I hate my postman. He has creepy grey hair and was charged with sexual assault (not convicted but still). So I simply do not read the mail. I just will not read the mail if it’s being handed to me by someone I think looks icky and appears to be arrogant and a bit of a megalomaniac (he wants to control the mail system, he’s mental). I just throw the mail in a pile even if it’s a letter from the US government saying I will be persecuted for downloading The Walking Dead after they used legal surveillance to spy on my Internet usage. If I only I could distinguish between the mail and my perceptions of the person delivering the mail. Weird grey haired bastard I hope he dies and I get NO MAIL, ever.
Anyway, in other news Wikileaks, an organisation (not for profit struggling for funding) released a secret agreement in the making that will affect the price of our software, medicines, intellectual property laws and includes a US crack down on illegal downloads (proposing legal surveillance of Australian citizens to persecute people who download illegally).
This is an agreement Tony Abbott is directly involved in negotiating, in secret, RIGHT NOW, this will affect EVERY Australian and it was completely hidden from us.
The new neighbour just caught me talking to his dog and I don’t mean “Hey there fella” I mean like “What’s the point in all this shit anyway?”
I remember thinking, “don’t get your dick out, don’t get your dick out, don’t get your dick out.” It had been one of the worst shows I’d ever done. The audience was uncomfortably silent through most of it. I’d just gotten a decent laugh and had an opportunity to end the show and bail out. But there is an unconscious part of every performers brain that can take control in tight situations and proceed to do whatever it feels is right. So even though everything in my body told me not to show this audience my penis, I did it anyway. The room had already sat through one of the most uncomfortable performances they were likely to ever see and now they were looking at me completely naked, in a thirty-seater store room at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival wondering why they’d ever paid for this. I pushed on with the naked bit “…how is this more shocking then a hundred thousand civilian deaths in Iraq? Is an American life worth more then an Iraqi life? We are all humans…” I protested. With nothing but a deafening silence existing in an energy vacuum the performer brain made me comment on the awkwardness “…well obviously this isn’t that shocking tonight.” An audience member who I was later to find out was high on cocaine yelled out, “nah, it’s just weird.” There I stood, speechless, naked with thirty people stuck in the moment with me wondering when this hostage situation would end. One woman’s face in the front row looked like someone was holding a gun to her head, she was breathing weird. I put my weapon of mass awkward away. I put on a brave face and thanked everyone for coming and left the stage. Shattered. The director of the Soho theatre in London came that night, I don’t think ill be performing there anytime soon. “He builds an uncomfortable silence in the room and just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, he get’s his cock out and does a speech about civilian deaths in Iraq.” He’d tell his theatre friends. “It’s very post modern.”
The naked ending to my one-man show was a very calculated decision. The show had an underlying theme about our primitive nature as humans. The conclusion of the show builds up with commentary on nationalism and war with the climax being a pants down monologue. I did this show 30 times in different parts of Australia. But on this particular night it all went horribly wrong. An audience member came up to me after the show and said “I really enjoyed it but the reason everyone was so quiet was because that couple that kept commenting throughout the show were high on cocaine, I know them, everyone was scared of what they would say next.” It made sense. The couple she was referring to wouldn’t heckle as such but do something much worse, they would comment on my material:
“Love is difficult to understand…” I started.
“Mmmm yes it is isn’t?” The cocaine couple commented.
“Yeh it is…” I responded followed by an awkward pause.
This is worse then heckling because it means you can’t slam them because they haven’t done enough wrong. You might lose the audience if you just start attacking someone for being strange. If someone just yelled “fuck you!” You could really deal with that. This was creepier.
The couple on cocaine making strange comments had made everyone in the tiny venue uncomfortable. The audience member who told me this also mentioned they had been talking really loudly and obnoxiously in the line up for the show so even before anyone entered they were already uneasy. Nudity in comedy is like anything in comedy, it all depends on how it’s executed, an hour of edgy material on racism, sex, drugs and politics with a finale of my small penis in a small thirty seat theatre is about as good an execution as that gymnast who ran full speed directly into the beam he was meant to jump, crushing his ribcage.