As you may have read on previous posts and/or Twitter, I am taking a Stand-up Comedy class at Santa Monica College. (I’m also taking a Figure Drawing class and a Memoir Writing class.) My husband, being ever supportive as always, has already decided I’m the funniest person in my class even though he’s never been to the class to hear anyone else.
After the last class, 6 classes in all, my classmates and I do our routines at a club and invite all our friends and family. But since most of my jokes are about friends and family, I don’t know if it would be such a good idea to invite them.
Honestly, I think I’m discovering that I’m much better at improv (thinking up funny stuff on my feet), than I am plotting out jokes to tell in advance. While the teacher and my classmates seem to agree that I am funny, it seems my style is to tell stories. I’m a storyteller who just happens to be funny, not a stand-up comedian who tells funny stories.
By the way, despite tummy trouble before class, I did not fart in this second class.
Here is me playing around with a joke about “pants,” part of which I do in my “Memoirs of a Jewminicana” speech where I talk about my life and journey to converting to Judaism.
Aliza on Pants
Jews are funny. That’s what people keep telling me. But I wasn’t born Jewish. I was born Dominican. So if we’re going by genes here, I’m probably really good at baseball and shimmying my hips. Not so funny.
Besides, I’m an Orthodox Jew. Nobody thinks Orthodox Jews are funny. Orthodox Jews are serious, seriously old-fashioned and seriously hate women. That’s what people tell me keep telling me. They tell me we hate women so much we won’t even let them wear pants. Think of all the evils women could do if you let them wear pants!
Secretary of State.
So this is what I tell people now: I’m an Orthodox Jew now so I don’t wear pants. Nobody has to know the truth.
That my mother wore tight pants. That my grandmother wore tight pants. That my great-grandmother’s 97 and she’s still wearing tight pants. Generations after generations of women in my family have been doing that dance and shimmy to get their pants over their hips and then lying back on the bed to squeeze them closed over their guts.
No one has to know it wasn’t just about modesty. It was about never squeezing my big Dominican butt into another pair of tight jeans.
The benefits of my new Torah lifestyle are endless.