StandUP, Ya Big Fraidy Cat!

Is there a worse job in the world for a terminally insecure person than standup comedy? You take someone who, in normal daily life, shudders at the very thought of being judged by checkout people at the supermarket for buying two pints of  Moose Tracks ice cream (Do you really need two, fat ma’am?) versus one and you throw him or her up in front of a room full of strangers. Then, you expect them to stand up and say words that they’ve written in the privacy of their own room, for the purpose of eliciting laughter (and thus more approval) from people they will most likely never see again.

On the other hand, you take the same confidence-challenged person and lo and behold, the room full of strangers actually laughs and applauds wildly! For a brief moment in that performer’s career, life is an Etch-a-Sketch and suddenly, if not temporarily, all the fear, pain, distrust, disappointment, anxiety and heartache which brought said person to said stage disappears in an emotional screen shaking; at least temporarily. Very soon thereafter, when the adrenaline wears off, all of those doubts start to creep back until the next performance and hopefully, the next healing.

The problem is you never know just which side the coin will land on. Heads, you walk off that stage...no, you float off that stage to the roar of approval, or tails, you slink off into the shadowy darkness of the bowels of the club, avoiding stares from the audience and your peers, and curse the day you ever learned to form a complete sentence. And later, on that long, dark drive back to the safety of your home, you wonder (often aloud) to yourself, what in God’s name am I doing? 

But it’s just a Jersey gig, you say. Or Wednesday. Or Shrimp night. Or some shitty bar where tomorrow night is karaoke.

“It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things”, you proclaim to invisible you sitting in the passenger seat, as you tear down the New Jersey Turnpike. But you know that it’s a lie. How you did up there matters to you and no one else because you took that leap of faith and stood up there in the first place. You have that little voice inside you that has screamed in your head over and over since you were young enough to think that you had the moxie to triumph over all of this. You are the chosen one. And while every person in that audience will have forgotten your name by the time they leave the club, you will carry that show, for good or for bad for years to come. And so you go back again and again, not looking for killer shows (although that would be nice), but consistency of performance levels.

Over time, you develop a thick hide. Most of the time, you learn to laugh off the horror nights and remember the killer sets. In that sense it’s a lot like childbirth, or so I’m told. To be honest, while I was at my birth, I don’t remember much about it. I can only imagine that it was not unlike my first marriage or being beaten on the soles of my feet with wet bamboo rods. Horrors like that definitely deserve to be forgotten. From my mother’s viewpoint however, I’m sure it was quite different. 

Fear is at the core of it all, isn’t it? Fear of failure, of pain, of success, it’s all the same. Fear can kill you, ruin you or debilitate you. Fear can chase you, catch you and ensnare you.  It can make you powerless and freeze you right where you stand. It is the bully that stands on the corner each morning as you walk to school, waiting for you. It is a wall of fire that roars in your face and dares you to test your tolerance for the pain it can inflict. All you have to do to be swallowed up by it is to give in. Once that happens, it’s all over.

Take me for instance. I live in constant fear of everything, and right now I’m frozen solid. I can’t move right or left, up or down, which is kind of weird, because suddenly, everything is going right for me. My shows have been going quite well, I’m getting bookings, and the possibility of a play about my life could actually come to reality. I’ve got everything going for me. So, why am I so petrified?

Come on Julia, don’t be a dumbass! You just stated why you’re afraid. You might actually be successful for a change and you don’t know how to handle it.

Hmmm... Interesting point, horribly nagging conscience. And what is it in particular that is causing this?

Must I do everything? Think a little won’t ya?

Well let’s see...shows are going well, blog is going well, the Comedy Test Kitchen is going well, the comedy competition is coming up...

And?

The comedy competition ...is...coming...up...must write...must compete...

That’s it isn’t it? Tell these nice people what’s going on.

Sigh. Alright, here it goes. Now you have to understand that I absolutely suck at competitions. From the time I tossed a ping-pong (age 6) in a futile effort to have it land in a tiny goldfish bowl at Palisades Amusement Park, to trying out for the football team in another vain and humiliating attempt to prove my manhood, to Star Search and Letterman, I have always seriously, undeniably, majestically and miserably crashed and burned in an awful metaphorical conflagration, the likes of which made the Hindenburg explosion seem like the pilot light on your stove.

Are you getting the picture so far? Good. Now with these images in mind will someone please tell me what in God’s name I was thinking when, after a twelve year absence from the stage, I up and entered, not just a comedy competition, but one for women only? And, not just the competition, but the professional category of that contest! Me, a sixty year old, transgendered, newly out of retirement, arthritic, lesbian comedian; what the hell was I thinking?

It was an impulse, a whim; I swear. But now that I’m entered....Oy...now that I’m entered....

Have you ever had one of those defining moments in your life? You know, the ones that scream out at you “If you walk away from this and don’t deal with it, you will carry this with you for the rest of your life like a cinderblock around your neck.” Well this is it for me. This is the time I need to decide if I am going to let fear beat me yet again.

It’s not that this contest will make or break me. I have too much skin in the game already to let a contest define me. But this is about ME letting ME break ME. This is about making friends with me for a change, and believing that win or lose, I will not shame myself under any circumstances.

It’s only May, and right now I’m quaking in my fuzzy slippers over something that won’t happen until July. Logic tells me that if I let this fear get a hold of me, they will have to carry me in on a stretcher come show time. So, there’s only one way to deal with it. I have two months to work, to write, to rehearse, and perfect my sets. I have two months to believe that I can do this. Two months to take back my life.

In the last twelve years I have allowed myself to be shamed over my decision to live the life that was in my heart and soul. There have been times when cruel words and even crueler actions have driven me to places so deep inside that I never wanted to come out. But I refused to trade one prison for another, and instead I turned to the spirits that surround me, and they lifted me up to face another day, and all the days that followed.

Ten months ago, if you had told  me I’d be back doing the thing I love to do more than anything else, I’d have laughed at you. But I’m here. I’m doing it. I’m friggin doing it!!!

You can do that too; every one of you. Tomorrow, the next day, or soon, face a fear and walk through it, all the while screaming at it with every ounce of strength you have inside. What you’ll find is that fear doesn’t exist. It never did. It’s the monster under the bed and it grows inside you if you feed it. The only way to starve fear is to deny it what it wants; your mind and your willingness to give in to it.

I will probably look at this post tomorrow and wonder what drug I was on when I wrote it. Sometimes stuff just bursts out of me like the alien in the movie, um... Alien. But I would be less than honest if I refrained from putting my truth on these pages. Some of you may think, “She should keep that stuff to herself”, but I suspect that more people than not have been held back by the same feelings which I’m going through right now. And sometimes all you need to know is that you aren’t alone or crazy in feeling the way you do about something. So, if someone reads this and it sparks them to move forward, would that just be the coolest thing in the world?

Over the next couple of months, I hope to post my progress on this endeavor from time to time, both the good and the bad. I hope you share with me some of your victories too, because sometimes it gets a little lonely around here, and I like to hear from you.

So.... onward and upward for us all! And by the way, thanks for listening. I feel better now.

That’s it. I’m done bitching. Everybody hug, everybody eat. Abbondanza! 

           

Resolve, Re-solve.

Well, I’m a little overdue, but I’ve finally made my New Year’s resolutions! Yes, I know that it’s nearly May, and believe me, I WILL NOT PROCRASTINATE is right at the very top of my list, but I take this stuff seriously and feel that it is worthy of nearly 5 months deliberation.

Okay, I lied. Procrastination is the ONLY thing on my list of resolutions. Actually, there really isn’t really a list per se, since I never got around to making one. There’s just this nagging feeling that no matter what I think about doing, somehow it will never manifest itself into word or deed.

There is a saying that reads, “Procrastination is the thief of our tomorrows”. If that is true, I should have died in 1986 because I can find a reason to put off anything.

Take writing, for instance. In 2002 I started a book about my experiences growing up around mental illness and alcoholism. By all accounts of those who read it, it was a pretty good book. I received lots of emotional support and people were asking almost weekly, “Hey, how’s the book coming along?” Of course I’d respond, “Great! It will be finished in about a year.” Of course I didn’t say which year, and the damned thing is still sitting in a file cabinet drawer with the other two books I’ve started and never finished.

And then there’s this blog, which is probably the only successful thing I’ve ever written. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put off writing it, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t wannnnnnaaa.

Well see, now that’s an interesting, insightful glimpse into the workings of my psyche that I’ve never noticed before. The adult in me wants to write constantly, simply because I love watching these things come together. It’s like figuring out who the killer is in a mystery novel, you know? And then of course there is the sense of accomplishment in seeing how many folks actually read the thing. So, that’s a positive, I guess.

But then there’s this little kid inside me-this miserable, rebellious, snotty child who resents any kind of authority. And when she feels the pressure of others to produce something, she says “fuck you, no one is going to tell me what to do”, and moves on to something else. The kid logic of course is of the I’ll show them variety; but of course I’ve only ended up hurting myself over and over again by running away.

It happened in comedy too. The minute I got successful, I got a writer’s block that rivaled the Berlin Wall in size. It got so bad that I had to run away yet again. True, the transgender part of it was an obstacle, but the truth is I could have gotten back much earlier than I did. I ran away for one reason only; I was afraid of being successful. And I’ve done it with every job, and every relationship that I have ever had.

What makes it so aggravating is that I know what the problem is. I know that I possess the innate ability to be successful, or to lose weight, or to love someone and accept their love in return. The adult in me understands it. But it’s that damned kid who can’t quite get it. And as foolish as that statement looks to me on the screen as an adult, the kid locks herself away from people time after time in order not to be hurt again. It’s a never-ending battle between ‘adult’ me and ‘The Kid’ me.

Now before you all start thinking, well, she just suffers from depression, let me stop you. I know that already. Yes it is depression and about a half dozen other things. Sometimes it’s worse than others and sometimes it is entirely manageable. Sometimes I can catch it before it goes blooey and  head it off at the pass. But it always begins as it is now; with the gnawing dissatisfaction with the way things are and an intense desire to just wish the pain away.

The truth is, I’m just afraid. The fear inside me is getting so bad, that lately, instead of procrastinating forever, I am beginning to just sever things rather than waiting to see how they work out. So, in one way, I am dealing with the procrastination issue, albeit in a negative way.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just that in old age I am realizing that I no long have the luxury of time to work through the fear. Even at this late stage in life, when success seems just within my reach, I will walk away in failure rather than face success and the problems that brings. Like an old boxer who should just stay down and take the count, I keep getting up and fighting some more in the hope that maybe this time it will be different; but it hasn’t up till this point.

Usually the pattern of defeat goes like this. I get charged up about something and plunge into it totally unprepared. It’s like getting on the famous Atlantic City Diving Horse without any training and expecting a smooth plunge with nary a ripple. And when that doesn’t happen, when I break something emotionally and don’t have that immediate success, my fears begin to take root. Sooner rather than later, I always seem to find a reason to sabotage it. And more often than not, I seem to take down the good people who believed in me as well. There is an abrogation of their trust which only serves to justify this sense of not feeling worthy of anything remotely joyous.    

See, now there’s another insight! Failure has always been a comfort for me. By laying low and staying under the radar, it was impossible for people to see me. But to succeed at anything would have meant facing people’s criticisms of my work or love.

I wonder how many people find this state of mind to be as debilitating as I do.

I’m feeling the cycle begin again, which is probably what prompted me write this. Believe me; I had originally intended this piece to be a humorous at worst and funny if possible. Sometimes though, you just have to let the fingers on the keyboard go where they want, and hope for the best. That’s the part I love about the creative process. The downside to spontaneous writing is of course this; what if you, the reader just gets fed up with my whining about childhood and fear, creative paralysis and just go watch Dancing with the Stars instead? What if all you want to read is the funny stuff and I can’t produce it today? It’s a bit manic I know, but such is the bane of the writer.

The answer to the question for whom am I writing, goes way back to the very beginning of this blog. Back in December I vowed that for once I would write for my pleasure and not my potential readers’. My hope, of course, was that you would join me and connect, and you certainly have done that beyond any expectations I had. For that I thank you. But honesty must prevail here, above all things or there is no point in writing at all. Writing for the pleasure one gets in the approval of others is just mental masturbation. And when the audience leaves, so does the pleasure. I think it is far more fulfilling for me as a writer to explore and report the reasons we do things. In the long run, it will benefit my writing and thus make future essays perhaps a bit more interesting, don’t you think?

Moving right along though, there are dozens of other resolutions I’ve made over the years that have been overturned by The Kid’s oppositional defiance, such as becoming a comedian instead of 9 to 5ing it for my entire life. Of all the things I’ve attempted and been moderately successful at, stand-up is the one that has filled gaping voids in my heart and given me great joy as well as its inverse.

Hey, an interesting thing just happened between paragraphs. I just got a phone call from a comedian friend of mine and in the course of a three minute conversation; he brought up the subject of his phobias and fears... totally unsolicited from me! How weird is that?

I guess we all have bugaboos that jump out of the darkness in disguise and try to scare us. It makes you wonder how most of us get through the day sometimes.

Maybe resolutions aren’t the way to go after all. To resolve is such an adult word and it carries the connotation of consequences for not following through on it. Besides, most of those resolutions fall by the wayside after a very short time anyway. I want something that’s going to last.

 Perhaps what I need to do is parent myself a little- you know, try to coax The Kid into growing up. I know that the rule book of life that I’ve been using is the same one I used to protect myself from the crazy that I experienced so long ago, so maybe it’s time to institute some new rules

And so what if I don’t fix myself totally? Trying to do that would be an endless task, because I would always find something new to work on. No, maybe the best thing is to just let it all unfold, not fight it and most of all not fear it. Success doesn’t have to be monetary; that isn’t it. Success, for me at least, is in seeing something through to the end, regardless of how it ends. Some stuff will work out the way I had hoped, and some won’t. But I will never know how it ends if I just walk away from it.

Okay, there’s my resolution for 2012; think stuff through and be sure you want to attempt it. And once you attempt it, don’t give up on it. Yeah, that’s one I can live with.

Tonight’s essay was necessary; for me and maybe for you too. That is my hope. Now I have to go write a comedy sketch for my Wednesday night Show, Julia Scotti’s Comedy Test Kitchen. I wonder how it will end.

That’s it. I’m done bitching. Everybody hug, everybody eat. Abbondanza!

  

   

The Neurotic Symphony

I’m having one of those nights when doubt takes a seat on my desk and just stares at me like an annoying leprechaun. He doesn’t say anything, but he has this knowing, Cheshire Cat grin on his face, as if to taunt me.

I know what the cynical bastard is thinking of course. Are you kidding Julia? Comedy? Variety shows? Really, at your age?  Come on, you’ve had your chance and you took a different road. Seriously, no one wants to see an old fart like you get up there and talk. Give it up; you’re just making a fool of yourself.

There is a part of me that believes those things you know? And believe me, they are not so deep down inside. I mean, at this point in my life I should be kicking back and watching The Big Bang Theory, occasionally commiserating with some old comic friends and reminiscing. I should be playing poker on Saturday with my girlfriends instead of jackassing up to Allentown, Pennsylvania for a gig. This blog is a labor of love (and occasionally hate), that fulfills a part of me because I know that some people actually read it. There’s a very nice lady in my life that doesn’t care if I’m transgendered, but who likes me just for me, and I think if I gave the relationship half a chance, it might actually develop into something sweet and wonderful. She’s funny and smart, and we both get orgasmic for pizza.  I run a small, but growing business that is just now starting to turn a profit. Wonderful stuff, isn’t it?  But all of it is being sidelined because of this comedy thing. And the question that pops up over and over again is, why? Why do I feel that I should have a different life than the one I have? I should be complete by now, shouldn’t I?

But I’m not. I’m as restless as a ferret on speed all the time. I dart around dipping my hand into everything, just to taste it all, hoping to find the replacement for performing. But it never comes. Always...ALWAYS, that little green son of a bitchin’ leprechaun is giving me that stupid, idiotic smirk of his. And right now he is doing all he can to contain himself and not bust a gut laughing at me. He knows what I’m thinking; could he be right about me being too old and it being too late to start again? Why am I doing this?

This is all about unfinished business, I think. My departure from comedy was sudden and abrupt. There was no tearful goodbye, no final show. I just dropped out of sight. What I couldn’t do was drop comedy out of my mind. And that’s why this mother-effer is here.

No... WAIT! That’s a lie. It isn’t about unfinished business. That’s bullshit. This is about more than that. The truth is that I’m five months away from my 60^th birthday and it’s eating me up. This is about mortality and the realization of it. It’s ALL about the mistakes I’ve made and time wasted trying to undo them. It’s knowing that in the past, I always had decades left to change things. Old age was for other people, but not me; I was immortal!

 This feeling is also about the loss of people in my life that aches more now than it did when I came out to them. It’s about the time I’ve lost with those people that I will never, ever get back. And every now and again, it’s about the wondering of what life would have been like had I not listened to my heart and stayed a man.

Unfinished business, humph. Who EVER knows when their time is up? How dare I presume to be different, and think that I have special dispensation to plan business to be finished at a date to be announced?

Maybe this is what fear feels like. I’ve seen fearful people and they acted just like this. My father and mother were fearful and didn’t deal well with it. One drifted away into a bottle and the other became a recluse because of it. Am I destined to follow in their footsteps? Fucking leprechaun, that’s what you are! Not doubt, but FEAR. Don’t dream, Julia. Hopes and dreams are for the young. Why bother? You don’t have the time to dream. You should be preparing your nest, slowing down, taking it easy. Why, starting something new now is only going to end in disappointment, you know that. So just relax. You know you want to, don’t you?

NO! I don’t want to. My body may be falling apart, but my mind is sharp. I can still think and if I can think, I can imagine. If I can imagine, then I should be able to manifest anything.  Age is somebody else’s problem, not mine. Fuck you leprechaun! Just Fuck You!!!!

Still, the idea of relaxing is appealing. No. If I quit, I become like these old people I see who walk around all day with nothing to do but walk around. I want to make something, build something, and create something. And I want to do it until I can’t do it anymore. 

Still, I could focus on my business. That’s creating something, isn’t it? It’s not the same! All around my universe, words swirl about, like stars. It’s my dream to just pluck them from my mind, and put them together in ways that teach and make people laugh at the same time. That’s what it’s all about for me! That’s what jazzes me up! Why can’t I still do that and keep my business going? Why should I have to give up one for the other?

Still, it IS all going to end one day. Why bother to start? Because it’s not my day today! I don’t know when my day is. And even if it’s five minutes from now, I don’t want my last thought to be a fearful one. No! Fuck you leprechaun!

“My, you do say NO a lot, don’t you?”

What are you talking about, you little green pain-in-the-ass?

“Why you , ducks, of course. Don’t you hear yourself? You say no to EVERYTHING; No to old age, to comedy, to your lady friend, the show, all of it. You’re a regular rebel without a cause. Tell me... What do you ever say YES to?”

I say yes to plenty of things!

“Really ducks? Like what? Denial? Sabotage? Pain? Failure?

Those are things I’m comfortable with. It’s what I know best.

“Well love, that’s why you’re so miserable, don’t ya see? Look at ya...you who gets all puffed up like a big ole blowfish, braggin about how you take all these chances. Why you’re nothing but a big old coward, ya are!

Hey shut up, okay? I have enough on my mind. I don’t need you to sit there all night saying nothing, and when you finally decide to speak, you spout all this happy horseshit. But...I didn’t mean to interrupt you. So, if you have something to say...well go ahead and say it. Exactly why am I a coward?

“Well that’s easy love. You fight everything so that it doesn’t hurt you. There’s no risk in that. And there’s no winning that fight either. Sooner or later it all gets you, and there’s not thing one you can do about it. You talked about being a fearful person; well you are! You’re afraid of success, so you hide under the blanket of failure. Why don’t you try accepting it all for a change? Enjoy it. Laugh at it, like I do. Don’t you worry about how it all turns out because I’m here to tell you...  it turns out the same way for everyone...you die in the end!”

Okay, okay, I get your point. Obviously, my way hasn’t worked up until now. Maybe I should think about success for a change. But it won’t be easy. I’ve had a long time to cultivate my misery, you know.

“Don’t worry about a thing love. If you slip, I’ll be here for you.”

Smiling?

“Of course!”

I hate you.

“No you don’t. You love me.”

No.

“Again with the no? I though we discussed that? Now come on...”

Okay. Maybe I love you a little bit. You are me, after all aren’t you?

“YES!”

That’s it. I’m done bitching. Everybody hug, everybody eat! Abbondanza!