A few weeks ago, New York comic Greg Giraldo, died of an accidental drug overdose. To lose someone who has the ability to make people laugh is a damn shame. We need the wordsmiths with a sardonic edge in our mist.

I was not a big follower of Greg’s, but I have friends who are. They were upset about the accidental drug overdose. I think there was nothing accidental about it. So that leaves me a bit pissed off at Greg Giraldo. He was only 44, father of 4 children, a graduate from Harvard Law and he seemed to have the golden comedic touch, but then he threw it all away. While I am annoyed by his last act there is part of me that feels great empathy towards him.

He was a stand up comic. Next Stop – the morgue.

I took a stab at performing stand up comedy in the late 80s. I took comedy writing classes with Gabe Abelson, who ended up being a head writer for The David Letterman Show (I know – I was so damn lucky to have him as my teacher). Gabe was very supportive of me and my wiriting.  He was one of the few. There did not seem to be a lot of genuine support in the comedy world. Every wannabe comic (and some of the ones whose star was rising) would watch how you were doing on stage and if you hit that night, they wanted to eat your young. And then set your hair on fire. Or worse accuse you of stealing their material.  And those were the ones who were your friends.

There was way too much alcohol and drugs and the sometimes lethal combination of the two back then and it seems nothing has changed.  The psyche of a many a comic can be as fragile as a butterfly wing.  You cut a comic and they bleed all over.

Chris Farley, Freddie Prinze, John Belushi, Richard Jeni and now Greg Giraldo.  Nothing funny about this list.

I reached some success (in my mind) during my time as a stand up comic and writer. I got a writing gig as a comedy writer at WNBC Radio here in New York. I was the only woman writer which meant that I got the male castration skits to write. I went easy on you guys.

But don’t think for a second that it came easy. I would tell people that if I had one of the leads in Romeo and Juliet and I blew my lines, I would say that it wasn’t Bill’s best play. When you are up there on stage at a comedy club being blinded by the harsh lighting (not to mention how attractive the shaking and sweating made you look) and the crowd was out for blood – even your mother could not save you. It was rejection by the masses.

My personal favorite was being told to get my tubes tied. It was a laugh riot.

I eventually moved away from the stand up part because I realized I was too sensitive to take the rejection and mob criticism. And I watched some real talent crash and burn before they really had the chance to make milk come out of your nose.

I really do feel sad about Greg’s passing. It seems he was a very good man whose demons overtook him.

So if you get the chance, take a comic to lunch. And let them talk. You might be surprised to hear the pain coming through – in between the punch lines.

© 2010, Coach on the Edge ™

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