If you’re like us, there’s one place you weren’t two nights ago. No matter how much you wanted to be there, you couldn’t quite snag one of the 200 tickets to Saturday Night Live’s stage performance at the Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theater in Chelsea. Also, if you’re like us, one of your damn smug friends who are always getting into cool things because they “know somebody in the band” was able to get in. The performers, who couldn’t go on TV because of the writers’ strike, cobbled together some old skits and new, raunchily-unfit-for-TV ones, and put on a show. Luckily for us, Melena Ryzik, the Times reporter who basically is everybody’s smug friend who knows somebody in the band, wriggled her way in and reports back today for us. It was fun, she tells, us, as well as tired, drunk, gross, hilarious, and repetitive. So basically, like regular SNL, except ten thousand times cooler because we weren’t invited. We’re jealous, but as we imagine Ryzik cavorting among the sweaty, tipsy comedy elite, we can’t help but feel worse for our friends who are struggling to make a career out of comedy, and who were dying to get into the show to see and meet their idols in person. Ryzik even closes with a moment of wee-hour-celebrity watching:
At 4 a.m. Mr. Samberg was onstage, in the middle of a circle, doing a complicated and not altogether legitimate dance move.
That sound you hear is one thousand aspiring comedians behind counters across the city scalding themselves with latte steamers.