Inhuman Swill : Drugs

William Shunn at Up Comedy Club, April 17, 2013
A couple of days ago, I directed your attention to "Caffeinated Confessions of Mormon Comics," a comedy showcase that Bengt Washburn periodically organizes in different cities.

The reason this show is on my radar is that Bengt has invited me to participate in an April 24 edition of "Caffeinated Confessions" at the Throckmorton Theatre in Mill Valley, CA. I'm ridiculously thrilled for the chance to be part of this, taking the stage alongside real, working standup comics—even in the capacity of a storyteller, which is what I will be, relating the tale of my missionary misadventures.

The problem is, live storytelling in front of an audience of strangers terrifies me.

This is not a theory. This is a fact. I have no problem telling a story for a small audience of friends, and I have no problem getting up in front of an audience of strangers with a script in my hand. But when you ask me to wing it in front of those same strangers, even when I have all the bullet points of my story firmly in mind, it's classic stage fright. My mouth gets dry. My hands shake. My lungs constrict. My tongue thickens, and the words fall out of my head.

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Mormons on pseudoephedrine

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Dooce has a terrific little audio snippet of a Utah traffic reporter who unintentionally reveals her religious affiliation on the air:

Only in Utah

Good thing she wasn't flying the chopper! And shouldn't cold medicine be against the Word of Wisdom?

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Before today, I had never had the opportunity to help a friend come down from a bad trip.

It turns out that the sedative the vet used today to calm Ella down enough that a steady X ray could be taken is in fact a hallucinogen. After the X ray, I sat on the floor of the examination room and held her in my lap while she twitched and trembled and weaved her head around like a snake charmer, or Stevie Wonder. According to the vet, Ella was seeing colors. She would sniff or lick my face as her nose went by, but only in passing. Her eyes were completely dilated, and if I hadn't held an arm around her head she would have bashed it repeatedly against the floor or the wall.

This was not nearly as cute as it might possibly sound. It was fairly disconcerting.

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Ray Bradbury

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The visionary whose stories foretold the Sony Walkman, who imagined virtual reality at a time when there were 400 television sets in the entire state of California, does not own a computer.  He does not like the screens.  "Computers are for people who make mistakes," he says.  "I don't make mistakes."  He does his work on an electric typewriter.  But if not for writing, surely Ray Bradbury surfs the Internet?  "There is nothing on it that I can use," he declares.  "I'm not a researcher.  I am an emotional hand grenade. . . ."

No one less than Aldous Huxley--fellow Angeleno and author of Brave New World--made a dose of hallucinogenics available to Bradbury.  "I was offered," he recalls.  "Aldous Huxley offered me a chance.  He said it would be perfectly safe.  There would be doctors and attendants.  But I told him, 'What if the trapdoor on the top of my head stays open, and all the nightmares come out and they won't go away.  Then what will your doctor do for me?'  I wasn't being moral.  I was being hygienic. . . ."

As a writer, Bradbury says he was blessed with total recall.  He claims that he can remember his own birth, the taste of his mother's milk and being circumcised.  Total recall is "a damn wonderful thing for a writer."  And what about the memories of people he knew and loved?  "No, memory is a curse, especially at my age," he says.  "All my teachers are gone, and most of my friends are dead, and the ones who are alive, you see all these old people, including yourself."

—William Booth, Washington Post Service
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This page is an archive of recent entries in the Drugs category.

Dreams is the previous category.

Drums is the next category.

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