I started performing stand-up comedy in the strangest way. I was beaten up on the street while going home with a vegan meal, the guy broke my arm. Totally random. Totally horrifying. Months later, I was brutally beaten by a cop who mistook me for an illegal immigrant. He herniated 2 discs in my cervical spine, nearly paralyzed my right arm (I'm right handed) and gave me a concusion which later caused me to fall 20 feet backwards down cement steps and give me multiple spinal fractures. What can I say? Men are drawn to me. Drawn to beat the brown out of me?
Anyway, that accident caused amnesia, a broken ass, neck and a broken spirit. I couldn't remember anything, and still two years later have memory problems. Sometimes, that's good, though.
I'd just graduated from an elite acting program, and with no memory, so a bleak future ahead of me as far as performing. Limiting as it was to begin with, memory deficits did NOT enhance my situation. As I laid for hours on my back in the darkness of my newly crippled world, I thought of all the greats who came before me and inside of me. jk
I thought of Frida, Beethoven and Bart Simpson. And maybe Cartman from South Park, too.
What pained me beyond description was the lack of a creative outlet. I matured rapidly in this limitation and saw the world in a way that only bitter Jewish women on the Lower East Side did.
My friend, tired of hearing me whine, I suppose, suggested I take a comedy class. So I did. The Manhattan Comedy School. Boy that was fun! A room full of hostile men with fragile egos getting out their rage through passive-agressive humor. Where do I sign up! I was in heaven!!!
I got more out of the class than I put in to it. That was the 2 hours a week where I would show up like a deer in head lights and talk about obsessing over not being breast fed, vaginas and how I had one and other classy topics that I refuse to cover in this blog.
They had a showcase. It dawned on me, an hour before the show at the world-famous Caroline's Comedy club, that I'd better prepare something QUICK, PRONTO, ASAP. Vanity, friends, the bane of my existence had necessitated a set and rapido. So, off I went on stage and became someone I'd never been. And people laughed. God only knows what flew out of mouth that day, but the booker called me back. Then called me back again. Then...well, you get it.
I was IN this, folks. I realized that I had been doing shows here and there, and it was really feeding my creative appetite to put out products that I was thrilled with. Except, I wasn't nearly as thrilled as I thought I'd be. Turns out: comedy is a craft. fffffffaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I had to take another class. I do well with classes. Don't judge me.
Off I went, to the Gotham Comedy Club class, taught by Jim Mendrinos. This guy is AMAZING. Not only did he magically infuse my self esteem with the little engine that could mentality ("I know I can, I know I can!") but also, after his class, I had magically accumulated 70 pages of work. wtf?
No idea, folks, no idea.
Well, as of the end of the class, 1/07, I was officially an unofficial comic. I bandied about at open mics, put my hat in the rings of pros before me at auditions, and took committments to perform at various clubs. It sucked ass for a little while. Between my memory problems, injury and the loss of 5 family members in 4 months, the last thing I wanted to do was get up in front of a group of people judging me and responding to my material with silence. That's how it be sometimes!
Look: I could take the path of least resistance and talk about titty poppin, car washin video vixens and the ghetto they grew up in, or I can talk about the things that I really care about. It ain't pretty at times, but it is wildly fulfilling. So, June '07 I made a committment. I was in a serious relationship with comedy. (cue throbbing heart sfx here)
There are days when I can't get out of bed from the pain, but somehow, a good laugh can change that in an instant!
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