Last week I ran a piece highlighting Steve Martin’s so-bad-the-Y-gave-everyone-their-money-back appearance at the 92nd Street Y on Nov. 29. Even though Stevo generally came across as a pretentious old fart (he’s almost as old as I am, after all), I noted that Steve managed to end the conversation with a winner: “As for the Y’s standard of excellence, it can’t be that high because this is the second time I’ve appeared there.”
But it seems that Steve, like so many geezers, doesn’t know when to shut up. He’s continued the conversation with an op ed in the Dec. 4 NYT, “The Art of Interruption.” Here’s what Steve has to say:
“When I arrived for Monday’s talk, I was informed that it would be telecast on closed-circuit TV across the country. What I wasn’t told was that the viewers were going to be encouraged to send in e-mails during the discussion; what I didn’t expect was that the Y would take the temperature of those e-mailed reactions, and then respond to them by sending a staff member onstage, mid-conversation, with a note that said, ‘Discuss Steve’s career.’” Receipt of this note, according to Steve, “was as jarring and disheartening as a cellphone jangle during an Act V soliloquy.”
Pretty sappy, huh? Like you’re Hamlet, Steve? But Steve also says “Because it’s an honor to speak at the Y, we [Steve and galpal Deborah Solomon] agreed to do the event for free.” Yes, it does sound a bit unctuous, but wait a minute. Steve and Debbie speak for free, and the 92Y charges fifty bucks a ticket plus telecasts Steve and Debbie’s rap on closed-circuit TV (I’m guessing, not for free) and then pisses all over Steve and Debbie because they aren’t funny? It kind of reminds me of the time the 92Y took a million-dollar bribe from Sandy Weil to accept Jack Grubman’s daughters in their preschool. When the deal became public and Jack withdrew his daughters, the Y still kept the cash. I guess the deal is, don’t piss off the 92Y, OK? You got that? Don’t piss off the 92Y.
Afterwords
To show off my ignorance of the Manhattan literary scene, I claimed (in a footnote) not to know whether the famed literary restaurant Elaine’s was still in existence. Well, it is, but, sadly, Elaine herself is not. She died the day I posted my Stevo versus Y rap. Read the Times obit here, and catch up on all the coolness you missed.
