An article in the Eagle Eye, the online newspaper of Lock Haven University of Pennsylvania entitled “The Funny Thing About Laughter” contains the following quote:

But it got me thinking about how great it must feel to be a comedian. I mean seriously, they get to go up on stage for an hour to tell jokes and make fun of people, and they get paid for it. Heck, I do that with my friends all the time and I don’t get a single nickel for it. The pleasure that these guys get from their job must be awesome.

The article’s author, student Joe Stender is reflecting on seeing Jim Gaffigan perform this past Friday night, an event he describes as “one of the most hilarious times I have ever had in my life.”

We excerpt it and link to it here for multiple reasons. It reminds us of just how thrilling it is for most audience members to be in that audience, in the dark, watching a solo performer bathed in light executing what must be one of the most puzzling and exhilarating tricks in all of show business– making a roomful of people react in unison, with hearty laughter, to nothing more than the spoken word.

It makes us recall our first time in a club. It is sometimes difficult to connect with that feeling, that sense of awe we felt when the lights went down and the comic walked out and we surrendered to the jokes and we were transported. When the secrets, the mechanics, the glare of the hot lights, the feel of the wave of laughter hitting us in the chest was all still a mystery.

The writer experiences this same classic, simultaneous attraction/repulsion– I must do this… There is no way I can attempt this!

And then we contrast the feelings and emotions we experience when we’re onstage our selves with that initial impression as a novice audience member. Are we overcome with the joy of making people laugh? Are we acutely aware of just how “awesome” it is to “tell jokes and make fun of people, and… get paid for it?” No, not really. We appreciate it, but no to the point of being overcome. We’re conscious of it, but not overly so. But this is not some sort of tragedy. It is a natural progression.

The Female Half likens it to the inevitable (and necessary) evolution from the torrid, bumping-into-walls infatuation of courtship into the solid, loving, dependable (but no less desirable) love of a great marriage.

It serves us well to recall the feeling we had when we were just starting out as performers. And it is also useful to try to remember what it was like when we were merely fans.

From a column by The Male Half:

I went to a live comedy show for the first time. It was a cheap date: $2 to get in, see eight comics (eight!), give them another $2 and you could stay in your seat and see eight more! I saw a rapid-fire lineup of eight of the founding fathers of Philadelphia comedy doing 10-minute sets. Clay Heery, Mike Eagan, Rameesh Kajirian, Stuart Roberts, Sam Hollis, Bob and Bob, Ben Kurland and one other comic, whose name escapes me, put on a tremendous show in the intimate confines of the Jailhouse. The building is no longer standing. I was hooked on live comedy after that.

I went to two more live shows in the next 18 months. I saw Eagan again, Adrian Tolsch, Steve Young and Tom Wilson in two separate shows at the Comedy Works.

The Female Half, at the tender age of 12, accompanied her grandfather to a show at the famous Steel Pier in Atlantic City and saw the legendary (at least locally) comedy team of Fisher & Marks. The pair had to stop several times during their performance to mock her, as her laughter was so loud and disruptive.

Readers: Feel free to share your experiences in the comments!