On January 31, 2008----just one day before the 26th anniversary of David Letterman and Paul Schaeffer’s television debut---I lucked out and managed to secure a ticket to the 4:30 p.m. taping of the show here in the Big Apple, completely by accident.
 
I was exiting my hotel in the heart of Times Square and heard a young man shilling, “Free tickets to David Letterman.” I was halfway through the intersection, but I was curious about what “the rest of the story” might be, so I went back and talked to him at greater length, expecting him to tell me that I had to purchase a six-month subscription to cable television or buy a lifetime supply of G.E. light bulbs or Lord knows what. But he was telling the truth.
   
If I could answer one simple trivia question about the show, I would be eligible for a free ticket to that day’s taping. This was not a “standby” ticket. It was a blue sheet that guaranteed I would be seated, as long as I picked up my ticket between 2 p.m. and 3 p.m. (“not a minute later”) and then returned at 3:30 p.m. to queue up in lines outside.
    
The trivia question involved Rupert G. and the name of his deli (“Hello Deli”), and I was now the proud possessor of a blue sheet of paper guaranteeing me a seat amongst the audience.  I had to show the young man identification, and I was slated for greatness…or, at least, a good time.

I hustled over to the location of the CBS Ed Sullivan Theater on 53rd St., not far from my hotel, and got in line. After about ten minutes in line, my blue piece of paper and my ID were checked and I was issued a yellow ticket and told to return by 3:30. Also, the rest rooms were not going to be open when we returned, there would be no food or drink on the premises, and we should not be late. The women gathered at this time were allowed to use the powder room then, however, at 2:00 p.m., and we all trooped downstairs together. As we exited, one of our group attempted to get a drink from the drinking fountain, and a page said, “Oh..don’t drink the water,” something I had not heard since my last trip to Mexico. [Apparently, the fountains in the old building do not provide potable water.]
   
I returned at 3:32, tried to find the “yellow” group (the roped people are color-coded) whom I had been in line with, originally. I was number 138. Unfortunately, because I was 2 minutes late, my group had begun moving in, but the page put me in with the 160s, saying, “You’re messing with the rules, lady, but I’ll let you in.” (Whew!)

At the point when we entered the holding area of the lobby itself (much like being queued up at Disneyworld for a ride), a peppy young page or intern (there were about 8 of them; half male, half female), the “head page,” began instructing us on how to be a good audience. Later, these pages would dance down front, like the Obama girls do at Obama rallies, getting the crowd worked up.
   
We were told NOT to hug the host if we were to interact with him, nor to ask for a kiss. “If you need a hug, my buddy Paul just got dumped. You can hug him,” said the head (male) cheerleader. He continued, “I’m going to say a punch line and I want you to laugh. The punch line is ‘Donald Trump’s hair.’” We all bellowed like idiots on cue. He said to try again, only louder this time, and he cautioned us about whistling sounds or “woot-ing.”
    “In fact,” he said, “let’s all just make that ‘woo woo’ noise now to get it out of our systems. Our sound system is very sensitive, and it’s bad if you make that noise during the show.” Again, sheep-like, we all “woot-ed.”
    
The young man continued, “Now, if Dave makes a joke, I want you to think, “Oh, boy, this is hilarious! Laugh in the theater; think about it on the way home. I realize you’re usually watching at home in your underwear with raisenettes dripping down your chest, but we want you to really give back raw enthusiasm, and exorcise your woo hoo demons right now. Dave feeds on your energy, and he’ll come out and speak to you a bit before the taping begins, and there will be a comedian who comes out and warms you up. Plus, during the commercial breaks, you’ll get to hear one of the best bands in show business and there will be clips from Dave’s shows. There’s one, in particular, where he takes orders in a Taco Belle that is really hilarious. I’ve seen it a million times and it is still hilarious.”
   
We were also warned not to show partisan sentiments if Dave should mention a particular state/city/team. “If Dave mentions your favorite dead President, we don’t want you bellering out ‘TAFT!’ You look like a jerk (he actually used a different euphemism beginning with the letter “a”, but same meaning), and nobody, from the first row to the back, cares.”
   
We waited for 40 minutes in an increasingly hot and claustrophobic situation, but the pages reminded us that we were inside on this January day, not outside, so who’s complaining? The price was right, and the people near me…. from Chicago and Phoenix…had become instant friends. I did have concerns about Mr. Bobblehead, though.
   
This was a large male in his late thirties or early forties, who went at least 280, and who was wearing a baseball-style cap that said “AFC Champions” or some such and a white-and-orange jersey with a number on it. He seemed to not have completely exorcised his “woo-t” demons, and he was exceptionally enthused about everything and glowed on about getting to hear the band. Naturally, he would end up being my seatmate. I mean that literally, as he was so large that part of his girth was actually in MY seat, crushing my right thigh, for the duration of the show.
   
Now it was time to troop in and be seated. The pages directed us hither and yon, and asked “How many in your party.” Since I didn’t want to admit that I was there solo, I said, “He’s my friend,” pointing out Mr. Gigantic Bobblehead, (which is a term I apply to anyone who plays air guitar during a concert or makes a fool of themselves by being overly enthused and uncool during any concert. Usually, they are standing right in front of me.) I don’t know what possessed me to say this, other than that, had I gone where directed, I would have been way-the-hell-and-gone,
whereas I now was in the fifth row from the front, 3rd person in, on the right side of the auditorium.
    
While we awaited the comic who would warm up the audience, Mr. Bobblehead shared the information that he was almost speechless with enthusiasm anticipating hearing the band play during the commercials that people at home would be seeing, He wasn’t kidding. He played air guitar throughout every single song…especially “Brown Sugar” by the Rolling Stones. (Which, I have to admit, was pretty good.) All he needed was one of those beer contraption things on his head, and I would have thought I was at a Big Ten football tailgate party.
    
We were told to do lots of clapping. I watched as the pages went to the people on the end(s) of the rows and in the front to encourage them to clap as crazily as they could at all points and actually demonstrated the “proper clap.” Mr. Bobble-head, seated next to me, was told to remove his baseball cap. He did so very reluctantly. Bobblehead Boy also had to be reminded not to “woo-t,” at one point during Dave’s discussion of Super Bowl teams. I just wished the guy would shift his girth a little to the right and quit sitting on my thigh, which was growing numb. I also put my coat back on (having removed it at one point), as there was a fine mist of cool spray making the 200-or-so seat auditorium as cold as it had been outside.
   
Now came the hefty warm-up comedian. He did some jokes about Times Square, commenting that we were going to get to see comedy clips from the last 26 years, as February 1, 2008, is the 26th anniversary of Dave and Paul’s hitting the television air waves. The comic referred to Dave as Mr. Integrity, saying that he had gotten the writers back. He described placing a McDonald’s placed in Times Square with a large marquee above it “like shining light on a pimple,”
    
“Before, Times Square was hookers and pimps. Some of us used to go down and play ‘Adam’s apple or Not.’” The comedian also warned us to turn off our phones and beepers, but he added, “If you still have a beeper, you really need to come into the 21st century.”
    
Then came the comic short we had been promised, showing Dave taking orders in a Taco Belle restaurant. One particularly moronic individual is shouting his order into the speaker, and Dave asks him if he can order one more taco, saying, “I’m just one Taco Supreme from being named Employee of the Month.” I vaguely remember seeing this video a long time ago on the show.
    
One woman in the drive-through lane says, “I know your voice. You’re not the manager.” Dave insists, “Yes I am. I’m the manager, Kenny.” The woman persisted, “I know your voice. Are you Howard Stern?” Dave instructs one poor slob to holler “Roger!” after he names every beverage the restaurant carries, and the man does just as he is told, much like we audience sheep. He argues with one fellow who says he doesn’t have the money to buy the extra food Dave is telling him to order. Dave says he’ll “mail you the money back.”
   
Now, Dave himself appears, bounding out, coatless, wearing white socks, as usual. He asks if anyone has any questions, and a man in the middle of the audience wants to know if Dave will show the film of when he was a weatherman, back in Indiana. Dave pronounces the man from Washington, D.C., a “poor son-of-a-bitch” if this is his idea of entertainment, and says that he must have watched everything else that exists on film.
   
Sure enough, we are treated to a very old film of Dave from his weatherman days---a time when Dave once said that it was “hailing hail the size of canned hams”--- which Dave calls his Prince Valiant look. During the commercials, we get to see “highlight” reels from previous shows, all of them pretty funny. Biff Henderson is buffing the floor. People are milling about, and one slightly pudgy girl page comes out, stage right, and dances a bit to the taped music.
   
The band comes out and is introduced, one-by-one, with Paul Schaeffer coming out last. Dave’s female assistant Barbara puts through another call (the voice is comic Jeff Altman) of a “mystery caller” pretending to be a highway patrolman, a recent bit, and the Top Ten list is introduced: Top Ten Things Overheard at Dick Cheney’s Birthday Party, which went like this:
 
10)    “Medic!”
9)      “Oh, look! It’s a birthday card from Osama Bin Laden.”
8)      “Is Cheney smiling or sneering?”
7)      “How sweet: a cake frosted with frosting made from lipitor.”
6)      “Clear!”
5)      “Why, Dick! You don’t look a day over 93!”
4)      “Look…Dick’s daughter is over there in the corner making out with Condoleeza Rice.”
3)      “Instead of a piñata, let’s beat up a Gitmo inmate.”
2)      “Now let’s sing along to, “For he’s a miserable old prick!”
1)      “Duck!”
 
The guest was Eva Longoria-Parker, who looked lovely and had on extremely high heels. A singer whose new album is entitled “Coco” ended the show, and we all trooped out, so that, as Dave put it, “you can all go out and get drunk.” Definitely worth the price of admission, which was free. And that’s what it’s like as an audience member at David Letterman “live.”
 

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