by Reem A. Abu-Libdeh, Assitant Editor

In the fall of 2000, a group of Emerson College students set up a table in front of their dining hall to hand out copies of the Hyena, the college’s humor magazine, to hungry students on their way to dinner. A tall, lanky sophomore picked up a copy of the magazine, then lingered, making uncomfortable small talk with a person sitting at the table. The conversation quickly withered to the point when most people would walk away.

If Ryan F. Corsaro, who was sitting at the table, is to be believed, the tall, lanky sophomore, aware that he was possibly making people at the table uneasy, tried to make light of the situation with a joke. He picked up a stack of the magazines and threw them on the floor, then let out an undecipherable roar. Someone at the table threatened to beat him up. The not-so-successful comedian shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, okay,” he said.

But Eric Cheung was just beginning. A few months later, at a Stand-up Against Poverty show held at Emerson College, Cheung, doing stand-up for the second time in his life—the first time being four days earlier—ambled onstage wearing huge aviator sunglasses and a clown nose. The half-Chinese, half-Italian comedian told a joke about how he was so cold during New Years’ Eve he thought he needed a nose-warmer—hence, the clown nose.

“The first time I saw Eric doing stand-up, it was a very surreal experience,” said Corsaro, a Brooklyn-based comedian who said he eventually overcame his fear of Cheung. “Eric got up on stage, and he was this weird, quiet guy, more so just an awkward presence. Nobody really understood what he was saying. It was very, very Kafka-esque, but it seemed very, very unintentional.”

Corsaro said that Cheung walked off the wrong side of the stage after he’d finished his set. As the host was announcing the next comedian, he was still finding his way off-stage. Cheung, who tried out eight times for different comedy troupes at Emerson, stayed off-stage for the next couple of years.

He majored in film and minored in writing, taking four different comedy classes with veteran Boston comedian and professor Mike Bent. His final class with Bent was a directed study the spring semester of 2003, Cheung’s last semester. He was required to perform at Rick Jenkins’ Comedy Studio in Cambridge for the class.

“He seemed very, very dedicated to wanting to do this,” said Bent.

February 12, 2003, at the Comedy Studio, was Cheung’s official foray back into stand-up comedy. He’s barely stepped offstage since.

“I went up there and something happened, I guess. I wasn’t as nervous and the set went fine, and I just started hanging out at the Comedy Studio a lot and kind of networking with a lot of the other comics, finding out about shows in the Cambridge scene that were going on at the time.

“In 2003, when I started doing it again, I kinda tried to go in with the attitude that, Okay, you’re not going to kill every time, in fact, you’re going to bomb as badly as you did in 2001, but learn from each set—try to go into each set with some kind of mission,” Cheung said.

Most of his jokes are one-liners—described by Cheung as “weird interpretations about this strange world”—but he said he would like to get into storytelling eventually.

“I think the kind of stuff I’m attracted to as far as comedically is paradox, irony, hypocrisy. I’m not angry about it or attacking it. Like, I have a joke now about having gone to see Earthfest: I go to it and see all this litter, and it’s supposedly this event for helping the environment. You can’t stop human nature or societal norms, even for the well intentioned,” he said.

“A year ago, I wrote the joke about fireworks. I was watching the fireworks on the Esplanade, and, for some reason, it popped into my head, Who are we firing at? It’s great, fireworks are great and stuff, but it seems like a violent way to celebrate. I find that humorous for some reason.”

“A lot of people’s first impression is that he’s too wacky or goofy or something, and that’s a misconception,” Bent said. “I like that there’s a little bit of fantasy in Eric’s comedy. It’s not totally grounded in reality. Don’t not be weird. That’s the right part.”

Bent, Jenkins and Rich Gustus, another veteran Boston comedian who runs a comedy room at the Emerald Isle, agree that getting on stage as much as possible is the best way to grow as a comedian. Cheung has been on stage consistently since February of 2003 and, when he’s not performing, he’s watching other comedians perform; working on jokes; or writing his weekly e-newsletter, which highlights past and upcoming shows, along with Cheung’s thoughts of the moment.

“For the past six months, I’ve been up about three times a week. I think I’m probably doing better now than I was. In November, and before that, I was usually up probably once a week. I was doing okay, but I think I’m doing a little bit better now because I’m performing more,” said the 22-year-old comedian.

Cheung, who also works forty hours a week at a bakery, said he often gets stage time by just showing up at Cambridge’s All-Asia Café, or the Emerald Isle. He’s also booked about once a month at the Comedy Studio and recently performed at Toast Lounge in Somerville.

“I also signed up for a few contests. I auditioned for Last Comic Standing, and I did the Cambridge Fringe Idol—just to see what doing things like the Last Comic Standing is like, even though I knew I wasn’t necessarily going to be doing that.”

“Every comedian has a different learning curve,” said Jenkins. “But the one constant is that the hardest workers do the best. Eric has been one of the hardest workers.”

Bent said the comedy scene in Boston has changed over the years, with “bringer shows,” shows that require comedians to bring at least 10 guests, preventing new comedians from getting as much stage time as they could years ago. “What’s great about Eric is that even though it’s hard, he’s still doing it,” Bent said.

In late June, at the Emerald Isle, in Dorchester, Cheung stood in the back of the bar with the other performers as Gustus passed around a metal can, urging customers to donate a dollar or two before the show began. The comedian on-stage when blue police lights flashed by the windows of the bar would win the pot of money.

Cheung meandered on stage, after Gustus introduced him as the “Asian Jeff Goldblum,” and dug into his usual, reliable routine. But, for the most part, the audience wasn’t paying attention to his set.

Cheung had taken the stage at an unfortunate time—when the complimentary pizza was being handed out to everyone in the bar. He gave up in the middle of his joke about people speaking Spanish to him because he’s ethnically vague—“What is he? I don’t know, just throw some gendered nouns at him”—joined the audience, and grabbed a slice of pizza. “We’re still listening,” a woman in the crowd shouted.

Cheung got back on stage with his pizza and re-told the joke about people speaking Spanish to him. He was interrupted again: blue police lights flashed behind the windows of the Emerald Isle.

It was Eric Cheung’s first paid gig.