DON'T TIP THE STRIPPER

So- I'm starting this blog a bit late in the game, but I still need to document this. I took a stand-up comedy class back in November, and showcased the results of that class in December at the Hollywood Improv. Not too shabby. I played for a room of a hundred or so and made my way through a 5 minute set. My material was edgy (about dating bisexual women my WHOLE life) and seemed to in one swoop make people laugh and at the same time scratch their heads.

I've showcased in the Belly Room at the Comedy Store twice. I've done various open mikes. I'm quite pleased with my accomplishments for being a "virgin" at this. I feel like I've only taken a few inches in my exploitation, and have been lucky to not be completely cornholed in the showers of the comedy prison, yet.

Last night marked my third month of this suicide run into hell. The trip has been a fun one I must say. What started off as "just a small hobby to let out my creative juices," has turned into something the has genuinely piqued my interest.

I've met lots of comedians, and through some priceless connections have gotten to experience some things a lot quicker than most newbies would. I'm a good networker, and usually run into a bit of luck -- such is life.

But last night was a bit of a crossroads. At a place where I usually do reasonably well, I bombed my ass off, and believe it or not, it felt really GOOD!

There are the tons and tons of comedy fables you are told "coming up" in the comedy world, all with their fine little morals-of-the- story at the end. There's the one about Steve Martin was so nervous they puked into buckets before performing. There's the one how the great Richard Pryor would bomb repeatedly at the comedy Store because his shit was just to beyond what people were doing at the time. On and on and on.

The point is, if you are bombing, you are apparently doing something right. Well, that is never entirely true, I have learned. I learned last night that when you go up there and don't believe in your material, you fuck yourself.

LESSON ONE I HAVE LEARNED: YOU CANNOT GO ONSTAGE ON AUTOPILOT.
After bombing, which I will get to in a moment, I just started going into what I feel is my A material. But, because I showed fear and the audience smelled blood, I just rifled it off verbatim with no attitude or substance. I know now to never take your set for granted, and always if you fall, pick yourself back up by pointing out that "yeah, I'm bombing, fuck it," but then really try your ass off to get the people back.

The rainy night and going last had already kicked me in the ass, which is why I know i didn't kick in the afterburners. But, next time I'm going "Top Gun," baby. no losing that loving feeling. I'm going to make sure I get passionate really quick, for my sake and for those who are thankfully giving me their time and attention.

Flashback- I started out my set well, commenting on the torrential downpour we have been having in SoCal for the past two days, on and off. I went totally off-book (which I have been really trying hard to do to challenge myself for real rooms. I welcomed everyone to "Cloverfield" Appreciation Night, and said commented on how I was waiting for the spiders to come falling out of the sky. Got some laughs, good start.

I've been working on new material, and decided to try it out. I planned it painstakingly all day and let 'em rip. Unfortunately, here comes rule two.

LESSON TWO: ASSESS YOUR AUDIENCE PROPERLY.
Let's see, I was in front of an all-male crowd and decided to make a sarcastic joke about being a male stripper. Am I a fucking glutton for punishment or what? I don't want to reveal the full joke here, because deep in my creative soul and spirit I know it will fucking kill in front of a crowd that actually has some estrogen in it.

Also, I didn't take into consideration that I was going last on a rainy night. No one was laughing at most of the really good stuff be regulars there. The energy was at the lowest it has ever been in that particular room. This is probably why I thought I could pull some miracle off and rile up the room with some edgy material. Well, the result. No shows, no shirt, no dice. I lived it, learned it, and now I know it. Sometimes your instincts are for shit.

So the moral of this story. Take your lumps and move on. Tuesday I am doing what I like to call a "loaded room" showcase, since it's for co-workers. They will laugh to at least be kind, so no worries. But, needless to say I'll kick some comedy ass for them anyway. It will get my confidence back up and give me a chance to really hit home what I am calling my "greatest hits." I fell like one of those one-hit-wonder bands that always combines the entire contents of their first (and usually only) two albums and the record label calls it their "greatest hits."

Realistically, I've written about 30 minutes of material in my three months at this. I have been blessed that at least 8 minutes of it I fell is solid and will get laughs if I "sell it." and have passion about it. Thank goodness. I'm beating the odds. I'm afraid to get up there and try out new stuff and bomb. It's a crossroads.

I was lucky to come out of comedy class and write some good stuff that really took off. Unfortunately, now comes the real "job." Doing the work and writing material that just might not click and suffering through the process.

I can do it, I know I can. I'll get paid for a show by the end of the year. I'll do a showcase in Chicago in 6 months. I'll get lucky. I feel it.

Until next time, over and out. And don't tip the stripper, cause that bitch was ugly tonight. I should know, I'm the one that was in the fishnets.