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* * * y first cruise performance, the “welcome aboard” show in front of about 200 very drunk Texans, was discouraging.
“You look like a Spanish Billy Bob Thornton,” JR greeted me. Only way to call out.” “No.” “Tell you about the cash card? But if you are of a certain vintage, and haven’t hit – meaning you aren’t on a show, writing for a show, doing warm-up for a show, and are not a You Tube sensation or whatever else puts asses in seats, then you’ve got to explore options so you don’t end up like a punchy boxer who never saw the expiration date coming.
Only way to pay for things.” “No.” “Show you where your cabin is? At the time I was hired by Circus Cruises I was pulling up on 50 years of age, a combustible ingredient, especially after 30 years working in a field with absolutely zero stability.
“I’ll just see if I can score a parka at the gift shop.” .
Single.” Even though following that guy was like following Springsteen in Jersey, I managed to book one gig. “I guess I’m gon’ be your orientation.” “Where’s the venue? It was also freezing, with no way to turn down the air conditioner. My act had to be completely rearranged into three different half hours, one child-friendly, each one repeated once, plus a different “welcome aboard” show, not to be repeated.
It was with a cruise line that, as a professional courtesy, I’ll call “Circus Cruises.” It had the collective ambience of a floating Red Lobster. I flew into Texas where the ship, headed to Mexico, would be taking off. My act is essentially a low-budget indie film about my life in New York with neighborhood characters like “heroin dude” and “check-cashing place lady with beard eating an LGBTBLT.” I’d also been warned that if passengers complained about a performer, that performer could be helicoptered off of the ship. Cruise ships are one of the last refuges for veteran comedians to make a living doing what they do.
” Normally, I would have immediately responded with, “Don’t make me go back to your trailer and kick over that meth lab made of empty Cool Whip containers and failed dreams, you toothless sister-fucker.” Instead I clammed up, as that could have been considered an “inappropriate passenger interaction.” I did not want the helicopter.