Steve Hughes hails from parts unknown. Well, that
isn’t entirely true. He holds no real fixed address. If you live on Her
Majesty’s Isle and wait long enough in a local record shop, you might
see him cackling with glee as he discovers a rare Venom record while he winds through on tour.
Read more at Metal As Fuck!
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
28.4.12
Live Review: Steve Hughes - Big Issues (The Pun)
I’ll admit, I’m a huge metalhead (well, I am 6’2” and I have trouble
getting caps to fit, but that’s another story). Steve Hughes has made
major waves in the global comedy community as the straight-talking,
logic-twisting Heavy Metal comedian. This acclaim shows, he nearly
sold-out the main room at Melbourne Town Hall.
Read more at The Pun.
Read more at The Pun.
16.4.12
Live Review: Brenna Courtney Glazebrook presents More Than This (The Pun)
Is there More Than This? Brenna Glazebrook wasn’t convinced a
few short years ago. Staring heartbreak and paucity square in the face,
she moved to spider-infested Sydney to start anew. This provides the
inspiration for a comically solid fifty minute trip into Glazebrook’s
life over the last couple of years. Accompanied by her “Swedish Paul
Shaffer” Maya, the iTunes Enter-key presser sat to the side of the
compact Spleen Bar stage.
Read the rest at The Pun.
Read the rest at The Pun.
14.4.12
Live Review: Who Killed John Bearington III? (The Pun)
In an unceremonious alleyway, borderline sociopath, racist and
philandering billionaire John Bearington the Third lies dead. This
‘muppet-noir’ stares Dylan Cole as the slick-talking,
dressed-to-the-nines Detective Cole Feltz (the only human with a
speaking part). We watch as he interrogates five likely muppet suspects
who all had their respective gripes with the darkly departed Bearington.
Read the rest at The Pun.
Read the rest at The Pun.
13.4.12
Live Review: Lessons with Luis – Luis Presents: Kidney Kingdom (The Pun)
Out of the way and next to the Yarra, Signal is a simple venue fitted
for the simple lessons from a wide-eyed boy named Luis. Luis and co are
embarking on an adventure to the Kidney Kingdom (riffing off of the
Wizard of Oz) to find his kindly father a new kidney.
Read the rest of the review which was featured at The Pun.
Read the rest of the review which was featured at The Pun.
10.4.12
Live Review: Michael Chamberlin - Joy & Despair (The Pun)
By his own admission, Michael Chamberlin lives in a constant state of
either joy or despair – no grey areas to be found in his life of
loneliness, bewilderment and often crippling neuroses. A screenwriter by
trade, Michael has written for Skithouse, Rove Live and Adam Hills in Gordon St. Tonight, and
has even lent words to the legendary John Cleese. A veteran comedy
writer and stand-up comic, Chamberlin has won acclaim far and wide for
the last decade, but it seems that his dream joyride has now run into a
wall built by despair.
Read the rest as well as many more 2012 MICF reviews at The Pun.
Read the rest as well as many more 2012 MICF reviews at The Pun.
5.4.12
Live Review: Dave Purcell - Mix Tape (The Pun)
Dave Purcell looked a bit cramped on the Butterfly Club stage for Mix
Tape, flanked by an upright piano and accompanied by his guitarist and
drummer. The audience numbered no more than 20, but the room which
scarcely fitted 15 was heat-choked. Our backs ached on the wooden
“pews” during this hour long set comprised of stand-up, self-deprecating
storytelling and music.
Read the review and all things Melbourne International Comedy Festival at The Pun.
Read the review and all things Melbourne International Comedy Festival at The Pun.
28.11.09
Melon Race Sketch #1
Our (Ace and I) first sketch is raring to go on YouTube. A rough draft of what's to come, surely. I learned how to use Adobe Premiere and everything.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XUIuEkDYWk
Comment, rate and thoroughly rip to shreds!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XUIuEkDYWk
Comment, rate and thoroughly rip to shreds!
9.12.08
Crushtor's Guide to Children's TV: Press Gang
Crushtor.net's Guide to crap Awesome Children's Television
Sponsored by the Delightful DeeDee and Clever Kyle
Episode the First: Press Gang
A post-Thatcherite London in the cold grip of a recession, probably - children stare towards a bleak future with their hopes fading, their dreams shattering like so many beer bottles over Everton supporters' heads during a match at Old Trafford. A youngish entrepreneur extolling the virtue of pre-Blair Third Way economics sets up a growing journalistic concern for adolescents for some reason in conjunction with a local high school. Hot hot journalistic action ensues.
The All-Star Cast, I guess:
The only obvious star you recognize is Ab Fab's Saffy (Julia Sahwala) as the hard-boiled Editor that does mad cusses in her head and maintains a rigid honor-system swear jar. Co-starring is the cult classical Dexter Fletcher playing Spike, the mischievous seppo with "nothing to lose." There are other cast members, but most of them are boring, stereotypical and shithouse.
The Meat Inside:
Featuring a cast of nobodies, the fledgling Junior Gazette has merely five days until their first edition hits the presses sans front page story. In the pre-YouTube/MySpace/Twitter Blog/OMG RUPERT MURDOCH PWNS J00 age of media oversaturation, this means the kids have to actually use their wits and find one. A delinquent American exchange student or some shit reluctantly joins the fold after displaying a MacGuffin at the school dance and fates himself to expulsion or a burdgeoning Bob Woodward style journalism career. He opts for the latter and attempts to bludge his way out of working by making witty quips about induction forms. The power of the poon (The "pretty" pint-sized J. Jonah Jameson style Editor) compels him to fly right and walk straight, eventually, despite his often madcap and/or tryhard antics.
The Cheese:
Of course, with every children's TV show, the acting resides in a nightmarish Aristotelian world of either melodramatic Stanislavskian methodical perfection or absolute ratshit. "Spike", the American bastard, can't act for shit while Saffron aims and shoots for the 1951 Best Actress Oscar. The resident Del Boy who sells homework for a quid a pop dazzles while Spike's hapless partner in crime seems like the producer's kid who had to fill in at the last minute.
The Awesome Theme Song:
Naturally, with everything produced in the early 90s, crude samples and cheaply synthesized everything were de rigeur. Think Pink Floyd's "Money" covered by Wham! with the cash registers replaced by typewriters and you've pretty much got it down pat.
Should I Watch It:
Absolutely. This knockabout slice-of-life dramady (barely) can be overwrought, underacted and cringeworthy at times, but it sure beats the shit out of T-Bag and the Sunstones of Montezuma, the microbudget pantomime wankery now looking painfully obvious in hindsight. Or first-sight, for that matter. You can also "lol" at the typewriters via Facebook. That'll learn those cheapskates for not forking out for a 286 with Windows 2.0 on it.
---
In actual news, I spied a woman at work that looks exactly like Tweety from Merrie Melodies. No shit, she actually looks like Tweety. Its fucking bizzare.
31.10.08
Corruption or Reason
It felt like a day that reminded of me the worth of being alive. Going out for curry with Rae, Kris, Gemma and Ash (all of whom couldn't finish their plates...)
So, since we had to obey the Kirae house rules of no drinks after bedtime, Gem and I drove to one of the most opulent mansions I've ever been in. It had French Louis XIV style gilded mirrors, statues of cherubs lining ornate mantlepieces, grand pianos, four-poster beds and for some reason a really shithouse computer. (Rich people have more money than sense) After watching the unbelievably piss-funny hyper-observational humor of Carl Barron, we retired to a grandiose turkish-style bed, draped in huge, soft cushions. It was insane. But comfy as. Such a mint house...
Also, I finally purchased a copy of Science and Sanity after looking for it for so long. I plan to read it again over summer like last time and gain even more insight into GS and how to apply it.
For example:
Intensional definition: needs moar = construct additional pylons!
Extensional definition: needs moar = Open your NetBank. Look at the CR column. The gap between that amount and a car could be considered a definition of the above term.
To my American friends: I implore you to use the new word I created in lieu of "cockblocking." I now use the word "lunchcutsmanship" instead. (e.g. "That was a fine display of lunchcutsmanship")
So, since we had to obey the Kirae house rules of no drinks after bedtime, Gem and I drove to one of the most opulent mansions I've ever been in. It had French Louis XIV style gilded mirrors, statues of cherubs lining ornate mantlepieces, grand pianos, four-poster beds and for some reason a really shithouse computer. (Rich people have more money than sense) After watching the unbelievably piss-funny hyper-observational humor of Carl Barron, we retired to a grandiose turkish-style bed, draped in huge, soft cushions. It was insane. But comfy as. Such a mint house...
Also, I finally purchased a copy of Science and Sanity after looking for it for so long. I plan to read it again over summer like last time and gain even more insight into GS and how to apply it.
For example:
Intensional definition: needs moar = construct additional pylons!
Extensional definition: needs moar = Open your NetBank. Look at the CR column. The gap between that amount and a car could be considered a definition of the above term.
To my American friends: I implore you to use the new word I created in lieu of "cockblocking." I now use the word "lunchcutsmanship" instead. (e.g. "That was a fine display of lunchcutsmanship")
7.9.08
Crushtor.net's Guide to Australian White People - Part II
Crushtor.net's Guide to Australian White People - Part II
Scared yet? Shudder before your displays of liquid crystal in our second installment of Crushtor.net's Guide to Australian White People!
Private Ownership of Common Property
Of course, most white people abhor the spectre of Communism just as much as ever these days, what with the appeal of a badge-based economy growing ever less once its made clear that iPhones would be classed as a tool of the imperialist oppressors and only the dirtiest and smelliest Arts degree toting comrades would ever be allowed to lay their eyes on one.
In simpler terms, Australian White people love staking their claim to films, books and internet memes they chanced upon as if the mass media was in a perpetual Eureka Stockade, and they think themselves as the one-armed Peter Lalor demanding that the prospectors own their plots of land, or in this case, a video of Chocolate Rain, or whatever. They publicly proclaim their "ownership" of any such social occasion when the name of the production is raised as if they wrote, directed and distributed the fucking thing themselves.
Likewise for concerts and other such events - they also believe as a ticketholder, the band/troupe/comedian performed exclusively for their benefit, although this is clearly contrary to what occurs in reality.
Language as Social Control
As Hayakawa eloquently and simply put in his Language in Thought and Action, "society makes its mightiest collective effort to impose predictability upon human behavior" and is expressed in nearly every way possible from the absurd to the profane, such as marriage or the agreement to form relationships. The ritualistic dance of humans as they are made to be slaves to the utterances they make seems really stupid, and as Hayakawa continues, "that many of our social directives and the rituals accompanying them are antiquated and somewhat insulting to adult minds." However, Australian White people believe that emotional security in objects and the perceived qualities of others are far more desirable than freedom of mind and person, and as such, will be quite content to fuck themselves up in such a fashion to attain such ideals.
Events to Commemorate Events
Australian White people also love confusing spontaneous events such as births, deaths, employment, promotion and other such bullshit with pre-determined events to commemorate the said event. They hold events to commemorate an event which may have already occured, and summarily confuse the organized event with the spontaneous one. Tony getting his promotion at the Glue Factory happened in an office with a sweaty, bespectacled gentleman named Steve, not when Tony told all his mates in a hail of saccharine adulation and Chicken Parmiagiana. Even more confusing is holding events for non-events, such as "Christmas in July" and "Ben and Marks' post-pissup pissup pissup."
Exaggeration
If there's one inescapable fact of modern life, is that Australian White people tend to exaggerate their participation in any and all activities - that if a small group of AWPs were to work towards a goal, the combined sum of all efforts would equal 230% if aggregated from individual testimony. Concert attendance would see a crowd over triple the capacity of the venue in which it was held, the production 500 times more profitable than what was fudged in the ledger. Even their golf scores are rounded to the nearest ten, their actual duration of the minor celebrity rounded up to the nearest half-hour, and the achievements of said celebrity rounded up to "Major TV Personality."
Until next time, friends!
Click here to view Part I of the Guide
Scared yet? Shudder before your displays of liquid crystal in our second installment of Crushtor.net's Guide to Australian White People!
Private Ownership of Common Property
Of course, most white people abhor the spectre of Communism just as much as ever these days, what with the appeal of a badge-based economy growing ever less once its made clear that iPhones would be classed as a tool of the imperialist oppressors and only the dirtiest and smelliest Arts degree toting comrades would ever be allowed to lay their eyes on one.
In simpler terms, Australian White people love staking their claim to films, books and internet memes they chanced upon as if the mass media was in a perpetual Eureka Stockade, and they think themselves as the one-armed Peter Lalor demanding that the prospectors own their plots of land, or in this case, a video of Chocolate Rain, or whatever. They publicly proclaim their "ownership" of any such social occasion when the name of the production is raised as if they wrote, directed and distributed the fucking thing themselves.
Likewise for concerts and other such events - they also believe as a ticketholder, the band/troupe/comedian performed exclusively for their benefit, although this is clearly contrary to what occurs in reality.
Language as Social Control
As Hayakawa eloquently and simply put in his Language in Thought and Action, "society makes its mightiest collective effort to impose predictability upon human behavior" and is expressed in nearly every way possible from the absurd to the profane, such as marriage or the agreement to form relationships. The ritualistic dance of humans as they are made to be slaves to the utterances they make seems really stupid, and as Hayakawa continues, "that many of our social directives and the rituals accompanying them are antiquated and somewhat insulting to adult minds." However, Australian White people believe that emotional security in objects and the perceived qualities of others are far more desirable than freedom of mind and person, and as such, will be quite content to fuck themselves up in such a fashion to attain such ideals.
Events to Commemorate Events
Australian White people also love confusing spontaneous events such as births, deaths, employment, promotion and other such bullshit with pre-determined events to commemorate the said event. They hold events to commemorate an event which may have already occured, and summarily confuse the organized event with the spontaneous one. Tony getting his promotion at the Glue Factory happened in an office with a sweaty, bespectacled gentleman named Steve, not when Tony told all his mates in a hail of saccharine adulation and Chicken Parmiagiana. Even more confusing is holding events for non-events, such as "Christmas in July" and "Ben and Marks' post-pissup pissup pissup."
Exaggeration
If there's one inescapable fact of modern life, is that Australian White people tend to exaggerate their participation in any and all activities - that if a small group of AWPs were to work towards a goal, the combined sum of all efforts would equal 230% if aggregated from individual testimony. Concert attendance would see a crowd over triple the capacity of the venue in which it was held, the production 500 times more profitable than what was fudged in the ledger. Even their golf scores are rounded to the nearest ten, their actual duration of the minor celebrity rounded up to the nearest half-hour, and the achievements of said celebrity rounded up to "Major TV Personality."
Until next time, friends!
Click here to view Part I of the Guide
27.7.08
Crushtor.net's Guide to Australian White People - Part I
All hail King Kochie, Imperator Australis AlbusWho are they?
White people aren't necessarily melanin-deficient people of Anglo-Australian descent - they may hail from overseas and come in a variety of colors, creeds and denominations. "White" in this sense doesn't explicitly exclude or discriminate: any dumb, vacuous, naturally conservative and middle-aged (or middle-aged at heart) motherfucker can be white, as you will soon see. (Inspired by the Stuff White People Like blog.)
Culture
White people crave mediocrity and kitsch shit, as evidenced by their love for lifestyle programs such as "Better Homes and Gardens" and its derivatives. As long as tips for making inexpensive paintings and "perfect" dishes such as "perfect chocolate cake" (yes, the show claims to "solve" cooking once and for all) are thrown at a White audience with nary a thought for actually attempting such activities, the White person is satiated. They also enjoy watching celebrities dance, sing and/or comment upon events of historical significance which they have little knowledge of.
White people also revere trivial insignificance presented as credible and important fact; such as the whereabouts of Lindsay Lohan; the items that are purchased by Victoria "Posh" Beckham; the "outrageous" names bestowed upon Nicole Kidman's daughter; any hard-drive space used to store images and sound captured from the Big Brother House.
Musical expression is limited to the latest Coldplay album in the form of a ringtone. That, and musical theater, for some inexplicably fucked up reason. What the fuck is with that shit?
Drinking
Another pastime of White people is inexplicable displays of public drunkenness. White people enjoy catching public transport to congregate with other White people in order to consume alcohol. They also revel in their advanced cognitive powers of recalling the types and quantities of all beverages consumed within a given time-frame. Alcohol also allows White people to: talk to girls; dance badly to 70s disco music; boast about their unverifiable claims of sexual prowess; humiliate their partners; revert to a childish state for their own and others' amusement.
Complaining
Another activity which is almost certainly the sole domain of the White person is incessant complaining about the state of the world around them. All actions and/or objects are a potential irritant, and no White person is immune from the perpetual inconvenience of life itself. Despite having the highest education rates in the world, White people design (often cheaply) appliances with limited usefulness after a given time, despite White people's insistence on the infallibility of such appliances. They routinely mistake the words used to describe any such appliance for the appliance itself, and this angers the White person. Thus the White person is "let down" easily, causing frustration and eventually, the vocal annunciation of these feelings to those within earshot.
Implicit Racism
The Australian White person, while burying most of their explicit racism has taken to more insidious forms of racism to continue subjugating non-White Australians, such as making them watch stupid fucking kitsch television or insisting upon allegiance to Australia and their boring as fuck traditions and not to the bastard country of "UnAustralia", the nation where many unpatriotic residents supposedly reside.
If they are not blatantly racist, White people take it upon themselves to remedy the injustices they perceive to be prevalent in society by acting on the behalf of the oppressed, usually without their consent or foreknowledge. White people expect to be lauded as heroes for merely championing such causes and are often disappointed when their overtures are not welcomed or acknowledged. (see "Complaining")
Looking forward to Part II of the Guide?™ Hell, so am I!
22.7.08
Crushtor.net's Tribute to Television Coffee
Fellow reader(s*), some may know me for my fondness for huddling myself in front of the warm glow of a Television, either in ersatz in form of a computer machine or even the real thing. However, what has been routinely neglected by TV viewers are the contributions of beverage merchants that make the experience complete. I talk of Fictional Television Coffee. We at Crushtor.net wish to remedy this oversight by our inaugural tribute to TV Coffee for giving so little while we ask so much of it. Forza, caffe!
1. Central Perk
Not that Central Perk was a blend of coffee itself, it does merit mention as the setting for most "comical" transactions and latte-sipping amongst the long-running Friends, also a series of the same name. I guess once people realized that character development would never actually take place, they got Lisa Kudrow to typecast herself by making her play ditzy songs on a guitar she most evidently had no idea how to play for the amusement of white people everywhere.
2. Awkward Moments Coffee
Possibly the most remarkably uproarious blend of coffee ever "created" for sketch comedy is Rich Fulcher and Matt Berry's Awkward Moments Coffee, the special coffee for "those moments that are just too awkward for words." Whether you fire up a pot for walking in on your wife with another man, when you call a fat girl pregnant or tell a bloke "you like him like a brother", it's great joe! If Matt Berry beckoned me to purchase some with that sultry baritone of his, I'd drink it every fucking day - be it in awkward, tense or even slightly jovial situations regardless.
3. Duncan Hills Coffee
Popularized by metal monsters Dethklok, Duncan Hills Coffee is, as front man Nathan Explosion says, "blacker than the blackest black times infinity", which would be absolute advertising gold if Duncan Hills Coffee ever decided to actually exist. Not that metalheads would ever substitute coffee for beer, however. Although, something tells me if a cartoon death metal vocalist they routinely quoted told them to, they would. Until then, Scream. For your cream.
4. Star Trek "Replicator" Coffee
In the "popular" "science-fiction" series Star Trek: The Next Generation, food and beverages could materialize out of thin air when a bald man in a jumpsuit commanded a hole in the wall to do so. Not that Baldy actually ordered coffee, its just cool that he had the power to do so at his whim. If you read through the volumes of nerd technobabble that has been created to canonize every insignificant fucking detail of the innards of the USS Enterprise, the coffee is actually reconstituted shit that had its molecules rearranged. Those 24th Century greenie pacifists really know how to recycle!
5. High School and "College" All-Nighter Coffee
Inevitably, a teen high school or university show (Undeclared is recommended, by the way) will feature an episode that requires our hapless protagonist(s) to consume gross amounts of the sacred bean to keep them awake to complete an assignment they put off/study for a test they think they will fail/keep watch for the nasty old Dean or try to win some bizzare contest. I challenge you to write and direct a similar teen/young adult series that doesn't feature such an episode. Go on, do it.
And as we fondly wave upon our departed fictional coffee, we salute its beany, full-bodied contributions to television that have hitherto never been recognized. Raise your mugs in appreciation! Here's to you, TV Coffee!!!
*readers may or may not actually exist.
1. Central Perk
Not that Central Perk was a blend of coffee itself, it does merit mention as the setting for most "comical" transactions and latte-sipping amongst the long-running Friends, also a series of the same name. I guess once people realized that character development would never actually take place, they got Lisa Kudrow to typecast herself by making her play ditzy songs on a guitar she most evidently had no idea how to play for the amusement of white people everywhere.
2. Awkward Moments Coffee
Possibly the most remarkably uproarious blend of coffee ever "created" for sketch comedy is Rich Fulcher and Matt Berry's Awkward Moments Coffee, the special coffee for "those moments that are just too awkward for words." Whether you fire up a pot for walking in on your wife with another man, when you call a fat girl pregnant or tell a bloke "you like him like a brother", it's great joe! If Matt Berry beckoned me to purchase some with that sultry baritone of his, I'd drink it every fucking day - be it in awkward, tense or even slightly jovial situations regardless.
3. Duncan Hills Coffee
Popularized by metal monsters Dethklok, Duncan Hills Coffee is, as front man Nathan Explosion says, "blacker than the blackest black times infinity", which would be absolute advertising gold if Duncan Hills Coffee ever decided to actually exist. Not that metalheads would ever substitute coffee for beer, however. Although, something tells me if a cartoon death metal vocalist they routinely quoted told them to, they would. Until then, Scream. For your cream.
4. Star Trek "Replicator" Coffee
In the "popular" "science-fiction" series Star Trek: The Next Generation, food and beverages could materialize out of thin air when a bald man in a jumpsuit commanded a hole in the wall to do so. Not that Baldy actually ordered coffee, its just cool that he had the power to do so at his whim. If you read through the volumes of nerd technobabble that has been created to canonize every insignificant fucking detail of the innards of the USS Enterprise, the coffee is actually reconstituted shit that had its molecules rearranged. Those 24th Century greenie pacifists really know how to recycle!
5. High School and "College" All-Nighter Coffee
Inevitably, a teen high school or university show (Undeclared is recommended, by the way) will feature an episode that requires our hapless protagonist(s) to consume gross amounts of the sacred bean to keep them awake to complete an assignment they put off/study for a test they think they will fail/keep watch for the nasty old Dean or try to win some bizzare contest. I challenge you to write and direct a similar teen/young adult series that doesn't feature such an episode. Go on, do it.
And as we fondly wave upon our departed fictional coffee, we salute its beany, full-bodied contributions to television that have hitherto never been recognized. Raise your mugs in appreciation! Here's to you, TV Coffee!!!
*readers may or may not actually exist.
26.4.08
Asleep With the Lights On
Saw Porcupine Tree at the Palace Theater - well, the Metro - you can change an extensional meaning to anything you like, but it won't stop people calling it something else. Steven Wilson is like a almighty shredding monk from the Borough. Serene, yet volatile. The band played some almighty riffs, exciting the mostly metal-based crowd, fascinated by his work (presumably) he has done with Opeth and possibly OSI and Orphaned Land. ORWarrioR is hotly anticipated in my books!Went out for Kount Kris™ Midnite Curry, which is delicious as always, as are the conversations. I think my studies on general semantics and such have really sort of coalesced now. I'm also quite proud of myself for lifting myself up and getting my journalism career up and running. (The interview with Dillinger Escape Plan went well, but I could barely understand anything he was saying!) I just gotta figure out my next move on this front though.
I was watching Season 2 of Man Stroke Woman the other day and it really struck me how deceptively simple the humor was. If you watch the clip below, its sort of like a long, drawn out train wreck: British style. One of the fundamental essences of British humor is faux pas and what would seem to be gross breaches of etiquette (Don't mention the war, Major) and another is laughing at another's misery. Listen to the dialog (I know - humor analyzed is no longer funny) and the sting in the tail, there's actually nothing really "funny" about it.
5.4.08
Crackling With Power Below
Where do I begin?
After a week that relentlessly dragged on, Catch and I took it upon ourselves to see the Bill Hicks "tribute" show, Slight Return at the Comedy Festival. Done with consuming the only food in town that should have been condemned by the Department of Human Services but wasn't, we strapped ourselves in for a night of intricately crafted mannerisms, vituperative angst and freewheeling social commentary, delivered in what was only thought to be the inimitable Hicks style. His arrogance wasn't misplaced, he was damn good at what he did. Catch and I decided to kick on to the Arthouse. However, we elected that $12 to see Fuck...I'm Dead wasn't worth the price of admission. So a short trip up to the Queensberry Hotel was in order.
After settling into a few beers, we ventured upstairs where a few patrons were sitting, seemingly minding their own business. We drank on, reminiscing and talking shit as we do. Then a few more people showed up. None took any notice of us. Then even more. Music started blaring. A couple had started to hand over presents to a certain individual...We had crashed someone's party by stealth. After quickly rectifying some irrational thoughts, I decided to make a night of it. Luckily, we introduced ourselves to some of the crowd, posturing ourselves as if we belonged to the fringes of some social group and eventually the Birthday Boy himself. (I even bought him a drink! His name was Tim.) I had to feign some memory of my high school days, as people I apparently shared four years of classes with recognized myself and Catch, surprised to see us at Tim's 21st.
Yeah, and so were we!
I'm discontinuing the "numbers game" after a rather in-depth and insightful conversation with Erin. BUT! Here's my final score:
23/0 (With 13 days remaining.)
Also: Get your hands on this week's copy of Buzz Magazine! Whoever wrote the article on the front page is a genius! (I hope I don't get sick...but I'm on my way, unfortunately.)
After a week that relentlessly dragged on, Catch and I took it upon ourselves to see the Bill Hicks "tribute" show, Slight Return at the Comedy Festival. Done with consuming the only food in town that should have been condemned by the Department of Human Services but wasn't, we strapped ourselves in for a night of intricately crafted mannerisms, vituperative angst and freewheeling social commentary, delivered in what was only thought to be the inimitable Hicks style. His arrogance wasn't misplaced, he was damn good at what he did. Catch and I decided to kick on to the Arthouse. However, we elected that $12 to see Fuck...I'm Dead wasn't worth the price of admission. So a short trip up to the Queensberry Hotel was in order.
After settling into a few beers, we ventured upstairs where a few patrons were sitting, seemingly minding their own business. We drank on, reminiscing and talking shit as we do. Then a few more people showed up. None took any notice of us. Then even more. Music started blaring. A couple had started to hand over presents to a certain individual...We had crashed someone's party by stealth. After quickly rectifying some irrational thoughts, I decided to make a night of it. Luckily, we introduced ourselves to some of the crowd, posturing ourselves as if we belonged to the fringes of some social group and eventually the Birthday Boy himself. (I even bought him a drink! His name was Tim.) I had to feign some memory of my high school days, as people I apparently shared four years of classes with recognized myself and Catch, surprised to see us at Tim's 21st.
Yeah, and so were we!
I'm discontinuing the "numbers game" after a rather in-depth and insightful conversation with Erin. BUT! Here's my final score:
23/0 (With 13 days remaining.)
Also: Get your hands on this week's copy of Buzz Magazine! Whoever wrote the article on the front page is a genius! (I hope I don't get sick...but I'm on my way, unfortunately.)
8.3.08
Retire Already
I did my interview with the intriguing Bob Schmidt of Flogging Molly. Nice bloke, a man of passion and conviction. I should be doing my write up soon.
Last night, my old mate Catchy (who is also embarking on a personal development project akin to my own) took me to the Comics Lounge. I have never seen such a thorough validation of the question: "If you put a hack in a comedy club, does that make him a comic?" I revile snobbery, but this performance was so intellectually dim, it actually laid my critical faculties into dormancy.
Russell Gilbert was the emcee for the night. Completely and utterly loathsome, his attempted quick-witted observations were merely statements of fact glossed over with puerile semi-shocking antics, making him seem all the more desperate for a laugh. He recycled moribund material, expecting us not to know any better, and when murmurs indicated imminent tanking, he resorted to shoving cigarettes up his nose. A truly crass and horrible man. He even hugged me. I can't wash the stain of his cigarette-tarred breath from my mind. The only standout was an Indonesian comic who was the only one that didn't devolve into dick jokes or cliche for a quick laugh. I said to Catch after the show, "If that girl took you up on that date (I was his backup, you see) she would never ever talk to you again."
According to the website, Russell Gilbert is:
I can assure you, he is none of those things. I am very much looking forward to the Comedy Festival this year. You know, because I know whoever I'll end up seeing will actually be funny.
Last night, my old mate Catchy (who is also embarking on a personal development project akin to my own) took me to the Comics Lounge. I have never seen such a thorough validation of the question: "If you put a hack in a comedy club, does that make him a comic?" I revile snobbery, but this performance was so intellectually dim, it actually laid my critical faculties into dormancy.
Russell Gilbert was the emcee for the night. Completely and utterly loathsome, his attempted quick-witted observations were merely statements of fact glossed over with puerile semi-shocking antics, making him seem all the more desperate for a laugh. He recycled moribund material, expecting us not to know any better, and when murmurs indicated imminent tanking, he resorted to shoving cigarettes up his nose. A truly crass and horrible man. He even hugged me. I can't wash the stain of his cigarette-tarred breath from my mind. The only standout was an Indonesian comic who was the only one that didn't devolve into dick jokes or cliche for a quick laugh. I said to Catch after the show, "If that girl took you up on that date (I was his backup, you see) she would never ever talk to you again."
According to the website, Russell Gilbert is:
"[I]s one of the country’s hardest-working comedians. The veteran star of television, radio and stand-up comedy is always switched on, upbeat and effervescent when it comes to performing – and is excited about taking a leap into the singing arena."
I can assure you, he is none of those things. I am very much looking forward to the Comedy Festival this year. You know, because I know whoever I'll end up seeing will actually be funny.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)