Let me set the scene for you: A lovely street cafe in Los Angeles. Clear blue skies. Three people sitting outside enjoying a lunch filled with hearty laughs, dark insidious secrets, literary gossip, plaintive begging for a spot in a prominent local reading series...good cheer up the ass, basically. Conversation turns to Bookworm, the popular literary program on NPR hosted by Michael Silverblatt. Knoweledge of my great impression of Silverblatt is discussed. We now join the program already in progress...
Me: Yes, it's true. I do a great Silverblatt impression. In fact, when I'm on Pinky's Paperhaus in June, I fully intend to interview myself as Silverblatt.
Woman 1: No!
Woman 2: Oh, for sure, you don't know Tod. He'll do it.
Woman 1: You have to let me hear you do it. Do it about me.
Me: Okay. Woman 1, in your transcendent novel, you touch on the sense that life is both a meditation on human sadness and...sadness...itself...a meditation on that life of what I consider to be a philospher of unequal...compare...and...sadness, alike my first experience with a prostitute in Spain, who, with her words, made me feel as if...I'd...meditated, in fact, found middle, and by middle I mean only the center of...love. True?
Woman 1: Yes! Oh my god!
Woman 2: I told you.
Me: Look, I just go out and give 110% and put the rest of my faith in Jesus and...
Because my imitation is such a hit, and because if one has the ability to sound reasonably like Michael Silverblatt, it's incredibly fun to say just about anything in the voice, I continue imitating the man for the better part of an hour. It remains quite a bit of fun until Woman 1 gets up to use the restroom and realizes, when he says hello to her (they know each other), that Michael Silverblatt is approximately 10 feet away.
If anyone asks, my name is Gregg Hurwitz.