Back from Palo Alto. Back to reality. First real bomb under my belt.
Got home from the office today thinking I had this at least parts of this comedy thing figured out. New bit I’d been working on for a week. Felt solid. Had some visual hooks, some emotional stuff that could be fucking hilarious if I nailed it.
I didn’t nail it.
The Purple Quarters Chronicles
Showed up at Purple Quarters in a giddy mood. Life’s been spinning in the right direction lately, you know? Even with the apartment situation on the 12th and all the emotional weight that comes with it. The wife and I are handling it with dignity, which feels like the only victory worth claiming right now.
Met these two gorgeous women outside – early twenties, eating ice cream like they stepped out of some TV show. Flirted harmlessly, told them about the free weed and pizza comedy show. They didn’t believe me at first. When the dispensary guy showed up and started handing out joints, one of them said she had to “test the waters” with older white guys with big beards. Fair enough.
So naturally, I opened my set with “I know I look like a Klansman” instead of my usual Republican line. Made eye contact with her. She laughed. Small victory in a night of defeats.
The Crash and Burn
But fuck me, I bombed. Hard.
This was my first time having to pull out my phone and check my notes on stage. Lost completely. Had no visual indicator in my head to bring me back. The bit is complex – all feelings and emotions instead of stories. When I got lost, I had no road map back.
Had to stand there, phone in hand, looking like an amateur. Which I am, but still.
The Roasting Begins
Here’s the thing though – Sam, one of the other comics, roasted the shit out of me tonight. And I mean properly roasted. Called out the book, the manifesto, the whole deal. Did it respectfully, but it was a full set of just fucking with Ken.
Reminded me of my bouncer days at America’s Pub. That first night when the other guys would ice bath you to see if you’d fight or fold. Tribalism. Hazing. Testing if you belong.
I laughed along. Played the game.
Second person now who’s told me I need to say “fuck” less. First in my writing, now on stage. Starting to wonder if authenticity and effectiveness are at war with each other. Bringing Jung into this whole identity exploration is changing my perspective on some shit.
Small Wins in Big Failures
Did manage to improvise a whole bit about Waymo cars and blow jobs. “They don’t have Netflix and chill in Palo Alto, but they do have Waymo and blow” – thought it was hilarious. Audience was less convinced.
But I created it in real time. On stage. That’s something I’ve never been able to do before.
The Bigger Picture
Watching all these comics tonight – different ages, backgrounds, stories – I kept thinking about Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.” What would that song sound like about this group? All these people chasing the same impossible dream in a weed shop’s back room.
This thing is deeper than I thought. So many pathways I could take this. That’s why I’m committing to three books now. No way I can capture even a fraction of what I’m experiencing in just one.
Tonight sucked. I gave myself permission to suck because I knew I wasn’t prepared. But I learned something about adjusting bits for specific audience members. About tribal dynamics in comedy. About what happens when you step in the ring unprepared.
The game is changing. They know I’m writing a book now. I’m not just the old guy trying his hand at comedy anymore. I’m the guy documenting the whole journey.
And honestly? That makes it scarier and more exciting at the same time.
More questions than answers tonight. But that’s the point, isn’t it?
Tomorrow: Lawyers, websites, big negotiations. The business side of being Ken continues.
Thursday: Steve’s open mic. Time to rehearse this bit properly and see if I can find my way back without checking my damn phone.
