I painted my nails pink yesterday

I painted my nails pink yesterday.

 

It started as a friendly game with my love interest as she straightened her hair, and I looked at the nail polish she had on her table. I picked it up and wondered, "What would she say if I started painting my nails pink?"

We had just returned from a brunch meeting about our relationship, highlighting our differences while keeping our emotions from flying. We intended to be upfront and straight with each other but, I'll admit, it's pretty hard. I keep everything close to me, I couldn't admit being the soft one when the man in me should be huffing and puffing his chest around like a baboon with a huge erection.

Ok, I'm not a baboon.

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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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Why I'm a Full-time Comedian...in my spare time.

You get off stage, having pummeled the crowd with joke after joke that kills, that murders, that slays. Backstage, you wipe your brow as the other acts pat your back and praise you for that quick turn when the heckler almost threw you off-course from the journey of self-exploration you were taking the audience through.

This is your job, this is what you live for.

And that's the vision I see most comedians that have pursued our line of work full-time experience many evenings as a full-time comedian.

Back at the farm, while the young comics emerging into the crowd open-mic circuit trying their luck to impress not just the crowd but the promoter in the hope they get a chance to return, some hardened comedians stand aside and watch as people below them begin to flower, while others above them live the life they dream, and I'm one of those.

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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.

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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9 things I do when I live alone

Just discovered Lili Radloff's "9 things you learn when you live alone", a wonderful list of little things you do when you're alone in your abode. I like it, it's a wonderful piece featuring things she does which we relate to, etcetera, blah blah blah.

But my 9 things are a little different:

1. You tend to walk in after a long day at work, sit down in front of your desk, and realise...you have no internet. So you eat yoghurt and stare at the wall.
2. You switch off the geyser during the day because there's no one there...and forget to switch it on in the morning after being awake for an hour watching your favourite TV show you enjoy to forget why you're even there.
3. Your meals, that you make while naked, are increasingly simple and quick to make.
4. You forget to sleep on your own bed, with the couch increasingly convenient in front of the TV.
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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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Post Holiday Blues - What I'm thinking when I'm at home eating chicken

When your birthday’s in the middle of the year, like mine, you tend to see every milestone as a bout of renewal. 6 months down the line from the anniversary of your birth, you share in the same period of coming together with family and friends that everyone mills around on, like flies on a cake.

A rather LARGE cake.

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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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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.

--------------------------------

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.

--------------------------------

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.

Love Star Trek much?

There are few subjects I can usually relate to people about. Sports are as functional to me as sex, I just don't know the people performing in both. Even an ex-girlfriend successfully stood me up when I tried to open up the fuel-tank for a van I hired to move home.

But Star Trek...hold onto your ridges, Mister Worf.

A comedian I joyously got to meet last night was held accountable for his days playing on the PC videogame Star Trek Online, and I saw how he backed up like he was apologising for indulging in the practise, that it diminished his deserving cool factor.

I say to thee, new friend...never be ashamed.

All of us on this planet fly through this life so quickly, so fleetingly, and I bet you ten bucks that the majority don't really place enough passion into something they love. Yes, there's music, movies, other people, politics, endangerments to things they care about like the environment, social inequalities...

And for a select few, creative fiction of unimportance to the grand scheme of things that bring joy to the few that know nothing else.

But for me, I look towards the future of the human race, and Star Trek has always been the definitive representation of how we as a species can evolve into something more, devoid of aspects that divide us like territory, currency, violence and prejudice. As a television series though, it was the ultimate situational experiment set in the vacuum of space, placing the human condition in all its forms in a futuristic setting that explored facets we tend to overlook in ourselves in this modern agenda.

Furthermore...who wouldn't want to captain a starship, with warp drive and phasers?

And, finally empowered with social commentary that places me into a pigeon-hole that I am fully capable of decorating with fictional innuendo and passion in my voice remarked, "There's nothing quite like seeing your ship that you've set up YOURSELF floating with fantastic speed through the stars. And I'm proud to proclaim myself commander of the best starship a young, stupid Trekkie can ever have, the USS Fantastic."

At least one comedian laughed. :)

JohnnyCranko.com
IAmComic.co.za

 

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?!!!!!

Going Offline - Day 1: Deleting my addiction

You know you're truly alone in the universe when you begin to comprehend the vastness of outer space, the endless, unyielding vacuum that goes on and on and on for billions upon trillions of light years AND beyond, with wonders never before seen, and if you're reading this, you never will either.

Similarly, you're truly alone when you delete your Facebook account settings off your universal chat program you've used to incorporate all your contacts together, to find only 7-8 people you used to chat to on MSN, Yahoo, Google and various others.

Yes...I've deleted my Facebook account.

I haven't deactivated it, and I could've just shut it down and never use it for AGES, and you'll come back to people having sent you messages like, "Where are you, what you been up to?" Etcetera.

No, I've DELETED my Facebook account.

Wiped. Clean.

Why?

Because I have an addictive personality to all things technological, always have. As a kid I took things apart and tried to put them back together. I learnt soldering techniques from my Uncle when his business was working arcade machines, and he would slave over the gameboards making sure the transistors that came loose thanks to some punk kid shaking the cabinet.

I would watch as he would melt thin, weak metal to make sure two wires would conduct, then connect it all up.

Facebook, however, is FAR from technological. Facebook is a social nightmare.

In addition to my addictive personality, I'm a little cowering worm in social circles. I compare myself daily to everyone that I pass on the street, let alone the people I judge to be my peers doing better than me, working harder than me, feeling happier, wonderful, amazing, excited, jubilant.

And I sit at home, without a job, realising that while I watched as everyone lived their lives, I wasn't.

Sure, you've seen me around hanging out, making the odd joke here and there, having a drink or two there, maybe working on a project with friends now and again. but all the time, whenever there was a moment, I would "check my Facebook" to see what the most exciting thing is today without contributing much to it myself.

I am a social pariah, yet Facebook was still my only "in".

No more. The people that matter to me have my number should they want to reach me and vice versa, my family have Skype (and heaven help me, soon I'll be with them so won't even need that), and emails galore.

I'm done with Facebook.

I don't want to virtually compare myself to other people anymore, it's just too draining. And to be honest, I ahve to admit that it cost me a career in my chosen field. People that wanted to trust me couldn't because they couldn't depend on me whether I was working for them or online seeing what "thingy-thingy is doing with their family". To all my former colleagues, I apologise.

I'd prefer to just understand that, in this life...I'm alone.

Sorry, I know this is a depressing blog post but I am really fed up, so my relationship with Facebook is over.

Cigarettes, you're next.

Edinburgh - Wow oh wow

Sorry I haven't been writing for ages, and in addition writing for Edinburgh, which I should as I've been having a mad adventure here. It's literally an occasion like no other, an experience I will certainly never forget and a rollercoaster of emotion that is incomparable to anything else.

One: obviously about me, I have become religiously confident as a stand-up...it's been a mix and match of comedy quality from gig to gig, and I'm happy to announce that I've had an amazing Edinburgh debut at the Kasbar room in Espionage, to a packed room of people (after helping to flyer), then after a better delivery with lesser laughs, but hey, it's what I do to learn and grow.

Next up I've been roped in to warm up an act everyday for the entire run, which guarantees me 5 minutes each day to perform freely without being stuck onto the same material time and time again.

And finally, news of me is spreading amongst the smaller people while the bigger ones at least see my face, and whether I'm on stage and die a little death, they will at least remember that and in the future notice an improvement, if any.

Not to mention running into people, socialising without cause or effect, meeting new patriots to the cause and supporting live comedy everywhere I can get to.

As for work, I obviously can't see the reaction of my colleagues but I'm managing the time between performing and doing any work I'm needed to do as best as I can. I fear for some delays and repercussions won't be nice, but I will try my very best and try not to let them down, as they are awesome folks and I love working with them.

Two: Giada is with me and didn't have a wonderful debut, but we have two different minds regarding what we both want from the Fringe. Hopefully she'll get her vibe in other shows and do well, which she is far more capable of doing than I am.

Three: Imran Yusuf performed at Michael McIntyre's Road Show on Sunday, and he's received 5 stars for his Free Festival show, An Audience with Imran Yusuf. The guy's over the moon and I'm really blessed to have been around to see it, and thankful he got me into it too. All the best for him and hope he invites me to his LA mansion (he's sitting next to me as I type this, hope he notices that last bit :P)

Anyway, here's my set from the Meadow Bar this week:

A birthday joke for my brother

Charlie walks into a bar and orders the following:

- a tequila slammer
- four straight shots of whisky
- a martini with a Hawaiin umbrella and some mint...
...- a Harvey Wallbanger served by a Belgian sausage dog
- four shots of dry-but-not-sweet rose sambuca...in flames
- twenty bags of roasted peanuts flown in from Jamaica by a disgruntled Korean war veteran
- and finally, a Melbourne Twist

The barman's astonished at the list but prepares it all for him, and he proceeds to put them all away within the hour.

"Don't mind me asking," begins the barman, "but why such a list?"

Charlie looks up, his eyes incoherrently switching from one object to the next
and mumbles, "I blame my younger brother, the comedian."

"Why him?"

"Cos the little bastard needs new jokes."