Moving Scenes: Arizona

In the 10 years I’ve been pursuing stand up comedy, I’ve lived in four states. I started in Massachusetts where I grew up and went to college. I continued in Arizona where I moved for my first (real) job promotion. I returned to New England buying a house in New Hampshire because teachers can’t afford Massachusetts. Now I’m in Florida because I’m a 33-year-old man with daddy issues. I’ve enjoyed not staying in one place too long and I’d put money on me moving again at some point in the future. With each move, however, came the same challenge of integrating yourself into a new comedy scene.

Comedy scenes exist in just about any area that has a bar with a karaoke night. In any population where there’s an opportunity to speak insane thoughts into a microphone, you’ll find local comics taking turns running weekly open mics. Every scene has a couple delusional narcissists, and a larger group that judges them because they lack the self-awareness to realize they’re the same. To look at a group of bar patrons enjoying their night and think, “You know what would make EVERYONE’S night better? If EVERYONE paid attention to ME!” there has to be SOME level of narcissistic delusion involved.

The first big move for me was leaving the Boston comedy scene for Phoenix, AZ. By the time I left Massachusetts I was a regular at open mics with a solid 15 minute act for occasional paid opening spots. Hitting an open mic was one of my top priorities when I got to Phoenix. I had researched a few different comedy scenes and decided Phoenix had a perfect balance of a strong local show/open mic scene, and legit comedy clubs to strive towards. Although I’d probably look back at my tapes from that year and cringe, it was exciting to be a new face in a new scene with at least some experience under my belt.

Within two years I was hosting the Tempe Improv and Stand Up Live about once a month. That’s when the ups and downs began to feel extreme. The difference between a good week of open mics and a bad week of open mics was never significant. Good or bad it was practice, the comedy equivalent of going to the gym for sparring. But working weekends at the club and making a few hundred bucks at a time… that was the comedy equivalent of opening up a PPV fight night. That was literally living the dream. The difference between THAT and a bad week of open mics was devastating.

I would try to remind myself to be grateful because so many people don’t ever get that awesome experience. There was always this fear that the last one would actually be THE last one. If a month went by without another opportunity I would start to panic. I hit a point during one of these lows where I was literally in tears thinking I should stop doing this, it’s not good for my mental health, I’m not any good, etc. All the negative self talk of an Adam Sandler character. Then my phone rings.

I didn’t have the number saved but I had a feeling it was important. It was Stand Up Live calling on a Tuesday because Nate Bargatze was coming in on Thursday and wanted a clean host.

“Can you work clean?” asked Stand Up Live.

“Yes!” I lied.

I spent the next 48 hours carefully going through my act rewriting any unnecessary cursing, taking out bits that were dirty, replacing them with newer bits I could keep clean. Thursday night went just okay. I’ll never forget Casey Currier, the manager and booker at the time, coming into the green room after my set while the feature, Brian Bates, was on stage. With Nate Bargatze sitting right there, Casey came in like my little league coach. He was breaking down my set pointing out what would work better here and there, giving me very solid practical advice which in comedy is not always easy to communicate. He dabbed me up and told me it was good, but that tomorrow would be great!

As soon as he left , it was just Nate and I in the green room, Nate leaned in and goes, “Hey, just so you know, nobody does that. I’ve never seen a club manager care how the host did let alone give him advice like that during the show. That was awesome! Don’t expect it everywhere.” I’m definitely paraphrasing, but that was his message and it stuck with me. I still recall Casey’s feedback from that night when I’m preparing for a big show today. I also highly recommend comics go through their act and try to make it clean. Even if you never use it, it’s a great writing exercise that will help you see your act in a different light.

We had six shows that weekend, and the next five were significantly better than the first. I put Casey’s advice to use. I tried my best to act normal and not be weird around Nate. I think it went well because after the last show we drank at Copper Blues until about 3am! At one point during the night I got to have one more one-on-one with Nate about comedy, and this one struck a chord because it raised a question I still think about today. Again paraphrasing, Nate said, “If you want to do this for real, you have to be obsessed with it! If all you want to do with this is have a few fun weekends here and there, and make a little money on the side, then that’s great. But if you want to go for it you need to be obsessed with it!”

Then, my wife walked back in with some drinks, and Nate continued, “And she’s just… gonna have to deal with it.”

Eventually we moved back to New England because rent was going up, teacher pay was not, and it was so expensive to travel from Phoenix to Boston to visit family. The next couple years was strange. I was starting to get booked again slowly but surely through 2019. Mostly North of Boston because I wasn’t driving into the city as much as when I first started. It felt like as soon as I got traction, Covid hit. I didn’t do many shows the next year. I started streaming video games because I didn’t know how else to stay busy without comedy in my life.

I was teaching remotely at the time, so my gamer set up was the perfect place to work. During remote Parent-Teacher Conferences, I had a crazy small world moment! One of the parents was a local headliner whom I had seen at shows named Robbie Printz. I asked if I could chat with him one on one after our conferences and reminded him who I was and how we met. That unexpected connection got me back on stage. A club named Zingers in New Hampshire was hosting a remote comedy show that was broadcast from their actual stage. It was a huge step up from the at home Zoom shows many had put on. They had big TV’s facing the stage so you could see the audience. I became obsessed again.

How far do I want to take this? Do I actually want this to be my career or do I just want it to be a fun side hustle? These are the questions I’m debating in my head when I stare off into space. I still go back and forth on it, which I think is healthy. As long as I’m continuing to move forward and taking care of my present situation, I think it’s wise to constantly evaluate the dream you’re chasing. My good friend Alex Giampapa once told me, “You have to love it more than you hate it.” A motto from his college wrestling days that he applies to the comedy grind as well. I still love the highest highs more than the lowest lows, so I’m still going.

Day Jobs

Many people view the day job as the ankle weight of their creative pursuit. The things that’s slowing them down. They know they would be more successful by now if they didn’t have that pesky day job to worry about. On paper it makes sense. You only have so much energy in a day, and your day job forces you to spend it on something that isn’t directly serving your dream. In the beginning, however, the day job creates more opportunities than it takes.

I remember starting out in the open mic scene around Boston. Many nights ended with comics having some drinks and imagining how far they’ll go with comedy in the future. Back then I had never even been to a legit comedy club. I didn’t know the standard operating procedures of a host, a feature, and a headliner. I knew you didn’t go from five minutes at a bar’s open mic night to a Netflix special, but I hadn’t learned any of the steps in between. So any dreams about success shared out loud over drinks after the open mic were spoken with total ignorance.

Inevitably, these whimsical conversations about how we’re all going to make it were cut short by reality. Someone would bring up bills, rent, their back up plan, and their current day job. This was 2013-2014, so Gary V. wasn’t dominating my Facebook page calling me a pussy and telling me to just go for it. I was terrified of not having a back up plan. I was already embarrassed for any future version of myself who tried and failed. Other comics were ready to live in their car and do it full-time already for no money, certain that their big break would come sooner or later. I stuck with the day job, working in schools by day and telling jokes by night for a decade.

Comedy became a part-time job, but a full-time plan. I knew it was where I was going, but the reality was that I wasn’t there yet. Many of the open mic’ers who went all-in burned out within a year. The day job, on top of providing some stability and allowing me to afford a car to get to gigs, became a source of material that helped me relate real audience members. I’ve lost this paraphrased quote to the years, but early on I recall an interview with a comedian that basically said ‘Live your life. Don’t just bury yourself in the comedy scene because then you’ll have nothing relatable to talk about.’ The day jobs I’ve had over the years gave me a lot of relatable material to work with as I developed the mechanics of being a comedian.

As years went on and the money for shows became more, and more frequent, I started to entertain the idea of quitting the day job. I’ll never forget having the opportunity to participate in a Q & A with my favorite musician, Frank Turner. It was a premier for a documentary called GET BETTER that captured Frank’s journey as he worked on his newest album. After a showing of the documentary, Frank Turner and filmmaker Ben Morse sat down to take questions from the audience.

When my turn came I had my phone recording the audio as I explained, “I’m a comedian,”

To which Frank replied “God bless you!” getting him bigger laughs than I was used to.

“I’m also a teacher,” I continued.

To which Frank replied “God bless you even more!” getting him even bigger laughs than I’m used to.

I went on to ask him about his even earlier days than the documentary covered, and to speak a little about what it was like making the decision to dive into music full-time. Aside from a dreary quote about Mount Everest being the early grave for once highly motivated people, Frank offered very real and practical insight to such a decision. He recalled being asked similar questions from other musicians, almost as if they wanted his blessing or permission to take the risk, but it isn’t something other people can decide for you. He remembered the countless jobs he worked to fund his early career, warning that before you dive into the arts you have to remember that there are plenty of people talented enough who tried really hard and didn’t get the opportunities. In the end, he advised that he personally would rather crash and burn than to wonder what if, and luckily it went pretty well for him.

I left this interaction knowing that one day I’d take that jump, but I wouldn’t say I’ll never look back. I have hit many milestones over the years, and I have a few more attainable and realistic goals to reach. As I check them off I reassess how far I’ve come and how much further I want to go in the next year, and I set new goals. Until my calendar is full every weekend with high paying gigs, there’s always room for me to hustle something on the side to keep money coming in.

Over the years I listened to the audio recording from the Frank Turner Q & A to remind myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. Tragically, I upgraded my phone without backing up my audio notes and lost that recording. I literally cried when I went to listen to it and realized it was gone. But the message was received and I follow it to this day.

First Booked Show

It was just under one year after my first open mic that I scored a paid gig. A great New England headliner, Mark Scalia, had seen me at some mics and offered me the opening spot at a show he was booking for the Polish-American Club in Gardner, MA. I would be doing 10 minutes for the very first time, sort of…

Rewind a couple months prior to this when a CRAZY opportunity fell into my lap way too soon! I was months into open mic comedy when a friend and co-worker told me that there was a fundraiser in her father’s name at Laugh Boston, the premier comedy club in Boston. She wanted me to do a spot on the show! I had 5 minutes I really liked, and the OTHER 5 minutes that was NOT ready. But that didn’t matter because EVERY show I’ve EVER done has been 5 minutes or less for everybody, so OBVIOUSLY this would be no different.

It was different.

Paul Elwell, great comic, was hosting. You’re Nick? I’m told you’re pretty new, so you’re just doing 10. You good with that?

“I’m actually only comfortable doing 5 if that’s okay? This is my first show that isn’t an open mic so I’d rather keep it tight.” That’s what I should have said.

Yeah, no problem!

Turns out…problem.

Not only did I completely mess up the jokes that weren’t ready, but messing those up made me feel so flustered it was like my first time all over again. I completely blanked, but this time I actually had material that I had been practicing. So instead of rambling about whatever off the top of my head like the first show, I desperately tried to remember the practiced material while my heart was beating through my chest. I very awkwardly scurried off stage, but not before forgetting Paul Elwell’s last name.

Forgetting the host’s last name isn’t a big deal, I could have just said Let’s give it back to Paul everybody! But it was too late for that because before I realized that I didn’t remember Paul’s last name I said Give it up for your host Paul… and I said Paul with such an inflection that OBVIOUSLY I’m about to say his full name. Give it up for your host, Paul… Paul everybody, you know Paul… By the third Paul, Paul had already taken the mic out of my hand! My apologies to Paul, Laugh Boston, and all families affected by my inexperience 10 years ago!

With the Paul fiasco fresh in mind, I was determined to not only have a well timed out 10 minute act for my first paid gig, I also practiced Mark’s last name as much as I did my own jokes. (Only to hear Mark say his own last name completely differently about a year later, which he then explained to me he does on purpose to fuck with people). I had my jokes ready, my timing down, Mark’s fake last name locked and loaded.

As an Italian-American kid performing for the Polish-American Club I wrote a terrible one-off joke to open that I still remember…

What do you call a Polish gangster?

Well, we surveyed 100 people to figure it out. It was a Pollster.

It’s okay to groan. They did! Despite that lame opening line I had a very good 10 minute set. I’ll never forget watching Paul Landwehr, the feature act, go up next and ABSOLUTELY MURDER for 30 minutes straight. I invited him outside after for a quick smoke, and the whole walk to the car I’m thinking about all these questions I want to ask him about comedy and how to get better like him. Before I turned around to ask him anything, he goes Man! How do you look so confident up there?

Still don’t know how to answer that one because I wasn’t confident back then and I still have nothing I could teach Paul Landwehr about comedy! I love that memory because it started the process of learning how to find paid gigs and I got network with Mark who would go on to book me more. I would show up to other booked shows over the years and find out I’m opening for Mark or Paul and I’d remember that night and feel really good about how much progress I’d made since then.

How It Started

That seems to be the first question asked by interested people. How did you get started? It always feels like there’s a part of them that’s entertaining the idea of trying it out for themselves. If stand-up comedy is something you’ve ever wondered about doing, I strongly recommend giving it a shot! It’s one of the most accessible dreams you could possibly have, so why not give it a try. Worst case scenario is public humiliation, which we’re all likely to experience someday anyway.

I got my start in stand-up comedy right out of college. I graduated UMass Lowell as a Creative Writing major, and I was hard at work writing REALLY PROFOUND nonfiction filled with all of the wisdom a 23-year-old boy could possibly bestow upon readers. Overwhelmed by the long-form writing process and embarrassed by how little life experience I had to offer, I was looking for a way to use my writing with more immediate feedback. Bill Burr was playing in the background while I stared at my cluttered Word document, so I started searching up open mics in Boston.

The first time I went to an open mic I did not perform. I sat in the crowd and watched over 3 hours of open mic comedy at the Middle East in Cambridge, MA. If you’re looking for a fun date night, I do NOT recommend 3 hours of open mic comedy. BUT if you’re interested in trying stand-up comedy, then I HIGHLY recommend it. I left that night confidently reminding myself, I would NOT have been the worst one! I was right, but that doesn’t mean I’d be good…

I spent the next week writing awful bits about God knows what, feeling super prepared and overly confident for my 5 minutes of glory. I went up on stage for the very first at the MidEastCorn Open Mic and I… completely forgot everything I’d written. I felt so confident right up until the moment I turned to face the audience. Their eyes hit me like the flashy thingy from Men In Black. I could not tell you a single thing I actually said, but I kept talking until they flashed the one minute warning light. I recall a few pockets of laughter, which was just enough encouragement to try again.

I was so surprised how much adrenaline I felt. My heart was racing as I walked off stage like I was exiting a boxing ring, but instead of the knockout I was hoping for it was a split decision win that I didn’t deserve. For the first year I would write everyday and get on stage at least a few nights a week. I focused on feeling more comfortable, remembering what I wrote and why it’s funny, and putting together two separate 5 minute acts.

There’s no right or wrong way to do this and what works for me might not work for you. However you decide to do it, just go do it! I’ve lived many places over the last 10 years, and there’s an open mic comedy scene damn near anywhere! I used to go to a karaoke night and ask for 5 minutes of jokes instead of signing! There’s opportunity to try this shit for free, and if you get good enough then you can worry about making money at it later. Good luck!

Nick Giasullo and NAG Comedy are NOT legally responsible if you take this advice and ruin your entire life in the pursuit of stand-up comedy.