In my mind, meeting and working with people I admire has always been appealing, despite stories of aspiring artists encountering their idols and finding out that, while they may make good art, music, movies, whatever, they are terrible human beings.  

This thought plagued the far back reaches of my brain when I signed up to take a comedy sketch writing class from Kevin McDonald.  To say I admire McDonald is an understatement.  He is one of my absolute favorite comedians, and among ones who are still alive and working, I would put him in the number one slot.  The sketch comedy troupe he is part of created one of my all-time favorite TV shows, The Kids in the Hall.  His writing is great, his performances never miss a beat, and I was not only going to meet him, but I was going to have to perform in front of him.

I was nervous.  I was flat-out terrified.  I am constantly doubting my comedic ability and whether or not it is the career path I should take, I didn’t feel qualified in any way to be in this class.  Sure, I had taken improvisation classes before, and have done some humorous writing, but I’m just some kids who loves comedy too much.  

On the day of the workshop, my hands shook during my entire drive to Fort Snelling Station, where I would then take the train to Hennepin Avenue.  During my commute, every possible scenario of what could go wrong during the day went through my head (did I mention the students would have to perform in front of a paying audience that night? An entire day and night, just waiting for me to mess everything up).  When I arrived at the Brave New Workshop classroom building, I took a deep breath.  I could leave, just avoid the situation entirely, but I had already paid for the class, and I knew that this was something that I probably would not get another chance to do.  This was learning how to write sketches from my favorite sketch comedy writer.  I needed to do this.

All my nerves calmed when I shook Kevin McDonald’s hand.  He was tired, like the rest of us, as it was ten in the morning on a Saturday, and was occasionally checking his phone for texts from his wife.  He introduced himself, asked if I had taken his workshop before, and went on preparing for the day ahead.  I was struck by how average he was.  Just a guy in jeans and a sweatshirt.  But he was that guy, whose show I had watched every episode of multiple times, now standing in front of me, incredibly regular.

McDonald continued to be incredibly regular as he started the workshop, giving a brief overview of how improvisational comedy works, and how The Kids in the Hall use it to write sketches.  The students did improv warm ups, then improvised a scene that they would be stuck with for the rest of the day, rewriting and performing it until it was all good to go for the show that night.  During this period, McDonald, who is also incredibly kind, bounced between the groups, offering suggestions and and constructive criticism.  The scene I was in took place in a bowling alley, and though I wish I could say it had some great political or social significance, it was just a comedy scene, and one I was proud of.

The show that night comprised of the students’ sketches, stand up from Kevin McDonald, a few local comedians, and McDonald doing improv with the Brave New Workshop mainstage cast.  Without sounding egotistical, as I have the self-esteem of a rhinoceros who thought it was supposed to look human, the scene I was in did very well, and we earned quite a few laughs.  McDonald’s stand up, which I was familiar with because of the album he released late last year called Making Faces, was fairly self-deprecating and mainly focused on the fact that he is not a stand up comedian but rather a sketch one, and was very good, as were the other comic acts.  

I had never performed on a real comedy stage before.  I had also never met one of my heroes.  To do both of those things successfully in one day was almost more than I could handle.  After the show, as I sat on the train, positively glowing from the day I had had, I thought about what this all could mean.  I have never been very confident with my comedic voice, or really anything.  At that workshop, I received direct and specific compliments from a comedian I admire to the moon and back.  

Maybe I am doing the right thing.