Girl Walks Into a Bar: My Experience with The Moth

In my past life (meaning, up until my early twenties), I was a performer. I lived and breathed theatre, music and dance and dreamed of the EGOT (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony) way before Tracy Jordan made it a thing, Liz Lemon. Even when I put aside my artsy-fartsy dreams for the more realistic path of law school, I took dance classes to keep myself sane and even directed a production of The Vagina Monologues, one performance of which was in a parking lot, which is another story for another day.

Performing took a backseat in my mid- to late twenties, as I was doing the whole figuring-out-my-life deal. I came back slowly: in 2008, I started taking dance again. In 2010, I was in two flash mobs. Also last year, I branched out into burlesque and took part in a group performance, which was one of the most terrifying and electrifying experiences of my life thus far.

This past Tuesday, in the very same bar where I'd bared my bod, I bared my soul.

I did it. I told a story for The Moth.

I was first introduced to The Moth by my coworker Megan, who attended a StorySlam event with one of her friends. "It's so cool and you'd love it," she gushed to me the next day. "You put your name into a hat and if you get chosen, you have to tell a five-minute story in front of everyone, with no notes. In front of a sold-out room of people."

"My God, that's scary," I said, and promptly forgot about it.

Late last year, however, I was fighting a bout of depression and for some reason, listening to podcasts helped, so I asked my friends for recommendations. That's when I learned more about The Moth: like Megan said, it consists of true stories, told live, without notes. The mainstage events are in New York City and often feature published authors, musicians and other celebrities. However, there are StorySlams in Chicago, Los Angeles and Detroit, where regular folks like me can take part. Each event has a theme and your story has to fit into that. If you put your name in and are chosen to go up, you have a 45-second warning, so you better be ready.

The podcasts mainly consist of the famous people, though StorySlams sneak in every now and then. And the stories, famous or not, are phenomenal. Joyce Maynard, one of my favorite authors, did one about being a mother that brought tears to my eyes as I walked along Clark Street. A recent favorite explored her relationship to two religions: evangelical Christianity and Mary Kay cosmetics. And one of the best, in my opinion, involves a middle-school drama teacher with an attitude problem.

When I found out about the latest StorySlam here in Chicago (theme of the night: Confusion), I invited Megan. Unfortunately, she had to bail at the last minute, but I decided to go anyway. The morning of the slam, I was walking to work listening to the latest podcast.

And I had an idea.

Up until then, I'd thought I had no stories in me. Nothing true, anyway. My life hasn't been all that interesting. And five minutes with no notes, my own experience in my own words? No way. I can make up stories or follow a script with the best of 'em, but I'd never be ready for The Moth.

But something happened several months ago. Nothing horribly traumatic. Nothing terribly unique. However, maybe that was the point. And if I told it, to a room full of strangers, maybe someone could relate. And maybe I'd feel better.

On my lunch break, I wrote out the story. I got to the bar early and couldn't find a seat, so I propped my notebook up against the wall and muttered the important stuff. Oh, and I put my name in the hat.

I may not have known anyone, but the audience members around me were incredibly supportive when they found out I might be going up. One had me tell him the story, which assuaged my nerves considerably. Another said, "I walked over here when you were telling it and I thought, 'I want to hear more.' So if you're up there and you get nervous, just look over here, because I want to hear more.'"

Ten people would be called up that night.

I was number five.

It was nerve-wracking. Again, these were my own words, my own experiences. There are real people involved--even though no names are revealed, and none of them were there that night, that's still a big deal. I'm not exactly the anti-heroine in the story, but I come off very, um, human. Very imperfect.

According to the emcee for the evening, I "hit it out of the park."

I had a beer bought for me. People came from across the bar to tell me I was good. One set of judges (that's the other thing, people volunteer to be judges and score you) gave me a low score and THE WHOLE BAR BOOED THEM.

More importantly, I understood why people, well-known and not, choose to reveal their histories, their flaws, and their heartbreaks to a waiting crowd.

Forgive me for sounding corny, but it's damn therapeutic.

And that's how I found myself standing in front of a sold-out bar, taking a deep breath, and saying my opening line into the microphone:

"I spent my whole life trying to avoid cliches, only to end up in the supermarket parking lot three days after the blizzard."

I Think I'm in Love: Podcasts

In the midst of stress and worry, can come something new and wonderful.

Back when I was mired in law school misery, I listened to music constantly.  Because I was hungry for new tunes in my ears to relieve the darkness in my heart, I accepted any and all suggestions from friends, and discovered The Postal Service, Death Cab for Cutie, The Shins, and the Broadway brilliance that is Avenue Q.  (Because I have yet to meet an individual whose day ISN'T automatically brightened upon hearing "It Sucks to Be Me.")  I clutched my iPod lifeline and learned all the words, and eventually things got better.

Right now, I'm still in a funk.

And I have discovered podcasts.

Late to the party, I know.  I'd previously rejected podcasts as being waaaaay too "This American Life."

Unpro's Sidebar re: "This American Life"
I do not enjoy "This American Life."  Though I was never a big O.C. fan, I think Summer said it all with the following: "Is that where a bunch of pretentious hipsters talk about how fascinating ordinary people are?  God!"

I always figured: why listen to talk talk talk when I can groove on the sidewalk?  But then I opened my closed little mind, and discovered podcasts provide a different kind of groove.  A slow burn, a calm voice, a giggle.  A just-what-I-need-right-now buzz.  And they're FREE.

When I asked my friends to share their faves, getting through the day got just the tiniest bit easier.  And every little step helps, right?

Below are some podcasts I now heart, in chronological order of when I discovered them.  Better late than never, right?

1.  YogaDownloads.com
I first discovered yoga podcasts shortly before embarking on my writing residency.  The small town I would call home for two whole weeks wasn't exactly bursting with yoga studios, and I'm not yet at the point where I can comfortably practice on my own.  Behold: YogaDownloads, which provides 25-minute yoga sessions, gentle voices, and user-friendly poses.  In my little writer's studio, I could take breaks and get my namaste on.  Awesome.

2.  The Nerdist
Nothing is more fun than listening to Jon Hamm goof on pubic-hair beards.  I totally hated Singled Out in high school, but host Chris Hardwick's come a long way: dude is genuinely funny, and appreciative of the funny in everyone else.  Where else can you hear Joel McHale's best Transformers impersonation, Weird Al geeking out over Malcolm McDowell, and the Muppets dish on social media?  Comedy is both an art and a science, and listening to The Nerdist provides one hell of an education on the form.

3.  The Moth
For those of you who are unaware (like, ahem, me), The Moth is a storytelling slam taking place in New York, L.A., Chicago, and any city that can get a grant.  It's essentially an open mic with a different theme each time, and performers cannot use notes.  Improv was never my strong point, and I'm sure I'd be floundering were I given a turn at the mic.  However, the ones who are good at this, are really, really good.  Listen to author Meg Wolitzer recount her first experience with love, and her camp boyfriend's dogged attempts to get to "first base."  You'll be laughing all the way to work.

4.  Doug Loves Movies
Comedian Doug Benson presents a sort of Nerdist on celluloid: instead of comedy being the main topic, it's movies.  Stand-ups and stars like Steve Agee and Ellen Page, respectively, join Doug in live shows to dish on what they've been watching lately.  However, the highlight of every podcast is when everyone plays "Leonard Maltin," a "Name That Tune" for movie geeks.  I'm sad to admit I correctly guessed that a movie from 1993 featuring a bunch of random people was To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.

5.  Savage Love
I'd been a fan of Dan Savage's explicitly frank writing for years (try his weekly print/online column or his book on relationships, Committed).  He's bitchy, biting and most importantly, nonjudgmental.  Name a kink, a fetish, a problem in the bedroom, and he'll give it to you straight (pun intended), with a wicked sense of humor.  But as fantastic as reading Savage Love is, there's something about hearing this dude school people over the phone.  He's the best kind of call-in show host there is, Sleepless in Seattle if Meg Ryan had a foot fetish.

Know any more good 'uns?  Leave a comment!