Friday questions of the week (plural):

Several questions this week. You keep askin’, I’ll keep answerin’.

From MB:

In both comedies and dramas why are married couples most often shown sleeping in full-sized beds rather than queen or king? I think I understand why not king (the bed would take up too much room on the set). I do remember the days when a married couple couldn't be shown in a bed together at all but it has been a long time since two twin-sized beds was the norm.

Easier to shoot, easier to light, takes up less room, and sets always look bigger on camera. But at least couples can now sleep in the same bed. Rob Petrie must’ve been the most frustrated husband in America. No wonder he was always tripping over things. And then standards & practices allowed couples to be together in bed as long as one had their foot on the floor. So I guess the zealot church groups and parents committees deemed that doggie style was acceptable.

From Sebastian:

I was wonderering since you seem to write everything on your Blog alone but have written a lot about writing with your partner in the last couple of days, would you consider your Blog only half as good, totally different, just as funny but in a different way? And where's your partner's blog? Does he have one? And if not why not? :-)

His would probably be funnier. Here’s an example of a post he wrote. But he has no interest in blogging. He has a life.

From Paul:

Here's a weird question for you. I know you wrote a few episodes of Wings, but I'm not sure if you were on set often or not. I've heard that Paramount's Stage 19, where the show was filmed, was haunted. Did you ever hear anyone on the show talking about that?

I have heard that and from time to time have been scared to death on that stage but it was always due to live actors. They did film the movie GHOST on that stage. But there have been some very successful shows shot there. LAVERNE & SHIRLEY and WINGS to name just two (the only two I know). We also shot the pilot of ALMOST PERFECT on Stage 19.

If there’s a haunted stage at Paramount I would say it’s 32. I personally have directed the final episode of four series on that stage. Wait a minute… maybe it’s me.


From Chad:

Is there a character you've written for whose comic voice most perfectly aligns with your own?

There were elements of me in the Chip Zien “Gary” character in ALMOST PERFECT and Adam Arkin’s “Marshall” in BIG WAVE DAVE’S. So when America didn’t make those shows big hits they were rejecting me personally. Not that I hold a grudge.


And finally, one from DwWashburn (I wonder if it’s the same guy the Monkees sang about):

Many sitcoms used to end their tags with a freeze frame over which the beginning of the end credits was superimposed. Did the director instruct the actors to "ham it up" or something else significant so that an interesting pose or facial expression could be used in that freeze frame.

God, I used to hate that practice. None of my shows ever employed it. Directors didn’t have to instruct the actors in those shows. Most of them mugged shamelessly anyway. Plus if you hit pause at practically any moment you will find the actors frozen in goofy poses and expressions. Hey, maybe more people would warm to Katie Couric if she ended each newscast like that.

The Olympics? Again?

Really, where have the four years gone? Friday is the gala opening ceremonies of the Olympics which is really the Orange Bowl halftime show but with many nations. All that will be missing is Micahel Buble singing “One moment in time”. But it is fun to watch with your kids…until you ask them where some of these countries are. Many American students today can’t even tell you where Canada is, so good luck asking if they’ve ever heard of Lesotho.

Since the Olympics are in Beijing, China (no kids, that’s not in Europe) a lot of the televised events will be tape delayed in America, which is confusing on the one hand but a great way to get rich on the other. Just get the results on-line then bet your friends. I can’t tell you how much money I made last time on the Equestrian events alone!

Personally, I root for the athletes of the dinky countries (home to most of my blog readers). I say “Go Kyrgyzstan! On Tuvalu! Let’s hear it for Qatar! Hail Hail Freedonia!

I love that once every four years these dots on the map can send their best three or four guys to compete with the world.

You do have to wonder however, what kind of TV coverage they have in these tiny nations. While we get thousands of hours on multiple channels and endless streaming I imagine Kyrgyzstan just gave high jumper Tatyana Efimenko a camera-phone and said shoot what you can. (She’s pretty hot by the way.)

You gotta love the little guys. After Puerto Rico stomped our dream team don’t you wish that Togo had a men’s basketball squad?

And talk about a story to inspire the human spirit -- What if, somehow, just somehow Tatyana Efimenko or Oksana Hatamkhanova won a Gold Medal?

It would be like the time the US won one in the Winter Olympics.

From radio to TV and back

Jay Thomas played goalie Eddie LeBec on CHEERS. But of course he’s best remembered as Susan Dey’s love interest in that smoldering romantic comedy LOVE & WAR. I’ve known Jay for thirty years. At one time we were disc jockeys together at the same station. His name came up at a dinner party (shows you the swinging parties I go to) and someone wondered if Jay was the biggest name to go from radio to television?

Aside from Ronald Reagan (and we all know that tired baseball recreation yarn) who became President of the United States (a position I suppose would qualify as most successful), I’d have to say actor-wise, Bob Crane. Throughout the early ‘60’s he was the morning man on KNX, Los Angeles before leaving to star in HOGAN’S HEROES. Radio remained in his blood, however, as evidenced by his obsession with porn.

A number of celebs got their start on the wireless. Gary Owens, certainly. He remained on KMPC, Los Angeles even during his LAUGH IN days. David Letterman’s career began as a platter spinner in Indiana (imitating Gary Owens). Wink Martindale was a jock before becoming a game show host, but I don’t know if game show host counts. Same with Jim Lange.

Dick Clark built an empire. So did Norman Lear (If I told you he wrote for the Martha Raye show would you even know who that was?)

Tennessee Ernie Ford spun the hits on KFXM in San Bernardino before his “sixteen tons” of fame. And Sly Stone was a GREAT jock in Oakland before forming the “family” band and taking four thousand drugs.

Robert David Hall, the coroner on CSI hailed originally from radio. And Marv Albert took your requests and dedications of WOLF, Syracuse prior to becoming the voice and toupee of the NBA.

A number of old time radio writers made the switch, none more successful or gifted than Larry Gelbart.

The late (and I miss him already) George Carlin toiled on KDAY, Santa Monica back in the day. Where do you think he got the thirteen things you can’t say on the air?

I’m sure you know of one or two (or thirty) that I missed.

Interestingly, a number of celebs are going the other way, from music and TV careers into radio. Steve Harvey, Smokey Robinson (who could talk right up to vocals with the best of ‘em), Chaka Kahn, Sinbad, Al Franken, Chad Stuart (from Chad & Jeremy) Steve Van Zandt, Janine Garafolo, Isaac Hayes, Ramsey Lewis, Tom Petty, and now, incredibly, Bob Dylan (on XM). And radio to TV people have returned to radio, if only to dabble in it. I'm doing Dodger stuff and KABC and Jay Thomas is back on the air on Sirius. At least to hear me you don't have to pay.

We’ve all got to come from somewhere. As a comedy writer, I found radio to be an invaluable training ground. You learn to be creative on-demand each and every day. You learn to be brief. You learn to be funny within a specific format. You learn how to file for unemployment.

And best of all, once you get out of radio to do something else you’ll find you finally get the respect among radio people you never received when you were actually working in radio. The best thing that could have ever happened for my radio career was to get into television.

And maybe the flip side will be true too. Maybe Al Franken will become the senator of Minnesota. That’s almost as good as President.

The DARK KNIGHT

I thought I'd wait until most of you saw it.
Why would anyone live in Gotham City? Jesus! You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting six mob bosses. And then there’s the town’s super psycho villain – they couldn’t find someone a little more aesthetically pleasing? Children watch those televised truck chases too, y’know. And Juneau appears to have more daytime in the winter than Gotham City. Does it get dark everyday at noon?

The skyline is harsh and impersonal. All that’s missing are smokestacks and an American Girl Place Experience.

No wonder a suped-up roadster/tank can get around in relative ease and drive at 100 mph through heavily populated city streets. Until Allstate offers “explosion insurance”, who wants to drive at night there?

Not that I feel sorry for the citizens. They have this superhero who seems to save them from annihilation every few weeks and he’s less popular than Andruw Jones with Dodger fans. What does a bat have to do to get some love in that kooky town?

And how stupid are these criminals? Why not just move their operations to Scottsdale. Let’s see how well Batman and Spiderman fly around when the tallest building is a four story Holiday Inn.

I don’t know what’s a worse job – Police Commissioner of Gotham City or President of their Tourist Bureau. Note to summer sight-seers: stay off the ferries.

Quick aside: Wouldn’t you love to see AMERICAN IDOL open auditions in Gotham City? Paula would be mistaken for the Joker.

I used to think the Joker was a brilliant mastermind until I realized a number of his fiendish plots were a direct lift from SAW.

DARK KNIGHT was a fun ride and Heath Ledger steals the movie (and everything else). But is it just me? I’m reaching the superhero saturation point. I’ve sympathized enough with tortured reluctant caped crusaders. And these movies all seem to turn on the heroes’ inability to kill the mass murderer psychopath villain because of some “code”. That doesn’t seem real. Oh… wait. We’re talking about guys who wear spandex suits and can fly – strike that last objection.

DARK KNIGHT is worth seeing but please Hollywood, no more comic books. The only character left is Bazooka Joe.

A day in the life of covering Manny Ramirez

Now that Britney Spears is wearing underwear and O.J. Simpson is on trial somewhere else, LA has been desperate for a good story. Thank God for Manny Ramirez! When the Boston Red Sox unloaded their twelve-time All-star future Hall-of-Famer to the Dodgers for essentially a day pass to Universal Studios, it set off the kind of mass media hysteria normally reserved for the Pope’s visit or the premiere of THE LOVE GURU.

As co-host of Dodger Talk with Josh Suchon on KABC radio in Los Angeles I was at Dodger Stadium for Manny’s big debut. Join me as I relive that day. Kudos to the Dodgers P.R. staff for essentially organizing the Yalta Conference on two hour’s notice. Incredibly, everything ran smoothly. They deserve the game balls.
2:45

I arrived at the Stadium, five hours before game time. A press conference was scheduled for 4:00 on the field behind home plate. Camera crews were already setting up. This was going to be televised live across America and Korea. The Press Box, usually empty at this hour was already buzzing. Dedicated sports journalists who I hadn’t seen since opening day were catching up with one another. Has it really been two months since the NBA Finals?

KABC has its own booth in the Press Box (conveniently located next to the storage room) where we do our nightly post-game talk show. But today the station’s afternoon show would emanate from there as well, so it was like the Germans invading Paris.

3:30

Went downstairs to the Dodger Clubhouse. It was packed with reporters. Players asked such questions as “What do you think about Manny joining the team?” and “You are who again?” I hung with Hiroki Kuroda because he seemed lonely.

3:45

Ventured out to the field where the assembled crowd was now larger than the AMERICAN IDOL open auditions. Every local TV outlet was represented, usually with three-person crews – the cameraman in T-shirt and shorts, the on-air guy in a suit, and a smoking hot producer (although I’m sure each producer has a doctorate or at least a masters in Communication). There were some super hot on-air reporters too, just back from Iraq I’m sure. A few Boston scribes were in attendance, their last precious chance to get in a slam piece on Manny.

There was a cluster of reporters around wine maker Tommy Lasorda, obviously all wondering how he can get his Montepulcian D’Abruzzo to be so playfully articulate. Another group surrounded Manny’s uber agent Scott Boras. The answer to every question required a dollar amount.

4:00

It must have been 100 degrees. The Dodgers couldn’t get Manny in May?

Security personnel in intimidating white Dodger golf shirts parted the crowd as the rock star himself, Manny Ramirez appeared and walked to the makeshift podium. He expressed his excitement at playing in L.A. beginning every sentence with “As I said…” I wanted to ask, “Manny, as you said when?” He ducked all the Boston questions (big surprise) but the media had more important issues to address – would he cut his dreadlocks and why was he wearing number 99? He said he would be getting a trim as per manager Joe Torre’s request to which one reporter asked, “Are you going to be selling your hair on ebay?”

He answered many of the questions in Spanish. A Japanese reporter was standing next to me furiously jotting down his answers.

One journalist offered to give Manny a tour of Los Angeles which he graciously declined saying “I bought a navigation system.”

Another asked if he would pursue acting. There may have been one or two actual baseball related questions but I can’t think of any.

4:30

After the Press Conference the team took batting practice and 4,000 cameras clicked as Manny dribbled a ground ball to third. The Pulitzer committee will have to determine which was the best.

4:45

Joe Torre met with reporters in the dugout. Pushing room only. After a barrage of Manny questions the guys who cover the team more than twice a year began asking about other players and you'd think someone yelled "Fire!" By the end there were the usual ten of us.

6:00

The gates opened and the crowd started pouring in. 12,000 tickets were purchased within the last 24 hours. Manny Mania is real. The last time the fans were this excited was fleece blanket night a few years ago.

I went back up to the Press Box. Josh and I did an hour pre-game show on KABC. The afternoon host was promoting our program all day, constantly mispronouncing my name even though he was corrected fifty times. It’s great to have the respect of your colleagues.

We interviewed Dodgers General Manager, Ned Colletti about the trade. Two days ago our callers all wanted him drawn & quartered and then fired. Today he’s the best G.M. ever.

I did a bit where I called my wife on the air and asked if I could bring home a houseguest for the next few months. She was happy to have Manny stay with us but did have some conditions. He would have to do chores, not sleep in our room, and keep kosher. I said she would have to negotiate with Scott Boras.

Lost in all this hoopla was that the Dodgers were playing the Diamondbacks – the greatest rivalry in sports.

7:00

Ducked into the Press Lounge for dinner. Jammed. Couldn’t get a seat.

7:30

The stadium was packed. S.R.O. Quite a contrast from a week ago when the Dodgers hosted the Washington Nationals. Took my normal spot on press row just in time for the National Anthem, painfully and interminably performed by some sitcom star I had never heard of. P.A. announcer Eric Smith (whose voice is so deep he makes God sound like Betty Boop) launched into the starting lineups. Enthusiastic applause. When Manny’s name was announced the place went bonkers. Three players later Andruw Jones’ name was met with 55,000 boos – just because he’s having the worst offensive season in the history of baseball and making $36 million. This was a rough crowd.

8:02

Manny stepped to the plate for the first time as a Dodger. The crowd went wild. I was disappointed his intro music wasn’t “Dirty Water” or “Sweet Caroline”. Manny grounded out. Still, a huge cheer.

8:18

Andruw Jones’ first at-bat. Booooooo! Called strike three. BOOOOOO!!

8:53

Manny’s second at-bat. Single to left. Thunderous applause. You’d think it was another earthquake.

9:02

Diamondback Chris Burke hit a ball over the shortstop’s head to left. Manny loped over too late to cut it off and the single became a triple. Not a lot of applause for that play.

9:11

Andruw Jones’ second at-bat. Strike three swinging. BOOOOOO!

9:40

Manny’s third at-bat. Slow roller to the right of the mound. He legs it out for a single. The crowd was about to cheer when Dodger runner Matt Kemp got tagged out for getting stuck between two bases. The fans didn’t know what to do.

9:53

Andruw Jones’ third-at-bat. Ground out to third. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

10:28

Bottom of the 9th. Dodgers down by a run. Runner at first. Nobody out. And who should step to the plate but Manny Ramirez The noise was deafening. Not a single person had left the park. The stage was set for one of those classic heroic endings you would remember your whole life.

Manny grounded into a double play.

10:31

Dodgers lose 2-1.

10:50

Back in the booth to do post game Dodger Talk. My kind of audience. 50,000 people trapped in parking lots.

12:05

Walked out of the park. Tonight was a throwback to eras past, when Koufax and Drysdale and Fernando and Hershiser and Gibson thrilled capacity crowds, and Dodger baseball was the most exciting attraction in Los Angeles. I miss those glory days. I really do. Hopefully Manny can rekindle them. I’m starting to think Andruw Jones can’t.

See you at beautiful Dodger Stadium. But get your tickets now.

The 5-2 draft

So my partner and I have written the script. We’re very happy with it. Been over it several times. It’s ready to turn in.

But first –

The 5-2 draft.

We always make one final pass and do the following – add 5 great jokes, take out 2 pages.

You can always lift two pages. You may not think so but you can. Every big speech can be trimmed. Most joke runs have one or two that are not as good as the others. Lose ‘em. Comb through the dialogue. I bet you’ll find some unnecessary lines.

“Where you going?” “The market. I haven’t shopped all week.” “Will you get some orange juice?” “Sure.” “Bye.” “See ya.”

...can be replaced with “Off to the market. Will get you your O.J.”

Take a machete to your stage directions too. This is no time to be John Updike.

And now look for spots for five more killer jokes. Some of our most memorable lines (even though I can’t remember them now) have come at this eleventh hour. Maybe you've got a good joke that could be better. Maybe there are places for jokes you just sort of skipped over before.

And yes, you might be saying but then we're adding stuff in addition to losing pages. That's right. So maybe it should be the 5-2 1/3 draft.

The bottom line is: even your best script still can be improved. The 5-2 draft is something that just seemed to evolve as we gained more experience. Other teams might have a 1-7 draft or a 3-2 draft. You're in trouble if it's a 40-10.

And after you’ve done your 5-2 draft, turn the Goddamn thing in already and don’t obsess over it. You’ve done all you can do. Go out and get a pizza.

My favorite weekend

The Thursday Calendar section of the LA TIMES always has a feature called “My Favorite Weekend”. A celebrity is asked to describe his or her favorite southland weekend. It’s always bullshit, but now it seems they’re running out of real celebrities. At one time it was Sharon Stone. Now it's one of the models who holds briefcases on DEAL OR NO DEAL. Like anyone gives a crap that she likes to go to Catalina with friends on Sunday then have dinner at someone’s house and let his chef prepare the meal.

So I wrote up my favorite weekend. Or at least, a typical weekend for me. And God bless the TIMES, they ran it. Here it is again just in case you're looking for something to do today and tomorrow.

Friday I like to get an early start and hit the cockfights in Tijuana. I enjoy the action and it’s fun to see all the young couples out on their first dates.

From there I’ll go to the Hotel Del Coronado for a swim to wash any blood off.

There’s a Stuart Anderson’s Black Angus restaurant in Oceanside right off Interstate 5. They have a three-course dinner for two that includes two sides. And on Friday you can get their signature clam chowder, just like the cowboys used to make.

Saturday morning I power walk from Westwood to Malibu, get the paper, then power walk home. Along the way I may stop at artist friend’s house and pose for a bust.

For lunch I’ll meet some ex car thieves at Bob’s Big Boy in Toluca Lake. Their Big Boy hamburger is an LA classic, but I order their Super Big Boy hamburger because that one has meat in it.

After lunch and checking to see that one of my dining companions didn’t steal my XM radio, I amble over to the Twin Swallows Oriental Massage Parlor in nearby Inglewood for some pampering at negotiated rates.

Once that ends happily I head back home to work on my “project”. It’s been a ten year labor of love. I’m assembling a table I bought at Ikea in 1998.

For drinks at sunset, especially in the summer when the sky turns an awe inspiring crimson, I prefer the bar at the Shangri-La motel at the beach. Only wish it had a window so I could see outside.

If I went whale hunting the week before I’ll come home and grill it for dinner. I’ll invite some close friends I met on MySpace and we’ll eat, discuss the theater, sample fine wines, and toss water balloons at the useless neighborhood watch patrol car.

Early Sunday morning I reserve for calling back everyone who called me during the week. For some reason I usually wind up leaving messages on their voice mail. I’ve yet to reach my dentist.

For breakfast I’m cutting down on eggs so it’s back to the Shangri-La motel bar for a Ramos Gin Fizz. Those eggs can kill you.

Next I steal a horse and play polo at Will Rogers State Park. The guys love me because I usually bring the little orange juice boxes when we break for snacks.

I love star watching so for lunch I zip out to the Motion Picture Country Home and Hospital in Woodland Hills. Last week I saw the remaining cast members of MCHALE’S NAVY.

Sunday afternoon is culture time. You can’t be well informed if you don’t read. Currently I’m poring through Helen Reddy’s autobiography.

Sunday evening is sushi so that means Angel Stadium in Anaheim. There’s nothing like watching the Halos duel the Kansas City Royals and hearing that vendor come down the aisle yelling “Hey, sushi right here! Get yer yellowtail!”

I get home, use the neighbor’s Jacuzzi if he’s not home, watch the CELEBRITY FIT CLUB and then it’s time for bed. The great thing about LA is that it’s not just me – EVERYONE here has weekends like this.

Friday question of the week

Today’s Q is from Dgm:

Beyond finding a good writing partner, how do you keep one? What happens when one wants to fly solo for a while or to "see other people" for certain projects? Do you address those issues up front in some sort of pre-nup-like agreement, or do you wait for the shit to hit the fan?

I can only speak for me and my partner, David. We generally write everything head-to-head, both sitting in a room together. But early on we decided to take one script assignment a season and split it up, one writing the first act and the other writing the second. We’d then put the two together and polish them together. The point was to feel confidant writing on our own. That way our partnership is one of choice not dependency.

The best partnerships have built-in flexibility. I won’t say “as you grow as artists” because the minute you think of yourself as an “artist” you’re destined to write “Tidy Bowl” commercials in five years, but as you fight the windmill that is showbiz your interests often do splinter somewhat. One may want to direct, write plays, or the far more common – desire to become a baseball announcer. Allow each other some room.

But make sure if you want to do something apart from the partnership you discuss beforehand. Don’t just spring it on him: “Oh, by the way, I’m going to polish the LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy so I’ll be in New Zealand for the next two years starting tomorrow but I think they have cell service there.”

The key to a good partnership is that you have each other’s back. There will be times when you’ll have personal shit to deal with (your kids will only fall out of trees when a pilot is due) and he covers for you and likewise expect periods where you may have to shoulder the load while he’s in prison.

And most important: You both stand by the work you turn in together. The fastest way to end a partnership is to throw your partner under the bus during a notes meeting. “Yep, I told him it wouldn’t work.” By the time you’ve said “him” he’s texting that weird but funny guy at Starbucks asking if he wants to team up.

There will always be hurdles, tough patches. Our partnership is tested every Superbowl, World Series, Rose Bowl, and NBA Finals. We have never rooted for the same team once in over thirty years. That we’re still talking to each other much less writing together is a miracle.

What’s your question???

Netflix pick of the month: FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH

If SUPER BAD was super good than FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH was super better. Long before there was Judd Apatow there was Cameron Crowe. Adapted from his book, Cameron’s high school coming-of-age movie set in the early 80s remains a comic classic. Yes, it’s similar in tone to SUPER BAD but the raunch here is done more elegantly. Equal credit goes to screenwriter Cameron Crowe and director Amy Heckerling (who clearly got it).

Sean Penn, known for being the most intense angst-ridden, actor in America (who has never met a scene he couldn’t have a screaming emotional meltdown in), actually gives one of the most inspired and original COMIC performances I’ve ever seen on film. He plays a stoned out surfer, Jeff Spicoli and every minute he’s on the screen is comic gold. I wonder why he never does comedies anymore. Did Madonna screw that up too?

Sean’s foil is Everyone’s Favorite Martian, Ray Walston as Mr. Hand, that history teacher who is so rigid he can crack walnuts with his butt cheeks.

Jennifer Jason-Leigh gives one of her earliest and best performances. She was really good until she started thinking so herself. A young Forrest Whittaker, Eric Stoltz, Nicolas Cage, and Anthony Edwards (with hair!) also appear. Not many teen sex romps feature three future Oscar winners (four if your count Cameron Crowe).

And then there’s Phoebe Cates. Some actors are forever identified with classic film moments in which they appeared – Bogart’s final speech in CASABLANCA, Peter Finch yelling “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!” from NETWORK, Brando’s anguished pleas to “Stella! Stell-llla!” in STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE. Phoebe Cates will always be remembered and revered for coming out of a swimming pool.

To me the only weak link in the movie was Judge Reinhold. I just don’t get him. Whenever he’s on screen my eyes just naturally drift to the extras or scenery, or film scratches.

But on the whole FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH is (in the words of Spicoli) totally gnarly. It somehow manages to be funny, serious, touching, silly, heartbreaking, groundbreaking, wise, and real. And even if you don’t give a shit about any of that, the soundtrack rocks! Jackson Browne, the Cars, Sammy Hager, Jimmy Buffet, Led Zepplin, and as if that wasn’t enough -- Oingo Boingo, ladies and gentlemen!

Hey, if nothing else, you’ve got to love a movie where Sean Penn says, “People on ludes should not drive.”

There must be some mistake. I didn't write that.

Part two of yesterday's post. My memoirs of 1964. This one is filed under the heading: Idiotic things I have done.

…there was Dana.

I was always in love with someone at that age (14 and I was already listening to Sinatra and getting blues in the night). In the 9th grade it was Dana. I was completely smitten by this little blond shiksa goddess. She was the perfect California Surfer Girl (except she never surfed, had alabaster skin, and was kind of a stuck up bitch). But that combo worked for me.

I may have been a nerd but I wasn’t one of those Cliff Clavin- afraid-to-talk- to-girls- without-peening-on-themselves types. I could say hello to girls I had a crush on. Even Dana. She was usually aloof but I didn’t know if that was personal or just her general raging bitchiness.

Two years earlier I had written the then-classmate-of-my-affection a birthday letter and kinda casually mentioned I thought she was the most beautiful creature who ever lived. She found it very endearing and even wrote me back. So I figured, why tell Dana how I felt about her in person and possibly trip on my tongue when I could just convey my feelings in a letter? I spent a good week crafting that letter, rewriting it endlessly until every sentence was a work of art, every sentiment expressed with pinpoint perfection. Very proud of myself, I slipped it in her locker.

What a colossal mistake.

The next day in class, not only did Dana snub me, she passed around my letter to all of her friends. Why didn’t she just set me on fire? That would have been so much quicker. I was the complete laughing stock of the 9th grade.

And how do you save face from something like that? Say there was someone going around forging my name… and handwriting? Claim to be on major psychotropic drugs? Say it was really meant for Dana Delaney? I was so dead. Today the letter would be posted on line and girls from Malaysia would be laughing at me.

For weeks the snickering behind my back continued. Thank God David Millstein took the pressure off by being caught with Maiden Form bra ads in his binder.

Not that that whole Dana experience left any lasting scars or anything, but I have never written another heartfelt love letter. Ever. To anyone.

Aw, school days. Good times.

Earthquake

...so I've driving through West L.A. at around 11:45 and I hear the announcer on the radio say "Whoa! We just had a big earthquake!" "Huh?" I said, "We did?" I didn't feel a thing. Turns out it was a 5.6, centered in Orange County. Yikes! But I'm fine and there was no noticeable damage in my area. My cable was even still working.

Free Frank Sinatra Jr.!

Here's another installment of the memoirs I'm writing -- growing up in the 60s in the San Fernando Valley. It's a look at a turbulent decade from the perspective of a normal kid with a warped view of the world. Hopefully it will bring back memories or make you glad you grew up in a different time.

My typical day in March, 1964.

Got up at 6:30, showered and put on my clothes. There was a strict dress code. Collared shirts, tucked in, long pants – no jeans. Girls were required to wear skirts. My usual outfit was a white shirt, dark pants, and sweater buttoned up the front. No pocket protector because gee, I would look like a nerd then.

There were two gangs (in the loosest form of the word) at Parkman Jr. High – the Surfers and the Greasers. Surfers tended to wear flannel Pendleton shirts and Greasers (car enthusiasts) wore leather. On rare occasions they would fight under the freeway bridge (over what I don’t know. Waves are better than drag strips? Who gives a shit?) I was in neither gang. I associated with no one in either gang. Wearing sweaters usually signified guys who spent a lot of time in their rooms.

At 7:00 I would wolf down a bowl of Special K then pour myself a heaping glass of Carnation Instant Breakfast. The more wasted calories the better! Summer was coming and I wanted to be up to 131 pounds, maybe even 132. After all, I was 6' 2".

Time permitting I would glance at the sports section. LA had two major newspapers – the Times and the less popular Examiner. Since the Times wouldn’t hire my late grandfather to be a type-setter in the early 40s our family refused to give those bastards a dime. We always subscribed to the Examiner. That was fine with me. Better sports section with a great cartoonist, Karl Hubenthal. The Times had a better news bureau but so what? What kid reads the news?

We now had Grandpappy in the White House. Lyndon Johnson might become a great president but he wasn’t JFK. There were reports that we were sending more “advisors” to somewhere called Viet Nam but that was still pretty much under the radar.

The only story I was really following was the Frank Sinatra Jr. kidnapping case. Imagine someone trying to get back at the Corleone family so they abduct Fredo. The three nimrods who pulled off this harebrain caper were found guilty by a federal jury and sentenced to life plus 75 years (for stupidity), which is still getting off easier than if Frank had doled out justice "his way". My interest was really sparked because the buffoons’ hideout was just a few blocks from my house. It’s not often that our little berg got national attention. But I’m sure if Frank Jr. were forced to come to Woodland Hills, he’d still prefer to be tied up in a house than to play the lounge at the Woodlake Bowling Alley.

At 7:20 I walked down to the corner of Burbank and Shoup and waited for my ride to school. My best friend at the time was Gary. His older sister Gail went to Taft High and had her own car. I think it was a ’49 Ford. I dunno, it looked like something out of Toon Town. Parkman was on the way to Taft so she graciously gave us a lift every morning. I’m certain Gary’s mother made her. To get home I was supposed to take the bus down Ventura Blvd. but saved money by hitch-hiking. I never feared for my safety. It was either safer times or I’m lucky I’m not all hacked up and stored in mason jars in some nut’s basement.

Parkman Jr. High was a typical sprawling complex, with single story classroom buildings, a gym, cafeteria, library, auditorium, and just enough trees to differentiate it from a prison. If you’ve seen THE KARATE KID, it’s like that school.

First I had to report to Homeroom. That’s where we heard announcements about school dances no one would be caught dead at, and reminders that the school nurse would be in Thursday from 10 till noon so get sick accordingly.

Off to English with Mr. Lucey. It was here I first wrote my book report for “The Great Escape” that I would continue to submit all the way through college. It averaged a C+ at Taft High and an A- at UCLA.

History followed with Mr. Sima. He was one of the best teachers I ever had. I don’t remember a lot of what he taught but that’s my fault. To force us to follow current events he gave a weekly multiple choice quiz provided by those bastards at the L.A. Times. In preparation I would watch the George Putnam newscast on KTTV, Channel 11 the night before. George (pictured left) was an L.A. institution, and the inspiration for the blowhard Ted Baxter character on the MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW. One night I tuned in, George looked straight into the camera, and bellowed in a booming voice, “Alan Ladd is DEAD!!!!”

“AAAAAAA!” I screamed and almost fell off the couch. George scared the shit out of me. And I didn’t even really know who Alan Ladd was.

I will say this for George Putnam. He could read the teleprompter and never make a mistake, never even stumble. It was amazing. Long names that looked like eye charts, tongue-twister sentences – it made no difference. He was flawless. Always. Unfortunately, unless a test question was “Alan Ladd is… A) Alive B) DEAD!!!!!!!!!” I retained practically nothing.

Next was “Nutrition” for our mid-morning sugar fix, then on to Science with Mr. Rude. Another good teacher. There was a certain relevance to this course. America was in the space race and nearby in the Santa Susana Mountains they were building the rockets. When we’d start hearing loud rumblings that almost felt like earthquakes we knew we were only a month or two away from another NASA launch.

One thing our sleepy little bedroom communities had that others didn’t was armed Nike and Hercules missiles vigilantly guarding our lawns and gardens. This was still the Cold War and the defense plants that designed and built the new space age equipment (often in secrecy) were deemed potential targets. Bel Air had rent-a-cop patrol cars to keep it safe, Woodland Hills had thermo nuclear rockets.

4th period I had Typing. It was as close to a “shop” class as I would take. Wood Shop and Metal Shop were for the Surfers and Greasers. Typing was for the people who hired handymen.

At lunch I sat with my best friend, Gary. Daily topics would include the Dodgers, our mutual love for Laurel & Hardy, Laura Petrie, the KFWB playlist, and charting the daily progress of every girls’ breast development. I think Gary still has the chart.

Gary was half a year ahead of me and that lucky bastard was graduating in June. I wasn’t sprung until January. Depending on your birthday you were enrolled in either the Fall or Winter class. I drew the Winter. Jr. High was for babies. Sr. High was so much more “adult”. You were associating with people who could drive!

It was never a great idea to eat a big lunch because (a) the Parkman cuisine was not holding to its usual excellent standards (even in the hash line), and (b) my next class was gym.

God, did I detest gym. It’s the only class I ever got a “D” in, which takes some real effort I’m proud to say. If you can do five jumping jacks you’re an honor student. And then there were…the showers. Nothing promotes homophobia and insecurity in a pre-teen like daily showers with your classmates.

But the very worst was saved for last. Math. Not because I hated the subject or the teacher, Miss Harris. It’s because every time I walked into that classroom…

…there was Dana.

To be continued tomorrow.

15 seconds of fame

Hey, my son Matt was on ESPN Sunday Night Baseball this Sunday. Well...not on camera but announcer Jon Miller did talk about him and read a great piece he wrote on his blog, dirtywatah.com. Worth sharing here. This is the graphic that went with the story. You can hear the audio on his blog. Yeah, I'm bragging. It's one of the perks of fatherhood.

The comedy writing team MATCH GAME

In Friday’s post I talked about the benefits of writing with a partner. Summary: you always have a ride when your car is in the shop.

But you have to find the RIGHT partner. Some tips from someone who’s been in a successful partnership for 35 years:

Make sure you both have similar sensibilities. If you love Patton Oswalt and his all-time favorite comedian is Pauley Shore, keep lookin’. (If his all-time favorite comedian is Pauley Shore keep looking even if your favorite funnyman is Donald Rumsfeld.)

There have been a number of sibling teams that have worked out. The Charles Brothers, the Coen Brothers. Make sure you and your sib really get along and your last name begins with C.

Getting into a writing partnership with someone you’re currently having a relationship with is like juggling with live grenades while on a tightrope in a windstorm. You better be incredibly great together – both on and in the sheets. Relationships undergo enough stress without having your professional wellbeing attached to it.

Let’s say you two get a staff job and then start having problems. Do you break up and go back to square one, establishing yourself all over again (if you can)? Or do you remain in the partnership from hell just to maintain your job?

Couples always maintain that they can separate their working and personal lives. So if they do break up they’ll be able to continue writing together. Uh huh. That’s fine until the first one starts going out with someone else. That’s when objects start flying. Sharp objects.

There are a few husband and wife teams that have pulled off successful partnerships. I’ve also been witness to one marriage that literally ended in violence over a script for a series that has long since been canceled. The only residuals they’re getting from that show is bitterness.

He/she partnerships? If you complement each other and are sleeping with other he/she’s (in any combination) then go for it. Some of Hollywood’s most successful teams are this configuration. Certainly one of my favorites – Anne Flett Giordano & Chuck Ranberg.

Do you and your potential partner have similar work habits? If you like to work in a quiet office during the day and she is only comfortable writing at the Viper Club after hours, continue your search.

Have similar aspirations. If your goal is to be a writer and his is just to use this as a means to move into directing or to get chicks, pass. If he wants to write Oscar winning movies in five years and you want to punch up Bette Midler’s Vegas act, shake hands and run.

Figure out just how you’re going to work. Head-to-head? Splitting the assignment up and each taking individual scenes? One person writes the rough draft and the other rewrites it? There’s a screenwriting team of women who sit around the pool and get smashed. One mans the computer while the other floats on a raft. That works for them. I could see it working for me. What works for you?

The Odd Couple would not make a good writing team. Felix would want to start the assignment right away and turn it in early. Oscar would wait until legal action was threatened. Both of you need to be one or the other.

Now the essential stuff:

You must trust and respect your partner. If you don’t think he’s the talented one of the two you haven’t found the right person. And that’s not saying you always have to defer to your partner. I don’t know a single writing team that doesn’t argue. But here’s the key:

Don’t make it personal.

Let me repeat in all-caps:

DON'T MAKE IT PERSONAL.

Think of TV wrestlers. They kill each other on camera and after the show all go out for beers. Argue over script issues but don’t let the disagreement bleed into personal feelings. And along those lines…

Fight fair.

No passive-aggressive bullshit, no mind games, no guilt trips. My partner and I have a policy. First off, we both have to agree before a line goes in. Secondly, if we can’t agree, and one can’t quickly convince the other, we just throw the line out and come up with something else. Trust me, it takes less time to craft a new joke than spend all afternoon arguing and ultimately one person ends up unhappy.

I know this sound like a lot of rules but the rewards if you find the right person can be enormous. And don’t kid yourself. Your car will need servicing sometime.

Happy hunting.

Dave Niehaus

Today my partner gets inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Dave Niehaus, the longtime voice of the Seattle Mariners takes his place alongside the immortals in Cooperstown. It’s an honor long overdue.

Since the team’s inception in 1977 Dave has been their lead announcer. Can you imagine how many truly bad, ugly games he has called over the years? The Mariners for the first twenty years were just God awful. And yet people in the Pacific Northwest clung to his every word. The attraction was not the team, it was listening to Dave. His passion for the game, vivid descriptions, and magnificent voice made any baseball game sound exciting, even a Mariners’.

Prior to joining Seattle, Dave worked alongside Dick Enberg calling games for the then-California Angels (now Los Angeles Angels of California in Anaheim). Team owner Gene Autry once said to Dave, “You call a hell of a game. It’s not the one I’m watching but it’s a hell of a game.” Actually that’s only half true. It is the game you’re watching, only better. Because Dave has something that so few announcers have today – SHOWMANSHIP. You’re not just getting play-by-play, you’re being told a tale by a master storyteller. Name me a better way of spending a warm summer night sitting out on the front porch.

Dave, I wish I could be there today, sharing in your shining moment. But just know I couldn’t be more thrilled for you and truly the highlight of my broadcast career was that I was privileged enough to work alongside you.

My oh my!

TELL NO ONE

I don’t know if it’s playing where you are but TELL NO ONE, a French thriller is the best movie I’ve seen this year (although to be fair, I haven’t gotten around to SPACE CHIMPS yet). Like all movies today, there are twists but here’s the shocker – they actually surprise you. You’re not going “Okay, since he’s the Pope he must be the serial killer” or “I bet it’s going to turn out she’s his mother and his sister and his Farmers Insurance Agent”. The movie does ask you to pay attention (which is why, despite winning a gazillion awards in Europe, they couldn’t get a U.S. distributor for two years), and you need to be able to read (Yes, there are subtitles).

But it holds your interest throughout and in addition to being a thriller worthy of Hitchcock at his best (i.e. not FAMILY PLOT – what the fuck was that???) TELL NO ONE also is a very touching love story.

Standout performances all around, although François Cluzet (the French Dustin Hoffman) stands out among the standouts. And keeping his streak alive of being in every French movie ever made, Jean Rochefort (pictured) makes his obligatory appearance.

I’m not going to say anything more. No spoiler alert necessary. But if it’s playing in your neighborhood and just for variety you want to see a movie without some guy in a cape, check out TELL NO ONE. And see it in this version. Don't wait until Hollywood remakes it with Keanu Reeves.

Now – that said. There were a lot of plot twists that were tricky and if you have seen the film you might have a question or two and maybe someone else who saw it might have the answer. So I’m opening up the comment section today for a discussion of TELL NO ONE. If you haven’t seen the movie, avoid the comments. There will be spoilers galore I’m sure. See ya in the comments section.

Why write with a partner?

Pictured: writing team Alan Burns & James Brooks, creators of THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW.
Here’s the Friday question-of-the-week. If comes from a number of you. And it’s one I can answer with some authority having been in this situation since the Hoover administration (I saw on a blog someone referred to me as an “old warhorse”).

Why write with a partner?

It’s a big decision, especially when you’re starting out. There are many pluses to being in a partnership. And then there’s that little negative that you’re giving up half the money.

Comedy writers find the arrangement more beneficial generally than drama writers but that’s not always the case. Richard Levinson & William Link (pictured right) wrote hundreds of mysteries, dramas, and westerns and created (among other shows) COLUMBO. The award winning stage play INHERIT THE WIND was penned by the team of Jerome Lawrence & Robert E. Lee. But by and large, comedy writers benefit most from having someone else to bounce their material off of. You’ll know at least if one person thought your joke was funny.

Often times when you start out you are stronger in one area and weaker in another. You may be a joke machine but clueless when you have to construct a story. Or you’re great with structure but struggle writing funny dialogue. Or, you’re a fabulous writer in every way but have absolutely zero social skills.

The truth is, especially in your early stages, you may NEED a partner because you’re just not good enough yet on your own. The competition is very tough out there and your script has to really rise above. And as for the money, isn’t it better to have half of something than all of nothing?

There’s also the social aspect of writing in a team. Sitting alone at a computer staring at a blank screen listening to your pulse race is usually not the best way to create a carnival atmosphere. Much more fun hanging out with someone who makes you laugh. And if your car ever has to be serviced, you know you always have a ride. Trust me, it’s worth half the money just for that.

And in a town where networking is so important, you double your chances of glomming on to some unsuspecting soul who can help you.

The bottom line is this: (with apologies to Neil Sedaka) Breaking in is hard to do. The more support systems you can have in place the better. I once received a letter from a guy named Ken Levine asking my advice for getting into the business. I said find a guy named David Isaacs and team up. Getting a partner could be the best thing you ever do. On Monday I’ll offer some suggestions on what to look for and avoid in selecting that partner. Preview: Andy Dick. Avoid people like him.

And as always, best of luck. Someone has to make it. Why not YOU?

Stop me before I play again!

Hi, my name is Ken and I’m a Free Cell addict.
For years I blamed my assistant. She was the one who introduced me to the game. But over time I’ve come to realize I have to take responsibility for my own actions. I still should have fired her sorry ass but that’s not the point.

I’m the addict. I’m the one who can’t turn on his computer without playing just one game. And as you all know, one turns into two, which turns into ten, then twenty, and before you know it you’re out in the street living in a Maytag box.

Oh, it started off so innocently. “What’s that?” I asked my assistant Luciferita. “It’s Free Cell,” she said casually, drawing the helpless moth to the flame. “It’s kind of like a Solitaire game. You like Solitaire, don’t you?” I admitted that on certain social occasions I had imbibed in a game of computer Solitaire or two. “Well, this is better,” she said. “Let me show you how it works.”

I should have known better. That’s the same thing someone said to me about Tetris. By the time that was through I was eating Hamburger Helper right out of the package.

At first I had a little trouble getting the hang of Free Cell. Little did I know that that degree of difficulty, that “challenge” was what made the game so insidiously addictive. Anyone could win METAL GEAR SOLID 4: GUNS OF THE PATRIOTS, but Free Cell – the triumph over that game produced such a greater high, a euphoria that few have ever known.

But that high is somewhat transitory. It’s usually gone in one second, two if you’ve trained yourself to really savor it. So you must have more. That window pops onto your screen. “Would you like to play another game?”

In the background you can hear your kids say, “Daddy, come out here. The lunar-eclipse is about to begin. It’s the last one earth will see until 3052.” “Be right there, guys!” I call out. But that little window beckons. "Would you like to play another game? Would you? WOULD YOU??! Sweat beads form on your forehead. You try to resist. You’re almost up from the chair when…

“Aw hell, one more game.”

And now I can’t stop. Emails pile up. I haven’t checked my Nigerian bank account for months.

And eventually it’s not just winning the game. You need more kicks! How many in a row can you win? How fast you can win? How few moves do you need to win? How long can you go without peeing?

Obviously, I need help. I can’t control this on my own. I just found out today that Hillary’s no longer in the race. So hopefully, with all of your support I can rid myself of this destructive habit and return to the light. I have a sponsor assigned to me. I just got an email from him introducing himself. For the first time in months I'm starting to feel there is a way out. One quick game and I’m going to write him back.

Dumb critic questions

...Speaking of TV critics (or at least two days ago), they’ve all been in Los Angeles lately for the big annual TCA convention, a month long hypeorgy where networks trot out their new stars and show runners in endless panels of “We’re the next great thing” presentations. Every creator is super excited, every cast just immediately clicked on day one and now are a big family. I’ve been on those panels. I've said those same things. But in my case of course it was true. For both shows.

Uh huh.

Lying your ass off and fooling no one aside, there’s nothing like looking out at 200 people who are bored out of their skulls, knowing you’re the seventh panel of the day and this is day eleven. Do the math. They just want to go home.

The networks try to help your case by wining and dining the critics. There are usually lavish cocktail parties complete with shrimp. At least now each critic must pay his own way (i.e. his paper pays). Years ago the networks popped for the entire junket. And they would provide perks like laundry service since they knew this was a lengthy stay. One critic one year brought his living room drapes from home and had them dry cleaned at the networks’ expense. But you gotta give that guy credit for chutzpah.

Most of the questions asked at these presentations tend to be the same (as do the answers). But every so often the monotony is broken by someone asking something really stupid. Here are a few from this year:

One guy asked Lucy Lui how it was to be 40.

When Dave Attell, hosting a new GONG SHOW (what took so long to revive that masterpiece?), said the show would feature a beer pong act, one of the critics asked him what a beer pong act did.

One critic informed Jonny Lee Miller that she had seen HACKERS ninety-five times, and later asked him if he was going to call Angelina Jolie (his ex-wife) to guest star on the show. (Miller, annoyed but diplomatic: "You'll have to call her, I'm afraid.")

To Kevin Reilly, whom the critic had clearly confused with Ben Silverman: "Have you made up with Steve McPherson?"

To the showrunners of LIFE ON MARS: "If it's set in New York, why is it called "Life on Mars"?"

And just a few from years past (I’m sure there are thousands more):

A critic who was a sci-fi fan once asked Dawn Ostroff whether VERONICA MARS would be adding any "genre elements" -- because apparently nobody clued this person in that film noir is a genre.

Terrence Howard was once asked why he was dressed like a pimp.

Ron Glass was asked if his hair was real.

And finally, when I was on a panel for BIG WAVE DAVE’S I mentioned that the show would be shot multi-camera in front of a live audience on a soundstage in Hollywood and one critic asked, “So will there be actual surfing on the show?”

These cocktail parties obviously feature open bars.

The CHEERS episode I'm still writing in my head

Recently I was asked by TVSquad.com to contribute an article for their CHEERS week. For those who didn't see it, here it is. For those who did see it, here it is again in a different font. Enjoy.Sometimes you just never know.

David Isaacs and I wrote an episode of CHEERS the first season called “Boys in the Bar”. We were also producing the show at the time with the Charles Brother and Jim Burrows.

The subject matter was a little tricky. It had been reported in the papers that a former player for the Dodgers, Glenn Burke admitted he was gay. We thought, what if Sam’s roommate during his playing days made the same admission? It seemed like a great way to explore the homophobia you find in some sports bars. Okay…most.

So came up with this story: When Sam’s ex-roommate reveals he’s gay Sam must decide whether or not to support him. There is concern from the bar regulars that if Sam does the bar will go gay. I never said these were smart bar regulars. Still, Sam does back his former roomy and the regulars are very on edge. The next day, when they suspect two patrons of being gay they try in their clumsy oafish way to “encourage” them to leave. The suspects eventually do and Norm, Cliff, and the gang are feeling very good about themselves until they realize they chased out the wrong pair. The real gay guys are standing on either side of Norm and both kiss him at once.

There was concern from the get-go that this story might be a little too risky for a series that at the time was struggling to find an audience. (It’s bad enough CHEERS was losing to SIMON & SIMON at the time, it was getting its ass kicked by TUCKER’S WITCH too.) We forged ahead anyway and wrote the draft.

Everyone seemed to like it but was still a little worried. To their credit, the Charles Brothers and Jim Burrows did not back away. They put the show on the production schedule.

The first day of production a table reading is scheduled. The cast sits around a large conference table and reads the script aloud. Writers gauge how it’s playing and begin rewriting the things that didn’t appear to work. “Boys in the Bar” seemed to go okay. Not through the roof but decent.

As I walked out of the room Ted Danson approached and said, “Don’t change a word.” I was a little overly defensive and didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, “Hey, give me a break”, I snapped, “We tried for something, okay?” He waved his hands. “No, no, I mean it. It’s great. Don’t change a word.” Needless to say I felt like a giant ass… but was relieved.

The week of rehearsals went smoothly. Just a little tweaking here and there but no major rewrites.

CHEERS, like most multi-camera shows, operated on a five-day production schedule. The first three for rehearsing with the cast alone, then on day four the camera crews come in and the technical work is done. Finally, on day five the show is shot in front of a live studio audience.

The crew is usually a good indicator of what works. We’ve now heard every joke nine times. Nothing is funny to us. They’re hearing the material for the first time.

The crew LOVED “Boys in the Bar’. Big laughs all the way through. And by far the biggest was the last joke where the two guys flanking Norm kiss him. It was easily the biggest crew laugh of the year.

So we felt great heading into show night. Sure enough the audience was with us from the first minute. One joke (Sam telling Diane he should’ve known his roommate was gay, in a piano bar he once requested a show tune) got such a thunderous prolonged laugh that they had to stop cameras. Too much film was being wasted.

The show and the laughs barreled on. I was having the time of my life. There’s nothing a writer craves more than hearing big laughs. Now we’re at the end. The two gay guys lean in and kiss Norm, and…

Silence. Dead silence. You could hear crickets.

It wasn’t like some people got it and others didn’t. Nobody laughed. Not a single person.

I felt like Wile E. Coyote when he runs off a cliff and is in mid-air for a few seconds before he realizes it, then plummets to the ground. That was me and the rest of the staff.

We quickly huddled. No one had an explanation. The best we could come up with was that the audience didn’t realize that was the end. They were waiting for something else. So we reshot the scene and after the kiss we added a line. Norm points to one and says, “Better than Vera”. That got a sort-of laugh but was the best we could do. Cut to the closing credit and get the hell out.

We received an Emmy nomination for that show and won the Writers Guild Award for it. It’s still one of my proudest episodes. But to this day I scratch my head.

The crew liked it! They all got it!

TV critics

In a recent post I mentioned that uber TV critic Tom Shales had hated the BIG WAVE DAVE’S pilot and Tom then filed the actual review in the comments section. I don’t completely agree (I mean, Jesus, it’s not THAT bad. You can judge for yourself here.), but bad reviews are part of the bargain if you want to be a television writer. When you write for a mass audience you put yourself out there. And sometimes that means you relive the final scene of BONNIE & CLYDE.

But you can’t take it too seriously, just as you can’t start believing you’re a genius just because the TV critic from MERCENARY LIFE loves your new comedy.

Yes, it stings when you get a bad review. You take comfort in knowing it’s only in the paper for one day (although in the case of Shales’ slam of BIG WAVE DAVE’S the LA Times chose to print it in their weekly TV guide so it was around for everyone to enjoy for seven lovely days). But if you can force yourself to read the review objectively sometimes those sons of bitches make good points.

What kills me though, is when you agree with their criticism but had to do it that way because of pressure from the network, studio, actors, etc. You’re the one thrown under the bus. My partner and I did a pilot one time and I wanted to change the name of our production company to “It’s Not Our Fault Productions”.

I sure wouldn’t want to be a TV critic though. Certainly not today, with newspapers all in the shitter and cutbacks occurring almost hourly. And then there’s the little matter of having to watch television. How many VIVA LAUGHLIN and K-VILLE pilots can one screen before blowing their brains out? One? Two maybe?

The truth is TV critics can’t kill a show but they can help save one. No matter how excoriating the reviews for CAVEMAN, had the show gotten ratings it would still be on and its stars (in full make up) would be hosting next year’s Rose Parade. But being a critical darling can protect yourself from cancellation. Do you think the exceptional MAD MEN would be going into its second season and collecting all those Emmy noms were it not for its glowing reviews? The Scott Baio reality show kicked its ass in the ratings. That’s like Beyonce losing a beauty contest to Phyllis Diller. ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT is another show that had a longer life thanks to critical bouquets.

Like everything else, there are better critics than others. Some are thoughtful and perceptive while others are just plain imbeciles. The morons you ignore and make fun of mercilessly in the writers room , but there are a few critics worth checking out. Some of my favorites are Maureen Ryan in the Chicago Tribune, Alan Sepinwall in the New Jersey Star-Ledger (he watches fifteen hours of television a day, he’ll be dead soon), Aaron Barnhart from the Kansas City Star, and yes, even Tom Shales of the Washington Post. There’s also the former Seattle P.I. TV critic who is hilarious and now has her own blog. Melanie McFarland.

And my last thought is that TV critics exist because there is such a great general interest in television. There are very few insurance salesman syndicated critics. It’s nice to be in a field where people even have opinions about what you do. Even if you don’t always share them. I still say BIG WAVE DAVE’S had some laughs.

Comedy savers

To be a TV comedy writer you have to have thick skin. Generally you’re in a room with other comedy writers, all neurotics, competing against each other to get your ideas or jokes in the script. Eight puppies and one Milkbone.

Many times you’ll pitch a joke that doesn’t get a laugh or doesn’t get in. You’re out there with egg on your face. I find it’s best to develop a series of savers. As a public service, here are a few I use. (Note: if you find yourself using all of these in a five minute span consider other employment).


Hey guys, don’t all hoist me on your shoulders at once!

Okay, but you’re denying America pleasure.

Oh God, it’s my prom night all over again.

If Jon Stewart pitched that you’d put it right in.

I hear laughter but I don’t see the pencil moving.

Okay, don’t see your kids tonight. Stay all night. I’m doing this for you. Some thanks I get.

Sure, it’s not funny when I say it. But when (actor) says it…

You’re only mad because you didn’t think of it first.

Nurse! They’re being mean to me again!

The laugh machine will LOVE it.

I bet at CSI:MIAMI they’d be hysterical.

Fine. I wasn’t meant to be appreciated in my time.

I don’t feel the love, you assholes.

You try being funny when you’re having a stroke.

See it typed. You’ll think differently.

Okay, what if they said it in a funny accent?

I’m sorry. Are there no more seats at the Algonquin Round Table?

So you’re saying perfection isn’t good enough?

Hey, you hired me!

(In Forghorn Leghorn voice) I say, I say, I keep pitchin’ ‘em, boy, and you keep missin’ ‘em.

Jesus, people, doesn’t ANYTHING make you laugh?

You all remember. I used to be funny, right?

And of course, the ultimate saver and perennial crowd pleaser – Go fuck yourself.

Favorite American Expression

Non baseball fans will laugh just as hard at this. Ichiro Suzuki is All-Star player for the Seattle Mariners after being a legend in Japan. Over the last few years he has been learning English. Here he is being interviewed recently by Bob Costas. I think he should be awarded citizenship for this answer alone.