One thing about writing these blog posts is the regular schedule. I know
that, no matter what else I do, every two weeks, I’ll be turning out an article
bloviating about something or other.
But even as I write this, I know that, when my next deadline rolls around in
a fortnight, I’ll be as depressed as I’ve been in a long time.
“Why?,” you may ask. “Because,” I would answer, “I’ll be writing in the absence
of David Letterman.” Dave and I have a long history together. It’s not like I’ve
ever met the man, though I have seen his show live (I think) seven times, but he’s
been a big part of my life for, damn, nearly 40 years.
Dave
I’ve long admitted I didn’t like his standup when he was beginning. There
was something about it – and him – that I found kinda smarmy, so it took me a
while to watch his morning show that aired in 1980. But once I discovered that
show, I became a fan for life, and I realized the other day that his humor and
comedy have been major influences on me for more than half of my life, and
certainly almost all of my adult life. (And when you consider that I’ve missed
only a handful of David Letterman Shows,
Late Shows with David Letterman, and
no Late Nights with David Letterman,
it’s in the neighborhood of 6,000 hours – nearly eight solid months – I’ve
spent watching the guy.)
I’m not alone in this, well, obsession. Since 1993, I’ve been part of an
online group that tracks, discusses, and dissects the show – and Dave – and those
people have become some of my dearest friends, even if I’ve actually met most
of them only a few times.
(You’ll have to excuse me. Tina Fey just stripped down to her underwear on
Dave’s show.)
Where was I?
Ah, yes; the AFLers. Back in the early days of the Internet, there was a
thing called Usenet, which allowed people with similar interests to gather and
post about them. (Usenet still exists in a vastly altered form. Most of the
content was overwhelmed by spammers and trolls, and the remainder was more or
less absorbed by Google.) Most of these groups had names that were prefaced
with the prefix “alt” or “rec,” and alt.fan.letterman was one of those many
thousands of groups. The people of AFL are some of the finest I know, and
knowledgeable about many, many things outside of late night talk shows. We have
doctors, educators, editors, musicians – including a musicologist who’s become
the unofficial official archivist of the show. (Seriously, his New York
apartment is apparently filled to capacity with VHS tapes of virtually every
broadcast Dave has ever done.) Not to mention, we even have current and past writers
for the show as members. (The Usenet group has long since migrated to Facebook.)
The AFLers; I'd rather be with them than with the finest people. You can just see my head peeping up there in the middle.
Every year, the AFLers gather in New York for “Davecon” to see the show live
and in person, have dinner, crack wise, and (for the newbies) get a tour of the
Ed Sullivan Theatre – yes, I’ve stood on the spot where the Beatles performed and
sat behind Dave’s desk – and just gather. Over the years, we’ve come to know
staffers, writers, and producers from the show – even the security guy. (And
Rupert Jee, who owns the Hello Deli next door to Dave’s theatre? Nicest and
most modest guy in the world.) This year will (obviously) be the last
assemblage (and I have to miss it, dammit; it’s during our preview week for Grey Gardens – which you should see,
since it’s going to be a remarkable show, even with me. But I know where my heart will be Monday the 11th
at 3:30 pm PT), but the memories of Davecons past will linger.
What was really happening behind that desk.
Now, in spite of all of that, I was sure that, given how, in recent years,
the show isn’t what it once was (Dave’s lost a lot of interest in doing the
show, it feels like), that when it was over, I’d be sad, but not too much so,
But now that the number of remaining shows is in the single digits, I’m
starting to feel the loss already, and know I’m going to be a mess when Paul
Shaffer and the band hit that final final note to end the show.
The thing that got me thinking about all of this tonight was that, as we
were leaving rehearsal tonight (and you really should have bought your Grey Gardens tickets by now), I mentioned that I had no idea what I was going
to write about this week (is it that obvious?), and one of my fellow cast members,
who is determined to turn my name into a hashtag, said I should write about that.
I begged off, thinking it as uninteresting as I am, the idea of becoming any
kind of a meme is even moreso. But it did remind me of how, not only are the
AFLers responsible for a couple of my favorite nicknames, but turned me into an
acronym that also doubles as a hashtag I’m happy to use. (Seriously; it’s in
the Urban Dictionary on the prestigious Internet.)
At this point in an article, I usually try to bring a couple of seemingly
unrelated points together in an effort to make a larger point, but I have to
admit I got nothin’ in that regard this time. Being in rehearsal, I haven’t had
time to see anything to comment on, really. (Other than Stupid Fucking Bird at SF Playhouse, which is a really interesting
production and has been sticking in my head, not for the least reason that it’s
making me rethink my approach to translating Chekhov; that and Sister Play at the Magic, which was
really good and criminally underlooked.) What’s been at the forefront of my
mind in terms of “entertainment” and art has been Dave Letterman.
So, while this hasn’t been the most incisive, analytical, or insightful of
articles, it is the smallest of explanations for why I’m both so thankful for a
man who’s played a major part in shaping American comedy for the last 40 years
(since he started working as a stand-up) and a warning that in two weeks, I won’t be in much of a mood to write.
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