Master Conrad Roth Tsu say, “He who go to bed with skanky waitress, wake up with itchy peepee, and shitty room.”
Believe it or not, gang, that is the first rule of a good open mic. You can’t fuck the waitresses, especially if you blow them off afterwards. It will slowly eat away at the room and your relationship with the establishment will die. Other than that, it is pretty straight forward. Wait, you know what? No, that is bullshit. Let’s take this back to a couple days ago. I get an e-mail from WitOut asking me to add my half a cent about running an open mic. I thought very hard about it. Here you go:
Running a good open mic is something you literally have to slave over. It is a brutal, thankless job — that is, if you want it done right. I mean any jerkoff could run a show, just ask Mike Casey, whose open mic ran up against one of our rooms — and that lasted about a week, and we were doing our show out of a gay bar. What does that tell you? It tells you that I just wanted to put Mike Casey’s name in this article so I could break his balls because I love to do that, that is true, but it is also a comment on the intensity that must go into a room to make it a success, and not even all of our rooms have been successes. We got fired from the gay bar a couple months later over politics, and by politics I mean someone said an anti-gay slur during their set, and the owners freaked out. (Thanks Mykal). Also, a couple of us tried to bang the manager, which takes us back to the first rule. Anyway … music is also a key factor. You have got to have music between the acts. Otherwise it is so depressing to watch comedian after comedian banging away at a half empty, half asleep crowd and you’re so depressed that you get all tweeked upon vodka Redbull and Vicodin and start wondering why Steve Miller-Milller‘s ass looks so good in those cowboy jeans. It’s bad — a bad open mic is like a funeral, a funeral for a dog nobody liked.
On top of that you got new comedians breaking your balls every two minutes wanting to know when they are getting on. New comedians think because they have brought three people they know that they have got the right to torture you, and when they do get on stage, surprise, they suck, and you can’t give them the light. God forbid, after seven minutes of hell, you hear the phrase everybody loves: “Is that the light?” Fucking kill me. Come to think of it, why would I give the secrets to a great open mic away? So two other jerkoffs can go start up a room, and now I am waiting at the back of the line to go on, fuck that, I’m keeping the secret formula to myself.
I’m sorry, that was the mustache talking. Apologies aside, I am still not going to tell, but I will do you one better, I will show you. The comedic talent in this city is boiling over right now and there are open mics five days a week and they are all done right. Conveniently enough, WitOut does such a great job with this website that they are all listed for you, so I encourage you to go out and enjoy one. For those of us who want more from an open mic besides getting too drunk and leaving in the middle of the set, if you’d like to start an open mic, call me at (917)699-9806 and we can talk, but regardless, remember what I said about the waitresses.
H. Foley is a stand-up comedian and is one part of Center City Comedy, which hosts an open mic from The Raven Lounge every Thursday at 9:00. His opinions are his own.
