What I Thought Was Comedy (Part 5) by Anthony Corvino

Five minutes before I go up on stage…
I look over at the comic currently on stage. I check my phone. I remind myself what I’m going to talk about. I check the stage. I forget about what I’m going to talk about. I have a panic attack. I look over at the host, who catches my stare and nods back at me. I am about to die. I do not want to do this. Comedy is stupid. A flashback to a highlight reel of my most embarrassing moments of public speaking; the time I had to sing in front of Ms. Lello’s high school sophomore English class about Arthur Miller’s The Crucible set to the tune of Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger (a personal favorite). I feel about five years old. I check over at my loving, supportive parents who came to see their only son to the thing he loves to do the most. I piss myself a little. This is my pre-show routine.
I like to believe that most comics get started doing comedy for purely wanting to make others laugh. And for the rest of us, the feeling of power you get after telling a random group of strangers about your bowl movements. Those first few open mics I had wanted to make everyone laugh. I wanted everyone to like me and me to like everyone. I think the fear of not accomplishing this task is why I have a mini-panic attack five minutes before I go on stage every time out now. It is the same fear that drives me to write and re-write jokes trying to find a rhythm to words and language while obsessing over my voice as a writer. Nervousness, anxiety, a general sense of ‘shitting the bed’ linger in my brain before I go up on stage. I overcome these emotions and sensations on those first few moments walking up onto the stage and breathing as I stand silent in front of the audience. I’ve always been told about the importance of breath, but when it comes to public speaking and stand up, breathing in front of the audience is as close as I get to standing there ass-naked. They seem to like it.
After I’ve finished a breath or two, I make eye-contact with somebody, anybody and try to remember they are my scene partner. My relationship is to them. They are more important than my jokes. I love joke writing, but what I love even more than joke writing is not bombing. It seems every attempt I’ve made to just tell my jokes so I can just get them out is met with a resoundingly similar reaction from the audience; you don’t care about us,and we don’t care about you. Those first few open mics I cared a helluva lot about what the audience thought about me which is why I wrote bland, unoriginal material and delivered it insincerely and apologetically. I still care a helluva a lot about what the audience thinks about me but now I breathe before I begin, I make eye-contact with a random stranger, and I piss myself a little.

Check out Anthony’s other posts : Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4

Anthony Corvino is from New York originally and is now a stand up comic in Wilmington, NC and an improviser with the Nutt House Improv Troupe.  You can check out his website here