A Warm Day, Thoughts on Comedy, and a Long Story Regarding Spaghetti

Today was the first warm, sunny day in what seemed like a long, long while. I spent most of it outside. It was pleasant and refreshing, and it seemed like the outside world was becoming sane and habitable again. It all came crashing down on my return when I get about a block from my apartment building and see this stupid muscled cocksucker in a pair of shorts and t-shirt with the collar popped straight toward heaven. I use to believe there was no heaven, that all that was bullshit. Surely that starchy towering piece of cloth now proved I was wrong. It was a signal post to an unreality. I was hoping his fucking sandals would land him tits-up on the ice, just to return the day to its former pleasantness.

I had a doctor's appointment this morning, routine thing, but was in an old hospital here in the city I don't think I'd ever been to. I was early, so I spent some time exploring and gawking at the sick people who passed me by. God, hospitals; what shitty places they are. The whole place reeked of piss and failure. I gave them my info at the desk and was directed toward the waiting area. This mannequin was positioned in a seat in front of the TV, which blared a pointless local morning news show. Just then, the mannequin moved and revealed herself to be a little old lady wearing hospital PJs. It was easier when I could pretend she wasn't real. She just sat, emotionless, staring at the TV in those green draping clothes. I felt bad for her.

I've been trying to figure out ways to get out and do more things, increase my social groupings and broaden horizons, sexy female ones. And also find new and interesting perspectives to keep things interesting. I'm been going to a few of the Yuk Yuk shows on amateur night. Mostly entertaining, and I really feel for a few of the performers, 'cause that's got to be tough scary shit. Or I imagine it is initially, but I'm giving it a hook anyway. Maybe in a couple of weeks. Let the confidence cultivate. Pour some beer on there, add some fertilizer or whatever venom I seem to be fueled by that particular day.

There was one bad experience at Yuk Yuk's. It was amateur night, but the place was packed. And not only packed, but packed with frat boy douchebags who, like fucking clockwork, would drunkenly nuzzle the necks of their blonde supermodel dates (swap this act with drunkenly mumbled retorts at the comedian's punchline, "yeah you don even have a tha much hair", and you have the whole picture). I didn't realize it before I got in, but there was to be a "real" comic that night. That made the show twice as long, and I can only drink so much of that Coors Light crap (I like my lady beer to be at least Keiths). Skipping to the end for a second, I was initially impressed with the final act. He was indeed a professional. But his material quickly plummeted into an R-rated Ray Romano act that revolved around his kids. The guy had his moments, but he lost me completely by the nineteenth utterance of "yes sir, everything changes when you have kids." So many jokes about all shit you can't do after having kids. No fucking shit genius. I felt like screaming, "IT WAS A REALLY POOR DECISION FOR YOU AN YOUR WIFE TO HAVE CHILDREN!" Alright, let me back up a bit now.

The worst part of the evening, for me anyway, was one of the acts. It would be callous and awful of me to slag the kid off. I don't have an end to that sentence. So, the guy has some sort of physical disability, which I simply don't condone. Just kidding! Boy, I had you there! So anyway the guy slowly approaches the stage and I think to myself, "uh oh", because, you know, I'm a prick! So the kid gets up there and already I'm checking my pockets for the suicide pill my mind was trying to conjure. For many uncomfortable minutes the young gentleman's act, his shtick, was that he has a disability. And as a disabled person, he notices funny observations regarding his disability and how people treat him. It was a little bit brutal and dehumanizing; not for him, because his timing was great, he was a good performer, and he seemed to be generally enjoying himself. Maybe I was reflecting it all back on me. There I was in the audience, watching an entire room with clap-shaped hands and laughter steadily at the ready, waiting patiently until each sentence finished so they could deafen the room with their acknowledgments of acceptance. But then halfway through the act he actually had some jokes and I came to admire him a little bit, and the feeling of pitty for him and residual self-loathing for me lifted. If I ever get up there, my goal is to bond with the audience with carefully plotted bits that say the things I wanna say. And maybe I'll get something back from them. That does does not involve ignoring disability; there simply isn't place or room for it. My goal is not to make the audience "comfortable" with a person with a specific disability, nor is it to "educate" and send the message that "hey, I'm different, but that's ok, let's all be insincere and hug and make jokes even though in the real world you all know i have a really hard time getting blow jobs!" But again, that's me, and that wasn't overall what that dude did. I just have my hang-ups. And hey, at least the motherfucker is up there trying and putting his balls on the line and here I am behind a keyboard with mine resting underneath.

Tomorrow I'm going to make a short film about shirts. It will be called "Shirts". I'm going to eat spaghetti now.

Michael

Rejection of sentimentality amid an ever present lurking doom OR great big titties!

Friends, it pains me to write this, because I have to turn off the music. And It was a good song too. I just don't have the attention span to do two things at once. Unless of course those two things include drinking and swearing at the TV. In that sequence. Not very original, but I'm quite good at it and you tend to stick with what you know. Seriously, there should be a fucking award.

But I haven't been watching TV, as I've led my cable happily out to pasture. That is a poetic way of saying I took it out back and blew it's fucking brains out. And that is a bullshit way of admitting I didn't pay my bill. But my drinking has thinned out a bit, not drastically, but enough so that I don't need that previously refreshing warm-beer swig in the morning.

So my heart nearly exploded last week. Maybe it didn't, but it nearly did and I like to think of it that way. Very graphic, with a nice visual to go along.

I'm not so conceited that I'll bother boring you with the specific dramatic details of a recent “episode”, in spite of its apparent seriousness. But it seems my recent years of self-abuse (not a masturbation joke, but I'll do my best to work one in later) and overall apathy to my personal unhappiness has led to some recent health issues. Ugghhh. "Health Issues." Imagine: me! Sure, my bones have the tensile strength of a Cheeto, but that’s merely a character flaw. I never get sick, get the flu or a cold (hangovers don’t count), tend to heal faster than anyone I know, and am immune to cancer and AIDS (I assume). But over the past two years I’ve developed "anxiety".

I've started having panic attacks. Mild ones, last year. Then they got more frequent, and physically worse. I had some sort of said-“episode” on Feb 13 where I freaked out for no reason and my heart started beating around 170 beats for nearly three hours. A total riot. Lots of fun. Didn’t think at all that I was done for. Nope. Anyway, my stomach is slightly fucked at the moment, but will likely heal or be repaired surgically. So that had something to do with it. But come on, anxiety? Me? And panic attacks? I'm not an asshole (debatable), I can be pleasant where general kindness and decency is required-- but weakness disgusts me. Disgusts me. Completely. Sorry. I’ll leave you to work out on your own how that makes you feel. And now I’m one of you whiny cocksuckers.

So I've stayed in my little rut, my little very well-paying sort-of-doable-lets-me-live-in-a-nice-place fucking rut because of my own laziness, but I guess I never really cared enough to change, to get away and do the things that really matter to me and make me feel alive, or whatever the hell you call it. But this panic stuff, this utter common nonsense, it’s awful. It’s like some little scrap of what’s left of my soul is kicking me in the brain and the heart and the balls (“the big three”) and going, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! (They all speak English and are well versed in profanity). I think that’s what it is. This panic attack nonsense, an epiphany beyond the tangy surreal to the merely physical.

Have I subconsciously, almost in a comatose state led myself to believe that my life will continue within the soul-crushing confines of those dumb yellow walls and predictable-everything. What thoughts, what offensive predictable horseshit! Surely everyone feels that way about their shitty jobs or their current places in life. I’ve bitched and moaned about it dozens of times, that old fucking scratchy record. Like one of those toothless old geezers who’s realized he’ll be in that cranberry silo for the rest of his life, but then goes, “Meh”. Or, perhaps more apt, one of those horrid Cape Breton girls who, by the time they turn 25, realize they’re just slightly older that any of the other kids in the bar, and thus are relinquished to repeat the dastardly sentiment to everyone around them at all times, thereby hoping the decree will allow their peers and the general public to know that, even though they may not be 19 and “wild” anymore, they have at least graduated to that next all important chronological level of greatness, and that they are “too old for that” (“that” being any type of fun or anything cool ever; translation: “I’m a have me a baby!”) . None of that had anything to do with anything. I just hate those fucking people.

Bah, but everything I just typed can be dismissed as more panicky bullshit. I’ve got a little time off work now. So maybe I can get off my self-important ass and do something with my absurd little life. Make some more friends. Drink a little less. Make some effort. Give the stand-up comedy a try. Finish the pilot with my friend and finally write the best TV show ever. Reserve my disdain for only those who are rude and wear their collars “popped.” It’s all been said before. Oh yes, you’ve heard it many times. But now it’s a little different. Now, I have a doctor’s note that says, “Michael is fucked up. He will be away for a month.”

Let’s see what happens.

P.S. I promise, dear reader (assuming you exist), that the next post (likely during the 2nd quarter of 2009), will be much more positive. And by positive I mean really, really negative, but joyfully so! And now if you excuse me I have to go jerk off.

Email I sent to a friend

The following email reply was a inspired by my friend Beth and her excellent brains:

It is with great restraint that I send this to only those people who I know, Michelle and ******, and not everyone on the sent list, because I don’t know them, but I have to reply to this insane forward in some way. Chalk it up to me being a jerk or what not, but I am in awe that this is from one of my friends who I respect and I need to comment.

>>This morning when the Lord opened a window to Heaven, He saw me, and He asked: "My child, what is your greatest wish for today?" I responded: "Lord please, take care of the person who is reading this message, their family and their special friends. They deserve it and I love them very much. "The love of God is like the ocean, you can see its beginning, but not its end.

>>This message works on the day you receive it. Let us see if it is true. ANGELS EXIST but some times, since they don't all have wings, we call them FRIENDS. Pass this on to your true friends. Something good will happen to you at 11:11 in the evening; something that you have been waiting to hear.

>>Do not break this prayer; send it to a minimum of 5 people. Thanks and have a wonderful day.

What kind of holier than bullshit is this? How much personal satisfaction might one reasonably gain from wishing random readers the oh so special love of god? Do we need the separate step? Don’t most people by nature have an ingrained, almost instinctive need to take care of one another uniquely human level? And the small portion of the human population who don’t, well, that’s fine too.

Let's say for a minute that Christianity is NOT the fraudulent culmination of myths and stories based on much older pagan rituals and practices, and let's pretend that the bible WASN’T written by men over hundreds of years and altered over and over to suit the whims of kings and monarchs in control, and let's say there IS a man in the sky with superpowers who wants you to follow TEN simple rules and if you don't you'll burn in eternal hellfire but HE LOVES YOU, and although he is creator of all things, omnipotent and beyond all fallacy, he needs you to worship him on a daily basis and give money to his priests so they can keep up with the sexy boy recruitment program that seems to be working so well. Ok, let's say this is all substantiated concretely. We’ve gotten photographic proof of Jesus and had a tour of his personal spaceship.

Do we really need to continually look so far outside ourselves, to sentimental nonsense that somehow validates what we don't understand or simply cannot accept about the realities of life? Surely if you think about it just a little bit, you might naturally come to the conclusion that need to believe in something so delusional is completely about individual comfort. How is being devoutly "Christian" and believing in Angels any different than being an alcoholic? It is desperation in search of solace, which is not inherently bad. It just tends to lead to hating women and starting wars.

If someone says, hey my buddy Jim can fly and heal ugly people, your natural gut reaction is skepticism. Same thing if you hear about a UFO sighting on the news, you go “that’s absurd.” Yet when people talk about this superstitious bullshit about Heaven and Angels, their brains just shut down and they go, “Oh yeah, totally, Angels, right on.” What the fuck? Because it’s nice, it makes me feel nice, I’d like to think someone is watching over me, you can’t understand my pain, etc. Alright, that’s fine. Now let me fasten that last buckle on that pretty white, long-armed jacket. If you subscribe to this stuff, then, I dunno, maybe you subconsciously believe you are unique, special, and chosen, and that society functions through the frivolous predestined actions of some club run by some figurehead and his sinless sheep. I guess I never understood how anyone could possibly learn anything about life, or about people, history, intentions, love, hate, how things work, when they ACTIVELY PRETEND and believe there is a path to “moral salvation” through the gibberish of some old book that we wrote. It’s a petty rant, I just can’t stop asking myself “IS EVERYONE INSANE OR JUST STUPID?”

Mike

P.S. Special thanks to George Carlin and David Cross, you are the wind betwixt my nethers.

Now is your chance to dance

I saw Windom Earle last night at Reflections. Man it was awesome. So full of energy and other musical delights. I was rocking this way and that, it was so fun. I tried talking to some dudes after the show and it was awkward. Felt like a junior high sock hop all over again. At least they weren't wearing those Von Douche trucker hats. I wanna connect with people but I never like talking to someone unless it's about something that excites me, otherwise it's this massive chore. It's a terrible quality in a fella.

For the importance of reiteration: Windom Earle kicked my tits off.

I have been writing a script since February for a project I've been wanting to write for a few years. I never had the ambition to actually put it to paper for fear of it being too self-indulgent. But I've become comfortable with the fact that it is in no other way exactly that, intentionally so, and lends itself perfectly to the story I wanna tell. Also there is this character called Edward Insano, which is the origin of that name I use for everything. I like it, but I may change it later on because I would be weary of sounding too much like Donnie Darko.

I bought a big TV and am now one of those people. Mark Palermo came over and we watched The Curse of the Phantom's Menace, also known as Star Wars Negative Integer 1. It was better than I remembered. It sucks that a supposed space fun fantasy flick has to be bogged down with political rhetoric and awful dialogue, but was still enjoyable because of Liam Neeson's awesome screen presence as Qui Gon Jinn. Man I love him in that movie. Every other character can fuck off.

Interesting chat transcript where I'm articulate but ignoring the real world

Person says:
Did you see my gay friend *** on Tuesday?
Edward Insano says:
yeah but i was in a hurry
Edward Insano says:
so i told him to frig off
Person says:
did he run after your bum?
Edward Insano says:
Person, i'm sorry but you know that guy is a cock smoker who longs to be free
Person says:
he's not
Person says:
he's a man whore
Edward Insano says:
no, he is
Person says:
He made out with 2 different chicks at a party on Friday night
Edward Insano says:
so what?
Edward Insano says:
you think if a guy fucks 50 girls it makes him straight? wake up man
Person says:
He would come out if he was
Edward Insano says:
doubt it, with all the jokeyness
Person says:
Did you do anything exciting last night?
Edward Insano says:
no. i'm having a shitty week.
Person says:
Why?
Edward Insano says:
i need you to come over here and entertain me
Person says:
what's wrong?
Edward Insano says:
nothings wrong
Person says:
then why is your week so shitty?
Edward Insano says:
because everything is boring and annoying
Person says:
2 people are making out in the hallway
Edward Insano says:
are they both girls?
Person says:
no
Person says:
a hot girl and a scrawny fuck
Edward Insano says:
fuck
Person says:
I had a dream the other night that we went to Cape Breton together
Edward Insano says:
then we both beat up *** until he admitted he likes man-ass
Person says:
no
Person says:
we had a fun drive though
Person says:
we drove the whole way in our underwear
Edward Insano says:
you have great dreams
Edward Insano says:
i think too much. yet i'm not very quick. what's that all about. i am paranoid.
Person says:
What are you paranoid about?
Edward Insano says:
thought control.
Person says:
explain
Edward Insano says:
my core problem is that i spend ridiculous amounts of time analyzing the things i think about, as i think of them. it's very insane. for the last couple of years i have been trying to organize and properly package everything i perceive in my known reality, so there can be little room for unimportant contemplation for things that aren't relevant to me or are meaningless
Edward Insano says:
i am trying to understand everything, but my own self doubt and self consciousness is getting in the way, that's why i think i may be afraid of continuing to do daring creative stuff.
Edward Insano says:
and also, in my head, i ramble on in long passages like the one above when i REALLY know that all i need to do is relax and keep making efforts and keep moving forward and stop being a lazy turd
Edward Insano says:
sorry, i'm done.
Person says:
wow
Person says:
You think a lot too so you must be pretty busy upstairs
Person says:
I have no idea what to say to you
Edward Insano says:
it's all very silly, but do you see how this kind of silliness is impractical and stops me from doing things
Person says:
What kind of things do you want to do but don't because of this?
Edward Insano says:
just 'cause someone has a blistering unending loop of contemplation it doesn't make them any smarter
Edward Insano says:
well, talk to people, interact, be sincere, write things, film things, organize things.... this could also be a distraction to the simple fact that i have great difficulty being motivated and that i'm lazy
Person says:
I don't think you're lazy
Edward Insano says:
but you need ambition to make yourself do things right? frg rhg trhtyhu tj
Edward Insano says:
think maybe i'll do a little jig to take my mind off my mind
Person says:
If you don't like things, ie your job, you're not going to have any ambition to do it
Person says:
I procrastinate when it is something I hate
Person says:
I work around it so that I don't have to do it until it absolutely has to be done
Edward Insano says:
that's true... but what about writing? it is the thing i am best at, i have great fun doing it and let's be honest it's fun to impress people so they think you're clever and smart and hey i'm all for that...
Edward Insano says:
i need a punch in the nuts
Person says:
no you don't
Person says:
Do you like your job more this year than previous years?
Edward Insano says:
yes, but i would replace the word like with "more tolerable”
Person says:
What is your dream job?
Edward Insano says:
i dunno, at first i would say screen writer, or comedy writer or something, then actor, then video game tester, then graphic artist/animator, then guy who goes down on lonely super models
Edward Insano says:
what is your dream job?
Person says:
At least you know what you want to do
Person says:
I have no clue
Person says:
I have no experience in anything
Person says:
If I lose this job, I pretty much have to go to school and do something
Edward Insano says:
i haven't even fucking GRADUATED.

Monsters from the Sea

I had a dream about an giant sea creature last night and experienced a feeling of terror in its purest form. I remember having dreams like this when I was a kid. It is the idea of seeing something that is alien, but more importantly, something alive that is so enormous, something so ridiculously huge that to look upon it is to go completely mad.

I was on this rocky beach for some reason, all alone. I'm staring at the body of water. All of a sudden this form sort of slowly rises in a massive watery hump a mile up into the air, and I get this incomprehensible feeling of panic and am unable to move or think clearly. It sinks back down.

All of a sudden, these little sea monster heads, a hundred of them, all pop up out of the water, and they're all attached to this bigger thing. Then, to my extreme horror, this enormous snake-like head bursts out of the water, bigger than anything I can possibly imagine, and just stares at the other side of the lake, blank-faced, just motionless. I think it was the eyes that did it. They were like people eyes. Then I woke up.

"You're in trouble."

I got a call from my old friend from Cape Breton, the professor-turned-Jesus-loving douche bag.

Last Saturday night I was leaving a friend’s place and decided to grab a beer and catch the last bit of Matt Anderson’s set at Stayner’s. I was about to put head-to-pillow when my phone rang at 2AM...

“Mikey, Mikeeeey, what are ya doing? Shuttup, listen, I’m in town for a wedding and I need you to bring me all the liquor you have at your place!”

Now, being a complete fucking push-over, I fulfill his request. I’m so stupid. So I go, I get there, he’s needing all the attention in the world as always. His friend seemed like a nice guy though. Of course, he was treating that guy like crap too, it’s just what he does. Fortunately we get kicked out the yard where he and his friend are staying because the “wives” arrived home early. Before we headed to my place for some reason, the other guy’s wife says, “No more drinking, you’re in trouble with me, Mr.”

That was perhaps the worst thing I have ever heard a woman in her thirties say to her partner. What the hell kind of ancient garbage is that? I needed some time to process the statement. It was so absurd. How can you have any kind of relationship with a person who says “you’re in trouble?”

We get to my place; the idiot immediately goes and plasters my bathroom in a thick paste of vomit. I of course make his friend clean it up (the only intelligent thing I did that night). A few minutes later the dude goes, “I’m going home” and proceeds to run and jump off the fucking balcony (like 8 feet up). His friend follows and I go, “I’ll walk you guys home!” Of course they didn’t wait for me to get out of the lobby. They were gone.

It’s weird how people you think were really cool when you’re younger are just total dicks. Selfish, noisy dicks who only wanna entertain themselves.