March 27, 2011
It is Fall of 2005. I’m a senior at Penn State. I’ve been talking about doing stand-up comedy for sometime now. I feel like it’s my destiny although I’m not sure I can pull it off. I’m too scared.
I’m watching something on TBS. It’s called Earth to America. Apparently Larry David’s wife made him call in all of his favors so she could produce a star-studded comedy show to increase awareness about climate change. It is a venerable who’s who of comedy. Will Ferrell, Steve Martin, and Robin Williams all perform in one way or another. Wouldn’t it be cool to be in the same company as those performers? Maybe I could make it there one day…
But for now, I’m in State College, PA. I’ve never done an open-mic. Wouldn’t even know where one was. I’ve never really written a joke. Couldn’t tell you how to do it. Stand-up seems so hard. So frustrating. So elusive.
I’m drowning my dreams in Yuengling. Lots of it.
A sketch comes on featuring Jack Black. And half-way through. I begin to freak out…
The Konkleheads? What…what? I… That’s my name. Spelled the exact same way. I… What?
The room starts spinning. Nevermind the discarded six-pack on the apartment floor. I’ve just seen a sign. An honest to God sign like in the movies. Some cosmic force wanted to reassure me that I could do this. That a Konklehead belongs in the comedy world in some way.
That, my friends, is the true story of how I came to the final iron-clad conclusion that I must do stand-up. Somehow some way.
Earth to Jeff Konkle…come in Jeff Konkle. Over.
Do you read me? Over.
You need to get a grip. Over.
It’s just a Konklehead. Over.
A Konkleheaded Coincidence.