I’m back from a fun month in Australia, and ready to get back to doing shows in North America. Oh, the tales I have to tell about my time Down Under. Here’s what I suggest: come, listen, laugh, and then return to your home. It’s a simple plan, really. It’s a traveling festival of Ogata in October, which I shall henceforth dub “Og-Tober-Fest.” The details below:
Allow me to tell you about the racist Qantas Airways flight I just took.
Fifteen hours is a long time to be wedged into the iron maiden known as a modern airplane economy-class seat. That’s how long it takes to fly from Los Angeles to Australia, where I’m doing shows this month. It feels even longer when for thirteen of those hours you have to stifle the urge to pull a racist flight attendant (pictured above) into the galley and “enlighten” him.
And now, the tale of the Q Qlux Qlan: [click to continue…]
We’ve heard quite a bit about “white privilege” recently, so allow me to shed some light on a similar set of unearned sociopolitical advantages: height privilege. Taller people, I’m pointing (upwards) at you.
It’s the kind of privilege that tall people enjoy when [click to continue…]
Once there was this hero, who saved me from an existence of spiritual subsistence. The first time I saw Robin Williams’ masterpiece, A Night at the Met, I was hooked. On laughing. On the possibility of riotous, beautiful chaos. On the even more delicious prospect of that chaos’ meticulous orchestration. On the idea that making people laugh was what I might do with my life.