Mic 30 Press Record

Venue: 5 O’ Clock

Host: Big Rich Greene, Bek  and  Tyrone Gaines 

Show: Monday Night Wrong

Set Time:  5 Minute

It's Monday and I know I need to get to the open mic at 5 O'Clock Lounge by 10:00 PM. Big Rich really does a nice job with the setup to tape your set. Even though the 5 O'Clock is a side room, narrow and dark, closed off from the bar by a curtain, it is an energetic room. The hosts bring energy and the crowd laughs and heckles and supports the show. And that makes for a great video clip. A lot of open mics are laughless. You can't hear a head nod or a smile, and that is about all other comedians give each other. Except in this room.

I promised myself that at mic 30, I would start recording sets and releasing clips. I'm treating this comedy and blog like a case study. I started it all from scratch, learning software and social media, applying what I know to grow. Videos are important. Reels are important. Clips are important. So I have to get some recorded material.

My husband hurt his hip and the doctor said they thought he tore his labrum.

We are a house full of women. We don't have a lot of sympathy for the white male over 40 and the need for attention is always suspect when dealing with this class of people. Not to mention we are tough.

He said “labrum.” We heard "labia."

Walk it off, princess.

In order to get sympathy, you need concrete evidence of pain or concern.

For a week we mocked him. Then Monday, the MRI came back.

Turns out his entire hip is deteriorating.

Bone on bone.

Walker.

Replacement surgery.

We went from "Quit being dramatic" to "Honey, can I get you a pillow? A blanket? A gummy?"

So he is off work and on a walker. Nothing sexier than a man out of work on a walker. Nothing. Picture Magic Mike dancing with a chair, only it's Scott with a walker shuffling to his recliner to watch golf. Same thing.

Also, our daughter's washer died and the new delivery has been delayed.

So I am now operating Missy's Suds & Fold. Open 24 hours. Free for family. Mondays there's a rush, and so the house is full tonight.

At 8 PM, everybody had eaten, the laundry refugees had gone home. The hip patient was stable and resting.

I showered.

I blew out my hair.

I did my makeup. In the house, not the car, I put on a good outfit.

Do you know how committed a 58-year-old woman has to be to shower and get dressed twice in a day? I only blow my hair out for special occasions and unless my grandson throws up on me, a second outfit and shower in one day is very rare.

I got there. I was struggling to get my camera into the tripod when a younger comedian appeared like some kind of Geek Squad fairy godmother and instead of mining the situation for material, he just helped me. 

The set killed.

I got laughs.

I hit every pause.

Every tag landed.

Five good minutes.

I walked off stage thinking: This is it. This is the clip.

Tuesday morning, up at 5:30 to write before work. I made my coffee and sat at the kitchen counter with my phone, excited, like I was waiting for a new purse to drop at Fount, or a movie trailer, or the election results. It's funny how being my own producer makes me giggle-excited about content. I open my phone, go to pictures,find the video and hit play.

Two seconds.

Just my palm.

I hit record as I was placing it on the stand and turned it off when I hit the button again. Two seconds of my palm.

25-year-old me would have quit. Shot of tequila, call it a day. This was fun, something else I won’t finish but I can talk about forever.  Like college, pilot lessons, and guitar. 

But 58-year-old me sipped her coffee with its collagen scoop, shot of turmeric, and protein powder and reflected on the fact that I started doing this in November which means I'm in my third trimester.

I should give it up. Except, in the current climate, with all these regulations, I'd probably have to move out of state to terminate. I am showing. I really can't hide it anymore. Every day someone asks how I'm progressing and whether I'm excited that I made this decision, even at my age.

It's geriatric comedy.

So I'm keeping it.

Who knows what full term looks like. But it's a new day and tonight I'll get dressed, head to the Spotlight, and find someone to tape the set.

I'll probably be running late. Makeup will happen in the car. But I will be standing up and telling jokes in front of eight to twelve people who showed up at the Spotlight  and with any luck I will get at least a grainy black-and-white video that I can show my friends and family.