Oh, Such A Prima Donna, Sorry For Myself

Ugly. There's no other word for it. Wednesday at the Loony Bin was just ugly for us open mic people. There is a moment, I feel certain, when a group of people can become one being, thinking and reacting in unison. It's like a throwback to flocks and herds that can instantly turn on a dime when threatened by a predator. The predator in this case turned out to be jokes. This audience simply decided that they would do their level best to not laugh at anything we did. It was horrible. Getting these people to laugh was less like pulling teeth and more like trying to put teeth back into a person's head while they're running away from you.

They laughed, of course, but it was a strained, forced laughter. They really just didn't give a shit about the "non-professional" comics. There were even a couple of bitches sitting up front that were carrying on a conversation during my brief time on stage. Granted, I often talk during the show, but I don't do it four fucking feet away from the comics.

Terrible. Just a terrible night for us. I recorded my set but I can't bring myself to listen to it, let alone digitize it and put it up on the Internets. I'd rather just put it behind me. And don't worry, you're not missing anything new. The closest I came to a new joke was when I repeated the punchline to my recycling joke until the audience laughed, then I commented that I just recycled the joke. Woof.

I used to get really pissed off and demotivated after a night like that, but it seems to matter less than it used to. I guess I'm at a point where I know that I'm funny, and I can see a crowd response like the one this week as a fluke and not a useful piece of data. And my skin is a little thicker for it.