Twenty and twenty one came together like a group of hookers at a rugby team orgy. Up to the Upper West Side (seriously, that area between 14th street and midtown freaks me out. What goes on there except that spot by UCB that has tater tots and my Charles who lives in the tiniest studio in the world? Midtown, I know, due to an affinity for large, shiny lights and Broadway shows... though if I have to walk through an ocean of nose-pierced, Manic Panic late tweens/early twentysomething out of towners waiting for the lottery for "American Idiot," I may start carrying a brick in my shoulder bag, and I haven't been above Lincoln Center since I dated a woman In The Heights. Fair to say the musical was more fun than the commute) to the P&G for three rounds of 2 minutes each in a weird, speed dating for comics set up, which I eventually dug, once I figured out what was going on.
Then I received a tip about a mic behind Port Authority and planned to meet up with my partner in spacy-ness, Chanelle Futrell. (we used to do a little Scout and Chanelle Show on youtube, which we plan to resurrect... eventually...) En route, I received a text from my new found lady which, in fine tribute to her skill as a wordsmith, read, "just leaving a convention in Midtown. Wanna make out in the bathroom at Starbucks?" to which, I said, "duh." So there we stood like patiently apprehensive late tweens/early twentysomethings waiting in line for the lottery for "American Idiot" and made out in the bathroom at Starbucks, careful not to touch any of our important parts to any exposed bathroom surfaces. It was awesome.
The mic wasn't bad either, until a drunk fella who was obnoxious in a way that is inexplicable without going on a full rant, which I just don't have in me right now, did a set that was every kind of racist no comedian wants to be. Political in-correctness may be all the rage, but racism is still exists, and just because you can laugh at your own internalized issues, doesn't mean for real racist and comedian are mutually exclusive. Sure, back when I really was a nose pierced, Manic Panic twentysomething and thought I was Sarah Silverman, I tried my hand at a couple of race jokes that didn't land, but I backed off. I knew when to quit. I looked like a bad comedian, not an asshole. This fella with a questionable hair situation and one too many vodka sodas was asshole all the way.
I lightened the mood with a rant about bedbugs, which are the only group of anything that I want gassed, beaten, hung, machettied, or however else racist people kill things. Those bugs are insidious, and I hate them.
Which leads me to my next point, being mean is only funny when it is lighthearted and not serious and you can do almost anything with a genuine smile. I may not be the best joke writer there is, but I am a generally happy person, and sometimes just going up on stage with energy and a smile is enough to save the day.
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