It all means something
And yet nothing to me

I’ve been learning a lot about the comedy business. Working with owners, getting accustomed to getting screwed, getting accustomed to bombing…well, maybe not that last one.
I mean, you know, you have to have such a high-opinion of yourself to go out there in the first place.
The fucking MOTTO of the Funny Bone is “Funnier Than You”, and that’s basically what you’re saying.
I played this shit gig last Thursday to a FULL bar, and you just walk to the stage, behind the mic, and the very fact that you’re THERE specifically to TELL JOKES, means you think you’re pretty funny.
Then a whole room of people basically silently disagrees with you.
I guess it’s better than the vocal disagreements…
Like when I played AJ’s Bar in Lawrenceville and a couple got up to leave and I was like “Hey! It’s a good thing you’re leaving right in the middle of the show!” and the girl said back, very matter-of-factly “We’re leaving because you suck”.
She wasn’t saying it like a heckler, just like a person explaining her actions, and I was just struck. I had nothing to say.
Anyway, it’s like Mitch Hedberg said, it hurts a whole lot when a joke bombs, because all of the jokes have been pre-approved as funny by me.
Which leads me to other things I’ve learned.
The internet is an interesting forum, because, while it invites literally thousands of people I wouldn’t have otherwise met to come and appreciate this little nugget of humor I try to provide to you, it also provides literally thousands of people I wouldn’t have otherwise cared if they died in a fiery car crash to come and insult me and disrespect what I’m trying to do.
I know you guys probably don’t like hearing my bitching, but it’s okay, because I’m learning.
I’m learning that wherever I go, whatever I do, you will be right here waiting for me. Wait, no. That’s Richard Marx.
What I mean to say is that what I do — in comedy and here on the internet — is High Profile. And by that I mean, seen by a lot of people. And I’m not being snotty.
Fuck, I did four shows this week. There weren’t a whole lot of people at each, but let’s say there were twenty. So hypothetically, at the end of this month, 320 different people have an opinion of my sense of humor.
And to quote good old Mitch again, you can’t please all the people all the time.
And last night, all those people were at my show.
What I mean to say by all this is that I’m actually becoming accustomed to people hating me. I mean, it always hurts, but it’s now becoming not anything new. Once you have a club owner walk up to you and suggest to your face that you “actually try writing a joke instead of whatever crap you just did up on stage,” nothing can really surprise you after that.
And I can’t really do anything about it.
I don’t do what I do for adoration. I do it because I love to do it.
I love writing, I love performing, I love making people laugh. And I do.
Not all the time, not with everything I do, but even when you pop in your favorite CD, you skip past some tracks.
I’m just here to rock the people who like to be rocked.
And if Rolling Stone wants to send out a little whiny, spiky-haired punk, emo glasses wearing, sexually confused, angry ass-cancer patient to critique me negatively, fucking bring it on.
Keep reading The Bee, folks.
The audience loves me, and I love them.
And they love me for loving them, and I love them for loving me.
And we love each other.
That’s because none of us got enough love in our childhoods.
And that’s showbiz, kid.

– Chicago