揂nd you抮e sure you don抰 mind going to this on your birthday??
揇ad, stop asking. This will be fun.?
We get back to the club and I order Haze a Shirley Temple before we snag a table. As soon as we sit, Farley appears from the ether, visibly percolating with excitement.
揧ou weren抰 full of shit!?she says (and signs), and I sigh tiredly as Hazel snickers.
揘ot full of shit, no. Please, though, something tells me to ask you not to sign during your set??
揘o worries, not in my plan tonight. I do hope she抣l still have fun, though??she asks, nodding down to Hazel.
揝he抯 great. She抣l be locked into a game on my phone in no time, I抦 sure.?
揙kay, then.?she laughs. The auburn in her long hair brings out the similar color in her eyes. She抯 changed and dried as well, now wearing a maroon sweater that clings to small curves.
Nope. Absolutely not, you lecher. You are here in a professional capacity, only.
She sprints over behind the bar and comes back with a bowl of cherries that she plops down in front of Hazel before flitting back to the stage.
When she approaches the mic, she greets it like a friend, an illuminated smile already in place?
揋ood evening, friends. Happy to see you all厰
Her timing is natural. She lets everyone抯 attention gravitate to her.
揟hanks for spending your Saturday night out here with me. Personally, I find myself trying to avoid going out on Saturdays lately, because I抳e recently started attending church on Sunday mornings.?she pauses, and I gather that there are a few returners, because they let out some laughs and a few 揧eah, right攕.
揘o, really! Listen up. This is a hot tip that I抦 sharing with you all厰 she glances around, gathering some light tension.
揑f you haven抰 been, let me clue you in: Modern church is literally梐nd I mean every syllable of this條iterally, like going to an Ed Sheeran concert, but for free, you guys. Listen to Castle on the Hill and tell me that抯 not the same fucking song they play at any suburban middle-class church every Sunday!?
The laughs immediately start rumbling, whether knowing that this rings true from experience, or just finding her take funny?either way, it resonates.
搮and, exactly like an Ed Sheeran concert, at church, there抯 also a bunch of white ladies with their hands in the air. White men with their hands in their pockets, shifting their weight from foot to foot卭ccasionally clapping along.?The room erupts at her spot-on impression. I look over and see Hazel, laughing brightly.
揟he snacks and drinks are oddly small, but even those are free!?
She抯 a natural.
The way Farley continuously moves her face and body without reservation commands my full attention, as punchlines are exclaimed with a perfectly timed hip pop, or a pose. She hops and hunches and is the closest thing I抳e witnessed to a human version of Kermit the Frog running around, completely untethered and shameless. The jokes all generally relate back to things that equal the simplest joys in life?Kids and their ability to cut you at the knees with the smallest, most brutally honest assessments. How, with every aging year, food becomes more and more of an all-consuming experience that borders sexual gratification.
The bit that is, without question, the least intellectual, and yet elicits the most tears of laughter and keening wails between bouts, is her impression of a god damn bumblebee.
She starts the bit talking about boredom being a necessary evil, and how it can make you turn your thoughts inside out. She tells everyone about losing her phone for an afternoon and everything she discovered about herself during that introspective time.
搮I realized that I always thought that the buzzing sound came from the bee抯 mouth, not from its wings. Do you guys realize how stupid that is? That I thought that bees were just flying around, sputtering on, yelling 慖抦 a beeeeeeee!!!! Lookatme!!! I抦 flyyyyyinnnnnggggggg!!!!挃 She roars it so ferociously and animatedly, sprinting back and forth across the stage, that I have to swipe a palm over my face to stifle the stupid grin that wants to surface. When she stops, she polishes off the impression by doing a terrifying squat-and-thrust dance, the most possessed version of a twerk I抳e ever seen, like a bee pollinating.
Hazel hasn抰 asked for my phone once, just continues to laugh and beam on.
For being raunchy at times, and flat-out silly in others, Farley抯 set has the room grinning in卆 strangely wholesome way? I gather that it抯 because of how she manages to tie most of these things into a life philosophy or positive observation.
The transitions between jokes are clunky, and they jump around a bit abruptly, but it抯 because she is attempting to be a freight train梒harging on through the set and leaving it all out on the table for her allotted minutes.
The potential is a palpable thing, but I can抰 help but think about how exhausting it must be to live in that brain.
Comedians tend to be some of life抯 most ardent observers. Often, it抯 born on a personal level. Find a way to laugh at your family抯 (or your own) dysfunction, and you抳e somehow found a manageable way of enjoying it, instead of letting it drag you down.
Self-deprecation is also the best way to keep from feeling laughed at, after all. Intercept the joke and make it yours first, and it can抰 hurt you, right? Learn to diminish the pain by reducing it to a laugh.
I admire that reducing, simplifying ability. I miss that ability. Though, I have to admit that I don抰 know if I ever truly had it to begin with. I can write jokes from a more detached, abstract angle now. I can抰 do it from my soul the way this woman so clearly does.
Constantly searching for that angle can eventually take you out of yourself, though. Out of actually experiencing your life, since you become too preoccupied with observing it and writing it down to make a bit from it.
She heads over to our table when she抯 done, after raucous applause. The smile on her face broadcasts itself from across the room. I motion for Hazel to get ready to leave, as Farley waves her goodbyes and follows us out.
揧ou guys don抰 want to stay for the rest??she asks when we hit the cool night air. If I didn抰 know the signs and the feelings myself, I抎 probably miss the way the corners of her smile and the muscles of her cheeks tremble with the force of keeping up right now.
揘ope, just came to see you. We抮e heading next door for ice cream.?I hand her a water bottle, knowing she needs it. 揕et抯 eat and uh卨et you settle first and then we can talk about it a bit if you want??I don抰 know why I am so possessed with offering this girl advice when she hasn抰 solicited it. I feel a compulsion to share, though, to make sure she knows that I think she抯 great, but that I also saw her earlier today?as she breathed life into some kids?day.
I want to know why she knows ASL. What her eventual hopes are for her career. If she takes care of herself?
Fuck. Calm down.
She tosses back a few gulps and sighs, letting the smile relax even as she eyes me suspiciously.
When everyone is settled into our booth, eating leisurely, I say, 揑 always found that I needed something else to do with my mouth after a set.?
She quirks an eyebrow at me with her spoon paused midair. 揥as that a line??
I cough on my ice cream, choking. 揥hat? No! Oh, fuck. No, no. I swear.?I hold up my fingers in a 揝cout抯 Honor?salute. 揑 meant that I remember how my face would hurt and the only thing that would help it relax would be eating and drinking something.?
揜elax,?she laughs, 揑 was fucking with you.?
Ah. I scoop up another bite to cover up a smile. Little shit.
揝o, constructive criticism first is my speed. Would you mind??she asks.
揊irst, you抮e a liar. No comic wants anything less than resounding accolades.?I respond.
揘ot me, Meyer Harrigan. I want the criticism first so that I can actually believe you when you shower me with the accolades after,?she smiles, her chin tilting between us.
I nod, but before I can start, she points to herself with the spoon. 揙verly critical Father. Can抰 accept love without a catch.?
I sigh at the familiar song and dance. 揕isten. You don抰 have to do that here. You don抰 owe anyone the quid pro quo on your trauma, or your background. I know it抯 the standard with comedians梕specially with each other because we tend to take those digs when we see them, but I won抰 do it to you if you don抰 to me.?
She sits back against the booth and cocks her head at me with a pout. 揧ou抮e surprisingly grumpy in real life.?
揝orry to disappoint.?
揑 didn抰 say you disappoint me,?she says, with enough force to make me pause a beat.