So here I am standing on the world famous Improv comedy stage in Washington, DC, a stage some of the most famous names in comedy have stood on… Jon Stewart, Dave Chappelle, Jeff Foxworthy (for those of you who might be a redneck). I am standing on this hallowed stage wearing only my dress shoes, black socks, and a skimpy pair of underwear and, as you can tell from the cover of this magazine, I am not a model. In walks comedian Jeff Dunham, the veteran puppet comic who has been doing stand-up since the ‘80s, and he gives me a “What the fuck are you doing?” look. A professional who has spent two decades with his hand up a puppet’s ass thinks I’m a crazy bastard! That pretty much summarizes my foray into stand-up comedy.

I am about to turn 30. Throughout my twenties, I have done my fair share of drugs (I have probably done your fair share as well). But the biggest high I’ve ever experienced was when I used to MC my high school pep rallies. A friend and I worked to turn those cheesy events into a comedy routine, making 1,200 people laugh. Since then, I have watched copious amounts of stand-up both live and on TV, always thinking to myself, “I could do that.” So a couple of months ago I decided to pitch the idea of me attempting to do stand-up to On Tap.

Unfortunately, beyond accepting this pitch, they also came up with the idea of putting me on the cover, naked. (Not because they’re perverts, far as I can tell, but because they liked the idea of me exposing my body literally as I was metaphorically exposing my soul. Plus, I think they’re perverts.) Now, not only did I have to think of material to perform on stage, I had to continually consider how to write this article, all the while trying to block out the battle that my ego was having with my brain over appearing on the cover. Given that I am going to look like an ass in front of the entire DC social scene for the next month, consider yourself lucky to have found a copy of this issue since I will have attempted to steal and burn all others.

As soon as I started this project and realized that no matter what, I was going to have to get up on a stage, my mind never stopped thinking about different comedy bits. Everything a person can experience in this world ultimately could become a comedy bit: dating, work, sex, current events, general trends, celebrities, people that piss you off, etc. You end up in a state of heightened awareness, and at almost every moment you attempt to process this minutia into a comedy bit. Basically, in the past two months I have had more conversations with myself in my head than ever. Thank god that all of these conversations are still in my own voice.

Being on the brink of mental insanity, I knew I needed professional help. So I turned to DC’s own professor of comedy, Matt Kazam. Kazam, who is currently 37, has been doing stand-up comedy since he was 21. He has performed over 4,500 shows in 42 states and 7 countries, made numerous TV appearances, and currently hosts a comedy show on XM radio. Kazam has also been the instructor for the past two years at the DC Improv’s “Stand-up Comedy: Start to Finish” comedy class.

In the classroom, Kazam is part teacher, part adviser, part therapist, and still 100% wise-ass, capable of taking any student’s premise and turning it into a good joke. Most of the students in the class have a mental state similar to mine: nervous, neurotic, and completely burnt out on trying to think of things that might make someone laugh. Kazam defines this as thinking like a real comedian.

“After so many years of doing this, I can’t even relate to real people anymore,” Kazam explains to his students.

With my deadline approaching, I knew my time was coming. So I arranged to make my stand-up debut at the Wednesday night open mic event at Dr. Dremo’s in Arlington. This event is one of several open mics in the area organized by 42-year-old former comedian, Curt Shackelford.

Shackelford states: “I started to arrange open mic nights in order to give myself more time [on stage] and after a while I just realized that I wasn’t really funny. But I still enjoy being able to give new comedians the opportunity to perform.” 

Prior to my performance that evening, I met and talked to several of the other comedians and it was immediately noticeable that the stand-up process does not happen overnight. Sean Gabbert and Rory Scovel are both seen as DC rising comedic stars, and even after two years both still routinely work the open mic circuit to hone their material.

Scovel, 25, still works a day job as an administrative assistant. “I do shitty ass office shit,” he explains. “Actually that was the best way I have ever described my job.”

The hierarchy of stand-up comedy goes from being an open-mic “newbie” and receiving three to five minutes for your act to being a regular that gets seven minutes to 10 minutes. Once you gain a favorable reputation, then a good stand-up act is offered the role of “MC,” which also includes 15 minutes of stage time. The next step beyond being an MC is when a comedian “features” at 20-30 minutes. And then, finally, for those who have real talent, a comedian will “headline” at 45 to 60 minutes.

Gabbert explains, “You try to build enough material to get to the paid shows and ‘feature.’ I just started to get to ‘feature’ work in the area at Wiseacres, but also in Baltimore and Blacksburg.”

This night, Shackelford placed most of his regular comedians toward the beginning of the show. Scovel and Gabbert—along with a couple of other regulars—definitely display their experience over the others. Scovel has a unique way of telling the crowd he isn’t funny but is ironically humorous at the same time. Gabbert has a couple of the best jokes of the night, including one about Fozzie Bear now doing black comedy clubs (“Waka, Waka, Bitches!”).

There are 18 comedians performing on this night and the “newbies” are put at the end of the show. I am the very last one to perform. As I watch all of the other performances, my anxiety level rises. I am chain smoking cigarettes and downing beers. Most of the performers go up on stage with notes and often stop to read their next joke. I don’t have a single word of my material down on paper. By the time I finally take the stage after some absolutely torturous performances, I am pretty much drunk. 

So I just decide to start my act by informing the audience that I must be breaking every rule of doing open mic comedy since I don’t have any notes and I am drunk. Some guy, probably just happy that I was the last one, gives me a big “wooo” and I give him a “wooo” right back and just like that I am doing stand-up comedy. I had about five to six minutes of material in my head. The biggest laugh came at my concept of wanting four kids in my life: two natural kids and two adopted kids of roughly the same age that I would have compete against each other for my love and attention.

Before I knew it the red light was on and I had to wrap it up. So I improvised a bit, scrapping some of my other jokes and just immediately ended and exited off the stage. In the end I got some quality laughs and Shackelford even offered me more minutes at two of his upcoming shows.

In all reality, this should have been it. After all of the mental anguish of putting myself on stage and torture of figuring out what to say to make others laugh, why would I want to continue this masochistic behavior? But like anyone who has ever fallen off of the wagon from any addiction, 12 years after leading those stupid pep rallies in high school, I had once again felt the “high” of laughter and I am hooked. Yet from this whole experience I have learned that to truly make it, I haven’t even scratched the surface of how to be funny. I don’t even know if I’m good, let alone great. But I might be okay. I ask Kazam how I can tell, and he says: “A good comedian looks at the world as if it’s a funny place, a great comedian looks at the world and realizes how fucked up it is.”