Jon Stewart and "The Daily Show"

What to do, what to do. I could go sit for 12 hours in the hot sun in Iowa's high-altitude seats at Mile High Field (how DO flatland players catch their breaths?). I could, well, go hiking or shopping. No, that's not okay; I'm at work here. Ah, I'll play the hero, give my Invesco Field pass to a student I know who's dying to go--and I'll fill the empty "fieldwork" slot at "The Daily Show."

Now, I didn't learn all their inside secrets. I'm just going to tell you how it goes for the audiences.

Taping is at about 5 pm Denver time. Stand-bys (and for that, you actually have to print out a "stand-by" pass) are already there when I arrive at 1 pm for my gig. The stand-by line is off to one side with all the equipment trucks and Johnny-on-the-Spots (in a way, not a bad location--about which, more coming up). They're in the sun at first, but they propose a deal where their line is up against a stone wall with a smidgeon of shade. The so-New-York gals honchoing everything agree. Shade it is.

The people with "tickets", which are print-outs from online, stand in a different line. It's longer and it's unabashedly in the sun. For the first few hours, people use huge umbrellas and fold-up chairs and the wise ones brought a picnic or a novel. Then show-time approaches (at 3 pm) and I'm sent down the line with a message. I shout it at intervals.

"Okay, they sent me to tell you the scoop. We get to go into an air-conditioned spot in about 20 minutes." There's cheering. "Now's the time to take all your large items back to your cars. Inside, it's no drinks, no gum, no cameras, no cellphones, no food. AND it's last call for the restroom." (I don't know so I can't tell them, we have about five more last call bathroom breaks, even one after they're seated in the studio. You can't believe how many people suddenly have to go, as soon as you tell them they can't for the next hour.)

The 20 minutes stretch to 40. Meanwhile, people with VIP and SuperVIP passes are "wanded" through security and sent to wait in a makeshift lounge (padded benches added to a hall, closed with black curtains on a portable trellis).

The regular audience and I are wilting.

Some guy comes along with a little golf cart and boxes of promotional t-shirts for a Mexican restaurant. They're grey and they say "Burritos for Obama" and "Tacos for Obama". The supply is marvelously endless and he parks and hands out goodies every very yards. The women and kids want them. The guys aren't quite sure. Taco for Obama? !

We're all wilted like a stir-fried batch of greens when finally, the New Yorkers (wild fun hair, tight jeans, sleeveless t's, and attitude) come out with the "tickets". These are laminated numbers.

I know what you're thinking; don't even try it. First off, they're in weird colors. Second, they don't start at number 1. And third, everyone in line knows EXACTLY who is in front of and behind them by now. After all this time, they're BFFs (best friends forever). Good thing, too, because they'll be sitting together in the holding theater and again in the studio. This operation has to be carefully handled to be strictly fair or you KNOW there would be hard feelings.

Everyone with a legit ticket gets a number, in order. This takes a while, with 300 people now lined up clear around the block.

I'm sent to issue another last call for the bathroom. Lots of people suddenly realize they need to go.

From here, the audience goes through careful security. It's slow and tedious and necessary. After this, location of everyone is known and watched by a cadre of security people. You can imagine why, in these days.

We wait and cool off and review the rules and make a few jokes in a nice cool theater.

Finally, everyone moves, in numerical order, to the studio, in small groups.

I'm not in there yet so I don't know how that's done. I will be upstairs in the balcony with the last folks in the ticket line and the stand-bys who really, really wanted to see the show. Me and the stand-bys will be standing up the whole time. I'm tired but psyched; they're tired but psyched.

The theater has been remade. The sets are/seem super sturdy, nothing like the community theater "flats" of my youth. Sound system is beyond great. Lighting is complex and amazing. Their crews must be the uber-crews! Hundreds of ceiling lights and mics, all doing something useful, aimed in 100s of directions; backlit set elements; hanging screens mounted from the ceiling so the audience can actually see the taped footage that goes with the Stewart anchoring. Hanging mics to capture live audience response... Fantastic!

Now we're in, they practice the downstairs folks with the audience-boom-camera, so no one gets bonked on the head when it cruises over.

A pushy, funny NY comic Paul Mecurio warms the audience up. (Or heats them up, I'm not sure which.) He was great.

We practice cheering. I'm realizing why men like to go to sporting events. Where else can you yell as loud as your voice will let you, without getting arrested or carted off to the loony bin? We're enjoying the yelling when Jon Stewart comes in.

Consumate professional. Funny on the fly as he is on camera. Taller than I expected, even given we know he's tall from television.

Biggest surprise? Something we should all have known. This is a daily show, after all. They're writing it on the fly. Even as Stewart does a segment, they're off at stage right frantically scribbling notes. Between segments, they consult. Once, there's a do-over where a word didn't come out right. That's all though. They could darn near go live. It's professional, it's quick, it's smart, it's well-managed. (No, there are no backstage horror stories to tell. Everyone's working hard to make a great show, but I was around a long time and there was no yelling, no sniping, no none of that.

We loved the show. What can I say? Why else were we there to start with?