I’m embarrassed to post things on the Internet. I’ll admit it. Each time I send something in, or make a Facebook update, or log into Twitter, it doesn’t matter how, I always feel a little self-conscious about it. I don’t like feeling obligated to tell everyone what’s going on all the time. I know that’s a little odd for a comic to admit, being that I’m supposed to readily tell you everything that’s in my head, but for me, that’s on stage. I also know that I hardly ever update my column, something that’s an outlet that some very good friends gave me as both a favor and a responsibility, one that I should want to fulfill. It’s easy to say that I’m embarrassed to tell you guys about myself. I could just as easily say that I’m lazy, which is also true. I’ve been playing quite a few shows lately and really haven’t had much time to myself, but really, how long does one of these posts take? You know damn well this is the only draft I wrote and just immediately sent this in with the arrogant fervor of a know it all prick. Maybe that’s it: I really just think I’m too good for this shit, and I compensate for that with an inferiority complex. Yes, I’m embarrassed to put myself out there. I compensate for that with standup. I compensate for everything with standup. It gives me purpose. I really just want to be a good comic, and then let that dictate my place in wherever I am in the universe. Hopefully, nobody there asks me to do my act for them in public when I’m not on stage. I fucking hate that shit. I really do. Why do I have to do it? Am I not good enough to do it, or should the person asking me to stop what I’m doing to perform for them on the spot have the respect to see me in the proper environment? Granted, if you’re a hot woman, I’m probably already using my material in the conversation that we’re having. But for the rest of you, really, and though I can’t speak for other people, I would rather you see me on stage. I think that’s only fair. Anyway, I hope you guys have a great 4th of July. Thanks a lot for reading, and I’ll see you on the circuit.

I’ve realized that a lot of my articles have to do with problems I have in standup as a new comedian. Open mics, bringer shows, last comic standing, cliché jokes, parents threatening to cut me off, you know, all that shit. But what about the accomplishments? What about the good times? What can I learn from those? Recently, I had a really great set and even earned some cash. Nothing big, barely covered parking, but it was nice. On the way to the show, a girl I’d been seeing broke up with me over text message and I not only managed not to let it bother me, but I also turned it into my first joke. The whole thing felt like a quelling of the usual voices in my head that question my every action. But later on, the questions came.

Was it just because the room was warm? Was it because I went up over an hour into the show? Did the last guy do so well, that as long as I didn’t forget anything, I was okay? Did it even matter? I don’t know if you can relate to this, but I am a very harsh critic and very capable of destroying myself at any moment. The slightest bit of doubt can put me in an introverted state where I just walk circles in my head. So as soon as I started evaluating the night, I forgot about good: the income, the laughs, the comfort. Instead, I decided that anyone with any joke could have killed in that setting. Maybe that’s true, but it’s also that self-doubt that makes me not want to go to open mics to try out new things. It’s what makes me wonder if I’m even doing the right thing, AND THIS FROM A GOOD NIGHT!

Another cliché I’m running into in my writing is the ending always being the same: keep working, keep writing, and keep showing up. It’s as though each thesis is “What the fuck am I doing?” and each conclusion is, “Quit my bitching; go back to work.” But maybe that’s a good thing. I need to defy those internal self-defeating voices if I ever want to have another killer paid set. Also, I should probably just quit my bitching. See you on the circuit!

Buddy Hackett

A friend from work told me about how he got to see Buddy Hackett perform in Vegas for the last time in 1996. I was confused because I didn’t think he had died until recently. After doing some research, or checking Wikipedia as it’s known more colloquially, I discovered Buddy Hackett had quit performing regularly in ’96 due to stage fright. Stage fright?! How is that possible? This is Buddy Hackett: purveyor of blue! You know, The Love Bug guy (whoever worked at Disney at the time knew how to cast against type)! How could THE Buddy Hackett suffer from stage fright? He claimed it came from the side effects of a surgery he had, and that makes sense, but still. The experience alone means I should be a better comic in my seventies than I am now in my twenties, and not just because of the old people jokes.

The thing is that I still get butterflies in my stomach before I get up. I was sort of hoping they’d dissipate by now after two years, and while they don’t come on as strong as they used to, they still happen. This is another thing experience should take care of, but I’ve also heard long time comics say that they still get the nerves, performance anxiety, stage fright, whatever you want to call it. A lot of those guys say that the day they don’t get that feeling is probably their last day performing, because it means that standup doesn’t mean anything to them anymore. Physically, they are not compelled.

For Christ’s sake, I hope that’s not true. Jesus, how many articles in a row is this where I speak about the shitty sides of comedy? Between confidence, nerves, open mics, bringer shows, cliché jokes, exactly what the hell am I supposed to find? I’m hoping for a point of comfort. I’m getting there, again, with time, effort, and patience. It just scared me that Buddy Hackett of all the people had something as debilitating as stage fright hit him so late in his career. As I mentioned earlier, he associated it with side effects of surgery. So, once again, the conclusion I’ve drawn is that I should probably just quit my bitching and get back to work. See you on the circuit!

Confidence

In the last few weeks, I’ve hit a sort of rut that can only be defined as a serious lack of self-confidence. I get incredibly frustrated over my lack of perfection when I’m on stage, but I keep forgetting that perfection is not the point. It’s about the process and the development of my stage persona. But I want the answer and I want the answer now! To which question? Obviously, how can I reach my creative zenith? I know this sounds like bullshit, but I really want to discover is that which makes me unique.

I can’t put that search on overkill: I find I take comedy way too seriously on those nights when it’s just not quite there. Not necessarily a bomb, but not 100%. I’m a control freak, but I have to remember that there are so many variables that it’s difficult enough just to balance them all, from the material to the audience. Seeking perfectionism not only means that I’m chronically dissatisfied, but it also means that I’m not aware of what’s going on around me. My act is no longer organic if I place too much weight on getting it just perfect. I have to remember to just relax, trust myself, and be there. Who knows: perhaps if I applied that mode of thinking to women, I’d get laid more often. Probably not, but a man can dream.

What I’m looking for is something to which there is no finite answer, at least not one that anyone else can just “give” me. I’ll have to find it myself with the confidence to do so. Again, this might all just be bullshit. All comics possess confidence, and even I show it each time I get up. Now I just have to get used to trusting myself at all times as though it were normal.

Law School

As a comedian, I face a lot of doubt. People hear I’m a comedian and immediately beg me to do my act for them. My family is pretty much convinced I’ve given up on every talent I’ve ever previously displayed in life, from academics to music. So whenever my family asks me about my comedy career, and I’m honest about how much of a struggle it is, they always suggest I go to law school. And this is probably due to my lack of age and experience, but when did law school become the academic answer to the perennial question, “What the hell am I doing with my life?”

If you’re considering going to law school, don’t do it, no matter how much your family pressures you. I used to work at a law firm, and it scammed its customers into purchasing Home Loan Modifications. The scam worked in a way that the firm would take people’s money, and not process any of their paperwork. Enter me, the schmuck looking to make a buck. I was hired under the guise of a high paying salary. Never mind the bleeding I had to stop.

The clients were dicked around so much that one client threatened to bring me, the newly hired customer service agent, to the Federal Trade Commission. I treated the incident positively: I got to learn what the Federal Trade Commission was, and also that the client was full of shit. The last time I was home, I told my family this whole story and all they had to say was, “Well, has this helped you consider going to law school?” Have you been listening to me? I just told you about the absolute worst professional experience of my life, and now, you want me to get a degree in it.”

Being Biracial

I know this sounds next to impossible, but I’m trying to rid my act of cliché trite material. That’s not to say lowbrow, as I honestly don’t think that’s the problem. It’s more the tired use of a joke than its FCC classification. No matter the topic, from traffic to sex, if the joke can be personalized somehow, that’s what makes it honest and true, and that’s what makes it funny. No matter what the bit is about, if it displays something truly about who you are, then the crowd will get behind you. Obviously it still has to be funny, but it won’t be misinterpreted as stupid either. I’m starting to feel that disconnection, that loss of self, in the material I would classify as racial jokes.

I’m Puerto Rican and Jewish, and that makes people think I’m going to joke about how I’m biracial and thus follow a very beaten path, but I don’t need to, and I don’t want to. Biracial jokes are formulaic in that they take two opposing stereotypes, one from each parent’s race, and place them together in perfect synergy, but that’s not why I don’t want to tell them. And it’s not because Juan Epstein from “WELCOME BACK KOTTER” was Puerto Rican and Jewish thirty years ago, either. No, the real reason I don’t need to tell biracial jokes is because I’m from Texas. That’s right: My mother is Puerto Rican, my father is Jewish, and they conceived, bore, and raised me in El Paso, Texas. And I can tell that no one reading this column really harbors any prejudices towards me, because if you did, your head would have exploded by now.

Jackass Time

I can’t believe it’s already Friday. Where does all the time go? I haven’t been able to get up in almost a week and I’m missing the stage. I spend most of my day in front of my computer working for the man and my nights, well, that’s when I get an opportunity to get up in front of people and act like a total jackass — and I’m missing it.

You see, I’ve had to put away my comic card this week because I’ve been busy on another endeavor. It’s a lawsuit against my former employer and it’s not looking good. Basically, I’m suing the CEO personally instead of the company, on grounds that the company is not legitimate. The Judge kindly reminded me that she’ll “…be the judge of whether the company is legitimate or not.” Ouch! I also kept referring to her as “ma’am” instead of “Your Honor.” I’m not scoring points with the Judge at the moment.

I spent the past week preparing for this case, which has left absolutely no time to write jokes. Well, I’ve written a few jokes that I liked, but I haven’t had my jackass time and it’s killing me.

I like calling open mics my “jackass time,” because it gives me a chance to make noise and create stupid analogies all while wearing a silly face and dancing a little dance. Just kidding, I don’t actually do that sort of stuff in my act, but I’d like to. I probably should. Shit, it’s my jackass time.

All kidding aside, I’ve spent way too much time getting this stupid case together – which, at the end of the day, was a complete waste of time. The good news is it’s all over. Starting tonight, I will reclaim what’s rightfully mine, and that is any stage with a microphone and an amplifier. If I ever go homeless, I will have to make sure my shopping cart is equipped with plenty of notepads, pens, a microphone, amplifier and a diehard battery to power it all.

I think one of the reasons why I’m so attracted to standup is that it helps me keep my head straight. I really hate my day job. It robs me of all my time and energy and my will to live. You see, I log reality TV footage all day. The life of a reality star is simply too boring and is completely influenced by writers, editors, producers and network heads. Sometimes, I watch the footage and ask myself, who has it worse?

Open Mic Night

I decided this is the year that I’m going to throw myself to the wolves and go to as many open mics as humanly possible. I’ve rested on my laurels for way too long. I’ve become too comfortable in my routine and while my act has matured from “long-form storytelling” to quicker, tighter, jokes, I still feel as though I haven’t yet tap into my real comic voice.

You know that voice that truly represents what you’re thinking and feeling at that very moment on stage. For me, it comes out from time-to-time during my infrequent adlibs, but it’s simply not often enough. I feel like I rely too much on my written material and not enough focus on exploring new ideas while on stage in the moment. This is something I am working on at open mics.

The open mic circuit is a rough one and the challenge lies in being able to attract focus from the audience. Sometimes, I feel as if someone in the audience sent out a memo before the show starts stating “whatever you do, DON’T LAUGH!” I don’t know why, but it just feels that way. It makes it virtually impossible to measure the quality of your jokes. I know this is just another example of my lack of experience. This is another thing I’m working on at open mics. Get over it and just be funny!

Everyone with whom I discuss the topic of “open mics” says the same thing: don’t let an open mike help you decide whether or not you’re any good. If anything, it’s best to use that environment to get used to bombing. Bombing helps you grow. It helps you become a stronger comedian. You can’t know what’s funny until you know what’s NOT funny. This is just another thing I’m working on at open mics. I need to become more comfortable with silence, because from there comes focus.

The Gift

I’m a young comedian and I constantly feel like I’m being taken advantage of. I also get the feeling that show promoters don’t really have my back. Don’t get me wrong, I have met a few promoters that actually care, while others are simply more concerned with how much money they make.

There are so many promoters who really have no business running a show. Recently, I was screwed over by this one promoter in a major room in Los Angeles. He put together a lineup of ten comedians, all with varying set times which were based on the number of people they brought. Those who brought more people got to choose the best spots. Unfortunately, many of them simply were not prepared for a show of this crowd size. What I didn’t know was that many of these “comedians” were performing for the first time.

The laughs were not constant and in the middle of a very uneven show, the promoter went up and performed for HALF AN HOUR! Not only that: HE SUCKED. The promoter drove most of the audience away and before those of us who got screwed by the lineup could complain, HE LEFT!

After showing up before 8 p.m., I finally got up at a quarter to midnight in a 200 seat theater to perform for 20, count ‘em 20 exhausted patrons who at this point felt they would probably be better off jamming their fingers in their eyes than laugh. It’s cool though. My “Closer” is centered on eye gouging, so I was able to salvage something.

Naturally, I was quite pissed, but a week later, the same guy offered me another spot in another free cover show. Thinking that he was making up for his mistake, I said yes. A couple days before the show, I started to get a little paranoid about this guy and his so called free shows. So, I texted him and ask, “Hey man, I just wanted to make sure the show is on for Tuesday at 9 p.m. and I wanted to confirm that I was on the lineup.” He replies, “Yes, absolutely, you are definitely in. 100%, slam dunk, no doubt, you are confirmed in my lineup. I will see you on Tuesday. Oh, by the way… Who is this?” I’m 100% in the show and you have no idea who this is: that doesn’t even make any sense!

Well, that Tuesday came around, and I was able to vent my frustrations when it came time for my set. While I’m sure the promoter would not have been happy to hear what I had to say, it really doesn’t matter, because he didn’t even show up for his own show. Typical! I suppose the people at the show dug it. They were laughing and they even invited me back.
I almost owe the jerk promoter a debt of gratitude, because he injected some life into an act that I felt had been losing steam. A lot of what I perform comes from frustration, and while nothing is frustrating about an act that works, nothing is more frustrating than working with lame promoters. He handed me an ironic gift in the form of disappointment, which I have been fortunate enough to put into words on stage. What the hell am I saying? Screw that guy!

Ben Kronberg

I was nervous about interviewing Ben Kronberg, a touring road comic.  If any of you know Ben personally, you know how silly it sounds to ever be worried about a conversation with him but I have never interviewed another comic and it felt strange forcing a conversation for work.  We agreed to meet at the Improv before one of his shows, and as I walked up to Ben and his friends, I quickly said hello and introduced myself to those who I didn’t know to deflect any suspicions of predetermination.  And it worked:  Ben went along with the “just here to see Ben,” line I gave the group and I was saved from irrational anxiety.  Once the group cleared, Ben and I headed inside to grab a drink from Eddie at the bar and have a seat.  I made one obvious reporter move in that I used my iPhone to record our conversation but Ben was cool with it.  I think I spent most of the time bullshitting, thinking of topics off the top of my head and luckily Ben went along until we got to something pertinent:  a party he might miss.
            
“I might be missing out on the fuck of my lifetime, but I’ve already had the fuck of my lifetime.”
             
“What is the fuck of your lifetime?”
             
“Comedy.  I don’t want to fuck every night but I want to tell jokes every night.  I can’t wait to get done fucking so I can tell the girl I’m fucking the new ideas I have for jokes.”
             
Ben somehow linked his primal need for comedy to discuss his imminent move to New York from LA because he felt that New York offers a more consistent environment free from bringer shows and necessary parlay.
            
“Something about New York comedy, it’s sexier.  It’s not about what you’ve been on or what else you’re doing, but your act itself.”
             
He also revealed something startling and honest to which I could relate: 
             
“When I’m at the Improv, everyone is all ‘fuck Comedy Store,’ and when I’m at the Comedy Store, everyone is all ‘fuck Improv,’ and when I’m at UCB, everyone is all ‘fuck mainstream.’  It’s like I have to be friends with everyone yet loyal to no one.”
             
The LA comedy scene almost forces a distain for all other clubs except the one you’re performing at the moment.  As a newbie comedian sort of forcing myself into these shows as opposed to the other way around, sometimes I can feel the indoctrination from one venue to another.
             
Then Ben went into a piece of material he wanted to use, a funny line he wanted to represent with a variety of accents to give the line new meaning each time it was uttered.  I won’t ruin his joke by sharing it but we fired back and forth about how bits like these need review through friends because a joke needs to gestate, sometimes sort of flow through different minds and different lungs before it can grow from a “fetus into a small child, which we can then put to work in the factory, until someone says that’s not your baby, you stole that baby!” 

Even Ben has been accused of stealing a joke.  We all have, and the worst is when you can prove you wrote it first but it doesn’t matter because you told your joke in a club, and the A-List movie star used it on screen.
            
“I argue that it’s all circumstantial and it’s not the same.  This girl at a club came up to me and said one joke of mine that I’ve used since Denver, where I grew up.  It’s a very simple joke, clean joke, it’s the same as in this movie, and she said she was in the scene as an actress.  I’ve never seen the movie but what are the odds that someone in the scene recognized this joke I’ve been doing forever?  So that’s an executive decision that I have to make, is it going to matter if I say that joke at a college right now or on the road?  Do I feel like I’m doing something really bad because we just so happen to come up with the same joke?  I don’t care:  I gotta do my own hustle.  I do my own version of the moonwalk.”
             
Ben admitted to me the joke in question descends from a guilty pleasure of his:  word play.
             
“Sometimes I do word play jokes and I get groans or like ‘Ugh, pun!’  It’s like a fine line but sometimes that’s all I can think of because it’s my favorite thing.  I want to stick with it and I don’t want to let it go.”
             
As obvious and lame as it is, I asked my next question without a shred of transition.
             
“How did you put yourself into a position where you could do standup everyday?”
             
“I first started out thinking, ‘I want to do this every week,’ then I thought ‘I want to do this as much as I can during the week,’ then it went to ‘I want to do this everyday.’  My free time, my night time, that’s what I would do.  I started when I was 26 so going out was easy, being able to drink and go to shows helps.’”
             
We soon lost our direction, probably for the better.  Ben was going up in his show first and probably needed to focus on something that put his mind at ease.
             
“There’s this place in Denver called the Rio Grande, it’s an in-state franchise, they have a three margarita limit. There bar is only open until ten because their drinks are so strong that people would get DUIs or die if they finished their night there.  They have the best chips and salsa; the salsa is made fresh.  The chips are fresh made from corn tortilla.  It’s the best combo:  those margaritas with the chips and salsa are the best.”
             
Soon after, it was time for Ben to perform.  He was up in the late show that was booked by a Tonight Show standup booker.  Unfortunately, the show did not draw the raucous crowd that the early one did.  Sometimes, we all face crowds that just don’t want to laugh, but whose fault is it?  It’s not like this is a bringer, this a professional show booked by a professional promoter featuring professional comedians.  Whatever the case, the promoter was not happy with what he saw, and soon left just a few acts into the show.  Ben went first and performed admirably against the cold crowd, but we are all our own harshest judges.
             
“Well, I’m not going to be on the Tonight Show.”
             
I disagree.  If any of you get the pleasure of seeing Ben perform, you will too.  After the show, we left the club and walked to our cars to call it a night and I asked him the question I think I’ll ask everyone throughout my pursuit of funny.
             
“Do you think comedians should seek other means of vocation, like acting or writing, or should they concentrate on standup?”
             
“There are plenty of careers in standup.  Stick with it.  Even if you don’t perform forever, there are guys out there who are on salary, not per minute or per joke, but are on salary for big time touring comedians who are there for a support system.  There are plenty of opportunities in the standup world as long as you keep doing it.  There are other things other than standup to do to make money, and you can keep doing standup while you do them because they’re involved in this business.”
             
That’s all I needed to hear.

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?