"...the audience is either parents or unparents. And the unparents have no fucking clue..."
Catch Up, Feb 21st, 2007
It's hard to catch up.
I started a job two weeks ago. Political comedy, for a website. Offices in Soho. It's launching in about a month, I'll provide a link when it's up.
It's good to be working again, with all the usual feelings. I'm not good enough, my sensibility isn't right, my stomach looks awful. I freak out a little, then plow on through. Jitters.
My mom came out to Grandma the shit out of Kilbaby, (Dad is on the road), and it's the only time I've slept 8 hours a night since the baby came. God damn it, I love sleep.
When I was pregnant, I wrote about ten new minutes. Well, alot more than that, but about ten minutes worth keeping. The more pregnant I got, the better it worked. Now, I'm deflated and dull. If I talk about babies, well, I'm another female comic bitching about motherhood. And Roseanne already did it, brilliantly. Finding my own angle on parenthood, the most beat topic in comedy, is hard. I'm struggling.
When you are single, your audience is like you, or used to be like you. The ex-singles may enjoy reminiscing about their old life, via your jokes. Now I am a mother, and the audience is either parents or unparents. And the unparents have no fucking clue what I'm talking about. I remember those days, I recognize that bored look. I used to have it when comedians would talk about their kids.
How does today's me entertain the me from last year? Should I even try? Do I have to cover every fucking base?
As a comic, you always have to protect your turf in New York City. It's tiring and in one case, like an aging gangster, I have given up my territory. I stopped calling in my avails at the Cellar. After I came back from LA, I only got sporadic, late night spots there. Then one night, I was about 8 and a half months pregnant and I had a 12:50 AM, on a Tuesday. And I had to follow someone really dirty. I remember thinking, this club has no idea what to do with me. I wasn't mad, just resigned. An internal sigh, if you will. So I stopped calling in. I don't want to fight the same fight over and over again. I got a infant 'n shit.
