Don't Shit Where You Eat! ™

Earlier this month, someone posted on an expat Facebook forum, “What’s an American thing but Americans think everyone outside of America does it?”  While I rarely interact with anyone on social media these days, especially total strangers, I felt an urge to do so in this case.  I wrote, “Caring about America.”

Americans believe that everyone around the world loves us and that everyone around the world hates us.  We hold these beliefs simultaneously, unaware that they cancel each other out, since irony has never been our strong suit. I’m sure I felt the same way until I left the US and met people from all over.  Now, I did meet a Kurd from Iraq who had a passionate opinion about America, quite the opposite of positive, but the truth is, most people neither love nor hate the US.  They have their own lives, their own cultures, and America isn’t as top of mind as we think is.  The opinion of most is ambivalence, when we come to mind at all.

It’s time for my 2023 year in review!  (The reason I opened the way I did will become clear.)  I meant to write this a few weeks ago, but I was feeling a bit melancholy after canceling Thanksgiving.  The reason to do so is too long and boring to write here but suffice it to say I was bummed.  It’s one of the few times of the year I get truly homesick, and I didn’t want to write this while in a blue frame of mind.

I said in my review of 2022 that it was an interesting year.  Well, I certainly understand why, “May you live in interesting times,” is a curse, as I’d describe 2023 the same way.  I’ve seen some positive changes, some negative, and feel that I’ve made progress and also none at all.  A strange feeling, to say the least.

Let’s start with the negative.  I’ve said, over and over again, that comics reach a point, early on, where they begrudge other comics their success.  That we either let it go and enjoy our own success, or remain bitter and angry forever, and that I was happy to be amongst the former.  That’s still true, but I find myself increasingly angry at other comics, not for their success, but for their bullshit.  My Lord, there is so much bullshit.  Much more than I care to detail here, but it’s everything from hypocrisy to inane clips.

Two things at play here.  First, I’m aware of the bullshit because of social media.  For a brief, shining moment, I stayed away from it and felt much better about my life.  But as I’ve increased my standup activity, I’ve increased the amount of time I spend on Facebook and Instagram.  Even if the amount of my interactions are still miniscule compared to years ago, I’m seeing more, and not liking what I see.  The second thing is that big bullshit and minor bullshit seem to affect me the same, which is to say too much.

If anything positive can be said for jealousy, it would be that it can be a motivator.  Jealous a comic got booked at a club but you didn’t?  Maybe that will fire you up and you’ll try harder to get that gig!  So if I have to waste energy caring about other comics, I’d prefer jealousy.  Unfortunately, there’s nothing motivational about being too aware of the bullshit and nonsense out there.  The opposite, in fact.  I still love standup, of course, but any minute spent thinking of nonsense – for no good reason – is a minute not spent on new material, grinding for gigs, planning a new club of my own.  I said last year that I had an urge to open a club and I still do, except it’s even less likely now.

On a positive note, I think I’ve reached a Zen level when it comes to ego.  I didn’t mention it in my 2022 review, but I struggled quite a bit with how others think of me.  Since then, I’ve gone from worrying how others think of me, to not caring what they think of me, to accepting that they don’t think of me as much as I thought.  I’m like America that way.  (See?  Told you the opening would pay off.)  Some people have passionate feelings about me, one way or the other, but most people have too much on their minds to make room for little old me.  And I’m no more visible this year than I was last year.

That being said, 2023 gave me my first corporate gig in many years, and while I think I can count the clubs I performed at on one hand, I performed in Norway, again for the first time in years.  I believe that gig turned a profit of $10, but I didn’t do it for the money!  I did make a fair amount of that, though, throughout the year, not enough to live on but enough to make life easier, so I appreciate that.

I even got off my ass long enough to record new episodes for my podcast!  Well, kind of.  I wanted to bank a bunch before I started releasing them and ended up banking and not releasing.  With January looming, however, I’ll have lots of sober time on my hands to finally get those out.  Hopefully it will motivate me to think of a topic for a third season, so it isn’t another two years before that comes out, but one thing at a time.

2023 was also a year that saw my daughter begin working with me at Maffia Comedy Club.  Not that I think comedy clubs ever held any mystique with her, but I do love that she’s seeing the business side of entertainment.  Getting to know that better means getting to know me better.  Plus it makes it even less likely she’ll ever get on stage herself, so just wins all around.

Speaking of Maffia, while I’ve been a steady fixture there damn near every night, I’ve been hosting less often, giving someone else the job while I do a regular spot.  Even if my material is almost completely the same, it’s nice to feel I’ve more freedom, to feel like an actual comic.  I’ll continue to do so this year.

What will 2024 bring?  No idea.  Ambition remains low, but I did apply for the Lund Comedy Festival, because why not?  I doubt I’ll get in but I like the idea I pitched.  I’ll tell you about it after I get my rejection letter.  Speaking of which, I definitely need a job.

I’ve written before about a cycle I’ve seen many comics go through, including myself, that when we begin we’re full of wonder and respect, but about six months later we get jealous and judgmental. Then it feels like we get set on a dark path or a light path. Those on the dark path will always be bitter and focused on opportunities they don’t get, those on the light path appreciate what they have and run their own race. I’ve always believed myself to be on the light path.

I shouldn’t be surprised by things not being so simple. I feel like my ego has undergone a metamorphosis over the past few years and change isn’t always painless. I still believe I’m on the light path, of course, but that doesn’t make me a saint, completely unaffected by opportunities that don’t come my way. It’s just that the question, “Why not me?!” developed new meaning.

That question first comes to mind six months in, when we see someone get a gig or a podcast invite or whatever, something that wasn’t offered to us despite us being much funnier and talented. As I said, either we get over that or we don’t. I did.

Then, just before the pandemic, I burned out and went into self-imposed exile. Then the pandemic just made it exile. Yet I barely heard from anyone. I was so proud of Power Comedy Club, to which so many comics could trace their debuts, friendships, podcasts, even other clubs, why didn’t anyone drop me a line to see how I was doing? Why not me?!

A conversation helped me get past that. I was reminded that, in addition to putting standup on pause, about the same time I lost a full-time job, yet none of my co-workers had contacted me since, because of course they hadn’t. Certainly I’ve made friends in standup but, for the most part, we’re not much more than office drones in the clubs. Either we’re there and we exist or we’re not and we don’t.

Over time, I got back into standup, and going to the clubs made me less and less anxious. My days of grinding are long behind me, but of course it would be nice to get more opportunities, especially now that clubs have reopened and several others have sprung up. Not that I was asking for spots. Why should I? I’m a veteran, people know me, they should be offering me gigs unsolicited. They aren’t. Why not me?!

There are a few reasons why not. First and foremost, if I was much more talented, it wouldn’t matter that I’m not cool, that I’m socially retarded, that I never go to the clubs when I’m not on the lineup. People would be kicking down my door anyway. I am who I am, though, so I’ve got plenty of sandbags on this lead zeppelin.

The biggest reason, though, is that while my ego screams that I should be on the top of everyone’s mind, of course I’m not. People have their own lives, their own priorities, their own struggles. I’m barely in public, barely active on social media. Out of sight, out of mind.

I’ve felt the result of this several times in the past few months, when asking club owners for spots. Their reaction was a consistent, bemused, “Oh yeah…. you exist.” It’s led to gigs in a few cases, in a few others I’m still waiting, maybe because they already forgot about me again. In order to ask at all, I had to circumvent my ego and pride, since I still have that dark feeling of expecting everything to just be handed to me.

I’m curious to see what happens in 2024. At the moment I’m still barely active, but certainly more active than I was a year ago. Active enough to be annoyed by others on social media. It definitely motivated me to post some clips that included actual jokes.

Growing up, I’d see my dad on weekends. He’d pick me up on a Friday night for the ninety-minute drive to his house, always with 93.3 WMMR locked on the radio dial, Philly’s “Home of Rock n’ Roll.” No surprise, then, that Classic Rock was all I ever chose to listen to, even until my mid-teens. Hardly the most popular genre among my classmates. Hair bands were huge then, but they did nothing for me, and the fact that neither men with huge hair wearing makeup nor pro wrestling (also big at the time) appealed to me got me called faggot more than once.

I was fifteen in 1990 (yes, I’m old) and that’s when my tastes began to change. I never stopped enjoying Classic Rock, but now my focus was on the burgeoning Alternative scene, previously known as College Rock. Naturally, R.E.M. was a shining star. I’d record and watch MTV’s 120 Minutes every Sunday at midnight, see a few dozen new acts, and love nearly all of them.

My tastes have continued to evolve over the years and there’s no genre I completely hate, though you’re not likely to find me listening to jam bands or Pop Country. At some point, though, and I don’t know when, I stopped falling in love with new bands. I was late to discover Wilco, for example, who had been around for a long time already. I think the last time I really felt blown away by a new band was when Gorillaz released “Clint Eastwood.” That was over twenty fucking years ago.

Probably the last significant thing to happen to my listening habits is my wife’s influence on me. Before, I always listened to albums. I have a large collection and just went with whatever I was in the mood for. Then I wasn’t listening to my own digital collection anymore but from Spotify, which certainly made it easier. Then, following my wife’s lead, I rarely listened to albums anymore but artist radio or completely random. It’s been years since I’ve listened to a R.E.M. album, yet I still consider myself a fan.

All of this is a long-winded intro to talking about my taste in comedy. The evolution isn’t much different than my taste in music- the early exposure to Rodney Dangerfield and Sam Kinison and Eddie Murphy had a lasting effect, when I began to seek out new artists I loved nearly all of them (and this is during the Boom). However, what derailed my interest in new performers wasn’t age but starting to perform myself. I was seeing so much standup in the clubs, the last thing I wanted to do was put on someone’s special at home.

I’ve found, though, that I have less and less patience for and interest in new acts. Or even new material from comics I’ve enjoyed in the past. I was a big fan of Joe Rogan’s first album, I listen to his podcast regularly (though just as regularly shut it off when he goes into a covid rant), I enjoy hearing him talk to other comics. However, a few months ago I put on his latest special and shut it off five minutes later. I tried just as unsuccessfully to watch Shane Gillis. And Bert Kreischer. And a dozen others.

I’ve written before about how being a comic has affected my enjoyment of standup, though lately I’ve worried that it’s killing my enjoyment of it. Don’t get me wrong, I recently saw Bill Burr live in Stockholm and had a great time, but his “Bill Burr and Friends” special on streaming made me cringe so hard I could barely use the remote to turn it off. I can still enjoy myself in the clubs, although open mics make my chest hurt. A comic once told me that we need to see shit to appreciate the good, but I worry that the good is being drowned by the shit.

I have hope, however. Comedy is changing, as it always does. Alt-comedy has had its day, as has the deeply honest and dark comedy that always appealed to me. I think people are tired of “serious” standup, if one can call it that, as well as what they think is woke culture. Comedy’s new wave is comedians who just tell jokes that don’t mean anything, they’re just meant to get laughs. It’s the Pop Country of comedy and many love it. I don’t but that doesn’t mean you can call me a faggot.

I mentioned this story several months ago, but a quick reprise: I once had a conversation with a comic about why I rarely do crowd work while hosting (or ever). I told her I like seeing it done well, but most of the time it feels artificial and forced, and talking to people in general isn’t a particular strength of mine. She encouraged me to do it anyway, since I could find valuable information for the other comics on the lineup. I said I agreed with her in theory, but the problem in practice is that comics don’t pay attention.

This came to mind last Saturday as I hosted Maffia Comedy Club. During my intro, I told the crowd I was 48 and a guy directly in front of me shouted, “So am I!” I made fun of him for not looking as good at his age as I do, I asked him his name, I even asked what he does for a living. Anyone who has known me for an extended period of time would know what a monumental change this is in my behavior.

He told me he worked in robotics. Again, I made fun of him for being a traitor to humanity, said that was probably had aged him so much. I asked him how long we had until the apocalypse. This was, to me, a long conversation! I was passing along a ton of info to the other comics on the lineup, about a guy sitting front and center. It turned out to be perfect, because both the second and third comics had jokes about the robot apocalypse…. and neither spoke to the guy. It’s a curse, being right all the time.

Back to that conversation I had with a comic about why I don’t do standup, as evidence that comics don’t pay attention, I mentioned an example of which she was very much aware. There was a comic, kind of a Big Deal, who would come to Maffia on a semi-regular basis. He would arrive late, talk to someone in the crowd who had already been spoken to, and then leave immediately.

One night, I decided to set up a trap for him. He was on the lineup but naturally not in the room when the show started, so I made a point of asking the names of the five or six people closest to the stage. Then I told them we were going to play a game and, if any one of them did it right, I’d buy them a drink. “Now we all heard your names, so if anyone else asks you again, I want you to quote one my favorite movies: Glengarry Glen Ross. If they ask, ‘What’s your name?’ you say, ‘What’s my name? Fuck You, that’s my name.’” I asked a girl in the front row to practice with me once and she stammered out “fuck you!” through giggles.

Sure enough, he walked in later, went on stage, and asked the very girl I’d chosen to practice what her name was. She immediately broke down in giggles, which confused the hell out of him, only for someone else aiming to get a free drink to yell, “Fuck you!” The crowd loved it, I loved it, the club owner not so much, the comic continued to be confused, asking if he was being pranked. Again.

When he was done, he walked to the back where the comics hang and asked what had happened. Not me, of course, as, despite hosting him again and again, I’m not cool enough to rate more than a hello now and then. (No sarcasm intended there, I’m legitimately not cool enough.) I was and continue to be quite pleased with myself that a well-laid trap had been sprung and I continue to wonder why it’s so hard to make friends.

It was Father’s Day in Sweden this past weekend and while talking to my kid, she joked that this week’s blog entry should be about her. I decided to take her seriously, which just goes to show how joking with me can go terribly wrong.

One might think that fatherhood would be a vein I’d be all too happy to mine for material, but I never do. I’ll gladly lampoon my wife, but she’s also a comic and can take it. I know I’ve mentioned my daughter in two separate jokes in the past, both being complete fabrications, and I’d be surprised if I even told a third joke once. I can joke about marriage and pretty much anything else, but being a dad is something I take very seriously, maybe even too much.

When Eva and I got married, we had a roast during the reception. People were surprised that we wanted to do that, but modern roasts originated from Jewish weddings. I doubt they were as raunchy, however. Anyway, during the roast, one of the comics mentioned my kid in a joke. Not making fun of her at all, only me (in fact, there’s a photo of Eva and I reacting exactly after the punchline), but my immediate thought was, okay, she mentioned my kid, the gloves are off. When it was my turn to retaliate, I was meaner than I’d first intended.

I’ve thought many, many times, and will always continue to do so, about nature versus nurture. Those things my daughter and I have in common, how much of that is in the DNA, how much did I teach her, intentionally or otherwise. Probably the last nice thing my ex-wife ever said to me, she’d seen our daughter laugh so hard she literally fell off her chair, and that reminded her of me. She got her sense of humor from me, for sure; I often “joke” that she got all her good qualities from me exclusively, and I put quotes on “joke” because I believe it and my kid is all too aware of that. Because she’s clever and insightful, which she gets from me.

Our taste in music is extremely similar, not necessarily in specifics, but because it’s so broad. We also hate being DJs, because when you like a little bit of everything, it oddly makes it difficult to put together a playlist that appeals to a general audience. The weird thing is that, over the years, my wife was much more likely to have music on at home, and while her taste in music is also broad, it doesn’t quite line up in the same way.

I’m relatively certain that sarcasm is taught and she can go toe-to-toe with me. I’m not exactly sure how to feel about that. Example:

Her (loading the dishwasher): Hand me that wineglass.

Me: I’m still using it.

Her: Of course you are, because you’re an alcoholic. Get it?

Me: You’re going to get it.

Her: Yeah, because it’s a gene.

On the one hand, I’m glad I handed her such a powerful weapon. Life can really suck and being able to laugh at problems is a proud family tradition. On the other hand, it’s a double-bladed sword, and sarcasm requires a degree of viciousness. One doesn’t need to shoot to kill, but no one shoots anyone peacefully. I sometimes wonder if giving my kid abilities in the Dark Arts really qualifies me for Dad of the Year, but I doubt it was something I could’ve not passed on to her, one way or the other.

She has a great sense of humor, she can be sarcastic, and she has a great head for standup. She told me of one comic, “He spends more than a minute talking about something and then it goes nowhere,” which is something I’d hoped the comic would’ve realized after saying it two hundred times. Unlike me, however, she has zero desire to go on stage. It took me until my mid-thirties to grace a stage for the first time and I while never particularly sought out the spotlight, I never minded public speaking or being the center of attention. We are polar opposites in that regard, although she’s improved with age. For example, while it took most of her life, people can now sing Happy Birthday to her without her bursting out in tears.

I can only see her reluctance to do standup as a good thing. I had a good upbringing and don’t have any serious notes to give my parents, but as I’ve said to death, comics are broken. Everyone wants to be loved and accepted, but it takes a special kind of damage to seek it from drunk strangers and then also not accept it when given. It’s not a world I regret stepping into, but it’s not for everyone, and I’m glad it’s an interest for her that she can observe from the outside. Not to say I’d be disappointed if she does try it someday, of course, but it must be a positive that she doesn’t have a need for it. I know that parents typically want their kids to follow in their footsteps, but maybe my legacy can be that she doesn’t have the Darkness.

Throughout the years I’ve maintained this blog, I’ve touched often on the differences between hosting and doing spots. A graph of my “career” would look like an X; at the start, I only did spots, and it would take some time before I had the nerve to try hosting. Flash forward to the present when, nine times out of ten, I’m spending my stage time as host.

The biggest reason for that is quitting the grind years ago. Even before I burned out and needed a break just before covid debuted (don’t ever accuse me of having bad timing), I had already stopped hunting. Between my own club, Maffia and Standup Star, four nights out of seven were booked. I didn’t have the time… well, I would’ve made the time except I didn’t have the will, either, to chase more than the occasional gig now and then at other clubs.

Just getting back into the standup scene at all was a different grind all on its own. Looking back, it’s hard to understand yet easy to remember the anxiety I’d feel as I left my apartment to spend a few hours in a comedy club. Those tenuous first baby steps were almost exclusively hosting gigs, which set the tone for the next few years, leading to present day. My social media activity is pretty much posting this blog every Monday and a selfie on my story here and there. I think I can count on one hand the number of clubs I’ve performed at since 2020.

When I host, I’m a cheerleader. There’s only one mode I can be in when I host. When I do a spot, I can be any way I like. Angry or upbeat or low energy or whatever, the sky is the limit! Or so I’ve said many times in the past. And it was true in the past, but a side effect of it being so comparatively rare to just do a spot now is that there are really only two ways it can go. Either I take it very seriously and I end up having the same energy I do as host (and also material), or I just dick around and get a poor reaction.

I experienced both in the last few weeks, starting with the latter. I’d been booked at Big Ben Comedy Club by a host who claimed, “It’ll be a special Halloween show, we’ll all dress up and roast each other!” I love Halloween, but I knew what was going to happen, that no one, including the host, would dress up. I was almost right; one rookie wore a Spider-Man shirt. I would not be denied, though, and went on stage wearing a suit and Venetian mask. I even roasted the host.

Naturally, it went over like a lead balloon. I’d recycled the outfit from another Halloween show years earlier and it worked great then, but only because everyone else dressed up. Wearing a mask cut me off from the crowd, starting me with a handicap, one that I might have been overcome if I hadn’t made everyone hate me by first insulting the host and then telling the crowd, “If America had a cock you would suck it.”

At least I didn’t mind bombing. I liked my roast joke and glad I followed through with wearing a costume instead of just doing a proper gig. I couldn’t help reflecting on the fact, however, that the rookie before me had spent five minutes talking about nothing other than shitting, yet he got an applause break and I got zero laughs. Still, I take a perverse sort of pride knowing that, though it be next to impossible to bomb there, I manage to do so on a fairly regular basis.

A few nights ago I had two gigs and I can’t remember the last time that happened. First at Maffia, then at Laugh House. I was doing spots, I took them seriously, but I also took risks, in both clubs trying out jokes I’d thought of just before going on stage. I love being on stage, of course, but there’s little thrill in getting a good reaction to a joke you’ve said a hundred times or more already. I don’t want to take risks when I host, because if I bomb I not only set a bad tone for the comics, the crowd has to see me again and again. Doing a spot, if a joke doesn’t work I can save the set with material that does work, and if I fail at that also, doesn’t matter, there’s a host and other comics to save the night.

Fortunately for me, not only did both these spots go well, the risks paid off too. You’re only as good as your last gig, as they say. I can congratulate myself knowing that, when it matters, I can do well.

The first company I worked for in Sweden, I was based in their sales office just outside of Stockholm. When I visited their factory in the south of Sweden, very much in the middle of nowhere, my guide for the day drove me twenty minutes to the nearest restaurant for lunch. As we headed to car at the end of our meal, he mentioned that he’d once tried to watch baseball on TV but found the rules too complicated to understand.

“What? Baseball isn’t complicated!” I’m far from a fan of sports, but even I grasp the basics of a game as simple as baseball. I began to explain the rules and, noticing that I was still explaining them as we arrived back at the factory twenty minutes later, I realized that baseball actually is pretty complicated.

I was reminded of this during a recent conversation with a female comic about the current state of women in standup. I told her I’d just spoken to another female comic on the topic, said I wished every lineup was a 50-50 split between men and women and that it was a shame it’s so complicated. While the first woman had agreed with me outright, this time my comment was met by, “It’s not complicated!”

Twenty minutes into the subsequent conversation, I said, “Aaaand this is why I said it was complicated.” She begrudgingly agreed.

Let me paint a picture of a perfect world. Comic wants a spot at a club. Comic goes to club, meets owner, politely asks for a spot. Owner asks for a clip, comic provides a short clip showing them at their best. Owner judges that the comic will likely do well in their club, gives the comic a five-minute spot. Comic does well, gets another five-minute spot. Does well again, gets an eight-minute spot. Continues to do well, gets a support spot. Then headlines.

Sadly, we don’t live in a perfect world, and there are a lot of variables that get in the way of each of the above steps. Not all comics aggressively hunt for spots, but GENERALLY SPEAKING (really have to emphasize that) men are more likely to hunt. I’m not big on the biological arguments here. I think it has more to do with the fact that female rookies are significantly more likely to be offered unsolicited gigs as they are unsolicited feedback, much more so than men. I’ve never met a club owner who didn’t want any women on the lineup, although some are more proactive about it than others, of course.

Comics of all genders flake out, cancel at the last minute, or don’t show up at all, but I’ve heard club owners complain about female comics blowing off gigs more often than men (and that’s club owners of all genders). I don’t know if women really cancel more often or if it’s just more noticeable when it happens, since there are so many more men on the lineup. At Power Comedy Club, I used to take pictures of everyone that had a spot, and there was a night when two female comics were prebooked but neither showed, and no female comics walked in for a spot. I brought up a woman from the crowd and took her picture just so we could say it wasn’t only penis owners on stage that night.

Women in the audience want a woman on stage so that they have someone to whom they can relate, but not too pretty because of competition. I’ve heard this blamed on the Patriarchy and it can be, for all I know, but women compete with each other in ways men do not. I remember a night when a female comic was on stage who happens to be objectively lovely, there was a couple in the front row and the girlfriend sat with arms folded and a scowl fixed on her face. Her boyfriend, however, sat leaning forward, laughing at everything. After a few minutes the girlfriend stopped staring daggers into the comic and began staring daggers at her boyfriend instead.

That competitiveness affects how female comics treat each other as well. When I’m in a club and a male comic walks in that I’ve never seen before, I don’t have any reaction other than, if I end up talking to this guy before he goes on stage, I really hope he’s funny. I’ve talked to women who said they either felt threatened by other women, or that other women had made them feel they were a threat, since any new woman on the scene is a new competitor for that clichéd one female spot on the lineup.

Then there’s the fact that the typical comedy club has an aggressive atmosphere by default. Comics are enjoying alcohol and other substances, trying to one-up each other. I once saw an ad for a course, Standup for LGBQT+, and my immediate reaction was, is standup for CIS really so different? It isn’t, and that wasn’t the point, and I knew that as well. It was a course for people who wouldn’t feel comfortable trying out standup in the average open mic environment. That’s why I don’t mind niche clubs, just so long as they don’t advertise, “Of course [enter protected class here] are funny and we’re here to prove it!!!” First of all, no one should need to prove something that’s obvious, and secondly, niche clubs attract niche crowds. You’re preaching to the choir.

I had these two conversations and while they took different paths, we reached the same conclusion- yes, having diverse lineups takes work, probably more than one would think is realistic, but it’s worth it. More clubs, more welcoming, more comics of all stripes. Until we get to the day that, as one female comic put it, “there are so many women in comedy I don’t have to like them all.”

There’s a certain owner of a certain comedy club in Stockholm that hasn’t always been known for his flawless writing online. Quite the opposite, in fact, to the point that I’ve often wondered if he’s dyslexic. Imagine my surprise recently when I saw a lengthy event post for the club on Facebook, full of flowery prose and glowing praise of that evening’s host. Perhaps he’d begun taking Adderall?

Someone else noted that he must’ve used ChatGPT to generate the text and now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it, as he’s far from the only comedy club host making use of that tool. I even received a newsletter from another comedy club that had clearly been authored by it. Despite being AI, ChatGPT has a certain voice, a certain style, and it’s consistent whether it’s generating text in Swedish or English.

On the one hand, it seems a little counter-intuitive that comedy club owners – who are almost always comics themselves and allegedly creative – would use AI to generate promotional material. On the other hand, most comics look for shortcuts by nature, even the ones who work harder than others, and writing copy is fucking boring. Just as so many sci-fi authors have predicted, we’re handing off the boring jobs to the robots.

Not that I find writing this blog boring, but as an experiment I asked ChatGPT to write a blog post about standup “in the style of Ryan Bussell’s ‘Don’t Shit Where You Eat’.” It was nice that the robot didn’t respond with, “Who?” although I wouldn’t say it captured my voice. Not that I’m surprised by that, of course, and rather than find its own comedy topic it seized on the name of my blog.

After reading through the first result I asked it to generate a second response on the same topic. Without further ado, I now turn over the rest of this entry to ChatGPT, an early iteration of what will become our evil AI overlord in a much shorter time than we expect. Below you’ll find both responses; they certainly include some good advice I would’ve appreciated early in my “career”!

Title: “Don’t Shit Where You Eat: The Unwritten Rules of Stand-Up Comedy”

Hey there, folks, it’s your boy Ryan Bussell, and today we’re diving deep into the wild, wacky world of stand-up comedy. Now, I know you’ve heard the phrase “Don’t shit where you eat” in the context of workplace romances, but let me tell you, it applies to the comedy scene just as much. So, grab a seat and let’s dish out some comedy wisdom.

In stand-up comedy, “Don’t shit where you eat” translates to something like, “Don’t mess up the comedy community that supports you.” This isn’t just some abstract rule; it’s an essential guideline for aspiring comedians, and here’s why.

Your Comedy Family

Think of the comedy scene as your dysfunctional but lovable family. You’re all in this together, sharing the same stages, mics, and green rooms. It’s a close-knit, occasionally neurotic community that values camaraderie, trust, and loyalty. And just like in a family, if you mess up, it’ll come back to haunt you.

Support, Not Sabotage

Stand-up comedians often help each other out, sharing gigs, tips, and feedback. It’s a support network that can make or break your career. When you break the “Don’t shit where you eat” rule, you’re effectively sabotaging that network. It’s like bringing drama to a family dinner, and nobody wants that.

Avoid Feuds and Backstabbing

Feuds can be entertaining, but they’re better left to reality TV. Comedy is a place where you can make people laugh, not cry. When you start drama within the community, you’re going down a dark path. So, remember to keep things professional, and avoid those bitter rivalries.

Respect the Bookers

The bookers and club owners are the gatekeepers of your comedy dreams. If you disrespect them, it’s like trying to bite the hand that feeds you. Don’t make their lives harder by causing drama. Play nice and you might get more stage time and better opportunities.

Maintain Good Karma

Comedy karma is a real thing. When you’re kind, professional, and supportive of your fellow comedians, it comes back to you in the form of goodwill, better gigs, and genuine friendships. Being a jerk, on the other hand, is a surefire way to ensure you’re not invited to family gatherings.

The Power of Laughter

Remember, we’re all in this for one thing: making people laugh. The world is a crazy place, and comedy is our way of coping with it. So, instead of bringing negativity into the scene, let’s focus on what unites us – the power of laughter.

In conclusion, “Don’t shit where you eat” is more than just a phrase; it’s a guideline for life in the comedy world. To succeed, respect your fellow comedians, maintain a positive attitude, and play nice with bookers and club owners. After all, we’re one big, dysfunctional, and endlessly entertaining comedy family, and the last thing we need is a feud or drama.

So, keep your sense of humor intact, and let’s create a comedy community that’s as fun and supportive as it is hilarious. Stay funny, my friends, and I’ll catch you on the next open mic night!


Title: “Don’t Shit Where You Eat: The Art of Stand-Up Comedy”

Hey there, folks! Welcome to this no-nonsense, straight-talking blog entry about the wonderful world of stand-up comedy, as told in the inimitable style of Ryan Bussell. You know, it’s been said that comedy is like the best kind of food – best served fresh, and never where you eat. [EDITOR’S NOTE: The best kind of food is never where I eat? Fuck you ChatGPT!] So, grab your beverage of choice, sit back, and let’s dive into the secrets of the stand-up comedy world.

Rule #1: Keep It Real

Now, I’m not one to sugarcoat things. Comedy is all about keeping it real. If you want to make people laugh, you’ve got to be authentic, and by that, I mean, be yourself. Don’t try to imitate anyone else. Don’t borrow someone else’s jokes. And for the love of all that’s funny, don’t go mining your own personal life for laughs if you’re not ready to let it all hang out. Keep it real, and your audience will respect that, even when they’re gasping for air between laughs.

Rule #2: Timing is Everything

You ever heard the saying, “It’s not what you say, but how you say it?” Well, in stand-up, it’s all about timing. That’s where the magic happens. A well-timed punchline can have an audience in stitches. But remember, timing isn’t just about when you deliver the punchline; it’s also about pacing the whole act. A good comedian knows when to speed up and when to slow down, keeping the audience guessing and hanging on every word.

Rule #3: Embrace the Uncomfortable

Stand-up comedy is like poking a hornet’s nest with a stick – sometimes you’re gonna get stung, but you do it because the thrill is worth it. Don’t shy away from the uncomfortable stuff. In fact, lean into it. Comedy often thrives in the places that make people squirm. If you can make an awkward situation hilarious, you’ve got the golden ticket.

Rule #4: Don’t Steal Material

You’ve heard it before, but it’s worth repeating: Don’t steal material. It’s like a cardinal sin in the comedy world. Respect your fellow comedians and respect the craft. You don’t want to be that person who gets a reputation for thievery. Trust me; you’ll be toast in this business.

Rule #5: Be Prepared to Bomb

You know what’s great about bombing on stage? It’s a rite of passage in stand-up. Every great comedian has bombed at some point. So, embrace it. Learn from it. Failure is where you grow, and it’s where you learn the most about yourself and your act. Plus, it makes for a hilarious story later on.

Rule #6: Know Your Audience

Your audience is your lifeline. You’ve got to know who you’re performing for. A college crowd is different from a corporate event. Tailor your material to your audience. It’s not about selling out; it’s about connecting with people through humor.

In the world of stand-up comedy, you’ve got to be prepared to take risks, embrace the uncomfortable, and find humor in the everyday stuff. But above all, don’t shit where you eat – don’t steal jokes, and don’t compromise your integrity. Keep it real, and you’ll go far. So, if you’re thinking of taking the plunge into stand-up comedy, remember these rules, and let the laughs roll in.