Last night was a first for me. In the driving, freezing rain, a friend and I stepped on board a rusted-out, leaky boat to watch some people tell jokes. The Frying Pan is a perfect NY story – it’s this defunct vessel semi-permanently docked off the 23rd Street pier. And like all dormant artifacts, it has been converted into some weird, vertiginous party space. It’s claustrophobic, unstable, crawling with tetanus – and they serve drinks. slurp!
Some friends of mine were hosting a holiday party for the Industry Room, a (once) weekly comedy show traditionally enjoyed on dry land, without the threat of death by drowning.
