Standup comedians are an odd sort.  I don't really consider myself among them, but I am finding myself performing alongside them as it seems to be the only way to put my work on stage in front of an audience.  I just got back from an open mic called "The Green Mic" at a Ukranian bar in the East Village called Karpaty Pub.  The neon sign in the window says "Sly Fox" for some reason, I'm guessing it's the previous name for the bar.  Everyone in attendance either worked there, or was waiting their turn to take the mic.  Nice.  Everyone seemed to know each other, so I'm guessing this is a regular Thursday night thing for these guys.  I read the room and quickly discovered that the acceptable pace for the delivery of comic material in this room is as follows:

1)  Open notebook

2)  Read joke you wrote while the previous comic was on

3)  <Silence>

4)  Wait for it...

5)  Laughter from the other comics as they watch you squirm knowing that you are dying up on stage, but you'll take it.  At least they laughed.

Alternatively, you can shout at the top of your lungs until you simply can't hear whether anyone is laughing.  Ha ha.  Noisy people are funny!  I understand that last week, one of the regulars, when dissatisfied with the reaction to his performance, presented his genitalia as an act of defiance. 

I was scheduled to perform at 10pm sharp.  I was caught off guard when I was called to the stage at 9:37.  (Thanks for coming Vinnie and James, sorry my time got bumped up and you missed it!)  Early?!  Who runs ahead of schedule?!  I didn't even have my guitar out yet, but I scrambled on stage, no time to tune up, strapping my guitar on as approximately half the bar decided my set would be a good time to take a cigarette break.  I was left with a smattering of comics and Dawn, the MC at my stage right (thank you for laughing, Dawn... glad to see someone had a nimble mind) and a gaggle of drunk Ukranian girls who lost interest in me when they realized that they weren't going to be enough awkward silences in my music for them to heckle me.  I think for most people the full on assult of wit, melody, and general guitarish awesomeness was so out of sorts with the predetermined pacing as to cause sensory overload in most.  So I went on, realizing full well that unless I stop after every verse and give the crowd time to wrap their heads around what I had said, then I wasn't going to get a laugh.  It's that moment where I had to decide, "Am I going to play to the crowd and destroy the flow of my songs?  Or will I maintain my artistic integrity and play everything as written, trusting in my material?"   I chose the "integrity" thing, at least for tonight, accepting that this was perhaps not the right crowd for my material.  Maybe it wasn't as impactful as presenting the family jewels, but it was my act of defiance.