Today is my 24th name day, and I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be a man by now. Just this week I learned how to change my oil, so that was probably a step towards manhood. But, other than that, I haven’t been making much progress towards proving to the world that I’m anything more than a cat-loving “comedian” that has been wearing the same forest green, bulldog-print pajama pants for the last four years. And, if I’m being honest, I haven’t proven that to myself yet either.
Don’t worry; this won’t be another blog post where you’re
wondering if it’s equal parts confessional and suicide note. The severe
depression and sulkiness has since worn off, and I’ve moved on to a calm, manageable
state of big dreams and small self-esteem. The latter is currently being
balanced out by the number of people wishing me a happy birthday on Facebook. I’m
up to almost 30 notifications, if I get any less than 50 today this will become a suicide note, due to the
fact that it would matter to less than 50 people. If I get more than 100, my
ego will cause my head to grow to such a size that it will become so swollen
and heavy that it breaks my neck, paralyzing me from the collarbone down. So
don’t overdo it. My life is in your hands, Dude.
Birthdays have never been that big of a deal in my family. And
although I can say that I had a generally typical, happy childhood, I can’t honestly
say that I’ve ever had a birthday party. I attended a few, they seemed great.
Everyone gathers around and insists that you be the center of attention, it’s
every middle child’s fantasy.
I can only complain about my childhood so much, and if never
having a birthday party is my biggest gripe about my upbringing, then I have
very little to be upset about. It goes without saying that there are people
that have come from much less forgiving backgrounds that have accomplished more
than me by a huge margin.
People, perhaps for good reason, have never seemed to feel
bad for me. I remember a time in middle school when my brothers were driving me
to school and we were listening to music. I can’t remember exactly what song we
were listening to, but the lyrics had some reference to having a hard time
getting through high school because of the way they were treated. I expressed
to my brothers that I could sympathize with the sentiment and they looked at me
like I had just told them they were both adopted.
“You have no idea what they’re talking about,” I recall one
of them saying. They were probably right, but that’s not the point I’m trying
to make. I’ve always found myself more easily identifying with the outsider, or
the flawed hero. Which isn’t to say that I’m either of those things, I’m not.
The problem is that I look like the total opposite of those things, so when a
joke about how sad I am comes out on stage, people don’t buy it because they
don’t think that the guy that looks like the quarterback of their high school
football team can have any idea what self-loathing can feel like. What I look
like on the outside has never really matched the person I feel like I am.
I know this is huge, earthshaking news I’m delivering to
you. Tomorrow the front page of the New York Times will read “Minneapolis comic
looks good, feels shitty.”
This has become a ramble, and I don’t feel sorry about that.
This is what happens when I write before I even leave my bed in the morning.
Outside of getting up to microwave leftover Chipotle, the most productive thing
I’ve done today is watch my cat flip into fast forward mode when he discovered
his new catnip toy. It’s my birthday, and this is how I’m choosing to spend it.
The night brings promise of laughter and merriment, with
another comedy show at Stub and Herb’s. Doing comedy here in Minneapolis has
changed me in ways that go beyond what people see on stage. You comics are a
brilliant, amazing bunch of idiots and assholes that I love endlessly. So,
thank you for allowing me to come along with you on this weird adventure that
is comedy. I am inspired and humbled by you every time you make me laugh. Here’s
to the many years to come of laughing with and at you.
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