“Don’t worry about losing your accent, cause a Southern man tells better jokes.”
Outfit - Jason Isbell
“You don’t sound like you’re from Tyler.”
I’ve heard that so many times in my life since I left home at 18. Most people in Tyler and the surrounding area have strong accents, but I don’t have one at all. I sound like I could be from anywhere.
In many ways, that was on purpose. Growing up around so many strong accents, I specifically didn’t want to sound like everyone else. I wanted to be able to go wherever life took me without being weighed down by an accent that tied me to somewhere else.
And I was very successful in those efforts. People have tried to guess where I’m from by my accent and I’ve gotten everything from California to the northeast.
Yet, the further I’ve gotten from my childhood in Tyler the more I wish I’d retained some semblance of that East Texas drawl. I wish it was more obvious where I’m from. Because no matter where I go and where I’ve lived, I feel a connection to my life behind that Pine Curtain.
The Yellow Hat
I think a lot about the clothes I wear onstage when I do comedy. My wife say I think too much about them.
“Other comics dress like they just got out of bed, why do you care so much?”
For me, what you wear represents a version of who you are. It’s not a costume, but it’s giving people information about you so that they can put you in a time, a place, a feeling. A performance onstage isn’t just about the words you say and don’t say, it’s also about the way you comport yourself and the clothes you wear.
I didn’t have all those words to describe my thoughts on the subject when I went to my first open mic, but I did stress about what I’d wear. If this was the only time I would ever be on a stage telling jokes, I wanted to make sure I looked the way I wanted.
As I’ve lost the war of attrition with my hairline I’ve collected many hats. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go onstage without a hat on. I chose to wear my Paul Cauthen East Texas hat for two reasons: 1, because Paul Cauthen is cool and 2, more importantly, because the only words on it are “East Texas.”
It’s more than just a cool hat. It tells people where I’m from. You can’t tell by looking at me or hearing me speak, but I am a proud East Texan and I wanted people in Dallas and beyond to know that. East Texas isn’t like the rest of the state. It’s unique in geography, demographics, and culture. It means something to be from East Texas. So, at nearly every show I’ve done since my first open mic I wear this yellow hat to always keep ETX with me.
Finding My Voice
My sense of humor, like most comics, was formed in middle and high school. I became funny to gain friends and distract from the fact that I was still 5’6” and chubby as a freshman in high school. I couldn’t control when I was going to grow, but I could control if I made people laugh. And I really enjoyed doing that. I was also obsessed with late night TV and stand up comedy.
But I never really thought that what I was doing in school was the same thing those comedians were doing on TV. It never felt like something I could translate into a hobby or a career. So I didn’t consider trying stand up when I was in high school. Plus, we were in Tyler, where only one or two big names would come through per year (we once saw Bill Cosby…before…you know…) and there was no local club.
It wasn’t until I went to college in Oklahoma that the thought even crossed my mind to try it. But I was too scared. I still had the mindset that I couldn’t do something like that. If I tried it people would make fun of me (maybe those same people I developed my humor to fight against). I’m not funny in that way.
I waited until I was 31 to even walk onto a stage. And you know what? Once I wrote my piece about trying stand up for the first time, some of the most enthusiastic supporters were people I grew up with. They reached out and told me that they thought I should have done this a long time ago. One message I got over and over again was, “If you ever do a show in Tyler, let me know.”
Rose City Comedy
That day has come. I’ve got my first show at Rose City Comedy in Tyler this Friday, January 19. Rose City has a great reputation in the comedy scene for putting on really good shows with fun crowds. At the same time, driving two hours to Tyler for a show doesn’t top many people’s lists of career accomplishments.
For me, though, it’s the show I’m most excited about so far in my comedy career. It’s a way to thank all the people who supported me and who encouraged me with my humor over the years. And it’s a way to celebrate and support a comedy club that’s bringing culture and fun to the city that I never had growing up.
I wish I’d been able to pop into an open mic when I was a teenager to see what it was like. I wish I could have dipped my toes in the comedy waters when I was young and had very little other responsibilities. I’m thrilled that people now have that chance in Tyler and I want to sell this place out to support them.
You can buy tickets at this link here.
No Awards
I’ve never won an award that required judgement or voting in my life. Not for academics. Not for writing. Not for student council. Not for athletics. And, to this point, not in comedy.
I have a serious aversion to applying for awards myself. I’ll never do that. And I’m generally not likable enough to get votes for something over a person who is willing to pander.
The only award I ever truly cared about was being voted the funniest in my high school. I didn’t campaign for it or ask anyone to vote for me. I felt that after going to the same school from pre-K to 12th grade, I had given people more than enough material to make their own decisions.
I sat nervously as we voted for the yearbook superlatives. I resigned myself to the fact that a kid that most people liked to laugh at would get the votes. I wasn’t the “class clown.” I didn’t do pranks or make a scene for attention. When I did funny things it was, at least in the immature mind of a teenager, always in service of a joke. But I figured the votes would go more to a classic “class clown” type.
So it was to my shock when I actually did get voted for this title.
You know, I also won the state championship in baseball my senior year. I probably only bring this up half as often as I bring up my funniest person award.
I should have taken that acknowledgement as enough of an encouragement to try out stand up comedy in college. Instead, I put it off for more than a decade. Now, though, I return to the place where it all started, ready to prove my worth.
I hope to see all my Tyler people at the show on Friday. If I bomb, just know, you’re the ones who put this idea in my head 15 years ago.