Right?

As the representation of youth in Heavy Hitters (in spite of the fact that I have the least amount of hair amongst the staff, I’m also the youngest), I have been tasked to discuss what I consider to be the most sage advice I’ve ever received while performing comedy.  And the truth is that every comic who ever gave me advice and really knew what they were talking about always closed their piece with something along the lines of, “no matter what I say, just keep writing and keep getting up.  That’s the only way to do it.”  First of all, a veteran telling me to keep getting up makes me think, “damn, I belong here.”  But mostly, I can appreciate his or her honesty regarding the fact that it takes work, and it’s important that all of us remember that no matter what, we have to keep going up. 

Even if everything we wrote in the last six months totally sucks, and yes, I’ve been there.  But I think the point of “keep writing, keep going up” implicitly means that you should trust yourself.  Don’t give up and trust yourself.  That’s about the best anyone has done for me.  I try to tell myself that every time I wake up in the morning and I feel like spending the day in bed, and also just before that voice pops in my head before a set reminding me that I’m not funny and any laugh I hear is based on sheer luck.  Sometimes slurpees with rum can do the same thing for my nerves, but mainly it’s that lame mantra. 

Another pearl of wisdom on which I rely is one that excuses my youth: a comic generally takes four or five years to really find his or her voice.  Obviously, this is more of a generalization than a time timetable, but I like it.  It gives me a goal and a cushion to work towards.  I’m not finished with my sophomore year on stage, and I know I haven’t written my best joke and have yet to perform my best set.  Some say that’s an awareness that will help me down the road, and I am to understand awareness in comedy terms means the ability to live in the moment. Someone told me.  I don’t remember his or her name.  But they went on describing how important it is to sometimes forget the script and just focus and getting over with that crowd at that moment because that is what keeps things fresh for us.  It makes comedy fun for us again no matter how often we’ve performed the same jokes, and we can translate that to our crowd at our best capacity. 

Now that I read this, it seems like I’m listing off things comics should do, and I don’t mean to be so didactic.  I’m still at that point where I’m really just writing and going up.  I have no right to tell anyone what to do.  I might also just be subconsciously getting you out to shows so I can say you came to meet my bringer quota.  So yeah, just keep writing and keep going up.

Do We Need Them?

I’m not quite sure what to contribute to a website about comedy.  I’ve only been doing it for less then two years now and all I can say is that there is very little advice to give or receive, although the best advice for anyone is to learn to live in the moment.  This far in, I’m gaining a better understanding of writing good jokes of waiting for the laughs and listening to crowds to discover what works, what doesn’t work, and how to redact something to manipulate the crowd reaction that you want, but a lot of that is generated solely by trying something out on a crowd which is why honestly, I find open mics to be minefields of treachery. 

I recall the first time I played an open mic (my dumbass managed to get booked into shows before trying jokes out on people who didn’t have to pay), I had to wait almost three hours before I got up and my impatience in turn got me drunk so when I hit the stage, anger just poured out of me and I just went off about the “real” purpose of standup or some bullshit of the same vein.  I just let loose the most ridiculous expletive remarks trying to relate standup to the meaning of life, and then when I got off stage, the host tried to jab with me about my behavior and I shanked him with a rude retort.  Not my proudest moment, but an example of what I mean. 

Open mics produce nothing but horrible experiences, at least for me.  Unless I get up within the first ten or even fifteen people, I along with many other comics in the crowd begin to lose interest.  Then I second-guess myself regarding the brilliant bit I wrote about restaurants serving tap water, mainly because it’s not a dick joke and I wanted to challenge myself.  Half way through the marathon of mortem, I consider leaving.  I go to the bathroom even though I don’t need to use it, look at the front door and then valiantly make my way back to my seat.  I sit and listen, then I sit and listen some more, as I realize about four or five people in a row never signed up for the show and are just friends with the producer so he bumps them ahead of everyone else who raced to fucking Westwood after a ten hour work day.  Now I’m not even sure I’m writing anything new:  I think a lot of this is what I ranted verbatim about open mics at the open mic.  Perhaps I’m just a poor sport.  I didn’t have a lot of confidence in untested material and really, why the hell would I want to try shit out in front of peers?  I know using untested material is never a good idea when people pay good money, but I don’t want to suck in front of other comics.  That forever seals within them that I suck.  I need a crowd of strangers, who know squat about comedy, not my contemporaries who know enough to tell that I suck not because of the material, but mainly because of my obvious rookie demeanor. 

Perhaps that is a bit callous when discussing something as communal as comedy.  Friends go on the road with each other.  Friends book each other for gigs.  Comedy is made up of the best people on the planet and of course I want them as friends, but in order to gain that, I think I need to figure out another way to earn their respect, no?