Feedback

Ten years ago I got an email from a man I had performed with during a variety showcase. This guy criticized my act and condescendingly told me how he could have done it better because of his “years of experience” and “expertise”.

At the time I was just trying shit out onstage in hopes of getting better and finding my voice. I was young. I had no direction or style. I barely had any stage time under my belt. I was just minding my own business and here was this guy invading my inbox with his “holier than thou” attitude.

I was devastated. And upset…and angry…and shocked. So I spent the next 24 hours crafting the perfect response, sent it off, and thought to myself: “That’ll show him.”

I never heard back. But that guy’s words echoed in my brain, haunting me for weeks afterwards. And gradually I started to make changes to my show just to move on and get that email out of my head.

Even though his ideas were horrible and I didn’t have to prove myself to that guy, it still bothered me enough that I went out of my way to appease a person I’ve only seen one night in my entire life. Unbelievable.

Flash forward to this summer and a similar experience…

An audience member emailed me to give some unsolicited advice about my show. He was cordial but slightly demeaning, telling me that I shouldn’t do certain things because he didn’t like it.

My first instinct was to laugh. Seriously, who emails a performer to tell them to change their act? If I don’t like something I just move on and assume it wasn’t for me to begin with…

After that, I started thinking about how to respond. I needed to be firm, but polite. I wanted to hold my ground and explain myself. But then I caught myself and had a wonderful realization: “I don’t owe this guy anything.”

I realized that it was a horrible decision to let one person dictate the direction of my show. No single person should have a say in my material, my wardrobe, my style, or my approach to performance. The only person who decides where I’m going is me.

It took me a decade of shows and thousands of comments, messages, calls, and e-mails to understand that, but when that thought came into focus it was crystal clear:

“No one else gets to determine the direction I’m going in.”

As I was sitting at my desk, pondering that email, another alert came in. It was another email, from a different audience member who had been at the same exact performance. She wrote:

“I was at your Friday night show. I was visiting my in-laws and suggested an adult night out for the six of us for dinner and your show. I was slightly nervous planning this evening, because what if the show was a flop?!?! The most difficult to please person said to me on the way out, “this was a winner.” Yay for you and me!! Ha ha! I loved that you got so many people involved in your show, made it personal and interactive. You are witty and engaging and I was sad when it ended! Days later and we are still talking about your act. Well done. I’ll have my eye out for you to come to my area. Best of luck with your career - you do fantastic work!”

Talk about perfect timing. That was all I needed to hear to know that I was on the right path.

Oh, and I only responded to one of those emails…but I’m sure you put that together already.

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Other Thoughts:

• Comedian Gary Gulman has been sharing brilliant tips of twitter all year. (Coincidentally as I was working on this post this week he posted this tweet. Glad to see I was thinking on the same page as one of the greats.) If you’re looking to be a better writer/performer or just enjoy good stand up, you should probably go follow him.

• All upcoming shows are posted here.

• Are you subscribed on YouTube? I have some awesome video projects coming up soon.

• Here’s a killer photo from a gig last week at Stony Brook University in Long Island:

Repetition

I had a music teacher growing up that used to say “Repetition is the key to success.”

He’d wait five seconds then say, “Repetition is the key to success” and keep repeating it until we caught on.

I love jokes like that, where you have to pay attention to the clever (albeit silly) word play to understand. As a result, I’ve never forgotten it.

I’m not sure that it’s the only “key to success” but I think repetition is an important component. I think he was mostly trying to remind us to practice our instruments when we weren’t in class but I still never did. That explains why I’m reading minds for a living now and not playing tenor sax...

When you perform for a living it can start to feel a little pointless. The days start to blur together because of the repetitive nature of life on the road. Usually it goes something like this:

Wake up early (I have alarms for 3:30 am and 3:45 am that I use every week) to head to the airport. I take the same bags, packed the same way, through security on my way to the first flight out. Then comes sleep, baggage claim, rental car, coffee, hotel, venue, set up, soundcheck, show. Then I re-pack everything in the same way and head back to my room for a few hours of sleep before I get up the next morning to do it all over again.

I will follow those steps today and tomorrow and the next day indefinitely for as long as I continue the current trajectory of my career. I keep setting my alarm and boarding the planes. I keep testing my microphone and saying the same words onstage every night. I keep hoping that putting in 10,000 hours will lead to mastery and mastery will lead to nothing but beautiful, theatrically resonant performances.

Over time you start to enjoy the repetition. An early flight means fewer delays and more time once you arrive. A good sound check puts my mind at ease and usually means I’ll have a good show. And packing my stuff the same way each time means I never leave anything behind.

Repetition provides the framework to the rest of the day so I can be in the moment onstage. Since everything else is the same during the day, I can set my mind to autopilot. I’ve been through airport security so many times now, that I could probably do it completely blindfolded. (Maybe I will for a future show…)

Once I take the stage, I’m in search of new discoveries in hopes of truly connecting with tonight’s group. Maybe something exciting will happen. Maybe I’ll have a creative breakthrough or reach a new level of proficiency. Maybe tonight will be my best show ever. Maybe I’ll be even better tomorrow.

That’s why I keep doing the same thing day after day, show after show. Rise early, read minds, rinse, repeat. Repetition is (one of) the keys to success.

There’s that old adage that says “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" is the definition of insanity...but I prefer to call it a “career in the arts”.

Numb

It’s easy to think that what you do doesn’t matter…especially when you get paid to tell jokes and read minds onstage. It’s tempting to trivialize it, especially when other people are doing such important work around the world.

But I think that what I do does matter…especially now. I’d argue it may matter more now than ever before. I’ve seen a shift in my audiences lately and it all started last November.

A year ago I muted the TV and stared out my apartment window in total silence. If you’ve followed me for any amount of time it should be obvious that I’m a progressive liberal atheist artist and I didn’t handle the results of the 2016 election well. 

For the past 365 days I’ve woken up fearful of what I’d find on the news or read on twitter. Most days, the alerts are too many and the negative actions of this administration are too much to handle. I’ve done my best to stay informed and take action but after a while I started to grow numb to what’s happening in the world.

When terrible things happen but you can’t do anything about them, it makes you feel helpless. It seems pointless to sign petitions or protest or raise awareness when it feels as if nothing ever changes.

After the most recent mass shooting (in Texas at the time of this post) I found myself silencing my phone and ignoring updates. I couldn’t bring myself to read about it for fear of feeling the crushing weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders. When things get really bad you have to step away for a while. We aren’t programmed to handle this much sorrow.

That’s why my shows are more relevant than they’ve ever been. People need a respite from the tweets. They need relief from everyday life. It may sound cliché, but I have a chance to give people that escape. I have a chance to let them step away for a second, then get back to the real world. And giving other people an escape is my way of escaping, too.

A woman approached me after a recent show to let me know that her son had died a year ago and she was looking for a way to get out of the house around the anniversary to forget about things. Somehow she ended up at my show.

She told me she hadn’t laughed that hard in a really long time and thanked me for a fun show. Then she turned and walked away before I could say anything else.

I was flabbergasted.

It’s easy to forget that what you do matters. But it does. And we should all remember that when things are too hard to bear. 

Things may seem bad at the moment but that doesn’t mean they won’t get better. They already are and it’s up to us to keep the momentum going. There’s so much you can do and it all matters, no matter how small it may seem.

Stay informed. Stay involved. Donate. Volunteer. Run for office. VOTE.

And find an escape when you need one, whatever that means for you.

Just whatever you do, don’t let yourself grow numb.

Evolve

This essay was inspired by a joke from my show.

The joke happens when I have a lady join me onstage and think of the name of her first crush. The joke itself is irrelevant. It’s the wording that matters here - specifically one word.

I used to make a joke about the volunteer, referring to the crush as “him”, but one day after the show my wife gave me some insightful notes on the drive home. She had the brilliant observation that saying “him” was making an unfounded assumption about a volunteer that might someday put me in an awkward position on stage.

Ever since that conversation the joke has changed. Now I refer to the crush as “them” so I won’t offend or embarrass my volunteers.

It was only one word but it’s made a huge difference for that small moment. It's still funny - possibly funnier - and better than before.

There was a similar moment during my tour this summer that made me rewrite a small section of my show all over again.

At the time I was referring to a drawing of a stick person as a “stick man” but I didn’t realize I had a transgendered person in my audience that night. They politely called out “Stick person!” and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I made a small joke and continued with the show, but that night I stayed up late rewriting my script so it wouldn’t happen again.

The goal of theatre should be inclusivity. I don’t want a single member of my audience to be personally offended by something I say during the show. I may make political or topical jokes, sure, but I don’t want to make an unnecessary comment at someone’s expense. I don’t want a single person to feel singled out.

It seems we’re at an impasse in society where we can either say “I wish things were the way they used to be!” or we can consider other people’s feelings when speaking to them. If the choice doesn’t seem obvious, then I don’t know how to convince you that you should care about other people.

When someone makes an off-color joke at my gigs now, I make it obvious I’m offended and I walk away. I refuse to put up with any degrading, deplorable “locker room talk” or offensive comments. 

You can say I’m being a “snowflake” or call it PC Culture run amok, but the truth is society is going to keep changing whether you like it or not.  If you want to stay relevant, it’s up to you to embrace it and evolve with the times.

Do Over

Here’s a secret:

Everyone has bad shows. (Or days or games or whatever is applicable to your life. My life is onstage so I’ll stick with what I know.)

When you see other performers posting a constant barrage of fancy hotel rooms, large venues, enormous audiences, and rave reviews it’s easy to think that they are nothing but successful. It’s easy to forget that they have bad shows, too.

Oh, but they do. And so do I. Horrible, awful, cringe-worthy shows.

How do I know? Because I’ve been there. I’ve sat in their audience or watched them live on the internet. And, as for myself, I’ve bombed horribly. It’s just the way of life when you work in the entertainment industry.

If you’ve ever slept through an alarm on the first day of a new job or seen the look of disappointment on your boss’ face, then you’ve experienced the same thing. I’ve spent hours traveling across the country to do a show, only to fail miserably in front of a room of strangers.

I can usually sense it from the first moments onstage. I start sweating and the lights seem to grow hotter. Every uninterested face in the room starts to stick out like a Tr*mp voter at a Lady Gaga concert.

“Is my client massively disappointed? What do they think? They’ll never invite me back…”

Sometimes it’s not as bad as I think. And sometimes it’s surely worse.

Albeit, I haven’t had a show that bad in years. But I still have bad shows all the same. It’s just that now when I have a bad show it’s discouraging because I know how good I can be and I’m disappointed in my performance. It’s a different kind of bad.

Years ago I booked my first out-of-state show. The fee seems laughable now but at the time it was a huge milestone. My wife-to-be and I loaded up the car and drove nervously across the border from Kansas to Nebraska.

The event was for a small tractor dealership in the middle of nowhere with a group of about 50 employees just getting off work. The show was held in the company cafeteria - a long room with bad lighting and poor sight lines. 

The employees entered, rudely elbowing their way to the buffet, and took their seats. The client motioned for me to begin.

Unsure of myself and too inexperienced to control the room, I gave one of the worst performances of my life. There were too many distractions to contend with. People were talking in the back, loud music was playing down the hall, and a group of noisy men were (I KID YOU NOT) building a giant pyramid of beer cans at the very front table.

I wish I had taken control and demanded their attention. I wish I had known that was an option. But when you’re 20 and you’ve never done that kind of event, you don’t know what to do.

So I tried to persevere. I pushed through and did my act. It was painful to watch, I’m sure. My last-ditch effort to be mystifying during my final routine was destroyed by the loud clatter of no less than 100 beer cans falling to the floor. The men roared with laughter as I sheepishly finished the show and scurried from the room.

I left as quickly as I could, utterly humiliated.

A few weeks ago I entered a similar venue with a similar demographic. Suddenly I flashed back to that time in Nebraska and felt the wave of embarrassment rush back over me. Then I took a deep breath and let the hundreds of shows and years of experience I’ve had since then take over. And I crushed that show.

I felt like I finally had a chance to redeem myself. A much needed do-over, if you will.

I needed that.

So yeah, I have bad shows. All the time. And so do all of the other performers you follow. They may be too busy crafting their successful online persona to remind you of that, but don’t forget that we all have to start somewhere. We all had to go through awkward, embarrassing, painful situations to get where we are.

I needed every one of those bad shows to get the rave reviews I received from Chicago Fringe last week or go on tour this summer. Good shows feel great but bad shows make you who you are. Bad shows are your education.

Embrace the bad and get better. Soon you’ll get a chance to redeem yourself, too.

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Photo Credit: Sarah Elizabeth Larson Photography

Details

I saw a one-person show earlier this summer that had a moment I can’t stop thinking about.

The performer had a bag of props on stage complete with money, comb, water bottle, and so on. They kept using the props for various reasons throughout the scene. So far, so good.

But then, they went to check the time. They glanced at their wrist and THEY WEREN’T WEARING A FREAKING WATCH.

WHAT?!

Why have an entire bag of real props but not a real watch?

For the rest of the show I couldn’t stop thinking about that tiny moment. It just made no sense.

If you’re going to do something then go all the way. Have all the props, learn all the skills, finish the project.

This is a big pet peeve of mine.

It drives me crazy to see an artist who specializes in design but has a poorly designed website. Or a performer who has never actually studied theater.

A fellow performer told me recently that he didn’t believe in writing a script. He insisted that his performance would be “fresher without one” and that “saying the same words every time” wasn’t his style.

Face, meet palm.

When people make comments like that what I actually hear is “Writing a script is too much work.”

I don’t understand how you can expect people to buy tickets to see you if you haven’t put in the work to actually write a show. And I have no idea how you can expect people to buy into your performance if some of your props are imaginary and some of your props are real.

If you aren’t willing to put in the work then what’s the point? There’s more to what you do than the thing you’re doing. You have to learn all the minor skills that go into your craft. You have to pay attention to all aspects of what you do.

People will notice the little details…even if you don’t.