Jeer up

In these uncertain times, very little is certain. That much I know. And it’s the obvious part. The part you’ve heard before, read earlier and thought about just a second ago. Don’t worry though, you’ll see it again real soon. The one aspect of our current predicament that I’m confident saying with certainty is that people are saying with certainty how uncertain things are. This they know. Of course, it’s certainly the case that with great uncertainty comes greater visibility. Those who never noticed you are presently held in captivity, incapable of missing an update, thus scrolling endlessly all day, every day, pausing only to disinfect their crusty keyboard. Because with gyms and playgrounds closed, typing is now considered exercise. 

Things are different and far from the same as they once were. There are few precedents taking precedence during such unprecedented events. We’re navigating blindly through uncharted metaphors, grasping for straws as long as they aren’t plastic. In New York City, it’s a sin. But the new normal isn’t set yet. Far from it. I ask you: who’s out there in a robe and sandals chiseling new commandments on fresh tablets? No one. We’re all home. But I am a robe guy.

We can still sculpt norms in ways Bernini and the boys never imagined, carving new ideas out of marble, alabaster and thin air. Personally, I prefer alabaster. Unfortunately, my alabaster guy switched to a new business model that involves no business at all. So thin air it is.  

When comedians aren’t on podcasts comparing comedy to nuclear physics, they are complaining about hecklers. But hecklers are the only legitimate barometers of art. Spoken, sung or sketched. Because these usually verbose inebriates embody the soul of the populace. They decide whether or not something is good, not pipe-smoking tweed-wearing, horn-rimmed nincompoops. Comics, self-proclaimed Jester Robert Oppenheimers, require feedback to make it in show business. And hecklers, despite what they say, are the only honest actors around. I long for the days when throwing fruit still signified a poor punchline or tired premise. Puns might make you smile, but a tomato will always make you cry. Especially if it gets in your eyes. 

Getting critical feedback is critically important. It’s why, for the last three weeks I’ve worked directly in front of a mirror, taking on the role of the platonic heckler. Adopting his peerless techniques of abuse and refuse in order to push myself to greater heights. I yell, I spit and I curse at the reflection staring back at me. At the end of each long work day, I wipe down a mirror covered in produce and take a few last bites before heading off to bed a few ticks after 6 o'clock.

If you can’t heckle yourself within the safe confines of home, where can you do it?