I recently saw that Variety had named Judi Marmel (formerly Brown) as one of their Power Women of Hollywood, right up there with actress Emma Stone and Warner Bros. Co-Chair Pamela Abdy.

Judi, a Palmer High School grad who used to work as a door girl and part-time talent scout for Jeff Valdez’s Comedy Corner in the ’80s, certainly deserves the honor. She’s become Hollywood’s premier agent of funny. Her company represents newcomers and established comedians, including the likes of Jeff Dunham, Taylor Tomlinson and Sebastian Maniscalo.

Reconnecting with Judi reminded me of my favorite moments as a journalist, covering the now-defunct U.S. Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen. Held every March in the land of skis and fur, it was THE place for comedians to see and be seen. I’d met Albert Brooks, Mike Judge, Rita Rudner, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, Tracey Ullman and so many other comic greats there.

But my favorite moment was meeting a couple of guys from the legendary British comedy troupe Monty Python.

It was 1998, they were having a Monty Python reunion at the Aspen fest, and I was covering it for The Gazette.

Judi, who did marketing and PR for the fest, had always hooked me up with interviews (even ahead of big city journalists, I think).

She told me going in that the Python guys were not doing interviews in Aspen. Period.

“But Judi—”

“No. You can go to the show (their reunion), but they’re not doing anything,” she told me.

Damn.

I was drowning my sorrows (off hours, of course!) at the bar at the Jerome Hotel with an intern Gazette photographer (I’ll call him Jimmy). I was halfway through my dark stout when I noticed the table next to us. Monty Python veterans Michael Palin and Terry Jones were chatting and drinking.

Forgetting about our young photographer, I dashed over, introduced myself as a reporter from a nearby local paper, and asked for a quick chat.

They invited me to join them. (Guess they never got the no-interviews memo!)

Over the next half hour, the Python guys gave me the most fascinating analysis about the birth of their comedy troupe, which was trying to work against the setup-punchline ethos of American comedy and just create silly situations. (Dead parrot came to mind, and I chuckled.)

They also talked about where comedy has gone since Python.

“I think all comedy is cyclical,” Palin said. “We’ve been through the high-energy physical thing, and now it seems to be getting more verbal and thoughtful.”

I filled my notebook, never more thrilled to have chosen a career in journalism.

Afterward, I headed over to Jimmy.

“Did you get any good shots?” I asked.

The young photographer looked around. Palin and Jones were gone.

“I guess the moment really didn’t present itself,” he said.

I realized how selfish I’d been, jumping over to their table without introducing Jimmy. (I don’t remember if I apologized, but I should have.)

A few hours later, I struck gold again, running into John Cleese in the lobby of the St. Regis Hotel. He seemed busy, so I quickly introduced myself and asked if he’ll be skiing while in Aspen.

“Lord, no,” he said as he walked past me. “Dodgy knee.”

The result of all those silly walks, no doubt.

Once again, I’d forgotten about Jimmy, who noticed me talking to Cleese.

The last words I heard from Cleese, as the young photographer chased him down the hallway of the St. Regis: “You want my photograph, you %#@ing ask me for my photograph!” — his middle finger raised.

I don’t remember if I laughed or cried. Probably both.

Another great Aspen festival moment was connecting with Albert Brooks, another of my comic heroes. I told him after an extensive interview how he didn’t seem like a Los Angeles person. I told him he seemed very New York. (I’m a New Yorker)

“You know, Warren, you’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said. “I think what you mean is, I’m not an idiot.”

The man had me laughing all morning.

I asked him his plans for the rest of the afternoon, and he told me that he and Garry Shandling were planning to go shopping in the ritzy Aspen shops downtown. My article about the festival would write itself if I could tag along!

As Albert and I walked into the hotel lobby, where Shandling was just finishing checking in, I asked if I could be a fly on the wall with them as they window shopped.

Before Albert could answer, Garry barked, “No! Would you leave us alone!”

Albert looked at me, smiled and shrugged an apology.

As they walked away, I heard Garry ask, “So, who’s that %$@hole?”

I don’t know why so many of my favorite memories end with an insult, but there it is.

Thanks for those memories and so many others, Judi, you woman-of-power, you!