Well, tonight's the night. The David Letterman show doesn't air here in Amsterdam so if you watch my appearance tonight, you'll be seeing it before I ever do.
..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
When my publisher sent copies of the book to Letterman's staff back in April, a producer acknowledged receiving them. He said he'd get back to us about having me on the show. But he didn't. Now I know why. That producer—Brian—was the same one who did a 40-minute "pre-interview" with me via phone Monday morning. During our conversation, he admitted he didn't see the humor in what had happened the last time. People who work in 99.9999% of all occupations could see the humor. Possibly the one profession where the joke might not be appreciated was among Late Night TV Talk Show Talent Bookers—the very ones we were asking to have me on the show. So it was understandable why he had nixed the idea.
When I asked Brian why the change of heart, he said, "It was Dave." Apparently Letterman read the book, enjoyed it, and told his people to book me. "Just check his ID first," was Dave's only concern according to Brian. He also assured me that though he had suggested having a Letterman imposter interview me, they had no tricks up their sleeve for my visit.
In order to have a three-day weekend, Letterman shoots two shows on Monday—first Monday night's show, then, ninety minutes later, Friday night's. I was there for Friday night's show. I met my editor Amy and publicist Courtney on the corner outside the building an hour before the taping was to begin.
When we entered the building, we were informed that my dressing room was still occupied by Michelle Pfeiffer (she had just finished taping the Monday evening show). So we got put in Julia Stiles' dressing room. But a few minutes later, Stiles was standing at the door. Since Pfeiffer was still taking her sweet time to vacate my dressing room, we got moved to a tiny dressing room. Fortunately, these accommodations proved only temporary as Pfeiffer finally beat it and we moved downstairs into my own dressing room. Not that I needed to get dressed or anything. I'd just be wearing the same street clothes that I'd been sweating in while wandering the muggy streets of Midtown all afternoon.
In the dressing room's bathroom, used white towels were tossed about. Some of them were lying on the floor. I don't know what the hell Pfeiffer had been doing in there but whatever it was, she left a mess. After I washed my hands, the only things to dry my hands on were her sloppy-seconds towels. I passed. After a search, I found some paper towels outside the bathroom to use.
Though the dressing room was stocked with a fresh fruit platter, a gourmet cookie platter (those very cookies that I vividly recall from my last visit) and sodas, I was disappointed that there wasn't more grub. For some reason, I just figured there'd be more food this time than last time. But there wasn't. There wasn't even any beer (for which I'd brought along an almost empty back pack!)
Brian, the producer, came in and introduced himself. Then, with a smile, he said, "Sorry, but I have to ask this: Can I see some ID?"
I pulled out my U.S. passport and handed it to him.
He opened it and read my first and middle names aloud: "Peter James…" He handed it back and said, "Okay. I just had to check. You know, just to make sure."
Brian left the room but then returned almost immediately.
"What name did I just see on your passport?"
"Pete Jordan," I said.
"No, it said something else."
I pulled out my passport again and said, "I think you were confused because you only saw my first and middle names. See there's my last name on that line: Jordan."
"No," he said, "I saw a different name."
Then he unfurled some papers he held in his hand. They were the pre-interview notes from when Jess was on the show twelve years ago. Across the top of them, the name read: "Pete Jensen."
"Oh, Jensen was just an old alias of mine."
Brian looked queasy for a second. A paper says one name, an ID says another, and he swears he actually saw a third name when he initially looked at the passport. Here was the guy who didn't want me on because of what went down last time and he's now thinking to himself, "Aw, fuck! This better not be happening again!!"
To ensure him nothing fishy was up, I pulled out my Irish passport. "Look," I said as I showed it to him. "Peter Jordan."
"Yeah, okay. I just had to make sure," he said. "You understand." Then he added, "Dave might ask you for ID, so have your passport ready."
"Okay," I replied. Actually, though, what I had ready in my pocket if Letterman asked for ID was my membership card to the Amsterdam zoo.
Originally I was scheduled to go on first and remain on for 7-8 minutes. But then, literally, at the last minute, Julia Stiles and I were flip-flopped in the appearance order. She went first—and dragged on! Her whole thing with that magazine questionnaire cut into my air time!
Then we were led down to the green room just off stage. I was there only a second before I was lead into the studio. When Stiles finally came off and walked past, I felt like telling her, "It's about time." But she was still busy talking!
While I was waiting to be introduced, the guy whose job it was to give me my cue to walk out started asking me about Amsterdam. He had been many times and thought it was cool that I lived there. Though I was just trying to get my bearings—trying to see where to walk—I graciously answered his questions. I really don't know if it was his job to idly chat with the guests (as an ice breaker) or if he was genuinely so excited to discuss Amsterdam.
"So where in Amsterdam do you live?" he asked.
Just three seconds before I stepped before the cameras, I was still busy trying to answer this guy's queries about exactly where in Amsterdam I lived.
As for my appearance itself, well, that you can see for yourself. Of course, it was rather bizarre to sit in the spotlights before a crowd of hundreds, with a camera and cue card guy right in front of me and a group of people standing just off stage to my left. Actually, because the chair was at a right angle to Dave's desk, and since he was sitting behind the desk, it was a very awkward position to talk to someone. It felt like I looked at the people off stage more than I looked at Dave since he was virtually behind me!
After my segment ended, Dave and I stood and he said "Thanks" and shook my hand again. When I walked off stage, I was greeted first by the guy who had placed the mic on me. I held my hands up over my head as I walked towards him so he could more easily remove the mic apparatus from under my shirt. But he thought my hands aloft gesture was askance for a high ten. "You did awesome, man!" he said as he reached up and smacked both my hands.
Back upstairs, before we departed, just like last time, I wrapped up some cookies and stuffed them in my backpack (I gotta remember to bring tupperware to these things). Unlike last time, there was no mob of people lingering at the stage door. We walked away, unencumbered.