It is my greatest pleasure and privilege to introduce to you my brilliant, witty, vivacious friend Deneece Berg. I think extremely highly of her. And when she becomes a huge successful writer and comedian we all can say we knew her when. I think I smell a permanent role on The Boy In The Red Scarf.
Donald Glover has ruined comedy for me.
Hear me out: I love Donald. I can rap along with any Childish Gambino and MC DJ track out there. My schedule on Thursday nights centers around catching Community. I visit iamdonald.com more than I check my school email. In fact, I went as far as befriending a bouncer during SXSW in order to find a way into his IAMDONALD show without a wristband or badge (because I am a poor college student).
But Donald Glover has ruined comedy for me.
You can’t watch his stand up or any of the Derrick Comedy shorts and tell me he’s not talented. I had a friend who tried once: her head exploded from the pressure of telling such a massive lie*.The thing about Glover is not that he is untalented; Glover represents the kind of showbiz Cinderella story that gives the masses of mediocre-middlesomethings who wade in their own crapulence day to day something to cling to. I know this because I am one of those mediocre-middlesomethings who wade in their own crapulence daily.
Write for 30 Rock at the age of 21? Check. Booming stand-up career? Check. Derrick Comedy YouTube success and film? Check. Community starring role? Check. Rapping career that puts others to shame? Check, Check, Check.
The “if he can do it, so can I” logic that this kind of story cultivates within the public is great for lifting spirits and encouraging aspiring writers/comedians/rappers everywhere. However, this type of logic has encouraged the ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD to take up comedy. With every late night talk show appearance and interview, Donald’s status raises and his following grows. People start internalizing his story, playing with the idea of their own futures and BAM! Suddenly the world is taken over by people just like me who are searching for success.
Maybe I’m bitter. I have to admit, as an aspiring writer and comedian myself I feel the pressure of finding success. It’s a hard thing to do, going out on a stage and hoping you’ve got what it takes to make people laugh. But it’s important, I believe. Now, more than ever, we need things to laugh about. We need comedy. I’m not talking about chuckles or courtesy laughs, but the side-splitting, rib-cracking comedy that makes you feel safe.
I know that there’s competition, there always will be someone who’s just a bit funnier than you, someone with a perspective you can’t tap into. Now, with this influx of aspiring comedians taking over a realm I have inhabited for a long time, I feel like I’m being cheated. Challenged. I’ve been climbing (very, very slowly) to the top for so long, only to have these new guys come out of nowhere and steal my thunder. But that’s not what’s ruined comedy for me. In fact, I can thank Donald and his success for pushing me further, accepting that these other people are all fighting for what I want and are using the same routes and methods and tools I have to reach it.
What Donald has done is change what comedy is altogether. Suddenly, comedy isn’t about connecting a stream of jokes: it’s about connecting a stream of consciousness to one’s natural talents, speaking from a place in your life that is entertaining (even if it is painful). With the IAMDONALD tour, Glover has opened the door to new possibilities concerning comedy and music shows, a re-evluation of the performative nature of comedy and how we view what comedy “should be”. He didn’t just change the game: Donald uprooted the system and turned it on his head.
Finally, I seem to understand how to approach my routines, what kind of inflections should linger in my writing. I am finding a style, a voice, a story to tell an audience that will bring them the joy and happiness that so many great comedians have brought me. On top of all of that, I have a modest internship at SNL this fall just waiting to be finalized; for the first time in my life, everything makes sense.
Donald Glover ruined comedy for me. Without him, my notions of what comedy should be would still be dictating my career path. He changed everything. I don’t want to be a “comedian”, a schtick in a bar telling the same jokes we’ve heard for years. I want to be a storyteller, unraveling my life in front of an audience like Glover does every night on stage.
*in full disclosure, her head didn’t actually explode. That is what we, in the business, call hyperbole.
JILLIAN MICHAELS. Did you hear that? A fat angel just died.
JILLIAN MICHAELS. Did you feel that? A million fat people just started doing jumping jacks.
JILLIAN MICHAELS. You get the point.
She scares the living fat out of every overly obese person alive. A glance from her and you instantly lose two pounds. And the weight you don’t lose from her glances, she makes up with tears. She’ll make you cry till you look like an emaciated model withering within the issues of french Vogue. She’s mean, she’s tough, and she works the kettlebell weights like the energizer bunny.
AND THIS JUST IN: She’s adopting. But I have a question. Will she automatically put her baby on the 30 Day Shred? The baby’s fat will make her angry, I’m sure.
Hey, Mr. Dj Put a Record On I Want to Dance With Myself.
Dancing with yourself can always be fun. The professionals on Dancing with the Stars do it every time they get a football player as their partner. Why can’t I? There’s nothing more satisfying then doing the Arkansas Traveler to your favorite tune, but you have to be careful. Dancing on your own might be America’s favorite pastime, but never do it in front of an open window. Take it from someone with experience, it’s never fun to embarrass yourself and scare a stranger. He looks at you like you’re a bear, and he’s scared to move. He wants to pretend that it never happened, but he can’t. But I can. IT. NEVER. HAPPENED.
Fun songs to dance to alone: Dancing on My Own: Robyn Express Yourself: Madonna Dancing Queen: ABBA
Shave off all their eyebrows. Say Rentenna, instead of Retina. Hold fish in their hand. In wow of how the chick from Million Dollar Baby and Freedom Writers look exactly the same. Say, “That’s Hot.” Think Yeast Infection is what bread gets. Think Water Polo is something you wear to a wet t-shirt contest. Are oblivious to sexual orientation, also applied to sluts. Don’t know the difference between DVDs and CDs.
Having a diminished personal life, and invisible self-esteem doesn’t help when it comes to a sex life. Or as I call it: Sex? It’s even more pathetic than it sounds. The closest I’ve come to an orgasm is the last time I sneezed. I’m less sexual than a bunny on Easter. Someone call Mike Meyers I’m in desperate need of a Love Guru. I’m Jamba, without the juice. I’m the gun without the bullets. I blame it on heredity. Wait, no I don’t. I’m one out of a family of se7en. There must be an answer. Maybe I’m just devoted to my craft. Maybe I’m just destined to be a sexless comedian that gets off on making people laugh. But that can’t be. Today, my favorite radio show host “Deliah” said, “Destiny can’t be controlled, it’s like controlling a sneeze.” Queue gasp, THIS. MAKES. SENSE.
I thought I would take the time and explain to my, now, 0 followers of my intentions with this blog, and give you the 411 on who exactly The Boy With The Red Scarf is.
I won’t be as harsh as Perez, but I won’t be as sweet as Betty Suarez.
I have things to say and nowhere to say them, and my therapist said it’s healthy to vent. I’m kidding, I’m too poor for a therapist.
I think of myself a pop culture know-it-all, and by that I mean I have no life. That’s another reason for this blog. To dilute my bland existence and find my “diamond in the rough” qualities. This might take a while.
I have a Born This Way mentality, but I can’t stand that song.
I’m a mystery. (Not really) Figure me out, and tell me what I can’t see.
I hope to be as insightful as those Gilmore Girls, though no one can be THAT happy.
I’m addicted to TV. They tried to make me go to rehab and I said NO, NO, NO. I don’t got the time, Glee doesn’t watch itself.