Show Me the Funny! Or, At Least Stop Crying.

PART I: No, to Answer My Own Question, This Thing Is Not On

So I did an open mic two nights ago that was well near a disaster hamhandedly boiled with a few sprigs of catastrophe. A disastrophe! A cataster! Other words unfit to print come to mind!

It was in a fairly crowded bar/restaurant with the stage way off in the corner so people could easily not notice it (to be fair, it was an expansive space where it was easy to ignore lots of things such as manners and people's feelings).

There were a couple TVs playing sports footage but muted because the pictures obviously were worth thousands of words alone (mostly curse words if you had asked the comics).

Ooh ooh! Could you feel the impending challenge of performing a free stand up show? It burned.

To liven things up a little more, the stage spotlight wasn't working so all the lights in the venue were on and everyone was freely conversing willynilly. One man was yelling, but it appeared to be his best approximation of an "indoor voice".

Once I got onstage, I had to dance a little so people even realized I was a human being, let alone the next performer. I tried to muppet it up a bit, but then, when I was doing fairly mediocre which was my greatest hope for the night, right in the middle of a joke, the microphone abandoned me. As it was a handheld one, the batteries just went ahead and gave out (perhaps the room wasn't to their taste...I couldn't blame them).

Speak to me, Mikey!
photo courtesy of Flickr and Professor Rogers

Then there was a riot. Not actually, but it got real awkward real quick.

Someone yelled "Sorry!" from the crowd, and I retorted, "Not as sorry as I am!" which got a hearty, derisive laugh slash some kind of approving verbal fart from the audience.

Then I watched whatever baseball game was playing (mind you, I was still onstage) while they fixed the microphone and then I attempted to finish a set that was sooo over before it even started.

All's unfair in comedy and tragedy. Such a fine line.

PART II: Ego Booster Seat (So I Can Sit With the Big Kids)

Salutations again, pilgrims, pioneers, and indigenous peoples! New NBC blog is live, so read if you please.

PART III: My Latest Attempt at Style Has Me by the Neck

Also I dressed up in honor of Friday. Sort of. Let me qualify. I am wearing a ridiculous necklace today. I enjoy and appreciate it because it is a jumbly mess like me. It's like someone dumped a bucket of glue over my neck and then poured a craft basket over that.


And I adore it. Oh do I ever. It's a homeless shelter for abandoned beads and pendants. Mama loves each and every one of these baubly misfit gewgaws.


PART IV: Since Vice Means Immoral Conduct or Depravity, Vice President Would Mean...? Am I the Only One Who Noticed This Blunder?

I am not going to comment on recent politics, at least not well.

I just would have preferred more WWE stunts in the veep debate (i.e., Mr. Amtrak Record [someone dressed up as the average train] vs. Ms. Baked Alaska [someone dressed up as a mindboggling but quintessential dessert]). Even if the candidates themselves did not execute the acrobatics, they could have had body doubles (even Gwen could have had one, especially because of her foot injury).

This guy could have played someone...I'm sure of it!
photo courtesy of Flickr and Snerkie

Batman-type sound animations such as POW! or BAP! or KER-PLOP! or FLRRBBBB! would have livened things up a bit as well.

BIFF BOFF!!!
photo courtesy of Flickr and Snerkie

Blogging Right Along

Hiya scamps,

September NBC blog is up and at 'em (them as in the precious gnomes who control the Internet).

Also, I discovered 12-year-old, fashion forward blogger Tavi @ Style Rookie today!

photo courtesy of Style Rookie

She makes my heart sing hence the squeal out.

I can't imagine having started blogging at an earlier age though ask me about journaling, and you'll need to book at least three weeks ahead of time in order to start absorbing the high-impact volumes of retro-angst alone.

And even if I had discovered blogging early, I'm sure I wouldn't have had a quarter near the wit and wisdom this little sass attack manages to produce au naturale.

The point is, stroll on over there and at least remember what it's like to be young. This kid-lady's got Artist's Way in the bag.

She's gotten plenty of good and bad press already so I'm not going to add anything intelligent except that I think she's delightful. It also sounds like she is occasionally looked at askance in school (7th grade, y'all) for having such modish sensibilities, but then she has crowds of Team Tavi fans all over the world. Imagine having an army of hipsters at your beck and call. The world would be your clove-smoking oyster dive bar.

Finally, my boyfie has this button in his car that is supposed to dispense wiper fluid, but as there is no wiper fluid to distribute, it just makes this sad, howling noise, much like a lost whale or a mourning dinosaur.

The best thing to do, we've discovered very recently, is to push the button and dramatically lipsync the part of the melodramatic beast to the dirgelike sound. (Especially when another car commits some wrongdoing. Justice has been served.)

The saddest dinosaur of all
photo courtesy of Flickr and Tommy and Georgie

oxxo,
Secondhand Siren

Behind the Self-Promotion Exists Lots of Doubt

i posted another blog on NBC's Diversity site.

initiate self-backpatting program.

no but really it's about my struggles.

no really.

read it.

I DARE YOU.