Four was with Sassi at Broadway Comedy Club. A fairly typical mic. Not gunna lie, I spent a huge chunk of time outside talking with my friend, Princess Sunshine talking about a burlesque venue and their choices on vocalists. Look, burlesque has been my life for a while now, and I miss it. I love it. I have a natural proclivity for gossip, and in that department, comics are boring. Or at least, not as interesting to me as all of my bedazzled friends.
Five was a little bit questionable, so I had to take it to committee. It was my UCB Improv 201 Showcase. Now one of my very first jobs in the city was as a short form improviser (Where are you from? New Jersey! What exit?) but I haven't ever studied long form, so one diversity scholarship later (I have to say things like, "as a lesbian" when I go to meet ups in order to compete in the pissing contest of diversity. My liberal arts degree in nonsense and whimsy also gives a lil Harry Potter tingle whenever I utter sentences like, "as a lesbian..." This show counts because it is 1.) In the boys club and 2.) Involves thinking and speaking on my feet 3.) led me to make a funny joke about chlamydia (always funny) which I may work into a bit.
That night was back to my world below fourteenth street, or, in this case, off the ol JMZ in the BK lounge to a house party in Bushwick with burlesquers and fetishists. Let it be said now that I'm not really into fetish--I struggle to keep a straight face. Or even a gay face that isn't laughing, for that matter--but that's what I get for befriending sexual deviants and vagabonds. The jumps between comedy and burlesque are always comical, however. To go from a group of hoodies and sneakers to wigs and bedazzles never ceases to amaze me, not to mention the personal wardrobe crises I now encounter daily.
Sunday the mic I wanted to go to was cancelled, which was fine as I had spent all day in pajamas with a dear friend of mine watching "Peepshow," a British import and a jem of a Sunday-morning time-waster.
Lucky number six
Monday brought me Letterman's Backdoor where I was scheduled to do a thirty minute set: read, the length of a Comedy Central Special. I dug deep into the vaults of old material, and in the process, failed to reveal many of the new comedy gems I have unearthed since I first stuck my toe into the cold, cold waters of stand-up as a more than semi-obnoxious 23 year old. A tricky audience to begin with, though, again, not a total fail. Highlights HERE.
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