Smellie Chavez-Deschamps

Hier, j'ai réciter un slam pour mon hamster pour feu Smellie Chavez-Deschamps, le hamster familiale pendant notre soirée Laboratoire aux Katacombes . Pauvre petite, on ne c'est pas bien occupée d'elle et v'la que je la niaise dans une soirée d'humour. Oh well, peut-être que quand tu coutes 5$ dans un pet shop, ta vie vaut 5$, et te faire niaiser dans une soirée d'humour c'est positif.

Aurais-tu oser espérer, Smellie?

Ta boule qui roule est vide
Odeur, meurt, vidanges
tu aimais les raisins
il n'y a rien qui rime avec hamster
pour moi, tu étais plus grande qu'un cheval.

Gros choix

Aujourd'hui la liste est longue.

Apprendre un dialogue pour 'un gars le soir' demain, Acheter de la bouffe pour la semaine. Préparer de la bouffe pour la semaine. Réécrire les 3 monologues en lice pour notre spectacle de Noël au Club Soda. Écire un monologue pour le cours de philosophie. Faire des lavages pour qu'on puisse mettre du linge propre. Tsé, same old same old. Qu'est-ce qui va être différent aujourd'hui? Je vais le faire. Pour de vrai.

C'est chosir le monologue qui va être le plus difficile.

Est-ce que je choisi celui qui est le plus solide maintenant? Est-ce que je choisi les histoires vrai qui font rire mais qui sont un peu vide? Est-ce que je choisi quelquechose de plus personnel qui pourrait, pris de la mauvaise façon, ne pas être drôle??

Les gros problème avec le choix pour le show de Noël? Ça doit être mon numéro de tournée...

Il faut pas que ça soit quelquechose que je trouve plâte et il faut que ça s'exporte en région.

Je croise mes doigts.

Chanson du jour: Wild World de Cat Stevens
Pour ne pas déprimé je vais: Faire ce que je dois faire, sacrament!

Mon alexandrin

L'école de l'humour, ce n'est pas juste pour rire. Desfois, on fait un exercice qui n'a rien avoir avec un punch. En 1 heure, la semaine passée, on s'est essayer à écrire un sonnet en alexandrin.

Le réfrigérateur dans sa cuisine meurt
Ses derniers soupirs vibrent dans la maison
Son contenu déchu, son ambiance poison
Il se sait futile; sans dignité, je pleure

Un géant appareil, vider de l’intérieur
Un voleur d’espace, un susseur d’énergie
L’usure un obstacle, à sa longue vie
Sortez-le d’ici, qu’il aime la chaleur

Va te faire foutre, nous vivons dans un gouffre
Un trou où il fait noir qui ne sent pas les fleurs
Le réfrigérateur dans ma cuisine meurt.

Un homme au chômage, ses beaux enfants ont faim
Inutile, désert, au lit sans dessert
Maman ira au ciel, et Papa en enfer

Pis? Qu'en pensez-vous?

Pour pas déprimé aujourd'hui j'ai: mangé un bagelful.

Comment être un public

Cher Toronto,

C'était vraiment gênant de voir un spectacle dans votre ville. C'est pas poli de poliment applaudir des gens que vous aimez qui se plient en 4 pour vous sur la scène. Vous avez payez votre billet, mais (dans ce cas) les danseurs ont besoin de recevoir votre amour. Faque criez donc? Juste un p'tit woo-hoo de temps en temps. Pis partir en chuchotant que c'était excellent... Come on.

Artists are so emo. Please shoot me.

"Can't stay on your life support, there's a shortage in the switch, I can't stay on your morphine, it's making me itch, I say I'm trying to call the nurse again, but she's being a little bitch, I think I'll get out of here." Pink

Looks like I really identify with this song, because I've just re-heard it after some years and I am so all up in it. Wow! I must be emo right now. Because it's totally resonating, and we all know anyone in the arts has a mental problem, so just shut the fuck up.

I really need divine intervention. The flying spaghetti monster must deliver me a potent number for Friday, and also, if it's not too much, a fucking job for my husband because although I am considering fucking around to take care of womanly needs, I definitely don't want to divorce him, since he is still fucking there and I love him as part of my family. On a wink, wink, unrelated note, anyone know a doctor that can help him with e.d...

I'm at that point where I am creatively a little dead, I am gaining weight and I am so afraid of everything. Although, if you read my leopard post you know I secretly all of a sudden have ambition and know I will kick some sort of ass.

Anyway, I will go back to this number shit and please have a good thought it your heart for me, my debts, my kids teachers, and my mind so it won't forget it needs to do tons of random things I won't remember it anyway.

How to write a 5 minute number in 3 days

1. Pretend it's possible.
2. Find a premise.
3. Write with no regard to style, structure or spelling. 3 to 4 pages so you can cut it down to 2.
4. Go over everything once and see if anything funny comes up.
5. Take away all the ideas that make no sense or suck.
6. Change the order of things until it sort of sounds coherent.
7. Insert old jokes that fit the bill, but don't crowbar anything in.
8. Read it until you can punch at the right places.
9. Stop as soon as you'd rather puke than read it again.
10. Wait 24 hours. Read it again.
11. Stop procrastinating by writing a blog dumb-ass. This shit ain't going to write itself.

Can a leopard change its spots?

It's the age old question, the one right after the fucking chicken and the fucking egg. It's the question I ask myself a version of everyday.

Everyone who makes it in life, not just people at the top but at different echelons of making it, seem to have a combo of 3 things, talent, an iron drive, and luck. To have a drive, I feel most of the time that you have to believe things are possible. You have to push to get them.

Now I always knew I could only amount to a scared girl that is unsure about her potential and that waits around for someone smarter to tell her what to do so she can be alright.

But then I grew up. Life gave me my first son, and I say life because he was planned against and I got him anyway, and then I had a husband who's a very nice man who absolutely cannot be counted on for financial support or understanding of the arts, and then 2 more kids to count on me.

And during this my little phone answering career gave me an idea of how the world works. I figured out I had ethics, I had smarts and a sense of logic that a lot of people don't have and I can lead where I was convinced I was a perpetual follower.

Now, how did this lead me to comedian school? It's a long story.

I just want to know if people can sort of grow ambition later on? Because I sort of feel a little tickling in my brain that seems to have the potential to be ambition. Can we come out of our cocoon something completely different, or do we, even though we evolve, always follow some sort of logical path?

More on this convoluted mess later. When a baby is not crying.

This is a blog

I'm sure you know this is a blog. As a comedy writer, I can really write the shit out of things, except for this. In the 90's most blogs were a lot like an online diary. We would write a little review here and there, we would go off on a topic, but a lot of times stuff like this happened. Where we couldn't see the difference between something we would write for ourselves and something we would write for others.

Are we supposed to sit down with an idea when we write a blog? Are we supposed to have an opinion, spell check the thing and go over it a bunch of times? Well, yes. This is why most people don't know I have a blog! Ha!

I do have a whattoexpect blog which deals with pregnancy and mommy issues which is, paycheck obliges, way more coherent, so I guess I can always make people read that. Thing is, after awhile, you start to write on a topic just to not lose your blog job that month and the 20$ that goes with it. So at least this amalgame of poorly-thought out words and we-don't-give-a-shit topics is much less empty.

When I write a comedy routine (guess what I'm supposed to be doing right now), a movie or a television show I write for emotion. And rhythm. And I want to find those moments of truth where people can recognize themselves, each other or simply nod their head in approval.

So I guess I am not only telling you my blog is poorly written but I am also telling you that the off-the-cuff nature of it might, just might make you feel something or relate to me in some way, which, now that I think of it, is totally fucking conceited and probably untrue considering I haven't written that many blogs.

Shit.

So maybe I should just take a break, go make tomorrow's lunch (tuna casserole, the rugrats have asked for) and count the hours until I have my individual meeting with my director who doesn't super like me and to whom I have to bring a new completed comedy routine I have grabbed out of thin air...

2010 bitches!

Alright, 2010 has come and this year... in a couple of days I will be 32. That means that I will be almost 42 next time a decade rolls around. I will have an almost 19 year-old son. Ouch! I know I've had three kids this last decade, but I still feel 22, and now I can't ignore how much time is running away from me.

I wish for myself so many things for these next ten years. Having more quality time with the kids, being financially stable, being more than financially stable, keeping my marriage together, having writing jobs, doing my own stand-up comedy, putting shows together for female stand-up comics, writing movies and a television shows, getting some decent sleep.

School has started up again and I am not as revved-up as I should be. I feel like I often do. Like I want to put on the breaks, like I want time to stand still. Like if I sleep and get stuff done I will wake up in 5 years not knowing how I got there.

My husband feels the same way with work. He doesn't want to start working because he's afraid that he'll wake up when he's 65 and it'll all be done. It kills me that I know how he feels because it makes it hard for me to push him. I do. I push him a lot, but I just want for us to be okay, and I'm not sure he's okay when he's working. Although I don't feel that okay when I'm working either.

Sometimes I feel like I'm jumping off a building everyday I get closer to the new life I'm trying to make for myself. I find myself praying, even though I'm not sure if there is a God. I'm sure people who make it take risks. They have plans. They 'go for it'. They don't put in a half-assed job and hope things work. And when they stumble onto something that works, like my dad did, they ride it out and do the absolute best they can and great stuff can come of it. My dad changed the cultural landscape of Québec because he kept trying and kept his eyes and ears open to what was happening in his life and around him.

So why am I up this late when I finally have time to get things done? I want to eradicate fear in my life. I want to live like I care about myself without playing it so safe I end up sabotaging everything that could be.

Will this year be the catalyst I need it to be, or will put on the breaks despite of my desire not to?

Stay tuned...