My inner comedian, doing voices and perceptions - 13.10.13

I like to think that I'm funny and that might be part of the problem.  I know my own sense of humour very well; I am a very simple creature when it comes to making me chuckle.  Innuendo, sexual humour, silliness in general and a well worded pun are almost always going to get the giggle juices flowing. 

I'm less worried these days about the voice in my head.  Having checked in with some definitely sane people to discover that they have chats with themselves in their heads as well, I don’t feel the need to be concerned about myself.  Whilst I'm conducting these internal chats, I quite often think things are funny.  It goes both ways; sometimes, I have a go at myself.  On the way to start writing this, I spilt a cup of tea on the stairs and have only just stopped telling myself what a plank I am.  But I digress.

The point is, when it comes to sharing these thoughts aloud with people, they aren't funny.  In fact, I'm often perceived as, well, odd.  That would even be kind.  I think a few of my colleagues would take the point a lot further.  The comedian Eddie Izzard will often deploy a fake notepad on the palm of his hand make a note of when he isn't amusing his audience, which I love and take as my own now.  That often gets me odd looks. 

I've always been aware of the way that people look at me.  When I was in school, I often thought the word “weirdo” or “queer” was tattooed on my forehead because it seemed to be the general consensus of total strangers and passers-by.  Things haven’t really changed much over the years, only I've become more comfortable with the situation.  Yes, I'm a little odd, and yes I like men – if you’d like to make a complaint, write any comments on the back of a self addressed envelope and then shove them up your ass.  It would be a total lie to say that I don’t care entirely.  I wish it was the case, but at heart I am a people pleaser.  I don’t want people to be made to feel uncomfortable by my off beat perspective on life and my odd sense of humour. 

But quickly, you hit an impasse.  If being myself in a very controlled and restricted environment makes people a little uncomfortable, should I moderate myself down in order to make others more comfortable?  And right there is the problem.  I ALREADY AM.  If people think I'm bad now, they should pop in my head for a little visit.  They should hear my internal monologue.  They should witness the constant parade of media clips and one liners.  Its constant.  If you imagine the inner world of Ally McBeal (circa season 1-3 before they forgot about her awesome imagination), then you’re in the right head space. 

The problem at its core ultimately is perception; I perceive myself one way and the rest of the world perceives me another.  Within that separation of perceptions, there is a whole spectrum of people – those who connect with my crazy and those who look at me like I have two heads when I turn on my Gollum voice and quote Lord of the Rings.

http://undergroundchatline.com/web_images/paddedcell.jpg

A common saying I've heard many times in my life is “It wouldn't do for us all to be the same” and the older I get the more I think that’s a giant crock of shit, particularly in the work environment.  We have dress codes and uniforms, rules and regulations over our conduct and the way we work.  Uniformity is the key to big business.  It needs to be.  Consistency is required in order for work to be productive and profitable.  Whilst I understand that, it is not my business I work for and I like to pass the day with the odd film quote, a random story about a bird flying in the house whilst I put the bins out with my house-mate and singing the same song lyric sporadically until it stops playing in my head.

The same goes for my personal life.  I can only assume one of the reasons I don’t do well at making friends is because people need to take time to realise I don’t need to be medicated or sectioned.   Whilst I might not give the most sane of first impressions, it is probably the most accurate one.  Most people are more complex and intricate than they first appear.  I'm an idealist who believes we ought to be able to be who we really are, as long as we don’t make people run to the hills or get out the tranquillisers.  If that means toning it down, I am happy to, but that’s as far as I will go.

All of that being said, I am willing to take feedback to become funnier.  It’s always awkward being the only one laughing at a joke, particularly when it’s my own.

General Ignorance, The Olympics and The Daily Misery

At the anniversary of the Olympics in London, the BBC News programme 'News Beat' disclosed statistics that were supposed to shock us as a nation; that since the Olympic Games were held here, despite the slogan "Inspire a generation", we had not rushed out in throngs to sign up for the gym.  We had not been found running up a sweat through the local park. Every item of loose fitting clothing we posses was not drenched in sweat.  I for one, and I very much doubt anyone reading this will be either, will not be shocked.

I avoid listening to and watching the news where possible.  For shame, this makes me quite ignorant of current issues in the public consciousness.  When the Jimmy Saville Scandal rocked the news, I discovered this through the most reliable of sources; hearsay.  You can tell when something is going on though.  Your phone will vibrate and some politically incorrect joke will let you know that, perhaps, you ought to engage your human-satellite dish and connect with your fellow men.  Mostly, I plod along in my life, just trying to get through.

The sad truth is that the news is a depressing enterprise.  Royal births and marriages monopolise the news when they occur and no one would ever attempt to claim that a birth or marriage is a bad thing (Amendment to previous sentence - I suppose it depends who is getting married!).  Mostly the news is engrossed in the mistakes of train drivers in Spain that resulted in mortalities, a terrible bus accident in Italy,killing more, and the emergence of the plague in America - in the squirrel population, so I don't need to be too neurotic yet.

In all honesty, what sort of a masochist wants to read or watch that?  I would be willing to put money on a bet that most people buy a newspaper in a morning out of a family-encouraged habit, and the same with watching the news.  No one really wants to get bad news.  No news is good news.  Well most of the news is definitely bad.

*Adjusts spotlight* And back to me.

I refuse to believe I am the only one suffering from ignorance based lethargy.  I can't be the only one.  We turn back to my original point.  Despite all the publicity and publications relating to the improvements in your general health and mental well being, are you a regular member of your gym?  Are you often found jogging down the local canal?  Do I see a crowd forming a disorganized queue for the tennis courts?  Do I heck!  If you ever wanted evidence that the general population of the country is lazy, you can see it several ways; important political leaflets that get thrown in to the bin, lack of attendance at polling stations, and a lack of exercise despite the Olympics coming to town.

My age old question: Am I being cynical?  No, this is me being realistic.  The general population are disinterested and lazy.  The two are probably far more connected than anyone has ever given thought.  We are all a little disconnected from each other and as a consequence, we don't engage as much with society.  Perhaps if there were nicer stories in the news... Wait, never mind.  I already stopped reading the newspaper.

The perfect silence

There is nothing more awkward than an awkward conversation, except for an awkward silence. Being face to face or surrounded by people and having nothing to say is the height of social discomfort, save only for misjudging a situation and speaking to someone when you shouldn't. There are instances few and far between when uttering a few words to a stranger in a lift, or on public transport, are permitted; grumbling about a late bus or train, "excuse me, is this yours" or even striking up a conversation at a bar with a total stranger. A Barista once struck up a conversation with me and she became one of my best friends. (If memory serves, she wanted to chat me up.   Wrong bus for her!  God Bless you Kelly - I sure do miss you)

Thanks to the printing press and modern technology, social discomfort, aside from the occasion where one might make eye contact by accident, had all but been abated! If you don't wish to be spoken to or simply want to be left alone, nothing declares it like being buried in a book or the faint hum of base from your headphones.

I'm not antisocial or even anti-socialisation - as I mentioned, one of my best friends was made through a random interaction. Some people just don't know how to read the signs. People checking tickets are exempt from this rule, but I won't pretend it doesn't piss me off when I have to stop the flow of narrative. Some people just feel the need to start talking to you, almost at random about nothing in particular with no grand point to make or information to impart. Rude!

So, in life, nothing pleases me more than the compliance to the "fuck-off-it's-been -a-shitty-day-hence-the-headphones" rule. When people do nothing except move their baggage to accommodate my desire to sit, adjust their headphones and smile, as if to say, “Don’t worry! I've had a shit day too."

Modern day friendship 28.03.13

Recently, I had a crisis; I realised a lot of the people that Facebook had conned me into calling friends were, in fact, not.  Nothing against them, but they really didn’t fit any of the major criteria for friendship; you know, the usual stuff; getting in touch, returning texts or giving a flying fuck.   I gutted my Facebook account of my “fake friends” and went from over 300 to less than 100.  I did the same thing to my contact list in my phonebook (If I have your number, it’s a hell of a lot easier for me to find you now!  The two reasons, in order: 

1.  Cutting dead wood.  Now it might sound a little cruel to disregard people so lightly.  Ultimately, I see Facebook and all other manner of social mediums of communication as just that.  However, there is an element of laziness to them.  If you want to check up on someone, you can check their posts and leave a comment… along with everyone else.  It leaves a little to be desired for the fundamentals of human connection.  Just remember 100 years ago, the main mode of communication across long distances was still “snail mail”.  I cannot remember the last time I sent a letter.

2.  I wanted to see if they noticed. Yes, I know.  How adolescent of me!  But I’m being honest.  I wondered if any of them would get in touch with me and check in  I was disappointed by reminded  myself that I knew there was a slim to nil chance they ever would.

Don’t misunderstand me,  I’m not bitter in the slightest.  I will even admit to being somewhat lonely on occasion, but I remind myself that the friends I do still keep from “before the purge”, whilst many are far away are still friends and I value and treasure that.

Whilst I was thinking about all this, I did begin to ponder about “The Others”.  Who are they you might ask?  These are the people who I have met via various online modes of communication, who know plenty about me, check in with me regularly, but who I have never met.  Can I call these people from the internet my “friends”?. 

It’s a difficult one, I’ll grant you.  But when you break it down, one of my best friends in the world lives in Kent and she pointed out that we haven’t seen each other since early November.  We keep in touch, despite my developing allergy to telephone calls outside of business hours.

With the internet being so prevalent in our day to day lives, there is a certain ease that comes with friendships.  We can get in touch with those we choose at any moment for a genuine connection, even if it is miles apart.  And when you look at it like that, it isn’t so different from snail mail.

I choose to call these people my friends and I hope they would think of me the same.  Despite communication being a doddle in the modern world, I think we should all admit that sitting down for a brew and a catch up is preferred to the rapid thumb movements across a touch screen keyboard. I’m going to make an effort to meet up with some of my new friends and keep in better touch with some of my old ones.  Don’t send a bullshit chain email to everyone in your address book saying how much they mean to you!  Make an effort through whatever means you have at your disposal. 

Image borrowed from zomm.com

The Leopard who changed his Wardrobe – 18.03.13

So, anyone who knows me will surely know that I haven’t had the best history with money.  I started off in life ok; I was responsible from a young age and saved regularly into my bank account, allowing me to buy the things I really REALLY wanted – The newest PC game (in the days after my beloved Sega Master System went to the console graveyard in the sky and before I got an Xbox), CD, video or book (I won’t lie, mostly, books). 

It didn’t stay that way.  Something about the freedom of money and being responsible for all of when I arrived at university meant I went a little of the rails.  Never far enough to require help from the bank of Mum, but further than I ought to have gone to live a comfortable life.

When I graduated to the mythical ‘real world’ of employment and living out of my childhood home, I got myself into a few sticky messes for various sticky reasons – I ought to rephrase that, but I shan’t as it has amused me.  My terrible monitoring of money and trying to keep everything in balance was seemingly just too difficult for me to master.

Skip forward a few years and I was living alone and things were even worse; this time, I actually couldn’t afford anything.  I was pretty much broke all the time and I hated it. 

I mentioned previously that my Sister and partner gave me somewhere to go; one of the greatest gifts one human being can ever give to another is opening their home to another, one that I hope to reciprocate some day (Fuck knows how!).  

On moving in with them, I was forced to change.  Something were more subtle but others were most certainly more ‘BAM!’ smack-you-in-the-face sort of changes.  My attitude towards money and paying my way out of the trench I dug for myself is one of the more obvious examples.  As I was travelling home from work on the bus, I looked up from my book and out of the window and the thoughts above washed over me in a steady wave.  I began wondering to myself “How much have I changed?”

It’s a pretty ‘over arching’ question, I’ll grant you.  The thought that immediately sprung to mind is the dog.  Now then, all dog lovers are foreigners to the concept that, unlike them, not everyone has a place in their heart for a dog.  Others go further and anything that isn’t human won’t get a paw over the threshold of their home.  Those who go further still and anything registering a heartbeat is a hindrance to their existence, we find dwelling in caves.  I digress.

When I moved in here, I did not like dogs. At all.  Not a tiny little bit.  In fact, I’d go as far as to say I hated the bastards.  Not one specific breed.  All of them.  Hounds of hell.  They ought to be cast into the lakes of sulphur to live with Satan and Cerberus and not even that would have been sufficient.  I really was not a dog person… However, I knew that my Sister and partner owned a dog, which I had met, and didn’t hate him that much before I came here.

When I think about how I have changed over the last six months, it isn’t my progression towards being debt free that I think of most readily.  I have to confess it’s my attitudes towards the dog.  Daft as it might sound to consider it a profound change, I would avoid contact with him as much as I possibly could on my arrival.  But time passed and I got used to him, to a point where, now, should I find myself alone in the house of an evening, I would actually prefer he was there to keep me company. 

People talk about how a leopard never changes their spots.  I have come to the distinct conclusion that statement is total hogwash.  I’m making a sweeping statement, I know.  And of course, we are dealing with metaphorical leopards who are actually humans.  I am now imagining zebra stripes on a leopard… I’m digressing again.  People are able to change, but only when willing or forced.  Not that I am of an overly scientific mind, but the reason we rose to being the dominant life form on the planet wasn’t because we stuck to what we knew, never changed and never did anything different.  By our nature, we evolve and change and grow as people.  There are of course those more resistant than others – the leopard who will only ever wear the get-up he was born in and nothing else will do.  The rest of us get the chance to change the things we don’t really like about our world, our environment and ultimately ourselves.

Congruent with this theme, it’s time for my costume change – I’m sick of my work uniform and need something to slouch in.

Cute Leopard!

16.03.13 - The end of the Backlog and Editing

And now, my dear readers, we are all up to date!  I've dug through the nooks of my hard drive and everything I upload here after is new content - I know: Please hold your applause!

Its exceptionally difficult to be honest about yourself online.  I don't care what anyone says about the freedom of self expression on the internet.  If I want anyone to read this shite I spout, I have to let them know its me writing it and where to find it.  I cant rip limb from limb the persons I might like to and expose some of the delights I encounter in my day to day life. Please don't misunderstand!  Anyone who has met me knows I have this "highly strung" side but what one can get away with when flapping their chops after a crummy day is no where near the same thing as committing them to the concrete of the internet.

If anything, the wonderful thing about giving myself time to edit is that I don't have to edit ANYTHING I say on the first pass.  I will put it away for editing later when I scrape myself off the ceiling!  Despite the contradiction, the time and space I give myself to edit my thoughts before I hang myself with them is a good thing.

When the next generation of human beings is released they should build in a "self edit" function; it would allow individuals to test run anything they're going to say before they actually try it!  Would be a bit of a cheat for stand up comedians though...

Litter from my Brain - 22.02.13

I litter the lives of my loved ones and colleagues with the shit that plagues my brain. It's unfortunate for them but I have to confess that it makes me feel better just for the fact it isn't just me that's got to think about it anymore.

Example: one of my favourite films is Erin Brokovich. I've owned it on video (yes, cassette, you remember those!) and DVD. Today, this film popped up in my internal brain space and out of nowhere, it occurred to me that there is an inconsistency in the film. At the very beginning of the film, after a disastrous job interview (we've all been there) Erin is depicted smoking a cigarette. This image flooded my mind... As quickly as it arrived, from nowhere, my brain reminded me... For the rest of that film, she doesn't smoke one more cigarette.

If I knew where it came from, well, I guess it would help. But I don't. It happens to me a lot. 

When I returned to the office and shared this epiphany with my colleagues, their confused expressions and comments revealed to me "this is why people think I'm weird!" 

I've known for most of my life that I'm not what most people would call normal. When I was a teenager and I got called a queer, they didn't mean strange. But they did mean different. Of course they meant homo. I always attributed the reason people called me strange to my apparent sexual orientation, up until I came out. Then I stopped caring. But of late I've realised that it has nothing to do with being gay...

It's just because I come out with strange shit at random!