THE ABOUTS:

    Ed "Filibuster" Goodman is a writer-improvisor (wrimprovisor) who has performed, studied, and taught in Chicago, Kansas City, Las Vegas and LA. Currently, Ed presents Ed Goodman’s Ol’ Timey Brainwash & Book Tour, a one man disasterpiece where he sings, dances, and tells stories from the book he hasn’t written.* Ed was born in North Carolina so don’t try to tell him ribs and bbq are the same thing. ‘Cuz they ain’t, Cuz.

*Lie! Ed doesn’t sing or dance.

    Alt. North Carolina joke (for Clubmembers only):
Ed's from North Carolina but he don't eat dirt no more!

    (Ahem)

    This is my blog’s “about” (bloggabout). If this were a program for the live show, it would be my “bio” and include the sentence “Thanks to Tam and Jerr for believing in me. We did it!” and have a picture of me in a leotard.

    Emphasis on tard.

    If this were a book jacket, this would be on the back flap and include the sentence “special thanks to all the students who were wholly uninterested in my lectures allowing me plenty of time to write. Also, a special special thank you to all the TA’s who helped me with the T's & the A’s. Know what I mean? Once I get tenure I’m going nuts. I'm a white man with tenure! So, office hours are be gonna be after hours and go on for hours and hours.”
    And there would be a picture of me standing in front of a lot of books with a pipe looking like a communist. Or what we all think communists look like. You know, skinny, glasses, pointy beard, a degree in English from some East Coast University. A real "man of the people." 

    Emphasis on tard.**

    As it is, this is my bloggabout and doesn’t include a sentence at all. (C'ept for that one about about bbq.)

    **And no I can't make that joke anymore so I won't.

Next up...The Brainwash >>>

WHAT THE F’N D, YO (or) Welcome to the Brainwash

     Now, at this point you might be all “What the hell is this? I done read The Abouts and a couple of entries and now I have questions. Is this a blog based on a book? Or a show? Or a mental illness? Or is there a show based on a book and the blog is from the book? Or is the blog the outline of a show that might be a book someday that will then require a tour to support that book? Or is the blog in addition to a show that may or may not have anything to do with the book you haven’t written but if you did would it be full of backstage intrigue and personal gossip like who’s sleeping with whom, who really hates each other, and how all that works seeing as it’s a solo performance starring just you? I mean, seriously, are you sleeping with your co-stars, who are also you, and do you churn’em and burn’em Hollywood style or do you really take an interest in their careers outside the show and if so are you afraid you may accuse yourself of something salacious later on and have to write a book to defend yourself or at least do a tell all show about it?” 

    To these inquiries, I have two answers. First, yes (and thanks for asking) and second you didn’t even mention the podcast I’ve never done. 

    Welcome to the Brainwash. 

(BLIZZZZZZACKOUT!)

Next up: Words! >>>>

A Quick Word About ”Flow-Through Bags"

You’re a flow-through bag.

#SickBurn

WELCOME TO THE BRAINWASH AND BOOK TOUR...and blog...

(Lights up, center spot, on a small, empty stage. No set, no scenery, just a simple desk with an open laptop on it. The Performance Blogger sits behind the computer and addresses the audience directly. That’s right, directly.)

Hey everybody and welcome. I hope you’re comfortable. Though, let’s face it, comfort may not be what we should be concerned about these days. Am I right?

(A small “whoop” from in the back.)

There you go. Somebody gets it. So, welcome to the Ol’ Timey Brainwash and Book Tour and...Blog...and show? You know, as I sit here, staring into the darkness that I know is both the void and your unquenchable need for distracta-validation, I think about how’d I’d rather be doing this as a show - a show show. I mean...it is a show. It’s a blog - but it’s a show. And I think about how I’d much rather have you, the audience, here with me, a big roomful of living bodies, sitting right in front of me, in the dark, suspended in the moment, together, with me, us, sharing the space, breathing each other’s air-

(A cough from the back row over on the right.)

 The same planetary air we all share -

 (Another cough.)

 Breathing in each other -

(The coughs explode into a full on fit, an endless spasm of wet, hacking cough. Everybody starts thinking about blood stains on handkerchiefs and all those pictographs showing how airborne droplets move around small spaces. No one’s into the show anymore. Or the blog. The Performance Blogger addresses The Cougher in The Dark.)

Hey, Sir Coughs-A-Lot, you wanna take it outside? I’m runnin’ a blog show here, not a triage tent in the Wal Mart parking lot.

 SIR COUGHS-A-LOT: I’m fine (cough). I’ll be fine (hack). I’m good. (Hack!) Just need a little water.

 (Coughs-A-Lot sips some water and immediately hack-sprays it out over the entire right side of the audience. The Audience goes berserk.)

AM#1: That spit take’s going viral! It’s a viral spit take!

AM#2: They gots the Deltas!

AM#3: It’s Covid Connie! Look everybody, it’s Covid Connie!

COUGHS-A-LOT: I am not Covid Connie! Stop calling me that! (Hack!) I’m not-

(HAAACK! And this time a small piece of green gravy flies across the room and kersplat! hits the Performance Blogger right in the eye.)

 AM#4: Superspreader event!

 (The crowd stampedes. It’s like Woodstock II up in there but without all the ecstasy and Limp Bizkits.)

AUDIENCE – Outta my way! / My concern for others has evaporated! / Fauci was right about Wu Tang! / When y’all said live experimental live blog-theater nobody said nothin’ bout me bein’ a guinea pig for your disease stockpile! I ain’t no petri dish! (Etc.)

(In a flash, The Audience has disappeared and once again, The Performance Blogger is alone. An opportunity to heal, to come together, to laugh and maybe make a few bucks is gone. The Performance Blogger addresses the now empty MindSpace Theater. At $350 a night, may as well enjoy the air conditioning.)

Well, shoot.

(Sigh)

Maybe I’m glad it’s a blog and not a show. I mean, it is a show but...I’m not sure I’m ready for the close up and breathing experience again. Apparently you’re not. Running out of here like that. Look, somebody left their purse.

 (Sigh)

I thought it would be the usual crowd. Two friends, two acquaintances, and one lost soul who misread the description and thought it was a revival meeting or something. I try to be explicit in the explanations but…
I guess I’m just not ready for more than five people at a time. (Begins going through the purse.) Damnit, no cash? And who carries Lifesavers anymore? Anyway, welcome to it. The show, I mean. The Blog. The show blog. The show that’s a blog. The – this thing.
Whatever.
Welcome to it.

BLACKOUT!

#ViralSpittakeIsMyNewFunkMetalDanceBand #ShredForHire #NoHashtagsForTheBlogGag

Next up...Crazy Visual Word Salad >>>

The Great Blog Impossibility Act

    Part of the trade off in using technology is giving up some vision. What you wanted to do gets watered down into what you're allowed to do, a sort of techno-authoritarianism. If plain ol' authoritarian -ism is "My way or the broken jaw way," techno-authoritarianism is "My way or the no way." Or "My way or maybe your columns don't line up and you get text overwriting text and now it's impossible to read. This is what you get for leaving me out of clubs in grade school."

    More on this later!
    

LAUNCH! (or the entry from JULY 4, 2021)

("...Instead of going to a cookout, he stayed home...We'll I don't like it either, Dedra! He just stays up there in the room all day...he says he's blogging....I don't know what it means, Dedra! That's why I'm calling you!...Okay, look, I can't do this right now. I'm on in five minutes and I have to make sure they wipe down the pole...because it's got sweat all over it, Dedra! You know how it is!")

-Overheard backstage at Shooters III. That was your mom talking. Your mom. The stripper.

* * * * * *

    Oh my god! America is 243 years old today. You think your grandpa has trouble understanding how to order dementia meds on a smart phone, imagine a 243 year old understanding voter suppression. Forget it!
    Today, I declare my independence from not having a blog. Am I 30 years too late? Possibly. Should I care? Maybe. Will I eventually invite you to go fu*k yourself if you have an issue with it? Allow me to extend that invitation riiiiiiight now. (RUDE! How dare me! Who do I think I am? Also: Where do I get off / What makes me so smart / That attitude of mine is really gonna get me in trouble blah blah blah, etc.)
    Now, I’m not 243 years old, nor was I established with the institution of slavery at the core of my very soul, so I don’t have much to complain about. I'll have to think of some stuff. You know, things that affect me.
    Is the bar that low? Apparently. And to put a point on it, I live in a small town in the South East so my bar is so low I can’t even hum it! And while that joke may not exactly make “sense,” it does stand as a nice example of what I’m shooting for here: 100 word minimums, a fuck ton of sass, and proof that I am, in fact, far too big for my britches. I mean, seriously, who do I think I am? And where do I get off?
    For starters, I’m gonna get off right here.

    (Exits bus right in front of Shooters III, pulls out a stack of single dollar bills.)

    I guess I'm about to finance your allowance, son. 'Cause your mom's a stripper!

    #SickBurn
    #ShootersIII
    #ThirdInASeries

    (This entry is over!)

    BLACKOUT!

*u

Managing to Survive

    Here we go.

    Alright, for the past decade or so, I've sold my time to survive in the rental property induhstry. Yes, that's right. I'm a professional on-site manager. I'm the one you call when you get confused by your light bulbs and can't figure out where the smell is coming from (hint: It's you. It's your place. It's how you live.) So much of this job is baby sitting, keeping old people from falling into the pool, picking up dog poop in the hallway, explaining the same things to the same people over and over and over.

    

    No, your desk lamp light bulb is not part of maintenance.

    No, the pool's been there the whole time.

    No, we really do need you to take your dog outside the building to poop. Outside your apartment isn't outside enough. 
 

    I sit on an unnatural perch and have unnatural insight into how people live (unnaturally). How people organize their lives (or don't), manage the space in which they live (or don't) and conduct themselves in a small, forced community is endlessly fascinating and ultimately exhausting.

    Also: Cars are ultimately more trouble than they are worth. We should trade the cars for more trains and walking. 

    If I had to come up with one word (words!) for this job, it would be DON'T. But "free" rent is pretty attractive, isn't it? And no evicting the manager during the pandemic...right?

    A better word, or at least the word I try to use as much as possible, is the word REASONABLE. Most of the time if people could just be reasonable, the problems would evaporate or never materialize in the first place.

    I think this is a valuable topic to explore, this business of selling temporary space to people who need housing. It's weird. It's upsetting. A lot of the the renters' and owners' day-to-day issues are manufactured (or at least avoidable). And a lot of it is completely unreasonable.

    And what's really unreasonable is the pilot I've been writing (and re-writing) for ten+ years (Managing to Survive) is still not a global hit. I mean, I'm supposed to translate this life-altering chaos job into an easy to follow narrative with relatable (but not boring) characters, hilarious (but believable) situations, with deep (but not preachy) insight into the human condition AND it's all gotta happen in under 32 pages AND, let me get this straight, it's suppsed to be funny? 

    Now that's unreasonable.


    (But I'll always take a meeting! Also, Draft #5 is done!)