It’s Saturday, February 6th 2010. It’s around 1 am in Greenwich Village, downtown, New York City. I make up exactly 1/7 of the audience in the basement of the Comedy Corner; a stones throw from Bleecker street. The stage is about 5 feet wide and a single strand of Christmas lights adds a decorative touch to the generator protruding from the cold stonewalls. I’m nursing a warm beer from the tap, listening to the host describe his most recent hallucination from his current acid trip. In his rare moments of audible clarity, the audience learns about his four-year degree in psychology from a reputable institution. He then sarcastically describes finally achieving his dreams of becoming a professional comedian as he pokes an invisible audience member in the front row with his mic stand between his legs, alluding to obscene gestures, in complete disconnect with his audience.
The struggling artist is in no way a new idea. In certain ways, some artists would describe the entire profession as a constant struggle to keep from sinking while picking which battles of artistic integrity they should choose to fight. For the comedians at the comedy corner, the bar for such integrity was set remarkably low. One female comedian casually flirted me into staying for her next set, while others offered free beers from behind the bar in an effort to keep the miniature audience satisfied.
The lack of an audience became the punch line for a majority of the jokes for the comedians who performed. Behind wall of sarcasm, a dark eerie quality of bleak misfortune seemed to be a reoccurring theme for the performers. In moments of extended pause, one could almost feel the comedians asking themselves, “how did it end up like this?” The reality of the situation was that all four were talented performers and I thoroughly enjoyed each of their fifteen minutes under the lonely stage light.
I left the comedy club in a fog. It was either the sheer perplexity of the oddness of the show I had just experienced, or (as I thought more likely) someone had managed to slip something in my drink. Regardless, as I found the myself submerged in the densely occupied streets of Greenwich Village , an imminent reality began to set it. I began asking myself mountainous questions such as “what the hell am I going to do in two years when I graduate?” and “how did such interesting people, find such misfortunate plights?”
The current economic crisis is a reality one will meet everyday in the news and television. However, as college students, how is one affected directly? Personally, the financial sting has gone unnoticed. I sympathize with anyone who may disagree, however my life hasn’t changed. I still work at the same beach I’ve worked at for the last 4 years. My paycheck has steadily increased annually and I had my most successful year yet last summer. Every morning I stop at the same cornerstone, order my breakfast sandwich and a coffee and begin my daily routine of saving lives and tanning. I would ask myself, “what is everyone so worried about?”
My trip to New York answered a number of questions. For one, a Four-year degree doesn’t mean anything until you use it. How people market themselves is going to be the deciding factor for many graduates. Although it’s advised that majors such as nursing and accounting provide job security, finding our niche is going to land you the positions you want. Like the struggling artist, we also need to know where we’re going to draw the line; how far we are willing to push our moral standards to achieve success. Students must also rely on their own self-efficiency and constantly bulk up their resume with programs, internships, and even those “showed up once” group memberships if necessary. The struggling artist can in many ways serve as an example to us that nothing is a sure thing anymore. As students, we must prepare for success as equally as failure. For those graduating, I offer my supreme confidence in your education as well as offer my prayers for their continued growth in the spirit of learning and maturity.
