you may have heard or think about me, I was completely straightedge until my senior year of high school. I didn’t drink or have a girlfriend until that year (though I had my first kiss a couple years earlier), and if that meant being a late bloomer, I was one, and happily so.
My mom and dad were pretty lax when it came to disciplining me, and I wasn’t going to ruin that by acting like a knucklehead. By the time I came into their lives, I figure, they’d seen it all. As such, my dad probably only intervened with me two or three times in my whole life, and that was only if I was doing something really bothersome or terrible.
I remember when I got a bit older and got my license, Dad had to step in. Remember that this was an era when it wasn’t completely uncommon to go out all night, have a bit too much to drink, and then drive home. It’s reprehensible, but it was a different mind-set back then. One morning after a night of drinking, Dad woke me up at five thirty A.M. before he went to work.
“Hey,” he said, leaning over my bed, shaking my shoulder. “Wake your ass up. What were you, all banged up last night? Did ya have a little too much to drink?”
“No!” I said, angry to be woken up.
“Yeah?” he said. “Horseshit! The front end of the car is in the bushes. Why don’t you get up and move the car before your mother wakes up, dummy.”
“I wasn’t drunk, Dad.”
“Okay. Sure thing, hotshot. Go move the car.” He’d never give me a whole speech. He’d just say, “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” That was his favorite saying.
When I got to Valley Stream Central High School, I met a kid who blew my mind: Jimmy Sciacca. He was as much into music as I was into making people laugh. He was fearless about doing what he loved and I guess it eventually rubbed off on me. Every year, the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades would spend a week battling each other in sports, music, and sketches. When we were seniors, the theme of Sketch Night was for some reason the Bible. Jimmy was one of the writers for the event, and he approached me in the hallway one morning.
“Jim, you gotta be in Sketch Night.”
“I can’t do that, man.” I was back to being somewhat shy about showing off my gift onstage. It was easy for me to be funny when it was just me with a friend one-on-one, or with a group of people in an informal setting, but I’d gotten away from organized performing and hadn’t done any theater for a while. I didn’t fit in with the drama kids. “I’m not into that crowd,” I explained.
“Jimbo,” he said, “it’s not like that. Get off the sidelines. There’s no egos. You just gotta come down, hang, and see what it’s all about.”
Jimmy had taken Bill Cosby’s bit on Noah’s Ark and basically rewritten it. He showed me what he had done and said, “I think you’d be perfect for this.”
The bit starts while Noah is in his woodworking shop. God’s voice chimes in saying, “Hello, Noah?”
Noah says, “Who is this?”
“God.”
“No, really . . . who is this?”
“God. Listen, I need you to build an ark.”
“What’s an ark?”
That bit is so genius. I reluctantly went with Jimmy to a rehearsal and met the drama kids, and they turned out to be cool. They were in agreement that I should do “Noah’s Ark.” Still, I didn’t think I could make it funny.
“You like Eddie Murphy, right?” Jimmy asked me.
“He’s the best.” I had just seen him at the Westbury Music Fair and would copy his routine word for word while wearing a Walkman down in my parents’ basement, pretending I was onstage. He was a tremendous influence on my comedy career.
“So do it in his voice,” Jimmy said. “Imagine how he would do it.” This was easy because I basically spent my life imitating his laugh, the way he walked, the way he talked, and all of his bits.
So that’s how I practiced it, and that’s how I did it in front of the whole school. When God asked me to build the ark
My mom and dad were pretty lax when it came to disciplining me, and I wasn’t going to ruin that by acting like a knucklehead. By the time I came into their lives, I figure, they’d seen it all. As such, my dad probably only intervened with me two or three times in my whole life, and that was only if I was doing something really bothersome or terrible.
I remember when I got a bit older and got my license, Dad had to step in. Remember that this was an era when it wasn’t completely uncommon to go out all night, have a bit too much to drink, and then drive home. It’s reprehensible, but it was a different mind-set back then. One morning after a night of drinking, Dad woke me up at five thirty A.M. before he went to work.
“Hey,” he said, leaning over my bed, shaking my shoulder. “Wake your ass up. What were you, all banged up last night? Did ya have a little too much to drink?”
“No!” I said, angry to be woken up.
“Yeah?” he said. “Horseshit! The front end of the car is in the bushes. Why don’t you get up and move the car before your mother wakes up, dummy.”
“I wasn’t drunk, Dad.”
“Okay. Sure thing, hotshot. Go move the car.” He’d never give me a whole speech. He’d just say, “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” That was his favorite saying.
When I got to Valley Stream Central High School, I met a kid who blew my mind: Jimmy Sciacca. He was as much into music as I was into making people laugh. He was fearless about doing what he loved and I guess it eventually rubbed off on me. Every year, the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades would spend a week battling each other in sports, music, and sketches. When we were seniors, the theme of Sketch Night was for some reason the Bible. Jimmy was one of the writers for the event, and he approached me in the hallway one morning.
“Jim, you gotta be in Sketch Night.”
“I can’t do that, man.” I was back to being somewhat shy about showing off my gift onstage. It was easy for me to be funny when it was just me with a friend one-on-one, or with a group of people in an informal setting, but I’d gotten away from organized performing and hadn’t done any theater for a while. I didn’t fit in with the drama kids. “I’m not into that crowd,” I explained.
“Jimbo,” he said, “it’s not like that. Get off the sidelines. There’s no egos. You just gotta come down, hang, and see what it’s all about.”
Jimmy had taken Bill Cosby’s bit on Noah’s Ark and basically rewritten it. He showed me what he had done and said, “I think you’d be perfect for this.”
The bit starts while Noah is in his woodworking shop. God’s voice chimes in saying, “Hello, Noah?”
Noah says, “Who is this?”
“God.”
“No, really . . . who is this?”
“God. Listen, I need you to build an ark.”
“What’s an ark?”
That bit is so genius. I reluctantly went with Jimmy to a rehearsal and met the drama kids, and they turned out to be cool. They were in agreement that I should do “Noah’s Ark.” Still, I didn’t think I could make it funny.
“You like Eddie Murphy, right?” Jimmy asked me.
“He’s the best.” I had just seen him at the Westbury Music Fair and would copy his routine word for word while wearing a Walkman down in my parents’ basement, pretending I was onstage. He was a tremendous influence on my comedy career.
“So do it in his voice,” Jimmy said. “Imagine how he would do it.” This was easy because I basically spent my life imitating his laugh, the way he walked, the way he talked, and all of his bits.
So that’s how I practiced it, and that’s how I did it in front of the whole school. When God asked me to build the ark
Similar Books
