Andrew J. Lederer

I had to leave the Paramount Comedy Channel party early last night to do a gig on Edgware Road that turned out to have only 3 people in the audience. But, sadly, it was still a good thing I'd gone, 'cause I needed my part of the meager door split to survive an additional day.

Rushed back when I was finished, though, and ended up dancing (more or less) with (for?) the Penny Spubb girls. It was a fun party -- saw lots of people I hadn't seen since Edinburgh and continued the Fringe relationships (such as they are) -- both good and bad -- for the duration of the event.

Flirted with the people I traditionally flirted with, chatted amiably with my traditional amiable chat partners, was dissed by the familiar dissers and ignored by the appropriate ignorers . . .

Saw my "cousin", Helen Lederer and her attractive daughter (who is not, I should point out, my cousin -- hence the quotation marks). Met Gina Yashere and gave her a hug to tell her she looks great and is not -- as she implied in a recent newspaper interview -- too fat.

Steve Bennett was there and said he was gonna give me a real, live Chortle blog. (He brought it up.) We'll see if it happens but even if it doesn't and it turns out drink made him give in too readily to the essential sweetness that lurks within him, I will forgive him because, well, he is -- essentially sweet.

As the party wound down, I somehow found myself in a car with four beautiful comedy-type women heading toward The Comedy Store. (But before I left the Paramount soiree, I saw Martin White entering, having recently finished the Book Club gig at the Bloomsbury Theatre. He looked clean shaven and beautiful -- though not as beautiful as my soon-to-be taxi-mates -- and said the Ince extravaganza had been great.) We watched the Fullmooners show and talked and laughed and Mickey D kissed me on the cheek and seemed to mean it and I had a great conversation with one of my fellow travelers who said she was doing a sketch show on BBC 3. I've since learned she's kind of a big deal which makes me feel a little sad 'cause I figure a big-name act with her choice of enthusiastic suitors is even less likely to find me and my poverty-infused neurotic manifestations -- not to mention my urchin-style garb and chubby form -- attractive than a standard model girl would.

It doesn't seem fair either. I found her attractive and I won't hold it against her that she's doing well.

Why am I so good?

_________________
www.myspace.com/anthologypage