Lester's Hosts Inaugural Comedy Night with Moustache Ride
Photo by Andrew Hevia
Last night a clothes-line of plastic mustaches lined the windows of Lester's as an eclectic, all-ages group of about 60 buckled up for the the Moustache Comedy Ride. This special inaugural showcase featured a motley crew of up-and-coming comedians from all three South Florida counties.
The event was not an open mic. It was a gathering of established comedians, all who have reached the host and feature level of comedy at tri-county improvs. In other words, these were eight professionals in a unique environment, without the pressure of a two-drink minimum, within the safe parameters of comfort where they could try out new material.
Jessica Gross organized the event and also played the night's maestro.
She was our host, our captain, our transition-in-chief, however,
furthermore, and in conclusion, this maestro conducted the night with
grace, precision, professionalism, and of course, humor.
Peterson-Connolly opened, murdering his ten-minute set, making fun of
his Zach Galifianakis-likeness, his pending birthday, slam poetry, and
his crack-smoking manners.
Wendy Starling, platinum and
bespectacled, ripped through a quick paced, dark, and dirty set covering
birth control, suicide, living in L.A., and trendy hipsters. Her high-pitched manic energy mixed well with her potty mouth, yet was balanced
by her beautiful smile.
Daniel Reskin owned all ten minutes of his set like a boss .
His Rasta misunderstanding routine was off-the-chain. "I saw a Rasta
walking around my hood shouting Jah-bless! Jah-bless! And I said true,
respect, we're all blessed, def. To which the Rasta man replied what do
you mean? I'm job less. Job less. There's no jobs out here." Excellent timing. Truly clean and intelligent humor.
Irene Morales, the self-proclaimed Daria of
all comics, low-voiced and deadpan, rolled onto the mic like a Cuban/Paraguayan tumbleweed, delivering like Digiornos.
Schroeder, a Broward comic, ripped into the audience, always a great way
to establish attention and authority. Alpha-male, anyone? No, not
really. Dynamic, high-energy, charismatic, yet a little rude and dare we
say a deprecating douche-bag shtick, Schroeder's earned guffaws
probably haunted the hallways of a few of our dreams.
Corrao, an adorable four foot ten (1/2) inches with feminist balls of
steel, played the race card in a non-intrusive manner. A
self-deprecating, abject, sexy, smart bitch, with a subject roll-o-dex
ranging from the homeless, black people, and midgets, she certainly had no
fear. "I came up with the best name for an abortion clinic:
our last Samurai of the evening, rollicked with his own
self-deprecation schtick, playing off his Asian roots and his own
obesity, juxtaposed against American idiocy and our multi-cultural
Lester's is doing excellent things, hosting an
assortment of events running the gamut of culture from music, art,
poetry, lectures, etc. Lester's brings something to Wynwood--winners.
Think of it linguistically. We want to live in a place of winners, as
opposed to losers. Maybe you'd like to live in Losewood, but we like
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