TRIUMPHANT RETURN?

The show started at 9 and it was a bringer, which means you have to bring three people and they have to pay ten bucks to get in and buy two drinks. I made a deal with the club owner that since I'd just moved to New York, I'd only have to bring one person (the truth is I have a few friends that I'm sure would go see me, but would they be my friends after they dropped all that cash and had to wait until 11:30 before I got on-stage)?

So there was a good crowd (they weren't all comedians thank god) and a lot of the comedians were club regulars, so I got a glimpse of what somebody who actually makes a living doing comedy in New York looks like (some were good, some were just okay, but they were all completely comfortable being on-stage, a mind set that's rare in us open mic nighters).

So the evening was going alright. My wife was getting tanked (actually she only had one drink, but lets face it, it only takes one). Then this fat, balding dude with long black hair, a bright yellow shirt and his very own camera-man, filming his every move, gets on-stage and starts shouting at the top of his lungs about his parents and how I guess they abused him (I couldn't follow it, but at one point he was on floor screaming "YOU DON'T LOVE ME! YOU DON'T LOVE ME!" the camera an inch from his face). He said he had to shout because he's a Desert Storm veteran and had problems hearing. When the emcee flashed her cell phone at him, he started throwing what he said were hundred dollar bills into the crowd (they were actually one dollar bills, but hey I'm not gonna turn down a free dollar).

So sure enough a lot of the crowd started filing out. The next performer was a girl who sang a Mary J. Blige song(she was kind of out of place but hey she sounded pretty good). The girl that was supposed to go next cut out because she didn't want to go on after the Desert Storm veteran; this made me next.

My first jokes went across well and then...my mind went blank. But instead of panicking and jumping to the first thing that popped into my head, I took a breath and the next line came to me. It wasn't a good line (meaning it didn't get a laugh) but it put me back on course and I was able to finish my act. My Justin Timberlake thing got a nice response (which made me happy 'cus I was this close to cutting it) and over all it was a decent appearance.

The club owner came up to me afterwards and said, "Nice set. Why don't I sign you up for another one of these." I told him I'd get back with him. I don't think he even saw my set and I'm sure I'd have to come up with three people for next time. These club owners have a better racket going than those flashing pop ups that say you just won a free laptop (I fell for that one by the way, the repercussions of that mistake still haunt me).

THE LIST IS IN!

Here's how I rank this years Best picture nominees (I can tell how excited you are).

1. Letters From Iwo Jima-And I hate war movies.
2. The Departed
3. Little Miss Sunshine
4. The Queen
5. Babel-This years Crash (translation: it blows).

Since the movie I hate most usually wins I'm picking Babel, but I hope I'm wrong. Actually I don't care. I've been burnt too many times. I won't let my heart get broken again.

BOMB SCARE

So I came close to bombing last night (well I consider it a bomb, but my wife insists, "They were laughing!")

After my third joke, my brain went completely blank. I don't know if it was the brightness of the lights or the fact that the females in the audience had a negative reaction to my first three jokes (It might be a good idea to work up to the X-rated stuff) but I had nothing to say.

So I had a decision to make: do I start mumbling incoherently or walk off the stage. I chose the mumbling route and gradually got back on track, but it was rough going. Some of my punchlines came out all wrong (I could not for the life of me summon the words Chinese Dictionary). But I managed to squeeze a few laughs out of the audience before the Emcee flashed his cell phone at me.

Is it time to end this little experiment: nope I have to go on tomorrow night! Maybe I can convince the club owner to turn the lights down for my set.

FEB 11TH: ROUND TWO

My next stop was this club on the upper west side. I had never been there before (it felt like Woody Allen territory) and got so sucked into this bookstore that I almost ditched my gig. But I pulled myself away (I think I'd rather be stuck with a Martha Stewart Living then perform).

The emcee was this obnoxious blonde who rattled on for a half hour, not telling jokes, just chatting about her life, her love affair with her manager (I guess he also manages Dane Cook) and berating us for thinking we could do comedy. When her manager/lover came in she froze and hurled insults at him until he left. I guess she thought we would be impressed by all her insider cred or whatever. I thought she was kind of amusing but I was so nervous that I just wanted her off the stage, so I get up there and get it over with.

Finally she got off and this this irish dude went up. The crowd was brutally quiet (I don't think there was one person who wasn't a comic). A different emcee came up, she had some pretty good jokes, a half hour went by. I was the next person up and here comes the blonde encee again. She goes off about how she just got chewed out by her manager/lover, about how she needs to learn how keep her cool when he walks in the room. During her rant this homelss guy starts howling from the bar like a police siren. So our emcee cusses him out and after she's finished, announces my name.

My set started great. This Ryan Seacrest joke got arguably the biggest laugh of the night (I might be biased, I'm probably biased). And then...I was met with the Irish dude's brutal silence. The Justin Timberlake bit was agony (there's nothing worse then singing Justin Timberlake to a crowd of contemptous eyes).

But when I came off the stage all my fellow comics were very complementary. This one aspiring comic that I was sitting with said, "I liked the way you interjected yourself into your different characters--"

"Pay attention!" The emcee said in a whispered shout as she walked by.

Then the homeless guy howled again and all the men were called upon to usher him out. I followed the mob of chaos out into the street and went looking for that book store.

FEB. 5TH

My first open mic night went ok. It was actually an open mic evening (it started at 5:00). It was so cold I couldn't stop my hand from shaking Starbucks all over me. I had to hideout in the lobby of an apartment building until the club opened.

The audience was basically the comics (there were like 12 of us), this dude with big teeth, and some students filming a documentary.

I went on third. The film crew was still setting up so I don't think they caught any of the genius on-stage. The dude with the big teeth and this stocky comic seemed to be giggling at my stuff, but the rest of the audience/other comics, weren't all that responsive. They clapped along to my big finish (this whole bit on Justin Timberlake that involves singing) but I think I'd rather have laughing then clapping.

I came off the stage happy to have gotten through the set without vomiting. I'll have plenty of time to hone, this was just about survival.

THE BLOGGER STUMBLES

Brimming with excitement about my new blog (is there anything nerdier) I walked into my first office meeting (I'm on the 17th floor of Nelson Tower, right in the heart of the garment district). Now up to this point my job has been...let's just say...agreeable. I've been doing payroll, and it's been exciting, thought provoking (my only issue has been that my tendinitus acts up when I work the ten-key -- my right hand was mauled by a house cat -- maybe this blog should be devoted to that) but I've had my share of down time, and a blog was born.

Then I walked into the meeting. I always have a bad feeling going into meetings and then my name isn't mentioned once. So this time I had little to no bad feelings and my boss turns to me at the top of meeting and says, "We need Matt to learn everybody's job."

Goodbye all...your support thus far has been, well nonexistent, I haven't recieved one comment, not ever from my wife. I shall now enter a work coma. Pray for my right hand.

A BRAND NEW ERA!

Check it out. A new blogger. Just what you've been pining for.

The mission statement:

I have a feeling that you know how to surf the web much better than I do so I won't be posting any links to articles or video clips (the truth is I don't know how to do any of that). What I'll be attempting to do is chronicle the pursuit. The pursuit to get my novel published. The pursuit to get a play produced. The pursuit to sell a screenplay. And the pursuit to do comedy in New York. Since the first three pursuits are a bit of a snoozefest (who wants to read about throbbing paper cuts at Kinkos) I'll be focusing primarily on my adventures in comedy clubs. If I bomb, I will tell you. If I kill, I will be modest. If the crowd follows me into the streets, hurling profanity and beer bottles...I'll tell you about it but lets hope that doesn't happen.

The blog will also be a way to keep in touch with all my L.A. friends, (I've done a miserable job of that so far) Michigan friends (I'm not sure they know how to use a computer) and meet new people (I'm talking to you Caroline Hirsch of the world famous Caroline's Comedy Club located on Broadway between 49th and 50th).

I might throw in some some pop culture stuff (I can't wait for the Kim Kardashian sex tape) note to myself: do not tell your wife about this blog. And just some general getting accustomed to New York stuff.

Who knows what I'll write. This could be my last post. Oh my god, Maria (this lady I work with) just said Anna Nicole Smith is dead. Gotta go.