Kat Burdick

Act 5 - Me and WB

Now out of my parents’ place and on my own, I gathered a little record pile of receipts and W-4’s, got myself declared independent, and ran off to a little liberal arts school that spurred my extremely conservative uncle-by-marriage, Steve Perry (who sadly is NOT the lead singer from Journey and is a big Rush fan…the even worse Rush) to call my mother and demand that she go and bring me back from that place, as it was in effect a Lesbian Training Camp. (That phrase is a quote, and if someone enterprising young lesbian doesn’t take that as a tumblr and do something with it, I’ll be sad.)

Ironically, several of the lesbians I met when they arrived ended up with husbands & children. They should sue.

Anyway, I got there and as a Good Catholic Girl who had become a Rebel, I was planning on maybe and I want to put this delicately slutting it up a little.

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 Act 3  - Me and High School.

Oh, GOD.



Let’s not get into too many details. (What? Too late already?)
Suffice to say this picture sums up many important elements. Add a flute.
I DESPERATELY wanted to play the saxophone. Mom said I’d be playing the flute; it was more feminine. Add computer club, launching model rockets and a self-directed religion that was a mash-up of Catholicism & Klingon Honor with a dash of Ninjas and you’re almost there.

Live and in-person, I doubt you could handle it.

I’d say that I’m glad there wasn’t the internet back then, except that THERE WAS AND I WAS ON IT. 5K dial-up. That’s not a typo.

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Act 2 - Grandma & Grandpa

My grandparents were a Rockwell painting. Dick & Doris, a darkly handsome West Point honor cadet married to his sweetheart, a blonde Minnesota beauty queen. They had six kids in rapid, accurate fire, during the 50’s/60’s. And then, seeing the ease of being in a room with 6 kids under the age of ten, my grandfather volunteered for Vietnam.

Twice.

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Act 4 - Me and Prom

I had spent years looking like a goofball, and I had worn a dress twice in 6 years. I’d never admit it then, but twice was enough to make me uncomfortable with this “womanly” gig….once on the way to 8^th grade graduation I caught a guy friend looking down my nascent cleavage, making me (and him, I’m sure) feel really, really weird and suddenly separate from my best friends (all boys at the time, see; computer club) and one other time I showed my best guy friend what my dress I was going to use for an upcoming dance looked like on me, at his request, and he got really big eyes and then yelled at me. “What do YOU want to look like THAT for?” “I look bad?” “No! No! But….YOU can’t look like that. NO! No, take it off. That’s not you. I don’t like that.”

So what WAS me? Well, I went with a constancy of dark wash jeans and several black t-shirts in rotation….Simpsons, Lost in Space, Starfleet Academy, and a little number I had puff-painted with “You Too Can Be An Alternative Rock Goddess”.


(identities have been hidden to protect those kids who weren’t dressed like a girly Leibowski)

I was usually quoting, at length and precisely, either Monty Python or Denis Leary. I think it’s fair to say I was irritating, if well-meaning and occasionally amusing. I was mostly hair and glasses. I knew this because whenever anyone in the school who was known as a good draw-er drew me, I was just hair and glasses on top of a lump. I got called a “dyke” a lot by anyone who smoked in the parking lot.

My parents didn’t know quite what to do with me.

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(Author’s Friendly Note: I’m going to post this in parts and it’s still way too long. So read it if you like to read, and don’t if you don’t, but if you’re going come back to tell me it’s too long later…just know that I know, and that you’re being a wiener. Remember…knowing something is too long is one thing….figuring out where to cut is another. ♫SooooomeDAAAAY my editor will come♫)

COUPLED OFF, Love in 5 Lightly Tragic Acts

Act 1 - Me and the South

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I hate that rule, and I’m going to break it.

I’m performing at ‘99 Comics for the 99%’ at Upright Citizens Brigade East!

I’m doing something special, and I’ve only got one minute to do it, so come, see this, my insane masterpiece! Hit up the ucbtheatre website to snag some reservations.

I’m posting only things I made, all day, every day, for 30 days.
I must resist the urge to reblog awesomeness.
Unless I have a video rebuttal or something, and then it’s totally cooooool.

Straight-up, I was just lying here debating my last three years. Is trying to make comedy even worth it, amongst all this chaos & noise? And I swear to all that’s maybe holy… Buddha just brought me my Del Close Improv marathon performer wristband. 1) He’s a cat. 2) It was, last I checked, in the closed cabinet. 2) Isn’t that what people call a sign?

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We’re all going to die.
Seriously, absolutely, we’re definitely already dead, in a way. You definitely will have a death. Me, too. It’s built-in. It’s standard with this model.

It’s just a matter of when, how….those curious questions you’ll maybe get an answer to….maybe a split second before….maybe several years….

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The filter that kept me from writing out loud, and putting out more of my produced work, is now off. I’ve spent three years now learning/performing/producing/practicing 10x what people see, because I didn’t want to put out my most fetal comedy work into the online sucksphere forever, and it’s now time that ended. Training wheels are off. It’s my senior year. Thesis time.

But, warning; This is going to be messy. And maybe not entirely comedy. It’s necessary to open the box to let hope out, and the troubles are going to definitely come with it.