|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
# 12: Performance Anxiety
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
By Maura Madden
No, I haven't done stand up yet. But thanks for asking, again. I mean, seriously, will you people get off my back? I feel like every day that I don't do stand up I am disappointing somebody. And yes, that somebody is me, okay? Are you happy now? Good. Well, you're happy and I'm disappointed, but it doesn't even matter. No amount of disappointment is going to get me to do anything. I have never responded well to that emotion.
Take, for example, my ninth grade French teacher. She was all about disappointment, and humiliation. This woman had torture tactics that were more devastating than those of the average secret agent. On top of that, she was originally from California, but she wanted to be French. And judging by the way she acted, you would have thought that she was born in the elevator of the Eiffel Tower and popped out eating a baguette and singing "La Marseillaise." The rumor was that she had changed her name from "Ethel" to "Ethelee" to give it that French twist. She would only teach in the classroom that had a mirror in it, so she could check herself out while she was teaching. That's right. While we would, "Allez au tableau!" (Pronounced "Allay oh tab low," French for "Go to the blackboard!"), she would look in the mirror and fluff her old-fake-French lady coif and check to make sure that her ample bosom was shown off properly by her sweater set. But I digress. Being told to "Allez au tableau!" was the one of the worst things that could possibly happen in my ninth grade life. Allez-ing meant that I was sure to be humiliated in front of the rest of my class because, at the tableau, we had to conjugate verbs in their numerous horrific tenses. And knowing that you might be tested in front of your entire class caused most people to really hit the books. They feared the pain of public humiliation and it inspired excellent study habits. But not me, I was different. I resented the method of teaching and I chose to fight against it. How? Well, I decided that I just wouldn't study for French class. Sure, I would sloppily do my homework, but I refused to put in the extra effort that was required in order to succeed "au tableau." So every time I was called upon to go to the blackboard, I would get everything wrong. And then the disappointment would kick in.
Ethelee would look at the blackboard and frown in that pouty, I-wish-I-was-Edith-Piaf kind of way and say "Oh, Maura, qu'est que c'est ca?" (Pronounced "Ohhhhhhh, Mo-rah, kes kuh sek sah?", French for "Oh, Maura, what is this?", meaning, "Oh, Maura, what the hell do you do every night when you should be studying for my class?").
I would get very defensive. And by getting defensive, I mean that I would blush redder than a bottle of ketchup and cross my arms and say nothing. And then she would turn to me and say, in English, "Maura, I am very disappointed in your work." And I would look at her with defiant eyes and say nothing until she had sent me back to my seat.
And now, as I embark upon a new era of potential public humiliation, I can't bring myself to prepare in any way. And no matter how much I project myself into the mind of a potentially disappointed audience member's head, I can't seem to buckle down and study my set. Not that I've decided on what that set might be. And I know that I should just start with the basics, the verbs of stand up comedy, but I lost my worksheet somewhere. And voluntarily subjecting myself to potential disappointment seems ludicrous, but I feel like I've committed to it. It's too bad that I can't be satiated by the number of humiliation credits I earned in my high school French class. I think my first few open mic nights might put me over my quota.
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
