Ten New York female comedians gathered in a Lower East Side condo last Tuesday night for the debut of the NBC show Last Comic Standing, a reality show purporting to be "The Search for The Funniest Person in America." The hostess for the evening, Jen Kirwin, and a guest, Carmen Lynch were appearing on the show, competing for a chance to go to the finals in Las Vegas. Two other guests had auditioned, but hadn't made it on-air. The rest of the women in attendance had gathered to support their friends, and, as with any reality programming event, to talk shit about the show and its participants.

There was a huge spread of food, pasta salad, hummus, vegetables, and a big plate of chocolate chip cookies. Most of the women were chain-smoking, and everyone was drinking. Jen offered pasta salad and drinks to the room, something she did constantly throughout the evening; she's a nurturer.

The tail end of another reality show, Dog Eat Dog, flickered on the television set, and someone asked about the premise of the show. "It involves wearing a tank top, being in shape, and under 27," someone snapped back. Everyone toasted the hostess, Jen, before the show started, one woman announcing, "You're someone I want to do well. The rest of the people in this room I could give two shits about."

The Los Angeles semi-finals dominated the first hour of programming. Nobody liked Los Angeles in the room. If they did, they'd probably be there, in the bright, brain-deadening sunshine, instead of in New York City, struggling through the absurdly bad spring weather.

The Los Angeles comedians reflected this divide, for the most part, as did the celebrity judges: Joe Rogan, host of Fear Factor, Mo'Nique, and Buddy Hackett, although everyone liked Mo'Nique, and the shots of Buddy Hackett laughing were funnier than practically every bit in the first hour.

"I heard Buddy Hackett was drunk during the taping," someone said.

Someone asked if it was true Jay Mohr was an asshole, but no one responded.

A woman in the back of the room refused to laugh throughout most of the first hour, stating either, "That's funny," or "That's not funny" in response to every other joke. She didn't warm up once. "Everything in L.A. is cheesy," she said.

As the profiles of each comedian unfolded - these segments were often longer than the actual performances - Carmen was concerned.

"I sent in a home video," she said during a commercial break. "What if they show that?"

"They haven't shown any yet," said Jen soothingly. Sure enough, when the commercial break ended, they showed portions of a home video from a platinum blonde comedian with multiple haphazard pigtails. Carmen looked a little green.

A wide-eyed gay comedian performed an old joke recently featured in the film Boiler Room, involving a homophobic man complaining about moving all gay men to an island, with the comedian responding, "They did - it's called Manhattan!" Joe Rogan busted him on it.

After the commercial break they showed another comedian writing, and the gay comedian acting shocked that people were still writing their act.

"Maybe they're busy writing their own jokes," someone yelled at the television set.

The phone rang. The call was for one of the guests. Jen yelled, "It's your mother. She said she thought Buddy Hackett was dead!" The crowd whooped.

Next was Ralphie May, an overweight comedian that everyone in the room knew and liked. The show followed him around his kitchen, as he prepared a large meal. Everyone groaned. "Why do they have to show the fat guy eating? Why?" His banter post-performance with Joe Rogan was funny, but Jen told us the whole bit was scripted in advance. He is a buddy of show host Jay Mohr, as it turns out.

More video footage, this time of an Asian comedian, Dat Phan, as he engaged in some sort of martial arts exercise. The guests heckled the television set, frustrated with the continued stereotyping. An interview with the comedian revealed he and his mother struggled with poverty as a child; he often begged for money for food. He broke into tears.

"Your family needs food and you become a comic? That's fucked up!" a woman yelled. There was much discussion like this over the course of the night; that you're not in it for the money, you can't be, no one ever makes a dime off of this gig. You do it because you have no other choice.

The Los Angeles hour came to an end with the announcement of the winners. As each winner walked on stage, they screamed and giggled and emoted. The room was not impressed. Finally, a plus-sized black female comedian strode on stage calmly.

"Now she's doing it with class," someone said admiringly.

Hour two, which featured the New York semi-finals, kicked in with Carmen's performance. She did a funny bit about her Spanish immigrant mother. Her accent was impeccable, and it was a smart set. The judges - the decidedly sharper counterparts of Colin Quinn, Joy Behar, and Carolyn Rhea - liked her. There was no home video footage. Carmen exhaled.

The room began to root for the home team. They knew practically everyone on the show at that point.

"Craig Baldo's going to be a star."

"John Priest, he's in it for the long haul."

Rich Vos offended judge Carolyn Rhea, a Canadian, by trashing Canada in his set. She called him on it. He responded, "How late are you on again?" in reference to her barely seen eponymous talk show, which moved from mid-afternoon to an early morning slot soon after its debut. It was a little mean, but funny. "Good for him for having the balls," a woman said.

During a commercial break one of the guests discussed the performance length. "Three minutes? That's nothing. How can you tell if someone is funny in three minutes? They should give you fifteen minutes, just to see if you can even last that long."

After the break, our hostess, Jen, flashed on the screen. She took the cameras on a tour of the Lower East Side, including one of her favorite thrift stores. She tried on a funny hat. She talked about her problems with anxiety, how she gets nervous going to the bank. She looked adorable. Once again, the footage of the set itself was brief.

"Well I guess I'm relieved that I didn't look like an asshole," she said.

The final comic of the night was Eddie Pepitone, a bald, grimacing guy in his forties. He gave the camera a tour of his messy Manhattan apartment, and kissed his girlfriend in a cafe. A giant surge of estrogen swelled up in the room. Everyone loves Eddie. Eddie is the sweetest, the funniest, the best. And then Eddie killed, the whole room was roaring. He sang a little song about himself, and how he borrowed five thousand dollars and has to take prescription medication. He begged the celebrity judges to send him on to the next round.

And even though everyone in the room knew what was going to happen, when they announced the winners, there was tension in the room. They showed Eddie, sweating, waiting. He's been a comedian for a long time.

Jen won, and the room cheered. There was Carmen, also a winner. People walked on stage calmly.

"There's New York, doing it with class!" a guest said,

And finally, they announced Eddie's name. The room was overjoyed.

"Where's Eddie? We need to call Eddie."

A woman whipped out a cell phone and got Eddie on the line. Jen offered chocolate chip cookies, and asked if anyone thought they had a funny sheen to them. Someone lit another cigarette.

"You know what? We should do this again next week."

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