You're All I See!!

It's been three days since I participated in a live Comedy audition contest, at Theodores, in downtown Springfield, Mass.

Typical 'contest' stuff. You know.

The winner, or winners, were to be chosen by a panel of judges. The panel consisted of two local radio jocks 'Bax and O'Brien', some guy from the local Budweiser distributor, a chick from CityStage.....and, somebody else.

Why did I do it?!

-Seemed like a good idea, at the time.

I had no hopes of winning, even though the winner walked-away with a quick fifty bucks, as well as the opportunity to open for a national headline act, like Kevin Meaney, Wendy Liebman, and Tony Rawls, which would be at CityStage. The whole thing struck me as a cross-promotion, a way to get more people down to CityStage, which is the local performance space in Springfield.

Fine.

I'd done one of these, years ago, with Jim McCue, in some dive in West Springfield, just over the bridge. It was one of the first 'contest' type of shows I'd ever done. It left a bad taste in my mouth. And, I'd stayed away from them ever since.

You'd think common sense and experience would have stopped me.

Nope.

There I was, sipping my vodka and cranberry, scanning the crowd and sizing-up the situation. M.B. was munching on hot pepper-jack cheese sticks in the 'comedians corner' -which was more like an alcove- mommentarily content.

Jennifer was there. Jennifer Mysokowski. A woman with a lot of talent. Roddy Thomas and Dan 'The Librarian' were there. And, I couple of people I didn't know, or remember. The rest were a collection of people who have never, and should never, step in front of a microphone.

The entire event is a spectacle both sad and hilarious. From the M.C. yelling at the crowd to "shut the fuck up!", to the awful silence when someone bombed. Pool was being played in the back, conversations continued unabated at the bar, and then constant traffic of people entering and exiting next to the stage set the scene. Then there was the horn.

If you've seen the painting of 'the last supper', it might give you the image of the judges, as they sat at a long table at the opposite end of the room. Something was about to happen, and it wasn't gonna be pretty. It's either that, or, it was five monkeys, each in a different pose of ennui, bored out of their minds.

They looked solemn. They looked sullen. They looked serious and tired. They'ed probably been drinking.

Two DJ's from Rock 102, A sales rep. from Miller Distributung, some old chick...........and the other guy. Not a Jesus in the whole lot of 'em.

Seemed like a good idea.

It was a bar.
Not a Comedy Club, theater, or performance space.

The difference being the difference between stabbing your toe and having your entire leg amputated -with a rusty saw. That's the difference. It's exactly like that!

What?! I need stage time.
I needed to steel my nerves for what was to come in the next few months. I'd also written something and wanted to try it out in front of a crowd -I didn't care that there was a contest going on while I did it.

I was happy with my set, even though It didn't score well with the judges in the 'originality' catagory. (Something I've long since come to terms with: I'm just another transgendered woman doing sex and bathroom humor at second-rate comedy clubs and local open-mic's. Boring!! -Who'd a thunk it.)

One of the most well-known headliners in Western mass, when I statred out was Larry Sullivan. The big guys on the block were people like Leo T. Baldwin, Mark Rossi, and Larry Sullivan. I learned a lot by watching them work.

What was interesting is that Larry was there.
He was one of the contestants.

Tall, silent, blonde, conservatively dressed, and sprouting a set of glasses -which gave him a professorial look- he waited. Surrounded by frat boys, lonely accountants who dreamed, a mileu of desperate houswives, drunks, open-mic comedians and drug dealers, he sipped his drink and waited for his turn.

It was nice to see him. I'd worked with him a few times, and, except for one instance, I had nothing bad to say. He was good. He'd been good. He was still good.

At first, I was sad. I was melancholy. I took his appearance at this train-wreck to be anything but good.

My knee-jerk reaction became focused inward. I have a penchant to dwell on the negative, on my own insecurities, on the tawdry of the human soul and my own failings. I wondered if I was looking at myself, at my future. It's a dark place of doubt and self-loathing. It's also where I feel at home. And, it deadens the jealousy.

But, then I thought, "how pathetic am I?"
That would've been too easy.

I shook his hand.
I talked to him.
I got his telephone number, scribbled hastily on a napkin, and made some grumblings about being in contact.....I don't even know why. I'm so shallow

Jennifer, Roddy Thomas, and some pudgy guy, were the winners that night. Each of them would go on to open for a comedian at CityStage......that, and they got a quick fifty.....as well as the adoration of the crowd.

There were no profound moments, or hilarious exploits to report on -there rarely are. It was what it was.

It was nice to see old friends.....even the ones that don't like me.

Everything Ends (Part Two)

Tim McIntire is the man behind Mottley's. With his bald head and glasses he has been described as a 'deranged chipmunk'. He's always been cool to me, and the respect people have for him is well deserved -the man knows his shit.

He sat in the back of the club, in the sound booth. A pane of glass between us, his face was lit by the computer monitor in front of him. He was bathed in blue light. I saw his eyes.

That's what I remember on stage that night.

-And, the laughs.

Any set that is not a bad set, is a good set. I had a 'not bad' set. How you dice it from there is up to you.

Call it luck. I'll take it.

I sat down to a great relief and a smattering of applause. In just a few minutes, my entire outlook on life had changed. And, just to drive it home, Cupid stepped onto the stage in the form of Chris Penne, who, clad in only an enormous disposable diaper went on to describe what it's like to be Cupid.

I laughed my ass off.

After the show, I managed to make the rounds and talk to a few people. I gave Rick Canavan props and wished him well on his upcoming audition for the Montreal Comedy Festival. I thanked Bethany, talked with Jody Sloane and hugged Ellen Moschetto and Big Nezz. I, also, discovered that Cupid had a Bill the Cat tattoo on his bicep.

It all brought me back, and reminded me of why it is that I do this to begin with. The comedians. I was so caught-up in my own personal bullshit, and insecurities, that I forgot what it's all about.

I laughed my ass off.

I love driving through the city at night......when I'm in a good mood. It's beautiful. Especially, when the sky is clear and the traffic is lite. It's very relaxing. Nothing to do but drive and listen to music....watching the city glide by.

Sure, tomorrow I'd be back at work, surrounded by pee, poop, and boogers. "But, not tonight", I thought. ".....not tonight."

The lights of the city faded, as I drove, and Tim's face appeared. I was rushing out of the club, hoping to get home as soon as possible and grab a few hours sleep, stumbling up the stairs, when I heard his voice.

"You okay to drive?", he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine", I said, not sure of why he was concerned.

His face vanished as I grabbed my ticket at the Mass Pike entrance and headed home.

By the time I hit Worcester, I'd cracked the window, John Hiatt was in my ear and curls of smoke flew from my lips.

It wasn't my best night, that's for sure. What it was was 'serviceable'. It had allowed me to walk out of there with more dignity than I had entered with.

Yeah, I was alright.

Thanks, for asking, Tim.

Everything Ends (Part One)

Last thursday, I took a ride out to Mottley's Comedy Club at Fanueil Hall in Boston. I'd been there just once before. It was a couple of months ago, and I had one of the worst sets I've ever had.

Although, the last time had nearly pushed me over the edge, I was more than happy to return to Mottley's for more abuse. I'm funny that way.

It helps that Mottley's is located in the basement of the Trinity bar. It looks like a speakeasy. I like that.

I was on my own that night. M.B. had a PTO meeting that she couldn't get out of (which meant that she didn't wanna see me humiliate myself a second time). I understood. So, I didn't push her about it.

Lorelei (my backup) had crapped-out on me at the last minute, with some excuse about a family emergency.

In other words, it was a long ride up. And, if I boomed, again, it was going to be an even longer ride home.

I got to the club late, minutes before I was about to go on. I'd taken a wrong turn and had wound-up heading to Revere before I'd gotten my bearings.

The place was busy.

Bethany and Erin were on stage. They both looked beautiful under the lights. Judging by the laughs they were getting they'ed put a lie to that old line about beautiful women not being funny. They were good....and they knew it.

I was out of breath. I'd ran from the parking garage, down the street, to get there and was trying to relax. It wasn't helping. I was unprepared....and, obviously, out-classed.

I did have supporters in the crowd. Ethan St. Pierre from TransFM was there, along with Dana Zucker. These two people I had never met were nice enough to come out on this cold winter night to see me perform -if I made a bad impression with them, I was sunk professionally and personally.

Then I heard my introduction.

'Bout Goddamn Time

It seems like forever, but I'm getting my shit together. Stay tuned for updates.