Stand-up act therapy for comedian, crowd

The most commonly asked question of me, being a stand-up comic, is why I do it. "How did you get started? Were you always funny? Were you the class clown?"

Those are other common questions. Simply put, I love to make people laugh. I have always loved to make people laugh, through acting silly as a child to now making jokes about the junk on Mom's front porch. Whatever it takes to make people's lives a bit easier, if only for 30 minutes.

And mine, too, for that matter.

"It's cheaper than therapy" is what some people say about stand-up comedy.

It's very true. Actually, I get paid for telling people my problems and how I deal with not having much money or being a disgruntled waiter. So in reality, people pay for my therapy.

People really like to laugh and even need to laugh. Now that doesn't mean all of them do.

Many a show has seen some people just sit there, arms crossed and nary a smirk. Fine. Sometimes I will try extra hard try to make that person laugh, and sometimes I will focus on those folks having a good time.

Like so much of life, there's only so much I can do.

I've never been one to push the envelope in terms of being edgy. I don't have strong views on politics or religion, and I don't pretend to have them in my act.

That's not me, which is what my act is all about — me. What I do or what I've done, where I came from, the odd jobs I've had and the relationships that have faltered or those that have been successful. (Still trying to recall those.)

So why am I not on TV and still living at Mom's? I'm not too sure. The comedy biz is tougher now than it's ever been. There are many more comics vying for far fewer positions.

There are so fewer outlets now than back in the comedy boom of the mid-'80s. There were comedy clubs all over the place, about 20 in Chicagoland alone. Today there are six.

Cable TV has many shows featuring stand-up comedy, and heck, there's even an entire channel devoted solely to comedy. People can watch it at home for free and change the channel if they don't like it.

Some comedians have been given big money to develop sitcoms or other projects, and they've fallen through. Hollywood and New York aren't as quick to hand out money to just anyone.

But you have to have thick skin. Very thick skin. The thickest of any business perhaps.

To stand in audition lines, long lines, with hundreds of other comics, some amateur and some pros looking for the same break as you, only to be told, "Next." That's tough.

But I can't take it personally. Maybe I didn't have my A-game. We all have those days. Comedy is no different. Or maybe the talent scouts were looking for something else. Maybe that edginess I spoke of earlier. Maybe a good impressionist. I can't try to figure out what they're looking for. I just have to do what I do and do it the best I can.

Some comics don't like the traveling, a major part of the job. Many miles have been logged on my 1997 Geo Prizm and the Chevy Lumina before her. (Mark and Dana Jones at Shorewood Lube, Pat at KJI Auto Repair and the gang at Bertino's Marathon have all helped me and my cars a great deal. I may have spent nights on the side of the road in WhoKnowsWhereIAm, Neb., if it weren't for them.)

I have flown a few times for comedy, overseas for our troops. Even the Prizm, as tough as she is, wouldn't have made that trek across the Pacific. I have no wife or kids to leave behind, though. I can see where that can be tough for some.

But for me, I relish the opportunities to meet new people, to work with great comics and to see this great land of ours, all the while getting paid to do it.

Some of my favorite jokes come from having been in different parts of America.

"I worked in Detroit a few months ago. Man is there baseball team bad. I went to see the Tigers play and bought a hot dog. It came wrapped in a ticket for the next day's game."

"In Toledo, Ohio, there's a mall where almost every store is closed. One of the only places open is called Things Remembered. Inside of it were pictures of stores that used to be in the mall."

"I visited my friend in Boston, and we went on a historical bus tour of the city. Saw things about the war and the Tea Party. Found out that Paul Revere had 18 children. 18. Man, when you have more kids than colonies, it's time to take a break."

"I was in the Southwest and drove through the Four Corners. That's where the states of Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona all come together. Some people forget the states so I tell them just to remember what they're most famous for: Mormons, mountains, Mexicans, margaritas. Switch them up if you want, they don't mind."

Alliteration is great comedy writing tool. And obviously those jokes work best in those parts, but some people enjoy hearing about where I've been and what it was like.

And I like to tell them. Now I will say that most of my live act isn't for everyone, especially some family members. As cute and clean as those jokes above are, they aren't all like that.

"You were really good," said my cousin Judy after my recent show at Road House on 6 in Channahon. "I'll just never come with my parents again. (Uncle Johnny and Aunt Rita)"

But again, it's an act. I don't go door to door selling my perverted jokes to strangers. People pay to see it. Sure there are many people who condemn me for telling dirty jokes and using foul language.

And on that note, whoever said it was foul? Some guy with nothing else better to do than make up words and deem them bad? Just because we've adopted it as such doesn't mean that it is. Still, feathers tend to be ruffled when I hit the stage.

"And why not ruffle them?" I say. People work all day in a corporate setting where you can rarely voice your opinion or even give a compliment for fear of being called a racist or a sexist.

While I'm on stage, I use the language working people wish they could sometimes use at work. I provide a source of relief from the daily grind.

Sure, it may be through some off-color analogy or personal thought on adult material. But I'm not there to make balloon animals or to make people think. They do that while raising their families or working 50 hours a week.

I make them laugh. For 30-45 minutes, I let them take a walk with me and leave all that other stuff on the curb. But they better watch out; my mom may come by, pick it up and throw it on our porch.

If you wanna see me live, I'll be playing next week, Oct. 28 to Nov. 2, at Zanies in Chicago. Next month I'll be at the Barrel of Laughs in Oak Lawn, Nov. 28 to 30.

Check out the rest of my schedule and other work at www.ShaveYourHead.com.

10/23/03