|
 Honolulu Lite. Extra.  Charles Memminger |
All for laughs? Not!
Standup is tough when nerves say 'sit down'
Sea Biscuit. Sea Biscuit. Sea Biscuit. I kept repeating it to myself throughout my drive to Waikiki to appear on stage at comedian Bo Irvine's "Crack Up Comedy Showdown" at the All Star Hawaii café.
Sea Biscuit. Sea Biscuit. Why was it so hard to remember the name of that damn horse? I had been practicing my short comedy routine for two days and every time I got to the rude little bit about Bill Clinton and an alleged curious relationship with a certain famous race horse, I couldn't remember the animal's name. Buttercup? Bitterroot? Barney?
I knew it was all nerves. Nervousness short-circuits the brain wiring and I was as nervous as a horse about to run in the ... the ... you know, that big horse race they have in Kentucky or someplace. The name "Sea Biscuit" was up there in my old coconut somewhere, but my jangled nerves had washed out all the connecting synapses.
When I got to the café, which already was filling with a strange mixture of tourists, comedians, wannabe comedians, never-to-be comedians, local folks and memory-impaired newspaper columnists, I realized that after days of monk-like adherence to a regime of healthy eating and hours spent in front of a mirror talking into my wife's hairbrush, my body was dangerously low on hops and barley. I immediately remedied the situation with a medicinal infusion of two Budweisers, which not only rectified my bodily humors and calmed the nerves a bit but snow-plowed a neural pathway to the elusive Sea Biscuit. I wasn't going to lose the nag again, so I wrote the horse's name in ink on my hand.
HERE'S THE SET-UP: Bo Irvine, longtime local comedian, is running a contest for up-and-coming comedians. Thursday night was the first of four preliminary competitions, and All Star Hawaii was swarming with comics young and old walking around mumbling routines to themselves. The competition continues for the next three Thursdays, after which Bo and his judges will have winnowed out, Simon Cowell-like, the top six or so comics to compete in a showdown on April Fools Day.
FL MORRIS / FMORRIS@STARBULLETIN.COM
Longtime local comedian Bo Irvine is hosting a contest for up-and-coming comedians at All Star Hawaii in Waikiki. The first of four preliminary competitions was held Thursday night.
I had tried a few nights of standup several years ago in Bo's comedy club with degrees of success running from incredible applause and hearty laughter to incredible silence and hearty threats of violence.
In a column last week, I asked the question: What makes otherwise normal people want to get up and try to make a bunch of alcohol-consuming strangers laugh? I figured the only way to answer that question was to venture into the belly of the beast again. I would take the stage not as a contestant, but simply to experience the sheer terror that is standup comedy.
Bo's army of new comics are a diverse lot, from a black Navy Seal to a blonde college co-ed to local surfer types to English-as-a-second-language immigrants to gray-haired retirees. Whatever the psychological malfunction is that causes one to want to do standup, it certainly cuts across all racial, gender and cultural lines.
Merellis "Big Mo" Dixon, the 40-year-old Navy Seal technician from Ford Island, epitomizes the unexplainable desire to fly close to the entertainment flame. He's a big guy who just wants to share his fairly twisted view of the world with others. Like the time he was so excited stepping on a scale to discover he had lost weight, he decided to take off all his clothes to see if he could shed a pound more. It worked. He was ecstatic. When his wife scolded him, he said everybody gets naked to weigh themselves. She said, "Yeah, but not in Wal-Mart."
It was a good line and killed the crowd. He was rocking.
The first several comics were high-charged, bouncing around the little stage and, from my point of view, setting a very high performance bar. Obviously more hops and barley were called for.
FL MORRIS / FMORRIS@STARBULLETIN.COM
"The Hawaiian Guy From Molokai," Shannon Crivello, told some offensive, yet funny, stories about transvestites on his home island.
In a pre-show pep talk worthy of Bobby Knight, Bo had laid down the rules. This was basically a PG-13-rated program. No "F' word. No "S" word. No, I think he said, "T" word but I'm not sure. I don't even know any nasty "T" words. Toe jam? Tendinous?
Shannon (most of the comics go by one name) from Molokai violated the spirit of the family rating by telling some extraordinarily offensive, albeit extraordinarily funny, stories about transvestites on his home island. He capped off his set with a physical demonstration of how guys use towels to dry off that was probably the most disgusting thing I've seen in recent years.
A few of the contestants died painful, slow deaths in the hot spotlight as their material failed to connect. When they died, we all died, knowing that, yet for the grace of the comic gods, there go we all. A couple of contestants, not quite getting the gist of modern comedy, resorted to telling "dumb blonde jokes" apparently heisted wholesale off the Internet. Why no produce became airborne in their direction from the several platinum-haired beauties in the audience is a mystery.
AND AS FOR ME? Well, if I didn't kill, I at least wounded. The audience seemed to enjoy my bit on local TV weather reporters combining forecasts and social commentary. (Tomorrow, Honolulu will be partly-haole, becoming increasingly haole toward Aina Haina and mostly haole in Hawaii Kai. In Kalihi we expect partly scattered aunties, but hope to have them rounded up by noon. On the Waianae Coast local highs will be in the 80s and high locals in the 20s. If you're from Hawaii Kai, watch out for the high locals in the 20s.)
FL MORRIS / FMORRIS@STARBULLETIN.COM
The audience seemed to enjoy Charles Memminger's bit on local TV weather reporters combining forecasts and social commentary. "If I didn't kill, I at least wounded," he said.
I concluded with my old standby about the time I took my daughter horseback riding and when my horse inexplicably started to urinate in a massive fashion, a little girl pointed at me and said, "Mommy, that fat man broke his horse."
It wasn't Seinfeld. But it wasn't death on a spike either.
I felt pretty good driving home. It wasn't until I ran the routine through my head that I realized I had completely left out the bit about Bill Clinton and his alleged curious relationship with a horse named Sea Biscuit. So I guess there is a comedy god after all.
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Charles Memminger, winner of National Society of Newspaper Columnists awards, appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. E-mail cmemminger@starbulletin.com
