Reality Check

           Its a windy Saturday night. My buddy DB and I are at a bar near my place in the Valley. Decent sized spot. Could fit two hundred people in easily. Nowhere near that many folks in here tonight though. The place a has nondescript design. Which I find comforting, but has been a bit of a challenge for the owner. Every other night of the week, in the attempt to attract diverse crowds, the bar takes on a different theme. Problem is, they haven't yet set the themed nights in stone. You could come one evening expecting to groove to songs played by a hip hop station, open the door, and get hit with a screaming tidal wave of rage. Followed by blank stares from people with pale, pierced faces. Surprise! It's Heavy Metal night. This night, the dice roll in our favor. We come in and hear Hip Hop. Meaning the owner fired up Pandora on the bar's sound system, set it to the FloRida channel, and went home. There's maybe ten people in here. Counting the three bartenders. Still, everybody's conversing and having a good time. The emptiness of the place is actually adding an intimate, almost familial vibe. Like we're in a dusty, low budget version of Cheers.

        That's when I happen to notice the bartender giving "the eye" to my boy DB. Lets call her Cindy. She is a slender, short haired Brunette with a tattoo of a rose covering the majority of her back. She is also wearing a black tank top. To make sure we all know that she has a tattoo of a rose covering the majority of her back. She looks you in the eye when she talks to you, and is quick with a wink and a smile. A pro. Right now her attention is on DB. I get his back. You know, the wing-man thing. They hit it off. Seems genuine. She leaves the conversation, sashay's across the bar and announces that everyone should pony up two bucks for a shot all around. We pay. She pours. We all raise our glasses, take a shot of well - level whiskey, and celebrate a shared moment of microwave joy. All is right, and I don't have a care in the world.

        They kick us all out and DB asks to crash at my place. I suggest we watch Taken 2 under the influence of a certain substance that can purchased at a dispensary, and the second half of the evening is officially under way. During the very short drive from the bar to the house, I see that the wind is starting to kick up. Violently. Trees rock back and fourth. The sound of the wind slicing through them and slamming into the car is deafening. The wind's force causes the car to sway. This has become one of those times where the Big Guy upstairs seems to be saying "Hey buddy. Juuust reminding ya who's in charge."

        Every now and then, DB and I share a nervous glance, disguised as a carefree smile. We respond in the only way that one can in a situation like this. We both repeatedly yell out the word "DAMN!" with great emphasis. We make it to the house, get out of the car, clutch our coats and dash to the front door.

      Once inside, DB goes into my room to put the movie on. I however, have succumbed to a condition known as the "alcohol munchies" and head to the kitchen for a snack. Three steps toward the fridge I hear the wind kick up even more violently than before. Garbage cans topple, cats are probably getting tossed around.  I turn to the kitchen window for the a glimpse of the carnage, and at that moment, I see absolutely nothing. I am standing in pitch black darkness. The sound of the computer powering down in my room lets me know that the electricity is off.  I can hear DB laughing in disbelief. I'm not. I had forgotten how dark, darkness could get. Even on a regular evening with all the lights off, you still sense that the power is flowing. Now the house has taken on a stillness. The house seems to be dead. The darkness is so thick it almost takes on a form of it's own. To honestly not be able to see your own hands in front of you is an unsettling feeling. I hope that all I need to do is go to the side of the house and flip the breaker switch. But a deep part of my mind quietly repeatedly whispers " What if this is serious?" " "Am I prepared to not have electricity for a long period of time?"

         And the answer is of course, " Hell No!!" " Not at all!" If the power doesn't come back on soon, DB and I will be two large negros shivering in the dark. I've got three raggedy ass candles. And two of them have broken wicks. While churning every possible disaster scenario in my head, (including North Korean and Alien invasions) I make my way to the door leading to the side of the house. It is at that precise moment that the lights kick back on and normalcy is restored. DB laughs again and goes back to getting the movie going as if nothing happened at all. I, on the other hand am not so jovial. I can't shake the thought that if something major did go down just now, it would have caught me completely by surprise. We rely on the creature comforts that electricity brings. We expect it to be around forever, and most likely it will. But if not, I should have my shit together. I should be stocked up, locked and loaded. Ready to get my Snake Plissken on in case someone comes driving up the street in a Cadillac with chandeliers on it and tries to make trouble. (yeah I just threw added a couple "Escape from New York references. Gotta keep the classics alive). I should have food, toilet paper, medical equipment, all the stuff that would insure survival if the proverbial shit hits the fan. And I will get all that stuff. But first I'm going to heat up some popcorn in the microwave,  tun up the heater, have DB start the DVD player, and watch Liam Neeson kick some Albanian kidnapper ass. I got time to prepare for the end of the world next week. Right?


- GG

FREE SHOW, FREE SHOW, DID MENTION FREE SHOW?

COME ON DOWN AND WATCH ME PERFORM AT A FREE TAPED STAND UP SHOW THIS SUNDAY!!!

 The Pig N Whistle - 6714 Hollywood Blvd Los Angeles, CA 90028.

SHOWTIME/SHOOT: BEGINS: 8:00pm
Head to the Pig N Whistle and get some free laughs!!!!

The Only Rule

         Comedy is a mysterious, fascinating, and magical thing. The only genre where reality and logic can be completely thrown out of the window. Every other genre has hard and fast rules that if broken, will take you out of the story. Comedy has somehow been able to find a loophole to this policy. As a result, there is only one absolutely unbreakable rule. It has to be funny.

        I came across this YouTube post from the movie "The Other Guys" that describes this point perfectly. There is no reason for this series of jokes to be in the film. They don't advance the plot or reveal anything about the characters. But they are some of my favorite parts of the movie. Why? Because they're funny as shit.

Click the link and see what I mean.

-GG

http://youtu.be/T9U6JsBHpJg

Creepy lil Short

      Hey gang. I have been meaning to write about an experice I  had during New Years, but life, as they say, keeps getting in the way. In the meantime, check out this cool little short I came across that was the inspiration for the upcoming Guillermo Del Toro produced horror flick, "Mama".
      I love how horror can take a concept that is usually connected with safety and security, then completely flip it on it's head. A mother's love is supposed to be the purest example of unconditional affection from another human being that we can experience. So when that notion is flipped, and a mother is a symbol of fear, dread and menace, than you have something creepy and disturbing. The short is only about 3 mins long, which proves how flexible a genre can be. Follow the link and check it out!!!!



 http://youtu.be/WRqS6pBC42w


- GG

UPCOMING SHOWS!

SAT. DEC 22ND:

GARRET MORRIS' DOWNTOWN BLUES AND COMEDY CLUB
501 SOUTH SPRING 
ST LOS ANGELES CA 90013
LOCATED INSIDE THE ALEXANDRIA HOTEL
9PM

TUE JANURARY 8TH:

WEBBER'S PLACE - SPORTS BAR AND GRILL
19312 VANOWEN ST
RESEDA CA 91335
8PM

IT'S GOING DOOOOWN!!!!

Humiliation is a Beautiful Thing

          I spend the last fading moments of a typical Friday night sipping a French Connection at a bar in the basement of the Hollywood Hotel. The midnight hour is at hand and the second open mic of the evening is about start. Been here since 10:30. A mix up got me on the list of this show instead of the earlier one. No big deal. I take this extra time to soak in the scene.  The room is set up for comedy, which is always a good thing. Long and compact with low ceilings. Small tables spread thought the area on both sides with a modest bar in the back. Needless to say, the crowd is sparse. 8 at the most. Made up of comedians who anxiously eye their notepads, but are generous enough to offer the performer small snippets of attention. Nowhere else I'd rather be.

          My boy D stares at me from his seat across the bar. He's pissed and isn't afraid to show it. I can't help but chuckle. After listening to half formed rants and one liners for an hour and a half, he has had enough. I apologize for the mix up (and for laughing in his face), then try to explain the beauty of this situation. Even though he came to tape my set, he's still privileged to witness comedy in it's rawest form.  This room and rooms like it are croc pots of creativity. And few are able to see the process of  slow cooked comedy greatness being conceived. D ain't buying it. He holds his stare and throws in a middle finger to make sure I get the point. I do. To top it all off, I'm low on the list of people to perform at this show also. A detail I have yet to share with D. It doesn't take a physic to know I got another middle finger coming my way in the near future. 

          I turn my attention from D and to the guy on stage. Bad idea. He ain't doing so hot. A young, cocky 20 something year old sporting tight jeans, glasses, wrinkled button up shirt and purposefully messed up hair is practically yelling onstage. He is throwing jokes a us and angry that we're are not sharp enough to appreciate his absolute brilliance. His nonchalant "I'm better than the audience" attitude is creating a thick cloud of silence in the room, causing the few that were watching to dive deeper into their prospective notepads. Even though he brought this on himself, I still feel for the guy. It's painful and lonely up there when the crowd isn't feeling anything that you are saying. A situation no comic ever looks forward to, but has to experience. The sting of discomfort causes me to reach for my drink for some soothing. To my complete and utter shock, its gone! The no nonsense bartender/ slash open mic host must have snatched it up, thinking I was done.  I give him a not so subtle but still respectful look to signal what happened and he immediately fills my glass back almost to the top. Good dude. I'm guessing form the East Coast. He carries with him the kind of attitude that lets you know he could look you in the eye and say that you were either the salt of the earth, or a piece of shit without giving a damn which one left his mouth.

      After setting my drink down, he scurries out of the bar to mercifully shine the light on the genius, letting him know he has a minute left to bless us with comedy gold. Little did I know, his awkward performance was foreshadowing for what would happen when I took the stage. 
He introduces the next comic then tells me I'll be up after her on his way back. Just as he says that, another group of people enter the bar. About six more twenty something year old's. Three girls and two guys all satelliting one young blond. As soon as I see this configuration, I know the blonde is the comic. And her hipster friends have come out to support. My good spirits are lifted even higher. I'm glad that there are people here who might watch a set and actually give a shit.

      I know my time to come up next is soon, so I glance at my set list and feel good about it. I'm excited about the new stuff i'm going to test out and have made a silent vow to just have fun. No matter what. Soon the realization hits that I'm actually not nervous at all. In fact, dare say it, I'm a little cocky. So much so,  that the group that walked in before have now begun to annoy me. Well not so much the whole group, just one member. He shares the same self assured smugness as the guy that just crashed and burned on stage. Only more understated. As if he was saying directly to me, " Yeah, we both know how cool I am. I don't have to mention it."+

       One last detail tips me over the edge. He's wearing sunglasses. As if that wasn't enough to win the gold medal in douchiness, one of the lenses is missing! That's it. He's going down. My comedic radar zero's in on him. Secretly collecting data to use against him when I go up. It's not hard. A small pattering of applause breaks me from my trance as a shy, petite brunette finishes her set and takes a seat. The bartender grabs the mike, squints at the piece of paper he is holding, then proceeds to stumble over my name. Even after this, I take the stage with no fear in sight. 

      From my vantage point, I can't see the group that just came in. For some reason, even though they're plenty of seats up front, they have all chosen to sit behind a pillar and the DJ booth. A spot that completely prevents the performer from getting feedback from them. I go in immediately " Is there some kind of quarantine over there the rest of us don't know about?". Not a great joke, but it shows I'm in the moment so I gt a few generous chuckles. That's when I decide to talk about Mr. Sunglasses. I mention how bad a decision it is to go out dressed like that, and at some point I call him an "Emo Pirate." That gets a more generous laugh from the scattered members of the crowd. And even from a couple of the kids sitting at the table with the pirate. Thanks to my teasing of Mr. Halfglasses, I'm sailing. I'm in that perfect nirvana that comes when you are living 100% in the moment. It is delicious. That's when I hear her voice. A shrill, anger tinged voice from somewhere behind the pillar yells out " He has Cancer!"

     Time stood still. Three words have yanked me from comedy Shangri La and have sent me rapidly plummeting to hell.  Every comic in the place lets out a collective "oohhhh", as if they were trying to verbalize the dread that just entered room. A second goes by but it feels as if it has been stretched out to and hour. I'm still breathing, even though all the air has been sucked from the room. My mouth goes dry. Panic has entered the building as is setting up shop in my mind. I'm in a room with a handful of people. Half of which I can't even see, but I feel as if i'm performing the National Anthem  at the Super bowl and have forgotten the words.

       Then, a strange thing happens. Repetition kicks in. The main advantage of performing on a regular basis ( and bombing a few times) is that you learn to stay cool under pressure. My sense of panic fades. My decent to the underworld of humiliation is halted by good old fashioned experience. In other words, I go into "fuck it" mode. I breath deep, compose myself, remember my promise to have fun, then decide to say the first thing that pops into my head. After allowing a smile, I say, "Oooh shit!" 

      The comics in the room laugh. They understand. It's stream of consciousness time. I take the focus away from the Pirate and onto how much of an asshole I am for calling him a pirate in the first place. I tell him that I'm not expecting his Facebook freind request  anytime soon. I then suggest that he actually should friend me, write on my wall, "You're a fat asshole", then un-friend me, and that should make us even. After that gets a good response, I know that I have now officially won back the room.

      I use the moment of goodwill I have earned to drop a couple of the jokes that I had planned to say, then get my ass off stage. To my surprise, I am met with applause. Even from the Pirate and his group.  I take a moment to shake his hand, go to the bar, down my drink, pay for it, and signal to D that it is now officially time to leave.

    As the cool night air hits my face outside of the Hotel, a wave of peace and relaxation sweeps over me. I can't help but to feel proud. A storm hit me tonight and I weathered it. I didn't panic. I dug in, and survived.

   I also choose to ignore the fact that, I'm the one who caused the storm in the first place.


- GG

Come check me out as I host a great show in the Valley!

Comedy Night at Webber’s in Encino.

Tuesday, December 4
8PM
19312 Vanowen Street
Reseda, CA 91335
(818)34-4345

http://weberssportsbar.com/

GOOD TIMES AND GOOD LAUGHS.

Plus it's the valley so you might just happen to see a guy riding a horse up to the spot for no reason. ( I know I have.)