Last night's set at The Studio was an odd affair, but okay. At first, I thought the audience was tentative; later, after I watched a few comics of the comics who followed me, it became clear: The crowd was drunk. In a near-stupor, actually.
Also noticed before the show that Zoe's diner was chock-a-block with students eating and drinking with relish. I only noticed because I'm a booth kinda gal, and there were none to be had--they were all packed with people in the college-age range.
Methinks some sort of hideous, gut-wrenching exam period must have taken place this week, and the surviving scholars were out celebrating.
That celebrating in college = destroying as many braincells as possible (after you've so carefully cultivated same) is one of life's little ironies.
Suffice to say, "celebrating" students are not exactly prime comedy audiences, but they weren't terrible. Just okay.
Let's leave it at that.
Speaking of leaving, I forgot my comedy notebook on the T. Jennifer assigned great comic significance to same, saying it indicated it was time for me to just put away my old material and start concentrating on the new.
Well, it could also indicate that I'm one preoccupied dykesaurus these days, and am lucky that my head is attached.
I would heartily enjoy focusing on the creation and refinement of new material, but I just don't think I have it in me these days. Jennifer thinks that being worried out of one's mind sets the stage for great comic creativity.
We shall see, eh?
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