Turning 20

I've just performed in the worst comedy club in Kent in which I chose to drink heavily. It's weird, tonight's probably the worst night in a long while and it's still not that bad. I guess it goes to show that turning 20 alone just isn't as sad as it sounds.*

Here's a song to listen to whilst you read my blog, I hope you enjoy it:

I didn't bring my notepad with me this time round. After arriving, I ordered a drink and then one more before I took to the stage. Drink in hand I do my bits. I had already started drinking before I left home so a lot more hate and bile comes out than intended. I manage to pluck skits that I have refused to use in the past, as there's only thirty or so people watching and I have liquid courage to back me up. Everyone laughs, but that's a given, in my mind it was a lukewarm reception.

I've managed to go out almost every night since I wrote my first blog, so it stands to reason that the only night that I don't socialise with people is going to be a bit tougher, especially considering that it's on the eve of my 20th birthday. After staying at the club for another twenty minutes to knock back two more drinks I made my way home, boldly texting women I shouldn't be texting. I don't think I'd make a very good alcoholic as after the first week of heavy texting, I'd realise that all of my ex-girlfriends are not interested in sleeping with me again. Chances are I'd just commit suicide. I think it's better to think there's a small chance they'd still suck my dick, otherwise I would be in a deep, dark place.

The whole night had an odd vibe to it, nobody came up to me afterwards to say they liked my jokes. Maybe it's because I chose to not sit at a bar, but instead in a corner stall that faces a bare wall. Maybe it was because I just wasn't that funny. Comedians talk about how they'd do a show and get great audience feedback then a day later do the same show somewhere else and die on their arse. That's yet to be true for me, maybe I need a much larger audience as it seems easy to get an audience to like you, just a lot harder to have them love you.

I remember the first time I was heckled. I told a story that started with the line: "Honestly, sometimes I wish cancer would rip its way through my mother like tissue paper, just so she'd stop complaining." It's a cheesy line that I wouldn't use now, but it lead into bit that was fun to play with, as it gave me a chance to just make up bullshit about her on the fly.

So I say the line and wait for the laugh. Just long enough to know it's not coming. There's no collective gasp, but there's no laugh either. I go to continue, but a man stands up. He's in the second row and I can clearly see his face. I lose focus when I see him, forgetting the audience. We lock stares and without any irony he shouts "Boo!".

"Boo?, I think. "Wh-what?". I look at the audience dumbfounded, the man takes his seat whilst my brain goes into overdrive. I've got to think of something witty, something to get the audience back on my side. I look around the room before finally deciding on my retort. My riposte. My verbal annihilation of this man's character.

"Y-yeah?", I mumble into the microphone. The audience erupts with laughter. The show goes on and I dodge a bullet. Maybe one day I'll experience what all these hardened comics talk about, but right now comedy seems easy. Although it it's not like I'm challenging myself to begin with. It's not very difficult entertaining a Maidstone audience, I'm sure I could just throw a slinky into the crowd and get a similar response.

So, turning 20 is no mean-feat. A friend once told me that I'll die by my mid-twenties through drug overdose. If he's right, I think that now might be the time to start doing something constructive with my remaining few years. I had my first epiphany only a few days ago when I realised that I needed to start exercising. I went swimming with Nigel, managing around 25 lengths before crawling out of the pool using only my hips. I projectile vomited shortly afterwards and haven't felt well since, but I guess I'm going to have to get used to that if I'm going to become the strongest man that's ever lived.

My second epiphany has come in waves. Every few months I tell myself that I need to start participating with the world instead of just observing. After having made some calls to old friends and contacts from clubs I've worked at it seems like I'm the closest I've been to my ultimate goal in not being a waste of flesh, bone and muscle (lots of muscle).

Tomorrow I see a nark and his nark friends for a week. Then I'm going to focus my full attention on writing and performing, less of this shit that I've been slopping out semi-regularly. Let's see if I can craft myself into a mature adult, if only for a while.

Sam

*I've lied, it's pretty shitty.

Published at 23:45

Funny Man

When I go to perform stand-up, I always bring a notepad with me. I get to the venue and order a drink. Sometimes it's a pub and I can watch the act before me, sometimes not. I sit down and open my notepad. In it is directions I've left myself from the last time I performed: what I need to improve on, what I need to remember and what worked well. I start to write and give myself a goal. These are all hastily jotted down in bullet points, not because they're easier to read, but because at any moment I can be dragged away by the manager of the place, or have someone sit down and talk to me. Today I've bought my notepad to help write this blog, as a way to chronicle what happens over the next hour.

I arrive. This is probably the nicest place I perform at that isn't in London. It's a nice big pub, with a stage and chairs in one corner and a small reclusive spot with tables and couches in the other. I order a drink from the bar and get I.D'd immediately, I tell the barmaid that I don't have I.D. but that I am performing tonight. She asks the manager, he says he remembers me from two weeks before and I get my drink. The room is already full and so I'm forced to sit at the bar, there are two men on either side of me, both seem to be alone. I wait my turn.

After thirty minutes, (twenty minutes later than I thought), I get my calling. I had already finished drinking and writing long before. I pick up my notepad and walk on stage, bumping into people as I go. I change the mic level and place my notepad on the chair at the side of the stage. I start my routine the way I have for the past month, nothing new here just the same easy laughs to make the crowd like me. It's weird to think that at one point I was frightened of what people would think of me as it seems so simple now, the only frightening part is telling new jokes, crossing new boundaries, seeing how far I can take an anecdote before it loses its appeal. The crowd keeps laughing and I keep talking, at some point I take the mic down from the stand and start pacing. I rarely pace the stage, I think it's cheating, you trick the audience into believing your jokes are funnier than they are. Tonight I think my jokes are funnier than they are.

I finish my set in around twenty minutes, the last fifteen consisted of all new material. I counted three applause breaks overall and whilst I leave the stage I get literal pats on the back from some of the audience. I sit back in the exact spot I was at previously, the two men are still there. One of them asks if I was just on stage, I tell him I was, he says he thought I was quite funny. I write on what I need to improve on and order another drink at the bar, this time the barmaid doesn't ask for I.D. She tells me that she liked a joke I told about my au-pair. I thank her. Normally I'd think that was an invitation to start flirting with her, but not tonight. Tonight I need to write so I don't forget. So I write.

The next comedian comes on stage, I watch ten minutes of his act before I take my leave. I can pinpoint exactly which comedian and which special he stole two of his jokes from, I wonder if anyone else can too. I'd steal jokes if I didn't think that I'd be caught out by an audience member. But it seems that he got away with it, at least he had before I left... maybe the audience turned on him in the end. I find a bench on my way home and add a couple of things to the pad. Before I left the pub, the manager paid me. Even if it's not much, it's always nice to be rewarded for a job well done. Tonight for the first night in a long time, I think I deserved the praise.

I'm back home now. I look over my notes and realise how scrappily written everything is. My handwriting seems to have gotten much worse since I started jotting things down instead of writing in full sentences. I grab a glass of milk before I climb the stairs to my room, sit down in my chair and start typing.

I'm tired now.

Sam


Published at 21:30

I've never been much good at writing...

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

It's four in the morning, my head hurts from thinking, my heart is still racing from the anxiety attack hours before and the only comfort nearby is my dog. My dog's infested with bugs so I won't be bothering him.

I'm going to be treating this blog as a way to reach out to people who I may have spited in the past, those who have been hurt by anything I may have said. It's always a good idea to try to set your wrongs right, and this will hopefully go someway to doing that.

About two months ago I started experiencing minor panic attacks. I dismissed them as growing pangs initially, but after a few incidents with friends, the minor panic attacks became major and they happened far more frequently. I'm apprehensive about seeing a psychiatrist, but I now know that if I don't I may end up some new place, much darker than any I've visited before.

So, this blog will be treated as a form of catharsis. I don't know whether it'll help. I'm sure as time goes along everything will get better, the blog posts will surely become lighter in nature and it will be less about chronicling my depression and more as a way to make you, the reader, laugh.

I've never typed "you, the reader" before. I guess that makes it an official blog now. Hopefully you'll enjoy what I write.

Sam

Published at 05:00