[1203] Same Page

It’s 3 AM and I’m home from day 2 of the Limestone Comedy Festival in Bloomington, Indiana. Earlier today, I was at St. George Serbian Orthodox Church in Schererville where I was a pallbearer for my 45 year old cousin’s funeral. It was close to 3 AM that I arrived to the area driving up the night before, and after a viewing, church service, burial, and lunch, I made the drive back, finding myself exhausted and briefly/uncontrollably drifting lanes just before the Lafayette exit I was looking to pull over on to take a nap.

 

For what my decision to buy a VVIIPP badge for the 3-day event might’ve suggested would be a flatly “fun” weekend packed with “comedy,” my cousin’s death being the most obvious wrench in my expectations is not even what’s mostly on my mind. I learned more about him from his obituary and eulogy than I had ever heard/remembered family talking about. As a basic human, it’s sad when people die and I’m not coldly dismissive of what my aunt is going through or anyone else in my family. Especially because I’ve gotten older, I just don’t play along anymore than I have to.

 

I suppose, again, we arrive at the notion of “playing along.” To be sure, I will never “forgive” nor “forget” the horrible things my family have done to both my dad and step-mom, grandmother, or myself. These are thieves. These are liars. These are greedy, insecure, and angry children who, as recently testified to in my cousin’s death, are willing to let those in their orbit suffer for their lack of accountability. My dad is 1 of 4. They all got the same parents, and he managed to be the only one who didn’t find a way to mock the examples my grandparents were trying to set.

 

At the same time, as I can already sense this is sounding incredibly judgmental or callous, I don’t pretend that anyone is anything less than an animal first. I had this moment as they were lowering the lid to my cousin’s coffin where I just looked around the room and felt this lightness about the terrible and inhumane or exploitative shit the people in my family have done. There was a useful narrowing of focus and forced perspective as the sickly mouse-like face of my cousin descended into his coffin and I looked at the congregates hold back tears or stare just past where he laid.

 

There’s a certain poetry to the idea that I go straight from comedy festival to burial and then right back to festival. There’s a certain highlight that I, in spite of my best effort, would find myself flirting with death on the highway. You really do want to believe something about the bigger picture. I couldn’t escape the thought that the reason we have this whole lengthy procession is to distract us from the responsibility that is begged in thinking death is the end. What if my aunt simply failed her son? What if she’s continuing to fail her remaining one who is struggling deeply with alcoholism? Now now, fuck all that noise, we’re gonna hang out soon in heaven!

 

The comedy festival is feeling feeble. There’s plenty of funny people, but I’ve never felt more like an afterthought in buying the highest-tier badge for something. Maybe the System of a Down “VIP” tickets once, but this is right there for considerably less money. You don’t feel the energy. You don’t get the sense the ones who have been doing it for…12 years…have figured out the rhythm. Did you know I get reserved seats right up front for shows that haven’t sold 1/5th of the room? If 30 or 40 people got invited to it, why am I seeing the same hosts and features multiple times? It’s very first or second year energy. They told me my badge would look the "coolest." It’s the exact same badge as the VIP.

 

I’m exhausted by what feels like perpetual unreality. My family isn’t real. The competence and “love” of comedy by whomever organized Limestone isn’t either. It’s so many people playing along with some idea of what they think the thing “should” be. At lunch, my surviving alcoholic cousin and I get along in a weird way. His energy and my fluid acceptance of it did not match the pleasantries vibe at the table. He shakes. You thought he was going to drop each bowl of food as it was passed around. I recognized how important it was to him that he wasn’t babied as he still managed to serve himself without spilling or breaking anything. He’s dealing with real shit, including recently diagnosed cirrhosis of the liver. I gather he clocks me as someone willing to meet him where he’s at.

 

The comedy festival is interesting if only because it’s a majority female comics, and younger people than me. It’s like this weird little microchasm into the broader fucked up world of lonely fascist men steering us to Handmaid’s Tale-opia. Tonight was karaoke, and by 1:30AM, when the songs were done, it was 30 girls in mom jeans and 90s dad sneakers talking too-enthusiastically to each other as people like me I assume felt reasonable in not even thinking about hitting on any of them. Tomorrow, we can get brunch with the comics. From what I’ve gathered, they’re mostly comfortable talking/working within their fellow comic cohort and marketing themselves or playing friendly with the locals wasn’t quite explicated in their contracts. I don’t blame them.

 

When I first started writing this I felt this desire to get on the same page. I was going to just list the things I “individually” felt and thought “everyone” could kind of support or understand. Instead, I’ll take one thing, like sneezing and saying bless you, to illustrate my frustration. I think we need to be saying “bless you.” I don’t think it has anything to do with religion. I don’t think you’re remotely sane if you find it offensive. At least half the times I sneeze, I don’t get a bless you. Every time I hear a sneeze, I say bless you. We need things like that to save us from the individualized algorithms. We need social norms back. 30 funny creative women should not be meandering about a bar in a college town during a festival because they can’t trust any man because “toxic” is all they’ve known and men are no longer being properly socialized.

 

The ideals live and die with each of us. My grandparents set examples. They died with 3 out of 4 of their children. To me, that says you need to work 4 times as hard as you might assume initially to maintain whatever it is someone was showing you is worth maintaining. You think you worship Carlin, Pryor, Williams, and Chappelle? Create something, in 12 fucking years, someone like them would want to play at. Stop “doing comedy business” and seek and celebrate those with the message. If you want family, don’t perform and pretend like mine, hold the line of standards and respect for yourself and what you contribute to the pot of wellbeing.

 

I think there’s like 5 separate blogs in here, but I had to say something. I have to say something because, whether it’s 40 comedians or 3 days or acquaintances who only see each other at deaths, no one else is saying what needs to be said or what I need to hear to suggest we’ll ever find each other again.

[734] Dirt

Let's see what I think tonight. 

 

I'm at the end of a series of comedy specials. Today, the idea of “comedy special” feels pretty cheap. I wasn't in tears for 4 hours as each person relayed dark hysterical truths. I modestly enjoyed a handful of guys who told a few stories, told a few jokes, and occasionally phrased something in a way that got me to laugh. At the end of these shows, I watched a special on Richard Pryor. Pryor didn't just define the genre, he inspired and invigorated anyone who saw him. He did it alongside a host of marriages, addiction fallout, and the infamous fire stride, but he did it nonetheless.

 

It’s interesting to listen to people talk about someone who's gotten as big as you can get. The ones close enough that it's not a judgment no matter how dramatic things get. No matter how famous or rich or funny, people are people all the way through. They can go crazy. They can lose the thread and change into everything amazing or terrible with each passing day. The special ends with Pryor saying you didn't pick to come here and you sure as hell don't choose how you go out, so you better be having fun. He wishes when people see a picture of him they'll laugh, and that they'll remember him as part of a story.

 

I know that I'm always looking. I want the next laugh. I want to be surprised that I might start contemplating a tattoo of some character or source of inspiration. I want a way to translate my voice and intention into something that isn't whatever can be made into blogs. In my search, or, in relaying my search efforts, I get a lot of very specific feedback. It's never the kind I'm asking for, nor when I seek out specific input is anyone I've asked willing to provide it. This is in contrast to getting a laugh. Those are usually pretty easy for me. I can crack a joke or react in a moment in a way I cannot garner focus or attention towards things I take “seriously.”

 

That's kind of the joke. That's the universal irony. I deeply appreciate the capacity to sit back, take it all in, and find reasons to indulge, but that's only half the picture. I need a measure of specificity, intention, and honesty behind work. For some reason, when I decide to get stressed out or write something damming about how the world “works” I'm met with a ton of flippant condescension. My mood is diagnosed. The reasons I'm doing something are spelled out. Mind you, I wouldn’t find this so annoying if it was ever remotely correct. I'm not merely attention seeking, I'm not merely putting on a show. I don't have some secret underlying stress or guilt. I have very real topical practical things that should be able to be done or accomplished that I've run out of ways of figuring out how to do alone.

 

Consider, who gets off diagnosing your dreams? Can you think of a more ignorantly presumptuous thing? How do you even barely wrap your head around the crazy shit that can happen in them, then to relay almost barely half of it, and here people chime in with things about past lives or your fears. Get over yourself. I wrote about a dream where I watched the sun fall and break apart. Oncoming explosions made their way towards where I was standing. The only part of that dream that matters to me is that until I was absolutely sure those explosions were about to hit me did I bother to start running. I wasn't convinced, I doubted the distance, I considered that the sun can fall and break apart, but what the hell would that have to do with explosions heading towards me? It was probably a trick. Also, if this was the end, this is as good a time as any to rest easy and die quick.

 

I don't like what people are convinced of. I don't want to be a part of groups who are less “with it” than I am. Imagine being a comedian hanging with Pryor or Robin Williams and then finding yourself on a circuit for a year with a dozen PC-police types. Are they booking shows and technically comedians? Maybe. But they aren't your scene and you're not really getting what you need.

 

Here's a real world example. I started going out to the hippie gardener and intentional-living community meetings in town. 15-20 “alternative lifestyle” types gather in an overgrown garden to discuss their plans. It felt like the worst meeting of middle-school minds I could imagine. “What projects are we all working on?” This turned into a list of 25 titles of different organizations around town. All with disparate purposes and, apparently, a single person who knew anything about what they did. The one remotely tangible thing that was discussed to get done, building a barn, was brushed away, or, “openly embraced” as methodically as whatever else was mentioned. The next day when I asked one of the attendees what the take-away was, he said “to enhance the cooperation between the various groups we all belong to. Create greater complexity of network.”

 

Noticeably absent from his reply was any tangible steps for what that would look like. No phone calls, or regular meet-ups, or even a message board. We got together to say we should get together more.

 

Everywhere I witness the same things. A lack of leadership, basic facts or beliefs missing about the structures of how things run, and people on the verge of exploding covering up their pain and insecurities with the most ridiculous avoidance and placating language. People certainly aren't having fun. They're whining, they're clawing, they're broke, and they're hairy, but they're so afraid of being actually responsible for anything it's defer to safe personal spaces of do-gooder-adjacent-ish activities and pat each other on the back for being weird and not judging someone's proclivity for believing in the healing power of crystals (or some such other nonsense.)

 

You know why people can't get along? They don't want to. I don't want to like these people. I don't want to get used to their body odor. I don't want hear them talk about their communist affiliations or speak about their difficulties finding housing because they can't bring themselves to get a job that can afford said housing. I don't want to pick ticks out of my ass while 4 wanna-be nature boys pretend to know the name of a fucking tree in the yard.

 

One of the comedians I watched was Jerry Seinfeld. I'd never watched a special of his before. He didn't have the crazy upbringing. He's not an addict. He just wrote jokes, and more jokes, and more jokes, and went to where the people who where writing and telling jokes were 7 nights a week. Sitting on a ledge on his lunch break from breaking up concrete, he decided he wanted to be a comedian and has been riding the high of that culture ever since. That's something that makes sense to me. That's also something I've never really had.

 

I live in a time where everything is old and over-saturated, besides the actual truth. People don't want the truth on a good day, we're living under the spell of tyrannical populism and a strong-man mythos. So where do I fit? “Hey, not to be too much of a bother, but you people not only almost all showed up 45 minutes late, but you didn't even have a white board prepared.” That's a bad sign, because shit smells all the way through. When I say someone should lead the charge, I don't want to hear, “I disagree we need a traditional leadership structure.” Dude! You don't have a structure! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to diagnose how you get 20 people getting nothing done over a year but a single modest garden and dinner once a week.

 

I know I need to do it alone, and it's the most frustrating part. I know I'll need all the money I'm ever going to need. I need to dig every hole, plant every seed, and sweat every drop, by myself, occasionally my dad will pop in when he gets laid off. I can't join a group of children pretending to have a clue. I won't spin my wheels being part of such-and-such organization. I'm tired of sitting around if it doesn't at least contain progress on my shows and movies. People do not operate like me. They don't think about tomorrow when they've got “big plans” to add zucchini to the garden next year.

 

All of this is to say, I'm still alone. I've peaked into another stupid world, I'll probably waste a bit more of my time there, and then I'll retreat a few weeks later after a few more saved up paychecks, and make another down payment on my individual future and goals. I don't need to lose my mind to be funny, I wish I had something so enticing as to focus on it day in and day out, with people I admire and relate to, and in the meantime, I'll shuffle my “real world” job to the furthest depths of my attention, just above getting fired, watch my shows, do my reading, and dream. No one is coming. No one is even going to speak intelligently towards you regarding anything you even remotely care about. Stop pretending. And fuck them if they think you're too angry. They're too stupid and lazy to have a fucking clue in the first place.