Ever since I was a child I was dramatic. I pursued acting throughout high school and college, hoping that one day I would leave the normal world behind, and take up a glamorous life in front of a camera. Parental expectations, marriage and children put a kibosh on that, as they seem to do for a lot of women: I've carried the mantle of responsible wife and mother - gladly - for coming up to 29 years.

When most women start to creep up the chronological calendar, they usually look forward to playing with grandchildren, vacations alone with their husbands, or long lunches with their gal pals. That's all well and good for most women. For some unknown, and most likely hormonal reason, I have this nagging feeling that it just won't do for me.

I've always enjoyed going to see live comedy, no matter how many 'How about that airline food' opening lines I've had to sit through. My Myspace name is 'I Could Use a Good Laugh'. I have to admit it, but at the time, toilet humor cracked me up, it's all I knew. It was in 2003 on a family vacation that I was exposed to the comedy of Eddie Izzard. I became a fan, always looking to satiate my desire for more Izzard. His comedy was completely different from what I was used to. I spent time studying the difference between alternative and mainstream comedy. I took to conversing about his comedy on his message board, and was sucked into quite a large and friendly fan community. It is there that I met people who have moved out of the cyber world and became real-life friends. It is these wonderful beings who encouraged me to follow a mid-life-crisis dream of owning a comedy club of my very own.

Having tried to buy one of Los Angeles's more historical venues (turns out the owner was just testing the waters, and wasn't actually ready to pack in his 30 years just yet), I realised that owning a club would tie me down to one spot. To make it lucrative, I'd probably have to book comedians that I really didn't think were funny (one more penis joke, and I can understand Lorena Bobbitt's perspective). The more I was exposed to the comedy scene in LA, though, the more I realized that was the norm, not the exception. I also found that most of the 'comedians' there were just using the clubs to kill time while they waited to be discovered for a sitcom. After experiencing the Just for Laughs Festival in Montreal 2007, the comedy-as-art concept became a profound realisation. It was a mind-altering experience, greatly enhanced by a pond of champagne.

Montreal had some of the best comedy I had ever had the privilege to experience. And being in the centre of it, I eavesdropped on what was being said about the international comedy scene. There were lots of television development deals being discussed, but I was more tuned in to the opinions of some of the people there that other comedians held in high esteem. Paul Provenza was one of those, and his take on the state of comedy and the sort of acts that he was interested in bringing to light probably affected me more than any other encounter I had. I already had much respect for the man, as he was the brilliant mind who brought us the very rude, but incredibly brilliant film, Aristocrats, about the dirtiest joke in the world. Once I got past the perverseness of the actual joke, I was able to see that it was more about each comedian's unique style. What a revelation to see so many different and hilarious takes on the same joke. He was the first to bring it to my attention that LA was seriously lacking in comedians who took comedy seriously. That may sound an oxymoron, but good comedy is hard work. He suggests that there should be somewhere in LA equivalent to the Lakeshore Theatre in Chicago.

By no means do I mean to knock Los Angeles. Hell, there are plenty of people who will do that for me. It can be a dishonest and shallow existence. The glut of comedians here makes it so that getting any monetary compensation for a stand-up stint means you're head and shoulders above most. And most of the comedians struggle even to get a spot on stage. They schlep from open mic to open mic in the hopes that someday they can get a spot in some small coffee house that still doesn't pay. It doesn't even cross their mind to get paid at this point. If they get lucky enough to meet someone who runs a room at one of the bigger comedy clubs, it doesn't necessarily mean that they are good if they get booked. It just means they probably can promise to bring lots of friends who can put butts in seats, and buy their two drink minimum.

But LA is home for me, over-congested, smoggy and full of painfully thin men and women. With so many great restaurants, I haven't quite been able to figure out why. Thankfully, there is a successful alternative comedy scene, populated by brilliant comedians such as Maria Bamford, Zack Galifinakis, Patton Oswalt, Greg Proops, in non-mainstream clubs like Largo at the Coronet and the Upright Citizen's Brigade Theatre. To my taste, though, there is still a dearth of comedy from across the pond, even across the continent, and a lack of comedians in general who consider what they do an art form.

I formed Mizban Productions solely for the purpose of bringing comedy that I believe in to the Edinburgh Festival in 2008. In the process, I have done a lot of learning about what is involved in calling myself a producer. In Hollywood, you hear that title bandied about as if it validates you - if only to secure a prime table at the latest see-and-be-seen restaurant. For me, it means taking on a mom-like role, and nurturing my friends' careers. If I have to come out of my comfort zone to do it, then I'm glad there is Xanax (an anti-anxiety medication). I met Kate Roxburgh through our mutual admiration of Eddie Izzard, and our friendship took off. I think I have a pretty good idea about what works. If I didn't believe in her innate comedic ability, and her desire to succeed, then I'd still be her friend. But we wouldn't be going all the way to Edinburgh with her show. We'd probably just be going for the Guinness.

Lenny Bruce is quoted as saying, 'The only honest art form is laughter, comedy. You can't fake it... try to fake three laughs in an hour - ha ha ha ha ha - they'll take you away, man. You can't'. I am spending a small fortune to go to Edinburgh in August to prove to myself that I'm not delusional, and that there are comedians who take their craft seriously, and are not only out to snag a television development deal. I want to hear them discuss comedy as if it was brain surgery. In a way, it is. Good comedy will alter your mindset, and make you think a little less linearly. Not only do I want to share Kate's talent with the world, but I also believe whole-heartedly in that old adage 'Laughter is the best medicine'. Without national healthcare in the US, we are in desperate need of comedy as the panacea for what ails us. Could it heal the world? Probably not in my lifetime. Could it cure my mid-life crisis? It's already started to.

END

(c) Jennifer Mizban 2008

Jennifer Mizban lives in Orange County, California, USA

Lucy Craig and Kate Roxburgh perform Craig and Roxburgh Stand-Up at Sweet Teviot Place, 19:10pm, to 24 August 08, Edinburgh Festival Fringe, 2008

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