For Steve Lipman, a comedy career is no joke

When he was 11 years old, Steve Lipman wangled his way into an appearance at a New York comedy club. His family knew someone who knew someone, he recalls. The youngster bravely stood on the stage of the popular Gotham and began his shtick.

His bit on then-President George W. Bush really went over with the crowd. "I'm 11 years old," he told them, "and I've learned to tie my shoes really well. So if President Bush ever comes to town, I'll teach him, too."

Eight years later, standing in the entry area of the Comedy Cabaret in Northeast Philadelphia on a recent summer night, Lipman, who will appear Wednesday at the Laff House on South Street, looks more boy next door than stand-up comic. While the 10 other comedians in the showcase have gimmicks - a hat here, a drink in hand there - Lipman is wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt over a T-shirt.

A bit off-kilter after saying goodbye to a close friend leaving for college, the 19-year-old Temple freshman transforms when he hears the announcer call his name.

He bounds onto the stage. He's friendly, charming, and, yes, funny. No grand gestures. No shouting or streams of profanity. He may be the youngest comic to take the stage this night, but his ease belies his age.

He doesn't sweat when a quip about immigration fails to elicit the laughs he'd hoped for. The ones about his parents, who are sitting front and center, do. "When I get to be their age, I don't want to be so old! I don't want to get excited about things like how the lawn looks, and how my 401(k) is doing. . . ."

The middle-agers in the crowd laugh, even though they're part of the joke.

And when he ends his six minutes with a spot-on impersonation of TV's Ray Romano, the audience cheers. Six minutes - and weeks of preparation, hope, and practice - are rewarded.

"He's going to be invited back," says longtime Comedy Cabaret manager Karen Lift, who has seen comics come and go on that stage for the last two decades. "He's likable, he's funny, and he's adorable!"

Everyone should have seen it coming.

The impulse to make people laugh goes back to Lipman's toddlerhood. One of his lines when he was just 4 years old was a tipoff. After a conflict over his toy being taken was resolved, he told his nursery-school teacher: "Thank God! Now my blood pressure is back to normal!"

The youngest of a posse of Center City neighborhood children during the family's early years there, Lipman admits it: "I wanted attention, and would do anything for a laugh!"

Mostly, his brother was his favorite audience. At first, the humor was physical - bouncing down a staircase in a laundry basket could always get a laugh. But later, serious study of comedians - for Lipman, that's not an oxymoron - kicked in. He would watch Saturday Night Live tapes endlessly. Eddie Murphy, Kevin James, and Adam Sandler were his idols - and still are.

But for one period in his preteen years, life ceased to be funny. The sudden death of a close friend his age from a mysterious virus shocked and sobered him. "Everything seemed less safe, and definitely less funny. . . ."

Initially, it diminished his comedy. Ultimately, it intensified his need to find the humor in human existence. "I figure we all need to laugh just to get through our lives, and if I can help with that, then I'm doing something worthwhile."

Still, comedy was not exactly the most predictable route for this nice Jewish boy from Merion. His father, Mark, is an optometrist, and his mother, Terri, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania's School of Nursing and a nurse practitioner at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. Older brother Jeff, a medical student at Thomas Jefferson University, has followed in his parents' footsteps.

But not Steve Lipman.

"I'm definitely the black sheep," he says, but with a joking twinkle in his eye.

His parents, after some trepidation, now understand his passion. "Steve has been trying to make people laugh since he was 2 years old," says Terri. "Of course we worry about his future. We know it's difficult to have a career in show business. But comedy is his dream, and we support it."

The Lipmans have had time to get used to the idea. Throughout high school, where he was on the varsity baseball team, Steve also had gigs at comedy clubs on open-mike nights. He occasionally worked in New York, appearing in clubs such as Gotham and the Comedy Cellar.

That balancing act - high school student and stand-up comic - never bothered him. "I kept it in moderation, and knew that I couldn't let it take over my life," he says.

His comic style is just that - his. Lipman doesn't attempt to imitate more outrageous comedians who explode with anger or taunt audience members. His subjects are most often politics, family, and the universals - life's frustrations, surprises, pitfalls.

Lipman does all his own writing, sometimes tries out ideas on his parents, but generally keeps his jokes to himself, recorded in a journal.

And jokes laced with sexual innuendo from this baby-faced comic? "I'm sometimes raunchy, but I hope I'm never offensive."

Working alongside Lipman has been his best friend and manager Aaron Freedman, 19, also from Merion. The two have been serious about the arrangement, with Freedman marketing his client - and mastering business skills along the way. Neither has come close to getting rich - $50 for a five- or six-minute gig is the big time so far.

A real test came when Freedman and Lipman decided that for their mandatory senior project at Lower Merion High School this spring, they'd do a carefully mapped-out comedy road trip. The senior project is a requirement for graduation, and taps into each student's interest or talent.

The two arranged a 12-day car trip, with a Chicago club as the final destination. There were stops at comedy clubs in New York, Washington, D.C., and Cincinnati - arranged by Freedman as his part of the project.

"Club owners are used to managers insisting that they've discovered the greatest comedian ever," says Freedman, who is about to enter the freshman class at Pennsylvania State University in State College as a business major. "But because Steve already has credentials, we got in the door."

The ultimate irony came at Riddles Comedy Club in Chicago, the last and most anticipated stop. When the two arrived, they learned that no one under 21 was permitted inside the club. Not even a performer.

"It was pretty devastating, but the rest of the experience was probably the best one of both our lives," says Lipman.

The road trippers eventually created a 40-minute video about their adventure, which played to a capacity audience in July at the Bryn Mawr Film institute.

"This was definitely one of the most unusual senior projects in recent years," said Lower Merion High School principal Sean Hughes.

The two will continue to work together from afar, but meanwhile, they continue their private high jinks.

Last week, when Freedman had his wisdom teeth extracted, his best pal ordered him an ice cream cake emblazoned with a message that raised some eyebrows: "Congratulations on your sex change operation!"