What I Learned from 1 Year of Stand-Up Comedy
One of the things was “It’s grammatically correct to use a hyphen for the word ‘stand-up.’” I actually just learned that right now. I’ve never formally sat down to write about my experiences performing stand-up comedy, in spite of the fact that I sit down and write formally about all manner of horseshit. But this may be the horseshittiest of horseshit. Don’t get me wrong; I have loved performing and working on the craft of comedy since I first stepped on stage on May 27, 2018. But I think a lot of other comics will tell you that stand-up is soul-sucking stuff.
And look, I’m saying that one year in. That’s nothing. But the ultimate hypocrisy of comedians that say things like this (among many, many others [I should mention here that every time I say something even remotely derogatory about my fellow comics I am in fact just lumping other people into what I perceive is a general attitude that I should probably only credit to myself, but oh well, we’re here generalizing anyways, let’s keep it going]), the committed comedians, is that we’ll keep doing it in spite of the very lowest lows.
Alright, at this point, I won’t generalize for other people. But I’ll say for myself that I turned to comedy out of desperation. It was for me. I wanted to cry out and bring attention to myself and feel approval. And fuck me, if I wanted to feel unconditionally loved, comedy was the wrong thing to step into. I cannot even remotely say that pursuing stand-up is a noble, unselfish thing, but I will say that my outlook on why I do comedy has certainly changed. At the core, I’m trying to make people laugh. I’m trying to give people a good time, if I’m doing it right and at a certain level. That’s not necessarily the outlook I can have every time I step on stage at an open mic, but it’s certainly what I’m reaching for. And yes, of course, I’m egotistical. You’d have to be to some degree.
For a large part of this first year, however, it was about getting the confidence to even bring myself in front of people and convince them that I’m worth listening to. I paradoxically wanted attention as much as I wanted to slip into the shadows and never risk public embarrassment or failure. This paradox still fuels me to a certain extent; I don’t really trust comics that think a lack of nervous energy before a show is an asset. But the fear of public embarrassment or failure is not a dominating force anymore. I could only be publicly embarrassed and fail so many times before I got used to it. And I realize those moments aren’t indicative of my self-worth, or even necessarily the strength of my jokes. I’ve had many moments where I’ve entered the void and the reciprocal vacuum of sound that accompanies a bomb with one set, and done the exact same set elsewhere to laughter and applause, the kind of laughter and applause that feels like I’m injecting life-giving nectar straight into my veins.
I don’t drink or do drugs, by the way. You better believe that’s a totally fun conversation I’ve had ad nauseam with comics and the patrons of the dive bars I typically frequent for open mics. It’s fine though, it’s not a superiority thing. I just don’t do it. Doesn’t really matter quite honestly. It’s certainly not enhancing my cool factor.
Another turn I’ve taken in this past year, a development that has emerged within the past three months or so, is moving into a different comedic style. When I first started, I was talking about myself in longer, storied jokes. And then I realized I wanted to emulate someone like a Demetri Martin or a Mitch Hedberg or a Steven Wright. It wasn’t conscious; I just found myself experimenting with short one- or two-liners in a relatively low-key delivery, and I realized that was kind of what I was emulating. I’m thinking, though…damn, I need a shit-ton of jokes. Just so many. And as I’m starting to do longer sets, building them out with so many premises is quite difficult. This started as an experiment, so who knows, I may transition back or to something new, start building short sets around one joke or something. But I also know the challenge drives me, and this style feels like an approximation of who I am, how I think. I write at least one new joke a day (OK, maybe I don’t always stick to that as much as I’d like), so hopefully, out of about 365 jokes a year, some of them will be usable at such time that I need to use more than a dozen.
And the actual work of writing and performing comedy has been great, but another amazing part of the experience has been meeting so many like-minded individuals. Comedians sort of have a built-in understanding of each other, even if it’s to a relatively minute degree. And I’ve found that to be a useful way of meeting new people. The Phoenix comedy scene is growing every day (then shrinking as mics end, but then growing again as more pop up), and more and more people are entering. It’s small enough to see some of the same people around, but big enough to feel like there are more options than just a few open mics where you always see the same people. And thankfully, I get along with quite a few of those people. It’s a good hang.
I tell everyone who asks me (and even those who don’t) that I have no idea what I’m doing with comedy. Or my day job. Or my life. But that’s not for a lack of conviction or wants or desires; I’m just trying to experience the artistry of stand-up comedy as realistically as possible. At one year in, that means I’ve been focused on the craft. But to truly improve those chops, I need to look into the logistics of the “business” and the booking process. It’s a tough part of it. If anything, I just want to be known as a decent dude with some funny stuff. If that takes me to a good place soon, then that’ll be great. If not, then I’ll keep plugging away and enjoying the ride.
