Matt Little on WFMU’s 7 Second Delay Live!

First off, I did not even get a callback this year, after getting one the year before, after not getting one the first year I auditioned.

And I’m perfectly okay with it. I was very happy with my audition; I thought I did great. I went in wanting to do two things: focus on the first three lines of my scene, and expand my world from there, and make my scene partner look good. I think I did both. I know I did the first one, and my second scene partner, who I did not know, complimented me in ways that made me feel like I accomplished my second goal.

I went in and pleased the most important person I have to please – myself. So I didn’t succeed in an audition. That just means that I have one more thing in common with every person I look up to in comedy.

Last year, I was super-stressed about how my callback went, and it was all because I didn’t perform in a way that I was happy with. Instead I played from a place of nervousness and uncertainty, and that’s not me. I felt like I let myself down, and questioned my talents as an improviser.

This year, I am not letting this setback question my abilities. I’ve heard TOO MANY TIMES, from TOO MANY PEOPLE, including decision makers at UCB, that I am GOOD. VERY GOOD at this. I’m also a member of a team that I am consistently told is a favorite of LOTS of people (Thank You, Robot, if you do not know). And I’m going to ignore all that because TWO scenes didn’t make 4 people laugh as much as I hoped they would?

Let’s break down the actual stats of the first round process at UCB from this year – there were 470 people who were eligible to audition and did. Of those, we know that there will be 64 callbacks. That is a 14% chance of making it to the next round, ASSUMING that you have two good scenes at the RIGHT EXACT TIME on the RIGHT EXACT DAY. You could have an awesome set right before your audition, and then have two crap scenes in the room. That’s the danger and excitement of improv – we don’t know what is going to happen on stage. FURTHERMORE, if you are part of that lucky 14% that advances to the next round of auditioning, there are only going to be, what, 16-20 spots open? And that’s probably being generous most years. You still have to have another GREAT SET at the EXACT RIGHT TIME OF DAY on the EXACT RIGHT DAY. Again, you could be dominating a stage at The Creek, then go to your audition and have a shaky set. We all have good and bad sets; it’s science. But do you understand how much the odds are stacked against EVERYONE that walks in there?

I don’t want to sound like I question the process they have in place, because I don’t. This is the MOST democratic way they could possibly judge talent for Harold night, given how large the community has become.

UCB is a high-profile stage, with a fun community surrounding it. But they created that by venturing out and doing their own thing. It wasn’t always an institution. You can do that too. I know you can because my improv team did it. We started our own show, and MADE ourselves a weekend team. Sure it’s only 2 Fridays a month, but it’s still a great time.

I’m not saying “get over it,” because that’s a little insensitive. Sure, it stings, it’s rejection. But don’t STEW in it. Don’t let yourself think you suck because of this process. Don’t dismiss every compliment you’ve been given by friends and colleagues. You are great! Use that knowledge to push yourself to MAKE THINGS HAPPEN FOR YOU. Go start a team and have some fun doing improv on your own. If you’re on a team, start your own show – THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A BETTER TIME FOR INDEPENDENT IMPROV IN NEW YORK CITY. Treat your show like it’s the best way that performers and audience alike could spend their time, then MAKE THAT TRUE. Try to get it listed in major event publications like Time Out, or The Onion. Scramble to get press. Tape your shows and put them online. Sure, there’s more work involved in doing it on your own, and it’s a tough process, but HONEST TO GOD, that’s only going to make you better at all aspects of showbiz. Plus, a few years from now when you have more important live shows where other people take over the (UGH!) marketing duties, and something should go wrong, you’ll know how to help fix it. Take control of your career.

Don’t be a target. Targets are sedentary; they sit and wait for things to happen to them. Be a weapon. Weapons are active; they move, they seek out what they want, and they attack it.

Be a weapon.

PS – if you go to Harold night after this, PLEASE don’t judge new performers as to whether or not you’re better than them. That’s the first step down the path of bitterness, and you don’t want to be that person. The fact that they’re on a Harold team and you are not has nothing to do with them. Instead, try to be happy that they accomplished a goal that you also hoped to accomplish, because then people are more likely to feel that way when it happens for you. Love breeds love.

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

Each day this week I will be talking about a different member of the group, and why I love them as performers. Today: John Robert Wilson.

JR is, in my mind, a wildcard, and I mean that in the best way possible.

JR posing as his character from UCBW. In his head is only one word – “GAMECUBE!”

When people say ‘wildcard’ in improv, they often use it with a negative connotation, and I think that may be because often people who play wildly can’t back it up. The reason their crazy, hilarious idea or character is often found wanting is because that person doesn’t have the skills to keep it focused. Not JR. He creates stuff out of left field, because he initiates first, then lets his mind catch up to what he’s doing. He trusts himself that he can deliver on whatever he’s promised the audience in that first or second line, and he’s right to do so, because he can.

He also is never NOT having fun on stage. He will make himself Swamp Thing in a scene, just because. He revels in the idea that you can create anything in improv as long as you sell it, which is why you will often see him as some type of mad scientist, wizard, mythological monster, or…well, Swamp Thing. It’s infectious and exciting. So often, we get bogged down by all the notes and instruction we’re given and forget that this is supposed to be fun. JR reminds me of that all the time.

Even though he always has fun, JR is also dedicated to working hard at improving. I believe that performing is fun, but it’s much more fun when you’re GOOD AT IT, and I know JR feels the same way. When we practice, he’s usually the first person to volunteer for whatever exercise we’re doing, even if we’ve never seen it before. Even during practices where we all feel like we’re failures as performers, JR is still the first one to bounce back and try again. That also goes a long way towards keeping me out of my own head, which is where I often find myself if I am not sleeping and am still breathing.

The guy is also one of the best straight men I’ve worked with. When he plays straight man, he’s hilariously unflappable. Once in a scene, he was, apropos of little else in the scene, accused of hoarding hobgoblins in his basement. His reaction was, dead faced, “guilty as charged.” He then launched into his sane reasoning for doing so, which made enough sense that I wanted to get a basement and some hobgoblins later.

If I had to sum him up in three words, they’d be: wildcard, fun, dedicated.

If I had to sum him up in three songs, they’d be these (right click to save):
The Rentals – Waiting
Lo-Fidelity Allstars – Cattleprod
Das Racist – Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell (Wallpaper. RMX)

Visit JR on the web:
www.johnrobertwilson.com

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

Each day this week I will be talking about a different member of the group, and why I love them as performers. Today: Jeremy Bent.

I will posit this: the only reason Jeremy Bent hasn’t taken over the world is either because it’s not worth it to him, or he is just that benevolent.

Jeremy (front) rocking “Brandy” by Looking Glass, backed by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. For reals! He was so good, Ted kicked himself out of the band, and they’re now known as Jeremy Leo and the Pharmacists.

He’s also great at tying our insanity together. Where we’re a bunch of flapping walruses onstage, silently panicking about what we’re doing, he pulls it together with one line. Jeremy sees the logic in whatever is happening, and grounds it in a way that doesn’t take the fun out of what is happening, but instead makes it more relatable, and thus, more interesting.

For as logical as he can play, he also knows how to make a scene explode right out of the gate. His initiations are always clear, dynamic, fun, and exciting. When he steps out and starts a scene with someone else, I find myself cursing the fact that I’m not in that scene, because it looks like so much damn, simple fun. He once started a scene, where someone else came out holding their arm, by revving a chainsaw and saying “that’s why they call me Dr. Chainsaw!” I was squatting in the corner, out of breath from laughter. I know that’s a “you had to be there” moment, but goddamn, I’m glad I’m there any time he performs.

If I had to sum him up in three words, they’d be: brilliant, kinetic, exciting.

If I had to sum him up in three songs, they’d be these (right click to save):
Julian Casablancas – Out of the Blue
Ted Leo – Me And Mia
Talking Heads – Lifetime Piling Up

Visit Jeremy on the web:
goodsongsbadlyrics.tumblr.com

First off, I will finish the story about doing comedy that I started last May. For someone who seems to have no problem getting on stage and whooping like a fool in a rainstorm (in some alternate reality, that was a famous olde tymey saying), I get self-conscious about indulging my own work in that manner. But I will finish what I started!

So! 2010. It’s not even 60 days old and it’s already a better year than last. To say 2009 was the worst year of my life is a disservice to understatement. The understater making that remark would be fired for not working up to his own potential.

While I am a comedian, writer, etc, I still have to hold down a day job to help keep a roof over 3 heads – mine, my ladyfriend’s, and Henry Madison, the intense humping rabbit. However, I lost my job last year the DAY before I went on my first real vacation since becoming an adult (I took the online course to do that; got my certificate in 2005). I never realized how much stress and depression not bringing in money can put on a person. I spent 9 plus months of 2009 sitting on my couch without a job. It hurt A LOT. People trying to get in to the entertainment industry often times have to take jobs they don’t want to support themselves, and it’s tough to deal with the notion that jobs that you don’t want actually don’t want YOU.

I correlated my depression with the amount of squish that has happened to the middle cushion on our couch – the further I sank into the couch, the more I hated everything. It was awful. It winds up coloring everything else you do. At one point, I went to Six Flags on a weekday with some friends. It was an awesome time, but I spent the whole day thinking about how I was a deadbeat without income, and I’m spending the bit of unemployment money I had saved to be at an amusement park when my talents could have been used elsewhere. In reality, I’m at one of the most fun places on Earth; in my head, I’m already punishing myself for having fun.

Then, I lost my dad.

It was sudden, it was out of the blue, and after a few days of lying in a hospital bed, we had to pull the plug on him. It was (and probably will continue to be) one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever had to make. I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my dad, but the second he was gone I realized I lost something that I will never have again. Even when we were butting heads, or arguing over dumb shit, I knew he still believed in me. Often times, I think he believed in me more than I believe in myself. That type of energy is strong, even if it’s unspoken. You feel it without knowing you do, until it’s not there; then you recognize its importance by the hole you suddenly feel where it once was. The worst part of it all was that I hadn’t spoken to him in over a month. I was busy. He was busy. I left him a message on Father’s Day and then missed his call when he called me back. He got pissy that I didn’t call enough so waited for me to call; I got pissy that he was playing childish games and didn’t call him. Et cetera. And now he’s gone daddy gone. And now I wish I would have played that song at the funeral.

It helped, I suppose, that he was swollen from operations and medication, and had his head shaved, since it almost didn’t look like him. It looked like Dennis Franz trying to play my dad in the Lifetime Original Drama “The Best I Ever Dad.” I was a mess, but I’m sure I would have been much more of a mess had he looked more “normal.” I use that in quotes because no one looks normal in pancake funeral makeup and a coffin. One thing that made me really sad was that he didn’t have a suit to be buried in. My dad’s wardrobe choices were always suspect (he showed up to a court hearing I had dressed in a wine colored three piece suit; apparently he had to spring some of his hoes from the pokey while we were there), but the fact that we had to bury him in khakis and a light green button up made it hurt a lot more. You should look your best when someone sees you for the last time, no matter if you believe in an afterlife or not, and my dad looked like he was ready to go to brunch. So I guess I’m gonna need to buy a suit. I like to be prepared.

I moved on, and then, while still on my couch, lost my three major writing jobs – I was working as an editor, part time, for a website called Ology.com, and was let go, mostly due to my lackadaisical attitude towards posting after my dad passed. Although they had a very lackadaisical attitude towards how much money to pay people, so I guess it evened out. After that, I was dropped as a freelancer for SNL’s Weekend Update. I never got a joke on the air, which stung. Looking back, I feel like I didn’t put a lot of my ‘A’ game in the jokes I sent, and now kick myself for that. In fact, I think my submission packet was better than most of what I wrote for them. Following that, I was let go from the freelance staff of The Late Show with David Letterman. At least, I’m under the assumption that is what happened; the other folk received phone calls (it was a MASSIVE culling of the freelance pool) and I stopped submitting around the same time. To be fair, they may not have had my most recent phone number. Both losses hurt because a) they were the first two gigs I had where I felt like I was starting to move forward in the entertainment industry, and b) I had nothing else at that time.

Also, to anyone who has emailed me in the past and asked about freelancing duties, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies. I let my mood get in the way of my professionalism, and haven’t responded. I’ll post about what I did to get those jobs soon. The short answer for everyone, however, is “No, unfortunately, I can’t get you a job writing for late night television.” Especially now that I don’t have a job writing for late night television.

People who are stupid and don’t understand how to live a fulfilling life will tell you that your 20s are the best years of your life. What that implies, then, is that you peak about 1/4 of the way into your life, and the rest is a steady decline. That is a stupid, stupid notion. I’d imagine these are people that read the first 50 pages of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and then stopped and said “I get it! His family is shitty and he lives in a closet. He’ll probably stay in that lighthouse and the storm will stay forever. That’s the best this book will get!”

If I’m to work off that assumption, then let me review my 20s, as I will be 30 this year. In my 20s, I: got evicted (TWICE), arrested for helping a friend, watched my mother almost go crazy from medications given to her by her doctors, watched us go even MORE broke, spent the entire decade broke MYSELF, slept in my friend’s closet for a year, lost my dad, lost all my grandparents, and 1,000 other shitty things that have yet to percolate to my foreconscious. If these are the best years of my life, I’m FUCKED. So no, I don’t believe that “wisdom.” The only way my 30s could be worse is if I live in a fucking trashcan. And not the cool kind, like Oscar the Grouch; the shitty kind that blows away when the wind kicks up, and has a mystery goo in the bottom that never dries up.

I will say this: thank god for my girlfriend. We dated through most of our 20s, and if it weren’t for her, ESPECIALLY last year, I have no idea where I’d be. Probably in that aforementioned trashcan. She picked me up and kept me up through some of the most awful crap I’ve ever gone through. Going through the loss of a parent is tough (SPOILER ALERT!), but going through it with someone that cares as much about you as she does about me makes the blows a little bit softer.

That’s why, last weekend, I proposed to Danielle McNamara, the best woman I’ve ever met. We are now engaged to be married. To each other.

For those of you wondering, here’s how I did it – I waited seven and a half years, so I KNEW she wouldn’t say no, then proposed. I like to hedge my bets.

2010. I like the sound of this year. You’re right, Ice Cube, it’s a good day.

-MAL