Love Is Watching Someone Die

I felt a lot of love tonight. My friends came out and listened to jokes I had told less than 24 hours before. And they still laughed. The audience wasn't quite as into it, and I don't blame them. I need to write stuff that's more accessible. Really, I don't know what I was thinking. I came up with a minute on a Catholic strip club and I actually thought "this is it! This is universal! This will win them over!"

I just don't understand people.

Listen and/or download it - April 18 2007

We Come In, We Go Out The Same Way: Alone.

I had a dream this morning. I dreamt that I went back to school at OCU to finish my Master's. Why? I have no idea. I was dreaming, all right? I moved into a dorm/academic hall, into a teeny tiny dorm room with two other people. They just happened to be Lucy Davis and Columbus Short from "Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip." Cool roommates, right? The whole thing felt like my freshman year of college. In the dream, I looked around, felt a strange sense of circuity, and said to myself "well, we come in, we go out the same way."

Then all hell broke loose.

This dark thing, some kind of bipedal monster, appeared and started slashing people's throats. Blood, screaming, dead and dying falling all around, decomposing before my eyes. I've had the image in my head all day. I do have some control over my dreams, though, and I saved Lucy (well, not me, but I changed the narrative so that she lived). She hid in a mascot's outfit until the thing had passed. I can't remember if it killed me or not.

I awoke for the first time in my adult life on the verge of screaming. But I was raised Presbyterian, so I kept my emotions under control, like a Calvinist Vulcan. I shook it off and went on with my day.

About five hours later I heard what had happened in Virginia.

I sit here now, staring at the screen trying to wrap my mind around this horrible tragedy and pull it out of my brain, but I can't. So many thoughts, reactions, images and words swim through my mind right now that I just can't. I can't fucking do it.

All I can think is that anyone who wags their tongue today about the Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America is an asshole, either way. This isn't about gun ownership and whether or not it should be legal/regulated/restricted/whatever. That discussion will come later, and I'm sure it will be ugly.

This story isn't about the law. It is about a monster that lived outside the law, that grew inside of a man and was left unchecked for too long. It's about the innocent people of Virginia Tech, now awash in blood and tears, and how they will continue to face down this brutal act long after the specters of today have faded from our minds and the next tragedy seizes our country by the throat.

But that isn't the end of the story. We've seen this cycle before. The pain, the grief, it pales in comparison to the resilience of humanity found in those who have been tested by such sorrow and pain. I know that the people of Virginia will overcome this, and go on to find hope and peace. I know this story will end with hope.

I can't think of anything else to say, except that I'm sorry.

God bless.

I'll Keep Digging For Fire

When I was 17 years old, I took a course on human biology that basically amounted to a university pre-med class. We'll leave aside the reasons for that and just acknowledge that I did not belong there and did not finish out the entire year. The first test centered on early humans and their trek from Africa to other parts of the world. A key question on the test asked "What allowed early humans to leave Africa?" The answer, of course, is "Fire." My response? "Feet." Like I said, I didn't really belong there.

But fire is a pretty damned important thing to us. As far as I know, humans and humans alone set out to create and control fire. Without it we would find ourselves even more at the mercy of predatory species and the elements than we already are. From an evolutionary standpoint, having fire is like having a cheat code. Once you get that key, all sorts of doors open up. Advancements like cooking, and seeing things after sundown are easily within our reach. Societies begin to form around these pockets of warmth and safety. And other, more deadly creatures suddenly shit their animal pants when they see that we command the awesome power of fire.

I've been questing for fire lately.

Sure, there's the physical quest for warmth in my chilly apartment. Since the complex switched from heating to cooling last week I've been a bit cold, and very glad that my living room has a fireplace. But it's a metaphysical quest, too. And hopefully that's the only time in my life I will admit to being on a metaphysical quest.

Just like the hairy manimals that walked out of Africa all those years ago, we have to follow our own paths. And the fire we carry with us pulls us along, keeps us alive, and keeps the monsters at bay. I lost my fire this week, and not because of any comedy contests or lackluster showing at an open mic. Fortunately I found it again. The how and the why of the story lacks gravitas, but let it suffice to say that I dropped my fire because I forgot how important it is. I'm just glad it didn't go out before I realized what a mistake I had made.

So, I hope as you move on to where ever you go that you keep your fire. Keep it burning and it will keep you moving.

You Think You're Dialed In? Someone Has To Win. And You Know What That Means? That Means Someone's Got To Lose. It's Probably You.

Last night I gave a shitty performance. I blame no one but myself. I fucked it up. Pure and simple. I can shake that off pretty easily. I might just have to put down Dog Phone, though. God help me, I love that bit so much, but no one else does. C'est la guerre. I actually got heckled, which was a first for me. I don't see it as a failure, though. I learned some important lessons about taking the performance seriously, and about not expecting too much from the audience. Especially when they've had a few good hours to get drinks in themselves. Like I said, it's pretty easy to shake off.

Tonight at the Loony Bin I gave a great performance. It just wasn't good enough, though. Now that's a shitty feeling. It's times like these that I wish I had never gotten good grades or done well on standardized tests. I'm used to exceeding expectations, and I'm so conditioned to judge myself based on the external validation that comes from other people judging me and deeming my actions awesome. That's what the laughter is all about, right? But let me tell you, comedy is not a standardized test. It isn't a research paper on international media systems. There are no guarantees that your hard work will pay off. It is totally subjective. At the same time, I don't want to downplay the achievements of the (at least) 8 people who were found funnier than me tonight. I got beat. It happens. I'm proud of all my friends that made it to the finals at the Loony Bin, and I'll be there on Sunday to cheer them on. But the overachieving Phi Beta Kappa super-nerd within me is having a nice little identity crisis. And one of the nice things about comedy is that until recently, that square-tied little fucker didn't even know what I was up to. Each time I went up I got laughs or I didn't, and that was it. But in the past couple of weeks it's become about competition. And yeah, I know my perspective would be different if I were one of the 8 finalists competing on Sunday. Well, I'm not sure, actually. I always look forward to performing, even at a sketchy south town strip club. But I was fucking dreading my 5 minutes at the Loony Bin tonight.

Oh well, it's over now. And by the way, I am not fishing for compliments here, nor do I want anyone to try and make me feel better about any of this. I am quite confident in my ability to make people laugh, and I do not want to feel better about losing. I want to cling onto my disappointment and frustration like the last blanket in the Siege of Leningrad.

After all, I've earned it.

Spring Came, Rain Fell

This is a time for rebirth, apparently. My television started working again last night after six months of stubbornly malfunctioning. I have no idea why it did, but I'll take the boon. I've become more interested in my thesis lately, partly out of financial necessity. And then someone I overheard yesterday declared that today was "Jesus' rebirthday." I thought that was pretty clever, actually. I went to church services this morning, which rarely happens. It was nice, but all of the fidgeting children around me made me feel like I was at the chapel in a pediatric insane asylum. Something about repetitive, pointless motion makes me think a person has gone crazy. It reminds me of those animals at the zoo that just completely lose it and spend their entire waking existence running in a well-worn circular path around their tiny enclosure. A kid at church this morning was doing something very similar. And maybe he was a bit stir-crazy, but it's not entirely his fault. That's what kids do. They've got a lot of energy that they need to expend, and very few are able to do that through quietly contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Also, there is just the slightest chance that these children were hopped up on kiddie goofballs (also known as Jelly Beans).

I'm feeling rejuvenated lately, and not because of the weather. My apartment complex controls the heating/cooling, and they chose Friday to turn us from heating to air conditioning. Consequently I cannot turn the heater on in my apartment. That wouldn't normally be a big deal in April, except that it was 34 degrees yesterday morning. So, it's been a bit chilly in the old homestead. I tried to buy a space heater, but no one has any in stock, since it's April in Oklahoma. So, like a true pioneer, I burned a Duraflame log in my fireplace last night. Considering my luck with fire and accelerants, that was a big step for me.

So, I'm not sure why I'm feeling so chipper these days. I will tell you that I'm excited about performing this week. Tuesday at Othello's and Wednesday at the Loony Bin. I hope you all are enjoying these shows (or recordings thereof) as much as I am. Your feedback, criticism, and support have been invaluable. So, thank you. Thank you for listening, for sitting through shitty performances, for putting up with smoky bars and for driving to Midwest City.

By the way, you should listen to this song Club 8 - Spring Came, Rain Fell. It's a free download from Club 8's website, so it is TOTALLY LEGAL. I know that might be a turnoff for some of you. Anyway, if you like The Cardigans, Moonbabies, The Weepies or The Sundays, you'll probably like them. They're all Swedish and shit.

Oh, What A Mess. I Wonder Who's Watching Me Now.

In 2001 I wrote a remake of The Manchurian Candidate. In 2004, some assholes made a remake of The Manchurian Candidate. Was I pissed off? Yeah, a bit. And by "a bit" I of course mean I was totally on the rag for quite a while. Naturally, I do take some joy in the fact that the remake did not even come close to matching the original (sorry, Denzel). Not that I think my version would have been any better. But, it would have been a lot more British. That's neither here nor there.

Speaking of the British, they've also raised my hackles of late. Channel 4, the unwed television mother that birthed out Ali G and the half-aborted mutant Big Brother, is currently working on, get this, a comedy dealing with the foibles of a terrorist cell operating in the U.K.. Once again, I am having my biscuit buttered with the bitter spread of "I Can't Believe It's Not Mine." Yeah, my friends and I (a comedy group that may or may not be called "The Death Tax" or "The Missing Period") wrote and shot a short video dealing with the office politics behind suicide bombing. Coincidence?

And, to complete the trifecta, I surfed over to The Onion today and found this nugget: Viking God Odin Down To Last 4 Worshippers. Check out this rough video, shot by the above mentioned comedy group weeks ago: Odin's Witnesses. What the fuck?

Should I be throwing a major-league hissy over this? Maybe. Or maybe I should be honored to realize that these worthless hacks are no more innovative than my friends and me. Maybe I should be thinking seriously about a career in film, television, or shitty Internet satire.

Or maybe I should start wearing an aluminum foil hat at night to keep the CIA from hacking into my brain with their delta wave generator and downloading all my juicy, precious ideas and selling them to Hollywood... which is probably what has been happening for the last few years. Fuckin' CIA covert ops are always messing up my shit.

Oh well, that's the price you pay for democracy.

I'll be at Othello's on Tuesday and the Loony Bin on Wednesday. I'll be performing, not just hanging out. And Wednesday is another comedy contest, actually. It's all local comics doing their thing. So in case you missed the Comedy Fight Night, you have another chance to watch me lose to Leah. What a bitch.

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Last, I'm calling an end to the bracelet contest. Thanks to all of you who wrote in. All four of you. The outpouring of enthusiasm was astounding. Unfortunately, you were all wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

I was actually thinking about a nice little pink chiffon number with a big bow in the front. I don't know why I was thinking of that particular number. But, I am declaring Laura and Bradchad winners anyway, because... well, why not?

Jeb has been disqualified on the grounds that he's already got one of the bracelets, but I do appreciate his willingness to participate, as well as his rampant greed.

Genevieve has been given an honorable mention for making the odd choice of commenting on facebook instead of bible belt babylon and doing so partially in Latin. If there's a bracelet left over, she gets one.

The "winners" need to contact me about claiming their spoils as soon as possible.

Shut The Fuck Up

People don't know how to behave anymore. I tried to use a gas station bathroom last night in Norman, crime capital of the world, only to discover that the Norman Police department has requested gas stations close Craphouse Central promptly at 9:00pm. Is this some sort of anti-bladder conspiracy? No, it is in reaction to the number of Hazmat teams called out to gas stations in recent weeks to remove heroin debris. Thanks, Spud! Because you don't have the decency to shoot up at home like the rest of us, I had to hold my piss until I got back to Oklahoma City. I timed it, too. I peed for 1 minute 2 seconds. It felt great.

People don't know how to act. I'm guilty of it, too. Come on, is that an appropriate title for a blog post? Anyone at all can wander into my site and come face to face with angry Japanese pop icons and overly-salty language. No warning, either. And being that the word "bible" is in my website name, I get more than my fair share of people following Google searches for "bible stories," "bible jokes" and, my personal favorite, "vacation bible school." Sorry, everyone. I don't know how to act.

But this trend is not just limited to the Internets and gas station pissers. I encountered it at Othello's Open Mic last night. First off, it was a huge success. So many people showed up that we had to bring in chairs and tables from the patio, and there were still people standing up. And everyone seemed to be having a good time. I hope that continues. I'm so glad that people are enjoying this event, and I'm so grateful to everyone who came out last night. So please understand that I am coming from a place of love and gratitude when I say to you: SHUT THE FUCK UP! There were some people at the show last night that would simply not be quiet.

And I bear some of the blame in this matter, too. I went up first, and was surprised by the amount of talky-talky. But I gave the crowd the benefit of the doubt. I just naturally assumed that once they got settled in, that the audience would SHUT THE FUCK UP and watch the show. And most of them did. The thing is, it doesn't take that many people talking to make a lot of noise and drown out the performer. But at no point in my set did I shout at the audience "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Perhaps I should have. Anthony and I were discussing stage personae after the show, and I think I might be the guy who shouts "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" at the audience.

Would you like to hear the set? Okay, I think we can do that. It's pretty noisy, and you'll notice how I stop caring halfway through my set. That's the mark of a true professional, people. Not a lot of new stuff. In fact, most of it came from my set at the Comedy Fight Night. In case you didn't hear, Leah won the shit out of that contest. What a bitch. Anyway, here's the set from last night. But be forewarned: it's wicked-long.

Othello's: 04/03/07 - Download.