A personal taste of Nelson de Gouveia

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I wake up to Louis CK…and I’m not ashamed of it.

in Comedy by
louis ck louie ck

I listen to Louis CK everytime I wake up.

For years, the sound I’ve used to play on my phone to wake up me up every morning has usually been the standard tones Apple adds preinstalled for the iPhones they’ve created…from the wistful yet semi-annoying “Bells”, to the utterly annoying and relationship-destroying “Radar” that, on many an occasion, an elbow has connected with my ribcage by an irate girlfriend who has already tolerated a few hours of my awful snoring.

 But then I discovered the ability to load Louis CK’s “Shameless” as an MP3 onto my phone to listen to, and that’s become my new wake-up call. Hearing the familiar white-noise HBO introduction, followed by a pattering of conversation before the announcer clears his throat and begins the performance with the familiar, “Ladies and gentlemen…Louis CK,” to thunderous applause.

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Why I’m a Full Time Comedian…in my spare time.

in Comedy by
full time comedian

You get off stage, having pummeled the crowd with joke after joke that kills, that murders, that slays. Backstage, you wipe your brow as the other acts pat your back and praise you for that quick turn when the heckler almost threw you off-course from the journey of self-exploration you were taking the audience through.

This is your job, this is what you live for.

And that’s the vision I see most comedians that have pursued our line of work full-time experience many evenings as a full-time comedian.

Back at the farm, while the young comics emerging into the crowd open-mic circuit trying their luck to impress not just the crowd but the promoter in the hope they get a chance to return, some hardened comedians stand aside and watch as people below them begin to flower, while others above them live the life they dream, and I’m one of those.

I don’t pertain to be a veteran or a professional, but for someone that cannot go by a week without performing at least once in front of a crowd, it stopped being a hobby a long time ago. I remember the time I made the leap from hobbyist to proper comedian; I was heading back from a full night at a Laughing Horse gig in Temple, London, hosting a birthday party event where two guys brought dozens of friends and family each to watch. Not only did we perform our usual tricks, but we gave the birthday boys the credit they deserved by making their evening enjoyable. And when I got home, I received a text message from the showrunner: “Great job, mate, till next tme.” (deliberate misspelling).

And there and then, I realised, I can’t live without it.

But the reality of the situation is, I am not going to make it as a full-time stand-up comedian. Not at the moment. I’ve been diagnosed by a psychiatrist as having ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder), which to many is a made-up term for someone that is just lazy; to me, it’s a reality where I cannot, for the life of me, focus on one particular thing. Where I procrastinate so heavily it makes my teeth ache that I haven’t written a script in 6 months, or haven’t created a painting in over 3 years.

That last one, that’s a hobby.

The disorder prevents me from really pushing forward in other areas designed to add value to my stand-up career; you don’t just get famous for your act, you accentuate your comedy career with other aspects that people working in the industry for real (promoters, bookers, agents) rally around you for, as in today’s age Youtube has more viewers than television, and you gotta bring the big bucks in.

So what happens to me? I’m still at it, plowing away. I can’t stop being a full-time comedian, I have to continue being someone’s opening act (one day) or constantly work hard to be part of the family of comics that work together. One comic still told me, “You have great ideas, Nelson, but I know you, you don’t follow through.”

And that’s why I’m at the office right now, waiting for a developer to finish his work before I can do my day-job, which sucks as it’s officially sanction overtime I volunteered for. And yes, it sucks to be me right now.

Still, it’s better than being a fish and chip shop owner.

Becoming a Script Writer

in Comedy by
script writer

One day, in my short little life, I’d like the idea of someone saying, “Hey Nelson, I loved your script. Can I buy it from you?” or “Hey Nelson, can I produce your script for you?” or “Hey, aren’t you a script writer?”

Throughout my career, I’ve heard of this wonderful little world where people hunched over type-writers or computers make an OK living out of ideas fleshed out in a step-by-step script that people will enjoy and, while I’ve dreamed of turning these ideas into reality, the truth of the matter is I don’t have the time, patience or love of many friends to convert these into plausible videos or radio shows.

So I’m making them available to you for free. Here it is, there they are. Feel free to browse, read and be amused by them. Steal them, go ahead. I’ll be proud to just have a credit and enjoy my work out there for people to see. Paul Arden encouraged people to give away their ideas in his book, “It’s Not How Good You Are, It’s How Good You Want To Be.“, my motivational Bible and I’m following suit.

And if you want to buy the rights and make it the way you see fit, my contact details are right up there, go ahead and get a hold of me.

And this disclaimer, by the way, was encouraged by my comedy hero, Louis C.K.

You can find them over at my Scripts page by clicking the link, or follow the menu options above above, and I’ll let you know via Twitter when new ones are available.

Did my parents teach me anything?

in Life by
parents

I’m pretty ok with money a lot of the times. When you’re living by the seat of your pants every day your blood begins to boil at the sight of the petrol price rising up like cake flour, you tend to forget you have limited funds, and you venture off from the petrol station sulking that your idea of buying an iPad mini seems further and further away.

And then I thought, why didn’t my parents teach me how to be good with cash? I mean, they did, to constantly save for a rainy day. In London, that’s a silly notion to forget considering its island status, but the notion for never over-spending was drilled into me.

Forget that, I want to know how to invest.

We get bombarded every day with advertisements from investment companies drawling through quick marketing schpeels like, “Invest in a lump sum”, “fixed rate deposit”, “taxable income” or anything a bank marketing executive can *pop* out of his arse, but what happened to the good old days when you father could just say, “I know a guy, he’ll make you money”?

And my brain continued further, and then what came to me was a revelation in itself. Where did my parents teach me about relationships?

Good Lord, that’s when the world around me turned upside down. I never learnt a shred about relationships, not limited to girlfriends but with people in general. They’re so reclusive, they never really enjoyed me having friends but wished me to stay indoors, work in the corner shop or for any other stupid Portuguese shop owner. Sports was a no-no; why spend your time socialising in the playing field and keeping fit when there was R20 per day to be earned?

And as for girlfriends, I went through those like a fat kid let loose in a chocolate McFlurry store (no, there’s no such thing, but it’s the morning and my analogy machine is in the fritz), and the only role-models I could muster any example from was either from television, which timescaped so quickly I never realised you actually spent time in-between human interaction by doing other things, but my own parents’ ability to disassociate themselves from their own feelings and regard each other purely as “necessities”, the man bringing the bacon and the mother taking care of the house, but neither quite considering that their own emotional distance they imposed between each other filtered towards the children that required that same example in the first place.

And motivation, oh boy. To proceed towards a career you actually wanted? No, there’s no time for that, there’s money to be made, and a free economy full of sweets, chocolates and soft-drinks to exploit. I was never told that I am capable of anything, I was required to be something except a burden, and that was it. Get a job, work and pay rent, that’s it, nothing else, keep to the basics, make sure you have all those sorted and then everything else is a bonus until you become a burden to your health insurer. What do you mean, “Follow your dreams?” Dreams are when you sleep, reality is for feeding your face.

If it wasn’t for being influenced generally rather than specifically, in my case I was far removed from my family when I began comedy, I may perhaps have been convinced in a very hardened way to remain in South Africa for all of my life, to finish college and begin my life as a graphic designer, which I studied, instead of being lost in the ether and discovering an ability to influence people through teamwork, videogames and comedy. But I had to find that motivation, that opportunity, or else I would’ve lingered in creative purgatory.

I would’ve still liked my family and friends to have pushed me earlier.

It sounds like a cry for attention, but I’m looking at it positively and generously. If you have kids, look at them and realise you can’t JUST feed and clothe them. You have to pay them attention, find the personality brewing inside them and lead by example. If you’re deranged, don’t show it and bring out the confidence, whether you have it or not. You brought them in, you owe it to them to show what they should be like, not just as spongers of a flawed societal system but of people that can contribute in better ways, through artistic, scientific or, at the very least, sociological advancements.

Who knows, you may have spawned the next Picasso. Don’t treat him like a janitor, he’s better than that and you know it.

Remember Me?

in Comedy/Life by
remember me
remember me

I don’t blog. I don’t. A lot.

I do not so in the vain attempt that I look at my blog, stare at the screen for a few minutes, then realise I’m 4 hours into my work day and I haven’t done a thing.

Today, I’m well aware I’m not done with my work, but I visited my blog and 15 people joined in to read.

Well, bully for me. Thank you.

So, as much time as I spend on Twitter, I should make adjustment for times when life hands me the opportunity to reach those 15 people and say, “Thank you.”

On other news, I’m ridiculously happier than I was a month and a half ago. But there’s still room for more. C’mon, Tony Robbins, make your pappy proud and helo me listen to your self-help claptrap.

Oh, and Armchair Sundays is going well. Come visit, we’ve got comedy and stuff. 🙂

To all my ex-girlfriends…(SERIOUS POST)

in Life by
ex-girlfriends

So, I know this will be perceived as a very narcissistic or self-effacing post, but as I struggle to understand my own hurtful behaviour, I feel I need to be brave and write it in public, not just for you, the person I wiggled my willy at, but to the public.

All this website really is, is a façade hiding a human being that doesn’t know how to be with other people. I do comedy to break that barrier and promote not just the humour within me, but the exploration of a human spirit moulded into a consumer, a sponge, someone who takes and never gives back. And each day, I hate myself for doing that.

And today, I saw something specific by one ex-girlfriend that pained me, but a selfish pain, and I realised it’s the same with every ex-girlfriend whose company I’ve had the privilege to enjoy, and I just feel that they deserve an apology. Keep Reading

9 things I do when I live alone

in Life by
when I live alone

Just discovered Lili Radloff’s “9 things you learn when you live alone“, a wonderful list of little things you do when you’re alone in your abode. I like it, it’s a wonderful piece featuring things she does which we relate to, etcetera, blah blah blah.

But my 9 things are a little different:

1. You tend to walk in after a long day at work, sit down in front of your desk, and realise…you have no internet. So you eat yoghurt and stare at the wall.
2. You switch off the geyser during the day because there’s no one there…and forget to switch it on in the morning after being awake for an hour watching your favourite TV show you enjoy to forget why you’re even there.
3. Your meals, that you make while naked, are increasingly simple and quick to make.
4. You forget to sleep on your own bed, with the couch increasingly convenient in front of the TV.

5. You knock on your neighbour’s door to ask for toilet paper, feeling awkward as you had to wait for them to stop shouting.
6. The sounds of birds, cars, trains and anything else becomes ambience towards your descent into insanity.
7. You’re scared of inviting friends over because you’re the one that’ll have to say, “Right, time for you guys to f*** off!”
8. After getting all the essentials you need, decorating seems to be as necessary as going to the gym…who are you REALLY doing it for?
9. You forget about point 8 and buy stupid things that don’t really fit, but individually you love looking at it.

Other things that didn’t make the list are:
– A bar fridge is fine for a while
– You feel something’s missing when you finish your last bottle of beer
– Half a bottle of cheap red plonk looks great next to the couch where you slept on the night before watching the latest Blockbuster you downloaded from your mom’s house
– Laundry is done in another person’s flat since they’re offering the service for R45 per load, and you feel no shame a stranger handles your skidmarks

REVIEW: “So…You Think You Can Love?” – Sonia Esgueira

in Comedy by
love

“A Portuguese man, to the people of South Africa, is like a grizzly bear: hairy, growls and eats fish.” – Nelson de Gouveia, after watching Sonia Esgueira

Yes, that quote up there is mine, I’m a comedian and I’m Portuguese. I’m also a man living in a woman’s world, if Sonia Esguiera’s new one-woman play, “So…You Think You Can Love” is anything to go by. And it’s hard to write this review objectively with my own credentials as they are, but thankfully there’s no negative aspects to find in this one-hour circus; she’s worked hard and the results are, well…”she’s a good” as my father would say.
Crying in a line-up photo embraces her poster like a disgraced mom wishing her kids didn’t see it soon enough, but the content by which Sonia explains the dating life she leads is anything but shameful. Ruthless in her quest to be affirmed as a woman in a game full of complicated rules, this brilliant actress takes rudimentary clichés, mixes it up in a cuscuz pot, hands it over to five nattering aunts and cousins to spend an afternoon together gossiping about someone’s penis length well into obscurity, and returns with a cacophony of charm and delight.
 
Not to spoil the content away too much, her humble beginnings looking for love in a speed-dating night exudes desperation, frightening off would-be conveyor-belt suitors like they were just browsing for underwear, and what follows is a journey into a melodramatic dichotomy, searching for love but finding it terribly frustrating. Each segment is represented by a separate personality or a character she’s met in her travels, but in pleasant terms she plays them so well you forget she’s a South African-born Portuguese actress just working hard to be famous, and instead with extremely gifted talent switches from a rapariga trying hard to fall pregnant with the RIGHT man, to an asthmatic restaurateur from a suspiciously CLOSE family origin to my own, of which I’m sure is the case as my hand still smarts from weddings and funerals shaking hands as a child with burly men such as the one she describes.
 
Each segment is pure and well-produced, utilising the Artscape’s theatre credentials with great aplomb as well-placed music segues  from one character to the next. Her Austin Powers-style heart-shaped bed is well-placed in the centre and hides all of the subtle costume changes and, as she plays herself running in the gym on top of it, I dare to believe it’s a metaphor for our own experiences in the magic that is heartbreak. And the finale is well orchestrated, leaving every woman with a hand on her heart, feeling the same pain this misguided young woman with a over-bearing mother and a gaggle of useless Sandton-style friends she had to endure.
 
Ultimately though, the heartbreak is what is at the core of this fine auteur’s magnificently scripted play; the ups and downs of dating is brought forth with a gifted measure of comical effect that we’re left wondering if the pay-off is truly all that bad, as I heartily recommend this one-woman extravaganza to everyone left thinking whether theirs is the only pain left in the whole world. 
 

Five stars.

Sonia Esgueira – So…You Think You Can Love? ran until the 30th March 2013.

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