Don't worry. This is not some sort of outburst of self hate. Believe me, I have no need to do any hating of myself - there's enough on the internet about me already. No, this is a burst of honesty at my current state of stupidity.
Firstly, I should point out that my last post, which quoted a lyric I wrote for The Musical! in the same space as one from Les Miserables was not some bout of delusions of grandeur. As far as I can tell, I'm not suffering from some sort of bizarre set of delusions. Not me. No, the purpose of quoting the two together was a combination of playing the lyric game - i.e. making pertinent remarks using pre-written lyrics - and also a way of indicating that Les Mis was right where I was wrong. I had come to the belief that all it took to put on a show was the desire to hire a theatre. I thought you could dream what you like. The Les Mis lyric - "there are dreams that cannot be" rather put me in my place. Well, that and the Melbourne comedy festival organisers.
Never mind. This doesn't make me a moron. An optimist, perhaps, but not a moron.
The establishment of Ashley Spencer Frieze as a moron is quite simple. A couple of years ago I lost a shed load of weight. I worked hard to work it off and I felt great about myself. Over the last few months, I've watched it pile on. Well. I haven't watched it pile on of its own accord, I've munched on inappropriate food and eaten on the pounds. This is not good for me. Admittedly I have been steadily gaining weight since June 2003, but it's starting to get silly. I had my waist measured this evening and I'm disgusted. I'm also surprised that my trousers fit at all. By the reckonings of the tape measure, they're about 6 inches too small. I guess that waist measurement is not an accurate science.
How did I celebrate this realisation? I'll tell you. I had a fucking pizza. Moron! This really has to stop. It's essential.
I have been demoralised and demotivated since last Saturday when, collecting the supposedly fixed bike from the shop, it went wrong within a couple of miles of the shop. I'm a week behind on "the cycling" and haven't had the will-power to keep off the cakes. Somehow when I had a daily struggle to get DOWN a hill, the whole health thing seemed like more of a motivation in my life.
Anyway, tonight I went back to the shop, at which I've been a visitor for many days over the last couple of weeks. I received a refund on the bike, but agreed to keep the accessories. If nothing else, this is good motivation for me to get another bike (planned for tomorrow) and start using the bastard. Surely I can't be so far gone that this is impossible.
The reason that the last bike failed is clearly down to my incredible mass (expressed to the bike as a weight) and the way in which the rear wheel bearings were manufactured. It doesn't really matter why they were not up to the job, but they were not. I cannot spend a few quid on a generic bike and expect it to support my weight. Simple as that. I am, however, determined to get on a bloody bicycle and prove that I am no hontass (made up word, don't worry about it).
Only two days of work to go before I end the year. I'm not entirely certain what I can achieve in those two days. I'm not a miracle worker. Work is busy and slightly stressful. Pissing around on the internet would be easier.
Last night I went to The Funny Magnet in Stockton. I used to run their website until one day when I had a wee look on it and found that it was being run by someone else. That was quite a surprise - to be sacked from the job so unceremoniously. This was not entirely a problem, since I had no desire to be their webmaster permanently. Still, it's an odd way to find that sort of thing out. I currently host another comedy website and have already suggested to the owner that it is moved into someone else's hands. I think I'm not the person to host other people's websites.
Anyway, I digress.
It was the last gig of the year for Stockton and there was a smashing line-up including Die Clattershenkenfietermaus (I'm not sure that's the spelling) who are a spoof German Techno band. I laughed a lot. Then Duncan Oakley was the headliner. Duncan is a great musician who makes audiences laugh immensely. I've been compared unfavourably to him. I can see why. Some people think I'm trying to nick his ideas and do an act like his... they are then additionally disappointed that I don't seem to be very good at it. There would be no point in attempting to emulate the Oakley. He's in a class of his own. Immensely silly and immensely entertaining. I want to be something different. There are a couple of similarities that I ought to admit:
1. We both go on stage with a Fender guitar - his is an American Stratocaster, mine is a big fat red dreadnought
2. We use the SAME GUITAR STRAP - oh my god, will people think I'm copying
3. We both do a George and Zippy routine - his is ruder, mine is more accurate, his gets more laughs (well, I said I wasn't as good)
4. We both do something on the song Amore - he changes one word of it - I do a minor deconstruction and then get logical on its ass.
Apart from that, there's nothing else to say except that I laughed so hard last night that I went home with sore testicles. I wish it weren't true, but it is!