You wish I had something interesting, funny, or provocative to say right now. Or, at the very least, you wish I had something funny or fascinating to show you. Even if it was someone else’s image or video or song or views or observations.

But I don’t. Sorry about that.

I’ve been fairly dull lately. Days have bled together. I wouldn’t say the days have been dull, though, because I’ve spent time with interesting people and tried to with others. I’m in one of those places, though, where I feel like nothing I do is good or even satisfactory. Where I walk around convinced that I’m a fraud at all endeavors, particularly comedy. I think about my sets, and my jokes, and wonder why these strangers show up and pretend to find them funny. I think of specific jokes and there’s nothing there, as if I feel like I’ve been dressing up a hobo in a tuxedo and told people he was the Prince of Spain. And so I feel like a conman, a fraud, who doesn’t deserve to take a stage let alone achieve the things I want to achieve with stand-up.

I’ve also been eating terrible things and hating myself for it and not working out enough, largely owing to my health of late and general drowsiness.

Also, the backspace button on my keyboard keeps sticking and it’s driving me up a fucking wall. My solution is to not make as many mistakes as I normally do typing, which for someone who is as hard on himself as I am, is both a sensible and daunting pursuit. What can I say? I’m my own worst enemy, perhaps because that way nobody else can be.

Oh, and I saw “The Campaign” tonight with roommate Steve and buddy Ethan. I liked it enough, but could tell that the best/funniest aspects were improvised. It was too broad and too light for a satire of American politics; unspecific in its dismissiveness and not cynical or biting enough to matter. But I dropped eleven dollars and Ferrell and Galifianakis (godfuckingdamn it, Zach, you made me use that sticky backspace button again) made me laugh. So did Dylan McDermott, who is criminally underused (he plays a fantastic sociopath).

Going to bed. Tomorrow I’m getting up in the morning to eat awful food with interesting people, then try to sweat out that meal, then shower and take a trip to Fonda, NY to tell jokes to people that I think shouldn’t care but might anyway, hopefully, if I can dress that hobo right.


One Response to A bit of self-loathing on a Friday night

  1. Chris H says:

    Dude, thou art in a slump. No biggie.

    I had a little trip to the hospital last spring due to a reaction to well, honestly, birth control pills. (Did you know that orthotricyclin can make you swell up like the Stay Puffed Marshmellow Man? I didn’t.) Anyways, I wasn’t allowed by my doctor to exercise for four weeks and I got in a slump and it became six weeks without noticing.

    For me it’s what’s called in narrative psychology a “contamination myth”: “I fucked up and now it isn’t perfect anymore so now it’s just plain fucked.” E.g. try running the first time I’m allowed to and I’m running a minute to two minutes slower per mile than I was before my little trip so it discourages me.

    What helps is turning it into a “redemption myth”: “This is going to be hard to fix, but when I do it, it’ll be awesome.” E.g.: “I’m running more slowly than I was a month and a half ago, but in a month I’ll run even faster!” But that’s just me.

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