Blair is alive and magic is afoot! She will hit your blues with a rainbow of comedy sunshine, keeping aware of the fact that blue is in the rainbow, because that’s all part of the stew. Blair knows the stew. Knowing is her Way. As is Comedy.
Impossible to anagram, Bronwyn wakes up every morning, and goes to sleep at night, just like someone who isn’t a brilliant comedienne and alternate Powerpuff Girl. She likes Viktoriya Yermolyeva, presumably because they are also impossible to anagram. Worn by many, wielded by few, will she brandish the Comedy Gauntlets at the next show? Bronwyn May.
Measuring only five feet one, Logan’s presence is such that people often come away with the impression that he is the tallest member of our little band of thugs. Logan embraces the good, fights the bad, and tolerates the neutral. He keeps a locked box in his pocket, about the size of a deck of cards or a pack of cigarettes, and gets gently violent when anybody asks about its contents. If you prick him, he bleeds, if you tickle him, he laughs, if you poison him, he dies, and if you wrong him, shall he not revenge?
Thou, Mallory, improv her goddess; to thy comedy her services are bound. Wherefore should we stand in the plague of budget cuts and permit the curiosity of students to wither? No, for she is some twelve or fourteen characters presented sequentially, brother, bastard, base? Her dimensions are as well compact as her mind is generous and her shape is true as honest comedy’s issue? Her brand is us.
All the way from Bogota, Colombia; beloved by Half-Masted, Buzzfeed, VOGUE, and MTV, Natalia Tinoco will take the negativity in the room, trap it in a snow globe, shake it up, and then toss it into the heart of an active volcano. That metaphor worked better in my head. Let’s talk literally: Natalia is amazing onstage and you will be delighted to see her perform!
After all the discussions, concussions, percussions – the explanations, ruminations, formulations. After the charts have been charted, the arguments argued, the data described. After the critics, humorists, and meteorologists have all weighed in. In the final analysis, it is true. Ray IS a drop of golden sun.
“Sarah,” asked Tonya one day in a quiet voice, “Why does the moon feel so cold when I hold it in my hands?” Sarah didn’t know how to answer such a question. Cold? In her hands? What was Aunt Tonya even asking? Why was she the way she was. And for that matter, why was Sarah the way she was? These were the questions, the big questions, not “Why does the moon feel so cold when I hold it in my hands.” But yet, but yet, but yet…