I recently discovered that I borrowed this theme from a well-respected site, Dezmin's Archives. Check out a very funny piece here by Dave Reidy, written completely independently as long as two years before mine. I might attribute this coincidence to either (1) the old "Great minds thinking alike" theory,(2) Cosmic rays, or (3) El Nino. However, one cannot discount that aspiring writer-types probably tend to identify something with the geeky hosts of talk shows. Maybe we all harbor fantasies of becoming writers for these shows. Or even serving as the hosts, schmoozing with gorgeous women who are forced to laugh at our jokes to maintain the overall illusion. Maybe we just watch too much TV.

My Appearance on David Letterman

Eschewing his rivals, I reluctantly agree to appear on The Tonight Show with David Letterman to reveal my persona to the civilized world. As you might imagine, all the major talk shows had been competing for my services since the much-hyped launch of my web site, BuriedintheNoise-dot-com.

The major inconvenience in the days leading up to the taping is my wardrobe, or lack thereof. I am forced to go shopping. The few times I’ve purchase ‘nice’ clothing in my life I always wander away feeling undeniably bad about myself. I am relatively tall and indisputably scrawny, so dress shirts that fit me are always in short supply. The first store I visit takes my dimensions twice, with different tape measures, just because they don’t believe the results. The second store claims they can get suits in my size, but they’ll have to special order from the Himalayas. Eventually I patch together a workable wardrobe. I’m just lucky they can overnight things from Asia.

I arrive for the taping in the afternoon, and during rehearsal I’m unfortunately required to be double-miked due to the fact that my voice is exceedingly soft, particularly when I feel self-conscious, as I will when Dave is making jokes at my expense. The two microphones create an echo effect that disturbs and angers everyone on the set. Paul Shaffer has already begun to question whether they ought to just let Richard Simmons run long and cut me out at the end. Threatened with extra Simmons, I agree to try and speak up, thereby saving America.

I did make friends with Lisa, the makeup girl. Bored with gorgeous celebrities (well, not tonight) she’s excited by the challenge of my wraithlike complexion. She says I look just like the guy who plays Legolas in The Lord of the Rings except that he’s taller, thinner, and more muscular. However, the sleek blond hair he flaunts as Legolas is actually fake. My blond hair, while much shorter and cut somewhat comically, is real. In your face, Mr. Perfect Elf!

I try and keep myself busy just before and during the beginning of the taping, since I fear meeting Richard Simmons or making direct contact with him. Tonight’s other guest, Freddie Prinze, Jr., tries to make conversation in the green room, but I pretend not to hear him. Eventually I decide to take a walk and get some fresh air, so I wander out the back exit. After Simmons is safely on stage trying to explain his body grease to Dave, I attempt to re-enter the building only to find it locked. Distrustful security guards tell me to leave the premises, believing me only to be a nicely dressed skinny guy wearing makeup. They also suspect I may have stolen upwards of two microphones from Letterman’s studio.

Emptying Dave’s garbage into a trash bin during a break, Alan Kalter recognizes me and smuggles me back into the building with an elaborate security ruse that I’d better not get into here. I had begun to suspect that Simmons was going long whether we all liked it or not, but it turns out that Dave had him forcibly removed after his first segment. This meant I’d be on.

After Dave’s lackluster interview with Freddie Prinze, stagehands strategically position me behind the set. Dave will be introducing me in a few minutes. By this time I’ve begun to get genuinely nervous and have sweated off the coat of foundation that Lisa applied. Luckily Prinze left his overcoat nearby and I was able to towel myself off. I can’t towel off my standard vampire-pale complexion, though, and the stagehands become concerned over my color. They suggest I grab a snack, but all the Danishes have been consumed, and Shaffer’s crumb trail leaves little doubt as to the culprit. This doesn’t matter though, as I am so nervous that my eyeballs are sweating and my right arm is numb. I imagine barfing on stage. They say any publicity is good publicity, but I have to assume that public vomiting was not included in that statement.

They’re doing the Top Ten List at this point, and though I find it amusing, the laughing disturbs my hyperventilating and I have to stop. A joke is even made at my expense (one about how many people simply turned off the television upon hearing my name as one of the guests). I’m too dizzy to be insulted.

Just moments before I pass out from terror, Dave introduces me and I walk out. I am blinded by spotlights and cannot really see the crowd, though I assume they didn’t leave after the Freddie Prinze segment. Dave walks over to shake my hand, and I admire his professionalism in not immediately recoiling at my clammy grip. He whispers in my ear, though botches my name, "Just relax and have fun, Jason." I sit in the guest chair, having been assured before the show that they bring out a special hyperabsorbent chair for Simmons and always replace it during the break.

Dave and I chat jovially for a few minutes. I introduce my website and some of my writing, and tell Dave a bit about myself. I’ve calmed down a bit by this time, as Dave helps ease tension with his trademark Midwestern humor and panache. We joke about how I look like I’m seventeen, why he continues to have Simmons on the show, and how lucky I am that Pierce Brosnan broke his leg skiing in the Alps so they had a slot to fill. I even rattle off a few jokes during my spiel, some of which are laughed at. However, I treat it as a success that the crowd doesn’t become actively hostile. After all, they stood in line for three hours this afternoon to see a show with Richard Simmons, Freddie Prinze, and me. If only I’d been on last night. They had Harrison Ford, Julia Roberts, and a guy who balanced things on his forehead. Al Gore even swung in on a rope they specially tied from the ceiling for him.

Anyway, here’s a transcript:

Dave: So...[shielding light out of his eyes as he glances at the cue card]...Josh...you have a new book coming out?
Josh: Yeah, Dave, I do.
Dave: Is it one of them, um, picture books?
Josh: No, just words.
Dave: Say, have you read the Harry Potter yet?
Josh: Oh, um, no I haven’t. Saw the first movie, though.
Dave: That’s great. You know, they sell about, what, a million of the Harry Potter books a day?
Josh: Really?
Dave: Yeah, every three seconds two things happen: someone buys the Harry Potter book, and someone gets murdered in New York. Ha! [Audience laughs riotously.]
Josh: [Smiling. Suddenly uncomfortable having to walk back to the hotel alone.]
Dave: How many books have you sold so far? A million? Do you have a million yet?
Josh: I’ve sold four, Dave. But my parents agreed to take some copies to work with them to sell to their friends. [Audience chuckles sparsely.]
Dave: So, you have a website, eh? We have a website. Do we have a website, Paul?
Paul: Yeah, we do, Dave. CBS.com.
Dave: CBS?! Oh my god...CBS! Ha! [Audience becomes hysterical.]
Josh: [Pretending to panic] CBS? I thought this was FOX! [Audience immediately quiets.]
Dave: What is your website called? Does it have ‘dots’ and ‘slashes’ in it? The websites have those, you know.
Josh: Yeah, they do. They have to. You see, the internet is governed by InterNIC, an internationally-appointed body of--
Dave: Just tell us the site, Jason.
Josh: Oh. Sorry. Yeah, it’s ‘BuriedintheNoise-dot-com’.
Dave: ‘Dot!’ Ha! [Audience erupts into fits of howling laughter.]
Josh: So I created the website to post some writing, and--
Dave: Uh-huh. Uh-huh. [To audience] ‘Dot! Slash! Dot!’ [Audience laughs and applauds.]
Josh: [Pointing to the copy of book on Dave’s desk.] That’s my book, there. Um, if you’ll hold it up...
Dave: ‘Slash!’ [Audience still shamelessly applauding and laughing, but Dave senses the joke losing momentum. He begins throwing pencils at the camera, ignoring my gestures towards my book.]
Josh: [Smiling. Wondering if I was supposed to have left already.]
Dave: [Now throws book at the camera.]
Josh: [Smiling. Not sure I’ll get that copy back, and I had to pay for it myself.]
Dave: [Music starts.] We’ll be right back!

Before I know it, our two and a half minutes are up and they’re going to commercial. Dave tells me I have to be off the stage before they reset or I won’t get paid. I didn’t know I was getting paid anyway, so I comply.

Overall, I feel like it was a success. My parents didn’t stay up to watch it, but said they taped it and would watch over the weekend. My website had eighteen more hits over the past week, and isn’t tapering off as fast as I expected it would.

Has my life changed? Of course. What was once a self-updated freelance website has become a vast media empire. I regularly send Dave e-mail now, though he hasn’t replied yet. With the money from the show, I was able to subsidize my site for another few months and pay off the suit I bought. I get recognized all the time, though people usually think I’m the guy who balanced things on his forehead. And you know what? I’m so big now I don’t even bother to correct them.

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