Jim Gaffigan’s got quite a few things going for him. Or not. He’s bald, he’s eye-numbingly pale, and he’s infinitely unhealthy. Lazy? He’s got 10 minutes on the various merits of different items of furniture, and that’s not even counting all the bits on hammocks. Slightly schizophrenic? His best-known running gag is the “Inside Voice,” an overly sensitive, easily displeased falsetto that evaluates the set-in-progress – often correctly – with such running commentary as “Is he wearing a ladies shirt?” “Is he going to talk like that all night?” “Why is he doing bear jokes? I like pandas!” And don’t even get the unapologetic glutton started on bacon, cake, and/or Hot Pockets. It’s only taken Gaffigan a mere 17 years to stock the most consistently infectious comedic arsenal around, meander about the sitcom wastelands, become a Letterman favorite and Conan cohort, and release six albums (he doesn’t have much of a work ethic to speak of, either), but now Gaffigan has found himself in the midst of the gargantuan, six-month, increasingly sold-out-in-advance, so-horrifically-misnomered-it’s-genius Sexy Tour.
Sat., Sept. 13, 8 p.m., 2008