Does this look funny to you?

Being an amateur comic is not always a lot of fun. I thought it would be, and in the beginning it was. But it's since lost a great deal of its charm. Turns out it's really a lot of work. Dammit.

(I say 'amateur'; The deciding factor between being an amateur and a professional is whether or not you have been paid. Well, I have been given exactly $9.00, 6 glasses of Chardonnay and a free eye-brow wax for doing comedy. Not sure if that counts, but I'm getting there.)

You go to open mics, night after night, week after week. Performing mostly for other comics who have probably seen your act at least a hundred times. They don't think you're funny. Sometimes, if you're lucky, there will be a few people observing the show, and they just might laugh if you get their attention. I wouldn't go so far as to call them an audience - usually friends or family of other comics - but they are filling seats. I find it easier to perform if a room isn't completely empty. You give me 4 or 5 people, and I'll get some laughs.

Every week I host my crappy little open mic. And every week, the comics show up, and they are either heckled or ignored. I feel bad about it, but there's very little I can do to make people pay attention in a bar. They don't come there to hear comedy, they come to drink and play pool and watch sports. Maybe we should hold basketballs while we tell jokes.

So, to all those comics who show up at my room, week after week, I say a heartfelt "thanks" for hanging in there. I'm happy to provide a place for us all to work out new material, even if it's often more painful than it should be. And although it may never get any better, it couldn't possibly get much worse. Maybe this week the men's restroom will be working.

I always wanted to be an entertainer. What was I thinking?