I have been doing this stand up stuff since I was 17 seriously. I have been getting regularly paid for it since I was 19, so that's pretty okay, I guess, considering I only had about 10 times on stage from the time I was 17 until I was 19. That's not too bad. I was able to pay for a car in cash by the time I was 23. That felt really good. It was a Chevy Sprint, but it was mine. ALL three cylinders.
In all of that time I probably have a full 40 hours of material written that is usable, and I've been on stage a total of 2,315 times. I know this because I've just checked my calendar program. It verified every date I did for 20 years. For some years, I was working every night, two or three shows a night, while other years, it was a little sparse. But it adds up. That's a lot of stage time, and that gave me a lot of time to work out what material was working well for me, and what was toilet matter.
I have some video. I didn't keep a lot of video materials. I have some of it on 1 inch because the quality of the larger size was so much better when that was the way they recorded it. The original I have from MTV is still on SVHS, and the the one from Carolines is on 3/4". I have yet to transfer that to DVD. That's going to happen sometime this year, I guess. My family keeps asking to see it again. I keep hoping that it will air on tv so I don't have to dig it out, but you know, that was the 80's, and chances are, unless I get to be suddenly hit with a huge movie deal or something... it will never re-appear. Maybe if one of the other folks who was on gets hugely famous.. . who knows. But, it's up to me. And my lazy buns to get to the transfer place.
Then there was the many radio spots.. I have all of that on cassette. I mean ALL of it. I have a full bookshelf of material on cassette from every show I ever did. Some of the time I guested on other shows, I just don't have that. I figured I could download it later, and poof... the websites disappeared. Gee, who saw that coming?
But, this week, I found that I was able to complete the sixth hour of material on one particular topic I've been writing on for years. Six HOURS on the same topic. I just wrote my sixth hour. It struck me that when I first started it was killing me that people would say, "What do I write about?" and just get on stage and stammer. They'd stammer and stare and look at nothing.
And I just wrote the SIXTH HOUR on a sole topic. There is still more that I could say. Every time I think of it, it just kills me. Absurdity. Goofy. I mean, politics- It's easy nowadays because you just quote Bush- he's just giving you material daily. He is hilarious, but he's also tragic, so I stay away from him and his white house. Jimmy Tingle does his work so very well, as does Durst. The pair of them could make me laugh so much, and add Lewis Black to the mix, and there would be no point in having me write a single word on my thoughts on politics. They've covered my feelings so very well.
I think back at when I was sitting in Nicks, sucking on the ginger ale I ordered, and looking at the scribbles on my napkin, the first time I thought about writing. I thought, "What about art" and just doodled some ideas. When I got on stage after Steve Sweeney called my name, and started hearing people react, it was then I knew that had something. there was some reaction to how I presented my thoughts on art. It began there.
Now, I have a masters degree in art, and a bachelors degree. I can speak on the topic from different perspectives. I also worked in animation. I've been in the film industry, and web design business, and even was hired as a graphic designer, despite my disdain for straight lines. (that was part of the routine for years). I just wrote about art in a new way tonight. I'm on the sixth hour. New, and better, and it still works. And people get it. And it's not foreign. There aren't a lot of people talking about it. It's my topic. I've got more life experiences. And now I'm up to six hours!! The fact I even taught at university level in this stuff? Just makes it better.
I'm on my sixth hour. Take that Michealangelo.
CB
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Researching the Las Vegas Stages Part Two
I went to see another comedy show in Vegas for the local comedians, and of the local comics. Jeremy Flores, Davey O, Michelle West and Don Tjernagel were the stars, and Travis, whose last name never was revealed also featured, as did a guest set by Don the Song Parody Guy of the Howard Stern Show, who happens to live in Vegas part time. The event was at a former strip club, off of the former Industrial, now Dean Martin Rd. The place is called ROX, and it's gorgeous inside now. It's got a great feel to it, and Led Zeppelin DVD aside, it really was set up for a great night of comedy.
Don Tjernagal..great name that no one in their right brain could pronounce.. is prolific. He has several CDs to his credit, self produced, but rightfully so. He looks like a mad Marine, clean cut, and buff, but with a cynic's eye, and a deviant grin. He's been a road comic and he's a Vegas guy who apparently has opened stages in town just as DavyO has..there was a need for censor-ship free expression. He's worked his ass off to fill that need. And, he's really funny. He thinks on his feet. He calls himself rated R, but he really is too bright to be considered JUST a blue comic. He is a smart guy. He had Jeremy Flores, from the DavyO open mic the night before? The guy who had great material, but didn't use the mic right? Emcee...
Great choice. I got to hear the guy this time. Why? Rox has a sound guy. They also have a lighting guy...same guy. It didn't matter. There were all of six people at the club. Welcome to hell. This is the problem with the marketing of comedy in Las Vegas. When you don't understand proper marketing, you don't get the press, the PR, and the people. The club did have ads, and the MySpace promo sent the DAY of the show didn't do much to get anyone into the club. I found out about the show ONLY because I was looking for local venues, found a local comic's name, and looked up where he was playing. Had I not done that... I think I'd still be wondering.
BUT that aside...Jeremy Flores is an Improv comic. As in Budd Friedmann's Improv. He does not belong in Las Vegas. He's done this for eight years, has material, has timing, has his set down cold. He knows how to talk to people when he's on stage. I have NO idea why he is not doing this in Los Angeles because he looks much younger than he is and could easily get television. HE's a HE. Everything he needs to succeed in LA is there. So my guess is the only reason he needs is the confidence to do it on his own. Or he'd be there. He mumbled something about the Ice House. He's well past that stage. I LOVE the Ice House and I think he would KICK ASS in the Hispanic nights there.. but I think he's mainstream, too. Whatever is holding him back..it's too bad. He so deserved not to be in Las Vegas in an open mic and in a room with six people.
The next guy up... I know how the local scenes are when you are supporting your buddies. There is always the guy who is starting out, and you give him stage time, and he's sort of there, but he's just sort of not. This guy Travis is like that. He does one liner angry white boy material done in dry monotone. It almost works. It doesn't work because he doesn't connect with two things.... he stares at the back wall, so he doesn't identify with anyone he's talking to, yet his lines are "Don't you hate it when..." So no, I don't hate it when... I have no idea who I'm hating or why or when. And, the lines he elected...well...the room was 78% women, and he picked women on cell phones, women driving, and that was pretty much it. If your material is to attack the audience, in monotone, without eye contact, it won't go over. It was kind of sad. He had some good lines, though. What was endearing is that when he did get a chuckle, he gave a single chuckle back...like he cracked the bad boy act...and that worked. That made it funnier. That's when he won the crowd. (crowd?) But he didn't look at people so he didn't see that. And he left the stage just as he won them, and they started to listen.
Michelle West... I really liked her because her stage personna is natural. She comes across as the slutty girlfriend everyone has, and no one admits to being. Her parents were there, and I think part of the laughter was, "Oh my gawd she said that in front of her MOM!??" because she talked about balls, cum, cock, and blowjobs, in front of her. She identified her people at the bar, bonded with them, talked to them, and made them part of her stories. That was good. But, she stuck to her material. It got a little weird when she started getting off page and talked to her friend sitting with her mom more. But mostly she was dead on funny, and just came across as very pro. She's not ready for hollywood, but I can see her doing some shows in some of the late night Vegas shows soon. I give her a couple of years before she's on TV.
Davey O went up. He kept telling me the night before he was going to show me his A game because he was telling me he wanted to be at the Store. That was my first sign. Well, when you're used to working a crowded room of drunks, your A game material isn't always the same as when you're in a room of 7 people, 4 of whom are comedians. Davy is still new to comedy despite being on stage for 8 years. He's an emcee, who writes the standard setup, twist, or setup punch, twist, punch. He uses a lot of the formula material because that's how he hears jokes in his mind. And, he comes across as desperately looking for a laugh when he needs to just tell his material in a way that's natural. BUT that's his voice. He is the Shecky-o that people expect him to be. He loves comedy, he loves jokes, he loves laughter, and that comes across, and it's endearing in this town. So when he is on stage, as campy as he is, it isn't offensive, as some comics make it. It is a guy who likes to tell jokes, on stage. And it's okay. Not terrific, not a-game, but okay. He didn't suck the air out of the room. He didn't make people laugh until they're crying. But he didn't really do as well as he could have, and I think he put too much pressure on himself, and it showed. And, that's okay too. That type of room gave him the room to do that.
Don Tjernagel is the headliner. He's the guy who runs the room. The gorgeous room with Led Zep vids playing as you walk in is now his. But it isn't. Here came problem one for Don. He is dating Michelle. Michelle now has had a few drinks, and is with her friend, and her parents, and has been ragging about Don with them for a bit. He starts up on stage, and is pretty funny, but The Song Parody guy walked in, just in the nick of time....and he has him come up for a few minutes.
The Parody guy doesn't sing, and instead does a Brooklyn Boy, Jewish comic act, that's a typical comedy club set from a Howard Stern writer guy. It's okay and he's funny, and very East Coast. He had some really good lines. Like Davey he does the standard Setup Twist writing, but his flow is more experienced, and it comes out smoother. He uses his mike like a pal, and he plays with the stand a bit. His set is short, rehearsed hard, and very much what it is.... sweet NYC jewish boy on stage. It's an open miker's tight five, and you can see it. He's done it a dozen times and it was great. He knew where he'd get the laughs, he knew where to be self-depracating, and he was sweet about it. And, he brought back Don.
So Don comes back up and does another few minutes of slick material, that's very funny, but he kept getting interrupted. He's having a great set, and his gal pal started shouting at him. Suddenly she's editing his act! It was a bit weird for all of the people in the room because A. no one knew if it was planned. and 2. the gal at the bar who was drinking thought it was time for her to join in. THAT's when it got REALLY bad. The drunk at the bar went from being a woman who laughed to some one who wanted the guy on stage dead. It was just very uncomfortable, and she was getting cheered by the girlfriend, now heckling the boyfriend, and the rest of us, were just in the Twilight Zone of bad comedy night. Oh it was hell. Very bad hell. Very uncomfortable, why are we in their domestic drama hell?
So his response? Get Michelle on stage with him. The pair do an impression together ...it's weird, and bizarre and drunken and odd. Almost funny. Almost creepy. It's hard to figure out if it's planned, or if they're happy, or if they're miserable. Regardless. The bar drunk is miserable. The show is over. We're done. I have four more places to check out this week. Two more hosts to meet. There's still crazy J, and boomers.
But wow... I'm hopefully going to get a video done. Maybe it will be in a BIG empty gorgeous room with drunk bar people. Maybe it will be in crowded drunken room where no one will hear anyone. OH I didn't say the best part. Jeremy has a gal pal with him. Davy introduces me. She says, "Wow did you hear the women last night..what was up with them... one was obnoxious..then I couldn't hear one..." Yeah, I was the one no one could hear. At least I wasn't obnoxious. too bad, then I'd be remembered!! She didn't know I was onstage!
Lucky me.
CJ
Researching the Stages in Las Vegas Part One
I spent an hour yesterday working on a blog to make up for the ones I haven't written in weeks. It's missing. I have no idea where it went. I hit preview. I hit post. And voila. Gone. No idea.
But I wrote about stuff that I've been doing and about the update on the Benefit. I wake up every morning, and I am on the computer, on the phone, (those who know me well are probably spilling coffee or soda at this moment... I am NEVER on the phone as I hate that tool).
I also wrote about the Las Vegas comedy scene, and Davy O, who is one of the two people who seems to be keeping it flowing. Well, maybe it's better that I get to do a rewrite. I have a better perspective after seeing Davy after five years. And, I have a better respect for what he's been doing.
You see, I'm trying to work on new material which for any comedian means, working on stage. To do that in a city like Los Angeles... you can get to a comedy club, get a slot, and do 10-15, and you have an audience that is VERY willing to listen to comedy. They are there because they are ready to laugh. They know that the comedians are working on new material some nights, and some nights they are getting old timers, or newbies. BUT, regardless, they are there to watch and take part in a night of laughter. Same with San Francisco. One of my favorite sets was in a little gay bar, on an open mic nite, just off of Market Street that I did as a favor to a friend.
The little gay bar set was perfect because the room was wrong, the lighting was terrible, the mic was broken, and the audience LOVED comedy. No one talked over anyone's set, and everyone was just adored...even the people who had poor material and weak stage presence were given respect for their attempts- and it was just great watching the camaraderie between the folks who were there week after week, and those who were doing a one-nighter, and getting paid, like me. It was just a little wine bar, and it was brilliant...I did 15 minutes, some material wasn't great, some material was perfect, and it was the best set I have ever had because the audience was the best I had ever had. They wanted to love every word, even when I was failing them on the one or two bits I flubbed. (In a comics mind, you falter on one sentence and you think you've blown 10 minutes... but in my tape.. it was just for 12 seconds I didn't get laughs! that's comedy mental block.)
But, then you get the flashbacks to the days when you are an open mic virgin. I worked one night in this club in Oklahoma, about 10 years after starting out. I was doing a show, on a weekend off from school at Calarts. It was me and two GUYS. Big burly bus driving looking guys. And they had these three local guys who were supposed to be the openers, and I guess one was supposed to do some bits at the end. So the show had way too many people on the bill, in a truck stop in Oklahoma...and I was terrified. It was probably my fifth or sixth road gig which didn't help.
There was wall-to-wall beer, and it was Alamo style. There was two kinds of food, burgers and brats. The room that they set us in for sleeping was a dorm style room that used to be the store room for the old "ice cream parlor" and it had five cots in it... and since I was the only "chick" they've ever had, they didn't have anything separating me from the two truck drivers at all, one of whom had picked up a comedy-slut for the evening. That was an adventure all its own. BUT, the best part of the night was the stage... They piled up four folded up tables, and put a table cloth cover on it... so we wouldn't scuff the tables.. which made them very slippery. The microphone was a radio shack one, and they didn't know they needed to put that into a sound system, so it was in the radio amplifier... because that's what they used for the BINGO night, and it worked. Okay.
Comedy was new there, and it was new there because they heard they could make a LOT of money if they had comedy. Well, Tulsa had comedy, and why not? Well, the audience consisted of a nearby college dorm of students, a local VFW gang of vets from the Spanish American War, the local bowling team, and The Sooner Spooners or something.. I forget, but some sort of booster club. Seriously, the place was packed with people... and it sat about 200. There was an ice crushing machine, for the slushies. And, there was a frozen drink being made at least every 2.3 seconds. I got handed a "Frozen Blue Hawaiian" which had at least a half gallon of vodka. The barkeep said, "I watered it down for you sugar, because I know you have to speak tonight."
Thanks.
So I am the third one on the set. That would mean I was the Middler for most nights. But in this club, I was the opener because the two local guys were going up, and one was emceeing. Each were going to have ten minutes, and I figured, okay, I'll get it over with first. BOY an hour later...I get intro'd. It was painful because not only had these two guys sucked the air out of the room, but each had been sufficiently drunk enough to just have the locals singing drinking songs by the time I got on stage. Just madhouse stuff. There I was in a town named Norman, and I had no idea what had just transpired... just to get onstage after being introduced as someone else, by the way, and the audience as I guess, expecting me to continue to lead them in drinking songs. It was awful.
It was just like being an open mic-er. I could have been up there doing crossword puzzles or doing Richard Pryor's material and gotten the same response. They were just into drinking. The two guys after me, one of whom is a huge headliner is hearing the drink mixing machine and finally starts singing bar songs, too. He gives up. He actually doesn't even bother doing his act at all. He didn't beat them. He joined them. Nothing could win that crowd. And what killed us, as we were babbling on the plane back to Burbank, was we each got a thank you letter telling us we were the best comics they had there yet! The club didn't last... go figure.
Well, last night, I made the mistake of actually saying "sure" when asked by Davy if I wanted to do a set at his open mic at a local venue here in Las Vegas. First of all, the venue was a bar, where comedy isn't king, and the audience is primarily into the "suck my cock" mentality. Otto and George, yes, chick talking about art, life, and society, not so much. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I took it up on the first or second set. But I made a second mistake. My charming hubby who has seen many of my recorded comedic moments, hasn't seen my stage act, was off of work in an hour, I figured, "Oh I can wait for him."
WELL, charming hubby had friends at work, and wasn't coming to the show for another hour. BIG problem. You see, when you wait for any amount of time during an open mic in a bar to work on new material, you are pretty much shooting yourself in the ass with an elephant gun. You are saying, "Oh, drunk people, please, pay me not attention, go about your business, have some chit chat with your buddies, and by all means, argue with your boyfriend about where he left his car keys this morning." It was very loud, very weird, and there was no way to gauge where any reactions were to know if the material was even getting anywhere. You can't develop your material without knowing what the reactions are. That's the entire point of having stage time, and those who have experience know this.
The other issue was another open mic gal did the courtesy of dissing every comic who was on stage before while she was on stage. She did this as the fourth or fifth person up there. First of all, she was new, has a beautiful figure, and look, but her material-- she has no confidence in it, and it's so blatantly apparent that she doesn't believe in what she's saying, that she's making herself look as though she doesn't want the audience to care about it. The problem with that is-- when you're in a bar with people who are drinking, and you get on stage, and star yammering that "I know you hate me just because I'm a woman in this town, you pricks don't get it. shut up"-- when you do that you are cutting the ovaries off of anyone else who happens to have them. She absolutely set the stage of "Women in this room suck." THEN the next guy gets on stage, and started teasing her, so what does she do...she heckles him...but she's a bit drunk herself, so she heckles him very badly. And it just turns into this really weird space of WEIRD girl heckling funny guy with guitar... just made it bad. The bad part was? The crowd had a very big contingency of women...who could have been very supportive of her if she didn't start berating them.
I get up there... and my material isn't for the drunk crowd. I do some of the new stuff, and i hear a spattering of laughs. I have the women in the front laughing so I guess I won them back a bit, and I play with the comics a bit. I probably could have done my usual emcee bit and that would have been fine, but I was there to work on material and not to really win the room, which sucks because I put myself in that position. I wasn't really going to win a room of drunks. But what did I have to lose... I said a few lines.. got laughs where I wanted them. That worked. I said a few more.. realized I missed a tag.. I need to learn the material more. So that's something I learned. I ended with a bit I haven't used in 5 years. They laughed, so that was fine. I didn't completely suck the air out of the room, and I did as well as could be expected in a room that was trained to hate women after that other gal's set-- I untrained them after that. But it was a bar, and it was small, and smoky, and man it reminded me what those first years were like.
I am so glad I don't have that to do again, yet if I don't go back to doing SOME stage time, I'll never get this material going. And, if I don't get a real stage, the material won't work right because I won't be able to hear where it will work right, as in correctly...as in when the crowd is actually hearing it. So you have to give Davy O props for doing that year in and year out here in Las Vegas. He gets to see all of the open mikers. There were some that stood out as having potential.. a couple who really need to realize The MICROPHONE can make the sound and the voice doesn't have to be so damned loud. The guitarist, Lemy, is really very good. The girl who hated her own material needs some self confidence and to not hate her audience so much and she'll do so much better. She had some great premises, but didn't develop any of them. It was as if.. "I like thinking about X", and I wanted to hear more of that....but she dropped the topic without going into it, which was too bad because they were smart.
Tonight I'm checking out another room to see if it's more to the way I want to work.. and maybe by the end of the month I'll find one I can do a set in, but maybe not. I may have to go to LA. I don't want to drive there, but it may be my only choice. It's just a necessity at this point.
CJ
But I wrote about stuff that I've been doing and about the update on the Benefit. I wake up every morning, and I am on the computer, on the phone, (those who know me well are probably spilling coffee or soda at this moment... I am NEVER on the phone as I hate that tool).
I also wrote about the Las Vegas comedy scene, and Davy O, who is one of the two people who seems to be keeping it flowing. Well, maybe it's better that I get to do a rewrite. I have a better perspective after seeing Davy after five years. And, I have a better respect for what he's been doing.
You see, I'm trying to work on new material which for any comedian means, working on stage. To do that in a city like Los Angeles... you can get to a comedy club, get a slot, and do 10-15, and you have an audience that is VERY willing to listen to comedy. They are there because they are ready to laugh. They know that the comedians are working on new material some nights, and some nights they are getting old timers, or newbies. BUT, regardless, they are there to watch and take part in a night of laughter. Same with San Francisco. One of my favorite sets was in a little gay bar, on an open mic nite, just off of Market Street that I did as a favor to a friend.
The little gay bar set was perfect because the room was wrong, the lighting was terrible, the mic was broken, and the audience LOVED comedy. No one talked over anyone's set, and everyone was just adored...even the people who had poor material and weak stage presence were given respect for their attempts- and it was just great watching the camaraderie between the folks who were there week after week, and those who were doing a one-nighter, and getting paid, like me. It was just a little wine bar, and it was brilliant...I did 15 minutes, some material wasn't great, some material was perfect, and it was the best set I have ever had because the audience was the best I had ever had. They wanted to love every word, even when I was failing them on the one or two bits I flubbed. (In a comics mind, you falter on one sentence and you think you've blown 10 minutes... but in my tape.. it was just for 12 seconds I didn't get laughs! that's comedy mental block.)
But, then you get the flashbacks to the days when you are an open mic virgin. I worked one night in this club in Oklahoma, about 10 years after starting out. I was doing a show, on a weekend off from school at Calarts. It was me and two GUYS. Big burly bus driving looking guys. And they had these three local guys who were supposed to be the openers, and I guess one was supposed to do some bits at the end. So the show had way too many people on the bill, in a truck stop in Oklahoma...and I was terrified. It was probably my fifth or sixth road gig which didn't help.
There was wall-to-wall beer, and it was Alamo style. There was two kinds of food, burgers and brats. The room that they set us in for sleeping was a dorm style room that used to be the store room for the old "ice cream parlor" and it had five cots in it... and since I was the only "chick" they've ever had, they didn't have anything separating me from the two truck drivers at all, one of whom had picked up a comedy-slut for the evening. That was an adventure all its own. BUT, the best part of the night was the stage... They piled up four folded up tables, and put a table cloth cover on it... so we wouldn't scuff the tables.. which made them very slippery. The microphone was a radio shack one, and they didn't know they needed to put that into a sound system, so it was in the radio amplifier... because that's what they used for the BINGO night, and it worked. Okay.
Comedy was new there, and it was new there because they heard they could make a LOT of money if they had comedy. Well, Tulsa had comedy, and why not? Well, the audience consisted of a nearby college dorm of students, a local VFW gang of vets from the Spanish American War, the local bowling team, and The Sooner Spooners or something.. I forget, but some sort of booster club. Seriously, the place was packed with people... and it sat about 200. There was an ice crushing machine, for the slushies. And, there was a frozen drink being made at least every 2.3 seconds. I got handed a "Frozen Blue Hawaiian" which had at least a half gallon of vodka. The barkeep said, "I watered it down for you sugar, because I know you have to speak tonight."
Thanks.
So I am the third one on the set. That would mean I was the Middler for most nights. But in this club, I was the opener because the two local guys were going up, and one was emceeing. Each were going to have ten minutes, and I figured, okay, I'll get it over with first. BOY an hour later...I get intro'd. It was painful because not only had these two guys sucked the air out of the room, but each had been sufficiently drunk enough to just have the locals singing drinking songs by the time I got on stage. Just madhouse stuff. There I was in a town named Norman, and I had no idea what had just transpired... just to get onstage after being introduced as someone else, by the way, and the audience as I guess, expecting me to continue to lead them in drinking songs. It was awful.
It was just like being an open mic-er. I could have been up there doing crossword puzzles or doing Richard Pryor's material and gotten the same response. They were just into drinking. The two guys after me, one of whom is a huge headliner is hearing the drink mixing machine and finally starts singing bar songs, too. He gives up. He actually doesn't even bother doing his act at all. He didn't beat them. He joined them. Nothing could win that crowd. And what killed us, as we were babbling on the plane back to Burbank, was we each got a thank you letter telling us we were the best comics they had there yet! The club didn't last... go figure.
Well, last night, I made the mistake of actually saying "sure" when asked by Davy if I wanted to do a set at his open mic at a local venue here in Las Vegas. First of all, the venue was a bar, where comedy isn't king, and the audience is primarily into the "suck my cock" mentality. Otto and George, yes, chick talking about art, life, and society, not so much. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I took it up on the first or second set. But I made a second mistake. My charming hubby who has seen many of my recorded comedic moments, hasn't seen my stage act, was off of work in an hour, I figured, "Oh I can wait for him."
WELL, charming hubby had friends at work, and wasn't coming to the show for another hour. BIG problem. You see, when you wait for any amount of time during an open mic in a bar to work on new material, you are pretty much shooting yourself in the ass with an elephant gun. You are saying, "Oh, drunk people, please, pay me not attention, go about your business, have some chit chat with your buddies, and by all means, argue with your boyfriend about where he left his car keys this morning." It was very loud, very weird, and there was no way to gauge where any reactions were to know if the material was even getting anywhere. You can't develop your material without knowing what the reactions are. That's the entire point of having stage time, and those who have experience know this.
The other issue was another open mic gal did the courtesy of dissing every comic who was on stage before while she was on stage. She did this as the fourth or fifth person up there. First of all, she was new, has a beautiful figure, and look, but her material-- she has no confidence in it, and it's so blatantly apparent that she doesn't believe in what she's saying, that she's making herself look as though she doesn't want the audience to care about it. The problem with that is-- when you're in a bar with people who are drinking, and you get on stage, and star yammering that "I know you hate me just because I'm a woman in this town, you pricks don't get it. shut up"-- when you do that you are cutting the ovaries off of anyone else who happens to have them. She absolutely set the stage of "Women in this room suck." THEN the next guy gets on stage, and started teasing her, so what does she do...she heckles him...but she's a bit drunk herself, so she heckles him very badly. And it just turns into this really weird space of WEIRD girl heckling funny guy with guitar... just made it bad. The bad part was? The crowd had a very big contingency of women...who could have been very supportive of her if she didn't start berating them.
I get up there... and my material isn't for the drunk crowd. I do some of the new stuff, and i hear a spattering of laughs. I have the women in the front laughing so I guess I won them back a bit, and I play with the comics a bit. I probably could have done my usual emcee bit and that would have been fine, but I was there to work on material and not to really win the room, which sucks because I put myself in that position. I wasn't really going to win a room of drunks. But what did I have to lose... I said a few lines.. got laughs where I wanted them. That worked. I said a few more.. realized I missed a tag.. I need to learn the material more. So that's something I learned. I ended with a bit I haven't used in 5 years. They laughed, so that was fine. I didn't completely suck the air out of the room, and I did as well as could be expected in a room that was trained to hate women after that other gal's set-- I untrained them after that. But it was a bar, and it was small, and smoky, and man it reminded me what those first years were like.
I am so glad I don't have that to do again, yet if I don't go back to doing SOME stage time, I'll never get this material going. And, if I don't get a real stage, the material won't work right because I won't be able to hear where it will work right, as in correctly...as in when the crowd is actually hearing it. So you have to give Davy O props for doing that year in and year out here in Las Vegas. He gets to see all of the open mikers. There were some that stood out as having potential.. a couple who really need to realize The MICROPHONE can make the sound and the voice doesn't have to be so damned loud. The guitarist, Lemy, is really very good. The girl who hated her own material needs some self confidence and to not hate her audience so much and she'll do so much better. She had some great premises, but didn't develop any of them. It was as if.. "I like thinking about X", and I wanted to hear more of that....but she dropped the topic without going into it, which was too bad because they were smart.
Tonight I'm checking out another room to see if it's more to the way I want to work.. and maybe by the end of the month I'll find one I can do a set in, but maybe not. I may have to go to LA. I don't want to drive there, but it may be my only choice. It's just a necessity at this point.
CJ
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
the Power of iJoke.tv
I stumbled across something amazing the other day. It was a reminder of the exact reason I loved the stand-up world. It was the patio of the Comedy Store on a summer afternoon, when Bruce Mikelson would be smoking and taking about taking a ride up to las Vegas to do a set at a strip show. (I don't mean a show on the Las Vegas Strip,- I mean a show at a club where girls dance around a metal pole. ) It was the stair case, just outside the annex by the Ice House in Pasadena, where Steve Pearl and Jeni would be talking about some event in Florida regarding a palm, a coconut, and someone named Luigi who couldn't spell Budweiser, but refused to use the word "Bud" as it was "vulgar and pedestrian". It was the diner, somewhere on the 40, near Kentucky, or New Mexico, with Blake Clark, or maybe it was Anthony Clark, or Lenny Clarke, or even Clark Anthony, or someone named Clark who was explaining the reason why he carries his own sheets when he hears "we have a small condo near the club, but I can't guarantee the condition because Jackson Perdue will be in the night before you."
The place is called iJoke.tv, and it exists online. I found it through another place, called the Kvetch forums, which is very much the same feel-- except more like the Chatanooga space, or Cobbs, or someplace more homey and intimate and regional. Kvetch is based out of the Rich Jenkins world at TheComedyStudio.com/forum. I know I'm going to bump into people I worked with in both places, and I know that I'm going to find people who have the exact life experiences at iJoke.tv because it's run by people who started when I did, and who have worked all the clubs I have, when I have, and who have been burnt by the same flames. And, the people in both forums have the same kind hearted, "Aren't you sick of being screwed over?" mentality that I admire. There is an underlying sentiment of "We just want to survive, thrive, and stay alive." And, I think it's wonderful.
One thing I noticed is there is unbelievable support. Here I was just snooping to see if I could possibly get a tiny bit of support for a benefit, and I assumed I'd get the Hollywood, "Oh yeah, sure. uh, sorry, but have fun with it." Instead, it's been undying, and nonstop. I feel as if I have the most support in my entire career. It's as if the family said, "You never asked us for anything, so of course, we're here to help." And, I feel as if the support is a bit of acknowledgment for the years I've tried to help other people. after years of mentoring young comics, or putting road warriors on the radio shows, or hours spent emailing and blogging about writing, road trips, or clubs, or college touring. It's the pay back of having my door open to the folks who were looking for places to crash while they were gigging for their first time at the club up the road, or when I had people come in and do a set when I had a room, and they wanted to get stage time before a major gig in a big city.
The people at iJoke.tv are the same people who were on my floor, or in my studio. They are the same people sitting on the stoops outside of those clubs. They are the same people who came to the Wired for Laughs shows from the alt.comedy.standup reunions we'd have at the Improv in Los Angeles. They are the same people because they are Budd's people. You can find Marc Price there, and Budd, and a there's that gal who used to show up at the open mike with the note book who used to forget your name, but who used to tell you that she saw you in San Francisco at the Above Brainwash show, when you were trying out the material about your ex-husband, the trumpet player. The same fan who sent you a picture of yourself during your set at the Comedy Store from 1991 is there. These are real fans, of real comedy. These are real comedians, and real road warriors, and it's just like sitting in the bar at the Improv, in 1996, talking to Marmel, and Todd Glass, and Dave Little, and Rob Little, and Joannie Coyote, and wondering what you've ever done to stop playing in Los Angeles in the last years. It's the same voices and names, and same memories, and people. It's home.
And home is why I feel so supported here. I'm working on the benefit for my Aunt Jeannie back in Boston, at the Comedy Connection, the club that started the whole idea that some French-Italian-Irish kid, who went to art school, and was in the Navy, and wrote a book on Atheist Grief, could end up being a comedian, and for 20-something years made people laugh while living a strange and weird life-- it's this same woman, who found this online forum so she could talk about this benefit for her Aunt Jeannie-- who discovered she was always welcomed home, online, at iJoke.tv, by her crazy uncle Budd, and her long lost family-- the other comics, and her friends there. And, the best part? They are all just as eager to help Aunt Jeannie, and be part of the Benefit, and The Comedy Connection, and to make the future memories of this event, something to talk about for years to come.
That's pretty powerful stuff.
The place is called iJoke.tv, and it exists online. I found it through another place, called the Kvetch forums, which is very much the same feel-- except more like the Chatanooga space, or Cobbs, or someplace more homey and intimate and regional. Kvetch is based out of the Rich Jenkins world at TheComedyStudio.com/forum. I know I'm going to bump into people I worked with in both places, and I know that I'm going to find people who have the exact life experiences at iJoke.tv because it's run by people who started when I did, and who have worked all the clubs I have, when I have, and who have been burnt by the same flames. And, the people in both forums have the same kind hearted, "Aren't you sick of being screwed over?" mentality that I admire. There is an underlying sentiment of "We just want to survive, thrive, and stay alive." And, I think it's wonderful.
One thing I noticed is there is unbelievable support. Here I was just snooping to see if I could possibly get a tiny bit of support for a benefit, and I assumed I'd get the Hollywood, "Oh yeah, sure. uh, sorry, but have fun with it." Instead, it's been undying, and nonstop. I feel as if I have the most support in my entire career. It's as if the family said, "You never asked us for anything, so of course, we're here to help." And, I feel as if the support is a bit of acknowledgment for the years I've tried to help other people. after years of mentoring young comics, or putting road warriors on the radio shows, or hours spent emailing and blogging about writing, road trips, or clubs, or college touring. It's the pay back of having my door open to the folks who were looking for places to crash while they were gigging for their first time at the club up the road, or when I had people come in and do a set when I had a room, and they wanted to get stage time before a major gig in a big city.
The people at iJoke.tv are the same people who were on my floor, or in my studio. They are the same people sitting on the stoops outside of those clubs. They are the same people who came to the Wired for Laughs shows from the alt.comedy.standup reunions we'd have at the Improv in Los Angeles. They are the same people because they are Budd's people. You can find Marc Price there, and Budd, and a there's that gal who used to show up at the open mike with the note book who used to forget your name, but who used to tell you that she saw you in San Francisco at the Above Brainwash show, when you were trying out the material about your ex-husband, the trumpet player. The same fan who sent you a picture of yourself during your set at the Comedy Store from 1991 is there. These are real fans, of real comedy. These are real comedians, and real road warriors, and it's just like sitting in the bar at the Improv, in 1996, talking to Marmel, and Todd Glass, and Dave Little, and Rob Little, and Joannie Coyote, and wondering what you've ever done to stop playing in Los Angeles in the last years. It's the same voices and names, and same memories, and people. It's home.
And home is why I feel so supported here. I'm working on the benefit for my Aunt Jeannie back in Boston, at the Comedy Connection, the club that started the whole idea that some French-Italian-Irish kid, who went to art school, and was in the Navy, and wrote a book on Atheist Grief, could end up being a comedian, and for 20-something years made people laugh while living a strange and weird life-- it's this same woman, who found this online forum so she could talk about this benefit for her Aunt Jeannie-- who discovered she was always welcomed home, online, at iJoke.tv, by her crazy uncle Budd, and her long lost family-- the other comics, and her friends there. And, the best part? They are all just as eager to help Aunt Jeannie, and be part of the Benefit, and The Comedy Connection, and to make the future memories of this event, something to talk about for years to come.
That's pretty powerful stuff.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
comedy and life and crap and stuff and life and crap
Okay, so life events can change your world in a matter of seconds.
A car crashes and you can lose a car, a leg, and a license. Or, someone dies, and you end up homeless. Or, you get a letter from a college that offers you a free ride, and suddenly you are on your way to being the first graduate in your family. Or, you have a kid, or you poke an eye out with that thing, or you dye your hair blonde, or whatever.
This week, my chinchilla had her kit and I named her Koala, because she looked like the little clip-on things you had on your coats when you were a kid in the 80's. She's fuzzy, sweet, and loves to be held. She's much like her mom that way. I get a kick out of her, because at three inches, she's just the cutest thing I've seen in a long time. In a day we get about 18 degus. This will change our house a bit. We haven't had that many flying squirrel fuzzies ever. I'll change my view of cute. But I love them.
The same day, I found out my Aunt Jeannie has stage 4 cancer in her lungs and lymphoma. She's not just an aunt. She's my dad's aunt. This means she's my dad's mom's sister. She's also about 2-3 years older than my dad. His other aunt, Barbara, died a couple of years ago, and raised him. She was about twenty years older than him. His mom died recently, too. She barely raised him. She was the vain sister. She was not very attached to any of her children. She had them with different men. Dad was the first "bastard".
He never met his father. Only fifteen years ago or so did we learn his name, Morrison. That explained my father's middle name Maurice. He was an East Boston cop. But other than that, we knew nothing of him, but an obituary that rest in a drawer of my grandmother's bureau after her death. Jeannie has always been like a sister to my dad because his brothers and sisters- younger- seem so distant. So much so, that I think I've only met them on one or two occasions, and his youngest sister, is six months older than I am. She and I were in the same school. That was strange. We did know each other a bit, but we were never close.
I grew up knowing Jeannie's kids. They were my cousins. They were my friends. They were the ones I was closest to, as were Barbara's kids. When I think of cousins, they are the ones I think of, and when I think of family, Jeannie and Barbara are always the first faces in my head. Barbara is gone. Jeannie has cancer. Life changed in a moment. Just like that. So what can I do? I'm not a person who just let's things happen. I'm a do-er. I'm a participant in life. I am action verb, not a passive verb.
Passively, I was a comic. An ex comic. A former comedian. But, Jeannie needed to laugh, and the one thing I know of Jeannie is her laughter. I can't think of Jeannie NOT laughing about something. She was a waitress her entire life. She lived with my great grandmother for the later years of Nana B's life. Nana lived to be 101. When she was 100, Jeannie worked to get about 200 family members to Boston for a family reunion. It was pretty surreal. A room was filled with people no taller than 5 foot 8 inches, with the same shaped face, chin, nose-- all resembling this woman- black, asian, white- we're all mixed up. But we all had that face. Just a bunch of goombahs visiting Nana B. It was pretty amazing. Jeannie did that for her. And we all loved her for that.
Carl was Jeannie's husband for long time, but not her first. Paul was her first, but not her best. Carl was her best, but he was a goofball. I was at their wedding. It was a blast. They had fun with each other. He made her laugh. That showed. She loved Elvis, and he did an Elvis impersonation that was just awful, but he made her laugh. I don't know if they split up, or not, but he ended up with her in the end, because he had brain cancer. She took care of him. She nursed him, and stayed with him while he was going through chemo, and stayed with him while he was sick, and when he was nothing but skin and bones. She was with him when he died. She loved him. She still laughs that until the day he died he thought he was a ladies man with a bald head, and boney chemo body!
Four days after she had a biopsy last week, she went to work at Bickfords. She's been waitressing forever. If she didn't work, she'd be bored. She has to work. It's the world. If you don't work, you are on your ass, and homeless. She's about to go through chemo, and radiation. NEVER does she ask for a handout. NEVER does she ask for help. Instead she raised six kids. She cared for her mother until she died. She cared for her husband until he dies. She watched her sisters go, and her brother Georgie die years before. Her ex Paul, is long gone, of a heart attack or something about 20 years ago. It's just my dad, her kids, my sister and me, and her grandkids. We're her family. We have to help, we have to, because she's not asking us to.
So, I'm a comedian. I write. Alot. I write to a fault. I signed my contract to my publisher this week. Life changing. I contacted the Dana Farber institute where they are treating Jeanne, and asked them, "What do I need to do to get your backing for a benefit for my aunt?" And then I put it into motion. I put the message out to my past, and to Boston area comics, and I got positive responses from some wonderfully talented human beings.
Some of my favorite comedians on the planet are helping out. This October, Ian Harvie- one of the funniest human beings on earth is helping out. Chance Langton- The guy who is probably the first headline comedian I had ever seen on a Boston stage is going to help out. Jim Lauletta- a wild man, funnier than hell...is going to help out. Shane Mauss- the guy whose delivery is masterful is helping out. Jon Lincoln is helping. Courtney Cronin helped out. Rick Jenkins from the Comedy Studio helped out. Dennis Blair helped out. More people are offering, and it's astounding. And, I'll be emceeing. Yes, I'm dusting off the comedy chops. The new monologues are written. (egads, I've been writing stand-up again!)
There are others who are offering assistance. The MySpace page is DieLaughingBenefit. The Email address is JimmyFund@cathejones.com
I'll post the dates as I have them. More info will post on the Benefit MySpace page. Thanks so much.... Hopefully Jeannie will have some cash for the treatments and then we'll have her around for years to come, so then every year this benefit will take place in her HONOR, and not in her memory. The Jimmy Fund programs will support families going through cancer, issues facing cancer treatments, and cancer related care. The Dana Farber Institute is world renown for their work in this area.
A car crashes and you can lose a car, a leg, and a license. Or, someone dies, and you end up homeless. Or, you get a letter from a college that offers you a free ride, and suddenly you are on your way to being the first graduate in your family. Or, you have a kid, or you poke an eye out with that thing, or you dye your hair blonde, or whatever.
This week, my chinchilla had her kit and I named her Koala, because she looked like the little clip-on things you had on your coats when you were a kid in the 80's. She's fuzzy, sweet, and loves to be held. She's much like her mom that way. I get a kick out of her, because at three inches, she's just the cutest thing I've seen in a long time. In a day we get about 18 degus. This will change our house a bit. We haven't had that many flying squirrel fuzzies ever. I'll change my view of cute. But I love them.
The same day, I found out my Aunt Jeannie has stage 4 cancer in her lungs and lymphoma. She's not just an aunt. She's my dad's aunt. This means she's my dad's mom's sister. She's also about 2-3 years older than my dad. His other aunt, Barbara, died a couple of years ago, and raised him. She was about twenty years older than him. His mom died recently, too. She barely raised him. She was the vain sister. She was not very attached to any of her children. She had them with different men. Dad was the first "bastard".
He never met his father. Only fifteen years ago or so did we learn his name, Morrison. That explained my father's middle name Maurice. He was an East Boston cop. But other than that, we knew nothing of him, but an obituary that rest in a drawer of my grandmother's bureau after her death. Jeannie has always been like a sister to my dad because his brothers and sisters- younger- seem so distant. So much so, that I think I've only met them on one or two occasions, and his youngest sister, is six months older than I am. She and I were in the same school. That was strange. We did know each other a bit, but we were never close.
I grew up knowing Jeannie's kids. They were my cousins. They were my friends. They were the ones I was closest to, as were Barbara's kids. When I think of cousins, they are the ones I think of, and when I think of family, Jeannie and Barbara are always the first faces in my head. Barbara is gone. Jeannie has cancer. Life changed in a moment. Just like that. So what can I do? I'm not a person who just let's things happen. I'm a do-er. I'm a participant in life. I am action verb, not a passive verb.
Passively, I was a comic. An ex comic. A former comedian. But, Jeannie needed to laugh, and the one thing I know of Jeannie is her laughter. I can't think of Jeannie NOT laughing about something. She was a waitress her entire life. She lived with my great grandmother for the later years of Nana B's life. Nana lived to be 101. When she was 100, Jeannie worked to get about 200 family members to Boston for a family reunion. It was pretty surreal. A room was filled with people no taller than 5 foot 8 inches, with the same shaped face, chin, nose-- all resembling this woman- black, asian, white- we're all mixed up. But we all had that face. Just a bunch of goombahs visiting Nana B. It was pretty amazing. Jeannie did that for her. And we all loved her for that.
Carl was Jeannie's husband for long time, but not her first. Paul was her first, but not her best. Carl was her best, but he was a goofball. I was at their wedding. It was a blast. They had fun with each other. He made her laugh. That showed. She loved Elvis, and he did an Elvis impersonation that was just awful, but he made her laugh. I don't know if they split up, or not, but he ended up with her in the end, because he had brain cancer. She took care of him. She nursed him, and stayed with him while he was going through chemo, and stayed with him while he was sick, and when he was nothing but skin and bones. She was with him when he died. She loved him. She still laughs that until the day he died he thought he was a ladies man with a bald head, and boney chemo body!
Four days after she had a biopsy last week, she went to work at Bickfords. She's been waitressing forever. If she didn't work, she'd be bored. She has to work. It's the world. If you don't work, you are on your ass, and homeless. She's about to go through chemo, and radiation. NEVER does she ask for a handout. NEVER does she ask for help. Instead she raised six kids. She cared for her mother until she died. She cared for her husband until he dies. She watched her sisters go, and her brother Georgie die years before. Her ex Paul, is long gone, of a heart attack or something about 20 years ago. It's just my dad, her kids, my sister and me, and her grandkids. We're her family. We have to help, we have to, because she's not asking us to.
So, I'm a comedian. I write. Alot. I write to a fault. I signed my contract to my publisher this week. Life changing. I contacted the Dana Farber institute where they are treating Jeanne, and asked them, "What do I need to do to get your backing for a benefit for my aunt?" And then I put it into motion. I put the message out to my past, and to Boston area comics, and I got positive responses from some wonderfully talented human beings.
Some of my favorite comedians on the planet are helping out. This October, Ian Harvie- one of the funniest human beings on earth is helping out. Chance Langton- The guy who is probably the first headline comedian I had ever seen on a Boston stage is going to help out. Jim Lauletta- a wild man, funnier than hell...is going to help out. Shane Mauss- the guy whose delivery is masterful is helping out. Jon Lincoln is helping. Courtney Cronin helped out. Rick Jenkins from the Comedy Studio helped out. Dennis Blair helped out. More people are offering, and it's astounding. And, I'll be emceeing. Yes, I'm dusting off the comedy chops. The new monologues are written. (egads, I've been writing stand-up again!)
There are others who are offering assistance. The MySpace page is DieLaughingBenefit. The Email address is JimmyFund@cathejones.com
I'll post the dates as I have them. More info will post on the Benefit MySpace page. Thanks so much.... Hopefully Jeannie will have some cash for the treatments and then we'll have her around for years to come, so then every year this benefit will take place in her HONOR, and not in her memory. The Jimmy Fund programs will support families going through cancer, issues facing cancer treatments, and cancer related care. The Dana Farber Institute is world renown for their work in this area.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Diary posting: I did Good Tonight: Open Mike 1979
The first time I was on stage was in 1979. I was 15 years and 8 months old. I know this because I have my diary. I have my diary because I kept every piece of writing like some day, somehow someone would find these words worthy. I still hope to find the thirty or forty manila sheets, folded, and stapled, crayoned and then made into "books" that were put together by the author before she was a computer geek. That habit started in kindergarten, thanks to a swingline given to me by an uncle. Piercing was a big habit, too, waaaay before the goth kids made it theirs. And, I had safety pins in my pierced ears long before Johnny Rotten, only because I was trying to keep the ear holes opened, while they were healing. Okay, that's enough of that reminiscing and tangent leaping. The following comes from that diary entry. Keep in mind, no one knew who Denis Leary was, and this is Boston, before anyone had a clue what comedy clubs were about to do to America.
And that's the end of the entry. Two weeks later I went up again, and it wasn't as good. I didn't make that many people laugh, and I had a little ego thing. So I had humility lesson. BUT, I started to write, and learn. I began doing more open mikes, and I began writing more and more, and watching more comedy every week. In fact, I watched every night for nearly three years, and when I wasn't watching, I was on stage performing. I worked with other people who wrote. I played in clubs at colleges, and in coffee shops, and I studied other comics and learned about "getting a voice". I became known for being very physical and talking about sports, current events, and the entertainment industry. Later I was known for talking about Cancer, and Ehlers-Danlos, and doing more bizarre character work. ALWAYS writing, and always learning, I still write and I still enjoy watching others to see how well and how wonderful others observe.
CJ
I have almost no homework tonight, but I can't do any because I want to float for another two hours, then sleep. I'll read some shakespeare, for Bari Hari's class, and write a poem. Wow that's hard. Seven to twenty lines? I can do that WHILE I sleep. Maybe I'll try that, and get another A? I guess it's meter but it's no matter to me, yuk yuk.
But I'm really funny and I know I am now. That Dennis O'Leary guy from the Comedy Connection finally said I could go up on the stage on the new comedians night. They let people perform auditions for a few minutes, then they flash a light at them when they should stop, and then if the audience laughs at them, they ask them to come back and do it again. If they don't laugh, they can come back during the "Open Calls" and try again.
Larry keeps telling me, "Not now, because you're too young to come in the bar, but if you wait at least until you're 17, then I'll let you try." Mark keeps saying, "She's jailbait, but she's allright" so Mark acts like he's my big brother tonight and pretends that I'm with him. Larry wasn't even there. Dennis said, he bet Mark that I could make more people laugh than Mark could. Mark said no way. Then Dennis said, "I'll bet you, she'll make them laugh." Mark kept saying, "I'll have them laughing, every minute I'm on stage."
I felt like a pig on auction. Dennis is always laughing at stuff I'm saying. He says I'm a natural smart ass. I just imitate Dad sometimes. Mark is making everyone laugh all the time, though. He works the bar, and can make a guy dying laugh about the blood pouring out of his head. Dennis has all these people always laughing, though, and nobody is funnier than Dennis. I think he had someone laugh so hard one night, they had an ambulance come in and give them oxygen. The guy was really big and just couldn't catch his breath, was really red, and just huge, and I wanted to see it, but I heard about it from Mark and Larry and everyone.
But I don't even know what to talk about, so I ask Charles, what the hell do I talk about? And Charles said to talk about the Red Sox. I always make him laugh when I talk about sports because I mess it all up. I know the stuff, but I still mess it up. Everyone only has three or five minutes or something so I figure, no big deal I can talk about the Red Sox. But Dennis goes and says, "Hey kid, I'll give you a buck for every minute you get people laughing up there." And I think he did that to piss off Mark because no one gets paid on Open Call except for Dennis and the bar staff. So Mark says, "Yeah, and I'll pay you $100 if you leave the stage in tears!" but Dennis tells him to screw himself. And he says, "Don't go over ten minutes because I hate greedy SOB's, got it?" and I say yah. But then he makes like he was going to make me go up, and he has Mark go up next. And he calls him up, and he says, "Mark, if you cry, then I'll pay you $100!" so he tries to get people to heckle Mark.
Nobody wanted to do it, so he was just heckling him alone. About ten people there were just people who were there to see new guys who never were on a platform except to ride the T. Mark was there for about 4 minutes and just gave up, but I was laughing. I like Mark, and I think he's great! Dennis didn't give him air for breathing. I thought he was going to kill me. He just looked at him and said "thanks shithead" and got back behind the bar. Dennis was going to get me in so much trouble and I'd never be let back in there again, now. But now, he called one more guy up, so the room got back to normal. The guy was from Vermont and pretty funny, and got invited to another week, David something. I only remember because he just LOOKED like a David.
So Dennis called me up and said, "We have to get her on stage before her bed time" then he mangled my name, "Bud-row" but it's okay because everyone does it. I had fun because I was in a room that was my home. Everything there was so familiar. I talked to my pal Mark, and the goofy guy Dennis, and Charles was there. I just talked about the day at Fenway Paaaaaahhk, and riding the T to Kenmooowah. Drinking my first beeeeyyyaah, and scarfing and rowlfing my first fenwaaaay fraank. That was the great American past time. Next thing I know, Dennis is giving me a round of applause and started handing me a ten dollar bill, and said, "Folks, that was her first time, her first time, and 3o men were there! And it was on stage. And I tipped her. So we all win."
I'm going to remember this for the rest of my life. I may never do comedy again, but I know I'll have the best memory of the one night I tried it. It's so wicked to be up there, though, so I hope I get the chance.
And that's the end of the entry. Two weeks later I went up again, and it wasn't as good. I didn't make that many people laugh, and I had a little ego thing. So I had humility lesson. BUT, I started to write, and learn. I began doing more open mikes, and I began writing more and more, and watching more comedy every week. In fact, I watched every night for nearly three years, and when I wasn't watching, I was on stage performing. I worked with other people who wrote. I played in clubs at colleges, and in coffee shops, and I studied other comics and learned about "getting a voice". I became known for being very physical and talking about sports, current events, and the entertainment industry. Later I was known for talking about Cancer, and Ehlers-Danlos, and doing more bizarre character work. ALWAYS writing, and always learning, I still write and I still enjoy watching others to see how well and how wonderful others observe.
CJ
Monday, July 23, 2007
What it's Like to BOMB!
Your best friend calls and tells you that you've been given a slot for a very prestigious open mike, that's by appointment only, in exactly seven weeks. So you spend about four weeks writing. Then you go back, and write another four weeks worth. Then you decide that it's probably better to just scrap this and start all over again.
What happens next is the frantic panic of "I got to remember every word of this." "I got to remember every word of this." "I got to remember every word of this." "I got to remember every word of this." That's the mantra you devour every breath, every microsecond of your day, every ounce of your life's blood. You can't sleep without reminding yourself, "I got to remember every word of this." And when you wake up, "I got to remember every word of this." Never once do you think, "The first word is...." which is the smarter way to go.
You should be doing things like paying bills, walking your dog, feeding the fish, or bathing. Maybe lance the boil that's seeping and crusting. Or, call your boss and say why you're not coming in and hope that being frantically posessed by a monologue is a valid excuse. Then, call your co-workers, and invite them to the show, because you're expected to have at least ten people on your guest list, or you won't be invited back to the club even if you make the owner laugh so hard he wets himself. And, that is, what you want to happen.
This is, after all .the wittiest monologue ever written by a human being since the dawn of mankind. No other comedienne alive today, or ever born has ever come up with such concepts, or such observations, nor likely will ever do so, and therefore this will be a historical moment in the club, if not the history of time. And are aware that no other comedian, living, dead, televised, or radio broadcast, could possibly be thinking of such things. Until someone brings you your birthday gift, of a 1965 recording of Lenny Bruce talking about the hacks of the 1950's who used to perform acts about the exact monologue that you just decided was the best thing ever written.
Then you go online and realize that nearly 345,568,321 monologues exist regarding your very topic, and in this year alone 2 million were posted on YouTube. You have three days until your big night, and you have to write something. You have to memorize something. You have to make it come from your voice. You have three days.
Since you have such little time, you think of the stand by stand up motto- "write what you know" and you begin to look around. You see a very hungry dog that hasn't eaten nor been walked in weeks. You see an answering machine with 32 messages from your boss, wondering if you'll ever make it in to work and if your monologue has been cured. You look up at the window, at the reflection of the massive boil, peering out from under your hair, and realize, YOU are a monologue, and begin to write long into the night, until your five minutes of material is complete.
Then you begin the three hour mantra of: "I got to remember every word of this." But, with time no longer a luxury, you must test this material out at an open mike at the nearby Bar & Grill. There is no way around this. No comedian can simply write and perform and expect the material to be perfect, unless s/he as skilled an improv artist as some get... Some are better at improv than writing. But newbies sometimes think they are, and just don't get it. They don't read the crowds, and come across as pompous, and lose the crowds. Or they come across as too stupid and lose the crowds by talking down to the them. You can be as hateful and awful as you want and still be one of them. It's just a matter of showing the crowds that you're part of their fun, not part of their anxiety..they spend their life in anxiety, they don't need it in their entertainment... but I digress.
You show up at the pub, and there are 11 guys playing darts, a woman with a note book sitting at the bar, smoking an entire pack of Camels, and drinking a Cosmo, while reciting three words she's been reading from the front of the notebook. She's there for the open mike. Another boy, about four, is grabbing her leg, asking her to buy a french fry, but she hasn't seen him in six weeks so she won't see him now. There is another pair of girls over by the pool table comparing breast reduction scars. By the microphone is a large Mexican man fiddling with a battery, attempting to turn on the microphone, not realizing he hasn't plugged it into the amplifier, still parked by the juke box. He's new. The man with the clip board is talking to the white boy with the guitar, who is just not pleased that there isn't a pickup amp. However, no one has ever used a guitar at this open mic before, so this is the way things are done. It's 9pm, and there isn't a single person sitting at the tables in front of the stage.
Clipboard boy mutters a bit, grabs the microphone from his brut-like friend, plugs it in, and turns it on. After the squeal stops, people realize, it's comedy time, and the dart game ends. The bartender turns off the Jukebox, and the breasty-girls get up and leave. You get pointed to, and are told, "You go first".
No emcee, no intro, just grunted, and that's it. You forgot your first sentence. Why? You're still thinking of booby girls and french fry boy. Then you remember you have a starving dog and you pick it back up. But it's too late. You have no rhythm. You need the rhythm to make the joke funny. Cadence is part of the funny. You can talk about anything you want if you say it right, and it will be funny. A single word is hilarious. Kumquat. Hilarious. It goes down hill. Not even the bartender, who usually laughs at anything said by anyone is just staring at you like you're bleeding from the eyes. then you wonder, maybe that the boil is just too big, so you reach for it. You've made the mistake, again. You grab a body part that you don't want noticed, and now, something no one ever knew about is what EVERYONE sees.
Two more minutes left. Are they kidding? Is this torture? He gave you an extra two minutes to try to turn it around because he saw you there before. Do something you've done before. Do an older routine and get ONE laugh. You have done this, this is not your first time on the stage. If you blow this, it will be worse tomorrow. You have one last sentence in the routine, and you can save this. Nothing. Not a single response. Except. One.
The kid. "Mom, is he done yet? Can you go up so we can eat now?"
Uhm. I guess cutting your hair was a bad idea.
--
CJ
What happens next is the frantic panic of "I got to remember every word of this." "I got to remember every word of this." "I got to remember every word of this." "I got to remember every word of this." That's the mantra you devour every breath, every microsecond of your day, every ounce of your life's blood. You can't sleep without reminding yourself, "I got to remember every word of this." And when you wake up, "I got to remember every word of this." Never once do you think, "The first word is...." which is the smarter way to go.
You should be doing things like paying bills, walking your dog, feeding the fish, or bathing. Maybe lance the boil that's seeping and crusting. Or, call your boss and say why you're not coming in and hope that being frantically posessed by a monologue is a valid excuse. Then, call your co-workers, and invite them to the show, because you're expected to have at least ten people on your guest list, or you won't be invited back to the club even if you make the owner laugh so hard he wets himself. And, that is, what you want to happen.
This is, after all .the wittiest monologue ever written by a human being since the dawn of mankind. No other comedienne alive today, or ever born has ever come up with such concepts, or such observations, nor likely will ever do so, and therefore this will be a historical moment in the club, if not the history of time. And are aware that no other comedian, living, dead, televised, or radio broadcast, could possibly be thinking of such things. Until someone brings you your birthday gift, of a 1965 recording of Lenny Bruce talking about the hacks of the 1950's who used to perform acts about the exact monologue that you just decided was the best thing ever written.
Then you go online and realize that nearly 345,568,321 monologues exist regarding your very topic, and in this year alone 2 million were posted on YouTube. You have three days until your big night, and you have to write something. You have to memorize something. You have to make it come from your voice. You have three days.
Since you have such little time, you think of the stand by stand up motto- "write what you know" and you begin to look around. You see a very hungry dog that hasn't eaten nor been walked in weeks. You see an answering machine with 32 messages from your boss, wondering if you'll ever make it in to work and if your monologue has been cured. You look up at the window, at the reflection of the massive boil, peering out from under your hair, and realize, YOU are a monologue, and begin to write long into the night, until your five minutes of material is complete.
Then you begin the three hour mantra of: "I got to remember every word of this." But, with time no longer a luxury, you must test this material out at an open mike at the nearby Bar & Grill. There is no way around this. No comedian can simply write and perform and expect the material to be perfect, unless s/he as skilled an improv artist as some get... Some are better at improv than writing. But newbies sometimes think they are, and just don't get it. They don't read the crowds, and come across as pompous, and lose the crowds. Or they come across as too stupid and lose the crowds by talking down to the them. You can be as hateful and awful as you want and still be one of them. It's just a matter of showing the crowds that you're part of their fun, not part of their anxiety..they spend their life in anxiety, they don't need it in their entertainment... but I digress.
You show up at the pub, and there are 11 guys playing darts, a woman with a note book sitting at the bar, smoking an entire pack of Camels, and drinking a Cosmo, while reciting three words she's been reading from the front of the notebook. She's there for the open mike. Another boy, about four, is grabbing her leg, asking her to buy a french fry, but she hasn't seen him in six weeks so she won't see him now. There is another pair of girls over by the pool table comparing breast reduction scars. By the microphone is a large Mexican man fiddling with a battery, attempting to turn on the microphone, not realizing he hasn't plugged it into the amplifier, still parked by the juke box. He's new. The man with the clip board is talking to the white boy with the guitar, who is just not pleased that there isn't a pickup amp. However, no one has ever used a guitar at this open mic before, so this is the way things are done. It's 9pm, and there isn't a single person sitting at the tables in front of the stage.
Clipboard boy mutters a bit, grabs the microphone from his brut-like friend, plugs it in, and turns it on. After the squeal stops, people realize, it's comedy time, and the dart game ends. The bartender turns off the Jukebox, and the breasty-girls get up and leave. You get pointed to, and are told, "You go first".
No emcee, no intro, just grunted, and that's it. You forgot your first sentence. Why? You're still thinking of booby girls and french fry boy. Then you remember you have a starving dog and you pick it back up. But it's too late. You have no rhythm. You need the rhythm to make the joke funny. Cadence is part of the funny. You can talk about anything you want if you say it right, and it will be funny. A single word is hilarious. Kumquat. Hilarious. It goes down hill. Not even the bartender, who usually laughs at anything said by anyone is just staring at you like you're bleeding from the eyes. then you wonder, maybe that the boil is just too big, so you reach for it. You've made the mistake, again. You grab a body part that you don't want noticed, and now, something no one ever knew about is what EVERYONE sees.
Two more minutes left. Are they kidding? Is this torture? He gave you an extra two minutes to try to turn it around because he saw you there before. Do something you've done before. Do an older routine and get ONE laugh. You have done this, this is not your first time on the stage. If you blow this, it will be worse tomorrow. You have one last sentence in the routine, and you can save this. Nothing. Not a single response. Except. One.
The kid. "Mom, is he done yet? Can you go up so we can eat now?"
Uhm. I guess cutting your hair was a bad idea.
--
CJ
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