This downtown Minneapolis outing found that out there in the big city was not only our comedy arena, filled with many hundreds, but across an alley where kids shot baskets near one end was an extravaganza that was even bigger in scope.
That entailed a comedy show I just attended — with a Prince tribute Broadway-style production and all it encompassed going on next door — so we all can laugh, and sing. And despite all the throngs, at our spoken word performance by Sarah Millican, most although not all the people, depending on where they were sitting, could hear all the silly words, as this was not sullen deathcore.
— An idea for Thanksgiving/Christmas, even if it’s a Joe Food “recipe,” if you reconsider your original plan and want to make and bring this version of something easy. This way, you can add it for a cheap holiday treat, so try it and what you would change or replace.
Purchase a can of both jellied and whole-berry cranberries, as you might need to buy both to get the advertised deal, and put them on opposite sides of a medium-sized dish, preferably oval. At the point where they touch, place a few halved orange slices or better yet mandarin oranges. Consider sprinkling all over the top both the juice from the unused segments, several broken pieces of pecan or walnut, and bits of apple, either red or green, or both, (eat the unused slices later yourself, or to treat yourself), these the Christmas colors, will work. Put whole slices of the fruit, either kind, or another kind, at each end of the dish. Add a bit of brown sugar/cinnamon? Ta da. Twiddle dum. —
Finding parking was an adventure, even though my partner in crime if the humor she recommended was bad, had called the night before and bought a stall. (Yes, those type of jokes would follow soon.) But finding that slot did not come complete with instructions. So there was a meager meltdown before we made our way to laughing along with the menagerie of slightly malicious jokes, in a good way.
We found our way out of the parking ramp — what are we rubes? — and the door handle to get the hell out was slightly tougher. But still, we had a couple of hours before showtime. Soon, the line singlefile with no one trying to edge past the one in front of them was a couple of blocks long, as concertgoers were more than happy to hum tunes of sugerplums and have them dance in their heads.
We passed by those bad — theme word here — three-point shooters, and felt not any urban-based fear on the part of us suburban types. Wanted to say to one, hey, good shot man.
Now to find an open bar. We ambled across the main drag, such as it was, looking for a place to sit, and encountered a club, but we were told it was basically by invitation only. Around the corner and down was a bus booth with more “urban” types, which we had no problem with, but the only seats that were to be squeezed into were too tight for comfort.
So back across that main street we went, and — soon? — ambled into the main hall, and immediately encountered that I’m sure acclaimed Prince show of shows. I say so because there were literally hundreds of photos/big blown-up newspaper article reprints of him, but not all of them fawning. From metro papers, mostly, over and over from the same ones as reviews live on and on with their replication. (I do say, wondered for a moment if anything I’ve written about The Purple One was in the mix, but nix, unless back in a far corner, where you could again not find an open bar.)
That was a Symbol, but wait, there was one as part of a restaurant, and the bartender was totally cool. She looked very young but still was a veteran of the bar wars, like is often a truism, and we compared notes about working in the downtown of Minneapolis versus the downtown of smaller-scale Hudson.
The big act …
So finally now, it was off to the main show. We were able to weave through the many people, and find our seats pretty easily. There was a big build, like at a rock concert, then a “man” came rushing out, and wait a minute, introduced the head comic and did not feel threatened. I must say I enjoyed his take on comedy even a bit more than hers.
Then she came on, to massive cheers. Her gags were very baudy and even a little vulgar, like possibly only a woman could get away with, and funny though you can only twist a vagina reference so many different ways. She carried on and on with great stamina — like a porn star who just doesn’t stop banging away — in a very long show, which even needed an intermission. So this admittedly pricey show still gave you your money’s worth. Interestingly, she mentioned only quite late in the show that she is married, and didn’t bring her hubby into the mix of the jokes. But the “physical” comedy did come into play.
There were occasional loud exclamations from the crowd, often just a single word shouted — and not vagina — and the woman who was the most vocal piped down during the second set.
What I found most impressive was late in the show, when most people would be tiring, Millican would ask for someone to again, shout out the most unusual thing in their purse, and she’d ad lib for a minute or two, on the spot. Taking a take on the game show or comedy shop theme of the same name, or if not maybe should have been. Or at least that’s my takeaway.
The most unusual thing exclaimed, I thought: “Umbrella!” From she who sat next to me. Take that one and run with it, to ward off, to use a phrase, Purple Rain. Stuff from (such colored?) dresses were referenced, bending the rules.
One rule that was broken, even if it’s just where we were sitting, underneath a big Ballroom Blitz-type circle of ceramic tile in this vintage theater, about 40 feet wide: The acoustics were bad and it was hard to understand some of the punch lines. But the show still was good enough to keep anyone from wanting to punch somebody out. This is not a mosh pit.
On the long way out, with longer lines then when we had come, a main gag was revisited. One of the centerpieces, dwelt on for about ten minutes, was which are you ladies, someone who is sitting on the sidelines of sex when growing up, or one going for it. Each approach was summarized with a buzz word or two, printed on a button for your lapel — which could have been one of those things shouted out in the purse gag.
As one of the doors was jammed with people — I swear I recognized a couple — an usher handed out more such buttons to the decidedly older crowd. Bring one home for your hubby?