Peter Sagal has a tell when he’s nervous.  It’s very cute and he would never admit that it exists.  But if you can spot it, it’s strangely reassuring that someone who appears so unflappable and is so practiced can harbor something so simple as nervousness.  It took me almost all week to actually decipher the tell, it was so well hidden. But after nearly that long at sea in close company I was able to spot it just before we began our show Thursday night.

“I’m starting to get nervous about my set” Peter said, and left the dressing room to go talk to Paul.

It was almost so subtle as to go completely unnoticed.  But as I sat back there about to share a set with Peter and the incredible John Roderick, I felt a little better that even the pro’s get uncontrollably nervous, even if you have to look deep to spot it.

Earlier in our stateroom I’d had a Stella and the only bit of terrible food I had the whole trip, an awful overcooked burger, and I’d rehearsed. One of the things I absolutely love about being a performer is access to sound check.  Not only do I get to see my favorite performers tweak their set for maximum awesomeness, I get to see my friends to the same thing. Our program was set to begin around 5pm because the ship would depart the Caymans at that time meaning the theater would basically shake shake shake like a booty earthquake for five minutes just before 5. I got into the theater right at 3:45 or so to find John Roderick was already beginning his check.

Jonathan and Paul and Storm were on stage, which made me excited because I had no idea what they would do with John, I just knew that if they were joining him, the awesome was going to peg the needle. As I went backstage to get settled and figure things out stage wise I heard them singing about horses, calling the storm.  The line caught my mind on a hook. “The horses call the storm, because the air contains the charge” John’s voice was clean and full throated as the trio backed the lines in a chorus.  I paused, then continued on because I knew I would see it later.  But it stuck with me very deeply, and made me excited.

Backstage David Rees was wearing a very revealing, slightly disturbing, and very funny costume.  But I wouldn’t want to spoil it.

I could tell Peter was no longer nervous.  It was evident really only to those who performed with him. “I feel better about my set.” he said as he re-entered the backstage area.  Paul followed him, “how many Stepto’s did you get?” he asked.

Now, go figure, but apparently the ever so slightly heavyset shaved head goatee look has a relatively commonplace hit rate amongst JoCoCruiseCrazy attendees. All week Paul had been approaching them from behind, mistaking them as me, and issuing them JoCoCruiseCrazy performer orders before understanding he had the wrong person. From that, we recruited a number of Steptos for my initial bit.  I informed him we had worked out the Steptos and were just needing a blocking exercise for Sound check.  Steptos so deployed (as an aside, thanks guys, you were AMAZING) we began the show with Mr. Rees.

Did I mention how amazing Peter and David are as performers?  Without fail these two gentlemen were walking “obvious humor” desiccant. Every line was hysterically funny and as bone dry as taking a swig from a gin bottle and calling that a martini. They both killed and I decided to make a couple of alterations to my bit that were meant to be self deprecating about my humor but against the clear joy and love of the audience would have just seemed terribly maudlin. They nailed it and gave me tons of confidence.

Paul was introducing me.  The Steptos were in place. It was time to do the book of enforcement.  I’d done it many times before, and it was always a big hit.  Deep breath.  Time to go.  Don’t think, stand up there and pull the energy from the audience.  They are your friends first, and an audience second.  Do it.

I did it.

 

Ok that part was over.  The part I had done before many times. Now I was going to do some new comedy and a new reading I had not done before.  So surely the transition would be a moment of pause. Dear JoCoCruiseCrazy members, I didn’t even blink in the transition.  You were so awesome, and reacted so well, that I moved from a performance that was practiced and defined to one that was all new and never performed without one single ounce of fear or worry.  You guys were so awesome and so receptive that you made anyone on that stage feel like they could take the riskiest possible choices and you would entertain the notion, and would cheer even harder if it didn’t work out, just because someone had the guts to try it. I let some doubt enter the end as I tried to obviously cover for the amazing Paul F. Tompkins, but I forgive myself that because who wouldn’t second guess themselves trying to replace someone all the performers really missed a lot and who is great.

I was in awe at John Roderick’s performance right after me. That’s really all I can say.  Here’s a small part of it. John, if you’re reading this, thank you.

The post show was great, even though we were pressed to leave because between Peter and I we ran John a little over and he didn’t get to perform the song with Jonathan and Paul and Storm I had heard before and was so intrigued by. Quickly Rochelle and I headed for the main dining room to have some drinks with our friends before our reservations at the Italian restaurant.

I really was not expecting what happened next, and is probably in my top ten highlights in my life. We entered the dining room from the side to the performers reserved table, and I got a standing ovation from the dinner attendees.

Let me please just stop and say, I’ve done that for many people who I felt really rocked a performance and I was offering the ovation to let them know that.  And you Seamonkeys did that for me.

I had something in my eye as I waved then sat down.  I felt so appreciated and so lucky at the same time to even be in the same god damned place at people who had just a short while ago made my entire performance possible with their support and love. Thanks aren’t enough.

[Editor’s note on the above, other performers as they entered the hall usually got ovations, I was not the only one certainly, I just was not ever expecting it, nor had it ever happened to me before.]

Rochelle and I had to leave a bit early though from dinner, to reach the Italian Restaurant on the boat for our private post performance celebration.  Apparently I was so juiced up on adrenaline from the amazing reaction from the audience that it wrapped around into my being low energy. They thought I needed more sugar:

That’s right.  Coffee, three types of gourmet tiramisu, AND A HUGE DOLLAP OF COTTON CANDY.

Just before we went back to hang out with everyone I realized, we only had one more day on this motherfucking boat.  I wanted to be sad, should have been sad, but… well, that part is for my penultimate entry.

(To be continued)

Jamaica faded away behind us, with an implied bit of a middle finger from some of us. Post dinner we finally discovered the Craps table was opened, and Peter Sagal, Dammit Liz, Storm, myself and others hit that table hard.  An hour in, Storm pulls out an enormous stack of chips and notes that he’s cashing out. Needless to say, Storm was the Mike Phirman of the craps table that night.

Up on one of the higher decks, we had been informed that Jonathan was ensconced in a palatial estate cabin. So Jonathan’s awesome booking dude Armand and I decided we would kibitz the rumored poker game up there. After wandering our way through the multiple rooms, kitchen, walk in closet, wrap around deck, multiple hot tubs, and a room I think was dedicated solely to just being a big room on a boat, we found the following scene:

There was *NO WAY* we were going to play poker with Mike Phirman and Storm, the Mike Phirman of gambling. However Dammit Liz joined the game, and she had no idea how to play Poker.  Since the game was Hold’em, she managed to totally negate any Poker playing skills at the table.

I retrospect I should have jumped in.

Thursday was the Cayman islands, and my performance!

Although I’m perfectly capable of lying to you Marge, I could never about this subject.  Thursday in the Cayman islands was by far the day I was looking forward to the most. Rochelle and I, and it turns out Wil and his family too, were going to spend most of the day swimming with Dolphins. This was probably the life event on the trip I was looking forward to the most, since Rochelle had just done it in Cabos St. Luca. For once in the past 24 hours I was able to completely forget my fear about performing later that night, and just enjoy what I was about to do.

But first, TURTLES!

Our passes got us into the Sea Turtle sanctuary as well, and it was amazing.  For an hour Rochelle and I along with Wil, Anne, and their sons Nolan and Ryan marveled at how something so tiny could grow into something so amazingly huge:

It’s hard to tell in that photo but the turtles are roughly four feet from head to tail.  Here’s my favorite twofer series of photos from the Turtles:

”Oh what an interesting creature,” Wil thinks, “I find this encounter fascinating at an intellectual level…”

”OMG BABY TURTLE SO CUTE. I AM STRUCK BY WONDER.”

That didn’t stop the photobombing tradition of our geekery:

(To Be Continued)

Jamaica faded away behind us, with an implied bit of a middle finger from some of us. Post dinner we finally discovered the Craps table was opened, and Peter Sagal, Dammit Liz, Storm, myself and others hit that table hard.  An hour in, Storm pulls out an enormous stack of chips and notes that he’s cashing out. Needless to say, Storm was the Mike Phirman of the craps table that night.

Up on one of the higher decks, we had been informed that Jonathan was ensconced in a palatial estate cabin. So Jonathan’s awesome booking dude Armand and I decided we would kibitz the rumored poker game up there. After wandering our way through the multiple rooms, kitchen, walk in closet, wrap around deck, multiple hot tubs, and a room I think was dedicated solely to just being a big room on a boat, we found the following scene:

There was *NO WAY* we were going to play poker with Mike Phirman and Storm, the Mike Phirman of gambling. However Dammit Liz joined the game, and she had no idea how to play Poker.  Since the game was Hold’em, she managed to totally negate any Poker playing skills at the table.

I retrospect I should have jumped in.

Thursday was the Cayman islands, and my performance!

Although I’m perfectly capable of lying to you Marge, I could never about this subject.  Thursday in the Cayman islands was by far the day I was looking forward to the most. Rochelle and I, and it turns out Wil and his family too, were going to spend most of the day swimming with Dolphins. This was probably the life event on the trip I was looking forward to the most, since Rochelle had just done it in Cabos St. Luca. For once in the past 24 hours I was able to completely forget my fear about performing later that night, and just enjoy what I was about to do.

But first, TURTLES!

Our passes got us into the Sea Turtle sanctuary as well, and it was amazing.  For an hour Rochelle and I along with Wil, Anne, and their sons Nolan and Ryan marveled at how something so tiny could grow into something so amazingly huge:

It’s hard to tell in that photo but the turtles are roughly four feet from head to tail.  Here’s my favorite twofer series of photos from the Turtles:

”Oh what an interesting creature,” Wil thinks, “I find this encounter fascinating at an intellectual level…”

”OMG BABY TURTLE SO CUTE. I AM STRUCK BY WONDER.”

That didn’t stop the photobombing tradition of our geekery:

(To Be Continued)

Cuba sat just off the ship all day Tuesday at sea, mocking us. “You can see me, but I don’t show up on any of your maps!” it seemed to be saying. 

Meanwhile Jamaica was beckoning, in sultry dulcet tones we wouldn’t hear clearly until we were on land, it sweetly sang: “Ah mon, need a taxi?”  “Hey mon, you want the smoke?” “You look so busy mon, come to de falls wid us we make it all right, in my taxi.” “The smoke mon, tis good here in jamaica.” “You take a taxi mon, it be too hot to walk” “you want some weed mon? I grew me own and it’s real nice” “you sure you don’ need no taxi mon?”

On the island I got made fun of for “Bein’ so american mon, just relax”  You tell me.

Wed morning began with a late breakfast and a leisurely stroll onto the shore of Ocho Rios. I quietly made an ESPN 8 joke to myself. We strolled along with David Rees and John Roderick with absolutely no harassment by any individuals whatsoever. Ok that previous statement is complete bullshit. From the very moment we touched land in Jamaica it was a non stop litany of offers of taxis or weed. Rochelle made our way past the grifters to the beach. Our goal?  Drink Red Stripe and sit on the beach.  High goals, we haz them.

Seconds on the beach dodging offers of weed and cheap beer and Rochelle goes for the hair braids.

Now, here’s the best part. After dodging all the grifters on the beach artfully, we got…grifted.  Those braids were 80 bucks.  In Rochelle’s purse?  20 bucks.  Great, so here we have three surly Jamaican beach ladies with 76354 male beach grifters at beck and call to punch me in the jimmy for not paying them. They let me know that an ATM was mere moments away.  I offer to go to the ATM and that’s where the fun began.

They call a “guide” over from the side and he leads me off the beach where I’m accosted by another “guide” and informed that I must enter his taxi in order to reach the only ATM on the island that dispenses US dollars. The cab was a mess that looked like the end of those films they showed you in elementary school about not getting into cars with strangers. Desperately I looked around for Mike Phirman, I knew he would appear to save me.

Seconds passed and it was clear that I was on my own. I was lost alone in a dangerous situation and left to my own devices, without Mike Phirman. I informed the individuals that if the ATM was a cab ride away I didn’t need the money anyway.  Immediately the guide rattled off some angry patois to the other “guide” and informed me in broken English that an ATM was just around the corner. Along the way I ran into my friend Andrew, Wil’s editor.

”Hey man what’s going on?” he asked, sizing up the situation correctly as “Hey man, I don’t want to see you raped and cut up into pieces.”

”Just getting a guide to the ATM,” I said, repeating to the guide “Which is real close right?”

Insert all manner of gibberish “yeah Mon, its all ok in Jamaica mon.”

I felt adrift without Mike Phirman to help me, but Andrew was a steadfast replacement as the guide led us deeper into the deeply sketch areas of Ocho Rios. Also it was deeply deep in deep where the fuck are we and I suddenly wished I had paid more attention to those films in elementary school. Finally we reached a tall vertical building marked “Cool Oasis, ATM”  We entered the ground floor.  Inside were more air conditioning vents than Baron Harkonnen had sores, and in the center of the room like a chancre was a single ATM.  No lights at all, no people or chairs, just an ATM in the middle of a huge building.  I closed my eyes and prayed for Mike Phirman.

Nothing.

”This is by far the shadiest place on Earth I could possibly imagine swiping a card in,” I said to Andrew, who had smartly taken up position at the door to protect our egress should we need it.

”In Jamaica, is ok!” said our guide.

20 minutes later I’m back on the beach explaining to the Jamaican ladies why they weren’t going to get paid.

The best part of the story?  I offer to stay on the beach while Rochelle returns to the boat to get cash.  She forgot her boat boarding pass, which was with me, but in seconds navigated herself through practiced experience in Mexico to a proper bank with a proper ATM and got money.

Later on we hired a beach guide to bring us beer and drinks while we relaxed.  He kept lecturing me when I tried to pay him every time he brought us something on my silly American need to pay for things and be nervous. OH I WONDER WHAT GAVE ME THAT IDEA.
 
Rochelle however, rocked the Jet ski.

I relaxed, and drank my Red Stripe. The day had started out tense, and I was deeply concerned that Mike Phirman had been absent in my time of need, but my heart was peaceful and we were a mere walk away from the ship. Time was nigh to return.

That night’s show was deep in my heart to see. I’m already a fan of the wonderful and awesome Molly Lewis. I count among my lucky life…things… the opportunity to perform even near her. However her performance on this night was actually eclipsed by heroes of mine from Mystery Science Theater 3000, Bill Corbett and Kevin Murphy. Again I arrived early at the venue to grab a good seat and I bumped into Mike Phirman as I arrived. 

“Dude…” I said, startled and slightly losing faith in my–

“I wish I could have helped you.But you didn’t need me, you never did. Meanwhile, I’ve been making awesome,” Mike said, “Just watch.”

I laughed at Molly’s antics.  Bill and Kevin rocked my world.  But Mike Phirman left me to be abducted in Jamaica for the cause of comedy.  And in this effort, in this microcosm, he ascended.

This isn’t a fair entry, for at this point Mike Phirman’s cruise set is not all on video.  The best minds have analyzed the problem and determined that several video devices failed in the presence of Mike’s awesomeness. It’s always a risk when you get to play with the best.

I was still left wondering what I would present both for my friends, my heroes, and the people we were all on board for, the Seamonkeys.  As I mentioned previously Rochelle and Wil would provide the answer.

(To Be Continued)

Cuba sat just off the ship all day Tuesday at sea, mocking us. “You can see me, but I don’t show up on any of your maps!” it seemed to be saying. 

Meanwhile Jamaica was beckoning, in sultry dulcet tones we wouldn’t hear clearly until we were on land, it sweetly sang: “Ah mon, need a taxi?”  “Hey mon, you want the smoke?” “You look so busy mon, come to de falls wid us we make it all right, in my taxi.” “The smoke mon, tis good here in jamaica.” “You take a taxi mon, it be too hot to walk” “you want some weed mon? I grew me own and it’s real nice” “you sure you don’ need no taxi mon?”

On the island I got made fun of for “Bein’ so american mon, just relax”  You tell me.

Wed morning began with a late breakfast and a leisurely stroll onto the shore of Ocho Rios. I quietly made an ESPN 8 joke to myself. We strolled along with David Rees and John Roderick with absolutely no harassment by any individuals whatsoever. Ok that previous statement is complete bullshit. From the very moment we touched land in Jamaica it was a non stop litany of offers of taxis or weed. Rochelle made our way past the grifters to the beach. Our goal?  Drink Red Stripe and sit on the beach.  High goals, we haz them.

Seconds on the beach dodging offers of weed and cheap beer and Rochelle goes for the hair braids.

Now, here’s the best part. After dodging all the grifters on the beach artfully, we got…grifted.  Those braids were 80 bucks.  In Rochelle’s purse?  20 bucks.  Great, so here we have three surly Jamaican beach ladies with 76354 male beach grifters at beck and call to punch me in the jimmy for not paying them. They let me know that an ATM was mere moments away.  I offer to go to the ATM and that’s where the fun began.

They call a “guide” over from the side and he leads me off the beach where I’m accosted by another “guide” and informed that I must enter his taxi in order to reach the only ATM on the island that dispenses US dollars. The cab was a mess that looked like the end of those films they showed you in elementary school about not getting into cars with strangers. Desperately I looked around for Mike Phirman, I knew he would appear to save me.

Seconds passed and it was clear that I was on my own. I was lost alone in a dangerous situation and left to my own devices, without Mike Phirman. I informed the individuals that if the ATM was a cab ride away I didn’t need the money anyway.  Immediately the guide rattled off some angry patois to the other “guide” and informed me in broken English that an ATM was just around the corner. Along the way I ran into my friend Andrew, Wil’s editor.

”Hey man what’s going on?” he asked, sizing up the situation correctly as “Hey man, I don’t want to see you raped and cut up into pieces.”

”Just getting a guide to the ATM,” I said, repeating to the guide “Which is real close right?”

Insert all manner of gibberish “yeah Mon, its all ok in Jamaica mon.”

I felt adrift without Mike Phirman to help me, but Andrew was a steadfast replacement as the guide led us deeper into the deeply sketch areas of Ocho Rios. Also it was deeply deep in deep where the fuck are we and I suddenly wished I had paid more attention to those films in elementary school. Finally we reached a tall vertical building marked “Cool Oasis, ATM”  We entered the ground floor.  Inside were more air conditioning vents than Baron Harkonnen had sores, and in the center of the room like a chancre was a single ATM.  No lights at all, no people or chairs, just an ATM in the middle of a huge building.  I closed my eyes and prayed for Mike Phirman.

Nothing.

”This is by far the shadiest place on Earth I could possibly imagine swiping a card in,” I said to Andrew, who had smartly taken up position at the door to protect our egress should we need it.

”In Jamaica, is ok!” said our guide.

20 minutes later I’m back on the beach explaining to the Jamaican ladies why they weren’t going to get paid.

The best part of the story?  I offer to stay on the beach while Rochelle returns to the boat to get cash.  She forgot her boat boarding pass, which was with me, but in seconds navigated herself through practiced experience in Mexico to a proper bank with a proper ATM and got money.

Later on we hired a beach guide to bring us beer and drinks while we relaxed.  He kept lecturing me when I tried to pay him every time he brought us something on my silly American need to pay for things and be nervous. OH I WONDER WHAT GAVE ME THAT IDEA.
 
Rochelle however, rocked the Jet ski.

I relaxed, and drank my Red Stripe. The day had started out tense, and I was deeply concerned that Mike Phirman had been absent in my time of need, but my heart was peaceful and we were a mere walk away from the ship. Time was nigh to return.

That night’s show was deep in my heart to see. I’m already a fan of the wonderful and awesome Molly Lewis. I count among my lucky life…things… the opportunity to perform even near her. However her performance on this night was actually eclipsed by heroes of mine from Mystery Science Theater 3000, Bill Corbett and Kevin Murphy. Again I arrived early at the venue to grab a good seat and I bumped into Mike Phirman as I arrived. 

“Dude…” I said, startled and slightly losing faith in my–

“I wish I could have helped you.But you didn’t need me, you never did. Meanwhile, I’ve been making awesome,” Mike said, “Just watch.”

I laughed at Molly’s antics.  Bill and Kevin rocked my world.  But Mike Phirman left me to be abducted in Jamaica for the cause of comedy.  And in this effort, in this microcosm, he ascended.

This isn’t a fair entry, for at this point Mike Phirman’s cruise set is not all on video.  The best minds have analyzed the problem and determined that several video devices failed in the presence of Mike’s awesomeness. It’s always a risk when you get to play with the best.

I was still left wondering what I would present both for my friends, my heroes, and the people we were all on board for, the Seamonkeys.  As I mentioned previously Rochelle and Wil would provide the answer.

(To Be Continued)