Stay Hungry

by Sebastian Maniscalco

  • The doorman. If a doorman hails me a cab, he gets $5.

  • Concierge service. Now, if you call down to the concierge and ask them to bring a toothbrush and toothpaste to your room, the guy who does bring it up to the room gets a five. Could I go downstairs and buy my floss for less than $5? Yes, but if someone does your shopping for you, you’ve got to tip them.

  • The waiter. I start at 20 percent, but might go up to 25 or 30 if the service is great. You’d have to shit on the burger for me to give less than 20 percent. If the waiter is a bad server and you don’t tip 20 percent, then he or she will say, “See, I knew he wouldn’t tip,” regardless. I know what they’re going through and they deserve the money.

  • The hostess. To get a table, $100 will guarantee you one no matter where you are in the U.S. If not, get out of there, they suck. The hundge slip has never let me down. If you do it once, you’re good for life at some places. I gave $100 at a wine place I go to, and the host will now secure me a table anytime I show up.

  If you want to be treated well, give a nice tip. It’s not so hard to understand. You don’t have to drop twenties left and right, just whatever you can do will be appreciated.

  10

  * * *

  COFFEE DATE

  I met Chris Mazzilli, co-owner of the Gotham Comedy Club, in 2009 at the Just for Laughs Comedy Festival in Montreal, Canada. At the time, I’d never done his club, I just got introduced to him in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel by a comedian named Steve Byrne. Steve said, “Hey, Chris. This is my friend Sebastian, a really good comedian. He should do your club.”

  At this point in my career, I had to wonder how the hell every-one else had played New York City but me. How did every-one else know one another? This guy had never heard of me? I felt like I was behind. I wondered why I was always the guy pursuing instead of being chased.

  It had been the same when I was trying to meet girls. I always found out too late. I heard the girl I had a crush on in high school also liked me, but I didn’t hear this news until I was in college. It was sort of like living in Europe and getting the new movies two years later. Nobody would ever say, “Hey, Sebastian, so-and-so likes you.”

  My friend in high school Tony Cecala was the exact opposite. We would go out, and women would flock to him like flies on shit. This was only after he turned eighteen. Before then, he was heavy, but he went on a mission to get ripped. He lost forty pounds and changed his name to Anthony. You can’t just demand that people call you by your full name all of a sudden because you lose weight. You can’t just add the letters back. I’d called him Tony my whole life, and now I had to recalibrate.

  So anyway, at a club, he would leave with one girl, plus eight dates lined up for the week. If I was lucky, I would leave with one phone number on a napkin, praying it was real. I had to court the girls, try to charm them with my humor, open their car doors, and prove to them I was a decent guy.

  It was always a struggle. Bottom line: No girls or gigs ever fell in my lap. I was never the funny, charismatic guy when meeting girls, never the life of the party. I always wanted to be, but I am just realizing that I have always been reserved and insecure about this. I wanted people to seek me out. I felt like a buffoon if I was trying to sell myself in personal and professional relationships.

  But being open went against every ounce of Sicilian blood running through my veins. Sicilians are skeptical and always assume the worst—with good reason. Over centuries, the island was overtaken by the Greeks, the Germans, the Turks, the Normans, the Spanish. The people had to rely on each other for their survival, and they got closed off and distrustful of anyone outside their family (case in point: the Sicilian Corleone family). I know it seems like a contradiction to be a standup comedian who hates to call attention to himself, but that was how I felt. I was like a conch deep in his shell that someone would have to find and pry out.

  Over time, I realized that, Sicilian or not, I had to put myself out there and be open for the right opportunity to walk in. Or else I’d never get to New York City or move to the next level in my career. Doing standup gave me confidence to be more social, but I had to push it farther, and step into the spotlight.

  So back at the Montreal Hilton, Steve fixed me up with Chris. Chris and I talked for a bit, and I guess he got to see my act during the festival. Shortly after that, I got a date at Gotham.

  At my first gig there, I just couldn’t feel comfortable without supplying a thank-you gift for the staff. I had been there on the other side and I wanted good energy in the room. A little goes a long way with people in the service industry. They work on tips to feel appreciated. Second to a tip is a delicious chocolate cupcake in their mouth. A weekend act comes into town to do a gig, and he leaves behind his reputation with the staff. They will talk about how nice or terrible he was, how much he drank, how he tipped, how friendly he was. This chatter spreads wildly through the saloon doors of the kitchen, to the back hallways of a club, into other clubs and other kitchens, and all the way into the management offices. I knew this, having been on the other side.

  So I walked into Gotham with a huge box of Baked by Melissa cupcakes, and I passed them out to everyone who worked there, from the bartenders to the waitstaff to the busboys. I wanted everyone to be happy, and honestly, it was the least I could do.

  My mother taught me not to show up at anyone’s house empty-handed, and this was just an extension of that. The stakes were high when I arrived at what I consider to be one of the hottest rooms in Manhattan. All the heavyweights performed there, and often showed up unannounced to do a celebrity pop-in, making it a real comedy lover’s paradise. On any given night, the audience of 350 might be treated to an impromptu hour with Jerry Seinfeld, Dave Chappelle, Lewis Black, or Chris Rock.

  Apparently, the cupcakes worked. I had a great weekend at Gotham, killing it and befriending everyone there. Chris and I became fast friends that weekend, too. He let me know in a very subtle, classy way, that he believed in me and could foresee a big future for me. By the end of the week, he said, “I really like what you do. I’m not trying to poach you at all, but if you’re ever unhappy with your current representation, we’re here.”

  It was a refreshing change; someone was noticing and pursuing me. I needed someone who believed in me like this, and for the first time I felt like someone out there was taking notice. I was twelve years into the game. My career was on the upswing, and the next step was to assemble the right team around me. Chris and his brother Steve Mazzilli were part of LEG, a talent management company. They could connect me in the comedy club world and introduce me to people. They also knew the casino business, and would open doors for me to do standup in some big venues.

  Back in L.A., I had dinner with the head of LEG, Judi Marmel. While courting me to sign on, she took me to a Hawaiian-themed restaurant across the street from her office. This restaurant was not one you’d consider to be high end, especially given the situation. We still joke about how absentminded she was to take me there for our first dinner. The restaurant wasn’t good, but I knew Judi would be the one to take me to the next level. So, managers, when courting comedians: Don’t take them to cheap Hawaiian.

  Long story short, I ended up signing on with LEG, working with Chris Mazzilli, his brother Steve, and the L.A. division. I was assigned a day-to-day point person. Most of the junior guys were cape grabbing and in the game for free Ping-Pong and swag at different events. I demanded that if I were going to stay on with LEG, I wanted to work directly with Judi, the Queen Bee, a woman who would buzz into our meetings and make all the worker bees sit up and try to impress her. I began to call her Buzz Buzz. As I came to learn quickly, she is a tried-and-true ballbuster who has earned a reputation over thirty years of being one of the hardest-working managers in the business. Judi has quarterbacked my career to where it is today. She’s orchestrated all the different aspects of it, and is always forward thinking. It’s all about momentum, with one thing building up to another. She ca
pitalizes on the moment and turns one good thing into other opportunities. Judi is a no-nonsense woman who really knows the business inside and out. She’s exceptional at what she does, and I just want to pay homage to her and say thanks.

  I’m a loyal guy, and I like to stay with the people who have worked hard for me all these years, including my team at United Talent Agency. I’ve been with them for ten years now, and they have given me many opportunities to do movies and TV, as well as touring.

  With all these pros in my corner, I got to do more improvs all around the country, as LEG owns the improv chains. LEG also produced my second special, What’s Wrong with People? which really put me on the map. And none of it would have happened if it weren’t for that chance meeting in a hotel lobby in Montreal.

  CHRIS AND JERRY Seinfeld have been friends for many years. Chris had mentioned to me on multiple occasions that he knew Jerry would be a huge fan of mine and that it was just a matter of time before he could fix us up.

  When I finally did met Jerry, in early 2015, I was head-lining at Gotham. He stopped in to do a set right before I went on. I’d been told he was coming, and I was excited that we were finally going to meet. I introduced myself right before he went on stage. Even though I was so excited to meet him, we are both so anti–small talk, we just said “hi” and “bye” and “maybe I’ll see you later.” What was I supposed to say? “Hey, man. I am so funny you should watch me and laugh”?

  I’d been a Seinfeld fan since I was thirteen, watching Jerry do standup about New York taxi drivers at Dangerfield’s (Rodney’s comedy club on East 61st Street). I clearly remember seeing him on a Jerry Lewis telethon, doing a bit about taking a shower in somebody else’s bathroom and noticing a little hair stuck on a wall: “I don’t like showering in other people’s showers. There’s always a problem with temperature adjustment, and there’s always a little hair stuck on the wall. You want to get rid of it, but you don’t want to touch it. I don’t know how it got up that high in the first place. Maybe it’s got a life of its own . . .” (You can hear this dialogue in Jerry’s voice easily.)

  I’d seen hairs on shower walls, but I never thought of it the way he did. He is a genius at noticing these little absurdities in life, pointing them out, and interpreting them from his own perspective. I respond to that style of observational humor. Jerry and I are on the same wavelength in that way—relatable comedy about familiar, simple things. Plus, his standup is precise and lean. No fat on his jokes. He knows that every word means something in comedy. You’re not up there to mumble with nothing phrases and sounds. I hate it when a comedian stalls with “ummm” or “like.” I pare down my standup to as few words as possible to get the point across, and I learned that from Jerry.

  Like everyone else I knew growing up, I counted the days between episodes of Seinfeld. The wackiness, the absurdity, a lot of things going on at once, multiple storylines culminating at the end of a twenty-three-minute sitcom. As a kid, I assumed every person in New York was crazy or hilarious or both—and I totally related it to my own wild, hilarious family. Like Jerry’s comedy, mine is based on my life and observations, but it rings true for just about anyone. You don’t have to be Italian or from Chicago to get it. I meet fans from all over who tell me, “You’re talking about my family,” even though, obviously, I’m not. The goal is to transport the audience into your reality regardless of where they come from, to tap into the familiar, the things we all know and feel, and describe it in a funny way.

  The audience that night at Gotham had come to see me, but they were also huge Seinfeld fans. The MC announced there was a special guest, and when Jerry walked out, the place went nuts, screaming, standing, and cheering. They couldn’t believe that Jerry Seinfeld was right there in front of them in this intimate club.

  The celebrity pop-in is not unique to Gotham. It’s a regular occurrence at the Comedy Store and other popular clubs. Usually, if a big name walks in and wants to do time, he or she goes up right away and the regular lineup gets bumped. It sucked as an up-and-coming comedian, thinking you finally got a prime set time only to get bumped and wind up performing at 2 a.m., after everyone goes home. But that’s just the way it works in the comedy world.

  As a young comedian, you learn to roll with schedule changes, but an even bigger issue is how you’re going to follow a big name with great new material. Anyone would be nervous and ask himself, How do I segue into my act after the audience is basking in the afterglow of an unexpected encounter with Chris Rock?

  So the whole time Jerry was performing at Gotham, I was backstage thinking, How do I bridge the gap between his act and mine? You can’t follow up Jerry Seinfeld with, “So where you from? What do you do for a living? I just flew in from Cleveland, and, boy, do I have a crick in my neck.”

  It was wintertime, and Jerry had a scarf on. It was tied intricately—very stylish, very New York—and he kept it on for the first three minutes of his set. So when I got on stage, I said, “Give it up for Jerry Seinfeld! You know how confident you got to be to wear a scarf three minutes into your set?” Then I did the physical act of tying the scarf and used the microphone cord as a prop. It just kind of loosened up the crowd, reminded them what my comedy is about, and then, boom, I went into my act.

  Usually, after a pop-in, Jerry would leave the club right away, according to Chris. He rarely watched five minutes of anyone. But Jerry stayed for the first forty-five minutes of my set. Lana was there that night and could see him laughing. I was on cloud nine knowing that Jerry had enjoyed my set.

  The next night, I was told that Jerry was sending his wife, Jessica, with a group of friends to see me. This made me nervous. It was one thing to perform for Jerry Seinfeld, and another to do it for his wife. I know in my own marriage, if Lana doesn’t approve of something, it can send me into a complete spiral. My wife can get into my head like she’s the captain of my ship, unconsciously steering my thoughts. If her opinion of something is bad, my thoughts can turn stormy and throw off the whole course of my life without my even knowing it. So I thought that I had to make Jessica Seinfeld laugh to confirm Jerry’s opinion of my comedy.

  It went well, and I was invited to meet Jessica and her friends after the show. At some point, she put me on the phone with Jerry and we had a nice chat. It occurred to me to ask Jessica for Jerry’s number, but I would never do that. It’s not my style. I’m the cat; I let people come to me. I let him dictate the connection. The last thing I would ever do is overstep my bounds or make assumptions. From afar, Jerry seemed like the kind of guy who didn’t want to get to know anyone and didn’t need or want any new friends. (I could relate. It takes a cat to know another cat, and I could see his whiskers from a mile away.) But, as I got to know him, I was surprised at how generous and kind Jerry is. He truly loves what he does, and when he believes in something, he gives his whole heart to it.

  The next time I ran into him, it was at Gotham again. I remember talking to him about the business of comedy and keeping the act fresh and how to keep people coming back. He told me the main thing is to do your best material, regardless of whether it’s new or old. The job is to make people laugh. (Take note, Dad, and now get off my back about new material!)

  As we exited the club, Jerry said, “Hey, do I have your number?”

  “No, but here it is. Just don’t abuse it,” I said.

  He then got into his car, which was parked right in front of the club on the street in New York City. This is when it occurred to me that this guy has it all figured out. There had been a street cone holding his spot prior to his arrival. I thought, Does the club have a cone guy? How do they determine who is in charge of the cone? Does a panic ensue when Jerry arrives? Is there is a waiter being yelled at: “Drop the buffalo wings! Forget about the pigs in a blanket. Go get the cone! He’s here!”

  This incident alone piqued my interest. It was a small window into Jerry’s life. There is an intriguing quality about him. I was not only ecstatic that Jerry Seinfeld and I would possibly
be exchanging “Happy Hanukkahs” and “Merry Christmases,” but I was also curious about how a man of his stature navigates his way through life.

  WHEN YOU’RE A fan of someone who is way up there, and now you have each other’s number, it’s strange. How do you use it? Jerry’s age was somewhere between mine and my father’s, so I had no idea how savvy he was with texting.

  If I send my father a text, I’m lucky to hear back at all. If I do, it’s often indecipherable and sent long after I forgot about the initial text. Here’s an example of a recent text exchange between us:

  Dad: “1991.”

  Me: “What is 1991?”

  Him: “When I sold Luigi and Salvo.” [The salon he owned with his brother.]

  Me: “I asked you that two months ago, and I’ve seen you three times since then, and Mom already answered.”

  Him: “1991.”

  Me: “Okay, thx.”

  With my mom, on the other hand, as soon as I send her a text, a reply bubble appears instantly, as if she were sitting around, waiting on the text. I’m sure she was. If she texts me a question and I don’t respond within sixty seconds, I’ll get a follow-up message saying, “Hello?” By the time I see the first text, she’s sent a string of “hellos” all lined up in unison. If Facebook had need of a news anchor, it could be Rose Anne Maniscalco. She might call me to say, “Did you see the Marinos’ kid is having another baby? You know the Marinos.”

  I would say, “No, Ma, I have no idea who that is.”

  “Oh, well, anyway their niece Mary got a new car, a Kia, and it looks nice. What do you think of that car?” And then we’re talking about the purchasing decisions of some person I don’t know or care about. For half an hour.

  Mom’s Facebook ads are mostly medical equipment and medication because she has looked up so many illnesses while trying to self-diagnose. She goes so deep on Facebook, she has carpal tunnel in her pointer finger solely from pressing the “show more” button.