When Tom Met Sally

Graduation was like Cinderella until 11:59. It was a heady affair; 300 people in the audience, cheering us on, clapping wildly, laughing and high-fiving. When the clock struck midnight, I started performing at open microphones in front of stone-faced comedian strangers (if they were stoned, they'd probably have laughed) who were either pre-occupied with their approaching five minutes on stage or mentally revisiting the five minutes that they'd just had. This was the nadir of comedy for me; there was nothing fun or funny about it.  At first, I found the lack of response very distressing until it dawned on me that open mics are for practice and have very little to do with the audience. If you get someone to laugh, that's a bonus, but if you don't, you have to move on.  That is my mantra. It is very difficult to put it into practice, however, especially since my middle name is Thin-Skinned and I am not a Native American. Many of the students from Joe Matarese's class go to the same open mics and they're usually good for a titter or two and we all make sure that we don't self-immolate when we get off the stage.

The open mics also serve another purpose; they are  good places to connect with the promoters of comedy shows, many of whom are more than happy to put you in a real show if you bring lots of people to pay the cover and drink copiously (these are known as "bringer shows"). Some places will let you perform and you don't have to bring anyone and still others will never put you on a stage even if you bring an entire township (I haven't tested this yet, hmmm). Although not universally true, if you've only been at this a short time and your name isn't Sarah Silverman, you have to carry your own audience and hope that you have enough friends and family who are willing to shlep wherever you find a willing microphone. So far, my peeps have been supportive and my mother (who wanted me to teach college English, remember?) comes to all of my performances.

That brings me to the question that my husband frequently asks me about my budding (or decaying) comedy career: What do you want to accomplish? I know that there were students in my class who are itching to leave their jobs and make a career  of comedy. They go to open mics several times a week in New Jersey and New York, frequently over the protestations of their spouses and significant others. They are very directed and dogged in their quest to get really good and make lots of money as comedians. Many of them are very funny and, in my humble opinion, have that kind of potential. But, they are the Tom Hanks to my Sally Fields at the beginning of the movie, Punch Line (I don't know what happens later in the movie because once Hanks tells Fields that she has to do open mics six days a week to get good at it, I had an anxiety attack and returned the movie to Netflix).  So far, I'm dabbling, but to answer my husband's question? Damned if I know.

Something inside me (acid reflux?) keeps pushing me to do open mics and "bringer" shows  and I have been lucky enough to have been asked to perform a few times where I wasn't required to bring anyone.  How does this compare to practicing law? Not as lucrative; much more fun.  Do I envision supporting myself as a comedian? Don't make me laugh. Maybe.

Next time, I'll tell you about the metamorphosis of my material.