So, I'm back at uni now. I have an 8:30 start every Monday, a Monday which promises 5 hours of lectures with a two hour gap between the first and second. Mondays already suck, but my Monday made extra effort this semester :P I didn't really talk about uni last semester cos there was nothing much to talk about, really (and my mood was down a lot of the time). I'm actually excited for this semester, though. If I play it right, it'll be the start of a lot of new things. Hopefully, the Film and Performance Society has another one of their variety show things so I can do stand-up :D
Looking over the subjects, though, I'm actually pretty excited! The content looks really interesting. I just had my first lecture for The Scientific Revolution, which was a bit intense given it was an overview of the whole course and the guy covered a lot of content (and given that I'd woken up only an hour earlier :P). But at the very least, it's related to philosophy (natural philosophy, more specifically), and so long as the concepts are better explained in the lectures that actually cover them, I think I'll be fine.
I took advantage of the break to try and get some subject outlines, but I only managed to get the outline for Media, Ethics and Law. Almost all the lecture headings are things I research in my own time for funzies: Censorship, Privacy, Violence in Video Games, etc. And the readings for the first topic (Privacy) were interesting to read; a big change from the usual boring readings I'm used to. I think this class will be lots of fun :) Here's hoping I can let my guard down a bit in the tutorials and get involved in debates; it's a good opportunity given my interest.
I also got the first set of lecture slides for Discrete Mathematics. The class seems irrelevant at a glance given I'm majoring in Philosophy, but it's all about logic and problem solving, which is related to my other philosophy class this semester, Practical Reasoning. I couldn't find another arts subject that caught my interest, so I looked at the maths once just for the hell of it and found this. The opening slides all talk about logical statements, truth tables, negation—all stuff I'm familiar with, but can definitely learn more about. It'll obviously delve into shit I've never seen before in any real depth (set theory, for example), but I like it when the course starts with stuff I'm familiar with; it makes it so much easier to work your way into the harder stuff cos you already have a foundation for the simpler stuff. I also haven't done any real maths since high school, so it'll be somewhat nostalgic to do it again.
I'm just really happy to be back at uni. Last semester was uneventful, and I'm actually looking forward to all my subjects thus far, so that'll be a huge help towards maintaining a positive outlook on things. The only thing I'm really dreading are the research essays (I fucking hate research via books, regardless of the field :P). Apart from that, it's all anticipation. Yay :D
Monday, 29 July 2013
Saturday, 13 July 2013
Conspiracies: Thanks for Ruining My Evening
Last night wasn't a fun night for me. I was up at about 10 pm on reddit, and I decided to hop on over to r/conspiracy, just for lols. There was one post there that said something to the effect of "Wow, all the conspiracies seem to be coming true!", with a comment that said "They're not coming true; they're just slowly being revealed to be correct." I dunno why, but that seriously scared the shit out of me. We're talking people who believe 9/11 was a false flag, who think there's some secret group of people controlling things, people who we never even see or hear of. Thinking about that kept me up all night. I wanted to talk to a friend of mine but she wasn't on Facebook, hence my departure (turns out she logged on while I was asleep and said hi, lol). I also had a stomach ache, which only made it harder to sleep.
It frightens me that there could be a huge war that destroys everything, leave us living on some desolate wasteland. It frightens me that I could be conscripted to fight in such a war, a war that might never end. It frightens me that I might be captured for holding dissenting opinions and never heard of again. I'm not strong enough to fight these things. I need comfort, and having my mental comfort taken away from me is evidently hurting me.
(In going back to get the link for r/conspiracy, I'm getting paranoid again. This is just to show you what's making me so nervous :P)
My scepticism, however, does not pick and choose who it targets. It targets everyone, including people like this. These theories are almost like religions in and of themselves: people see things, they connect things, they draw conclusions. Their own scepticism is, in and of itself, jaded by the same paranoia I felt when browsing their subreddit. Obviously, some conspiracies can be true -- for instance, the fact that we're all being spied on by the NSA and other agencies -- but a lot of it is pure speculation. These people are not special. They're not more knowledgeable by default than anyone else. Many Christians think the Bible has prophecies in it that are true; many Muslims think the Qu'ran does the same; and conspiracy theorists have their own groups, their own literature, and their own perspective to run things by. They put things through their own filter which they themselves have built.
The human mind is also far too prone to linking things together than it should be. It's hardly a reliable machine. Take, this video here demonstrating how likely coincidences actually are:
It's too easy for us to see things that aren't really there.
But let's assume it's true: let's assume there will be global conflict, nuclear conflict, war to fight. Can I do anything about this? Not really. Will I die earlier than expected? Probably. But that's the end; death is the end of my suffering. I don't know what happens after you die, but from what I understand, it's simply nothing. I could be wrong, but that's what I'm assuming for now. And if I don't die, I will, at the very least, have experienced a very interesting life, one of great gains and many losses. I will have stories I can tell to people about the struggles I have faced (if there is indeed anyone left).
Now, however, I'm distraught. I want to feel comfortable again. As I said earlier, I wanted to talk to a friend of mine but she was offline when this started. I would talk to my mother but she's got a really bad cold. I felt very alone; I still do. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to hug. I know their telling me 'everything's going to be OK' might not do anything, but their presence and consolation would mean a lot. I have no intention of killing myself, in case you're wondering -- suicide is not the answer, nor is self harm -- but this is really getting to me.
As they say: ignorance is bliss.
It frightens me that there could be a huge war that destroys everything, leave us living on some desolate wasteland. It frightens me that I could be conscripted to fight in such a war, a war that might never end. It frightens me that I might be captured for holding dissenting opinions and never heard of again. I'm not strong enough to fight these things. I need comfort, and having my mental comfort taken away from me is evidently hurting me.
(In going back to get the link for r/conspiracy, I'm getting paranoid again. This is just to show you what's making me so nervous :P)
My scepticism, however, does not pick and choose who it targets. It targets everyone, including people like this. These theories are almost like religions in and of themselves: people see things, they connect things, they draw conclusions. Their own scepticism is, in and of itself, jaded by the same paranoia I felt when browsing their subreddit. Obviously, some conspiracies can be true -- for instance, the fact that we're all being spied on by the NSA and other agencies -- but a lot of it is pure speculation. These people are not special. They're not more knowledgeable by default than anyone else. Many Christians think the Bible has prophecies in it that are true; many Muslims think the Qu'ran does the same; and conspiracy theorists have their own groups, their own literature, and their own perspective to run things by. They put things through their own filter which they themselves have built.
The human mind is also far too prone to linking things together than it should be. It's hardly a reliable machine. Take, this video here demonstrating how likely coincidences actually are:
It's too easy for us to see things that aren't really there.
But let's assume it's true: let's assume there will be global conflict, nuclear conflict, war to fight. Can I do anything about this? Not really. Will I die earlier than expected? Probably. But that's the end; death is the end of my suffering. I don't know what happens after you die, but from what I understand, it's simply nothing. I could be wrong, but that's what I'm assuming for now. And if I don't die, I will, at the very least, have experienced a very interesting life, one of great gains and many losses. I will have stories I can tell to people about the struggles I have faced (if there is indeed anyone left).
Now, however, I'm distraught. I want to feel comfortable again. As I said earlier, I wanted to talk to a friend of mine but she was offline when this started. I would talk to my mother but she's got a really bad cold. I felt very alone; I still do. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to hug. I know their telling me 'everything's going to be OK' might not do anything, but their presence and consolation would mean a lot. I have no intention of killing myself, in case you're wondering -- suicide is not the answer, nor is self harm -- but this is really getting to me.
As they say: ignorance is bliss.
Friday, 28 June 2013
Nihilism: The Sad Face You Must Transform into a Happy Face
I haven't posted anything on here in a while, but there hasn't really been much to talk about.
A few hours ago, I was talking to mum about bills, with her saying that she was gonna have to really stretch her next few paychecks to get by. We're not poor by any stretch of the imagination—it's not an desperate situation—but she doesn't wanna resort to using our emergency money or drawing on the mortgage if she can avoid it. In her drunken state (work's been depressing her, and given what's happened, I really can't blame her for drowning her sorrows), she started to think I was worried, and assured me that I had nothing to fear, given that I will inherit everything and will not have to worry anywhere near as much about finances as she has. At the time, I was more worried about the state she was in and the situation she was talking about; but after the conversation finished, my feelings had changed significantly.
I became depressed that I was gonna avoid all that trouble.
Seriously, I was sad that things would be easy for me when it came to money, at least after my mother's death. It wasn't the death aspect; it had nothing to do with the prospect of losing my mother (although that will certainly kick me in the balls when it happens). I felt bad about how unfair it seemed. There are people all around the world of far greater moral fibre than me who suffer more greatly than I do, and a lot of those people will have to fight to pay rent, pay for food, pay for utilities, pay for healthcare, pay for their kids, pay their mortgage—they will have to stretch every paycheck they get for a long, long time, perhaps for the entirety of their working lives. I, on the other hand, will get a house and some security money when my mum stops breathing. I am assured it; it is legally bidden to me. No rent, no mortgage, no need for new furniture... no worries.
It felt like I'll be cheating at life, more-so than I already am by living in a first world country in a middle-class home. I don't pay board, I don't pay bills, I'm asked to do very little around the house; I only pay for things like snacks and video games, with the occasional miscellaneous expense. I earned $3000 over a month working for the government, and I still have over a third of it left 18 months later. I only take $20 here and $30 there; it's a financial IV drip. I know I'm privileged, and I'd be a fool to say I don't like it or take advantage. But, in terms of my long-term future, I looked at it less like a loss of potential grief and more like a loss of potential experience, as if I'm obligated to know what it feels like to be anxious about whether you can pay the next chunk of the mortgage, or whether you can pay the electricity bill before they start sending you threatening letters and disturbing you with angry phone calls.
It's not like I'll never ever have to worry about that stuff. I'll probably move out before mum dies, which means I will have to find my own place, pay my own bills, buy my own food, my own furniture, my own car, etc. She'd have to stop breathing pretty soon for me to miss out on that all-together. But, once this house frees up again, why the fuck would I keep paying rent? Fuck that shit; I'd own a goddamned house. That I can live in. That's hundreds of thousands of dollars I will never need to find, save, or spend. My experience of a stressful financial life looks like it'll be short lived. I'm lucky, I guess.
I mean, it's not all good. Once she's gone, that will fuck with me on levels I can't even begin to comprehend. No father to talk to (I want nothing to do with that faggot), no grandparents to fall back on, no siblings to grieve with... very isolating. I'm rather used to isolation, being an only child in a single-mother family, but my mum is literally my only safety net. And she's a big net at that—she's told me repeatedly she'll always look out for me and be there if I need her, no matter what. Once that net's gone, if I fall, I have to organise my own sound landing. But in terms of financial stability alone, I stand to gain a great deal which will save pain in other areas.
As per usual, I began depressed over one thing, then became depressed about lots of things. Thoughts moved from money to my social life. I've been thinking about the impression I make on people when I'm around them: how I look, how I talk, that kind of thing. I can't help but come to the conclusion that I'm just plain boring. I don't have a wild personality; I'm not outgoing; I don't have many friends; I don't do much in my spare time other than browse the net, play games, write jokes, and edit videos for YouTube. I couldn't blame anyone for thinking I was the dullest motherfucker they'd laid eyes on.
There's just a whole lot of shit other people care about that I simply don't. Like, I don't give a fuck about what I look like. I just don't care. I don't fuss over my clothes—I have plenty. There's stuff for any occasion, so I don't need to buy more. I have enough shirts, enough pants, enough jeans, enough shoes. I have enough. I'm fine. I don't need more. I don't want more. My clothes perform their practical functions every time, without fail.
But do my clothes reflect my personality? No, not really. I don't have gamer shirts, I don't have comedy shirts, I don't have shirts with nerdy quips on them. Most of my clothes are either just generic stuff or surf-brand stuff (all mum's doing, not mine, lol). My question here would be 'is this really a problem?' Do I need to buy shirts just to tell people who I am? Is this worth it? Do I need to do this like everyone else? I started thinking about this when I went to the movies with a friend of mine. She had a Doctor Who shirt on, and a passer-by noticed, leading the two strangers to have a short conversation. So it's not like I'm not seeing the benefits—it makes sense—I just don't know if I wanna go through with that. I don't know whether it fits better for me to stick with my apathy, or to care more and look into consuming more apparel than I previously have, now being able to choose whatever I want.
Sometimes I do care what I look like; I certainly do on-stage. I always wear the same thing when doing stand-up: a plain long-sleeved black shirt with long black pants or black jeans. Blacks contrast with my skin tone and bring focus to my face. And my jokes can get dark, so I like to dress dark. It's also slimming, which is very important for a skinny guy like me :)
Alcohol is another one of those things I don't care for. You wanna get wasted? You go right ahead and do that. I'll even support your right to get wasted. But I don't want to get wasted myself. I don't even want to risk getting wasted. Even getting tipsy is going to far for me. I hate being less aware of situations than I otherwise could be. And this is one of those things where the only reason I want to try it is because almost everyone else my age does it. When the desire to conform is the only driving force behind my interest in something, warning sirens go off everywhere, demanding that I do not submit under any circumstances.
Half of it's the conformity, and half of it's the fear behind the loss of awareness. Alcohol would zip through me; I wouldn't be able to handle much of it. And I keep asking myself why I'd ever do something I'm scared of, just cos every other cunt is doing it. The answer to that has repeatedly been "Well, don't! Fuck them." I can't help but see it as nothing more than an escape from reality. It's not like I don't have my own—if I get depressed or anxious and wanna get away from it all, I usually go to sleep for a while. But why do I need to drink if I can escape in my own way, without losing control, without the risk of making an ass of myself or hurting other people?
Its only benefit seems to be fitting in, making you more sociable. But while making you more sociable, it turns you into an asshole for the people who aren't drinking. For me, conversations with drunk people are the worst fucking thing I can imagine at a social event. They're illogical, they're stupid, they're obnoxious, every single goddamned time. I grow tired of it rather quickly. Obviously, one possible solution is to be drunk with them so I won't give a shit anymore, but I don't see how it's worth all the other drawbacks. Alongside such limited positives, I see the potential to verbally abuse people for no reason, make people uncomfortable only because I'm unable to function properly, vomiting because I'm a selfish prick with no self control, or passing out and having other people take care of my sorry ass because I'm incapable of doing so. It just seems so fucking childish. But, on the other hand, all the judgement I can pass off sometimes, and my fear of alcohol itself, is just as immature. Can't win :P
If I ever got the balls to try it, and if I could bear the taste (I won't drink things I don't like the taste of), I suppose I could enjoy light drinks with people on social occasions, but I don't see myself taking shots and downing entire bottles of vodka, or whatever the fuck else people drink in the name of excess.
Speaking of maturity, travelling is another thing that was on my mind. I've heard about so many people venturing overseas, studying overseas, even living overseas for extend periods of time. And every time I see it, I can't help but feel like I'm way behind for not even being interested, let alone having the skills and the balls to actually do it. I can't imagine being that far away from everyone I know for even a few days, let alone the weeks and months these people spend overseas. I sit here, reading these Facebook statuses from Venice and Paris and Japan thinking "HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT DEAD YET? TELL ME YOUR SECRETS >.<"
It's not just the food either—to be honest, so long as I was in a city or a town with a Western supermarket, I'd probably be able to get all the unhealthy noms I live on over here. It's not infeasible for me to stock up on chips, yoghurt, cereal, breadsticks, etc., and travel around, so long as I've got enough to last me till I reach another supermarket. Perhaps the excitement of being in a new place (which I've heard so much about :P) will drive me to try new food. It's all the other things that worry me: being alone, having to keep alert on unfamiliar streets, finding my way around, having to plan finances, visas, passports, accommodation, etc., the fucking airplane rides. It's that shit that scares me.
Would I like to travel? I dunno. Maybe one day. I'd like to perform stand-up in the US and the UK, maybe in a few other English-speaking countries too, but I'm not preparing to do that at the moment. I'm not keen on going somewhere just to look at things and take pictures—I can see the wonders of the world on the internet for free. If I'm gonna go somewhere, I wanna do shit, man.
Overall, the way I look at my personality and my attractiveness is through the lens of scepticism. My atheism is as such: I see no evidence for the existence of any gods, so I lack belief in gods. I don't necessarily affirm that there are no gods; I just don't have any belief in gods. It is up to the people claiming there is a god, or that there are gods, to provide me with evidence before I change my mind. Likewise, with my attractiveness, I see no evidence suggesting that anyone thinks I'm attractive, so I have no reason to believe there are people who find me attractive. Does that mean I think I'm unattractive? No. I could be attractive to someone, somewhere, perhaps someone who hasn't met me yet who will find me attractive upon my introduction. But that doesn't mean I think I'm attractive. It all depends on who you ask, really.
Unfortunately, without confidence in yourself, people tend to find you unattractive anyway. This indicates a need for me to have confidence in the attractiveness I have no evidence for, just so I can get the evidence I need to have confidence in its existence. Fuck :P
I guess I feel as though I'm being young incorrectly. I know there's no actual 'correct' way—no 'correct' age to start drinking, if at all; no 'correct' clothes to wear; no 'correct' desires to hold—but sometimes, it's like I'm trying to force myself into a puzzle as a piece that just doesn't fit. Mum often represents it differently unto me, making out as though I'm tough for managing to be so different for so long, but I can't help but think fear of things other than conformity are just as responsible for my failure to fit the standard. I don't know where people my age get all this gusto from. Do I have it in a different fashion, or just not at all?
I'm a nihilist; I believe there is no inherent meaning to life, and that you have to create your own. Perhaps most people my age asked the same question, and all arrived at the same answer.
A few hours ago, I was talking to mum about bills, with her saying that she was gonna have to really stretch her next few paychecks to get by. We're not poor by any stretch of the imagination—it's not an desperate situation—but she doesn't wanna resort to using our emergency money or drawing on the mortgage if she can avoid it. In her drunken state (work's been depressing her, and given what's happened, I really can't blame her for drowning her sorrows), she started to think I was worried, and assured me that I had nothing to fear, given that I will inherit everything and will not have to worry anywhere near as much about finances as she has. At the time, I was more worried about the state she was in and the situation she was talking about; but after the conversation finished, my feelings had changed significantly.
I became depressed that I was gonna avoid all that trouble.
Seriously, I was sad that things would be easy for me when it came to money, at least after my mother's death. It wasn't the death aspect; it had nothing to do with the prospect of losing my mother (although that will certainly kick me in the balls when it happens). I felt bad about how unfair it seemed. There are people all around the world of far greater moral fibre than me who suffer more greatly than I do, and a lot of those people will have to fight to pay rent, pay for food, pay for utilities, pay for healthcare, pay for their kids, pay their mortgage—they will have to stretch every paycheck they get for a long, long time, perhaps for the entirety of their working lives. I, on the other hand, will get a house and some security money when my mum stops breathing. I am assured it; it is legally bidden to me. No rent, no mortgage, no need for new furniture... no worries.
It felt like I'll be cheating at life, more-so than I already am by living in a first world country in a middle-class home. I don't pay board, I don't pay bills, I'm asked to do very little around the house; I only pay for things like snacks and video games, with the occasional miscellaneous expense. I earned $3000 over a month working for the government, and I still have over a third of it left 18 months later. I only take $20 here and $30 there; it's a financial IV drip. I know I'm privileged, and I'd be a fool to say I don't like it or take advantage. But, in terms of my long-term future, I looked at it less like a loss of potential grief and more like a loss of potential experience, as if I'm obligated to know what it feels like to be anxious about whether you can pay the next chunk of the mortgage, or whether you can pay the electricity bill before they start sending you threatening letters and disturbing you with angry phone calls.
It's not like I'll never ever have to worry about that stuff. I'll probably move out before mum dies, which means I will have to find my own place, pay my own bills, buy my own food, my own furniture, my own car, etc. She'd have to stop breathing pretty soon for me to miss out on that all-together. But, once this house frees up again, why the fuck would I keep paying rent? Fuck that shit; I'd own a goddamned house. That I can live in. That's hundreds of thousands of dollars I will never need to find, save, or spend. My experience of a stressful financial life looks like it'll be short lived. I'm lucky, I guess.
I mean, it's not all good. Once she's gone, that will fuck with me on levels I can't even begin to comprehend. No father to talk to (I want nothing to do with that faggot), no grandparents to fall back on, no siblings to grieve with... very isolating. I'm rather used to isolation, being an only child in a single-mother family, but my mum is literally my only safety net. And she's a big net at that—she's told me repeatedly she'll always look out for me and be there if I need her, no matter what. Once that net's gone, if I fall, I have to organise my own sound landing. But in terms of financial stability alone, I stand to gain a great deal which will save pain in other areas.
As per usual, I began depressed over one thing, then became depressed about lots of things. Thoughts moved from money to my social life. I've been thinking about the impression I make on people when I'm around them: how I look, how I talk, that kind of thing. I can't help but come to the conclusion that I'm just plain boring. I don't have a wild personality; I'm not outgoing; I don't have many friends; I don't do much in my spare time other than browse the net, play games, write jokes, and edit videos for YouTube. I couldn't blame anyone for thinking I was the dullest motherfucker they'd laid eyes on.
There's just a whole lot of shit other people care about that I simply don't. Like, I don't give a fuck about what I look like. I just don't care. I don't fuss over my clothes—I have plenty. There's stuff for any occasion, so I don't need to buy more. I have enough shirts, enough pants, enough jeans, enough shoes. I have enough. I'm fine. I don't need more. I don't want more. My clothes perform their practical functions every time, without fail.
But do my clothes reflect my personality? No, not really. I don't have gamer shirts, I don't have comedy shirts, I don't have shirts with nerdy quips on them. Most of my clothes are either just generic stuff or surf-brand stuff (all mum's doing, not mine, lol). My question here would be 'is this really a problem?' Do I need to buy shirts just to tell people who I am? Is this worth it? Do I need to do this like everyone else? I started thinking about this when I went to the movies with a friend of mine. She had a Doctor Who shirt on, and a passer-by noticed, leading the two strangers to have a short conversation. So it's not like I'm not seeing the benefits—it makes sense—I just don't know if I wanna go through with that. I don't know whether it fits better for me to stick with my apathy, or to care more and look into consuming more apparel than I previously have, now being able to choose whatever I want.
Sometimes I do care what I look like; I certainly do on-stage. I always wear the same thing when doing stand-up: a plain long-sleeved black shirt with long black pants or black jeans. Blacks contrast with my skin tone and bring focus to my face. And my jokes can get dark, so I like to dress dark. It's also slimming, which is very important for a skinny guy like me :)
Alcohol is another one of those things I don't care for. You wanna get wasted? You go right ahead and do that. I'll even support your right to get wasted. But I don't want to get wasted myself. I don't even want to risk getting wasted. Even getting tipsy is going to far for me. I hate being less aware of situations than I otherwise could be. And this is one of those things where the only reason I want to try it is because almost everyone else my age does it. When the desire to conform is the only driving force behind my interest in something, warning sirens go off everywhere, demanding that I do not submit under any circumstances.
Half of it's the conformity, and half of it's the fear behind the loss of awareness. Alcohol would zip through me; I wouldn't be able to handle much of it. And I keep asking myself why I'd ever do something I'm scared of, just cos every other cunt is doing it. The answer to that has repeatedly been "Well, don't! Fuck them." I can't help but see it as nothing more than an escape from reality. It's not like I don't have my own—if I get depressed or anxious and wanna get away from it all, I usually go to sleep for a while. But why do I need to drink if I can escape in my own way, without losing control, without the risk of making an ass of myself or hurting other people?
Its only benefit seems to be fitting in, making you more sociable. But while making you more sociable, it turns you into an asshole for the people who aren't drinking. For me, conversations with drunk people are the worst fucking thing I can imagine at a social event. They're illogical, they're stupid, they're obnoxious, every single goddamned time. I grow tired of it rather quickly. Obviously, one possible solution is to be drunk with them so I won't give a shit anymore, but I don't see how it's worth all the other drawbacks. Alongside such limited positives, I see the potential to verbally abuse people for no reason, make people uncomfortable only because I'm unable to function properly, vomiting because I'm a selfish prick with no self control, or passing out and having other people take care of my sorry ass because I'm incapable of doing so. It just seems so fucking childish. But, on the other hand, all the judgement I can pass off sometimes, and my fear of alcohol itself, is just as immature. Can't win :P
If I ever got the balls to try it, and if I could bear the taste (I won't drink things I don't like the taste of), I suppose I could enjoy light drinks with people on social occasions, but I don't see myself taking shots and downing entire bottles of vodka, or whatever the fuck else people drink in the name of excess.
Speaking of maturity, travelling is another thing that was on my mind. I've heard about so many people venturing overseas, studying overseas, even living overseas for extend periods of time. And every time I see it, I can't help but feel like I'm way behind for not even being interested, let alone having the skills and the balls to actually do it. I can't imagine being that far away from everyone I know for even a few days, let alone the weeks and months these people spend overseas. I sit here, reading these Facebook statuses from Venice and Paris and Japan thinking "HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT DEAD YET? TELL ME YOUR SECRETS >.<"
It's not just the food either—to be honest, so long as I was in a city or a town with a Western supermarket, I'd probably be able to get all the unhealthy noms I live on over here. It's not infeasible for me to stock up on chips, yoghurt, cereal, breadsticks, etc., and travel around, so long as I've got enough to last me till I reach another supermarket. Perhaps the excitement of being in a new place (which I've heard so much about :P) will drive me to try new food. It's all the other things that worry me: being alone, having to keep alert on unfamiliar streets, finding my way around, having to plan finances, visas, passports, accommodation, etc., the fucking airplane rides. It's that shit that scares me.
Would I like to travel? I dunno. Maybe one day. I'd like to perform stand-up in the US and the UK, maybe in a few other English-speaking countries too, but I'm not preparing to do that at the moment. I'm not keen on going somewhere just to look at things and take pictures—I can see the wonders of the world on the internet for free. If I'm gonna go somewhere, I wanna do shit, man.
Overall, the way I look at my personality and my attractiveness is through the lens of scepticism. My atheism is as such: I see no evidence for the existence of any gods, so I lack belief in gods. I don't necessarily affirm that there are no gods; I just don't have any belief in gods. It is up to the people claiming there is a god, or that there are gods, to provide me with evidence before I change my mind. Likewise, with my attractiveness, I see no evidence suggesting that anyone thinks I'm attractive, so I have no reason to believe there are people who find me attractive. Does that mean I think I'm unattractive? No. I could be attractive to someone, somewhere, perhaps someone who hasn't met me yet who will find me attractive upon my introduction. But that doesn't mean I think I'm attractive. It all depends on who you ask, really.
Unfortunately, without confidence in yourself, people tend to find you unattractive anyway. This indicates a need for me to have confidence in the attractiveness I have no evidence for, just so I can get the evidence I need to have confidence in its existence. Fuck :P
I guess I feel as though I'm being young incorrectly. I know there's no actual 'correct' way—no 'correct' age to start drinking, if at all; no 'correct' clothes to wear; no 'correct' desires to hold—but sometimes, it's like I'm trying to force myself into a puzzle as a piece that just doesn't fit. Mum often represents it differently unto me, making out as though I'm tough for managing to be so different for so long, but I can't help but think fear of things other than conformity are just as responsible for my failure to fit the standard. I don't know where people my age get all this gusto from. Do I have it in a different fashion, or just not at all?
I'm a nihilist; I believe there is no inherent meaning to life, and that you have to create your own. Perhaps most people my age asked the same question, and all arrived at the same answer.
Friday, 31 May 2013
Comedy Gigs, Part 3: A Bad Show
PERFORMANCE B: THE VAULT
So, while that was a good show, this one wasn't so good. Having now performed my monologue in its entirety, and having it received with overwhelming positivity, I felt as though I should be fine using that material for my upcoming performance at The Vault. The way I saw it, people who went to something like a cabaret would be smart—I figured they'd be freethinkers, fond of anything anti-conformist or anti-establishment. That's the perfect audience for my material, so I changed almost nothing.
I rocked up to the venue and went up to the desk to meet with the organisers. I spoke to the MC, and he got me to present the beginning and end of my act so he knew when to get ready to come back on-stage himself. He was a real oddball: his face was painted, highlighting his blank expression, and, by proxy, his deadpan voice. He said he would improvise his response to my material; in my mind, I'm like "Oh, better switch to improv mode!" The way I saw it, he was playing a sad clown, so I was like "I'd better pick a character to speak to him in, make him think I'm funny... um... eerr... :O I know, I'll act all pretentious!" He kept getting my name wrong—I figured he was just doing that on purpose as part of his character, but in retrospect, I don't think he was putting on an act. That meant, when he asked me a question, my fake-arrogant response of 'Well, if you identify me correctly, I guess I can answer that :)" probably came across as who I really was, rather than who I was pretending to be...
Yeah, great start: make the host think you're a total asshole :P
Anyway, I went into the dressing room. I was the only stand-up comedian, so I didn't have any comedy buddies to talk to (that's not to say none of the other acts were funny, just that it wasn't like the RAW competition in terms of performers). I shyly introduced myself, sat down, answered the few questions they asked about what I did, and receded into my shell. One performer came in and said she saw my RAW performance, complimenting me—this only reaffirmed the existing confidence I had in my material. Other than that, though, I really didn't say much. I didn't know what to say; I never really know what to say :P The only thing I remember talking about was someone's microphone: she was talking to someone else about how the sound guy said the mic was 'mono', and how they thought that might mean the sound quality was worse, so I explained that 'mono' only meant there was one sound input (as opposed to 'stereo', which is two), and assured her that it wouldn't affect the sound quality. So I suppose you can't say I didn't take any opportunities to talk to someone, but that I only took the safest ones :P
(Note to self: work at audio store, seek out hot chicks who are having trouble, dazzle them with your l33t tech knowledge which isn't that l33t but they don't know that, and get laid)
I was also getting more nervous by the minute, checking the time far more frequently than I did at RAW. While the act before me was on, I went through my lines under my breath, shaking as per usual. Eventually, I went to the side of the stage, and was called on. Rather than being on the stage himself, the MC was projecting his head onto a moon-shaped screen above the stage (which is basically his shtick), and I only just realised this. I reacted to it vocally, but, of course, everyone else already knew, so they didn't care, did they :P My reaction prompted the MC to go "Did you want to have a conversation?" to which I responded "Well, if you want to, we can :)". Again, in retrospect, I have doubts about his being in character at the time; I think he seriously wanted me to stop talking to him and get on with my act :P
Now I start my routine. The train joke gets almost no reaction—this is bad, as I've missed the best opportunity to gain the audience's confidence in my ability. But, alas! The almighty pornography joke is next! You know, that joke where I had to talk over the top of laughter to get to the end? So much for that: hardly anyone laughed at it. This is fucking with my confidence, and, though I'm not fully aware, this is making me appear nervous on-stage: I'm tilting my head towards the floor, making far less eye contact with the audience than at RAW (I never took my eye off them there), and I was speaking with less volume and less punch. This was going downhill fast.
Then I got to the gay marriage jokes. Upon mentioning our Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, who I was very clearly about to mock, someone in the audience said "Woo! Go Julia!" I almost stopped to respond, but what the hell am I supposed to say to that? If I'm about to take the piss out of someone, the build-up to this being obvious to anyone who's listening, and you praise the person I'm about to ridicule... what am I supposed to reply with other than "You're a fucking moron"? Not that I was super irritated, but it bewildered me that someone was dumb enough to say that given the risk they took of being mocked themselves in front of a crowd.
And, again, these jokes weren't received too well—given the porno stuff didn't go so well either, I was starting to think I was performing in front of conservatives (one of which seems to like our PM, who's technically a liberal... yeah >.>). At that point, I more or less concluded this gig wouldn't go so well, but I pressed on.
Next up, I made fun of the Federal Opposition Leader. Again, no real response. This gets to me even more: if they like Gillard, theoretically, they wouldn't like her opposition. I started to wonder: do these people know fucking anything about politics? I'm not exactly up on every issue under the sun, but these people don't seem to know, or care about, anything political whatsoever. Are they disillusioned with the political system, thinking they're above it all, believing it to be an illusion of civil freedom in terms of how their country is run? Or are they just plain retarded?
I eventually got onto the sex jokes; thankfully, these were received a little better than the first half. To my astonishment, I got a really good response to another line I thought had little comic value—a new line, in fact. When talking about the 'sleeping together' euphemism, I said the following:
"'Sleeping together'? Correct this virgin if he's wrong, but——"-and I was cut off by laughter, just like last time. I then said something like "that's the best joke I have", and, to these people, this was evidently true :P Incidentally, the line about fucking someone who's sleeping, which got me a surprise round of applause last time, got little-to-no response this time, even when I paused intentionally to let them laugh. My boost of confidence quickly came to an end.
When I got into the physical part where I rotated myself on all fours, I nearly slipped over, cos it was raining outside, meaning my shoes were wet. I don't even know if they laughed at that; I was beyond caring by this stage :P I got to the end, said my goodbyes, and went back to the dressing room, very disappointed. I didn't know what went wrong, but something did. Was it the material? Was it my delivery? I didn't know.
The intermission followed my act. I went upstairs and found my mum and two others who came along to watch (I didn't even know there was an upstairs, meaning the few people up there must have felt super-excluded cos I never looked at them, lol). I remarked how disappointed I was, and kept wondering what exactly just happened. After the intermission, the MC came on-stage with some toy aeroplanes. He tied them to a rope, tied the rope to a helmet on his head, turned the planes on, and swung them around his head. I didn't really find it funny (I was hardly in the mood to laugh after my performance :P), but the audience laughed whenever he was hit, and cheered him on the whole way through.
At this point, I started to make sense of it: these people weren't interested in politics. They didn't care about social issues. They found more enjoyment in watching someone spin toy aeroplanes around their head than being intellectually provoked. A line in my act proved it, too: they laughed when I called myself a virgin, cos I was mocking myself. What did this mean for me? Well, I now knew: if I was to ever go back there, and if I wanted laughs, I'd have to focus more on self-depreciation (which isn't really a proble, cos anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis knows I'm a fucking pro at that shit :P). These people wanted to laugh at the suffering of the performers, and if that's what they want, that's what you have to give them, whether you like it or not. They're not there for you; you are there for them.
On a side note, there was a band playing throughout the night, and they rounded off the evening with some music. Each member of the band had an alias and a costume; the bass player was a chick called Serpentine, and from memory, she had on either a mask or face paint around her eyes. I looked at her quite a few times while they were playing, cos she was kinda hot :) But, in addition to being chicken shit with women to begin with, I couldn't work out how to talk to her anyway. I mean, she was on-stage, so I couldn't interrupt her; I'd just performed like crap, so I haven't exactly marketed myself very well; and I've called myself a virgin, which, for a woman like her (I'd say she was a couple of years my elder) was probably a turn off. She also seemed kinda apathetic, which turns me off, but I still found her attractive, so I kept looking anyway. They called themselves 'The Elastic Waste Band'—problem is, there are other bands (famous ones) that go by this name , meaning I can't find anything on the internet about their actual names, their hometown, nothing. Given that I haven't really been attracted to someone in a while, it was kinda cool to feel that again, even if it wasn't very strong and it had no chance of going anywhere.
It was then time to leave. As I was leaving, four or five people came up to me and said I did a good job on-stage. And they weren't bullshitting, either; the smile on their faces when talking to me told me they were being honest. That was a relief: at least someone enjoyed it. One guy was amazed I was doing this at only nineteen, and he gave me lots of compliments—I guess, while you can't please all the people all the time, it's also pretty hard to please no one at all. What sucked was, I performed way better at RAW, but never spoke to the audience. Can you imagine how many compliments I missed? All for going out the wrong exit. Fuck :P
I was also paid for my work, which was a surprise cos I wasn't told I'd get moniez. Again, kinda ironic that I've been paid nothing to perform well, but I have been paid to perform poorly. What gives?
In retrospect, I don't think this audience was very bright. I've bombed before, and it sucks when it happens, but the previous times I've bombed, the material has been totally untested. This time, not only was the material tested, but it was the best monologue I've ever done, going off the first audience's reaction. Different people have different tastes in comedy, and there's nothing I can do about that; but some people are just too stupid to get the jokes, and I think that was a problem here. At least I know that now. But, as George Carlin once said (though I cannot find the exact quote anywhere):
"If material works one night, but doesn't work the next, it's them, not you."
Saturday, 25 May 2013
Comedy Gigs, Part 2: A Good Show
PERFORMANCE A: RAW COMEDY COMPETITION
And that takes us to the performance night. I walk into the venue and ask the person at the counter where I need to go. They point me to my left, so I walk towards the tables. To my surprise, the person at the table closest recognised me—he was from my old high school, being in the year below mine. We sat down and talked, and it turned out this was his first performance. It was strange, sitting across from someone who had less relevant experience rather than more, given how infrequently I'm put in such a position, but it was also cool to be able to relate to him as a first-timer, a stand-up virgin if you will.
His curiosity on the subject led him to ask some questions. He asked how I felt when I first went on stage; I said was nervous as fuck, and shaking quite a bit. Realising you have no one else to rely on while you're up there is daunting. He asked if I was nervous; I said I wasn't, but that I would become nervous eventually, more and more so as my time to perform approached. He asked what my material was about, and I told him what my subject matter was. In asking him the same question, he told me his was a quite misanthropic routine, about how everything was horrible, how shitty our politics is, how he thought his parents were idiots, etc. I like dark comedy, so I thought we'd get along quite well.
We were then moved into the green room. This is where the nerves start for me, but at this point, it was mostly due to being around strangers; the worst was yet to come. The show coordinator asked if anyone wanted to go on first. I decided not to; the guy from my old high school took the plunge instead. He seemed very game for a newcomer. When they came back with the final running order, I was on last. This seems to be a pattern for me, cos I always go on last. I went on last at both my high school variety shows, I went on second-last at the previous RAW competition (which I have no blog entry for, but may write about later), and I went on last at this one too; and these were all running orders whose composition I had virtually no part in. I could make the obvious joke about saving the best till last, but if I was the best, I'd know by now :P
Someone from downstairs also came up and gave me a small can of Pringles, saying my mum bought them for me... cos if there's one thing a public speaker needs before going on stage, it's a salty snack to dry their throat. Maybe my mum's a professional troll and I just don't know :P I should have mentioned that on stage, improvised a joke around it, but it only just occurred to me to do that (super-mega-ultra-delayed reaction, lol).
We were then read the rules (which I'd already read... you know, like we all should have :P), and were told if we went over five minutes, our mic would be cut (just as they said last year). She also said we couldn't use any offensive language. Given that my performance was rather graphic and profane (for effect, not just for the sake of it), I was like "What? At all?", to which the coordinator replied "if it's justified by context, yeah, but otherwise, no". I knew all my stuff was justified by context, so I wasn't worried. But when she left, the guy from my old school criticised the censorship policy. We got into a discussion about censorship, and it turns out our views on the subject were rather similar: we both disliked prohibitions on free speech, we both had little respect for political correctness, and we both thought (ie. knew :P) offence was entirely subjective. I was starting to like this dude :)
Continuing to speak with him, I learned that, much like me, he was a big fan of George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Lenny Bruce, Steve Hughes and the like. He also spoke very highly of Doug Stanhope, who I wasn't too familiar with, but had seen enough of to understand why he liked him so much. I went home and watched some Stanhope clips later that week—this only enhanced my appreciation for the guy (though Carlin and Hicks still reign supreme for me personally).
We spoke about the comedians, we spoke about liberalism, we spoke about the hypocrisy of Obama crying for the kids at Sandy Hook but continuing to order drone strikes in the Middle East; we just talked and talked. This is one thing I love about these competitions: I get to meet other comedians! My friends can crack jokes, but they're not into this like I am. They don't trawl YouTube looking for new stand-up vids, they don't see live shows, and they neither write nor perform material (though some of them think so fast on their feet that I swear they could do my job better than I can :P). These events are the only time I get to talk to other people who do what I do, and it feels amazing to share all this stuff that I don't normally get to talk about.
In last year's RAW competition, there was a semi-professional prop comic who'd performed in the United States, doing gigs at amateur comedy clubs in Manhattan. It was unreal not only to be talking to him about the profession, but for a semi-professional to be talking to an amateur like me without a hint of condescension. He was just as enthusiastic about comedy as I was, just with a little age/experience gap. Talking with the guy from my old high school (who I'm gonna have to give a pseudonym so I don't have to keep calling him that :P) was much the same, albeit with me as the 'experienced' one.
He had to leave not long after that, though, as the first half of the group to perform moved into a dressing room closer to the stage. The rest of us stayed, able to watch/listen to a feed of the stage in the green room. Problem is that, while you could clearly see the performer doing what they were doing, the audio was horrible. Instead of simply relaying the comedian's mic feed, the speaker seemed to relay the mic that was on the camera: the comic spoke, the speakers amplified their voice, and the camera recorded what the audience was hearing (as well as the audience themselves). It's the theatrical equivalent of holding a tape recorder to a boombox :P So, of course, it was really hard to make out what the comedians were saying—we could only really discern between 'comic talking', 'audience responding' and 'silence'. They need to fix that shit. I have no experience in the field with A\V stuff and I could fix that shit. Come on :P
So, on goes the newcomer from my old school. His performance was just as misanthropic as he said it'd be: lots of references to suicide, hate, disdain, etc. As I mentioned, I love this kind of humour, so I laughed here and there (at the jokes I could make out :P), and he got a fair response from the audience, but the others in the green room didn't really laugh or say much. He did a lot better than I did when I first took the stage alone, so props to him for that. He came back and said he wanted to keep performing, that he didn't want to stop now that he'd gone on—I can kinda relate to that (it feels pretty fuckin' cool to have people laughing at what you're saying :D). In retrospective, after watching some more Stanhope clips on YouTube, the similarities between him and the guy from my old school became rather apparent, Stanhope's influence now even more evident than it was before.
The other performers went on too, but seeing as I couldn't understand what any of them were saying, I can't tell you what they spoke about. All we could evaluate was how much the audience liked them. There was one guy who bombed hard—first timer, wrote the material yesterday, 'it was on my bucket list' dude. I noticed that no one said anything about how hard he bombed; they only congratulated him for giving it a go. I mean, getting up in front of hundreds of people to tell jokes is tough to try out, don't get me wrong (if anyone should know that, it's me :P), and seeing as he's not pursuing this as a career path or anything, he doesn't really need the criticism; but it's just another example of how hard it is to deliver your judgement unto someone, even if your comments are constructive in nature. I don't exclude myself here, cos I didn't say anything either. But he had horrible material—even my friends who were in the audience said so.
Eventually, we got to the end of the first half: an Irish comic. He does his set and gets a brilliant response. Everyone in that room knew, leading some to verbally affirm: we had our winner. It was over. Only one guy from this heat would make it through to the state semi-final, and we were pretty sure it'd be him. I went there super prepared, hoping to get as far as possible, but this guy got a really good reaction, so I didn't really know if I could top him. I just had to wait and see.
I was eventually called down to the dressing room, as it was time for the second half of performers to get started. This is where the nerves started to really kick in. As my slot drew closer, I started to shake and shiver, I started to fret about what would happen if I forgot a line, or if I jumbled my words, or if I spoke to fast, or if I ran over time. I started going over my lines, making sure I remembered them all, refusing to believe the twenty-to-thirty run-throughs I did over the past few days was enough :P
I was then called to the side of the stage. The stagehand quietly introduced herself before giving me a quick rundown on the mic and my time limit. I was shaking quite a bit at this point, my anxiety building. This isn't really stage-fright, per se; it's just a basic fear of making a mistake in front of hundreds of people at once. I feel it just before every performance, and it always dies away once I'm on-stage. To quote/paraphrase one of my high school drama teachers:
"If you're not nervous before you go on-stage, you're not at all concerned about how well you're going to do out there."I wanted the MC to stop talking just so I could kill the tension in my stomach. What was probably only two minutes felt like at least five :P Eventually, though, the wait was over: the MC called my name, and as the adrenaline took its peak, I walked on-stage.
I grabbed the mic and moved the stand aside (something I learned on my first ever gig to get out of the way as fast as you can), then I moved onto my first joke: the train station joke. It got a laugh, but it wasn't the strongest intro—good, but room to build.
After that came the pornography joke. I thought this was a really good one, so I banked some confidence on a big laugh, hoping for applause. The first few lines were well received, thought my awareness of the time limit made me a little cautious with allowing too much laughter between lines. Optimally, you give the audience as much time to laugh as you can, 'milking' the joke for laughs. The only exception is with rapid-fire delivery, when, if the audience starts to laugh while you're talking, you keep delivering lines to build more tension, hypothetically resulting in a bigger payoff. The final line of the pornography joke took this rapid-fire form, and I did indeed have to talk over the sound of mild laughter for a bit till I got to the punchline. When I finally got to the end, the audience erupted with applause, cheers and whistles—my gambit paid off :D
Next up, the gay marriage stuff. While the pornography joke only implied my views on sexuality, this was an overtly political bit, my opinion made as clear as possible. When you take into account the fact that only around sixty-six percent of this country supports the legalisation of same-sex marriage, you can see why this stuff was also a little risky. But, these jokes were also warmly received (no applause, but I can't expect that for every joke, lol). In the middle of the gay marriage stuff, however, was a joke on the Federal Opposition Leader (which I included so I could take the piss out of both major political parties—fuck 'em both). This did get applause, which surprised me, but I was thrilled nonetheless.
With the topical issues out of the way, I moved onto the tested material; I was relatively safe from here on out. First item on the list of sex euphemisms was 'sleeping together', and the lines were laughed at as I expected. What I wasn't expecting, though, was another round of applause at a line I didn't even think was funny. Here's what I said:
"'Sleeping together'? Sex doesn't involve sleep! You can have sex before sleep, you can have sex after sleep, but you can't have sex while you're sleeping! You can fuck someone who's having a sleep, but that's——"And then they laughed and applauded! The lines before that didn't really get too many laughs, but that last bit set them right off! This isn't an uncommon occurrence with new material, and it's interesting when it happens: sometimes, you think you've got a killer line, but when you deliver it, it doesn't go that well; but other times, you deliver what you think is a mere set-up, something you don't think has any comic merit in and of itself, and people surprise you with a laugh, sometimes a big one—sometimes with clapping too :)
My final joke was on the term 'screwing'. This was the only bit of my performance which required physical activity other than standing and moving my arms (getting down on all fours and rotating—my interpretation of what screwing actually is), and seeing as physical comedy isn't my strong suit, I had to be extra careful in making sure I didn't fuck this up. But, I pulled it off, managing to get yet another round of applause. I didn't finish on a joke that got me a round of applause (something I try to aim for), but I didn't think it mattered, cos four rounds of applause in four minutes is fucking insane. I thought I'd be lucky to get one, maybe two. But four? Holy shit, dude ^_^
And with that, I was done. I said good night, put the mic back in the stand, and went back off stage. I was really pleased with my performance, but still didn't really know if I'd done well enough to beat the Irish dude.
After a bit of waiting, we were called out onto the stage for the results. The MC held two envelopes in his hand: one for the runner-up, and one for the winner. We were all given one final round of applause, then the MC announced the placeholders.
"And the runner-up for the 2013 RAW Wollongong heat is... Liam McCann!"I was like "Wait, wut? ...OK then :)", and went up to get my envelope. I went back and shook the hands of those next to me as they congratulated me. Of course, the Irish dude won, but that was established ages ago, now wasn't it :P Inside the envelope were tickets for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival Roadshow performance at the same venue (which I went to watch a few days ago; many lulz were had), and a chance to perform my act in a cabaret at a venue called The Vault.
While speaking with the coordinator afterwards, I was also told that the RAW judges wanted me to be a guest-judge in the Wollongong heat for Class Clowns (a stand-up competition for teens from Year 9 to Year 12)—that, to me, was the best prize. This wasn't just being good enough to perform again; this was being good enough to have your perspective on comedy taken into account alongside that of professionals. I went home and deliberated on what made a good comedian, what traits I'd be looking for during their performances, what kind of material I'd most appreciate, all that stuff. But, a couple of weeks later, they cancelled the Wollongong heat because hardly anyone signed up for it. So. Much. Disappoint :( Not that I can blame anyone for it, but I was so fucking irritated that I was tempted with the opportunity only to have it ripped out from under me. Oh well.
Technically, this is the best I have ever performed at a heat for a comedy competition. I did come second in the state final for Class Clowns in 2011, but I only got to the state final in the first place as a wildcard; my performance in the initial heat was terrible, so I don't know how much my ranking in the state final really counts. And in any case, the performance went better than I expected, with pretty much every joke hitting the mark, save for one or two which only got a small portion of the audience laughing. After all was said and done, I went outside to see my friends who were in the audience.
Also, after watching the video, my performance only took four-and-a-half minutes, as opposed to the five I thought it'd take. Lesson learned: I (intentionally) speak far slower in rehearsal than I do on-stage :P
Click here to read the next entry
Comedy Gigs, Part 1: Writing a Set
With the writing I've been doing lately, comedy's been at the front of my brain for quite some time. I thought it'd be interesting to go through what actually happens during a performance from my point of view: how I write my set, the feeling of being in front of a crowd, how I take in the audience's responses to my jokes, what variables you have to take into consideration before/during the performance—all that stuff. This entry, though, just focuses on the writing aspect; I'll go over the two performances I've had this year, both of which involved the same material, in later entries.
The first of my performances was at the my local theatre, the IPAC, and it was for the RAW Comedy competition. Each year, the Melbourne International Comedy festival runs this comp to scout for young comic talent. Comics sign up for local heats held in all the capital cities, as well as a few other places, and on performance night, everyone performs their set to an audience. The set mustn't be blatantly offensive, nor may it run for any longer than five minutes. The judges determine who'll go through to the next round, and this process continues (with the same judges) through semi-finals, state finals, and the national final, the latter of which is broadcast on television. At the national final, the judges crown one joke teller the champion and hand them their prize: a spot in the So You Think You're Funny competition, held at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.
I wanted to approach the construction of my set as logically as I could. First off, they made it clear in the rules you needed to stand out. Most of the comics who made it to the final made observations about everyday life, told personal stories, or did one-liners. Wanting to stand out, I avoided that for the most part, and decided to have a focus on topical issues and word play.
Having said that, it's not like I sat with a blank page and went "right, jokes... jokes... topical issues, need some of those..."—far from it. I have archives of material which I update whenever I have new ideas, or when I want to expand on existing ones. I had to find material in these archives that seemed like it had potential, and over the next few days, certain bits popped into my head: I had a bit on pornography, a bit that had sat there unused for over a year; I had a couple of lines on the Australian Prime Minister's attitude to gay marriage; and I had a rather long set on euphemisms for sex. This seemed like plenty to fill five minutes.
The sex euphemism jokes had been tested in a class I took at uni last year; the rest of it though, while it had potential, was untested. This was risky, as it meant I had no clue whether the material would go well or not, but it seemed like good stuff. I started linking these segments when my mother was in the hospital—I dunno how, but when I was there with my laptop, everything just came together in my head, and the order in which these jokes should be told was organised rather quickly. I also chose to start with an older joke of mine about train stations, just to make sure I would start my set with a laugh (if your first joke isn't funny, the audience loses confidence in you very quickly). As for the ending, I wanted to finish on a joke that would get me applause (to end big, as it were), but was unsure of exactly how funny the ending was.
With my audience in mind, I knew I couldn't have jokes going over their heads. Fact of the matter is, given my friends, my high school, and my university. I'm used to being around smart people. But this performance is not for intellectuals; it's for the general public. The jokes themselves weren't about theoretical physics or marine biology or anything (I don't even understand those topics myself, lol), but the wording of each joke had to be understandable to your everyday person. There was a joke I had that used the word 'eugenics'; that had to be replaced with a reference to genocide (and my mum thought even that was pushing it :P). I also mentioned sadomasochism and atheism, though these words were kept; they seemed to be suitable. It may seem like nothing, but it's important to know your audience, cos if they don't like your kind of humour, or if they don't understand you, they'll quickly dislike you. Thankfully, the topical nature of my jokes also had a positive side: when an audience hears an argument for something that they agree with, they'll feel smarter for understanding it, meaning they'll be more likely to applaud and more likely to enjoy the show.
In addition to all this, the script was too long. I rehearsed over and over, deliberately slowing my speech down to ensure the audience would understand me (sometimes I speak so fast that people don't understand me). And in timing each run-through, it was always just over the five minute mark, so I had to carefully consider how useful each line was, deleting as many as possible without ruining flow. Set-ups had to be shortened; punch lines had to have more punch; and topical jokes that pushed an agenda without being funny needed to go—if it wasn't there to get a laugh, it was of no use to me. When I performed in last year's RAW, they had a red light that would blink when you got to four minutes, so I knew I was able to generally keep track of time while I was performing, but still had trouble deciding what to cut, and what I'd have to rush through if I was falling behind.
Two of my friends read the script before I performed, and they said it was really funny, as well as liking the political angle, so I was at least partially assured that this material would go well. I was never really nervous about the material not working—not because I'm arrogant (although I am arrogant :P), but because I generally don't feel nerves until I'm actually at the venue, due to perform.
After that, it was just practise, practise, practise, all the way up until the night of the first performance.
Click here to read the next entry
WRITING THE SET
The first of my performances was at the my local theatre, the IPAC, and it was for the RAW Comedy competition. Each year, the Melbourne International Comedy festival runs this comp to scout for young comic talent. Comics sign up for local heats held in all the capital cities, as well as a few other places, and on performance night, everyone performs their set to an audience. The set mustn't be blatantly offensive, nor may it run for any longer than five minutes. The judges determine who'll go through to the next round, and this process continues (with the same judges) through semi-finals, state finals, and the national final, the latter of which is broadcast on television. At the national final, the judges crown one joke teller the champion and hand them their prize: a spot in the So You Think You're Funny competition, held at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.
I wanted to approach the construction of my set as logically as I could. First off, they made it clear in the rules you needed to stand out. Most of the comics who made it to the final made observations about everyday life, told personal stories, or did one-liners. Wanting to stand out, I avoided that for the most part, and decided to have a focus on topical issues and word play.
Having said that, it's not like I sat with a blank page and went "right, jokes... jokes... topical issues, need some of those..."—far from it. I have archives of material which I update whenever I have new ideas, or when I want to expand on existing ones. I had to find material in these archives that seemed like it had potential, and over the next few days, certain bits popped into my head: I had a bit on pornography, a bit that had sat there unused for over a year; I had a couple of lines on the Australian Prime Minister's attitude to gay marriage; and I had a rather long set on euphemisms for sex. This seemed like plenty to fill five minutes.
The sex euphemism jokes had been tested in a class I took at uni last year; the rest of it though, while it had potential, was untested. This was risky, as it meant I had no clue whether the material would go well or not, but it seemed like good stuff. I started linking these segments when my mother was in the hospital—I dunno how, but when I was there with my laptop, everything just came together in my head, and the order in which these jokes should be told was organised rather quickly. I also chose to start with an older joke of mine about train stations, just to make sure I would start my set with a laugh (if your first joke isn't funny, the audience loses confidence in you very quickly). As for the ending, I wanted to finish on a joke that would get me applause (to end big, as it were), but was unsure of exactly how funny the ending was.
With my audience in mind, I knew I couldn't have jokes going over their heads. Fact of the matter is, given my friends, my high school, and my university. I'm used to being around smart people. But this performance is not for intellectuals; it's for the general public. The jokes themselves weren't about theoretical physics or marine biology or anything (I don't even understand those topics myself, lol), but the wording of each joke had to be understandable to your everyday person. There was a joke I had that used the word 'eugenics'; that had to be replaced with a reference to genocide (and my mum thought even that was pushing it :P). I also mentioned sadomasochism and atheism, though these words were kept; they seemed to be suitable. It may seem like nothing, but it's important to know your audience, cos if they don't like your kind of humour, or if they don't understand you, they'll quickly dislike you. Thankfully, the topical nature of my jokes also had a positive side: when an audience hears an argument for something that they agree with, they'll feel smarter for understanding it, meaning they'll be more likely to applaud and more likely to enjoy the show.
In addition to all this, the script was too long. I rehearsed over and over, deliberately slowing my speech down to ensure the audience would understand me (sometimes I speak so fast that people don't understand me). And in timing each run-through, it was always just over the five minute mark, so I had to carefully consider how useful each line was, deleting as many as possible without ruining flow. Set-ups had to be shortened; punch lines had to have more punch; and topical jokes that pushed an agenda without being funny needed to go—if it wasn't there to get a laugh, it was of no use to me. When I performed in last year's RAW, they had a red light that would blink when you got to four minutes, so I knew I was able to generally keep track of time while I was performing, but still had trouble deciding what to cut, and what I'd have to rush through if I was falling behind.
Two of my friends read the script before I performed, and they said it was really funny, as well as liking the political angle, so I was at least partially assured that this material would go well. I was never really nervous about the material not working—not because I'm arrogant (although I am arrogant :P), but because I generally don't feel nerves until I'm actually at the venue, due to perform.
After that, it was just practise, practise, practise, all the way up until the night of the first performance.
Click here to read the next entry
Monday, 13 May 2013
Retrospective Comedy: I Still Have a Story to Tell
In 2011, I wrote 45 minutes worth of material over a 3 month period; the resulting compilation was called Brutal Honesty. 10 minutes of monologue was dedicated to talking about Sally, a girl I liked for 2 years in high school. The material for the show wasn't very funny, and the Sally material was no exception. It wasn't brutal honesty on my part; it was honestly brutal on the audience's part (I seriously don't know how they sat through it). Because of this, I'm currently working on a bunch of material for another extended show called Special Provocations which I intend to record at home, rather than before a live audience. It was originally meant to be an amended version of the previous show, but after watching the footage, I decided it isn't worth re-using— my delivery was so weak throughout the performance that even the successful lines were rendered unusable. Part of this new material has me talking about my Year 12 Formal and after-party, critiquing my mindset and my actions at the event, including how my writing about my previous admiration Sally for Brutal Honesty, when combined with the loneliness I felt at that time, helped rekindle my interest in her.
I've mentioned Sally and my Formal/after-party a million times, so I can understand how it might seem obsessive, and I've seen how that obsession can manifest in a negative way. In writing the Sally material for Brutal Honesty, as I just mentioned, I started to become attracted to her again—I was looking at her more and more, having repeated romantic/sexual fantasies involving her, even wanting to ask her to be my date for the Formal. And in writing the Formal/after-party material for Special Provocations, I've thought about what's Sally's doing now, what she remembers of that evening—as well as wanting to know if she knows what I said about her on this blog, and what her opinion of me is, if she has one at all.
One of my reasons for writing this new material about the Formal/after-party is so she might see it and laugh at it. Whether her lack of enjoyment that night was my fault or not, it'd make me really happy to know she got a laugh out of my talking about it. It's not as if any of this stuff matters anymore, especially to her, but I still have this urge in me to make things right, to clear the air, and to know everything's OK with her regarding this subject—not to just think it's OK, but to know it's OK.
I wrote this in a private journal entry:
Half the problem is that I think about the past too much; this was also summed up in the journal entry:
Am I weird for wanting that? Is it too obsessive? I don't know anymore.
I've mentioned Sally and my Formal/after-party a million times, so I can understand how it might seem obsessive, and I've seen how that obsession can manifest in a negative way. In writing the Sally material for Brutal Honesty, as I just mentioned, I started to become attracted to her again—I was looking at her more and more, having repeated romantic/sexual fantasies involving her, even wanting to ask her to be my date for the Formal. And in writing the Formal/after-party material for Special Provocations, I've thought about what's Sally's doing now, what she remembers of that evening—as well as wanting to know if she knows what I said about her on this blog, and what her opinion of me is, if she has one at all.
One of my reasons for writing this new material about the Formal/after-party is so she might see it and laugh at it. Whether her lack of enjoyment that night was my fault or not, it'd make me really happy to know she got a laugh out of my talking about it. It's not as if any of this stuff matters anymore, especially to her, but I still have this urge in me to make things right, to clear the air, and to know everything's OK with her regarding this subject—not to just think it's OK, but to know it's OK.
I wrote this in a private journal entry:
I wonder if I’ll ever see [Sally] again, if we’ll ever speak again. I picture us meeting at our school reunion, her reaction different each time. Sometimes, she smiles upon seeing me, gives me a quick hug, and we just talk about what we've done since school ended. Sometimes, she looks at me awkwardly, says "Hey.", and quickly moves on. Sometimes, she gives me a cold look, says nothing, and keeps her sights firmly locked on her next destination. I don't know what to expect, but any potential encounter of ours is so far away that it's silly to think about.It's evident that I've wanted closure on this for ages, and it just doesn't go away. It's such a trivial thing, but at the same time, that doesn't make it any less important to me. When people found the Formal/after-party/Schoolies blog entries on here, I remember one person telling me that there were rumours floating around about me, rumours he didn't elaborate on for fear that I'd regret hearing about them. Not that I know anything specific about such gossip (if the guy who let me know about that is reading this, feel free to let me know—I might even contact you about it later down the line), but it's still left me with this desire to prove myself to people: to prove that I did care about Sally's feelings that evening, to prove that I'm not some dipshit with no social skills, to prove that I learned from my mistakes. I don't really have much reason to care what most of my cohort thinks of me, nor would they have much reason to care about any of this nonsense, but that wish to convince people of the truth still remains.
Half the problem is that I think about the past too much; this was also summed up in the journal entry:
Everyone thinks about their past, but without something in the present to keep my focus on the future, the past (and it's desired manipulation) is inescapable.I don't have much of a life at the moment, and with nothing much to focus on in the now, I focus on back then, simply cos it's more interesting. I know I need to work on that, definitely. But I still hope I finish this new material, and that Sally sees it. It's not like I want someone to go "Hey, Sally! You know that guy who wanted to fuck you a couple of years back? That weirdo? He wants you to see this." That's exactly what I don't want: for her to think I went through the process of writing and recording another 45-60 minutes worth of comedy just to get her attention. I want this stuff to stand up on its own—and the vast majority of the material has fuck all to do with Sally anyway—but I still want her to at least watch the parts mentioning her, hoping she enjoys it. I just want to make her smile.
Am I weird for wanting that? Is it too obsessive? I don't know anymore.
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