The Idiotic Notion that got me started in comedy, Part 1

So blogspot is getting the best of me these days, disallowing any of my neat interview podcasts to post. So I have to resort to a lame "Where did this comedy idea come from?" post. Well, fine blogspot, you may have won the battle, but I still have an army behind me of graphic designers that are going to rip your insides out and make them pretty for all to see---bwah-ha-ha-ha!! (Whoops! Halloween was last month!)

So how did this idea of comedy get into my head? To be honest, this memory didn't resurface until a conversation on the phone yesterday with a dear high school friend. For some odd reason, I blocked out this memory per chance because it was too painful.

Grabs your high chairs kids, gather around the fire, because momma's going to take you back... waaaayyy back to kindergarten, with Mrs. Johnson. Yes, I said it, Mrs. Johnson. Generic name, right? I'm not making this one up.

Mrs. Johnson lead the first grade class (whoops, already my memory is jumping years) in an annual Christmas school play. Each class had to perform their own version of whatever twisted zombie reindeer rendition to impress the parents. But because there were so many of us little 'uns, they threw in some ancillary characters: A Mother and Father Christmas tree. Enter yours truly: I was "Mother Christmas Tree". And Papa Christmas Tree and I, during all that time in Spelling and Grammar when we were supposed to be memorizing lines, we opted for doodling of dirty pictures, and making sure each was properly labeled--Butt, BOO-bies, and whatever that thing is below the belt. Vag-enis or was it Pen-gina?

Anyway, when it came time to bring the house down, Mr. Christmas and myself felt adequate. We sorta knew our lines. "Pen-gina." I remember during rehearsal that my cue was to speak after he did. I speak after he does. What it was exactly I should be saying still hadn't settled into my easily distracted and precocious brain. I just knew he spoke first.

Fast forward to School Play Day: The audience had been filled with anxious parents and restless kids. All the other classmates had not only memorized their lines, but they had done them so well, that people laughed after each bit. Genius, I tell you! I watched off stage in amazement. I took careful note of the cadence. Line. Line. Laughter. Line. Line. Laughter.

I found myself on stage with my green turtleneck on to blend in with my very carefully designed costume. I bore a sharp resemblance to a North American White Spruce. Meanwhile, Mr. Christmas Tree had become petrified. He somehow had allowed stage fright to set in. I didn't know where this was going, but I sensed all together downhill. Everyone else had gotten their laughs. It was Mr. Christmas's turn and he was bombing--big time. He just kept repeating the same two words in hopes that the other eight would magically fall out of his mouth. I knew it was now or never. I had to get that bit of laughter for him---for my partner in pervvy crime.

So what would a faithful Christmas tree wife do? Make silly faces to the audience. And just like I had anticipated, the laughter followed. It came in waves. I was overwhelmed by them. Unfortunately, so was Mr. Christmas. He thought they were laughing at his incompetence, failing to memorize a simple few lines. The audience finished laughing, yet Mr. Christmas hadn't quite finished crying.

I glanced offstage to meet a look of disappointment by Mrs. Johnson. What did she know? She wouldn't know good comedy if it shed pine needles on her front lawn. Make room on the couch, Letterman. A star was born! But only after I paid my dues in the "Timeout chair". (Sigh)



*+*+*+* If you cringed as much as I did reading this story, which should have remained in my maladjusted head, never to be unearthed, there are many more twisted stories to follow. GET FREE UPDATES BY EMAIL or RSS.

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