I took 1st place in the prelims of The Ventura Comedy Festival.

I've never won anything before in my life.

Seriously.

I never won won teacher of the year. I never won volunteer of the week when I taught Sunday school. I've never won a sports award. I've never won a girl in a love triangle.

I used se to get blue ribbons at elementary school speech meets. But so did 100 other kids.

The best I ever did in wrestling was 3rd place at a fresh/soph tournament.

So when I was a teacher I gave an award to every student at the end of the year. Here are some examples:

"The Thank You Award for not giving me one problem all year."

"The Answer to a Question no one asked award."

"The Nowhere To Go But Ugly Award." (That was to a boy who always talked about how good looking he was.)

They knew it was my way to reach out and let them know I cared and saw something about them.

So this is a new feeling. In fact...when my name was called, I didn't know what to do. I froze. I was told by a buddy to run up on stage.

I'll be performing 8/2 Tuesday night at the Ventura Harbor in the semis. I get a guest list. Just let me know.

God is good. He's good all the time.

Hello! I'm hosting for one of the top headliners in the country Wednesday 8/3 at 8pm! Come by and share a few laughs!

So I hate camping. Which I explained in an earlier post. But I've only camped twice in my life. The fist story took place during the summer of 1994. This story takes place in the fall of 2014.

I was assigned to take 60 high school juniors to Catalina with a handful of other teachers. I thought we were staying in nice cabins with nice beds. Oh. No.

Instead I was introduced to some backwards Mormon Boy Scout camp from hell.

After being shown my homeless house, we were all gathered to start the swimming around a giant mountain activity. Wait? What?! I can't swim!

They force me into a wet suit. I'm a 5'7" 225 pound dude. They don't make wet suits for people like me. I finally squeezed into the suit. It looked like the birth video in reverse.

I then climb a 2 mile hike around a mountain and am told the only way back is to swim. Wait? What?!

​Beta males of the world unite! I have to swim to survive!

The Catalina guide tells the 15 students I'm responsible for on this hike to look to me for guidance. Here is a transcript of that conversation.

Guide: If you have any issues you can ask me or Mr. Moomjean.

Me: Nope!

Guide: Well...I'm sure Mr. Moomjean can help you if you're struggling with the swimming.

Me: Nope!

Guide: Well...I'm sure he's just joking. You can swim right?

Me: Nope!

Guide: Why would they bring you to Catalina if you can't swim?

Me: Good question!

Thank God my students were so supportive. In fact, one student Chris made sure to hold the boogie board I was clinging to the entire time.

We we laughed a lot. We joked about how much we hated this stupid adventure. 2 hours later we were "home." Sunburnt. But home.

I wish I could tell you I slept. I didn't. I couldn't. The sounds of Mother Nature made me wet my little bunk. It was horrible. Foxes. Wolves. Owls. It was a horror film coming to life.

So I'm wet. I'm tired. I'm scared. I'm camping.

Eventually, I got out of other "activities." It's amazing how much people won't let you do things out of fear you migh die.

Oh. The best part. We had to walk 8 miles to the port to get on the boat back to Long Beach, CA. I stubbed my toe repeatedly. And I had to have a truck come find me to get me to the port on time, or no one was going home.

After two and half days of camping I did get home. And while there were many wonderful bonding moments with the students, it is a reminder I wasn't built to do things. And by things. I mean camp.

There's a fun comedy show in Simi Valley that I'm producing and running. We are going to have some very funny comedians! Come out! I start at 7pm! I got a new bit about my relationship with the women in my life!

I hate camping.

Let me repeat that!

I hate camping. I've only camped 2 or 3 times in my life, but all were miserable.

I only remember two trips. One was in the summer of 1994. The other was in the fall of 2014. Both made me pee in the wild.

I'm going to write about my 1994 trip first. In the summer of 1994 my mother said we going to have a big fun camping trip with all the cousins. I had never camped before, so I wasn't against it. It was beach camping for crying out loud! How bad could it be?!

I found out.

I realized this was not going to be fun when my step dad and two uncles set up the camp sight at El Capitan and then the three of them bailed on us. I can still hear their laughter echoing through the camp site.

I was now, at 13, the oldest male on the trip with my mom, grandma, great aunt, two other aunts, and two second cousins. All female. All over 40. All overwhelmed.

My 11 year old brother set the tone on night one by using all the quarters to take a 45 minute shower. That night I slept in my text wet and sandy from the beach. I have yet to forgive him for that. That might keep me out of heaven.

My cousin Donald and my brother fought over pogs the entire time. One battle ended with Donald using the F word and his mother more worried about him losing at pogs than him losing his temper.

My cousin Scott got lost every 3 hours. My 3 year old cousin Logan kept screaming at invisible things and falling into the rocks. My brother was the ring leader of destruction. And I had to babysit all of them.

The older women just relaxed at the beach and cooked the hot dogs and Mac 'n Cheese. One time the cousins ate everything before me or the adults could get to it.

It was cold. It was damp. It was hell. Or camping...as the French call it.

I never understood why people camped. I assume teenagers and college kids do it to drink and do drugs. But after 25, why would anyone expose their kids to such a miserable, wet, cold, dirty experience?

By the end of the trip Donald (10 years old) kept kicking my feet while I helped pa I up. I ended up picking up my cousin Donald and tossing him into a bed of rocks. Two adults applauded.

So if you're camping this summer. I'm sorry. I'll stay indoors. With air. And heat. And showers that don't require coins.

I recently Facebooked some thoughts on the #AllLivesMatter, etc. It's tough to be funny when there's real crap going on in the world. But here's my take:

​ I just figured out what the problem is with all the "whose lives matter" stuff.

Everyone really just wants to hashtag #MyLifeMatters but can't, so we find a group we most associate with, point fingers at the group that resents that, argue and then delete people over a post about a crime or reaction many of us are not directly associated with, and then go back to finding new fights.

The truth is #BlackLivesMatter is important, because up until 1964 America didn't think so. And let's be honest, the idea that "civil rights were like 50 years ago, get over it, move on" is like telling a person, "your husband died 20 years ago, get over it, move on." It's insensitive and doesn't acknowledge the current issues at hand.

The truth is #BlueLivesMatter because this group has to maintain societal order. They have to protect all lives, and those who go out of their way to harm them are no different than an officer who steps out of bounds as well.

The truth is #AllLivesMatter simplifies an issue by saying we all have the same problems. We don't. White people in the suburbs just don't have the same problems. Of course all lives matter. We are all made in the image and likeness of God. But I'm short and fat and single. I face different kinds of discrimination. We all do. If I started #FatLivesMatter it might be to bring up bullying or healthcare rights.

You can't deconstruct a binary opposition every time. Sometimes we must agree with an incomplete point.

Keep in mind, even God had a chosen people. Even God decided one set of lives would be set free over other lives. God thought #HebrewLivesMatter when he sunk the Egyptians. That didn't mean he didn't love other nations. He just got around to them later because everything must have a process. To everything there is a season.

But the first step to #AllLivesMatter is to accept that #BlackLivesMatter and see how their struggle can be changed and rectified and then move on down the list until we recognize we are all in this together, but our struggles, goals, and identifications are different.

There. I won't be commenting, but feel free to write how I'm wrong because I didn't defend my group. #NeitherJewNorGreek #YourLifeMattersToMe

I'm approaching my one year anniversary of doing stand up comedy. I started August 5th at Flappers Burbank at an open mic audition and one year later I've had paid gigs, gotten to run my own comedy show, performed all over L.A. and I'll be in the Ventura and Burbank Comedy Festival.

As a Christian, I know my steps are guided by the Lord (Psalm 37:24) and that he is in control of my career, life, etc.

But I also know God calls us to be active:

Action is faith. Faith is believing in something that makes little sense by sight. It's what keeps people rooting for the Oakland Raiders.

I'm not sure where my future is going. All I do know is that Christian faith has been my guiding force this past year. Faith has given me the grace to step out of the boat and walk on the water I never thought I could walk on. Faith has given me freedom to joke about things I used to be afraid to say.

I'm not perfect. I've made errors. Mistakes. Even sinned in the process. But God's grace has allowed for me to get stronger in a area of my life I jumped into head first, without much of a plan.

I'd love for you to come see me when you have a night free!