I took a leap of faith this week. One more in a long line of leaps that have me feeling a bit like the bouncing ball.
I’m funny. I am. All I ever wanted was to be a guest on the Johnny Carson show. I know he’s retired, hells, he’s dead, but still, it’s what I wanted. I tried my hand at a little stand-up this week at Waltz Astoria‘s open mic night. I didn’t tell anyone. I figured if I peed myself on stage, no one I knew would know. I’d get back in my car in my wet pants, go home and I’d still be cool to you.
Everything in life is a lesson and this is what I learned on Tuesday.
Phone a Friend. There’s always one friend who has been exactly where you are and can talk you through scary stuff. The trick is knowing who to call. I made that call when I peeped that the joint was a) brightly lit and b) empty. I like to get lost in a crowd even when I’m standing in front of them. She talked me down, I pulled up my big girl panties, went in & signed up. Thank you again Mitzy.
Know your audience. If I’m going to do this again I need to remember 70′s cultural references are lost on people who were not born until 1985 or 1990. There was no one over 30 in the cafe. Any references to anxiety about aging, weight gain, menopause, the 70s and even the 80s fell on deaf ears. Very young, beautiful, shell-like deaf ears, but deaf none the less. For the first time in years, not having a television was a handicap. I’m out of their loop, cultural reference wise. I’ve never even heard of Survivorman.
Timing is everything. Five minutes of material will not stretch into ten if there are no laughs.
Bathroom lighting is kind. If you can find a bathroom with good lighting, this is the place where all first dates should take place. Not the bathroom, although I’ve had more than a few meaningful relationships in bathrooms during the 80s, but the place with a bathroom that is lit well, rather than just well-lit. So you can go in periodically, reassure yourself that you look terrific and go back out with confidence. The Waltz Astoria has just such a bathroom. Thank you Pedro.
Penises are funny. Men like to say the word penis. A lot. They think it’s pretty funny. Penis. Penis. Penis. I said it to myself a few times just to see, but I think it’s a guy thing.
When I was a kid and hanging out at the Improv, it didn’t cost anything to try new material. But just like everything else today, unless you’re a big name, venues want to get paid. Strippers have to pay to dance, comics have to pay to perform. While I went through my requisite $10 worth of food and drink, I relaxed a bit, heard some good stuff and I got to see how it’s done.
John Henry Olthoff opened the night with a song called Anymore (mp3 below, listen and enjoy). His songs are funny in an ironic, dry way that reminded me a lot of an old boyfriend, Chinga Chavin and Country Porn, and that doesn’t suck.
Annie Dressner did some cover tunes. Her voice and phrasing was so beautiful I would have gladly listened through another $4 cup of chai.
In the immortal words of Arnold, squeezing in one more reference that pre-dates the cafe audiences of today, but here it is anyway, “I’ll be back.” Maybe next time I’ll pop into the Moth, cause really, son, I don’t gots jokes, but I gots mad stories, yo.
