Last night I broke up with Baby

3 Dec
Duncal Trussel, Natasha Leggaro and Hot Damn

Even if the "whole comic thing" doesn't work out for these two, I'd thought they'd want a memento.

Last night I broke up with Baby (my snuggie) and gave my remote control the Heisman.  If you have never been to the Laughing Skull Lounge, make haste.  Getting in feels a little like the long tracking shot of the first date between Henry Hill and Karen in Goodfella’s.  Except you’re not at the Copacabana Nightclub, you’re at the Vortex in Midtown.  You twist and weave through the bar and restaurant, find the pass door and scoot down a long, dim hallway until you are led behind a thick curtain.  It’s the smallest comedy venue in the world (outside of any dressing room I find myself in each March) seating just fewer than 80 bodies.  It is intimate, which is code speak for small…just incase you don’t speak in code.

Four comics performed.  Ninja Jamie Ward began the show and served as the announcer throughout.  It was his first time performing at the Skull and got through it without throwing up or embarrassing himself.  A stand alone achievement, were it me up there.  (I wouldn’t have ever known he was a newbie had he not told me later.)  Comedians with agenda drive me bat-crap crazy.  I was ready to begin flinching as soon as the word “military” got uttered.  But the hives were arrested and didn’t have to pop out after all.  Having been stationed with the Army in Afghanistan, Jamie had some great apolitical stories.  Waxing about camel humping spiders, straight men in blouses, New Jersey, tattoos, grills and more, I was rapt.

If you find yourself ever Googling “black gay thug sex”, not that you would…but I may have, and you wonder where these people are, Marshall Chiles can give you the map.  Even as an Atlanta native, I have never been exactly sure about what happens at Bulldog’s on Peachtree Street.  I’ve seen it and always thought it was some sort of UGA alumni club house…you know, like the “secret” Auburn scene downstairs at Churchill Arms.  I’m not going to clear away the mystery for you, just know that there is a lot of confusion in that parking lot.  Loads of it.  Marshall has a concise way of presenting and massaging stereotypes that can be filed under “Funny because it’s true”.  And he does it with love.

Duncan Trussel, next up, opened his set fretting over the US Government seizing his (and yours, or mine) Google searches.   The idea makes the mind race…when you lay it all out there, how do you explain what you’ve been checking out on line?  Shudder.  Living in LA, where medical marijuana is de rigueur, has given Trussel a forest of material to cultivate what may be some of the best stoner humor I’ve heard.  You know, if you like that sort of thing.

The night’s headliner was Natasha Leggero.  She is most recently recognizable as a regular sidekick on the Chelsea Handler show, but I think of her as Bunny Hernandez from Reno 911.  How. Adorable. Is. She?  I can’t decide if I would have wanted to be her bff in high school or if she would have terrified me.  She’s easy on the eyes, can sing well, finesse a loaded heckler, and must be pretty fearless.  A spoiler alert is that she and Duncan Trussel are a cute and sparkly comedy love couple.  Trussel’s Dad was in the audience and she was still able to just go for it.  I still can’t get comfortable enough to say the “s word” in front of my in-laws!  My favorite part though is that she has this persona of being a sort of disinterested, clueless broken socialite.  Think Auntie Mame with a thin bank account.  She frets over the diamond shortage and having to find rich old men to make more for her.  I won’t tell you the specifics of how it’s done.  I loved her because she skewered Reality Stars, busted on how ridiculous the Rapper lifestyle is, read the audience and didn’t try to force anything on us and she gave me a proven formula for success.  Sex Tape + Signature Perfume = Retirement.  I need to get on that.

And if you haven’t fallen asleep yet.…

Those of you who are my Face Book friends make recall that I made an open post from last week.  It was presented this way:  “Chelsea Handler…your stylist clearly hates you. I want to help you. Please call.”  Well, the phone sat silent and I began to doubt.  Every body knows that when you doubt near Christmas, the universe begins to realign and strange things stir with miracles and glitter to make dreams come true.  Santa sent me this comic sprite Natasha Leggero, Chelsea’s sidekick extraordinaire, to possibly get the ball rolling. She stroked and appreciated my new Weitzman 50/50 boots.  That gives her street credit to go back to LA and do what needs to be done.  I am hopeful that she received my unspoken message and will have a real Massengill talk with the boss-lady about the magic of false eyelashes, collars, jewelry, and how to once and for all say no to those pesky stripes, errant bra straps, over-processing and so much more.  Whew.  I feel good.


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