And that would be…myself.
After last week’s open mic at the Squire, I approached host Greg Baumhauer, simply intending to glean some information about the process of running an open mic and how he in particular orchestrated the whole shebang. In a moment of complete idiocy, I blurted out the insane: “Can I go up next week?” He raised his eyebrows and gave me an indefinite yes.
Post my four-minutes-of-infamy on the Squire stage this past Tuesday night, Baumhauer lauded me by saying “You guys should check out aerochug.com. [Nicole]’s gonna write a great review for herself tomorrow.”
He was wrong. I waited till Thursday.
The moment of idiocy was born out of a feeling of unintended hypocrisy. Explanation: As I watched the comics lay it on the line at the open mic last week, I found myself a bit uncomfortable creating an opinion on something that I had never done, let alone attempted. The guilt set in. And I somewhat subconsciously devoted myself to the plan.
I planned on giving myself a few weeks. Maybe a month. Who knows? Maybe I could do it next year. And then I opened my big mouth. I had a week to put it all together. I was committed. And terrified.
From Tuesday to Tuesday, I observed casually. Went through old blog entries. Read the news religiously. And looked like a creep as I practiced my jokes aloud while in my car or alone at my apartment or even under my breath in my cubicle. (That was awkward.) On the day of the big event, I went through all my jokes and came to the undeniable conclusion that not a single one was funny. I “Oh-welled”, finished the beer in my fridge, and headed over to meet my small crew of supporting (and may I add smokin’ hot?) friends pre-disaster.
It was a weird night at the Squire. The comedy was a little off-key, and I was set to go on somewhere towards the beginning/middle of the deal. I sucked down Strongbow and poured over my set list. Finally, it came to the inevitable moment where Greg informed the audience to “not heckle the first-time comic” and I hit the stage, about to lose my knees from nervousness.
The next four minutes was a roller-coaster of highs, lows, and “Well, that didn’t go over so well”s. But in my own unabashed surprise, I didn’t bomb. Ok, maybe the Jurassic Park joke didn’t go over that well and the Precious joke maybe pushed it a little too far, even for the Squire crowd, but I didn’t feel like a complete jackass getting off the stage. Actually, it was a little exhilirating. Even tittilating, if you will.
You know, I might even try it again. But, in the meantime, I’m back to riding the audience bandwagon with my pen and paper, only with one less guilt complex to carry around. And that feels kinda nice.
Happy laughing, Denver! If any of you feel the urge to get on-stage, I say commit, because commitment is a boat that’s pretty difficult to jump out of.
If you liked this article, Nicole keeps a blog on her many (and generally irrelevant) thoughts. She will also not shamelessly self-promote via aerochug.com nor do another article like this ever again, so if you dislike this article, come back and visit, as there may be something that will catch your interest. Until then, follow her daily quips on twitter, or shoot her an e-mail, or leave a comment. She loves the attention.