12 March 2009


These two photos were taken by Kristy at Camp Burlesque last week. In the top photo, you see Mr. Buddy with Dully, one of The Felties. In the lower pic, we're doing our "Makin' Whoopee" number.

It was a good set, but not without its problems. The first song ("Pennies from Heaven") and the set-up for our through-line gag was performed in the dark. Like an idiot, I bounded onstage in the dark (after being announced) rather than wait for the lights to come up. Next time this happens, I'm holding (or vamping) until we're lit.

Here's another photo from the same show, to give you an idea of what the first eight to ten minutes of our act looked like:

Atmospheric, but death for a comedy team one half of which is physical comedy.

We also performed a set at Pirate Burlesque on Sunday last at the Redwood Bar. (You may want to stop reading now, Mom.)

Some asshole at the bar -- and I've heard it was the owner or the manager -- decided he didn't care for two dudes making funny in the middle of the show. According to one bystander, this douchebag wanted to "see more tits." I'm saying why stop there? He could've looked in the mirror and seen the biggest twat in the place.

So this guy ... let's just call him Cap'n Asshat... cut the microphone mid-song. I assumed (in spite of his nonstop heckling from the back of the house) that it was a mere accident, and the wonderful producers of the show were quick to give me another microphone. This mic was live for a couple of minutes, and then Cap'n Asshat cut it as well. At that point, I "accidentally" dropped his mic to the floor. Oops.

"That's okay," I boomed, flexing my diaphragm and remembering my Lessac training from college. "I'm theatre people. I don't need a fucking microphone." The audience applauded. The ones in our half of the bar, that is. Our friends and burlesque fans in the back half of the bar couldn't hear us over the carousing and bar talk around them.

At the end of the day, the joke's on Cap'n Asshat: We still got paid and our free drinks. We performed our entire set with a manic hysteria perfect for our through-line gag. And everyone present knew it was a deliberate attempt to shut us up, rather than technical difficulties. Cap'n Asshat didn't derail our performance, as much as he wanted to. What he did was disrespect the producers of a fine show, and the paying patrons in his bar.

Does that sound like the kind of place you'd like to patronize?