audacity award

Y’all want to know how the stand-up routine went on Tuesday, so…

It went well, I think.  I ended up going second, which meant that I had to try and be funny at about 9:30 in the morning.  In spite of the time, my classmates were both amused and disturbed at my over-the-top comedy routine about dead and dying oboists, which is (I suppose) all that I really wanted.  The professor seemed more confused than amused by it, but perhaps that’s just my insecure impression of his lack of feedback.  I was the only one who actually told jokes — everyone else basically told stories about their families or whatever, so I give myself points for originality, hopefully the professor will, too.  I also give myself an award for using the phrases "an enormous erection" and  "covered in rectal blood" in a classroom setting — I should get an audacity award for that shit.

The one piece of semi-valuable feedback that I did get was "I am scared," which came from an undergraduate classmate.  While perhaps not intended as praise, I will take it as such. 

NO TRESPASSING

Notrespassing

rectal blood

So, tomorrow morning I have to do a five to ten minute stand-up comedy routine in front of my Television Comedy Writing class, and for some reason I have decided to do an entire routine that centers around my (character’s) hatred of oboists.  At one point during my routine I use the term "oboe-phobia, " and I close with the words "rectal blood." 

This will either go very well, or it will go very very badly.

Dark Day

A Dark Day Revisited (MSNBC)

oboephobic

I’ve been thinking lately about how much being in art school has affected my thinking.  I find myself analyzing my life in terms of story, wondering whether it would make for a good movie or not.  I often have this strange feeling that all the pieces of my artistic background are finally coming together in this weird amalgamation of images and words I’ve been creating and finishing lately.  Yeah, it sounds pretentious to me, too. 

America has skillfully stigmatized artistic thought with words like "pretentious" while encouraging consumerism with words like "progress" — I’m sick of it, and I will have no more of it.

I went to a birthday party for The Farrell’s dog ("Winthrop") at Fort Pulaski today — I ate beans from a can and played with swords, it was fun.  There were many gnats and hornets there, too, which were less fun.  Later, in a grocery store parking lot, Adam pushed Brandi & I around in a shopping cart intended for two children.   That, too, was fun. 

I must get back to writing oboephobic jokes, now.

"I’ve had it with these snakes."