Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

This morning I went round to my mate Rob’s house to catch up with him and his chickens. He brought one of them inside for me to meet and I chatted with the brown chicken for as long as was humanly possible. Naturally the conversation with Rob turned from chickens to comedy. I said something that he said was an interpretation of a dream he had had where he was walking along a path and he could see all around him except directly in front of him. I had said that everyone is on their own path and has to be brave enough to walk down their own path. He said he didn’t know exactly what lay ahead of him because it was his path and only he was walking it. It takes courage to look around and see other people walking their own path or walking as a group on other people’s paths, but for some truly unique people it is important for them to walk their own path to help provide the world with uniqueness and variety and to help keep everyone else moving forward along their path, or leadership. Rob has 4 chickens including a black Spanish one who he has named with a long, impressive sounding Spanish name, 2 brown ones and a white one. For some reason I'd imagined them all to be white but I was probably just thinking of my favorite peom by William Carlos Williams,

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Woke up this morning feeling hungover after drinking only three beers last night. Embarrassing. That's the thing about living on a shoestring budget - you can't afford to drink too much, so you're tolerance for alcohol drops. Last night when I got off stage I got the nod of approval from one of NZ's comedy godfathers, Brendhan Lovegrove. Before I went on he advised me to speak loudly and to hold the mic close to my mouth so as to dominate the rowdy crowd including a stag do and a hen's night. It totally worked, but the crowd weren't that rowdy anyway. I hooked them in at the start with my usual leftfield style and material, and had them attentive for the whole 15 minutes. I can hold my head up high after solid performances three nights in a row at the Classic.

It's taken me til now to get excited about doing another show in the NZ comedy festival. Traditionally I've done a show every second year, starting in 2007. I have an idea for a new show and I've already started to flesh it out. In March I will have done comedy for 10 years, and my show is something to do with that. Watch this space.

7 Days series two is now nine episodes in and so far I've had 12 gags to air, including a whopping six in the last episode. I now realise that my whole week has become consumed with 7 Days, because on Wednesday I begin writing the jokes, on Thursday I submit them, on Friday night I watch the show on TV (or watch it the next day on the network website) to see which of my gags got in, and then all weekend I look forward to Tuesday for confirmation of what gags I got in... then the next day it all starts again for the next episode! Last week I submitted 80 jokes and got six to air, four of which were for the games "Answers" and "Caption That". The other two jokes were "script jokes" - my first script jokes to air - about news stories for the games at the top of the show such as "What's the Story" and "My Kid could Draw That". I was very happy with the script jokes I submitted this week and feel as though I'm improving in this area. Six jokes breaks the old record for most jokes to air by a single spec writer by two. Apparently some magazine has voted 7 Days New Zealand's best comedy show of the last 50 years... stoked I'm helping make it so.

Comedy festival is in full swing in both Auckland and Wellington, and despite the fact I'm not doing a show, I almost feel just as involved as if I were. I performed in some festival shows on the weekend down in Wellington - well, just outside Wellington in Upper Hutt and Petone. On Saturday night I played to a sell-out crowd of 25 at a small pub called the BoileRoom in Upper Hutt. I was the main act with a 45 minute set after local comedian Cruzanne Macalister opened with 15. The crowd really enjoyed it and I had a lot of fun. It's always a good sign when someone in the crowd wants to buy you a drink after the show. It's the only time a man should ever buy a man he's never met before a drink in a bar. He ended up not having to pay for it anyway because all my drinks were free, but I took it as a compliment anyway. The next night in Petone at Speakeasy Restaurant I was supported by Christchurch's Jav Jaquin, and local comedians TJ McDonald, Nathan Winter and Jerome Chandrahasen. When I say supported, I really mean supported, because my set was a little bit up and down. After the show on both nights I went back to Wellington where I was staying and caught other festival shows including the Comedy Den, the mad crazy late late comedy show at Fringe Bar on Cuba Street.

Ahead of the 2010 New Zealand International Comedy festival, I thought it apt to put up the two, somewhat contrasting, reviews of my '09 festival show James Keating: Billbored. TVNZ is the state broadcaster, and theatreview are dicks.

"James Keating is one of this year's Billy T Nominees- up against the likes of Vaughan King, Dave Wiggins, Jim Brown and Chris Brain. His comedy is full of witticisms and keen observations of the way certain companies pitch to us the ideas they want us to buy into. The commentary he offers on the ridiculous nature of advertising is very clever and in this world of economic downturn there is more material than ever in the form of bizarre advertising. Keating has a very idiosyncratic style of delivery that is hinted at in the placid expression he bears on his poster and the title's pun. Do not expect high-energy comedy with dynamic comedian-audience interaction, and do not expect to lose yourself in a winding web of comedy. Instead, expect slowly delivered, ultra-low-key, ultra-ultra-low energy - yet truly funny observations on the motivational messages you find on trucks and trams, dyslexia sufferers playing scrabble and similar musings. Occasionally Keating's style leads to certain punch lines being lost under his breath which can be a little disappointing - so I can only recommend you pay close attention if you want to catch the pay-off. James Keating could potentially be the next winner of the infamous yellow towel, a symbol for the prestigious Billy T award (taken out in previous years by Steve Wrigley, Cori Gonzalez-Macuer and many other icons of New Zealand Comedy)- so here's your chance to see what impressed the judges and what made him a nominee."

TVNZ


"Although a few gems rang out at the opening night of Billbored, it was mostly tepid laughs for the premiere of James Keating's stand-up act. Performing at the Fringe Bar, once known as Bluenote, Keating's show doesn't really explore the themes implied in his programme blurb, so if you're expecting a postmodern spin on advertising and TV slogans you won't find it here. Instead, Keating takes us in typical stand-up style through various puns and jokes, my personal favourite involving a pet tapeworm who thinks his owner is a bum. His performance is bolstered by the venue, which lends itself particularly well to stand-up comedy with sparkly, shimmering curtains and cosy couches. The relaxed bar generates an even and comfortable environment just perfect for this type of comedy. While Keating certainly has a charming stage presence and an easy-going personality, on opening night I detected a small case of the jitters which prevented him from fully engaging with the audience. Some more focused eye contact would do wonders in helping him make that ever so important audience/performer connection. He nailed a few of the jokes and enticed a laugh or two out of most of us, but unfortunately much of the show was delivered with as little punch as an old carrot. However, I'm sure that his act will tidy up as the run progresses and his confidence builds."

Theatreview

Every occupation probably gets its stock standard questions, but as a comedian I feel it is my duty to have funny comebacks for them. I sort of work on them as though they were material, and if they are good enough I'll add them to the show. One of the FAQ's I get a lot is, do I make a living off comedy? A cheekier version of that question is do you make much money off comedy?, which tends to back me into a corner a bit more than the first version of that question. FAQT is, I don't make very much money off comedy at all. For an hourly rate it's an absolute shitload, but I seldom work more than one hour per week. But there is no feeling on earth that compares with writing, performing, then getting paid for an original joke. All the idea has to do is get a laugh. It doesn't have to be built or mass produced or packaged. It's purely ethereal. Because of this intensely satisfying feeling I get from comedy it doesn't really bother me if I have lean weeks in the bank balance department. I do occasionally pick up the odd bit of painting work here and there. Currently I'm helping a couple of mates paint their houses - one inside and one outside. It's a bit weird working for your mates, but I guess they'd rather hire someone they know, and I'd rather work for someone I know, and we've both got the contacts. There comes a point as a comedian where you do have to decide whether you have the goods to do it full time. Part of being a comedian is thinking of yourself as a comedian, and this is a realization I had at the start of this year. Funny thing is, it wasn't the first time I'd tried going full time as a comedian, it was my third. The thought dawned on me as I was waiting tables in a restaurant job I'd only started a few weeks earlier, but which my heart wasn't really in. What helped galvanize the idea was a conversation I had with another comedian backstage at the comedy club in which his response to my telling him I was waiting tables was,
"say it ain't so. Why don't you try living on weet-bix and two minute noodles just so you can do comedy full time?" To any other person this would not have been an inspiring thing to hear - maybe it was a load lightener just to hear that someone else had been through it all before.
P.s I do eat better than that!

It's easy to think that by the time you finish high school you must have figured out what you want to do with the rest of your life. Or that because you didn't have it figured out by the time you left high school you will never really know what you want to do. Maybe that's because school only teaches us right/wrong, or linear thinking - that there is only one possible path through life, so you better have figured out the right path to be on as early as possible, or it's too late. Life can happen like a good conversation. One thing leads to the next. You can't possibly know what is at point c before you have reached point b. Maybe to reach point c you first must fail at point b. Maybe you would never have arrived at point c had you not failed at point b. That's another thing school doesn't teach us - that failure is ok. At school there is a pass/fail mentality. Black or white. Pass is good, fail is bad. Failure is part of life, yet school does not prepare you for that or teach you that. Failure is never all bad. Looked at the right way and with the right attitude, failure can be an important stepping stone to the next thing. If failure is never all bad, then at least one good thing can be gleaned from every failure. Failure can at least teach you not to make the same mistake again.

A couple of years ago I went to Melbourne and fell in love with the place so I decided to move there from New Zealand. I'd recently done my own show in the New Zealand comedy festival, and afterwards I was wondering, "where to from here?" I was young and thought I could move to Melbourne and dominate the comedy scene there. I took a job at the Last Laugh comedy club as a sales rep/hawker. Instead of selling fluffy toys out of a shoulder bag I was selling eight-dollar comedy show tickets out of a black satchel. I must have gone into every shop in the Melbourne CBD with my patter that I had down to a tea: "Hi I'm from the comedy club and I'm selling eight-dollar comedy show tickets...have you heard of these guys before (show them a card with a bunch of famous comedians on it - none of whom were ever on at our club!)? etc." I had to sell at least 100 tix per week to get a commission, otherwise it was just $15/hour. Most weeks I cracked it. At night I was hitting the pubs that held weekly or fortnightly comedy nights and getting on stage to do my 10-minute act. Sometimes the only people in the crowd were the other comedians on that night, but it was always good fun.

Out on the race track there is just one man driving the car, but after the race he will be effusive about all the help he received from his team, the support crew. Last night when I got back on stage after a four week hiatus from comedy it all came down to me on stage, and none of the two people who had given me some vital encouragement going into the gig were there, but I couldn't have done it without them. Going into a gig, on the day I often seem to have a premonition as to whether or not the gig is going to go well or not, or perhaps more to the point, whether or not I'm going to enjoy it. The gig most often goes better than I think it does, but as I am my own harshest critic, it's sometimes easy to forget that. The crowd can be enjoying it more than I am sometimes - you've always got to find ways to avoid comedy becoming just another day at the office. Last night was a very relaxed affair - it always is at Snatch Bar comedy nite - the crowd was small and the venue intimate. I rolled through some material I'm still developing, most of which got laughs. My biggest laughs came from moments of spontaneity as I found the situation bringing out unplanned gems. Magical. Thankyou support crew, I couldn't have done it without you.

I went back a couple of times to the creative director at the advertising agency where I had done work experience, but he wasn't very dazzled by my ideas, so I threw in advertising and just amused myself by writing kids' stories and reading War and Peace. Then I wrote my best man speech for my brother Al's wedding and threw in a few jokes, including some prop comedy - for example I spoke about how I used to wear earmuffs while sleeping to combat Al's snoring, then I presented the bride, Rebecca, with a pair of earmuffs and said, "I'm passing them on." My speech got some good laughs, and afterwards Rebecca's uncle said something to me that would change my life forever. He said I should be a stand-up comedian. I forgot neither what he said that night, nor the way I felt from connecting with the audience, so a few months later I phoned the comedy club to ask if I could go on stage. They accepted me for a six-minute spot in Raw Comedy on a Monday night at the Classic. I had already written a little bit of material, but having that deadline made me write a whole lot more. On the night of my first ever comedy show (and, incidentally, the first time I had ever been to a live stand up comedy show) I had a lot of support from friends and family, and I had a great gig - enough to make me want to come back. As I walked out the door the manager, Scott, grabbed me and asked if I would like to come back to do another show, to which I said yes. My next gig was on a Monday night two weeks later.

Laughing uncontrollably is a beautiful thing. It's often set off by the most unexpected, surprising things. What is laughter? It's such a bizarre, luxurious response. Do animals laugh? Laughter sets us apart from animals; makes us more than just a living machine. I once had a crazy idea for a business, and the fact that I was half serious about doing it reflects my obscure, one-of-a-kind sense of humor. My idea was to approach people living in really flash houses and ask them if I could spray paint my ideas about life on their interior walls. I was in stitches just explaining the idea to my brother while riding in the back seat of my parents' car. I'm having a bit of a chuckle about it right now as I recall it! Not surprisingly, my brother just stared at me with a blank expression, and God only knows what my poor parents thought. My business never made it off the ground, but I did go on to have a career as a stand-up comedian. The great thing about being a comedian and having comedic thoughts is that, to make them work you only have to present them and get a laugh - you don't have to set up a company and look for premises.

I guess I showed signs of being a comedian very early on - just before I was to get up off my haystack that I was sitting on on stage dressed as a donkey to sing my solo I said to my mate who was sitting next to me, "nice knowing you." I thought I was going to die, but I nailed that solo - I don't know if being dressed as a donkey added or subtracted from the performance. At that same school I had a voice that I would put on to get laughs where I did this weird thing with my mouth, and word got around until one day the coolest, meanest, toughest kids in the school heard about my voice and asked me to put it on for them in the playground which I did and I appeased them - may have even got a laugh. That was my first private function. In the third form I was part of a tricycle threesome who dressed up in yellow raincoats and rode around on the stage to the soundtrack 'leader of the pack' during the light relief part of the weekly school assembly. Later that day in the playground I was recognised and gained minor notoriety. Then I fell deathly quiet and shy as a teenager, but as a 17 year old I was mesmerised by the humor of Wired World of Sports.

I could have started a diploma in advertising at Auckland Institute of Technology one year earlier than I did, but I turned it down, such was the extent of my fear of getting up in front of the class to do group presentations. I had decided I wanted to write ads for a living, but not before embarking on a three year course about everything to do with business and advertising except copywriting. Well, almost everything except, because it was at AIT that I met Jim Falconer, my copywriting tutor. I've heard it said that university is where you go to learn how to think. Jim Falconer's copywriting class opened my eyes to the world and possibilities of language. He kickstarted my creativity. I remember him saying, "it's all in there." He helped unlock my creative potential by showing me great ads, exposing me to great poetry (Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken) and speeches (Marianne Williamson, by Nelson Mandela) and getting me to write ads and do copywriting exercises.

Adventures in Writing

The first story I remember writing was also my first published story. It was a short short humorous story about how, one night, I fooled my parents into thinking I was in bed by stuffing pillows under the blankets while I hid under the bed. The final line was, "It worked, they kissed the doll!" I not only wrote the story but also set the type and printed it on a rudimentary printing press in my classroom. My teacher was a very clever man whose unconventional teaching methods helped make me as good with words and numbers as I am today. When I was about 12 I tried writing my first feature-length book but didn't get past the first page. In my early high school years I excelled in science, tho in my last two years of high school, despite still fancying myself a scientist, I was getting better marks in English. I left school and followed the herd to university, where I started a science degree. My head was in it, but not my heart, and after one year I dropped out. I wrote some great letters home describing my adventures aboard a yacht sailing for three months around the Pacific Ocean. From hammerhead to hammerhand (I wasn't paid to think). When I was working on a building site out in Little Huia I would park my car on the water's edge and write poetry about the coastline there.