Comedy Isn't Dead, You Are

April 11, 2022 / Martin Wurst

9/10/20

The first few months I was sitting at home and I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t miss driving to all the open mics, talking shit with other comics, bombing- all the bombing. So many awkward exchanges completely dodged. I didn’t even miss being on stage. There are so many bad sets that I don’t have to watch right now. What a fucking break. I’m sure some of those comics would feel the same way about me- I don’t have to watch Wurst do his fucking act-outs, thanks Covid!

I’ve been away long enough that I’m starting to believe I can reinvent myself. Come back with all new material. Do all the weird conceptual stuff again like when I first started. Get in with the alt crew. Get invited to nerd shows. Perform for people that actually like my stupid movie references.

What does it take to be a comedian anyway? An endless stream of professional photoshoots posted on instagram. A few patreon followers? I still see that one guy that hasn’t done a set since I started in 2013, he still thinks he’s a comedian.

I’m just funny and not a lot of people know it yet right?

The mics started coming back, whether they require masks, social distancing or not, they started popping up. Some of them hush hush because it wasn’t the right thing to do. Surprise surprise, they were run by some of the worst people and attracted some of the worst people. Comedy became punk rock again.

4/10/22

I miss standup. Or maybe I just miss the camaraderie. I’m not part of the scene anymore. The train keeps passing and I want to hop on again, but then I think I don’t have to suffer like that- give up my night, wait around for hours to maybe bomb.

But I always want people to know that I’m funny. That’s what unfunny people say, I know that, but I don’t say that shit out loud. I’m the underdog. I have a unique point of view. I try things outside of the box. I do act-outs. Yeeesh. ick.

Do I finally take “Stand up comedian” off my profile? If I’ve gone a couple times last month can I still be as stage-ready as say an influencer? I don’t have the followers, but I’ve got bits baby, I could go on for a long time. I write a lot.

I didn’t go to mics for a long time after Covid. I follow the rules, I don’t take a punk rock approach to life. Not like that. Plus I had a baby. Why put the baby at risk? I get Covid, my helpless baby gets it from me and who knows what happens- he could barely stay alive on his own, let’s spare him the Covid curveball. I’d never forgive myself, it would destroy my relationship with my wife and I might think about killing myself.

I thought about death a lot when Henry was born. That may be the most shameful and horrible thing I’ve ever written, but I can’t bury this anymore. It's all selfish reasons too. Covid definitely put a crimp in my social life and I’m not special- we all went through this fucking adjustment. Sometimes I just wanted to die because I felt like I had nothing to look forward to anymore. It was that intense and I couldn’t even hang out with my wife, I didn’t know that was possible. Who could foresee something like that?

Sure, we’ll still have time to watch a show or crack jokes in bed before we go to sleep.

That was gone. I couldn’t be with my best friend. No time for intimacy. If we exchanged any words it was about Henry. So many appointments and worries.

One of us was always with Henry and when we had a moment to ourselves we had to sleep or I had to step out and doordash to unwind. My wife was done around 9pm and I would stay up until 2-3 in the morning, monitoring our son while she took a much needed rest. I’d rock him to sleep and then bottle feed him again and again. Or maybe I’d run out of milk and desperately try to get the formula going. The crying would get to me as I tried to spoon in the powder and mix it with water. He couldn’t always be soothed that way and I’d have to solve the puzzle.

My in-laws were over a lot to help out, bringing meals and giving endless support. Without them I don’t know what I would’ve done.

It’s taboo to say anything about these dark thoughts, after having a wonderful baby. It’s like parents don’t want to admit how much it can suck to discourage others from having kids because everyone should have kids right?

Fuck you.

“You’re gonna have so much material!”

The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my baby on stage. It was so hard and now I can barely remember the first 6 months. Maybe it is that survival instinct, I’ll forget everything so I can brainwash myself into having another! Couldn’t have been that bad!

I just remember what it did to me.

Burying my face in my hands, digging my nails into my head wishing I could put my fist through the flat screen or kick a hole in the wall. I’ve given up everything. My life is over. Unless this baby doesn’t survive or I leave…

I don’t have the willpower to kill myself. I just fantasized about it constantly, the different ways, which methods are less painful, the aftermath. Especially the aftermath. How Claire would discover me. I shouldn’t leave a mess. Maybe I could crawl into the neighbor’s dumpster. I can’t be around Henry. Sometimes it would bring a little tear to my eye- ooooh such sad hypotheticals goth boy, you made yourself cry!

Would my Youtube videos see a sudden spike after my death? Would anyone say, “He was so fucking funny.” I think a few of my friends would! But a comic above open mic status? Would any headliner say that? Shit, I don’t think so, I’d just get the “Marty was such a nice dude…but I wouldn’t let that guy open for me.”

Some years back I went to Arizona with a couple of comedians and I remember we were having lunch with my uncle, who generously put us up in a hotel. He singled out one of the comics I was with.

“You…you’re gonna make it.”

The rest of us felt pretty left out. Hey, we’re funny too!

It’s weird how some people want to be parents. I can’t relate to that at all. I loved my freedom. I loved taking trips at the drop of a hat. I loved doing standup and the adventures it would take me on. My wife and I could go places…just the two of us! Without bullshit! I think in the back of our minds we thought we’d still be doing the same stuff.

I took all of Henry’s crying so personally. Like my infant son hated me. I was trying to help him, find the fucking solution to his pain and he was telling me I was wrong wrong wrong and the screaming would rattle me. I’d have to put him down in the crib and walk away. I put him down really fast once and it scared him. It scared me too.

He had health issues early on, but it was manageable and Claire was doing most of the heavy lifting anyway. She made sure he got his exact medication in the morning and would be breast-feeding him all day- not to mention pumping more milk every spare moment she had. A slave to milk production. In return I’d take him to get his frequent blood draws. It was hard watching him get stuck in the arm and some of the nurses would fuck it up or make it known it was their first time. Then later he was having a lot of gastrointestinal pain and I’d hold him while he was writhing in my arms, screaming, eyes shut so hard. It’s like he didn’t even know I was there anymore, it was so painful for him. I just held him for 20-45 minutes at a time until the pain finally subsided. It was brutal.

I was a stay-at-home-dad and I had a lot of bad days, but over time it got easier. Claire would occasionally come home to a husband that had shut down completely. Any of my previous plans for the night were quickly abandoned because I couldn’t bring myself to do anything through my state of paralyzed anger. I stormed out once without explanation because talking about these feelings with my wife and staying in the apartment one more minute seemed worse. I didn’t even want to be in the same room as Henry after some days. Then to top it off we worked so hard to get Henry down for the night and then our cat Tune would start meowing the minute we shut our eyes. Or we’d hear her meowing in Henry’s room on the verge of waking him up! I had no patience for Tune when it came to our sleep. Poor kitty, all she wanted was some attention and we barely played with her for months. Now she’s passed away and I’d give anything to play with her again.

Henry would get so upset and I really thought that he hated me in those moments. I would walk away and he’d cry harder. When I came back a minute later he was so fucking jazzed to see me, tears of anger turning into chuckles of relief, it made me feel terrible… and I also felt so much love for him. He started to smile at me in the morning- he could see me from across the room. I think that’s when things shifted. Those horrible thoughts popped up less and less. He was making me laugh and he was laughing too- like he knew what he was doing to me. His eyes were so blue. Thankfully, they stayed that color. He was stoked to be taking a bath in the sink or a giant pot. He liked it when I read to him. He kicked his feet to tell me he was happy or excited. We’d communicate with growls.

There was that panic early on that maybe I wouldn’t bond with this strange little blob. I was especially afraid he would be more like his dad, highly emotional and whiny- prone to dramatic blogging. Maybe it was inevitable that I was going to love my son, but I know how all this sounds…to not express that kind of love right away, it’s a sin. To talk about death, to feel sorry for myself when it’s not supposed to be about me. To air these doubts and early feelings of regret when talking about my first born is a big no-no. What if he reads this someday?

Hey son, you kickass I just didn’t know that yet. Please forgive me.

Marty

P.S.

Screw you, it was hard.

My friends and I lost a couple of comedian friends during that first year. A funeral was the biggest social event I’d been to during the pandemic, and it was awful and great to be around so many comedians. I broke my stupid code a few times to see my buddies anyway, but I never felt good about it. I masked up for my job and just got used to it. Months and months went by without doing standup. I used to hit 5-6 mics a week.

I’m not a comedian anymore. Am I really calling this?

A lot of the working comedians I know changed their headshots over those two years. What was once a silly or happy-go-lucky headshot was upgraded to a more serious, introspective picture of themselves. I guess that’s the mark of a post-pandemic comic survivor headshot.

The lack of a creative outlet was definitely screwing with my head. I couldn’t meet up with my buddies to film, so I started filming at home with Henry. Reviewing books and movies together. We shot an episode when he was just two weeks old and it was hilarious. He looked like a mole rat just lounging on a cushion, barely moving and not blinking while I ranted about crinkle books. Later at two months old, he clearly says “Bye!” at the end of the episode. Pure magic.

We’ve been shooting every week since then and now he’s over a year old and practically walking. We’ve done over 50 episodes and it’s some of the best comedy I’ve ever produced and now I have this unique record of Henry’s growth. To think I could’ve just bombed a few hundred times instead- did I really miss out on anything? Stand up isn’t going anywhere. I mean it sort of died, but it’s kind of back, although it’s not the saaaaaame….question mark?

I’m not gonna share the title of the show that I do with my son, because that would be a plug and this entry is about poopoo feelings, so I better stick to that so you know that I’m serious.

Now the reality is that I want to be with Henry, but I want to do stand up too. I want to finish all my projects. I want to be with my wife. I want to keep up with everything. I want to have the strength to do it all. Cocaine is the one that keeps you up right?

Henry started going to bed earlier and sleeping through the night. It took a long time, but we got there. He’s a happy boy. Claire and I are watching shows again, sometimes movies. We laugh hysterically in bed over bad puns and weird misunderstandings. We’re watching the extended versions of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, that’s how far we’ve come.

But for some fucked up reason, I need people to know that I’m funny. That I have a body of work. That I know how to write. That I’m a good actor too. That’s what eats me up more than anything. Knowing I have what it takes and not going the distance. Thinking that my death could get me a few thousand pity views on Youtube is insane. I know that. But losing a few subscribers because I talked about possibly killing myself, what a bummer man.

It’s called He Said, Goo Said just subscribe to it on YouTube.

Oh and sorry Nate, it took longer than 6 months this time.