Tuesday’s That Ain’t Right Comedy Night at Fallout wasn’t as well attended by comedians (down to six from around 12 the first time out) but there was a larger audience and they were more responsive. My set was a mix of new and older material. I got some laughs from jokes which previously hadn’t done as well. I just wish I could remember which ones they were. Comedians who showed up included host Dave Hamrick, Ray Bullock, Marc Cooper, Kelly Henderson and Leo. The next shows are on December 15 and 29, which means I may get out a diaper for a New Year’s baby bit. I’ve got one more set in which I’m going to use this material, the December 7 Comedy Night at Cafe Diem.

Comedy at the Camel, another project of Dave Hamrick’s, debuted to a full house, with Ray Bullock headlining and Jesse Jarvis MCing. Sets by Roy Rogers, Dave Hamrick and Bill Metzger of Charlottesville, among others. Blake Midgette stopped by. He was just back from two weeks in New York where he did an open mic at a hole-in-the-wall club in the East Village.

I’m trying to catch up on my backlog of video material. Right now, I’ve stripped the audio from the October 4, 2009 set at the Last Stag Standing competition at Europa Cafe. The next step is to listen to the set or look at the script and get tags for when I upload to Taltopia, Punchline magazine, Gcast and Soundcloud. Unfortunately, I decided to scan the disk with those files on it for errors so I’m temporarily locked out and unable to work with them. The next step is to edit the video file in Pinnacle, which basically consists of slapping titles on the front and back end.

One decision coming down the road is my next step in terms of improving output. I’m still getting feedback that the sound quality of the video output of the Canon PowerShot is not that great, the latest comment coming from Virginia Production Alliance  on YouTube. I don’t have that much of a problem hearing what’s said certainly the sound could be improved. This would take the form of buying a Kodak Zi8, which mean an improvement in video quality as well, going from 20 fps to 30 and 60 fps, as well as going from 640×480 to 780p and 1080p.  This would also mean getting a wireless lavalier mic for what should be a big boost in audio quality. Another advantage: the Zi8 has has a remote control which means I wouldn’t have to be standing at the camera to start filming my sets and those of other people.

Other possibilities for improvements: Brother’s $50 personal laser printer so I don’t have to shell out an arm and a leg for ink jet cartridges any more; Serif’s movie editor so I can overcome the limitations of Pinnacle and one minimalist possibility, getting some business cards from VistaPrint so I can do some more publicity with Salty Tongue Records.

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Hmmm…  am de spus ceva pe un ton optimist, pentru cei ce vor sa il ia ca fiind optimist, prentu restu nu ma exprim. E vorba de viata de cuplu. Mai greu decat sa traiesti o viata in doi, este sa faci ca starea asta sa se imbine cu mediul inconjurator. Nu? Ca Uite la Adam si Eva, ce bine le era… el nu avea prieteni care sa-l faca carpa si sa il certe ca sta prea mult cu Eva. Iar Eva nu avea prietene care sa o incurajeze si sa-i spuna ca Adam asta nu e bun de nimic, nu munceste, nu spala in casa si nici nu o lasa sa manance merele alea… Ce bine le era lor. Normal ca pana la urma unu din ei o  trebuit sa calce stramb, da no, pana si ei erau imprevizibili, si probabil ca s-o saturat de monotonia aia a lor si au simtit nevoie de o schimbare.

Da, monotonia e unul dintre cei mai mari dusmani ai unei relatii, asta si chelneritele cu tzatze mari… da sa vorbim de prima chestie ca sa nu am maine discutii de genu; “da le ce te-ai referit cu chestia asta?’”Nu? Ca parca va vad pe fiecare dintre voi, cu privirea aia suspecta, cum stati si va framantati, ca oare o vorbit serios sau chiar a fost o gluma? Ca na, e prea simplu sa fie o gluma sigur este si o farama de adevar la mijloc… ))) Da, sincer si atitudinea asta, daca nu e dusa la extreme, si asta poate fi uneori simpatica, ca doar e, intr-un fel feminin, dovada de afectiune.

Da sa revenim la monotonie. Eu sunt de parerea ca monotonie apare intr-o relatie, ca si alte probleme de genul, de altfel, numai daca unul din cei doi o cauta cu lumanarea. Asta e singura explicatia normala care vreau sa o gasesc. Ca nu as vrea sa cred ca doi insi ce se afla intr-o relatie sunt atat de imbecili incat sa nu faca nimic si sa stea linistiti pe urechea lor si sa ia relatia ca buna, si la un moment dat, de atata plictiseala de cat au stat sa inceapa sa ii caute celuilalt nod in papura si vina pentru monotonia aparuta. Nu, nu cred ca se poate intampla… (sper ca observati sarcasmul….)

Ma, adevarul e ca e foarte greu sa ti ”flacara poetica” aprinsa tot timpul… ca doar se mai ia gazul pentru lucrari de reparatii, ti se mai taie furnizarea de energie pe motive de neplata, ca asa e viata, da ideea e sa stii unde e arzatorul, sa ai la indemana chibritele si pam-pam, sa o aprinzi la loc, macar flacara de veghe pentru inceput, si tot e bine o perioada.

In special in zilele noastre e greu sa pastrezi entuziasmul zi-de-zi, ca doar sunt atatea lucruri care ar fi de facut impreuna doar ca toate costa… aici zic eu ca apare adevarata magie, cand inveti sa faci foc cu vreascuri ieftine si totusi sa faci o flacara luminoasa.. mamaaaa ce de poezie… Nu cautati sa faceti foc doar cu lemne scumpe, ca e greu si parerea mea e ca nu conteaza valoarea lemnului de foc, atata timp cat da flacara…

Mai e o chestie, cine crede ca “love is all” e cam prost… stati voi inchisi in casa 2 ani, 2 oameni si vedeti cam care din voi devine ucigasu primu. Nu merge asa mai, trebuie activitati. Stiu ca unii (aici ma refr la ambele sexe) cand li se ofera oportunitatea sa participe la o actiune infara imobilului prevazut la puntul de mai sus, incep si pun intrebari idioate de genul ”Da ce? Pentru ce vrei sa iesim? Te plictisesti daca stam numai noi doi?” Dahhh! Normal ca uneori se mai plictiseste omul, e natural. Nu inseamna ca daca esti indragostit , toate instinctele naturale dispar. Raman toate, si in ciuda a ceea ce credeti, pana si cel ce intreaba le are, doar ca le neaga. Pana si el se mai uita la o persoana de sex opus in statia de autobuz , pana si lui ii mai vine chefu sa faca lucruri de unul singur, asa numa de dragul de a le face si asmd.

Totul consta in constientizarea reala a personalitatilor pururea existe si individualiste a celor ce alcatuiesc cuplu. Daca puteti face asta, zic eu ca sunteti pe drumul cel bun. Ala plin de gropi da cu luminita la capat de tunel. Cine prefera sa evite acest aspect, probabil ca va avea parte de un drum lin si plin de souvenir-shop-uri, si de inca unul, si de inca unul… and so on….

Nimeni nu spune ce cale sa alegi, dar in final stick to it! no mater wich one is it. si dupa caz: love one-another, sau love yourself! PEACE!

P.S.: a, si daca stiti vreun pont de-un 3-some, buzz me, ca se aproprie craciunul si poate o sa sa-mi aduca mosu’ ) just kiding… sau nu? )

Sesame Street turned 40 this month.  It was a pretty typical 40th birthday; Big Bird dyed his hair, bought a convertible and disappeared for a couple of days.

NASA made a huge discovery last week when they found water on the moon.  Scientists said the last time they found water in a place that cold and distant was when Kate Gosselin went into labor.

Oprah Winfrey announced today that she’ll be ending her talk show in 2011, but knowing Oprah, this is likely to fluctuate.  It’s been a great run, though, and I think if Oprah taught us anything in the last 25 years, it’s that black is, apparently, not all that slimming.

Supermodel Kate Moss faced backlash this week after saying in an interview that she lives by the pro-anorexia motto of “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”   Moss said that she was misquoted in the interview and that, “Obviously, cocaine tastes just as good as skinny feels.”

My cold left me behind and playing catchup on various chores. I lost around four days from the onset/onslaught of the cold the night of my set at the artspace benefit to three-to-four days later. Because I was feeling lackadaisical due to the cold, I didn’t shave my beard for several days, and then decided to go ahead and keep letting it grow now that winter is here. I still want to get my hair cut. So at least my appearance now synchs with my avatars/profile pics.

I did get the video from October 2 posted on the web. I still haven’t established an account for my stand-up comedy at Vimeo and posted the video there. I haven’t posted the transcript for that set on Funny or Die. Next steps in work flow is to edit the video from my October 5 set at Cafe Diem Comedy Night.

I haven’t update the appearances widget on this blog. I still haven’t figured out how to get RSS onto the sidebar. I’m not on Rooftop Comedy yet but I have gotten on Topshelfd. In fact, the latest video I posted in on their home page. I’m thinking about adding a “rules of comedy” page to this blog.

My sister liked the sound on that video, which was due to the fact that I recorded it at home because my efforts to record it at Super Friends Camp and Cafe Diem failed. Memo to self: get a Kodak Zi8 and a wireless lavalier mic.

Upcoming event is “That Ain’t Right” comedy night at the Fallout. I’ve got to rewrite the set, removing the Michael Moore jokes and adding four jokes I’ve written for www.DailyComedy.com. There’s a three week break before the next Cafe Diem Comedy Night because there are five Mondays in November. I want to burn a DVD of Jared Cullum’s last set at Cafe Diem so I can pass it on to him at Fallout. The first step is to get everything from the memory card offloaded to the hard drive.

WordPress now has a button above the “add new posts” page which allows you to get a shortened link. I still haven’t navigated around and explored all the features/tweaks involved in the site. At least it’s now showing up on the first page of Google searches.

I’ve been watching “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report“  on Hulu. HuffPo definitely skims the cream with their clips. Watching the whole show, there are moments when the shows slip into talk show blandness. Fortunately for them, the Silly Season runs pretty much 24/7/365 thanks to attention-junkies like Sarah Palin and Levi Johnston.

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Midnight Show video

Me Leering behind a cheerleader

I spent three years of my life studying performing arts.

The only job I got out of it was the mascot for the Hawkes Bay Hawks Basketball team.

This is me dancing behind a cheerleader.  I look like I’m planning on following her home.

That’s because I did.

Didn’t really know what to do once I got there.  Just hung out on the lawn for a while.

She eventually threw me some stale bread, I ate the rubber seals from around the windscreen on her car, and went home.

But look, it goes both ways- here, the basketballers are fully checking me out.  Objectifying me.  As a woman.

Me being objectifyed for my hot body

Not really.  They didn’t have a bar of me.  I think my perceptions were altered by inhaling the mould spores growing on the inside of my helmet.

It gets so hot in there, it has its own microclimate.  Rain everyday at 4pm.  And monsoon season is just hideous.

Be nice to mascots.  They don’t want to be there.  They want to be the new lesbian nurse on Shortland Street.  Who has breast cancer.  And gives all her patients involuntary double masectomys.  Before garotting them with their IV line (whoa, I should be the head writer).

But I took the role of Hawky very seriously.  I was magnificent out there.  Because I researched my role.  I wore my wings every day.  I learnt to fly.  And ate roadkill.

A mascot is basically a glorified babysitter, which is weird, because no one trusts anyone with their kids these days.  You need a degree to work at a crèche.  “Yeah I’m going for my PhD in nappy changing.  My thesis is on ass wiping.  My hypothesis is just get right in there.”
So of all the people to trust with your kids, why the sweaty, giant bird who does the robot at half time?

You can’t see its face!  Only the eyes- which they say are the window to the soul, but that’s bull.  It’s the mouth you want to see.  Under that chicken head could be a raging paedosmile.

I can tell you from experience mascots can’t be trusted.  I abused the shit of those kids.  Not sexually!  Jeez!  I had wings instead of arms.

It’s amazing what you can’t do without opposable thumbs.

No- I had giant feet, and I couldn’t see where I was going.  When you can’t see and something like a kid touches you, you go into survival mode-  the whole flight or flight dilemma.

In hindsight, I should have picked ‘flight’.

I kicked a lot of kids.

I do live in fear though.  I read the papers every day, waiting for allegations of ‘abuse by mascot’ to surface.  Because you know that as soon as one kid complains, they all come crawling out of the woodwork don’t they?  Mascots will be the new millenniums answer to the catholic priest.

Eventually I did get the fame I craved.  Was going to be the front cover of the ‘Hawkes Bay Today.’  Got bumped off though.  To page 6.  For the London bombings.

It says I have my ‘wings crossed for my heroes’.  But as you can see, I really had my eyes crossed.

Thank god that one stayed off the front page.

Terrorism has its upsides.

So, I have a good doctor friend that sells equipment for $50k at expos. According to her, this is a great deal – other doctors and companies sell it anywhere from $70-120k.

I wonder if she actually sells it there:

DOCTOR:
All set?

CUSTOMER:
Yep, is this the last 19 you have?

DOCTOR:
Yep, we shouldve brought more. Well, your total is $950,000.

CUSTOMER:
(Hands doctor money)

DOCTOR:
Out of a million….here’s your change. You have a wonderful day now and come again. Don’t forget your receipt.

CUSTOMER:
Thank you.

DOCTOR:
You’re welcome.

THE END

I think it’s crazy how much money people have sometimes. When I go to Chipotlé, I always want guacamole on my burrito. It has to be a special occasion or I make up something to celebrate.

Thoughts?

I’m amazed at how often I use my card to buy stuff. I seem to never have cash on me.

As ridiculous as it makes me feel, I pay for soda refills with a card:
CASHIER: Ok that’s 87 cents.
ME: Put it on the Platinum…and I need a receipt too!

I’m strange when it comes to refills. I’ll walk in Circle K with a cup from 7/11. I feel like they get upset when they see that:
ME: Their cups are better, sorry.
CASHIER: (runs away crying)

I love standing in line to get a refill. 9 times out of 10 I end up finishing my refill waiting (Circle K lines are insane) and need another refill.

I drink too much soda.

So now and again I get comedians asking if they can get on my show. I usually do unless I have no control over it.

So in the email, he writes:
“…..I’ll also be appearing at the Comedy Store in L.A.”

First off, I don’t get “impressed” by credits-especially if it comes directly from an entertainer. It’s not hard to get on one of the million comedy shows that happens on a daily basis.

Second, why do people use the word “appearing?” Are you going to teleport there and surprise them?
HOST: And next we have…(POOF)…Whoa, who’s this guy that appeared out of nowhere?
COMIC: It is “I”, the one who recently appeared at the Hollywood Improv last Monday…ah ha ha ha!!!

It’s really only appropriate to tell credits when needed, this particular show happened to be an open mic. I shouldve said that I needed to view his press pack and run it by the board first before I can bring him on. Self promoting is a good thing, trying to make yourself seem “semi-famous” to another comedian to get on an open mic is awesome!!!

It made me laugh and had to share the joy. Thanks for reading!

So I was at Circle K pumping gas when I hear, “Sir, blah blah blaaah!” I look over and see 3 guys in a car all staring at me. It was after midnight and in a bad neighborhood. (I was out to fill up because I have an early show and didn’t want to wake up extra early).

In the hardest voice I said, “yeah?” and my voice almost cracked. Hate when that happens. One of the guys said, “can you buy us some bottles?” I guess that means “beer” but I wasn’t for sure because I never heard it like that before.

Of course I told him no. What I shouldve done was go inside and come back out with baby bottles.
“Here you go, they didn’t have bottles but they had cool little binkies!”

I thought they were going to do a drive by egging at me. I got ready for it just in case – which I find myself doing quite often. Like a ninja or Bruce Lee or something. But when I do it, I make zero eye contact and use my peripheral vision. That way I come off as being a high speed, can’t touch this kind of prude. One day it’ll come in handy and I’ll be thankful for all the years of preparation.

Went to a bar with another comic. A group of girls assumed we were gay lovers. Here’s what happened. (Also gives ya an idea of how I’ll take a story from a mic and turn it into a real bit at a show.) — Matt Ruby

I’ve been busy recently so I haven’t haven’t written in the blog lately. Last week, it was the first open mic at Fallout in Shockoe Bottom Tuesday. Kudos to Dave Hamrick for increasing  opportunities for comics to practice their craft. Joe Hafkey of Cafe Diem’s Comedy Night was the MC. Jared Cullum worked out some new jokes before moving on to another gig. Kelly Henderson had a good set about breaking down on the Jeff Davis Highway. I had a chance to converse with Jesse Jarvis, who rooms with Roy Rogers (not that Roy Rogers — we should start a support group for people who share famous first names). A good time was held by all and a good vibe, a community feeling in the room. Attendance was light, mostly comedians, but I’m sure that will pick up with time. I was able to do the first five minutes of my set-to-be at artspace.

Friday, it was a stand-up comedy benefit for artspace, a non-profit member-run gallery at Plant Zero. Organizer Santa De Haven went all out, complete with a “green room,”  amply stocked cooler and programs.  Mike Bonura  did his swan song before moving on to the Marines. I was next and did 10 minutes without blanking and forgetting my lines, unlike the first time I did 10 minutes at Paradox Comedy’s “Motel Hell” Halloween Celebration.  Michal Ketner did about 20 minutes, including a nice bit about becoming the lead singer for Aerosmith, Collin Chute (a 20-year-old who actually knows who Bob Dylan is!) and Tom Via  rounded out the evening with musical comedy about relationships. We did a run-through and evidently the preparation paid off. The chemistry between performers was good and the audience of around 50 was appreciative. The event raised a nice sum for the gallery.

It was good to see Camille Bird, the MC, who has been sorely missed from the Richmond comedy scene, taking a break after co-founding the Comic-Kazze open mics. The bad news is that that was when my cold really started to kick in.

Coming back from a non-existent pre-performance meeting at the New York Deli (I really should read my emails more closely) in the Hurricane Ida backwash, I ran over some glass in the alley. Fortunately, according to an Agee’s Bicycle  inspection, the damage was not enough that I had to replace the tire, which was a source of concern since I was planning to cycle all the way downtown and across the bridge to Manchester for the artspace benefit.

Some people are fascinated with outer space.

I am too- in the same way some people are fascinated with mass murderers.  Intriguing, but it will freak you out if you think about it too much.

Racist people are scared of black men.  I am scared of black holes.

I wanna go home.

There is far too much space in space.  Plant a tree, or paint a feature wall.

I don’t understand why space needs to be so big.  Is it really necessary to be infinite?  Why not just be a bazillion cubic miles and be done with it?  Surely the global real estate market isn’t growing that fast?

Infinity?  Is that even possible?

Space was not named well.  When I think of ’space’, I think of- “maybe I could fit an extra pair of socks into my suitcase”; or “yes you can stay, there is enough space for you to sleep on a mattress in the lounge”.

Some people want to travel into space.

I don’t.

I can’t think of anything more terrifying than floating around an infinite universe.  I get lost easily enough in my own house.  Though, hanging out next to old fatty magoo, a.k.a Jupiter, I would look really skinny.

I need boundaries, physical or metaphorical.  If not for boundaries, I would have a pet lion and start an underground fight club (‘Lionel’ would be my star fighter.  I’d draw some human abs on his stomach, then no one would click he’s not actually human, but a giant cat).

In space, there are no lights.  Except stars.  But they emit more than light.  Like flames and poisonous gas. There are also meteor showers and asteroids.  I will not feel unfulfilled if I never see one in my life.  Space is dangerous, dammit!

NASA thinks space is awesome  (It wants to marry space.  It wants to have babies with space, and name them after astronomers).  It loves space so much, that it spends bazillions of dollars on this long distance love affair, while real humans can’t afford to buy cancer treatment, or Botox.

I bet astronauts are like those really annoying ‘ubertravellers’ who always needlessly drop exotic places they have been into conversation.
“You would never believe it, I was sitting in an amazing cafe on Saturn, when I got an eyelash stuck to my face! On Saturn!”
-or-
“So, I was floating past Venus, when Gary choked on a sundried tomato, while floating past venus!  It was hilarious, while floating past venus!”

No wonder they haven’t made friends with any aliens.  Astronauts are socially retarded.  They have vaccuum packed faces and use nappies.

I am all for expanding my horizons, but I am more comfortable if I can actually see one.

Space may have some cool bits, but it’s mainly just space.

I don’t understand men.

I understand human men (what is not to understand, they are pretty much the same as women, except turned inside out a bit), but not insect men.

They may have the advantage of six legs, but insect men are a bit silly.

I have a large tree outside my window.  In summer, it is filled with cicada men.  They yell constantly “Root me!  Please!  Have my babies!”.  But they never wait for a reply.  There could quite possibly be a shy wee virginal cicada, bashfully rubbing her wings together, cocking her crunchy head ever so coyly, saying “OK… your consistent yelling has persuaded me to give my virginal flower to you, oh loud one.”

Stupid insect Men

But the silly insect men never pause to listen for an answer.  “Roooooooot meeeeeeee!  Please!  I’ll pay!  I’ve got… some tree juice for you to drink after… Root me!  Please!”

It must be working in some way.  Otherwise I would not hear their grandchildren going on in the same fashion the following year.  Maybe they are trying to synch up a liaison with the next mate, while sealing the deal with the current one.

It’s only sex- everyone does it- no need to bang on about it- “cicada-feature”.  I don’t know what the sordid beggers get up to.  I am not here to place a moral code on the humble cicada.

But Cicada men do have it sorted compared to other insect men, like the Praying mantis- who is possibly the most moronic breed of insect.

They do idiotic things like have sex with their own species- knowing full well their head will be ripped off afterwards in a vulgar display of feminism (I bet female praying mantises hang out in ‘womens’ rooms’, where there is a free supply of chamomile tea, man hating; and the rules of the common room are smeared on the walls in menstrual blood).

Why would you do that?  Why would you encourage that kind of behaviour from your species?  Why would you even want children if you don’t even get the chance to go “so THAT’s what a cross between me and Shona looks like…”

Lets face it, most of us only breed out of vanity or morbid curiosity.

If I was a male Praying Mantis, I would either become Catholic and pledge a vow of celibacy, or get my loving from other men.  Those are two vastly different options- I see no need for beheading.

Insect men have been around for millions of years, with no sign of the Mens Suffrage Movement.  I can confirm, sadly, that insect men are still refused the right to vote.

Where are the Menimists? They would be whingey and easily offended, but they would get shit done.

And that is why having 6 legs does not make you more of a man.

(This is about a Flemish Poet, so it will be in Dutch, for all you foreign readers. This doesn’t mean you can’t ask for more information, or learn Dutch in order to know what this is all about)

Wie? Sammy Deburggraeve

Wat? De man die zijn volk leerde dichten, naar verluidt.

Wat precies? Vetzakkerij, humor en diepgaande emotie lopen hand in hand op straat, terwijl ze elkaar edelmoedig in het gezicht slaan.

Ik heb ondanks mijn literaire ingesteldheid niet erg veel met poëzie. Net zoals ik met mijn muzikale ingesteldheid weinig heb met klassieke muziek. Misschien ligt het aan mijn gebrek aan intellectualiteit, of ben ik gewoon te dom om me in te leven in het overkoepelend spectrum van hoogdravende emoties. Ik heb mezelf al vaak mijn non-intellectualisme verweten.

Nu zijn er wel een paar gedichten die ik in de loop van mijn leven toevallig tegenkwam, waarvan ik even stil werd. Het zijn de bekende dingen als Robert Frost. Nu is de daad van het stil worden, overmand worden door emoties dat je alleen nog maar kan zwijgen, alleen in literaire betekenis significant, en toch… Bij de persvoorstelling van Sammy Deburggraeves dichtbundel ‘Vlezige Verzen’ in de Arenbergschouwburg begin deze week, was ik ook stil. Vooral omdat zo doorheen de show praten je niet in dank wordt afgenomen door de rest van het publiek, zeker niet als dat vooral gevuld is met sympathisanten.

Sammy Deburggraeve is enerzjids dichter, met daarnaast iets dat in schabouwelijk Nederlands stand-up comedian genoemd wordt. Maar toch vooral dichter vindt hij zelf. En hij kan het nog wel ook. En dat zeg ik niet omdat hij me anders op mijn gezicht zal slaan of omdat ik hem toevallig ken. Hij is er in elk geval als eerste poëet in geslaagd me 15 euro te doen ophoesten voor een dichtbundel. Godbetert.

Polderdichter

Ik dacht dat eerst uit sympathie te doen, van beginnend schrijver tot beginnend poeet (al is hij dan al 5 jaar bezig), maar de eerlijkheid gebiedt me te zeggen dat Sammy echt een dichter is. Vanuit hun hogere zuilen zullen stadsdichters en Poëzieprofessoren afkeurig naar de ‘rijmelarij’ van mijnheer Deburggraeve kijken. ‘t is vies, ‘t rijmt, ‘t is traditioneel in post-postmoderne tijden. Maar in de kunst, de creatieve sector, de wereld die dweept met kunstmatigheid, gebruikt eenieder het medium en de vorm die hem het best ligt. Ik heb het er met Sammy al eens over gehad. Hoe hij vindt dat poëzie moet rijmen, omdat het anders te nietsig is. En hoe ik, ook al laten gedichten me veelal koud, vind dat eenieder zijn eigen vorm moet kiezen. Dat alles moet kunnen in de creatie.

Sammy staat vooral bekend als vetzak, en heel wat zijn gedichten borduren verder op dat thema. Zo bezingt hij de vlezige vallei van vunzige viesdoenerij, in zijn reeks poldergedichten. Die maakte hij als polderdichter van de gemeente Stabroek. Ieder dorp of gehucht heeft recht op zijn eigen dichter, al zullen de mensen van Stabroek het zich misschien beklaagd hebben dat Sammy carte blanche kreeg:

De vlezige vallei van vunzige viesdoenerij

O gij, vurig ros met blonde manen,
‘K zag uw vleze op de koer
En in de stallen bij den boer,
O gij, gij polderhoer.

Vervlezing mijner dromen van maagdse meiden die uit poldergronden komen.

O gij, inspiratie en bron van lust,
Gij, die me in m’n dromen heeft geblust.

Aan de beest’n op het veld,
Heb ik ‘t voor ‘t eerst verteld,
Ik ben een boer en echt geen held,
Doch… ik zal u nemen met grof geweld!

Kommt hier spezig spekkezwijn das ich ihre kottelett’n konsummeer;
In die stallen oder auf das velt;
Ich neime dich, keer nach keer…

De sprankelende waterval der hartstochtelijke passie is m’n dagelijks bad,
O wee dat mooie meisje op m’n nachtelijks polderpad…

Reeds vele jaren hunker ik naar natte spleten,
Maar enkel kermende kalv’ren heb ik reeds versleten.

Met hoge hakken triomfeerde haar trots,
In mijn bevlekte boerenbroek geen baksteen maar een rots.

Bevangen door haar bloemzoete boezem volgt ied’re boer bedwelmd haar spoor,

Bevangen door haar bloembloesembollen gaat ied’re dag de oogst teloor.

Godvermiljâârdenondedjû!

Ik ben vol van verlangen en’ t vee vol van mij,
O gij,
Vlezige Vallei,
Van Vunzige,
Viesdoenerij…

Sammy is echter niet alleen een viezerik – al zullen mensen die hem kennen hier misschien wat vreemd opkijken. Hij is ook rudimentaire eerlijkheid, en weet die ook in zijn gedichten te leggen. En als er één ding is dat ik wel een vereiste vind in kunst, literatuur en muziek, dan is het dat. Niet iets maken omdat je denkt dat het zal scoren bij het publiek, maar eerder als gevolg van een altijd opnieuw bloedende wonde, een noodzaak die zich aan jou opdringt in plaats van omgekeerd. Dat ontroert me in sommige gedichten van Sammy. Het is niet alleen seks en kak. Ergens diep tussen de plooien van die vetzakkenfaçade zie ik een jongeman aan een bureautje schrijven in het midden van de nacht. En als zo ’s nachts, terwijl iedereen slaapt, hij enkel op zichzelf toegewezen is, dan durft hij te kijken naar wat er in hem bloedt. Dan is het leven even een dagboek in plaats van een speeltuin. Dan schrijft hij liefdesgedichten of existentiële poëzie. Kak en seks kan morgenvroeg ook nog.

Vergaan met man en muizenissen

Ik gooi mijn schip op haar zandbank voor anker;

Ik meer nu aan in haar havengebied;

Mijn ziel is dood en het lijf rot van kanker;

Maar één traan van haar doet me veel meer verdriet.

Ik zag in de verte het licht in haar ogen;

Door stormende regen en windhuilen heen;

Maar zij en haar blik nu die bleken bedrogen;

Dus ik voer als een wrak op haar klippen uiteen;

Ik weet niet eens meer naar waar ik moest varen;

ik weet niet eens meer waar ik ben gestrand;

In het oog van de storm zag ik haar naar me staren;

Ik dacht dat ik verdronk maar ik was reeds aan land;

Ik kan geen dag van een nacht onderscheiden;

Ik zie dat ze huilt en ik denk dat ze lacht;

Als zij met haar tong nu mijn hart uit wil snijden;

Heeft ze me weer op een dwaalspoor gebracht.

Als een inktvis als Kraken komt zij me omarmen;

En trekt ze mijn boot naar de dieperste zeê;

Ik smeek om vergif’nis, ik smeek om erbarmen;

Mijn hebben en houden trekt zij naar beneê.

Als een meermin zo lokt ze me met haar gezangen;

Door scheurbuik verteerd ja zo volg ik gedwee;

Speelbal van ‘t lot in de golven gevangen;

Zo neemt ze mijn hart naar de eeuwigheid mee.

Ik zag Sammy Deburggraeve voor het eerst aan het werk in dat ene tv-programma op VT4, supertalent in Vlaanderen. Eerlijk? Ik vond het vreselijk. Het stond mijlenver van de hippiewereld waarin ik leefde. Toen dacht ik nog intellectueel te kunnen worden. In tussentijd heb ik hem persoonlijk leren kennen, en zijn de vooroordelen die ik op die 5 minuten me had gevormd helemaal verdwenen. Opmerkelijk hoe snel je een mening over mensen hebt, als je ze niet kent.

Op de persvoorstelling vorige week maandag was de pers massaal afwezig. Jammer, want Sammy verdient meer aandacht. Zelfs voor mensen die net als ik geen verstand hebben of willen hebben voor poëzie, is zijn boek iets waar je af en toe in bladert en dan licht glimlachend of met het schaamrood op de wangen omdat je nu ook weer niet dacht dat het zo vettig ging zijn terug in de kast zet. En voor de analfabeten zit er een cd bij, waarna je het boek dan misschien kan gebruiken om haring in te rollen.  En laat het dan zo ver komen dat de slogan die in het groot op de voorkaft staat ook werkelijkheid wordt. Dat Sammy Deburggraeve zijn volk leerde dichten. (je kan zijn boek kopen in de betere boekhandel. Onder meer in de Groene waterman is hij al gesignaleerd. Wil je liever contact met de meester zelve, dan kan dat via zijn website. )

Oh, de cd is trouwens een soort Bart Kaëll from hell. Hier nog een clipje:

Amiguinhos, vocês devem se lembrar (ou não) de Nigel Goodman pelo seu stand-up sobre Educação Sexual, Changeman e Cinemark, postado aqui na Mãe a alguns dias.

A alguns dias (dica de camarada GH Stramon), recebi um link para seu blog, que descobri ser tão genial quanto o stand-up. Além de assuntos diversos, stand-ups, fotos e besteirinhas, o Sr. Goodman por várias vezes posta dissertações sobre os mais variados temas, e acreditem quando eu digo que é GÊNIO.

Eu reproduziria abaixo seu genial texto sobre Educação Sexual, porém prefiro mantê-lo na integridade do lar (com a genial piada no link em vermelho). Portanto, deixem de preguiça e visitem o original AQUI.

My feet are as wide as they are long.

It’s OK.  I’ve come to terms with it, made peace with my DNA, and had a cup of tea and a toasted sandwich with my shitty genes.

My feet make an impressive base.  Sturdy.  Wide.  My toes reach out sideways, greedily covering as much ground as possible.  Due to this expansive foundation I can boast stability in Yoga class.  Haha- I win (contrary to popular opinion, and the people who invented it; yoga is, in fact, a competition)!

Unsightly foot fat overhang (see detail)

I’m sure-footed to say the least.  I’m like a Welsh mountain pony, reliable over rough terrain and can carry a 16 stone man on my back to the mineshaft (that’s what mum told me wels mountain ponies could do, as she lifted her 14 stone self onto Pandora, genuinely thinking the pony should be grateful mum wasn’t a miner, as her heels dragged in the dirt and Pandora foamed at the mouth).

I measured my feet.  They are 10.5 cm wide.

I measured my shoes.  They are 7.5 cm wide.

It sounds like magic, but the reality is a foot is not an overly solid object.  Turns out I can fold my feet lengthways, slot it into the shoe, and allow excess skin and flesh to hang over the rim of my show, as you can see in my picture.  If my shoes were jeans, it would be the equivalent of sporting a ‘muffin top’, complete with visible g-string.

I know I may not be portraying my trotters in the most flattering light, but the truth is I don’t really care.  Feet are ugly.  Sure, some are more attractive than others, but no one has feet that are decidedly beautiful.   Some people will do their best to convince you that they do, in fact, have sexy feet; but we all know they are totally biased- in the same way that most people are quite comfortable with the smell of their own gaseous emissions.

My feet are magic.  They have callouses on the soles so thick I can stand on rusty thumbtacks without fear of pain, or tetanus.  This conditioning can only be won through years of running down a gravel driveway with no shoes.

If I am going to have a really-unnattractive-to-the-point-of-making-people-gasp-yet-highly-functional body feature, I am quite comfortable having this feature neatly tucked away at the ends of my legs.

My son has a friend with a mole the size of a raisin on his lip.

It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?

Nu aiurea o scris Richard Rodgers The sound of music. Adica nu stiu exact care e faza cu musicalul acela, dar faptul ca o intitulat filmu asa, denota faptul ca muzica are ceva special. E ceva anume la ea care ne atinge (nu ca un pedofil) cand o ascultam. Pentru fiecare dintre noi muzica are cate un efect. Pe unii ii ajuta sa se concentreze, pe altii ii ajuta sa socializeze, unii o folosim cand suntem tristi ca sa ne convingem ca chiar si artistul a trecut prin ce trecem noi… mdap… altii o folosim ca sa facem declaratii siropoase pe care nu suntem in stare sa le rostim cu voce tare persoanelor dragi, altii o asculta ca hobby pentru ca pur si simplu ii incanta asculatul muzicii de calitate. Altii (sper printre cititorii mei sa nu fie genu asta) o asculta si o canta ca sa arate la dusmani ca are avere si masini. Altii, se folosesc de ea ca sa faca bani de pe fetite de 14 ani derutate, da na, sa zicem, ca doar trebuie sa aiba si ele niste idoli fara camasa si cu patretele pe abdomen. Cine a vazut filmul lui Mell Brooks History of the world a vazut ca muzica a aparut inca din evul mediu

Probabil candva, acuma mii de ani, cineva a observat ca daca faci galagie in timp ce un om vorbeste, vorbele sunt ascultate mai atent de publicul prezent. Si asa a aprut rap-ul

Aduceti-va aminte la petrecerile de cand erati mici (nu am folosit cuvantul chef pentru ca nu era alcool pe vremea aia) si va palcea de cineva si stateati intr-un colt si asteptati piesa potrivita care reflecta sentimentele voastre fata de o persoana, sa o chemati la dans sau sa asteptati sa fiti chemata la dans… ce frumasa era imaginea. NU?! Dupa mine era frumos chiar si cand aparea altul si o chema la dans pe “piesa mea” ca ma impacam cu gandul ca nu a fost sa fie ) da asta e alta poveste.

Pentru mine muzica mai are o utilitate. Pentru cei dintre voi care ma cunosc intotdeauna mia placut sa fac petreceri si sa pun muzica la acele petreceri. Faceam asta pentru ca muzica imi dadea putearea sa imprim o anumita stare auditoriului. E o senzatie care mie imi place foarte mult, sa vad ca pot sa dau mai departe buna dispozitie si sa pot sa fac doi oameni sa danseze pe un blues, sau sa pot sa ii fac pe toti sa dea din cap ca nebunii pe Metallica. E genial. Nu zic ca am avut si plangeri ca doar nu poti sa fi pe aceeasi lungime de unda cu zeci de oameni, pentru ca unii nu dormisera bine noaptea dinainte de chef, da na! Nu ii poti multumi pe toti. Oricum la capitolul asta majoritatea conteaza.

Muzica are o putere foarte mare. Din pacate unii sectanti imbecili au folosit-o ca sa produca sinucideri in masa.. ce sa zic patasti. Ca norocul ca alea sunt cazuri izolate… si mai bine e ca sunt izolate prin america pe undeva Acuma nu stiu cine e de vina daca aia cand o auzit ca ala canta acolo “taiati-va venele” si aia si le-o taiat… revin la ideea ca prost e cel ce cumpara o porcarie nu cel ce vinde.

O utilitate irosita a muzicii mi se pare mie, ca e in barurile de strep tease. Pentru ce mai pun aia muzica? Nu ar fi mai simplu ca femeile sa intre gata dezbracate si gata?

Trebuie sa cautam partea buna a muzicii. Ce frumos este cand Barry White ne canta “I wanna make love to you women”. Sau asa era Cheff din South park? oricum e buna piesa:)

Ideea e ca daca ascultam la difuzorul bun, muzica ne ajuta sa muncim, sa iubim, sa ne iubim, sa comunicam, sa dansam, sa bem Sa trecem de necazuri, si daca facem si o dedicatie pentru dusmani… inseamna ca am gresit difuzorul

The Birth

“As you can see…I’m a Divorcee.”

They were her first words, her first moment. With a beta-blocker in her system and a bay leaf in her shoe, she took a deep breath and was born…..

There was a leer in her voice as she turned on the six inch stiletto heel of her thigh high black boots, in her overly skin-tight and just a bit too short black dress, to face the audience.

“You know, I turned 40 recently and I’m loving it.” She paused for a moment to let the wolf whistles abate.

“After all these years, I’ve finally worked out that I get more erotic satisfaction,” she paused again, to deliver the words with breathy deliberation, “from shopping than I do from sex.”

“And what a multiple orgasm means to ME. It is when the shirt and the skirt I’m desirous of, BOTH go on sale!”

Her eyes went skyward and she made a small sound of pleasure as the audience cheered again.

“The other thing I like about being 40 is that I’ve finally learned how to masturbate properly. I do it with my credit card.” She held her hands as if holding an invisible card, and moved them suggestively backwards and forwards in front of her pelvic region.

“Kach-ing. Ka-ching”

“You know speaking of credit cards, I went down to the Cheeky Adult Fun World the other day… and bought the point of sale scanner. I’m getting a tattoo. I thought, a nice little barcode across my clitoris…”

“Hmm, imagine the possibilities.” Again her hands moved, this time in time from side to side across her swaying hips. “Beep Ooh…Beep aaah!”

As she took a gulp of her champagne and continued her performance, there was not a sign left of the mother and wife who’d once religiously ironed her tea towels.

“I’ve finally found a Barbie I like. She is called Divorce Barbie. She comes with everything – including Ken’s stuff”.

Who was this outrageous creature? She had arrived in the world fully formed, the moment I stepped on stage. Where did she come from? She certainly wasn’t me, I didn’t behave that way.

It was like the scene in the first Terminator movie. The one where Arnold Schwarzenegger appears from nowhere, naked, after a lightning bolt strike.

And all I could do was look on in wonder as she delivered her final line.

Looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, she delivered her ‘piece de la resistance’ shocking me more than anyone else in the room.

“I’m currently in a spot of bother. I’m under investigation by the Tax department. They can’t seem to understand how I could accumulate so many assets with only one c**t working for me!”

Stepping down, relief swept over me. I’d made it through the most grueling ten minutes of my life. Publicly stripped bare by my own words.

With shaking knees, I headed towards the bar.

Delivered to me in an American twang came the first inkling of how much life was going to change.

“Hey Roxy Rock star. You HAVE got to let me buy you a drink.”

I turned to chastise this brash Yankee for being so presumptuous. How dare he throw a name at this skanky costume?

But then, as he appeared beside me, I caught an eyeful of his tall ‘drop dead’ gorgeousness and instantly reconsidered. ‘What the hey? If it works?’ It has been a long time since anyone this handsome bought me a drink.

I decided to accept the name and any thing else he had on offer.

“Why not?” the Roxy in me smiled ever so sweetly and purred “I’ll have a margarita. Oh, and a shot of tequila on the side. I’m always up for a bit on the side…”

Dear listeners – while you are coming to terms with the arrival of the magnificent Roxy – here is something I stumbled upon today.

Can’t find any words to explain it really……

Apparently they are called mirkins.

Stay tuned – things are going to get interesting.

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

Q: How did you get your start in comedy.
A. I saw a flyer in the bathroom of a bar that was next door to the comedy club. It was an open mic ad and I thought, why not?
Q-How did that first night go?

I don’t know much about Christianity, or religion in general.

Everyone has a different slant on the thing, but one emerging theme that most people agree on, is that Jesus was pretty cool.

I’m just wondering if God feels ready to breed again (If you are listening, God, this is NOT an offer…) because it has been about 2,000 years since Jesus died and it doesn’t look like he’s coming back anytime soon.

And if he did, he would probably look a hell of a lot like Osama Bin Laden and end up facing credibility issues with the Christians who still think Jesus was blonde with a blonde beard (blonde beards are quite creepy, often have traces of the ginge…) and blue eyes.

No offence, God, but it is time to move on and give us another shot.

Kids these days...

God must have thought about it at some stage.  He obviously has great genes.  He should donate sperm.  There are loads of infertile couples out there just gagging for it (really, Sarah, you could have picked a more eloquent way of phrasing that).  Could be a nice little money spinner for him.

I think possibly the biggest barrier to J.C’s sibling being born would be the hunt for a suitable womb.  With a distinct lack of virgins in todays society, God would certainly have his work cut out for him.  Not to mention the conversation he would have to have with the modern career woman of today before the immaculate conception took place…
“Tania!  I am God, and you are going to have my child!”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are, I am God.”
“Mate, I don’t care who you are.  I’ve just started my job at the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries, I’m not entitled to paid parental leave yet.  Plus my hubby, Steve, has had a vasectomy.  He’d think I’d done the dirty on him, and leave me.”
“I’ll support you!”
“Like you supported Mary?  Mate, didn’t read any bible stories about you changing Jesus’ nappy, or teaching him to ride a bike….. Didn’t you kill him in the end?”
“I didn’t kill him!  I just wanted full custody.”
“Sorry God, but if you knock me up I’m getting an abortion.”

If God did manage to find someone up to the task, would we believe that she was carrying God’s second child?  I wouldn’t.  I would laugh heartily at first, then find her annoying.

And if someone went around claiming to be Jesus’ brother, they would get in massive trouble.  They would probably get killed.

The Bible does not mention another child of God being born, but that book was written thousands of years ago.  Surely it’s OK for God to change his mind and create a new set of goals?  I know I would not like to be held to things I said 2 years ago, let alone 2 millenniums.

But- if God did have another child, there is no guarantee that child would turn out like Jesus.  Jesus 2 might be an asshole.  He might steal old ladies wallets and pee in public.  If anything, the pressure to heal and perform miracles would be quite overwhelming and he would quite probably be messed up.

God has been around for a few years.  I guess he has had time to think through these options, and has decided it is better to leave us with the sugar sweet memory of his one begotten son- rather than send a new one into the world, to a mother called Charlene,  and risk souring his rep as sperm donor extraordinaire.

He really does know best, doesn’t he?