I don't want to be an actor or a salesman

I heard it again. "You can't get an agent if you won't do commercials."

Why do I want an agent?

It has been my experience that an agent has a better ability to get you into a comedy club, a festival, or submit your written material for a TV show. In fact many places will only allow you to submit scripts and show ideas through an agent. If you can only get your material seen through an agent, and you can only get an agent if you do commercials, that means that the scripts that are being seen, are written only by people who have sales experience. No wonder TV sucks. Thank God we don't make our musicians do that. "We can't represent your rock band unless you're willing to write radio jingles. It's the only way people will take you seriously as artists, you have to get your name out there."

Why won't I do commercials?

My stand up consists of jokes about the evils of advertising, and my disdain for the consumer culture. I know I am already a hypocrite, because I participate in the consumer culture. I have bought clothes made in sweatshops and I continue to buy coffee that is produced by a workforce earning slave wages, but I don't want to encourage others to do it. Actually, I like to discourage others from doing it. I can work on my own behaviour, checking tags, and buying fair trade coffee when available, but I can't do a coffee commercial and say buy brand "A", unless there is a fair trade coffee shop around the corner, then buy brand "B"

A second reason I don't want to do commercials is that I am not an actor and I don't want to be an actor. I am a comedian. My particular brand of comedy is not an act. I make jokes about the way I really feal. Mitch Hedberg did a great joke about how people want you to do things that are related to comedy but aren't comedy. "It doesn't happen elsewhere. You wouldn't say to a guy, OK you can cook. Do you know how to farm.?"

The third reason is of a much lesser concern at this point, but a comedian can run into trouble from time to time with it. Joe Rogan hosts Fear Factor and played the part of Joe on Newsradio. He has told stories of many people expecting to see that "nice boy" character he played on TV in the comedy club. I don't want people coming to my show, expecting to see the silly husband from the Taco commercial. I know commercials will not inspire too many people to come see you do stand up, but you never know when people will recognize you from that commercial as you are walking to the stage, which will burden you with a character bias right off the top.

Telling me I can't get an agent if I don't do commercials, is like telling Lance Armstrong, he can't buy a bicycle until he purchases a car. The commision on a bicycle isn't worth anybody's time. A bicycle turned out to be a pretty lucrative investment for Lance and I'm sure he has made more money for people selling bikes than those selling cars.

This business is offensively short sighted. I truely feel that when club owners, agents, and bookers keep me away from a stand up gig, it is like taking Lance's bike away from him as a child. If you don't let me work at this now, we are both going to lose. Enlightened self interest anyone?

I have a better understanding of why there are so many bad comedians who are using stand up as a way to become an actor. That's who the comedy business wants. Actors. Who would have thought that the worst thing you can tell a talent agency that handles stand up comedians, is that you have talent as a stand up comedian?

Oh well, maybe those girls who asked me to the strip bar will be at the Laugh Resort again this week. I won't go this time either, but its a good ego stroke.

Restored Faith (for now)

Last night I was invited to do a show at a pub in Mississauga called "IT". It is a beautifully kept pub with a nice menu, and at first glance it looks too fancy for the show I want to bring, but after soaking up the atmosphere for about a half hour, I begin to realize the appearance is deceiving.

It was staffed more like a truck stop, with motherly like waitresses, and the clientele was a mix of white collar golfers and blue collar tradesmen, so I begin to feel a little more connected, which is imperative for me to deliver the way I need to.

We were treated with respect, by both management and spectator alike. All 5 comics were given a couple of free drinks, half price food, a modest stipend and an appreciative and attentive audience. In my limited experience I have found the further you are from Toronto, the happier they are to see you.

The show was set up different than most I have played. The host and producer Miriam Miller got up and did just a few minutes before bringing Brian Hope to the stage to open the show. When he finished, there was a 20 min intermission before bringing Edgar Fraser to do his spot. After each comedian there was to be this break so the audience could go have a cigarette in the smoking room. These intermissions normally kill a room. The flow is broken, it gives people a chance to leave, and makes the show a lot longer, but in this case it worked and it worked well. Every time a comedian was brought to the stage, the audience returned to watch, like the third period of a Stanley Cup game was about to begin.

The best part of the show for me was the chance to stretch my comedic legs and do between 25 and 30 min. Unless you are a headliner, that is a rare opportunity in this town of 5-7min sets. It is one thing to keep an audience's attention for 5min, it is quite another to keep them for 30min. Any small misstep can be disastrous. Too much energy for 30 min can overwhelm them, too little can bore them. Too much space between jokes and they become distracted, not enough and you step on laughs. I have a lot to learn about the 30 min show, but last night's biggest lesson was I CAN do it!

I grew more and more comfortable on stage every minute. I became more accustomed to the lights, the mic, the stage, and the faces in the crowd became familiar. I didn't know anybody there, but by paying attention to them, I started to understand some personalities. I began to know who would like certain jokes as I told them. "The girl on the couch was laughing at my self esteem bit, she will love my joke about weddings." The guy leaning on the rail in the blue jacket liked my bit on strippers, I'll look his way when I'm telling the bit on being alone."

As time progressed it became less about me telling jokes and more about sharing laughs with those people. When an audience is present and attentive for you, the least you can do as a comedian is reciprocate. If you do, the job becomes much easier and much more fun, and after all, that's why I got into this.

I've done better and I've done worse, I have no illusions, but it FELT better than it has in a long time. I'm making smaller mistakes now, I'm fine tuning rather than overhauling. In the past I would rework an entire piece, for such a minimal gain I would grow frustrated and second guess all of my instincts. Now, I am making small adjustments with intonation, inflection, attitude and word choice, with a much bigger pay off. It has all led to a humble confidence. I'm a looser, better performer. I have a long way to go, but the progress is tangible, and I again trust my instincts.

The highlight of the night took place for me off stage, after the show, when a nice young lady approached me and asked me where I would be performing next. I told her about a great show I would be doing 7 min on next week with 5 or 6 other great comics, and then she said, "When will you be doing your whole show again, the one I saw tonight? I think my boyfriend would really like your kind of humor and I want to take him to your show for his birthday."

WOW! Somebody thinks I am a worthy birthday gift?!?!?!? (or maybe her birthday budget is $0) She didn't end up mentioning whether SHE liked my show, just thought her boyfriend would like it. Still this is the best compliment yet. I have a long way to go, but now I have a map and 1 fan.

Packed House, no laughs

Last night I was at Hurricaines, a little bar on Bloor street in Toronto for an open mic. This room usually attracts 10 Humber comedy students, and 4 other comics, who will then perform for the same two waitresses and 3 drunks hiding from their wives.

There are legitimate pro comics who work all the amateur nights they can, when they aren't touring, or don't have another paid gig to do, always wanting to get better, like Gilson Lubin. But twice a year, the comedians you never see honing the craft or working out new bits at the open mics around town show up to thrill us with their 5 year old bits they are once again pulling out, in preparation for a Just For Laughs showcase. The only thing fresh about the set is the fact that we haven't heard it for 6 months.

I am the first person to tell you, better comedians make a better show, so I am glad to see them out, but this makes for a long night. They do 10-15 min instead of the normal 5min set, because after all, they're on TV. The 15 amateurs that show up every week are there too.

What does this mean? It means I get to sit in a hot cramped bar from 7:30pm until 1:30am to watch a parade of "pros" who don't care about the audience, the energy, the quality of the joke or improving, they just care about hearing themselves through a public address system as they run through the potential "gala set," before returning to the friendly confines of TV land.

If you want to do shitty TV and shitty comedy, go for it, but if you want to call yourself a comedian, you better do it more than 2 festivals a year and a weekend in Windsor, because when you go to Hurricaines on Thursday, you're going to tank like the rest of us. You can hear the suck.

I'm tired of hearing that somebody is funny just because somebody else has decided to take 15% of the Tim Horton's commercial they did, or that the CBC has considered them to be funny enough to sandwhich 7min of their sorry existence between 2 Ford Bronco ads. CBC isn't reality, Hurricaines is, and you suck like the rest of us, if you aren't prepared. As much as I hate giving up valuable stage time, and 3 hours sleep so one of these big headed, part-time assholes can have their egos stroked by every other comic in the room who has been doing it less than 6 months, it is well worth it when reality comes crashing down around them, and the smarmy twinkle in their eye is replaced with a look that says, "but I've been on breakfast television, why aren't you laughing?" For those of you who have not seen this look up close, it is the same look the big breasted 18 year old gets when Simon Cowell tells her she can't sing.

I will tell you why they aren't laughing at you, its the same reason they weren't laughing at me. You weren't funny.

The difference is, I know it, so I will get better.