I shan't lie, I wouldn't put this mic on my list of top ten favorites (even though I have only had seven to date) though through no fault of Mike, himself. He is a great guy, an enthusiastic host, and shares my alma mater, Amherst College--go, Lord Jeffs. He does a pre-sign up thing, and couldn't squeeze me on, but he promised that if I could wait an hour and change, he would put me up on the second mic he runs just down the way at Boxcar.
I did wait, ordered my coke on the rox, and ate shit. By the time I did get up, I was less than excited about the whole adventure, and the whole aura about the show oozed with the stinky, sticky comedian glaze of, I am miserable and through misery, I hope to make you laugh. That said, lord knows I will be back. There are only so many options on badslava.com, and I am on a schedule. I also learned a valuable lesson about taking non-performers advice when they say things like, "that's really funny. You should use it in your stand up." If you heard my alarm clock joke, you know what I mean.
Fortunately, later that evening, I was booked to do my ode to Justin Bieber act at Ad-Dick-tion hosted by my all time favorite boy-lesquer ever of all time, Go-Go Harder (www.gogoharder.com). I was an all male line up, though as a lesbian, I always feel that I have an honorary place as one of the boys, not to mention that this was a pretty glamorous pack of boys, so I was far from the only pretty pretty princess backstage. I dare say, I may not even have been the prettiest princess, though I did have the biggest titts. B+ cups for life!
I did a little comedy and a little song and dance, met up with my dear friend, Diane Wade who is the GM of the space (Bowery Poetry Club) not to mention a fellow fan of Eddie Izzard and crafting... And red wine... And pickle backs... Really one of the most amazing women on the planet, so all was well.
Had intended to go to Penny's again, but by 1:30 in the am, I was too pooped to poop, let alone to tell jokes. Even jokes about poop.
Oh, and I should mention that a musician friend of mine, (fine! Also one of my exes, though to be fair, when we dated she was very young and still identified as a woman and I had a shaved head and an affinity for smashing into people on the rugby pitch, so lots has changed) did go to Penny's and called me to register, perhaps one of the most entitled complaints I have ever had to entertain. Le pronoun-questionable ex was upset to have been drawn last out of the hat (Penny's is a lottery system) despite being extremely talented, and could believe that people would waste hir valuable time as an artist by doing nonsense onstage, such as lying down or being perfectly silent for extended periods of time.
Dear Ex:
Welcome to New York. Open mics have nothing to do with being talented. They have to do with everyone getting their seven minutes. You are not entitled to any more accolades at an open mic than anyone else, despite your boi-ish good looks and ability to do amazing things with your hands... on the ukulele.
You don't go to an open mic to be great. You go to become great.
Also, remember that time we had sex on the dryer in your parents' basement after you did your senior prank even though I was well into college and the whole idea of coming home to Ohio to take you to your prom was hilarious to begin with, let alone, making out in the semi-furnished basement while we "watched a movie" and hoped your mom didn't come down to unload the washer? Whatever happened to those more innocent times?
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