Tonight, my 1000 word essay is going to be about the show I was in at the John Lovitz Comedy Club in Universal City, CA. This was officially the first open mic I've done in California. The original lineup contained 26 comics and was hosted by Frazier Smith who did an excellent job. The JLCC is three stories and the capacity sign indicated that 542 occupants could enjoy a comedy show at the club. We had 12. I went up 23rd. After comic #20 or so, 4 people left, so I performed in front of the remaining 8 customers and probably 20 more bootcamp comics and other comics who aren't in the bootcamp. My set went alright, considering the crowd size. I'm working on loosing my comic accent (which I can only describe as talking AT the audience as opposed to talking to the audience (Kyle Cease told me to talk to them like I'm having a conversation with a friend). I've heard that advice before, and sometimes I don't have the accent, but the majority of the time, I probably do). It's easier to drop the accent with smaller crowds, because in an intimate setting like that, you have to be conversational with the crowd so you can make them feel more comfortable.
We were given three minutes tonight, which doesn't seem like much time, but I planned on doing my Bone Tom, Facebook Bully, 2nd Person Shooter, Math Problems, Sudoku and Word Problems jokes (the last of which was inspired by Ant during the bootcamp and is therefore my newest joke). I ended up doing my PANTS, my Sober Bacon and Gay Bar jokes. I didn't time myself, and since they light you with 2 minutes to go, I don't think I went over but I might have. I didn't time myself because the stool got moved to the back of the stage before I went on (at one point it was in perfect position to put my iPhone on). Tomorrow night during the filmed showcase I don't think I'm going to do the PANTS joke because my voice hasn't been in good enough shape to facilitate screaming (my voice has started cracking again like I'm in puberty. It's probably because I sing loudly to rock and metal songs when I drive).
I was really impressed with my fellow comics tonight, because I know a lot of them have far less experience on stage than I do (some of them performed for the 1st time tonight, others haven't broken 10 yet and they did great in front of the small audience). I was especially impressed by one comic, Joann, who didn't want to go up. I told her she should (and I won't assume she did because of me, but she did go on stage and did great). Ed Driscoll touched on the subject today and said that being nervous means you care. I agree 100%. It's like the anxiety I get on family float trips when I climb the cliff and am looking at the river below. You know you have to jump, that's why you climbed up there. But looking down at the water is scary. From that perspective it looks much worse than it is. When there are only one or two comics before you, it's like standing on that cliff. But you have to jump. Once you do, the anxiety leaves and before you know it you're in the water and everyone's cheering for you and clapping because you did it (it helps having my nieces and nephews jumping off the cliff too, because if a 13 year old Monica jumps, I'm not going to bail out. Probably because my family would never let me live it down). I wish I was able to come up with an analogy about ripping off a band-aid because the phrase “rip it like a band-aid” sounds really cool to me. As a kid, taking a band-aid off is a scary deal, especially if you have any amount of body hair near the adhesive. But when you rip it on stage and conquer your fear, you get to see yourself stronger than before. The wound is not longer a problem, it's healed and you're stronger than before. Kyle likes to quote Tony Robins (sp?) and say “When you think you can't, you must”.
Today Louie Anderson talked to us about comedy and told us that no one ever died doing comedy (I know some comics have passed because of how they let comedy affect their lives, but no one ever actually died on stage because they ate it. So the worst-case scenario just got a lot less terrifying because the only real fear is rejection. And who cares what a crowd of strangers thinks anyway? The biggest thing I'm learning from the bootcamp this week is that vulnerability is actually power. Being able to admit that you're vulnerable to an audience proves that you're human and have so much in common with them. When comics open up on stage and talk about their lives, the trials, tribulations and other t-words (T-Ravs?), the audience relates because everyone has a weakness that scares them. Admitting you have one to others can get the audience on your side as quickly as a hilarious joke. Granted the joke gets laughs which is the preferred method of payoff, whereas relating to the audience can move the audience emotionally. That's not always exactly what comics are looking for, but it certainly does make people remember you (and hopefully they want to see you succeed so maybe they come back to another show to see you rip it like a band aid the next time).
My advice to new comics, if any ever read this (and I think they will, if I can finish the standup book I want to write) is that you have to perform. That's why you came to the club, that's why you flew to Los Angeles, that's why you climbed the cliff. The thrill of performing, the thrill of facing your fears, staring them in the face and not backing down is better than any high, any drug, any thing.
Even if the waitstaff outnumbers the audience.
I love my life.