The Blindboy Podcast - Five year podcast anniversary ramble

Episode Date: October 26, 2022

The podcast is five years old.  Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Tilt the devil's trilby you wibbly timothys. Welcome to the Blind Boy Podcast. If you're a new listener I recommend going back to the start of the podcast or listening to an earlier episode to familiarise yourself with the lore of this podcast. Just a little quick plug, next week I'm doing a live podcast in Vicar Street. I'm doing two dates, the first night is sold out, but there's tickets left for the second night and I want to try and move them. So come up to Vicar Street in Dublin, 2nd of November. It's a Wednesday. I'll have a fantastic guest and it'll be a wonderful live podcast. This week is

the five year anniversary of this podcast. It's five years old. Yesterday. Did I think five years ago that I would still be doing this podcast five years later. No fucking way. Five years ago when I made this podcast, I kind of had my mind made up that my career was like it had come to an end. I'd spent my twenties dedicating myself to a musical project called The Rubber Bandits, a musical comedy project. It was very enjoyable. I got to travel the world doing gigs, got to write for television. It was, it was successful and it wasn't successful. It was successful in that I got to spend nearly a decade making art, being creative at a professional level. Going from someone who was making songs in my bedroom

to putting songs out publicly and for them to be getting millions of YouTube views and doing gigs to loads of people so it was successful in that respect but it wasn't financially successful in any way with the rubber bandits most years if we broke even we were very lucky because that's the nature of

the music industry not just the music industry any creative industry today where you're not fully independent so we were making our own songs our own videos we didn't have a label but effectively what we were

doing was release songs maintain a strong social media presence and then wait around by the phone for a TV station to ring up and give you a TV series. And every so often, that would happen. The phone would ring, and we'd get a TV series. But the thing with that, that doesn't really earn you money either. TV will earn you money if you're in the top 10%,

but if you're in the 90%, TV doesn't earn you money. And every time you make TV, you have to creatively compromise massively. And my experience with making TV, it's never about making the best piece of TV, it's about making the least piece of shit TV. See, the TV channel provides the money to make the TV show

and they don't necessarily care about creativity or the best ideas they care about ratings. So making television is always a compromise of not how can we make the best piece of work how can we make the least shit piece of work under these huge restrictions.

Unless you win the lottery and you get the Holy Grail, and the Holy Grail in television is for the TV commissioner to truly understand comedy and for them to give you free reign. That's how something like Brass Eye happened, and I know that's how it happened because I've worked with the commissioner who commissioned that.

Brass Eye, if you don't know, was a comedy show in the 90s on Channel 4, which didn't get a lot of ratings, but is considered one of the greatest comedy series of all time. And Brass Eye happened because the commissioner said, here's a load of money, Chris Morris.

I think you're brilliant. Do whatever the fuck you want. It was also the late 90s. There was a lot of money in television. Television wasn't in a state of crisis. So they could afford that. That doesn't happen anymore. So the closest we could get would be,

if a TV station had a bit of money left, we might get it to go and make something weird that gets shown at 12 o'clock at night but wins awards, but still trying to make a piece of art under highly restrictive circumstances. And what does that mean? You can't put out the best piece of work that you're capable of and that then impacts your career and your popularity and your fan base.

Like I think a real moment for both of us as well. I think it was 2017. I was going out on stage for a rubber bandit show in Vicar Street. Which I think there was only like 200 tickets sold. And we'd been promoting it for six months. I think there was only like 200 tickets sold and we'd been promoting it for six months. But also, we'd just had a TV series commissioned by MTV USA.

This is the biggest failure of my career. I've mentioned it before. We had a TV series called The Almost Impossible Game Show. Did two series of that on ITV in the UK. Very happy with those series. It was a ridiculous game show and we did the voiceover and on the UK version they gave us a lot of freedom and a lot of fun writing that but the US version was a pile of shit. Terrible. Zero creative freedom. But we recorded two seasons of it because it's like fucking MTV USA want to give us a TV

series and put it on prime time US television so yes I will smear dog shit on my face for that because even if it's terrible something like 50 million people in America will see it like every week it was they were putting it on after Nick Cannon's show 50 million people in America will see it. Like every week. They were putting it on after Nick Cannon's show. 50 million Americans will see it every week. And some of them. At least. Might type. Rubber Bandits into YouTube.

And look at one of our music videos and we'll get new fans. But. Just as. I'm about to go on stage in Vicar Street. To 200 people, which is less than 25% full. Just as we're about to go out on stage, my agent calls me up and goes, the Yanks are after cancelling the TV show. After one episode, it's never going to see the light of day.

And then I had to walk out on stage and do a full gig. Now I'm glad it didn't see the light of day. And then I had to walk out on stage and do a full gig. Now I'm glad it didn't see the light of day because genuinely, it was shit. It was so bad. But also, in terms of career failures, it's like a pelican landing on your shoulders and dropping a hammer onto your head out of its big wobbly beak.

Making two seasons of television, like fucking making them they're done, they're edited it costed MTV millions to do it doing that and then having it cancelled after one episode that's such a huge failure that in terms of the

industry that turns you into nuclear waste no one will touch you for about 18 months and that was actually no I think it was late 2016. So after dedicating my 20s to that, I had to take a real moment of life appraisal. I had to just square up myself and go, oh fuck, I'm 30 now. What have I got to show for it? oh fuck, I'm 30 now. What have I got to show for it?

I've got a brilliant CV with awards and all these creative achievements and I've got lots of fantastic memories but I don't have any fucking money to show for it and also I don't really have any qualifications that can be applicable in a real job. I gotta really square with myself now that that's over. It's fine.

It'll be a lovely thing to tell the grandkids. But fuck it. You have the memories. What a mad thing to do with your 20s. Wasn't that wonderful? And you didn't have to emigrate to Australia, which is what would have happened if the rubber bandits thing didn't kick off when I was like 18 or 19.

So my plan was I had a master's degree in art because that's the other thing. Like I never, I never put my eggs in one basket. TV commission in, I think it was 2015 from RTE to make a one hour documentary about 1916, about the 1916 revolution. So while writing that, I went back to college to do a master's degree and made that documentary part of my master's degree. So I was hitting two birds with one stone. So my plan was to try and become a college lecturer. Because if you have a master's, you're a qualified academic. And then I had all those 10 years of experience working professionally in the creative industry. So that's enough to get you an interview to become a college lecturer.

So that's what I was going to try and do. But then, and this is the beautiful part this is the beautiful part of working in the professional creative industry every so often a person who has a little bit of power and a bit of a budget every so often very rarely one of these people will genuinely be creative and they'll be an actual real fan of your work and they pop their head up and they give you an opportunity. And I've had three of those people in my career. The first one was a fella called James Cotter, who I still write with to this day,

who gave us our first break on television. Second one was a fella called David Johnson who died two years ago sadly. He gave us our break in live theatre and live shows over in England. But in 2017, when I'm like, right, my career is over, gonna do something else. A third person popped their head up

and it was a fella called Conor Nagel who was the commissioner of Gill Books. And Conor said, do you want to write a book? And I said, fuck it, why not? Yeah, I'll write a book of short stories, what's the worst that can happen? And that was life changing. Fucking life changing. Obviously I had the ten years writing experience with TV.

But sitting down to write a book of short stories, that's when I matured as an artist. That's when I found my voice. That's what you're looking for if you're professionally creative. You're trying to find like your voice is within you. When you're younger, it's, it's chirping away like a little baby bird in a nest. You can kind of hear it. But then something happens when you mature as an artist and you have a full, clear dialogue with your creative voice. And what you create is a direct translation of that.

And when I wrote my first short stories in 2017, I'm like, yeah, here we go. This is what I've been looking for all those years because with the rubber bandit stuff I never had that feeling there was little hints of it but I never had that feeling of my creative vision and the end product being the same thing actually no one song a song called up the rah from 2006. That was pure flow. That's what I get when I write short stories. This is what I want to create and I wouldn't change a thing. I know what this is. I know what I'm doing. I can hear my creative voice. And when I do this, it makes me feel like this is the reason why I'm on this planet. And that's flow. That's the best feeling in the world.

And Conor Nagel, who was the commissioner at Gill Books, he didn't fuck with that. He was just like, I'm a fan of your work. Do whatever the fuck you want. All we want input in is the cover of the book and the name. You worry about the insights. And that was 2017. That was the happiest year of my life.

Without question. The happiest year of my life was Without question. The happiest year of my life. Was writing that first book of short stories. Because I'd been given an advance. That's the beauty of making books. With a book. They give you an advance. Which is.

Here's enough money for you to live off. For a year. While you write this book. So I just fucked off to Spain. And wrote. And didn't have to worry about getting a job for another year. you write this book so I just fucked off to Spain and wrote and didn't have to worry about getting a job for another year but here's the thing even though I loved writing that book of short stories and I can stand over every fucking word in that book and to me I was like this is the best that I can do. That didn't mean I thought anyone was going to buy it.

Like, literally, I was kind of thinking, Jesus, that's very kind of Gil Books to give me an advance and get me to write a book, but I feel like I'm kind of ripping them off. Because nobody, who the fuck, wants to buy a book of short stories by your man from the Rubber Bandits? Who the fuck wants to buy a book of short stories by your man from the Rubber Bandits? Who the fuck wants that? Especially after the huge failure of that fucking MTV series. Like that rattled my confidence.

And the Rubber Bandits was effectively fucking done. Like if there's only 200 people showing up to Vicar Street. The fans had grown old. But I finished the book and released it on the 27th of October 2017, which is tomorrow, tomorrow, five years ago. So it's actually the fifth anniversary of my book tomorrow as well. I didn't realise that because I'm shit at maths. The book is called The Gospel According to Blind Boy. It's a collection of short stories. So anyway, yeah yeah on the fucking 25th of october 2017 i released my first podcast and i did this purely to promote that book because i was thinking to myself who the

fuck wants a book of short stories by your man from the rubber bandits so i figured maybe maybe i should release just a couple of podcasts and read the short stories on the podcast so that people will go ah this isn't too bad i might buy the book and then within like a week the podcast was fucking huge it went to the top of the podcast charts i think i I got like 70,000 listeners in the first week and I didn't really know what I was doing, but I got a sense of, ah, this also feels like my authentic creative voice. I'm getting flow when I do this too. So I've done it every single Wednesday for the past five years and I haven't missed once. And now we're up to 50 million listens and even more bizarre. The audience to this podcast isn't really even Irish anymore.

70% outside of Ireland. And people were asking me today to reflect on the first ever episode of the podcast. First thing I noticed when I listened back, my voice is completely different. You see, Blind Boy and the Rubber Bandits was a character, a comedy character. And through years of doing gigs in Britain and especially doing TV shows in Britain, I developed a version of the limerick accent that doesn't exist. A limerick accent that could go out on ITV2 on the Impossible Games show and that you could understand clearly if you were from Birmingham. So the first episode of the podcast I kind of had that television stage blind buy voice

which looking back I never even needed that on television or on stage that was just because of notes I got from English commissioners that they said oh Jesus they won't understand you but how I speak in the podcast now is that's just my how I talk in real life and if that was in any way difficult to understand I don't think 70% of my listeners would be outside of Ireland. The other thing I know about the first episode of the podcast is I read out the short story. It's called Did You Hear About Arsken Fogarty? No, Did You Read About Arsken Fogarty? And it's a short story that I wrote about a character called Arsken Fogarty who went to Dublin in the 2000s and got a big fancy job and got a big fancy house

and had a load of money. And then the 2008 recession hit and his entire life fell apart. He lost his house, he lost his money, he lost his marriage. But this breaks him completely. And he goes nuts. And he refuses to accept this failure. So even though he has nothing,

no material goods, no job, no family, even though he has nothing, he latches on to his American fridge freezer. A two and a half thousand euro American fridge freezer. Because this is the ultimate status symbol. And if he just has this fridge freezer, even if he's homeless even if he doesn't have a job doesn't have a family if he just keeps this fridge freezer and drags it down

to limerick then he can hold on to success he's not a failure and i realize now looking back at that story how much of myself is actually in that fucking fictional character, that lunatic. When I write, I enter a state of flow. Flow is basically dreaming while you're fully awake, completely focused and doing. Like when you're asleep and you dream, your mind throws at you all these images and smells and tastes and it feels real but you're asleep you're dreaming flow state is that but I'm awake fully focused and engaged in a skill that I've spent a long time practicing and to become a professional creative. Like if you're a creative person, when you're a teenager, you might get a little bit of flow when you're in the shower, we'll say. You're having a shower and all of a sudden you enter a daydream state and you get a great idea. Or you're washing the dishes.

You're somehow distracted and then you enter a daydream state and you get a great idea. Most creative people relate to that. Well to become professionally creative you have to figure out how can I how can I turn that on when I sit down at a desk for a longer period of time and it takes years. So that's how I write short stories or how I write music. It's how I do anything creative. But the thing with flow it uses the same part of your brain where dreams come from the unconscious mind this huge massive part of our brains that we're not conscious of because it's unconscious and it contains all of our memories all of our fears all of the things that are too painful for our conscious mind or too complicated for our conscious mind to understand.

And when I write, it feels cathartic. It feels like sources of anxiety or sources of pain are flittering up from my unconscious to my conscious mind via the playfulness of art. And that's flow and that's the feeling that I live for and if I do it effectively I'm left with a short story and afterwards I go where the fuck did this come from I don't even remember writing this it feels like someone else wrote it but I know I wrote it but with that short story in the first ever podcast did you read about Erskine Fogarty so his

life has fallen apart and then he holds on to this fridge freezer he refuses to let it go even though it's big and awkward and stupid and he looks ridiculous he won't let it go I now realise that the emotional conflict

that the character Erskine Fogarty has that was me and the fucking rubber bandits. The giant failure and losing everything was what I just described. That was that fucking MTV series in Vicar Street that felt terrible. A failure so big that it makes you toxic in the industry. And the fridge freezer, that's the rubber bandits. That's horse outside. That's all that shit. And Erskine Fogarty was who I didn't want to become. He's a tragic character. He's not a nice character. I didn't want to become that. I didn't want to be walking around Limerick, going into pubs and people going, there's your man who used to be on the tv yeah he almost made it he

used to be on the tv what's he doing now nothing fuck all he still talks about it he's still talking about that time he had a christmas number two with a song about a horse and and that internal fear that internal fear of not becoming that bubbled up from my unconscious as the story of a man dragging around a big ridiculous fridge freezer completely oblivious to the fact that you're not successful anymore. You don't have the big house in Dublin anymore. successful anymore. You don't have the big house in Dublin anymore. You don't have a career anymore. You're back in Limerick, still hanging on to that big giant American fridge freezer. Just let it go. Let it go. It's done. It's over. Like a big American fridge freezer.

And then six months previous to that, I almost had a primetime American TV series on MTV. It's obvious to me now. And even though I didn't know there was an element of me to that character, those are the feelings, that's the specific catharsis that I felt when I wrote that story. Because that's the thing with flow. It's therapeutic. You're releasing tensions, anxieties, fears, angers, using words and images that tell an entertaining story. Writing that story felt like letting go, accepting and moving on. And that's where my podcast came from. I don't know could I have done this podcast in fucking 2012. Or 2015. When I was also doing rubber banded stuff. I needed to be ready for the next thing.

So here we are five years later. And I'm very glad. That I didn't hang on to the fucking fridge freezer. And try and drag it around the place. Because not only did I discard the fridge freezer. But like. it feels lovely to not only now be able to look at the rubber bandits and say that was a fun thing I did in my 20s even though it wasn't successful as I would have hoped it would have been that was a fun way to spend my 20s. Now in my 30s I've actually found a thing that I love doing.

And the sense of achievement that I wanted from the rubber bandits. I now have with this podcast. And my two books. It brings me consistent weekly joy. I can stand over every single fucking episode. I don't think there's one episode I've regretted. I've full creative control. I don't have to worry about tv commissioners trying to tell me what to do and i've got financial stability i don't have financial anxiety anymore this is a proper job that i love with a predictable level of income because of of the Patreon. So. I just want to say thank you to all of you. From the bottom of my fucking heart.

Thank you to all of you. For. Listening to the podcast every single fucking week. For the past five years. Because I know there's a load of you. That have literally been here since the first episode. So thank you so much for all the support. And for telling people about it.

And sharing it. And just being fucking sound. My life has been changed and I think if I didn't, if I hadn't have taken that opportunity to write the book or to do this podcast and I did actually just quit after the rubber bandits, I think I'd be a sad person now.

I'd be kind of sad and I might be a little bit bitter because that element of my career wasn't nice. It was a lot of fun doing gigs and all the songs and that was great crack but as I mentioned being at the behest of TV, radio, newspapers to the point that you don't really have creative control, that's fucking miserable. And there's a lot of frequent rejection, the quality of your work not really mattering, because who gets commissioned and who doesn't can be arbitrary, and above all, not being able to financially plan at all. You can't predict anything. I don't really have anything planned this week.

I think I'm just going to ramble as a little treat to myself for five years. I deliberately didn't want to have anything planned because, yeah, I said there that I can stand over every podcast episode and I don't have any regrets, but there's one fucking episode that I do regret and it's the 200th episode of this podcast where because it was the 200th episode I tried to plan something special so I drank a bottle of wine and got a little bit shit faced

and I told the story well it was a true fucking story about this goose in America called Andy he used to wear shoes and he was brutally murdered and I wasted that opportunity I could have done a really banging true crime episode about a murdered ghost

and instead I fucking drank a bottle of Lidl wine I think it was I think it was 14% Lidl wine so I regret that episode the 200 episode of this podcast think it was I think it was 14% Lidl wine so I regret that episode the 200 episode of this podcast and it was that reason that I didn't plan anything this week I didn't want to do something special

because I would have made a bollocks of it if I did and people were complaining last week that I didn't answer enough questions because you're always giving me questions so I'm going to have a crack at a few more questions this week. By far the question I get asked the most. Is what advice do you have for young artists?

My opinion on that all just fluctuates. And I don't want to give. I've definitely done a podcast before where I give real practical advice. I've definitely done a podcast before where I give real practical advice. The one thing that I think is consistent and goes across all cultural barriers and it never gets spoken about, I've never heard this spoken about. If you're a young creative person, right, doing whatever, music, graphic design, painting, podcasting, Music, graphic design, painting, podcasting, whatever the fuck. Whatever discipline requires you to create a thing and put it out there for public consumption. You must eradicate begrudgery from your system.

Because it's something I see a lot online with creative people. Talking shit about other artists artists being incredibly harsh in your critique of other artists minimizing the success of other artists now first off how do I define begrudgery because a lot of people who are begrudging they'll turn around and just go I'm not begrudging I'm just critiquing someone's work well there's a difference between begrudging, they'll turn around and just go, I'm not begrudging, I'm just critiquing someone's work. Well, there's a difference between begrudgery and critique. Begrudgery is when you fool yourself. Begrudgery is when you ignore your own feeling of jealousy and replace it with anger.

You see another artist doing well or getting a few positive comments or even just releasing a piece of work and then all of a sudden you feel what they are doing is shit and they're big worldwide and they're really cool. They got nominated for a Grammy. Critics love them. They're all in their 20s. But fuck me the level of begrudgery that I see directed at them from other Irish musicians in their fucking 20s. Like, it's completely disproportionate and embarrassing and very little of it is fair or measured critique. It's mostly people trying to reduce their success in order to feel a feeling of safety. And I think one of the reasons is that

their music feels like something anybody could do. Now obviously that's not the case, otherwise they wouldn't be globally successful. But it feels like something that you could reduce to a very simple formula and anybody could do. And the accessibility of that is quite threatening if you're also some small young Irish band making similar music. Like you don't see Hosier getting a lot of begrudgery because you hear Hosier and you go well this fucker's on a different planet. But Fontaine's feels achievable.

It feels just out of reach. Their aesthetic is simplistic. It's what they're trying to do. Like the lead singer effectively talks over guitar music. Like another band right now who get the same level of begrudgery but in England are a band called Wet Leg. And they also talk over music. And it feels just beyond reach to most bands. And the accessibility of that feels unfair.

So the theme of the begrudgery that I see directed towards them is everyone outside of Ireland is a fucking idiot and you've all been hoodwinked by these talentless bastards which is exactly what Irish people

used to say about the Cranberries 30 years ago as well. Now the level of begrudgery is so bad that I'm going to get shit for even defending them and I don't know them I've never met him I have listened to their music but I'm not the target audience and if he weren't begrudging him all the time I wouldn't even be thinking of him but the question I was asked is what advice

would I give a young artist and why is that advice stop begrudging because if you're an artist and you're trying to create and you're begrudging someone else, that's how harsh you'll be on yourself when you're trying to create. Now begrudging isn't measured critique. You're fully entitled to critique the music of Fontaines or any other band. That's healthy. You don't even have to like them. That's also healthy. But if someone else's creativity and someone else's achievement makes you feel threatened or angry to the point that you need to express that as passive aggression, then you feel threatened.

Your music made me feel jealous. But jealousy is a shameful emotion. I won't admit jealousy. So instead, I'm going to feel anger instead and blame you. Or if it doesn't bring up jealousy, it's your attempts have reminded me of my fear of trying. How dare you, you talentless cunt. Now, how do I know all this shit? Because I used to be a jealous little hipster too. When I was younger, I'd be furious if someone who was around the same age as me, doing something that I felt I could kind of achieve, if they had success, I'd be fucking furious and really jealous and I'd never admit it to myself so I'd start tearing them down in my head

listing out all the reasons why they're shit why they don't deserve their success why it came easy to them and using all that anger to hide and drown out the feelings my own fear of failure and then what happens I can't fucking create. And why can't I create? Because the harsh, unfair, horrible critique that I just directed in my own head at another artist, now I'm directing it towards myself. And what I should be doing is creating from a place of freedom and playfulness and fun.

But grudgery has no place in creativity. None. When you speak to an artist who's achieved their goals you don't find begrudgery there. Where do you see huge amounts of begrudgery? Especially as you get older. In the people who did nothing because they were scared to try. You also don't really see begrudgery in people failed. Because they have the satisfaction of at least trying. Now how do you get rid of begrudgery? If you actually care about your creativity. If you believe in yourself. And you think.

I could do that. I could do what Fontaine's are doing. I have that ability. If you truly believe that. And you want to do it. And you want to access your creativity. To the point that you find your own voice, what do you do? You fucking catch it in the moment and use it as an opportunity.

That's what I started doing years ago when I realised that begrudgery was stopping me from creating. Any time someone does something as harmless as make a piece of music or paint a painting or do a drawing. Something as harmless and non-threatening as express themselves creatively. Anytime someone does that and you feel the need internally to tear them down or to minimize their success or you feel angry, catch yourself in that fucking moment and say what is this telling me about my own fears and then what do you do

you search for the beauty in their work you search for what other people clearly enjoy about it even if you don't and then you feel happy for their success you do that enough times and then what happens the next time you sit down to create your own art

your critical brain is silenced. That little part of your brain when you try to create that says this is fucking shit, I'm shit anything I've created in the past was a complete fluke and now I've found out finally I'm a failure and everyone else is going to find out too. This was all just a fluke. I'll never be successful.

And if you create things, you know that voice. If you want that to be gone, stop begrudging other people because that voice is your internal begrudger. So you can't have it both ways. And if you still find yourself resistant to that, if that pisses you off or you don't want to take that on board, ask yourself, are you using begrudgery as a way to procrastinate? Because it can do that because begrudgery can feel useful. It feels like you've just done something. And I

deliberately used Fontaine's DC as an example because of how annoying that would be to the people who really need to hear this, who deserve to make the best art that they can possibly make. Like that's why I'm saying this, you deserve to make the best art that you can make. You're not going to do it if you're begrudging, it's not going to happen. And outside of yourself, begrudgery in a creative environment, in a creative circle or creative community. Begrudgery gatekeeping. It creates an environment and climate of fear. Nothing makes me want to not sit down and create than going online and listening to a load of bitter begrudgers

talking about some artist and why they're shit. It turns creativity, which is this fun, playful thing, into something I'm afraid of. I see the begrudgery and I go, oh God, I'd hate for them to talk about me like that. And then I don't want to create. You eradicate begrudgery from all creative spaces. Replace it with healthy compassionate critique. Also collective begrudgery. A load of people begrudging together. It creates a

little false feeling of safety in a group that tricks your brain into thinking that you've just created something when you've created fuck all and I don't want to sound harsh as well to people who are people who are scared to show their creativity to other people like you might be there in your bedroom with your fucking guitar pedals terrified to show anyone the work that you're creating or you're producing beats and you're afraid to show people you're afraid of being rejected i have all the time in the world for people like that all the time and compassion in the world for people who are scared to express their creativity i would love for something that i say to help those people but if that same insecurity is being lashed out at other people in the form of begrudgery.

You're being a little hipster shit. And I'm old. I'm doing this for 20 years. I've watched generations of these people. The only thing that changes is the clothes and the music. But the art that doesn't get created. And never got created. Because of begrudgery.

It's heartbreaking. Alright it's time for an ocarina pause now. You're going to hear a little ocarina and then an advert. Forgot how to use my ocarina. On April 5th You must be very careful, Margaret. It's a girl.

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Ocarina. That was the ocarina pause you would have heard an advert for some bullshit there I don't know what's being advertised it's algorithmically generated this is a rambling podcast this week I wanted to celebrate five years by having an unstructured ramble

I enjoy doing that sometimes. It's cathartic. Support for this podcast. Comes from you the listener. Via the Patreon page. Patreon.com forward slash. The Blind Boy Podcast. You know the spiel at this stage.

But what I want to do is. It's five fucking years. Of this podcast I want to thank everyone who's been a patron of this podcast that's why it's five years that is why it's five fucking years I'm doing this five years

because my patrons have allowed me to earn a living from this podcast the feeling of security and safety Because my patrons have allowed me to earn a living from this podcast. The feeling of security and safety that I have. By confidently knowing that my bills are getting paid this month. I have a reliable regular source of income. Which is something I never ever had. In the 10 years of trying to rely upon TV, radio. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much to everyone who is a patron of this podcast.

And if it brings you joy, solace, distraction, entertainment, whatever the fuck, whatever reason you're listening to this podcast for, please consider becoming a patron. All I'm looking for is the price of a pint or a cup of coffee once a month. That's it. But if you can't afford that, you can listen for free. Because the person who is a patron is paying for you to listen for free. Everybody gets a podcast and I get to earn a living. Just plug a couple of gigs. Two Vicar Streets next week. First one is sold out. There's a few tickets left for the second wednesday the second in vicar street i have a fantastic guest come along um what else have i got on the fifth i'm in wexford in the spiegel tent i think that might be sold out there might be a few tickets for that

i'm in brussels on the 18th doing a gig over over in Brussels. And what have I got for December? Drahada. I'm in the TLT Theatre in Drahada on the 3rd of December. That's my last gig of the year. I got asked the question, do I think autism will be a diagnosis in 100 years? So as you know, i'm autistic and i was diagnosed this year so straight up the person who diagnosed me who's a professional psychologist

they reckon that autism will not be a diagnosable disorder within 10 years like currently autism is in the dsm, the Diagnostics and Statistics Manual. Being gay was in that manual up until the 1970s. Being gay was considered a diagnosable mental disorder. Do you know the worst part for me about getting an autism diagnosis? How utterly, How utterly, unbelievably, insultingly wrong it feels. That it's called a disorder. That it exists in a manual of mental illness. My autistic brain is the way that I am.

It's how I am. I'm not broken. It's not a disorder. There's nothing wrong with me. It's how I am. I'm not broken. It's not a disorder. There's nothing wrong with me. It's how I am. I'm neurodivergent. And 40% of the population is neurodivergent. Now I do struggle with anxiety, with depression, with low self-esteem, I can have trouble with emotional regulation. Are these things present because of autism? No, but if you're an autistic person, growing up means consistent and continual chastisement and rejection from society. For me it's just being a little bit what's called eccentric or quirky. These things singled me out as being different and when you're singled out as being different you're more likely to be picked on, to be bullied, to be rejected. especially in childhood and teens where conformity and fitting in are highly valued.

So I didn't develop social anxiety because I'm autistic. I developed social anxiety because being autistic in neurotypical society is quite anxiety-inducing. Since I was about four years of age, kids used to call me Mr. Bean. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing to be called Mr. Bean, but they decided that fella there is Mr. Bean. That's not very pleasant when I'm just trying to make friends. I get called mad. I get called eccentric. These can be ultimately harmless terms, but it can also lead to your peers not really taking you seriously as a human being the way they do other people I've been thinking about this a lot more in terms of sitcoms because sitcoms always have a character that represents the autistic person even though the writer probably

doesn't even know they're doing that even though the character isn't called autistic you always have in sitcoms the one person and that's how comedy works so in friends you've got phoebe in seinfeld you've got kramer in the big bang theory you've got Kramer. In The Big Bang Theory you've got Sheldon. In Taxi Driver you had fucking Andy Kaufman's character. Latka or whatever his name was. Like I think in the dynamics of sitcoms that

one little eccentric character when we're sitting there at home watching they actually represent the neurodivergent person in our workplace, in our friends group, whatever. We just don't call it that. But if you think of someone like Phoebe in Friends,

like everyone loves her, she's rarely involved in conflict, always there to create laughter with her eccentric, quirky behaviour. Same with Kramer and friends. Never victimised, not bullied, not flat out rejected. People aren't mean to Phoebe. But when it boils down to it,

Phoebe's never really taken seriously by the other group members. She's never really given the full spectrum of humanity. Like Monica is entitled to, or Ross is entitled to. No one ever wants Phoebe's advice. She's there on the outskirts as a novelty person. That's a bit what it feels like being autistic. That's what it feels like in a friends group. That's what it feels like in a workplace.

Socially included, up until the point where it means taking you seriously as a full human being. So a lot of autistic adults just go, fuck it, I don't want friends. Why would I want that? Consistent and subtle rejections on a continual basis is not a fantastic recipe for a mentally healthy being. So that's what I have to manage as an adult. That's why I have to manage anxiety. That's why I have to practice mindfulness and emotional literacy. I need to engage in excessive amounts of self-care.

Time I'd rather spend doing other shit. Not because I'm autistic, but because I grew up autistic in a society that decides autistic people are to be singled out and ridiculed and rejected and to become the objects and topics of rejection that other people actually form social bonds around. When a lot of other people are slagging you for being weird or eccentric, it's not just the heart of being laughed at, it's the heart that you're seeing people

solidify friendships around taking the piss out of you. So then as a teenager, I had to develop a persona of being a clown, of being ridiculous, of being extra eccentric, so that I could at least take ownership of it and have control over it. But that wasn't my choice. That was to survive. And I could have spent that time finding out who it really was. So all of that shit will lead to an adult with mental health struggles. But none of that is autism. Just like the dyslexic kid who thinks that he's stupid.

He's not fucking stupid, or she's not stupid. But they were told they were enough times that they started to believe it by a person who conflated intelligence with the capacity to read. So I don't, my experience of autism, me personally, right? If this is what fucking autism is, it's not a disorder. I'm never lonely. I love that I am never fucking lonely because I'm friends with the inside of my own head. I'm never bored. It's not possible. There's always something that I'm thinking about in a really, really exciting way. I do enjoy the company of other people. I do enjoy the company of other people, but I don't have incredibly high social needs. Like I don't know what it feels

like to be sitting at home on my own and then like wanting to be in the company of another person. Like wanting to call over to someone's house just to hang out. I'd never in my life have gotten that feeling. I don't understand it. Like who cares? I'm reading a Wikipedia article about the history of ketchup. That only becomes a problem when other people worried that I'm lonely are falsely assumed

that I'm after falling out with them. Like I remember through my teenage years my da used to say to me I feel so sorry for you in your room by yourself all the time I feel so sorry that you're so lonely

and I used to have to say to him I'm not fucking lonely I'm listening to Cypress Hill and I have a world book encyclopedia for the letter W and I'm going to spend the entire week reading about everything that starts with W and you think I'm going to spend the entire week reading about everything that starts with W and you think I'm lonely I'm having the time of my life so to answer the question

like I don't know well it it doesn't feel like a fucking disorder to me at all in any way shape or form but I'm also cautious that like I'm speaking for myself autism is a spectrum and I don't have sensory issues like I used to get annoyed by my jumper in school but I don't have fucking sensory issues now I don't get overwhelmed

by noises or sounds I don't experience meltdowns. I'm not crazy about small talk but I do it. I can do it and it's grand. Like over the pandemic the two years of literally being stuck inside and not getting any opportunity to socialise. I'd forgotten a lot of social skills and for a while there that was anxiety inducing but I'm back to normal now. I get my hair cut, I go to barbers, I have tons of small talk. It's a minor inconvenience in my day that I don't even think about. My autism presents as I'm perceived as being eccentric from people who know me. I don't know why that is or how to stop it. At this stage

I'm not even bothering trying because the more normal I try to be the more eccentric I'm perceived and I'm very introverted. I like to spend large amounts of time on my own. I like to walk around on my own. Sometimes that can be perceived as oh you don't like people? No, I fucking love people. I love people. Just not loads of them all the time. Where my autism presents as a problem would be executive dysfunction issues, timekeeping, very poor with numbers and I can let my studio space get incredibly messy and that can reach a tipping point which leads to extreme levels of stress. But nobody's perfect. So we don't use the word Asperger's anymore.

But I'm someone who would be very classically Asperger's. A creative person who's eccentric. And before I got a diagnosis. I used to just think. Well of course I am. Like. I think about art so much. There's no way for me to be. Completely normal.

But now I just have a different word for it. So from my experience. No. Autism is not a disorder. In any fucking way. At all. But. I can't speak for other artistic people.

And their experience. I can't. But I can speak for me. That's all I have time for this week. I didn't have a hot take this week. Sometimes I just don't. It's. Hot takes are.

Huge amount of. Research. And. I'm doing it consistently but not every week a fully formed hot take presents itself and you know I have the rule

I'll always show up on a Wednesday it's that simple even if I don't have a hot take I will be here on a Wednesday to do something this week a ramble is what I felt like doing I felt like doing a ramble

for the 5th anniversary and thank you to everyone who's been listening. And hopefully if the podcast infrastructure doesn't fucking completely implode, I'll still be doing this for another fucking 5 years and it would be a pleasure to do that because I adore

doing this. Dog bless. rock city you're the best fans in the league bar none tickets are on sale now for fan appreciation night on saturday april 13th when the Toronto Rock hosts the Rochester Nighthawks at First Ontario Centre in Hamilton at 7.30pm. You can also lock in your playoff pack right now to guarantee the same seats for every postseason game and you'll only pay as we play. Come along for the ride and punch your ticket

to Rock City at torontorock.com.