Great show by Paula Poundstone last Saturday night here at the Flying Monkey in Plymouth, NH.
In her honor the final paragraph of Eric Chévillard’s wonderful book of meditations, The Crab Nebula:
And then Crab sank into silence, slowly, inexorably, vertically, he sank in and eventually disappeared from the gaze of the audience. There was some confusion among the spectators, a moment of uncertainty, of incomprehension, but they quickly settled on the only credible hypothesis: a trapdoor had opened beneath Crab’s feet--of course, there was a trapdoor concealed in the stage--and by common agreement, this symbolic burial of the character, replacing the fall of the curtain or the sudden blackout that traditionally signifies the end of a show, was in itself worth the price of admission; with one blow it erased the long days of boredom that had preceded it. (Applause.)