This evening (yesterday, really - it’s late), we men of the Irwin Smalls Trio finished fine-tuning our act for our upcoming (today’s) performance at the Comedy Central Stage. We accomplished this by presenting one of our sketches at a friend’s show, a daring exploration into the world of New Vaudeville.

The slot for our goofy and somewhat cerebral offering was everything a postmodern entertainer could hope for… directly between an erotic baton twirler and a fan dancer named Kitten.

Sure, the audience might not have been in the perfect mindset for what we had to offer. After all, a doorway to a whole new world of previously unthinkable baton-oriented possibilities had just been opened for them, and they were about to lock wits with the classic riddle of “What Could Possibly Be Behind Those Giant Fans?” But all things considered, I was pretty pleased with the way things went.

For one thing, everyone was very good at what they did. As a veteran of a similar scene on New York’s Lower East Side, I can tell you with some authority that Kitten knew her way around a fan, that the disturbing-but-funny guitar comic was top-notch, that the dangling escape artist really did a wonderful job with that straightjacket, that the swing-dancing yo-yo artiste acquitted himself admirably, and that the pirate-themed stripping wenches were an impressively choreographed duo (though I question whether actual disagreements between real pirate wenches really involved so much ripping and tearing, and if these fracases ever truly resolved themselves in such an unexpectedly friendly manner. Then again, I’m sure they’ve researched this much more deeply than I ever have…).

In short, even though our material might not have completely fit in with the show, it felt like some sort off bizarre homecoming. Plus, there were bonafide Celebrities on hand to witness the spectacle, including the lead singer from one of my favorite bands. I’m not sure he loved our sketch, but then he might have been dismayed by our lack of cleavage. It’s our greatest failing as actors, and he was alert enough to spot it right away.

So tonight, in about 19 hours, we ride again - but this time alone, without the benefit of burlesque (on the bright side, the dressing room will be a little less awkward). Reservations, I’m told, are still available, though it’s filling up fast.

And by Thursday night I’ll be back in New York, preparing for a “Wait Wait” taping. I’ll be poring over the latest news, cringing at the headlines, and marveling at the new round of Bush attack ads (apparently John Kerry spent the 80’s and 90’s claiming that we were in the 20th century, but now says we live in the 21st. Is there anything that guy won’t waffle over?). By then I’ll be wondering if this whole “LA” thing ever really happened at all. I’d bet that many people who actually live in this fair city ask themselves the selfsame question every day, which makes it kind of similar to New York.