Susan Rice
Stand-up specials
A road comic who refuses to act cute about getting old.
She pulls up a stool not for dramatic effect, but because standing that long hurts, and then leans on it to tell a room full of people half her age that their bodies are next. Her setups are short and declarative. When she pauses, she lets her face settle into a flat, unbothered stare, daring the front row to feel pity before turning a bad knee into an excuse for ditching a date early.
After decades playing regional clubs and private events, she found a second wind in front of younger crowds online. They often show up expecting a harmless, cardigan-wearing retiree and instead get a hardened veteran who cuts straight through polite small talk.
She talks mostly about the awkward realities of aging, from artificial joints setting off airport metal detectors to speed dating in her seventies. She is sharpest when leaning into dry irritation rather than easy generational complaints. The bits stay lean; she skips theatrical setups in favor of lines that hit with casual bluntness.
Rice started in Portland taverns in 1983 and spent years touring during the standup explosion that followed. That background dictates her approach. She never wastes time trying to charm a room, because she already knows how to make it listen.
