Seventeen years ago today, I stepped on a comedy stage for the first time. It did not go well.
I had signed up to perform at the open mic at the Comedy Shrine in Naperville and brought along my wife and two friends. I don’t know what I was expecting. I was 28 years old at the time, so I wasn’t naive enough to think there would be some talent scout in the audience offering to sign me up for a career of fame and riches. But, I had also never been to a comedy open mic before. I wasn’t sure of etiquette and I was definitely a bundle of nerves. I still remember wanting everyone in the car to hear Patton Oswalt’s Werewolves And Lollipops album on the way there, laughing at every punchline as if it was the first time I had ever heard it. Would I be receiving even a fraction of that kind of laughter?
I would not.
The three people I brought with me made up the entire audience at the Shrine that Monday night. However, I was stunned (and now grateful) to learn that I would only be one of two comedians who signed up. Desperate for my (and my friend’s) money, the club owner made the determination to not cancel the mic and we were off to the races. Over five minutes, I nervously talked about cheese and my penis. My wife didn’t laugh. My friends didn’t laugh. The other comedians didn’t laugh. I failed.
And I was instantly hooked.
I get that I could make this a (way too) long post about amusing stories with friends while mocking a few dorks. But, in thinking about my almost two decades in comedy, all I’m left with is an enormous feeling of gratitude. I’m so damn lucky to have gotten on that stage the night I because if I hadn’t, it may have changed everything about my comedy experience and I wouldn’t want to change a single thing.
These last seventeen years were not necessarily easy to me. I have dealt and am still dealing with: depression (both of the treated and untreated varieties), a very unhealthy relationship with food, a divorce, the loss of my father and the fact that I wore a lot of comic book t-shirts well into my 30’s. However, every time I have needed my comedian friends there for me, they have answered the call and done so with aplomb. They have shown me love and support and care. They have listened and they have shared. They held me at my most vulnerable and trusted themselves to be vulnerable to me. There is a reputation that comedians and selfish and self-absorbed egomaniacs, and some are. I definitely am. However, I’ve also found them to be the most loving and wonderful degenerates I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet, including the gentleman I run this website with.
But it was not just the comedians who have been amazing. The act of performing comedy was life-affirming. Hell, I’m able to say it was life-saving. Onstage, in those early years, I felt like being onstage was the best possible version of myself that I could be. So, when things weren’t going my way, I could always find a place where I could, even for a few minutes, be a comedian and not some loser drowning in his insecurities. The amount of times I thought, “I just gotta make it until my next set” were way too many to count. And I’m glad I’m in a better place and don’t feel that way anymore. But I’m also so grateful that outlet was there when I needed it.
Comedy also impacted my personal life immensely in the fact that it led me to my wife, who my friend (and FBC contributor) Katie brought to a show in the hopes of getting us together. It seemed like a ridiculous notion at the time. But Katie, as she usually is, was right. And the fact that I would never have met my wife, the most perfect person in my universe, without being able to get onstage and make people laugh is the number one reason I’m glad I got onstage that very first time.
To all the comedians I’ve shared a stage with, thank you. For becoming part of my family. For sharing your talent. For being special and ridiculous and so damn funny. Will I still be doing comedy in another 17 years? I don’t know. But I know I wouldn’t be a fraction of the person I am without having done this much.
Fancy Boys Club 