So Harvey Weinstein is in the firing line for multiple claims of sexual harassment by many people. By women who have experienced encroaching encounters with the film producer, and many men who claim to have witnessed the same.
While I was away in London, my mother grew up and became a savvy granny.
She’s a 71 year-old Margaret Thatcher matriarch of the Portuguese community within Cape Town’s Northern Suburbs, with fellow residents from as far afield as Paarl travelling down to get their age-old sequin dresses hemmed and stitched by her soft and wrinkled yet experienced hands. She doesn’t quite skateboard down steep hills or listen to thrash metal locked away in her bedroom but, like a teenager squabbling to her parents for the next Nokia, she seeks out new experiences with youthful aplomb.
I think about what I want or don’t want from comedy, and I find that I do this little thing and enjoy the standing up in front of a strange crowd, telling jokes about my past awkwardness and misadventures, while at the same time edge quietly towards being edgy as a host, but I’ve got the feeling my public persona doesn’t fit a profile that either hits the mainstream hard or swims in the obscurity of cult status.
So, to explain my motives, here are my ambitions and avoidances of Comedy:
- DO: want to eventually be performing in front of big crowds. I feel at home with a lot of people warmed up to the idea of a stock comedian making them laugh.
- DON’T: want to continue into my 70’s performing in front of tiny open-mic crowds.
- DO: want to work with talented people I gel with, to brainstorm awesome ideas and create a semblance of community that serves the general public in many forms of entertainment.
- DON’T: want to work with guys looking for a quick jump-start to short-term fame.
- DO: want to develop television or radio schemes with others and be part of a creative group with resources to turn it around in a short space of time. I’ve already written a few, need to start pitching it to a talented guy I’ve recently met.
- DON’T: want to agree to flimsy promises that never take fruit thanks to ignorance.
- DO: want to write for a magazine, newspaper or website that accepts my unexplored views on everything from life, love to laundry.
- DON’T: want to be limited only to this blog.
- DO: want to make the people I love proud, to show that their support for my abilities aren’t unfounded and that they can share in the fruits of my efforts in hichever way they wish.
- DON’T: want to be told I’ll never make something of myself because I’m white, single, foreign or never attained a degree/diploma (that one was based on funds).
- DO: want to “stand before kings, and leave a name to be remembered.” – Benjamin Franklin
- DON’T: want to be forgotten.
There are few subjects I can usually relate to people about. Sports are as functional to me as sex, I just don’t know the people performing in both. Even an ex-girlfriend successfully stood me up when I tried to open up the fuel-tank for a van I hired to move home.
But I love Star Trek…hold onto your ridges, Mister Worf.
And a wonderful to you all from a finally overcast Cape Town, South Africa.
From my little room I share in my brother’s wonderful house in the suburbs, I woke up dazed and confused early this morning to find two things that perplexes even the most astute of single gentlemen that walk the earth as directionless as I am:
1. A phone call from my sister demonstrating a cheap car on Gumtree called a Ford Lazer (yes, I write this wishing I could show my fingers making the Dr. evil signature move)
2. A black cat called Peanut licking itself in area devoid of appropriate testicular contents.
It’s been a surreal week and a half getting to know my family once again, regaling them with wonderful anecdotes of stories from the colonial master land that is the United Kingdom, and wishing them health and love as best I can without sounding TOO droll. As yet, I have not had the chance to meet up with old friends due to a distinct lack of transport (public utilities usually consists of a man driving a van with a monkey-wrench for a steering wheel) but when I do, I hope it will be fun and interesting.
And yes, hun, I’m still waiting for you to answer.
Monday night saw me perform my first set for over a year at a lovely little bar in Rondebosch, expecting droves of UCT students eager to giggle their sides, and to be fair the 10 guys staring at me gave me the challenge I wanted most: a chance to test my mettle as a all-round entertainer.
And true to their word, they tested me.
Still, it was nice to walk off stage and blokes coming up afterwards saying, “China, you was ace, eh?” followed by a handshake and a shoulder-bump, a clear sign of me being accepted into the audience acumen of approval.
Ever been shoulder-bumped? It’s like an audience Jay Leno nodding and saying you’ll go far.
So today I’ll be setting up a portfolio of shots thanks to a wonderful photographer I know, looking for menial work, openings up the money-grubbing bank account and reading up on the day’s stories for new and exciting material, to mold and shape it into wonderful jokes that will leave them thinking that their lives can be for the better if they look past the errors of yesteryear and just accept that inside, we…are all…pink.
Cape Town, bring it on.
See me Thursday night at the Chilli Bar in Southfield where I’ll be sweating it yet again.
In other words, once you deactivate, you return to reactivate and THEN it says you have to wait a full day. Talk about waiting.
This is marvelous.
Not only do I ensure that no spammers keep sending me crappy mails telling me to join their group OR come to their show, but now I can literally limit the time I spend on the site itself.
It’s a mental hospital locking you up in a cell for drug abuse, and you’re left screaming.
It’s also…not working, as I’m now spending time on Twitter.
See? Addictive personalities need an addiction to cling on to, may it be substances (alcohol, cigarettes, drugs) or other forms of deprecation that hurts themselves or others…perhaps I can developer a sexual addiction where I just stop caring about rejection, approach every fanny I fall on and then tell them to bugger off.
Thankfully, my newest ones are Twitter, performing comedy shows and watching Star Trek. I swear, if I’m at least funny, I think I can do well being a loser twat with a currently-shaved making people giggle at my insecurities.
Have a happy and joyous weekend, people, and I’ll see you on Twitter (check the panel on the right for details on Twitter and gigs)