Gettin' Lucky

It’s a couple hours before we shoot the first episode of my new show, Have I Got News For You. I’m sitting in my small New York dressing room thinking about the fact that it’s been literal years since I had a steady TV gig, and the fact that I was ready to give up entirely when this thing fell into my lap.

I wasn’t even mad at about the fact that I couldn’t get a job; the fact is, I never expected to be able to make a living in show business so the fact that I’d gotten as far as I did left me feeling grateful rather than embittered. Now I’ve got another job and the gratitude I’m feeling right now is probably measurable on the Richter scale. The show is only scheduled for ten weeks, so these might be the last ten weeks and I’m going to enjoy it as if this is the last job I will have because it very well might be.

Every actor always says their current job is their last. And every actor means it. Not because we’re being self-deprecating or humble but because, in our bones, we know how tenuous our livelihoods are, and how amazing it is every single time somebody is willing to pay us to do what we would happily do for free (please don’t share that with CNN).

Show biz glamor!

I decided to get into show business when I was nine years old, after doing a play in summer camp because the girl on whom I had a crush was in it. Tragically, that relationship didn’t last, but my love for theaters and plays and making people laugh did. When I got home, I told my mom I was going to be an actor. She didn’t take me seriously because why would she? A few months before I had told her I was going to be a professional baseball player, and before that, a long-haul trucker. So her skepticism was certainly warranted.

Why did that dream take hold when so many others fell away? I have no idea.

Nobody in my family had any connection to this industry. Nobody in my entire New Jersey town did, so far as I know. The kids in my town grew up to my pharmaceutical reps and divorce lawyers. A couple went to the NFL. No actors, though, and no comedians (although the very funny married couple Rich Vos and Bonnie McFarland now call my old hometown their current place of residence). So when I declared my intentions, I might as well have said I was going to be first man on Mars. It seemed ludicrous.

My highest aspirations for myself were modest. I thought, at best – at BEST – I would be a vagabond actor scrabbling together a meager living performing minor roles in low-rent, regional theater productions of Troilus and Cressida. I never envisioned I’d be able to raise a family on show biz money. So, the fact that I’ve been able make my living in this manner has never stopped being a source of continual amazement to me.

So when my career dried up even before the pandemic struck, I wasn’t happy but I was at peace with it. I’d come so much further than I ever thought I would; if it was over, so be it. I would just continue touring and writing kids’ books and figuring out how to pay my bills month-to-month until Social Security kicked in. It was enough for me.

My career, such as it is, has been such a hodgepodge of weird-ass stuff. Obscure television shows and little-watched comedy specials and little-read books and barely noticed podcasts and whatever else I’ve done. When people try to insult me on Twitter by calling me a has-been, I remind them that I am a never-was.

I’m somebody who has followed his interests wherever they took me, and accepted a paycheck whenever it was offered. What would I do for a Klondike Bar? Nothing, but I will take your fat check to do Klondike Bar commercials. No shame in it. Not when you’ve got two kids and a mortgage payment.

Performers are a strange breed. The popular misconception is that we’re narcissists in constant need of approval. That’s not really my bag, nor is the MO of most performers I’ve ever met. Most of us are just trying to figure something out about ourselves and our world. Maybe that sounds high-falutin’, but isn’t that the nature of all art? To cast our line into the wide waters of the world and see what we catch? Isn’t that the crux of being a human?

As I get ready to take the stage for this, my final job, I’m just feeling kind of grateful, and I wanted to take a moment to express that gratitude. I’m so lucky that my stupid childhood dream came true. Lucky that I’ve met so many cool, funny, and smart people along the way. So happy that I get one more spin on the merry-go-round. When we, inevitably, get canceled in six to eight weeks, I’ll consider myself fortunate for the opportunity. And I will steal all of my wardrobe.