Andrew J. Lederer

No one was calling. Last time, they were calling for days

The Hammersmith and City Line had shut down.

The venue hadn't put up their February schedule.

Everything was against us.

And nobody came. (Okay, 4 people came but I think 3 of them just stumbled in.)

Sigh.

The last two Anthology shows did very well. (We pretty much sold out last time.) So, I was due for a failure but, still, what was different? After all, we were again recommended by Time Out, which was where most of our previous, bountiful audiences had come from.

Ah, yes, but only recommended.

The other times we'd been placed in a special box or featured on the website. Tim Arthur's been amazingly helpful but it seems a tip of his hat alone is not enough to motivate the public. One needs (and, obviously, can't expect every time) a Tim Arthur extra.

Oh, well. If I had a following of my own, I wouldn't have to rely on such things.

How do people like Robin Ince get those fanatical devotees for their various enterprises? (And don't say by having great shows. Our shows are great, so that's clearly not enough.)

Where does this elusive thing called momentum come from?

I gots ta get me some. (I'm listening to Muddy Waters right now.)

Show was good, at least. Martin White told of encounters with night bus lunatics, Matt Crosby of a non-English-speaking barber plowing a-(his?)-head despite being incapable of understanding Matt's instructions.

Elise Harris regaled us with a story about her mother encouraging her to audition to become a nude movie extra. Gareth Berliner wondered if a German lesbian was the mother of his child.

Lizzie Roper told me she would go on if there was a bigger audience.

And I told of being a 13-year-old Jew in Wisconsin's blonde shiksaland. (One of America's lesser-known theme parks.)

Sounds good, right?

Maybe I'll do another one soon.