Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Gilding the Lily

Question: Aren't you blogging a lot more than usual lately, Adam?

Answer: Uh, yeah, I am.

Q: Why?

A: Dunno. Restless lately, I guess. Last night after I got home from my Comic Strip Audition, I was totally wired. Couldn't sleep for hours. When I finally did nod off, around 4 AM, I had stressful, anxious dreams and woke up a wreck. So I'm trying to type out some of this nervous energy in hopes that doing so will put my racing head to bed. If not, I bought some Tylenol PM, too.

Speaking of the Strip, it was a pretty wild night for me. For those of my readers who aren't comics, what happened was I had my audition spot. The Strip is the only major NYC club that offers open auditions. Twice a year, they give out lottery numbers. Depending on your number, you're booked for a particular Monday-night audition show, at which you have exactly five minutes to prove to a woman named Starla that you're worthy of "passing" and eventually, perhaps, someday, getting paid spots. (Apparently, if you go over five minutes even by a second, they drop an anvil on your head.)

Anyway, these audition shows at the Strip are a rite of passage for NYC comics, and I was told nobody ever passes their first time out. But I figured three years into my comedy career, I might as well get it over with.

I don't know why, but as soon as I saw the crowd, I just knew it was going to go well. They were overwhelmingly straight and mostly touristy. There was a table of older women from Sweden. Four U.S. Navy women sat at another. Everyone looked friendly and attentive and ready to hear some comedy. Basically, they were the complete opposite of the Therapy audience to which I've become sadly accustomed. And as I waited to go up, I felt something I haven't felt in over two years: it was my legs shaking.

My first year doing stand-up, my legs always shook in the minutes leading up to my set. At the time, I attributed it to nervousness because it eventually stopped happening. But it wasn't about being nervous; it was about being so pumped up that the energy was literally coursing out of me. And for whatever reason, it was back.

Anyway, Starla introduced me, I came out, and I just went for it. I did my standard set -- the jokes some of you have heard dozens of times -- working for Fox News, coming out to my parents, etc. But I told these stories as if it were the first time. The reaction was overwhelming. I actually got scared that they were laughing too much. I was like, "Shh -- thank you, but I'm not finished with the joke..." because they kept laughing at the set-ups as if they were punchlines.

I walked off feeling like I had done my personal best. Still, I was ready to be told I hadn't passed.

About an hour later, Starla called me over for a chat. She asked me where I had performed and how often I got up and so forth. Then she wondered why I had wrapped at only 4 minutes 30 seconds. Oh, God, I thought, here it comes.

I explained to her that I had gotten the light and had seen her standing at the side of the stage, and that while I had another bit ready to go, I couldn't see a way to do it in 30 seconds or less. Starla nodded. "OK," she said. "Well, you got a great reaction from the crowd, and that's good enough for me. I'm going to pass you."

I was so shocked I think I acted overly blasé, like, "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

Anyway, rest assured that while this is a very nice development, it's not like winning the big jackpot. I still have to audition for Greg, the club's talent booker, next week, and I understand passing him is even harder than passing Starla. More than likely, he'll have me come back in a few months to try again.

But regardless, I'm happy to have struck up a relationship with the Strip on such a positive note.

So what else? Oh, Sunday night at Therapy was pretty weird. We started with a nearly empty room and wound up packed to the gills, which I guess is better than the other way around. The crowd was tougher than it has been lately, particularly because of a front corner table consisting of a bitchy straight girl and her two stupid faggot friends. To call them hecklers would be giving them too much credit. They were just drunk and loud and annoying.

That table aside, my opening set went OK. In the spirit of Memorial Day weekend, I wore a summery outfit, including a pair of bizarre choo-choo train pants my father used to wear in the 70s.

These pants are from 1973. And they smell like it.

Ray Rivera went up next. He wasn't that happy about his set -- especially because the aforementioned table was tormenting him -- but I thought he did really well, especially during a hilarious bit about an old queen wishing he had won "American Idol." Plus, he looked scrumptious.

Funny and Fine.

Ken Perlstein was next, and as my headliner was running late, I let Ken's set go for about 25 minutes. It was during his stage-time that the crowd doubled in size, so that should give you some indication of how well he did. Plus, he still does the world's best Bush impersonation, bar none.

Beatin' Around the Bush

Finally, Shecky Beagleman showed up, with not a moment to spare. She was worth the wait. Crazy, spontaneous, and hilarious as ever, Shecky's the only comic in New York who can do 10 minutes of material about her vagina in front of a crowd of gay men... and kill. The highlight came when she grabbed a cell phone out of the hand of someone in the front row and proceeded to have a conversation with the person on the other end. "Hi!," she exclaimed into the phone. "I was just talking about my vagina!" It brought down the house.

Certifiably Funny.

See, Ray? Ya leave before the show ends, ya miss the group photo.

Finally, two very nice shout-outs to me in the current issue of "Out in New Jersey" magazine, courtesy of Tommy Raniszewski, the guy who did that great interview with me a few months back. Tommy called several weeks ago with a favor to ask: He was about to interview Lily Tomlin; could I help him come up with a few questions?

I adore Lily Tomlin, so I was happy to help.

There's no online edition, but here's the part where he mentions me:

TR: Earlier today, I was speaking with stand-up comic Adam Sank who shared an interesting observation about you. He said your sexual orientation doesn't seem to be of much interest to your audience.

LT: Who the fuck is Adam Sank?

No, that's not what she said, though it should have been. What she actually said was:

LT: Well, if they're gay they're probably interested in [it]. But people who are not gay are not overly interested in it... I mean my inclination was to be as broadly human as possible. I didn't see the absolute division of people in any way whatsoever. I didn't want to be divided by groups. I always wanted to talk about the human condition. Whether you're straight or gay or any number of things. 'Cause I grew up in an old apartment house in Detroit where there were all kinds of people. And I knew how much alike they all were.

Lily's one smart cookie, no?

Later in the same issue, in Tommy's recommendations for Pride, he writes:

And no Pride celebration would be complete without catching the act of New York City's funniest comic, Adam Sank!

That sound you just heard was every comic on Soapbox throwing up in their mouth a little.

My heartfelt thanks to you, Tommy. Truly, I'm not worthy.

Now if you'll excuse me, there are two Tylenol PM with my name on them.


Sunday, May 28, 2006

Match Game Madness

So I'm watching "Match Game," my favorite game show, on Game Show Network. Orson Bean is one of the panelists. It occurs to me that he keeps giving really stupid answers -- ones that never match those of the contestants.

For instance, Gene Rayburn says: "Virginia stopped the car because little Tommy was standing on the seat and blanking out the window."

Now, of course the obvious answer is "peeing," which even the moron housewife contestant is able to come up with. (She actually says, "tinkling.")

Some of the panelists match her answer with some variation of peeing. A few others put "yelling" as their answer. But Orson Bean says, "looking."

This is idiotic: Why would Tommy have to stand on the seat to simply look out the window? And why the hell would that cause his mother to stop the car?

Now it's contestant No. 2's turn. She gets a really hard one: "It's an old Eskimo custom that on their wedding night, the bride and groom take a blank to bed with them."

This is difficult because there are a number of good possible answers: A polar bear, a penguin, another Eskimo, etc.

The contestant says "a friend," which isn't great. Nobody matches it, though a few celebrities do come up with "polar bear," and Brett Somers, drunk and crazy as always, has "pelican." (It is later revealed that she confused pelican with penguin.)

Orson's answer is predictably asinine: A seal. Asshole, how can a seal sleep in a bed?!

Anyway, contestant No. 1 gets another easy one, and now she's way ahead. Poor contestant No. 2 is sweating it. Gene reads her the final clue of the round: "Captain Johnson leaned out the cockpit window and asked Jonathan Livingston Seagull for blank."

Contestant No. 2 is psyched! There's only one good answer for this one -- "directions" -- and she knows it. But just as she starts writing it on her little blue card and the "wah-wah" music begins, Orson Bean blurts out, "He was asking directions to Secaucus!"

Gene Rayburn looks stricken. As the wah-wah music continues, he is clearly looking toward the judge's booth for guidance. "Uh, listen," he says finally as the music fades, "Orson said something just now -- he was making a little joke -- but there's some concern his comment might lead people to certain answers. So we're going to... uh, what are we going to do?"

Contestant No. 2 is now glaring at Orson like she wishes he'd burst into flames, and with good reason: He totally just shat all over her one chance of winning the round. So what does he say?

"Oh, well, Gene. No great loss."

Bean There, Ruined That.

What the fuckity fuck?! You don't even apologize to this poor pathetic housewife?! You should give her the $500 you just made her lose out of your own pocket!

"Uh, well," says Gene, "we're going to go to commercial and figure this all out when we come back."

So they go to commercial, and when they come back Gene explains that they don't have time to complete the round now, so both women will have to return tomorrow. Now the producers have about 45 seconds to fill, so Gene starts asking the contestants about their latest projects. Marcia Wallace talks about how the "Bob Newhart Show" has been picked up for another year. Richard Dawson, who's been rather funny the whole show, chimes in: "And Marcia's been picked up for another year, too. By a tall sailor in the grocery store."

Then Orson interrupts. There's like five seconds left, and I'm certain he's going to apologize for ruining the show. Here's what he says: "And I'm going home tonight to perform an exorcism on my cat."

Wah-wah! Show over!

Yes, this is how I'm spending this beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon. Wish I had some material for my show tonight...

Friday, May 26, 2006

Diana, My New Idol (Part 2)

For the first time in a while, I'm feeling like this blog is a big albatross around my neck. I don't know why; my last entry garnered only one measly comment (Thank you, Dale Sorenson). And yet, every day that goes by that I don't update it, I feel guilty... as if I've neglected to call my mother. (Ironically enough, I often neglect to call my mother and rarely feel guilty about it. Go figure.)

In any case, I still haven't finished reporting the details of last week's Therapy show -- and I haven't even mentioned the show that took place the week before, which included Soapbox's own Chris McDevitt.

And frankly, all I want to do is tell you about the set I had last night at the Village Lantern -- a set that I did in front of about 10 people, and that may have been my favorite ever.

I also want to comment on the season finales of "American Idol" (that suck-ass retard, Taylor Hicks, won!) "The O.C." (Marissa is dead!) and "24" (Jack is on a slow boat to China!).

I want to describe in minute detail the chicken parmigiana I made the night before last, and how I had never known you were supposed to dip the chicken cutlet in the flour BEFORE you dip it in the egg and the breadcrumbs until I read it in my trusty "Joy of Cooking."

But dammit, I don't have time to write about all those topics, and you probably don't want to read them, either.

So in the interest of shortcuts...

Next Magazine ran a lovely and rather thorough summary of the Therapy anniversary show on page-one of its "Scene and Heard" column of the latest issue, complete with a big-ass photo of Ms. DeGarmo and myself. So I'll just quote them:

Adam Sank and Diana DeGarmo Shoot an Impromptu Print Ad for Crest WhiteStrips
at therapy's Third Anniversary.

The boys lining therapy Sunday night had no shame when it came to celebrating the third anniversary of Hell's Kitchen's premier lounge. Hosted by stand-up guy Adam Sank accompanied by fellow funny-bunnies Ophira Eisenberg and Jamie Pierce, the night was heavy on song, the bartenders were heavy on the pours, the crowd was heavy on the hotties, and the Glamazons were... well, just plain heavy!

American Idol Season Three gal Diana DeGarmo came direct from her final performance in Hairspray (well, until she returns in September, anyway) to headline the night and she had the boys bursting with applause at her renditions of "Chain of Fools" and "Blue Skies."

A tough act to follow, to be sure, but cutie crooner Keo Nozari was up to the task and kept the guys' gazes going as he debuted his new single "Question of Monogamy" (as if, gurl!).

Even therapy's resident lights/sound guru/cutie Luke crooned out a tune onstage and DJ Aaron Elvis served up a lip-synco-o-riffic rendition of Erykah Badu's "Tyrone" including an unrehearsed bit of improv in which Flotilla DeBarge crashed the stage to serve up some background 'synching.

Lavinia Draper chose to recruit her backup boys, yanking two twinks from the audience, stripping them down to their skivvies and parading them through therapy to the strains (and yes, we do mean strains) of "Proud Mary." She might as well have dedicated the whole bit to therapy owner Tom Johnson as well as bar managers Chad and Brandon, because by the end of the night all three marys had good reason to be proud.

Speaking of Flotilla DeBarge a/k/a Kevin, as I was saying my goodbyes and thank-yous at the end of the show, s/he jumped onstage and grabbed the mic from me: "Let's give it up for our M.C., Adam Sank!" I was very touched, but unfortunately didn't recognize s/him out of drag, so I failed to acknowledge s/him by name. So Flotilla, honey, if you're reading this, thank you and apologies from the bottom of my clueless heart.

I was wondering why "Next" wanted a photo of us together (far right).

Anyway, suffice it to say, it was a really fun night. The one small blight on the evening was a table full of drunk, stupid queens in the second row. While Diana was doing her encore, one of them threw his flip-flop (!) at the stage, barely missing her.

My friend Seth was setting nearby, and while he's not affiliated with Therapy in any way, he took it upon himself to throw the little shit out of the club. (Seth has been known to get his Irish up after a few drinks.)

That's it -- I'm done! No more recapping. Now I'm looking to the future -- as in my Therapy show this Sunday night, and my audition at the Comic Strip Monday night.

Wish me luck.


P.S. Spell-check thinks "hotties" should be "potties"... tee hee. ♥♥

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Diana, My New Idol (Part 1)

First thing's first: This past Sunday, May 21, my oldest and dearest friend, Keith Johnson, and his lovely wife, Mandy, welcomed Jack Christian Johnson into the world. It's hard to believe that Keith is a father; I still remember making prank phone calls with him when we were seven years old. My heartfelt congratulations and best wishes to him and the entire Johnson clan.

Keith and Baby Jack

As my readers know, I have fallen way behind in my blogging due to a confluence of events -- not the least of which is that my apartment has been a wreck all week and my usual routine disrupted as my friend George installs a new tile floor in my kitchen.

George is a master tiler, and the floor looks amazing, and he did the whole thing for free, and I am eternally grateful. But look how small the entire area is:

When You're Tiling, The Whole World Tiles With You...

How long would you guess such a tiny floor would take? If you guessed "one week or less," you'd be wrong. It's been eight days since I've had full access to the kitchen. My refrigerator is in the middle of the living room. I've eaten so much take-out food lately I can no longer button my pants. And George is still... not... done. He needs to add some sort of sealer to it now. It's meshugenah.

Add to this that I've had a house guest since Saturday -- my friend Ben from D.C., who's up here looking for a job and from whom I have caught a massive head-cold -- and the fact that I spent much of last week running around like a crazy person getting ready for Therapy's three-year anniversary show, and you'll forgive me for not blogging.

Plus, you probably couldn't care less.

But for what it's worth, the show went very well. As predicted, it was a mob scene. We actually had to pull a throng of peoplefrom the stage before the show because they were up there dancing, like goofy teenagers at a Bar Mitzvah.

My opening set went surprisingly well, given all the noisy drunken revelry. I had prepared a rather simple, tongue-in-cheek tribute to Therapy -- the type you'd hear at a Friar's roast. At one point I suggested three new specialty drinks that could soon be added to the menu. (Therapy's menu is rife with silly drinks like the "Freudian Sip" and the "Psychotic Episode.") I can't even repeat the first two menu additions I came up with for fear of grossing out my more delicate readers. But the last of these, I said, would be "the Tom Cruise, which comes in a closet."

Beyond hack, right? They gave me an applause break. Hey, I'll take 'em where I can get 'em.

Ohmigod, They're Applauding!!

To be sure, it was not a comedy audience. Both Jamie Pierce and Ophira Eisenberg were brilliant but struggled to be heard over the din.But being the true pro's they are, they gave it their all. A third comic -- a nationally known headliner who shall remain nameless here -- pulled me aside moments before he was supposed to go up and told me he was bolting. I was disappointed that he didn't give it a shot, but fortunately we had a ton of other performers yet to go.

Cutie-Pie Jamie Pierce Flashes Some Sass

The Mighty Ophira Rules With an Iron Fist

Next up was our guest DJ for the night, Aaron Elvis, who lip-synched a dead-pan performance of Erika Badu's "Tyrone." It's hard to explain why seeing a white man, not in drag, perform that particular song was so absurdly hilarious, but it was. He very nearly stole the show.

Elvis Has Left the Building... in Stitches.

Damn, I'm not even halfway through the performers, and I want to tell you all about them -- especially how amazingly sweet Diana DeGarmo was. But as I write this, I've got a kielbasa in the oven. That's not some sort of perverted gay euphemism; I have an actual kielbasa in the actual oven. And it's not easy cooking when I can't touch the floor. I'll have to add another installment later in the week.

For now, here's a sneak peak of what came later:

Chad Ryan, Therapy's Manager, Diana and Me

To Be Continued...!

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Misery Loves Comedy

I've been going through an existential crisis lately. The only thing more tedious than going through an existential crisis is reading about someone else going through one, so I'll spare you the details. But in a nutshell, my nagging questions include:

1) Why don't I have a boyfriend?

2) Why am I chasing fame and fortune when I'll almost certainly never achieve either, and on the infinitesimal chance that I do, they'll probably end up making me more miserable than I already am?

3) Do I have any actual talent, or am I completely deluding myself?

4) Is talent beside the point entirely, and is life in general and showbiz in particular simply one giant crap shoot?

5) If the answer to No. 4 is "yes," then why work so hard?

6) Isn't it incredibly selfish and narcissistic and downright evil to be chasing fame and fortune for one's self when we have genocide in Darfur and "honor killings" of women in Arab states and a lunatic American President who's trying to hasten the rapture by destroying the environment?

7) Putting No. 6 aside for a moment, how come every time it feels like I'm taking a step forward in this business -- be it opening for Hal Sparks at Carolines or getting booked on a cruise ship or
appearing on "Best Week Ever" -- it turns out to be a mere illusion of progress and I'm right back where I started?

8) Should I quit comedy? If not now, when?

9) If I quit, what should my life be about instead?

10) Why doesn't Snapple make diet lemonade?

While you ponder those questions, a brief recap of last weekend's shows:

I had what I considered to be a miserable set at the Robin Fox-hosted Hadassah benefit in Morristown in front a room full of hungry Jews (including my extended family) who sat looking down at their food the entire time I was onstage. I was later told by Robin, Lisa Landry, and assorted members of my family that it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. I honestly don't know.

My Name is Adam Sank... Try the Veal.

Robin Fox... My Comedy Mama

The highlight for me was hearing Robin's onstage stories about my father (who was her daughter's pediatrician 20 years ago), and Lisa Landry's crowd work with my entire family. After my sister Anna volunteered the information that her current pregnancy wasn't planned, Lisa said, "OK, I didn't know we were going to have a whole Jerry Springer moment. I was just being friendly."

The lowlight for me was getting Lisa and myself lost on the way back to the city and winding up in Mahwah because I was jabbering away about my awful set instead of keeping my eyes on the road and telling Lisa when to turn onto I-24. Lisa was forgiving to the point of sainthood, but I have never felt like more of a turd.

That ordeal was followed immediately by my Therapy show which, miraculously, went rather well. Hunkalicious Jayson Cross, making his Therapy debut, was particularly impressive, and Shann Carr, from Atlantis Cruises, simply knocked the room on its ass. And I didn't embarrass myself too badly, either.

Unfortunately, I had left my camera in Morristown, so there are no photos documenting the show. (Special thanks to Mom for Fed-Exing the camera back to me.)

Speaking of photos, Next magazine ran one in its current issue from the show where Kevin Meaney made a surprise appearance:

Also this week, HX was kind enough to list my show in its "Homo Musts":

Diff'rent Strokes
Electroshock Therapy, 348 W 52nd St
212-397-1700, therapy-nyc.com, 10pm, free
It's all in the family as Adam Sank welcomes the mother of all comics, Robin Fox, to offer maternal advice to her homo stepchildren at the Electroshock Therapy Comedy Hour. Along for the ride are foster brother Donny Moss and therapy's favorite slutty sister, Mizz Wendy Ho.

This being its special "Hell's Kitchen" issue, HX also ran a short piece I submitted, along with a photo of me from Halloween 2003. It may be the most frightening picture ever taken:

My everlasting gratitude to both magazines for the free press.

In other news, the MySpace solicitation contained in my last blog entry was a huge success (and I'll take my huge successes where I can get them). In one week, I went from 59 friends to 82. So let's shoot for 100 by this time next week. Click here if you're not already on my page.

Finally, I can't seem to stop watching MTV's "8th and Ocean," which is basically "The Real World" with models. Such is the depravity of the cast members that the one I identify most with is Britt, the Christian virgin who refers to Jesus as her "husband." (I, too, once had a husband named Jesus, but he pronounced it "hay-ZOOS," and the marriage was never legal.)

At least Britt has something going on in her life -- i.e. prayer circles -- besides modeling and lying by the pool. The rest of the women are petty, anorexic whores who spend their time scheming behind each other's backs. (Particularly annoying are Kelly and her "All About Eve" identical twin,

The men are worse. First of all, I don't mean to be a reactionary homo, but how can there not be one gay guy in a house full of models?! And these are the kind of straight guys who give straight guys a bad name. Vinci, a semi-literate Latin lover with abs of steel, keeps missing bookings because "alarm clocks don't work for me."

Adrian spots a bevy a hot chicks across the pool and remarks, "They look good from far, but if we get closer, they'll look far from good."

And Teddy hangs up on his girlfriend's voice mail because, "I don't do messages. She'll see that I called and she'll call me back."

I'm hoping that on the season finale they all fall into a vat of acid and become permanently disfigured, thus having to rely on their brains and sparkling personalities to get by in the world.

Or at the very least, that they suffer major existential crises.


Monday, May 15, 2006

Shameless Promotion! Not a Real Blog!


Therapy is thrilled to announce that singing sensation Diana DeGarmo, currently starring as Penny in the Broadway smash "Hairspray," will join Adam Sank's ELECTRO SHOCK THERAPY COMEDY HOUR for a special musical performance on Sunday, May 21 @ 10PM.

DeGarmo, the first runner-up from season three of American Idol, is currently at work on her second album. The first single off her previous album, "Blue Skies," went to No. 1 on the Billboard U.S. Singles Sales Chart.

To celebrate the third birthday of Therapy, Hell's Kitchen's hottest night spot, DeGarmo will be joining an all-star lineup of comics and variety acts, including Ophira Eisenberg (Comedy Central's "Premium Blend," Vh-1's "Best Week Ever"), Jamie Pierce (Carolines, the Laugh Factory), the Glamazons (CBGB, Avalon), Therapy's own Lavinia Draper, cutie crooner Luke Jones and D.J. Aaron Elvis, as you've never seen him before.

Feast on free buffet and open bar from 7 to 9 PM. Then have your funny bone stroked beginning at 10 PM, as Therapy's reigning homo of hilarity, Adam Sank, welcomes these and other surprise performances guaranteed to bust your gut -- if not your nut!

No cover charge, no minimum, $5 cosmos all night! For more information, visit www.therapy-nyc.com or www.adamsank.com.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Me=MC Squared

This will be a totally self indulgent, totally self-promotional, totally bullshit-y blog entry, so forgive me in advance.(Why should this one be any different from my others?)

But I was just asked to MC the early show at Gotham tonight, and I wanted to spread the word. I am very psyched about this, even though I know there will only be a couple dozen people in the crowd, at most. It marks a milestone for me, as the Gotham early show was where I made my comedy debut back in September of '03. I remember thinking then, "Can I really be funny for 7 minutes?" Now here it is, almost three years later, I'm going to MC the show, and I'm thinking... "Can I really be funny for 7 minutes?"

Anyway, if you happen to be free, come see me!

Friday, May 12 at 6:30 PM (TONIGHT!!)

Gotham Comedy Club
208 W. 23rd St. (b/t 7th and 8th)
Reservations: 212-367-9000

Sincere thanks to all of you who responded, both publicly and privately, to my existential crisis blog of last week; your support, feedback and advice means a great deal to me. I especially appreciated the email from Tommy in New Jersey, who offered tremendous wisdom. On the other end of the scale was Brad Loekle's advice, which was basically: "Just don't think so much!"

That's like telling an anorexic: "Just eat something!," a la Sam Kinison in his classic Karen Carpenter bit. Thanks, Brad. While I'm at it, I'll also stop being left-handed and grow a bigger penis.

Speaking of which, last Sunday's Therapy show was fun, fun, fun. I don't have time to go into detail, but here are some photo highlights:

This hideous picture notwithstanding, I had a great set with
all-new material. Only one joke fell flat on its face, and the crowd
was more than forgiving.

Wendy Ho rocked the house -- many of whom were members of her
MySpace fan club -- with a brand-new medley of filthy songs.
The crowd demanded an encore, so she came back to perform
"Bitch, I Stole Your Purse."

Donny Moss, made his Therapy debut and a lot of
new fans. I loved when he ad-libbed to a guy in the front
row, "We should take a bath together."

Lisa Landry made a surprise appearance -- and was
amazing as always. I want to be her when I grow up.

Robin Fox was afraid to follow Lisa; she needn't have been.
Her fourth time on Therapy's stage, and she still knocked it out of the park.
Plus, she brought me Diet Snapple Lemonade!!

A stellar lineup... a great crowd... what more could I ask for?
(Well, a lot, actually. See my last blog...)

Seen in the crowd (though unfortunately not photographed): Ray Rivera, Angry Bob, Modi and Daniel Reichard of Broadway's "Jersey Boys." Sweet!

That's it! I'm off to get my hair cut and prepare a set for Gotham! Wish me luck!