August 22, 2013

Can’t hang with the big dogs

Remember last night how I said I wasn’t going to that one place until the guy that ran it figured out that it was me texting him for a spot? Well he figured it out, so I went and did a spot. Mostly just comics hanging out, but a few people off the street. I asked what they wanted to do. This guy said he wanted to shake hands with every other person in the room. I had them all get up and start shaking hands, but then some of them said “wait, I didn’t want to do that.” So I asked what they wanted to do again. This time all the comics starting saying what jokes of mine they wanted to hear. By the time they were done, there was only time for one of them. So I told it. They liked it a lot.

I watched a few more comics and then decided I wanted to get some avocados from the co-op. I went out and got on my bike. Some of the other comics were out there talking shop, and for some reason I just hung out for a minute and listened. But then I just got more and more depressed listening to all the cool things they were doing that I knew no one would let me do. Working this club and that, going on special auditions. I mean, I feel happy for them with all their success and what not, I really do, but I still struggle constantly trying to figure out what the problem is that prevents me from being able to do any of those things. It’s like that girl that won’t go out with you even for tea, yet fucks every other guy she meets. It really hurts after a while. So I just kind of snuck off into the dark since I couldn’t think of anything else to do. But the avocado was good.

A lot of these guys are my peers and friends to greater or lesser degrees. But it’s hard because when I don’t get to do stuff, and people say it’s because I’m too real, or not polished or consistent enough, all things that I like about myself, I feel like there’s this system or status quo that I have to rebel and fight against, and they’re all part of it. And when I say consistent, I don’t mean like bomb one night and kill the next, I mean like keeping a consistent rhythm going through my set. I hate that. But they all seem to think I’m funny too, and they seem sympathetic when I try to get work here or there and hear bad news or no news. So do they think I should be able to do the things I want to do too? I don’t know.

But at least nobody reached for my junk tonight. That was really nice.