I've been asked this question a dozen times in the four years I’ve been doing comedy, and my usual response is, “oh, it’s just something I always wanted to try.” I made getting into stand-up sound like the same reason why white women get into Pinterest; just something to fill my time until I found a man, or a really good use for my pine cone collection. However, someone, I think it was another comic, asked me this question recently, and before I could give my usual response, an image came to me, and with it came the exact moment and reason for wanting to perform stand-up.
I was 12 years old. It was summer time. I woke up in my bathtub with an inch-long gash above my right eyebrow, my Corona tank top crusted in vomit and blood (which later I thankfully, and unfortunately, found out was my own), and my shorts were missing. The night before, I had gone to a block party (for those of you from neighborhoods where block parties aren’t a thing, it’s when you and your hillbilly neighbors block off either end of your street with cars, and you all start drinking around 10 am while kids from the neighborhood play under the water from illegally opened fire hydrants, simultaneously guaranteeing fun–in-the-sun and ring worm).
At this particular block party, one of the cocktails being served by a delinquent seventeen year-old was grain alcohol mixed with crystal light crystals; that’s correct, no water, just a packet of crystal light powder and a fifth of 100 proof grain-alcohol stirred together until the crystals dissolved. It was about 98 degrees, humid, and I just finished a game of asphalt volleyball. I had to be home at nine o’clock. Now, I had done my fair share of drinking, and most times I was drinking hard alcohol because that was a lot easier to sneak from our parents’ liquor cabinets by replacing the jacked liquor with water, especially since our parents counted every can of Old Style in the garage fridge and would know if nary a one went missing. So it wasn’t like I wasn’t accustomed to drinking hard alcohol at the age of 12; I just wasn’t familiar with grain alcohol, especially not chugging it to beat the curfew clock. I drank about half the bottle and woke up the next day sans shorts in my parents’ bathtub. How does this answer the question, “what made you want to get into stand-up?” It doesn’t, but what happened next actually does:
At this particular block party, one of the cocktails being served by a delinquent seventeen year-old was grain alcohol mixed with crystal light crystals; that’s correct, no water, just a packet of crystal light powder and a fifth of 100 proof grain-alcohol stirred together until the crystals dissolved. It was about 98 degrees, humid, and I just finished a game of asphalt volleyball. I had to be home at nine o’clock. Now, I had done my fair share of drinking, and most times I was drinking hard alcohol because that was a lot easier to sneak from our parents’ liquor cabinets by replacing the jacked liquor with water, especially since our parents counted every can of Old Style in the garage fridge and would know if nary a one went missing. So it wasn’t like I wasn’t accustomed to drinking hard alcohol at the age of 12; I just wasn’t familiar with grain alcohol, especially not chugging it to beat the curfew clock. I drank about half the bottle and woke up the next day sans shorts in my parents’ bathtub. How does this answer the question, “what made you want to get into stand-up?” It doesn’t, but what happened next actually does:

And that was it. That one line from my ma, who barely had time to put my hair in ponytail for the first six years of my life, read me a book, or come to my track meets, much less drive me to the emergency room, had finally acknowledged something good in me: “Jeanie, you’re so funny.” To find out that my mom, who was quick-witted as all hell, thought that I was funny? That was special. Funny was Jackie Gleason, Johnny Carson, and Carol Burnett. Funny was what made my parents sit down and listen. It was what made them forget about their awful jobs and brat kids for a while. Funny was revered in my house.
Ironically, my parents never saw me do stand-up, both of them died before I ever set foot on stage, but that’s for the best, as my mom might’ve changed her opinion, and my dad, despite not being able to hear me on account of he was deaf, certainly would’ve heckled me just to be an asshole.
The bottom line is: it’s good to really know why we’re doing something, especially something that consumes so much of our thoughts, our lives, our being. I think it’s a question that most comics should really consider: “What made you want to get into stand-up?” I’m glad I figured it out without a lot of therapy and what-not. Now, if only I could figure out what to do with all these god damn pine cones.
The bottom line is: it’s good to really know why we’re doing something, especially something that consumes so much of our thoughts, our lives, our being. I think it’s a question that most comics should really consider: “What made you want to get into stand-up?” I’m glad I figured it out without a lot of therapy and what-not. Now, if only I could figure out what to do with all these god damn pine cones.
Special Guest Contributor Jeanine Doogan
Doogan is one the top local comics working the Chicago scene. She works incredibly hard, pushes boundaries and likes to tweak a gender stereotype or two. You can catch her performing at all the top venues like: Laugh Factory, Zanies, The Comedy Bar, Up Comedy Club, you name it.