Drugs and Funny

I was listening to an interview last night between two famous comedians, Marc Maron and Jim Carey. Jim Carey’s not exactly known for his stand up, but it is the first thing he was good at, so I listened for what I could glean. He noted a dreadful truth I had learned earlier this week: it is way easier to be funny under the influence. 

Jim recounted one night outside The Comedy Store where he “found himself alone with” the Great Richard Pryor. They shared a joint. Pryor told him: “be careful with this, kid. i haven’t felt like me in 40 years.” or something like that. Basically he felt guilty that the weed (and other various substances) was producing the comedy, not him. 

What Jim said struck me because I experienced something similar on Tuesday. I went up at the Open Mic about halfway through the show (maybe peak time in terms of how full the room was) with minimal preparation and a full whiskey sour bubbling through me and received some of the hardest laughter I have felt in my life. And it wasn’t a laughing at you kind of laughter (though that’s fine… i take what i can get), it was a damn, i like this kid kind of laughter. The laughter accompanied by claps and screams that you REALLY REALLY WANT. Not the Aah, that’s cute, here’s a tense chuckle. The HOLY SHIT, THANK YOU FOR SAYING THAT kind of response. Mass catharsis, maybe. I barely remember what I said.