Do It or Poo It!

It occurred to me that I might not go on eating binges if I would sit down and do some writing everyday. I'm supposed to be a writer and a comic and I only exercise my creative muscles under duress, which is the same condition under which I work on my abs. And my triceps - that's the muscle on my body that trying to tighten is akin to pursuing my comedy special on HBO- far from my reality and might never happen.

So let's keep it local for now. Two nights ago I found myself eating tablespoons full of vegan margarine coated with raw sugar until my stomach began to ache. I didn't even try to count the Weight Watchers points on it. And the whole time I'm horkin' down like some poor slob on a TLC show, I'm thinking about sitting down at my computer and writing. With every key I was not pressing, another chunk of Edens Buttery Spread (Light mind you!) I was pressing into my mouth, trying to shut up the signals coming from inside of me, that it was time to do the work. I have been plagued with the most noxious gas ever since, which are signals coming from without of me- "Warning! If you don't do the work, life really stinks!"

The Tears of a Clown

I am going to have to re-think this idea of doing something with my life. It's not my strong suit. I'm not cut out for the peaks, the valleys, the highs, the lows, the Laverns, the Shirleys, the severe depression or the oragasmic happiness - ANY OF IT!!! of following my dreams. I am pursuing one of my passions and I am a fucking wreck.

First off, the catharsis is going to kill me. I dug deep and wrote some jokes about growing up. Then I killed at several open mics with the material. The jokes were about my racist Grandma. (Which Grandma? I'm a white woman. Pick one) Apparently I unearthed some issues and I got really insecure about it a day or 2 before I went up at Zanie's in the Female Funnies showcase for my 3rd time. Was I thrown off my game with Succeeder's Remorse? (I made that emotional disorder up but I'm going to work it into the lexicon) I always want to feel confidant at Zanie's because it's one of the few windows of opportunities I have at this stage in the comedy game.

I didn't get to feel that way that night. I 'm not seasoned enough to know if it was the venue to do more controversial material but I was going to vomit if I had to do my older material. That is a growing pain of being a comic, honing the same material over and over again. but I felt very unsure about putting up new, more controversial material that worked in front of comics, in front of civilians. I had an alright set but it wasn't that euphoric experience I had at my first Zanie's showcase. I got my cake but didn't get to eat it. I ate something but it wasn't cake. You get the idea. And then the next night I was so wrung out and woke up sobbing in the middle of the night.

Lack of sleep, that is my dilemma.

I am not getting enough sleep. I get up too early, even when I get up late, I'm up too long and do too much and don't get it done anyway. I don't even make it to half the late open mics and still I am exhausted. I'm 41. If I'd have sorted this shit out earlier instead of playing tip the bottle, hide the salami and chase the dragon in my youth, I might get 8 or 9 solid  hours now because I'd already be a big comedy star, resigned to mediocrity or dead. It's also so my spiritual imbalance and lack of discipline. I do not try to make myself lay right down after I get home form an open mic. In bed next to me, where a man used to be, is a stack of books and notebooks that I read from or write in in the quiet of night. Very poetic. I'm far from poetry the next morning though, running around my apartment screaming, "Shit! Shit! Fuck" as I try to find my earrings and a hat to fit my giant head and my house keys with 30 seconds til the last bus I can get before I'm late to work arrives at my corner.

And I'm pissed off all the time. I got into an argument with an 86 year old woman at my office day job yesterday over a lost and found box. I would like to think when I'm physically and spiritually fit, that I know better, that she is old and tired and cranky and gets a pass. Afterall, I'm not as old, but tired and cranky. (In my defense, she was a real bitch.)
And I'm dehydrated. Water, water everywhere and coffee has water in it right?

My pee clinks in the toilet bowl like ice cubes in a glass.

And then last night I had a realization -
people who do nothing and do not look deep within themselves have nothing to say so do other things and look deeply and tell people about it. Keep digging.

and I learned a lesson-
It's tough to get laughs from the same set of tired comics that were at the last open mic so don't sweat the silence.

 and I loosened up-
I ranted at the host, I made fun of myself and kept a smile on my face.

 I drank water  and slept in.

This morning I was rewarded with awareness of some goals I have for myself that I had forgotten in the pressure and anxiety of these past few days of emotional upheaval. I wanted to give up like the old days.

 But because I hung in there, I got to see a glimmer of hope.

And I got see the truth: That old lady is still a bitch.

Jokes and Notes

Tonight I went to an open mic at a club on the South side of Chicago called Jokes and Notes. I didn't tell many jokes and I got alotta' notes. It was not my best comedy night ever.

I'm about a year and half in to stand up and I am miles better than I was when I started. Oh but I have so much to learn yet.

I don't know if what I did was bomb but I started off rocky, the kind of start akin to taking a step and in mid-step you know you are going to sprain your ankle but you are powerless to stop the step and BAM! You are down on the sidewalk, your purse spilling all over the sidewalk, your tampons flying all over the place. I tried right away to relate with the nearly all black audience and talk about Prince and his Controversy album. Silence. Apparently Prince does not quite hold the court he used to in the 1980's. Prince might be the only black person talking about Prince anymore. Then I launched into material not on what I am now convinced would've have been the perfect set-list and I watched my jokes splat like bugs on a windshield.

I was unaware that as a newcomer to J & N I only got 3 minutes. If I'd have known I got so short a set I would've crammed more jokes in there. Actually, I suspect that's bullshit. It was my night to eat a bit of it.  I thought I got 5 minutes and when the red light above the DJ went on, I thought I was getting pulled early because I was stinking up the club. I froze like a deer in the headlights. So then I stood there trying to assess whether or not I bombed and the DJ felt compelled to play a hip-hop song I am unfamiliar with but I think the chorus goes something like, "Bitch, get out the way! Bitch, get out the way!..." Do you know it?

As I went off the stage, one woman was actually hiding her face as I walked by and not because she was a burn victim. It was a very long, Dickensian walk to the gallows. Fuck.

Then the owner came over and told me I got the music because I didn't respect the light. It was after that I found out  from another comic what my time was supposed to be. A comedy of errors without, you know, the comedy. But everyone had a good laugh at me as I took the 10 hour, 25 mile walk back to my seat.

The current host of Jokes and Notes on Wednesday is a comic named Marlon Mitchell, a very cute, personable, self-effacing comic who has a very comfortable, approachable style and an arsenal of stories about women he tried to date and the characters in his neighborhood. A very likable emcee, occasionally and necessarily going a bit far with his humor. The perfect host in his element. He did a lot of time at the top and in between comics and killed all evening.  The host of a good room is very seductive and you want to be a part of their charisma, be familiar too. But familiarity is crafted, earned, the luck of the draw on the list and often a fluke. I made the mistake of acting familiar instead of being myself and following my instinct about my set-list and it didn't work. Marlon was funny and the audience loved him and I wanted the same thing. But I didn't pop out of the audience's vagina so love was not a given but a privilege  I haven't earned there yet.

On the ride home, my fellow comic and friend Bridgett and I talked about the room at Jokes and Notes, which she's done a lot. We talked about what the audience at Jokes and Notes likes versus the audience at Jay Harris' showcase,  Jerry's Joke Jam,  likes and how we are trying to find our audiences for our voices as comics. I'm still finding my voice.

I'm learning that some comics will always do their comedy and never alter their work for their audience and others will try to  read the audience and tailor their set to the crowd. I don't know what's best but I suspect like most things, it's in the middle.

The material has to be strong no matter what, but delivery, timing and tone are all a part of a killer set.

I was riding high this morning. I got up early, got a clip on YouTube and e-mailed someone about a gig. I wrote in or on my blog, however you get the pieces there, and got so many compliments on my clip from friends on Facebook. I sensed a storm cloud brewing on the bus ride home but I went up at the open mic anyway and learned many valuable lessons.

Yay, pain.

The real test was walking out of the club with the stink of a bad set on me and still be polite and be a trooper. And I had to do this sober and smoke-free. Ugh. I wanted a smoke so badly for 3 seconds.

I was very grateful that some other comics invited me to their rooms and gave their cards as I left tonight. And earlier today, all those friends on Facebook that complimented me and gave me all those, "You Go Girls"!after viewing my clip,  I am so grateful for them because they reinforced what I know- that I am a good comic. I am grateful to be able to make people laugh. I am grateful to be a good comic who had a bad night who will over-think it but is lucky to be able to get to over-think about and do what she loves.

The Insides of a New Comic

I wish there was a support group for comics.

Sure there is AA and NA, for which a lot of comics qualify. I'm wanting one where I could go and hear and share about the highs and lows of Comedians pursuing their craft,

Last night I performed in a talent contest as part of a fund-raising event. I did a 10 minute stand-up set, combining my regular set with some cause-specific bits I came up with for the event. The material really landed and I commanded the stage. It wasn't a perfect set- I could have edited a few jokes better- but I killed. I placed third for a prize of $25, which is awesome. But the real prize was the rolling laughter from the audience.

 And today comes the back-lash, feelings of shame like I pulled my dress over my head at the company Christmas party and tried to shoot gherkins from my goody-bag.

What is that?

Performer's remorse I guess.

There are more than a few artists I can call to talk about this with. I felt more like lead as the day wore on and couldn't stomach going to an open mic tonight that I promised myself I would go to. I've been trying to hit more open mics, or do several in a row and see shows. All I managed to do for my comedy career today was catch up on "Last Comic Standing", which I learn a lot from. The best part of the show for me sometimes are the little spots between bits when the comics say how they have been doing comedy for so long and have wanted to quit and are broke and have been kicked in the teeth and eat bowls of rejection.

I have been performing various forms of comedy for 13 years, but Stand- Up,  just a year. I hope to get kicked in the teeth by it for many years to come.

I am not basking in other peoples misery. I am comforted by commiseration.

That's what I try to bring to my audience I suppose. I did last night. It felt wonderful!  Now I am back down here in the dumps, where I collect most of my material. Hey look over there! I see a few Comics I know.

The Ha Ha Hotties

It would be awesome if I were sitting around at a table in a diner right now, talking about comedy with comics. Instead, I am typing on my old, used computer, my cigarette smoke mingling with the pleasant smell of a Glade scented candle, the "Monk" series finale playing in the background.

I just got home from performing in an all-female stand-up comedy showcase called, "The Ha-Ha-Hotties" produced by The Edge Comedy Club at the Chicago Center for the Performing Arts.

It's the second time I've done this showcase. I love it because there is a great comfort in performing with the same gender. Age and weight jokes are parr for the course. But even though I find it comforting, I am still challenged by the other comics, which is so healthy. And like all healthy things, I hate them when I am experiencing them, but so grateful for the results.

 I was intimidated by the looks and ages of the other women, but at the end of it all, it was the range of material that scared and inspried me. Ultimately, it was all the other comic's material that made me laugh.

I've been doing performing stand-up comedy consistently since this summer, since July or August. I am such a newcomer, such a babe, an old, tattooed babe, in the comedy woods.

This past June I turned 40 years old and for the year leading up to my 40th birthday, the idea of trying stand-up comedy was in my brain. The thought turned into a fear, an obsession and after some mulling it-over, prayer and counsel with friends, it turned into a goal. I've never had a real goal in my life. I've done some things, and finished some of those things even. But outside of a man or getting wasted, I've rarely pursued much.. Mostly I've fallen into things I like. But I'm funny, and I've come to realize that this is my skill and it's almost my duty to try to craft, shape and deliver being funny.

I wish my life were different in many ways as I pursue being a stand-up comic. I wish I didn't have to work a day job so I could stay up late and go to more open mics. I wish I had started younger. I wish I didn't have to wrestle with my own immaturities of making studio time for my writing. But I cannot change these things, aside from getting fired from a job I am lucky to have and often enjoy. I wish I would have watched the "Monk" series when it first aired on television.

I have the stuff to try it right now. I just pray that I increase the momentum and go somewhere with it, arriving just as I am.

Really fucking funny.