a blog? I thought he was supposed to leave me wanting more?
How To Improve Your Comedy Writing
I love drums.
Drums are just the best, man. Whether it's Armin van Buuren mixing them at 120bpm or Rony Barrak banging on a derbeke until his fingers turn to pate, I'm a homer when it comes to the beat-keepers.
And the drummers? Hell yeah. Gimme a drummer over a guitar player or singer any day. ANY. DAY. The drummer's the one who always has the scoop on the rest of the band: why the bassist is so depressed, why lead guitar has a sleeper band on the side, and how the frontman loses sleep every night knowing that unless it's their name on the marquee, they can be replaced by any 16-year-old kid with a decent set of pipes at a moment's notice.
Bonus: drummers have the best arms.
Then you have the guitarists. Bassists seem alright, but those six-stringers... suck. Sorry, man. I know that's not a popular opinion, given they always get the long solos and a hot chick in their arms, but guitarists seem to be douchebags by nature. Like it comes with the talent package. "I just CRUSHED this barre chord, Bruh! Now I need me a girl I can smack around."
Look, if you play the guitar, good for you. That's awesome. It's an insanely detailed skill that takes years to master, and learning it is something you should be proud of.
But stop busting that thing out and playing when nobody asked, okay? It's uncomfortable. I went to a Lutheran school filled with really good people... some of whom would whip out their guitar on a moment's notice and just strumming for The Lord.
It wasn't the irony that killed me (Jesus' own words were to worship in private), but this desperate cry for attention. "Look at me! I can play the guitar! Let's worship together! I'm in Billings 318, and my girlfriend is gone this weekend!"
Then you have the singers. Dear God, the singers. Those f*ckers that just start belting out a tune when no one gives a shit. Ugh.
You know them. You're doing some work at a coffeeshop, and some man-bitch starts howling a Pop40 tune like he's performing at Creamfields. And nobody can do a damn thing about it because you're not supposed to say anything in this world, and that selfish prick will immediately hide behind the "victim" tag if you ask him to keep it down.
Just how much G*DDAMN attention do you need to draw to yourself? Jesus, man. Shut up already.
"Well, you go onstage to tell your jokes. Don't tell me you don't like attention."
That's different. First of all, I never announce to strangers I do comedy. You'll never hear me in a deli line doing material - "What's up with delis and lines, amirite?" And if you ever see me on stage, you'll see I pretty much want off as soon as possible, but I have a job to do. Cover charges have been paid and (inflated) two drink minimums have been met - I don't make people laugh, they get robbed. It's immoral.
I'm all for self-expression, but look at the rest of the world like it's a job interview, because in reality, it is. Everywhere you go, new people are determining your worth in their lives - either as a trustworthy bystander or as someone who they want more deeply involved. When you're putting in packets of sugar at Starbucks and voice checking into the ether while I'm trying to churn out a writing project, you're basically telling me your life is more important than mine.
I get that it may be, but most of the other people within earshot don't.
Drummers never do this sh*t. Drummers may tap their pencils against the table for a second, but worse- (worst?) case scenario, they grab a couple of paint buckets and trash cans and take it outside. Yes, people gather, but no crowd has ever watched a drummer improv a set and hated it.
Meanwhile, Mr. Acoustic Cracky Acapella gets eye rolls and head shakes nearly every time, but puts that on his unwitting audience and not on himself. I say "him" because it seems like it's always guys who do it. Girls seem to understand they already garner enough attention wherever they go anyway, and singing would be a little too much.
It's not a feather display for a mate, it's idiocy. You can sing aloud in public places to your heart's content, but just know that unless they've asked you to, all the people around you hate you. And that bartender you're pining for? She has her eye on the guy with the veiny arms on the kick drums.
And on that note, long live Cowboy Mouth.
I'm Nick. I've never been afraid of getting in over my head, and I've survived every resulting injury from doing so. Played college football in the SEC while running a 5.1 forty at 200lbs, got booed off stage in front of 1,000 people at a 'Latino Laff Nite (I'm not Latino),' rolled with BJJ Black Belts, and got TKO'd by a Golden Gloves boxing champion during a fundraiser for MDA. The closest I ever got to being a real man was when my mom cut me off on the way to the Marine Recruiter's office - in the parking lot.