Hitting the Wall...
I guess everyone hits the wall in their life, probably multiple times. You've been there. You start a project, a hobby, a career, you are excited, it makes sense, you think you are where you are meant to be, then one day you wake up, look around and say, "What the FUN am I doing here?"
A wise woman told me the middle is a dangerous place to be. We were studying Nehemiah (all you really need to know is that a bunch of people were building a big wall, and halfway through, it started to get really hard and frustrating...and also that you shouldn't name your kid Nehemiah. We get it you're a Christian; don't show off. Name him Charlie). Anyway, the wall builders wanted to give up.
The middle is hard. It's not as new and exciting as the beginning. It's not as rewarding as the near-beginning (when things are still fun, but you have a bit of a grip on them), and it's not as exciting as being over the middle hump and sure about yourself (say someone who knows he's found his niche, is doing what he was made to do).
The middle blows.
For one thing, when you are in the middle, you don't really know how far away it is "over the hump," until things get easier or more sure. For all you know you could still be near the beginning. The beginning is a place where it might indeed be wise to stop...you aren't copping out, you just tried something, it was wrong, time to move on.
So, what was I even talking about...
oh yeah, What the FUN am I doing here?
In a place where most people are under 30, male and... and...well, that's enough.
What in the world were you thinking God?
And God steps back a bit, and says, "Don't look at me, missy. I didn't have anything to do with this one. And I'm going to need to distance myself from you a bit if you keep saying FUN."
So, what do you do? You aren't sure whether you should press on, and see if things click, or whether you should head back to wherever you were previously...but maybe that isn't even an option anymore. You're stuck.
You do what I do.
You pray.
You wait.
And you eat a bucket of chicken.
"The prayer of a chicken-eater availeth much." 1 Pam 1:7
Part 3 (continued): My Year in Comedy from Standing Up to Lying Down...in the fetal position
When we left Pam talking to Pam, she was in the dark at the Idiot Box for her first open mic...
surrounded by 20-something males who were scribbling on scraps of paper.
When you go to an open mic, you sign a list as soon as you walk in. This determines the order the "comedians" perform. I say comedians in quotes, because there is no filtering process. If you show up, you will not be turned away based on your ability...and thank God for that.
Each person gets about 5 minutes on stage. A guy in the back shines a light briefly at the 4 minute mark, so the person knows to wrap it up quickly.
These are simple rules, right? You understand them? Good. You are 100% ahead of where I was that night.
_________________
Pam to Pam:
This second beer is even better than the first.
I can't remember when I had time to finish two beers without the kids bothering me.
What number guy are we on? 4? What number was I again... 27?
Whoa. I could be drunk by then.
Drunk on one and a half beers. I need some food.
They only sell Skittles.
That won't help.
Hey, that guy brought his scrap of paper with him on stage.
Ahhhh, I get it. Notes. His jokes. Everyone was studying their jokes beforehand.
Well, I guess they weren't as prepared as I am.
I have a 4-page entry from my mommy-blog to read aloud.
It's going to KILL.
(That may have been the beer talking).
So, we wait. We drink. We listen.
Hmmm....men like to talk about their bodies more than I thought.
Like a lot more.
Like that's almost ALL they're talking about.
Plus porn.
And women...they think THAT about us?
Is this what men think?
Does my husband think this?
Will my son think this someday?
Oh crap. I just remembered I have a daughter.
Please God let her be gay. Give her a gentle journal-sketching aforementioned lesbian.
[Guy after guy goes up on stage...all similar discussion topics]
What the heck?
This is terrifying.
I'm sure no males in High Point think like this. Maybe only in the "urban setting." This big city.
Maybe only in this one club. Please God let this group of men be an anomaly.
Let me have stumbled into some sort of social experiment.
I have been hanging out in ladies' bible study too darn much.
I know nothing about the real world.
...
...
...
I like knowing nothing.
...
...
...
I want to un-know this.
Uh-oh. It's my turn.
I don't think they're going to like my blog entry as much as I thought.
But I don't have anything else to say...let me find it in my giant mom tote.
Nooooooooo....it is completely wrapped around my adhesive full-sized lint brush!
Completely.
These pages are not coming off ever.
I got NO scraps and NO notes.
I'm on my own.
[I climb onto the stage.
The light is BLINDING. I had no idea.
I'm just squinting and babbling...
at some point I walk into the back of the crowd with the mic,
which seems gutsy even to me,
but once I'm there, I don't really have any jokes to tell.
Reading the blog entry doesn't fit.
I explain in some small way that they have shocked and terrified me,
made me consider sending my daughter to be raised by the nuns.
At some point a light flashes repeatedly in my face...
I wonder why they're taking my picture--hey, maybe I'm doing better than I thought!--
nope, it was the flashlight.
I forgot all of the guidelines about the time limit,
the light cues...
We're all on this ridiculous ride together now,
and I'm taking everyone down with me.
At some point, they have to almost snatch the mic from my hands.
For someone who has no jokes or notes,
I sure am using the mic a long time.
F-word or guy-with-artsy-afro wrestle it from my white-knuckled-death grip on it.
I can't remember which.
Eventually I am back in my seat.
I'm sweaty. I can't remember anything I said.
But I learned the most important lesson a person can ever learn about an open mic:
no matter how horrid or painful,
for the speaker OR the audience,
blessedly, it can only last 5 minutes.
(although that night, and every night since, I've managed to get almost a full extra minute out of the light guy...the key is to never make eye contact with him).
surrounded by 20-something males who were scribbling on scraps of paper.
When you go to an open mic, you sign a list as soon as you walk in. This determines the order the "comedians" perform. I say comedians in quotes, because there is no filtering process. If you show up, you will not be turned away based on your ability...and thank God for that.
Each person gets about 5 minutes on stage. A guy in the back shines a light briefly at the 4 minute mark, so the person knows to wrap it up quickly.
These are simple rules, right? You understand them? Good. You are 100% ahead of where I was that night.
_________________
Pam to Pam:
This second beer is even better than the first.
I can't remember when I had time to finish two beers without the kids bothering me.
What number guy are we on? 4? What number was I again... 27?
Whoa. I could be drunk by then.
Drunk on one and a half beers. I need some food.
They only sell Skittles.
That won't help.
Hey, that guy brought his scrap of paper with him on stage.
Ahhhh, I get it. Notes. His jokes. Everyone was studying their jokes beforehand.
Well, I guess they weren't as prepared as I am.
I have a 4-page entry from my mommy-blog to read aloud.
It's going to KILL.
(That may have been the beer talking).
So, we wait. We drink. We listen.
Hmmm....men like to talk about their bodies more than I thought.
Like a lot more.
Like that's almost ALL they're talking about.
Plus porn.
And women...they think THAT about us?
Is this what men think?
Does my husband think this?
Will my son think this someday?
Oh crap. I just remembered I have a daughter.
Please God let her be gay. Give her a gentle journal-sketching aforementioned lesbian.
[Guy after guy goes up on stage...all similar discussion topics]
What the heck?
This is terrifying.
I'm sure no males in High Point think like this. Maybe only in the "urban setting." This big city.
Maybe only in this one club. Please God let this group of men be an anomaly.
Let me have stumbled into some sort of social experiment.
I have been hanging out in ladies' bible study too darn much.
I know nothing about the real world.
...
...
...
I like knowing nothing.
...
...
...
I want to un-know this.
Uh-oh. It's my turn.
I don't think they're going to like my blog entry as much as I thought.
But I don't have anything else to say...let me find it in my giant mom tote.
Nooooooooo....it is completely wrapped around my adhesive full-sized lint brush!
Completely.
These pages are not coming off ever.
I got NO scraps and NO notes.
I'm on my own.
[I climb onto the stage.
The light is BLINDING. I had no idea.
I'm just squinting and babbling...
at some point I walk into the back of the crowd with the mic,
which seems gutsy even to me,
but once I'm there, I don't really have any jokes to tell.
Reading the blog entry doesn't fit.
I explain in some small way that they have shocked and terrified me,
made me consider sending my daughter to be raised by the nuns.
At some point a light flashes repeatedly in my face...
I wonder why they're taking my picture--hey, maybe I'm doing better than I thought!--
nope, it was the flashlight.
I forgot all of the guidelines about the time limit,
the light cues...
We're all on this ridiculous ride together now,
and I'm taking everyone down with me.
At some point, they have to almost snatch the mic from my hands.
For someone who has no jokes or notes,
I sure am using the mic a long time.
F-word or guy-with-artsy-afro wrestle it from my white-knuckled-death grip on it.
I can't remember which.
Eventually I am back in my seat.
I'm sweaty. I can't remember anything I said.
But I learned the most important lesson a person can ever learn about an open mic:
no matter how horrid or painful,
for the speaker OR the audience,
blessedly, it can only last 5 minutes.
(although that night, and every night since, I've managed to get almost a full extra minute out of the light guy...the key is to never make eye contact with him).
Part 3: My Year in Comedy: From Standing Up to Lying Down...in the Fetal Position
My first open mic...
My usual motto is "If a story's worth telling, it's worth exaggerating."
But for this one, I won't need to.
February 2013, The Idiot Box, Greensboro
Pam to Pam:
"It's dark in here. Really dark.
There are no other mothers here.
Wait, there are no other women here.
That guy at the bar wants you to pay him. Focus.
Hey, he's the guy you saw do a Friday night show.
He's familiar. He talked about Hoarders.
He said the f-word a lot...like a lot a lot.
Like the most you've ever heard the f-word, and as the most parts of speech you've ever heard. Impressive really.
Okay, you've got a beer. You're casual, you're hanging, you totally look comfortable.
You're pulling this off.
Except for being 40 and the only female.
You are not pulling this off.
Just go sit down and quit looking so female.
Sit close to the stage.
Wait, why isn't anyone sitting near the stage? Isn't that where the show is?
Everyone is sitting in the back and writing on scraps of paper.
What are they writing? Crap. Why didn't I bring scraps of paper?
Why doesn't anyone want to sit in the front where they can hear and see better?
'Because they're 24 and they can see and hear from across the street if they want to, you nerd.'
I sound just like those older back-to-school adults I knew in law school who always sat in the front of the class. 'Going to get my money's worth this time around.'
Sigh.
That seems about right.
I'll sit in the front.
It's starting. It's starting.
F-word is going to the stage.
Whoa. He just said a lot more words you haven't heard much.
Oof. Those are uncomfortable.
Wow.
Mercy.
Yikes.
Wait -- that one was really funny.
That one too. I think I could use that one in context if I needed to.
Oh look! Girls came.
Three young very-short-haired college girls.
They all look the same.
And are sketching in journals (hm...interesting).
Just few gals out on the town sketching.
I feel metropolitan.
This beer is delicious, and it came with my ticket,
which means it was like a free beer.
So I can get another one...and another one, and it's almost like I'm saving money.
And I'm going to right now..."
(to be continued).
My usual motto is "If a story's worth telling, it's worth exaggerating."
But for this one, I won't need to.
February 2013, The Idiot Box, Greensboro
Pam to Pam:
"It's dark in here. Really dark.
There are no other mothers here.
Wait, there are no other women here.
That guy at the bar wants you to pay him. Focus.
Hey, he's the guy you saw do a Friday night show.
He's familiar. He talked about Hoarders.
He said the f-word a lot...like a lot a lot.
Like the most you've ever heard the f-word, and as the most parts of speech you've ever heard. Impressive really.
Okay, you've got a beer. You're casual, you're hanging, you totally look comfortable.
You're pulling this off.
Except for being 40 and the only female.
You are not pulling this off.
Just go sit down and quit looking so female.
Sit close to the stage.
Wait, why isn't anyone sitting near the stage? Isn't that where the show is?
Everyone is sitting in the back and writing on scraps of paper.
What are they writing? Crap. Why didn't I bring scraps of paper?
Why doesn't anyone want to sit in the front where they can hear and see better?
'Because they're 24 and they can see and hear from across the street if they want to, you nerd.'
I sound just like those older back-to-school adults I knew in law school who always sat in the front of the class. 'Going to get my money's worth this time around.'
Sigh.
That seems about right.
I'll sit in the front.
It's starting. It's starting.
F-word is going to the stage.
Whoa. He just said a lot more words you haven't heard much.
Oof. Those are uncomfortable.
Wow.
Mercy.
Yikes.
Wait -- that one was really funny.
That one too. I think I could use that one in context if I needed to.
Oh look! Girls came.
Three young very-short-haired college girls.
They all look the same.
And are sketching in journals (hm...interesting).
Just few gals out on the town sketching.
I feel metropolitan.
This beer is delicious, and it came with my ticket,
which means it was like a free beer.
So I can get another one...and another one, and it's almost like I'm saving money.
And I'm going to right now..."
(to be continued).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)