm now a part of.
I guess it's strange how I can feel so happy given how tragic this loss is. And it is tragic, extremely so; a lot of people have lost an idol today, not just me, and we (likely) lost him due to suicide, no less. But only today have I realised how much I have to thank the guy for, even if those thanks are only ephemeral. I didn't even remember how much I used to love watching Flubber and Mrs. Doubtfire as a kid until today—a trip down memory lane if there ever was one.
And while it's cheesy as fuck, his memory will live on. The man inspired an unfathomable amount of budding actors, comedians—and all kinds of people—with his humour, his imagination, and his compassion. And that's why I'm glad: not because he's gone, but because of what he gave the world before he left.
You're not perfect, sport, and let me save you the suspense: this girl you've met, she's not perfect either. But the question is whether or not you're perfect for each other.
Many people have been saddened by his death, which makes sense, really. The guy had unworldly talent, and was an inspiration to millions of people during his life as a performer, primarily his roles in film. And there's no denying he was one of the finest actors on the planet: I doubt anyone could find a role he couldn't become. There aren't many actors who can pull off comedic and dramatic roles to the level he could. He made you laugh in Aladdin, then creeped you right the fuck out in One Hour Photo. Motherfucker got a full scholarship for the Juilliard School for a reason.
But, given my background, and my experiences of Williams, I'll always remember him as a comedian. And it was only after reflection today that I realised how much I've got to thank him for.
I was in a lecture, and we had a five minute break, so I headed onto Facebook to chat with a friend. And there it was, up in the corner, first headline: 'Actor Robin Williams dies at 63'. "...the fuck?", I thought? "He's dead? Wow. That certainly came out of nowhere." Initially, I was more surprised than anything. I don't think anyone saw it coming, at least not this suddenly. He did have problems with substance abuse, and he did suffer from depression and bipolar disorder, so with that taken into account, it's far less of a surprise. But still, I wasn't expecting to see that.
My friend asked if I'd heard the news, and I said I had. I briefly mentioned his influence on me, and my friend said "I'm sorry" and offered a hug (a digital one :P). She must have thought I was saddened because I'd lost an idol; and while that makes perfect sense, I didn't really feel sad, nor do I currently. I felt disappointed that I'd never get to see him live, to meet him and thank him for the inspiration he's given me as a comedian, but I didn't feel sad that I'd lost him. As the day's gone on, I've actually felt really glad.
I'm not glad he's dead (needless to say, that would be awful). I'm glad because I've realised how lucky I am to have experienced his works, because they've changed the course of my life for the better.
Without Robin Williams, I would never even have thought of doing comedy at all. Were it not for his comedy, whatever I'd be right now, it wouldn't be a comedian in any sense of the word. Not only would my hobbies and career interests be different, but my personality would be different. My identity would be different. And only today, only after recollection and reflection, have I realised the full extent of this man's influence on me.
First off, I almost certainly wouldn't have gotten into stand-up, at least not as quickly and thoroughly as I have done over the past six years. I remember going to my local DVD shop once, and seeing a DVD in the comedy section that stood out. The cover featured Robin Williams' face, along with a few poses, with the title Live on Broadway near the top. I had no clue what it was, but I was curious as all fuck. Why was it just him, all by himself? And Broadway—was it a musical or something? I didn't even read the back; I just grabbed it. I knew I loved Williams' in his films, so this would probably be good too, right?
When I got home and popped it in, I was proven right. I was proven the most right I ever had been, and probably ever will be. It was fucking insane. There he was, on stage, by himself, doing stand-up, for ninety minutes straight, never stopping, never pausing, just going and going and going. It was the hardest I'd laughed in a long time. It was just this stream of consciousness, full of zany characters, spot-on impersonations, political humour, and fuck jokes. It was incredible. I didn't even know you could do stand-up for any longer than five minutes, because I'd only ever seen stand-up performed on TV in five-minute chunks, through things like the Just for Laughs gala in Montreal, and the Melbourne International Comedy Festival (which I was hardly even familiar with at the time). That was my first ever HBO comedy special, many of which I've watched since then, including all three of Williams' other specials.
At the time, I had a crush on this girl at my high school, and I couldn't muster the courage to talk to her. But I thought about Williams' comedy special, and went "hey... maybe, if I do a performance like that, I can tell that girl I like her without having to talk to her in person!" I didn't immediately start writing, but that plan never left the back of my mind; I even solved the problem of getting her into the audience (by having her 'win' a ticket in a rigged raffle or something). Eventually, probably around eighteen months later, I decided to start writing. Not long after I began making notes, I ended up asking the girl out in person anyway, but that didn't stop me from writing—in fact, I ended up writing about both how I liked the girl and how I asked her out, seeing as I'd now actually done it. My initial motivation remained so, just in a different way. The eventuating script, which I still have, very much in Williams' style (seeing as he was the only comic influence I had at the time): it's full of voices and characters, with lots of movement and rapid-fire delivery. And however silly that plan might have been to actually carry out (it would've been rather embarrassing to be called out in a crowd and asked on a date, especially at that age :P), that was the beginning of my adventures in comedy.
I've always thought that the girl herself, through her mere existence, her mere charm, was very responsible for my start in comedy. And that's true, no doubt—without her to be attracted to, I wouldn't have had the push to start writing, at least not as soon as I did. But really, Williams was the one who provided the initial spark. Williams was my doorway into the world of comedy; the girl (or at least my infatuation with her) was what gave me the urge to actually step through that door. And when I did, I never wanted to leave.
It's as if Williams himself was an actual door, opening up to my fourteen-year-old self, his hairy arm extending from the handle inviting me in, his voice telling me I could come in whenever I wanted. And it took a while, but I eventually took his advice. Without those first steps, I'd have never discovered Mitch Hedberg and become fascinated with wordplay. I'd have never discovered George Carlin and (rediscovered) Bill Hicks, having my mind expanded and my critical faculties refined. I'd have never discovered Jim Jefferies and Steve Hughes, performers I've gone to actually see live (and meet personally, in Jefferies' case). And I'd never have started writing jokes poking fun at my school, my government, my culture, and myself, much less gotten on stage to perform said jokes for hundreds of strangers. I can't imagine who I'd be or where I'd be if not for those experiences.
Incidentally, Williams was also responsible for my introduction to improv, via his appearance on Whose Line is it Anyway? Not long after I started writing stand-up, I must have been searching for videos of Williams on YouTube, where I saw this video of him on a TV set of some kind. I hadn't seen the video before, and the thumbnail didn't really give much of a clue as to what the video was about. But, just as with the DVD, it's Robin Williams—I've no reason to expect anything but greatness.
And again, I got more than what I expected. There he was, in a Hollywood Director scene, pretending to be an Italian cook in a kitchen full of rats, who then had to do the same scene as a hillbilly chef, followed by a seductive chef. Not only was Williams quick on his feet and witty as fuck, but so were those performing alongside him: Ryan Stiles, Colin Mochrie, and Wayne Brady, three performers I've now watched for what must be weeks' worth of real time on YouTube, as well as seeing Colin with fellow Whose Line performer Brad Sherwood perform their two-man show last year. And just like with the stand-up, I want to do improv, though I have considerably less improv experience than stand-up experience. While Williams was only on the show for one episode, it only took one episode to get me hooked, and his refined improv skill juxtaposed with his creative insanity was the best teaser one could hope for from the Whose Line universe.
And most importantly, were it not for these introductions to comedy via Williams' work, I'd never actually become funny. Not that I'm objectively funny or anything, but 'funny' is my mindset. Comedy is a permanent filter in my head; it's always there and it's always processing what I sense in the world. When I converse with people, it's just my nature to react with jokes. It's not even conscious; I just do it. That's the kind of thing that takes years to develop, and while I obviously have a whole range of people to thank for that development, many of which I've listed here (not to mention the family, friends, and staff at my old high school), Williams was the one who opened that door—the one who was that door—to this amazing world I'm now a part of.
I guess it's strange how I can feel so happy given how tragic this loss is. And it is tragic, extremely so; a lot of people have lost an idol today, not just me, and we (likely) lost him due to suicide, no less. But only today have I realised how much I have to thank the guy for, even if those thanks are only ephemeral. I didn't even remember how much I used to love watching Flubber and Mrs. Doubtfire as a kid until today—a trip down memory lane if there ever was one.
And while it's cheesy as fuck, his memory will live on. The man inspired an unfathomable amount of budding actors, comedians—and all kinds of people—with his humour, his imagination, and his compassion. And that's why I'm glad: not because he's gone, but because of what he gave the world before he left.
You're not perfect, sport, and let me save you the suspense: this girl you've met, she's not perfect either. But the question is whether or not you're perfect for each other.
Saturday, 9 August 2014
Mood: Why You Gotta Be So Undependable?
I've had a weird past couple of weeks. It's the busiest I've been in a while, but I still haven't really been flat-chat. I've had to replace every item of furniture in my room, assembling a desk and a TV unit largely on my own, which was fun, except for the cam locks (seriously, fuck cam locks >.<). I've upgraded my desktop from 32 bit architecture to 64 bit, which took a while (much faster now ^_^). I've had my laptop's SSD die on me, meaning I've had to run Windows 7
off an external HDD for the past few weeks, which would be less annoying
if the desks in lecture halls weren't so small that I didn't have to
balance the HDD on my leg as I type :P I had quite a few driving lessons over the break, and I'm getting a lot more confident behind the wheel, which is great (though I haven't driven my mum's car yet, need to become aquainted with the handling). And I've been to a few social occasions, as well as hosting one in the holidays, so I haven't been couped up for a whole month, as I usually would be over uni break.
I feel kinda good about having not only done the things I planned to do (assembling the furniture, upgrading the desktop, driving lessons), but also dealing with the unexpected stuff (laptop and social thingies). Just the fact I've had stuff to actually do this holidays has been good, really.
The social occasions were kind of backwards in how they turned out, though. The one I thought would be OK was really awesome, and the one I thought would be really awesome turned out to only be OK. There's been a trend recently for me to expect social events to go a certain way, and for me to anticipate as much as I can in order for those expectations to be met, only to have something come out of left field and totally ruin my plans.
For instance, I went to a sleepover with some friends just under two months ago. There's a chick in the group I asked out when I first met her, and the next time we met up, things were awkward. I genuinely want be her friend, and I really didn't want things to be awkward, so I said "right, hopefully I can just smooth things out and get to know her a bit better at this thing". Then what happens? She doesn't fuckin' show up cos she's at a convention. I was so annoyed on the Friday night when I went to bed that I couldn't even fuckin' sleep (that and I had an exam on the Saturday, which didn't help). I wanted to get that thing fixed. I wanted to get to know that girl. But now I have to keep waiting. When I learned it was cos she went to a convention, I thought "well, there's fuck all you could've done about that; you were fucked from the get-go", so I felt a lot better. But still, I hope the next time the group meets up, I can get to know that girl a bit better. I still think she's interesting :)
It's happened twice more in the past three weeks. A few weeks back, my ex invited me to her 21st. Initially, I was confused; but when I saw she invited the rest of the group I used to hang with at high school, I figured she simply invited everyone who was in the group regardless of how close she was to them or how often she encountered them. I was also, however, quite pleased. I saw her at a trivia night I went to a few months ago, and though I was nervous about how awkward things were going to be, it was actually super-comfortable (just another example of things totally not going the way I expected :P). I could relax and be myself around her, and I could make her laugh. No animosity, no weird vibes, just fun :) And after I went home, I thought "man, given how well that went, it kinda sucks we can't see each other more often at group social things". After I remembered the trivia night, I looked at the invite and went "well, is this not exactly what you wanted? Isn't this what you asked for?" Indeed, it was! So I decided to go.
I didn't expect things to go hunky dory, though. There were one or two people going who I find it difficult to be comfortable around. This isn't cos they're assholes--they aren't assholes to begin with. But when I'm at social events, I tend to succeed by joking around and making people laugh, and these two people make that a lot harder because they're better at it than I am. I don't think I can top them, so I keep quiet and don't chime in at all. There's obviously no rule saying there can only be one funny person in a conversation, but when I feel consistently outranked, I just don't contribute. It's just the way it is. I don't blame them; it's my own self-confidence at fault.
But luckily, for me at least, those two weren't there. So the only obstacles to overcome were a) the fact I was gonna be around my ex, and b) the fact there'd be strangers everywhere. Thankfully, my best friend and another friend from high school were there, so I could meet my ex's other friends without too much trouble (they didn't even seem to know I was her ex, thank fuck :P). And holy shit, once introductions were out of the way, I was on fire! I was part of the conversation the entire time. I only retreated into my own headspace two or three times during the four hours; those moments aside, I was on the ball. My best friend left, which made things a little more tricky, but didn't stop me from conversing, not by a long shot. I felt good about myself and confident about my contributions, particularly given the fact that my ex's other friends outnumbered her high school friends. It was insane how regular the laughs were--I know it's easy to get my ex to laugh, but the others were laughing pretty hard too, which was awesome. It was nice to meet her other friends and get along with them, even if I would probably never see them again.
When I said I was leaving, one of them even went "aww :("--not in a sarcastic way, in a genuine "aww man, you're going?" kind of way. She didn't say that to my other two friends when they left; she only said it to me. I don't know how much to make of that, but it's definitely a sign that I was successful that night. My presence was meaningful and appreciated to the point where my departure was unwanted. So ultimately, even though I thought the party would be a bit awkward, it was really fun, and a mark of progress given I actually got along with the strangers this time, rather than being alienated by them, like that 21st I went to in February.
Unfortunately, the other event was the opposite. There was a 24-hour gaming convention at my uni last weekend, and boy oh boy was I looking forward to it. I have many fond memories from last year, including playing Super Smash Bros. for 4 or 5 hours straight in the early hours of the morning, and a game of Mario Party 3 wherein the winner was decided by a dice roll. Most importantly, I played games with people I'd never met before. And though I didn't forge any friendships, I still at least interacted with strangers and got along with them. I didn't even have to ask them to play with me; they asked if they could play with me. Keep that in mind as I continue.
This picture basically sums up people's reaction to the stuff I brought:
"He brought this! I don't even remember the last time I saw this!" I was the only one who brought an N64, so I had something unique to offer. This will come into play later.
So, this year, I figured I'd go all in and take a lot more hardware. Here's a picture of everything I took:
I took my TV, Wii U, my PS3, my Gamecube, my N64, over 40 games. I took a total of 18 controllers, as well as 2 adaptors so I could use 2 Gamecube controllers with the Wii U as well. I went so far as to buy an extra Wii Remote and two Classic Controllers, as well as borrowing a PS3 controller from a friend, just so I'd have 4 controllers for every console, to make sure as many people could play each machine as possible. I also brought a PC and a DVD recorder to record gameplay, with my phone acting as a microphone to record players talking while they played (I recorded footage at last year's Gamefest, but it was kinda boring without the commentary).
There was so much stuff that I had to put together an inventory just to keep track of everything. But I was willing to take it all. I figured there'd almost certainly be something there people wanted, given the sheer amount of games (and I didn't take every game I had, only the ones that would be good to play with other people).
So I got there and set everything up. A few people saw the games I had and checked 'em out. The N64 cartridges were, again, surprising to people, and a couple of people went through them. I was happy: interest was certainly there, so it wouldn't be too long before people sat down to play with us, right?
Right?
It wasn't really the case, at least not yet. What other people brought seemed a lot more interesting. Someone brought Guitar Hero; another person brought Project M (a modified version of Super Smash Bros. Brawl, quite popular among competitive players); there was even another Nintendo 64 there this time, though the person only seemed to have Super Smash Bros. and nothing else. People seemed very happy on their own machines with their own friends, and though they did leave their own stations, they didn't come to ours.
At first, this didn't really matter to me: it's not like that stuff isn't worth playing, so I figured those things would be popular. I just continued playing games with the friend I was there with, figuring I'd play with other people later on during the evening--it wasn't till midnight that others sat down with us last year, so I figured it'd be the same this year.
I did play with other people in a Mario Kart Wii tournament, which I ended up winning. I didn't see that coming, so I was really pleased. It was tense as fuck--I wish I could've recorded it, but it was played on the one of the uni Wii's, so I couldn't have anyway. One of the guys I played with said "who's up for some Super Smash Bros.?" to which I responded "yeah, sure!" right before walking back to my own consoles, figuring he'd follow me, seeing as I had every version of Smash Bros. at my station, as well as enough controllers for everyone. He actually meant playing it on another of the uni Wii's, so I felt a bit silly about that, but passed it off as a mental slip.
The evening went on, and still no one was playing with us. Everyone seemed thoroughly entranced with everything else going on, so no one considered the idea of playing on my machines at all. I couldn't even record any footage with my friend, because Guitar Hero was right next to us, and they brought an external speaker which was cranked real loud, so we couldn't record any commentary (we could hardly hear ourselves talk). At this point, I quickly became irritated, and eventually saddened: it seemed as though all this effort had been in vain. It got to the point where I felt so sad that I tried to sleep, which was impossible given all the hubbub in the room.
As I slept, it dawned on me what was wrong. To clarify, this isn't me feeling sad that no one liked the items I brought, believing that seeing as I clearly have so many consoles and so many games and so many controllers, I am clearly entitled to the attention of my fellow convention-goers. In fact, the point is quite the opposite.
The reason no one wanted to play with us is because we weren't playing with them. That and the fact that we didn't know anyone else who was there, so we had no social ties to begin with.
Since we got there, my friend and I played alone, just the two of us. We didn't leave our station, apart from me going to play in the Mario Kart Wii tourney and the Guitar Hero tourney. We didn't go play Project M, or Super Smash Bros. Melee, or any of the fighting games, or Mario Kart 8 (on the uni's Wii U rather than my own). I just stayed at my own station and expected people to flock to me. I was lucky last year: people caught onto what I had per chance. This time, there was too much going on, and the fact that I didn't even mingle with people meant I was drowned out. It's not like these people were anti-social dickwads who resented me for some reason--that was half the problem! They were all getting along and having fun together, and I was lying there nearly in tears cos I couldn't bring myself to play with them.
Looking back, you might ask "well why didn't you play with them?" Well, when I was in a good mood, I was waiting for them to come to me. And when I finally figured it would've been best for me to go to them, I felt so awful that I couldn't do it. It seems really simple looking back to simply have gotten up and gone to another station, if only to stand there and watch, because at least then I'd at least have had my presence acknowledged. Like when that guy said "who's up for some Super Smash Bros.?" and I went back to my own station rather than where he went: as soon as I realised that, I should've just said to my friend "hey, I'm gonna go play with that guy, wanna come with?" Even if he wasn't there anymore, there would've been people there, for sure.
That's what really disappointed me: the fact that it could've been fixed so easily, but my mood prevented me from implementing the fix. Even if I didn't get to record the gameplay (and I did end up coming home with no footage of anyone else playing with us, cos no one else ever played with us), I would at least have gotten to play with other people, which was what made last year so much fun. There's not much I enjoy more than local multiplayer. I get to play those kinds of games so rarely, so when I do get to play, it's always fun, no matter the game or the people I'm with. And not only did I fuck up by being passive rather than active, but I have to wait an entire fucking year to get to do this again! I spent months anticipating (and preparing for) this convention, but didn't get as much out of it as I could cos I was shy, as well as upset. The part before I was upset was really fun--I certainly have some great memories of games I played with my friend--but once I was upset, I never returned to that level of enjoyment. And I have no one to blame but myself.
I think I should join the group who organised the whole thing. I'd like to help organise something like that; I think it'd be really fun. Also, that way, I could cement my plans and organise things officially such that my efforts won't go to waste. I'd really like to set up a Pokemon Stadium tournament and/or a team-based Mario Kart: Double Dash tournament, cos I'm 99% sure no one else is gonna set those up (no one did the last 2 times). That way, I can bring my consoles and know they're going to be used. I can bring recording equipment and know I'm going to have something to record. And I can go myself knowing I'll mingle and meet people cos I'll be setting shit up for them to play. Just like most shitty things that happen in my life, this is a learning experience: if next year goes well because I learned this year how not to think and behave, it'll all have been worth it.
Even my classes are being weird like this. I had a tutorial yesterday which I thought would be really awkward cos it's one of those tutes where you have to talk to get participation marks. I didn't like the idea of having to talk in class: I didn't think my opinions would be worth sharing, and I hate being wrong in public. Cos it was the first tute, we had the good ol' 'tell the person sitting next to you something interesting about yourself' dealie. I'm like "oooohhhh nnnoooooo, not tthhhiiisssss". But there were an even number of people in the class, so I couldn't get out of this :P I turned to the guy next to me, he tells me his name, and I say "nice to meet you", shaking his hand. I seriously have no clue what it was, but as soon as I shook the guy's hand and said "nice to meet you", a lot of the awkwardness was gone. I went into that 'comedy mood' thing I was in at my ex's 21st (though not to the same degree cos, you know... tutorial, not 21st party :P), and joked around with the guy a bit while we asked each other the usual questions.
This has also led to a second development which has me in a difficult position that I honestly need to be in, given what I wanna do with myself at uni. The tutor asked everyone to tell the class what they learned about the person next to them, and seeing as I mentioned to him I was a stand-up comic (no other answer I can give to someone asking for an interesting aspect of my life, really :P), he mentioned it to the class. The tutor asked if I had gigs coming up, and when I said 'no', he mentioned off-hand that if I did get any, I should let the class know. Now I dunno how seriously he meant that, but there's now pressure for me to actually get that gig, preferably at uni itself. This isn't so if the question comes up again, I can say "oh yeah, I'm doing gigs at [wherever]"; it's so I can live up to the title of stand-up comedian. That's what I fucking described myself as--but how can I be a stand-up comedian who isn't performing any stand-up comedy? The title 'stand-up comedian' implies that you actually do it :P So now I gotta go actually do it.
And believe me, I wanna actually do it. It's just finding the right people to ask which is hard. But if I can do that, and join the video game group-people-thing, I think I'll finally start to solve a lot of social and self-esteem issues in my life, however slowly :)
I feel kinda good about having not only done the things I planned to do (assembling the furniture, upgrading the desktop, driving lessons), but also dealing with the unexpected stuff (laptop and social thingies). Just the fact I've had stuff to actually do this holidays has been good, really.
The social occasions were kind of backwards in how they turned out, though. The one I thought would be OK was really awesome, and the one I thought would be really awesome turned out to only be OK. There's been a trend recently for me to expect social events to go a certain way, and for me to anticipate as much as I can in order for those expectations to be met, only to have something come out of left field and totally ruin my plans.
For instance, I went to a sleepover with some friends just under two months ago. There's a chick in the group I asked out when I first met her, and the next time we met up, things were awkward. I genuinely want be her friend, and I really didn't want things to be awkward, so I said "right, hopefully I can just smooth things out and get to know her a bit better at this thing". Then what happens? She doesn't fuckin' show up cos she's at a convention. I was so annoyed on the Friday night when I went to bed that I couldn't even fuckin' sleep (that and I had an exam on the Saturday, which didn't help). I wanted to get that thing fixed. I wanted to get to know that girl. But now I have to keep waiting. When I learned it was cos she went to a convention, I thought "well, there's fuck all you could've done about that; you were fucked from the get-go", so I felt a lot better. But still, I hope the next time the group meets up, I can get to know that girl a bit better. I still think she's interesting :)
It's happened twice more in the past three weeks. A few weeks back, my ex invited me to her 21st. Initially, I was confused; but when I saw she invited the rest of the group I used to hang with at high school, I figured she simply invited everyone who was in the group regardless of how close she was to them or how often she encountered them. I was also, however, quite pleased. I saw her at a trivia night I went to a few months ago, and though I was nervous about how awkward things were going to be, it was actually super-comfortable (just another example of things totally not going the way I expected :P). I could relax and be myself around her, and I could make her laugh. No animosity, no weird vibes, just fun :) And after I went home, I thought "man, given how well that went, it kinda sucks we can't see each other more often at group social things". After I remembered the trivia night, I looked at the invite and went "well, is this not exactly what you wanted? Isn't this what you asked for?" Indeed, it was! So I decided to go.
I didn't expect things to go hunky dory, though. There were one or two people going who I find it difficult to be comfortable around. This isn't cos they're assholes--they aren't assholes to begin with. But when I'm at social events, I tend to succeed by joking around and making people laugh, and these two people make that a lot harder because they're better at it than I am. I don't think I can top them, so I keep quiet and don't chime in at all. There's obviously no rule saying there can only be one funny person in a conversation, but when I feel consistently outranked, I just don't contribute. It's just the way it is. I don't blame them; it's my own self-confidence at fault.
But luckily, for me at least, those two weren't there. So the only obstacles to overcome were a) the fact I was gonna be around my ex, and b) the fact there'd be strangers everywhere. Thankfully, my best friend and another friend from high school were there, so I could meet my ex's other friends without too much trouble (they didn't even seem to know I was her ex, thank fuck :P). And holy shit, once introductions were out of the way, I was on fire! I was part of the conversation the entire time. I only retreated into my own headspace two or three times during the four hours; those moments aside, I was on the ball. My best friend left, which made things a little more tricky, but didn't stop me from conversing, not by a long shot. I felt good about myself and confident about my contributions, particularly given the fact that my ex's other friends outnumbered her high school friends. It was insane how regular the laughs were--I know it's easy to get my ex to laugh, but the others were laughing pretty hard too, which was awesome. It was nice to meet her other friends and get along with them, even if I would probably never see them again.
When I said I was leaving, one of them even went "aww :("--not in a sarcastic way, in a genuine "aww man, you're going?" kind of way. She didn't say that to my other two friends when they left; she only said it to me. I don't know how much to make of that, but it's definitely a sign that I was successful that night. My presence was meaningful and appreciated to the point where my departure was unwanted. So ultimately, even though I thought the party would be a bit awkward, it was really fun, and a mark of progress given I actually got along with the strangers this time, rather than being alienated by them, like that 21st I went to in February.
Unfortunately, the other event was the opposite. There was a 24-hour gaming convention at my uni last weekend, and boy oh boy was I looking forward to it. I have many fond memories from last year, including playing Super Smash Bros. for 4 or 5 hours straight in the early hours of the morning, and a game of Mario Party 3 wherein the winner was decided by a dice roll. Most importantly, I played games with people I'd never met before. And though I didn't forge any friendships, I still at least interacted with strangers and got along with them. I didn't even have to ask them to play with me; they asked if they could play with me. Keep that in mind as I continue.
This picture basically sums up people's reaction to the stuff I brought:
"He brought this! I don't even remember the last time I saw this!" I was the only one who brought an N64, so I had something unique to offer. This will come into play later.
So, this year, I figured I'd go all in and take a lot more hardware. Here's a picture of everything I took:
I took my TV, Wii U, my PS3, my Gamecube, my N64, over 40 games. I took a total of 18 controllers, as well as 2 adaptors so I could use 2 Gamecube controllers with the Wii U as well. I went so far as to buy an extra Wii Remote and two Classic Controllers, as well as borrowing a PS3 controller from a friend, just so I'd have 4 controllers for every console, to make sure as many people could play each machine as possible. I also brought a PC and a DVD recorder to record gameplay, with my phone acting as a microphone to record players talking while they played (I recorded footage at last year's Gamefest, but it was kinda boring without the commentary).
There was so much stuff that I had to put together an inventory just to keep track of everything. But I was willing to take it all. I figured there'd almost certainly be something there people wanted, given the sheer amount of games (and I didn't take every game I had, only the ones that would be good to play with other people).
So I got there and set everything up. A few people saw the games I had and checked 'em out. The N64 cartridges were, again, surprising to people, and a couple of people went through them. I was happy: interest was certainly there, so it wouldn't be too long before people sat down to play with us, right?
Right?
It wasn't really the case, at least not yet. What other people brought seemed a lot more interesting. Someone brought Guitar Hero; another person brought Project M (a modified version of Super Smash Bros. Brawl, quite popular among competitive players); there was even another Nintendo 64 there this time, though the person only seemed to have Super Smash Bros. and nothing else. People seemed very happy on their own machines with their own friends, and though they did leave their own stations, they didn't come to ours.
At first, this didn't really matter to me: it's not like that stuff isn't worth playing, so I figured those things would be popular. I just continued playing games with the friend I was there with, figuring I'd play with other people later on during the evening--it wasn't till midnight that others sat down with us last year, so I figured it'd be the same this year.
I did play with other people in a Mario Kart Wii tournament, which I ended up winning. I didn't see that coming, so I was really pleased. It was tense as fuck--I wish I could've recorded it, but it was played on the one of the uni Wii's, so I couldn't have anyway. One of the guys I played with said "who's up for some Super Smash Bros.?" to which I responded "yeah, sure!" right before walking back to my own consoles, figuring he'd follow me, seeing as I had every version of Smash Bros. at my station, as well as enough controllers for everyone. He actually meant playing it on another of the uni Wii's, so I felt a bit silly about that, but passed it off as a mental slip.
The evening went on, and still no one was playing with us. Everyone seemed thoroughly entranced with everything else going on, so no one considered the idea of playing on my machines at all. I couldn't even record any footage with my friend, because Guitar Hero was right next to us, and they brought an external speaker which was cranked real loud, so we couldn't record any commentary (we could hardly hear ourselves talk). At this point, I quickly became irritated, and eventually saddened: it seemed as though all this effort had been in vain. It got to the point where I felt so sad that I tried to sleep, which was impossible given all the hubbub in the room.
As I slept, it dawned on me what was wrong. To clarify, this isn't me feeling sad that no one liked the items I brought, believing that seeing as I clearly have so many consoles and so many games and so many controllers, I am clearly entitled to the attention of my fellow convention-goers. In fact, the point is quite the opposite.
The reason no one wanted to play with us is because we weren't playing with them. That and the fact that we didn't know anyone else who was there, so we had no social ties to begin with.
Since we got there, my friend and I played alone, just the two of us. We didn't leave our station, apart from me going to play in the Mario Kart Wii tourney and the Guitar Hero tourney. We didn't go play Project M, or Super Smash Bros. Melee, or any of the fighting games, or Mario Kart 8 (on the uni's Wii U rather than my own). I just stayed at my own station and expected people to flock to me. I was lucky last year: people caught onto what I had per chance. This time, there was too much going on, and the fact that I didn't even mingle with people meant I was drowned out. It's not like these people were anti-social dickwads who resented me for some reason--that was half the problem! They were all getting along and having fun together, and I was lying there nearly in tears cos I couldn't bring myself to play with them.
Looking back, you might ask "well why didn't you play with them?" Well, when I was in a good mood, I was waiting for them to come to me. And when I finally figured it would've been best for me to go to them, I felt so awful that I couldn't do it. It seems really simple looking back to simply have gotten up and gone to another station, if only to stand there and watch, because at least then I'd at least have had my presence acknowledged. Like when that guy said "who's up for some Super Smash Bros.?" and I went back to my own station rather than where he went: as soon as I realised that, I should've just said to my friend "hey, I'm gonna go play with that guy, wanna come with?" Even if he wasn't there anymore, there would've been people there, for sure.
That's what really disappointed me: the fact that it could've been fixed so easily, but my mood prevented me from implementing the fix. Even if I didn't get to record the gameplay (and I did end up coming home with no footage of anyone else playing with us, cos no one else ever played with us), I would at least have gotten to play with other people, which was what made last year so much fun. There's not much I enjoy more than local multiplayer. I get to play those kinds of games so rarely, so when I do get to play, it's always fun, no matter the game or the people I'm with. And not only did I fuck up by being passive rather than active, but I have to wait an entire fucking year to get to do this again! I spent months anticipating (and preparing for) this convention, but didn't get as much out of it as I could cos I was shy, as well as upset. The part before I was upset was really fun--I certainly have some great memories of games I played with my friend--but once I was upset, I never returned to that level of enjoyment. And I have no one to blame but myself.
I think I should join the group who organised the whole thing. I'd like to help organise something like that; I think it'd be really fun. Also, that way, I could cement my plans and organise things officially such that my efforts won't go to waste. I'd really like to set up a Pokemon Stadium tournament and/or a team-based Mario Kart: Double Dash tournament, cos I'm 99% sure no one else is gonna set those up (no one did the last 2 times). That way, I can bring my consoles and know they're going to be used. I can bring recording equipment and know I'm going to have something to record. And I can go myself knowing I'll mingle and meet people cos I'll be setting shit up for them to play. Just like most shitty things that happen in my life, this is a learning experience: if next year goes well because I learned this year how not to think and behave, it'll all have been worth it.
Even my classes are being weird like this. I had a tutorial yesterday which I thought would be really awkward cos it's one of those tutes where you have to talk to get participation marks. I didn't like the idea of having to talk in class: I didn't think my opinions would be worth sharing, and I hate being wrong in public. Cos it was the first tute, we had the good ol' 'tell the person sitting next to you something interesting about yourself' dealie. I'm like "oooohhhh nnnoooooo, not tthhhiiisssss". But there were an even number of people in the class, so I couldn't get out of this :P I turned to the guy next to me, he tells me his name, and I say "nice to meet you", shaking his hand. I seriously have no clue what it was, but as soon as I shook the guy's hand and said "nice to meet you", a lot of the awkwardness was gone. I went into that 'comedy mood' thing I was in at my ex's 21st (though not to the same degree cos, you know... tutorial, not 21st party :P), and joked around with the guy a bit while we asked each other the usual questions.
This has also led to a second development which has me in a difficult position that I honestly need to be in, given what I wanna do with myself at uni. The tutor asked everyone to tell the class what they learned about the person next to them, and seeing as I mentioned to him I was a stand-up comic (no other answer I can give to someone asking for an interesting aspect of my life, really :P), he mentioned it to the class. The tutor asked if I had gigs coming up, and when I said 'no', he mentioned off-hand that if I did get any, I should let the class know. Now I dunno how seriously he meant that, but there's now pressure for me to actually get that gig, preferably at uni itself. This isn't so if the question comes up again, I can say "oh yeah, I'm doing gigs at [wherever]"; it's so I can live up to the title of stand-up comedian. That's what I fucking described myself as--but how can I be a stand-up comedian who isn't performing any stand-up comedy? The title 'stand-up comedian' implies that you actually do it :P So now I gotta go actually do it.
And believe me, I wanna actually do it. It's just finding the right people to ask which is hard. But if I can do that, and join the video game group-people-thing, I think I'll finally start to solve a lot of social and self-esteem issues in my life, however slowly :)
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