When I first started doing comedy, I would go to open mike after open mike, and generally I would see the same faces of my open-mike peers struggling along side me with their own “material,” such as it was. On those nights, someone would be there who had been doing it a little longer and had that much more comfort and that much more editing going for them.

The people in the bar would be laughing good naturedly on a good night and the open mike would be rolling along, everyone feeling OK. Then, the person with a few more nights behind them would get up, and it would click and the audience would be laughing, and it would feel like a real show, not an open mike.

I used to envy in wonder at the relaxation of those folks. I would be puzzled at how their jokes hit and ours, the newcomers, were all hit or miss.

Tonight, I felt like one of the people I used to watch.

(Not to mention the chili dog I inhaled before going up. Among the many, many nervous feelings I thought I would never get over in the early days was the fear of blowing chunks or shitting myself. I even went so far as to carry bland snacks with me. The idea of a chili dog back in the day would have made me cry.)