Hop, Skip & A Dump

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Stop start kind of day really. Or is it start stop? Humidity might have been a factor. Mugginess is a killer. I like to think thats the reason why I can get irritable and headaches pop up when ever it is about. More than likely it is all in my head though. Which is true either way really. Managed to line up another few potential DJ gigs to keep me ticking over for the next few weeks. Plus I have started working on plans for where to live, work, pursue acting/writing and other such wonderful stuff, in anticipation for my return to L-Hey, whenever that might be. Oh, and I fell down a stairs. Kind of. The last few steps of a stairs at least. And took a nice hop off the floor when I did.

At the gym earlier, Boris wasn’t being too full on as he usually has been, which was good. I think it is because a few of his buddies seemed to be there as well. Seeing as I only had under an hour before the gym closed, I was racing through a few leg exercises, far too quickly really. Not recommended when doing squats. Between the humidity, and flying through the gym, I was a beaten docket as I left. At the same time I was leaving one section of the gym, I spotted Boris sticking his head out of the other part, and making his move as I departed. With this in mind, I bounded down the stairs. Stupid call really. It has happened a few times, where I have forgotten how dodge my legs are after squats, and nearly tumbled. As I briskly made my way down the two flights of stairs tonight, the last few steps were literally a step too far.

Dodgy left knee buckled first, should really get that checked out. Flimsy right leg followed. Thankfully I managed to break my fall by nicely hopping my shoulder off the ground, and ended up in a heap at the end of the stairs. Just lying there. At the front door. Panned out. Like a weak, defeated flower. Feeling fairly wrecked, and wondering if I had done any damage, I decided to just lie there for a minute, and suss out any potential injuries. A minute feels way longer when lying down on the ground in public. I might have lay there for longer, until I heard others coming down the stairs. Not wanting to surprise or shock Boris by having me passed out on the floor, waiting for him to scoop me up and carry me to my car, I brushed myself down, realizing only my pride and shoulder had been bruised, and off I went.

I’ll cleverly skip the part about the what is going on tomorrow. Let’s just say that hopefully my round trip to Dublin will all be worthwhile. Which would make a welcome change! If you remember my plan I wrote about before, that will give you a clue. In fact, it might merit another wonderful Vlog tomorrow to mark the occasion, which would be a bit ironic. A weak link to skip but it will have to do!!!

While I was lining up DJ gigs earlier today in town, I happened to bump into a girl I half know. And by that, I mean I dont know the half that has her name. Anyways, while I was talking to her, or listening to her complain to be exact, I noticed myself drifting away, and instead just looking in complete wonder at different parts of her body. Not in a sexual way, oh dear Lord no. In a completely bewildered way. Seeing as I think it was the first time I have seen her in the cold light of day, I only today noticed how her hands, feet, face, neck and ears were all different colours. I admit that I might be a bit obsessed with fake tan. As in my dislike and disdain for it. Still though, when someone’s skin changes from orange, to kind of green, to patchy white, back to speckled orange, I can’t really be the one who is odd for noticing it. I have forgotten how unforgiving the cold light of day can be!

However, by far the worst part had to have been the smell. Maybe I was just unfortunate to be standing down wind from her. It is chronic though. I was at least a foot away from her today. Actually, thats almost on top of each other now I measure a foot out with my hands. Say 3 feet. And I could still get the smell of a weekend old fake tan. At this stage, I prefer the smell from the dump, than that of fake tan. I would say I prefer the smell of someone’s dot dot dot, but thats just weird either way you look at it. Not something you’d really prefer to anything. Only the smell from the bathroom in the old bus station in Cork, and puke, are worse now for me. Just in case you were wondering. I am sure you were dying to know how much I do not like the orange curry powder.

Wrap it up, the heading probably outshone the rest of the blogaruu! Seeing as I am tired, time for a chilled song…

Sufjan Stevens

Casimir Pulaski Day – Sufjan Stevens

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Winner

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If you ever want to feel like a true winner, wake up on a Monday morning with a hangover. What a winning feeling that is, too much fun. A great way to start the week. Only way is up, I do suppose. The blogaruu has been silent for the past few days, so time to catch up in one swift, foul swoop. Back on the road to productivity. I’ll start with my stand-up gig on Thursday.

I must admit, the gig was special. Really special. Not sure what it was exactly. But it was special. Do you know when everything just works out to a tee? You couldn’t plan it better if you tried. It was as if the earth aligned with the comedy moon, and everything just fell into place. New material and jokes were told with aplomb. Punch lines were delivered with panache. People clapping, standing ovations, crying out for more. Jokes that you think might be a bit dodge or 50-50, turn out to be unbelievably well received. Unfortunately, it was not one of those nights. Nowhere near. By special I mean horrendous. It was bad. Technically, it was actually funny. Just not the kind of funny I was aiming for. One those nights, where nothing goes to plan. Probably because I never had a plan to begin with.

It was probably the busiest night in there so far, maybe 100 people. I know, huge, stadium gigs might have to be the next port of call. It seemed to me as if the crowd were mostly new faces I had not seen before, so I decided I would open with a few of my new “jokes”, then fall back on my old reliables of life in L.A to finish on a high note. Whenever I watch the acts on before me, I’ve realized that all I am doing is hoping they wont tell jokes or stories similar in any way to mine. Thats it. Couldn’t really care if they’re funny or not. Just as long as they steer clear of what I have lined up, they’ve done well in my eyes. Seeing as I have practiced a bit of material based on life in L.A, I decided I would try out some new stuff about what it is like being home in Ireland. Along the lines of how much fun it is back here, comparing here and there, and how big a winner in life I am just waiting in limbo land for my visa. Those kinds of hilarious angles.

The acts on before me got a few laughs, nothing major. However, there was a girl whose act was a bit to similar to mine for my liking. As in she mentioned a few incidents in L.A, saying L.A a lot, as if to rub it in that she was marking her territory before I went up. Not that she had a clue of my act or anything, but it seemed like that to me when that was my selling point. A few of her jokes ran a bit too parallel to mine, confusion and dumbness, so I had to go with my new material now no matter what. The material that was still in the idea stage, yet to have been developed as far as punch lines. That top dollar material I had up my sleeve. Dumbly, I convinced myself I would think of the big bang punch lines when I was up on stage. As you do.

Straight off, messed up the first joke, mocked myself, without giving a back story as to why I was mocking myself, and messed up joke number one. Good start. Moved on to saying how delightful Irish girls and their love of fake tan are, went down like a lead brick. Oh Jesus. Dirty looks from girls in the crowd. Tried to compare them to an orange version of the Blue Man Group. No one seemed to have a clue who they were, must be an American thing only, cue more silence. (Here they are to give you a reminder. I think I might start to use a projector in future to explain my jokes. Which is a great sign.)

Blue Man Group

Thought I might move on to relationships and couples in Ireland, asking one couple in the crowd about a certain topic. Bad idea. If the guy answered truthfully, and laughed, he would be in the bad books with his girlfriend. So, instead he shrugged his shoulders, didn’t commit either way, and ruined my point. Cue more silence. Thankfully, at this stage, a guy in the crowd started shouting something up to me. Heckling I think its called. The thankful part was that he was foxy, and a gimp, so at least I got a few laughs mocking him and his big red target on his head. Seeing as I was getting a few chuckles now, I decided it was time for the old reliable sure fire stories. Unfortunately, it was not happening for me. Gay horse and accompanying story was not well received. Which is my jolly banker!

At this stage, I made the executive decision, that there was only one thing to do. Made the right call, enough was enough, lets end this now. Well, after I tried to have some banter with two drunk Dutch guys in the crowd first. In German. In German? Obviously enough, that went down well. A quick Auf Wiedersehen, and that was that. Overall, a special performance. My HBO Special should be in the pipeline soon. Although, on an ironic note, it was the most I have been paid for a stand-up gig. And, the guy in charge loved it, and booked me again for next week straight away. He must like seeing me bomb. Bomb on!

Blogaruu is long enough, so I won’t start on my bit about the Hungarian stalker I think I have, or the mix tape scenario that is developing, I’ll keep it for tomorrow. You must be so funking excited!!!

Seeing as the video is pretty cool, Strawberry Swing by Coldplay.

And one more, for a mighty Monday