People often ask me why I came to the US. It is pretty simple, I fancied myself a talented standup comedian and writer. I figured I would come down to New York and it would not be long before my expertise was recognized and I would be the next big thing.
I haven’t become the next big thing entertainment wise. I have however gotten bigger around the waist. Most of my adult life I have spent amassing material, a lot of it about the people I have met. The people that most others avoid, I have to get closer. Not necessarily to see what makes them tick, but to listen to them tick. To record them for posterity, for I feel that the greatest loss when someone dies is their stories that will never be told again. They are not downloaded to some hard drive in the afterlife and shipped back to the living. No, they are lost, unless someone else records them.
So far I have recorded a large amount of material, much of it since I came to the United States of America, I just haven’t found a way to find my audience.
Possibly I will be able to do this through writing. As I just can’t seem to keep the performances rolling. Mostly because audiences made up of friends and acquaintances quickly dries up. When I first thought of coming to New York, I figured being funny and having a good five minutes was the most important thing.
Being funny is handy, having lots of friends to come see you is much more important, at least in New York. Most shows in New York City are bringer shows. You have to bring a required number of friends in order to perform. These friends all have to pay cover charges, and buy two drinks minimum. They also have to have strong stomachs as they will have to sit through roughly 18 horrible comics before they get to see you. The only club where you don’t have to bring anyone is or was the legendary Comic Strip. To perform on their amateur night you need only line up every 6months, get a number, which corresponds to a date within the next 6 months. Where you get to perform your five minutes.
Lining up in the driving rain was not fun, but it is easier than finding from 5 to 20 friends to get on stage. When the clock hit 5pm we were ushered in, and given slips of paper with numbers on it. My number placed me to perform roughly 5 months down the road. I did my best to prepare for it. I worked my best five minutes at some coffee shops, I ran my set list backwards and forwards through my head. I felt ready, nervous but ready.
The show starts at 8pm. I arrive at the Comic Strip around 7:30. The woman in charge of the show, Starla I think, took us all aside and told us the rules. Five minutes, watch for the light, don’t go over time, and listen for your name. Then she read the order the comics would be going up in. My name was not read out. I told her, she said, “Well you are not on this show.” I showed her my stub from 5 months before. She looked really pissed and just said, “Listen for your name.”
It has been a long day. I had a root canal that morning and my tooth was throbbing giving me quite a headache. I did not want to take any painkillers though, I figuring performing would give me the rush I needed to push through.
There were 8 other comedians, I watched them go up one by one. The first guy, the audience was receptive, he did well. At about amateur comedian number 5 I started to get myself ready, figuring I would be up within the next half hour. It was now 9:30 pm.
The MC announced that a comedian who was doing his first HBO special had just dropped in and was coming to the stage. I forget his name, but he was very funny and he did his whole 45 minutes and it rocked the house. Cool, that is good energy, I am looking forward to catching some of it. The next three amateurs perform, the audience is a little tired it is now close to 11pm, I feel good I’m ready. I think I can get them. The MC announces that Dom Irrera is coming to the stage.
Dom Irrera is very funny, doing excellent impressions and jokes at a fast pace, he is a very accomplished and impressive comedian. He also performs for 90 fun-filled minutes. The MC announces my name, it is now 1am on a weeknight. I hit them with my best joke. Silence, I hit them with my surefire second joke, even more silence. I push myself and finish my act. I don’t think one person laughed. The night is over.
I have bombed. I can blame my tooth, I can blame the late hour, but in the end you can only blame yourself. I felt like a loser. Starla took me aside and gave me a quick rundown on my act. “Your jokes are too long, there is no punch line and your timing is off.” I thanked her and left with another comedian that had come to watch. Joe was his name. I felt defeated, not the defeated like, I’ll show them I’ll get better and show them next time. Just defeated. I think it was my last performance in a Comedy Club in New York City.
It still haunts me. There was a way to get the audience, I just didn’t find it. Hockey is hard but comedy is harder. That was over 8 years ago. I have performed since then, mostly one man shows and in my underwear (because Chicks Dig it), but I have never really done much stand up.
For now I'll stick to blogging and writing.
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1 comment:
I couldn't imagine a line of work (in the performing arts) that takes more balls than being a stand-up comic.
If you die in front of an audience, they are rejecting you; rudely, personally, and to your very core. It's not like you're playing a piano or acting in some crappy musical. You stepped in front of that brick wall, thoroughly convinced that you're funny, and they told you "No, you are not funny, Douche Bag."
And that hurts. Because who doesn't want to be funny? Can't sing? Poorly dressed? Dreadful in the sack? I can (and do) live with all of those. But not funny? That's a real kick in the yam-bag.
At least you tried.
And you are funny. Very funny.
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