Confessions of a standup-comedy virgin
Reporter draws inspiration from humble childhood and teenage mishaps to unleash his inner comic
People have always told me I’m funny. Funny-looking, funny-smelling . . . ba-dah-bum.
But seriously, folks; I’ve never really imagined, despite the urging of many over many years (“You should be on TV . . . so I could turn you off”), that I would ever do a set of standup comedy.
As an entertainment reporter, I’ve interviewed many standup comics, some of whom you may have heard of. I sat down earlier this year with Amy Schumer to talk about her first film Trainwreck. She was very sweet and even a bit flirtatious; she called me “cutie.” (Boy, was she barking up the wrong tree!)
I interviewed comic legends Don Rickles and Bob Newhart years apart, who surprisingly are the best of buddies and regularly travel the world with their wives as a foursome. It’s hard to imagine two more divergent comic styles.
Demetri Martin, Paula Poundstone and Jim Gaffigan were all as funny (and fun to talk to) as they are onstage.
I’ve met no shortage of great Canadian talent, too, including Tom Green (who returned to standup five years ago), Debra DiGiovanni (who recently made the move to L.A.), funny-lady-with-the-lisp Nikki Payne and many others. Norm Macdonald once stood me up for an interview on deadline. He later apologized via Twitter.
I’ve also interviewed comics young and old who toil in obscurity on the circuit, playing clubs in less illustrious locales such as (eek!) Regina, eating lousy food and staying in economy motor lodges.
This is the company I would expect to be part of in the very unlikely event I ever decided to go pro as a standup comic. Sure, I love to travel and I don’t tend to suffer much from stage fright, but I’m not a masochist.
Still, there I was recently at an open mic night, Ernie Tuesdays (thanks to host Ernie Vicente for your forbearance). It’s at the Imperial Pub on Dundas St. E., a bar I used to go to as a Ryerson journalism student many years ago. Honestly, the place hasn’t changed a bit. They have cobwebs older than the CN Tower. I kid, I kid.
I was there because in August, at a story meeting, I suggested a piece on open mic nights (of which there are many in the city) and said something stupid like, “Any fool could do five minutes of standup.” It turns out the fool was me.
How did I prepare? I looked back on a rather sad sack life and remembered an old French proverb, loosely translated as: “It’s better to laugh than to cry.”
My humble origins were an obvious place to start. Both parents were born in Muskoka, Ont., to very poor families. Dad used to tell us the biggest treat he got as a kid was ketchup sandwiches. Most of our relatives were rustics. (Hicks, hayseeds and hillbillies would be more accurate but unkind.)
Growing up in the 1970s with the realization I was gay was another. It didn’t take long before I had more than enough material.
After paring the set down to five minutes, more or less, by ditching a few swear words, I was ready to go onstage.
I’m usually comfortable in crowds and come from a particularly loud family. (When there are eight people around the dinner table, you have to be). I’m also a fast talker when I’m anxious (which is pretty much always) so the key was to speak more slowly than usual, enunciate clearly and pause after punchlines in the event of laughter.
Of course, the biggest fear was that people wouldn’t laugh. Fortunately, they did — and usually at the right moments. My fumblingly inept teenage experiences with the fairer sex seemed to get the biggest chuckles.
My closing song, “Fifty-one Percent Gay,” made for a strong finish. It was inspired by a lifetime of questionable wardrobe choices and slovenly grooming habits that have caused even some gay people to ask me if I’m straight. The last time was about two months ago. Sheesh!
Performing live turned out to be a surreal experience, like being in a bubble — a hot, sweaty bubble — where all sense of time is distorted. Five minutes seemed to pass very quickly. There was also a charge of exhilaration that lasted for hours, making sleep difficult.
It was an intoxicating experience but one I wish never to repeat. While making people laugh is a worthy vocation, I’ve already spent too much of my life in downscale dives. Plus I need all the beauty sleep I can get.