Laughing And Eating And Singing And Playing And Smoking: Part Two

The show got going after not too long. It was a competition between a comedy team made up of my friends, and another of people I didn't know. Now, if I haven't said so before, for me there is just nothing more certain to relentlessly provoke me into endless peals of laughter and giggling than good improv. Of course, the flip side is that bad improv is just brutal to watch, like a man drowning who it's not in your power to save. Standup is about the same. There was no painfully bad comedy that night, and one has to be thankful for that. I may be biased, but that doesn't mean that I'm wrong in declaring the team from my improv program superior. Certainly, the voting bore that out, with our bunch moving on to the next level. They were really "on", with all cylinders firing without fail throughout their show.

The opposing team wasn't the worst, but was a clear second-best that night. There was one thing that hurt them specifically for me, but probably not for anyone else. They had one particular gentleman whose efforts were lost on me do to his uncanny and unsettling resemblance to me personally. I'll concede that he had a bit of a Ron Burgundy thing going as well, but I'll just say this. After enjoying the whole show from the audience, I was praised for "doing a great job" as we all left the theater. Enough said, am I right? Our team went first, and knocked it out of the park. Their scenes revolved around a dairy farm of a kind that probably exists nowhere in the heartland of this country. The second team followed them with some dynamite stuff, but it did not match up to what preceded it, and the good guys won to improvise another day.

Of course, the night wasn't over. After a show, everyone stands around and chats until someone with a strong, forceful personality declares plans around which the group can coalesce. So it was this night when one of us said firmly, "It's Pinkberry! Don't think about it, just do it!". I didn't have what it took to butt heads with that, so to Pinkberry we went. They do things differently there, with the yogurt, toppings and all kept behind the counter rather than being entrusted to the public. I had a plain yogurt, as I did not want toppings to mask my first taste of that establishment's wares. 

After things broke up there, I said goodbye and walked over to the subway with the intention of going home. Often, my ability to get home is entirely uncertain, late as I tend to call it a night, but since we broke up at Pinkberry in Hollywood some time around 10:30, I was in a fortuitous time and place. With total confidence, I said goodbye to my friends, walking off towards the subway station and allowing those who didn't know better to think I was headed for my car. People frequently get unduly concerned if they think otherwise. Anyway, I got on the train with no trouble, fully meaning to go home and sleep.

Tomorrow: What actually happened!