Tag: Comedy

Clown School Day 9: Clown Fight!!!

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In which Our Hero proves he’s got rubber balls

Today I pissed off a clown.

It’s better to piss off a clown than to be pissed on by a clown.

We were playing 9-square. It’s like 4-square, but with 9 squares and more chaos.

I was playing legally. The rules say you can’t block another player, but you can wander outside your square. I was the King—the occupant of the center square—but I spent the whole game standing off to the side. Because: strategy.

The owner of that square complained.

The ref said my move was legal.

The owner complained again.

The ref asked me to move.

I moved.

Then I taunted the square’s owner.

The owner complained a third time.

The next ball that came to me…

I smacked it as hard as I could at her feet.

She was pissed. The crowd gasped. She appealed to the ref, who shrugged, as if to say: He played the game hard. What do you want me to do about it?

She stormed off. Later, I caught her venting to another player, confirmed later as badmouthing: “Can you believe that?”

Here’s what I learned:

  1. When I feel someone’s playing shenanigans, I get righteously pissed. When I get pissed, I get determined. And when I get determined, watch out.
  2. My classmates will now play differently with me.
    1. The fun-first crowd will avoid my wrath.
    2. The competitive ones will know I don’t back down.
  3. I may have just become the enforcer of clown school. Neither good nor bad—just a role.

It’s no coincidence that the person I clashed with was the second-best at the game. Competitive people find each other. And when they do, sparks fly.

I respect her. She plays hard. She got the ref on her side, a valid tactic. Later I overheard her admit she’d been feeling a bit touchy today. So maybe we both just hit the limit of our light play energy.

And she got me back. In the final round, she served me a tiny, dinky little ball: barely legal, perfectly placed. I was out. No one else noticed.

Well played. Respect.

(Though I’ve since heard others reacted to her venting with a kind of “Wait, what’s she mad about?” bemusement… so maybe the last laugh is still up for grabs.)

—

But what is this about, really?

Is this a story about clowning? About performance? About theater?

Maybe.

In a way, 9-Square is theater: it’s a miniature social hierarchy. The King in the middle. The peasants below. Everyone clawing their way upward by knocking someone else down. Game of Thrones played with rubber balls.

In singles, you play for survival and glory.

In doubles, it becomes a romance—your fate tied to your partner’s. You win not through aggression but through sync, trust, and conservatism.

It’s a lesson in status, alliance, and timing.

And like all good clown work, it’s about how you handle the fall.

—

As for my reputation: some classmates already dodge competing against me. Fair. For me, winning is part of fun, but the real goal is shared joy. I just happen to find joy in playing hard. Someone has to be clown game king: might as well be me.

Clown School Day 8: Nice, Simple, Social

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In which Our Hero makes a friend!

Once in a blue moon, you meet a person who feels like someone you’ve known your whole life. In my case, today’s was a trans, autistic, lesbian philosopher with eerily similar experiences to my own. Dinner started at 7 p.m. and ended at 11:30, including a long, leisurely walk around the park.

My goals at clown school are threefold:

  1. Learn the practicalities of clowning
  2. Learn the theory of clowning
  3. Make friends I’d like to spend time with after clown school

It’s nice to move forward on #3.

Notes from clown school today:

  • Blindfolded ball pickup: Walk toward a ball with eyes closed, then pick it up. The key is counting the right number of paces, then walking normally even when, near the end, excitement floods in.
  • Chair swap game: Don’t let others rattle you. Don’t move until you have agreement.
  • One structure of game: One vs. Group. A bunch of people beating up on one idiot (à la Monkey in the Middle). Perhaps funniest when all are idiots.
  • Some people are more confident than they are right. One classmate especially.
  • Idiots trying very hard at something they’re terrible at → very funny.
  • Smart people tease each other; idiots conspire.
  • Regardless of external intensity or internal emotional intense, I must still speak in a BIG, BOOMING VOICE.
  • Idiots playing smart games → lots of apologizing.
  • A conspiring group mirrors fighting over limited resources; one-on-one intellectual duels mirror fighting for extraneous desires or abstract pleasures like honor.
  • Teaching hunch: if someone ends on a mistake, they dwell on it, therefore learning faster.
  • When the major/minor switches → fixed point.
  • A “miser for pleasure” hoards joy inside instead of sharing it.
  • Loud creates an impulse. The important part is the impulse.

Clown School Day 7: First Impulse

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In which Our Hero fails via simian ejaculation

“At the sound of the drum, you must make the sound of an animal ten seconds before it has an orgasm,” said our teacher, in his typical Swedish accent.

I chose my animal. I spotted others’ mistakes. I planned my route. I considered the method by which I was likely to fail. And then, when the time came, I failed. Bombed. Flopped. Crashed. Kathunked.

We were playing a game of cannibal chairs. It’s exactly like musical chairs, except your teacher is from Sweden. And when you’re out, if your animal’s orgasm is enjoyable enough, you’re saved.

Some students latch on to the impulse right away. They grab the failure and they start DOing. Prancing about the stage; braying like a donkey; mooing like an aroused cow, etc. Others take a beat. I decided I would be in the second category.

My first impulse is often fear. So I decided I’d wait. Take the second. Build the second wave instead of grasping at the first splash. First impulse is for those who ride external energy; second is for those who find it inside.

I noticed this dichotomy when a friend failed to find a chair, then walked to the side of the room, thunked the wall, and began his performance. The three seconds pause allowed him to collect himself. When he arrived, he arrived. His face was open, eyes shining. We loved him. Life saved.

When I failed, I latched onto the first impulse. I flailed. Yuck.

My first impulse was, as it so often is, fear.

My second impulse. Security. Comfort. Presence. That can be beautiful.

Another lesson I will need to incorporate.

One I have learned before.

Perhaps one day my first impulse will lack fear. Perhaps one day it will be honed enough to succeed. Until then, it is mere panic. And panic has no place in clown.

Clown School Day 6: Putting the Text on the Game

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In which Our Hero attempts to cohere the visual-auditory media 🧐

Should the game be a visual metaphor for the scene, or should it be an unrelated game?

My suspicion is the former. A coherence between the game and the dialogue makes for richer depth of audience experience. It does, however, bring increased danger of “playing the text”, which is bad.

The scene is Taming of the Shrew, Act II Scene 1. The scenario is: Petruchio (me) commences his wooing of Kate (my classmate). The game is… well, that’s what we’re deciding.

We want the game to be not so on-the-nose as to be boring (ie “playing the text”). I also want the game to be sufficiently related that the visual experience parallels the auditory experience.

My partner suggested catch. I think it’s a sufficient, satisfactory choice, a serviceable game. I wonder if we can elevate the experience by mirroring the text more. Dodgeball instead of catch, for instance. Or we line up a row of soda cans behind us and have to defend them while the other throws a ball to knock them down. These games mirror the text: verbal prods à la dodgeball; or Petruchio attempts to knock down Kate’s defenses → Kate fires back → we repeat.

It’s fun to watch people play a game. It’s fun to watch multiple communication media cohere. I think ideal theater is both.

—

My roommate received five zeros today. The most zeros I’ve seen. Brutal.

When he strode onto the stage, the teacher said, “This guy never understands anything.” Then, after he spoke one single word, the teacher banged the drum to kick him off stage. He walked back to his seat. She said “You get zero. No: zero is too good for you. You get double zero.” He said, “I understand it now: give me another chance”. She said, “It’s Monday, so I give you another chance”. He returned to stage. He spoke one word. She banged the drum and bestowed upon him three more zeros.

An hour later, I saw him at home. He told me he understood what he had done poorly. Her zeros had taught him. He went to the bar to socialize with friends.

In April, my final presentation received a zero. The one thing I had practiced for three weeks: when it came to my final performance, zero. “First zero of the day”, my teacher told me.

Somehow, being first didn’t help.

Maybe that’s the game: collecting zeros until you crash. And the moment you give up: you receive your first one.

Clown School Weekend 1.2: Phoning It In

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In which Our Hero phones it in with a brief reflection (it’s the weekend, after all)

I started memorizing lines this weekend. The school doesn’t care what the words mean: only that you say them exactly right. It’s strange to memorize language as sound instead of sense.

I’ve been using a first-letter mnemonic I found on YouTube, which works surprisingly well. Combine that with the top-secret trick of practicing right before bed and again first thing in the morning, and the lines get codified much faster.

That’s all for today. Tomorrow begins Week 2 of Clown School. Onward! 🎭

Clown School Weekend 1: The Tragic Flaw

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In which Our Hero contemplates monkey business

Why is it funny to watch someone trying so hard? Repeating the same failed strategy over and over? Exaggerating a single specific trait?

Is clowning the humor version of a character’s tragic flaw? Is the same element that drives us to extrapolate a whole character from one personal or physical or psychological deformity also the same that makes us love this repetitive, heightened, exaggerated play?

Do monkeys clown? They certainly have tragic flaws. Do they goof? Perform mockery? Satire?

—

I visited a clown performance today. Half a dozen clowns stuffed into one small stage. One read the story of Snow White and walked oh so slowly across the stage. Another pantomimed a horse and played the audience like a musical instrument. A third sang Disney songs and perhaps was a burlesque performer not a clown. My favorite was a clown singer. Here’s what he did:

  • Appeared on stage in a shiny jacket and ascot to announce “and for my final song…” (which is already a funny opener)
  • Followed it up by announcing it would be “one from my new album…”
  • Cued the DJ by referring to him as “song boy”
  • Performed precisely three funny gestures
  • Sang the beginning of a song
  • The song had some small snag, so he stopped and refused to sing again until we the audience showed him enough love (eg by demanding an encore)
  • Repeated from the beginning

I loved the whole thing. My only gripes were 1) the women behind me who were talking during the show, and 2) the ending could increase our love for the performer rather than merely end it.

I have a few hunches on how to execute #2. I’ll share them with the performer when I see him. (It’s unfortunately not legal to execute #1.)

—

The funniest-in-concept performer was a poet who wasn’t obviously a clown nor obviously a poet, who prompted the audience to not know whether it was intended to be earnest or funny. I couldn’t stop laughing.

After the show, I approached this poet. I needed to know if he was real or not. My conclusion: he’s a real poet who really did just find himself repeating reordered sequences of the same sentence of words at an underground clown show.

Maybe that’s the secret: the clown, the poet, and the rest of us: each repeating our flaw until it becomes a performance worth watching. And perhaps that fact is the funniest of all.

Love Island: a Comedy Sketch

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Love Island: Australia is one of my favorite TV shows. I wrote a comedy sketch parodying it. If you’d enjoy filming it with me, comment on this doc or shoot me an email.

Love Island Sketch

[Shots of a beautiful island paradise, then a mansion. An attractive man’s face in sunglasses. Then a woman’s foot in a high heel, panning up]

Voiceover:

  • You couldn’t get enough of Love Island Australia, US, and UK. Now, time for the hit new show pairing stunning women with dashing dudes… Love Island: Sharia.

[Zooming out from the high heel: A woman in a burqa]

  • It’s the romantic intrigue of Romeo and Juliet. And the family intrigue of… Romeo and Juliet.

[The woman stands flanked by her parents – a mustachioed man and an older woman in a burqa]

HOST (a man):

  • It’s time for the coupling.

[Zoom out to see there are 3 eligible women, each flanked by a mustachioed man and an older woman in a burqa]

  • Our first contestant, come on out.

[A muscular, mustachioed man emerges. He saunters to center-stage.]

  • Muhammad is from Saudi Arabia. His hobbies include praising god and worshiping the prophet Mohammed.
  • Muhammad, tell us about yourself.

Muhammad:

  • I pray 5 times a day.

HOST:

  • What are you looking for in a wife?

Muhammad:

  • At least 3 goats.

HOST:

  • Contestants, step forward if you’re interested in Muhammad.

[All 3 of the fathers (not the daughters) step forward.]

HOST:

  • Muhammad, all three of these lovely ladies are interested in you. Who will you choose?

Muhammad:

  • (Pointing) Her.

HOST:

  • Why did you choose this man’s daughter? 

Muhammad:

  • She looks like her mother.

HOST:

  • Muhammad and this man’s daughter: you’re our first couple. 

[Glamor shots of the couple standing beside each other, her parents in the back.]

  • Our second contestant, come on out.

[A muscular, mustachioed man emerges. He saunters to center-stage.]

  • Mohammed is from Saudi Arabia. His hobbies include worshipping the prophet Mohammed and praising god.
  • Mohammed, tell us about yourself.

Mohammed:

  • I am named after the prophet to whom I pray 5 times per day.

HOST:

  • What are you looking for in a wife?

Muhammad:

  • A woman who is chaste and will serve me.

HOST:

  • Contestants, step forward if you’re interested in Muhammad.

[All 3 of the fathers (not the daughters) step forward.]

HOST:

  • Mohammed, all three of these lovely ladies are interested in you. Who will you choose?

Mohammed:

  • (Grunts, along with a gesture)

HOST:

  • Why did you choose this man’s daughter?

Mohammed:

  • Her father looks wealthy.

HOST:

  • Mohammed, congratulations: you’re our second couple.

[Glamor shots of the couple standing beside each other, her parents in the back.]

  • Our final contestant, come on out.

[A famous American actor emerges, dressed in a muscle tank and board shorts. One of the women contestants immediately steps forward. Her parents are appalled.]

  • Chad is from Santa Monica. His hobbies include surfing and weightlifting. Chad, tell us about yourself.

Chad:

  • I like surfing, partying, and having a good time.

[A second woman steps forward. Her parents are appalled.]

HOST:

  • What do you look for in a partner?

Chad:

  • I like someone strong and fun with a bodacious bod.

[The third woman steps forward.]

One of the contestants’ fathers (Aggressively):

  • How often do you pray?

Chad:

  • I pray all the time, man. For gnarly waves. [Shoots a shaka]

[All three contestants step forward again]

HOST:

  • All three of these lovely ladies are interested. Who will you choose?

Chad:

  • Are you single?

HOST (a man):

  • Me?

Chad:

  • Yeah, man!

[Shots of the angry fathers.]

Voiceover (shots of a beautiful island):

  • Next week on Love Island: Sharia.

[Chad is bound on his hands and knees while the three fathers host a trial for him.]

The Joys of Travel

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or “How to Receive an Airbnb Refund after the Host Rejected Your Initial Request.” [Edited from the version sent to the Airbnb host.]

Hello [Name redacted] — 

I find your accommodations dissatisfying and inaccurate to their initial online description. Your description of the room states “We guarantee the best independent space at a very affordable price, optimized for solo travel and business travel.”

Specifically, here is a list of ways that the room is not accurately described: 

  1. The hallway immediately outside the room smells like smoke, as does the bathroom (I was literally coughing in the shower from it 10 minutes ago). Smoke gives me a headache and I never stay in smoking establishments. I was promised a non-smoking room, and you messaged me upon booking saying that smoking was prohibited here. This is an inaccurate representation of the space. 
  2. There are loud parties immediately outside the window til 2am on weekday nights. This room was described as “optimized for business travel”. That is clearly not true. 
  3. The temperature vacillates widely — from unbearably cold on night one to unbearably hot on night two. I would be reticent to find any business traveler who would find this fitting. 
  4. There are bugs, both in the shower and in the room. I snapped a picture of one in my room. I am happy to share it with you if you would like. This is just disgusting. 
  5. The pictures do not demonstrate that the toilet and shower are a single space. I am familiar with this setup from traveling through Asia, and would have been fine with it had I expected it but the pictures implied differently. (And at the last, similarly priced and structured space I stayed in, they were separate, which suggests it was reasonable for me to believe they would be separate.) Also, you should be aware that one of the showers seems to flood under the door to the hallway. This is not strictly related to my points here; I’m just letting you know because tenants’ normal use will likely damage the floor over time if you do not fix it. 
  6. While you claim this room is optimized for business travel, other tenants will bang on my door at 1pm if I am having a videocall at normal volume. I cannot imagine how someone could conduct business here if I’m not able to have a normal phonecall. 
  7. The room is a 4th floor walkup — entirely stairs with no elevator. That’s something you should disclose in the description before someone books. I do not believe it is true anywhere in the world that “optimized for business travel” means “you must carry your heavy bags up 3 flights of stairs”. 
  8. The mattress is painfully hard, making it difficult to sleep. (This one I could concede as potentially a matter of taste. But it really is like lying on plywood.) 

If one were to compare this space to another “independent space at a very affordable price” — i.e. the other sharehouse that I stayed in in Seoul immediately before arriving here, the prices are approximately the same and the rooms are similar in size but this one is unquestionably not better (see above points, including about bugs — ew.). As you guarantee this will be the best independent space, I would like to make use of that guarantee. 

Should you and I not be able to come to an agreement that refunds me 6 nights (from 5 May to 11 May), I will be requesting that Airbnb refund me the total amount of the room from 2 May to 11 May, as you specifically guarantee the room and it has not been as described. I’m happy to be reasonable here, but if you are unwilling to be reasonable I will escalate to their judgment and seek the full refund, which seems fair and fitting for the above reasons. 

As I have additional business I need to complete, I would appreciate your response within the hour — if I don’t hear from you, I will simply escalate to Airbnb to enable me to complete my work. 

Best,

Julian 

P.s. Your response to “What should I do in response to a loud party at 1:30am?” is that I should talk to the restaurant? Like literally get out of bed and walk the 3 flights downstairs to talk to the restaurant? That’s just ridiculous. 

Outcome: Yes, she did accept my alteration request and issue me a refund. And yes, I did have fun writing and fighting this.

Honesty in Comedy

Julian1 Comment

Yesterday I intentionally lied to you. I posted an AI-generated picture of a tattoo, claiming to have received this tattoo while drunk in Bali.

I have never received a tattoo, nor have I been drunk in Bali. I lied because it was April First, the only day out of the whole year when non-malicious lies are more than accepted: they’re celebrated.

I’m currently writing a personal-history one-man show that aims to be honest, to entertain, and to have impact. Honesty is tough when speaking to a diverse audience. New Yorkers will take your words at face value unless you indicate exaggeration via a clear tonal inflection. (Does this make New Yorker a tonal language? I say yes.) Brits and southerners prefer a deadpan that allows them to employ their own bullshit detector. One cannot satisfy everybody’s requirements for honesty while preserving the level of humor I desire. In my upcoming show, I will need to choose between being a comedian (entertainment) and being a journalist (honesty). I will need to have a defined stance, if only to maintain my ability to sleep well in the face of twitter criticism. John Oliver threads this needle by claiming comedy, which allows him to have the impact of a journalist without the industry’s behavioral constraints. Is this cheating? Absolutely. But it’s also an elegant way to win. So here’s how I define my stance:

These distinctions are absolute tosh. They’re like saying “a comedy ends with a marriage; a tragedy with death.” When was the last time a romcom ended with the marriage of all significant characters? Or a modern tragedy ended with a Hamlet-like bloodbath? We’ve been mixing genres over the last few years because they’ve always mixed. And April Fools is a holiday to remind us the ability to impact truth through lies. Is Amazon’s 2013 Cyber Monday claim that they’d have drone delivery in two years any more of an April Fools hoax than the 2019 April Fools joke of an Amazon delivery blimp? Many people even treated the April Fools one more seriously while ridiculing the the Cyber Monday one as a joke! Impact-wise, isn’t the main difference publication date, enabling Amazon to be the most-discussed retailer on one of the most profitable retail shopping days of 2013?

Approximately 50% of the people who received my tattoo message recognized it as an April Fools joke. The other 50% were hoodwinked. I debated over telling these hoodwinked people “April Fools!”. I’ve concluded I’m not going to. Because at some point most of them will realize that it was an April Fools joke. And doesn’t the fact that the joke lasted months or years make it even funnier?

And for those who never realize it, I’ll take solace in the fact that I’m not a journalist, nor a comedian: I’m an axolotl that regenerates its skin every few months, which is why the tattoo has already vanished. But I’m sure you already knew that.

An In-Depth Review

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Airbnb reviews only permit 1000 characters. So here’s my full review of a place I stayed in Cairns, Australia 🤪:

“I’ve been a poor university student for the last four years, but staying here is the first time I’ve felt like it.” —a fellow guest at Anita’s Airbnb

Internal tension is not, generally speaking, what one seeks in an Airbnb. Yet during my 6 days at Anita’s place in Cairns, I found myself not only experiencing a profound sense of dissatisfaction, but somehow enjoying that dissatisfaction and feeling grateful for its lessons.  

Anita’s place somehow provides slightly-above-spartan accommodations at slightly-above-discount prices, but in a hodgepodge of uncanny ways. I’ll give an example: The room boasts plenty of wall outlets — at my count 6 — which is very desirable in an Airbnb room. However, the majority of these outlets are placed above the head on one’s bed, and at no point has any person said “I’d like to plug in my devices right here, above my pillow, with no location to place the device while it’s charging.” The shower, too, isn’t quite wrong but seems like it was designed by someone who had heard what people like in a shower but never used one themselves, as it boasts beautiful tiling, ample hot water, and bountiful nozzle settings, but also dampens your towel because the only place to hang it is on the inside of the shower door. The outdoor dining table is a lovely place to chat with a fellow traveler on a warm summer evening, yet this delight is diminished by the requirement that you wave at the automatic light sensor every 30 seconds to turn it back on. 

If there’s a word to describe my stay at Anita’s in Cairns, that word would be it: “uncanny”. It’s uncanny that I would find the mattress perfectly comfortable, yet also awaken with a hip pain of a sort that I’ve never before experienced. It’s uncanny that I would have a long conversation with the host about making the internet work in my room, which it definitely didn’t beforehand and after which it somehow magically does. It’s uncanny that the Airbnb listing includes twenty-three (23) rules which one must follow during tenancy, and then posters and text messages upon arrival add an additional three (3), and yet existing in this space gives you the sense that breaking the majority of them would simply be ignored. As I was leaving, I snuck a glance inside Anita’s room, and was shocked to see it resembled a security office. If she has three screens of cameras, all presumably monitoring and recording, then why are the drying rack and kitchen trash can always overflowing? I suspect the only rule that Anita enforces strictly is the “absolutely no guests” policy, but somehow also get the niggling suspicion that her uncanniness would give me the thumbs-up on updating my Airbnb reservation from 1 guest to 2 as I’m walking home with a sweetheart in real time.

Anita’s Airbnb gives the impression of an earnest person really truly trying their best but tripping in random ways. Sure, she spams you with a bunch of tour and travel options immediately after you make your reservation, but after that initial volley it’s not like she’s pushy – or even brings them up again. Yes, she’ll make a bit of huff when you’re on your phone at 8:58pm and quiet hours start at 9pm, but it’s the sort of gentle and direct huff that makes you wonder whether you actually were being too loud for even pre-quiet hours. And then, when you’re quieter, it’s somehow totally fine that you talk until 10. The place is spartan yet functional, and isn’t functional what matters? If travel is about exploring a new place, and therefore yourself, isn’t it appropriate that you finally feel like a poor university student if that’s what you are? Still, it’s not particularly pleasant to feel like a poor university student, so I give Anita’s place three stars.