To Be, Or Not To Be. It's Not A Question.

Earlier this week I read this blog entry by Peter Greyy. Peter is an Entertainer; a comic, a writer, a musically active DJ, and fount, a FOUNT I say, of Pop Culture knowledge. It's not trivia with Peter, it's Life. And it's one of the reasons I respect and darn near love the guy.

Peter is as welcoming, honest, and good-natured as anyone I've ever met. He is nice, and not the bad kind of Nice. He's not "I wonder what this talk about StinkFinger is"-nice. He's a great guy. The blog he wrote detailed the straight dope about a kid who came into the comedy clubs in Seattle with a chip on his shoulder and the other chips in his mouth, and then asked if he could have some chips for free. Read Peter's stuff, btw, it's very well written and organized, unlike my trail-mix ideas that come tumbling from my rucksack mind on this blog. Quick synopsis of the blog, for which I am eternally grateful that Peter wrote because it's a story that makes me laugh, kind of like "Where The Red Fern Grows" or "The Story Of O:"
Kid shows up in the comedy clubs, and just starts hanging around, going up when he can, not doing well ever, and then, on the final night, within minutes of each even, figuratively shits himself, but not before literally vomiting on himself.

Not that night, but I had seen his act. I interacted with him. I could barely understand a word he said. I've seen him nod out, face on the table, in the back of clubs. He told street jokes, he told foul jokes, he rarely got laughs. It was what was for his trip through the clubs. But don't cry for him, Rodger Lizzaololola. I feel bad that the kid didn't find the same spark in comedy that other comics I've met and become integrated with have found. Comedy is undeniable in the soul of the comic. Most of us have always been witty, sarcastic, funny, dark, twisted, much the way some people are tall, thin, plum-colored, foul-smelling, or skid-marked. Funny is a trait, and the more people I meet I believe that Funny is in the wiring.

That wiring can't ever be shorted out. Some guys are all-Funny. Some comics cross Funny wires with Smarts wires. Some cross Funny with Hyper. But the wires gotta be there. It can be muted, or there's not as many outlets for it, or the wattage attenuates if the circuit isn't kept clean and free of interference. But some people just don't have Stage Funny. And Stage Funny is miles away from "hanging over your desk, hey, have ya heard this one about Michael Jackson, Larry the Cable Guy, and Mother Teresa's tampon?" (punchline, btw: Sorry Mike, but me and the old gal are gonna feed these hotwings to the hungry, Get 'er doodles.) The kid in Peter's blog Did Not Have It. And anybody who thinks everyone should be super nice and coddle anybody who Does Not Have It, well, they Do Not Get It.

How else can I say this. The guy just won't make it in comedy. Most people won't. That's what makes comics different and unique, the way that Walter Payton was unique, the way Roger Clemens is unique, the way that Rosa Parks is unique. There's something else "in there" that certain people in society have, and others don't. If you've ever looked at paintings by different artists, you may have seen one and said "Wow, I get it. Okay, yeah, it's not a Thing, it's mostly just red and upside down it looks like an eye or Cousin Oliver, but I get it." The other painting just made you go "F*ck this a-hole. What a masturbatory waste of time. Trees can't crap rainbow turds to be eaten by Willard Scott, no matter how hard I wish. At least the bar's free."

At first, after reading Peter's blog, I had to stop laughing. Then I felt some empathy for the kid because he was hoping comedy would just fall into his lap. Instead, it was just a cocktail of HandiSnaks and Robitussin that expired when Lewinsky was a cigar cutter. After that, I just felt like, eh, sorry kid, it's not your thing. Stand-up comedy is one of a very limited number of things I am passionate about in my life. Stand-up is NOT the person on stage, it is an Entity. Baseball is not the players, it's the Game and the parking and the smell of Mexican steroids wafting from the first baseman after the Winstrol was muled into New Mexico by a Venezuelan prospect. Football is not Terrell Owens, it is the legends and the fans and living until you're 57. Comedy is not the Comic, but the Comic can't help but do their best to be Comedy.

The good news is that the kid will soon return to the clubs with a new focus and drive to get on stage. When that happens, I hope I'm wearing Kevlar.

I just spent 40 minutes saying this:
You can't win 'em all.
I'm a turd.
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