The Trip Home

I recently (sort of) wrote a blog about snow. There is a lot of snow in Britain's recent history and it likes to cancel flights. Luckily, I had enough common sense to predict this and booked a train. However, it looks like any old fucker can get on a train. Fuck.

Yeah, early morning hangover to get onto the train. Met with somebody who's taking the same train as me, not gonna talk about her. I don't do that on this blog. At least I try not to.

I was lucky enough to get a table seat and able to get the laptop out and play Football Manager for most of the trip. Like a loser. I am a loser. I got the new Football Manager game for Christmas, so yeah. I don't care.

The girl sitting next to me never got off her phone. These people do exist, as sitcoms and paranoia will tell us, but I have a strange feeling that she was actually mentally instable. She was talking even when we were going through a tunnel with no signal. It may be a deceased loved one, she could be bereaved, this could be making a joke out of somebody's loss. Whatever. Mental. All of her conversations started with:

"You wouldn't believe what happened to me last night!"
"Whatever the person on the other end of the line said."
"Can't tell you, I'm on the train."

Say what, girlfriend?!

Sanity was slipping. Sitting in one place for a duration of time longer than 20 minutes is usually uncomfortable. I needed to get out of there. Baby needed to get out of there. I think that's a movie quote from Footloose. Probably not. Nobody keeps baby down? KEEPS BABY IN A CORNER! Something like that. Awful.

I eventually went to the food carriage and I was lucky enough to get there before it closed for a while. The woman at the counter gave me the job to tell everyone behind me that I was the last person to be served. If that fact wasn't true, I would sound like an absolute penis. It was true, but everyone else thought it was bullshit. Led to a multitude of dirty looks from people that had their flights cancelled and were standing up on a seven hour train journey. Oh well. My sympathies. This also led to a funny exchange that I may steal for a sitcom that I may write someday, possibly May.

"Sorry, it's closed. It'll be open again after Newcastle."
"...When will it be open?"
"After Newcastle."
"Around what time?"
"Sorry, not sure. It's the next stop."
"What time is castle?"
"Huh?"
"You said it would be open afternoon."
"No. After Newcastle."
"..."

She must have thought I was completely crazy saying, "Afternoon, Castle!"

We eventually got some Essex lads standing near us on the train, talking about their munted night. Whatever. Not even interesting or funny. Don't know why I brought it up.

That was my trip home. Merry Christmas one and all.

Funnukah

Let me explain the awful pun. It's the name for the Aberdeen Comedy Society's Christmas Show or Funnukah. Stupid, but acceptable. I think it's reasonably funny due to its stupidity. This view was not shared by the Script Monkey.

During the crisis committee meeting after his official objection to the title, he brought out a three page long prepared statement, in which he:

• Said he wanted to change the name
• Asked us if we knew what we were doing
  
• Compared the name Funnukah to the persecution of Jews in 1930s Europe
• Brought the modern example of 9/11 to the table
  
• Hoped we would take him seriously

We didn't. Fuck off.

He was ignored and we carried on to the other problems.

This was booked only two weeks in advance and would cost us £60 to hire for the night and get a sound guy and everything. Very fair price. We would need to sell 30 tickets in advance to break even or 20 on the night or a mix. Seems simple, eh? Hmmm. Our Publicity Manager went AWOL and we had no posters and no advertising. Not so simple.

Let's go through the night, shall we?

INTRO: Couple of lines. Did its job. We found out that there was a heckler.

1st stand up: Guy we know who has done more gigs than us. Knows how to work a crowd as he actually MCs on occasion. Decent.

Headmaster Monologue: Died on its arse. Was absolutely unfunny, even though he said it was funny when he last performed it on Sunday. I wasn't there, but now I know it was a barefaced lie. Absolute shit.

Romeo and Marjory: The joke was copyright, therefore Marjory was Juliet. THIN. SO FUCKING THIN. Overactor and someone who cannot remember their lines was there, didn't fulfill potential. Someone rants. Absolute mediocrity.

Suicide note: Suicide note with a funny ending, nobody thought so. I came on as a doctor, which I ad libbed and got a pity laugh. Mainly for a running joke, which in the end, wasn't followed through. Absolute waste.

Priest: Creepy fucking priest. Got a laugh. I thought it was too obvious, but the voice did it all. Whatever.

Day at RGU: Written by me and it took the piss out of the polytechnic university in Aberdeen. Very cheap but it got several laughs, which meant that everybody decided to use the university as a punchline for their acts, which made it unbearable. I have no idea what I have created.

Stand up by the Intro Guy: Very good, probably the best of the lot.

Stand up by Priest Guy: No. Said he would lower the tone when he didn't, it was fucking bollocks. Lipstick on the hand for masterbation? I think I heard that from a Christmas cracker, you fuck.

INTERVAL (Thank Christ)

News Report: Me and I am fucking amazing and topical. I need to work on my delivery though.

Scottish Golf Commentators: Best sketch of the night, clearly worked on. Very, very good. Will probably ask for it to be rehashed when we have a bigger audience.

My stand up: Was good, shot down the heckler also. Lovely.

Documentaries: Basically, funny documentaries. Hit-and-miss.

Valkyrie sketch: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS?! Some guy dies playing Xbox so goes to Valhalla as he died in battle. No punchline. No set-up. Absolutely crap.

Next stand up: I've talked about him before. He did the music crap again. Like a fucking tool. Couldn't shoot down the heckler. "My penis is bigger than yours". Only people with miniscule dicks say that.

THEN THERE WAS A LOT OF DRAG WHICH I DIDN'T GET.

We didn't break even. I may go cry.

The Withdrawal of Personality

Let's get serious. As serious as this blog can be. I may be way off, but whatever.

A basic fact of university life is that you start off basically on your own. Some people go to the same university as their friends, but they will be split up into different flat blocks or whatever. They could all register a flat together and stick together, but that may lower the university experience. Whether is improves it or ruins it slightly, I have no idea, but it does lower the "traditional university experience".

You start off by yourself and you meet more and more new people from Square One. Now, most people, myself included, will turn themselves, intentionally or subconsciously, into the most inoffensive version of themselves as so to make friends or whatever. The general gist is that you make friends and eventually, you make closer friends and you can become more of what you consider yourself to be or what you truly are. If they are good enough friends, or maybe compatible is the correct word, then you continue being friends. If not, then there are others. Usually.

However, what if due to the withdrawal you've succombed to, you cannot get closer for fear of people liking the withdrawn you more than the real you. Conundrum. I am using excessive repitition of words here. This is what happens when you are incapable of expressing yourself verbally. Ergh.

Now, sticking to your withdrawn persona, does your real persona change and actually become withdrawn? How long can these two separate personalities continue to co-exist? Interesting. Maybe. Pretentious. This is the dilemna I am slightly struggling with. I am probably making a mountain of a molehill and this blog is whiney and self-indulgent. Whatever. It was a good way for me to vent in a completely pretentious way.

Isn't that something we all need once in a while?

Bringing People Back at 5:30

Doesn't sound too bad?
5:30AM.

Yeah. Oops. Actually gave my flatmates a reason to hate me.

Oh well.

I'm sure other things happened on the night, but I cannot remember them, so a short ramble for now, like the blogs I hate.

Oh well. I'm completely apathetic about it at the moment.

Gig at the UNICEF Ceilidh

It's pronounced kay-lee. Before you ask.

This was the Comedy Society's first gig. We decided that we didn't have enough time to rehearse sketches, so we went for four stand up routines. We would be on in the interval. Let me explain.

A ceilidh is a sort of Scottish barn dance, if you want to call it that. It is great to do, so I recommend it if you ever have the chance. Sweaty work too. A society for UNICEF was hosting this and invited us to do some stand up for it, mainly due to the fact that the President and stuff has friends in other societies. I think it was a personal favour and a good one. Whatever.

We would go on in the interval, when the ceilidh band has a rest. This does not go to plan, but skip to a future paragraph for that.

We had four stand ups, one didn't go to the final rehearsal so he was dropped and we brought in a new person from the Committee. I believe that mine and someone else's routine was of any decent quality, he would host and I would be on penultimately. Is that a word? Nobody cares. The other two were horrific. One had some good idea, like jokes that only robots would get, but the delivery needed to be different for it to work. There were also generic jokes about adverts, which everybody seems to do. Get over it.

I lied about the other. It's worse than horrific. It doesn't even try to be funny and it's the same type of joke over and over. Here's the template:
(ENTER SITUATION)
(SONG THAT SOUNDS SIMILAR TO SITUATION)

Example:
Having a sex change.
SONG: Man, I feel like a woman.

Fuck off.

This went on for three minutes and forty-two seconds. I was supposed to be five minutes, but I wasn't complaining. It was repetitive shit. Horrible. I mentioned that it needed improving but they said it would be fine as the audience would be more receptive. Bullshit they would. It's generic, it doesn't need a specific audience, it's just awful. The only one that had any merit was a joke about religion and Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'", but that lost all merit once he tried to get the audience to sing along. You are not a Z-List celebrity at Butlins, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Infuriating.

Whatever. We got there and realised we would be on a lot earlier than expected, before the Ceilidh began as the fiddle player was going to be late. It turned out to be a better time slot, but we were bricking it after that. Surprised us and the audience would not be as drunk as they could be. Interesting.

It went badly, laughs were few and far between, despite some decent jokes being told. Our delivery was not confident for some reason and we were not taking advantage of the microphone by standing too far back. I had to take the reigns. And the music jokes went as well as I thought they did, more or less forced people to commit suicide.

I went on. I was nervous until I was in front of the microphone and then I felt a strange calm. I started grinning and told some jokes. I was also weraing a leather jacket. Can't go wrong.
(MATERIAL CENSORED AS YOU'LL ALL STEAL IT)
It went...well, I think. I don't want to think it was good and get ahead of myself, but yno, people laughed. There was a joke about kiddie porn that stunned, so in the future, that's out of the set. Apart from that, I think that it went well. I honestly do, people came up to me and said that it was a good set. People I had never met before. That's a sign. Of a good set or of sympathy, I do not know right now.

Ceilidh dancing. Boom boom boom.

Reporter from the University newspaper wanted an interview (he interviewed all of us that went up). Fairly straightforward, but there was a cheeky question about if I thought that my set was the best. It obviously was (feeling arrogant now), but I held the party line and said that maybe others had jokes for different audiences, took well to me, but it might not happen again. Bla. Very liberal, but I think the right thing to do.

Good night. If only my mates didn't take me to a shittier club afterwards, it could have been a great night.

The Comedy Society

I want to be a stand-up comedian. I want to be many things, but I feel that a stand-up comedian is one of the most possible and achievable. I'm not settling, I'm sure I'll still write episodes for Doctor Who, but for now, comedian.

I did a gig in London before going to university in Aberdeen, I drank a lot and the reception was mixed. And drunk. Therefore, I feel that taking anything from that would be fruitless. Either way, I needed improving. Improve-ing, not improv-ing. I have only just realised that those two words are spelled the same. Hmm.

I digress. I thought that I would be going to Edinburgh University and going to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival would be a natural step, but I went to Aberdeen. Not a complete disaster, as I found out that Aberdeen had a Comedy Society, just like the great universities. I mean, Oxford and Cambridge do have famous ones which have luminaries such as Stephen Fry (who I find tedious) and Josie Long (funny in her own way, but still tedious in many other ways). So this could have been a big step in the right direction. It still might be.

ONE PROBLEM: The Society is in its first year. Not a huge problem, but the society lacks credibility, money and members. Not the best situation to work with. There are also a fair number of lazy members who do not write anything and do not contribute. Dead weight. There is a core collective that turn up to every meeting, usually with stuff in hand, and make good contributions. However, we need more of that sort of person, hopefully ones that are not on the committee also.

I became a member of the committee as they needed a first year representative and I was the only first year that volunteered. The same way that Stalin got into power. The people on the committee are nice enough people and I can't really say anything bad about them, though their comedy is a bit pretentious and not funny. However, their ideas are good and I cannot knock that.

I say this as a comedy genius. Ha.

There is also another member that is out Script Official, who is supposed to check that we do not plagiarise and keep the scripts together when we get a few together. However, he feels that he has the right to edit them as well, which is a major problem. The Society gives advice on how to improve sketches and the like, but we cannot force them to change it. We can judge whether it's funny or not, but to force them to change it implies that we acutally know better. Which we cannot prove. And it's a major dick move. We just tend to say that we would prefer this not to be in our show until it is improved. Hard to say when most of our material is absolute crap, but has to be done. The Script Monkey is a perpetual thorn in our sides.

He also wishes to go to the Fringe this year. I have nothing wrong with ambition, I hope to go to Edinburgh with the Society next year, but only next year. We are not ready to be slaughtered by the audience and the press. We're not even known in Aberdeen, never mind known for an international festival. This debate comes up every meeting. It's frustrating. Now he wishes to take his own "splinter group" to Edinburgh. Good luck affording the costs without a grant from the University, dick. It also gives us a reason not to give him our scripts, as he may take them to Edinburgh with his own troupe. Not helping himself. He probably will run for President of the Society (or Conquistador of the Punchline as we officially wrote in our constitution). Luckily, for the Society, I am also running.

Fucking bring it.

I will write about our first gig in the next post, it was a real barn stormer.

Yeah, right.

Topical News Story - Snow

I was going to write about the University Funding crises that's going around, but I am in no way near informed enough as of this moment. So that's going on the back burner for a while, until I catch up on the Times, the Guardian, METRO, etc.

Instead, I'll rant about snow. It is such a menace after all. Taking all our grit. Last year, half of the news coverage around the UK was taken up by the "grit shortage of 2009/10". It was mass panic, people scared out of their minds that this brown salt would run out before THEIR driveway was cleared of all snow each and every morning. Yes, hope that doesn't happen again, no matter how hilarious it is.

Well, there's snow here in Aberdeen. Not loads, but enough to annoy me and like all wet footed idiots before me, I thought I could brave it out with just trainers. Wrong. I tried some simple boots. Wrong. I need big, industrial, Soviet boots. If I kicked someone with these boots, their ancient Viking ancestors would feel it in Valhalla. That's a topical reference for those over 1200 years old.

I actually became aware of the snow 10 hours later than anybody else. I was incredibly hungover and missed the barrage of "I LUV SNO" on Facebook. I thought Evander Sno had made a glorious comeback (obscure reference), but no, it was the white, slightly wet muck that plagues roads and that. I do not know what LUV is, except that it sells on many teddy bears. It also reveals that the only people that love snow that much have barely seen it outside of Home Alone. The powdery white form is lovely and that crunch under your feet is timeless. However, that is now always the case as there are two other forms.

First, is the grey sludge that eventually starts next to roads but expands its horizons to everywhere. People walking on it, the general shittiness of the air, GRIT(shortage) and so forth turn it into this grey sludge. Which slpashes and gets everywhere. I no longer have dry jeans and I'm not fucking going out in shorts. I do not wish to subvert the genre of winter clothing. This isn't the Apprentice (that's a topical reference, if maybe not a good one).

The other form is just ice.
"Ice isn't snow."
Fuck off.

It's a pain in the arse, especially when you fall over. Ha. Slippery and that. Hurts. Whatever. HATE IT.

Well, this entire thing could have been written by a whiney child. No matter. I think I made my point and that snow will be eventually BANNED. Thank you and good night.

Quick Update on the Flatmates

I forgot to mention something when I talked about the flatmates.

They thought I stole.

One of them had checked in and fucked off somewhere. Probably to the Salvation Army. Student Finance might not help people from Azerbaijan. I mentioned where they're from. That's bad. Oh well. There's more than two people there.

One of them checked in and left their door unlocked. I know it was unlocked because I tested the handle and walked in.

Everything was parallel. It was neat. All the angles of the room were 90 degrees or 180 degrees. It looked like a two-dimensional diagram.
Maybe it was wrong for me to look in the room, I don't care. I didn't see a fridge, so I am still confused about how they keep food fresh without the communal fridge. Maybe it's under the bed. Didn't check there.

They eventually came (see other blog).
"Did you know this door was unlocked?"
"...No."
"Why did you leave it unlocked?"
"You left it unlocked. Not my problem. Nobody could come into the flat, I was the only one here. Is there anything missing?"
"No."
"Good."
"..."
Go fuck yourself.

Yeah, that's the quick update. Bastards.

Lexis and Pedantics

The module is actually called "Lexis and Semantics". Just for those who don't realise the explicitness of puns.

ANYWAY, this was one of the modules I chose to take to build up the number of points I needed to study a full year. Linguistics is linked to English, it concerns the meaning of words. I thought it would be an interesting thing to study. WRONG.

It starts off well considering the meanings and connotations of words and how these have changed over time and between cultures. It also considers different languages. Big mistake. This leads to a lot of interruptions from international students, saying one of two things.

"Yes, it is that."
OR
"No. We don't say that."

I pay a lump sum of money for these lectures, I do not need these unecessary interruptions which ultimately lead to the same conclusions. Waste of my time. I don't care if you have a different defintion of bear in Russian. Nobody cares. Russians would never need it unless they were reading a Western political cartoon. Or being raised by bears? Does that happen?

Hope so.

Onto the tutorials. My tutor is accidentally insulting.

"I'm from Brazil."
"Oh. You don't look Brazillian by any means."

Errrrrrrm.

He also called all of Spain, "drug dealers". And thought there was a Kryptonian musician called Billy Jo-El.

I digress. Forgot the point. It's rubbish anyway.

Wow. What a waste of everyone's time.

The Flatmates

The absent flatmates. Usually something of legend, but in this case, it was just mediocre and boring.

Let's go into it.

They arrived the day after Freshers' Week ended. As I previously mentioned, one of them had checked in and then buggered off. Anyway, they arrived and I heard them coming into the flat. I immediatly rushed out to say "WELCOME," to the new friends. They barely said anything. I introduced myself and managed to get their names. Talked about their course, they didn't ask me about mine.

"Would you like a drink?"
"No, thanks."
Fucking fine then.

They do not keep food in the fridge or freezer. They do not use the bin in the kitchen. They don't want anything to do with sharing with me. Fuck 'em.

THEN: They got the building to hate our entire flat. Which includes me. I shall write out the transcript.

*Rings bell*
*Flatmate answers door*
GIRL: Hi, are you guys going out tonight?
FLATMATE: No.
*Closes door*

I was in the shower hearing all of this. Luckily, I was in the shower to hide my tears of rage.

Joking. I DO NOT CRY.

Those are the flatmates. If I were a lesser man, it would lead to a breakdown, but I am better than that. I don't even cry.

The Fresher's Introduction Blog

It has been a while since I wrote a blog in my irreverent style.

To all my faithful readers (neither of you exist), I am back. This is what I remember of Freshers' Week.

SUNDAY
Just met the Pope, who gave me some helpful advice in surviving university. Nice man. My father and I drove up to the university, had some Burger King on the way, bantering about how bad Sara Cox and Jo Whiley are at grammar. Drove up from London by the way, so a reasonably long drive. Got there and my flat was empty. Empty. No flatmates. Somebody had checked in and buggered off. So the traditional "Hi, we're from Flat..." turns into "Hi, I'm from Flat..." which feels weird to me, just weird. Unpacking and silence from my room as I slept. Then, I got a Facebook message from a FOAF asking to meet up for a drink. Sounded like fun.

Had dinner with the father, was a quiet affair as we talked about the day and the shower curtain. Then, we agreed to meet up for breakfast and went our seperate ways...mine was straight to the nearest pub. It was about nine and there were girls dancing on the tables. I remembered their faces and put them under the folder "SLAG" in my mind. Judgemental? Perhaps. Correct? Almost certainly.

Went to a club with free entry with my new friend, it used to be a church, but I quickly got over that as he told me about his first night in Aberdeen. He exchanged spit with someone and got punched in the face. Was it the same person? Unsure.

Went home drunk and warm.

MONDAY
Breakfast with the Dad. LIDL shopping. It really isn't that cheap. Final goodbye and that. Everything was emotional slightly. Get over it.

Sleeeeeep.

More drinking in the night with new friend and his flatmates. Mine are still absent. Like landlords of property in Victorian Ireland. Except there were no evictions. None that I know of. MAYBE THAT'S WHY THEY'RE NOT HERE!

Nah. I'll get into that later.

TUESDAY
Advisor meeting. Fucked up my entry qualifications. Come back tomorrow. I thoroughly enjoyed waiting in that queue for half an hour.

Freshers' Fayre for Sports. Was talking to a couple of the Football and Rugby guys and agreed to go to the tryouts. Eventually, I fell asleep and missed them. Oh well.

Sleeeeeeep.

Clubbing. I begin my hatred of Swedish House Mafia. There is no good bloody reason to play the same song four times in one night. This may not be SHM's fault, but I don't care. A lot of these club anthems are generic, worth a couple of dances, fine. Not every night. Give it a rest.

Heard this outside:
"Dynomite is the song of the year!"
Go fuck yourself.

WEDNESDAY
Freshers' Fayre for Societies today. Signed up for the Comedy Society and later on, the English Society. Seemed pretty happy with that.

Advisor meeting went reasonably well. Got into second year, that'll do nicely. Extra pressure. And the like.

Sleep. Clubbing. Blad.

THE REST OF THE WEEK

• More drinking and clubbing
• Meeting people and not remembering their names
• Calling home to console my mother and let her know that I wasn't dead or anything silly
• Surviving on takeaways
• Wondering if I would ever have flatmates.

Freshers' Week was fun, but tremendously overrated.

This blog is officially back. Nobody cares. I guess I do, but meh.