Well, this last week was the last show for the L’Amour sisters for a bit, but we’ll be back. So, if you missed it… we’ll do another one. Lorraine and I had such a blast playing these L’Amour sisters and singing their ridiculous songs about love and sex. I will keep you posted on what’s next for the L;Amour sisters. We’ll keep you posted on our Craigslist ads (if you saw the show, you know what this means) :)
Borealis is still rocking the stage every Friday night at 8. We have a new group of amazing and very seasoned improvisers sharing the hour with us, so the basement is hot on Friday nights. Seriously… funny, funny shows. Borealis has been improvising together for 4 years now? Or about that. But I have been improvising with Jonathan Desley and Jamie Cummings for 5 or more years I think, so if you are in to see a show with improvisers who know each other well, Borealis is always the show to catch. Plus, we added Oscar Montoya to the mix which has upped our level of awesome. He’s such a great player and just his style adds a new sort of flare to our team play
HELLO has been such a blast for me over the last year and a half. This team was put together by the artistic director to try to give the PIT a great musical improv team to lead the force. I was lucky enough to be asked to play, along with some seriously talented improvisers who also happen to have crazy amazing vocal chops. Since then, the PIT has added some AWESOME musical improvisers to the fold and HELLO has been building a loyal following on Friday nights. Now there also is a dedicated night (Thursday nights) to showcase this awesome form of improv and it’s talented performers from all over the city. The PIT has some of the best talent in NYC when it comes to musical improv, so catch us in HELLO on Friday nights at 9:30 or any of the other awesome musical improv shows on Thursday nights. I really do feel like this is the coolest, new thing in improv lately… so get onboard and see why everyone is LOVING musical improv.
I auditioned to be on a house team at the Magnet about 6 months ago and I was put on a team that is stellar. I am lucky to perform with these guys and sing next to them. Never have I been on a musical house team with this level of vocal ability. It’s a small and mighty group of people. I LOVE the Magnet and they also have a knock out musical improv program. So, if you want to see me do more musical improv each week, come check out the Magnet on Tuesday nights. My team is called Legend and I really do feel that it is a legendary team. It has funny performers and great voices. What else do you need?
An excerpt from “The musician and the politician… a love affair between Margaret Thatcher and Elton John.” by Lana L’Amour
They met. They met at state dinner given by President Reagan. He was a musician and she was the most powerful woman in all of England, except for the queen. That bitch. Power. He was just the entertainment for the dinner. He had a past. Dirty past. Rumors. Rumors circulated about his sexuality, but that made it even more exciting to her. She would feel different to him… down there. She knew he had a passionate past, one filled with dangerous sexual escapades with anyone who happened to be lurking around a corner or in a men’s restroom. He was known as someone who would gladly pull down his sequined pants and provide nourishment for any sexually deprived person, male or female who needed his touch. Male or female.
She lived a life of upmost, pristine care. Her image was one of perfection… intelligence. Power. She, living a life of being England’s 2nd most powerful woman, had led her to a desert of loneliness, that could only be filled with a Kir Royal every evening and slow rub down in her private bubble bath at 10 Downing street. She was the prime minister, but she still had needs that no act of parliament could give her. She was lonely and as a woman who was menopausal, her hormones were intense and left her with a sexual urge and appetite that could never be quenched. She, living a day to day life in meetings with powerful men all across the world, making deals, signing things into law, she asked herself… “why can’t they see me? It’s me, Margaret. Why can’t they understand that a woman this powerful needs sexual attention, it doesn’t always have to be about world affairs” “I need an affair!!!”
She had sent out signals and even though they were strong, the leaders of the world knew that if they partook in her sexuality, their position to England would be compromised. Laws would not be passed. The world would be in chaos, all because of the pleasure that comes with what’s between the legs… the prime minster’s legs. Her moist bits would be dangerous territory for anyone who set their sights on them.
She had dinner with Gorbechav once, discussed world affairs and he had slid his massive hand up her thigh, and even though she quivered intensely and found amusement in his hambone shaped birthmark on his forehead, she knew that it wasn’t going to be possible. Until the wall comes down, her wall wouldn’t come down on him. There was too much on the line in the world. She might one day be with Russia’s most powerful man, but he had to make progress first and then she would reconsider. Once, she was with Reagan discussing world affairs in the oval office and she felt a sexual breeze between them, and even as the old Gipper took her aside and cornered her near a dirty bathroom in the west wing, she knew that if she risked it all now, this wasn’t going to be the one to risk it with. But she understood why he wanted her so, because his ninny wife Nancy looked as if she could never satisfied the old Gipper. She enjoyed playing with his Reagan though. She brushed up against his Reagan, there by the dirty west wing bathroom but left it as a tease. There was just too much on the line. America and England were close to a sexual war… a war in the bedroom and she knew she would win… but she left it at that. Another day perhaps…
The state dinner was terrible that night, a tournedo of beef, mushy potatoes and tasteless American wine but the Maine oysters on half shell served as the aphrodisiac that sent her menopausal hormones through the roof. But with the musician that was about to take the stage, she knew that with his livelihood, she would have a little leeway and hopefully a memory forever. He performed at the piano with style, grace, flare, sparkles. Hit after hit. She knew he had to be her next conquest. After the performance, she gave him a standing ovation, and knew that that wouldn’t be the last standing ovation she would give him. She found him backstage, taking off his sparkled, rhinestone laden sunglasses and wiping the beads of sweat off his head and out of his feathers. They were countrymen and felt familiar with each other In an awkward exchange, sensing the sexual tension.. she attempted to make a joke… “Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer,” he laughed appreciating that she knew his song. Of course she did, she knew it well as she masturbated to it in her 10 Downing Street bubble bath. Their eyes connected. A silence fell upon them backstage, where only those involved understand what is happening. She saw an instantaneous arousal in his white satin sequined pants. She slowly lifted her tweed knee length skirt, revealing her supple ankles and knee-high stockings. She, knowing the gift she was about to give him, had removed her panties while eating dinner at the table. No one noticed. It was her secret. Ha ha! So that when she continued to lift her tweed skirt, what a surprise the musician would see! Not noticing who else was backstage, she quickly felt a large hand lay upon her shoulder and turn her around. There was another, another man!!!! How glorious. All while the state dinner was still continuing, Nelson Mandela was speaking to a crowded room and she and the musician and another unknown man coiled in love making for 47 minutes exactly. In and out. Like fingercuffs. Her mouth on his member. His tongue on her hairy salt and pepper fleshy mound of pleasure. The unknown man panting like a dog, enjoying this threesome tryst. They were, back and forth. She liked it hard. She liked it rough. She came and a ocean of pleasure came as she tried to stifle her loud screams of pleasure. The musician pushed her to her knees. The musician only uttered two words… “IRON LADY!!!!!” as he came. The unknown man came soon after. She had left her silk top on and both men finished in her well-coiffed perfectly placed hair. Oops. She would have to conceal it somehow… but no matter No other words were exchanged. She felt as if she was a first for all involved as it seemed thrilling and uncharted territory. She had also left her watch on, just so she could remember how many fabulous minutes she would be remembering. As her senses came to her post coitus, she thought she recognized the other man. His face seemed friendly, young, nubile…all American. She had seen him in political circles. He was well placed, she knew. He had an unfamiliar accent and then she knew, he was the son of the Vice President of the United States. George W. Bush. She could tell he was sloppy drunk and didn’t know where he was… but all the better. He wouldn’t tell. But she knew he would be going places by the way he fucked. The musician… He walked out from backstage, interrupted Nelson Mandela’s speech and sang an impromptu song, half dressed and still with lovemaking juices on his hands. She watched from the wings, he played one more song looking into her eyes for the world’s most famous politicians but really for her… he started to tinkle on the keys and looked at Margaret in the wings and sang a song to her. Hold Me closer, Tiny Dancer” It was a wonderful affair.