One of the perks of running a comedy club is the occasional request that arrives about putting on a show for a private organization. So, when I glanced at an email recently that contained the words "Yacht Club" and "Free Dinner," I figured, "This sounds like a job for the Supreme Commander."

On the day in question, I arose at 4:30 a.m. to catch an early flight to Seattle, still smarting from having gone seen the Warriors seemingly blow their play-off chances to the Nuggets the night before. Oh well, I couldn't afford play-off tickets anyway. Before heading out the door, I emailed to the performers reminding them to dress sharp and plan on clean material.

Priceline.com had come through with a $55 room at The Radisson and an $11 car rental from Alamo. The Radisson is my favorite hotel near the airport because they offer free parking and a free internet connection unlike the nearby Doubletree and Hilton. They even saved a bathrobe I once left there until my return. The Radisson rocks!

At the car rental counter, I was asked if I wanted insurance which is always a confusing moment. "Oh well, what the heck," I said and was presented with a bill for an additional $40 a day! Seeing my shocked expression, the counter person reminded me that the car would normally cost $66 a day during the week. Why do I have the feeling that the insurance industry will be the last American business institution left standing?

It turned out my car was a Chevy Impala that got 28 miles to the gallon. My Jewish side had me calculating how much I'd save on gas over a year's time compared to my venerable 1987 Jaguar, Stella, which barely averages 15 mpg. I realized I could cover the cost of a new car with the savings on gas and the money I'd make from selling my dear old series III but I could never do it. To my eye, Stella, with her deep blue paint job, is the most beautiful car ever made.

After a lunch of real wild salmon at 13 Coins next to the hotel, I called the acts. Brett J. advised that he had scouted out the location of the Yacht Club and noted that it was very difficult to find.

"What you have to do is when you see the Red Robin Restaurant, turn into the driveway just pass it and drive through a couple shopping center parking lots and you'll see their sign," he advised.

I have to say I was surprised that he had scouted out the location. My experience has been that most comedians go to Map Quest, figure it will take exactly the time indicated to get to where they're going and try to arrive about five minutes before the show, often with disastrous results. I quickly relayed Brett's info to Kermet Apio and Geoff Brousseau, the other acts.

One thing about my trips to Seattle, it seems that I often bring good weather with me. This day was particularly beautiful. When I arrived at the Yacht Club, I was amazed at its idyllic waterfront location, complete with a creek running by the parking lot in which Mallards were frolicking.

As I walked in, a comely lass approached and said, "You must be Jonathan." My late, lamented father always said I'd grow into it and having just turned 60 (sorry about that), I'd have to say it was nice to finally hear someone call me by my given name. How she knew, I have no idea.

Tom, the "Rear Commodore" who had hired the show, was working the buffet line and urged me to have something to eat. Just as I was reaching for a plate, I glanced up and saw a sight that was a first in over 30 years of producing stand-up comedy. Yes, in walked Brett, Geoff and Kermet, all dressed in suits! They glanced at the casually attired audience and suddenly I was getting three very dirty looks. My appetite vanished.

Tom guided us to a table and, sitting down, asked how the show should be introduced. Looking around at the full house, I quipped "How about saying, 'Welcome to our First Annual Best of the Comedy Underground show.'" This mercenary suggestion made Kermet laugh and we were all back on good stead quickly thereafter.
Brett J. turned to me and asked, "Seriously, how do you think I should start the show?"

"How about first asking 'How many people here have ever been to the Comedy Underground," I suggested, "Then, ask them, 'How many people are members here?' Then say, 'How many trophy wives do we have tonight?'"

Fortunately, Brett didn't take me up on it. My partner-in-crime, Ron Reid, calls Brett the Louis Ferrakan of Comedy, not because he's militant but because he has that buttoned down, preacher way of working up a crowd. Soon, he had them in the palm of his hand except for the fact that every time he did one of his Chevy Chase-like flops on the floor, he would knock the microphone out of commission and the audience would all yell at him to turn the sound back on.

Geoff Brousseau is a past finalist in the Seattle Comedy Competition and has a great presence and delivery that is all his own. The last I'd seen him though was in a nightclub where he was doing material about performing questionable acts with sex toys, so I was a bit concerned. On this occasion, he concentrated on talking about his newborn daughter whom he said he'd given a Native American name: "Dream Killer. . .The Third."

Then it was time for Kermet and I must say, I silently congratulated myself on hiring him as I watched the crowd completely fall in love with his gentle persona and material about his Hawaii heritage. It occurred to me that Kermet kind of stands and moves around the stage like Ed Sullivan but his material is so self-effacingly hilarious, it doesn't matter. After about an hour, he left them wanting more.

As the acts stood at the exit saying their good nights not even attempting to sell their cds, I hit up Tom for a rebooking. He advised that he'd be promoted to Commodore next year with new responsibilities, so I'd have to talk to the current Vice Commodore who would be the next Rear Commodore.

"Well, with titles like that, perhaps he'll be interested in a blue material show," I said. By the reaction on Tom's face, I was reminded it's best to leave the attempts at humor to professionals.