Let's be honest, one of the most talked‐about topics inside and outside of Hollywood is which celebrities have had work done. Then, of course, once we think we've unveiled who is having the work done, the next logical step is to decipher what exactly they've had done. Truthfully, back in the day it was much easier to figure out who had what done because you only had to deal with nose jobs, boob jobs, and facelifts.

Today the big three still exist, but now when you throw lip injections, liposuction, botox, fillers, chemical peels, and butt lifts into the mix, things can get a bit tricky. I prefer to keep it old school and just fluff my lips whenever the moment deems it necessary. Truth be told, at one time or another, everyone in Hollywood has had “something done,” and yes, you can add me to that list.

One of the perks of working for MTV when I did was that I got to travel and see parts of the world I otherwise never would've seen. On a beautiful June afternoon in 1995, I found myself on Waikiki Beach in Hawaii shooting Beach MTV with my friend, Daisy Fuentes. Not only were we there to shoot for MTV, but we were also there to attend the star‐studded opening of Planet Hollywood's newest restaurant. The things that took place at those openings could have had a six‐part NC‐17 Netflix documentary made about them alone. Gotta love the pre–social media 90s.

The way we shot Beach MTV was extremely freewheeling. The formula was basically this: Dan, do whatever the hell you want, just make sure to shut up right before Daisy says something like, “Dan you're stupid. Up next is I Get Knocked Down by Chumbawumba.” On this particular day, we were shooting with some beachgoers at a lifeguard stand and I chose to use some props for the bit. So as Daisy started the segment, I went into a massive first‐aid kit, pulled out a neck brace, and wore it for the remainder of the segment. When we finished what was maybe a minute and a half long bit, I was approached by two of our massive bodyguards, who were both native Hawaiians.

Suddenly things got pretty serious, I felt like I was in the episode of The Brady Bunch when Greg wore the tiki idol necklace and then busted his ass surfing. In a nutshell, they told me that wearing the neck brace when I didn't need it was not the wisest of choices due to the fact that it could invite some bad island mojo. I obviously didn't want to make the same mistake as Greg Brady, so I took off the neck brace, put it away and hopefully locked up any type of bad island mojo with it.

Later that night inside Planet Hollywood, there was a small group of celebrities who were in town for the opening the following night. Everyone was watching NBA playoff games and the pre‐partying had already commenced. Daisy and I were a part of the group, as was our manager, who was in town for the festivities as well. Nature was calling, so I excused myself to go to the restroom, which was downstairs at the bottom of a massive escalator. My attire for the evening needs to be noted—a black tank top (because I'm Italian and at the time, I thought I was buff), ripped jeans that were about 2 inches too long, and flip flops.

As I got on the top of the escalator I quickly calibrated the speed it was traveling, with the long distance to the bottom of it, compared to how badly I had to go to the bathroom. My bladder then made the executive decision to pick up the pace a bit. So, I began to sort of skip down the escalator. As a side note, grown men should never skip…anywhere. My skipping, added to the fact that the escalator was still moving, combined with my too‐long jeans clipping my flip flops, led me to not only lose my balance, but go stage diving toward the teeth near the bottom of the metal monster.

I recall getting my hands out in front of myself to break the fall, but again thanks to the escalator's ability to move its steps, this caused me to misjudge the timing as to when I felt the impact would occur. Therefore, my hands, which were supposed to break the fall, ended up by my side when the contact actually took place. Luckily my face was there to absorb the brunt of the fall, because only God knows where I'd be now if I would've cut up my hands instead.

After I landed, I remember immediately sitting up and literally saying “Fuck, I can't believe I just landed on my face.” Then, in a blur, someone grabbed me under my arms and dragged me into the front of the kitchen and left me on the floor, and someone else quickly gave me a giant bag of ice to put on my face.

In hindsight, the kitchen was probably not the smartest place to take a profusely bleeding man, but I needed all the help I could get at that point and it was greatly appreciated. (Thankfully they already had their restaurant hygiene grade, it was an A. Pretty sure after this incident they were graded O+.) We've all seen how bad guys bleed when they cut their faces shaving, so you can only imagine how good I was looking. My blue jeans were now red jeans.

In the chaos taking place around me, I recall hearing my manager racing into the kitchen frantically asking where I was. Once he found me, I took the ice bag from my face and said, “How bad is it?” to which he responded with a shrieking “Call 911!” The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance with paramedics, my manager, and a kind, older man who I assumed was a doctor due to the fact that he seemed to be sort of in charge from my blurred vantage point.

I don't really remember feeling any pain, but I do remember feeling oddly at ease. Maybe I was in shock, maybe the paramedics were the greatest actors ever, or maybe both. But I remember having an overwhelming feeling of calmness regarding my situation. This also may have been due to the fact that I hadn't seen myself in a mirror yet.

Just prior to our arrival at the Queens Medical Center hospital, there was a concern from my manager. He wanted to know if there would be a plastic surgeon on site to perform my surgery. I mean after all, I was a “mimbo” right? I kind of made my living with my face. Plus, it was approaching midnight on a Saturday night in Honolulu; it's not like plastic surgeons are just chillin' at the emergency room saying, “I might hang for another ten minutes or so just in case some dumb ass falls face‐first down an escalator.”

When we arrived, the older man in the ambulance let us know that a plastic surgeon, Dr. Benjamin Chu, would be meeting us there to perform the surgery. With my manager's fears somewhat put at ease, I was hurried into an operating room, where I was cleaned and prepped for surgery. It was at this point I begged to go to the restroom, having never had a chance to go before I ate a face‐full of escalator grate.

I was allowed to go in the bathroom just off of the operating room and that was when I saw myself for the first time. It's hard to explain what went through my mind as I stood alone in that silent room. I vaguely recognized the person who was looking back at me, not sure if I wanted to cry or kick myself in the ass for bringing on the bad island mojo. With my nose broken both across the bridge and down the side, my left nostril detached from my nose, only hanging by where the skin met my cheek and a plethora of gashes above my lip, I figured I should probably get back in the operating room as soon as possible to hopefully have Dr. Chu put Humpty together again.

I couldn't tell you how long the operation took, but I kind of remember the doctor talking about working in Pennsylvania while he stitched my face as if he was embroidering a pillow that said “Happiness is…”. After over 80 stitches were placed on both the inside and outside of my face, I do recall Dr. Chu telling me it was a good thing I had a big nose because it broke my fall and stopped me from crushing my cheekbones. Look at Chu with the jokes. Actually, I always believed there was probably some truth to that comment.

Then in the plot twist of the night, as Dr. Chu was leaving, I thanked him profusely and told him to also thank his friend, the older man from the ambulance for calling him. Dr. Chu then let me know he had no idea who the man was. He was just told that there was an emergency and that he needed to get to the hospital immediately. Later, we found out that the man wasn't a part of the paramedics medical team, either. They thought he was with my manager and me. So at this time I'd like to say, the only way to beat bad island mojo is with a good guardian angel. Or tell Ashton Kutcher that I need to see that lost episode of Punk'd where I break my face and The Hoff gets prosthetics, then goes all Touched by an Angel and saves the day.

Needless to say, I was not present at the Planet Hollywood Grand Opening the following night, although I'm pretty sure part of my DNA was still on the floor somewhere to represent me in spirit. Due to what was later explained to me as “some legal concerns,” I heard from none of the good people of Planet Hollywood. The one and only call I got was from Danny Glover, who was also in town for the opening. He was the lone person to pick up the phone and not just check on my face but truly be concerned with how I was doing. Without going too much into detail, just know he's about as real as they come and a straight‐up good human being. Which is a refreshing trait to see, not only in Hollywood, but anywhere in the world these days. Sometimes the smallest gestures are the ones that leave the largest impressions.

After basically hiding out in my house for six months waiting for all of the swelling to subside, I was finally able to have reconstructive surgery done for my nose and scaring. Thanks to another insanely talented plastic surgeon and one of the coolest people you'll ever meet, Dr. Harry Glassman I was able to get my face as close to Mimbo playing shape as possible.

After all these years have passed, I look back on that particular night and realize something. That fall that I took, one that many may consider such a negative experience, was actually quite the opposite. As I stood alone in a Queens Medical Center bathroom, looking in the mirror at my shredded face prior to my surgery, I was overcome with a sense of gratitude. I was grateful that the accident wasn't worse than it was and it was also the first time in my life that I realized the extreme importance of living life in the moment. People like to say, “There's always tomorrow,” but that's not necessarily true. One thing that is true is that there is always right now. So with that realization, I made sure I absorbed every single thing about that point in time as I looked in the mirror (Figure 23.1).

We hear “live in the moment” so often, but it's much easier said than done. Because to truly live in the moment, you have to be present for all of them, not just the good ones. But if you're able to do so, you can find beauty where you may have otherwise never thought it could exist.

The truth is, we've all “fallen down our own escalator” in life, some of us more often than others. It's not how we fall down that matters but how we get back up, how we learn, and how we move on. Live life, love life, appreciate life—one dream, one escalator, one moment at a time.