A summer Evening

Last night E calls up, says he’s got free tickets to see a comedy show. The word FREE should have been my warning. Instead I say good stuff. He says oh, by the way, it is going to be taped. I say wohoo! I may be on TV. You know one of those people in the shows that gets picked on for wearing something too bright, or having a peculiar nose.

What the comedy show was actually about: it was a taping for one of those sketch shows on the comedy network. Alright, I kept an open mind. So we get in line, and it’s the oddest people. How did they all hear about this? We walk into the studio, and it is amazing, they’ve got four different sets, set up parallel to each other. There is one decorated like a bachelor pad, complete with dry ice lava lamps, and a nifty D hung up in the center. Interesting I thought. Then I see the seats. Ten rows of fifty seats, so close together. Ugh. I end up sitting between E and a humongous woman, with an obvious asthma problem. Double Ugh. So the sketches start, and none, not one, was funny. Serious Lame O. Worst part was that they shot everything twice. So you had to pretend to laugh even harder the second time. After four sketches I had enough. I had to escape. But we were at the far end of the audience. I spotted this cute boy who I had made mooney eyes to in line, stealthily walking out. I was convinced it was a sign. I ordered E to get a move on. Apologized to a zillion knees as I bumped my way out. And finally Freedom!

So we went to Nawlins. Now you may not know of Nawlins. And I pity you for it. Nawlins is a little bitty jazz bar on King Street. They serve some gorgeous Cajun food. The Gumbo Soup is heaven, seriously the best in Toronto. What I love best about Nawlins, is the size. It’s a small narrow hall way. The walls are filled with amazing paintings and photographs of all the greats. There is this amazing one of Billy Holiday with a rose in her hair bellowing her heart out. And another of a musician strumming one of those great big guitar looking instruments whose name I can never remember. It is so tiny, yet has the most amazing acoustics. Plus the band is right in your face. Last night David Rotund was doing his Bluesy Jazz thing, with his harmonica. And I drowned three glasses of shiraz.

Well worth the pounding headache and red eyes this morning.