The Todd Glass Situation Read online

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  CONTENTS

  Preface by Marc Maron

  The Coronet (Part One)

  Todd’s act develops an unexpected wrinkle.

  1 Life Is Just a Bowl of Icing

  Where Todd promises himself he’ll grow up into a silly adult.

  2 Schooled

  Todd’s educational journey gets off to a rough start.

  3 The Resource Room

  Todd learns that he’s different from all the other kids. (No, not like that!)

  4 Lumpy Mashed Potatoes

  Todd learns a few valuable lessons.

  5 Jews in Churchville

  Todd learns that some adults really are delusional.

  6 OCD in Bloom

  Todd finds his dream house.

  7 The Stomachache

  Fake vomit and false stereotypes.

  8 Gay Like Me

  Just when it couldn’t get any worse . . .

  9 The Power of Funny

  A comedian is born.

  10 Dim Prospects

  School is coming to an end.

  11 Comedy Works

  “Mr. and Mrs. Schleinheffer, please call your babysitter immediately. She wants to know where you keep the fire extinguisher.”

  12 Opening Act

  Todd gets a weekend.

  13 Spruce Street

  Where Todd encounters swarming gays.

  14 Bottled Up

  Todd makes a friend.

  15 No-Show George

  Theater in the round.

  16 The Perfect Room

  Todd goes to Broadway.

  17 Smokey Joe’s

  Todd discovers a friendly bar.

  18 Faking It

  Todd finds a soul mate. (Almost.)

  19 Two Pieces of Advice

  Todd gets some wisdom from a comedian he looks up to.

  20 Leaving Philadelphia

  Some funny (and not so funny) things happen on the way to Los Angeles.

  21 The Comedy Store

  Los Angeles!

  22 The Improv

  Todd finds a new comedy home.

  23 Working the Road

  Life in the middle.

  24 Todd Goes to College

  Because children are the future.

  25 Two Notebooks

  Comedy’s gay marriage (between stand-up and sketch).

  26 Finally

  Todd meets somebody.

  27 Todd’s Coma

  New relationship, new friends, and new professional opportunities.

  28 Todd’s Situation

  Thank God for Andrea.

  29 First Relationship

  Where Todd learns that men are from Mars, but also from Venus.

  30 Last Comic Standing

  Did you get my fax?

  31 The Coronet (Part Two)

  A brush with death causes Todd to rethink his life (for a few days, anyway).

  32 The Blind Spot

  Todd comes to terms with his reasons for not coming out.

  33 September 2010

  Todd finally finds his motivation.

  34 I’m Not Fucking Gay! (But I Am.)

  WTF?

  35 Everybody’s a Comedian

  The comedic community responds to Todd’s announcement.

  36 The Aftermath

  Todd embarks on his first year of living openly.

  37 How’s Life Been?

  Where Todd keeps working on his act.

  38 Final Thoughts

  Because Todd’s not quite done talking yet.

  39 A Letter to Mom and Dad

  Acknowledgments

  Where Are They Now?

  About the Author

  PREFACE

  by Marc Maron

  You think you know a guy.

  I have known Todd Glass for about twenty-five years, half my life. We were never that close, but I always knew him, kinda. We are in the same business. We all know Todd. I knew Todd was hilarious, big-hearted, persistent, incredibly quick-witted, original, and absolutely one of the most fun people in the world to be around.

  I had no idea he was gay. None.

  I never thought about it, never once. I say “gay” because I know Todd has a hard time saying that word, using it, in relation to himself or others. It’s a label. It implies something. People make assumptions and attach stereotypes to the idea of gayness. I respect Todd’s discomfort with the word “gay.” Which is why I’m using it a lot. Gay. Todd is gay. So what? Todd was Todd. I think Todd thinks that too. That’s why he didn’t think it was necessary for anyone to know he’s gay. Todd is Todd. He actually couldn’t be any more Todd. Especially now that I know he’s gay.

  I’m a comic. I host a podcast. Lots of people listen to it. My guests are mostly comedians. It is my belief that comics can talk about anything. Our job is to sit around and think about stuff so there is very little we can’t speak to or about. We embrace even the most difficult parts of life. We filter the world into funny. We have risked it all to do what we do, and there’s an amazing freedom in that. We don’t live by the same rules as everyone else. We can be brutally honest because we’re funny. It’s our job.

  Todd called me one night. He left a message that he needed to talk to me. It sounded urgent. I had never talked to Todd on the phone in my life, but he needed help. My help. I called him back. He was a little more intense than usual but funny as always. If I recall correctly he was calling from his parents’ house. I asked him what was up. He didn’t sound sad or scared. He sounded a little fed up with himself and excited. He had resolve. He told me he wanted to come out and he wanted to do it on my show. He sounded like he had been wrestling with the decision to do it for a long time.

  Todd chose my show because he knew that comics listened to it. He also knew that people who like to listen to people talk about the struggle of being a person listen to it. Todd wanted to come out, but he only wanted to do it once. He wanted word to travel, as opposed to e-mailing everyone he knew with the subject line “Hey, I’m gay. Just kidding. No, really, I am. What?” My show would enable him to do that.

  When he told me I was surprised but I wasn’t that surprised. You know when you know someone, even casually, and there’s just a missing piece and when you hear it or see it, you get it? “Of course, that makes sense. How could I not have known?” Well, because it shouldn’t matter.

  My first thought after he told me was, “Am I the right guy to do this?” As if it was a job that someone could handle more efficiently than me. “Isn’t there a guy who does that, professionally?” I was happy that he was going to do it for his sake, but I had my own insecurities. I wanted it to be a good experience for him. I wanted to be there in any way I could to help him out with it. I didn’t want to make it about me and I wanted to be a good sounding board for this big event in his life. I told him I would be honored to be there for him. He said he didn’t know when it would happen but it would happen soon. He had to take care of some things. I said okay.

  He would call me every other week or so for a month or two telling me that it was still happening. He would tell me with a tone like I was pressuring him. I wasn’t. I think knowing he made the commitment to me to do it on the show forced him to pressure himself. I had my own preparation to do. I had to make myself understand that I was just there to support Todd and listen to him and push him when he needed a push and reel him in when he started to get away from
the feelings. I was very conscious of my role.

  When we finally sat down in my garage to record the show, Todd had really gotten himself into a mental place where he could do it. I can’t imagine the adrenaline and intensity of saying something that will change your life forever, something that you had not been able to say for your entire life. Something so honest, revealing, and precise that it could be the key to your freedom, but also so frightening that you could not utter it before. It was an exciting day. Todd handled it with humor, candor, and humility. It was an amazing conversation. It reverberated.

  I don’t think what kept Todd from coming out was shame, specifically. He just thought he was protecting himself. I think Todd is very comfortable being gay. I think that the energy it took to manage the secret had defined his entire life to the point where it had become second nature, and that became draining. I think what drove him to come out was anger. Anger at the secret, anger at himself, and anger that we live in a culture where the hostility or judgment you think will come at you for being who you are corners you into hiding yourself. So I guess it was shame. Todd called bullshit on himself, finally. What drove him to do it above anything else were kids who are bullied, shunned, beat up, and killed for being who they are. I think if there was any kind of shame that drove Todd, it was the shame of not standing up for himself or those kids.

  Todd is now a real stand-up guy.

  The feedback from the show was amazing. E-mails came in telling stories of gratitude for the strength and honesty Todd put out into the world. It helped people. It gave people strength. It made people feel less alone. It made it okay.

  Todd calls me every few months to tell me he’s still gay.

  THE CORONET (PART ONE)

  Todd’s act develops an unexpected wrinkle.

  I’m standing backstage at Largo at the Coronet where, once every few months, Sarah Silverman invites a group of comedians to put on a show. Tonight’s lineup includes Sarah, Jeff Ross, and Chelsea Peretti. I’m the closing act. I can’t wait to get out there.

  I’ve been a stand-up comedian for almost thirty years and I can honestly tell you, without exaggeration, that it is my favorite thing to do. Every time I’m about to take the stage I feel like a kid twenty feet from the entrance to Disneyland. Performing gives me an adrenaline rush like no other. Some nights I’m so amped I’ll sprint from backstage right into the middle of the crowd, doing some silly bit as I run up and down the aisles.

  Tonight is one of those nights. Sarah introduces me and I go straight for the crowd, overenthusiastically greeting each and every member of the audience, an exaggerated take on a comic who’s way too eager to please.

  Five minutes later, when I finally make my way to the stage, I feel light-headed. My heart is pounding too fast and I can’t catch my breath. So I turn it into a joke:

  “Hey, what if I was having a heart attack and you guys didn’t believe me?”

  A few laughs.

  “No, really . . . I’m having a heart attack!”

  A few more laughs.

  That’s all I’m going to be able to milk out of this one. I look down at my notes and move on.

  “I saw a sign in my hotel room that said, ‘A towel on the floor means I want a new one—a towel hanging up means I’ll use it again.’ So I called down to the front desk and asked them, ‘What does a washcloth on my night table with a little bit of lotion next to it mean? I’m just asking, you seem to know what all the towel placement means . . . What? It means I’m lonely? Okay, thank you.’ ”

  Thirty-five minutes later, the set comes to an end. The second I leave the stage, so does the adrenaline. All of my energy just evaporates and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I feel like I have a massive hangover. I think I have to throw up. I step outside for air.

  I still can’t catch my breath, so I stumble back inside, put my hands on my knees, and stare at the carpet. It is absolutely the filthiest carpet I’ve ever seen. I spend a couple of seconds thinking about how many other performers have stood on this rug, spilling beer and ashing cigarettes into the crusty fibers.

  The carpet suddenly looks like the most comfortable resting place in the world, so I sink down into it, face-first.

  Sarah kneels next to me. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that she thinks I’m just stoned. The truth is I smoked about a half a joint before I went onstage. It’s not something I usually do—a couple of years ago I did the same thing before a show in Seattle and had a panic attack. Now that I think about it, the symptoms were almost exactly the same.

  Sarah was there that night and remembers as well as I do. “Is Todd feeling nauseous?” she asks.

  I let out something that’s halfway between a grunt and a moan.

  “Poor baby,” she continues. “Do you want some scrambled warm eggs? I can make them extra runny!” I bang the rug a couple of times with my hand. “Is that your way of telling me you think that was funny?”

  It was. I’m glad that she understands because I seem to have lost the ability to speak.

  Now Jeff Ross is standing next to her. “Let me take your shoes off for you,” he says. He slips the shoes off my feet and then pinches his nose in fake disgust. “Let me put your shoes back on for you.”

  This time I let out a muted cackle. “Aww, look,” Sarah says. “He gave you a mercy laugh.”

  “No it wasn’t!” I manage to croak.

  At this point I hear Jon Hamm screaming at the top of his lungs:

  “Will someone call a goddamn ambulance? Or are we all just going to sit here and watch Todd die?”

  Okay, Jon Hamm wasn’t there, but give me a break: I’m just trying to move some books. And by the way, if the imaginary Jon Hamm in my story cared so much, why didn’t he call the ambulance? Like he doesn’t have a cell phone? Typical Hamm—I love the guy to death, but he’s always bossing people around. Anyway, he wasn’t there, so let’s move on.

  There’s something clearly wrong with me. But I know that it’s not a heart attack. I’d be puking all over myself. Or unconscious. Trust me, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about heart attacks. Heart troubles run on both sides of my family. My dad was forty-five when he died. Which is kind of funny when you think about it: I just turned forty-five a couple of months ago.

  “Todd, I think we should call an ambulance,” Sarah says.

  I’m probably just having another panic attack. In a few minutes I’m going to feel like an idiot for scaring the crap out of everybody. “No ambulance!” I say, worrying less about my health than my insurance plan’s $5,000 deductible.

  Sarah leans down and whispers in my ear: “Oh, honey, don’t worry, we’ll pay for it! But it will have to be your birthday and Christmas present, is that okay?”

  I give her the best laugh I can, which at this point isn’t much. I hear Jeff Ross telling Flanagan, the owner of the club, that an ambulance is on the way. Jeff is going to look pretty fucking silly when this thing passes and I’m back onto my feet.

  Minutes later, an EMT is kneeling down next to me. “Why don’t we get you into the ambulance and check your vitals, maybe save a trip to the emergency room,” he says. I’m not exactly in any position to argue. A small crowd has gathered around the exit, watching as I get wheeled out on a stretcher.

  This is really starting to get embarrassing. A few minutes ago, I was performing for these people, feeling like I was in charge of the room. Now I feel helpless and weak. I can’t wait for the medics to finish up and send me on my way. Tomorrow the whole thing is going to seem hilarious. Maybe even later tonight . . .

  “Sir, I don’t want to alarm you,” the EMT says, “but you’re having a heart attack.”

  Okay, maybe not tonight. I don’t want to alarm you? If he didn’t want to alarm me he should have told me I was fine. Telling someone they’re having a heart attack is very goddamn alarming. “We’re going to take you to Cedars,” he continues. “Is there anyone we should call?”

  Right. If I’m dying—which is sudd
enly starting to feel like a real possibility—I should probably tell the person I’ve been sharing a life with for the last fourteen years. I look through the faces around me until I find Sarah’s. “Call Andrea for me,” I say, trying to wink. At this point it looks more like an involuntary facial tic.

  Sarah winks back. “Don’t worry, I’ll call . . . Andrea.”

  We both know that “Andrea” is actually Chris, my boyfriend. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to say his name in front of everyone.

  I mean, that might make people think that I was gay or something.

  Here I am, forty-five years old, possibly at death’s door, surrounded by friends—and I still can’t be honest about who I am.

  How the fuck did I get here?

  HOW THE FUCK I GOT HERE.

  CHAPTER 1

  LIFE IS JUST A BOWL OF ICING

  Where Todd promises himself he’ll grow up into a silly adult.

  It’s funny how many of the memories that stick with you—the ones that shape you and make you who you are as an adult—are things that you never thought were important at the time.

  Once in a while, when I was little, my mom would fix up a bowl of icing. She placed it on the kitchen table with five spoons: one for her, each of my three brothers, and for me. Obviously, we loved this little family tradition, but we didn’t understand why we were so lucky.

  “When I was a little girl,” Mom explained, “I used to love to lick the icing off the beaters. But wouldn’t a whole bowl of icing be better? And I thought, when I grow up, I’m going to give my kids bowls of icing.”

  Children make promises all the time about the things they’re going to do when they grow up, but how many of them really follow through as adults? My mom did. Even if it was just a bowl of icing.

  It was 1970. We lived in a row house on Kilburn Road in Northeast Philadelphia. My parents were social people who loved to have friends over at night. Once in a while, when my brothers and I were tucked in bed upstairs, listening to everyone laughing down below, one of the adults would come upstairs to “check on us.” Occasionally this involved jumping up and down on the bed or playing some silly game with us. I remember being five years old and making a promise to myself, just like my mother did: When I get old, I’m going to act silly, too.