Don't Shit Where You Eat! ™

During the season
finale at Crossfire, Eva went around to comics and asked them, ”What do you
think of when you think of Ryan?” She
thought it would be fun to make that list, because what could possibly go
wrong? Here’s the list *:

– Beard (well,
obviously)

– Candid. Too candid.

– Beard

– Beard

– Beard (growing a
beard was one of my best decisions but I didn’t think it would define me)

– Handsome (well,
obviously. Love that one, it came from
another comic’s girlfriend)

– Annoying idiot (came
from that comic)

– Psychopath (more of
a sociopath, really)

– LEGO figure (now it’s
just getting personal)

– Beard

– Iranian (racist
Swedes)

Not on the list:
funny. Thanks, assholes.

I’ve mentioned before
that my reputation is important to me, so I was very pleased during a Christmas
party thrown by comics, for comics, to be nominated for Sexist Comic of
2014. Didn’t win, but it’s still an
honor! I’m not sure exactly why I was
included, if it was just totally random or because I’ve said I don’t want to be
thought of as sexist, despite making sexist jokes and comments. The standup scene is far from perfect and I
want to be part of the solution, not the problem, though I also want to be able
to say whatever I want without consequences.
I want to have my cake and fuck it, too.

It may have been
because of an incident at Maffia Comedy.
I’ve also touched on this before- I had a routine, Women Rant, the
punchline essentially being, the reason women can’t find nice guys is because
they’ve changed all nice guys into assholes.
It came across as very women-bashing, obviously, although my intent was
really to make fun of guys who think they’re nice but are, in fact,
assholes. I myself was the
inspiration.

It was a routine that
always worked well in Sweden, so I used to close with it, to applause (Swedes
either got my real message or just hate women, I’m not sure). In other countries it was hit or miss, mostly
miss. Worked in Paris, not popular in
London, nor Dublin. In Berlin it was met
with stony silence and when I said, “Ok, how do I turn this around?” a guy
yelled from the back, “Get off the stage!” so I did. (Have to give a shout out to Johnny Armstrong
who went on after me and blasted that heckler.)

I should’ve read that
particular room better, it was ultra-Hipster and a mix of standup, music and
poetry (the act two spots before me was a lesbian who said “Kill me” about
forty times). In any case, my theory as
to why it worked in Sweden so well and not so well in other places is that
standup is still relatively new here, while elsewhere crowds might just be
tired of seeing yet another guy bash women.

Women Rant was
semi-retired because I’d done it easily 100 times and was pretty tired of it,
but I brought it back when I got an urge to perform in Swedish a few times. I was reminded, quickly, of a slight problem
with this- I can do harsh material in English (say I hate Swedes, call them
assholes) and get away with it, but not when I say the same things in
Swedish. Not sure why, maybe it’s just
easier to accept coming from me in a different language. Anyway, I performed the bit at a club well north
of Stockholm called GASTA, a wonderful club although harsh material doesn’t
seem to go well there in either language.
They didn’t like it very much, but I switched to English to end with
Personal Question (me asking a woman in the crowd, in detail, how her
boyfriend/husband performs oral sex on her).

Here’s the thing with
Personal Question: I look around the room before I go on to find a potential
target, best when it’s a couple, most importantly a girl who’s enjoying the
show and isn’t likely to have a meltdown when I start talking to her. I keep an eye out while doing my set as well. I’ve always had a fear of asking the wrong
person, of ending up getting pounded by an offended boyfriend, but in my
experience, the tougher her guy looks, the more he enjoys the bit. In fact, one guy in particular, a real
bruiser, slowly moved away from his girl while I talked to her and she
literally dragged him back.

The crowd at GASTA
tends to be a bit older than the average Stockholm crowd and there weren’t many
good candidates, but I spotted a woman on the opposite side of the room with
potential. She was sitting with a
tough-looking guy and he was wary at first, but I told him, “It’s okay, I’m
engaged, we’re just talking,” and he relaxed.
After I was done she was pleased as punch to be made part of the show
and became a small distraction for the other comics because she wouldn’t stop
talking to the others around her about the experience, and her boyfriend walked
out in disgust. Made me worry that I
wasn’t going to be the one hit that night.

The next night I was
back in Stockholm at Maffia and did exactly the same routine, with the same
result for Women Rant. Place was packed
and there was one girl that clearly did not enjoy it at all. Finishing with Personal Question, despite all
the warning signs and there being several other women I could’ve spoken to, I
picked the girl who didn’t like me.
Perhaps out of spite, perhaps because I am self-destructive.

But she was there with
a guy and a few other friends, so I thought she could be a good choice after
all. She wasn’t. She was cold as ice throughout the whole
exchange, but her boyfriend enjoyed it, her friends enjoyed it, everyone else
in the crowd enjoyed it, and I ended my set on a good note. When I left the stage and passed her, I folded
my hands and looked her in the eyes as if to say, “Sorry if I made you
uncomfortable, but everyone had a good time, so thanks.”

I got a beer from the
bar and went to the side of the room to watch the next comic. I could see that she was making her entire
table leave with her, but they were waiting for the comic to finish their
set. Crap. When the host took the stage they all got up
and walked out, but she walked straight up to me and I could feel waves of hate
coming off of her. You know how it is
when someone is so pissed they don’t even blink? That was her.

“That was the worst
thing I have ever heard. You come here
with your sexist jokes and tired clichés..”
“Whoa, I’m sorry! I had no idea you were on your period!”

(No, I didn’t say
that, didn’t even think of it until a female comic made that comment
afterwards. I knew there was no point in
arguing with her, especially while there was a show going on, so I just kept my
mouth shut.)

“… and I should throw
that beer in your face!”
“Could you? It will make this story better.”

(No, didn’t say that, either.)

“Don’t ever do
that again!”
“You’re upset, I’m not
going to argue with you. I’m sorry you
were offended.” She walked out.

So I ended it with a
non-apology, rather than point out that everyone else in the room, especially
her friends and boyfriend, all enjoyed it.
Not that I think it’s worth it, making her pay the price for everyone
else to have a good time, but more because it would’ve been fun to deflect some
of her rage at other people. With any
luck her boyfriend slept on the couch that night.

It did shake me a
little, though. I had no intention of getting
rid of Personal Question, but Women Rant’s time had come. Certainly done to death, plus I couldn’t be
sure crowds really understood the point I was trying to make. So the next two shows I did, I considered
Women Rant’s Farewell Tour, in English.
I did the routine without any special note, then told the story about
the angry woman at Maffia. During both
shows, people applauded during and after the routine. I’ll miss it.

* The list may have
been altered for comedic purposes **

** The list was altered for comedic purposes. My blog, my truth.

In the weeks leading
to the premiere of Crossfire Comedy Club, although I knew I wanted to do
something special with it, something to make it different from any of the other
open mics in town, I still didn’t know what that would be. At Taboo Comedy Club, my former partner and I
discussed having special theme nights but never did any of them; since then,
other clubs have run with that ball, so I didn’t want to do the same. (Carlin once said, “I’m ahead of my time.
Trouble is, I’m only about an hour and a half ahead.”)

I went to a comedy
awards show and felt it was a very small group handing out awards to a slightly
larger group of comics. Since the comedy
scene in Stockholm is enormous, I thought how nice it would be to recognize
more people. Then I thought, why not
have an awards show at the end of Crossfire’s season? Then thought of having a competition at the
end, then decided to make the competition last the whole season. I had my idea and it would have other
benefits, which I’ll mention later.

Competitions are
pretty common in other places, but not so much in Stockholm. I started here in a rookie competition that’s
sadly discontinued and another club had a season-long competition but closed
after one season. It’s a tough thing to
judge but I do believe it’s mostly positive because it gives comics a reason to
try a bit harder in a friendly environment.

The setup was simple-
five competitors a night, the audience would vote by applauding at the end and whomever
got the loudest response would win.
Towards the end of the season I even got an app for my phone to measure
it with more accuracy. From the start I
made no secret of the fact that comics who packed the room with friends would
have an obvious advantage. By the end of
the season we had twenty comics over two nights of semifinals that had two
weeks to come up with up to five all-new minutes each, and the crowd decided
which four should go on the final. At
the final, the crowd had a vote but there were three judges as well, each with
the same amount of say as the crowd, which made the crowd vote more or less symbolic,
at best. That was intentional.

There were a few
grumbles during the season that the setup was a bit unfair, but not too much,
at least not until after the second semifinal.
Then I heard much more complaints, that having the crowd vote at the end
wasn’t a fair assessment of talent, that even the comics themselves could
scream for a high score (though that didn’t happen, not once), that I should’ve
been counting laughs during the performances, etc etc etc.

To be honest, there
were a few cases when a comic advanced almost entirely thanks to supporters in
the room. But, as I made clear to all, it
was something everyone had an equal opportunity to take advantage of. In theory, one comic’s supporters could
refuse to laugh at the other comics and sit on their hands during the voting,
but that never happened either. The
reason I had judges at the end was to have a real evaluation of talent.

Here’s the thing-
besides wanting to motivate the comics to do their absolute best, I also wanted
to motivate them to bring people to the show.
I wasn’t paid to run the club, it was free entry, I had no budget to
speak of, no way to market the events or pay comics to perform. The only way I could get comics there is to
have place I hope they like and feel welcome.
The only marketing I can do is on Facebook, Twitter, and word of
mouth. I’m very happy to say that we
managed to get a few regulars even during the first season, people that shared
events on Facebook and brought others to the show. As comics, we’re pretty spoiled for stage
time in Stockholm, and many do very little to tell others about the clubs. It can be a challenge just to get scheduled
comics to even click “coming” on an event they’re scheduled for, much less take
two seconds to share it.

It takes some of the
fun out of running a club, but I get it, no one wants to annoy others with
constant advertising and spamming. I
understand that because that’s what I need to do to have a club. A crowd means the venue wants to keep the
club going, a crowd means the comics will have a good show. At Taboo, it was rare that a comic brought a
group to see them, so I knew having this sort of competition would be more
successful than me just asking the comics to push the events.

Overall, it wasn’t the
deciding factor for the vast majority of the twenty that got into the semis;
most advanced thanks to love from complete strangers. Bringing supporters didn’t always translate
into a win anyway- one comic brought a huge group, most of whom left after
their performance, apparently missing the memo about voting at the end. Another filled a table near the stage, a
table I had to remind, repeatedly, to pay attention during the show, and a
table that gave a pretty lackluster response during voting.

(I can relate. I once brought an enormous group to watch me
compete during a similar competition in Dublin, and even the host thought me
winning was a foregone conclusion. When
it came time to vote at the end they didn’t do a thing. People suck.
In my defense, English wasn’t their first language.)

I am happy to say,
however, that the feedback I’ve received from comics has been overwhelmingly
positive, about the competition in general and also for making everyone do five
new minutes during the semis. At this
point I’m hoping to start a second season there in February and I’ll likely
keep that competition going. I don’t
intend to change the format.

The
average person starting in standup has no training, no experience on stage
whatsoever. Now and then someone starts
at a bit of an advantage; I’ve met several people in just the last year that
came from theater backgrounds, or even took courses in standup. Still, in nearly every case, we start with no
self-confidence, no feeling of security, a bit of awe and wonder about it all
and respect for the comics we meet that have been doing this for years.

Over
time, though, that awe and wonder, and even respect, fades away. We have too much confidence in ourselves and
feel like we deserve every gig we ask for, like club owners should be asking us
to perform instead of the other way around.
We grumble when other comics get the opportunities we don’t, when they
get more time on stage than us, even if they have significantly more experience
than us. Awe and wonder give way to
hubris and bitterness.

And all
of this happens in six months.

It
doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s happened around me, and yes, even to me,
so many times in just my four years in standup that I’ve noticed the
trend. It surprises me every time and
not at all. It happens for a number of
reasons:

– We’re
HUNGRY. Whatever the reason that drives
us to the stage in the first place, once we start we want to perform
everywhere, for as long as possible.
Every club is a goal and every club we don’t get gnaws at us. When we’ve done open mics for awhile we want
a place with a little more prestige, whether or not we’re actually ready for it.

– Why
not me?! I love our community and there
is a lot of support to be found amongst comics, but we’re competitive,
too. We often smile when a peer gets a
great chance that we haven’t earned yet, but we don’t smile with our eyes. We can name several reasons why that comic
succeeded where we didn’t, but, “That person is more talented than I am,” never
makes the list.

– We’re
not as good as we let on. Or, rather, we
aren’t as confident in our abilities as we express to others. We don’t ever
say, “That person is funnier than me,” but we worry, “Do people think that
person is funnier than me?”

The
only thing, besides blind luck, that opens doors everywhere is experience,
performing in as many places as possible, as often as possible. I thought that was universally accepted, but
I was disappointed recently when a high-profile comic publicly announced that
this is a myth created by white men, since only white men get that many
opportunities. I thought this was
insulting, not only to comics as a whole, but especially to the women I see
hunting and working and struggling and being rewarded for their efforts.

At
the same time, though, I can’t say I was surprised. This is a person who does very well by
performing exclusively for special events and niche clubs. It’s something I’ve noticed among other
rookies, myself included, that we can do very, very well when the crowd is
very, very good, but bomb when the crowd isn’t there for us, because we perform
the same way no matter the environment.
Maybe they just aren’t into our styles, or they don’t have much
experience going to clubs. Maybe the
venue itself isn’t the best for comedy.

The
comics I respect, I’ve seen them go into rooms where everything is wrong for
comedy, from the venue to the crowd, and turn it around. That’s a talent I respect and it comes only
with experience. When I can do that,
when I can adapt and at least survive whatever gets thrown at me, that’s when I’ll
stop referring to myself as a rookie.
Are you killing it only in special events and niche clubs? Welcome, fellow rookie! We are a wonderful community.

When it comes to counting gigs, some comics keep excellent
track, others haven’t the slightest clue how many they’ve done. I’ve seen enough updates on Facebook (“Tonight’s
my 50th gig!”) to get the feeling that more keep count than would
like to admit. I’ve met several that
kept counting for a while and then stopped.

I doubt anyone has ever been as anal at tracking their gigs
as I was. I can’t remember exactly why I
started, although I was tracking them from the first gig. Partly as a diary- I’d make a note if it was
my first time at that club, or if it went really well or very poorly. But mostly it was the number that I focused
on. Not only the total, but how many I
averaged each month. I even charted it in
Exel because, well, I could. Chasing a
high average pushed me and I was proud to see that I was doing five gigs a
month in 2011 and fifteen a month by 2013.

I think the main reason I kept such good accounting- besides
taking standup very seriously- was that I met a comic early on who told me he’d
done 300 gigs in his first three years.
That number felt absurd to me, like there was no way I’d do that many in
my first three years, but I was determined to try.

It’s important for me to note at this point that I never
thought this would impress anyone; I kept counting for no one’s benefit other than
my own. Still, when I hit my 100th
gig a few months after my one-year anniversary, I made a big deal of it. Announced it in advance on Facebook, wore a
jacket and guyliner on stage, told the crowd it was my 100th gig,
and partied afterward. Less than a year
later, I hit 200. Didn’t make a big deal
of it at all, though I mentioned it on Facebook with a self-deprecating comment
of, “I guess I don’t have an excuse to not be funny anymore.” Which was an opportunity for a FB ‘friend’
who didn’t like me very much to write, “No, you don’t.”

Months before my 3rd anniversary, I hit 300. I didn’t mention it to anyone. Certainly I was proud of it, proud that I’d
been so active, had earned so many opportunities outside the Stockholm open mic
clubs, but it didn’t make me as happy as I’d once expected. Just a few months into my third year, I hit
400. By that point, even I didn’t think
it was especially interesting, and I wasn’t so quick to update the list or make
any notes about the gigs. By last summer
I wasn’t updating the list at all.

Now I’ve had some time on my hands, so for shits and giggles
I updated the list with the gigs I’ve done and those I’ve got in my calendar,
and I saw that I will hit 500 well before my four-year anniversary in March
2015. Again, I am proud of that, to a
certain extent, proud of all the places I’ve been in such a short time, that I’ve
found gigs in eight countries, and I’ve got interesting gigs on the horizon. I know I have over 90 minutes of material
that’s been worked out on stage, that works.
90 minutes in over three years may be nothing compared to Carlin or
Louis CK writing new 60 minutes every year, but I’m nothing compared to them as
well, so I’m satisfied.

Still, I know I have a lot to learn, and I’m not convinced I’ve
found my true voice on stage yet. I’ve
said before that I set a high standard for myself and I am the first to say
that, despite coming up on four years and 500 gigs, I am a rookie comic. I know someone who doesn’t feel they’re a
rookie because they have three years of experience; I know someone else who
referred to oneself as an established comic after six months. Years, gigs, they’re just arbitrary numbers
that mean nothing in and of themselves, it’s the meaning we give them that
matters.

Every time I hear someone say they could never go on a stage
and tell jokes, they cite the same reason: they don’t have the guts to be in
front of a crowd and try to make them laugh.
Bill Maher once said that there isn’t much respect for standup- the only
thing that separates a comic from everyone else is the guts to go on
stage. Not writing, timing, working and
working, but just a lack of fear of possibly making an ass of oneself.

The fact is, you will meet few extroverts in standup. Most comics were not the funniest amongst
their group of friends. Many comics get
the same feedback from friends and family when they announce their plan to try
performing for the first time, “But… you’re not funny.”

I encourage people to try it, to keep at it, but nothing
makes my cold heart sing more than seeing the person that was funniest at the
bar, the funniest amongst their friends, the one that everyone said should be a
comic, go on stage will all of that “I know I’m funny!” confidence and then die
a slow death, literally shrinking under the lights before slinking away, never
to return. I like it because of petty
jealousy of their lives in the real world, of course, but mostly because it
proves that confidence is not what standup is all about.

And thank God for that, because if extroverts are rare, a
confident comic is a unicorn. Always
recognizing room for improvement is a powerful tool for developing, but we
usually focus on what went wrong and not at all on what went right. I cannot tell you how many times I have seen
someone go on stage, do ten jokes, nine kill, and the comic walks away miserable
about the one that didn’t work. That
desire to be perfect drives us, but it’s frustrating to not be able to
celebrate success.

As far as fear of being in front of a crowd goes, I’ve seen
many different levels of that. Most of
the comics I’ve met, it really isn’t an issue at all, but I’ve met a few that
are damn near crippled by that fear, and the closer it gets to showtime, the
more miserable they get. Good for them that
they go on anyway, they are braver than most people I know. If you’re not afraid of being in front of
people, going on stage is not brave. (By
the way, don’t ever tell a comic you think he or she is brave. Say we’re funny. Lie if you have to.)

Being nervous is also something I’ve seen in many different
degrees. One would expect someone with
little to no experience to be very nervous, but I’ve met comics with years of
experience that still pace and wring their hands before a set. Comics that have enjoyed a lot of success and
plenty of love, but still second guess themselves.

Myself, I remember being very nervous before I went on a
stage for the first time, and I notice when nerves manifest themselves while I’m
performing- talking faster, mumbling, sweating, etc- but I rarely feel nervous before
I perform. I know how that sounds, but I’m
not showing off. I’m not afraid of being in front of a group, I like everything I say (it’s getting the crowd to
like it, aye, that’s the rub), and, most importantly, 99 times out of a 100 I’ve
got nothing to lose and not much to gain, either. Success at an open mic rarely has more
benefit than bombing at an open mic.
Obviously success is better, one wants to come back, make good contacts,
maybe someone in the crowd is looking to book a comic for a corporate gig, etc,
but in the end it doesn’t really mean much more than not feeling like shit for
a couple of days. Which is a great
reward, actually.

I get more nervous before a paying gig, or when I perform
somewhere for the first time. Nothing
compares to how I feel before the show starts at my own club. First with Taboo, now with Crossfire, the
last hour before showtime I’m miserable, pacing, worrying. Not so much about my own performance, but
about how many, if any, will come to the show, will the comics have a good
time, will the venue want to keep me around.
I’ve been fortunate that most of the shows have gone well and I can feel
good about that for a little while. Then
the emptiness returns and I’m off chasing the next high.

This is one of my favorite questions to
ask other comics. There is something very special about the drive to
go onto a stage and try to make a room full of strangers laugh and
I’m always curious about what motivates comics to perform. But the main
reason I started asking early on was because I wasn’t sure how I
could define my own reasons.

Before I started performing, the most
common thing I’d heard about standup is that comics get addicted to
laughs, that the first time one goes on stage and makes someone
laugh, it’s like crack, and one has to keep going back for more. But
I never felt that way. Of course I liked making people laugh but I
couldn’t say that was my main reason for performing. At the same
time, I still couldn’t say why I was doing it at all, although I
certainly knew I had to keep doing it.

I’ve asked many people yet never heard
anyone say they were addicted to the laughs, at least not in those
words. Most people just say they perform because it’s fun, or simply
because they love it, but that makes me suspicious. Yes, performing
is fun when it works, but we’re only as good as our last gig, and a
bad gig can drive your mood into the ground for days, or until you
get a better result. Since I don’t know anyone who only kills again
and again, there must be something else that drives us to keep exposing
ourselves to that risk.

“I’ve got something I want to say,”
became my answer for a while, though that didn’t feel 100% for me,
either. Obviously I have things I want to say, but I’m not trying to
lead a revolution. I will, from time to time, espouse something I’m
passionate about, but I can be equally passionate when I mock Swedes
over the existence of banana pizza. Yes, banana pizza is a real
thing.

Comedians will often say that making
people laugh is the only true goal of standup, to be achieved by
whatever means necessary. It’s hard to argue with that, and yet I
know I’m a snob about comedy. I set a high standard for myself,
probably too high, but if I don’t like what’s coming out of my mouth,
I don’t feel good when the audience laughs. In fact, just in the
last week I wrote a joke about how women like to change men; it got
an applause break on Saturday and on Sunday, when I bombed, that was
the only joke that got a chuckle. It felt so hack, so unoriginal and
boring, I was annoyed at the crowd for liking it, which was just
projection of being annoyed at myself for saying it.

When I first started performing, within
a few months I’d come up with a solid five minutes of material that
worked every time, and I was doing that same five minutes again and
again. One night, I did my set and the crowd laughed throughout, I
got four applause breaks, they were clearly happy with me, and I
walked off stage feeling like shit, feeling like I needed to throw
out everything I’d done and start anew. Which I did. If it was
laughs I was going for, I would’ve felt great after that set, but it
was something else.

It happens now and then that I perform
in a new club and want to make a good impression, or get the feeling
that the crowd doesn’t want to hear any tough material, and I do my
safest, go-to jokes and do well and feel lousy because I did what
they wanted, not what I wanted. One of those nights, a fellow comic
saw me leave the stage with my head low and he said, “Why feel bad?
You did great, you adapted your material for the crowd!”

“I’m not here for them,” I said,
“they’re here for me.” Could be the most pretentious thing I’ve
ever said and believe me, I know it’s drenched in hubris. But that
is a goal for me, to be able to do whatever I want, wherever I want,
and have it work every time. Unrealistic? Perhaps, but a noble
goal.

Not every joke I write is meant to get
a laugh. Some things are meant to get a groan, sometimes I just want
people to like what I’ve said or give them something to think about.
When the crowd reacts the way I thought they would, I feel good, and
the longer I thought about that, I was finally able to define what
drives me.

I want to play the crowd like an
instrument. I write a set, thinking, “They’ll laugh hard at this,
chuckle at that, groan at this, applaud that,” and the audience
reacts exactly as I predicted, exactly how I want them to. That’s
the perfect gig, when the crowd loves what I’m saying as much as I
do.

I would like to share an amazing story
with all of you!

Last Thursday morning, a woman was on a
subway in Stockholm. Sitting near her was a gang of 16-year-old boys
looking at violent pornography on their cellphones. Laughing about
it. Showing porn to each other. And everyone around them was
disgusted- disgusted!- including a 14-year-old girl who looked at the
woman with sadness and longing in her eyes, as if to say, “Please,
can’t you do something? Can’t anyone please do something?”

Finally, the woman had enough, and her
head exploded! It EXPLODED! And in the last second, as she got off
the train, she grabbed the phone from the loudest boy and said, “I
am going to call your mother and tell her where she can pick up this
phone, but not before I tell her what a little bastard you are!”

…It was a long second! It was not
long enough for anyone in the gang to react to someone stealing one
of their phones, nor long enough for the phone to lock itself, and
this is good because the woman was able to find that boy’s mother!
(I’m assuming on his contact list, under “Mother”.) And she sent
his mother the links and the pictures the boys had looked at, and she called the mother to explain, and the mother began to cry, she
wailed, “NO! Not my son! I’m a Feminist!!” And the woman began
to cry, she said, “I, too, am a Feminist!” And they had a long
chat about Feminism, and the world became a slightly better place.

Then the woman went on to Facebook and
she wrote this story down EXACTLY as it happened, and within a few
hours, 55,000 people shared it! A major Swedish newspaper,
Aftonbladet, published an article about it, blog after blog after
blog praised this amazing woman, and it all makes me so happy!
Because every single day, no less than twenty to thirty times, I am
annoyed by someone near me on their phone, and now I know I can steal
a shitload of phones, and society will say, “HURRAH!”

Please join me in celebrating this
incredible woman. Her name is Johanna Sthlm… I’m not sure how you
pronounce her last name, but by an amazing coincidence, that’s also
an abbreviation for Stockholm! I mean, what are the odds? She’s
normally a very shy woman; I can tell because not only did she delete
this story after it had been shared so many times, she only has 34
friends! So please, look her up on Facebook and send her a Friend
Request, because a woman this courageous deserves more fans than
Jesus!

There’s just one problem with the
story! …It’s an enormous pile of horseshit. First of all, all of
this allegedly happened in Sweden- Swedes are not known for being
great at conflict. Second of all, the story is just too awesome.
It’s a great story, but that’s all it is. Still, Aftonbladet, 55,000
people all said, “Hmm, Johanna Sthlm, 34 friends, this story can’t
possibly be too good to be true. <Share>, I’m gonna <Share>
that.”

I am often flabbergasted by bogus
stories and articles that are shared on Facebook by people I consider
intelligent, but who didn’t think twice about checking the source or
being the least bit suspicious. It could just be that I am a cynic,
but we all need a healthy dose of cynicism, or at least skepticism.
I can’t say I blame them too much, though, because it would be nice
to believe that sort of thing happens in real life. Plus, we’ve all
been in a situation where we thought of the perfect thing to say or
do, one hour too late, and it’s worse than not thinking of anything
at all.

But that’s what Facebook is for. We
can create this fantasy world where we are all perfect and smart and
funny and fast, and it’s a beautiful world! I mean, I have nearly
700 Facebook friends! In the real world, I’m not sure how many of
them would pee on me if I was on fire, but I’m guessing, probably
less than half.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, take
what you read on Facebook with a fistful of salt. Now, if you’ll
excuse me, Hicks, Pryor and Carlin have risen from the dead and would
like me to open for their World Tour.

I once asked this of a female rookie
I’d just met. It was a clumsy thing to say and I wouldn’t say it
again, but my heart was in the right place. At least I thought it
was; I thought she had a strong personality and I wanted to see that
come through on stage, instead of what I had come to consider the
qualities of a typical female comic.

I grew up with standup, listening to
albums, watching every cable comedy program and special, short sets
on talk shows, whatever I could. I learned early on that when I’d
see a man on stage for the first time, I’d have no idea what to
expect from him (so long as he was white and between 20 and 50),
other than he’d probably mention his dick at some point. Any
variation on that, the material was dominated by it (i.e. weight,
ethnicity, etc).

By that standard, nearly all female
comics fit snugly in the niche of female comedy, sets comprised of
dating, periods, dating, mothers, dating, and dating. There were, as
always, exceptions; Sandra Bernhard was ahead of her time. And
though I thought the range was limited, it didn’t mean I didn’t
laugh. Paula Poundstone, Elayne Boosler, Ellen DeGeneres, Rita
Rudner, just to name a few that made an impression on me. But even
Ellen joked about her difficulties finding a man, the cause of which,
in retrospect, seems a bit obvious.

However, at the time I made the
request, I’d been performing for six months, not at all at the same
pace as today, and I’d performed in far fewer venues. What I’ve
learned since is that my opinion was completely outdated. Yes,
female comics do talk a lot about being women, about being female
comics, but that’s because it’s who they are and I’ve met few of them
I thought had limited themselves to that.

There are, naturally, some behaviors I
don’t like, and trying to change them is a recurring theme of this
blog. Some of them, in my experience, are overwhelmingly female, but
they are so uncommon I won’t paint an entire group as typical. In
fact, if I could do it all over again, I would’ve asked her to not be
an untypical comic.

If, for example, you don’t actively
hunt gigs at least at the rookie, open mic level, and instead wait
for, or expect, invitations from club owners, you’re being an
untypical comic. This is something you’re supposed to be aggressive
about. If it were easy, anyone could do it. You should hunt, nag,
pester, and be prepared for rejection. You won’t get every gig,
especially in the beginning, so make the best of what you do get.

If you feel threatened by and/or are
shitty to a comic just because that comic is physically attractive,
that is petty, catty and bitchy. Yes, I realize the sexist
connotation of “catty” and “bitchy” but if the shoe fits,
wear it. While I personally have not seen man-on-man action in this
regard, I imagine it could happen. Whether or not it’s an exclusively female
thing, just cut it out. You’re better than that.

Sometimes a funny woman will have an
easier time getting a gig than a funny man because she’s a funny
woman. If you are a funny woman with limited experience and you get
a great gig and claim gender has nothing to do with it, you are
insulting a funny man who had to work for years before he got the
same chance. Now, I don’t expect you to shed a tear over hurting a
man’s feelings, but if we’re ever going to move the ball forward, we
need to respect each other and get along.

If you say, “She only got that gig
because she’s a woman!” you’re wrong and you should shut the fuck
up. First of all, the primary reason she got the gig was because
she’s funny. Second of all, a funny man will have an easier time
getting a gig than a funny woman much, much more often, even when
said man is far less funny. Some club owners are more active at
levelling the playing field and this is a good thing.

I wouldn’t trade places with a woman
for anything in life and certainly not in standup. When I contact a
club owner for a gig, he (pretty much always a man) wants to know if
I’m funny, not how big my tits are. When I show up, none of the
other comics feels I’m a threat because I’m attractive (for the sake
of this story, let’s say I’m a very handsome guy). When I go on
stage, the host doesn’t say, “The next comic is a man! He’s very
cute and actually pretty funny!” No man in the audience folds his
arms and refuses to laugh at anything I say, nor give dirty looks at
his girlfriend when she laughs. No woman in the audience is more
interested in how I look than what I’m saying. When I’m done, no
female comic tells me I need to match my material with my wardrobe
(although once a guy told me not to wear a funny t-shirt). And no
woman labels me as a typical male comic…

…ok, actually that does happen. When
I joke about my dick and make sexist remarks, there are women who tsk
and write me off as just another typical male comic. I’m aware of
that, but it doesn’t always prevent me from talking about what I want to talk about.
I do what I want and I accept the consequences. Female comics have their own range of topics to watch out for, and if someone says, “Great, another typical female comic,” well, you can’t win them all.

I have this hope that someday, when I
see someone walk on stage for the first time, I won’t be able to
guess what he or she will joke about, at least not all the time.
Doesn’t mean the end of niche comedy, but it would mean the end of
comics being limited by them. It’s one reason I push fellow ex-pat
comics in Sweden to talk about more than Sweden.

In a perfect world, there will be no
funny women, no female comics, no comediennes. Just comics and
comedians, period. No pun intended.