World Humour

 Wreck Beach  is the biggest nude beach in North America and it's located right on the campus of the University of British Columbia.   I know because I took every opportunity to spend time down there, enjoying the sun, conversing with other students, meditating...oh, who I am kidding? I went down there to stare at naked chicks.

Nudity in Canada is somewhat different than nudity in California. If you can find a clothing optional beach in Southern California there's also a good chance that it's littered with needles, used condoms and discarded issues of "The Hollywood Reporter". In Canada, as in Europe, nudity is not considered taboo or even risque. Whole families spend a day, naked in the sun. The very young as well as the very old.

Girls and boys alike, going through those delicate stages of puberty, are rarely seen. Not even with their families. Perhaps while they are understandably sensitive to their developing bodies it's apparent that many obese individuals couldn't care less what they look like.  Picture a Speedo stretched around a wine barrel.

Growing up in convervative Wisconsin left me with some hangups as to public nudity. The only time you're naked outdoors in Wisconsin is when a bear is attacking your tent and you don't have time to slip on some underwear. There are some suspicions that the bear actually considers this humorous and gets a big kick out of chasing naked campers through the woods until he needs to catch his breath.

My son, Tyson,  was about six or seven years old when he came to live with me for my second year of graduate school at UBC. Wreck Beach is on the other end of campus and while we would walk there he would pick flowers to give to the prettiest girls on the beach. Let me tell you a kid with flowers hooks you up with far more chicks than a puppy anyday.  No matter how cute the puppy might be.

Some of the locals make a living on the beach selling everything from margaritas to hashish. You could always tell if someone was a cop because they would be wearing underwear. Technically, it's illegal to be nude in public but that hasn't stopped thousands from descending on Wreck Beach as late spring approaches.

You would think that naked people would be more guarded and less likely to befriend a stranger and yet those sunbathers on Wreck Beach are the nicest people you're ever going to meet. They will be annoyed, however, if you keep your clothes on and insist on bringing more than one camera with you.

Trust me, it's not easy running at top speed across a beach with several cameras bouncing off your chest and hitting you in the face.

Sometimes it takes a kid to immediately notice anything a bit out of the ordinary. My son was too young to know anything about menstrual periods or tampons. Some of the women, in their periods, would be lying on their back, legs apart with the tampon string hanging out. My son wanted to know what happened if you pulled the string. I guess he thought it worked like one of those Talking Barbies. If I was a cruel father I would have suggested he try pulling the string and find out.

It's not easy getting down to the beach. If it was nobody would feel safe. You've got to crawl down this incredibly steep, winding path for about a quarter of a mile before you hit sand. Walking back up is a fine workout for anyone. (Especially if you're carrying a number of cameras around your neck.)

I have so many fond memories of the University of British Columbia. The Creative Writing was, and still is, the finest in North America offering a wide diversity of genres to its talented writers. Vancouver was a different city back then. Back in 1980 many restaurants catered to the backgammon craze and placed boards on most of the tables. That's all history now.

Wreck Beach  lives on and always will. The arch conservative elements of Vancouver politics have always threatened to bulldoze a road down to the beach so the cops can more easily patrol it but that has never happened. I hope it never will.

Where else can you be naked without getting laughed at?

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Wreck Beach

 I was raised in a small Wisconsin farming town where we learned the two greatest sins were sex and losing to the Bears.

Lombardi was coach of the Packers and I thought sex was only for people in California and Paul Horning.  I've grown up since those days and learned that even butt ugly people have sex.  So there is that glimmer of hope.

I lost my virginity in the front of a '61 Falcon and to this day can't have sex with my knees bent. Don't ask. It only brings back embarrassing memories.

There was a time in my life when I wanted to be a Franciscan monk.  Not because I wanted to devote my life to Christ but rather because I thought the robes looked so cool. That's pretty much the same reason I enlisted in the Air Force. Cool uniforms. I was a young, naive altar boy back when Latin was spoken in Mass. The cool robes sucked a lot of us in at that age.

As a Catholic growing up in the 50's and 60's I was taught that sex was a sin unless you were married and then only if it was with your wife. There's always a catch. One teacher I had told me that sex was bad even in marriage but I don't think she was speaking of sin or other marriages. Just her husband.

Where I grew up in Wisconsin there were only three religions: Catholics, Lutherans and Packer fans. I never met or even saw any minorities until I graduated from high school and worked as an elevator operator at the YMCA in Chicago down in the loop.  Talk about culture shock.

I don't think I would enjoy sex as much if it wasn't a sin.

It's a lot like eating a hot dog on Friday back when it was a venial sin to eat meat on Friday. I'd get married again in a heartbeat if they only made that a sin.

There is talk now with the publishing of "The DaVinci Code" and other books that Jesus married Mary Magdalene and they had a daughter who grew up in France after Christ was crucified.  While this story doesn't offend my Catholic sensibility, I am saddened to hear anybody's kid had to grow up in France.

At the risk of sounding sacrilegious, I am curious what it would be like to have sex with the Son of God.  You figure anyone who can turn water into wine has a few tricks up his sleeve. But wouldn't it be intimidating to know He's the Son of God? It would be like I was back in 5th. Grade and had to shower in front of the hall monitor.  Where do you go to meet men after Jesus? How would you like to be the first guy Mary Magdalene dated after Jesus? How do you size up to the Son of God?  It would be like an amateur comic on open mic night following Lenny Bruce, Bill Cosby and Dave Chappelle. 

If you're Mary Magdalene and lost your husband, where do you find a man that even comes close to the caliber of Christ? Especially in France.

I suppose sex will always be a sin. I hope so. That way we have something to feel good about when we can't get laid. Sometimes I wonder if there is sex in Heaven and if there is how much do we have to tip for it?

I would be happy if Heaven was the one place where women didn't insist on turning the lights off before I took my clothes off.

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

 

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

If you want to be a writer you lead the Jack Kerouac lifestyle, hitchhiking and hopping freight trains across country. Been there. Done that.

A comic has a totally different path to success. You follow in the footsteps of the greats like Bill Cosby, Lenny Bruce, Robin Williams, Jim Carey and even Dave Chappelle. You work the clubs and go for laughs wherever you are 24/7.


Having a comic around can be a pain in the ass.

In my standup comedy days I was working open mic nights at both Comedy Stores, Hollywood and Westwood, as well as The Improv on Melrose where I would arrive in my ambulance and plead for the most opportune time slot by telling the MC I had just gotten a Code 3 and had to run off to save yet another life. Could I please do my 4 minutes next? Then I'd do my routine in full EMT uniform and race out of the parking lot with lights and siren blaring. Until Schaefer's caught me with their ambulance.

The big disadvantage of open mic night is you don't really know exactly when you're going up onstage. It could be in five minutes or two hours. That would drive most sober comics crazy. You always hoped the comic ahead of you would bomb badly. So bad that people didn't even care enough to heckle. I once had to follow Freddie Prinze high on cocaine and I've never seen anyone funnier. Yet when he went to sit down by the bar he was surrounded by people with no one talking to him. He looked so lonely.

I do miss being young and dumb enough to dream of fame. When you're young you figure you've got eternity to become famous. Then as you approach 40 you keep reminding yourself that Rodney Dangerfield was a paint salesman until he was 42. At least that's the story we aging comics want to believe. Once you're past 50 there's no point of reference.

If fame hasn't knocked on your door by 50 it's not even in your neighborhood.

I turned 57 February 12th. My life sucks.

To this day I still have problems watch comics perform. For one thing, not very many of them are funny. When they do bomb my guts are in knots, empathizing with that sinking feeling. If my first couple of jokes went over I would relax and take the time to deliver each line in the right tempo. But if there was silence right off the bat, it would tend to throw my timing completely off. It's not as if my standup days were only yesterday. I might be too old for dreams but the memories are working just fine.

I'm working on putting together an improv act, "Fortune Man". It's a parody on the psychic hotlines with speakerphones to the After World so anyone in the audience could talk to a dead uncle or JFK. Another comic backstage would play those parts. It's a work in progress. Perhaps it always will be.

I wrote a newspaper column, "Hollywood Daze", for a year reflecting on my life in L.A. trying to make it as a comic compared to the world I knew growing up in Chilton, Wisconsin. Recently I converted that column into blogs with the same title for the whole world to witness my dreams and failures. Ain't the internet just grand?

A comic's brain works differently. We always see the setup and punchline in whatever happens to us. Even if something bad happens I can still see how that work so well in a sketch. They often say pain is the Petri dish for comedy but if that were true, after two failed marriages, I should be the funniest guy on the planet. Sometimes I am but only briefly. And when no one else is around to witness my brilliance. Isn't it always that way? It's really quite simple.

Comics are funny because we're not good at anything else.

If you or anyone you know is still young enough to dream of fame as a comic I would make the following suggestions:
1) Don't think you're funny just because your parents are laughing. Trust me, they are laughing at you.
2) Don't think fame as a comic will score big with the chicks. Even the guy driving the Zomboni at a hockey game gets laids more than most comics.
3) Don't use your real name. That will make denying anything much harder later on.
4) Don't write your standup routine with your clothes on. If you look like most comics you're much funnier naked.


I wrote my best routines at Wreck Beach, the largest nude beach in North America.

I'm not against dreaming. Hell, that's all most married men have. But I am just getting tired of chasing the carrot. And the carrot keeps getting smaller.

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to: WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

 There was a time a hundred years ago or more when I believed whatever anyone said in a chat room or online conversation anywhere.

If we all wore nametags mine would read, "Village Idiot".

My life would have turned out so differently if I were born a good-looking guy. Or was rich. Or even smart. Instead I was the funny one that nobody invited to their birthday parties. The life of a clown. While I was the class clown in high school and had no problem cracking up my fellow students I would get extremely shy in front of anyone with a uterus. Especially if they were beautiful. I still have problems with gorgeous women. Not that I don't enjoy looking at them but it's the expression on their face when they catch me staring.

I wonder if George Clooney is shy in front of anyone. Any lady on the planet. Did Brad Pitt clam up in front of Angelina when he first met her? Is it normal to be somewhat of a clod in front of hot women? It is for me.

Life would be so much easier if I could just read a woman's mind. That way when she smiles I'll know if it's a smile that says, "I am being pleasant only so you don't hurt me." or is she about to ask me for help with her resume or her car? Is it ever a smile that reflects an interest in me? Maybe it's better I never know. Life is depressing enough already.

I've dabbled with a few online dating services. It inevitably comes down to one basic fact of life; beautiful women want beautiful men with tons of money and ugly women will settle just for the money. I have neither. What is a Village Idiot to do?

I suppose if God meant for me to have an active sex life he would have blessed me with both testicles. I can't tell you how many times that would have come in handy!

There's no question I'm a slow learner. No matter how many times I am spurned I still continue to give out my business card like they were hits of Ecstasy. Then when she doesn't call I convince myself that it's a waste of time to even flirt and vow never to hand out my card again or even strike up an animated conversation with a beautiful woman. Then the first time I run into some gorgeous nymph I fall back into making an ass out of myself. I don't think I'm alone in that. Why can't I see the reality of my life? I'm 57 years old, out of work, broke and living in the back of a '92 Previa van. What's not to understand?

No matter how much I write about this it always comes down to one reality; beautiful women excite me when they smile. When they breathe. How their hips dance slowly to a Latin beat when they walk. The sound of their voice passing through lips blessed by God. My heart skips a beat when they even turn my way. For just a split second I am George Clooney outside his Italian villa. I am Brad Pitt with Angelina on his arm. I am all men cool and then I am the Village Idiot again. The cycle repeats itself continually. Every day of the year. Every year of my life.

Men and women play the same games. The only difference is women are much smarter than us and play so much better. It's like comparing Anna Kornikova to a chimp with a racket. Getting rejected by a beautiful woman is disheartening but understandable. That doesn't make it any less painful. Just easier to cope with.

It's a wonder women have put up with us men this long.

If the genetic scientists can ever create a penis in a Petri dish we're all in serious trouble.

My name is Tom.

I am the Village Idiot. 

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360