One of my favorite past times is wiggling through the creeps, ego and crud to share open conversation with the brave souls who’ve sold it all to become big on the storefront of commercial success. A lot is learned when you yank the switch from the wall that heats the stage lights giving them no reason to feel as if they’ve got to fake the baked in smile and or perform anything more than the presence of their real self.
Got firmly locked into a halo of openness with one of our nations leading funny men…a jovial being with more rasp in his voice than thirty years of smoking and sucking on whiskey allow—eyes blazingly red with barely enough white to resemble snow covered thoughts, fingers shaking from an all night haul from Nashville, clothing ripped at the collar and completely oversized for better comfort and a passion to perform at anytime of the morning was easily spotted in the yellowing of his aging skin, a ray of light for all those dark nights.
“When are you going to write a book?” I gently questioned the genius of comedy.
“People don’t read funny lines anymore…” he returned as if to have already answered the question ten thousand times before.
“Not that kind of book, “my interruption ricocheted off his lazy self scripted reply, “I’m talking about penning out pages fed by the veins you fight to keep up. I want to know what you see, feel and hear two seconds before your name reverberates through the biggest, tiniest and nastiest night spots on earth.”
Within seconds the cold early morning lobby to which we stood came to life with not one but several well respected visionaries of comedy…without a doubt I was welcomed into a circle of writers, performers, hell bent madness and foolish creations addicted to a life and style aimed not necessarily at lining their pockets with gold but inspiring people they don’t know into a world where its one hundred percent ok to let go.
“I’m amazed at how many people pray before going on stage,” one comedian broke in, “Some walk around outside yelling at the top of their lungs, it helps them reach a level of performance that requires a nightly removal of a three mile high mountain made of granite.”
Relating is extremely important to me. I don’t want your job; I need to hear what you do to get the job done right. People constantly speak of being shoved into spaces barely big enough to suck down a lung full of air…influenced by their reaction to call it quits, I’m drawn to their nearby decision to walk for no reason other than to recognize the feeling.
In my new book Another 1,021 Thoughts no ink is wasted when vividly explaining comedy is a single level about a figment of your imagination: it is the end result of something you relate with, the reaction shoots from the stomach as it unexpectedly forces out energy by stealing everything that resembles oxygen and puts it through your system like Red Bull attacking your dull day.
If you can’t relate you don’t laugh. If you don’t laugh you walk through this journey hating life. So what keeps you from relating?
An incredibly close friend looked at me during a funeral this past Sunday evening and seriously questioned, “Is it ok to start joking around about your heart attack?”
“I hope you do,” was my return.
It served as a release for him during a time where all that once made up his family foundation has become cracked and crumbled like most chapters born than forgotten during our mellow dramatic history.
Another man stepped up to me last night laughing in public, “I fully understood my first one…but the second one came from out of nowhere. I woke up with my son next to me. You should’ve seen his face. His old man was lying there on the ground and he looked like a giant bug whose eyes were larger than an October moonrise. I kept thinking to myself, somebody put on CCR Bad Moon Rising!”
By means of relating we’re giving ourselves permission to help deal.
The funniest man I know is my brother Teddy whose everyday living since birth has been challenged by what most would call far from perfect. His path toward the horizon constantly inspires me because through his eyes he may see a reflection in the mirror but in his heart there’s nothing wrong. Wouldn’t it be great to experience that sort of peace?
Another lesson I’ve learned from him is to walk forward and smile every step of the way. Just because doctors and other medical officials have documented things on once living trees about there not being something right doesn’t legally gift a person with permission to stop living, look both ways for cars and trucks then step off the sidewalk and cross the street safely. Every now and then a cute fuzzy puppy makes it there before you; rather than complain, clean it up or step over it.
My apple tree in the front yard has no leaves but its branches aren’t snappy which means it’s still alive and kicking. The average Joe would cut it down and toss it out in the street…I’m the freak who never stops thinking about those living beneath the dirt. What if a worm cuddles up to its roots late into the night and dreams of one day locating a bright red apple to devour? A leafless summer tree allows me to see bright red Cardinals better.
Then again, the apple tree could be showcasing a shade or shadow of confidence, “Look at me! I’m bald and beautiful!”
There is no comedy unless you relate. Without laughter life isn’t fun.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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