I went to the first comedy show I’ve been to in a while. Been busy with life and all, don’t you know. I ended up “performing,” if you would call it that. A few random quips, a very quick attempt at a story, and a few of the real jokes I actually perform.

It felt alright. Now that I’ve finally achieved a mental state of not giving that much of a shit (which is actually a very desirable zen-state to be in if you are publicly speaking), I don’t get quite the rush I used to get. It’s more just fun and relaxing.

For lack of a better metaphor I think it’s the difference between very inebriated but thrilling random fucking without caution, care or inhibition versus warm and comfortable, far less random fucking in a stable relationship. Ain’t nothing like the roller coaster ride for thrills, but you know someone might die tonight. As opposed to “Fuck, yeah, this is why love songs are written, I don’t want this feeling to ever end.”

Whatever, I enjoy them both (I’m back to referring to stage performance).

Other than that, hanging out with the boys in the basement arguing whether Kerry has what it takes to pull this evil motherfucker out of office. I’m hoping (and near as I can get to praying) that he can.

Pretty much this picture sums up the evening for me. If you know anyone who hangs out at the ImprovBoston Theater in Inman Square, Cambridge, maybe they can explain it to you.