hosted a shitty open mic tonight.
okay, it wasn't shitty.
my own opening went sour.
and that might have tainted my outlook.
plus, the crowd was slow to come around.
that is to say the thin crowd of 18, maybe.
but I learned a thing or two.
also, maybe I should stop billing myself.
as a comic or a poet.
and just be a storyteller.
if they laugh, great.
if not, fuck it.
I will say that after years and years of doing this.
I can finally feel myself actually not being nervous.
so who cares if tonight wasn't the best.
giving these folks a stage and an outlet.
is all that matters.
they don't see the bartenders who want to go home.
or the woman checking her Instagram.
who, by the way, arrived late and sat in the back.
only I see these things.
Schiffman might have had the time of his life.
talking about his gay body.
the woman who sang a slow Dolly Parton ballad.
well, she may have had a bucketlist thing going on.
the point is I have to remind myself.
to be grateful for this platform, however weird and unpredictable.
even if I were rich and famous, I would still do shitty open mics.
that's it, goodnight, try again tomorrow.