Don't Humo/ur Me

Seriously don't even feel like you have to read this, everything is so bad, just take a little nap, I love you

Before I begin the newsletter in earnest, I’ll plug the second episode of my podcast, “Hey Brad, How’s Australia Going?” This one features my old pal Kelly Fastuca. She helped me a lot when I moved here and helped me again by doing this show. We talked about her comedy journey and how she’s feeling now and why comedy sucks ass and stuff. You can listen to it on Apple, Spotify, or watch on YouTube.

Okay, hi. Hey, divas! What an awful weekend. To call the events of the past weekend “no bueno” would be an understatement, I think. Even if you were to say the whole thing en Español. Let’s try:

Los acontecimientos del fin de semana pasado no fueron buenos.

Not bad, but does that really do the job of conveying the awfulness of the weekend’s horrible events? To quote many a Spanish speaker, “No.”

What happened Sunday on an overrated beach in Sydney is despicable. What more can you say. I almost feel bad for politicians who have to say more. Keep the adjectives coming. Shocking, distressing, heartbreaking, tragic, deeply saddening, unthinkable, unimaginable, sickening, our thoughts are with, our hearts go out to. No one finds meaning in these words anymore, but they need to be said or else things will feel off. Everyone will be like, “Why aren’t the leaders calling the tragedy shocking and heartbreaking? Someone powerful better get on my television RIGHT NOW and call the shooting an unthinkable act of hatred or I can’t go to work!”

I’m just glad I’m from a country where this kind of thing never happens. Certainly not the same day and also the day before that. That’s just a bit of humor. A bit of dark humour. I have to spell it both humor and humour now because I’m writing for two different countries, America and Australia. When I write words like humor, color, etc in Australia, my word processor assigns red squiggles to them. A daily reminder that I have not fully acclimatized—ugh, acclimatised—to this country, mentally.

Life goes on, as it must. You gotta give it to us humans. No amount of gun violence or grisly celebrity deaths can stop us from being wrapped up in our own shit. The event from last weekend that has preoccupied me most was not the shooting, the other shooting, or Rob Reiner’s death.

It was something unfunny I said on a podcast.

What is this podcast? Is it just another attempt to be funny in public, to create something that will be a hit and make me popular? Or is it me genuinely trying to connect with whoever I have on, to hang out with someone for an hour in the hopes that, by the end, I’ll feel more grounded in my life just as it is? Well, this past weekend, neither of these were achieved.

Here’s the quick play-by-play:

• I had this guy on the show

• I brought up something about his personal life because I wanted to make dumb joke

• Saw look on his face after saying personal thing

• Got scared and did not make joke

• Fumbled for some other reason why I brought up detail from his life

• Found none, we both felt awkward as shit.

Okay, so that’s not terrible. Like, we all have those moments, right? If I’d just left it there, everything probably would have been cool. But did I leave it there? No! I brought it up again LATER! Here was my thought process:

• I’m still thinking about what I said earlier and how awkward that was

• I bet he’s still thinking about it too even as he is answering this innocuous question about comedy.

• I better bring it up again so we can both exhale and laugh about how awkward that was.

So I did! But we did not laugh! Well, I laughed, out of anxiety and fear. Him, not so much. Him not laugh so much. Him get annoyed. Him start to think “what the fuck is wrong with this guy? I thought he was nice and he keeps bringing up this thing and being a weird-beard!”

After the recording I tried to smooth things over and I don’t know, maybe it’s slightly smoothed over? But ever since that afternoon, I have been obsessing, hating myself, killing myself for it. I keep thinking, See? You can’t host a podcast. You’re too weird with people. You can’t read people. You make people feel weird. You’re not quick-witted. You’re not savvy! You don’t get it. You don’t even know who you are or what you are really like. You’re neurodivergent probably. Ask ChatGPT if you’re neurodivergent, I guarantee you it will say “yes.”

I decided that the experience must mean something about me as a person, must sum me up in some pivotal way. Meanwhile, I had done two other interviews that went pretty well I think, but I didn’t internalize—internalise, fuck!—those experiences the way I’ve internaliz/sed this bad one. My brain is always looking for evidence that I am built wrong and should stay in my apartment and not bother anybody.

Anyway, that episode will come out, and the awkward stuff will of course be cut. If the podcast gets really big someday and I start a patreon account, perhaps I’ll share the awkward stuff as bonus material for my most loyal and dedicated fans.

But I’ll give you this right now for free. It’s a Christmas photo I took with my girls!

Ain’t that sweet? Look at the grass around us, already turning brown in the Australian sun’s unrelenting deathstare. With this grass and this inflatable santa and the weekend we’ve all had, how could you not have a huge case of Christmas Fever!!