Chorts! (Blog 93)

I hate reading maps. In fact, I think they’re evil. That’s why I gave myself a little under two and a half hours to walk from Angel station to the comedy club in the same area, last Sunday. However, I actually rambled to my destination in about half an hour. True, the start of my trek was nothing more than a 50/50 chance guess where I just walked forward and didn’t bother looking at my visual aid, but what followed was pure logical class. I had no trouble working out that I should keep right and not turn left at the splitting road ahead of me. I walked past a few roads heading off to my right, and bingo, I found the place.

Unfortunately, I was so early I wasn’t allowed in and had an hour to kill before I could get all snug, there. I had a bit of a sore throat, so it was my mission to find a building nice and warm that I could recover in, preferably with food. I remembered I passed a number of fooderies on my travels a few minutes ago, and with expert navigational skills once again, I found another one near them that was just fine. I got myself an exceptionally tasty burger (and it better had been for the price), some chips and a fizzy beverage that can only be described as ‘potent’. Thank God it came with a straw, or the ’soft’ drink would have probably rotted my newly and professionally cleaned teeth instantly. After eating like a pig (not by choice but by necessity - it was hard to get my teeth around my meal) I left to go to the comedy club again. My self-esteem that had recently been boosted had been crushed seconds later, as I found I was lost. Not for long, but still long enough to make me have a long hard look at myself.

Amazingly, when I got to the club for a second time I was still early, so I did a bit of wondering round the streets and standing around. I also did a bit of peeking through the establishment doors like a squinting weirdo, so I could see the clock. Luckily I was eventually allowed in, as I was perhaps giving off at worst a bad impression and at best an unconventional one. However, I still had another hour before the show started and I was pretty much on my own. Mainly out of boredom, I ordered a small amount of whisky only to find it helped with my sore throat. How did it do so? My theory is the bacteria in me got drunk and started to fight my immune system sloppily, but I’m no doctor. If you are a doctor, maybe you will want to do some research into that, to further medicine.

After more people arrived and when I handed in my ticket, I had a small mark drawn on my hand to make it clear I had done so. I soon noticed someone else had a mark on their hand, that was something like the number 46 or whatever. I then realised my mark was the number 1, not just some kind of line. How lucky is that? Well not really that lucky, I was given that digit because I was the first to arrive, but it was still cool. Everyone wants to be numero uno. Eventually the show started and the visitors made their way into the small theatre. Those who were the most enthusiastic and who were in the front of the whole group surely deserved the right to choose their seats, right? Apparently not! Everyone was supposed to fill the chairs from the front of the room to the back. However, it was very dark, so I sat in the temporarily forbidden back row as stealthily as was possible. Lots of people certainly noticed me, but my favourite area was kind of worth it.

When all the spectators were equally as snug as me, the event started. We watched a number of 2 minute or so long comedies (AKA ‘chorts’) on a big screen, and we noted down on a piece of paper which ones we would like to see more of. The theatregoers must have had super nighttime vision, because they seemingly had no trouble ticking which were their favourite acts. I certainly did, so I didn’t bother marking all the videos I liked, I just said which were my two very favourites after the show, in the bar area. Quite possibly because of me, one of the acts I voted for ended up becoming third in the competition. The other one I wanted to win remains in obscurity.

Again in the bar area of the venue everyone soon got chatting/networking with one another. Unfortunately the drunk bacteria had shaken off their hangover and got back to work. That meant I had to strain my voice to be heard over the hubbub when speaking to a fellow comedian; not so much for work opportunities, but more for fun. I would have liked some more gin, enough to have delivered a fatal blow to the germs, but that would have made me drunk and not someone who looked professional and who could hold a conversation. However, I’m not sure that actually mattered too much. I was hoping to see some agents at the place who could maybe give me some advice on how to make money from my comedy, but eventually I thought ‘f**k it’ and went home. Would you believe my journey back there was even easier than my journey to the club? Wow. That’s something.

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On another note, a note so different in fact that it should probably be mentioned in a separate entry, my 100th blog is coming up. Because it’s such a nice number, I’m planning to do my first ultra blog for it. But what do I write about? I think it would be good to cover all sorts of topics from favourite films, to television programs, to comedians. Here’s a taster of the kind of stuff you might be getting; here are…

My thoughts on The School Of Rock.

This is a film about a fraud who goes into a school, pretending to be a music teacher. Sure, he was trying to be fun for the pupils by teaching them rock music, but you have to look at the whole situation from the parent’s perspective. Their children had exams coming up, and they learnt nothing other than how to mosh and such for three whole weeks. They also got told to ‘stick it to the man’, and the ‘man’ is basically everyone older than them. Picture the scene: The child says, ‘hey… **** you’ to their parents, and consequently the horrified caregivers say, ‘where did you learn language like that??’ The child then says ‘my teacher’. How do you think that would go down? And when the headmaster approved of the fraudulent activity and the kidnapping of a whole class so they could go to a gig, it leaves one wondering ‘what kind of a school is this?’ Furthermore, the ‘rock teacher’s’ lack of concern about being arrested later on in the movie suggests some psychopathic traits, giving the film on the whole a rather dark subtext.

Okey dokey, that’s as explained, some of the stuff you can expect from me later. Maybe. Byeee!