And so it happened.

My first time on stage in New York, at the Ange Noir Cafe. Nothing but four minutes of glory.

It went pretty spectacularly average.

Did four minutes of material to a house where maybe three people were looking at the stage. Oh open mics, how I love thee! The throngs of disenfranchised comedians swiping and tweeting and tumbling, the fresh smell of beer and covfefe in the air...

I was happy to perform there for two reasons 1) it had a notably "Seattle-like" vibe. Progressive. Jean-Jackets. Button-ups with ironic prints. And 2) it was free. No cover, no purchase minimum.

More interesting than the set/material was my total lack of commitment to talking to any of the regulars afterwards. What do real human people talk about? Can anybody tell me? Weather, apps, PBR, places with "awesome deals on Wednesdays"? Is there a way I can conceal my obsessive ambition towards craft and theory? Should an artist have to conceal that? Fuck: are comedians even artists?

Tomorrow, I venture into the belly of the beast. Manhattan. Two mics tomorrow, and we'll see if I can start to pick up some steam.



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