My Other Universe

I was supposed to be famous. Of that, I have no doubt. Someone or something screwed up. I am not saying this because I am the world's most talented person (although I could be among the top 300,000); rather, I say this because of things I know to be true about myself. I hate gardening, cleaning of any kind, dusting, puttering (not to be confused with putting, which I love), and anything that has to do with home improvement. I am, in fact, the anti-Vila. I want other people to do all those things for me. I also hate to drive. I should have a chaffeur.

Now you're saying, but Jeff, you don't need to be famous; you need to be rich. And everyone hates doing those things. Let me address the latter. Some people love to putter, to garden and yes, even to clean. It gives them peace and satisfaction. I loathe all those chores, but because I don't have the budget, I am forced to do them, and not well. I could just be rich without being famous, but I am not ruthless, business savvy or in touch with any sizeable capital, nor am I a world-class athlete, so my best shot was entertainment.

I took my shot in 1982. Almost nearly to the letter of Billy Joel's penning, "closed the shop, sold the house, bought a ticket to the west coast. Now he gives them a stand-up routine in L.A." I did that for five and a half years, and I wasn't awful at it. I had an agent, made many people laugh, and eventually earned a living at it. But I never got the big break. There was no Tonight Show for me, nor any offers of a sitcom. I was granted an audition for the original Star Search, based on a video tape I submitted, but I tanked the audition, which leads my to my point.

I HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT MYSELF. I was lazy, and what's worse is I didn't know it. From the very first time I appeared on stage, I was successful. The audience laughed, I won an amateur night contest, and an agent handed me his card. The rest, I thought, was only a matter of time. I assumed I would "make it" simply by continuing to do what I was doing, while waiting to be discovered. I had no idea one had to work at it. I watched all my idols--Steve Martin, George Carlin, Bill Cosby--and assumed they were just naturally funny and someone spotted them. How ignorant I was. It wasn't until years later, long after I had left California, that I discovered the truth about myself and my career.

Going back to the Star Search audition for a moment, I was thrilled to receive a letter from the producers saying they enjoyed my tape and inviting me to a live audition. I thoroughly anticipated meeting Ed McMahon and perhaps several other celebrities, and charming my way on to the show. In preparation, I did nothing. I figured I was good enough to get my shot, so why fix something that wasn't broken. I didn't even invite friends to see me at the audition. The audition, it turns out, was on a Tuesday night at the Improv in front of a video camera. Not even a real, live person! There were about 20 to 25 people scattered about the many tables. I even opened with what I thought was a decent line. "Wow, I'm so excited. It's not that often I get a chance to perform before so many...empty seats." It got a sporadic laugh, but it set the tone for a mediocre performance. I feed off of laughter, so my mojo was pierced instantly. My "shot" was over. Sinbad, Jenny Jones and Rick Ducommun, among others, had gone on to successful careers after winning Star Search. I went back to open-mic nights.

In 1987, I returned to Ohio to be with my sick father and my bride-to-be, without a single regret. I had the time of my life, and got to make people laugh, while sometimes getting paid for it. Years later I read a book by Steve Martin called Born Standing Up. In it, Martin relates the story of his nearly ten-year struggle, battles with drugs, frustration and depression, before his career began to take off. I had also read an autobiography of Rich Little, in which he describes the hours he spent alone listening to tapes of celebrities and perfecting his voices. I never once taped an episode of Rocky and Bullwinkle. I just woke up one day and starting imitating Bullwinkle, and fairly well I might add. I also did it long before Dave Coulier, who went on to star in Full House (but I'm not bitter).

Sadly, at 56, I now possess the work ethic I wish I had in my late twenties. I despise the wisdom that comes with age, because it's too late to do much about it. I have a secure job, a home and a teenaged daughter in high school to take care of. I can't chuck it all now and start over. What I can do is share my wisdom with the young. If that is you, it won't just happen. You have to eat it, sleep it, drink it, bleed it and want it above all else to make it happen. Whatever your goal is, even if you are talented and you love what you are doing, it is not going to be achieved without sweat and desire. The next time you are faced with a choice of playing another computer game or watching another episode of Pretty Little Liars instead of knuckling down, think of me pulling weeds and pushing my lawnmower up the hill in my backyard in 90-degree heat. Sweat now, and pay someone to do it for you later.