28 January 2008

"If I keep the ice cube trays filled...no one will die."

I recently decided that one's proclivity towards performance runs through the blood. A performer that's not living the life often seems to be a bit anemic, or at least more prone to metaphoric bruising. I'm certainly no exception. Though the performance vein is innate, my identity as a performer has passed through several incarnations. This must is part of the natural process that occurs before one finally figures out how best to fit in with the cosmic puzzle of the performance world.

To cite an early example, circa age four I wanted nothing more than to be a big bosomed blonde with a beautiful voice just like Dolly Parton. I got exactly what I asked for, in certain respects. But I'm no Dolly. And thankfully so, might I add.

In my adolescence, I wanted (very badly) to be a stand up comic. I studied up and became extremely well versed in the routines of big name comics in the mid-90s. As I learned more about comedy as a craft, I quickly realized that it is a very difficult reality. It's not an easy life and it's particularly difficult if you're not funny when you try to be. As I used to say, I wanted to be a comedian but it turns out I just needed therapy.

Like my more ambitious and confident self, my comedian persona now seems to be a semi-fictitious character from long ago and far away. I recognize it sometimes in passing. It's like running into an old acquaintance. I exchange a quick but awkward, "Hey... hey... What've you been up to? Ah... an early retirement! Sounds great. Oh really, it's terrible? I'm sorry to hear that. Well. Gotta go stare at the paint on my walls now. It's been great to see you. Look me up on MySpace, will ya?"

Of course, it was one of my closest friends from way back in my comedian days that introduced me to The Maria Bamford Show last week. I found that I really connected with the little viddy I've included below for the following reasons:
  1. I've heard that badgering about makeup before.
  2. Until recently I worked for the Portland branch of that temp agency.
  3. I totally sing all of my anxieties goblins aloud to myself. All the time.
Without further ado, Mizz Bamford:

With this post I hope to get the crowcrastination ball a-rollin' again. If you, dear reader, could only see how oft the dreaded red DRAFT label clutters the admin page of this blog. I have a shameful pile of half written anecdotes; there might be a few that are worthy of brushing the dust off the cover.


cadillac margarita said...

now that i think of it, it doesn't really surprise me that you were pretty much the only person who had any reaction to maria bamford. I can see you doing something like maria. no, not the mental breakdown part *nervous laughter* but rather a little internet show showcasing your many talents. (plus i want to see carol auditon to play carol) you need to get the kim crow show up and running so that i can fall over while peeing my pants laughing.

Steve Patterson said...

Oh, dear God. Or ghod. Or gawd. I don't know. I'm not sure I know anything now. Except the preceding was very, very funny.

For years, I have kept a card a friend sent me; it's a line drawing of a woman gently weeping and she holds an ice cube tray, and the thought balloon reads: "Perfect ice cubes again."


k. crow said...

I wish Hallmark made a line of cards with that illustration...