Mic 7, 12, 13 I Just Have to do One More
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Venue: Winchester Music Tavern
Host: Bryan Sternick and David Horning
Show: One More Joke
Set Time: 1 Minute
After the Brothers show, I was feeling invincible, so I dragged my daughter and her friends to the Winchester for One More Joke. I had met one of the hosts outside smoking a couple of weeks earlier, remembered it was a thing, and wanted to check it out.
The format is simple. It’s in the back of the club where the stage is. Two hosts, Bryan and Dave. Thirty one-minute spots and five booked five-minute sets. Efficiency I can respect. You can put your name anywhere on the list. My first night here, I was way down the list and I don’t remember what I did but I got up and some people laughed and sat down. I do know the host, Bryan, called me to the stage and said I was someone he had never met before. So much for the sacred intimacy of the shared cigarette at Imposters or the hand shake at the Villager. Possibly being forgettable is killing me a little.
Each time out there are more familiar faces and they say hi to me and I shake hands with the people I know by name. I have met a lot of comedians at these open mics. I have added the Villager, Onestar, and 5 O’clock, to my open mic haunts.
At first I got a lot of, “You going up?” and I said yes, and they would smile. Comedy people ask, “You going up?” the way Marines ask if you’re storming the beach. I am feeling a little more a part of the scene.
Everyone knows each other here. Everyone. It’s not a clique—it’s a club. Every club needs hazing. Fraternities have paddles. The military has boot camp. Comedy has the open mic. You get up, die a little, sit down, and come back next week. It’s a secret society where the password is a joke nobody laughed at. I was definitely in the initiation process.
There seems to always be good energy in the room. The venue is popular and the sets are fast and loose.
I have watched a lot of funny. One minute is a beautiful format. If the topic is too much, it’s over before your face finishes reacting. If it’s funny, you’re completely satisfied because it’s funny the whole time.
The second time I was there was after another booking at Brothers where I did five minutes about our dead dog. I pulled just the beginning out of that set for One More Joke. Bryan introduced me as a new comic on the scene. Better than a stranger.
We had to put my dog down last week. I started and it got an audible sadness from the crowd.
Growing up we processed trauma with inappropriate humor or alcoholism so I figured stand up was the perfect intersection.
For me a dog is a member of the family
So I immediately started to think of other family members I would have rather put down.
Dog never borrowed money and didn't pay it back
She never made a racist joke at thanksgiving dinner
She never drank a bottle of wine and hit on my husband.
Yet she is gone and Becky will be over for Easter.
It went well. I got laughs. I was getting more laughs, even from rooms of just comedians.
I was meeting more comedians each time I went out. I was starting to feel less like an intruder and more like low-level staff.
The third time I did this mic, it was my birthday, so I brought cake. On my birthday, I pick up an Elmwood’s cake, turn on my playlist, grab plastic silverware, and drive around town sharing sugar and attention. I brought what was left for Bryan and Dave. Networking with frosting.
The first time I came, I knew no one. By the third time, I brought cake. Stockholm syndrome works both ways.
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