Andrew J. Lederer

last night, after dinner with reg hunter and his/our friend amanda, i was walking with lewis schaffer and, while talking with claire smith and her good friend tash, ran into carlos gomez, new york actor/poet/good guy.

proximity to the green room may have turned south bridge into part of new york.

it's kinda like this is our gang's territory and you better fly our colors while you're out there or you may be in jeopardy.

but we're well-aware that other gangs have marked their territories as well and woe unto those who stray carelessly into their zones.

that's why, when i later boldly (except for the fact that i was nervous and half-hoped i hadn't been booked) ventured into canadian territory to do phil nichol's (and tiffany stevenson's) "old rope", i made sure to have a neutral party accompanying me (london-based elise harris). the presence on the bill of fellow new yorker and green room act jason trachtenburg added another layer of protection to the mix, so i did not feel entirely alone when i walked onto the stage and improvised meaningless drivel with slow-paced, illusory confidence.

i think the audience mistakenly thought i knew what i was doing and seemed to hang on every word, imagining i was actually going somewhere. we'll never know, though, as the show was running late, so i had to cut my improvisational journey short. (i may be doing a longer set later in the week during which there's a good chance i will be "found out".)

once the show was done, as quickly as i could, i hightailed it back to the green room, where fellow brooklynite reggie watts was preparing to start his show and a comforting sense of normalcy prevailed.

there's no place like home.