As mentioned earlier, I decided to try to fulfill my lifelong dream of stand-up comedy last week.  I found a super neat database online that lists all open mic comedy venues in the Houston area.  I called several of the places on the list, but learned the awful truth about the modern transliteration of “open mic.” Open mic, today, almost exclusively pertains to poetry, or to music, which is essentially poetry with a melody.  I stumbled upon this reality quickly.  The first few places that I called either didn’t exist, didn’t host open mic anymore, or did host open mic, but primarily for poetry and/or music only.

The first place I tried was a bar that ironically used to be a comedy club.  Today, it is far less funny and far more of a straightforward bar.  I figured since it was ‘open mic night’ that it would primarily be for amateur comics.  Instead, it was a mix of amateurs and people who really had their junk together.  The host picked the order of the comics randomly, so I had to wait an agonizing three hours before I finally went on and had to follow a gentleman that had been on several television shows.  I stumbled on stage, almost tripping over my profuse, exploding sweat and my failed dreams of fame.  I got through about half of my set before not just completely forgetting my jokes, but also where I was and who all of the people looking at me were.  My friends tell me I ended the set demanding to know where I was.  At least I started strong?

The next bar I tried was a battle for survival.  Though I called beforehand, and the woman whom I talked with was very courteous and informative, the actual place was death.  It was in a bad neighborhood.  There was no sign for the place.  When I walked in, there was really loud music on and I asked to talk to the owner.  When she came not only had she become a man, but she had also become angry, loud, and seemingly homicidal.  I got out of there and was on to my next venue on my road to comic obscurity!

The next place didn’t have a phone number, so I used the address to get there.  Not only was it a grocery store, but it was also a hotel.  Not only was it a hotel, but it was also a bar.  Not only was it a bar, but it was a bar that had never nor will ever host any type of open mic night whatsoever.

Here’s to my meteoric rise to mediocrity.