No Guts No Glory

The other night I saw something wonderful. I went to see 'Give Me 5' at The Playground which is a 5 minute solo performance competition. I knew most of the people performing and I'm always curious about the kind of solo stuff people write. I was entertained although not very surprised about most of the content until the last performer got up: Gary Richardson.

Gary is a friend who I've coached and performed with for a while now. His 5 minutes started off with someone introducing him as stand up Darryl Tubs. He warmed up the crowd by letting us know this was his 10 o'clock show not his 8 o'clock show. This was his dirty show. Then he started in on his act. Gary told a story about being in an ice cream parlor when an Italian woman and her son came in. The mother asked the son what kind of ice cream he wanted and he replied "poo-poo ice cream". What followed was one of the ballsiest performances I've seen in a while. For 5 minutes Gary went after and tore down Italians using slurs like wop, gabbagool, goombah, greaseball, and guinea. The gist of all stemming from this woman's child being dumb for calling chocolate ice cream poo-poo ice cream. After his time was already up he got serious and told a story about his girlfriend being killed by an Italian in a car accident. His set concluded with him being disqualified from the competition for using racial slurs, him picking up his bag, and leaving the theater.

I was entranced from the beginning. The rest of the audience seemed not to know how to take it. Gary committed so hard to playing this character and aggressively and offensively disparaging Italians. Of course Gary doesn't hate Italians and there is another level to the performance. Possibly a comment on that kind of set. Or a comment on that kind of comedy taken to an extreme in order to make a point. I understood that instinctually possibly because I know Gary but I think more so because anyone with any comedy experience would realize this kind of attack isn't funny taken on a superficial level.

Gary went up there and sold it. He committed to being unlikable and saying offensive things. He did it with an edge which was in-your-face forcing the audience to react. Which they did, me with joy the rest with confusion and some with dislike. It was a risk which he took and didn't apologize for. It wasn't safe, it wasn't some regurgitation of a bit that has been done before and it wasn't some standard observational humor. I applaud the risk.

Gary's set wasn't about putting down Italians, although that was the content. It was about something on another level. And that is something I'm always delighted to see. Something I wish I saw more of.

Take a risk. Do something different. Surprise us.

Flowers Under Streetlight

People fear the night.
And well they should.
Shadows and unseen things.
Lurking at the edge.
But there is beauty even in the dark.

A Fable About Sorrow

There once was a shark who was tired of swimming.
He swam slower and slower and slower.
Hoping one day he would finally stop altogether.
More often than not he let the current carry him along.
One day, as he inched through the deep he realized he was not alone.
He saw an old sea turtle swimming with him.
The turtle looked at him and grinned.
"Move, son." he said "You have to move."
"Why? There's no point..." the shark replied.
"Oh but there is my son. Glories to see, morsels to eat, places to go, and creatures to meet."

Inciting Incident 3

I ask friends "When did you first feel the need to perform?" Performance artist Heather Perry talks about theater vs. music. You can find info on her current band here: Bring Your Ray Gun.

The Dog Catcher

From Schwa last night. Jamison has been playing with us the past couple weeks which has been really fun. Joe was also in town so we had a full roster with a lot of energy. Playing with Schwa is almost always the high light of my week. I never know who will be there and I never know what we're going to do.

A Disturbing Dream 4

I'm 13. I'm in Jordan's house, my childhood best friend. It's night. His brother Ryan and him are trying to convince me to kill their dad Mark. They keep trying to push an Israeli made Uzi into my hands. Finally I except. They tell me that it is set on semi-automatic and has 30 rounds in the clip.

Mark, their father, comes home shortly after I've agreed to kill him. He comes into the kitchen through the garage. It's dark. No lights are on in the house. I'm crouching in the doorway to the dining room. As he comes into the kitchen he says "Hello?" and Jordan and Ryan both shout "Now! Now!"

I fire six shots into Mark's chest. He falls to the ground and groans. I stand and take a step closer, he's still moving. Panic drowns me. What have I done? What have I done? I fire again. Three shots. Two in the chest one goes wild and grazes his leg. I see blood. He lies still. Blood begins to flow from the leg wound and soak the kitchen tiles. I step closer to look at the body, horrified, but it is in deep shadow. The only thing I can see  in the kitchen is a pool of blood in a shaft of moonlight. I lay the Uzi next to the body. I have a fleeting thought of concocting a tale of suicide but I know that is useless. I'm going to jail.

Ryan and Jordan call to me from the front room. They are sitting on their couching waiting patiently for their mother to come home. Both have peaceful faces. I think there must have been things going on in that house which I had no idea of. The family always seemed nice to me but I get the sense of some underlying wrongness.

Their mother returns and before her sons can offer any explanation Mark walks in flicking on the kitchen light as he leaves it. The kitchen is splattered with blood, so much blood I think he cannot be alive. As we all stare at him in silence he reaches into his shirt and pulls out a large ring of keys. Bullet slugs have fused some of the keys together but it is clear they have stopped all the shots save for the one that grazed his leg. "Boys it's time to clean." We silently trudge into the kitchen and start to clean up the blood. "You're not leaving until all this is clean." he says to me. We begin to clean but whatever we do stains remain. Ryan and Jordan look deflated, defeated. I scrub the sink and think: how did blood get in here? And as I scrub the blood remains. I realize we'll be cleaning this kitchen until Mark is satisfied. On and on and on. How many times have Jordan and Ryan done this? Many times. And now I'm here until he lets me go.

I awoke.

'Brooklyn Castle' A Review

Brooklyn Castle is a documentary about a junior high chess team. It follows a number of kids over the course of two seasons of chess. The kids are good-natured, driven, and inspiring. The film emphasises chess as a teaching tool and a life tool. It also highlights the students economic struggles and their tenuous futures. A simple, feel-good film that makes you want to give something back.

See It.