High school is a strange and awkward time as anyone who cares to reminisce will attest. Consistently the most painful and excruciating time each week at school was the assembly on Wednesday. After we piled in to the auditorium and begrudgingly sat on floor we would start to heckle any of our peers who dared to take an enough interest in the greater community to stand up and make an announcement at the front of the room. It was a tough crowd that made no attempts to conceal their desire to be anywhere else and we let speakers know it.
Essentially, there were only two ways to win the crowds favor. The first was to cave into the passive aggressive peer pressure from the sea of bored stares and attempt to make your announcement as quick as possible. In theory, this would insure that later on no one could fault you for talking too long and keeping them there any longer than was necessary. (We were teenagers after all, so you can imagine the very important, very pressing things we had to do in our free time). This tactic usually backfired as people inevitably became nervous which lead them to ramble on and then forget how to talk in to the microphone. Eventually the meek, mumbling wreck that only moments before had been a freestanding freshman girl with confidence and a cause (Bake Sale for Sick Puppies, Friday afternoon in the commons) would be at the brink of tears with 400 hundred exasperated faces glaring at her and eventually lead off stage by the vice-president.
The other, more successful way to avoid the crowd's disdain was to get us to laugh. Obviously this was a riskier and more difficult venture. However there was one man among us who repeatedly stepped up to the plate, deaf to our jeers, unafraid of striking out, and who could crack through our collective apathy long enough to get us to laugh at him.
Andre Churchwell was more than just a class clown. He was a bold comedian who put himself in the line of fire simply to get us to laugh, week after week. It was a foolhardy, selfless, and often futile attempt but he kept at it so that by the time I graduated I didn't know anybody who didn't consider him hilarious.
What he did took balls and still does. This is why I was glad to learn that he's still doing it. Earlier tonight I ran into him and he told me about his first recorded show, now on YouTube.
His act was part of a SCAD talent show and it is rather rough. He gets no help from a listing microphone stand but the crowd stays with him through out it. His imaginging what the world would be like if black people were in power certainly has potential (the KKK would be the Kunta Kinte Klan) and reminds me of my other favorite blog: stuff white people like. com Also his tale about a guy lighting his OWN tie on fire is funny to imagine.
Check it out here for yourself and give DrePants 3000 a pound the next time you see him. I know I'm glad he's still at it.
1 comment:
I am Drepants 3000, and I approve this post.
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