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.
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.
Ok, I’ll let you in on a little secret, I let the little things get to me.
The SMALLEST little bloody things. Whether it be the move someone makes in their car that annoys me by a fraction of a millimetre, the ignorance of another’s venomous speech where they proclaim in a terribly loud voice, “HOW DO YOU NOT LIKE JUSTIN BIEBER??” or someone I’ve never met before in my entire life adds me the one day on Twitter, and unfollows me the next. I’m tracking who has unfollowed me. I’m a reverse f***ing stalker!
At first, it’s awkward, then a little familiar, but if you don’t keep a close eye on it, it can tell you to move out and warn you never to try and contact it via its mother.
And like the incongruent facade of everyday courting, comedy is very match a game of cat-mouse-promoter. Can you impress a crowd of people immediately, can you keep the crowd interested, can you give them your number and they’ll call you back three days later asking when the next gig is?
I hate dating. I form relationships with people I can relate to, but if I can’t “get” someone the first time I might as well try to wrangle emotion from a cooking pot in Brazil.
So why can’t we skip to the relationship part?
You know you’re in a relationship when you can make that transition of starting your day with someone by saying, “Good day, how do you do?”, and move on to the best of speeches first thing in the morning, the eloquent yet subtle threesome-hinting, “Hey, sexy, when’s your mom coming over? She could bake a cake for us, y’know? Make the place smell nice, eh?”
When a new comedian struts onto the stage, nobody knows him and no one cares. They have no reason to, and for that 5 minutes he’s on stage, he needs to give the entire audience that beautiful emotional connection we all suffer from similarly in personal relationships… to make an entire crowd give a f*** and, for what it’s worth that evening, laugh like crack-addicted hyenas.
That’s a great start to a funky courtship.
We feel it when we get off-stage and audience members slap us on the shoulder or shake our hand afterwards. It’s an AMAZING feeling once we’ve performed a killer set, having Nancy who lives 100 kilometres away, attended the show by happenstance and approach me afterwards with the words…
“I wish you were my boyfriend.”
But, for the many and the not too few, just being likeable is our biggest hurdle we first have to overcome. Just like Wayne Rooney and his ugly face.
To explain, I bemoan this Atlas-style weight on my own persona yet love the self-imposed social exile, but I do enjoy the company of people so long as I relate to them, and therein lies my own natural flaw. If I can’t relate to everybody, everybody can’t relate to me, and so on.
And therein lies the difference between success and obscurity.
To the average I’m-not-doing-this-to-be-famous comedian who is only doing this “for a laugh”, he must be ticking all the box on the application form they handed to him at comedy school:
“You don’t know how to speak to people.” Tick.
“You’re never going to open up your vulnerability to everybody.” Tick.
“You won’t bother to search within yourself for the answers.” Tick.
“Congratulations, you’re a mediocre comedian. Please agree.” Tick.
And it’s a easy trap to fall in.
So back to the golden cow of an analogy I began with: what makes look like you’re good in the sack to one lady, a sack of opportunity to a promoter, and a laughable sack of amaze-balls to a throng of people seeking a new hero? Your eyes, nose, mouth? Torso, legs, arms? Your speech, your laugh, your witticisms and banter? Do you feel confident, or are you playing the subdued type? Is it tumultuous even for you to flourish as an excitable human being in the notion that people might be put off with your energy, or do you feel they’ll accept you as a tiny footnote in their personal history?
With all the rules we follow to learn how to make a night special, winning the popularity contest is just as important as being funny. But you don’t really have to bulk up and perform cosmetic surgery with cellotape on your nose to straighten it up. You just need a SELLING POINT, that one beautiful feature that will get the crowds coming to the show to watch you make a mockery of the English language and teaching dumb people dumber things.
And it’s the same with the opposite sex (or same sex, I can’t keep up). They need to know what makes you YOU.
Don’t try and mimic the same that walk around meandering through life with half-eaten prepositions and constant of the word, “umm”, find the true you, feel naked, stand up, be counted, and then throw away the box with the ballots in. Your uniqueness stands you above what the others make you. “Oh look, he’s another comedian.”
Yes but NEVER! You’re a f***ing FUNNY comedian with something unique with which to make people laugh!
FINDING YOUR HOLY GRAIL
Seth Godin put it straight in his “Ideavirus” booklet he gave away on his website (in an interview, “At first it hit 3000 downloads, which isn’t a lot.” – shuddup). It’s selling your idea of yourself to the crowd in order for it to spread around until everyone want to knows about it. Kunt and the Gang is a prime example.
This man fills a very unique niche, if you ever get a chance to see him live. He stands up on stage, wearing a tracksuit and a ridiculous wig, has a gold tooth, bit of a geezer, plays karaoke-style background music and sings atrociously about private parts and masturbation. I like to call his work “clunge comedy”. It’s Bernard Manning for sex with shitty puppets.
And the bugger sells out rooms each and every time.
Kunt himself is a decent bloke but still a dirty git, he’s just found it ridiculously easier being himself and playing to the narcissism and backward behaviour of the crowd who feel too spoonfed by the media in terms of “what’s appropriate” and are shouting internal, “Even liberalism can get dull once in a while, you know!”
If there’s something missing from your character that you feel, should you have the courage to dig it out from deep within that dark mire of a soul that festers under the ambiguity of your existence, it’s time to stand back, look at yourself whenever you’re up there wasting people’s time and ask yourself:
“Who the hell am I?
‘Cos I tell you, if you’re going to continue down this path selling yourself short trying to woo every Martha and Stacy who walks over you like a beige coat with spare change in a pocket with a hole it, you’re going to end up what I fear to become…
They had some amazing adventures on the television series, Star Trek, especially the part where they devalue money.
From battling alien menaces to witnessing supernovas, transforming into weird creatures at the cellular level and inadvertently giving precedent to the Civil Rights Movement by famously being the first television show in history to demonstrate how a man kisses a woman.
I know, I missed out the fact it was a white man kissing a black woman, but from personal experience it’s so good I had to make a point of it with its very own line break.
But the theoretical concept for them gallivanting through time and space like some rock band with their own sociological encyclopaedia of how “straight” to act, struck a phenomenal chord with me every episode due to one change in their broadened society that brings me both hope and a sense of killing myself as I’ll never see it in my own lifetime…
…those bastards don’t use money.
For those who don’t care about such flippant mumbo jumbo, or certainly for the ones that find it easy to be so appealing that money is less of an issue and that boy staring at you from across the room with Bieber-hive hair is your only stressful subject to talk about over Facebook with a dozen or so other self-absorbed social oligarchs, Star Trek is based on a society in the future where the human race phased out money.
Yes, they got no dosh.
Based on the ramblings of one man’s vision of the future, which in contrast is technically a more public contradiction to Tom Cruise’s fun Scientology religion, placing monetary value on goods and services offered by each other for each other “impeded” the natural evolution of the dominant species on the planet, creating so much war, disease and famine that we couldn’t progress. And after a devastating third world war and near self-annihilation, to stave off extinction and pave the way for us to evolve, they did away with monetary economy, banks and finacial institutions. They gave whatever they made for charity and received whatever they asked for.
Supposedly, without money, we’re all nice to each other.
My point though, is that with the freedom from such oppression, I’ve got a feeling that if I didn’t have to worry about money myself, about the future when I’m old and decrepit, sustaining not just myself when I’m a grown boy and taking care of family that need sustenance, I’m pretty sure I’ll enjoy some good adventures.
For now though, as a jobsworth and “workacomic” (amalgamating workaholic and comic like a peanut butter sandwich there, remember me coining this today and realise your eyeballs got pwned), I stare up at the glass ceiling of both success but financial freedom, knowing that I need to grit my teeth and continue on without the feeling of realistic depression bearing down on me.
To view the goal of feeling free to sit at home on my lawn writing notes, reading lovely books and feeling calm before heading to a club to entertain crowds, not as a pipe-dream but as a challenge to overcome.
“Men find single, beautiful women as challenges. Screw that, I find overweight mothers with three kids and a truck-driving husband as challenges. Not to see if they’ll sleep with me, but if I’ll sleep with them.” – Nelson de Gouveia
Sailing means you have to ride the waves and, for some incomprehensible reason that fails me even to this day, we as human metamorphosise our expectations of achieving emotional bliss by creating the same duality, envisioning our meager and short little existences as ships sailing into the horizon, sometimes calm and sometimes stormy.
But from what I’ve read, most ships had scurvy…and seamen.
And this blog suffers from the stormy times. I tend to write positively when things are going my way, but in reality it’s more when I think clearer about…stuff. Keep Reading
Anyway, so I’ve been thinking about which movies to look forward to in the new year or next, and thinking that I’d like for people to get to know me more, I thought that not only do I forward through recommendations of trailers I like, but also what I think of them.
Colin Farrell takes over the remake reins from Arnie in what should be August’s most talked-about science fiction reworking since Metropolis director Fritz Lang thought, “Wow, wouldn’t a typewriter look cool in gold with boobs?”
After the mind-warping process instigated by a TMZ-inspired John Cho in awful but futuristic peroxide hair, Douglas Quaid is bestowed with lightning reflexes and quick-trigger tenacities while being assisted convolutedly by Jessica Biel driving a floating car, keeping the setting in line with all of Phillip K. Dick’s endless supplies of short stories.
The fact that Kate Beckinsale fills Sharon Stone’s role as the semi-demon wife wishing ill-will on his person makes the whole two-minute affair avoiding yet another episode of How I Met Your Mother on my family’s television extremely appealing and gives the “share this on Facebook” factor extremely high.
Craigslist Joe rides the Morgan Spurlock wave with a new, possibly bland, protagonist (albeit a guy that seems like he’s condoms with all three girlfriends in his life, at least) as he tries to pinpoint how social media broke down America’s sense of community by living completely off Craigslist, evil competitor to antipodean powerhouse Gumtree, for one month.
And by living off, I mean have no contact with friends or family, travelling through America asking for room and board in exchange for potential users seeking favours of any kind. In one scene, <insert cute voice> our hero <close cute voice> helps a middle-aged woman addicted to hoarding various goods with organising her hapless little junk empire, so that he may have a piece of bread and a floor to sleep on.
I can’t help but feel jealous from this ultra-scary but über-cool attempt (ok, it’s not that scary if he had a camera crew following him everywhere) at travelling hassle-free of job-searching and paying tax, while establishing the fundamental flaw of America’s sociological make-up through the beginning of the 21st Century. One brief positive note: he loses a lot of weight along the way.
Cue Hollywood sabbatical diet treatment?
There are few men in this that can do what they like and actually can claim, with absolute sincerity, that they bring joy to the world, with everyone else agreeing with those people AND without fear of violent reprisal. That excludes President al-Assad of Syria (in fact, all presidents), Lord Sebastian Coe of the London Olympics, the South African Consulat representative in London that was an absolute bastard towards me, and a Somalian child soldier.
Who is included is Family Guy creator Seth McFarlane, and for that sir, I thank you…graciously, for sending us Ted, his first motion picture that nearly almost avoided animation whatsoever if it didn’t include an animated teddy bear that humps a supermarket scan machine to impress a pretty girl.
Alongside Mark Wahlberg, sporting incredible magical powers as a little boy that wills his plush toy into existence, Ted grows up fuelled by an overactive sex-drive and a penchant for bong-smoking afternoons on the couch. But like any dirty-talking best friend, he gets ousted from the shared apartment by Mark’s needy girlfriend Mila Kunis, voice of the ever-denied, ever-hated and totally diatribed Meg Griffin.
I want to see this wonderful movie made by the world’s luckiest man (he missed boarding one of the 9/11 planes while en-route to pitch Family Guy to Fox) and, being stuck here in South Africa, I can’t wait for it to reach our boxed-in shores.