Open Mic Comedy is Like Slowly Dying in a Room Full of Morticians!

Everyone knows I am a comedian and actor. I call myself a comedian but I may be just a comic. The difference between the two confused me until one of my best friends cleared it up for me. His name is Patrick Bagdon. Check out his website at : http://www.betterwithketchup.com/

I should let you know that Patrick considers no subject taboo. He could make Freddy Krueger blush. His stuff is brilliant. I don't recommend you watch it with your toddlers, or while eating a big bowl of spaghetti, but his material would make George Carlin and Lenny Bruce smile. I am proud to call him a friend.

As we were driving together to an open mic on the Northside, I asked him about the differences between the two. He explained the distinctions as this. "A comic is someone who stands up in front of a microphone and tells jokes." A comedian is someone who is full time funny, through acting, theatre and performance. That makes me a comic. My acting gigs have not revolved around my humor. I actually googled the question and Patrick was right on the money.

Being a comic is a unique experience. Comics themselves are in a category of humanity alone. I have never met a comic who grew up in an idyllic, fully functional family, where they experienced no trauma growing up, and were amazingly well adjusted. Some of them appear quite together now but something was amiss somewhere between birth and the stage. The few that I have met who met this criteria were not very funny. We all bring some pain or baggage with us as we step up under the lights and spew our humorous musings and observations. Self-deprecation is a favorite subject for all of us.

You obviously know my story of addiction and chaos. Many of the comics I met have had similar chemical dependency issues. Some have suffered through horrifying childhoods, molestations and tragedy. The stage gives us an opportunity to indirectly vent on these issues and turn the tragedy into comedy. When someone laughs at one of my jokes which references some of the insanity I have made it through, their laughter seems to lighten the load I carry. Making someone happy for just those few seconds, while I am recounting my pain, makes having lived them validated and not just wasted grief.

Doing stand-up comedy is like a form of therapy for me. Instead of laying on a couch and being asked over and over, "How does that make you feel?" I can stand in front of a group of strangers and be relieved of my anxieties through their laughter and groans. It saves me a hundred bucks and adds a little sunshine to someone's dark day. When people laugh at words that I have cobbled together, it is like the smile someone gets while looking at a beautiful painting. It is appreciation of my artistry.

Open Mic nights are a part of any comic's performing life. They are a chance to tighten up existing material and try new bits on the guinea pig audience. Some guys are "Professional Open Micists." They work as a plumber by day and at night morph into another persona for personal satisfaction or to vent their frustrations at life through humor.

Most of the comics are trying to make it in a really tough business with the dream of having their own special on Comedy Central or HBO. I think I fall into this category, but acting is hedging its way towards the top of my career path. The great thing is that they are compatible. I have worked on a series or film and then rushed to a club to rant about my latest collision with society that night. It's a double dose of artistic expression.

On Open Mic nights one of two phenomena occur. Either the place is jumping and a good crowd is there to feed my comedy fix or it ends up as just a room full of comics and their boyfriend or girlfriend. The first example is great. Funny feeds on laughter. The second example can be like slowly dying in a room full of morticians.

Being the eccentric creatures that we are, performing in front of a group of only comics is both challenging and sometimes unbearable. Comics look at other comics in a couple of different ways. The first is like we are all contestants in the Miss America Pageant. We listen to Miss Alabama and think we could have written a better speech concerning the clubbing of baby seals. We watch Miss Ohio pace back and forth knowing our dance routine is better. We look at Miss Arkansas and say to ourselves "What is she doing here? She ain't even pretty." No offense to the women of Arkansas. You are all beautiful. Then we see Miss Rhode Island and are stunned. Her beauty, grace, speech and charisma are amazing...and that hair! You never want to do your set after Miss Rhode Island because you know she was brilliant. Doing your thing after Miss Nevada just fell on her butt is a dream come true. All you have to do is stay on your feet and you got it made.

Usually the reception a comic gives another is chilly or emotionless. When we make one of our fellow jesters laugh that is the ultimate homage of our work. It's like making the Mona Lisa smile. I laugh at all the comics I see just to pay respect to them for their courage. It takes some big stones to stand before a group of complete strangers and try to tickle their funny bone.

All in all the Open Mic is a necessary tool for all comics. Whether venting emotion or honing our featured appearance skills, the open forum provides comedy at its creative best and amateurish worst. I will be doing an Open Mic again tomorrow at Walter Payton's in Aurora. It is a preview for a feature spot down the road. I love watching other comics work their magic even if the trick doesn't work.

I learn what to do and what not to do when I see guys just like me trying to carve smiles into the stone faced observers. I have made friends with some of the country's hottest new talent and brushed elbows with guys whom I wanted to run from like the wicked witch of the west runs from a pail of water. It takes all kinds. I would say this though: when you go see live comedy, cut the performer a break. Don't heckle or jeer. If you think you're funnier try it yourself. The 7 minutes of time you interrupt while that guy is performing may be the most important 7 minutes of his day, week or life. Laugh loudly and enjoy your evening. Save the critique for your drive home or just leave it to the rest of us comics.

"Why Would You Ever Let Yourself Become A Comedian?"...David Brenner

In a post on my Facebook wall today, legendary comedian and writer David Brenner wrote, "I understand everything you have done and been, with one exception and, that is, why would you ever let yourself become a comedian?" I don't fully understand the word "let". The fact that such an iconic comedy pioneer responded to a schmuck like me makes me feel like I'm doing something right, or at least making people think. I appreciate the input Mr. Brenner.

I started my professional comedy career (although I still haven't got a manager/booking agent) in 2005. It was 3 months before my 41st birthday and I had wanted to try stand-up comedy before turning 40. I signed up for an open mic night at Barrel' O Laughs featuring Bill Brady in Oak Lawn, just outside the city with days to spare. It was Chicago's longest running comedy venue. The rules were simple. No f-word, n-word, c-word,or p-word. I was cool with that because I think the shock value of those words have taken over the crafting of a good joke. It just isn't necessary.

My love of making people laugh was probably my first addiction. Outwardly I was a happy child growing up in a difficult existence. My parents got divorced when I was two and my sister was five. Our apartment was tiny almost motel-like and a single mother with kids was stigmatized in those days. I would do anything to make a relative, friend or stranger laugh. My mom worked all the time and entertaining myself and others was no problem. The sound of someone laughing at me and my antics drove me. When my mom came home from a long day it was showtime and I would make her laugh until she got mad at me. I felt those laughs in every fiber of my body. It was euphoric and I wanted more all the time.

By the time I started kindergarten at Carpenter Street School in the heart of Mokena, I had a whole new audience. The classroom and playground were like Broadway and Vegas to me. As the laughs grew I got more frantic by saying and doing crazy physical comedy and impressions of kids, teachers and movie stars.

I was happiest in front of a crowd. Once someone asked me how I'm able to stand up in front of so many people and not be terrified. I replied that the terror didn't exist when there wasn't a crowd to entertain but when I was alone with my racing thoughts. Being named class clown in elementary school and high school were my official entries in school newspapers and yearbooks. Every laugh released endorphins in me and I needed more and more. I would definately be put on Ritalin if I was a child growing up now.

As I took the stage that night, the Chicago Tribune was there and wrote a feature story on me based on people taking chances in their 40's and older. The article was titled "First Time Comic Stands up to His Fears and Takes the Stage." September 22, 2006. That added to my terror and made me quite the popular guy with the other comics. I am grateful to say I was sober that night. I was afraid I would forget my material if I was drunk. Bill Brady took me to the side before I went on and said, "Don't worry, we have very low expectations for you." It was priceless and loosened me up. I hit the stage and was blinded by the spotlight in my eyes. I remember thinking what a great idea that was to prevent me from being nervous from seeing the crowd. I later learned that's exactly why it was there.

I heard the first laugh at my words and I was hooked. My set was to last seven minutes and I did twenty. I had no idea what the blue light at the rear of the club was flashing for. I thought it was blinking to let the waitress know her order was ready for pick up so I just kept ripping one joke after another. I wrapped up my set with a joke about Jesus coming back to earth as a union carpenter and being asked to turn a sausage into a thousand sausages at the company picnic. I didn't fail. I wouldn't call it a kill but I felt euphoria. I commented to the reporter that it was like climbing Mount Everest - pure adrenalin.

I think art chooses the artist. Unfortunately my models of comic and material success were guys like Richard Pryor, Steve Martin, John Belushi and Ernest Hemingway. Johnny Carson and Dean Martin always had a cocktail in hand. The dark side of comedy was attractive to me and I planned on following in their steps. Those guys partied hard after they were famous. I was content for many years with the party but the darkness and the material success never arrived. I just drank and used and thought of all the jokes I was gonna write - tomorrow.