I love doing stand up comedy, I really do.
There's nothing quite like when you're up on stage, looking at people's faces, watching their reactions, working out in your head where you should go next, leading them there and then seeing their faces change as they catch the joke. It's that moment that draws me in - that inexplicable connection that is so amazing and so awesome.
Let me try to share it.
Do you remember the movie "The Natural"? The one with Robert Redford as an over-aged man who returns to the sport he loves so he can give it one more shot? He loves baseball - it's all he's passionate about - but things keep happening, thwarting his return to play in the majors. Now, by no means am I saying I am Robert Redford, or that I am anything like his character "Roy Hobbs" was to baseball. No - at least not yet:)
The comparison I am trying to make is to that when he stepped up to the plate, there was that moment that Director Barry Levinson brought to fruition - when everything was in slo-mo, when "Roy" looks out at the field, sees the pitcher, looks back over to his dugout and then down at his "Wonderboy" bat and everything becomes crystal clear. Everything makes sense - everything is aligned and it just feels so perfect.
That. That, my friends, is how I feel on stage.
And I am so very thankful to have discovered this gift.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
one sunny Sunday afternoon
A few weeks back, a friend of mine invited me to a Sunday afternoon concert with Fred Eaglesmith. Given that I love this band's music and I enjoy spending time with friends, I readily accepted. The concert was in Black Diamond, at the Hotel, and it was a perfect way to spend a Sunday. The sun was shining, it was a 40 minute drive - long enough for me to be alone in my thoughts but short enough for me to not get lost in them.
When the band took the stage, the place erupted. I guess I was not the only one who liked this band. Fred Eaglesmith is not just a singer/songwriter - he is very much an entertainer. In between songs, he talked about the band's escapades and even told a few jokes. It was fun to watch an entertainer effortlessly segue from one thought to the next and I found myself laughing, drinking (it was Sunday afternoon, afterall), tapping my toes and singing along to the music. As the music played, and the crowd relaxed into a blissful folk music-type revelry, I found myself lulled into a state of bliss myself - doing my favourite creepy thing - which is people watching.
I recognized the people that were just at the point of too many wobbly pops - they were loud and their eyes were bright, their leers at the waitress becoming more pronounced. I also saw the ones that had passed that point at 10 a.m. that morning - these ones were loud, slobbering and slurring - laughing at something they thought (and thought that they had said), and oblivious to the deep dagger-stares that were coming from people sitting close by. It was fun to watch - and then my eyes found a couple across the room and I found myself being just as drawn to them as I was to the band on the stage. No, it wasn't because I knew them. And thankfully, it wasn't someone I had dated and forgotten (that's an embarrassing story and one I may share another time). This was a couple in their sixties.
She had longer grey and white hair. She was wearing jeans and a cute corsette-type top with little flowers printed all over it. Her hair was pinned gently at the sides, and her jewelry was silver and plain, stylish but not overbearing. She was watching the band, tapping her hand to the beat of the music and bobbing her head from side to side with the rhythm of the drums.
Her companion was a man about the same age, his hair was combed back into a ponytail, his face clean shaven except for a greying goatee that framed his mouth and jaw. He wore wire rim glasses, and behind them were bright eyes that were glancing between the band and the woman seated beside him. It was the look in his eyes that caught my breath. He was enjoying the music, much as she was, but he was also - equally - enjoying watching her. He watched the band - and beamed at her.
She was not indifferent. As I watched the couple, I saw the exchange of the knowing glances, the casual - yet intimate - touch of the hand on the other's arm, the squeeze of the fingers as they held hands briefly, the colour on her cheeks as he leaned into the nape of her neck and whispered something meant only for her. These gestures, these moments that only two people who truly knew and loved each other could share. Most of the time, when I am people watching, I find myself creating a story for them - perhaps it's the writer in me, but I always seem to want to imagine a storyline for the people I watch. In coffee shops, it's quite easy to spot the people meeting for the first time. It's also entertaining to watch the body language of people and imagine how they got to this particular point in time...but this couple was different. I was not interested in what their backstory was - I was just interested in this very beautiful and tender afternoon when I was able to witness the beauty of intimacy and love.
It's hard to admit, but I was overcome with this awe of what I was witnessing, and that growing ebb of sadness that washed over me as I realized that this is something I am not likely to feel myself. If you have read any of these blogs I post, you know that I am not the luckiest or accomplished when it comes to matters of the heart. That sadness was hard to take.
I watched them for quite some time, at least until my friend leaned over and asked me 'where did you go?' and I realized that I may well be the creepy person in the bar who is gawking at someone across the bar. Not wanting to let on what I was thinking and feeling, I told my friend that I was enjoying the music. Hard to say why I didn't want to tell him about the people. Perhaps, I just wanted to revel in that moment I shared with this couple, and selfishly didn't want to share it.
When the band took the stage, the place erupted. I guess I was not the only one who liked this band. Fred Eaglesmith is not just a singer/songwriter - he is very much an entertainer. In between songs, he talked about the band's escapades and even told a few jokes. It was fun to watch an entertainer effortlessly segue from one thought to the next and I found myself laughing, drinking (it was Sunday afternoon, afterall), tapping my toes and singing along to the music. As the music played, and the crowd relaxed into a blissful folk music-type revelry, I found myself lulled into a state of bliss myself - doing my favourite creepy thing - which is people watching.
I recognized the people that were just at the point of too many wobbly pops - they were loud and their eyes were bright, their leers at the waitress becoming more pronounced. I also saw the ones that had passed that point at 10 a.m. that morning - these ones were loud, slobbering and slurring - laughing at something they thought (and thought that they had said), and oblivious to the deep dagger-stares that were coming from people sitting close by. It was fun to watch - and then my eyes found a couple across the room and I found myself being just as drawn to them as I was to the band on the stage. No, it wasn't because I knew them. And thankfully, it wasn't someone I had dated and forgotten (that's an embarrassing story and one I may share another time). This was a couple in their sixties.
She had longer grey and white hair. She was wearing jeans and a cute corsette-type top with little flowers printed all over it. Her hair was pinned gently at the sides, and her jewelry was silver and plain, stylish but not overbearing. She was watching the band, tapping her hand to the beat of the music and bobbing her head from side to side with the rhythm of the drums.
Her companion was a man about the same age, his hair was combed back into a ponytail, his face clean shaven except for a greying goatee that framed his mouth and jaw. He wore wire rim glasses, and behind them were bright eyes that were glancing between the band and the woman seated beside him. It was the look in his eyes that caught my breath. He was enjoying the music, much as she was, but he was also - equally - enjoying watching her. He watched the band - and beamed at her.
She was not indifferent. As I watched the couple, I saw the exchange of the knowing glances, the casual - yet intimate - touch of the hand on the other's arm, the squeeze of the fingers as they held hands briefly, the colour on her cheeks as he leaned into the nape of her neck and whispered something meant only for her. These gestures, these moments that only two people who truly knew and loved each other could share. Most of the time, when I am people watching, I find myself creating a story for them - perhaps it's the writer in me, but I always seem to want to imagine a storyline for the people I watch. In coffee shops, it's quite easy to spot the people meeting for the first time. It's also entertaining to watch the body language of people and imagine how they got to this particular point in time...but this couple was different. I was not interested in what their backstory was - I was just interested in this very beautiful and tender afternoon when I was able to witness the beauty of intimacy and love.
It's hard to admit, but I was overcome with this awe of what I was witnessing, and that growing ebb of sadness that washed over me as I realized that this is something I am not likely to feel myself. If you have read any of these blogs I post, you know that I am not the luckiest or accomplished when it comes to matters of the heart. That sadness was hard to take.
I watched them for quite some time, at least until my friend leaned over and asked me 'where did you go?' and I realized that I may well be the creepy person in the bar who is gawking at someone across the bar. Not wanting to let on what I was thinking and feeling, I told my friend that I was enjoying the music. Hard to say why I didn't want to tell him about the people. Perhaps, I just wanted to revel in that moment I shared with this couple, and selfishly didn't want to share it.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
standing up to comedy
There's nothing quite like the exhillaration I feel when I get on that little stage. I drink in the atmosphere - the smell of beer or other forms of alcohol, the eager upturned faces, the whispered comments and the unavoidable young woman at the front with her arms crossed, her eyebrows drawn together - almost daring me to entertain her.
Yah - I know, it sounds like I'm a stripper, but hey - when you're over 30 (this I will admit to and thank you to my sister who is not setting you straight), that is definitely NOT an option. you're welcome, btw:)
No, it's a different kind of stage and one that requires a number of my faculties to be firing at the same time. It's the stage of stand up comedy and one that I have grown to love, adore, and admire. I love the feeling of being up there, sharing my views and looking for that connection with the audience and maybe, just maybe, getting them to laugh.
It's an art - and one that I am just learning. And thankfully, I don't have to try to do it alone. There's uber-support here in Calgary - a stand up comedy community that is so supportive and a group of people I truly admire. People who have been doing this for years and are willing to share their experiences with you - the ups, the downs, the pitfalls and everything in between.
I would like to take credit for taking the plunge into this world, but to be truthful, what inspired me to finally get up and give it a try (after writing it for 20 some odd years!) was not me, it was just a man. A man (sorry ladies, I know this is hitting close to the feminist bone, but please give me a chance!) who for all intensive purposes, is useless to me now (see? I told you, feminist-types - wait for it!)
A few years back, I met a man and fell in love. A man who proved to not be who I thought he was, and so the relationship came to an end, but not before we were able to go out on an outing - to a little comedy club here in Calgary called 'Comedy Cave'. There, we sat amongst his coworkers, enjoying a meal, sitting in the dark, staring at a stage where comics bravely ventured and worked their magic to make us all laugh. And laugh I did. I had a great time. In the car, on the way home, I talked about my admiration for stand up comics, how I had always wanted to try it, and how I had once written a routine, practiced it and practiced it, put my name in for an amateur night, but when the time came - I chickened out. I also shared that my friend had gone up and done my routine (since she had sat and listened to my practicing it - rather painfully, I might add - and so felt she knew it too). I remember that night quite well (even including the fact that I had downed a few beer in preparation for my stage time), and I remember that even though the timing of the jokes wasn't what I liked, that people laughed...and I was content with that...
For 20 years. Until I was sitting in the car, on the way home with this man that I thought I loved, and thought loved me as well. When I shared that I had always wanted to try it, he guffawed, snorted and said: 'you can't do that...you're not funny.' We finished the drive in silence. And silently, it ate away at me.
So - fast forward a year later, with that relationship having gone up in flames, ashes still smoldering, and me thinking that I needed to move on, my mind found its way inexplicably back to that car ride - and back to his 'you can't do it' and I thought to myself: "oh yes, I can."
And I did. February 14, 2011 - I hit the stage and tasted that first tinge of freedom, that first bubble of champagne-like excitement and realized I was standing up.
For comedy. For me. And damn it.. I was funny.
Yah - I know, it sounds like I'm a stripper, but hey - when you're over 30 (this I will admit to and thank you to my sister who is not setting you straight), that is definitely NOT an option. you're welcome, btw:)
No, it's a different kind of stage and one that requires a number of my faculties to be firing at the same time. It's the stage of stand up comedy and one that I have grown to love, adore, and admire. I love the feeling of being up there, sharing my views and looking for that connection with the audience and maybe, just maybe, getting them to laugh.
It's an art - and one that I am just learning. And thankfully, I don't have to try to do it alone. There's uber-support here in Calgary - a stand up comedy community that is so supportive and a group of people I truly admire. People who have been doing this for years and are willing to share their experiences with you - the ups, the downs, the pitfalls and everything in between.
I would like to take credit for taking the plunge into this world, but to be truthful, what inspired me to finally get up and give it a try (after writing it for 20 some odd years!) was not me, it was just a man. A man (sorry ladies, I know this is hitting close to the feminist bone, but please give me a chance!) who for all intensive purposes, is useless to me now (see? I told you, feminist-types - wait for it!)
A few years back, I met a man and fell in love. A man who proved to not be who I thought he was, and so the relationship came to an end, but not before we were able to go out on an outing - to a little comedy club here in Calgary called 'Comedy Cave'. There, we sat amongst his coworkers, enjoying a meal, sitting in the dark, staring at a stage where comics bravely ventured and worked their magic to make us all laugh. And laugh I did. I had a great time. In the car, on the way home, I talked about my admiration for stand up comics, how I had always wanted to try it, and how I had once written a routine, practiced it and practiced it, put my name in for an amateur night, but when the time came - I chickened out. I also shared that my friend had gone up and done my routine (since she had sat and listened to my practicing it - rather painfully, I might add - and so felt she knew it too). I remember that night quite well (even including the fact that I had downed a few beer in preparation for my stage time), and I remember that even though the timing of the jokes wasn't what I liked, that people laughed...and I was content with that...
For 20 years. Until I was sitting in the car, on the way home with this man that I thought I loved, and thought loved me as well. When I shared that I had always wanted to try it, he guffawed, snorted and said: 'you can't do that...you're not funny.' We finished the drive in silence. And silently, it ate away at me.
So - fast forward a year later, with that relationship having gone up in flames, ashes still smoldering, and me thinking that I needed to move on, my mind found its way inexplicably back to that car ride - and back to his 'you can't do it' and I thought to myself: "oh yes, I can."
And I did. February 14, 2011 - I hit the stage and tasted that first tinge of freedom, that first bubble of champagne-like excitement and realized I was standing up.
For comedy. For me. And damn it.. I was funny.
Friday, April 6, 2012
the power of words
Do you remember your first word? I don't remember the first word I ever spoke, but I do remember the first word I ever spoke on stage. It was "hi" Probably not the most powerful word out there, but kind of a natural one when you're making an introduction. I'd like to think my subsequent words have had an impact, and I suppose they have - well, at least for me. I am still doing stand up comedy so that says something.
But this got me thinking. About words. They're pretty powerful.
How about this: do you remember the first time someone (other than your mom) said "I love you"? It's pretty powerful - and can send you to the moon - especially if you feel the same way about them.
it's a whole lot different though, when someone says that to you and you don't feel that way. then the powerful word of that moment is 'AWKWARD'. This happened to me once. After he said it, I found myself trying to find a way to get out of the car without his knowing, and without hurting his feelings. That was awkward, and the more I tried to find the 'powerful' words to let him know I didn't feel the same way, the more awkward the situation got. As you might have guessed, he doesn't have much to do with me these days.
But, to be fair, I have also been in his situation. I was dating a guy that I thought was special (oh, he was special all right - especially two-timing). I remember that perfect moment:
We had just finished another perfect kiss. I was aware that my heart was hammering loudly, and how his breath smelled, how soft his lips were, and as he pulled his face away, and I looked into his blue eyes and those dark lashes, I was overwhelmed with the very sense of him. How much I was aware of him, and how much I wanted this moment to go on and on forever. And then I said it, that overwhelming feeling that started in the pit of my stomach as butterflies, spread through my hammering chest and out my lips in an expression of warmth and love as I breathed out "I love you." I looked in his eyes, and saw as the words registered there. He was shocked. suprised. stupefied. He stared at me, and I stared back and in that moment (that eternally long moment)I waited for his response, and as his eyes looked deeper and deeper into mine, I felt the uptake of his breath, and then he said it: "that's nice."
I think about that now and it still makes me smile. A romantic moment ruined by the power of words:)
But this got me thinking. About words. They're pretty powerful.
How about this: do you remember the first time someone (other than your mom) said "I love you"? It's pretty powerful - and can send you to the moon - especially if you feel the same way about them.
it's a whole lot different though, when someone says that to you and you don't feel that way. then the powerful word of that moment is 'AWKWARD'. This happened to me once. After he said it, I found myself trying to find a way to get out of the car without his knowing, and without hurting his feelings. That was awkward, and the more I tried to find the 'powerful' words to let him know I didn't feel the same way, the more awkward the situation got. As you might have guessed, he doesn't have much to do with me these days.
But, to be fair, I have also been in his situation. I was dating a guy that I thought was special (oh, he was special all right - especially two-timing). I remember that perfect moment:
We had just finished another perfect kiss. I was aware that my heart was hammering loudly, and how his breath smelled, how soft his lips were, and as he pulled his face away, and I looked into his blue eyes and those dark lashes, I was overwhelmed with the very sense of him. How much I was aware of him, and how much I wanted this moment to go on and on forever. And then I said it, that overwhelming feeling that started in the pit of my stomach as butterflies, spread through my hammering chest and out my lips in an expression of warmth and love as I breathed out "I love you." I looked in his eyes, and saw as the words registered there. He was shocked. suprised. stupefied. He stared at me, and I stared back and in that moment (that eternally long moment)I waited for his response, and as his eyes looked deeper and deeper into mine, I felt the uptake of his breath, and then he said it: "that's nice."
I think about that now and it still makes me smile. A romantic moment ruined by the power of words:)
Monday, February 6, 2012
Burned out
What a lovely term that is...what do you think of when you hear that someone's burned out?
I think there are generally a couple trains of thought:
one - that you're like a light bulb...the light is no longer on, your spark is extinguished, and now you have to be unscrewed from the socket and thrown away (but be sure to wrap yourself in some nice container so as not to break and then rip the garbage bag, creating a huge mess as you spill out along side last night's leftover meatloaf). Regardless, you're spent.
two - someone lit a torch to you and burned the last of the crop, now you're a desolate field of black, scorched earth that once resembled a healthy, thriving crop but that crop has been harvested and what's left is the scorched remains of something that once was good.
are there more? I won't pretend to know them all.
Perhaps it's my Saskatchewan roots that eagerly entices me to believe that number two is the essence of burned out. Maybe it's because I've knelt down in one of those scorched fields, smelling the remains of what once thrived and felt saddened, until I realized that the field just to my left had also been scorched and burned out some time before...but now was green, thriving and lush - having benefited from the scorching, having more nutrients and now was something beautiful and productive once more.
I'd like to think that's what 'burned out' little ol' me is.
I think there are generally a couple trains of thought:
one - that you're like a light bulb...the light is no longer on, your spark is extinguished, and now you have to be unscrewed from the socket and thrown away (but be sure to wrap yourself in some nice container so as not to break and then rip the garbage bag, creating a huge mess as you spill out along side last night's leftover meatloaf). Regardless, you're spent.
two - someone lit a torch to you and burned the last of the crop, now you're a desolate field of black, scorched earth that once resembled a healthy, thriving crop but that crop has been harvested and what's left is the scorched remains of something that once was good.
are there more? I won't pretend to know them all.
Perhaps it's my Saskatchewan roots that eagerly entices me to believe that number two is the essence of burned out. Maybe it's because I've knelt down in one of those scorched fields, smelling the remains of what once thrived and felt saddened, until I realized that the field just to my left had also been scorched and burned out some time before...but now was green, thriving and lush - having benefited from the scorching, having more nutrients and now was something beautiful and productive once more.
I'd like to think that's what 'burned out' little ol' me is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
