The Devil’s Lair

Well, Tom Brazleton asked me a few days ago to compose some sort of essay on the path I’ve taken into Stand-Up Comedy, and people have been posting in the comments and emailing me asking for advice and opinions and demanding answers in this elusive field.
I’m flattered, everyone, really, and Tom, please know that your assignment of an essay made me that special sort of excited that I haven’t had since I was in college, when someone assigned the perfect essay, and I’d put off talking to anyone until it was finished. I miss stuff like that, and I’m half-tempted to email all my old professors just to ask them to assign things for me to do, because being out of school is DRIVING ME INSANE.
BUT. That said. I am in comedic infancy. I am no more qualified to write an essay about comedy than a pre-med student is to performing open-heart surgery, and giving my ignorant opinion would not only make me look like an ass, BUT IT JUST MIGHT KILL SOMEONE.
I guess I’d be happy to tell you sometime about how I personally have done things in the past 9 months, but it’s sort of a boring story and it wouldn’t have all the lessons that I would be able to recognize in five or ten years.
Let me dip into the analogy well for a second and see what we have for this topic.
Okay, it’s like if you become an architect. Back when you were playing with Legos and tinkering with basic structures and designs, you loved it and you told everyone how cool and fun legos were, but you didn’t know that half the stuff you were making would topple over in real life and kill thousands.
But also, you wouldn’t have been able to recognize the quiet brilliance in your style and technique; the things that were actually adding to your ability to become a great or sucky architect without your even knowing it.
And all the while, more importantly, the great architects would look down upon your legos, and chuckle at how much you think you know and don’t.
To answer the questions that Mark asked last post, I tape all my own sets. I bring my own camera, set it on a wall or a table, and press record. I don’t want anyone to do it for me, because I’d rather have them pay attention to laughing rather than recording. Also, my mom loves to use the zoom button, and I end up with seven minutes of my nostrils flaring during my punch lines.
The audience that night was one of the bigger audiences I’ve ever played to, and it was the Improv at max capacity. Every seat was taken.
I have no concept of numbers, so I’m going to say between thirty and seventeen skillion.
I have gotten paid once out of the… seventeen skillion times I’ve done it.
I hope someday to be paid more than once.
The amount I was paid was seventeen skillion dollars.
So yes. Comedy rocks. I’m going to keep talking about how cool it is, and I apoligize to you readers who used to come to this site itching for a cynical rant about how much food service sucks and various ex-boyfriends who owe me money, because life is good now. But as for being an expert witness, I think I’ll keep my mouth shut until I know what I’m talking about.


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