It Ruins the Cocktail Party

There were some audience members at my show tonight that had been at an open mike earlier in the evening.  My advice to them was to quit now.  The audience laughed at the abruptness, thinking I was being coy, but I meant it. 

I assume people think it is glamorous to do standup.  The first thing I always get asked is, "how do you get up there?"  They get it wrong.  We love to perform.  We're broken people.  That might be the first indication of why we get up there.

The hard part is literally everything else. Trying to win over bookers, trying to make enough money, driving to Rochester for $200, for example, and then it gets deeper the longer you are in.  You begin to feel a psychic tear in the fabric of the universe if you are not on a sitcom.  Only a select few get the silver chalice and the rest of us hate those few.  We smile while the resentment poisons our soul.  THAT is the beginning of why it's hard.  And a sitcom isn’t the holy grail necessarily, but it kind of is.

It is probably not widely known that Phyllis Diller was a concert pianist.  She had given a show for the queen of England that was comprised of a 20- minute set of standup and a 20-minute set of playing a piano concerto.  When asked which was the more difficult of the two, she stated that it was the standup because when people watch the piano performance, they think, "wow, I could never do that." 

Somehow people secretly think that they would make a good comedian.  Generally some people deem themselves as pretty clever.  Comedy does not come from wit, it comes from pain.  These dabblers in writing and performing standup probably got a taste for the rush of performing, but may not be aware of just how slanted the business is, or how nobody calls you back.  Nor are they aware of how judgy it all is.  Which brings me to gender.

Women in comedy is a whole other issue.  The things I've heard many comics (male) state about female comics would surprise you.  The Golden Girls are funny because they are no longer viewed as sexual objects.  This paradox has got to be God's sense of humor.  Or it represents the small mindedness of people.

I insist that my friends never tell anyone that I do standup if we are among other people, because it, as I explain to said friends, ruins the cocktail party.  What happens is that people can't stop asking you questions once they hear that this is your career.  Any working comedian on the planet will concur that what follows is the Spanish Inquisition, and it's always the same questions.  Almost in the same order. 

how do you get up there (and) what got you started? (compete for first place)

where do you perform?

do you have an agent?

what's your comedy about?

do you have writers?

I'm all, "woh, man.  I'm just trying to have a glass of wine at this New Jersey backyard shindig."  (you’re killing my buzz bruh).

Then they get defensive, "oh well, ya, I mean, I'm just so curious.  I have a curious mind is all.  So ..."  (and then that is followed by more questions).

The need at this point for a sedative is powerful.  You want to talk about show business?  I can't think of anything that I would like to do less.  People who are so fascinated don't know about the history of having an act.  Sometimes after a show, comics will share amazingly funny stories.  Numerous late evenings I have hung out in an empty showroom well after the show had finished, listening to older comics telling the funniest stories.  Woody Allen depicted this tableau in his masterpiece Broadway Danny Rose. The average person is not aware specifically of vaudeville or the history of the solo performer.   A magician isn't performing supernatural metaphysical procedures.  It's called misdirection.  It could be said that these question-riddled curious people have no manners, or at best are uncultured.  There is no other creative endeavor that creates such an annoying response.

What got you started in the mandolin?" 

"Do you have an agent for your gardening?"

"Where do you do your glass-blowing?"

"Do you write your oboe pieces?"

I suppose the fascination with standup is that people's biggest fear is being embarrassed, hence that thing about public speaking.  They're so terrified of that notion that you could be on stage and people aren't laughing, I guess.  They can't believe we take the risk.  Maybe that's it.  I guess they think we bomb regularly not realizing we are artists.  We're performers, this is what we love to do, now leave us alone.

You also, incidentally, can't tell people you're vegetarian