Chapter 62
LIFE IS LIKE A YO-YO
After my Las-Vegas-in-Long-Beach performance, things are definitely looking up.
That Saturday, Uncle Frankie is back in the diner, twirling his yo-yo and telling people about the new items on the Good Eats by the Sea menu.
“Rabbit food,” he says. “We’ve got a whole new section of healthy stuff. Lots of vegetables, fruits, and legumes.”
“What are legumes?” I ask, because, face it, legume is a funny word.
“I have no idea, Jamie. But whatever they are, I gotta eat ’em instead of French fries.”
Word spreads that Uncle Frankie is back and working the grill again. Before long, the diner is packed. It’s like Long Beach is giving their hero an indoor ticker-tape parade, only instead of tossing up confetti, people are blowing the paper wrappers off their straws to make party streamers.
All the old customers are back, including Mr. Burdzecki.
“Is very good to see you look so healthy, my friend,” he says.
“Thanks, Boris,” says Uncle Frankie.
“Your heart attack, it reminds me of a joke. Pay close attention, Jamie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A man, we will call him Fred, came home from his Sunday round of golf later than normal and looked very tired. ‘Bad day at the course?’ his wife asked.
“ ‘Everything was going fine,’ said Fred. ‘Then Harry had a heart attack and died on the tenth tee.’ ‘Oh, that’s awful!’ said the wife. ‘You are not kidding,’ said Fred. ‘For the whole back nine, it was hit the ball, drag Harry, hit the ball, drag Harry.’ ”
Uncle Frankie cracks up. “Good one, Boris.”
Mr. Burdzecki wags his finger at Uncle Frankie. “Eat your leafy greens. I do not wish to drag you up and down and all over town like Fred drags Harry.”
“Aye, aye,” says Uncle Frankie.
One by one, everybody squeezes up to the counter to shake Uncle Frankie’s hand, say something funny, and wish him well. Some even bring yo-yos.
“We figure you need the exercise!” says a lady who gives Frankie a bright-yellow smiley-face yo-yo that flashes LEDs as it spins.
“Hey, you could start a new aerobics craze,” cracks another. “The yo-yo workout!”
“No,” jokes somebody else. “The yo-yo diet. You have to twirl all your food on a string before you can eat it.”
Just about all the customers get in on the act and give their best shot at a yo-yo joke.
“Why did the yo-yo cross the road? Because it was walking the dog!”
“What did one yo-yo say to the other yo-yo when he saw him? Yo!”
Oh, boy, this is getting painful! But Uncle Frankie loves it. “One thing I like about yo-yos,” he says, “is that for every down, there’s an up. Thanks, everyone!”
I try to cut off the yo-yo jokes with a quick Kevin James quip. “Well, working out with his yo-yo might help Uncle Frankie lower his cholesterol. But Kevin James, who’s so big he sweats when he peels an orange, has different fitness goals. He says he wants to lose enough weight that his stomach doesn’t jiggle when he brushes his teeth.”
Everyone cracks up. I topped them all.
And then Uncle Frankie tops me.
“You know, Jamie, the older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then, your body and your fat are really good friends.”
Uncle Frankie knows a thing or two about good friends. He’s got a ton.
And I don’t think he’s going to lose any of ’em anytime soon.
Chapter 63
KNOCK, KNOCK! WHO’S THERE?
By Monday, things are pretty much back to normal.
I’m in my garage room at the Smileys’ after school, doing my homework. I haven’t cracked open my comedy notebooks or jotted down any new ideas for fresh routines since that fateful day when Aunt Smiley and I called the people out in Hollywood to let them know I wouldn’t be able to appear in Las Vegas.
I mean, what’s the point?
Unless Gilda organizes another hallway performance, I won’t really need new jokes anytime soon.
It’s okay. I’m cool with it.
Not having to worry about my comedy act gives me more time to concentrate on my schoolwork—what Uncle Frankie called my meat and potatoes. Now that he’s on his heart-healthy diet, he’d probably call it my baked chicken and wild rice.
Except for severely missing his burgers, fries, and milk shakes, Uncle Frankie is doing great. The diner has never been busier, and he’s never seemed happier.
Gaynor tells me his mom has watched my YouTube act “at least a dozen times” and tells him to “enjoy the go” every morning when he heads out the door for school. Mrs. Gaynor is between treatments. Everything is going great, and her doctors are really optimistic.
So, yeah—normal is okay. It’s not as glitzy as Las Vegas, but it’s good.
Then there’s this knock on my garage door.
A very loud banging.
Now what?
I say a quick prayer: Please don’t let it be Stevie Kosgrov. He didn’t sell every one of his whoopee cushions at my hallway show, and the people who make them in China don’t believe in refunds.
“Jamie?” It’s Mrs. Smiley.
“Open this door!” Mr. Smiley.
Uh-oh. This could be urgent.
I reach over and undo the lock. Yank it open.
“What’s up?” I say. “Is everybody okay?”
“You tell us,” says Mr. Smiley.
That’s when Mrs. Smiley hands me an envelope.
Chapter 64
HOW FEDEX CHANGED MY LIFE—FAST!
FedEx just delivered this for you,” says Aunt Smiley.
“We’ve never had a FedEx truck come to our house before,” adds my uncle.
Aunt Smiley hands me the envelope. It’s from Joe Amodio, executive producer of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest, Hollywood, California.
“It’s probably just a certificate or something,” I say, the envelope trembling in my hands. “I bet they send one to all the participants.”
“Jamie?” says Uncle Smiley.
“Yes, sir?”
“Nobody sends certificates of participation in an overnight FedEx envelope. That’s what the regular mail is for!”
“Open it, hon,” urges Aunt Smiley.
So I do.
Very, very slowly. It’s like I can’t get my fingers to work.
“Pull that tab thingy,” coaches Uncle Smiley, who’s as eager as I am to see what’s inside the first FedEx envelope to ever arrive at the Smiley residence.
I tug the tear strip off the back. Pry open the cardboard envelope.
There’s a letter tucked inside.
“What’s it say?” asks Aunt Smiley, who has her eyes closed and her fingers crossed.
I slide the sheet of paper out of the envelope. (Heart transplants probably take less time.)
Drumroll, please…
“It’s from the executive producer of the comedy contest,” I report.
“And?” says Mr. Smiley, giving me double hurry-up-already hand rolls.
I swallow hard and read the letter out loud:
“ ‘Dear Jamie: As you know, at the semifinals in Las Vegas, eight contestants were selected to move on to the final round of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest in Hollywood. This Saturday, we’re taping our Judges’ Picks Wild Card Show to find our final finalist. After checking out the YouTube video of your recent performance at school, the judges and I would like to invite you to be one of our wild card contestants. One of you, the winner of this Saturday’s competition, will go on to join our other eight finalists in Hollywood.’ ”
“What does that mean?” asks Uncle Smiley.
“They saw the video we put online for Joey’s mom,” I say. “Seems there’s another round of semifinals.…”
Aunt Smiley has an “aha!” look on her face.
“So that’s why the TV announcer said the realit
y show camera crews would be following ‘nine finalists around Tinseltown’ when only eight comics were picked to go to Hollywood on TV. I thought he was just bad with math, like Stevie.”
“And,” says Uncle Smiley, having his own “aha” moment, “that show they were just about to tell us to watch in two weeks when Jamie snapped off the TV…” He quickly counts to fourteen on his fingers. “That’s this show! This Saturday is two weeks from that Saturday!”
I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t have to wait till next year. My second chance at the comedy contest is only six days away.
I read the rest of the letter. Fast.
“Okay. The show tapes at two o’clock. This Saturday afternoon. Goes on air at eight that night. They say we’re supposed to call the production office ASAP to arrange air travel and hotel accommodations for me and ‘my family.’ ”
“Woo-hoo!” says Mr. Smiley. “We’re your family!”
“Where’s this show being taped?” asks Mrs. Smiley.
“Uh, let’s see. Las Vegas. The Laugh Factory! Just like the first semifinals!”
My aunt leans down and gives me a humongous hug. “I’m so happy for you, Jamie. I prayed and prayed that someday you’d have another chance to make your dreams come true.”
“I’m happy, too,” says Uncle Smiley. “I’ve always wanted to visit Las Vegas.”
“We’ll take the whole family,” says Aunt Smiley. “Make it a mini-vacation.”
“I guess we should call the production office,” I say. “Let them know we’re coming.”
“Here,” says Uncle Smiley, handing me his cell phone. “Call! Hurry!”
“Can I call someone else first?” I ask.
“What? Who?”
“My friend Gilda Gold. If it weren’t for her, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Call her!” says Aunt Smiley.
I do.
When I tell Gilda the good news, she screams so loudly I’m guessing you can probably hear her at your house.
Chapter 65
FLYING HIGH (WITH OR WITHOUT AN AIRPLANE)
Thursday afternoon, me and all the Smileys (except Ol’ Smiler, who’s bunking with Uncle Frankie in my old room) board an airplane headed for Las Vegas.
Of course, I have to board first with the “anyone needing special assistance or a little more time getting down the Jetway” crowd.
Just another perk of life in the Chair.
Uncle Frankie threw me a big bon voyage party at the diner Wednesday night. Gilda—my favorite moviemaker in the entire universe—was there. So were Gaynor (who brought his mom), Pierce, Cool Girl, and half of Long Beach Middle School—including a lot of teachers and Mr. Sour Patch.
I made a little speech.
First I thanked my friends and everybody at school for “giving me so much great material to work with.”
Then I thanked Gilda for coming up with the whole idea of me doing my Vegas act at school and for posting my performance on the Web.
And finally, I thanked the man who was the first person to ever tell me that I had talent and then did everything he could to help me nurture it while also teaching me how to flip burgers and yo-yo at the same time.
Uncle Frankie.
“I just wish you could come with us,” I told him while we were passing around slices of the Good Luck, Jamie cake he wouldn’t be able to eat.
Uncle Frankie shrugged. “Doc says it’s too early for me to fly. Or get all worked up watching you compete onstage. But here. Put this in your pocket.”
He hands me a dinged-up old plastic yo-yo.
“That’s the Duncan Jeweled I twirled when I won the Brooklyn championship. Maybe it’ll bring you luck, too.”
That yo-yo is in my pocket on the plane. It’ll be in my pocket the whole time I’m in Vegas.
For me, this Judges’ Picks Wild Card Show is like the Super Bowl, American Idol, The Voice, America’s Got Talent, and Dancing with the Stars all wrapped up into one.
Well, maybe not Dancing with the Stars.
The people producing the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest bought us all first-class tickets. That means the flight attendants keep coming around to ask if we need or want anything.
“No, thanks!” I say, because I’m too excited to nibble the free goodies they keep passing out.
What’s happening is unbelievable.
I’m flying to Las Vegas.
To do a comedy act.
In front of judges who happen to be some of my all-time favorite comedians.
I feel like I’m sailing over the moon as we fly across the country. It’s enough to make me dizzy. I might even need to grab that airsickness bag.
Stevie Kosgrov, on the other hand, is, well, still Stevie Kosgrov.
He eats every free snack the flight attendants offer. He has two lunches. He’s even hoarding tiny packs of peanuts in his carry-on bag.
As the FASTEN SEAT BELT lights come on and we make our initial descent into the Las Vegas area, Stevie turns to me.
“I only have one question, Crip. Do they give out like a ninth runner-up award to the dude who comes in last? ’Cause I’m making room for it on the mantel at home.”
Yup.
Leave it to Stevie to remind me that every time I enter one of these contests, I have a better chance of coming out a loser than actually winning it.
Chapter 66
LAS VEGAS OR “LOST WAGES”?
Thursday afternoon and most of Friday, we have free time.
“Just be at the Laugh Factory by one o’clock Saturday,” says one of the production assistants in charge of coordinating talent for the show. “Until then, enjoy. Have a ball. Go out and do Las Vegas!”
Much to my dismay, Mr. and Mrs. Smiley not only want to see every inch of the fabled Las Vegas Strip, they want to take pictures of it, too.
Can I just mention how crowded the sidewalks are on Las Vegas Boulevard—twenty-four hours a day?
I spend a lot of time looking at sequined butts. And weaving my way through pretty wobbly foot traffic. And not looking at all the stuff Aunt Smiley tells me not to look at because it’s “for adults only.”
But we also have fun posing for snapshots with lots of Elvis, Batman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and Angry Bird impersonators.
We gawk at all the dazzling light shows and wild architecture. I’m blown away by the gigantic marquees announcing the comics doing shows while we’re in town: David Spade, Jay Leno, Kathy Griffin, Tim Allen, Wayne Brady… even Bill Cosby is here! There are also funny magicians (Penn & Teller) and a guy who does comedy hypnosis!
Also, you wouldn’t believe all the incredible casino buildings up and down the Strip. One looks like a pyramid. Another is a miniature New York City, complete with its own Statue of Liberty and Brooklyn Bridge (not to mention an awesome roller coaster). It’s right across the street from a hotel that looks like a castle. A little farther up the road, you’ll find Paris (just look for the Eiffel Tower) and Venice (which has actual air-conditioned canals inside).
I know I’ll be onstage soon, but there’s still time to cook up new material for my act, and Vegas is a comic gold mine. It’s funnier than New York City and the J. Walter Thompson advertising agency combined.
Watching the Smileys tour the city is another gold mine. They’re hilarious, too.
For instance, even though kids aren’t allowed on the gambling floors of the casinos (babies and blackjack don’t mix), I get to watch Mr. Smiley lose a ton of money in slot machines, which are everywhere. The airport. The hotel lobby. The burger joints. The handicapped stall in the men’s room.
Okay. I made that last one up.
I think Uncle Smiley likes the blinking lights and noises. He never wins, but he hears a lot of cool whoop-whoop and bing-bing sound effects.
He also likes the showgirls, who look like they’re wearing flamingos or maybe pink potted ferns on top of their heads.
Mrs. Smiley likes the guys in Roman costumes at Caesars Palac
e—including some statues that come to life to heckle each other.
And did I mention the pirate ship battle outside the Treasure Island casino? Hilarious.
Stevie? His favorite stop is M&M’s World, where the walls are lined with clear plastic bins filled with every color M&M imaginable. Stevie doesn’t use a plastic bag to load up. He just positions his mouth near the chutes at the bottom of the silos and opens wide.
Yes, Las Vegas is hysterical. Unbelievably funny.
I just hope people here say the same thing about me when I roll offstage.
Tomorrow!
Chapter 67
THE FEAR FACTORY
It’s Saturday, 1:45 PM.
Fifteen minutes till the show starts.
I’m backstage at the Laugh Factory. In the shadows, I can see seven other very nervous young comedians. Pacing. Muttering jokes. On the stage, TV technicians are scurrying around with cameras and cables and extremely bright lights.
I see the single microphone stand at center stage, right in front of the glowing Laugh Factory logo.
I now know exactly where and when I will die.
Where: onstage.
When: the minute they call my name, which I can’t really remember. Because I’m like that forest out in Arizona: totally petrified!
(Yes, “identify six national parks” was one of the questions on my recent geography exam.)
My knees twitch in an involuntary spasm that makes my shoes chatter against my wheelchair footplates. It sounds like I’m tap-dancing.
Nervous much?
You bet.
I’m so afraid that I’m going to freak out and freeze. That I’ll just roll onstage and drool for three minutes. That I am going to, once again, CHOKE. This time on national TV.
The only good news? This isn’t a live broadcast like SNL. The show won’t be on until eight o’clock. There will be plenty of time to edit me out completely. (Maybe they can put up a title card explaining that my appearance has been canceled due to technical difficulties—because my brain short-circuited.)
I Even Funnier Page 11
