This thwarted Letterman extortion attempt has opened some painful wounds for me. But finally, I am now able to speak freely about my own relationship with David Letterman. (I can't speak for others.) I am unshackled by the fear that this man can somehow hurt me for breaking my silence after decades of keeping dark secrets. The terrible things I saw and the creepy things he made me do have left me crippled for much of my adult life. I was only 21, a student at Ohio University, when I applied for an internship at Late Night with David Letterman, and was accepted. I bought hard shoes, and moved to New York City to intern on the show. I quickly proved myself as a discreet and dependable intern, and in short turn I was selected from the intern pool by Letterman's chief of staff to service the talk show host personally. My dream was coming true. Brian Unger was an intern at NBC's Late Night with David Letterman in 1986. He is now a correspondent for The Jay Leno Show. But it quickly turned into something else — where I witnessed and was party to the terrible, creepy things David Letterman did. It started with small favors. I would be called to his office, everyday, around noon. I was given what was to me a large sum of petty cash, sent into the streets of Manhattan, to procure fine, hot... vegetable soup. Letterman, to my shock, was a notorious vegetarian. Everyone knew it except me. I, corn-fed and cattle-reared, loved meat. I felt dirty, and ashamed. But it somehow didn't stop me. This was my hero. And so, it got worse, the favors more frequent, and more personal. I grew uncomfortable with the intimate nature of the requests — like the time I was sent to his hotel because Letterman needed something special, something quick. I entered his bedroom, and there, near the bed, out in the open, staring me right in the face, was something I hadn't seen since my Uncle Petru showed me his — a rosewood cigar lighter Letterman had forgotten on his nightstand. I grabbed it, and brought it back to the office. I felt so dirty. I had no idea Letterman was into tobacco. Turns out everyone on staff knew what I didn't — David Letterman loves cigars. (But not in a Bill Clinton way.) At work, I felt that I had to keep our relationship a secret — because they told me I was special. But I was embarrassed. He looked me up and down, on many occasions, and sent me to change... the water in the fish tank. The other interns grew jealous. And I felt dirty. Everyone knew. The whole company watched in disbelief as Letterman consistently made it to third base... in the staff softball game. Out in the open, in Central Park even. It was so brazen and public. I no longer felt dirty, I was just numb. But some of the terrible things Letterman made me do were suffered by me, alone — and the behaviors moved from the workplace to the home. One time, he made me sit in his apartment for hours, and wait... for the cable guy to come. I felt dirty again, mainly because it was a new place with no furniture and I had to sit on the floor. Our relationship continued for almost 6 months, and ended like they always do — with one, final blow. I was called to his office on a Saturday, where Letterman made an advance. He reached out to me, and in his hand was a Late Night sweatshirt. He just stood there, holding it, and said, "If you ever need anything, don't call me."
A woman shouts her opposition to the health care overhaul at a health fair held in Austin, Texas. The health care debate is toxic, revealing a lot about us as a nation. And it feels embarrassing — like the whole world can see our underpants. Or hear us fighting in the kitchen. First, most of us can't describe accurately the details of the health care reform now under debate. That makes us look stupid or too busy to care. Second, most of us can't describe accurately the health care or insurance we currently have, so that makes us look kind of stupid, too, or lazy. Some of us don't care about people who don't have health insurance, so that makes us seem unsympathetic or super lucky. Most of us don't understand that we're already paying for people who don't have health care — which makes us too busy to care, in denial or merely rich. Some of us — a lot of us — already receive health care under some form of government plan, but don't believe in health care under some form of government plan. That makes us hypocritical or selfish. In some camps, I hear that makes us patriotic. A lot of us are a combination of these things: too busy, lazy, a bit stupid perhaps, lucky, unsympathetic, in-denial, really rich, hypocritical, selfish ... and patriotic. Brian Unger is a writer, satirist and actor. He helped launchThe Daily Show and he is a regular contributor to NPR. We're having an identity crisis when it comes to caring about the nation's health, which makes me think what we really need is psychotherapy. But, sadly, that's not covered under most health plans, if you have one at all. To many, health care reform is scary, like someone's building a halfway house for criminals right at their doorstep. It's a N.I.M.B.Y. ("Not In My Backyard") issue evolved into a N.O.M.B.O. ("Not On My Back, Obama") issue. People never change. But policy can, so our health care reformers must get more creative and visionary. How about a Cash for Clunkers Program? Not for cars, but for older, beat-up people whose bodies have wear and tear, and can't go long distances when they're filled with gas? Our government is offering us $4,500 to buy a new car. Can it also offer humans incentives — say, a tax break — to join a gym? To quit smoking? Or to buy produce from local farmers? Reward schools that teach kids how to eat right and exercise? You know, kind of like that class we used to offer kids called "gym." Let's pay people to stay healthy, instead of only paying for them when they get sick. Then maybe our nation will find its compassion, the one true antidote for its health care identity crisis.The Health Care Debate Is Making Me Sick
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This popular children's costume may soon become an anachronism. iStockphoto.com
Brian Unger is an acting journalist and a journalist who acts. He was an original correspondent and producer for Comedy Central's The Daily Show, a weekly contributor on NPR's Day to Day, and grew up landlocked in Ohio, the Cradle of Presidents, which fuels his cynicism.
All Things Considered, April 14, 2009 · The new pirate poses a terrible and legitimate threat for mariners, and a huge headache for the manufacturers of the top-selling Halloween costume, for Johnny Depp, and for Disney, which is now the world's biggest profiteer and glamorizer of pirates, the new terrorists. Walt is rolling over in his cryogenic grave.
Will librarians be forced to pull copies of Treasure Island from bookshelves? Will fast-food giant Long John Silver's close its doors? Will the Jonas Brothers, a Disney staple whose raucous cover of "Yo, Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)," praising an ocean-going life of robbing and kidnapping, have to end their careers sooner than we expected? One can only hope.
Passe is the villain with a wooden leg who had a vocabulary of one word: Arrrrgh! Anachronistic is the parrot on his shoulder: Caw! Now we Americans must undergo a huge cultural shift as we embark on the modern Global War on Pirates: GWOP.
As a nation, we are all thinking the same thing: The GWOP is going to be long and expensive.
And we're wondering, while still engaged in the Global War on Terrorism, or Overseas Contingency Operation, do we burden the U.S. Navy with a Global War on Pirates, or an On the High Seas Contingency Operation to combat marauding thugs on boats?
We admired the pirate of yore, portrayed by the likes of actor Geoffrey Rush in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, for his independent spirit, allowing no one to govern him, and for living by his own pirate's code.
But the nouvelle pirate is the Glenn Beck of the sea, a maritime libertarian — a "maritiarian" if you will — who is both militant and irritant, less interested in advancing an ideology and more interested in getting rich and getting a cheap thrill.
Let's not give credit to Islamic radicalism, but at least it wants to end Western influence in the Middle East. When it comes to terrorizing the sea, one man's pirate is another man's unemployed Somali bouncer — armed about as well as a 19th century bandit who picked off wagon trains along the Santa Fe Trail, but wearing Keds.
These swashbucklers commandeered a lifeboat within sniping distance of the USS Bainbridge, a guided missile destroyer. Pirates, meet the modern age.
And if you really want to sell your story, someone's got to walk the plank, and you're going to have to add a love story and some romance. You've got to have a hook, or at the very least, a Captain Hook.
