Cant type for long today as I have to go away and be a zombie. Luckily this doesn't involve being killed and then reanimated, or being bitten by another zombie or any sort of voodoo charms. If it did then although the poster would look great, lives would be jeopardized and my Edinburgh show, more importantly, would be really rubbish. It would just involve me slowly staggering around and making a low zombie groan noise. I can't even think of a gag with that noise as a punchline, so I'm sure it would only be a 2 star show at most. Unless I fell over a bit. Everyone likes some falling over. Anyway, today's zombification is a lot easier that any of those and it just involves me covering my self in liquid latex to look all undead. I made a special trip to a theatrical make-up shop to but things yesterday which I got very excited about. The shop itself was rather deceiving as, on first entry there is wall to wall blusher and other womanly make-up type things. I was worried I was in the wrong place. Then sitting on the counter was a pretend (I hope) severed head with blood dripping off it and a zombie hand. They seemed completely out of place, until I asked the woman at the counter what I needed to be a zombie and she became all excited and handed me many goods. Yesterday afternoon was then spent applying a little bit of said 'stuff' to my arm to see how zombie it looked. It looked zombie indeed. There was a while when I was a bit scared of my own arm. I am a little terrified to see myself in a mirror later as I might get one glance and run away out of fear. That would make the whole photoshoot very awkward.
What terrifies me more is that the woman told me that taking the latex off my self wouldn't be easy and gave me some special remover. I thought nothing of this until later when I coated my arm in the special alcohol concoction and then tried to peel the zombie effects away. They came off ok, but so did all the hair on my forearm. To say it didn't hurt would be a massive understatement. It hurt like fuckery. Still on the plus side by the end of today I should be a lot more aerodynamic than I was before.
After toying with the undead - a term I use lightly as it could also be used for playing football with vampires, something I would never do. Mostly because their fangs could puncture the ball - I drove to Brighton for a lovely lovely gig run by the equally as lovely Angela. The gig is held in a really small and intimate room above a pub and is the perfect venue for trying out material and generally having a really ace gig. Sadly, just as I got into Brighton, Angela called me to say only 5 tickets had been sold and so the gig was cancelled. This was a little bit rubbish but also what happens in comedy so not a lot you can do. I headed to the gig anyway and stayed to have a drink with Angela and several other comics before everyone drove home. I picked up Rob Heeney and we raced all the way back to Old Rope to catch the last ten minutes of Stephen Merchant's headline set. While it was all pleasant and nice to see Rob, Angela and the others it was definitely the longest way I have ever driven for a drink. Essentially a lot of gigs are just driving long distance to do 20 minutes and then leave again, but you usually combine a little bit of sitting, maybe eating and basically not driving in there just to break it up. Without those bits you just become a driver which is whole lot less fun, unless you spend everyday pretending you are Knight Rider in which case driving anywhere is good. As me and Layla share a little VW Polo, the Knight Rider dream only ever lasts about 10 minutes.
It was a good insight into why lorry drivers are usually such miserable bastards. Maybe if they gigged at every stop they might enjoy it all a bit more. Guaranteed the jokes would be racist and mother-in-law-y though so perhaps its better they just stay lonely and depressed.
Right going to go zombify. Will post pics tomorrow if I can.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Speed Demon
Where the bloody hell has the sunshine gone? The sun is a bit like a wanton father or husband. Its not there for ages and you give up on it, thinking it'll never come back. Just when you've forgotten it exists, it strolls right back in pretending it can just rule the roost again, no questions asked. Then you are finally suckered into thinking 'Hey maybe it'll stick around this time, maybe its changed'. No such bloody luck as its gone off cavorting with clouds and rain right in front of us. The sun is a selfish dick. I'm saddened by the lack of sun. I'm going to Brighton later and I thought that maybe I should head to Brighton early and enjoy the sunshine and Brighton boho-ness. Sadly this plan has been entirely ruined. I don't enjoy a beach made of stones in the first place but wet, slippy rocks are even worse. And knowing me I'd be tempted to walk on them just because, and then I would die and get found on the coast of France all washed up. Which would be a bit rock and roll. But then I'd also have to go to Calais without the ability to buy cheap booze. It doesn't work out for the best.
My preview yesterday didn't work out for the best either. I had spent a lot of last week tweaking and changing bits, which ultimately meant that by the time I got it to the Hen and Chickens last night, I didn't remember any of the structure or jokes or words or anything. I like being organised and in control of my comedy stuff, so if I don't know whats happening I get all a bit panicky. As it was I raced through the entire show at superhuman speed. The show had a large amount of new material in it but was a full 3 minutes shorter than the last time I previewed it, which is a massively bad sign. To top it off I forgot to record the show despite having the dictaphone in my pocket which is probably for the best. Last time I recorded it I accidentally set it to record at 1.5x the speed so I sounded like an excitable chipmunk. I think if I had done the same last night the whole thing would've sounded like putting a record on the wrong speed. For younger readers just imagine if your i-pod went wrong.
I've always had a problem with speaking too fast when nervous. I remember my first ever gig outside of uni at the Laughing Horse in Greenwich. I went onstage such a bag of nerves that I was almost talking in tongues. When I came of stage Sion James said to me that the jokes were good but I needed to say them not at 110mph. He said it was almost like machine gun fire. It was lucky the gig was in Greenwich and not Hackney or people might have ducked for cover. Over the years since then I've managed to slow myself down somewhat. Not loads because I naturally talk fast. Why say things slow when you can say them quick and add more stuff at the end? Its worked for Busta Rhymes. Sadly Busta Rhymes doesn't do stand-up. Although if he did no one would understand what he said, it would probably be mental and shouty and rhyming things isn't funny. After having our attempts to buy a milkshake snubbed by Hamburger Union, I went back to my friends Sam and Ali's house where we discussed what my show is actually all about. This was incredibly useful and I think I know what I need to do for the next one. Apart from slowing down which is obvious. I'm worried that I will over compensate for that and speak so slowly that the show lasts for two hours. At least people would get their money's worth. And a nap too, probably.
I've got to go by things to make myself look like a zombie now. I'm excited about this and will be practicing with it all afternoon before the photoshoot tomorrow. The stuff I need is liquid latex which will make my skin look all cracked, and fake blood which will look, er, like blood. Must remember to remove it before I go to Brighton or I could scare a lot of people. Still I'd definitely get a seat on the train.
My preview yesterday didn't work out for the best either. I had spent a lot of last week tweaking and changing bits, which ultimately meant that by the time I got it to the Hen and Chickens last night, I didn't remember any of the structure or jokes or words or anything. I like being organised and in control of my comedy stuff, so if I don't know whats happening I get all a bit panicky. As it was I raced through the entire show at superhuman speed. The show had a large amount of new material in it but was a full 3 minutes shorter than the last time I previewed it, which is a massively bad sign. To top it off I forgot to record the show despite having the dictaphone in my pocket which is probably for the best. Last time I recorded it I accidentally set it to record at 1.5x the speed so I sounded like an excitable chipmunk. I think if I had done the same last night the whole thing would've sounded like putting a record on the wrong speed. For younger readers just imagine if your i-pod went wrong.
I've always had a problem with speaking too fast when nervous. I remember my first ever gig outside of uni at the Laughing Horse in Greenwich. I went onstage such a bag of nerves that I was almost talking in tongues. When I came of stage Sion James said to me that the jokes were good but I needed to say them not at 110mph. He said it was almost like machine gun fire. It was lucky the gig was in Greenwich and not Hackney or people might have ducked for cover. Over the years since then I've managed to slow myself down somewhat. Not loads because I naturally talk fast. Why say things slow when you can say them quick and add more stuff at the end? Its worked for Busta Rhymes. Sadly Busta Rhymes doesn't do stand-up. Although if he did no one would understand what he said, it would probably be mental and shouty and rhyming things isn't funny. After having our attempts to buy a milkshake snubbed by Hamburger Union, I went back to my friends Sam and Ali's house where we discussed what my show is actually all about. This was incredibly useful and I think I know what I need to do for the next one. Apart from slowing down which is obvious. I'm worried that I will over compensate for that and speak so slowly that the show lasts for two hours. At least people would get their money's worth. And a nap too, probably.
I've got to go by things to make myself look like a zombie now. I'm excited about this and will be practicing with it all afternoon before the photoshoot tomorrow. The stuff I need is liquid latex which will make my skin look all cracked, and fake blood which will look, er, like blood. Must remember to remove it before I go to Brighton or I could scare a lot of people. Still I'd definitely get a seat on the train.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
O Karen O
Sometimes I am envious of music gigs. There are certain things you can do to kick of a show when you are a band that you just can't do as a solo stand-up. You can try, but its never the same. My friend Mat started his final university stand-up show by walking through a smoke filled door frame to the tune of Queen's 'Princes of the Universe', which was pretty good. But that's the closest you can probably get, without being the Boosh or Brand or someone like that. I mean you could definitely try but I can't help feeling that if I walked onto the stage at the Glee in the same way the Yeah Yeah Yeahs started last night, I'd lose the audience from the top. Their first thought as they saw the giant inflatable eyeball on the backdrop and then my luminous spirally headgear would be what a pretentious cock. Then as all the glitter cannons started to fire I would suspect several of the stag-dos would just walk out, with the glitter entertaining all the hens until I started telling jokes at which point the anti-climax would make them leave too, but not before one of them shouted a bit, accidentally ate some glitter and vommed all over the table.
The audience last night had no such thoughts about Karen O's entrance last night. Karen has the aura of a rock goddess. The eyeball staring at the crowd, I had 10 seconds of nearly guffawing at the glow in the dark mask, which I thought, would be very useful for cyclists at night. Then she started singing their new track 'Heads Will Roll', and suddenly it didn't matter that she was wearing what appeared to be giant multi-coloured spaghetti hoops on her back or that she danced as though she was doing odd yoga stretches. She didn't care, so neither did anyone else. The show was absolutely awesome. They sang all the songs I hoped they would, and I had to really restrain myself from belting out 'Gold Lion' along with them. It was only last night that listening to the lyrics I really have no clue what they mean, but Karen O is clearly a nutjob (in a great way) and so when she sings 'Gold Lion gonna tell me where the light is', I can only assume she has a large pet gold lion that shows her where her light switches are around the house. I would like that. I'd like a pet lion to begin with. I'm sure it would get along great with my cats. I'd call him Lional Richie or Mane-ual. Or Mufasa. Or Derrick. Or Ra-Ra-Rasputin. And then when I came home drunk late and night and fumbled for the light switch he could just growl 'Its over there.' That would be great.
Thanks to my friend Ryan I had a freebie to last night's show. It wasn't just a usual freebie, it was the sort that meant I could go in via the stage door which is always exciting. This also meant I could use the VIP bar and sit in a chair where I could see everything. This solved two of my main gripes about gigs in that I got served easily everytime and I could see everything without some tall twat standing directly in front of me. There was a little part of me that felt I was missing out by not standing near the front, jumping around like a loon. There was a smaller part of me that thought, 'hey where is the generic tall guy that ruins everything?' like perhaps it wasn't the same without him. However, the biggest part of me thought, 'Hooray I'm sitting down, my legs don't hurt, I can see everything and Richard Ayoade is sitting behind me!' That was all very rock. More rock infact that Stonehenge. Which is suppose is stone and not rock and so therefore its fairly easy to be more rock than that. More rock than the rock of Gibraltar is perhaps better. That's a pretty big rock. I like comparing bands to geographical locations or sights. It gives you a great idea of just how good or bad they are. Lady Gaga for example is less rock than Swindon town centre. Oddly Swindon Town centre has a great poker face.
Its an important event today. That's right, my preview. Oh and the marathon. As I have written in a previous post, I have utmost respect for everyone running the marathon today, although I am still consistently glad I'm not doing it. Every year I entertain the thought that maybe I could do it, but really really don't want to. There are lots of things in this category. I could bungee jump, but I really really don't want to. I could cut parts of my arm off, but I really really don't want to. This list can go on for quite some time. Anyway I wouldn't have had time to run it today because I am working on my show for tonight's preview, which is more important than raising money for extremely brilliant charities who help dying people. Or not. I have worked quite a bit on it since the last time I did it, but I'm not sure if it'll be better or just more of a mess. I am still yet to find an ending for the show which is a bit of a problem as it needs one. Unlike a cool track I can't just fade the end out which would be helpful. I was wondering if I such take a performance arty route and halfway through a sentence, very unexpectedly, maybe I could just stop and walk off. It would be original to say the least. And when I say original, I mean shit. Maybe I'll just do 50 minutes of the show and then for 5 minutes at the end I will don a luminous mask, fire some glitter cannons and sing 'Gold Lion'.
The audience last night had no such thoughts about Karen O's entrance last night. Karen has the aura of a rock goddess. The eyeball staring at the crowd, I had 10 seconds of nearly guffawing at the glow in the dark mask, which I thought, would be very useful for cyclists at night. Then she started singing their new track 'Heads Will Roll', and suddenly it didn't matter that she was wearing what appeared to be giant multi-coloured spaghetti hoops on her back or that she danced as though she was doing odd yoga stretches. She didn't care, so neither did anyone else. The show was absolutely awesome. They sang all the songs I hoped they would, and I had to really restrain myself from belting out 'Gold Lion' along with them. It was only last night that listening to the lyrics I really have no clue what they mean, but Karen O is clearly a nutjob (in a great way) and so when she sings 'Gold Lion gonna tell me where the light is', I can only assume she has a large pet gold lion that shows her where her light switches are around the house. I would like that. I'd like a pet lion to begin with. I'm sure it would get along great with my cats. I'd call him Lional Richie or Mane-ual. Or Mufasa. Or Derrick. Or Ra-Ra-Rasputin. And then when I came home drunk late and night and fumbled for the light switch he could just growl 'Its over there.' That would be great.
Thanks to my friend Ryan I had a freebie to last night's show. It wasn't just a usual freebie, it was the sort that meant I could go in via the stage door which is always exciting. This also meant I could use the VIP bar and sit in a chair where I could see everything. This solved two of my main gripes about gigs in that I got served easily everytime and I could see everything without some tall twat standing directly in front of me. There was a little part of me that felt I was missing out by not standing near the front, jumping around like a loon. There was a smaller part of me that thought, 'hey where is the generic tall guy that ruins everything?' like perhaps it wasn't the same without him. However, the biggest part of me thought, 'Hooray I'm sitting down, my legs don't hurt, I can see everything and Richard Ayoade is sitting behind me!' That was all very rock. More rock infact that Stonehenge. Which is suppose is stone and not rock and so therefore its fairly easy to be more rock than that. More rock than the rock of Gibraltar is perhaps better. That's a pretty big rock. I like comparing bands to geographical locations or sights. It gives you a great idea of just how good or bad they are. Lady Gaga for example is less rock than Swindon town centre. Oddly Swindon Town centre has a great poker face.
Its an important event today. That's right, my preview. Oh and the marathon. As I have written in a previous post, I have utmost respect for everyone running the marathon today, although I am still consistently glad I'm not doing it. Every year I entertain the thought that maybe I could do it, but really really don't want to. There are lots of things in this category. I could bungee jump, but I really really don't want to. I could cut parts of my arm off, but I really really don't want to. This list can go on for quite some time. Anyway I wouldn't have had time to run it today because I am working on my show for tonight's preview, which is more important than raising money for extremely brilliant charities who help dying people. Or not. I have worked quite a bit on it since the last time I did it, but I'm not sure if it'll be better or just more of a mess. I am still yet to find an ending for the show which is a bit of a problem as it needs one. Unlike a cool track I can't just fade the end out which would be helpful. I was wondering if I such take a performance arty route and halfway through a sentence, very unexpectedly, maybe I could just stop and walk off. It would be original to say the least. And when I say original, I mean shit. Maybe I'll just do 50 minutes of the show and then for 5 minutes at the end I will don a luminous mask, fire some glitter cannons and sing 'Gold Lion'.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Star Treatment
No gigs today and for a very good reason too. Well its not a very good reason, its because no one would give me a gig. But I've turned that frown upside down (as I typed that I felt sick at myself. Sorry) because I'm going to see the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at Shepherds Bush Empire. I have never seen the YYY's live before and I can't wait. I can only assume that they are so good you feel the need to reply three times when people ask you if they were good. I wonder if when they started out they were called the ' Alright Alright Alright's' or the 'Ok but one really good song ok but one really good song ok but one really good song's'. I wish I'd copied and pasted that last bit, but instead I did it old school. Tedious, but a hark back to times when copy and pasting did not exist. Those were the days typists really worked hard, and men were men and women were women. Pretty much the same as nowadays really, except for ladyboys who are a bit of both.
I'm scared as to how I'll fit in at a YYY's gig. I'm a big fan of them, but I don't look like a big fan of them. I noticed this yesterday when hosting the Crawl. Despite adourning one of my favourite Mr Scruff t-shirts and my oh so trendy black cardie, I felt a tad out of place among the skinny jeaned, checked shirt wearing faux indie kids. I can't do skinny jeans. I tried them on once and it looked as though my clothes were trying to suffocate my legs. I nearly fell over in the changing room due to movement restriction. I did feel yesterday though that I was dressing how I wanted to and by doing so showed my ability to be independent and not dictated by a fashion scheme. Lots of the kids in the audience just thought I was uncool. The whole event was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I had assumed that it would be like a festival gig with lots of people walking in and out and really not giving a crap about watching or listening to any gags. It started off very very quiet and ended up packed, but all the while, even though there were a few non-carers, there were a large amount of people that wanted to be there. Lots of fun audience members including a man in a hat who was on acid, a roofer and two kitchen fitters who we turned into a band called 'The Meerkats', two women who work in Gatwick, a man called John who is going to photocopy the Mighty Boosh, and three men who said they would shout historical heckles at me but instead bought me a beer. I prefer beers to historical heckles. Fact. There was lots of running on and running off stage for me, and my brain felt a little drained having to think of ways to keep things going inbetween acts, but this was helped by all the acts being ace and often doing over-time. Special mention goes to Marcus Birdman, who went on during a busy influx of crowd and dealt with the thankless task like a soldier who needed no thanks to complete his mission. Also to Tiff Stevenson who jumped in last minute and did an off the cuff 25-30 minute set because of a massively overlooked 30 minute gap between acts, that I was shitting myself about.
There is something that will always be exciting about being give a wristband and artists pass to any festival type event. It feels a little like you are a celebrity of sorts. I thought there might be perks to the Crawl Artists Sticker, Artists Wristband and Free Food Wristband I was given. I was very wrong. Firstly the rider didn't contain any booze. I didn't want much booze as I had to drive to my later gig but a beer or two would have been nice. I bet Madness, the YYY's and Echo and the Bunnymen had booze. I bet maybe they had our booze. I am going to make Karen O buy me a beer later. You'll see. Secondly, the free food was appalling. I'd assume that as it catered for all the bands, the canteen at Lock 17 was going to be pretty plush. As I arrived I saw two measly plated of salad, some not very nice pesto pasta and chips that were doing the backcrawl in vast levels of grease. I asked if there was a veggie option to the burgers they were handing out and I was told there were a few falafals but they'd all gone, so why not just have a burger. I explained that being veggie means I can't just 'have a burger' because its made from animals and they looked at me like I had just told them I'd punched their mum in the face and put her upside down in a dustbin. After giving me that expression I was keen to take such action. Its not really star treatment is it? I assume that's why so many rock stars are skinny, because they barely eat anything due to the poor quality of grub presented to them.
I then had to catch a bus home so I could drive to Bedford. All the way back on the 253 a rudeboy was giving me really odd looks. It took me a while to figure it out but by holding the bus pole only part of my 'Gaymers' sponsored wristband was showing. I gave him a camp smile just before I jumped off and he looked terrified. The later gig at the Bedford Corn Exchange was brilliant too, which is odd, as having done that gig a few times before, its normally fairly tough. I had assumed that after the brilliant buzz of the Crawl, Bedford would be like heading to a library. It seemed like it would be with very few pre-sold tickets, but then last minute the place filled up. The whole show was also helped by a man called Keith who had a voice as deep as Barry White and laughed, as Alan Francis put it, like one of those joke laughing bags. It was wonderfully infectious and he set the precedent for the room. It was all going well until towards the end of Alan's set he was laughing so hard he started choking. Luckily he didn't die as that might have made things sour again.
There was a measly selection of nachos and cakes backstage, and we weren't allowed free drinks from the bar. Comedy is so unrock and roll. Either things need to change so we comedians get more freebies, or rock stars need to start getting the same treatment as us. I want to see Kasabian having to buy their own pints and being greeted only with some salad that looks like its been pulled out of a bin.
Going to write for a bit, and then must make myself as punky as possible. Think I was smear some marmite on my face and leave all my clothes by the toilet. Then I should probably pierce something. Maybe one of the cats. All the kids will think I'm one of them. Or that I'm mental. Either way it means I won't get barged like usual so it's a plan.
I'm scared as to how I'll fit in at a YYY's gig. I'm a big fan of them, but I don't look like a big fan of them. I noticed this yesterday when hosting the Crawl. Despite adourning one of my favourite Mr Scruff t-shirts and my oh so trendy black cardie, I felt a tad out of place among the skinny jeaned, checked shirt wearing faux indie kids. I can't do skinny jeans. I tried them on once and it looked as though my clothes were trying to suffocate my legs. I nearly fell over in the changing room due to movement restriction. I did feel yesterday though that I was dressing how I wanted to and by doing so showed my ability to be independent and not dictated by a fashion scheme. Lots of the kids in the audience just thought I was uncool. The whole event was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I had assumed that it would be like a festival gig with lots of people walking in and out and really not giving a crap about watching or listening to any gags. It started off very very quiet and ended up packed, but all the while, even though there were a few non-carers, there were a large amount of people that wanted to be there. Lots of fun audience members including a man in a hat who was on acid, a roofer and two kitchen fitters who we turned into a band called 'The Meerkats', two women who work in Gatwick, a man called John who is going to photocopy the Mighty Boosh, and three men who said they would shout historical heckles at me but instead bought me a beer. I prefer beers to historical heckles. Fact. There was lots of running on and running off stage for me, and my brain felt a little drained having to think of ways to keep things going inbetween acts, but this was helped by all the acts being ace and often doing over-time. Special mention goes to Marcus Birdman, who went on during a busy influx of crowd and dealt with the thankless task like a soldier who needed no thanks to complete his mission. Also to Tiff Stevenson who jumped in last minute and did an off the cuff 25-30 minute set because of a massively overlooked 30 minute gap between acts, that I was shitting myself about.
There is something that will always be exciting about being give a wristband and artists pass to any festival type event. It feels a little like you are a celebrity of sorts. I thought there might be perks to the Crawl Artists Sticker, Artists Wristband and Free Food Wristband I was given. I was very wrong. Firstly the rider didn't contain any booze. I didn't want much booze as I had to drive to my later gig but a beer or two would have been nice. I bet Madness, the YYY's and Echo and the Bunnymen had booze. I bet maybe they had our booze. I am going to make Karen O buy me a beer later. You'll see. Secondly, the free food was appalling. I'd assume that as it catered for all the bands, the canteen at Lock 17 was going to be pretty plush. As I arrived I saw two measly plated of salad, some not very nice pesto pasta and chips that were doing the backcrawl in vast levels of grease. I asked if there was a veggie option to the burgers they were handing out and I was told there were a few falafals but they'd all gone, so why not just have a burger. I explained that being veggie means I can't just 'have a burger' because its made from animals and they looked at me like I had just told them I'd punched their mum in the face and put her upside down in a dustbin. After giving me that expression I was keen to take such action. Its not really star treatment is it? I assume that's why so many rock stars are skinny, because they barely eat anything due to the poor quality of grub presented to them.
I then had to catch a bus home so I could drive to Bedford. All the way back on the 253 a rudeboy was giving me really odd looks. It took me a while to figure it out but by holding the bus pole only part of my 'Gaymers' sponsored wristband was showing. I gave him a camp smile just before I jumped off and he looked terrified. The later gig at the Bedford Corn Exchange was brilliant too, which is odd, as having done that gig a few times before, its normally fairly tough. I had assumed that after the brilliant buzz of the Crawl, Bedford would be like heading to a library. It seemed like it would be with very few pre-sold tickets, but then last minute the place filled up. The whole show was also helped by a man called Keith who had a voice as deep as Barry White and laughed, as Alan Francis put it, like one of those joke laughing bags. It was wonderfully infectious and he set the precedent for the room. It was all going well until towards the end of Alan's set he was laughing so hard he started choking. Luckily he didn't die as that might have made things sour again.
There was a measly selection of nachos and cakes backstage, and we weren't allowed free drinks from the bar. Comedy is so unrock and roll. Either things need to change so we comedians get more freebies, or rock stars need to start getting the same treatment as us. I want to see Kasabian having to buy their own pints and being greeted only with some salad that looks like its been pulled out of a bin.
Going to write for a bit, and then must make myself as punky as possible. Think I was smear some marmite on my face and leave all my clothes by the toilet. Then I should probably pierce something. Maybe one of the cats. All the kids will think I'm one of them. Or that I'm mental. Either way it means I won't get barged like usual so it's a plan.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Crawling and Begging
Just a quick blog today. Have to race off and host the Camden Crawl this afternoon before then heading to Bedford for a gig there. It shall be a busy day and one that contains a rather mental afternoon. I'm really not sure what to expect. I can only assume its called the Camden Crawl because its the only mode of transport the punters have after severe amounts of booze. Its certainly the only way Winehouse, Doherty and other Camden residents move from place to place. In fact thinking about it Camden should just have a series of travelators all over its pavements to allow movement in the area rather than static crawling. Of course were some of its individuals to crawl on the travelators all manner of piercings would get stuck in it and there would be all sorts of hell. I think I should probably not suggest this later.
This afternoon's venture goes on for four hours with me compereing inbetween each act. I'm fairly sure I will get tired and run out of things to talk about just 30 mins in. If it all goes wrong I will link the crowd by their piercings and chain them to the bar before running away. I might do that anyway, it sounds like a lot of fun.
Didn't do an awful lot yesterday. Any free time I get is used pretending to work on my Edinburgh show. I have a preview this Sunday and I've changed some things since the last time I did it, but I don't remember the changed bits and not all of them are funny. What I'm saying is, Sunday might be shit. Its a work in progress which means its allowed to be a bit shit, but people are paying to come along so it can't be that bad or I'll feel guilty. May have to do what I did last time and just tell some old jokes at the end to give them their moneys worth. Either that or I will chain them all to the bar by their piercings and run away. I'm liking this as a solution to most things.
My shameless begging for money towards Edinburgh has so far gained me £77.11 which is lovely. You can always depend on the kindness of strangers. I say strangers, but I know them all which sort of renders the saying useless. I feel terrible asking people for dosh because I've chosen to go to Edinburgh. To rectify this I gave two marathon runners donations towards Sunday even though its their choice to run. Its a similar thing to mine except they give their money to charity and do something healthy, whereas I will drink for a month and do a show to boost my own career. God I'm a selfish prick. Its nice people help me to be a selfish prick. If they didn't I honestly don't know how I could go this year. Even with £77.11 I still need a further £4k. Anyone have that lying around?
I will stop going on about this for a week or so, but for now here are the links to the donations page and the facebook group:
http://www.tiernandouieb.co.uk/28years-sponsor.htm
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=95744049061
Right, proper blog tomorrow where you will be able to read about what happened at the Camden Crawl. That's if i survive after attempting to chain up all the audience's piercings. I'm slighty scared my watch will get caught and I will be trapped there as well. If no blogs happens tomorrow can someone meet me at the Oxford Arms on Jamestown Road with a large pair of metal cutters? Thanks.
This afternoon's venture goes on for four hours with me compereing inbetween each act. I'm fairly sure I will get tired and run out of things to talk about just 30 mins in. If it all goes wrong I will link the crowd by their piercings and chain them to the bar before running away. I might do that anyway, it sounds like a lot of fun.
Didn't do an awful lot yesterday. Any free time I get is used pretending to work on my Edinburgh show. I have a preview this Sunday and I've changed some things since the last time I did it, but I don't remember the changed bits and not all of them are funny. What I'm saying is, Sunday might be shit. Its a work in progress which means its allowed to be a bit shit, but people are paying to come along so it can't be that bad or I'll feel guilty. May have to do what I did last time and just tell some old jokes at the end to give them their moneys worth. Either that or I will chain them all to the bar by their piercings and run away. I'm liking this as a solution to most things.
My shameless begging for money towards Edinburgh has so far gained me £77.11 which is lovely. You can always depend on the kindness of strangers. I say strangers, but I know them all which sort of renders the saying useless. I feel terrible asking people for dosh because I've chosen to go to Edinburgh. To rectify this I gave two marathon runners donations towards Sunday even though its their choice to run. Its a similar thing to mine except they give their money to charity and do something healthy, whereas I will drink for a month and do a show to boost my own career. God I'm a selfish prick. Its nice people help me to be a selfish prick. If they didn't I honestly don't know how I could go this year. Even with £77.11 I still need a further £4k. Anyone have that lying around?
I will stop going on about this for a week or so, but for now here are the links to the donations page and the facebook group:
http://www.tiernandouieb.co.uk/28years-sponsor.htm
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=95744049061
Right, proper blog tomorrow where you will be able to read about what happened at the Camden Crawl. That's if i survive after attempting to chain up all the audience's piercings. I'm slighty scared my watch will get caught and I will be trapped there as well. If no blogs happens tomorrow can someone meet me at the Oxford Arms on Jamestown Road with a large pair of metal cutters? Thanks.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Its A Long Way To Glastonbury, Its a Long Way To Go
I appear to have a slight mental block for remembering just how far away certain places are. I have driven to Glastonbury before and it took ages. I mean, really ages. Think of a long time. Its longer than that. So oddly when I was rung up to do a gig there again run by and booked by nice people I said yes without hesitation. It was a month or so ago and so I didn't even begin to work out to just how far away a journey it would be. It was like past me had some secret desire to screw up future me but not thinking things through. I'm like a really shitty Doctor Who. They would make terrible episodes if it just involved him leaving a banana skin on the floor so eight episodes later he could slip up on it whilst running away from the Cybermen. Saying that it would still be better than the shitty Easter special. Maybe I should be Doctor Who.
You have to weigh up how good a gig is compared to the distance travelled/time spent travelling for an overall enjoyment ratio. The journey there yesterday was horrible. Not because of the company, Andrew Bird and Dan Antopolski who used stellar chat and combined travel intellect to help us get there as quickly as possible, but because it took over 4 hours of solid driving. I don't like driving for that long without a decent break. I remember complaining about it once to Craig Campbell who then proceeded to tell me about the time he drove for 24 hours straight across Canada then got out of the car and did a gig. I felt my right to complain that day had been made redundant. Due to broken tube lines (which was no one's fault but we blamed Dan anyway), and lots of traffic we ended being behind schedule. We needed to be there for before 8.30 and the satnav said the ETA was 9.10. We saw this as a challenge. I have been moulded in this way by living with my friend Jamie throughout university. He spent everyday seeing most things as a challenge that had to be beaten. Everytime we eat food he would eat it quickly and then shout at the plate saying it had been defeated. We worked in the same restaurant and he did kitchen portering because they wouldn't let him been seen by the customers. Jamie would clean up stacks off plates in one go by shouting at them and treating each lot at a race against plates and dirt. While clearly a sign of mental damage, it has rubbed off and helps in times of emergency. Jamie is now a secondary school teacher and I can only fear for his kids, racing to finish work in time to avoid getting shouted at. Oddly I'll bet that works.
I drove faster than I ever have before, hitting the M4 at an exceedingly dangerous 110mph. Weaving in and out of cars like a comedy Vin Diesel with more hair, less muscles and the ability to act, we knocked the satnav eta down to 8.35pm. There was a quick pitstop for diabetic refuelling ( a Dairy Milk double choc - a creation of genius) and then we made it to the gig merely 5 minutes after the show was meant to start. We felt like champions, masters of the motorway. We had seen the rush hour and discarded it like I would discard the film of the same name back into the bargain retail bin it came from.
Then after such heroic efforts we arrived at the gig only to find it was the quietest one they'd had in ages and the first 4 rows remained unfilled. Full of groggy carhead (an official condition) I walked onstage and pleaded with the crowd to move forward on account of my lack of scariness. Only 6 people moved and in those six there contained a very miserable carpenter, his not too happy wife, a man called Zig, his minion Chris, an insurance salesman and a fruit machine repair man who decided to heckle me. Now none of those are people you really want to move forward, but it was a start. Heckles too meant at least I was getting some engagement from them, but when the whole rest of the crowd is deadly silent and the fruit machine repair man heckles you by putting his hand up first just as you are about to bring the first act on stage, it really doesn't help.
The night was ok. All the acts were ace, with Andrew, Dan and Stephen Carlin all doing great sets. I hadn't worked with any of them for ages so it was nice to hear all their new stuff. By the time I went on in the second half the few people at the front had swapped with other people just to confuse me and I was now confronted by a teacher who when I asked what she taught she told me she 'didn't teach food and nutrition'. Blood from a stone. I plodded through adequately. The organisers were nice and they provided us with free food and drink. Much of the crowd came up to us afterwards and said they had a great time. It wasn't at all bad. It just wasn't amazing. And for an overall 7 and half hours of driving it needed to be. Gigs that are far away should really step it up a bit. Next time I drive that far out of London I expect to be greeted with a fanfare, an audience full of people who are laughing even as we enter the room and a banquet of gold leaves and caviar. I wont eat the caviar because I'm a veggie but I would still demand its there. If I do gigs abroad this must be increased ten fold with a personal onstage introduction by the President of the country. I'd also just be happy if after a 4 hour drive the audience were awake and didn't contain idiots.
On the way home we hit a lull where Andrew had fallen asleep and conversation between myself and Dan had become void due to the melting of brains through tiredness. We stopped at Membury services, the first time I had ever been there. The woman in the shop made a real effort to take her time walking to the till to serve us. She had an expression on her face that I can only describe as the sort of face you would pull if someone directly pissed into your eyes against your will. I did see a car rapidly leave as we arrived so perhaps that had happened. Either way I shan't be gracing Membury with my presence again.
My begging for Edinburgh has begun. Its petty but I need a lot of dosh by August the 1st and I don't really know how I will get it. So far using this shameless begging I have earned £27.10 which is enough for about 12 posters and 4 flyers. If it keeps escalating like this I may even be able to afford 20 posters, 15 flyers and a pasty. If you would like to help my cause please follow the speech bubble link or if you know anyone who may want to donate or sponsor me please forward it on. Thanks you T-Fans you're my only hope:
http://www.tiernandouieb.co.uk
You have to weigh up how good a gig is compared to the distance travelled/time spent travelling for an overall enjoyment ratio. The journey there yesterday was horrible. Not because of the company, Andrew Bird and Dan Antopolski who used stellar chat and combined travel intellect to help us get there as quickly as possible, but because it took over 4 hours of solid driving. I don't like driving for that long without a decent break. I remember complaining about it once to Craig Campbell who then proceeded to tell me about the time he drove for 24 hours straight across Canada then got out of the car and did a gig. I felt my right to complain that day had been made redundant. Due to broken tube lines (which was no one's fault but we blamed Dan anyway), and lots of traffic we ended being behind schedule. We needed to be there for before 8.30 and the satnav said the ETA was 9.10. We saw this as a challenge. I have been moulded in this way by living with my friend Jamie throughout university. He spent everyday seeing most things as a challenge that had to be beaten. Everytime we eat food he would eat it quickly and then shout at the plate saying it had been defeated. We worked in the same restaurant and he did kitchen portering because they wouldn't let him been seen by the customers. Jamie would clean up stacks off plates in one go by shouting at them and treating each lot at a race against plates and dirt. While clearly a sign of mental damage, it has rubbed off and helps in times of emergency. Jamie is now a secondary school teacher and I can only fear for his kids, racing to finish work in time to avoid getting shouted at. Oddly I'll bet that works.
I drove faster than I ever have before, hitting the M4 at an exceedingly dangerous 110mph. Weaving in and out of cars like a comedy Vin Diesel with more hair, less muscles and the ability to act, we knocked the satnav eta down to 8.35pm. There was a quick pitstop for diabetic refuelling ( a Dairy Milk double choc - a creation of genius) and then we made it to the gig merely 5 minutes after the show was meant to start. We felt like champions, masters of the motorway. We had seen the rush hour and discarded it like I would discard the film of the same name back into the bargain retail bin it came from.
Then after such heroic efforts we arrived at the gig only to find it was the quietest one they'd had in ages and the first 4 rows remained unfilled. Full of groggy carhead (an official condition) I walked onstage and pleaded with the crowd to move forward on account of my lack of scariness. Only 6 people moved and in those six there contained a very miserable carpenter, his not too happy wife, a man called Zig, his minion Chris, an insurance salesman and a fruit machine repair man who decided to heckle me. Now none of those are people you really want to move forward, but it was a start. Heckles too meant at least I was getting some engagement from them, but when the whole rest of the crowd is deadly silent and the fruit machine repair man heckles you by putting his hand up first just as you are about to bring the first act on stage, it really doesn't help.
The night was ok. All the acts were ace, with Andrew, Dan and Stephen Carlin all doing great sets. I hadn't worked with any of them for ages so it was nice to hear all their new stuff. By the time I went on in the second half the few people at the front had swapped with other people just to confuse me and I was now confronted by a teacher who when I asked what she taught she told me she 'didn't teach food and nutrition'. Blood from a stone. I plodded through adequately. The organisers were nice and they provided us with free food and drink. Much of the crowd came up to us afterwards and said they had a great time. It wasn't at all bad. It just wasn't amazing. And for an overall 7 and half hours of driving it needed to be. Gigs that are far away should really step it up a bit. Next time I drive that far out of London I expect to be greeted with a fanfare, an audience full of people who are laughing even as we enter the room and a banquet of gold leaves and caviar. I wont eat the caviar because I'm a veggie but I would still demand its there. If I do gigs abroad this must be increased ten fold with a personal onstage introduction by the President of the country. I'd also just be happy if after a 4 hour drive the audience were awake and didn't contain idiots.
On the way home we hit a lull where Andrew had fallen asleep and conversation between myself and Dan had become void due to the melting of brains through tiredness. We stopped at Membury services, the first time I had ever been there. The woman in the shop made a real effort to take her time walking to the till to serve us. She had an expression on her face that I can only describe as the sort of face you would pull if someone directly pissed into your eyes against your will. I did see a car rapidly leave as we arrived so perhaps that had happened. Either way I shan't be gracing Membury with my presence again.
My begging for Edinburgh has begun. Its petty but I need a lot of dosh by August the 1st and I don't really know how I will get it. So far using this shameless begging I have earned £27.10 which is enough for about 12 posters and 4 flyers. If it keeps escalating like this I may even be able to afford 20 posters, 15 flyers and a pasty. If you would like to help my cause please follow the speech bubble link or if you know anyone who may want to donate or sponsor me please forward it on. Thanks you T-Fans you're my only hope:
http://www.tiernandouieb.co.uk
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Empty Spaces
There was a guy at my school called Little Marlon. He was mostly called this because his name was Marlon and there was a bigger Marlon, and also a more medium height Marlon at the school too. Little Marlon was a fairly cool bloke and had one phrase in particular that I still hold as an important way to judge a party to this day. If a party was busy you wouldn't hear a single complaint uttered, but if it was empty he would stroll in and just say 'there are spaces on the dancefloor' before strolling straight off again. Simple as that. Obviously everywhere needs to fill up so he would never enter at the beginning of a night, but if by a few hours in this was still the case, Marlon would say that and everyone would know the event was a fail.
I don't really go to parties or clubs anymore because of my sad existance, but that does not make the theory redundant. Last night at Southampton Uni, there were spaces in the seats. Saying that golden phrase, the managers told us that the gig was usually packed every other week, as though we were some sort of comedy curse. It's not their fault to be fair, it was because there was a big football match on and football ruins everything. Living only ten minutes away from the Emirates stadium I can say for sure that it really screws a lot of stuff up. When Arsenal play it takes 40 minutes to escape my road by car and I can't even think about getting a tube or bus because 22 men in shorts are kicking a ball around. Then when they stop kicking it around, all the punters walk down our road throwing litter and pissing. At least with the cost of the tickets going up the litter has gone from pie wrappers to cappuccino cups so I feel its dirt of a classier nature. Last night it was Liverpool vs Arsenal so even when I am away from home, Arsenal's mission still ruins my nights. One day I will break Arsenal for all the hell they've indirectly given me. Maybe I'll put a dog poo on the pitch or something like that. They'll see.
I had driven myself and Nish Kumar up from London and we had discussed on the way, what could be the worst outcome possible for the gig. The conclusion had been that if Southampton was on fire and full of zombies we would just turn around and come back because fire zombies are pretty bad. However fire zombies would have been a tad more responsive than the crowd at the gig if only because they would be shouting 'brains' every 30 seconds and the noise of the flames and fire alarms would be better than the sheer silence we encountered instead. Because of the gaps in people - and by that I mean seats without people in, not people with large gaps in their bodies, that'd be odd - the gig was wonderfully devoid of atmosphere. The first few rows were empty until I coaxed people to move into them. Then when they did move they were tentative to reply to anything I said. They were interesting students though. Southampton appears to be a very intellectual university, which is odd, because that's very opposite to the entire rest of Southampton. Its also a very green, with trees and a small river running through it so it all looks very nice, again the very opposite to the rest of Southampton. Its a wonder the rest of Southampton hasn't found out about it and just moved in leaving the city desolate. I had been there once before, when I visited a friend there at uni. I had successfully challenged him at drinking and after a bottle of aftershock several beers and two bottles of wine I won. He then started drinking water and I headed to the double Southern Comfort and Lemonades for £1, quickly collapsing on the union floor and being carried out before midnight. I made an incredibly quick transition from winner to loser.
Several of them were studying to be doctors, with one student having the surname 'Where'. I'd like to think that somewhere there is a Doctor Who spin off called 'Doctor Where' where people are just constantly curious of his whereabouts. They could be joined by Doctor's When and Why and complete the set. Other students were studying English and philosophy, with a small group at the back studying 'ship science'. I was fairly sure that ships were all sorted now. Being that we are working out ways to travel to the moon, I cant help but worry how quickly those students will be made redundant. One student called Max, had a mohican and studied politics. I thought that perhaps he was the sort of anarchist punk who would have some decent views on what was wrong with the world. Turns out he's a Tory. This is terrifying, it means the Tories have finally worked out how to infiltrate the normal people using clever disguises. I wanted to out him like an alien in V. I will now start searching for other normal people that may in fact be undercover Tories.
We all just ploughed through the gig. Everyone had a good set that was only adequately received by the crowd, and it was one of those evenings where it was just a job. Right towards the end while Cole Parker was closing the show, myself and Nish were sitting at the back of the room. As we did, a very tall man just decided to walk up, avoid all the chairs in the audience and sit uncomfortably close to Nish, with his leg brushing up against Nish's chair. I looked at him and he whispered 'Don't laugh at me'. He was clearly a psycho and so to respond appropriately I got up and left Nish there by himself. I thought at least one of us should survive if he goes all nuts and attacks or rapes. Or both. Cole finished his set and by the time I went to pick up my bag, Nish looked genuinely terrified and the man was still sitting there completely still. We escaped as quickly as possible looking behind us incase he was following us to the car. At least we would hear fire zombies following us from a distance. And we would be able to outrun them easily too.
Long long trip to Glastonbury today with a car full of comics. Should be fun, unless I crash and wipe out a good percentage of the comedy circuit.
I don't really go to parties or clubs anymore because of my sad existance, but that does not make the theory redundant. Last night at Southampton Uni, there were spaces in the seats. Saying that golden phrase, the managers told us that the gig was usually packed every other week, as though we were some sort of comedy curse. It's not their fault to be fair, it was because there was a big football match on and football ruins everything. Living only ten minutes away from the Emirates stadium I can say for sure that it really screws a lot of stuff up. When Arsenal play it takes 40 minutes to escape my road by car and I can't even think about getting a tube or bus because 22 men in shorts are kicking a ball around. Then when they stop kicking it around, all the punters walk down our road throwing litter and pissing. At least with the cost of the tickets going up the litter has gone from pie wrappers to cappuccino cups so I feel its dirt of a classier nature. Last night it was Liverpool vs Arsenal so even when I am away from home, Arsenal's mission still ruins my nights. One day I will break Arsenal for all the hell they've indirectly given me. Maybe I'll put a dog poo on the pitch or something like that. They'll see.
I had driven myself and Nish Kumar up from London and we had discussed on the way, what could be the worst outcome possible for the gig. The conclusion had been that if Southampton was on fire and full of zombies we would just turn around and come back because fire zombies are pretty bad. However fire zombies would have been a tad more responsive than the crowd at the gig if only because they would be shouting 'brains' every 30 seconds and the noise of the flames and fire alarms would be better than the sheer silence we encountered instead. Because of the gaps in people - and by that I mean seats without people in, not people with large gaps in their bodies, that'd be odd - the gig was wonderfully devoid of atmosphere. The first few rows were empty until I coaxed people to move into them. Then when they did move they were tentative to reply to anything I said. They were interesting students though. Southampton appears to be a very intellectual university, which is odd, because that's very opposite to the entire rest of Southampton. Its also a very green, with trees and a small river running through it so it all looks very nice, again the very opposite to the rest of Southampton. Its a wonder the rest of Southampton hasn't found out about it and just moved in leaving the city desolate. I had been there once before, when I visited a friend there at uni. I had successfully challenged him at drinking and after a bottle of aftershock several beers and two bottles of wine I won. He then started drinking water and I headed to the double Southern Comfort and Lemonades for £1, quickly collapsing on the union floor and being carried out before midnight. I made an incredibly quick transition from winner to loser.
Several of them were studying to be doctors, with one student having the surname 'Where'. I'd like to think that somewhere there is a Doctor Who spin off called 'Doctor Where' where people are just constantly curious of his whereabouts. They could be joined by Doctor's When and Why and complete the set. Other students were studying English and philosophy, with a small group at the back studying 'ship science'. I was fairly sure that ships were all sorted now. Being that we are working out ways to travel to the moon, I cant help but worry how quickly those students will be made redundant. One student called Max, had a mohican and studied politics. I thought that perhaps he was the sort of anarchist punk who would have some decent views on what was wrong with the world. Turns out he's a Tory. This is terrifying, it means the Tories have finally worked out how to infiltrate the normal people using clever disguises. I wanted to out him like an alien in V. I will now start searching for other normal people that may in fact be undercover Tories.
We all just ploughed through the gig. Everyone had a good set that was only adequately received by the crowd, and it was one of those evenings where it was just a job. Right towards the end while Cole Parker was closing the show, myself and Nish were sitting at the back of the room. As we did, a very tall man just decided to walk up, avoid all the chairs in the audience and sit uncomfortably close to Nish, with his leg brushing up against Nish's chair. I looked at him and he whispered 'Don't laugh at me'. He was clearly a psycho and so to respond appropriately I got up and left Nish there by himself. I thought at least one of us should survive if he goes all nuts and attacks or rapes. Or both. Cole finished his set and by the time I went to pick up my bag, Nish looked genuinely terrified and the man was still sitting there completely still. We escaped as quickly as possible looking behind us incase he was following us to the car. At least we would hear fire zombies following us from a distance. And we would be able to outrun them easily too.
Long long trip to Glastonbury today with a car full of comics. Should be fun, unless I crash and wipe out a good percentage of the comedy circuit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)