mob mentality is a curious thing. or, as tommy lee jones said, "a person is smart. people are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals."
a majority of what i do on stage involves crowd control; the audience arrives in a certain mood, relaxed, ready to drink, smile and laugh. i stand on stage and speak absurdities into a microphone offering up the release they came looking for.
if, that is, they did indeed come looking for a purge.
there are certain shows that go wrong from moment one; the host steps on stage, asks the audience how they're doing, and the audience... sits there. ten minutes of jokes go by and nary a response is given. fair enough, sometimes the host isn't that funny, the people are distracted by placing their orders, etc, etc, excuses and so forth.
when the middle goes up--the 30-minute comedian--and the entire audience is still slightly smiling but mostly quiet, it is time to take note of what is being said, what is getting the little giggles and try and shape your energy and set to best capitalize on what path they seem to be interested in, that you may bring them down yours. as a comedian, you have two important jokes in your set: your opener, and your closer. both are designed to get the biggest response possible. you get their attention well, perform the meat of your act, then leave them on a high note.
after you launch your opening volley, and the people sit there after it has worked for you numerous times? if you have just watched the both the host and middle comedian perform to silence, it becomes somewhat safe to attribute failure on the audience. it's a rare thing, and an incredibly strange phenomena; it is as if the entire collective wandered in confusedly, straight from an auto accident. there is no getting their attention--you see them talking to one another and on their cell phones--and you wonder, "who pays $15 a head to go to a comedy club and not enjoy themselves?"
on occasion, one or at most two tables may have accidentally stumbled into a club to not laugh, which is fine. save, of course, for when they bring their personal issues to the public view. case in point: i have a joke about immigration. my segue into it is to ask the audience, "who is being talked about when the media uses the term illegal immigrants?" the answer, of course, is "mexicans." "illegal immigrants" is simply a cute, politically correct--and in its own way racist--way of saying mexicans without having to feel bad about singling out a people out for finger pointing. everyone knows that no one is talking about canadians, germans or the massive influx of australians into the united states.
last night, however, when i asked the question i got an angry table response; "everyone! we many immigrants in america, like chinese." in so far as there are many immigrants in america, i agreed with the table, then tried to reiterate my point that the term "illegal immigrants" is a safe phrase used to single out a single race without doing so blatantly. unfortunately, a mini-argument ensued. instead of listening to the person with the microphone like everyone else, even in disagreement, the table would neither quiet down nor listen to my point, even though i agreed with theirs. it's very irritating, dealing with those who live such simple lives they have to argue a moot point rather than listen to someone else's idea. these people are not only the party-line voters, they are the single item voters, like those who hear the word 'abortion' and immediately become defensive. instead of reacting to a premise, people need to wait to the payoff. it's like being offended by hearing "knock-knock" and not wanting to say "who's there?"
the table eventually walked out, which is frustrating as a performer. they paused in their exodus long enough to complain to the manager, saying they didn't like my stance on immigration. this would be a falsehood, as i saw them leave and they did so before i was even able to get around to presenting a position on the issue. it's also exasperating, because though the host tanked, the middle did not do well and i did only marginally better then the middle, the manager is generally off doing manager things during a show. he is dealing with servers, kitchen issues… doing anything but sitting and watching the performances. so in the grand scheme of things, he doesn't know exactly what happened, he just knows customers left. this becomes a lovely little black-mark next to my name, regardless of whether or not i did anything wrong.
it is near impossible to make any audience 100% happy. you can come damn close, and you can leave everyone satisfied, but it is difficult to make everyone happy. someone will have wanted more dick jokes, someone else less. someone will have wanted more intelligent humor, someone else more wacky/less thoughtful. everyone has their own tastes, and you cannot cater to an entire audience.
in comedy, the best i can do is to be centered and confident in what i do and say on stage. those that are willing to come along for the ride will generally have a good time, as i am absolutely standing on stage trying my best to find the silly in every situation and help people have fun with their evening. what boggles my mind is when someone with push-button issues willingly leaves the house to take their problems out on others in a public forum.
please, if this is you? stay the fuck home, stfu, or take your own ass to an open microphone and work out your own issues in the spotlight.
seriously.
.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Symmetric Countdown
Three...
...years ago today, I created my Myspace account. I had no real idea what Myspace was, I just had friends yammering on into my ear about it--"Meet people! Make new friends!! Network, socialize!!" It sounded interesting enough, and was hopefully a better waste of time for me than that I pissed away playing videogames.
As Myspace was purportedly designed to be somewhere anyone alike could intermingle, the first group I joined was Myspace Democrats. I figured it was one of those spots of socialization where progressively minded individuals would congregate and converse. Slap my forehead and call me silly, I'm not sure what I was thinking. A distinct lack of politics being discussed aside, I found the group to be a genial and fun place. It was there I found my first few on line friends: Brad, Young William and The Gay (Greg). Back then, Myspace was very Spartan; you had 8 top friends, and they were generally the first few people you met on here; no individual control was allowed here yet, the computer chose your top friends for you.
Oh how times change.
Things grow, expand and mutate, and now we have codes and lists and Top Friends galore should we choose. In my years here, I have read a half-dozen blogs proclaiming that this site is like an online version of High School. At times, I'm inclined to agree.
My first experience with such silliness was in the Democrat group itself. For the most part, it was a social gathering with many regular posters. We were all friendly with one another and enjoyed our daily sojourn into cyberspace. The moderator of the group was a fairly hands off fellow, and where this generally worked to our advantage, it became a nuisance when trolls started showing up. If you're not familiar with the term, a troll is someone with too much time and immaturity on their hands who decides to hit an on line group with thread damaging codes, spam nonsense across every discussion, and act as an overall asshole; imagine hyperactive, unruly teens playing paintball in a library.
Eventually enough emailing was done to the mod that he turned his head slightly to the side and noticed what was happening. He did not, however, want to deal with having to do any work deleting posts or cleaning up threads, so he authorized several friends to have moderator powers along with him. Sadly, those people carried with them insecurity and popularity issues, and became mall cops run amok; instead of politely watching for trolls, they went on banning sprees. Anyone they had built up resentment against was expelled for life, and anyone who spoke up in defense of someone who had been banned? Naturally they were in turn banned themselves. Several unlucky souls even had to deal with having entire profiles deleted; a weak ego run amok can cause much havoc if given opportunity.
So, a new group was formed, one designed to be better than that which we lost the privilege of posting in, and for a while it all gelled exceedingly well. The place became an online little Cheers; everyone knew everyone, and it was a pleasant haven where all were welcomed. Naturally, then, the pattern we escaped repeated itself and we became the monster we tried to avoid. A troll arrived, mod powers were dolled out, and a few odd banishments occurred; "He was mean to my girlfriend!" "I didn't like what he said…" Feelings of the few over rode the desires of the whole. Fights broke out, lines were drawn, there was "right" and "wrong" thrown around like cash at a strip club and precious few were willing to hold an interest in the idea of gray areas and emotions being similar on both sides. Some took public stances while emailing private feelings in contradiction; the petty dropped people from their friends lists, and fractious groups--"this one will be better!"--were created once again.
So it goes.
During the years in which these groups flamed in and out of existence, the "Top Friends" application on profiles expanded, and with it self-esteem shrank; pecking order became important. In vain attempt to stay away from squabbles, I held to two rules: never lower anyone on the "Top Friends" first, and never delete a friend. What's funny in the world of fair is, when I see I've been lowered in a top friends list, I look at it as a positive thing. I use it then to elevate someone else, someone who might have me high on his or her list. Yet almost every single time I shuffle my friends, I've gotten an email from the person who lowered or deleted me, asking, "Why did you bump me?" Apparently what was good for the goose was no good for the gander, no matter how clear the equality in action.
I like the axiom "Leave Every Place Better Than You Found It." You don't trash an apartment and expect to get your deposit back; neither do you lash out and attack friends and expect the bond to be stronger than it was before without work. I've discussed the idea with some who disagree, who say the rule doesn't apply to everything and/or everywhere, meaning on line doesn't deserve the respect life does. My response is another thought, "How You Do Anything is How You Do Everything." Diligence becomes a watchword for actions, as you generally do not keep a messy car and a clean home, nor can you treat a waiter like shit and be kind overall. Likewise, how you act on line is a reflection of who you are in life. Chances are, how you post is a decent mirror of who you are as a person. Consistency exists across all borders, whether responsibility for actions is denied or accepted.
The thing is, I argue the exact opposite as I feel about on line actions, which does make me a hypocrite, but hear me out. I believe there are people behind every profile, people with feelings, hopes, dreams and ideas, and that a general civility should be used when posting. I greet all equally, and think everyone deserves the benefit of respect front and center upon meeting. That said, as much as I understand there are people behind every profile, I just can't bring myself to care when someone out there says anything negative about me on the internet. I can't. I remember my first Myspace insult; I wasn't even on line when a text came through around midnight: "Why is (blank) calling you a pussy in MVP?"--MVP was a lengthy thread many regular attendees posted in. I replied, "No idea," and went to check it out. Sure enough, a couple people were having a little back and forth about how they didn't like me, what a jerk I was, and so on and so forth. I entertained writing "Fuck off" right in the middle of it, but literally couldn't. I could not bring myself to care enough to. I didn't want to engage in negativity, or promote the issue in any way shape or form, so I logged off, texted my buddy "Good looking out," and went to bed. Whatever was being said was going to happen whether or not I got involved, so I let it go. I've also been told people have written sideways blogs about me and/or my "behavior." The blogs don't have my name on them, but whispers arise that the mood was directed my way. Generally, when I read them, I only get the sense the person was writing a projection about what they want out of me, something that has nothing to do with who I am.
For the record, while I do believe there are people behind profiles, it does not mean I am so ignorant as to believe everyone is everything they appear to be. I am well aware some people go out of their way to create projected fantasies on line, things they cannot do in real life. The unhappy may create profiles with which to simply attack and stir things up; the unpopular try to Don Juan their way with all the women on line they could never approach in person. Light eventually shines on all, however, no matter how deeply they hide.
I'd absolutely have to state for the record that the positive experiences I've had on line far outweigh the negative. I've met incredible people, laugh often, and created bonds of friendship that will not be easily broken. I'm working on a fairly good record of meeting people in person that I've shared time with cyber-style, and each introduction has generally been exciting and interesting. I use the site to stay in touch with people I bump into on the road, and I've created bonds with those I've never met. So much so to the point I've even worried during their harsh times; watched them ride roughshod over bumps in the road and felt powerless to help aside from offering up the best insight or comfort I had.
In two months...
...Lydia and I will cross the two-year anniversary of our first date.
I could sing praises of the relationship here, but I'm sure it would be so nauseating as to end up on "cute overload." Suffice to say, being with her has done wonders for my life. By centering my personal life, she has allowed my professional to shine. Lyds is simply the tie that binds me to love and good feelings no matter how far from home I wander. Bonded by a gossamer strand of connection, I am never alone in a hotel room, never isolated while racking up thousands of miles on the car--"Though I must go, endure not yet a breach, but an expansion, like gold to airy thinness beat."
Said centering has allowed me to be a better comedian, and explore the darker aspects of life that confuse me. Comedy is about laughter, so when unhappy and exploring darkness on stage, an audience can become restless, shifty. When happy and exploring dark topics, the audience can feel the subtle shift in presentation. There is an enormous difference between "Why is he yelling at us?" and "He sure is passionate," and the line that divides the two is found deep within the performer. Audiences are like animals; they can sense when something is wrong, even if they cannot explain it. With Lyds, I have a foundation from which to build my ideas from; without her, I was simply lashing out in frustration. Love gives you hope, and whether or not hope is misguided on our planet is wide open to debate, but while I have it, I'm milking it for all it's worth.
In one week...
...I will have lived in Iowa for one year. Within the first few days of my arrival, the "Worst Air Quality in America" rankings were released, and the city I had just left, Los Angeles, was sitting atop the list. I walked out on to my new porch, and looked at blue skies that existed all the way to the horizon. No skyscrapers restricted the view, there was just clean, fresh air.
And I thought, "Shoeless Joe was right."
.
...years ago today, I created my Myspace account. I had no real idea what Myspace was, I just had friends yammering on into my ear about it--"Meet people! Make new friends!! Network, socialize!!" It sounded interesting enough, and was hopefully a better waste of time for me than that I pissed away playing videogames.
As Myspace was purportedly designed to be somewhere anyone alike could intermingle, the first group I joined was Myspace Democrats. I figured it was one of those spots of socialization where progressively minded individuals would congregate and converse. Slap my forehead and call me silly, I'm not sure what I was thinking. A distinct lack of politics being discussed aside, I found the group to be a genial and fun place. It was there I found my first few on line friends: Brad, Young William and The Gay (Greg). Back then, Myspace was very Spartan; you had 8 top friends, and they were generally the first few people you met on here; no individual control was allowed here yet, the computer chose your top friends for you.
Oh how times change.
Things grow, expand and mutate, and now we have codes and lists and Top Friends galore should we choose. In my years here, I have read a half-dozen blogs proclaiming that this site is like an online version of High School. At times, I'm inclined to agree.
My first experience with such silliness was in the Democrat group itself. For the most part, it was a social gathering with many regular posters. We were all friendly with one another and enjoyed our daily sojourn into cyberspace. The moderator of the group was a fairly hands off fellow, and where this generally worked to our advantage, it became a nuisance when trolls started showing up. If you're not familiar with the term, a troll is someone with too much time and immaturity on their hands who decides to hit an on line group with thread damaging codes, spam nonsense across every discussion, and act as an overall asshole; imagine hyperactive, unruly teens playing paintball in a library.
Eventually enough emailing was done to the mod that he turned his head slightly to the side and noticed what was happening. He did not, however, want to deal with having to do any work deleting posts or cleaning up threads, so he authorized several friends to have moderator powers along with him. Sadly, those people carried with them insecurity and popularity issues, and became mall cops run amok; instead of politely watching for trolls, they went on banning sprees. Anyone they had built up resentment against was expelled for life, and anyone who spoke up in defense of someone who had been banned? Naturally they were in turn banned themselves. Several unlucky souls even had to deal with having entire profiles deleted; a weak ego run amok can cause much havoc if given opportunity.
So, a new group was formed, one designed to be better than that which we lost the privilege of posting in, and for a while it all gelled exceedingly well. The place became an online little Cheers; everyone knew everyone, and it was a pleasant haven where all were welcomed. Naturally, then, the pattern we escaped repeated itself and we became the monster we tried to avoid. A troll arrived, mod powers were dolled out, and a few odd banishments occurred; "He was mean to my girlfriend!" "I didn't like what he said…" Feelings of the few over rode the desires of the whole. Fights broke out, lines were drawn, there was "right" and "wrong" thrown around like cash at a strip club and precious few were willing to hold an interest in the idea of gray areas and emotions being similar on both sides. Some took public stances while emailing private feelings in contradiction; the petty dropped people from their friends lists, and fractious groups--"this one will be better!"--were created once again.
So it goes.
During the years in which these groups flamed in and out of existence, the "Top Friends" application on profiles expanded, and with it self-esteem shrank; pecking order became important. In vain attempt to stay away from squabbles, I held to two rules: never lower anyone on the "Top Friends" first, and never delete a friend. What's funny in the world of fair is, when I see I've been lowered in a top friends list, I look at it as a positive thing. I use it then to elevate someone else, someone who might have me high on his or her list. Yet almost every single time I shuffle my friends, I've gotten an email from the person who lowered or deleted me, asking, "Why did you bump me?" Apparently what was good for the goose was no good for the gander, no matter how clear the equality in action.
I like the axiom "Leave Every Place Better Than You Found It." You don't trash an apartment and expect to get your deposit back; neither do you lash out and attack friends and expect the bond to be stronger than it was before without work. I've discussed the idea with some who disagree, who say the rule doesn't apply to everything and/or everywhere, meaning on line doesn't deserve the respect life does. My response is another thought, "How You Do Anything is How You Do Everything." Diligence becomes a watchword for actions, as you generally do not keep a messy car and a clean home, nor can you treat a waiter like shit and be kind overall. Likewise, how you act on line is a reflection of who you are in life. Chances are, how you post is a decent mirror of who you are as a person. Consistency exists across all borders, whether responsibility for actions is denied or accepted.
The thing is, I argue the exact opposite as I feel about on line actions, which does make me a hypocrite, but hear me out. I believe there are people behind every profile, people with feelings, hopes, dreams and ideas, and that a general civility should be used when posting. I greet all equally, and think everyone deserves the benefit of respect front and center upon meeting. That said, as much as I understand there are people behind every profile, I just can't bring myself to care when someone out there says anything negative about me on the internet. I can't. I remember my first Myspace insult; I wasn't even on line when a text came through around midnight: "Why is (blank) calling you a pussy in MVP?"--MVP was a lengthy thread many regular attendees posted in. I replied, "No idea," and went to check it out. Sure enough, a couple people were having a little back and forth about how they didn't like me, what a jerk I was, and so on and so forth. I entertained writing "Fuck off" right in the middle of it, but literally couldn't. I could not bring myself to care enough to. I didn't want to engage in negativity, or promote the issue in any way shape or form, so I logged off, texted my buddy "Good looking out," and went to bed. Whatever was being said was going to happen whether or not I got involved, so I let it go. I've also been told people have written sideways blogs about me and/or my "behavior." The blogs don't have my name on them, but whispers arise that the mood was directed my way. Generally, when I read them, I only get the sense the person was writing a projection about what they want out of me, something that has nothing to do with who I am.
For the record, while I do believe there are people behind profiles, it does not mean I am so ignorant as to believe everyone is everything they appear to be. I am well aware some people go out of their way to create projected fantasies on line, things they cannot do in real life. The unhappy may create profiles with which to simply attack and stir things up; the unpopular try to Don Juan their way with all the women on line they could never approach in person. Light eventually shines on all, however, no matter how deeply they hide.
I'd absolutely have to state for the record that the positive experiences I've had on line far outweigh the negative. I've met incredible people, laugh often, and created bonds of friendship that will not be easily broken. I'm working on a fairly good record of meeting people in person that I've shared time with cyber-style, and each introduction has generally been exciting and interesting. I use the site to stay in touch with people I bump into on the road, and I've created bonds with those I've never met. So much so to the point I've even worried during their harsh times; watched them ride roughshod over bumps in the road and felt powerless to help aside from offering up the best insight or comfort I had.
In two months...
...Lydia and I will cross the two-year anniversary of our first date.
I could sing praises of the relationship here, but I'm sure it would be so nauseating as to end up on "cute overload." Suffice to say, being with her has done wonders for my life. By centering my personal life, she has allowed my professional to shine. Lyds is simply the tie that binds me to love and good feelings no matter how far from home I wander. Bonded by a gossamer strand of connection, I am never alone in a hotel room, never isolated while racking up thousands of miles on the car--"Though I must go, endure not yet a breach, but an expansion, like gold to airy thinness beat."
Said centering has allowed me to be a better comedian, and explore the darker aspects of life that confuse me. Comedy is about laughter, so when unhappy and exploring darkness on stage, an audience can become restless, shifty. When happy and exploring dark topics, the audience can feel the subtle shift in presentation. There is an enormous difference between "Why is he yelling at us?" and "He sure is passionate," and the line that divides the two is found deep within the performer. Audiences are like animals; they can sense when something is wrong, even if they cannot explain it. With Lyds, I have a foundation from which to build my ideas from; without her, I was simply lashing out in frustration. Love gives you hope, and whether or not hope is misguided on our planet is wide open to debate, but while I have it, I'm milking it for all it's worth.
In one week...
...I will have lived in Iowa for one year. Within the first few days of my arrival, the "Worst Air Quality in America" rankings were released, and the city I had just left, Los Angeles, was sitting atop the list. I walked out on to my new porch, and looked at blue skies that existed all the way to the horizon. No skyscrapers restricted the view, there was just clean, fresh air.
And I thought, "Shoeless Joe was right."
.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
maybe some ladies don't lie about size
today, in a nice (enough) neighborhood in cuyahoga Falls, ohio, within an enclosed parking lot, some cuntbag asshole decided to play smashy-smashy with the rear passenger window of my car. naturally, thunderstorms were predicted for all evening and the following day.
good times.
i called the police non-emergency line to file a report to make my insurance company happy, then--take a deep breath here--called my insurance company and spent fifteen minutes on hold waiting for a representative from india (not a hack joke, the truth) on my dying cell phone in one ear while alternately looking up and calling auto glass repair shops on google on the condo phone on my other ear and walking to the window to check for the cops to show up.
(they took 75 minutes)
so, after talking with my auto insurance agent and being reminded my deductible is $500, i talked to the glass company and found that the rear passenger window of a toyota yaris is… $700!
considering i've paid less than $300 for entire front windshields, i was a little taken back. the thing is, as i discovered through internet action and a couple friends, the smaller you go with car windows, the more they cost. your windshield is the cheapest, then the rear windshield, then the front passenger doors, then the rear, and most expensive of all is the little triangle window on the rear door of a car, the one that doesn't even roll down.
(what i didn't discover is why this is the case)
but, when you talk to a specialist in any field, you learn interesting things; in my case, i discovered that there are actually three car window-smashing seasons: spring. the temperature goes up, bored teenagers start skipping more classes, and windows are broken for "fun." halloween, a given. again, teens start about ten days before all hallows eve and it tapers off about three days later. and christmas, another makes-sense season. people shop, stash some goods in their car, go back to shop some more and smash-and-grab becomes a little cottage industry.
i apparently fell victim to the first season, bored teens. nothing was taken--there was nothing to take--and when i checked the door was still locked. they smashed and kept walking. lucky me, i won the "random-car-in-the-lot" contest.
as pissed as i was for ten minutes, after i calmed down, i shrugged the whole thing off. am i happy about it? no. but, i can afford it. there are others out there who live paycheck to paycheck and would be driving around with saran wrap on the window right now. my car sits safely in a garage, waiting to be repaired tomorrow, where the cash price is $400, or $300 less than the first quoted price. had i caught the dickless wonder that did it, i would have happily busted out another window using his head. now that the anger has passed? i just hope that someday, when he's older and owns a car of his own, he gets into an accident and lives for about 40 years as a cripple.
plus, i was once an angry teenager. a couple dozen mailboxes can testify to my once-destructive nature.* so was this karma? nah, i don't believe in that. i know too many rat bastards that are successful as fuck for karma to be real. this was random, and though i wish it hadn’t happened to me, i can live with it.
this time.
but if it happens again tomorrow? then i'm blaming the abortionists and gay agenda. if they can be the reason behind 9/11, they damn well can be held culpable for this.
thank you, pat robertson.
*as vandalizing a mailbox is a federal offense, i'd like to point out that what i wrote above is a complete and total lie. i would never do anything to a mailbox. they are beautiful creatures. *whistles innocently*
(oh, random note: did anyone notice that when i chose "virginal" as the mood on my last blog, they put an obese kitty as the symbol? i chose it again for this blog, so take a look. 'tis funny. myspace is sending a subliminal message about who they think can and cannot get laid on this planet)
good times.
i called the police non-emergency line to file a report to make my insurance company happy, then--take a deep breath here--called my insurance company and spent fifteen minutes on hold waiting for a representative from india (not a hack joke, the truth) on my dying cell phone in one ear while alternately looking up and calling auto glass repair shops on google on the condo phone on my other ear and walking to the window to check for the cops to show up.
(they took 75 minutes)
so, after talking with my auto insurance agent and being reminded my deductible is $500, i talked to the glass company and found that the rear passenger window of a toyota yaris is… $700!
considering i've paid less than $300 for entire front windshields, i was a little taken back. the thing is, as i discovered through internet action and a couple friends, the smaller you go with car windows, the more they cost. your windshield is the cheapest, then the rear windshield, then the front passenger doors, then the rear, and most expensive of all is the little triangle window on the rear door of a car, the one that doesn't even roll down.
(what i didn't discover is why this is the case)
but, when you talk to a specialist in any field, you learn interesting things; in my case, i discovered that there are actually three car window-smashing seasons: spring. the temperature goes up, bored teenagers start skipping more classes, and windows are broken for "fun." halloween, a given. again, teens start about ten days before all hallows eve and it tapers off about three days later. and christmas, another makes-sense season. people shop, stash some goods in their car, go back to shop some more and smash-and-grab becomes a little cottage industry.
i apparently fell victim to the first season, bored teens. nothing was taken--there was nothing to take--and when i checked the door was still locked. they smashed and kept walking. lucky me, i won the "random-car-in-the-lot" contest.
as pissed as i was for ten minutes, after i calmed down, i shrugged the whole thing off. am i happy about it? no. but, i can afford it. there are others out there who live paycheck to paycheck and would be driving around with saran wrap on the window right now. my car sits safely in a garage, waiting to be repaired tomorrow, where the cash price is $400, or $300 less than the first quoted price. had i caught the dickless wonder that did it, i would have happily busted out another window using his head. now that the anger has passed? i just hope that someday, when he's older and owns a car of his own, he gets into an accident and lives for about 40 years as a cripple.
plus, i was once an angry teenager. a couple dozen mailboxes can testify to my once-destructive nature.* so was this karma? nah, i don't believe in that. i know too many rat bastards that are successful as fuck for karma to be real. this was random, and though i wish it hadn’t happened to me, i can live with it.
this time.
but if it happens again tomorrow? then i'm blaming the abortionists and gay agenda. if they can be the reason behind 9/11, they damn well can be held culpable for this.
thank you, pat robertson.
*as vandalizing a mailbox is a federal offense, i'd like to point out that what i wrote above is a complete and total lie. i would never do anything to a mailbox. they are beautiful creatures. *whistles innocently*
(oh, random note: did anyone notice that when i chose "virginal" as the mood on my last blog, they put an obese kitty as the symbol? i chose it again for this blog, so take a look. 'tis funny. myspace is sending a subliminal message about who they think can and cannot get laid on this planet)
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
copping a fake feel
lyds had one of those things called a "birthday" the other week--if you didn't wish her well, you should probably feel very guilty and bad about yourself--and within a week her good friend churchy--named so not because of a religious bent, just a play on her last name, "church"--added a year to her life, also. thus, it was decided to have a double birthday gathering for the duo, and what better place to have it than at the local bar hosting a drag show?
like everything in iowa, the drag shows here are a little different. first off, it was held in a regular bar, not a gay bar. secondly, instead of a bevy of men dressed in women's clothes, there were only three who rotated duties. the third and most dramatic difference was in the quality of performer. i worked at a fine dining restaurant in college, and if you've ever been to a fine dining restaurant you know this: all the waiters are gay. gay, gay, gay. mrs. gay wisconsin was a waiter, then manager, where i worked, and i attended over a dozen shows and went to gay bars all the time. after a shift, it's where the waiters wanted to go, and all the cocktail waitresses wanted to be somewhere where they wouldn't get hit on, and since young men lead with the groin… so, as went the waitresses went the men.
personally, i liked the gay bars. others among me always felt somewhat uncomfortable, and made the usual jokes about not wanting to go to the bathroom, whether or not there would even be a men's room and the like, but i found the places relaxing. reason being: gays are persecuted in america. so when a persecuted group congregates, it creates a certain comfortable atmosphere.
in a normal bar, there's usually a bunch of stupid macho being thrown around; men have to prove they're men, so they'll grab whatever woman's ass they want and fight whatever guy they think they can beat. in a gay bar, everyone is, well, gay. they're all already looked upon as different, odd, inferior or what have you by those who would judge, so they are all encompassing and all accepting. you'd find african-americans dressed like gang-bangers, but without the attitude, or cowboys dressed in full on alan jackson duds, but without the ignorance. they were an eclectic group on the outside, but with an inside bond.
some of the performers at these clubs were worthy of crying-game type scrutiny; they put time, effort and the occasional surgery into their being. the performance of a drag queen is simply that of lip-synching; they pick a popular song, or one that speaks to their inner being--usually cher--and stand on stage and air-sing their gay little hearts out.
which brings us back to iowa. as said, the local show was held in an everyday bar, one not set for any stage performance beyond the occasional karaoke. while there isn't much difference between lip-synching and karaoke, there is when it comes to the addition of drag queens. behind the platform was an enormous, full-length mirror, and what happens when you marry men who love to play dress up to a mirror? a performer who has his back to the audience half the time. lyds noticed it first, but over the course of the evening it became increasingly obvious and comical that they who were supposed to be putting on a show, were more interested in preening over their outfit for a healthy chunk of the time they were supposed to be strutting their he parts as hers. they would lip synch a line, then turn and look at their hair, lip synch a line, turn and adjust their bra…
as said earlier, the three entertainers of the evening were unlike those of my past; if they were turning heads, it wasn't in quixotical confusion, it was in "what-the-fuck" wonder. sure they put effort into their costumes, but they also were working with too many strikes against them to begin with. no one was going to be tricked by them no matter how drunk they were.
but, it was still a good time. anyone who can't laugh and have fun at a drag show has serious psychological issues they need to work on. most of our group tipped too, where you either handed the dancer a dollar in approval of their moves, or, in my case, got a little more daring.
like everything in iowa, the drag shows here are a little different. first off, it was held in a regular bar, not a gay bar. secondly, instead of a bevy of men dressed in women's clothes, there were only three who rotated duties. the third and most dramatic difference was in the quality of performer. i worked at a fine dining restaurant in college, and if you've ever been to a fine dining restaurant you know this: all the waiters are gay. gay, gay, gay. mrs. gay wisconsin was a waiter, then manager, where i worked, and i attended over a dozen shows and went to gay bars all the time. after a shift, it's where the waiters wanted to go, and all the cocktail waitresses wanted to be somewhere where they wouldn't get hit on, and since young men lead with the groin… so, as went the waitresses went the men.
personally, i liked the gay bars. others among me always felt somewhat uncomfortable, and made the usual jokes about not wanting to go to the bathroom, whether or not there would even be a men's room and the like, but i found the places relaxing. reason being: gays are persecuted in america. so when a persecuted group congregates, it creates a certain comfortable atmosphere.
in a normal bar, there's usually a bunch of stupid macho being thrown around; men have to prove they're men, so they'll grab whatever woman's ass they want and fight whatever guy they think they can beat. in a gay bar, everyone is, well, gay. they're all already looked upon as different, odd, inferior or what have you by those who would judge, so they are all encompassing and all accepting. you'd find african-americans dressed like gang-bangers, but without the attitude, or cowboys dressed in full on alan jackson duds, but without the ignorance. they were an eclectic group on the outside, but with an inside bond.
some of the performers at these clubs were worthy of crying-game type scrutiny; they put time, effort and the occasional surgery into their being. the performance of a drag queen is simply that of lip-synching; they pick a popular song, or one that speaks to their inner being--usually cher--and stand on stage and air-sing their gay little hearts out.
which brings us back to iowa. as said, the local show was held in an everyday bar, one not set for any stage performance beyond the occasional karaoke. while there isn't much difference between lip-synching and karaoke, there is when it comes to the addition of drag queens. behind the platform was an enormous, full-length mirror, and what happens when you marry men who love to play dress up to a mirror? a performer who has his back to the audience half the time. lyds noticed it first, but over the course of the evening it became increasingly obvious and comical that they who were supposed to be putting on a show, were more interested in preening over their outfit for a healthy chunk of the time they were supposed to be strutting their he parts as hers. they would lip synch a line, then turn and look at their hair, lip synch a line, turn and adjust their bra…
as said earlier, the three entertainers of the evening were unlike those of my past; if they were turning heads, it wasn't in quixotical confusion, it was in "what-the-fuck" wonder. sure they put effort into their costumes, but they also were working with too many strikes against them to begin with. no one was going to be tricked by them no matter how drunk they were.
but, it was still a good time. anyone who can't laugh and have fun at a drag show has serious psychological issues they need to work on. most of our group tipped too, where you either handed the dancer a dollar in approval of their moves, or, in my case, got a little more daring.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
a picture is worth a thousand dismissive glances
i don't know when the first time i embarrassed lyds was, i just know what's up in my noggin as the first time i remember being scolded. it was somewhat early in our relationship--only several months in--back when i lived in los angeles and she in iowa. we had the rule that we had to see each other once a month minimum in order to make the relationship work. as luck would have it, she had a work conference in san francisco, and her boss suggested she use the opportunity to have a romantic weekend with me; lyds would conference during the day, and the nights would be ours. lyds gave me her flight schedule, and i arranged to land about thirty minutes before her.
my flight arrived as scheduled and i meandered over to her gate. after a spell, her plane came in, passengers started exiting, and i got excited. how could i not? new love, new girlfriend, limited together time... i was happy, and started bouncing. just a little at first, maybe bopping back and forth from foot to foot, but in the span of a few minutes, as more and more people exited, i became more and more excited. naturally, i was thus more and more bouncy, so much so to the point that when i finally saw lyds, i started to have what steve martin would best describe as "happy body." my arms were no doubt making shaking circles, loosely clenched fists attached at the end of them.
when lyds saw me she was mortified; what were the people around me thinking, looking at this grinning, bouncing idiot? i was scolded, and became slightly upset. the amount of time i put into thinking about what others were thinking of me was absolutely zero. fuck 'em. i was happy to see my girlfriend and couldn't give a fuck less who judged me for inappropriate happiness.
therein lies difference between us: lyds finds it very important to fit in, and/or not draw undue attention to herself. i don't go looking for attention, but neither do i care if it comes my way simply because i am coloring outside the lines of the social norm. the friction it causes in our relationship is minor, but still arises from time to time.
after moving to iowa, one of the first events lyds and i attended was something called "base networking: play with a purpose."* i have no idea what that means, but neither do the organizers. their motto is: "a diverse community of talented people who want to get "it" done - whatever "it" is." translated, that means, "we like to go hang out at the chic bar in town and socialize." sort of a slacker organization for the purpose of... well, everyone is still trying to figure that one out.
lyds, some friends and i went to a meeting and were handed nametags; the posted instructions said: "write what you feel you'd like to write. maybe your name, star sign, or occupation. have fun with it." naturally, this meant every single person there had his or her name written down. when told "hey, be creative," no one was doing so. or could do so.
i don't remember exactly what i inked onto my nametag, but it was probably along the lines of "i love lord xenu; ask me about scientology now!!" or something similar--i do know it took three stickers to complete. creative? no. different? a little, i guess. enough so that when she saw it, lyds was mortified. she was worried people would stare, point fingers and or isolate and ostracize me, and by association, her. she wanted me to change the tag, but i stood my ground,
the thing is, my nametags became a minor giggle among the attendees. as we passed one another, people would look, look away, something in their mind would click and they would look back confusedly, then laugh. i struck up a half-dozen conversations off people acknowledging them, and with acceptance, came lydia's comfort.
so it's come to pass that we are engaged, and from what i've been told, we have to do "traditional" engagement things. one of these must-do's, then, is to get a picture taken.
i hate pictures.
i take that back. i hate the process of taking pictures. i like looking back on a captured moment, but when the camera comes out, i get fidgety. i know that if i try to smile, i'll look like an idiot, so i try to make sure i look like an obvious idiot before the fact.
regardless, lyds wants an engagement photo for those "announcement" pages in the newspaper you breeze past, where everyone looks exactly the same and every couple is entirely forgettable. one of the worst things in life, to me, is banality, the utter lack of originality. outside of family, and that's questionable, too, no one cares when two people marry. so i've no idea what the engagement announcement is for, other than to create a clipping for a scrapbook, and that being the case, we already have our photo by way of candles in heart.
sadly, lyds is standing fast on wanting a "real" picture, and as i'm not fond of taking them, we're at an impasse. my desire is for us to shoot something just a little more interesting than the norm. specifically, i'd like to enact a traditional shotgun wedding. in the photo, lyds and i would be holding hands. on her face, a wide, happy and clueless smile; on mine, discomfort. standing behind us would be her father, placidly cradling his shotgun. below that would be the traditional text extolling happiness; no mention of resistance written within anywhere. it is neither an overly original nor off-putting idea--it's simply a classic joke, one everyone would get. such a picture would also grab the stranger's eye, and stand a foot apart from all other sweatered and smiling couples on the announcement page with us.
while lyds did laugh when i described the idea, she is absolutely resistant against it. her family won't like it, people will think she's pregnant, people will think i don't want to marry her, people will think, people will think, people will think.
i could be wrong, but i think people will laugh. i think people will see something so obviously a joke and not read anything into it. and even if they don't laugh or get the joke? i don't care; you cannot live a life aimed at placating others, for that is the surest way to fail them. as long as you're not trying to harm me, and i'm not trying to harm you, then we are each allowed to be and do whatever we want in life. plus, if the wedding is for us, then who cares what either of our family thinks about how we go about it?
of course, if i say we are all entitled to think what we want, lyds is entitled to her beliefs and feelings. at the end of it all, i will probably do my best to muster up a fake smile, feel the fool, and publish the republican wet dream of an announcement photo. if it makes lyds happy, that's all that matters to me.
but damn, i cannot lie: i fear simplicity kills the soul.
or at least, it does mine.
(as i came to the end of all this, my brain farted up a truth. san francisco was not the first time i remember embarrassing lyds. maybe it was the first time she felt comfortable enough in the relationship to scold me, but it wasn't the first time i embarrassed her. that happened on our first date, when while walking along a riverbank i spotted bunny rabbits frisking in the field...
oh well.
i don't feel like doing a re-write at this time.
here. read for yourself)
(oh, and if you're really curious about "base networking," here. see if it makes sense to you)
.
my flight arrived as scheduled and i meandered over to her gate. after a spell, her plane came in, passengers started exiting, and i got excited. how could i not? new love, new girlfriend, limited together time... i was happy, and started bouncing. just a little at first, maybe bopping back and forth from foot to foot, but in the span of a few minutes, as more and more people exited, i became more and more excited. naturally, i was thus more and more bouncy, so much so to the point that when i finally saw lyds, i started to have what steve martin would best describe as "happy body." my arms were no doubt making shaking circles, loosely clenched fists attached at the end of them.
when lyds saw me she was mortified; what were the people around me thinking, looking at this grinning, bouncing idiot? i was scolded, and became slightly upset. the amount of time i put into thinking about what others were thinking of me was absolutely zero. fuck 'em. i was happy to see my girlfriend and couldn't give a fuck less who judged me for inappropriate happiness.
therein lies difference between us: lyds finds it very important to fit in, and/or not draw undue attention to herself. i don't go looking for attention, but neither do i care if it comes my way simply because i am coloring outside the lines of the social norm. the friction it causes in our relationship is minor, but still arises from time to time.
after moving to iowa, one of the first events lyds and i attended was something called "base networking: play with a purpose."* i have no idea what that means, but neither do the organizers. their motto is: "a diverse community of talented people who want to get "it" done - whatever "it" is." translated, that means, "we like to go hang out at the chic bar in town and socialize." sort of a slacker organization for the purpose of... well, everyone is still trying to figure that one out.
lyds, some friends and i went to a meeting and were handed nametags; the posted instructions said: "write what you feel you'd like to write. maybe your name, star sign, or occupation. have fun with it." naturally, this meant every single person there had his or her name written down. when told "hey, be creative," no one was doing so. or could do so.
i don't remember exactly what i inked onto my nametag, but it was probably along the lines of "i love lord xenu; ask me about scientology now!!" or something similar--i do know it took three stickers to complete. creative? no. different? a little, i guess. enough so that when she saw it, lyds was mortified. she was worried people would stare, point fingers and or isolate and ostracize me, and by association, her. she wanted me to change the tag, but i stood my ground,
the thing is, my nametags became a minor giggle among the attendees. as we passed one another, people would look, look away, something in their mind would click and they would look back confusedly, then laugh. i struck up a half-dozen conversations off people acknowledging them, and with acceptance, came lydia's comfort.
so it's come to pass that we are engaged, and from what i've been told, we have to do "traditional" engagement things. one of these must-do's, then, is to get a picture taken.
i hate pictures.
i take that back. i hate the process of taking pictures. i like looking back on a captured moment, but when the camera comes out, i get fidgety. i know that if i try to smile, i'll look like an idiot, so i try to make sure i look like an obvious idiot before the fact.
regardless, lyds wants an engagement photo for those "announcement" pages in the newspaper you breeze past, where everyone looks exactly the same and every couple is entirely forgettable. one of the worst things in life, to me, is banality, the utter lack of originality. outside of family, and that's questionable, too, no one cares when two people marry. so i've no idea what the engagement announcement is for, other than to create a clipping for a scrapbook, and that being the case, we already have our photo by way of candles in heart.
sadly, lyds is standing fast on wanting a "real" picture, and as i'm not fond of taking them, we're at an impasse. my desire is for us to shoot something just a little more interesting than the norm. specifically, i'd like to enact a traditional shotgun wedding. in the photo, lyds and i would be holding hands. on her face, a wide, happy and clueless smile; on mine, discomfort. standing behind us would be her father, placidly cradling his shotgun. below that would be the traditional text extolling happiness; no mention of resistance written within anywhere. it is neither an overly original nor off-putting idea--it's simply a classic joke, one everyone would get. such a picture would also grab the stranger's eye, and stand a foot apart from all other sweatered and smiling couples on the announcement page with us.
while lyds did laugh when i described the idea, she is absolutely resistant against it. her family won't like it, people will think she's pregnant, people will think i don't want to marry her, people will think, people will think, people will think.
i could be wrong, but i think people will laugh. i think people will see something so obviously a joke and not read anything into it. and even if they don't laugh or get the joke? i don't care; you cannot live a life aimed at placating others, for that is the surest way to fail them. as long as you're not trying to harm me, and i'm not trying to harm you, then we are each allowed to be and do whatever we want in life. plus, if the wedding is for us, then who cares what either of our family thinks about how we go about it?
of course, if i say we are all entitled to think what we want, lyds is entitled to her beliefs and feelings. at the end of it all, i will probably do my best to muster up a fake smile, feel the fool, and publish the republican wet dream of an announcement photo. if it makes lyds happy, that's all that matters to me.
but damn, i cannot lie: i fear simplicity kills the soul.
or at least, it does mine.
(as i came to the end of all this, my brain farted up a truth. san francisco was not the first time i remember embarrassing lyds. maybe it was the first time she felt comfortable enough in the relationship to scold me, but it wasn't the first time i embarrassed her. that happened on our first date, when while walking along a riverbank i spotted bunny rabbits frisking in the field...
oh well.
i don't feel like doing a re-write at this time.
here. read for yourself)
(oh, and if you're really curious about "base networking," here. see if it makes sense to you)
.
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