A lot of nothing

I was flipping through blogs today (as I spend most of my time alotted for other things doing) and came upon a blog of a New York comedian, Baron Vaugh (star of “Half-Birthday Sex”, posted below). He keeps an active blog, but a blog not just with funny videos or horrific animal mash-ups assisted by Photoshop. A blog with words. Words- great long heaping piles of them strung together in a way that not only makes sense, but entertains and even humors the reader.

He recently tackled the subject of writer’s block in a post, a hurdle that I frequently battle with. On the subway, at work, or anywhere else I’m away from a computer or a pen and paper, my mind rolls with ideas for posts, commentary, and humor, yet as soon as I have a blank page in front of me, those thoughts vanish quicker than cabs in Queens after midnight (yes! New York referential humor! I’m assimilating!).

He conquers writer’s block by writing about how he has nothing to write about, and soon things will just come out of him. Look at me, I started to write with that idea in mind, and already I’ve talked about animal abominations and taxis in the boroughs before even getting to the talking about nothing part. In fact, I’m still not even talking about nothing, I’m just talking about talking about nothing. Now I’m talking about talking about talking about nothing. Now I’m talking about talking about talking about talking about…

Before I get caught in a editorial Mobius strip of my own design, I’m going to cut that off. Because believe me, when I have nothing to write about, I can write for a long time. Usually through cheating, like with a Mobius strip. Mobius strip. Moobius.

I haven’t been having many shows the past couple of weeks, but that should all be changing soon. My first two months in New York have been hectic, but fun. I wanted to give myself a wide open schedule to do what I needed to (read: make my rent), but now that I’m more settled in, I’ll be throwing in some more laffies. And cheaper ones: Manhattan stand up clubs are great, but it’s tough to convince people to pay $15 plus two $8 drinks to see seven minutes of my little jokes. So I’m going to put my feelers to the ground in the boroughs and rustle up some stage time out here. Because I have tentacles. With feelers. I’M AN ALIEN.

Vrooooooooooooooom!

Maybe there is something to be said for having nothing to write about, though.