A Part of Me I Recently Realized is Funny

As time goes on I realize more and more how unique I am not. I got into a conversation on the basics of Marxism this weekend, and reminisced with someone on our 8th grade feelings on Proudhon. I was a revolution geek in high school. When the other kids were hanging out with the opposite sex and doing narcotics and stuff, I was reading Trotsky and Kropotkin, going to Marxist book clubs, and cracking myself up comparing Eugene Debs to Samuel Gompers (as if there's even a comparison! Right?!).

It's a very hip thing to be a "nerd" or "geek" of some kind. One day in AP English, my teacher had me explain the basic ideas of socialism to my class for some reason. She thought I was the cutest little free thinker. (Later, she was horrified and deeply offended on my views on 9/11. I guess too much free thinking ceases to be cute.) There was no club for me. There was not even an epithet like "computer geek" or "drama fag". Me and my one friend who'd read Noam Chomsky were special in the worst way, the way that will never have a trendy sitcom based on it. Boondocks is close, but I think it's way too smart to be trendy.

And I realize that I'm the same way now. I still get excited talking about Dialectical Materialism. Reading Gary Snyder's "Four Changes" was one of the most engaging parts of my week. Though certainly more cynical, I will always be the enthusiastic little kid who can't discuss politics for the same reason D and D kids can't discuss D and D - we're way too into it. Even on this blog, which I write for the sake of seeing my own hot air, I back off. It's become an instinct.

Besides, most people that say they are way into it are total losers, if you ask me - bunch of poseurs. I guess I could also be called a revolution snob.

The people I overlook are those like me. We forget each other exist, because we don't talk about who we are. We just read more books and feel more crazy. We get enthusiastic, but we keep it down because no one else on earth wants to hear about it. We seek out new ideas, hold convictions, and constantly, constantly question ourselves. That's not really unique. It's just something people forget other people do. And I get the feeling that a lot of people who haven't even read the same books as me probably feel the same way.

Or not. I don't really care. You're all the crazy ones, not me.
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In Case You Were Wondering,

I've provided this map of Magellan's voyages.








You're welcome.
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I Thought You Might Not Be Depressed Enough

It's been quite a day for headlines:

• 
  UN: 90 Afghan Civilians, Including 60 Children, Died in US Attack
  Clinton Calls for Unity Behind Obama
  Kucinich Blasts Iraq War, Corporate Dominance in DNC Speech
  28 Killed in Iraq Suicide Bombing
  Officers Admit to Fatal Shooting of Handcuffed, Blindfolded Iraqi Prisoners
  Judge Upholds Charges in Iraq Rape, Murder Case
  Arctic Ice Shrinking at Record Pace
  L.A. Woman Removed from Fed Building for “Lesbian.com” Shirt
  Shunning US, Honduras Joins ALBA
  Sheehan Reports Possible Phone Bugging at DNC
  Denver Police Downplay Alleged Obama Assassination Plot
  Police Assault on Code Pink Member Caught on Tape

So much violence.
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It's ALL PR

Politics come down to one issue - scarcity. If there was endless everything, there would be no reason to finagle policies on anything. The fact is that most of everything ends up in the hands of very few people, more and more so as time goes on. And what they can't use they destroy. There is an ice shelf in Greenland that is splitting because it serves no purpose to those in power. If rich people had homes in the ozone layer, global warming would have been solved 50 years ago.

The purpose of civilization has always been to defeat this dilemma we have where scarcity increases as populations increase - to defeat nature's limits on population. And we did, by creating a surplus. Then, like a bunch of idiots, we put a group in charge of what to do with our surplus. We'll never stop paying for that mistake. They take the surplus and go quail hunting with it or buy a baseball team. Of course, I don't think anybody ever meant for them to have that much of it.

Surpluses lead the way to opulence, and before you know it you're invading somebody - killing hundreds and thousands of people - for a resource humans did just fine without for hundreds of thousands of years. And when I say "we", I mean that group we foolishly gave power to all that time ago. They've really held on to it like a gremlin on the wing. And they've got all our surplus, not us.

Somewhere along the way things got so convoluted that it now seems natural to send a literal army of people to die for something they don't understand or benefit from, and the door back to natural sustenance is all but closed - just a little ajar at best. Since we forgot why we built this thing called civilization in the first place, we forgot that we're running from the beasts of overpopulation and scarcity, and that they are right on our heels.

This is the version of my history of the world I'm willing to spit out at 1:30 in the morning after reading the news, and it's why I hold my more "out there" political views: The economy is a noose, guiding the inevitable industrial collapse is a good idea, and maybe people shouldn't buy a whole bunch of crap all the time.

This is not a comprehensive manifesto, but it is a writing exercise I can do right now while I'm not quite able to sleep. It's what I'd call a braincrap. Sometimes you need one of those before you can go to bed.
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Parallel Punctuated Equilibrium

I've had some very painful, lonely days, and I feel like I deserve them all. I don't know how to move on yet. I trust that it will come to me some time in the future, because it seems painfully realistic that things could stay this bland for years and years to come, unless it gets spiced up by cancer or something. But that's me and my lack of perspective talking.
I don't want to talk to anyone, which is not healthy, but what would I even say? "Blubber blubber blubber! Booooohoooooooooooo..."? I guess I could start with "I miss her," or, "Surprise! I'm turning something fun into something depressing on you!" I've been trying both of those out when I get the chance.

The good news is I get paid on Wednesday, and I'm coming back for a visit on Friday. Those are the two things I need the most. The other 8 are

2. A poncho (got it)
3. Vegan flan (am on the trail)
4. Vegan key lime pie (basically same trail)
5. New shoes (have been alerted to thriving conterfeit market here)
6. A falafel (should aquire within next hour or so)
7. To see Tropic Thunder (may need to wait for DVD)
8. To get my bike up here (not by riding)
9. To get my record player, records and CDs up here (so badly)
10. A group of five ostriches to let me be the top of the pyramid (this one's long term)

11. To be more comfortable writing without the cloak of jokes to shield me. (probably won't)


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The Things I Wake Up For

My number one reason for waking up is because my alarm clock tells me to. I set it for 10am to keep myself from being the night-shift working bum that wastes all of his perfectly good days on sleep. I am dead tired when I get home from work, as I should be, because it's 4am. I eat a few donuts a day from a Mexican bakery on California and Milwaukee and go to the little forest preserve a lot. I'm just learning where the deer live, where the spiders put their webs, and other fragments of the tip of the iceburg that weaves through that place.

I'm joining a band with Brian from Chronic Seizure. Other members are in the works, but if it works out, I'll get to live out some fan-boy fantasies, playing music with some of my favorite musicians in Chicago - some of my favorite musicians period. I'm working on a getting a free rehearsal space for comedy stuff too. It's all part of this thing I used to be really into called "fun". This has been a strange year for fun, because the ways I find it have become exponentially more complicated, and when you have to think about it so much it sort of ceases to be fun at all.

So I'm reaching the sort of over-extended equilibrium I'm best at. It's a pretty solitary thing. Monday is band practice #1 and a class on saving birds that crash into buildings downtown, building blocks for a comfortable routine I can rely on and shuffle through mindlessly - which isn't necessarily wrong. In what free time is left I'll create crap and maybe occasionally hang out with a friend.

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Furthermore...

I've been enraged over the Second City e.tc. (experimental theater company) show for days. First of all, it's name is "Campaign Supernova". Strike one. And as you know, I'm not one to criticize, but if it were up to me I would call it Campander Stupidnova or Pander Pander Pander Stupid, or Crap Mixed with Turd Wrapped in Dumbness... because I do criticize, quite a lot, and it panders! It panders in a big way!

Second City really stresses satire, and this show is the most surface, contrived, absolutely comfortable look at the current state of the world I've seen in a long time. Plus there's homophobia (in that cute, post-PC way). If there's any message this show has, it is "whatever you feel and do right now is just fine," but they present it in a brash, "in your face" manner. It's so infuriating! Plus the sketches aren't even tight!

I was really bummed out about it because that stage (which is not the Main Stage) is something I strive to be on someday, or so I thought. But it violated pretty much all the comedy rules I have for myself. This is a list of punchlines I will never be a party to:

1. Gay (someone is). - Hahahahaha! That's absurd!
2. Bush = bad - That's sooooo edgy. You're really sticking it to the %23 percent of America who will never see your horrible show in the first place.
3. Vegetarian (someone is) - What a gay! Wouldn't it be hilarious if they were tricked into eating meat?!
4. British Accents - My Mr. Lordington, what a delightfully easy and shallow character you are to build... on a stereotype, and a stupid, used-to-death stereotype at that.
5. Women - What inferior thing will they think of next?
6. Racial Stereotypes - These are the epitome of edgy, intelligent humor!* They're so easy to grab from your genuinely racist mind, and the best part is all you have to do to get a laugh is say them!
7. Drunk!/Wasted!/Whatever (someone is or was) - immediate applause. Not from me. Same goes for stoned.
8. Expletive! - Ok fine, I'll use those.
9. (insert lame thing to say)... BITCH! - Hahaha! Remember when Chappell did it? And then when it became the go-to joke for unfunny people everywhere? How could you forget?
10. Slut/bitch/whore/etc. - sexist verbal abuse. What a smart laugh.

All of this boils down to one thing - applause vs. laughter. Applause happens when someone realizes they agree with you and voice their support. Laughter is more elusive. It has to hit a vein. The easy, stupid laughs are the ones where people laugh as if on cue, because they know it is time. When you say something like, "Bush is such a bad President" or "I love to get wasted." Those laughs just make people feel more comfortable where they already are.

Having said all this, there were some genuinely funny moments in the show, and even one entire sketch. (That sketch happened to be silent.) And let me make it clear that the show on the Main Stage is genuinely hilarious. It cracks me up. The point is that you shouldn't weild the mighty sword of satire until you're ready, and you should not go see Campaign Supernova - a really crappy, contrived satirical sketch revue that got a ton of laughs and good reviews, but none from me.

*There was a song where two white men simply listed racial stereotypes. The chorus was "Don't you hate it when your stereotypes are reinforced?" You might think this could be done intelligently but I promise it was not.


PS - I got a job at Second City showing people to their seats. It's the easiest thing I've ever done.
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How to Be Not Funny

I can't say that I'm expert enough to tell you definitively how to be funny, but I can tell you exactly how not to be funny. Here are 10 simple rules:

1. Avoid real characters (this covers many, but as it's harder than it seems, needs supplements).
2. Have characters with no real wants.
3. Have characters that don't express anything at all.
4. Shy away from emotional depth and confrontation.
5. Go for the joke that will make you look clever.
6. Think about your jokes forever and make them complex.
7. Make it clear that you think of yourself as very funny.
8. Don't enjoy yourself.
9. Audiences love inside jokes that you and your one friend who's really funny made up.
10. Always think of the audience as dumb.

Follow these and you're guaranteed to shuck funny from yourself like husk from laughcorn. But the rules are flexible. Add and subtract your own as you see fit to be truly not funny in the worst way.

The Best Part of Chicago

There's a forest preserve at Devon and Caldwell. Considering that no matter where you are within it, you're always within earshot of cars, it's surprisingly wild. It's a testament to how quickly life can spring up if we'd just stop beating it for even a minute. I watched three bucks with their families today. One of them had his eye on me, so I just stood motionless, quietly nourishing the colony of mosquitoes that had swarmed around my legs.

It made me really want to hunt. Did you know that those deer get more and more overpopulated every time we build a subdivision? That's a real problem. Better kill the deer for being there. Otherwise they might start having more babies and overpopulating what could one day be a fine, poorly constructed subdivision - as soon as the housing market rebounds (which I very seriously hope it never, ever does).
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Dorks,

7 Chicago bands to look out for:

DAYLIGHT ROBBERY - Apparently they got a new drummer. Oft compared to X, which is understandable because of the Exene/John Doe like vocals, but I'm not the hugest X fan so I'd say these guys are better. More fun, more energy.

THIS IS MY FIST - THE most fun band I've seen in a long time. Currently working with a scab line-up that is meant to be short lived. Anne and Seth brought the very best of that so-called "folk punk" genre here from CA and boy am I grateful. Actually, don't think of it as "folk punk", or "pop punk" or whatever other lame category they might be stuffed into. It's just a pile of awesome.

97 SHIKI - the remains of 4th Rotor rose to form this angular, punchy quartet. Anybody who like No Means No or Gang of Four will poop their pants.

NO SLOGAN - great southsiders that have been around for a while and still rock it.

CANADIAN RIFLE - chances are, you've probably seen them. They play and tour enough, but if you haven't, get a clue.

CHRONIC SEIZURE - ditto, but still awesome. I need to get my hands on their LP, especially since I've heard many flattering Gauze comparisons.

M.O.T.O. - Simple to the point of dumb in the best way. Catchy, catchy, catchy, catchy...


Me and Nicky D will be working on something before too long. The tentative name is "The Beatles featuring Paul McCartney".

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Morning After

Still suffering. I so wish I could take back that moment when I ate the sundae. This is turning into one of the biggest regrets of my life.
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Importante

Note to Scott: The McDonald's ice cream sundae gave you instant diarrhea today. Very embarrasing. Take this as signal to stay on the path towards veganism.

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Day 4: The Second of the Deuces

I thought I had lost touch with reality, but it turns out Bill Murray actually did parachute from a fighter jet over Chicago. Proof positive. Whether or not a giant coy fish has been swimming to and fro across the radio waves in my apartment is yet to be verified. Luckily, I have had this joke for sustenance.

Q: What kind of bike does a medieval travelling musician ride? A: A minstrel cycle!

The exclamation point at the end really does it for me.

There are rumors of poisonous mushrooms being injested. This is ludicrous, as there is no such thing as a poisonous mushroom to my understanding. All that I have injested have been medicinal, as a way to heal these cursed hallucinations.

The coy fish wants help in the kitchen. He has a hard time tying his own apron. Without his companionship I would really be at risk of losing it.

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Chicago - Day 3

As time draws on supplies are running short. My American currency means nothing here and I'm low on potable water. After so long, one starts to question one's own sanity. I had visits from an Indian named Tobo that I now believe may have been illusory. I thought I could watch Simpsons three times a day, but I have yet to see even one episode. Things are indeed looking bleak. My only hope is in finding the flock of Quaker Parrots that are rumored to live nearby. In lieu of human companionship these loquacious birds may be able to speak to me in ways my own inane writings cannot. If anyone is reading this, tell my mother I love her. Yes, I did call her a little earlier, but I think it would be a sweet gesture. She has no one but her other sons, her significant other, her church members, couple of best friends, parents and various other friendly acquaintances to turn to.

I am holding to to my grip on reality as best I can. Today I took the V-neck off a hipster and cast it as a white flag, offering surrender to God, who has sent me to this ghastly place. "Do you hear me God?! Do you hear me?!!" I screamed from my second story window as I hoisted the shirt out on a broomstick. A car honked its horn, which I took as a sign. I have been soiling myself and recycling the fluid for sustenance. It's a system I have not yet perfected.

Tomorrow I will scour for some reasonably priced produce and, at dusk, take in a comedic play. Let us hope it is in the company of my beloved Quaker Parrots.

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And Now for Something Completely Different...

Enjoy this excerpt from an interview with Tobo, the rightfully spiteful Indian from Colonial Times.

Salem Witch Trials? I'm an Indian. When I saw it happening I was like, "Hell yeah!!". My tribe had recently been decimated by smallpox, so naturally I was elated to see that less of these pale ladies would be breeding. I would sit at the back during trials, and when someone was like, "I saw Goody so-and-so practicing witch crafts," I'd go, "As did I! Death!" ...To stir things up, I'd sneak into townpeople's houses at night dressed as a turkey-demon. I'd go, "Your neighbor sent me. Accuse her! Accuse her now!" and then run away. I also dropped poison ivy in the water supply. When I did it, it was totally unrelated, but it ended up working out great. I admit I am not as noble as most from my tribe, but my strength has always been spite.

Look forward to more from Tobo in upcoming posts.
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Don't Bother Baring With Me

When I cry I blow big snot bubbles. I can remember a time when I laughed and sounded like a little school girl on too much sugar. It was the giggle of a truly giddy man. I'd get so beside myself with giddiness I wouldn't be able to tell a joke or finish my thought. Either way I'm pretty comical to behold.

I feel everything in hyperbole and see everything in hyperbole. That's why when a restaurant is closed I pretty much consider ending my life, and if I catch a ball I feel like I can climb Mt Everest. If McCain wins I see the nuclear sludge consuming my family, and if Obama wins... it's pretty much the same. I'm filled with joy when I see opossums and rats living on. Even the animals that would eat my corpse a hundred times before they'd ever even let me pet them, the fact that I see them alive and thriving despite mankind's best efforts fills me with hope. If they can do it, so can I.

If expanding your perception is worth anything it's for seeing the whitest, most shimmering whites and the blackest, most vulgar blacks in a world we all still divide into black and whites. No matter how smart you are, you are still dividing everything into a "yes or no" answer in your head - there are just more of them. If you're smart enough to see gray areas it's because you can step back far enough to forget the big black and whites, but the smallest ones remain: there are astronomers and microbiologists. But I'm getting lost in the metaphor... What I mean to say is: seeing all of it is hard, painful. Opening yourself lets a lot come in. And seeing all of it is difficult, because we don't have the tools to look at our lives that science has to look at the universe (inadequate as those still may be).

What I'm trying to say is that right now, I see a lot of the vulgar blacks and a little of the shimmering whites - a dark cloud with a silver lining, if you will - and I'm scared that I won't reach the point when I giggle like an idiot again, because maybe that's just getting older. I know I'm smart. I just hope I'm smart enough to figure out how to laugh innocently again, hard and long, if such a thing is possible. I don't have the tools to know. I guess that's what I'll be chasing - that phantom blissful laugh that I hope is recoverable.

Why would you roll in a patch of poison ivy with a four-leaf clover?
For a rash of good luck. :)

We'll see.

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Last Day

This is my last day living in Saint Louis for a long time to come. It's hard to face that there aren't any "one more night"s left, but in Chicago I have a whole career of making a fool of myself to look forward to.

What's a robot's favorite kind of humor?
Irony.

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A Tool for Daily Attrition

If for no other reason than to erase any coherence of theme on this blog, here's something cute and wonderful. Amnimals and puppies.

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Doomsday Approaches

Not long at all until I move to Chicago for good, and the decision is only harder. I get less decisive as time goes on. I really love Saint Louis and have already been having fantasies about how I'd come back and never leave again. I've been homesick for about a month and I haven't even moved yet. Of all the low points in my life, of which there have been very many, the one in which I choose to move to Chicago was a pretty mild one. I wonder: if I had really crashed and burned down to a cinder, would that make leaving a crystal clear, easy decision? I'm leaving on good terms with everyone as things only get better around here and I couldn't be less happy about it.

I felt really good tonight.

In other news... I made some prank phonecalls and left a number on a bathroom wall at the expensive of this horrific jerkbag who was foolishly handing out his number on the Megabus*. He was truly deserving - racist, drunk, inconsiderate, having bad breath - if there was ever a perfect target it is him. I had fun doing it and it felt really good to pull some cranks like I did when I was 8. It took me back to a simpler, more lighthearted time. However, when he called me, I was taken back to the complex, terror-stricken time when the young boy is confronted by the angry prankee. Face to face with what was admittedly my own wrongdoing, I did the right thing - I told him it was not me and asked him never to call me again. He has not. I used to know how block numbers, but it's different on cell phones. Hopefully it won't come to that. Long story short: it was really funny and I don't regret a thing. The lesson here is that one should only harass people once ever couple of years, and though one may feel guilty about it for a short time, the schadenfreude-induced laughter of one's peers will wipe away any feeling of wrongdoing.

Of course I joke, and jokes are the mead of merriment. What a splendid larf my jokes are.

I don't want to wake up tomorrow.


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*if anyone involved in anything law or litigation related stumbles across this admission of guilt, I am just joking and don't know what you're talking about.

Hello Saint Louis

I am in Chicago. I've been sparse with the blogging lately due to my only being able to talk about my horrible, socially embarrassing feelings. I was going to post a few rants each night about them, replete with poor spelling and utterly cringe-worthy, juvenile cries for help, but I did a quick google search and found out that the internet already has enough. My estimation is that it's about 99.8% porn, then 0.1% embarrassing self-admissions/displays of shallow character, and the rest is divided up between advertisements and erroneous knowledge.

I completed my first performance on a Second City stage this Sunday, and not to brag but, it was pretty freaking terrible, if I do say so myself. However, disappointing myself has always been my inspiration to go out and disappoint myself again, over and over until it's less disappointing. It's called self-improvement. Each time I do something I make an effort to suck less royally until one day I reach the day when I hardly suck royally at all.

Listen to The Screamers, enjoy your workweek, and start your own blogs so I can check up on you when I'm killing time on the internet. It beats reading the news.

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