He Who Laughs Last
He Who Laughs Last
The Evergreen State, circa 2010. All objective metrics presaged an uphill battle. The Southwestern mesa-sized stage, while perfect for larger-than-life musical productions, would be wasted on a lone, stationary, monologist. Said stage's hypoxic height would preclude making eye contact with the crowd, never mind meaningful connections made through shared eye gaze. The domed ceiling overhead, stratospheric at its apex, ate laughter like Langoliers eat space-time continuum leavings. As mirth making was the trade I plied, I'd be forced to gauge audience response by ear. Under such circumstances, a “killer” can be made to feel like he’s fighting for his life, while a comic on life support can be made to feel like a casualty.
