We went to see James Acaster at the Masonic. Is there a more delightful job than making people laugh? I’m not sure. Probably a bit stressful too, but maybe not. Afterwards—and I’m not sure how or why this place exists—we ended up at Tonga Room, dancing to covers sang by someone on a floating platform in an… indoor lake, whilst water rained down from the… ceiling? Unsure if it actually happened or if it was just a fever dream.
There something so comforting about experiencing the comedy that you spent so long surrounded by. We loved going to comedy shows in London, especially the small ones in little pubs. The Bill Murray in Islington hosts some of the best comedians in the country as they practice new material. A dingy little room where you’re basically sat on the stage. It’s perfect. The Masonic isn’t that, but the show was great.
He’d been here for a month on tour, and he spent a few minutes talking about a consistent experience of mild… rudeness? Something like that. Like asking someone where the cereal is and them just staring, saying nothing, and walking off. It got some laughs, but it didn’t resonate with me. There are some curious cultural differences here, but I haven’t found rudeness to be one of them, at least in New York or California.
The show made me miss England in some ways. The mannerisms of people. The cultural in-jokes. The self deprecating nature of folks. It also made me glad for the things I experience more of here though. The general sense of optimism, in spite of the challenges that the country faces. The earnest nature of folks. The lack of complaining (or at least, the lower volume of it). How dare a comedy show make me introspect.