How & Why I Got Into Standup Comedy
Before I came to be a petty-thief, when I was little, I religiously watched The Carol Burnett Show, The Flip Wilson Show, Laugh In, and shit, I’ll admit it, Hee-haw! I even had a pair of blue Hee-haw overalls with faces of Roy Clark and Minnie Pearl, donkeys and bails of hay all over them. I was most obsessed with Carol Burnett and her cast, Tim Conway, Harvey Corman, Lyle Wagner and Vicki Lawrence. Even back then, I remember having an intense desire to entertain the way she did; her silly characters, crazy faces and how they would all crack up in the middle of a sketch. At times I laughed so hard I felt like I was there, part of the cast. I loved how at the end of her show she exposed what a nice human being she was and talked to her audiences and answered all their questions free-style. It was so authentic and beautiful to me.
Then I discovered Rich Little. I don’t remember where or when exactly that I first saw him, but I remember how he was standing alone in a suit in front of a crowd doing impression of George Burns and another of Richard Nixon. It was the first time I had seen that kind of stand-alone performance and I heard how people laughed and I wanted that. So as a kid I began doing impressions too, but they weren’t original. I was doing impressions of Rich Little, doing an impression of Richard Nixon. My debut performance was in front of a whole bunch of family at a New Years Day party in New Hampshire. We kids often put on shows for all the adults. While my brothers and cousins were often the directors, actors, and stagehands, my role was always of the standup comic on the show. My parents got a real kick out of it and would have me do it on command sometimes for friends at other gatherings.
I was about 33 and it was near the same time that I came out a second time and told my parents, family and friends that I was Transgendered. I had been running my own web development company for since 1995. I was at work one day and got a postcard in the mail from a local guy who was a comedy coach offering an eight-week comedy writing/performance class. I wondered why he sent it to me. I didn’t know if I dared to call and see if there was space still available. I left the card on my desk and stared at it for a few days until I got my nerve call. He had one spot left in the class and I claimed it.
It was late winter and I had been writing, rewriting, and rehearsing for seven of those weeks leading up to my gig. I remember my first standup comedy show. It was a five-minute set in front of a, primarily non-queer, audience at a little comedy club in Portland. For several days before my big night, I was filled with angst about going on stage. When it came to the day of the show my nerves were completely shot and my anxiety had morphed into irritability. I couldn’t carry on normal conversations without feeling like I was being an asshole. A few hours before go-time I began having explosive diarrhea. I was absolutely petrified that after all my hard work, my ass wasn’t going to allow me on stage. It did stop, but only seconds before I went on. I remember clearly how I just clinched my ass really tight, prayed for the best, and walked up on stage.
The show was not advertised publicly; it was only promoted to family and friends of the 13 wannabe comedians, so I knew that even if I did horribly that night, my family and friends were going to be there to tell me it was okay. There weren’t any homeruns for anyone that night, after all no one had ever done this before. On the other hand, you could say we all hit homeruns just for setting foot on stage and not bursting into flames.
Me? That night? I did alright. I didn’t do badly enough for it to deter me.
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XO – Ian
