The Fabulous Adam Richard

James Acaster and Luisa Omielan

The Melbourne International Comedy Festival have a remit to produce imported shows in order to enrich the local comedy scene. I have been drinking in as much overseas talent as I can, and if you are a local comic and you're wondering who to see to help you improve, the answer is anybody. These are two I've seen this week.
The Comedy Festival still invite me to things like I work in the media. In the past, I've not really taken them up on the offer, either because I was asleep by 8:30pm or I was doing shows of my own. This year, I said yes to several invitations. One of them, to James Acaster.

Josh Earl and Tommy Dassalo

I'm trying to do as much writing as possible while performing this comedy festival. To that end, here are reviews of some shows I took in over the first weekend. Click the show titles for a link to tickets.
I really only went to see Josh Earl to see if he was talking about me from when we worked on Spicks and Specks together. He did, and that made me happy. The other 49 minutes of the show, however, were also thoroughly enjoyable.
Jearl, as we in the comedy fraternity affectionately refer to him, is articulating something we can all relate to; that feeling that we don't fit in.

Too Many Shows

I did five shows on Saturday. Somebody needs to teach me how to say no.
Started at 3pm with The Shelf podcast show, which was a crossover with The Little Dum Dum Club with Tommy Dassalo & Karl Chandler - so much fun. It really was the perfect blend of the two shows, the right mix of stupid stories, name dropping, *CLANG* and riotous laughter. Sunday it was more old school Shelf, with Justin, Tegan Higginbotham and I.
Next, I had to RUN (actually run, my phone's fitness tracker reported my activity yesterday as 54 minutes walking, 2 minutes running!) to Meshel Laurie Talks Funny at the Town Hall. Meshel talked to Wil Anderson, Dave Hughes  and myself about what it was like 20 years ago when we were starting out. It was, of course, hilariously funny, but there were some oddly poignant moments, and even I got some insights into these people I've known for most of my adult, professional life.

Craziness at the Imperial

Comedy at The Imperial has been MADNESS. Yesterday was insane, and that was just me. First off I did a spot at the 5 for 5 at 5 showcase (five comedians for five bucks at 5pm - it is the BEST value show in the festival).

#FGT Previews

Right. So the first preview of #FGT was pretty much awesome fun. 
I have relented on my intro music. I was trying to be all arty, and whimsical and play music with no lyrics (because I have to talk over it to introduce myself, so it seems rude to have someone singing at that point), but then I realised that given the subject matter of the show, there was only one song that was appropriate. It is horribly obvious, but I play it again at the end, and after everybody has left, I dance around the empty seats for five minutes before the next show bumps in. It's much more fun than sitting backstage looking off into the middle distance.
Last night, a new anecdote popped into my head right at the moment I needed it, which is both amazing and annoying all at the same time. Most of my work happens in what I call "the back office;" my subconscious.

140 Characters of Hate

Look, I haven’t blogged in about forever, but this week, I was horrified by something on twitter that I couldn’t sum up in 140 characters or less. 
For the past five days, I’ve been given access to Chrissie Swan’s twitter account (@ChrissieSwan), to send out tweets while she’s in the jungle on I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. For the most part, it’s been an enjoyable experience. Cracking gags about celebrities sticking their heads into piles of poo, and being confronted with a meal of an ostrich sphincter. Most of Chrissie’s followers have responded well, sending messages of encouragement and support. Not all of them, however.
Now, I should clarify, that most of the tweets I put out under Chrissie’s name, I signed off with my own twitter handle. I thought that should make things perfectly obvious that it wasn’t my beloved La Swan tweeting, but my own depraved self. 
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