One of my pen-pals (yes, that’s plural, I have multiple pen-pals that I write to via email or by hand or sometimes via messenger pigeons or I just write poetry and put it in bottles and thrust it into the ocean hoping it might reach a soul mate) shared this quote from Bob Newhart:
“You know what’s strange, about comics? If you ask someone about their most memorable night–ask a singer about a night she remembers, she’ll talk about the time she hit all the right notes in a packed house. Or a dancer, they’ll tell you about the terrific leap they made that they’ve never been able to equal. An actor will tell you about the time he got a standing ovation. But if you ask a comic to tell you about the night they remember most, you’ll get a story about a night they died, just bombed, had the worst night of their life. That’s how most of the comics I know think.”
That’s pretty funny/alarming/accurate/sad tell of the mindset of a comic.
I mean… I am one of those people. But I’ll liken stand up to surfing when I say that the stories where there were sharks or I ate shit, almost drowned— they are better stories than the days of perfect waves.
Here’s the story of a perfect wave day:
I was in Hawaii. The water is crystal clear, colorful reef below, emerald mountains on land, slow 4-5ft rollers breaking. Clean and gentle but powerful enough faces to shred. Caught wave after wave of the best feeling.
The end.
It’s a great memory but not really a great story. And unless you’re a surfer you don’t know the feeling. Same goes for stand up. Perfect gig:
It’s a theater and I’m opening for Colin Quinn/Nick Griffin/Gary Gulman. I step out to applause. Take the mic. Every joke hits. I kill. Caught waves of laughter and it’s the best feeling.
The end.
Again, not a great story. But it is the reason we go back for more, the reason we raise our battle flags (mostly internal, not a rioter here), and drudge through shit. I’d like to think that a comics disposition as Newhart accurately observed is a symptom of being a story teller who pines to make you laugh rather than being negative at heart or trying to make ourselves a Hero.
What is the seed of a comics self deprivation? Oh man. That’s heavy one. Compile all my blogs, read between the lines and maybe you’ll figure out the mind of a mad woman, but let me save you sometime– don’t even bother.
On the 7th Day, You’ll Breathe Again (Like Never Before)
Oysters
Off My Meds
Nathan from Nebraska
PeleKlarloneby
Coreynor
Roberoneby
DavidPic
JosephWoori
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