What We Want, Why We Want It
The Gratitude List #31
It’s Saturday. I’m headlining a show in Carlsbad. The audience is lively. The host says I can do as much time as I want past 25 minutes depending on how it feels up there. I wind up doing 50. The star audience members of the night are a family of three: a 19-year-old guy named Rylan and his parents. I interact a little bit with the parents but mostly with Rylan, who’s got some kind of leg/foot injury requiring one of those kneeling scooters that only seemed to start existing within the past 10 years.
Rylan is a ham. When I ask how he injured his leg, he pauses, then says it was in a paragliding accident trying to save kids from a burning orphanage. Some audience members are like this nowadays, wanting to both attend the show and be an active participant. Sometimes this can be obnoxious, but this interaction never goes over the line from fun banter to me firmly asking him to shut the fuck up. We have our moments, then I am able to flow right back into the set.
After the show, his mom and I briefly chat. “You know, I think he wants to be a comedy writer.”
“That tracks,” I say.
As Rylan and his dad approach, we’re talking about how I got into writing work. I tell the trio the version of my story I have grown accustomed to telling over the years—worked as a door guy at the Comedy Store, a producer saw me do a set and offered me a job, that job led to the next job, etc.—but it doesn’t occur to me until much later that the reason I even started pursuing comedy was because of a conversation very much like this one.
I’m 16 years old, a junior in high school. I’m in a group called the Pep Boys whose main job is to do live skits1 at pep rallies during football season making fun of the football players. At the end of the year, we have our “banquet” at Dick’s Last Resort in Dallas, which you may know as the restaurant whose whole gimmick is “the servers are mean to you the entire time.” Our server is a big, burly guy named George who roasts us mercilessly. He isn’t just using the stock lines he’s probably got in his quiver, either – he’s actually funny, legitimately engaging with us and dishing back our teenage bullshit tenfold.
At some point, George mentions to some of us that he does stand-up, and that he’s got a show coming up in a couple weeks we should go to if we can. After confirming that, yes, the venue will let in a gaggle of teen boys, we snag a flyer and make plans.
Four of us go to the show, carpooling to Dallas, excited to see something in person that we’d only ever seen on TV. The show is like most stand-up shows: a little uneven, but a good time overall. George kills, so do a couple others. We find ourselves talking to George and another comic after the show, asking all our curious teen boy questions about stand-up. They indulge us for a bit, then go off to do whatever it is comics do.2
On the ride back to the suburbs, I keep thinking about how tangible doing anything comedy-related in “the real world” is now. Stand-up had left the realm of my TV and computer screens and landed 20 feet in front of me, in a coffee shop in Deep Ellum. I wouldn’t do my first open mic until about a year and a half later, but this was really when the seed got planted.
I wonder when Rylan will do his first open mic.
THINGS I’M GLAD I SAW LAST WEEK
COMEDY SAMURAI BY LARRY CHARLES
FIRST TIME, LONG TIME BY AMY SILVERBERG
I loved these two books, and I think reading them back-to-back was serendipitous. Comedy Samurai, a memoir from legendary comedy writer and director Larry Charles, offers great insight into the messed-up mind of a professional comedy person. Of course, you don’t spend 40 years continually working in comedy without being very, very good at it, and the myriad insights provided on process and craft are invaluable. The behind-the-scenes stories about projects like Borat, Brüno, and Curb Your Enthusiasm are worth the price of admission. But I also appreciated that this memoir, like Larry Charles’ other work, doesn’t avoid discomfort. All insecurities are laid bare, all mistakes are acknowledged. It’s a compelling read, both practical and philosophical without ever getting too navel gaze-y or in the weeds of industry lingo.
First Time, Long Time is my friend Amy Silverberg’s debut novel, and it’s a riot. It follows an young English professor who begins dating a famous (and much older) shock-jock radio DJ. Think half Howard Stern, half Joe Rogan. It’s a little bit about comedy, a lot about writing, and entirely about how the stories we choose to tell about ourselves change as we grow up, get wise, and figure out not just what we want, but why we want it. If you’re looking for a pool- or beachside read for the last days of summer, look no further.
SHORT CUTS
I love Raymond Carver, one of the greatest short story writers to ever put ink on paper. When I was introduced to him in college in my Intro to Creative Writing class, his plainspoken, painstakingly-rendered drama of ordinary life blew me away. I also love the city of Los Angeles, in all its sprawling, messy glory. It’s almost too big and complex, like a video game that requires too much grinding and too many collectibles3 in order to really enjoy it, but once you level up and figure out how to spend the points in your skill tree, you’re fine.
What I didn’t know was how much I’d love L.A. and Carver smushed together, which Robert Altman did for three hours in the early 90’s. But I finally got to see his masterpiece in a matinee at the Egyptian Theater, and man oh man! I was floored. It’s well-acted, it’s well-written, it’s well-directed, it’s tragic, it’s comic… it’s the whole shebang. It’s also over 3 hours long, so probably not for everyone. But definitely for me!
A BRIEF DISPATCH FROM RECOVERYLAND
I had a chance to lead a meeting yesterday geared towards artists and creatives, which allowed me to share my story with some fellows in a way I don’t usually get a chance to. I closed by offering up this advice I got from another artist in recovery: I have to be reminded that I signed up to live this life. There will be some days where I feel very good about what I’m doing and where I’m at, and some where I don’t, and I signed up for all of them. But being in recovery and practicing a program makes it easier to accept reality, and keeps me from trying to bend things my way.
Today, I’m feeling great. I had a sold-out WRONG! at the Comedy Store for the first time, and a great show altogether. I’m feeling like I’m swimming in the flow. not floating adrift. It’s sunny and beautiful outside. I’ve made time to hit two meetings already and have time to hit at least two more. Days and weeks like these feel like deposits in my spiritual piggy bank. Maybe they will have to get withdrawn soon, to deal with whatever bullshit life might put in my path, but today, I can cherish what I’ve got in front of me.
WHAT ABOUT ME?
This week, you can find me:
doing shows in Los Angeles - full show calendar is here
And if you haven’t caught up on WRONG! yet, you’ve got plenty of time until our next show. Take a watch below or listen wherever you get podcasts.
Until next time, friends. Thanks for reading, I’m glad you’re here!
and yes, we did call them skits, so despite every bone in my comedy body now telling me not to call anything in comedy a skit I will maintain this nomenclature
as I would later learn: drink, smoke, do drugs, talk shit
I’m looking at you, Donkey Kong 64