A comic alternative to college

They spend upwards of 30 or more hours per week writing and rehearsing for a show. They don’t usually have agents. They do most of their own self-promotion. Half of them dropped out of college to pursue a career in making drunk people laugh.

“I was gonna join a sorority… but I’m 25 and not in college,” said Veronica Heath at a recent open-mic performance at the Bagdad Theater before pausing to take a sip of her vodka and cranberry cocktail.

“I’d be the really bad influence in the sorority,” Heath said. “I’d be the older girl that’s like ‘Mindy, I know you can’t handle your alcohol, but Jager might be different. Go ‘head, take a shot.'”

Meet the new generation of Portland comedians. They’re sassy, they’re crude, they seem to like controlled substances. Exploding babies, colonoscopies and Jesus freaks are just some of the topics regularly presented by the mid-20s crowd trying to make a name for themselves as Portland’s up-and-coming generations.

Coming from a wide variety of backgrounds, these savvy newcomers have been drawn to Portland for myriad reasons, but recollections of how they got their start all carry the same theme: they just did it.

Heath, 24, said she was encouraged to go to a weekly open-mic established by local comedian Dax Jordan and held at Suki’s Bar and Grill on 2401 S.W. Fourth Ave. One night, Heath took the stage and did her first live set without any prior preparation.

“That first night, the audience was so accepting and I just said to myself, ‘Why have I never done this before?'” Heath said. “I love this!'”

Similarly, Jesse Allison’s start also came as somewhat of a surprise to him. Working out of Cleveland, Ohio, Allison said he remembers a time when the theater’s host inexplicably failed to arrive at the theater. Allison and his peers were at a loss, and since someone needed to get up there, he said he thought it might as well be him.

“I guess it’s like puberty: one day you wake up and say, ‘Hey, I have hair down there,'” Allison said. “I woke up and was like, ‘Hey, I have an improv act.'”

Despite early success, continual performances in the Portland area can be difficult at times, said local comedian Richard Bain.

“I don’t want to give a negative spin on it, but Portland sucks,” Bain, 25, said. “There’s one [comedy] club, and the open-mics [around town] are brutal.” Similar sentiments have been voiced by other local comics.

Some local performers cater toward little Portland’s more cultured audiences. At the latest Grand Theft Pizza Party comedy show, held on the last Wednesday of every month at the Ash Street Saloon (225 S.W. Ash St.) a group of young men watched the comedians on stage in silence until Jason Eksuzian of the local sketch group The Kelley and Jason Show took the stage.

“Can’t fuck with Ira Glass!” Eksuzian said, eliciting some real laughter from the back row with his non-sequitur reference to the talk radio host. Whereas in some cities a comic might have a show relying on low-brow humor, in Portland the crowds seem to respond to sass of a smarter variety.

Despite appealing to a smarter audience, however, Portland is kinder to comics than other cities.

“I’m from Cleveland,” Allison, 27, said. “And it’s a really rough working class kind of crowd there.”

To keep their acts fresh for the Portland crowds, these local comedians spend 30 to 40 hours per week writing, prepping and practicing their material, oftentimes working second jobs to make ends meet.

Many attend weekly open-mics throughout town to hone and refine their newest lines on live audiences, turning the open-to-all scene into a mix of networking, dress rehearsal and market research.

Some local comedians are the first to admit that open-mics are not where they show off their A-material, however.

“It’s really more about practicing new stuff, seeing what works and what doesn’t,” says Heath, who will be hosting shows at Harvey’s Comedy Club on 436 N.W. Sixth Ave.

Allison can be seen Wednesday nights at the Nine Muses Acoustic Tavern, located at 2715 S.E. Belmont St.