The little things...

Ok, I'll let you in on a little secret...

...I let the SMALLEST little bloody thing get to me.

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!
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What have I been up to?

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Savvy Granny - How my mom knows more than I do

While I was away in London, my mother grew up.

 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.
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What I do/don't want from Comedy

I find that I do this little thing called Comedy 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.

On a dark and stormy night... (a writing exercise)

In most occasions, I tend to try and write specifically about a subject, but on this occasion I don't have one...yet, as I just described to my sister-in-law, I do enjoy using the first line, "On a dark and stormy night..." to meander off into subsequent variations of the theme before reaching the point, in order to jump-start the creative process.

And here's the result.

On a dark and stormy night...

...well, a slightly dark and stormy night, really. In July in the southern hemisphere. And but slightly, I really mean sort-of dusky with a small chance of drizzle.

And when I mean by stormy, really some drizzle with the possibility that your eyes will seem accustomed to the African sun after a few months of the blanket of clouds hanging overcast like a comfort pillow thrown over by an over-protective mother that still loves you despite yelling you a few hours before for leaving your bike out in the yard.

And when I mean drizzle at dusk, I really mean an occasional smattering of one or two droplets descending upon the earth like a few Spartans entering a battle...without their mates, resulting in totally defeat by the Persian horde, that sort of smattering.

And dusk is such a relative term. I would say about 9am, the sun easily penetrating the window like a geriatric peeping Tom with a pace-maker that ticks away like the timepiece in the crocodile that ate Captain Hook's hand from Peter Pan, the old badger ruffling through the plants trying to find a good view up your nose as your bed faces feet first towards the window.

So anyway, on a slightly morning-ish time of the day with a slight smattering of droplets...I discovered you can get Jews on a train far more easily if you charged them half.

The End.

Hanging out with Dad #5heartattackswontstopme

I've been here two months, did a few shows, got into a few interviews and caught up with a few friends and family. But nothing, so far, has been as awe-inspiring as spending time with my Dad.

I wrote a joke back in London about my dad saving me from something when I was very small, which is part of the bigger truth, of the bond between us I missed for so long growing up in a matriarchal home. But now, after 12 years away, I've been relishing the little moments we share together, for as a teenager I never fully appreciated the impact he had on me, and in his twilight years fraught with medical uncertainty for his health, I aim to take the time to enjoy every moment.

In a nutshell...he may be the quiet one at the back you should look out for, but in my life one of the funniest men I've ever known.

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Last week my mom asked that we head off to the cemetery to weed my grandfather's grave. Yuck.

I find this activity lacking in what you might call fun, but not in the convoluted "omg I dnt wnt to b here, ths sxs, Im mssng rgby fr ths!" kind of way, but more of the creepy, "what if we're unlucky enough that Armageddon starts just as we're smack in the middle of a cemetery and grandpa rises up to bite at my ankles?" type.

My dad, being the frail old mentor he is today, shambles forward towards the dishevelled plot with a hoe and declares his intent to dig the weeds out, but like a young Hercules, I braved the fear of grass-cut on my fingers, huffed and puffed, and said, "Dad, why are you so eager to join your father-in-law? Don't worry, I'll take care of this."

Hell yeah, I'm gonna hoe the f*** out of my grandfather's grave.

It ended up being a lesson in humility, as my aged parent instructed me in the art of sinking that iron into the dirt deep enough to reach the wretched roots of weeds so entrenched they could be close enough to the coffin, and the last thing on my mind was to hear the thud of metal against wood thereby disturbing long-deceased Frank's inappropriate slumber.

And being a lazy arse, I bit down on the tiny spurts of protests trying to escape my lips as my back un-exercised back sounded the alarms of pain and discomfort at this seemingly undeserving abuse, while my father pointed out the flaws of bringing children up in the suburbs and not on a farm with "real" work. To be criticised for not finding a wife and settling down with a steady job is one thing, but if a pensioner is giving you lip badly you're using a ground tool like a closet homosexual, that s**t bites deep y'know.

And once those green bastards were lying on a pile on someone else's grave (c'mon, gotta have a little fun), came the task of leveling the ground out in a general order and my dad, the hero, showed me how expertly a geriatric with five heart attacks, two cancers and near-blindness can be using a hoe.

Hell yeah, he levelled the f*** out of his father-in-law's grave.

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Today I took the day out to help my father sort out the contact details for his state pension, which in itself is a ghastly thing for any human being to do, let alone for a gentlemen hitting 7 decades of his life on this planet.

We were ushered into the general waiting room filled with other wrinkled faces to, well, wait...for our chance to fill out a questionnaire that would help to identify his existence, and an old auntie with what could be construed as the oldest "phat ass" I could think of chirped up, "Yes, you can wait here, I can take care of your father for you."

My only response was, "Madam, my dad is a sexy man, I'd be careful if I was you."

A lovely giggle echoed throughout the hall, and my dad's blushing laugh gave me a guilty pleasure, as I hardly get to see him with a smile on his face despite the worries he has, so in a way I was both incredulously selfish for turning the somber situation into a humorous one AND extremely grateful I made his day.

We were required to proceed to his former employer in need of a document proving his employment there, and what followed was a half hour of my dad standing around with his old boss socialising, and that again brought an appreciation for a man that seems to stay at home watching the crappy Portuguese channel my doting mother loves so dearly. And here, I found Mr. De Gouveia in his element, his wit and charm coming to the fore as he dittled around the room like a butterfly telling tales of his current medical problems but with a enthusiasm that I find both endearing and equally proud to see.

In that moment, I realised, I'm glad I made the decision to come back.

Plus...he scored us a free box of chips laced with salt and vinegar. F***ing heaven.

Comedy is not jazz background music for your conversation.

So tonight I had the joy of opening up Comics@Work at the Armchair Theatre in Observatory, and a small table began to talk amongst themselves.

Which is fine for any Tom, Dick and Harry comedian, as it portrays a lack of enthusiasm for the comedian and the show itself on most occasion, and it is up to the performer to entertain the crowd to a point where everyone's attention is suddenly transfixed at the silliness, the punch lines, the charisma.

But knuckleheadedness reared it's fat, ugly, greasy sonofabitch head tonight with this table.

What began as simply each comedian getting slightly distracted by this group of fascist actor/jobless knowitalls turned into an all-out conversation throughout the entire show, with compere Christopher Steenkamp having to request their silence at the interval for the second-half, only to be met half-heatedly with a biligerent "no", like the man himself held the crown jewels of England between his legs and his own ass was made from gold and reeked of nutmeg.

After the show, a stand-off occurred where said compere (balls to the max) confronted them once more and a shouting match occur, whereupon said Crown Jewels man gave a comment I will never forget:

"Hey, freedom of speech, k?"

As a comedian pointed out so thoughtfully tonight, they basically sat there talking about their amazing yet fruitless and wasted lives with the comedy as jazz music background. Thank you, actors, thank you so much for belittling the spoken word craft that you cannot succeed in yourselves. You'll be seeing at least some of us in magazines touting our comedy shows and DVD's long before you get to be extras in porn films as pot-plants.

Comics@Work

Going Offline - Day 23: All this open space...

So what has happened since my deep and tearful goodbye from the virtuous existence of cyber-stalking my nephews and former loves?

Nothing...nothing's happened.

But I can tell you I feel less than interested about returning to the site on a regular basis to read about what sort of pancake mc-enema someone's had two weeks ago on the coast of Costa Da Whateva with their moronic brood of inter-spacial Martian children hanging from their steel-girdered nipples conversing in an unintelligible language consisting of clicks and farts.

Seriously, I am.

Yesterday, you may not believe this...but as I walked outside the place I live in, I actually...ok, you'll be shocked...I, totally, said hello to a stranger. Would you believe that, a complete stranger, someone I had never met, outside my abode, my safe place previously reserved by me to sit in front of my Dell screen clicking on status updates while eating cookies (not biscuits)...and I said yes to them.

I may be writing this sarcastically, but in reality I was more concerned now with what someone has going on around them at that very moment, which are the real moments we keep losing out on every day sitting in front of our electronic communications devices. I betcha Kirk didn't envisage that when we was strutting through the decks of the Enterprise trying to out-strut Spock.

Which is f***ing insane...Spock's struts are legendary, even his people turn an eyebrow.

Anyway, I'm glad I'm not on there. And so far, I'm enjoying it. Here's some recommendations:

• www.tedisreal.com - A funny movie coming out in August with Mark Walhberg and Mila Kunis, and a VERY rude teddy-bear voiced by Family Guy creator Seth McFarlane
• Game of Thrones is back for a second season, and the first two episodes have been gloriously evil and deliciously dirty with a hint of medieval fantasy. Find it.
• Community is midway on it's third season with a turbulent war in the making between Troy and Abed. You can't miss the best friendship group I've never been in myself, duh!
• Pancakes....just simply pancakes, there's not enough of 'em and there's nowhere enough around me to enjoy.

Peace out, lovely amigos, I'm working tonight at the Painted Grin show in Benny's Bar, come down and enjoy!

Laughing Horse had a gig + I've changed blog guys

Hey people I've only just met :)

I had a lovely little gig last night running Laughing Horse in Camden. Despite it in danger of being pulled, we managed to get a small number in and have a wonderful time. Peeps like Mark Davidson, Rue Barret, Mike Ramot, Mark Trinworth and Richard Fox dazzled (sorry if I've left anybody off), and with only 10 people in the audition, I managed to get a bit of laughs with my middle section (no, not my stomach, the jokes in the middle of my set).

In other news, I had to move the silly blog to another host. Don't go Wordpress, they rip off. Blogger's better (well, it seems so far, who knows).

Ta-ta for now.

I want one.

Newest website…I’m done with making my own

Due to the web being the way it is, I have no time for wishy-washy websites detailing flashy stuff with clumsy-dumsy ways of portraying my individuality, I’m doing this.

A Blog.

By a guy.

Oh, the header above depicts me and the girlfriend in a pose I designed. Thankfully she has the correct expression that I know and love…the kind where she doesn’t get a joke I’m trying out on her. Thankfully though, not all people do the same but there is circumstances where I do once in a while lose out all ways of making everyone in the audience giggle.

Understandable, since I’m still new…and white.