Applying Business Practices to Stand-Up Comedy

When approaching projects in my employment, I put forth a variety of business practices that ensure I manage them on time and to budget within cost agreed to with clients and get them the product they require. But when it comes to stand-up comedy, I'm as guilty as anybody of treating it like any other hobby; whenever I get to it.

As it turns out, professional stand-ups have to treat their work like any other work: just like a business.

So, without further ado, here's the top ten practices I've learnt in business that I, as an aspiring stand-up comic, would apply:

1. It's all in the Planning
2. What are you doing today?
3. Research & Development
4. Dress for Success
5. Show up on Time
6. Create a Contact List
7. Networking, Networking, Networking
8. Marketing is Your Friend
9. Content is King
10. Learn to Fail

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VIDEO - #ThatsFunny at the All Star Theatre, Brackenfell, November 2014

Saying Goodbye to Robin Williams...wish I had said hello first.

So, Robin Williams has passed away from an apparent suicide.

And we're all sitting around on our phones, our computers and our tablets on our couches, by our desks, in the car while the mom's driving you to school, or you're experiencing a near-fading experience listening to your CEO droning on about the four C's that'll drive productivity forward, as we read the how's and the why's about Robin Williams.

And Robin Williams, the human being that brought us the best version of alien you could get in Mork and Mindy, an unforgettable Genie in Alladin, the uplifting voice of reason in Good Morning Vietnam, the aspiring teach in Dead Poets Society, the deadbeat in The Fisher King, or even the creepy guy in One Hour Photo, amongst all the numerous standup routines and countless other characters per minute he portrayed, is today and for all time not breathing.
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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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What have I been up to?

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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.

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

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 26: Sorry I forgot your birthday...

Remember the days when you knew the birthdays of your closest relatives and friends based solely on your relationship and proximity with them?

Like, your actual relatives and friends, not Facebook followers?

For years I spent wishing people "Merry Christmas" on friends' Facebook walls as a constant parody of the blasé attitude people have towards the constant childhood need to be recognised as the lucky sperm that made it, thankfully not wiped away with a tissue or swallowed, which put me in a position not to offend anybody by relying on the social networks to remember those incredible moments in OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES.

But I still do remember before we even had portable telephones in our pockets the important ones, the days we truly wished each other well on the day we realise we survived another year on this planet.

My mom's, for example, I remember constantly growing up as she received phonecalls from people in the community, which to me was akin to a personal status update. Or my very very FIRST girlfriend's just cos from age 8 to 12 I really liked her, to the lady that broke my heart as it soon before her 21st we got together.

I remember THOSE birthdays, but for the life of me I can't recall anybody else's, even my nephews (sorry boys and girl, I'm coming back to rectify that).

So today is both my sister-in-law's and my housemate's birthday, which I remember from last year where I quipped about it over the kitchen table and he went, "Oh yeah?" and returned to his conversation with a hot girl on Facebook chat, but as per usual I'd forgotten a card.

Or should I leave a card for a male housemate to a male housemate? Is that really appropriate to actually go out into a shop and pick up a birthday card for a male? Not a best friend, but a man sharing my house with me, that is a friend and a comedy colleague.

To me, I would say I'd have the same relationship as if I sent him a text message with an "x" at the end of it, and thankfully that is not what I do.

Nor would I do it...for he shall look at me like I've been painting "I love ####" all over my chalkboard with the door closed while listening to Celine Dion.

Celine specifically cos they're both Canadian.

No, his day will be spent getting lurid messages from friends and colleagues and I'll probably just come home with a few beers.

So, Merry Christmas from me. :P

Here's today's weird recommendations:

• @ryan_cull and @CelesteDG whose birthdays are today
• CuteCats just because my workmate asked me to spread the love

Going Offline - Day 3: Chewing at the Furniture

Ok, so it's getting harder now not to think about it. I'm coming across so many doubts in my mind about why I even deleted Facebook in the first place, as I've had the pleasure of enjoying so many options before.

I could sit and chat to whomever I wanted, even though I never truly did, while on some occasions people just popped up a chat window and spoke to me instead.

Also, there's a nagging fear in me that I'm closing doors on options that may come to me, from people that Iv'e networked with, and if they were to hear from me again maybe they may consider bringing me on for small bits of work that they'd need me.

It's kind of like sitting in the corner of a pub and someone asking for your help to move a table. It's not a big deal, but makes a guy feel useful.

But again, I'm not sure if I can implicitly accept that I should reconnect again. Should I? I'm putting myself in a precarious position. What if I need those same connections again? What if I return to London and find that I don't have any other contact details apart from messaging them on Facebook? These past few days just trying to find anything to do that will add to my coffers has been pretty much fruitless.

I don't just miss the friends I've made, I also miss the possible connections towards a better life.

12 more days till I regret my decision...

Going Offline - Day 2: Still have the option

So it's the second day of my account deletion, and I received a mail from Facebook stating that I still have 13 days left to reconsider my decision to reactivate my account.

Yes, the temptation is still there.

So, what are the pros and cons of me heading back to the site?

Pro: I've created a base of 800+ connections that will allow me to communicate my thoughts and ideas to everyone, including marketing myself out as a friend, a comedian or, in the current state that I'm in, a viable employable option amongst all the contacts I've created over the years working in the videogames industry.

Con: My addiction will kick in again and I'll just sit there watching as other people update on their lives about how happy they are with their loved ones (my family live in South Africa) and the places they are at (I'm in a tiny flat in North London

Sufficed to say, it's tempting.

Still, I'm allowing myself the use of Twitter as it is a clean and quick method of being around for people to interact with should they desire it, while at the same time using it again for the same purposes of communicating those same thoughts, ideas and the projects I'm involving myself in to keep the time going.

Ray Presto R.I.P. 1938 - 2012

Obituaries are a fickle sort, especially when written about someone you hardly, truely and deeply, know. Ray Presto (real name David Shaw), a retired magician and stalwart comedian on the London open-mic scene, passed away from the ranks of the down-trodden and frail, a small and weak man with all the characteristics of a downtrodden and beaten entertainer, but with the amazing twinkle of a professional who consistently plowed through to find his audience.

A lot of comedians and audiences recently remember him from his abnormal sets at the Comedy Store Gong Show, a gauntlet of boo's and hisses from punters willing to give him the benefit of the doubt based solely on his own innocence and lack of self-awareness at his own fickle delivery.

What I didn't know was his accomplishment as an author, publishing a book in 1972 called Choose Your Pleasure, a collection of essays of the pros and cons of hedonism and self-indulgence. You can find two more remaining books (I bought the cheapest as of writing this post) here.

ADVICE

Digressing back, my point is of my own meeting with him, my first and only time so far I've ever had to share the stage with such an amicable character. Above the Coach & Horses in Soho, prior to the Health & Safety incident with Laughing Horse beau Alex Petty (where a speaker fell on his head), we gathered in the upstairs room with a tiny group of audience members unaware of what self-destruction they've just got themselves in for after paying the admission fee, and us likely mirth-soldiers made awkward attempts at laughter while the survivors stood to the side pondering their failures.

And Ray, his trousers high above his waist, his spine impossibly bending to the will of the situation, went along with extremely bad puns, raising his arms in the air like Christ but with a joke, and painted everyone's face in the room with looks of shock like a wall-painter with a brush.

I was not awed by his performance, but I was envious of his resolve. And I made the leap, which I hardly do, to ask his advice on stand-up.

Eyes as huge and reminiscint of the late Marty Feldman (Igor in "Young Frankenstein") he glanced at me with what could only be described as incredulity at my question and then dashing his eyes left and right, responded:

"Young man, I don't know."

Ray Presto at The Comedy Store London

Ray Presto | Myspace Video

Ummm...two copies of each original document??

At some point, administration turns into an angry beast hungry for more paperwork and red-tape. Not content with a single copy of a document used to prove your worth, the Administrative Monster's appetite can only be satisified with original documents provided in triplicate, not QUADRUPLICATE!!!

But in most cases, I'm not quite certain exactly what official people actually mean. If official people were as nice as what us little kids used to imagine them being thanks to helpful government-provided media would allow you to think, they'd be sugar-plum fairies dancing on a needle, holding your hand as you photocopy each document required to let you pass through customs and into the ever-glowing arms of your loving family.

But lo, for it is not so.

The Administrative Monster is a fearsome beast, furious at its anger for not feeding it oodles upon oodles of information which could one day be used against you in some superflous way. Long ago in a time of rapid economic growth and positive outlooking, the Adminstrative Monster recruited said fairies, plucked their wings off, made them sit in damp, uninteresting offices with drab window-views and awful dance-music playing from a tinny radio bought for £5 in the kitchen, and created a cloud of depression that transformed these helpful little fairies into its army of malcontented minions that further fed its evil hunger.

So, my point is, I'm not sure what they mean by, "two copies of each original document". Is it:

1. Two copies of the same document with the original tucked away?
2. Two originals of the same thing, meaning they can't be photocopies?
3. One original and a photocopy of the original?

Help.