After an apogee, an apology

25 August 2011

As I do with many sentences and conversations, allow me to begin with an apology.

I know several of you were huddled around your computer or blog-ready phone to receive a post from me last night. I know some of you were out there in the lonely world, waiting for an electronic missive from my fingers to your heart. I know most of you waited, and realized, as the clock struck midnight (ET), all hope of word from your beloved was dashed like waves on the Cliffs of Dover.

Again, I apologize.

While the glow of your computer lit your frown, making it seem that much more depressing, I was performing improv with several funny people (all more humorous than I, you see) at the DC Improv as part of the DC Improv Comedy School Cast.

Still, I should have written.

After the earthquake and after digesting the misery of a drunk and cowardly Cone Alone, I should have known you would need a bit more comfort. A bit more guidance. Actually, I know you just needed a friendly word.

I apologize one more time. I know I let my life get in the way of our electronic, anonymous life together.

Please forgive me.

If you forgive me, I promise to post video (ACTUAL FOOTAGE) from last night’s performance.

Will that do it? Will that make up for my error?

If my penance seems paltry and does not please you, I will proffer personal puns just for you at your request. I will post these puns directly to your Facebook account if you desire, so all the world can see you are loved and your name is a joke.

Maybe though, “that joke isn’t funny anymore.”

Insufficient fun

25 July 2011

I have a palpable sense of pre-precipice-ness.

I am dreadfully frightened of being a successful comic. I know I can make people laugh and I have something to say, but I am afraid I will be fully successful and step out over that entertainment cliff and free-fall with no safety net pattern.

Today, I finally watched the documentary American: The Bill Hicks Story. Watching his passionate, inspired and scathing performances make me feel my comedy is insignificant. I have imaginary friends, pop culture references and nerd-friendly puns. Such a routine is not life-altering or brilliant or even inspired.

I went to the Arlington Cinema & Drafthouse over two months ago to sign up for their open mic stand-up night. I got on the list, but was too far down to perform. I have not been back yet. I was primed to jump off the diving board once, but now I’m looking over the edge and afraid to go again.

If you are reading this, I promise to start going to open mic nights and trying out new material.

I promise to go out and find my voice and jump off the cliff.