Out There and Dying Horrible Deaths

Monday

It all started three weeks ago.  Wait, it started last April.  No, actually it started two years before that.  Okay, technically it began 26 years ago.  But I don’t want to go back that far.

This was written in the two or three days that lead up to my first time doing stand up in a very, very long time.  The truth is I don’t really know the last time I did it.  Since then I’ve been a teacher, a work-from-home dad, an office drone, and a field inspector out here in Oregon. I’ve written a billion essays, a couple books, some poetry and short stories and I put out a podcast for four years.  I obviously have something to say and I haven’t quite found the right way to say it.

Or, I found the right way a couple decades ago.  I did a few open mics in the early 90’s with moderate success.  I like performing and I have no qualms about cutting my veins open in front of a bunch of strangers for laughs.  I love the entertainment value and the art form.  But, most of the time in between was spent raising my three kids; an experience that was worth the time, effort, sacrifice, and a life spent mostly quiet and indoors.  There’s not a lot of heckling while performing the duties as a dad.  Until the kids hit about 17.

But if you’ve performed and you had even a mild bit of success, there is an infection that burrows inside you.  There is something that calls you back over and over, no matter how much you try to bury it or turn your back on it. I had no major urges for a very long time.  I think it was around 2005 or so, when the voices became louder in the background.  There was a bit of second comedy boom; more specials and CD’s and bigger names were touring and creating podcasts.  Soon, I was a big comedy fan again, like when I was in high school.  It wasn’t long before I jotted down my first bits in years.

I used them for my podcast, which basically has a listenership of less than 8 people. I wrote and wrote and pushed myself to keep trying.  Though I never got any traction, I still had the material.

So why did I not perform in the interim?  Just do it for a goof?  I could knock out 10,000 words in the post about all the internal and sometimes external crap I went through, but I would prefer to be more succinct and refreshingly discreet for a change. The truth is, I think I loved it too much.  It was the only career path I ever thought of before becoming a new dad.  It was a dream floating in the back of my mind for years.  I imagined financial success and fame.  That is a success in the entertainment world, I assumed.  It was only after a smidge of therapy and a control on my high blood pressure that I realized that it is a ridiculous waste of your energy and perceived talents to chase after fame.  I could blame the culture, but I know it was me.  For me, to do comedy was to go all in.  I couldn’t go all in…I was married with three kids.  You can’t travel around the country and go out every night when there are kids at home.  I chose them over my career, and I’d make that same choice every time. I loved it all.

But now the kids are big.  They have their own lives.  And I still have the itch.

I couldn’t reconcile why I should go back.  I have other interests in the world.  I’ve never had a passion for any job I’ve had, until very recently.  My life was open to new chapters and explorations and all that inspirational hokum.  I could jump right in.  Turns out, I needed a reason.  I needed a reason that wasn’t some Pollyanna, American Idol self-delusion about stardom. 

My friend Andy (yes, you get some credit) was in town for business last year and we talked about all manner of silliness and life-altering insights, and eventually one conversation boiled down to stand-up. I need to go.  Like me, he had boyhood dreams of rock stardom; but he still enjoys playing music live as a part of 249 different bands in Atlanta.  He still gets on stage because it’s a damn good time.

So I made a decision to go for my birthday in June.  But something happened.  I was ready with a set and some clothes to change into after work.  An outsider may say I chickened out.  What actually happened was that I refused to go.  I needed to let go of that fact that this activity, this passion, was all I had outside of my family.  So I went home.  I am bigger than this thing that I like to do.

Months later, I get laid off again.  Money trouble, desperation, a sense of failure.  I immediately get back into therapy to sort out what I need to do.  “Why not do something you love?” soon became the theme.  I can work and provide and do something I love.  The kids are older and they, quite frankly, don’t give a shit what I do with my spare time.  The Mrs. understands I’m a weirdo who needs laughs.   But that question remained:  Why do this?  What is the motivation if it is not for a career?  I would love to do it in either scenario, so performing for the pure love of it really isn’t good enough for me.

I got it.  I’ll do it to get better.

I am in complete control of every aspect of this rationale.  The amount of work I put into it, the length of time, the quality and the overall judgment of my performance is all up to me.  It is what I needed to go forward.

So, in two days, no more just writing about it. 

Most people do not understand the urge to do comedy.  It is crazy.  There are people who willingly engage in an act everyone else tries to avoid their entire lives. It’s not really a respected art form; and there is always a very good chance the crowd will be filled with a few drunken pricks.  I’m banking on Portland. It is so much nicer out here.  The vibe, as much as I can interpret from my perspective, is very supportive and accepting.  I think it will be a great place to feel around and try to figure out what works for me up there.

I’m nervous.  The nerves come from taking action.  If I went back in time and I got to tell myself two words, they would be “take action”.  (Maybe they would be “invest Apple”)  This is the crux of my problem.  The last fifteen years of effort was done from my chair.  I was persistent, but my efforts only went so far.  I stayed indoors, in my slippers, with the Mrs. and my kids. I was not involved with the world Out There.

It’s not performance anxiety.  It’s people anxiety.

Tuesday

I’ve rehearsed my set, which I already had committed to memory last year.  I’ve done it 2 or 3 times to myself, and I plan on doing it 2 or 3 more.  It’s a lot different when you are up there, to be sure.  I think I’ll take a cheat sheet with me, with a few words to help.

Open mics work like this:  Portland has a bunch and there is at least one every night.  You have to sign up or make contact with the host until the slots are full.  The slots and amount of stage time you get vary.  Tomorrow, there are three to choose from, and the times are designed so some people can hit all three in the same night.  To increase my chances of a spot, I will sign up for the first two.  I have to message the host at midnight on Facebook for the second show and I have to show up in person if I want a slot at the early show.  No guarantees.

My goal today is to try and relax.  On top of this insane activity, I am still waiting to hear about a few jobs.  There is a lot of foot tapping and face rubbing.  I guess a walk, some chores, a little TV or a movie, and some video game time could eat up some time, right?

There are times when I when I wished I idolized doctors or architects instead of comedians.

***

Every cell in my body is screaming at me to stay home and never think about stand-up comedy ever again.  The physical reaction is like a panic attack, something with which I am unfortunately familiar.  My mind is racing for an excuse not to go.  This is crazy; you’re old.  You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.  Nobody knows what you are up to…you could just quietly concede and enjoy a hot chocolate at home instead. I caught myself wishing something crappy would happen so I would be too bummed out to go downtown tomorrow night.  

The truth is, nothing will happen other than a few minutes of bits and hopefully a handful of laughs.  I can only imagine the sensation I’ll feel when I’m done.  Not the exhilaration, but the relief and the relaxation of my shoulders and back.  This truly is nuts.

Wednesday

Confidence has crept in alongside a feeling of numbness.  It’s that acceptance of fear that comes from a full day of letting the fear have its way.  It sucks, it’s uncomfortable, then it subsides. What’s left is…well…not fear.  I’m not sure what is left because I rarely experience this in my life.  I’m happy about this.  I want this.

There is a chance I might not even get a spot tonight.  There’s enough comics and open mikers out there; things get busy.  I’d like to get this one under my belt.  It doesn’t feel real yet.  That’s also a problem with leaving the comfort zone.  Since there is a lack of familiarity, you feel as if you’re in a movie about someone else.

Okay.  Long enough. I got seven hours to kill until I head out.  See you tomorrow.

Thursday

Did it.

If there is any lesson to be learned when attempting something new and scary, it is this:  Try not to make a big deal out of it.  I went, I made it, I got three minutes.  I was a bit nervous, but I kept up my good cheer for the evening and it helped a lot.  I remembered that this is supposed to be fun.  If anything, the actual three minutes of stage time will be remembered matter-of-factly.

I hit traffic on the way to Portland, as expected.  I needed to get there by 7pm for the sign-up.  I wasn’t sure how long the line would be, and I know there are limited spots.  I parked a block or so away from the lounge, and had trouble finding the place on foot.  (Thanks, smartphone.)  It is a small bar with a nicely sized stage.  There was group of people hovering over in front of the bar.  I just stood behind them.  I signed in, as number 14.

It should be mentioned that the main reason I am doing this is to meet people.  I suck socially, I don’t make friends and I don’t know how to talk to people.  So, as usual, I took a table away from all the other comics in the back corner of the room.  A few had notebooks out, scratching and rewriting bits.  I had my set memorized, but I carried a cheat sheet in case I froze.  It read: “Deer. Summer.  Cops.  Band.”  I timed it out at four minutes, but I would soon learn that the sets were to be 3 minutes, so I dumped “Cops.”

Besides 20-22 comics there were about 4 or 5 regular patrons.  This was not the big Tuesday open mic night; this was earlier on Wednesday and the place was pretty bare.  That meant most jokes were getting nothing at all.  In fact, only 2 performers really got anything close to a laugh.  The rest of us DIED A HORRIBLE DEATH. I did my set to barely a giggle; I may have received something when I reacted to that.  But I wasn’t saddened by it, no one was.  That is the deal.  You eat shit a lot.

I have a bunch of observations, but I’ll save them for something else.  I didn’t stay home and use excuses.  I made the hurdle.  Now is the time to face another challenge and see what I can do.

Now what?