I Did Stand Up Comedy for the First Time in a T-Shirt That Said "(please don’t) Eat Ass" Made by my Kid
A guest post by Tori Weldon!
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Earlier this summer I was asked if I wanted to participate in an amateur fundraiser for my town's local music and arts festival, Sappyfest.
I had been asked before, and my answer was, “not a chance in hell.” At the time I had young kids at home, and I was working fulltime as a daily news reporter (radio, web and TV, baby). Every ounce of energy I had went into my family and my work. But, more than that, I remember thinking that trying to be funny in front of a crowd was my idea of hell.
This time felt different. Though I didn’t jump at the chance, I didn’t immediately say no either. Times have changed, my older kids have flown the nest and the younger ones are full blown teenagers - less of me is needed. I don’t live in survival mode anymore.
I think another factor was the absolutely outrageous experience of having a kidney stone. It came out of nowhere early this summer. With the help of medical professionals and morphine, I got through it. Afterwards, I was at a barbeque with friends and regaled them with my tale, from shamelessly puking in a packed emergency room to experiencing pain that can only be described as bonkers. I’m not a real center-of-attention kind of person, but holding the crowd for that long made me think, maybe I’m up for doing standup, I’ve got stories to tell. Or possibly I felt like surviving a kidney stone meant I could do anything?
I am currently working with Creativity Guild co-founder, Steve Pratt on a project at work. I mentioned to him that I was asked to do a live comedy set. I think anyone who knows Steve also knows, you don’t tell him about an opportunity to do something new and creative unless you want a little nudge. Within minutes of getting off the call with him I had sent this message to the event organizer:
I was in.
I lived in denial at first. I didn’t tell anyone I had agreed to do this and didn’t write a word. But, I live in Sackville, New Brunswick, population about 6000, so my secret wasn’t safe for long. Posters and posts started circulating, I had people bring it up with me. It was time to write.
After an entire day of procrastination, I sat down one evening and wrote a few pages of ‘material’. Scenarios, stupid things I’ve said and done and that time I had a live spider in my ear canal for about six hours (don’t worry, I slept through most of it). I knew if I could keep it under ten minutes and tell some stories people hadn’t heard, I’d do fine. And that’s all I was aiming for, a solid B. I just put it all on the page, then walked away.
But once I’d opened the can of worms, my brain was always working on my set somewhere in its deep recesses. I felt a little bit preoccupied, all the time.
When the day of the performance finally arrived, I got real. I sketched out where I wanted to start and I wanted to end, then kept cutting and fine tuning until I thought I was in decent shape.
That’s when I got my kids on board. They timed me, and were a good sounding board as to what worked and what didn’t.
A few hours before go time I was folding laundry and came across a white t-shirt that had a little stain on it. I gave it to my daughter and asked her to mark it somehow so I would stop wearing it, forgetting about the stain. While we workshopped my set, she made a stencil and sprayed painted her new logo on it: Eat Ass. To be polite, she added “(please don’t)” in small letters above. I don’t know exactly what she's trying to say, I’ve asked her, she said art is always open to interpretation.
As I was heading for the door she asked if I’d wear it while I performed. I figured wearing a “(please don’t) Eat Ass” shirt made by my teen daughter is a little funny, so I’d at least get one laugh. I agreed and threw the shirt in my bag.
20 minutes before show time, the place was packed. I estimate there were about 60 people there and I knew about a quarter of them. The organizers had set up a screen and speakers for people outside.
I was nervous.
Five acts in, my name was called. I put the “(please don’t) EAT ASS” t-shirt on and walked to the stage. I started by explaining who had designed the logo, and told the crowd that I was wearing it as a public service announcement, because if anyone discovered EAT ASS spray painted on their property, please don’t or not, they should come talk to me. In reality, I was only half joking because I think it's a real possibility that my daughter could take her love of mischief and graffiti to the streets. But going off script put me in the zone. Talking to the people in the room, rather than regurgitating what I’d written, helped me relax. And from there I did it. I don’t remember what exactly I said, but I didn’t freeze, I didn’t totally fuck it up. Success!
Mine was the last set before the break. I think I high-fived every person I knew on my way out the door.
I have to admit that doing something that once felt impossible was a confidence boost. I felt brave and competent. I had a strut in my step for days.
Writing and performing a set made me realize that I like writing for myself and I miss it. I am a senior producer for JAR Audio, I write a lot of podcasts that are hosted by other people. I love my job. I also love being able to write what I want and have it delivered in the way I want it.
There’s also something to be said for creativity, for creativity’s sake. It was so fun to do something just because. Sure my set was part of a fundraiser, but I could have totally bombed and no one was getting their money back. My performance had no bearing on the financial success of the event. Really, anyone who flocks to an amateur comedy night is probably there for the floundering as much as the laughs.
But in comedy and creativity, timing matters. I live in a single income household. When I work, I want to get paid for it. It’s hard to take time away from my kids if I’m not doing something that benefits us all. And this definitely did. We collaborated and they were a big part in what the final performance looked like. A few commissions have come in for Eat Ass t-shirts ($20 a pop, plus shipping, let me know), so the kids now have a side-hustle.
I’m honoured I was asked and I’m glad I accepted. I’m grateful to have the space in my life now to be able to put energy into creative endeavours. I don’t necessarily think I have a future in standup comedy, but I will definitely say yes to the next fun creative opportunity that comes my way.
Creative prompts
What is something that creatively scares you, but you’ve secretly wanted to try?
Has anything in your life changed where you can now explore some creative work or challenges that you couldn’t do in the past?
What’s the worst that could happen if you say “yes” to the next scary creative opportunity that presents itself? More importantly, what’s the best that could happen?
How would you feel afterward if you successfully did the thing that scared you?
Geoff has spent the better part of the past couple of years as one of the producers of a documentary series called “The Knowing”. It’s an extension of journalist Tanya Talaga’s new book, and tells the story of a family’s eighty-year search for the matriarch of their family and her missing children.
In an incredible bit of good fortune, it is debuting this September at TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival). If you happen to find yourself in Toronto this September we definitely encourage you to check it out. We’re 100% biased, but we are 100% sure you won’t be disappointed!
Thanks to Jamie and Colin at Byta for interviewing Steve about how to find new music in How I Listen. And here’s Steve’s favourite album pick of 2023, too - Whitehorse’s “‘I’m not crying, you’re crying”… plus the K-Tel inspired Transcanada Highwaymen album (thanks Grant Lawrence!)
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