Subject: DaveCon 2002 -- The Minority Report
From: "Brad Hill" <brad@bradhill.com>
Date: Mon, 24 Jun 2002 03:51:41 -0400
Newsgroups: alt.fan.letterman

On June 20, 2002, twenty-eight TV addicts with too much time on their hands
converged on New York City from California, Alabama, Virginia, and even
Hawaii for the fourth annual DaveCon homage to David Letterman.

My own DaveCon experience started with a tangle of bad communication and ill
intent. I was to meet Karen at her office for a companionable stroll to the
Ed. Not a difficult commitment for a normal adult to fulfill, this
arrangement was apparently too daunting for Karen, who probably wished to
escape being seen while still unsteady from "lunch." Whatever her reasons,
Karen's evasive plan involved a set of obfuscating instructions plus
scheming complicity with a half-dozen croissant-shop managers on 6th and 7th
Avenues. I finally caught up with her just as she made a pass at a
hot-dog-stand manager. She handed me a piece of gum in a halfhearted
pacification of my injured feelings, but I could tell she didn't give a
damn.

We arrived at Manhattan Chili Club fashionably late by ninety minutes. Traci
jostled me, poked me with her hair, and stuck me with a pin. I spotted
Renee, who is recovering nicely from a painful episode of familial
dysfunction. Donz was operating a used-CD store in the restaurant, and he
pressed merchandise upon me without so much as a hello kiss. All carafes of
water had been removed from the premises before my arrival, so Helen escaped
dousing. (In a bizarre twist of destiny later in the evening, Helen and I
achieved a definite "goodbye" moment-a dizzying reversal of custom.)

Newbies! I met Micah, who turns out to be astonishingly young for a lad of
his deep expertise. No doubt DaveCon provided a perfect opportunity to
neglect his studies. Steve Ellis turned out to be barely less enigmatic in
person than he is on the board, but a nice chap who loosens up a bit once
you throw him into the Ed Sullivan Refrigerator. Brady, who speaks with a
southern accent but is actually from Alabama, is as amiable and easygoing in
person as in his Late Show reviews. I met Dave Sikula, who looks as
unhappily skeptical as Dave Sikula should.

Speaking of a pretty face, Foxy was nowhere to be seen, prompting panicky
phone calls to her husband which could only deepen his resentment of AFL's
intrusion into his family. Foxy eventually rushed in breathlessly with some
story of not "knowing" what "time" she was "supposed" to "arrive." I have
promised to keep private the remarkable picture I took of her as she was
cooling down, but have bequeathed the photo to eBay upon my passing, so keep
your eyes open.

Greg D. was stunned from his 96-hour trip; Bill Lehecka was wan and pale
with malnourishment; Sarah Sweeney melted the heart of every 40-something
loser in the place; Ann Sweeney pretended not to care that 40-something
losers were eyeing her daughter; Lance re-established his mysterious
presence; Cheryl Levenbrown demonstrated why she should post much more
often; Chad = Funny; Rocco was all boyish smiles; Carl was all smiling boys
(IDKWTM); Cathy ("Fun Turns to Tragedy") Doyle seemed eager and happy; Libby
's innocuous demeanor gave way to true fanaticism when she threatened to
stalk Dave after the show.

Cyber and Marilyn were around, I guess. Whatever.

Painfully (for us) absent were Greg Anderson, Bob Stroud, and Kathie. I'm
not sure it's really DaveCon without Kathie, but something very similar to
it did transpire, complete with T-shirts, buttons, candy necklaces, and Tony
Mendez. Karen claimed specious credit for the T-shirts, just because she
designed and hand-stitched them. Pushy gum-chewing bitch.

PRE-SHOW

I joined Donz and his new girlfriend, Nadine, on 53rd Street. Donz
surreptitiously waved me away but I ignored him, and Nadine seemed relieved
when I joined the conversation. Donz peppered the poor woman with questions
and opinions about everything from the Late Show to wholesale grain prices
in the Balkans. I piped in with tension-busting quips such as "You pretty!"
and "I like pie." Before this scintillation came to a close we learned a few
things about working on the Late Show as a Hi-Ho Babe (which is how Nadine
described herself to a curious onlooker). She stressed the fun of working on
the show, and especially the congeniality of the crew (a sentiment later
emphasized by Tony).

Nadine and Andrea work Tuesdays and Thursdays most weeks, so they can appear
on three shows at most. The Babes have no input in the wardrobe department,
and Nadine lamented the recent abandonment of sparkles, citing an
ill-advised and too-revealing Will It Float twist-and-bend maneuver by
Andrea as the cause. Nadine feels the sparkles reinforced her and Andrea's
campy role-playing. I suggested that their participation in the show had
matured beyond superficial faux-modeling, and that the Hi-Ho Babes were
respected cast members who deserved more elegant wardrobe choices. Too kind
to laugh outright at this presumption, Nadine's eyes roved the street
desperately for a way out. Finding none, she continued discoursing under the
hot sun with two faceless pod-fans.

Nadine was curious about AFL, and confessed that the person posting under
her name a few years ago was indeed she. She had been informed by her
brother of a post about her, and typed in a thank-you note. I wouldn't
expect much more of that. But Nadine is an impeccably gracious woman whose
sights and activities, for the most part, are set to directions other than
modeling. She smooched us both goodbye Euro-style, but not before Donz sold
her an old Seals & Crofts CD.

Now it was time to apply some serious arm-twisting to Rupert. I had asked
him to dinner a couple of weeks previously, from which invitation Rupert
recoiled in horror. Couching his revulsion in polite phrases such as "It's
too late in the evening, but I'll try to stop by if I can," the poor man
probably thought he had extricated himself from further badgering on this
point. My idea was that if he were to be used in a Mailbag sketch (he has
been written into a few lately, but has appeared in just one), the hour
wouldn't be too late at all and he could drop into Martini's on the way
home.

Indeed, when I entered the Deli I instantly noticed that Rupert was wearing
a collar microphone, lifting my hopes. Rupert promised (well, to be more
precise, he avoided eye contact and mumbled epithets just within the range
of my hearing) to visit during dinner if he were to stay late for a skit.
Neither happened, which was probably excellent news for Rupert on both
counts, because he appeared more exhausted than I've ever seen him. The guy
works long hours. The next day, when Cyber, Marilyn, and I stopped in to
give him a T-shirt, Rupert had the look of a man who realizes, fully and
acidly, that his tormentors are not behind him after all, and might never
be.

While lining up outside the theater, Foxy unrolled her gifts to Pat Fleet
and Alan Page. They and she are clever, and if we can find any pictures of
the event, the greeting cards will finally be delivered.

In the lobby, Marilyn performed her sacred Altoid ritual with a new twist,
offering a choice of flavors.

Also in the lobby, audience manager Jennifer was joined by a fellow who
shared her pep-rally duties. They performed superbly as an inspirational
tag-team, revving the audience into a state of jollity unsurpassed in my
Late Show experience. I believe their effectiveness can be attributed to new
material added to a warm-up routine that is always a thrilling work in
progress. Over the many tapings I've attended, each pre-show infusion of joy
has become more detailed, unabashed, and potent. Jennifer has long been
known for her spry insistence on laughter as the best medicine, especially
when life brings confusion and uncertainty. On this occasion her inborn
joie-de-vivre was expressed not only by admonitions to laugh our troubles
away, but also explicit tutorials in HOW to laugh. When we didn't quite get
it right uncoached-why, bless her, Jennifer remained undaunted! Patient as a
saint, she simply repeated her jokes (God help me, they're funnier the
second time!) until our roars of approval nearly shook down the building,
and, wiping tears from our eyes, we begged her to stop. There could never
have been a group more ready for hilarity, nor happier to proceed into the
theater.

THE SHOW

Though she was only honoring her end of our post-restraining-order
agreement-the theater is mine during DaveCon weeks-I must confess that I
missed Felicia. She is a major reason to see (and hear) a taping. Everything
else about the room and the pre-taping ceremony was unchanged.

Dave dashed onstage in the normal fashion, jacketless and wearing one of the
worst ties of a long career that has been notable in this department. Though
I didn't know it at the time, I have since learned from an examination of
Thursday's and Friday's show scripts that Dave's audience warm-up is a
minute longer (2:30) before the early taping than before the late taping
(1:30). Were that quirk of timing more widely known, poor saps like the one
Dave called on for a question wouldn't waste precious seconds behaving
foolishly.

First, though, Dave ladeled some riffs into the audience, setting up the
"salt on my lips" monologue reference by explaining that he had drunk a few
margaritas for lunch, and was "shit-faced." Dave categorized Late Shows by
type-excellent, average, and poor. Turning to Paul, he asked how many are
excellent. Paul replied, "One percent?" Later, Dave used this banter to
address the audience during the Mailbag-"Remember the three categories I
told you about?"-and there was some discussion at dinner of whether Dave had
planned to close that circular joke even before he opened it.

Then he asked for questions and a hand shot up from the first row, not six
feet from Dave. Dave acknowledged the eager gent and the fellow stood up.
This conversation ensued:

DAVE: "What's your name?"
FELLOW: "Brad."
DAVE: "Where are you from?"
FELLOW: "Princeton, NJ."
DAVE: "Let's have a hand for Brad from Princeton, NJ."

Some clapping spattered through the crowd, encouraged by the hammy fellow
himself who turned around and gravely acknowledged the audience as if he had
just received an award, first the sides and then the center, soaking up and
extending the applause as, behind him, Corky counted down the final seconds
before Paul would blast into the Late Show theme. You might wonder how a
person, chosen by David Letterman for a brief conversation, could possibly
TURN HIS BACK on Dave just as they were getting started. The only
explanation might lie in the requisite of all public figures, no matter how
fleeting the moment, to acknowledge their supporters in all settings. This
gallant individual, with his natty clothes, tremendous head of hair, and
generally charismatic aura, certainly warranted some acclaim and could be
expected to receive it with grace.

All justifications notwithstanding, though, Corky ticked relentlessly, and
just as this hapless dude turned back toward the stage, Dave brought the
moment to a quick close by remarking, "Well, we're out of time. Sit down,
Brad." I believe the fellow was part of a group. The woman next to him, who
looked just like those boozy upper-west-side washouts you read about,
covered her face in her hands. About thirty people all around the guy pelted
him with half-sucked Altoids.

Show notes:

* The Beach Boys songs were a fun novelty, and it's just as well they came
on a no-Felicia night. When Felicia is there I want to hear funk and soulful
soloing, not 35-year-old bubblegum pop.

* Nothing unusual in the breaks. Desk meetings seemed unemotional.

* We more than did our part during the dreadful military TTL. Dave Sikula
harkened back to Jennifer's inspirational mandate and led the group's
raucous laughter. I swear you could hear him during the broadcast.

* Dave (Letterman, not Sikula) got a kick out of Mule Deer. He was smiling
and laughing at the bits, watching in the desk monitor, and seemed
especially taken with the "Anita Mule Deer" joke. The two talked
uninterruptedly during the commercial break.

* Mule Deer's joke about the bear, the little bells, and the pepper spray
sounded familiar to me. Cheryl placed it as a joke told by Bill Cosby (oh,
so much better) on that very stage!

AFTER THE SHOW

Tony had to move fast to get us on stage before the pages rushed the whole
group out of the theater. All of us were moving slowly, scanning the stage
for Tony, and suddenly seeing him with Walter. Little Helen was perfectly
positioned at the end of the row to catch Tony's eye, and up she went to
greet him. We clustered toward them, and a baffled page needed extra
reassurance from Tony that such a large group should be allowed to climb the
stage.

Tony is hilarious, and always on. I've seen him in the Hello Deli getting a
mid-afternoon snack, and he behaves as he would during a Late Show skit or
TMS rant, cracking up anyone in earshot with boisterous shenanigans. We
spent about an hour with him, and it was a steady stream of one-liners and
bursts of mock fury. "Put that down!" "Don't touch anything!" Walter filmed
everything, from the first greetings seen at the top of Thursday's TMS right
through the desk snapshots. Like last year's visit, Tony was patient and
encouraging about snapping photos. He wanted to be sure all the newcomers
got a turn. Maria Pope and Barbara Gaines said hello very briefly. Mike
McIntee hung out and littered our backstage tour route with "Tony Mendez is
an ass" signs.

Later, after editing the TMS for Thursday and Friday, both Tony and Mike
stopped over at the outdoor dining plaza of Martini's to say hello again.
Tony got the candy necklace AND ritual first nibble from Traci, which I
believe doomed our chances of ever speaking with him again. I told her not
to do it.

THE UPSHOT

Fun. In my estimation, DaveCon is more fun than installing a backyard fence
(especially as it removes the chance of piteous whimpering), but less fun
than having a face-to-face conversation with David Letterman (the
missing-out of which can easily instigate piteous whimpering).

Photos soon.

Brad
www.bradhill.com
"Well, we're out of time. Sit down, Brad."
Dave, to me, 6/20/2002