Pass, purgatory and patch-a-thon

I promised to report on performances here, and have been remiss this week. It should soon be clear as to why....

Thursday night's show, the sold-out "Witches of Prospect" benefit for a breast cancer foundation, went well, particularly in retrospect. There was one problem, and it was a doozie: The mic didn't work for most of my set.

This "problem" was not a "problem" for my comedy buddy Jennifer, she of the couldn't-whisper-if-her-life-depended-on-it school. For me, however, the Midwestern gal with the pipes of a creampuff, it was a challenge. I did my best imitation of a shout for the show, and while I paid for it afterward (my throat hasn't been that scratchy since my smoking days), it worked pretty well. The folks--mostly women, as befits the charity and show theme--had a good time, and much money was raised for an excellent cause.

Altogether now: Hooray!

Friday night's show, the end-of-the-night comedy fest for the arts studio crowd in Dorchester, was far less successful. The venue was an Irish bar that had a cast of regulars who weren't really interested in ceding "their" bar to The Comedy. Plus, the people who came to see the show weren't exactly laughing types--they smiled beautifully, but the laughs just weren't in them, sadly.

I was the second comic up, and while that usually is a tough spot, my overwhelming feeling after performing was "Boy, am I glad that's over!" For as the show went on, not only was the comedy audience not warming up (much), but the regulars became increasingly restless, so I was grateful to be on and off the stage before they got their heckle on in earnest.

Jennifer, as usual, did douse the heckle a bit, and even got the subdued smilers to laugh a little, but it was tough sledding for all. By the time the closer came up, a nice guy who will remain nameless (and you'll soon see why), there was a drunken lout shouting, "You're not funny. Get off the stage and let me try."

Oh dear.

If it were warmer out, ice cream would have been the solution. As it wasn't, fries and a shake from McDonald's did the trick.

Say what you will about junk food, it does wonders for this wounded comic.

But still, a few more shows like that, and I'm going to go back to my writing group. (If they'll have me.) Life's too short and so on and so forth....

Pardon my pessimism. It may have less to do with The Comedy and more to do with the new hole in my head this week. The root canal that went bad required me to get a tooth out Tuesday afternoon, and I haven't felt myself since.

I haven't had a tooth taken out since I had braces (in the early 70s), and as we know that my drinking history pretty much wiped my memory banks clean, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

It was a very disturbing experience. Actually, it was barbaric. As my head jerked and my jaw jiggled, I found myself wondering why we as a civilization haven't found a way to take out a tooth without yanking and pulling and generally putting a person's noggin' through the wringer. Sheesh!

But just as I was about to say, "How's about a general anesthetic--this local business isn't working for me!" out it came.

And I wasn't relieved, just exhausted. (So bad comedy experiences are less awful than bad dentistry experiences--good to know.)

And then the dear dentist asked me how I feel about cows--apparently, the bone graft I needed involved cow bits. As a Wisconsin native, I answered as best I could that I was fine with cows. Though the more I think about it, the more guilty I feel, naturally.

Oh well, so now I have some cow in my jaw. Altogether now: Ewwwwwww!

And now, I must go have some soup. Solid foods are on my "to do" list, just not yet....