Goodnight, Room

On quitting stand-up

I shot my stand-up special the other night. It was my third. Each successive special has landed with less and less impact. This latest one will almost certainly not find a buyer. Not because it’s bad, but because it’s not good enough and the field is already flooded. Too many stand-ups, most of them younger, cuter, and more interesting than myself. Which is ok by me; but I think after twenty-ish years of being out on the road, the world is telling me to hang up the microphone.

I never meant to become a stand-up comedian, just as I never meant to become a comedic actor. Both just kind of happened. The latter because my college sketch troupe got a TV show, the former because of the latter. One led into the other. As my fame decreased, so did my audiences, until I was left with a half-empty room in New York City on a Tuesday night in November.

Not ideal for shooting a special.

What sucks about it is that I think I’m a better comic now. I’m more confident, a better story-teller, more playful on stage. I’ve gotten good at the job. Not amazing - I’ll never be that. But good. Just not good enough to justify keeping going.

And so be it. Over the last few years, the travel has worn me down. Too many middle airplane seats. Too many hotel showers I cannot figure out how to operate (can’t hotels standardize their plumbing?). Too many bad meals and small crowds and dispiriting performances. Too many nights after shows of lying in my hotel bed wondering why I’m away from home.

I’m not alone. Comics love to complain. Most of the time they’re just blowing off steam, but every year a few drop out after saying the same things I’m saying now. Each one is replaced by ten.

Shooting my special. Photo by Jen Grunwald.

When I was at the Skankfest Comedy Festival in New Orleans last week, I got into a conversation with a comedian who told me she thought the industry was going through one of its periodic contractions. We saw it in the early 90’s after the 80’s boom. We see it during recessions as people cut back on discretionary spending. And, she said, we’re seeing one now. Post-pandemic, people wanted to go out. After a couple years of playing socialization catch-up, and with the economy teetering, she said she’s seeing a huge pullback. She mentioned a few very successful comics she’s spoken with who are also, comparatively speaking, struggling to sell tickets. So it’s not just me.

But, yeah, it’s me.

When I think about everything I’ve seen and done with stand-up, I’m immensely grateful. I’ve seen the whole country many times over, played hundreds of clubs and theaters, met cool people, and almost got into a fight with Andrew “Dice” Clay which you can read about here.

It’s been good. But if I keep doing it, I’m going to end up exactly like the Diceman. Old and bitter and still wearing the same stupid outfits. I don’t want that, although technically I’m already kind of old and I do wear a lot of the same stupid outfits. I guess I’m just looking to avoid the “bitter” part.

Last week, I was at a comedy festival called Skankfest. I saw so many great, energetic, enthusiastic comedians and I thought, I don’t belong here. Because I didn’t. Sure, I belong beside the funny folk, but comedy - like Congress - needs new blood. It needs new voices and people with more to say than a jerk like me who’s writing these from his bucolic mid-century home in the wilds of Connecticut.

Comics shouldn’t be able to buy homes. I mean, this was never meant to be a respectable business with respectable people doing respectable things. This is for vagabonds and people incapable of keeping inappropriate remark to themselves. It’s for malcontents and weirdos. I’m no longer any of those things.

There’s a reason so many stand-ups get less funny as they age – they grow content. They made their money, had their families. They’re not running as hard as they once did and it shows up in the work. It’s the difference between Sylvester Stallone and Mr. T in Rocky III. Sad to report, in this analogy I’m Rocky.

And so goodnight, room. Goodnight, waitstaff. Goodnight, hecklers. Goodnight, 6:00am flight. Goodnight, morning radio appearances. Goodnight, doing the same joke 100 times and never nailing the punchline. Goodnight, sound guy. Goodnight nachos, goodnight brunch- goodnight to the security guy whispering “Hush.” And goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.

I’d say I’ll be here all week, but I won’t be.