Sit Down Comedy … November 22nd, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Please allow me to use myself as an example.

I was born. (That was a good beginning.)

I developed a little musical talent. (So far so good.)

I discovered I could sing. (A great addition.)

I also stumbled upon some sort of ability to arrange music. (Certainly makes you interesting to other musicians.)

Along the way, I started writing songs. (Okay. We’re waiting to hear…)

And the songs were good enough that one of them got signed and performed by a national act. (Well, that certainly gives you permission to continue.)

I started my own music group. (Were you any good?)

We got signed and recorded an album. (Well, well, well. Congratulations.)

Then I decided to write a musical. (That sounds a little more tricky.)

The musical turned out all right, and the cast traveled the country to twenty-five cities (Well, there you go.)

This put an itch in my brain to write books. (That’s a big step. What you might call “the leap.”)

Well, thirteen books later, I’ve sold my fair share though I’ve never threatened anyone on the New York Times Bestseller List. (What do they know?)

Next, I decided to run for Senator in my state. (Wait. Wait. Wait! Danger, danger, danger…)

Exactly.

How about another example?

He has a really unique hairdo. (Well, that’s interesting.)

He has lots of money. (A very helpful thing.)

He likes to build buildings and put his name on them. (Good…if a bit vain.)

He enjoys promoting prize fights and beauty contests. (I’m listening…)

He deeply appreciates beautiful women. (Who doesn’t, right? Wink, wink.)

He was invited to host a reality show on television. (That’s pretty nifty.)

It did very well—so well there was a spin-off. (Impressive.)

Matter of fact, the ratings were very, very high. (Those doggone Nielsen families.)

He decided to run for President. (Wait, wait, wait! Danger, danger, danger…)

It’s important where things end up–and that goes for people, too.

Anyone who has ever tried to fix up a house to sell it for profit will tell you there are so many people’s numbers that end up in your phone—who have to work on this and work on that—that suddenly, you find yourself involved with people who need to install your toilet and lay concrete, that you accidentally know about their gastric problems, and whose wife is about to leave whose husband—and you know there is no way to make this really successful.

There are just people I should never meet. For instance, the state of Florida should never meet me. If I want to fix up a house, I’d better do it alone, because all of the scammers will not benefit my life’s journey.

And just because a guy knows how to wear an Italian suit, build a building and host a beauty pageant, does not mean he should be President.

And here’s another clue:

He told us that.

From the onset, Donald Trump told us the truth. He did.

He said, “I am a promoter and a liar.”

If you read his book, it is full of all sorts of approaches to deceiving the competition.

He never expected to be President.

Along with the help of the Electoral College, the hatred many people felt for Bill and Hillary, and a foolish playfulness on the part of the American voter, he was ushered into the Oval Office.

We were never supposed to see him there.

We were never intended to even meet the cast of characters who have come before us to testify about one another—and him.

The whole thing resembles a huge blow-up in a gymnasium at a high school, when people find out what other people have been saying about them.

It is a misplaced conclusion brought about by a misplaced representation urged on by a misplaced valuation of ability.

We are not all supposed to be famous.

The individuals who are presently serving this nation were meant to be hidden. They are servants. They are helpers. They should never have been brought to the forefront as if they are superstars, or worthy of being heard.

We are completely out of balance.

Case in point:

In a country which has never elected a woman as President, when statistics report that 46% of men would never vote for a woman, the Democrat Party still believes that offering five of them is a good idea.

And this party does not comprehend that the black church, which does believe the homosexual community should have civil rights but also thinks the lifestyle is immoral, well, they are not likely to line up to vote for the Indiana mayor.

Do I even have to address the electability of two accused socialists?

Or how about that left-over Vice President, who always seems to be on a confusing journey to find a subject or verb to hook up with his object when he speaks?

It’s not supposed to be.

We are not making America great again. We are dumbing it down.

We are pretending that conversations which we would have found insulting a few years ago are now worthy of an hour-long show on the 24-hour-news cycle.

It is not Make America Great Again (MAGA)

What it does feel like is Make America Small Again (MASA)—an ironic acronym, don’t you think?

Masa.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this inspirational opportunity

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Downtown … December 5, 2012

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I am a defensive driver–defensive in the sense that there are moments when I greatly desire, in the midst of the marauding barbarians of metal-clad warriors, to roll down my window and plead into traffic, “You’d like me if I weren’t changing lanes!”
You see? Defensive.
It’s one of the reasons that I don’t like to go into the business districts of big cities. There are just too many things to hit and that are prepared to hit me. With the introduction of buildings, buses, taxis, and even horse-drawn carriages initiating elements of the old Wild West, I become jittery and resemble a teetering old man on the verge of mental collapse, having discovered that the daily shipment of tapioca pudding to the nursing home has been delayed by–what else?–traffic.

Imagine my horror yesterday when I turned the page on my calendar and discovered that I had entered the quadrangle of hell. Yes. A four-sided box, trapping me within a quartet of my fears. For my next engagement was in Historic Old Downtown Savannah (count with me–that’s # 1), with parking across the street (that’s #2), for a noontime basically unadvertised concert (horror #3) with what was sure to be a transient crowd, stopping in for curiosity’s sake during lunch hour (there’s #4).

Savannah River (Photo credit: DoNotLick)

I prepared myself for failure. Let me discuss that procedure, since we are all occasionally suiting up for our latest nosedive. My preparation for failure works this way:
A. A loss of enthusiasm. (I wish that came with a loss of appetite, but it usually increases my desire for food)
B. A sense of dread (usually accompanied by a nasty dose of grouchiness).
C. Proclamations of doom and gloom (so as to look as if I was at least intelligently expecting my termination).
D. Reluctance (a literal dragging of the feet on the way to the gallows).

As you can see, this particular collection of emotions is not conducive to energizing an already-faltering project. But I decided to see it through.
Are you ready for this? It worked.

People actually came in from off the street (not many), sat down and spent thirty-seven minutes listening to us do our Christmas show, gave money, bought materials and walked out overjoyed. This collage of humans ranged from homeless people who had come in order to be insiders instead of outsiders for a while, to even a couple who were tourists from Canada, sporting that infectious north-of-the-border grin.

It actually came off–which created a new dilemma. Because often, when something works which should never have worked, we make the mistake of analyzing it for future possibilities.
For instance, if I were suddenly healed of terminal cancer, it would not be a good idea to go out and start chain-smoking because I felt confident that if the disease returned, I could once again lick it–maybe even quicker. Sometimes God, who is very merciful, grants us a reprieve from our own stupidity by allowing us to slip through a crack that is really too narrow for us, with the hopes that we will not be so stupid as to try to wiggle through it again.

As I left my noontime gig in downtown Savannah, departing from a transient crowd to roll across the street to the parking lot, I breathed a sigh of relief rather than sucking in a deep breath of hope. I shan’t do this again–and certainly will NOT do it more often. If God would request a command performance or if circumstances required me to pursue another downtown, across the street, noontime concert in front of a transient crowd, I would humbly agree, sporting once again all of my predilections of anxiety. But I have no intention of moving upon the success of this unique event, to become known  for my lunchtime concert series.

Sometimes a blessing is a blessing. Yes, sometimes it is not a call to new mission. Count your fingers and toes, slide out through the traffic, laced with horsies and blaring horns, and be grateful that God is as good as advertised.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity