Meth, Comedy and Redemption with Eric Sparks

The bomb and the belly-buster, a stand-up comedian’s low and high water mark.  Did your joke make people laugh, or did it not?   As the top-listed occupational requirement, it’s a must that it does.  People come to laugh — any post-chuckle thinking or reflection is just post-pasta tiramisu.  

At least, this is the primary objective for stand-up comedian Eric Sparks.  Make them laugh, and do it not despite, but because of the references to a twisted and craven eleven-month methamphetamine addiction.

“I definitely try to be funny first and foremost on stage.  It’s the most important thing.  But, I have these things that I really want to talk about,” said Sparks.  “I really like getting into my meth addiction.  There’s a lot of jokes where it comes back to me being a meth addict.  Those mean a lot to me, and it means a lot when I can get those jokes to work.”

Getting any joke to work in stand-up is impressive. It’s a difficult style of entertainment.  A one-man acapella presented to crowds of winos and loud-mouths.  The rush of pacifying one of these rooms all by yourself is, according to Sparks, quite immense.

“I never really thought I would do stand-up until after I got sober,” said Sparks.  “I was just looking for some way to get adrenaline, and that’s how I found doing stand-up.”

Comedy is a fluid producer of purpose for Sparks.  Having graduated from the University of Oregon’s philosophy program, he described stand-up’s value in the framework of Nietzche, nihilism and choosing what life means to yourself.

“When I started doing stand-up it changed how I viewed the world.  Suddenly, finding the funny part of the situation — any situation in my life — became the most meaningful part of that situation.  A trip to the dentist isn’t to get my teeth cleaned, it’s to find something funny.”

An example of his content is a joke Sparks performs that questions Eugene’s simultaneous abundance of unhoused folks and wild turkeys:

“One day in Seattle when I was an addict I saw a homeless guy decapitate a goose and stuff the body in his backpack.  Like holy shit!  It’s traumatic, right?  You can imagine.  It’s fucking traumatic,”  said Sparks.   “So, a couple years later I’m hanging out in Eugene and there’s a bunch of turkeys on the street and they’re just walking by homeless people like it’s no big deal.  I’m like ‘YOOOOO!’ — ‘you guys are gonna get jumped!’”

There is no preaching or monologuing involved.  Sparks’ sets edge themselves further not in a blatant manner, but in their undertone of redemption through description of a depraved past.  This style of joking about traumatic events could be called punching-sideways or self-flagellation — but it’s certainly not punching-down — he did experience all of this.  

And what an inspiration to see someone who “couldn’t really do anything but stumble around in chaos,” just a few years down the line, sober, ripping open a crowd with nothing but a mic, a barstool and a glass of water.