February 26, 2015
2/26/15 –The day after…
2.5 minutes. I bailed after 2.5 minutes. Third person up — that must’ve had something to do with it–and following a guy who was talking about pretty depressing stuff. Ugh. Totally unsure about myself—-am I interesting, am I pretty, do people even care what I have to say.
Shrinking and crawling into a hole felt like a good idea. Usually sticking it out to the end of the mic, but I was so annoyed with everyone in the audience –why weren’t they being more generous and giving me all their love and praise?
Self-centered fear is a bitch.
The truth is, when I listened to the recording today, people were laughing. I heard myself going up in my head, then the bailout.
Calling Judith earlier this afternoon, she said I had one of the better sets, that she wondered why I’d cut it so short, why I’d left early. She reminded me that from the beginning of the evening, nobody was getting any laughs, that even one of the well known comics barely got a response. In the second half, she said that some guy got up there and shared that his dog had died the day before. I nearly fell out of my chair when she told me. Something was very funny about the fact that a mic got so depressing that this poor guy felt comfortable to share such a painful event. Guess he needed to get it off his chest. Maybe it was good for him.
It reminds me of what Steve Martin says in his autobiography, that you can feel the temperature of the audience when you walk into a room, and that sometimes it’s like you’re rolling a boulder up a hill.
Patten Oswalt has a great bit on the importance of bombing. An improviser friend of mine told me I needed to bomb another 10,000 times, that it would be good for me.