Tinder Decoder 2.0: Does she want to date you or destroy you completely?

I read a lovely piece on W24 entitled "Tinder Decoder: Does he want to date you or just sleep with you?", a wonderful example of literature lifted entirely from a Grade 10 student's essay book, the kind that sits forever under that dusty DVD copy of "He's Just Not That Into You" after you've watched it with your ex-boyfriend.

I enjoyed it, and the first line caught my eye so:

"Okay, let's face it, the majority of Tinder users are on the app for one reason and one reason only - to get laid!"

And yes, the little man brandishing his gnarled stick at the sun inside me began to cry havoc and stomp his feet, as I reacted angrily to how double-sided this article was. It's all just the men, she says, it's just them that do it, she says, men on Tinder want to fuck women and that's all they're there for. Meanwhile, the soft-padded little man inside waited patiently before reminding me:

"She's right, and you know it. But the other side of the cake has the same frosting."

So, in the interests of fair play, I've come up with a similar list of common traits I've found women to have on Tinder:
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VIDEO - #ThatsFunny at the All Star Theatre, Brackenfell, November 2014

HashtagThatsFunny - Comedy Photos from Saturday's Show

Post by HashtagThatsFunny.

Scriptwriting - Finding inspiration and finding something funnier...

A lot of people denote that comments are being troll-heaven for, well, trolls. The freedom to drop a comment under every article written conscientiously has usually turned into awful fights featuring anonymous geniuses chugging a beer or getting a spelling check from their beaten-up wife while she's washing the dishes, crying.

I've been trying hell on high water to find ways of being inspired to write, and came across this lovely little gem for inspiration:
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I wake up to Louis CK...and I'm not ashamed of it.

For years, the sound I've used to play on my phone to wake up me up every morning has usually been the standard tones Apple adds preinstalled for the iPhones they've created...from the wistful yet semi-annoying "Bells", to the utterly annoying and relationship-destroying "Radar" that, on many an occasion, an elbow has connected with my ribcage by an irate girlfriend who has already tolerated a few hours of my awful snoring.

But then I discovered the ability to load Louis CK's "Shameless" as an MP3 onto my phone to listen to, and that's become my new wake-up call. Hearing the familiar white-noise HBO introduction, followed by a pattering of conversation before the announcer clears his throat and begins the performance with the familiar, "Ladies and gentlemen...Louis CK," to thunderous applause.

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Becoming a Script-Writer

One day, in my short little life, I'd like the idea of someone saying, "Hey Nelson, I loved your script. Can I buy it from you?" or "Hey Nelson, can I produce your script for you?"

Throughout my career, I've heard of this wonderful little world where people hunched over type-writers or computers make an OK living out of ideas fleshed out in a step-by-step script that people will enjoy and, while I've dreamed of turning these ideas into reality, the truth of the matter is I don't have the time, patience or love of many friends to convert these into plausible videos or radio shows.

So I'm making them available to you for free. Here it is, there they are. Feel free to browse, read and be amused by them. Steal them, go ahead. I'll be proud to just have a credit and enjoy my work out there for people to see. Paul Arden encouraged people to give away their ideas in his book, "It's Not How Good You Are, It's How Good You Want To Be.", my motivational Bible and I'm following suit.

And if you want to buy the rights and make it the way you see fit, my contact details are right up there, go ahead and get a hold of me.

And this disclaimer, by the way, was encouraged by my comedy hero, Louis C.K.

You can find them over at my Scripts page by clicking the link, or follow the menu options above above, and I'll let you know via Twitter when new ones are available.

Remember Me?

I don't blog. I don't. A lot.

I do not so in the vain attempt that I look at my blog, stare at the screen for a few minutes, then realise I'm 4 hours into my work day and I haven't done a thing.

Today, I'm well aware I'm not done with my work, but I visited my blog and 15 people joined in to read.

Well, bully for me. Thank you.


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Armchair Sundays Comedy Show - Comedians' Photos

Post by Armchair Sundays.

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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Please Like Me - Comedians should date more.

Comedy is like dating.

At first, it's awkward, then a little familiar, but if you don't keep a close eye on it, it can tell you to move out and warn you never to try and contact it via its mother.

And like the incongruent facade of everyday courting, comedy is very match a game of cat-mouse-promoter. Can you impress a crowd of people immediately, can you keep the crowd interested, can you give them your number and they'll call you back three days later asking when the next gig  is? 

Uggh. Bluggh.

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Star Trek and the devalue of money

They had some amazing adventures on the television series, Star Trek.

From battling alien menaces to witnessing supernovas, transforming into weird creatures at the cellular level and inadvertently giving precedent to the Civil Rights Movement by famously being the first television show in history to demonstrate how a man kisses a woman.

I know, I missed out the fact it was a white man kissing a black woman, but from personal experience it’s so good I had to make a point of it with its very own line break.
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Laugh Actually - A Quite Rude Production

A four comedian affair starring one of the greatest sentiments of our age: Love. Join Christopher Steenkamp, Ryan Carelse, Nelson De Gouveia and Zanne Solomons as they tackle romance, relationships and all the challenges that come with it.

Check out more at comedyonair.com, and for tickets available at webtickets.

Sailing means you have to ride the waves...

...and, for some incomprehensible reason that fails me even to this day, we as human metamorphosise our expectations of achieving emotional bliss by creating the same duality, envisioning our meager and short little existences as ships sailing into the horizon, sometimes calm and sometimes stormy.

But from what I've read, most ships had scurvy...and seamen.

And this blog suffers from the stormy times. I tend to write positively when things are going my way, but in reality it's more when I think clearer about...stuff.
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Movie Trailer Watch - July edition

Wow, two blog posts in one day. Peculiar, no?

Anyway, so I've been thinking about which movies to look forward to in the new year or next, and thinking that I'd like for people to get to know me more, I thought that not only do I forward through recommendations of trailers I like, but also what I think of them.

So...tada.

Colin Farrell takes over the remake reins from Arnie in what should be August's most talked-about science fiction reworking since Metropolis director Fritz Lang thought, "Wow, wouldn't a typewriter look cool in gold with boobs?"

After the mind-warping process instigated by a TMZ-inspired John Cho in awful but futuristic peroxide hair, Douglas Quaid is bestowed with lightning reflexes and quick-trigger tenacities while being assisted convolutedly by Jessica Biel driving a floating car, keeping the setting in line with all of Phillip K. Dick's endless supplies of short stories.

The fact that Kate Beckinsale fills Sharon Stone's role as the semi-demon wife wishing ill-will on his person makes the whole two-minute affair avoiding yet another episode of How I Met Your Mother on my family's television extremely appealing and gives the "share this on Facebook" factor extremely high.

Craigslist Joe rides the Morgan Spurlock wave with a new, possibly bland, protagonist (albeit a guy that seems like he's condoms with all three girlfriends in his life, at least) as he tries to pinpoint how social media broke down America's sense of community by living completely off Craigslist, evil competitor to antipodean powerhouse Gumtree, for one month.

And by living off, I mean have no contact with friends or family, travelling through America asking for room and board in exchange for potential users seeking favours of any kind. In one scene, <insert cute voice> our hero <close cute voice> helps a middle-aged woman addicted to hoarding various goods with organising her hapless little junk empire, so that he may have a piece of bread and a floor to sleep on.

I can't help but feel jealous from this ultra-scary but über-cool attempt (ok, it's not that scary if he had a camera crew following him everywhere) at travelling hassle-free of job-searching and paying tax, while establishing the fundamental flaw of America's sociological make-up through the beginning of the 21st Century. One brief positive note: he loses a lot of weight along the way.

Cue Hollywood sabbatical diet treatment?

There are few men in this that can do what they like and actually can claim, with absolute sincerity, that they bring joy to the world, with everyone else agreeing with those people AND without fear of violent reprisal. That excludes President al-Assad of Syria (in fact, all presidents), Lord Sebastian Coe of the London Olympics, the South African Consulat representative in London that was an absolute bastard towards me, and a Somalian child soldier.

Who is included is Family Guy creator Seth McFarlane, and for that sir, I thank you...graciously, for sending us Ted, his first motion picture that nearly almost avoided animation whatsoever if it didn't include an animated teddy bear that humps a supermarket scan machine to impress a pretty girl.

Alongside Mark Wahlberg, sporting incredible magical powers as a little boy that wills his plush toy into existence, Ted grows up fuelled by an overactive sex-drive and a penchant for bong-smoking afternoons on the couch. But like any dirty-talking best friend, he gets ousted from the shared apartment by Mark's needy girlfriend Mila Kunis, voice of the ever-denied, ever-hated and totally diatribed Meg Griffin.

I want to see this wonderful movie made by the world's luckiest man (he missed boarding one of the 9/11 planes while en-route to pitch Family Guy to Fox) and, being stuck here in South Africa, I can't wait for it to reach our boxed-in shores.

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 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.

BBC's Funny in 15 Seconds