God showed me an acrobat who dreams of being a clown to remind me that I live in the most beautiful of poems.
There is one thing about comedy that makes my skin itch. Neutrality. Like khaki pants and dry turkey sandwiches, I just gotta ask why.
This could be my Berkeley brainwash, but I think the mass rewards of formula and structure lead to a lot of mass boring (i.e. almost every buddy cop comedy, except for the one with Jimmy Fallon and Queen Latifah because what). I would say that all the people who have had the largest impact on me as a writer and performer are very unapologetic about the lens in which they view the world. I find that so refreshing, inspiring and captivating. Hubert Selby Jr., Lucille Ball, a scientologist wanting to give me a stress test. All fascinating. May we never settle!
- What people from other states look like
- How bad my sense of geography really is — I think this is a general Californian problem, or a specific Los Angeles Unified School District Problem.
- If your parents are priests, you are going to blow my mind
- No one on The X-Factor is even vaguely cool, but everyone on The Voice is way cooler than me. Is there a singing show for averagely cool people? What about averagely cool people that can only kind of sing?
- You can come back 10 years later and be on a reality show about losing weight (Ruben Studdard)
- I know how to spell Ruben Studdard without looking it up
- America, we have seemingly infinite talent, but also seemingly infinite distalent
- If your child/roommate/love interest/ potential love interest (PLI) can’t sing, PLEASE TELL THEM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE
- I love judging people, even though I pretty much can’t sing well at all
Self-identity nouns should be given great weight. Like more weight than those things our grandparents used to keep papers from flying away on a desk of whichever mid-century school of design was their preference.
One of my generation’s most gratuitous self-identity nouns is “foodie.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen the following Twitter bios:
Writer, Dog-Lover, Foodie
Packers Fan, Aspiring Cellist, Foodie
Stripper, Pop Star, Foodie
Died last Tuesday, Foodie
You know that really intense almost physical reaction you have to seeing a cute kitten or puppy? The opposite of that
I feel like one needs to reach a certain level of commitment and experience to something before using it as a self-identity word. I’m not saying you need to publish a best-selling novel or land an internship at an easy beach-read mag like The Economist, but if writing is what your soul breathes, you are a writer.
I read this article that introverts are more likely than extroverts to only identify as one thing. So this could be my personality dictating my opinion (OMG BRAIN, FREE WILL), but I think in order to be brilliant at anything you have to be pretty aggressive about it, leaving little time for being considerably above average at anything else. This means that maybe we can only truly have one self-identity noun that is skill-based at a time. That means that maybe we shouldn’t waste it on “foodie” unless your soul craves good food above all else.
As a side note, I appreciate good food. It’s just not my word.
Sometimes I might think in sevens. A top five list would be oppressive and a top 10 list would be phony. Today, I think in ones.
Let’s be honest, if you have an online journal, or like, if you have a pulse and breathe occasionally, you’ve probably been bullied. There have been some great anti-bully campaigns in the past few years, but like we still have a cross country trip where Titanic plays on repeat to make it feel like an even longer journey than it already is.
As someone who possibly takes comedy too seriously, I take offense to the term “making fun” because a joke with cruel intentions is hardly worth the breath it took to deliver it. I say possibly too seriously because it’s probably true, but also to point out that I, too, have flaws.
Basically, this is a blog post about how astonishingly cruel people are to Khloe Kardashian. In the context of celebreality she is arguably the best person. Just because she is rich and famous, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. No matter what a person’s socioeconomic status or background doesn’t mean anyone has the right to be actively cruel to anyone else. And don’t even get me started on people who pick on the mentally unstable a la Lindsay Lohan and Amanda Bynes. Maybe I am a sucker and a bleeding heart, but I find empathy to be perhaps the greatest super power other than flying.
You just discovered music a few years ago and you’re trying to figure out your type before you make any regrettable decisions. Which band is special enough? Will it be memorable? I hope I don’t walk out with PBR on my brand new white Adidas. There is something pure about your first concert and the associated questions you ask yourself before making a decision.
The summer between 7th and 8th grade, I went with my best friend and her family to drop off her older sister off at art camp. Her older sister was super cool (spoiler alert: she now dates a bald politician). She had a purple room when I had to beg my parents for years to paint mine light yellow. She had magazines I had never heard of haphazardly tossed onto shelves that were not necessary straight or symmetrical. My room had American Girl books on a fancy wood shelf/desk combo that matched my sleigh bed and my nightstands. She drove a used car named Manuel because everything in it was manual. I would carefully plot what three songs I would listen to on my Zune during the morning carpool.
But above all, she played the cello. Twelve year-old me thought that was rad, college graduate me is decidedly less sure about that opinion. When your sibling isn’t necessarily the coolest, sometimes you gotta live vicariously through your best friend’s sibling.
On the ride there, my best friend and I were talking about how excited we were to see Weezer the following month and how cool and experienced we would sound when we got to high school. Concerts? Yeah, we got to them all the time. Maybe we would even be able to give advice about them.
We arrived at the camp and looked around in awe and jealousy. There was a family dinner after everyone settled in to thank the parents for their help and to serve as a goodbye. The dinner consisted mostly of the art campers trying their hardest to avoid eating dinner with their families, like most solid goodbyes.
The evening culminated with a surprise concert of a mediocre four piece jazz band. I spent the whole time thinking, noooooooo — does this count? I never expected my first time to be at art camp. Is having Kool-Aid on my shoes somehow worse than cheap beer? Will I be rewarded for sitting through this with dessert?
I am still not sure if that first time counted, but at minimum it was memorable
I am two months shy of two years pursuing being an actor and all I got was this lousy picture of me crushing Jim Rash’s head at the coffee shop by my apartment. Strangely enough, he is sitting at the exact table where, in a moment of absolute grace, my computer received an Americano to the keys. I’ve come a long way since then — I now use a desktop that I cannot take to coffee shops and drop and/or spill things on. You guys, prevention.
This past month since I graduated iO (Formerly known as Improv Olympic), has been intense, and weird and a total beginning of another act in my journey. I had this clarity moment the morning of house team auditions where I ended up at the farmer’s market by my house, which I never go to, and I saw someone with a delicious looking burger, which I never eat. It was one of those places that gives you a sheet and you check off what toppings (condiments? what’s the right word for burger accessories? Burgessories, let’s go with that) and the very Venice, very hippie guy interrupted his conversation with someone about how purple potatoes are the only non-genetically modified potatoes to tell me that they also had Strawberry BBQ Sauce.
My immediate response was “I’ll make my own box, why spend life living in other people’s boxes?”
I got a lol and a right on, but all I was thinking about was how auditioning for a house team was auditioning to be in someone else’s, albeit a great, beautiful and tasty, box. iO is like the caramelized onions of burgessories and I think I am more of the quirky and maybe a little less universally pleasing Strawberry BBQ sauce. I also have red hair, so …
I am sort of in that “what next?” period of my comedic life. I moved out here wanting to be a writer and a performer, like IDK, Jim Rash. Or Mindy Kaling or Lena Dunham. I’d also like to be like Peter O’Toole. Peter O’Toole meets Mindy Kaling. Peter O’Toole meets Mindy Kaling in Venice Beach, CA and they decide to take up contemporary jazz dancing together — the buddy comedy. I’d like to write/act on/for TV, because sitcoms are the short stories of the silver screen.
Eventually, I would like a stranger to take a picture of themselves crushing my head, if only because one of the main points of being an artist is trying to tell as many people as you possibly can that you’re weird. And if I am going to expose my weird in a big way, I want to do it in my own box. It’s uncomfortable to write about wanting big things, but I work really hard, and that’s the best that I can do to get there. My goal for the next year is to finish my 100ish-page work and get more experience with scripted acting in addition to keeping up the auditions. Push forward in an effort to be propelled up.
Or at least I am one, technically.
See me tonight at iO West in The Loft at 8pm with my baller 3-(wo)men team, The Heathers. If you’re busy tonight, that’s OK because my very talented and quirky improv team, Richard’s Kittens has a show tomorrow night (Sunday 5/26) in the DCT at iO West.
Let’s do some make’m'ups and make’m'lol.
Also, just full confession, I have never seen the movie, The Heathers, but I was totally OK with the name because that was the name of Raja’s power clique in RuPaul’s Drag Race. I’ve seen a lot of movies, but I have notable holes in my movie education. See also: The Godfather. But, at least I’ve seen just about everything Peter O’Toole has ever done <3 <3 <3
To those of you not in the LA area, I love you and I am sending over some magic to make your BBQ taste extra good on Monday.
Anybody doing anything cool this weekend? I miss you guys, I will be coming back with a real post before the weekend is done.
Please share your tips and/or bits below!! <3
1. Sleep in
2. Blast “Come Sail Away” by Styx while you brush your hair until it gets way frizzy. End your hair brushing during the last major chorus, then use it as a microphone. Bonus points if you stay committed to the song even though the gardeners can hear you.
3. Wear mismatched clothes. It should be noted that I sometimes accidentally do this in real life. You know that conversation you see in movies where a mother makes her child change because her outfit is too revealing? I’ve had (and occasionally still have) that conversation with my mother, except instead of slutty clothes, it’s because I am doing a bad match job.
4. Make sure that it’s not the day the fire department comes and checks your smoke detectors. If it is, make brownies.
5. Consume as much food as you want without regard for the other c-word: calories
6. Sit around all day and watch Bill Murray movies. Realize it is your life goal to be in a Billy Murray movie. Turn off your phone, put a bunch of newspapers out front, double check that your front door is locked.
7. Try and fail at watching daytime TV because your television is way to complicated to turn on by yourself. Does anyone else have this problem?
8. Come out about your Facebook cover photo. A lot of people have been liking it because they think it’s a girl playing a specially-designed piano in bed, but I don’t think they know that that girl has polio. Awkward. I might keep that one to you guys. Shhh.
9. Make art out of your tissues, just make sure to recycle them by the time your roommates get home. Be sure to take a picture, so you can remember the good times you had with your used tissue pterodactyl.
10. Organize your shoes
11. Accidentally sneeze on your dog, be thankful for unconditional love, but make sure he knows that it wasn’t revenge for all the times he drooled on you.
12. Go on Twitter and see that James Franco called your friend an offensive name, get strangely excited. For the record, he called your friend “A Faceless (the real c-word) that can suck my d***” Oh, James Franco.
13. Post your journal for the day to your blog