After finishing my set at Bourbon Street West, my manager and I head out to the front of the club where a Just for Laughs van awaits. All transportation for all of the acts has been co-ordinated by the festival. A monumental task when you consider the number of acts, venues, and staggered show times. You can certainly understand how the odd hiccup could occur.
I heard a rumour that William Shatner was upset that a van instead of a limo was sent to pick him up. Hey! He’s was the captain of the Starship Enterprise! Get him a freaking limo! You can’t boldly go anywhere in a van!
The awkward silence has prompted me to switch on like a chatty child seated at the back of a school bus. Probably due to my pent up nervous energy and displeasure with my set.
We head out to the next venue, Club Soda, for the Bubbling With Laughter Show.
The first two comics I spy are Mike MacDonalld and Tim Steves standing next to the backstage door.
Our reunion is briefly interrupted by a dealer selling pot. “Anybody wanna buy some pot? Pot anybody?” Mike cracks back, “What? No crack? No black tar heroine? We all chuckle and chime in with our extreme drug of choice to try and up the comedy ante.
I step into the green room and run into one of my favorite comics. Joe Matarese. We worked together recently at Gotham in New York. He intoduces me to another comic friend of his, but I forget his name as quickly as I hear it because I am focused on one thing and one thing only. Myself. I can’t possibly allow my ego to take another bashing.
The nervous energy in the green room is palpable. With little room for me to pace, I must restrict my movement to a few scarcely populated corridors outside the restrooms. If I did this anywhere else, I’d be considered a stalker.
I’ve got to get my head together. I need to be on top of my game. There’s no telling who could be in the audience. At that moment, I received a note from one of the staff.
Your Godmother is here.
GREG MORTON 