Today, I discovered that one girl is responsible for having me have to deal with the animated excrement known as Scott Boxenbaum. One girl who was either humor impaired,or plum out of her mind, told Scott Boxenbaum, "you're funny," some six years ago.This dildo, Boxenbaum rather than realize she might just have been trying to be kind jumped to the impossible conclusion that this girl wants to sleep with disturbed and ugly looking losers like Scott Boxenbaum. Rather than thinking, " I'm forty some years old and no one has ever said i was funny before.... hmmm," this deranged dunderhead, Scott Boxenbaum, would then invade the comedy clubs and for six years bore or repulse or even try to harm more talented comedians. At some point in his infestation, he saw that absent charm or talent he had to devise other ways to make it in comedy. In 2008, the opportunity presented itself when he head that a desiccated dyke named Tig Notaro was intent on making sure I didn't pose any competition. Scott Boxenbaum gleefully decided to assist Notaro in her vendetta. He was sure she'd reward him but he failed to realize she had made too many promises as it was. She had to dissapoint him and he wasn't even booked for the Bentzen Ball.
The now smited comedianne began a mindblowing wicked campaign to use me as a means to satisfy the illusion that she has a stalker . Enter Scott Boxenbaum, slanderer and stage time theif. He saw this as his last chance for any measure of success.. This now cured of cancer in one month maniac, Mathilde " when my liver lips move, a lie falls out" Notaro was able to pull the wool over too many eyes for a very long time and she was able to take her schemes to the depths, with the help of Allison Hart of Lavely and Singer and then the chronically corrupt cretins at the LAPD's sham Threat Management Unit. Or, as Coyote Shivers wittily and astutely called it, "The Threat Manufacturing Unit." Insert city attorneys with severe moral turpitude issues such as Martin Boags, and deformed midriff issues like Felise Kalpakian Cohen and the rest is a history in false accusation and an indictment of the justice system in Los Angeles. But, that's a few books and that is being written. Let's try to focus on the untreated wart, who goes by the name, Scott Boxenbaum, for a sec. Has it been a sec?
Nevermind the time. I have all the time in the world,but don't want to waste it on the astoundingly hopeless specter that is Scott Boxenbaum. I'll just say that I found his recent post on tumblr very amusing in that I'm so grossed out that I might be amused way. I guess it's good news that this liar and lameass is retiring and won't inflict himself and take any more stage time from talented people. The fact that this humor free sadsack and serial slanderer is more housebound these days is a blessing to some, I'm sure.It's a shame that that one lie led me to have to know of this diseased creature's existence, but so it goes.
Scott Boxenbaum's deluded and embarrassing thoughts on the end of his non-career in comedy. He wasn't "just okay. " He was awful . He was cringe inducing and his mere presence depressed those who felt all those bad vibes emitting off his squat frame. He stole stage time and slandered great people in a desperate grasp for gigs. He is a comedy killing creep and only he would see his long overdue realization as some chronicle. P-U.
Chronicles of A Just-Okay Comedian
I’m finishing out my 6th year in stand-up comedy, enough time for me to stop and take a self-assessment break. This is important, as what we do is often fueled by equal parts creativity, ego, and self-delusion. Now, these things aren’t actually bad in reasonable amounts, especially when it comes to giving yourself the balls to tackle as difficult an art form as stand-up. But at some point, any comic with an iota of self-awareness should perhaps take stock of where he or she is.
For me, 2012 has been a rude awakening, both emotionally and artistically speaking. To preface, I started stand-up for possibly the worst of reasons: I was on an internet date with a woman in the business who told me that I was funny, and that I should do stand-up (rule #1: never listen to anyone who blows smoke up your ass, simply because they want to have sex with you). And yes, this is a true story. Strangely, I came to love this odd thing we do. Though I sometimes think my raison d’etre for being a stand-up is actually funnier than my act.
For the last six years or so, I’ve labored away quietly at open mics and booked shows, performing in every room you can imagine (I actually once did stand-up in a closet). And after some self-assessment, I’ve come to these conclusions: I’m an extremely hard worker. I’m a decent writer. And…
I’M NOT AS FUNNY AS I THINK I AM.
Earth-shattering? Not particularly. Remember the word “delusional”? Exactly. I’m pretty sure many people don’t think I’m as funny as I think I am. Talk to my colleagues, who awkwardly mouth “good set” when I eat it at an open mic (sometimes, I hate L.A. comics- just give it to me straight, dickhead). Talk to the bookers who write back “yeah, you’re on the list” when I send them a polite booking request. Talk to the Montreal showcase people. Actually, don’t talk to the Montreal showcase people. The funny part is, I don’t blame any of them. No one HAS TO book me. No one HAS TO laugh at my jokes. Nobody has an obligation to anyone in this business.
This year was both tough and inspiring for me. I watched a lot of my peers pass me by, both artistically and career-wise. Some of these people are wonderful, and deserve whatever good fortune comes to them. Others, you watch and just say to yourself “really? Why you?”. And while it’s painful to see the latter succeed, while I stay where I am, it’s also freeing to let go of my silly, petty jealousy. Hey, good for them. Besides, I’m sure people have felt and said the same things about me. This business is random, weird, and unfair. If I don’t like it, I can leave. Also, there’s probably a good reason why I’m not moving forward…
I’M NOT AS FUNNY AS I THINK I AM.
Okay, but enough about you… as a comedian, I’ve improved a lot this year- mainly by being more accepting of my own failure (failure is your friend, right?), improved writing, and better stage presence. But I’m not 1/20th of where I want to be. Some of this comes down to experience, learning, and gradual improvement. But a lot of it comes down to my chronic performance/social anxiety (I’ve combined these two, for the sake of convenience). For years, I’ve tried to mask it, push it away, re-frame it, meditate it away, and be in denial of it. But denying something doesn’t nullify its existence.
For me, anxiety is a comedy killer. It makes me deliver material like a phumphering robot. Jokes that should hit fizzle, or get much less of a laugh. And I sometimes am so detached on stage that the audience never gets a chance to like or care about me. Off-stage, my social anxiety often limits my social exchanges with other comedians to questions: “Hey, how are you?”. “Hey, how is your day?”. ”Pretty long wait at the open mic, ha?”. Terrific. So basically, I’m HAL 9000 with a dick. Asking a bunch of questions isn’t conversation, it’s polite interrogation. Many of my peers probably don’t know that I’m socially anxious. They just see me as kind of nice, a little boring, and hard to get to know. Anxiety pervades even my stand-up writing. Out of fear, I censor myself and freeze up when I try to write punchlines. Open mics become terrifying auditions. Also…
I’M NOT AS FUNNY AS I THINK I AM.
As of late, I’ve pondered other, less encouraging notions: Perhaps I’m not built for this. Maybe I’m just not “stage funny”, and I’m forcing myself to do something I wasn’t meant to do. In the next few months, I’m going to see where all this pondering and navel-gazing takes me. Perhaps I’ll overcome my own personal obstacles. Or, maybe I won’t, and move on to other things. Believe me, there’s no shame in doing something else. Someone once told me, “go where the green lights take you”. Right now, as a stand-up, I’m sitting in traffic, waiting for the light to change.
And yes, I sound like a bit of a sad sack. But life is too short and precious to be dishonest to one’s self. Unfortunately, you get to read my hand-wringing. Hey, if you don’t like it, feel free to scroll down to the Gif of Clint Eastwood with the Photoshopped orangoutang just below this blog. It’s pretty cool, actually
Thursday, April 4, 2013
OMG, deranged shlepper and vicious geek, Scott Boxenbaum, finally may stop polluting open mic comedy nights throughout the land. Hooray! You were never funny, fool. You should give to charity. That is the only thing you can do to redeem your disgraceful existence, Boxenbum.
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