How Did I Get Here?

Do you ever ask yourself that question?

Maybe you’re having a midlife crisis as you sit at the dinner table eating leftover turkey tetrazzini while your annoying stepkids are arguing over who gets to pick the Sunday night movie.

Maybe you just got a flat tire in a gang-ridden neighborhood at 1 AM and you can’t call for a tow truck because your phone is dead.

Or maybe you are about to perform for 9 people in a cavernous room in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

You can’t stop the racing thought from pounding against your temples. HOW DID I GET HERE?

The rewards of performing in small towns are often abundant. Traveling to these places can be difficult so when entertainers decide to visit, the crowds are often filled with gratitude. If I’m performing in Chicago, I am one of a thousand things you could do with your evening. There are baseball games, hip-hop concerts, fifteen other comedy shows, biracial speed-dating events; you name it. But in a smaller market, you are often the best option. So people come, excited to see that guy they once saw on TV.

After three wonderful days in Las Vegas, doing shows and hanging with awesome friends, I took a red-eye flight, with a layover, to Sioux Falls. Having never been to the Dakotas, I was stoked to be in a novel place where I could sling my comedy to hoards of hungry fans. Traveling keeps me present. Every moment is brand new. My antennae are up, signaling and processing all of the new information that is flooding into my brain.

The trip started off a little rough. The promoter had forgotten to book me a hotel until the day before I arrived. Thanks to a massive rodeo and the city’s Comic Con, rooms were scarce. I ended up at a motel that hadn’t been remodeled since Johnson was president. Fine. It’s one night. I’ll barely be in it.

My show wasn’t until 9 PM so I spent the day exploring the city. On the road, I wander the streets, soaking up what the city has to offer. Sioux Falls is quaint, adorable, and has that classic midwestern charm that you miss when you live in a city like Los Angeles. People say hello to you without bothering you for drug money. It’s endearing. A pleasant change considering no one is asking me for change.

I decided to hit up Siouxper Con (Clever name!). Comic books are not my bag but I love immersing myself into a culture that is not my own. For the fans, this is their Burning Man. They are dressed in incredible costumes, celebrating what they love with like-minded individuals. This weekend is proof that they are not alone in their weirdness. They are a part of something so much bigger than themselves. It’s beautiful to see anyone in their element. I strolled through the booths, marveling at their costumes. Some I even DC’d. Get it? I watched a semi-pro wrestling event and cheered as loudly as anyone for a contender that looked surprisingly like me. I’ve smoked DMT and now watched someone pull off a DDT. Both of them transported me to a different world.

Now it’s time for the show. I take a lyft to the venue, a super cool gastropub with a large performance space. Looking at the stage, I know this is a place I can thrive. Even in big rooms with high ceilings, my energy will fill the space and make it feel intimate.

I was told there would be at least fifty people at this show, probably more. That’s why I did it. I was working off a door deal which means that I get the money from the tickets that are sold. Cool. This should be a good payday even if it is on the low end of what they told me. NOPE.

As we got closer to showtime, almost no one was in the venue. I quickly realized this evening was going to be a bust, financially and creatively. “Fuck me” was the resounding feeling. Now in this situation, I will never take it out on the crowd. Those nine people showed up and I have to give them the best show I can possibly muster.

Before I go on stage, I tell myself; “Have fun up there. Whatever it takes. Enjoy yourself.” And I did. While not an ideal situation, I can only control the circumstances that have been placed before me. I poured my heart out to that handful of patrons, leaving it all on the stage. I can happily say that the people there enjoyed themselves, but even still, there was an overwhelming feeling of emptiness and failure trickling throughout my body.

You can easily lose yourself in a situation while it is happening. Once I got back to the roadside shack they called a hotel, that’s when my positive mindset was truly tested. “Why do I do this to myself? When will it get better? How many years will I struggle with obscurity?”

As many as it takes. This is the life I have chosen for myself. A traveling vagabond slinging jokes to whoever will listen. There are nights that are incredible. Sold out shows with hundreds of people. There are also nights like this, when my resilience has to permeate the negative feelings that are doing their damndest to make me hole up and quit.

I know this is simply part of the journey. Shows like this could derail my mentality, but instead I go the other way. I use them to learn what I can do differently. How can I improve my marketing? How can I ensure that when I go to a new city, people will show up regardless of whether they have heard of me or not? I have to do this all over again in Fargo, North Dakota tomorrow. All I can do is believe that the circumstances will be better. Fargo and Forget.

I’ll continue to push forward. One crappy night in Sioux Falls is still better than every night I spent in the hospital dealing with cancer and sepsis. At least this shoddy shithole didn’t have machines that kept beeping every six minutes.

I don’t know if I will ever return to Sioux Falls but if I do, the situation will be different. Nothing will stop me from getting everything I want.

Every experience is here to teach us. It is our job to accept the lesson. My takeaway from this evening: I should have become an amateur wrestler.

Bombs Away: A Comedian’s Bad Day at the Office

“We paid $100 for this shit?”

The man raised his voice as he spoke to ensure everyone in the room heard his words. Seconds later he stood up with his girlfriend and walked out. I was only 25 minutes into my headlining set. Needless to say, it was not going as swimmingly as I had hoped. 

I’ve been a standup comedian for 13 years. In that time I’ve performed thousands of times and most of them have been positive experiences. As a genuinely happy person, I want the audience to feel the same. Laugh your face off, sustain that feeling, and float out of the room when the show is over. This is supposed to be an escape from real-world problems. But in any profession, sometimes you’re going to have a bad day at work.

This past weekend I happened to have the worst set of my entire career.

In comedy, we call it “bombing.” Other terms in the vernacular include: eating a bag of dicks, taking a huge shit, and dying. No matter how you spin it, it is horribly uncomfortable for everyone involved. Imagine sitting on a sharp rod for an hour while increasing amounts of weight are added to your limbs, continually pulling you toward the ground while the pole digs in harder. Unless you’re a total sadist, it’s one of the worst feelings a person can experience. 

It’s Friday night in Dallas, Texas. I’ve been on the road for a week headlining venues in Arizona, California, Kansas, and Oklahoma. Every show had been excellent and they were all at clubs that I hadn’t played before. First impressions are important and between my sets and my ticket sales, I was having one hell of a little tour.

The early show was great. It took some shucking and jiving on my part to figure out exactly how to get the whole crowd on my side but eventually, I succeeded. Everyone walked out and wanted to take photos, buy merch, and thank me for a terrific evening. A natural high. My second favorite kind. Wink wink.

Let’s go, show number two.

Any comic will tell you that the late show on Friday is notoriously the worst of the weekend. The crowds are tired from work, usually drunk, and often they have received free tickets. Comedians despise this show. Personally, I enjoy the challenge. Maybe there’s a bit of sadist in me after all. Insert rod now. 

The crowd was small. Just shy of 30 people. Not an issue. I’ve had hundreds of shows with that size or smaller and I can always find a way to smash their chuckle buttons. Doesn’t matter that it’s already 11:15 PM. With 45 minutes of stage time, I will find a way to relate and unite this crowd. About ten minutes into my set, I realized something wasn’t connecting. 

“Don’t panic,” scrolls across a neon sign in my head.

Pivot the material. Try something else. So I did. And then again. And again. Jokes, crowd work, making fun of myself; absolutely nothing was hitting.

At a certain point, it felt right to admit it. I relayed to the small group of bored patrons that this was not how I wanted this to go. I am a people-pleaser and I want us all to walk out feeling lighter than when we came in. “I’ll get you,” I told them. 

Only I didn’t.

There were random laughs here and there but overall it was a deafening silence. If you can hear the air conditioner, it’s not going well.

As a group, they decided my comedy was not for them. However, I am a professional and I never give up. This would take relentless amounts of work to figure out how to salvage this show and I was ready to do anything. Then it happened.

A couple in the second row said, “Where’s Ralph?”

Ralph was the opening comic of the evening and he had just done 20 minutes before I got on stage. He did well and had laughs throughout his set.

That comment was meant to rattle me but I know better.

So I went into a joke that has been one of my killers for years. It essentially never fails. This time, it did.

The couple got up and walked out after making sure their disappointment was felt by everyone. The man said some other things that were odd flexes and as much as I hate to have anyone not enjoy the show, I was glad they left. “We paid $100 for this shit?” Yes, sir, you did. 

When I knew they were gone, I called them “rude c*nts.” Immediately, I felt awful. That’s not a word I use often but it’s what came to me at the moment. Using such a powerful slur did not help my cause.

The next half hour was as brutal as can be. It seemed that no one was having a good time, which is my personal nightmare. Everything slows down as an invisible wall is erected between performer and patron. 

53 minutes.

That’s how long I bathed in their stares. I pulled every trick out of my bag and none of them worked. I even invited people on stage to do some interviews/speed roasting and it was still met with apathy. 

In my opinion, an epic failure of performance. I never blame the audience when a show doesn’t go well. These same jokes have been crushing for weeks so I wanted to figure out why they suddenly weren’t getting laughs. 

I understand that not every crowd is going to enjoy my style of comedy. I like to make you think. I often go from A to C because I want you to fill in the gaps and connect the dots. But some people need A to B. Especially if they are tired and drunk. That’s not who I am and I will never play down the intelligence of a group of people. Come with me or don’t, but I won’t pander. 

Finally, the excruciation was over. 

I took a play out of Norm Macdonald’s book and instead of hiding in the green room, I stood at the exit with a smile on my face and personally thanked everyone for coming. It wasn’t easy, but it felt necessary to show that I was still grateful to them for being there.

A few people told me that they really enjoyed it but at that point, it was hard to appreciate the sentiment. When the last person was gone, I was incredibly relieved that it was all over. That rotten feeling, however, remained as strong as ever within my body. So I went out with the servers and poured different colored liquids down my gullet to forget about it. Shots on me, everyone!

The next day, I woke up in a garbage mood.

While I know that no comedian is ever immune from bombing, it had been over a year since I had anything close to this level of soul-crushing annihilation. I wanted to black out the windows in my hotel room and crawl under the blanket.

But I know better. Stewing in misery won’t help me break away from the stench of that show. Instead, I did the exact opposite. 

Self-care Saturday. I ate a healthy breakfast at a local cafe. I ran five miles while listening to my favorite songs. I did a breathwork session to flush out the negativity. 30 minutes of meditation. Wrote multiple pages in my journal. Called family and friends so I wouldn’t feel alone. Hit up comic friends to talk about it. I had to Taylor Swift this thing. It wasn’t a TV taping. It was a handful of strangers at a club in Dallas. SHAKE IT OFF (Taylor’s Version).

I decided to post about it on social media.

Transparency is important to me. Everyone has had a shit day at work and this happened to be one of mine. Sharing the experience was the right decision. I was flooded with hundreds of messages from friends, fans, and fellow comics. The positive encouragement was exactly what I needed. “Humility equals humanity,” commented one follower. So many beautiful people thanked me for being honest. This is a side of comedy most fans will rarely see. 

I can’t take a bomb like that personally. It’s difficult not to, but again, you can’t always please everyone.

Sometimes there are factors beyond your control. The best comics had lots of shows like this. Hedberg, Hicks, Norm, Kinison. Kinison often wouldn’t leave until he walked everyone. I only had two people leave. I guess I need to try harder.

With separation and perspective, I’m glad it happened.

Getting kicked in the face teaches you lessons. You can’t look good and get better at the same time.

Maybe 30 strangers didn’t enjoy me but since I exposed myself emotionally, thousands of people will now have a deeper appreciation for who I am as a person and performer. The tether between myself and my supporters has been woven even stronger than it was before. I call that a win. 

Saturday night, I had two shows in Fort Worth.

150 people at each one. I began my set by shitting all over Dallas and each time the room erupted with applause. I had two of the greatest shows I’ve had in a long time. Took lots of photos, gave out lollipops, and hugged as many fans as I could. Exactly what I needed to end my tour on a high note. Time to go home, cuddle my wife, and fuck my pugs. Wait. Strike that. Reverse it. Yikes. 

No one is immune from a bad day. It happens to everyone and you never know when it’s coming. How you handle it is completely up to you. If you know someone is having a rough day, share this with them. Sometimes we all munch on a bag of smelly, unwashed dicks. 

 Don’t give in to your demons. And if you’re doing a Friday late show in Dallas, please stay on your toes. 

If you want more a of peek behind the scenes of the life of a touring comedian — follow me, Alex Hooper, on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok. On socials, I get vulnerable, silly, and frequently there are pugs. (

Keep Your Soul. Sell Your Self.

Can you create something out of nothing?

A couple of years ago I wrote a blog post titled, I’m Learning How to Be a Headliner. Going on the road solo was a new experience for me, especially since now I was the main attraction. Acrobats are amazing, but when you go to the circus, there better be an elephant in the room (other than the fact that the clowns are all convicted pedophiles). I learned how to command a room and keep their attention for an hour.  I learned how to maintain my health so I could perform ten times in a week without sounding like my voice was being strained through a raw-meat grinder. Every show was an opportunity to enrich myself in new experiences and develop skills that would support me, no matter what situation I encountered. 

I’ve dealt with nasty hecklers who attempt to commandeer the show because no one gave them enough love as a child. I’ve performed for audiences of 5-10 people more times than I can count and I still had to fulfill my obligatory time. I’ve had shows cancel on me because people didn’t buy tickets. And that one...that one hurts more than everything else combined.

With 12 years of comedy under my belt, I’ve been in enough weird scenarios that I can figure out how to excel. Doesn't matter the circumstances, I know I can do the show. Convincing people to come see me from thousands of miles away? That’s a whole different bag of uncooked potatoes. And when it doesn’t happen, it leaves me feeling like a moldy old spud. 

Often I’m booked at comedy clubs that have a built-in audience. Some fans that I’ve acquired from Roast Battle or AGT will be there to see me but typically they only make up about 10% of the crowd. Everyone else is there because they trust that the venue will bring in top-tier talent. If I can win them over, they walk away feeling like they discovered a new artist. Someone that they can tell their friends about. I love being the trendsetter who can hip everyone else to amazing entertainment.

Other times, it’s not as easy. I’m booked at a bar, performance space, or small theatre where it’s much more difficult to get patrons there on a whim. You rarely go to a music venue without knowing who is playing that night. That’s when it becomes my job to fill the room. I have great TV credits, a decent social media following, and I’m loved within my community. Does that make people buy tickets

FUCK NO. (repeat as many times as necessary)

I’d love to think that I’ll show up and the place will be packed. It’s rarely the case. This past Wednesday I was booked in Chattanooga, starting a 4-night run that also included New Orleans and Atlanta. My travel day from LA to Tennessee was littered with delays, mechanical issues, and very little sleep. I arrived five hours later than expected, right as the show was set to begin. 

No one was there. Not a single person other than the owner of the bar and two of the comedians who were also on the show. I had agreed to a door deal so if no one buys tickets, I am about to lose my head and at least one foot. Hello, First Night of Tour, this is discouraging.

I was exhausted. I’d barely eaten, been re-routed through random cities, and had been in a middle seat for the last four hours between what I can only describe as “well-fed” humans. But I knew, I couldn’t let this be the show. Time to drop what little ego I have and sing for my supper. 

I went out to the street. Downtown Chattanooga on a Wednesday at 10PM isn’t exactly Times Square. Hardly anyone was meandering about. Every few minutes a couple or small group would walk by and I knew that was my chance to hook them. Allow me to introduce myself.

“Hi friends, I’m Alex Hooper. I’m a comedian and I’ve been on TV but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m in this city for one night, and I’m about to perform. I promise you will enjoy yourself if you enter this bar and give me an hour of your time. If you don’t, I will personally refund your money after the show.”

Yup. I said that. And over the course of 45 minutes I convinced twenty people to purchase a ticket. I barked in the most humble and meaningful way that I could. I let go of all self-importance and spoke to these sidewalk shufflers, source to source. There were two gorgeous young women on their first tinder date. A group of four frat boys who stumbled over from the restaurant next door. The group I was most proud of recruiting were eight barely-legal colorful kids from Orlando who were attending a music festival that began the next day. I knew they loved bass and I also knew they were ideal for my fan base. Wordplay!

JJ’s Bohemia is a small bar, so having twenty patrons plus a few comics was all we needed for an amazing show. Everyone killed. From front to back, the show was a major success. For ninety minutes, the glorious sound of shared laughter permeated the room. Like I said, I know how to do that part. 

When I finished my set, the whole room gave me a standing ovation. I stood outside to thank them all while showering them with stickers. Not a single person asked for their money back. It was an unbelievable win that filled me with elation. I was about to lose money and perform for no one. Instead I’m in the black and have added a bunch of dope people into my silly world. I’m going to remember that night, and I know they will too.

I’d love it if I didn’t have to tell this story. I could have shown up to JJ’s, sold out the show, crushed my set, and gone to sleep. But I’m not there yet in my career, especially when the universe is conspiring against me and breaking the computer inside of a 747 (yes, really.)

This night made me stronger in so many ways. It taught me that it’s worth it to ask for what you want. Never be afraid of doing the work to get butts into seats, even if it's five minutes before showtime. 

Your fans are out there. Go find them. Fifty “No’s” are worth one “Yes.” Always. Next time, Chattanooga will sell out. I guarantee it.

Fueling Up on the Road

As someone who has imbibed my fair share of narcotics, I always knew my favorite drug was being on stage. Commanding presence over a room of strangers who are hanging on your every word; nothing could fill my cup more.

But I was wrong.

Being on stage is not the best feeling in the world. Being BACK on stage is.

We all know that abstinence makes the heart grow fonder. Sometimes you don’t realize what you had until an unforeseen invisible monster strips it from you without warning. As much as I’ve always known comedy was my passion and my purpose, I didn’t realize that I had been taking it for granted.

One of the main draws of stand-up is that it was always there for me. TV roles come and go, writing jobs are temporary, even flowers only bloom during certain seasons. But comedy, especially in a big city like LA, is always happening somewhere.

When I would get frustrated at work, I would find a stage and pour the energy onto the crowd. The instant gratification of laughter would always bring me back to a place of joy, or at the very least, contentment. Ahhh, there’s that release. Even if I wasn’t booked, I would go sign up for an open mic in a coffee shop, comic book store, a dive bar where someone had been stabbed the night before. Can I use this fresh blood to write my name on the list?

Stand-up was my safe place. No matter where I was in my life I could always find a spot to perform and fellow degenerates to commiserate with as we spit out jokes and regaled our daily stories. When it was taken away in 2020, I had to come to a reckoning of who I was without the outlet that I had relied on so heavily for 11 years.

My beautiful and extremely patient fiance said something to me a few weeks ago that has stuck with me. “You’re someone different at home than you are when you’re out in the world.”

And she’s right. I never thought of it that way but my time at home was always meant for decompression. I would go to work at Universal and flap my jaw all day, convincing tourists to spend their hard-earned cash on frivolous upgrades. Knowing I would be on stage a few hours later, I’d go home and shut the fuck up for a couple of hours to recharge. 

When the pandemic hit and both of those jobs were gone in a flash, I didn’t know what to do with my energy. Sometimes I would speak in a silly voice or make an offensive joke and Lauren would just give me a look that said “Is this for me or you?” 

Let me be clear, she thinks I’m hilarious. My humor is certainly my most attractive quality, next to my golden curls of course.  With her, it’s always been subtle. I’m never trying. There are no act-outs or bizarre vocal inflections because that isn’t her style. She appreciates charm and wit, not an obnoxious clown doing cartwheels while singing songs about kidnapping (that’s supposed to be hyperbole but now I’m thinking I should write that bit).

When I go into the world, it’s a whole different story. I constantly bullshit with comics as we try to one-up each other in every way possible. We know when to be honest, yet we can play in this oddball style that allows us to experiment with comedy. We can laugh for hours as we stand outside of a club, passing joints (RIP) and tagging each other’s jokes. 

The fireball of energy swirling through my body isn’t meant to be directed toward one person. I don’t have to tell you, I’M A LOT. Small doses are best so I don’t exhaust and overwhelm you. Fans will often say to me, “you’re very calm off-stage.” As if they expected me to be pulling my hair, jumping up and down, and switching from screams to whispers at the drop of a kimono. We’ve all met that person who doesn’t know when to turn it off and that guy SUCKS. When I hear my name called, and I step into those lights, I put everything I have into those few minutes. The rest of the day, I can relax and be a (somewhat) normal human.

It isn’t just the stage and the validation from strangers that I’ve missed. It’s the conversations and random interactions I have while I’m on the road. In the past month, I’ve traveled to Nebraska, Colorado, San Francisco, and I’m currently writing this from a condo in Tampa after a four-day stint in Miami. 

I always meet people when I travel and I’m not afraid to ask intimate questions (Thanks, Achilles’ Heel). Because they know I’m a fleeting presence who will come into their lives and be gone that night, they open up to me in ways that even a close friend may have trouble doing. In the past week, I’ve had two women talk to me about the struggles they faced after their husbands died. I didn’t ask for this information. They felt compelled to tell me because they realize that not only am I listening with genuine empathy but also because sometimes it’s easier to unload your emotions onto someone who you’ll probably never see again. 

After watching me on stage, they often feel a comfort level that for most people would take years to attain. They see this silly, mustached man expressing his truth and want to do the same. It’s a beautiful exchange that lasts anywhere from two minutes to a few hours, depending on where and when they catch me. Come at me, Widows.

I’ve always said I’m an energy magnet. What others don’t use I siphon and harness for myself. Being around people, especially in an environment of fun like a concert, festival, or comedy show, I am fueled by all of the molecules floating around waiting for someone to snort them into their veins.

This past month has been glorious. Traveling, performing, and expelling a year’s worth of bottled charisma isn’t just beneficial for me, but all of my loved ones who have put up with a different version of Alex than they are used to. I found ways to thrive, new perspectives, a love of smashing balls on the tennis court, but I need this part of my life to be the ultimate version of myself. It’s good for me and trust me when I say, it’s VERY good for my fiance, friends, and family.

I’m off to do a podcast, massage an alligator, and soak up this humid air that feels like one of my socks after a full day at Burning Man.

Catch you virtually, or maybe in real life, very soon. Much love, beautiful weirdos.