Thursday, April 4, 2013

Scott Boxenbaum and other stupid wastes of time and space- not stage funny or off stage funny. The only funny thing about Scott Boxenbaum might be his smell, but luckily I never was that close

Again, I am alert that I am wasting time on vicious scum like Scott Boxenbaum. Alas, I think and type quickly so sometimes it takes me less than a minute. This can be evidenced in the terrible typos I then see months later. It just feels semi essential to discuss the pus that is Scott Boxenbaum, at this moment.

This freak went on the  special Thing Message boards to incite strangers to shun and ban me from any comedy venue by telling them vile character asassinating lies. This sicko told anyone and everyone that I am the "town weirdo." Considering the truth, that is obscene. He did so only because he is a desperate and dishonest sack of crap that hoped to gain some advantage off his better's misfortune.

Now, Scott Boxenbaum, has admitted that he's a no talent doofus, who based his whole non-career on one false compliment. It would be merely pathetic if this asshole wasn't able to cause such misery for so many as he sought to ruin the lives and careers of the truly talented.
 He was a stranger to me, and he was forty five years old at that time. Way past high school. His father is a multi millionaire and so he doesn't have an impoverished childhood as a mitigating factor. No excuse could be sufficient to explain his vicious and psychopathic choices. He is a dark and evil POS, that is for sure.
 Before he did what he would do to me, I had seen him bomb a few times, on stage, and I had felt pity for him since he seemed antisocial and stupid. But, otherwise, he was an abject stranger. Funnily, I had felt compassion for both him and Jackie Kashian, as I watched audiences express disdain for them. I didn't make my pity known to them so it's not as if they had any reason to then lie and slander me. What a waste of compassion that was.

It took six whole years for heir to the Boxenbaum fortune to realize he was a lame ass loon. May this moron donate to charities, and stop burdening the poor public STAT.
Chronicles of A Just-Okay Comedian - By Scott Boxenbaum. Originally Posted on his website.      

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
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