Back when I started this gig, I had no idea where it might take me.  Oh, I had visions of stardom, but reality has a way of rearing its ugly head when you least want it.  Kind of like your mother-in-law showing up for dinner with no return ticket.

Along the way, I’ve met a lot of great people. In this business, everybody is willing to cheer you on.  But I find it disturbing that every time some guy steps to the edge of a cliff with rubber bands around his feet, his friends are right behind him yelling, "Jump!"

That’s how it is when you tell your friends you’re thinking about trying stand-up comedy.  On the outside they’re saying, "Go for it!  You’ll be great!"  Loosely translated, that means, "Better you than me."

Still, it was something I had to do.   Writing humor is one of the greatest pleasures I’ve ever known.  I love making people laugh.  And you should have heard the chuckles when I said I was going on stage.  Too bad I didn’t tape them for the show.

I’ve thought about doing this for the past two years, but never seriously enough to do anything about it.  Then in June, comedian Ray Hanania talked me into it.  I’ll never forget his words of encouragement.  "I’ve seen your work, Dave. What have you got to lose?"  He had a point.

It took a couple of months to work up the nerve, then one night I made the call.  A week later, I took my seat with the other performers in the back row of Wiley’s Comedy Club.  The rest is pretty much a blur.

I was a bundle of nerves by the time people started to show up.  That last hour before the show started was the longest hour of my life.  It was like sitting in a padded recliner listening to the dentist’s drill in the next room.

I paced around in the back, trying desperately to remember my lines.  "Good evening, I’m ... I’m ... oh no!  I can’t remember my own name!  Where’s my cue card?   Concentrate!  You can do this.  Ray, you’re a dead man!"

But the meltdown ceased as soon as the lights went down and the first comic took the stage.  Halfway through his set, my brother leaned over and whispered, "You can’t do any worse than that!"

But this is open mike night.  Anyone who thinks they’re funny is allowed to give it a try.  Still, combine an open stage with alcohol, and anything can happen.  Alcohol not only makes people think they’re funnier than they really are – it gives them the courage to prove it.

Somewhere along the way, the club manager decided to put me on last. I’m not sure if it was because I had ten friends with me who were still buying drinks, or if he knew it was past my bedtime. But regardless, I was the headline act my first time on stage. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I don’t remember much about my performance, except that I couldn’t see a thing.  So much for the old adage about imagining your audience in their underwear.  For all I knew, they weren’t wearing any.

I ran through my first eight or ten lines just as I’d rehearsed them.  Only it was hard to hear the laughter – really hard.  Okay, so nobody even cracked a smile.  That is, until I forgot my lines and stood there with a dumb look on my face.  They thought I was impersonating the President.