Gasping for Airtime Read Online Free PDF

can’t do it at all. If I have to work on it, it ain’t comin’. I also can’t look at myself in the mirror and do an impression. Some guys who do impressions will rehearse them in front of a mirror. They contort their faces and examine the changes they’ve made. If I look in the mirror to watch one of my own impressions, I can’t really see myself. It’s useless. I’ve tried it, and for me, it just complicates everything. I can never figure out how you can tell if you’re doing a good impression if you’re watching it as someone else.
    I took the stage with my three-beer buzz and had one of the best times in my life. I truly did not give a shit. I did Andrew McCarthy, Joe Pesci, Robert De Niro, Arsenio Hall, and Harvey Keitel. When I ran out of impressions, I simply had them all talking to each other. I was improvising nearly everything and the crowd, thankfully, was with me.
    The entire time I directed all my energy to the back right-hand side of the room, where I thought I saw Marci Klein and the SNL people sitting. I stared them down with all my power. As important as it was for me to show them how funny I was, for some reason it was equally important to me to demonstrate that I wasn’t afraid of them. After practically every sentence I would look to the back right-hand corner with an expression that said I found them mildly intriguing. It wasn’t until I had been offstage for a few minutes that I discovered that half of the SNL cast, along with executive producer Lorne Michaels, was sitting with Marci Klein in the back left-hand corner of the room. Nice going. I had just spent the most important twenty minutes of my life staring down a real estate agent from Long Island.
    I returned to the bar, perched myself on a stool, and figured that was that. Either they liked me or they didn’t. I had a few more beers with the gang and decided to call it a night. When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, there was an enormous white stretch limousine parked at the curb. Marci Klein stood next to it talking to the man, Lorne Michaels. Not wanting to look like a guy hanging around and begging for some validation, I looked away. As I began walking toward Broadway for a cab, Marci called me over. Oh, shit, I thought, I’m drunk!
    I walked very carefully toward the two of them. When I was still about ten feet away from them, Lorne extended his hand and said, “That was really excellent.” I reached for his hand, thanked him, and tried for a quick getaway. Basically, I was real happy with my set and didn’t want to say anything to blow it. After Lorne stepped into the limo, Marci pulled me aside. “You don’t understand, Jay, he doesn’t say that to anybody!” I thought to myself, Then where the fuck is he going?
     
     
     
    The next morning I awoke hungover and started packing some essentials. I was scheduled for a gig at Catawba College in Salisbury, North Carolina, later that evening. I was looking forward to the show because I was working with Anthony Clark, an outstanding comic. Anthony is an old friend who stars in the sitcom Yes, Dear . We had met on the comedy circuit in Boston and hit it off quickly. Also, I had been to Catawba College once before and the students there were awesome. They were certainly in for quite a show.
    Anthony and I flew together from New York to Charlotte, which was about an hour’s drive from the campus. The school put us up in a motel adjacent to the highway. There aren’t too many Four Seasons in Salisbury. We both arrived hungry, so after checking in, we made a plan to meet back in the lobby in about an hour to score some local grub. I was going to my room to take a nap; Anthony was going to go for a swim.
    The pool at the motel was by no means filthy, but the cleaning net lying beside it was a welcome sight. Anthony grabbed the net and began the process of ridding the pool of every leaf and insect that had fallen into it.
    Once in my room, I undressed and crawled under the blankets