19 February, 2010

Could This Be My Manifesto?

I wish I could blame my public embarrassments and mistakes on a crushing case of closet alcoholism or a debilitating addiction to prescription drugs (though the latter has some truth to it), but really I've got no white flag of defeat I can raise.  Nothing to blame.

When it comes to drunkenness, I'm as dry as a kite flying in the parched winds of Chile's Atacama Desert. And drug abuse, well gosh now, can you blame a guy for wanting to get some sleep at night and then needing a pick-me-up the next day? Of course you can't.

But really, the bigger issue here is my consistent ability to embarrass myself publicly on a regular basis. On occasion it's something seriously blush worthy, but more often it's just a case of, "why did I do that?" or maybe "where was my head at?"
I blame it on my biggest character flaw: misguided confidence that I am deemed funny and likable by the people around me.

Think about it, if you knew that everyone genuinely liked you and thought you were funny, it would be hard to do wrong. Funny people are expected to say funny, often outlandish things and when their mouth opens, people are going to laugh at almost anything that falls out. They are conditioned to without realizing it. Their brain says, "I know this guy is funny, so whatever he says will probably make me laugh." That's why when funny people get genuinely angry, it's scary as hell because it's so far from your expectations.

Add to this humor a sense of likability and and you've created a monster. Likability and funny don't always go hand in hand though. I know a lot of hilarious people that put me in stitches every time I see them, but when I'm not laughing, I can't stand the sight of them. And there are a lot of people out there that I adore like my own mother who couldn't put an unforced smile on my face if their life depended on it.
And then there is me, the likable humorist...in my eyes at least.
Fake it til you make it, they say.
If you believe, you can achieve.
If you build it they will come.
But it doesn't always work like that. Mass emails with a pithy discourse and a half cocked desperate plea don't always fly and bring sympathetic grins to the receivers faces. Sticking your foot in your mouth and then trying to make that foot dance in front of the people you've just shocked doesn't always make them smile and clap in instant forgiveness. 

But it's ok. I'm in this for me. As long as I keep patching the holes in my imaginary world, the light of reality can never seep in and ruin my utopian world. It's real for me as long as I decide it's real.
If I shoosh you, it's because I fear you may undermine my safely sheltered mental image of the situation at hand.
If I don't ask for your opinion, it might be because I know what you're going to say and my world can't bear to hear it.
If I walk away from you in mid sentence, it may be for my own good.
So, forgive me now and forever hold your peace. I love you all dearly and look up to more of you than you know. You're talented, handsome, artistic, devoted, charming, passionate and driven and I love that about you, you, you and you. You're wonderful. And as long as you keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself, I can be all those things too, if only in my head.
Here's to me. Cheers.

18 February, 2010

I Love That Funny Lesbian But...

The only thing worse than not being able to get tickets to see the Ellen Show is getting tickets to the Ellen Show, getting your name called to come play a game in which you could win some seriously awesome prizes and then unceremoniously losing.
Oprah plays it right. Rather than having to play the role of good guy AND bad guy, she just gives everyone a prize every time. Where Ellen forces you to compete against a fellow audience member, Oprah forces you to fight the urge to kiss your neighbor when you find out your leaving with a copy of Keith Urban's new album and a round trip vacation to Barbados.
I'll go with Oprah any day. I can't stand confrontation or the crushing weight of a stranger losing big on national television. I started losing my hair and had to start watching my blood pressure when I started watching The Price Is Right every day. The Showcase Showdown ends up being the Showcase Letdown for me. I perpetually cheer for the underdog and the underdog rarely comes through for me.
So Ellen, cut it out. Oprah is a bore and The Doctors don't give any prizes away, so please, PLEASE just let everyone win because it's wreaking havoc on my nervous system.

16 February, 2010

And We're Back

Hey there. Remember me? Sure you do. I'm the one that had a mental breakdown a couple months ago. What's that you say? Yes, yes it was actually exactly 2 months ago that I blogged last.
Did I plan this, you ask, coming back to the blog on the exact two-month anniversary of my departure? We'll, yes and no.
When I realized I could triumphantly return on a quasi important date, I figured why not. I needed a little push and hitting the blog on a specific date seemed to fulfill that requirement.

So here it is. Nothing spectacular. Nothing grandiose. Just me saying hello. I had wanted to chat with you about my frustrations with bar soaps and body washes that are marketed specifically to men. I really had because I'm terribly frustrated. So frustrated in fact that I've invented a new kind of bar soap.
But we won't get into that.

I'll be honest, I jammed the living daylights out of my right-hand ring finger this morning playing basketball at the city rec center. The pain and swelling has proven prohibitive to say the least. Not to mention that I feel sick and toasty still from some serious over exertion.

If you know me, you know I don't play basketball. Not in the sense that I literally do not play it, but that I am physically, emotionally and spiritually incapable of successfully participating in it. I try, I really do try, but all the genes inside of me that allowed me win a jr. golf tournament for my age bracket back in the day have forced out any possibly of me carrying basketball genes as well.

So essentially, I run around. Or jog. Well really I just end up walking and using my pervasive sweating to dissuade other players from getting too close to me. Oh, and I sure yell a lot. I'll hustle as close as I can to someone who is about to shoot and then yell something monosyllabic like, "HAYBSHSTAK!" and throw an arm or two in the air. It's kind of pathetic, by my friends are glad to have me there.

And really that's what it all comes down to. So to call out my homies:
(But for all that is good and holy, give me a week or so to recover.)