Musing on Comedy

In the midst of a lousy economy and global suffering, it's hard to decide whether one should laugh or cry. I did the former at the New York Comedy Club on February 1.



For eleven dollars (a $5 cover charge and a $5 Sprite, plus $1 tip), I saw more than a dozen performers test their material over a two-hour period. Jeff Lawrence kicked things off by mining his dysfunctional family for laughs, while Andy Barnett -- who bore a physical resemblance to Jerry Seinfeld -- found humor in male-female relationships. As for the ladies, Lisa Haim scored laughs with her impersonation of an Indian woman at a call center, and Wendy closed the show with a dig at Tiger Woods.

Most of these comedians weren't "ready for prime time," but I was impressed with David Baker's routine, which touched on the possibility of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad being gay. I also enjoyed Buddy Flip's act, which involved ad-libbing jokes at the expense of three men in the audience. (He also doubled as the venue's bartender.) But the best part of the show was the audience interaction, which served as encouragement -- especially when it came to tossing fur balls at bad jokes.

Since I was the only Black female in the dimly lit room -- which consisted of less than 25 people, the majority of whom were performers -- there was no way I could avoid being a comic foil. When the host joked about Jay-Z sitting at the next table and how I must be Beyoncé, I reminded everyone that unlike the singer, my hair was real. I also had a nice comeback for another comedian whose joke about oral sex didn't come out right.



I applaud the comedians for their courage, for humor is subjective. I wish them well as they embark on their search for laughs.