I Killed On Stage. Literally.

Comedians tend to be a morbid bunch, so it's not really surprising that there are a lot of death-related stand-up comedy terms.  A comedian who's doing well might say he "killed" or "crushed" or "destroyed" or "slayed 'em" or "knocked 'em dead."

But last night, things got a little too literal.

I was performing at the Surf and Turf Grille, which is right across from Nathan's Famous hot dog stand in the heart of Coney Island.  What made the venue really interesting, though, was that the stage was located at the front of the restaurant, which was opened to the street.  Instead of a wall, the comedian's back was to the exposed sidewalk.  The backdrop was Coney Island itself, with no physical division between the inside venue and the outside environment.

This lack of boundary made for some interesting moments.  As one comic made a joke about the police, several police cars literally came whizzing by behind him.  As another comic finished his set, a homeless person/crack addict started going through the trash across the street.

But evidently, during my set, someone was literally murdered two blocks away from where I was performing while my back was exposed to the entire street without any protection.

During the rest of the set, I was interrupted by ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks, all going over to the site of the murder.

And despite all that, I killed.  Figuratively.  In fact, this venue not only didn't impose time restrictions on the comics but did exactly the opposite: if you're doing well, the audience forces you to stay on stage.  After 15 minutes, when I tried to call the host back up, he and the audience refused: "You're doing really great!  Keep going!  We love you!"  After 20 minutes, the same thing happened.

In the end, I did 30 minutes of what I felt was the most real kind of comedy you could do: it was spontaneous, it was full-force, it was in the moment.  I was in a tangible, palpable relationship with the audience, so involved that we forgot about the drama enfolding directly behind us.

My life as a comedian has been strange but wonderfully so and this one crazy night - practically outside, in the middle of a deserted amusement park, with police swelling all around, and the scent of hotdogs and cotton candy in the air, I was able to bring a group of strangers together for a few beautiful moments.  And we all laughed together.