Here we are at the end of another moderately entertaining day. The problem with being burdened with a middle class appetite is that you tend to behave like a spoilt little mofo every now and then. We aren’t really receptive, as a movement, to reality. I noticed this some time back when I realized that the wrong flavoured yoghurt physically upset me. Mashini wam need not look too hard for evidence for a reason to strike with just cause. To be fair, however, we must consider the fact that apricot yoghurt is disgusting. Yes Korean dictators are dying, but what of the yoghurt? It’s a dissapointing fuselage of too-sweet-honey type goo mixed with a full cream yoghurty vibe. No human should have to square off with this cotchy apricot-infused sickly sweet assemblage of hormone-soaked calf sustenance thrown with whatever we perceive as edgy labelling. Life is too short.
I DIGRESS, I hit two gigs tonight. The first was Zula Bar’s comedy on a Monday evening. Mumzi is running one tight ship at his new rig- all sideways noise about Zula management’s inability to sustain a four year relationship that put their venue on the national comedy circuit aside, Mumzi is holding down a stellar spectacle. It has only done well since he’s touched it.
I played support; he put me up first, which I think is wise. Kurt does the same at Jou Ma Se; hit hard at the beginning. Makes tons of sense. I can only think of the punter who’s negotiated traffic, paid the cover, dealt with the waiter and waited patiently only to have some aspiring smart ass try and dance for him. First impressions and all that jazz. Clever management – start with the support act, what bright things run our best shows.
Well, I didn’t storm Zula but it was good enough, or so I was told – for me it’s all about who you let crit you.
I didn’t stick around long enough to sift the situation properly, because I was due for the SCAM vs Starving Comics showdown at Ragazzi. A showdown we started three years back, a little silly bit of playful compulsive competitiveness our cracked egos hatched out of necessity – if we can’t beat the system, we’ll beat each other. Not to sound too brag-gat but SCAM WON AGAIN. THIRD YEAR RUNNING, but it doesn’t really mean anything……. other than the fact that we’re funnier.
The Ragazzi room is a stunner. It feels and looks like a comedy club should. I dig it hard. Bravo to Carl Weber, Angel Campey and Dylan Skews- well deserved my lovelies. Not that the other crew wasn’t funny, they just weren’t funny enough. Small difference. Can someone say bragging rights?
All in all a decidedly kief evening neck deep in Cape Town comedy. Thank you darlings, it made my week.
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