Beyond a Joke 2: Criticise Me

Barring any unexpected maid of honour speeches my first stand up gig is happening May 22. On the whole I feel relieved. I've spent the last year trying to work out how to get little me on stage on my own; being part of a line up of people I'm currently learning with and getting to know is a much happier alternative. Somehow or other I got it into my head that stand up was something you have to just try on your own before you bother learning to be good at it. I am funny = on stage I will be funny. I've learned in two weeks that this is bullshit. Attending a class on stand up does not make me a failure before I start. It makes me better. I've often been told that I should take up driving, but that doesn't mean I should hop in my aunt's car and tootle off down the motorway when I don't even know what the stick thing does.

The class has gotten bigger, but  as there are no new girls I'm probably the only woman in the line up for May 22. I haven't worked out how I feel about this. It might be like showing up to a black tie event wearing jeans and a Run DMC tee shirt, but they have to let you in because you're receiving an award.

For this week we had to perform a minute of prepared material so that Klare, who runs the class, could take pleasure in tearing it apart and ramming it down our throats. It didn't turn out like that. I thought that all the comments and suggestions from the professional comedians who attended were valid, and could have been worse. Obviously, at some point in the last couple of years I forgot that I have a degree in theatre, that actually I've been hauled to the front of the class and thoroughly critiqued by experts. Finally, a return on my useless liberal arts degree! 

A couple of times Klare apologised for being critical, but I think in an art form like stand up her comments are a secondary critique anyway: if no one laughed you know you've done it wrong. Before I decided to get into comedy no one suggested to me I should try it, but no one has ever told me I'm not funny. Except for a few guys who all said 'You'd be great at stand up! I can write your jokes for you!' Which implies that a) I look funny, and b) I'm not funny. It's cool. I can take it.

If you are not experienced in being raked over the burning coals of conscientious review it must be a lot more stressful, and I could tell a couple of the guys were mortified. If you crack a joke to your friends they're unlikely to tell you that your delivery was off, or that it came off sounding scripted (except for my friends, who have told me such things). They are quite big guys in the class, and little Klare telling them - and me - to pull up our socks. 

Besides, I may have been shaking but I know I got laughs. 

Lots of laughs.

Dare I say... more laughs than the other amateurs.

FYI: I talked about rotting teeth, Freud, and tantric sex, in that order. You can't have rotting teeth and tantric sex together in one conversation without some sort of transition, and Freud is the door that connects many rooms that should really stay locked.

3 minutes for next Tuesday. Next Wednesday I'm in Glasgow!