2013-06-19T16:04:34-04:00 Alex McLean http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=alex-mclean Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Alex McLean Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1192259 2012-01-08T07:16:32-05:00 2012-03-09T05:12:01-05:00

Alex McLean http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-mclean/
An often offered argument for autonomy is the one that, if we fail, at least we will only have ourselves to blame. If we fall flat on our faces, it will be our big fat, red nosed faces we land on. This is the very same case which is put forward in a much more important area of life. The question of man marking against the zonal defending of corners in football raises this conundrum on a weekly basis. At least if it's man marking, and someone gets away from a defender and scores, we know who to blame. That is the main line of reasoning put forward by its backers, but what about actually looking at the system which will prevent the loss of goals better than the other. Isn't it more important to apply a system based on how successful it will be, rather than its ability to allow apportioning of blame?

I'm not going to make a case for or against an independent Scotland here, I'm merely questioning whether we are doing it for the correct reasons.

And what would be the correct reasons? I'm not sure that the general public are really up to deciding an issue as important as this. I'm all for democracy, but should a population that voted Little Mix winners of The X factor really be trusted with a decision this big? Will enough voters bother to look into the fiscal, business and employment pro's and con's of an independent Scotland, or will we just make our decisions on the basis that we are fed up being the poorest oil bearing country in the world.

Backing of the SNP received its biggest boost on the back of the success of Braveheart in the 90's. God only knows how big a surge they will get from the release of The Iron Lady, a film portraying the times of Margaret Thatcher. Cameron better hope that Hollywood don't make a film of Robert The Bruce, starring Billy Connelly, with a musical score of Rod Stewart songs at any time in the near future or he will be as well throwing in the tartan tea towel.

If we do end up with an independent Scotland, then I'm sure we, as a nation will get behind ourselves. We do after all love an underdog, but let's hope we don't do too well on our own, because there is nothing we hate more than a wee man that gets above his station.
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Alex McLean http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-mclean/
I couldn't tell you the difference between a baritone and a Toblerone, but still I have got up on a karaoke night and murdered a selection of songs with my own brand of singing.

Perhaps it is because people expect to hear bad singers at karaoke occasionally, but if someone stands on a stage and says that they are funny, then, by God they had better make that audience laugh. Karaoke singers are not expected to write their own songs either, but comedians don't get the luxury of doing cover versions or tribute acts. Singers, for the most part, know if they sound good or not. Stand-ups never really know if other people will find, what they have been laughing at in their own heads, funny until they say it out loud in front of an audience. So maybe it isn't surprising that there are many more people willing to sing down a microphone than there are prepared to tell jokes into it.

The catalyst in helping me make the decision to eventually stand on stage, and say, "my name is Alex Mclean and I'm a comedian," was undoubtedly the often maligned Twitter.

I joined Twitter to follow people, and hopefully get some advice with regard to publishing my first novel. But I discovered lots of people who were tweeting one liners and puns at a fantastic rate. So I started to do a few of my own, and I slowly grew into it. I became friends with people who were taking that plunge and doing stand up. To a man (and lady) they all talked of the buzz they got, the rush of adrenaline as they got on stage and the feeling of pride when people laughed at the joke they had dreamed up while travelling to work, or falling asleep at night.

So I said I would do it, and they said to go for it, and I said I would.

And then one of them called my bluff and asked me to appear at a comedy night he was organising. As I said earlier, I'm a show off, so I couldn't say no to an offer like that.

I wrote my material, and practiced it. I rewrote it, and practiced it again. And again, and again. And then the night arrived where I would make my stand, so to speak. And instantly on arriving, and seeing my name on the poster as a comedy act, I knew what my friends had been talking about. Already I was gushing with pride.

Then the show started. I was due on third, with one more act following me to close the first half of the show. I was happy with my place in the running order. It was an ideal place to put the only act making his debut, until the show started, and a football team on its Christmas night out reared its very ugly head. They were there with the sole intention of being rowdy hecklers. The first two acts failed to overcome them, and were sadly run over by them despite some good material being crushed by the noise.

And then it was me. But the MC decided to take me out the firing line, and put a more experienced act on instead. The right decision, as he ignored them, and like any spoilt child who gets ignored, they just got up and left. This left me to get on stage midway through the second half. I was introduced as someone making his stand up debut, and there was a sharp intake of breath which almost pulled the Christmas tinsel off the windows. But I wasn't to be put off. I understood their apprehension. I after all had been worrying myself sick about this for days. But I got up there, and slowly I got into it, and so did they. And they laughed, and they even clapped once or twice.

Sure, some of my stuff didn't work as well as I had hoped, but some worked better than I had anticipated. And having watched it back, I have a lot to work on, but get this, they laughed. And I have been bitten by the bug of stand up.

I already have booked myself five more appearances, and I am writing and practicing and writing and practicing. And hopefully I'll get a little better every time I get on a stage, because I want that buzz to continue to feel the way it did that night.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1112513 2011-11-25T02:06:58-05:00 2012-01-24T05:12:02-05:00

Alex McLean http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-mclean/
How can women be prepared to give up the right to a vaginal birth? How can they relinquish the power to ridicule their men folk every time they complain that they have some sort of pain?

Many an argument between me and my other half has been brought to a resounding end when she played her trump card of "You can't talk about pain until you've squeezed an 8lb baby out of a hole in your body which is smaller than your mouth. Even your mouth."

Replace "squeezed" with "had lifted", and "is smaller than your mouth" with "has been skilfully cut by a qualified surgeon to facilitate the removal of a baby," and I now have a comeback. And a much better comeback than the one we men have used until now, in reply to the accusation that we will never know the pain of childbirth.

A kick in the nuts is how we have, until now, had to refute the claim that we will never know the pain a woman puts herself through in order to allow civilisation to exist. But if we are being true to ourselves, we will admit that we really only use this because it is the one thing that woman can't compare childbirth to.

"You don't have nuts, so you don't know. NA NA NA NA NA!"

Any man who claims to really believe this makes OJ Simpson look like a credible witness for the defence. Sure it hurts, but no more than having your thumb jammed in the car door, or standing on an upturned plug on the way to the toilet in the middle of the night.

SHUT UP! I hear you all screaming at me now. Don't tell them that, it's our only defence, the only thing we have to throw back at them. A kick in the crotch is to us what wings of steel were to Batfink.

Ah, but we don't need it any more, my friends. We now have a list of things we can come back with. Anybody who has had a wisdom tooth pulled out, appendicitis, or tonsils removed can relate to the ordeal of having a controlled operation under anaesthetic.

If it was up to me, I'd let them all have a caesarean birth, it is much easier for us blokes. First of all, if we are only going to be a spectator as the doctor works his magic, then there will be no need to subject ourselves to the torture that goes by the name of ante natal classes. No more massaging our loved ones back as she complains about lumber pain through hours of labour, causing hand cramps for us that can't be far off the pain of natural birth. Births will be planned, meaning no more burst waters on the passenger seat of our cars. And daytime births, instead of all nighters that we haven't been able to handle since our days of dancing to Paul Oakenfold in Hangar 10.

I guess as women try harder to succeed in a world that is dominated by men, they will try to do what they can to find parity. It looks like they will get one step closer to that equality by giving up the claim to know what it is like to go through labour.

That is fine, but they'll still never know how sore a kick in the balls is.
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