I’m in Seattle to do a private party. A potentially scary situation. The money is good, but who knows if there will be a microphone. Most likely there’ll be one guy I can’t make fun of. He’ll also be the person everybody looks at to see if he’s laughing. I bet he only laughs occassionally. He has a position to uphold. How can you laugh at everything and still be a leader? The Dali Lama seems to laugh a lot but we are about as west as you can get. The show starts at midnight. A very cool start time if you ask me. But I have to judge a drink making contest first. The private party is for a bunch of bartenders. Judging means I have to arrive early. And mingle, more or less. Not my style. Whenever I arrive to a club early it’s because there’s a greenroom I can hide out in. Mingling means I’ll be known as the comedian before I hit the stage (if there is one). People will be expecting me to be funny already. Funny already. A test I’ve failed many times.
“Hey, there’s the comedian. He doesn’t seem funny.” No shit. Because I’m trippin’ out, man. Here you are surrounded by those you know well. And here I am, fish outta water struggling to breathe. Tell you what…you be funny now. I’ll be quiet. A quiet guy is not necessarily unfunny. Think of Charlie Chaplin. The space shuttle soars through space. But most of the time it’s parked. Maybe on a launch pad. It is still the space shuttle. You can’t dis it because it’s resting. I’m on my launch pad. Soon the countdown will begin. I love funny people. I was funny in social situations. Still am. But when I turned that into my job, I eased off it in everyday situations. Tonight I’ll go onstage and make people laugh for 45 minutes. And I bet the funniest person you know, if you added up the amount of time in one day that they had people cracking up still wouldn’t add up to 45 minutes. “He doesn’t seem funny.” Fuck off.