Ah, so this is why NYC rules
Where I once didn’t have shit to do, all of the sudden I have shit to do.
I just moved from Harrisburg to New York City. (Alright, I moved to Hoboken, New Jersey, but it’s fucking close enough. Check Google maps.)
I won’t bore you with the details of my boredom in Harrisburg, because that’s what moving to NYC/Hoboken is all about — starting afresh with a more positive, more mindless attitude.
Anybody who knows me understands this basically goes against what I’ve become over 27 years. It means shaking some of the sarcasm, the snarkiness, the cynicism, and moroseness that dominate my mind and mouth. (Notice I didn’t say lose completely.) To put it in pop culture terms, I’m throwing out my Nine Inch Nails “Pretty Hate Machine” CD and buying Oasis’ “Definitely Maybe.” I’m not ready for Rush-level cheeriness just yet.
What better place to strap on my new happy face than NYC/Hoboken, the cultural center of the planet.
And it started right away. A couple weeks in I was attended a taping of Stephen A. Smith’s new ESPN2 show, “Quite Frankly.”
For those of you free of the suffocating saturation that is the sports media, Steven A. Smith is undoubtedly the talking head when it comes to the NBA. His knowledge of the league is vast and he does spot-on analysis during many ESPN broadcasts. And that stuff is fine and all, but it’s his frankness (hence “Quite Frankly“) and conviction, no matter how significant or insignificant the topic is, that makes for ridiculously good TV.
I understand I may be overvaluing Steve A. a bit. It might not be hard for him to look good sitting beside all those ex-jocks that typically fill up the rest of those panels. You know, the ones that relate everything to themselves, butcher the English language and use the word “class” every 10 seconds.
Because of his style, most white kids I know refer to Steven A. as “the black guy who shouts.” To be honest, it does come off as a shtick, like he wants to make a name for himself by being the “black guy who shouts.” But it’s actually not, and the taping proved it.
I’ve been to my share of tapings (“Late Show with David Letterman,” “Late Night With Conan O’Brien,” “Tonight Show With Jay Leno,” “The Daily Show With Jon Stewart,” and “The Price Is Right.”), but it’s not about seeing the stars or pseudo stars. In fact, I’m against idol worship of any kind really. It’s the main reason why I’m not a big fan of concert-going. For me it’s just about the experience — which is also why I’m a big fan of going to concerts — and being able to email my friends and casually write, “Oh and I went to a taping of Steven A. Smith’s show this week.” Only to have them reply, “Is that that black guy who shouts? I can‘t stand him.”
Steven A. walked into the studio like a rapper carrying too much fame, giving love to the audience and pumping his fist, while trying to be smooth the whole time. Of course, the audience ate it up, myself included. There were more people there to check out Steven A. in person than to see who the guests were. Which reminds me. Initially the big guest was supposed to be Boston outfielder Johnny Damon, who had canceled that morning (so I overheard). He was replaced by former Boston Globe columnist and plagiarist Mike Barnicle, who had gotten into a car accident on the way over the taping and had to cancel.
So the show had to scramble to find someone, something to fill up time.
Of course, it didn’t shake Steven A. He took the down-time as an opportunity to bond with the audience. The next thing you know he was running a daytime talk show, fielding questions on topics from the NBA to dating women. The latter was easily the most entertaining, which had me thinking ESPN might want to seriously consider reformatting his show.
Steven A. wasn’t there to put on some comedy show (even though he was naturally funny), or to kiss our ass so we wouldn’t be upset about the wrong turn that the taping had taken. He sincerely wanted to let us guys know what women really need and how to give it to them, and vice versa. He wasn’t afraid to call out the analyst he hated the most at ESPN (Mark Schlereth) or to let us know that he thought Dave Chappelle was a chump for bailing on his huge deal with Comedy Central. I got the impression that he had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, that maybe he’s planning on doing something beyond sports in the future.
We spent about an hour-and-a-half longer in there with Steven A. than was originally scheduled as the crew patched together a show, but it just flew by. Of course, the taping had been one of those happy accidents, something a thousand times more entertaining than what Mike Barnicle could have provided with a wit that only six people in New Hampshire still find thrilling.
At the end, Steven A. was signing autographs, while the crew gave us all ESPN2 t-shirts and promised free tickets to another upcoming taping for our troubles.
Well, I didn’t get Steven A.’s autograph, I haven’t worn the shirt yet and I never got the call about another taping. But I’ve never actually watched the show, so everything sort of evens out.
I followed up that taping by attending an Evening with Ricky Gervais (or some similar bullshit name given to it by the New Yorker as part of its yearly festival in NYC) with my brother and his wife.
For those of you living in Dumbfuckistan, Gervais is the brilliant mind that co-created and starred in “The Office” (the British version) — essentially the best TV show made since “The Simpsons.“
Gervais is my current FFGA, or Funniest Fucking Guy Alive, recently taking the crown from Will Ferrell (C‘mon, Bewitched?). Other past FFGA’s include Ben Stiller, Chris Farley, Chris Elliott, Mike Vernon, Rich Beaudoin and Dale. Don’t worry, you should have no fucking clue who those last three are.
The gist of the Gervais thing was that he would do a talk show-style interview with a New Yorker writer for about an hour-and-a-half, while 200 hundred or so NYC hipsters would laugh at basically anything he said that even remotely resembled a joke.
Did I mention that Gervais had a new show called “Extras” premiering the next day on HBO? What timing for this, huh?
As for “Extras,” a sitcom about the life of extras that work on movie and TV sets, I’ve seen the whole first season and it’s funny, but not nearly as hilarious or rich in detail as “The Office,” which was just ground-breaking. Gervais is the highlight, of course, but the characters overall are weak. We’re supposed to believe that Gervais is this guy who is pretty clear in thought, yet he’s also this pathetic non-working actor hoping for his big break.
And you know what, Gervais ended up being pretty funny at the New Yorker thing. Seems to come so easy for the guy. On top of that, he was very intelligent, which I assume most of his fans suspect considering the deep layers of his work.
However, two things threatened to make the night a painful experience for me:
1. The host — Nancy Franklin — who apparently forgot who the star was supposed to be that night. Nance was trying her hardest to prove to Gervais that she was just as enlightened as he was. Every friggin’ question took five minutes to come out of her mouth, which severely cut down on our Gervais time. She even interrupted him a couple times, only to leave Gervais with a bit of a stunned look on his face.
2. When it came time for Q&A with the audience, the hipsters/geeks came through as I expected. They asked questions they already knew the answers to, because, like Nancy, they wanted to show Ricky just how smart they were. One guy even prefaced his question by saying, “I think you and Larry David are the funniest people in the world right now.” Ugh.
One thing I realized while listening to Ricky talk is that I watch way too much TV. Some of the points he was making I had heard him say on various talk shows during various press tours. So much so that I really got nothing new in terms of inspiration that night.
But he was fucking funny.
Speaking of fucking funny, soon after a book tour brought Bill Simmons to NYC, and that brought me to Simmons.
For those of you without a computer, Simmons is the best sports writer going these days. His “Sports Guy” column is featured on Page 2 of ESPN.com. It combines a fan’s perspective on sports with way too many pop culture references. In other words, essential reading for anyone that isn’t Amish.
Simmons’ presence is bittersweet because while I thoroughly enjoy his columns, his style is very similar to mine. I swear it is, and I’m sure there are hundreds of other aspiring writers out there saying the same thing. And since we’re both from New England and huge Boston sports fans, he’s stolen my niche.
I planned to meet a former co-worker and fellow Red Sox fan at the Riviera, a bar in the West Village where the signing of Simmons’ new Red Sox book was taking place. I had gotten there pretty early — early enough to eat some Two Boots pizza before being the 20th person in line at 5:30. By 6:00 the line had wrapped around the building.
Yeah, he’s popular. However, it was the only NYC stop scheduled on his tour. Not the best planning.
Anyway, my boy wasn’t there when they started letting people in at 6:20 or so, so I knew I was gonna have to face Bill alone, which I dreaded. I wasn’t one of these huge Simmons groupies. Like I said before, I’m not much for idol worship and the meeting was guaranteed to be awkward.
(I understand that my reputation for not being much for idol worship is in jeopardy here because here I am hoping around NYC to check out popular figures from popular culture. The thing I didn’t say, however, is that I wasn’t a hypocrite.)
Yup, it was awkward.
He tried to be enthusiastic and approachable. The awkwardness was more coming from my end — it always does.
Anyway, he wanted to know what I wanted him to write in the book, which I was totally unprepared for. I just told him that I was a sports writer from Boston, figuring his eyes would light up a bit. But he sort of gave that look that made it clear he had heard that way too much. So here’s what he wrote in my book:
Mark,
Keep up the writing.
- Bill Simmons
I asked for it. Luckily for my brother, I had more time to think about what Bill should write in his book, so his ended up being more timeless. It included references to a shitty Red Sox shortstop and Barry Gibb.
November 4th, 2005 at 2:47 pm
I resent your comments about Harrisburg.