MY VACATION ON THE MOON WILL NEVER END

THE MUSIC OF RD MAUZY

SUBSCRIBE VIA EMAIL:

Jul 8

To this day, nobody has died from a single joke

Gilbert Gottfried can’t stop apologizing:

The internet gives everybody the illusion of power. Everyone’s a commentator, everyone’s a writer, everyone’s a movie critic, everyone’s a moral activist. And as a result, everyone is a fucking idiot.

Comedy clubs aren’t the safe havens they once were. It used to be, if you went to a club, there was an expectation that anything could happen. It might be an evening of inoffensive comedy. Or a comic might make a joke about gang-raping an audience member. … Nobody complained to the manager or screamed for apologies. If you want good taste, stay at home and watch PBS.

Imagine if the most brilliant comedians in history were working today. They’d never stop apologizing. Charlie Chaplin would have to apologize to all the homeless people he belittled with his Little Tramp character. W.C. Fields and Dean Martin would both have to apologize to alcoholics. The Marx brothers would have to apologize to Italians, mutes and uptight British ladies. … You went up there as a comic and joked about it all and nothing was off-limits.

….

The next time you hear a joke that offends your gentle sensibilities, I want you to ask yourself this simple question: What would Pamela Anderson do? Do you have the same emotional maturity as somebody with gigantic fake breasts whose main cultural contribution is running in slow motion on the beach? Can you take a joke better than, or at least as well as, Pamela Anderson?

I apologize to my gay brethren for the fact that the above article is linked to the Playboy website. I’m actually so desensitize to boobs appearing all over websites, that I had gotten through half the article before recognizing that the boobs and the website were connected.

With the illusion of power, I grant my commentary onto the internet:

I’ve been self-validating my own philosophical waxings by noting that comedy and music share a lot of roots in their approach to art. There’s a dogmatic divestment that allows the curator to stand on the shoulders of giants and simultaneously disregard any other input than the intuition of the sense itself.

In the process of learning how to get out of one’s own way, being able to confront whatever face comes out to greet you on the other side of that shield - a fat bulbus demonic crazed face yelling, “Keep your eye on the ball, fag. What a queer!” - is the bread and butter of what makes art great, and what gives it value outside of the scope of club owners who say “why were you masturbating on my stage?”

Don’t call it a rock club if that’s your line.

I can even get exaggeratedly dramatic and alarmist to say - the environments that don’t encourage people to discover the language that describes that process - in them exist a kind of silent genocide - a death of art - a systematic ignoring of the sense that says “what if everything’s just a joke? What would Pamela Anderson do?”

Tragedy plus time equals comedy.

+ meter = music.


Jul 4

Video: Penn & Teller burn the American flag in celebration.

"What would happen if you were to burn a flag… in celebration of the very freedoms that flag symbolizes?"

Leaving the deutschland for the mutterland in just over a month. Watch out Arkansas.


Video: Chris Rock explains America to Americans.

"If you swam here from some shitty country that didn’t allow you Bubalicious… you too are an American!"

My mom is a true American. I’m half Peruvian.


Jun 22

In an acute display of über-nationalism, with it being World Cup time, and seeing German flags waving from every car and balcony, I find myself somewhat nostalgic for a country I’m only half related to (it’s the good half!).

Today I check the box that says “Latino” and sing from my mountain top:

Ricas montañas
hermozas tierras
risueñas playas
es mi Perú!

Click for video: Mi Perú (by Hermanos Zañartu)


Jun 17

"Now I’m not saying Germans are mean or unfriendly, they’re very warm, sociable people… who do not get jokes."

Patton Oswalt gets a reality check in Germany.

===

Since moving to Germany, I’ve recognized how much joking around there is in my songs.

While working with Germans, I’d often be asked, “what does this lyric mean?” “Why is that line like that?”

The answer was always, “Well, it’s a joke, I’m just making fun of something or having fun with an idea.”

Then they’d look at me dead pan, and explain why what I’m trying to say isn’t true. Then I’d say, “I know, that’s why it’s a joke.”

At least once, I was answered back, “That’s not a joke. That’s a pun.”

GTFO.


“If the thing that’s not given me any kind of reward for what I do, is the thing I keep showing up for, then this is probably what I should be doing with my life.” Patton Oswalt

Jun 15

Jimmy Scott - “Sycamore Trees”
Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me Soundtrack

James Victor “Jimmy” Scott (July 17, 1925 – June 12, 2014), also known as “Little” Jimmy Scott, was an American jazz vocalist famous for his unusually high contralto voice, which was due to Kallmann’s syndrome, a very rare genetic condition. The condition prevented him from reaching puberty, leaving him with a high, undeveloped voice.

(via obcomar)



Let me re-diagram this to reflect my experience living in Germany.
Here are the appropriate protocols:
People you know and are familiar with: 5 - 15 feet distance.
People you don’t know, in a public environment: breathing down your neck - to far enough that you can still hear them breathing.
People you’re performing to and entertaining: Lined up against the furthest walls with arms crossed, unless completely clueless in which case, interrupt the performance and say, “Hey, Michael Jackson, let me take a selfie with you!”

After seeing this graphic, I feel vindicated for wanting to walk around Hamburg wearing a hoola-hoop.
Step back, I’m not going to monopolize your time at the super market conveyor belt.

Let me re-diagram this to reflect my experience living in Germany.

Here are the appropriate protocols:

People you know and are familiar with: 5 - 15 feet distance.

People you don’t know, in a public environment: breathing down your neck - to far enough that you can still hear them breathing.

People you’re performing to and entertaining: Lined up against the furthest walls with arms crossed, unless completely clueless in which case, interrupt the performance and say, “Hey, Michael Jackson, let me take a selfie with you!”

After seeing this graphic, I feel vindicated for wanting to walk around Hamburg wearing a hoola-hoop.

Step back, I’m not going to monopolize your time at the super market conveyor belt.

(via obcomar)


A letter from Kurt Vonnegut to high schoolers: Grow your soul

Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don’t make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you’re Count Dracula.

Here’s an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don’t do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals [sic]. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!

Kurt Vonnegut


Jun 3
Sweet morning light

Sweet morning light


Page 1 of 51