I regard myself as being a ‘bit’ funny.
I’d like to think my casual observations on life were just as comedic as Garfield’s. I’ll also give you a good pun-sparring match for at least 5mins – although often ending in crude insults.
Then I visit an open-mic night & realise I’m really just a comedy sidekick mule. A yawn-some Pawn in a Comedy Great’s entourage. I’d probably be the one that gets killed off in the first 10mins of a Richard Donner Buddy Movie.
I’ve often marvelled at friends that do stand-up. It’s a small space up there, under that solitary spot-light, shining on your insecurities, illuminating the beads of cold sweat & of course, the audience can see – feel – and smell that all.
That’s where we find ourselves in SF.
An invitation to come down & see some performances seemed an excellent excuse to drink.
There is often a bitter callousness with an audience during Open Mic. A tough crowd is a tough crowd – end of, no matter what calibre performer you might be. You might get a few giggles with a laborious Roman Candle pun, but the real winner is the Dick Gag & veracious amounts of swearing.
“What came first, the chicken or the egg?” a comedian pondered. “It was the dinosaurs you fucking morons – haven’t any of you ever read a fucking book? – God damn it”
That’s my level right there.