Tonight, I signed up at the Open Mike of Yore (that means the past, I think). Located in a coffee shop that looks like the community room of a hippy Y-camp and feels like a homeless shelter (sorry, Unurban), but was the first home to those thoughts that bubble up and demand release (and later found them in my blog.) I didn't exactly hit a rhythm, but I got some laughs and survived. With the exception of one guy who didn't say anything for four minutes, the comics seemed to remain within the bounds of normal (in an emotionally unbalanced way) to slightly awkward.

However, back in the da-ey this open mike attracted a pretty scary lot. One guy, a large, heavy-set cab driver named Manuel frequently yelled and raged into the mike about the women in his life/cab/anything, but off-stage he seemed as deferential and vulnerable as a beaten down puppy. That's when I first realized that meaning of "stage pesona." The audiences usually consisted of about four comics, and someone trying to study. I often sweated bullets until they called my name and mumbled through a set with a subdued, low impact, performance style. Often my material veered towards self-deprecation, as that seemed to get the most response. Sometimes I hated myself for using self-hating material, and I've noticed that tendency with young female comics. But a joke is a joke, with or without social redemption, and, ultimately, I learned how to write one (I hope). However, today, I prefer a stand-up blog.

Just for today, I can attempt stand-up comedy.