MONDO EXTRAS

As a rule, stand-up comedy is for suckers. It is an arduous, exhausting, thankless job with a success rate approximately comparative to that of "former Survivor castaway," and the lifestyle it necessitates has led many talented people I know to pursue their dreams of panning for comedy gold through numerous other outlets. It takes a certain personality to be able to drive eleven hundred miles in a rented Pinto to the Hiawatha Lodge in Mitchell, South Dakota because you've been asked to perform at a Shriner's convention between the bagpipers and the Head Shriner's eight-year-old niece reading her brand-new poem about trees. Same goes for the "open mic" nights that categorize the first several years of any seasoned stand-up's career, where you and the three friends the club makes you bring watch in horror as yet another thirty-ish guy in a cheap sports jacket and white sneakers trots out joke after exhausted joke about "the differences between men and women" this and "oh and by the way have you heard my Nicholson impression" that.

Shortly after I graduated from college and embarked on my own six-month crash training course in deciding just how non-right stand-up comedy was for me, I went to Caroline's to see Lizz Winstead, the co-creator of The Daily Show, do her act. She had just left the TV world in a very ugly, very public huff after her flak with Sexist Pig and Joke-Spewing Puppet Craig Kilborn, and she was angry, bitter as hell about the soul-sucking nature of the TV industry, foul-mouthed as a Tourette's-plagued longshoreman on leave, and totally hilarious. She ranted for an hour about her ideas for the show and how they were twisted and compromised by suited executives who didn't know crap from crap about the creative process. She ended on an up note, though, promising that despite her turbulent foray into mass media, she would have to be satisfied living the scrappy, unsettled life of a stand-up on the go. At least this way, she didn't have to compromise her values as a solo artist and dumb down her ideas based on a committee approach to creativity. I know I'm making it sound like she offered some revelatory words from the pulpit, in-a-van-down-by-the-river style, but I swear it was actually funny. It was a good educational lesson that sometimes it's better to preserve your undiluted intellectual property than sacrifice your identity for a reckless shot at mass-market appeal. Her opening act, Jim Gaffigan, probably should have given her a closer listen.

1 2 3 4 5 6Next

As a rule, stand-up comedy is for suckers. It is an arduous, exhausting, thankless job with a success rate approximately comparative to that of "former Survivor castaway," and the lifestyle it necessitates has led many talented people I know to pursue their dreams of panning for comedy gold through numerous other outlets. It takes a certain personality to be able to drive eleven hundred miles in a rented Pinto to the Hiawatha Lodge in Mitchell, South Dakota because you've been asked to perform at a Shriner's convention between the bagpipers and the Head Shriner's eight-year-old niece reading her brand-new poem about trees. Same goes for the "open mic" nights that categorize the first several years of any seasoned stand-up's career, where you and the three friends the club makes you bring watch in horror as yet another thirty-ish guy in a cheap sports jacket and white sneakers trots out joke after exhausted joke about "the differences between men and women" this and "oh and by the way have you heard my Nicholson impression" that. Shortly after I graduated from college and embarked on my own six-month crash training course in deciding just how non-right stand-up comedy was for me, I went to Caroline's to see Lizz Winstead, the co-creator of The Daily Show, do her act. She had just left the TV world in a very ugly, very public huff after her flak with Sexist Pig and Joke-Spewing Puppet Craig Kilborn, and she was angry, bitter as hell about the soul-sucking nature of the TV industry, foul-mouthed as a Tourette's-plagued longshoreman on leave, and totally hilarious. She ranted for an hour about her ideas for the show and how they were twisted and compromised by suited executives who didn't know crap from crap about the creative process. She ended on an up note, though, promising that despite her turbulent foray into mass media, she would have to be satisfied living the scrappy, unsettled life of a stand-up on the go. At least this way, she didn't have to compromise her values as a solo artist and dumb down her ideas based on a committee approach to creativity. I know I'm making it sound like she offered some revelatory words from the pulpit, in-a-van-down-by-the-river style, but I swear it was actually funny. It was a good educational lesson that sometimes it's better to preserve your undiluted intellectual property than sacrifice your identity for a reckless shot at mass-market appeal. Her opening act, Jim Gaffigan, probably should have given her a closer listen.

1 2 3 4 5 6Next