Do the Digital Hustle

How does one "make it"? Obviously it's a combination of effort and talent. With a little luck sprinkled on top. Bake for 20 minutes...

Anyway, it's obviously more than just being funny. I notice that a minority of comics do stand up exclusively. By that I mean the only thing that they do in their career is to perform on stage. Nowadays, it's very easy to have your own website, blog (this one took me all of 3 minutes to set up), a YouTube Channel (30 seconds), podcast, just about any kind of outlet you want.

The content is getting easier to produce too. You can create videos and songs on a computer for a fraction of the time and cost it would have taken 20 years ago. Now, couple that with all the comics that are often creative people in their own right, and you'll find all sorts of side projects all over the internet.

Dane Cook's ingenious use of Myspace is well documented. Long story short, he used social media to help create an internet awareness that propelled him to mega-stardom. But like any innovation, it can have an ugly side:

A) Does this mean that in order to get anywhere you need to use these avenues?
B) Does/can this supersede talent?

For the first question, I hope not. On the stereotypical commodity trading floor (those guys yelling "BUY! SELL!" with pieces of paper and all the screens everywhere), the idea is that everyone gathers around and yells their orders, and that chaos is fair. If you see old videos of this, it just looked like a mass of people. Then, some people started wearing something that was striking, brightly colored, or otherwise distinctive. As I understand it, the idea behind this was that with the odd looking jacket you'd stand out more and get noticed, thus giving you an advantage over the throng of other traders. After that, more and more people started wearing silly looking jackets. Now, if you walk around the financial district, traders wearing goofy jackets are not uncommon. I'm saying that I don't want to feel like I HAVE to wear a goofy outfit now just to get noticed.

This is mostly for lazy reasons. I have this, Twitter, and a YouTube channel, but I don't use them very often. I don't have a podcast, haven't started any shows; I haven't even set up a simple web page. All I've really wanted to do is just tell jokes. I'm sure other people have many creative outlets that they want to explore, and more power to them. Point being, I hope these side projects are something that people are doing because they enjoy doing it and not because they're viewing it like a get rich quick scheme: "I don't have to be the funniest, I just have to establish a robust web presence and then the money will flow!"

Not that I'm giving advice, I'm extremely unqualified. I just think in general life terms, I hope that people are doing these things because they want to, and not because they feel that they "should be" doing them. If I was doing that, I'd probably be annoyed at the whole process, but that's me. I'm aware that I'm sounding a bit grumpy old man-ish. These kids today with their websites and podcasts, they don't know the value of REAL hard work. I can see the other side saying "That's the way the world is, and this is just another aspect of putting in time to make it."

All that being said, in the world of getting on a stage and telling jokes, I honestly feel that there is no other way to get better at it than to actually, physically do it. To get on a stage with a microphone in front of people and try to make them laugh. So I guess that's another reason why I'm mildly rebelling against the idea of creating a strong internet presence. Although, to counter myself, there's definitely a difference between using the internet to supplement/enhance your presence, instead of defining it. So I guess just go ahead and do whatever you want. But that brings me back to my prior point. Do what you WANT to do.

For the second question, I think the answer is ultimately no. I think, at most, it can create opportunities that wouldn't normally manifest, but talent wins out. But to again argue with myself, I could say "Hey, look at Hollywood. Look at the music charts. It's not about who's the most talented, it's about who's the best looking, in the right place at the right time, the best kiss ass, etc." But my counter, to myself, arguing with me, is that I'm defining "making it" as having the respect of your peers that you respect in kind. And in that case, I feel that people who just hustle a lot will get opportunities, but once they use those opportunities, it won't lead to something else unless they have the talent to back it up. It might be possible to talk yourself into getting a set at a place where you might not "deserve" to perform, but it'll be really clear, really fast, that you don't deserve it, if you don't deserve it.

It's also not just on the interwebs that people hustle, obviously. I swear, it feels like there's a new open mic/show starting up every month. That's really exciting for the city to have so many people enthused and trying to do things. It also means that there's a possibility of too much market saturation because too many people are saying "Me too! Me too!", regardless of merit. But again, I do honestly think that in the long run, talent and quality can win out.

Now, I also understand that we live in a world with bottom lines, where money and time are real factors. So sometimes good shows die and they didn't deserve it. But in a creative world like comedy, I think that when I look back on it, I'd rather have been a part of something that people felt was something special, that was important or worth while, rather than something that made a lot of money. If I had to choose only one.

Never Good Enough

A few months ago, I got into a discussion over grim personal assessments, and how they relate to trying to do this comedy stuff. Essentially, our logic went along these lines:

1) Are we funny? - Kind of, maybe not, not really, well, kind of

2) Will we ever be as funny as the people we admire? - No

3) Is somebody who isn't as funny as the people we admire worth seeing? - No

Our ultimate conclusion was that we should quit now, because we can and will never achieve what we're trying to do. A seasoned comedian that I admire overheard us and interrupted, and basically rebutted that notion. His reasoning (I'm big-time paraphrasing) was that you will never be good enough, but that's precisely why you should keep doing this.

That's what stuck in my craw. If you're not good enough, how can you feel comfortable going out on stage and doing this in front of an audience? But that phrase -good enough- is relative. Good enough for whom?

For an audience? I'd say that our sights were too lofty. The people that we were comparing ourselves to, they're no slouches, they're headliners, people who've been doing this for a long time. A couple of posts ago I talked about how I saw only the people that were getting shows, not the many more who weren't. In a similar vein, we were primarily looking at the cream of our local crop, but not at the next levels down. Go check out some of the openers at shows. Am I as funny as them? Probably not. Do I have the capability of being as funny as them? Probably.

But getting back to -good enough-. I've noticed something. For the most part, I haven't seen anybody that never got at least one laugh. Sure, on a given night there might be nothing, and there are extreme cases in any subject. But, in general, over the course of several performances, whether at open mics or shows, I haven't seen anybody never ever never never get a laugh.  Assuming one's willing to put forth the effort to continue to develop, write more, get out there more, it's absolutely possible to put together at least 6-8 decent minutes. Point being, if you really keep at it, there will come a time where you'll be at least good enough to perform for an audience. Now, it's true that you won't be as good as the best, won't be able to go too long without boring people, etc. But you will be able to squeeze out some laughs from people for a few minutes. And that's a starting point.

Which leads to the next meaning of good enough. I've done a few shows now, and that's not much, not anything, really, but again, it's a start. And the thing I've noticed is that I've gotten better at self critiquing and writing for "me". I'll talk about that more in another thing. The problem is that I'm throwing away about 90% of everything I've written so far, for multiple reasons, but ultimately, I'm throwing it out because it's not good enough for me. And I'm not taking the attitude of "if it's not good enough then forget it", but that I can do better. That's the difference I didn't fully "get" at the time.

Even in hindsight, though, I don't feel too naive for taking that original stance. I had to cross, or at least get close to, that threshold before I could truly constructively critique myself. Otherwise, I'm just throwing everything against the wall and making a mess. Which is fine, but don't delude yourself into thinking that's art. So, I'd say it's a good thing to not be too in love with yourself all the time. Love yourself, but not unconditionally, because you'll never be good enough, and that's exactly where you want to be.

My First Show: The Big Comedown

I recently got to do my first couple of shows. One was as the opening act (I don't know what the various spots are officially called) for a showcase in the suburbs hosted by Marcos Lupara. I even was on the poster. There was a poster! And then a couple of days later I got invited to do a charity event hosted by Priscilla Farina. That's awesome, because it's pretty much exactly what I wanted, I've stated that my goal was to perform for a non-comic audience. It's a big deal on a personal level when it's your first show, but it quickly fades.

First off, it's not at all like losing your virginity. If we're going to stick with the relationship analogy, I'd say it's like going from asking someone out, to leaving the house to meet up with them, on a first date. In other words, it's not a huge deal. I went through jokes that I've done at least a few times before. So, once I was up there, it didn't feel significantly different from doing a well attended open mic. Something that was different was that some jokes that did well at open mics didn't do as well at the show. That could be for a bunch of reasons, though.

One thing that was very different was time. My only comedy experience is open mics, so I've been conditioned to get everything out in 4-5 minutes. At an open mic, I go right into it. At a show, I found that I let things breathe a lot more. So, jokes that should have taken 8 1/2 minutes to tell, ended up translating to 11 1/2 minutes. Thankfully, it was a laid back show with a nice producer, so I didn't get any flack about it, but still, that's a big difference. I learned that I should underestimate how much time a certain amount of jokes will take, time-wise.

As far as how I did, I think it went fine. Not great, but not terrible. I got a some laughs, and that's all I could really ask for, really. Bottom line, the shows came and went. I learned a few things, but overall, it was pretty underwhelming. And it should be. One show doesn't make or break you. It's a long journey, so this was that single step that starts it. But, looking back, it wasn't even the first step. The first step started 30 years ago, when I listened to Bill Cosby albums, and stayed up until 1 am on Saturday nights to tape this stand up comedy clip show on AM radio hosted by Len Belzer (Richard's brother). There are some finite moments, but they're inconsequential when taken in context. It's about trends, going out, keep going out, keep working.
 
Along those lines, Peter Byrnes, a comic I know (who incidentally, has a podcast that I was privileged to be a guest on) said something to me that took away a lot of the anxiety that I would have otherwise had about doing my first show. The first show is just that, the FIRST one. If you want to do a show (and most of us do), then at some point you can get on a show, so you might as well just do it. You'll suck and then it'll be over.
 
I don't want to sound like I'm apathetic or ungrateful for the opportunities. Far from it. I just consciously didn't want to put too much stock in the first shows or make it a bigger deal than it needed to be. I had enough nerves just trying to figure out what I was going to do, let alone any of the other issues that could creep up on top of that.

This whole thing reminds me about my last post, which talked about the jealously/self pity issues that spring up sometimes, and how I dealt with them.  Without sounding too "Chicken Soup for the Soul", I'd say that understanding those ugly feelings, and getting rid of them, was key, in my mind, to people being more willing to ask me to do a show. To repeat myself, those ugly feelings are a stink that sticks to you. Nobody wants to be around someone like that. Not that you have to pretend that you never have those feelings, but you don't want to get to a point where that defines who you are, and how you act. Getting over those feelings means that there's less stuff in your brain that could impede what you're trying to do; get funnier. That's all that matters. I think, maybe.

Anyways, yeah, first shows. Done, moving on.

The Ugly Monster

I'm going to try to share the nasty negative feelings that sprang up sometimes. They're feelings that most comics would probably understand, and would advise keep to yourself. They're right, for obvious reasons, which I'll get into. But to continue my comedy chronicles, and share what a newbie goes through, I should probably acknowledge them. Also, for me, knowing what it is that bothers me allows me to think about why that is, and that understanding can help one to get over it. Maybe.

When I started this, I gave myself a clear goal; to perform in front of an audience. Not an open mic with a large "civilian" population, but a show. I, sort of, got to do that with the 42 second show that I wrote about in an earlier post, but as of yet I don't really feel that I've reached my goal. And that's problem number one. By giving myself that predefined goal, any time I remind myself that I haven't achieved it, then I can't help but feel like somewhat of a failure. And that's because in the highly social world of comedy, you'll compare yourself to others. The thoughts and feelings for me go something like this:

---XXX got on a show? Why not me? Look, I'm not saying that I'm funnier than them, but I'm at least as funny as they are. Wait, what? YYY got a show?! Ok, now I know something's up, I'm definitely funnier than them. I must have pissed somebody off. Maybe I'm not funny. Ugh, it's ironic, I'm probably a big joke to everyone. No, eff that, I've been doing this long enough. I've been doing it longer than tons of people. But, if they're getting shows, then that's proof, concrete PROOF, that other people don't think that I'm funny, at least the people that matter. But I've gotten laughs, I swear I did! Screw this, I quit and I hate myself.---

It's easy, it's really easy, to fall into that spiral, to compare yourself to others and only focus on the negative. People are always looking up, i.e. what other people are getting that they aren't. But people almost never look down. What I mean is that you look at the people who get shows, and not the dozens, if not hundreds, of others who don't get on shows. Yeah, but they're losers, you might tell yourself, and you don't want to think of yourself as a loser. But it's not about winners or losers. At the risk of sounding like a cliched inspirational quote, I'll try to explain.

One of the things that you're constantly told is to work hard, keep doing it, be funny, etc. It's all nose to the grindstone talk, and the unspoken ending to that thought is that success will come. But that's not true; success MIGHT come, or it might not. There are countless words of advice to this effect. Marc Maron recently had a keynote at the Just For Laughs Festival last year that said these things better than I could. "This is not a meritocracy. Get over yourself." Drew Michael, a local for-real comedian, also did a post that speaks to these self pitying feelings, or at least the issues that these feelings are coming from. "Comedy owes you nothing" is his starting point, and it's something that any sad sack, myself included, should tell themselves. These are just a couple of examples that more eloquently explain why these feelings are misguided, worthless, etc.

But besides the addressing of the underlying issues, there's also the practical consequence of those feelings bubbling to the surface. Read that above ranty paragraph again. Would you want to be anywhere near a person who talks or thinks that way? That person is a buzzkill and a whiny baby. If you had a show, would you want to put them on? If you were a girl, and some guy was begging, on his knees, for a date, are you more, or less, likely to go out with him? Desperation and self pity is a stinky stink that's hard to wash off. So, keep it to yourself, or God, or whatever you want, but don't go proclaiming your sadness to the world. No one in this game is going to feel sorry for you, and it will only hurt you.

I know it's hard, it is, but just like bombing, it's something that you'll go through. Once you do, you'll realize that those feelings are silly. Very very silly. THAT's why they tell you keep working. It's not because of the "reward", which may never come, but because getting out there and continuing to try to get better is the only thing that matters. What that nose to grindstone stuff really means is "Shaddup wit you." It's like something that I've told other comics in the past when they've expressed these feelings: Nobody cares about you. When you're not around, you are never in their thoughts. You're not unique, and if you stopped coming around, no one would notice. You are a worthless cog in a broken machine. Keep that in your heart, and if you can fully know that and keep going, then you're on the right track, because then it's truly about you, and not what anybody else thinks of you.

My Toolkit

Something that you'll see most every comic carry around is a notebook. Obviously, this is to facilitate the writing down of spontaneous ideas, fleshing those ideas out, set lists, notes, etc. There's the moleskine style:

Three things I like about these are a) bookmark b) stretch band keeps it closed c) it's pretty. What I don't like about these is that you can't open them all the way around, like a spiral notebook can.

There's also the composition notebook:

 

These have classic styling, and are generally cheap, but what I don't like is that they're often full sized pages.  The reason I don't like that is because of portability. You either have to keep it in a backpack and carry that around, or you have to roll it up, old-school comic book style, to fit in your pocket. I suppose you can just carry it around, but who wants to do that? Not me, that's who.

Here's my notebook. It's kind of like a reporter's notepad:

I like that it can fit in your pocket, and that it's a spiral book. This way, when you're writing notes, you can flip it back on itself and it doesn't take up any more space than it already does. I have a few issues with this one, however. That's why I've now moved to this:

It's slightly larger, but not so much that it can't fit in a large-ish pants pocket, or an inside jacket pocket. I also like that the spiral can fit a pen inside of it. I lose pens all the time, and I'm hoping that keeping it in the spiral would allow me to hold on to it a little longer. The other improvement is that the front is plastic. Comedy and alcohol regularly coexist, and it's common for tables to get wet and drinks spilled. With the plastic front, the cover is less likely to warp, not to mention more likely to protect the comedy gold held on the paper within. It's also thicker than my prior notebook.

I've filled about 2 notebooks already, so this one should hopefully last longer than the others.

Another paranoid thing that I do is that I keep every joke, story, etc, on a spreadsheet online. I'll have just a brief description of the joke, how long it is in seconds, where I've done it, and how well it's done (in my opinion). Before I did it to organize my material for potential setlists, but the other benefit is that if I lose a notebook, at least it's not all lost. This is something that I haven't really heard other comics do, but it makes me feel better.

Speaking of notebooks, Nick Rouley's a comic who has a neat website called Scholastic Jive. It shows the insides of a lot of comics' notebooks. If you go through some of the prior entries, you'll even get a glimpse of the inside of my notebook.

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The other thing that you'll notice about many comics is that they'll bring their phone or some small electronic device with them on stage. This a recorder. My phone has a terrible microphone for recording, so I ended up getting this little guy. It's about the size of half a pack of cigarettes.

It'll last about 40 hours with 2 AAA batteries, and it records MP3's on a microSD card. I like the large record and play buttons; one is recessed and one has a little dot on it. This makes it very easy to use in a dark room, since you can find and identify the buttons by touch. It has noise cancellation, but more importantly, it has some pretty high quality microphones. Even in a relatively noisy room, the audio quality is on par with a decent CD quality recording.  I'll usually have this stashed somewhere on me while I do a set. My favorite place is to put it in my chest shirt pocket. Many comics (and me) will record their sets to analyze it for both their own performance as well as audience reaction. Hearing a joke that does really well definitely gives me a thrill even after hearing multiple times.

I will take my notebook and my recorder with me to every open mic that I do. On the occasion that I forget them I'll feel anxious. Some comics will bring their notebooks on stage, usually because they'll write their set lists on it and refer to it if need be. Generally, though, you'll want to rely on your notebook as little as possible, because you don't want to give off the impression that you're reading off of a script.

While my notebook and recorder are always in my toolbox, I'll sometimes bring a little camcorder (Panasonic HDC-TM90) and tripod. It's a nice HD camcorder that does fairly well in low light. I've only recently started to film myself, and even then only sporadically. It's not that I want to see myself, far from it, but it's good to have at least a couple of clips of yourself. A video is like your business card. A producer won't take your word for it that you're funny, they'll want to see you in action.

These things, and my wits, are my weapons of war. And my charisma, I got loads o' that.

Mini-bombs, and How to Love Them

You're going through your set, and one of your jokes gets no response. I'll call it a mini-bomb, which is a term I made up about 30 seconds ago.  The idea behind that being that it's not your whole set that went badly, but just that one joke. It can be for all sorts of reasons. Is it a new, untested joke? Did you flub it and say the punchline during the setup? Did you do your veal one-liner at the PETA convention?

Whatever the cause of the mini-bombs, the question arises, "What do I do?" You can ignore it and move on. However, rather than just continue like nothing happened, often times a comic will try to save themselves. I've seen all sorts of ways to do this, some that I've employed myself.

You can blame the audience, and do it explicitly. It can be done with anger, "What's wrong with you!?" or with some cheekiness "That was hilarious, and if you don't think so, I feel sorry for you." The old one liner "Is this an audience or an oil painting?" is in this vein.

You can brush the audience off, again either angrily "Screw you guys!" or cheeky "I love that joke, I'll keep doing it, I don't care about you guys, I'm here for me." That last one is a direct quote from me. It worked for me, the audience actually laughed pretty hard at that. I'll get into that in a bit.

You can blame the joke. Johnny Carson would notoriously remark on a bad joke if it didn't go over well. "Ok, THAT one's no good", kind of a thing. Many times comics will try to explain that it's a new joke. I think this is so common because they almost try distance themselves from the joke. "It's not me, I swear!"

You can fake ignore it. By this I mean that you don't address the situation directly, but you take a beat before going on to the next bit. Maybe it's a silent pause, and sometimes that awkwardness can yield a laugh. Or you can just say "moving on...." or "let's keep it rolling...." something along those lines. I suppose it's like trying to wipe the slate clean, so that your next stuff isn't "tainted" by that mini-bomb.

There are others, but this isn't meant to be comprehensive. It's to highlight something. From what I've seen, in my limited experience, what works most often can be tied to a specific trait; confidence. If you look like you're panicking, that's not good. And being angry "at" the audience, generally doesn't work either. It looks like you're a whiny baby. I'm not saying that being whiny and angry doesn't work. For some people, that's actually their act. I'm saying that it's very difficult to pull off and not alienate people. But at the same time, there are ways of confidently blaming and being angry at an audience vs. whiny blame and anger. And I think that's what makes the difference.

But that's also why so many people are afraid of public speaking. Speaking to a group of people, by yourself, can make someone feel at their most vulnerable. Getting past that, and not letting that vulnerability come to the surface, is key to not only getting up there in the first place, but to persevere in spite of one of those mini-bombs.

I think. Maybe.

Baby Steps (with caveats)

This week brought two milestones for me. 1) I co-hosted an open mic and 2) I performed at a non-open mic. On the face of it, this seems like a big deal, and it is. Now I'll explain why it's not.

There's an open mic I go to fairly regularly on Mondays. I saw it go through 2.5 host regimes. It went from one person (Martin Morrow) to two (Laura Hugg and Martin) to two (Laura Hugg and David Phillips) to one (Laura Hugg). Laura had a fun idea; give folks who are fairly regular attendants a chance to co-host. I was one of about 5-ish other people who'd been given a chance. Like any new thing, I was nervous about it. Hosting an open mic has no requirements. There are hosts who've been doing comedy for a few months, and some for years. It's also something that happens on a daily basis. For my first time, I did ok, I suppose. No fiascoes, no great successes, it came and went before I had a chance to even really process what was going on. I was focused more on not screwing up and trying to say something worthwhile in between each person. But all I was, really, was a facilitator. I helped to run the proceedings of an open mic. Nobody was there for me (except for my wife, Rachel, but you know what I mean), and if I wasn't there, it would have gone just as any other night. It sounds like I'm belittling myself, but I'm trying to be even-handed. To me it was a big deal. It was the first non-open mic comedy experience that I'd had. But for so many, it's as routine as taking a single step on a long walk.

Yesterday there was an interesting show. There's a weekly comedy show called 2 Hour Comedy Hour. One of the things they do is that they have a drawing of a name (of people who've submitted), and that person gets to do 42 seconds on stage. It's very cute, and gives someone a chance to get on stage who doesn't want to necessarily to into comedy, but get a taste of stage time. Kind of like karaoke, kind of. So, the producers of the show had an idea to have 42 comics do 42 seconds. I had never heard of something so rapid fire before, but it sounded like it would be very interesting. I didn't find out about this show until after it had been booked. Fortunately, I knew one of the producers a little, and when a few of the comics had to drop out, I was asked to fill in. Now, I'll temper it with the facts that I approached them first, and my "booking" came only after other people couldn't do it, but I DID get to go on stage, and perform for an audience of people who came to see a comedy show. This was always my goal in comedy. So I don't care if it came with caveats; in a small way, I'm achieving my goals. I even got paid. They split the proceeds evenly with all the comics. This is my payment, in its entirety, and it's awesome. 

Despite the full realities, I consider this a positive week. I had fun, and I'm grateful for it. Next step, get on stage again, not at an open mic, for more than 42 seconds. Follow your dreams, eh?

The heckles I've seen

When people find out I'm doing this, sometimes a friend will want to try it out for him/herself. One of their first concerns (which was true of me too) will be hecklers. For someone starting out, and going to open mics, hecklers are extremely rare. It does happen, though. Here are my 3 favorite heckler-at-an-open-mic stories, in ascending order of awkwardness:

The Edge at Sullys, hosted by Martin Morrow (http://martinmorrowcomedy.tumblr.com/)-

Drunk guy (not surprising) decides that he's funny. He interrupts at least 3 comics in a row. Martin tries to get the guy to calm down a little, acknowledging him but not encouraging him. The problem is that he's crossed that threshold of drunk where he's no longer human. What he really wants to do is be on stage, which he does. He gets up on the stage and bends over, implying that he'd like to be on the receiving end of some sex. He thinks he means well, that he's being the life of the party, but everyone's kind of had enough of him at this point. He gets off the stage after his little joke, and he's pretty much done. He's a jovial heckler, so in retrospect I kind of laugh at him. 

Deluxe Diner, hosted by Dan Dodge (@TheOnlyDanDodge on Twitter)-

I go up first, and there's a table with 4 college aged guys. I have a joke where I have a dialogue with an inner voice. At one point, I tell myself to stop interrupting me. One of the guys says "sorry for laughing", loudly and sarcastically. I reassured him that I was actually talking to myself, not to him. I was disappointed that he apparently didn't get the joke, more than anything else. After I finish, Dan let's the table know to keep the table talk to a minimum, and introduces the next guy, saying "I already don't like him." Clearly this was intended as a joke, but it turned out the next one up was one of those guys at the table (not the one who said "sorry for laughing"). He apologized for talking and his set suffered for it, he was out of sorts. I felt bad for him. He was young, at a new place, and probably a little intimidated. He finishes up and Dan tries to bury the hatchet. Next up is the one who started this little mess.

First words out of his mouth were "Hey, I thought this was supposed to be an comedy open mic. Why don't you tell a joke? You've just been talking. Try being funny!" Dan and I looked at each other with an unspoken "Is this really happening?" look. He went on a 2 minute diatribe against the whole room, saying how at 20 his whole comedy career was ahead of him, and we were all washed up and bitter. I felt sorry for him. He was lashing out like a child, going "nuh uh! YOU stink!" to the room. He started his regular routine, something about Dr Seuss and ending with a rape punchline. I see what he was trying to do with the joke, but that's just too big a hole to dig yourself out of. So he then came out with "oh, so you guys aren't going to laugh, huh?" A comic in the audience yelled "get to a punchline". Now it's a heckling mobius strip. He finished his set and left the stage angrily.

The next two comics started messing with him from the stage, and he gave back as much as he got. His friends were imploring him to keep quiet, but that didn't happen. As they were leaving, I heard him tell his friends "You guys are supposed to have my back!" Interestingly, alcohol was not a factor for this one.

Coles, hosted by Cameron Esposito (http://therealcameronesposito.com/) and Adam Burke (http://atpburke.tumblr.com/)-

Coles is a very popular open mic, and will have "civilians" and first timers every week. Often there are people there who aren't familiar with the comedy scene and how open mics generally work. It's a particularly rowdy Wednesday. One guy spontaneously wants to go up, but it doesn't work that way. He's a middle aged man, very drunk, and I'm sure thinking that he "gets it", and can use his worldly charms to get himself on the list right away. While the comics are on stage, he's bugging the hosts, repeatedly, particularly Cameron, about when he can get on. Maybe he thought his "charms" would work better on a female (I'll get to why that is later), but she'd had enough. She gets on stage and tells him calmly but firmly that he's been hounding her all night, and the answer is always the same, that he signs up, and then waits, just like everyone else. He was in a bar where people had been waiting for literally hours to do a few minutes of comedy, but he didn't understand this. He took this almost like a personal insult, and started talking back. Cameron, already annoyed with this guy, wasn't having any of it. She unloaded on him, saying that if he came here before he'd understand how this works. Everyone has to wait, and everyone had to pay their dues when they started. Her voice started to raise in volume, and the guy started getting defensive. He said "I'm old, I'm married, I'm depressed! I got something to say just like everyone else here!" The crowd is very much on Cameron's side. Not only is she correct, but this is also her room. She started it, and, with Adam, built it to the most popular open mic in the city. These are her people, and they all have her back. 

Then it got epic. The guy walks onto the stage "you've been giving me a hard time all night". Slowly approaching her, not explicitly threatening, but hoping that his physicality (he was pretty stocky, like a fullback) would give him some kind of advantage. At least that's how I read his actions. Cameron had enough of this guy, and says "Get off the stage. Get off the stage now! I swear to God I am going to punch you in the face if you don't get off right now!" Her fist was balled, her elbow cocked back, she was going to punch him. Thankfully, Adam and some other people intervened, got him off the stage, and escorted him out of the bar. As he's leaving he screams out "Why don't you come out of the closet already?!" I feel he may have had issues with women, hence his focusing on her in the first place. Cameron's girlfriend was there, which she helpfully pointed out and reiterated her point about if he'd been there before he'd know the score. There was a big "whew" after he left, but emotions were running very high for a while. 

In all 3 instances, something I notice, that regardless of alcohol or intent (trying to distrupt vs trying to be funny), the hecklers didn't think they were in the "wrong". I'm sure that last guy went home and told his wife about these stuck up jerks at this bar that gave him a hard time for no reason. That's what's interesting to me, an apparent total lack of self awareness or empathy for others. I'd like to think that I'd just ignore a heckler, or do a very minor interaction. But I won't really know until it actually happens to me. That's not an invitation, by the way, I'd probably just start crying or something, and that's not good for anybody.

How do they do it?

Sometimes remarkable things happen and we see them. Case in point:

Walking my dog the other day, I saw an older woman talking to a high school aged boy. He was very large, far too big for his apparent age. They were standing in a tennis court near my house. She was looking up at him and said something along these lines:

"You can't be doing this. If you want to live in my house, you have to follow the rules. Students are supposed to be in school. If you're not going to school, or working, then you have to leave."

I've seen this woman before. I'm fairly certain that she's a foster mother, as I've seen her walking with children of various ages, some too young to be her natural children, not to mention the multicultural backgrounds of the kids. Regardless, she was being very stern, and not very loving sounding, more scolding; Judge Judy-eque. The young man looked confused and angry. In my mind, he was a child, in a body that he hasn't matured into, but knew that his size gives him advantages to counter his fear. He could intimidate people, and they would likely back down. A cowardly lion that roars and threatens, hoping deep inside that he won't have to actually confront any situation, because he's ill equipped to deal with it.

He started to advance on her, and she very loudly said, "Don't pressure me into the corner!", and took out her cell phone. He looked around, and saw me. I didn't want to intrude, but I made sure to stay close enough that I could step in if he tried anything. I also made sure that I stayed in his sight line, so that he knew this too. He backed off, but again, looked confused, scared, angry. He yelled something, not exactly sure what, but it definitely had the F-word featured, and skate boarded off. I stuck around a little bit to make sure he didn't come running back to clock her one. She headed back home, and I didn't see him again.

So the situation seemed like one of the saddest things in the world to me. A child who's never known stability, can't hack it in a society that asks more than he's capable of (I imagine that he's learning disabled. The caveman expression prejudiced me, I'm sure, but I doubt I'm far off), and being rejected by the closest thing to a parental figure that he's got. "School sucks, and all I want to do is ride around on the skateboard" I almost wanted to tell him, "I get it, kid. School DOES suck, people can be mean, whatever, but it will end, and you'll be much better able to handle real life, when you enter it, than if you don't go through it"


It's interesting how humor can be found in the most awful of things. It's not shocking, of course, humor can be the relief for pain. See the Graham Chapman funeral, where it became a roast by his fellow Monty Python members. I read an article that said that laughter is a biological response to fear being dissipated. If you heard a rustle in the bushes, discovered that it was just the wind, then laughter was the way your body relieved the tension and told itself "you're ok, it's not a bear".

But back to the story. This was a very real, and sad moment. And I seriously thought for more than a moment "is there something funny in this?" Then I thought that I'm damned for even thinking that. Maybe for the kid there is something funny about it, or will be one day. If he became a comic he could relay the story, find the humor in the pain, who knows. But I couldn't, it's not my story, even though I just told it here. I don't need the relief that a joke would provide.  I do find sad things funny, but only when they're my sad things. And I'm sure I find them funny because I need to, to deal with the pain.

And now for my point. I know that I need more time to develop as a comic, because I notice things like that sad situation. That's what gets my attention, not "everything". A good comic notices something tiny, and can get 10 minutes out of it. I find myself to be too boring to do any kind of introspective humor. And because of that boring-ness, I also feel like I don't have very many experiences to relate that could be funny, comedy adventures. A good comic is constantly scanning everything to find the angle. I don't, and (this is a constant theme isn't it?) maybe that's why I won't be a very good comic. Whatever, I think I'm pretty funny sometimes, screw what's "right." Wow, that was a quick turnaround.

The end (?) dun dun duuunnnnn

The idea of this thing was to try to document what it's like to start out in comedy for a new person, as someone who knows nothing about what they're doing. There are 3 separate entries that I'm currently working on, and they're all dumb. To clarify, all of my posts are at least a little stupid, but I'm becoming more aware of it. It's the difference between being dumb and knowing that I'm dumb. To paraphrase Donald Rumsfeld, I have known unknowns.

My perspectives aren't purely naive perspectives (take a drink), they're now partially naive. I've noticed that the school analogy often gets used. I'd say that I've finished with orientation, and am ready to start going to school as a freshman. I see the look of fear on a first timer and think "oh yeah, I remember feeling like that".  I've even given advice, at least the best I'm capable of, which isn't much, but it's something. I've bombed, gotten laughs, and everything in between. My point is that I don't have the exact same viewpoint of someone just starting out, so I don't think I can capture that anymore. That's why I'd say that the original intent/mission of this thing is over or maybe fulfilled.

In other words, I can't relate the thoughts of a newborn baby, which was what I was originally essentially trying to do. Nor do I have enough experience or perspective to offer anything of actual value to the comedy community through this thing. No one really cares what I think. I'm an annoying 2 year old. Sure, I can walk and talk, but mostly I just make a mess, sometimes in my pants, and speak useless nonsense.

So I'm at a crossroads. Do I end this blog, or not?  I lean towards not. Why? Why not, is my answer. But I'll be going beyond what I originally intended, just writing whatever I want, reviews, musings, ideas, whatever. It'll still be dumb, but at least I'll kind of know it.

Nerves of noodles and stakes of stoodles

At my first open mics, I'd be extremely nervous. Nowadays, I'll usually get very, very nervous. I still clock my heart rate at about 120 when I know that I'm going to be up next. Once I start, I'll be less nervous, but only slightly. That's progress, I'd say. I'm sure that some excitement never truly goes away, nor would I want it to. If it ever got to that point, it's probably because I'm not enjoying myself, defeating at least part of the purpose of doing this in the first place. For me, the current level of anxiousness that I have is not a good thing. It prevents me from truly enjoying myself, and I'd like to have it ease up.

What's weird to me is that it's not always like this. There have been times where I'm perfectly fine. Some excitement, yes, but nothing that I'd view in a negative way, as opposed to being "too" nervous. I've found that the biggest determining factor is my perception of the stakes.

There are times when the room is especially crowded or every other comic is doing especially well. Both of those scenarios bring on the nerves. Also, there are comedians that I respect, and many times I'll be in the same room with them. If I think that they're funny, then it's important to me that they think I'm funny too. The tiny ego of a comic (or maybe it's just me, but I doubt it) thinks “I've definitely said some funny things, but that doesn't mean that I'M funny”, if that makes sense. Bottom line, the notion of needing approval is some sort of trigger of nerves for me.

Not surprisingly, the opposite scenario turns out to be the cure.  If I'm in a quiet/dead room, or everyone's bombing that night, or I'm in a room with people I'm not familiar with, then I generally don't really get nervous at all. Also not surprising, those tend to be the times I do best. I'll usually be more ok if I'm doing stuff that I've done before and had done well in the past. The problem with this is that I tend to not like repeating a joke in the same venue. Don't know why this is, it's not a self imposed “rule”. I think it's a subconscious thing where I feel the room will be bored hearing the same joke twice. This doesn't make any sense, because often the same people will be in different rooms, so the physical location is moot. People are weird, huh?

So the answer is obvious yet difficult for me. I just have to not care what anyone thinks of me when I get up there, yet care enough to put effort into trying to get a specific response (laughter) out of these same people. It seems like a paradox to me, but I'm sure that once I get some more comedy water under my bridge (?) that it'll make more sense.