Last night's show in Hartford went well. Not knock-yer-socks-off well, but well enough that I didn't worry about my houseguests or the coworker who brought his girlfriend to the show.
Worry that they'd have to pretend to have a good time, that is. (Codependent Forever More is my credo.)
Was particularly touched by the post-show compliments of an older man (who read very gay, but very closeted). He didn't say anything about the substance of my material but that he enjoyed it. What he did say is that I seemed very relaxed while performing. Relaxed! I felt an adrenaline surge just before I went up on stage, and found myself worrying about speeding through my set, but apparently, that did not manifest to the audience.
Or at least to this dear fellow.
I find it remarkably sweet when people say thank you for a performance, but when they say something that directly addresses a concern, I feel like the Comic Gods are looking after me.
Thanks, Comic Gods!
As for remembering, I actually did remember the sad story of the mother haircut referral and the Democrats giving the GOP a taste of their own medicine bits, and I think they're both good enough to keep for future use. Of course, the political one might be outdated by the next time I see a stage, but it was very cathartic to do, so who cares?
That's enough for one missive. A massive pile of laundry awaits, so off I must go. Here's to The Comedy, the Democrats and life after the GOP: HOOOOOOOORAY!
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