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Another bright light, another dance..

I had a gig last night on the Pacific Sun in a room named Terraces. I sat at the bar and watched as the people wandered in from the production show Cinematastic,or the champagne fountain on the Lido deck or whatever they had been up to til my 10:45 start time.

Some are old,some are very old, some are baby boomers out to see some of the world now that their kids have finally moved out and stopped spending quite so much of their money. Then there are the young folk. The passengers my age looked relieved to be free of the kids for a few hours and held hands as they came in. The twenty somethings postured their way in and made loud conversation so that the other members of the pack know they had alpha dogs and their shrill mates in their midst. My photo was at the door and I heard many a discussion on whether a girl could be as funny as Monty Franklin (who had apparently slayed them. Nice one Monty).

There has to be a psychological reason why the same idiot feels the need to pipe up in the first five minutes. He’s in his early twenties, or late thirties. He’s drunk, and He’s trying to make his voice sound deeper than it is. He’s average height, but he doesn’t wear his frame With confidence. His girlfriend giggles self consciously by his side, unsure whether to be embarrassed or proud at his antics. His first comment isn’t openly aggressive, but said with enough swagger that I hear the challenge. I engage, gently swat him and go back to the business at hand. If he continues, its with a little more force, and he’s hoping to
see me stumble. He doesn’t, and steps up his game. But I’ve been hear so many times before and I know this dance better than him. I win, but I wish I didn’t have to play this game with this idiot.

It’s a good show and the audience seem happy to be there and have a laugh. The boy and his girlfriend go quiet after a well aimed kick to the ego and the dirty cackle of old people who know filthier jokes than I can imagine still echoes in my ears. I like the thought that my comedian friends are standing on stages that look a lot like the one on the ship, dancing with a crowd that has some of the same characters, and hopefully getting a few new steps in there.

There are easier ways to make money. And a lot more money than telling stories into a bright light can get you. But where would be the fun in that?

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ON THE HIGH SEAS

Life on board a cruise ship is just as you think it might be. Get up, eat, lie about, eat, go to the gym to balance out all the eating, eat, maybe do a show. If you’re lucky, there will be someone to hang out with and you can pass the time chatting and having a few drinks. The missing home bit sucks, but it’s hard to complain when you’re on a Lido Deck. There are worse places to be.

I boarded the ship in Cairns, had a day in Port Douglas, did a show the next night and sailed back to Brisbane. Got off the ship for some home time with Miss Gemmola, cuddled the poor unsuspecting cat and got back on the ship. Next stop Mystery Island.

Cruise comedians get some ‘tude from some in the industry as selling out or performing to bogans on a floating bar. They may well be bogans, but they’re on holiday and up for a good laugh. And I’m Guilty as charged. If selling out means earning money making people laugh, sign me up. Isn’t that why we do this? To make people laugh?