If you go to the Edinburgh Festival and you have a lovely time and lots of fun, it's because you're not putting on a show. If you go to the Edinburgh Festival and you have a lovely time and lots of fun and you're putting on a show, then there's something wrong with you. It's like asking a veteran about Vietnam and him grinning from ear to ear and saying "Oooooh, you HAD to be there! Magic memories!" Edinburgh is not to be enjoyed, it's to be endured. Before Edinburgh, if anyone asked me "Are you excited about the festival?" I'd point at something behind them and then leap into a passing dustbin van while their back was turned. In fact the most relaxation I've had in the last 5 days was the 10 hour coach trip in cramped seats with broken air conditioning by a chemical toilet. That's me enjoying myself, that is.
Usually my problem is that I can't get enough people to see my show because they haven't heard of me, and there's no reason why they should see me. Usually they stare at my face on the flyer and say "Njjjjaaaahhhhh" to my face. This time my problem is that lots of people come to see my show in spite of the fact that they haven't heard of me. They are coming to hear things about the Roman Empire. That I happen to be there is by the by. Of course, I'd rather have a full venue than an empty one, but nevertheless I am piggybacking on the back of an Empire. The show may belong to me, but the subject doesn't. This means that some people will sit and just want to hear history, others will want to sit and hear stand up. Very few people will feel I've got the combination right. Those that do, love the show and, more importantly, do the bulk of the laughing. It's just a shame that none of them also happen to be reviewers.
This is the sort of thing I lose sleep over. On Saturday I went to "Meet the Press" at the Performers Centre. Sounds friendly, doesn't it? It isn't. It's long lines of performers waiting for hours in a queue so they can give a 3 minute pitch to a bored journalist. That's right. You spend your lifetime honing your craft, and busting your arse, and suffering the grinding lows of it all, all to impress a journalist who already knows what they're going to see. A fucking journalist! Most of whom wouldn't be at the festival if it wasn't for the free drinks. When I did get to the front of Broadway Baby and pitched they said "Yeah. We're down to see you, anyway". That was a 19 year old girl. I didn't even get to pitch to a grown up. I had a bored 19 year old girl look over my shoulder as I told her about my thematic approach to Roman history. I should have kicked her in the shins under the table. She was already convinced of the invincibility of media influence. Opinion is on her side. I have been smoking furiously. My nails are suffering too.
I saw Mike Shepherd on Saturday. He has his concerns about his show and life in general and I had the double whammy of a show and a pre-Edinburgh dumping, so we drank a lot together and I watched him slowly unravel (his words!). We were having drinks at Just the Tonic at The Caves. People were on nights out and having fun (stupid civilians). Two men climbed onto a large plastic cow to have their photo taken. One of them fell off and hit his head on the stone floor below, but he was okay. A table of people laughed. The friend of the floored guy glared at the rest of the bar: "He's FINE! THANKS for your concern." That's some level of stupid. Bad enough that you're climbing on a plastic cow, but much worse is the idea that you have the right to be furious at other people for lack of sympathy when you do something incredibly stupid like falling off it.
I am sleeping on a sofabed. It's uncomfortable. For two nights I had to share it with a snoring, constantly shifting man. Also, I've spent one night mostly awake worrying about reviews and one night awake questioning my general existence. Lol. It's the way my brain is programmed. If anyone knows how to deprogramme this monkey box, please let me know. I may pop along to the Hubbard Academy of Personal Independence on Nicholson Street, see if they're willing to take custodianship of my soul for a billion years. They're next to the embassy of the German Democratic Republic.
I think my Edinburgh show might well be me balancing on a large plastic cow. Most people have just come to see the cow. They didn't count on me. Some people will think "That's okay. He's living in the moment. It's fun. Good for him!" Other people will think "This guy's an idiot. He shouldn't be on that cow in the first place. I hope he falls off." Those people are reviewers.
Usually my problem is that I can't get enough people to see my show because they haven't heard of me, and there's no reason why they should see me. Usually they stare at my face on the flyer and say "Njjjjaaaahhhhh" to my face. This time my problem is that lots of people come to see my show in spite of the fact that they haven't heard of me. They are coming to hear things about the Roman Empire. That I happen to be there is by the by. Of course, I'd rather have a full venue than an empty one, but nevertheless I am piggybacking on the back of an Empire. The show may belong to me, but the subject doesn't. This means that some people will sit and just want to hear history, others will want to sit and hear stand up. Very few people will feel I've got the combination right. Those that do, love the show and, more importantly, do the bulk of the laughing. It's just a shame that none of them also happen to be reviewers.
This is the sort of thing I lose sleep over. On Saturday I went to "Meet the Press" at the Performers Centre. Sounds friendly, doesn't it? It isn't. It's long lines of performers waiting for hours in a queue so they can give a 3 minute pitch to a bored journalist. That's right. You spend your lifetime honing your craft, and busting your arse, and suffering the grinding lows of it all, all to impress a journalist who already knows what they're going to see. A fucking journalist! Most of whom wouldn't be at the festival if it wasn't for the free drinks. When I did get to the front of Broadway Baby and pitched they said "Yeah. We're down to see you, anyway". That was a 19 year old girl. I didn't even get to pitch to a grown up. I had a bored 19 year old girl look over my shoulder as I told her about my thematic approach to Roman history. I should have kicked her in the shins under the table. She was already convinced of the invincibility of media influence. Opinion is on her side. I have been smoking furiously. My nails are suffering too.
I saw Mike Shepherd on Saturday. He has his concerns about his show and life in general and I had the double whammy of a show and a pre-Edinburgh dumping, so we drank a lot together and I watched him slowly unravel (his words!). We were having drinks at Just the Tonic at The Caves. People were on nights out and having fun (stupid civilians). Two men climbed onto a large plastic cow to have their photo taken. One of them fell off and hit his head on the stone floor below, but he was okay. A table of people laughed. The friend of the floored guy glared at the rest of the bar: "He's FINE! THANKS for your concern." That's some level of stupid. Bad enough that you're climbing on a plastic cow, but much worse is the idea that you have the right to be furious at other people for lack of sympathy when you do something incredibly stupid like falling off it.
I am sleeping on a sofabed. It's uncomfortable. For two nights I had to share it with a snoring, constantly shifting man. Also, I've spent one night mostly awake worrying about reviews and one night awake questioning my general existence. Lol. It's the way my brain is programmed. If anyone knows how to deprogramme this monkey box, please let me know. I may pop along to the Hubbard Academy of Personal Independence on Nicholson Street, see if they're willing to take custodianship of my soul for a billion years. They're next to the embassy of the German Democratic Republic.I think my Edinburgh show might well be me balancing on a large plastic cow. Most people have just come to see the cow. They didn't count on me. Some people will think "That's okay. He's living in the moment. It's fun. Good for him!" Other people will think "This guy's an idiot. He shouldn't be on that cow in the first place. I hope he falls off." Those people are reviewers.
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