Did my parents teach me anything?

I'm pretty ok with money a lot of the times. When you're living by the seat of your pants every day your blood begins to boil at the sight of the petrol price rising up like cake flour, you tend to forget you have limited funds, and you venture off from the petrol station sulking that your idea of buying an iPad mini seems further and further away.

And then I thought, why didn't my parents teach me how to be good with cash? I mean, they did, to constantly save for a rainy day. In London, that's a silly notion to forget considering its island status, but the notion for never over-spending was drilled into me.

Forget that, I want to know how to invest.
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What does my Dad dream?

As I hear the dragon-esque screams from the aeroplane flying above the home of my two terribly incongruent but tremendously loving parents, lying on my mom's bed as she's recovering in hospital from nose surgery and my father in the next room tucked away in his own slumber, I feel a moment of sheer terror as I begin to imagine these dark and twisted thoughts that would be running through his mind as he lays there…a man haunted by death.
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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.

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.

Going Offline: Day 54 - Going Online

I know, I know, ironic huh? Nelson harped on for ages about his addiction to Facebook and wanted to get off it as it was so time-consuming and affected his relationship with other people, his performance in work, and wrote a few short blog-posts bleeding his heart to the wide world of human beings about his fragile ego needing a rest from a virtual fashion show of people's lives.

And then he's back on it.

Well, if you haven't seen by now, I'm in South Africa spending time with la familia, my dad having been ill for so long and me wanting to be around him before time runs out. But since 2 weeks ago, this I can see will impact greatly on my career in the videogames industry, fragile and precarious as it once was before.

And now, I need Facebook...to contact people.

For all my good intentions of shooting the proverbial shit with my dad and the rest of his brood, no one needs a producer in little ol' Cape Town, and I found that out the hard way after 2 months of being strung along by someone. It's time to step up, get off my bum-bum, rewrite my Curriculum Vitae and become a full-fledged rat-race chaser, doing whatever odds and ends necessary to pay for petroleum for a run-down ve-HIC-le that will take me places for work purposes AND for comedic endeavours.

In terms of Facebook, that means being exposed to people again, promoting comedy shows and varying my repertoire, talking to long-lost "pals" and convincing them that I'm a gorgeous good-looking, charming little piece of ass-et that you can't do without.

AND THEN I'll be offline, keeping my head down.

So, you can call me a hypocrite for being weak-minded...OR you can stand-up and say, "Nelson...there's a guy that needs a handyman, I'll send him your number."

Yes, yes you can do that.

But for now, feel free to listen a little to my set at the Chilli Bar Comedy Show happening Thursdays in Soutfield. Go on, do it.

Cape Town Blog - Waking up to a brand-new world

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.

I don't have a Title, you can call me "Sir"

I see a fresh new yellow-brick wall in front of me, a stark contrast of the life I’ve been living for many years now. I wrote in pieces of paper, “Beginning”, “Development” and “Conclusion” and I’ve stuck them to this very same wall, hoping that the words may empower me in some bizarre Ancient Egyptian incantation that encompasses my entire being.

I’m talking bullshit, this is my brother’s room in his house and the only thing encompassing me is a hug from my mother tomorrow.

I’ve laid out the photographs of all the important people in my life in front of me, my parents and nephews/niece, I’ve laid the iPad next to me like it’s going to spring out a great idea that only digital media gurus can conjure. A glass of mediocre red lays half-drunk and my tongue feels like its berry goodness has already stained it with the shame of self-defeat.

My breath stinks of smoke. It must be from all the rolled cigarettes I’ve forced myself to ingest. Poor me.

The soundtrack to “Scott Pilgrim vs the World” is playing through tinny speakers on the desk which, too, shares the space for my affections. You know what, I have tried and successfully “attempted” to write something creative, a bleak outline of my only year in CityVarsity, a city college I attended back in 1999 in Cape Town, which really opened my eyes to progressive society that lay beyond the walls of suburbia and all the racism I swam through.

I also found out that my dad is extremely funny and quick-witted, and I’m so glad I’ve spent time with him. He is a genuinely warm and funny man, and my mom is the same person that throws up jibes that, had you been in her company were you down in the dumps, could’ve encouraged you to jump in the lake for her lack of empathy but yet her warm embrace which melted many a chill.

Yes, people, I’m back with my family…and by golly gosh, I’m loving it so far.

Now, can that person please call me back so I can work, earn money, get a car and do f***cking comedy?!!!!!

Celeste is on the line...

Dedication to Dad and the Family