STRIKE BACK: Written by strikers for hungry workers

I participated last night in a fund raiser for the Industry Support Fund – providing financial assistance to all the non-writers who were affected by our strike. I was one of several WGA members asked to read an original essay or contribute a short sketch. My contribution follows. The event was sponsored by the Met Theatre and Theatre East and was a huge success despite my piece.

Allen Rosenberg, the President of SAG, spoke at the outset. It was worth the hour drive in the rain just to thank him for his invaluable support to our cause and pledge an equal commitment to his.

In addition to all the internet stuff, SAG has a number of very valid issues that need addressing. One is product placement. Studios and networks are slipping products into shows and asking the actors to endorse them while in character. And of course they’re not paying them any more. Excuse me, but that’s a commercial and the actors deserve to be compensated.

No one wants another strike. But if God forbid there is one I’ll be at the head of the picket line. All I ask is that they tell me where the L WORD cast is marching.

Anyway, here’s what I read – a modified blog post from a long while ago. It got big laughs I’m happy and relieved to say… except for the Kurt Cobain joke. Jesus, did that bomb. March Madness has arrived again -- the NCAA basketball tournament. Thus the annual pilgrimage to Las Vegas for me and three of my middle aged sports nerd television executive buddies. Slater, the Banger, and Mr. Syracuse. Slater brought his girlfriend (who goes by either Karen or Valerie -- long story) thus increasing his chances of "getting lucky" by maybe 1%. Mr. Syracuse brought his wife thus decreasing his chances. My son, Matt flew in from Boston. He's now 21 so what better way to see Las Vegas for the first time than with his dad and three guys who look like the Pep Boys?

We stayed this year at the Paris Hotel. The theme is French hospitality (an oxymoron). I'm sure I would have been given a nicer room if I registered as Himmler. The casino features a low ceiling that is painted to look like the sky, a la the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. It's an odd shade of blue however, one that suggests nuclear winter. There are cobblestone streets and carpeting. A replica LePont Alendre III bridge overlooks the nickel slot machines, and there is an Eiffel Tower that is fifty stories high. Tours are offered. There is a sign at the entrance that reads "No food, beverages, smoking, weddings" (true story).

I don't know why these hotels opt for these elaborate themes. The truth is: NO ONE CARES. People schlepp around in t-shirts and shorts and flip flops. If I ever put up a hotel in Las Vegas I would use as my theme the HOME DEPOT.

There was an Anti-Aging conference in town. Am I the only one who finds it odd to hold an Anti-Aging conference in the one place where people stay up all hours drinking, gorging, smoking, and enduring the enormous stress of losing their money? I guess it's held there out of respect for Joan Rivers. My feeling is if the President of the Anti-Aging organization isn't 117 then it's a sham.

Matt and I went to Le Cafe for breakfast. They said "inside or outside?" What??? Outside of course meant under the sky painted ceiling. We chanced that it wouldn't rain and took the outside.

The in-house cable had a channel that spelled out emergency exit procedures. Leave it the French to provide a surrender strategy.

Remember when Frank Sinatra used to play Vegas? This weekend it was Carrot Top and (at the Riviera) "America's Tribute to Neil Diamond". Not even the real Neil Diamond, an impersonator. In two weeks the Mormon Tabernacle Choir (true) will be appearing. I'd love to see Shecky Green open for them.

Of course you could always pay a gazillion dollars to see Celine Dion screech out five songs a night. Or is that just a Barbra Streisand impersonator?? (That one didn’t get a big laugh either)

The Paris had "Arabian Nights Spectacular", something else to make the Jews feel comfortable.

Next morning before the games, Matt and I hit the beach. Mandalay Bay has it's own beach. Unfortunately, the ocean was turned off. No waves. But we took a long walk along the grid that serves as the shore and gazed out at the horizon to see the Lance Burton Magician billboard on Las Vegas Avenue.

Somewhere in the great beyond Bugsy Siegal is saying “If this is what I ultimately created I deserved to be shot.”

From the Mandalay Bay we hotel hopped. Had to stop in at the Excalibur -- a casino in Sleeping Beauty's castle. This is home to the black socks, shorts, and wife beater shirt crowd. You know you're in trouble when they have a special parking lot just for motorhomes. Handing a pair of dice to one of these idiots is like handing a gun to a monkey.

Then it was on to the Bellagio, where Matt and I checked out the Monet exhibit at their fine arts gallery. (How can you go to Vegas and not stop in a museum??) I imagine when most of the tourists saw the ad for the exhibit they said, "Hey, they spelled money wrong!" The paintings were glorious and it was just nice to be in the only room in Las Vegas where everybody voted for Kerry.

One thing you can say about Vegas, it has the most amazingly beautiful women in the world. And so where did we spend 90% of our time? At the Sportsbook, the one place that none of them would ever be caught dead in. There were 48 games in four days. At times four were going on simultaneously. I'm betting on teams I've never heard of. The place was packed with rowdy men and good old boys chugging long neck beers. We ordered White Russians, Tequila Sunrises, and Rusty Nails. No one fucked with us!

One hazard: you see the same commercial seventeen thousand times. Especially the one for "Cialis", designed to keep a man ready for 36 hours. Too bad I'm not single. One of those magic pills would be perfect for me. 35 1/2 hours to find a woman then a half hour to perform.

The Banger bet on exhibition baseball. Even Pete Rose never did that.

In keeping with the theme, French accordion music came out of the urinals. Finally, the correct venue for that music.

Elegant dining = no Keno boards.

Slater's girlfriend Valerie/Karen is vegan, which means there are only six things she can eat and she's allergic to four of them. She and Slater are the two nicest people on the planet but I have dubbed them "America's Waiter Killer Couple". Slater switches every table and sends back every order while Valerie/Karen has the kitchen prepare items not on the menu every meal. I’m afraid to eat with them. The cook or waiter might spit in my food.

Valerie/Karen's back was bothering her so she toted around a pillow to make sitting more comfortable. But a hot girl walking through the casino with a pillow -- she looked like a hooker who advertised.

You're not allowed to use your cellphone in the Sportsbook. And I so wanted to make reservations for the “Curt Kobain on Ice” show at the Aladdin.

Featured at the Paris Hotel: drinks in plastic Eiffel Tower glasses. $12.50 (true). There was a line. I wonder how many of those people thought they were buying the "actual" Eiffel Tower?

What is Pai Gow poker???

At the end of the weekend all of us either made a little money or broke even, Stanford and Kentucky got eliminated, and the waiters at the Paris hotel got together and paid for Slater's cab to the airport. It was great great fun. And I picked up a new name:

Kenny "the OTHER gambler" Levine

AMERICAN IDOL: Hot chicks with Nyquil

We got our first look at the girls Wednesday night (Thursday morning for me ‘cause I tivoed it). They’re cute, they belt, they have sob stories, and they’re all going to end up in the touring company of MAMA MIA. But for now their hopes and cheeks are high.

We were told over and over that some of them had the flu. But showing the same grit and fortitude they had when they attended their senior proms despite breaking a nail, they hung in there and gave courageous performances of 60s bubblegum hits.

First up was Kristy Lee Cook. She sold her horse to fly from Portland to Philadelphia to audition for the show. There were also auditions in San Diego, which is closer. She could have just sold her cat. Kristy was one of the flu victims. What will her excuse next week be for being boring?

Joanne Borgella was next. She’s the “plus size model” filling the LaKisha/Jennifer Hudson role this season. Simon said to take a risk and she did. She wore jeans.

Alaina Whittaker followed. She’s 16, blond, and has that Lauren Hutton space between her two front teeth that make her seem wise beyond her years. Alaina sang “More Today Than Yesterday” – the same song that Chipote (or whatever the hell his name is) sang the night before. There aren’t a gazillion songs in the 60s? They had to repeat the same four?

Finally! Something that Paula knows! The group that had the hit with “More Today Than Yesterday” (Spiral Starecase). Amazingly, Simon had never heard of that tune. Obviously he doesn’t listen to oldies radio. They play it eight times an hour. Along with…

“Happy Together”, which Brooke White sang (and David Cook mangled the night before). Brooke is a dead ringer for the young Susan Anspach (pictured below Brooke). She labels herself as “the good girl”. A couple of weeks in the bottom three and she’ll be wearing leather and going down on the mic.

Amanda Overmyer, the cool rocker chick who looks like an owl, scatted through “Baby Please Don’t Go”. Again, Simon had never heard of it. He can tell you every Lulu tune but is unfamiliar with Van Morrison? Amanda is a breath of fresh air. And even if she had the flu, who cares because she sounds like she has the flu anyway.

Amy Davis is gorgeous. I’d vote for her if she coughed up phlegm for three minutes. She sang one of Simon’s favorite kick ass songs from the 60s – “Where the Boys Are”.

Then it was Alexandrea Lushington (which would be the perfect name for Elaine Stritch). Randy and Paula loved her. Simon did not. I agree with Simon. Just another boring belter. Next!

Kady Malloy is this year’s Carrie Underwood wannabe. Big voice. Did a slow sexy rendition of “We’ve Got a Groovy Kind of Love”. Why? It’s an innocent teenybopper song. Why not just do a smoldering blues version of “My Boy Lollipop”?

Kady was followed by Asia’h Epperson. I’m still trying to tell all these people apart. I have in my notes for Asia’h: “dead dad girl”. Sang “Piece of My Heart”. Won’t make anyone forget Janis Joplin. Or even Amanda Overmyer.

One of my favorites was next. Ramiele Mulubay. Little girl. Big pipes. Irene Cara without all the lawsuits.

The goofy names continued with Syesha Mercado. (Notice all the cheerleader types are named Kristy and Amy and Brooke?) Will somebody tell her the Diana Ross look is not becoming? The only thing missing was plastic surgery and a cape. Another boring belter.

And finally, there was Carly Smithson – the girl with the sensational voice, scary tattoos, and Hannibal Lector smile. AMERICAN IDOL has taken a lot of heat lately for not disclosing that Carly is a professional singer who even signed a million dollar recording contract once. So to avoid looting in the streets and rioting, this “secret” was revealed on the program. Carly should be in the top two…if she wears long sleeves every week.

All in all, a good group. But certainly not a great group. Maybe the third touring company of MAMA MIA.

In Treatment

I am completely hooked on IN TREATMENT. It airs nightly on HBO and they’re in week four of nine. But you can catch up and watch the episodes on their website or HBO replays them whenever they’re not showing the “Making of SPANGLISH” or one of those other unwatchable movie – cough cough -- “documentaries”.

It’s adapted from a popular Israeli series so you know it’s not PETTICOAT JUNCTION.

The remarkable Gabriel Byrne stars as the therapist, Paul. And he’s just what you’d want in a shrink – he’s in a screwed up marriage, he’s getting burned out, he has the hots for one of his patients, and he can’t lose his accent.

You find yourself completely engrossed with each of his cases but it occurred to me that maybe it’s because they’re all sexy.

Mondays feature Laura (yummy Melissa George), a smoking hot anesthesiologist who’s in love with Paul and deals with rejection by hopping into bed with anyone.

On Tuesdays it’s Alex (Blair Underwood), an arrogant Navy fighter pilot who killed a bunch of innocent people during a bombing raid in Iraq and is there because he can’t get a good cup of coffee.

Wednesdays belong to Sophie (Mia Wasikowska), a cute high school gymnast banging her coach. She’s a cross between Juno and Chloe from 24. My heart goes out to her when I don’t want to smack her.

For Thursdays, Paul treats Jake & Amy (Josh Charles & Embeth Davidtz), a young couple struggling with infertility, marital issues, and who are we kidding? The Bobbits’ have a better chance of growing old together.

But the best is Fridays where Paul sees a therapist. (Actually, that’s not true. One Monday when Laura described giving a stranger a hand job in a bathroom that was more fun than Paul’s ennui.). But it’s fun to get in Paul’s head and Dianne Wiest (pictured) steals the series acting-chops-wise.

Like I said, sexy scenarios all. But in real life, this is probably Paul’s caseload:

Mondays – Ida. 81, nervous to interact socially because her Depends leak.

Tuesdays – Sarah. 25, actress wannabe. For a whole hour it’s just me, me, me, me, me, me, me.

Wednesdays – Rick. 54, hates his job at Aetna insurance, which he goes into with great minute detail.

Thursdays – Natalie. 64, Cries the entire hour. Just cries.

Fridays – Howie. 49, writer. Last credit: THE ROPERS. Guess what he talks about week after week after week.

But fortunately for us IN TREATMENT has more sizzle and intrigue. And when it’s over I know I’m going to feel such a void, such a loss that I’ll need to start treatment myself. Just hope I bump into Laura and not Ida.

AMERICAN IDOL: Boys will be girls

Since it’s the first week and there are four hours of performance shows I’m doing separate reviews for the boys and girls…this week only.

Tuesday night we got our first look at the boys. At least I think they were the boys. Half of them are prettier than the girls.

As opposed to last season, these kids are far better singers and wow, are their teeth white! They can sing, they can bleach – there’s just no end to their talents.

Ryan began by introducing them as “your top 12”. Mine?? I’m seeing half of these guys for the first time. To be honest, with all the 17 year-olds, it looked like the roll call for New Mouseketeers.

The theme was 60s night but to be accurate they should have called it “Mimic Peabo Bryson night”. Who knew every song from the 60s could sound like “Beauty and the Beast”?

Simon was in mid-season form, offering brutally honest critiques and questioning Paula’s sanity. At one point he pressed her to explain some daffy thing she said and she had to go to Randy for help. She should admit to being on drugs. We would have more respect for her.

First up was David Hernandez. Picture a young John Tarturro. He showed us how Peabo Bryson would sing “In the Midnight Hour”. But he’s got a big voice and will likely stick around.

Then we had Chekezie or Parcheesi, or Jacuzzi, I dunno. Usually before performers go by only one name they wait until they become major stars, or at least make it through to the second week. I think he sang “More Today than Yesterday” but as I remember that song, it had a melody. Chekezie could soon be Outthedoorskie.

There’s always one contestant who has never heard of shampoo. This year's grooming nightmare is David Cook. He’s the deranged outlaw that John Wayne killed in the first five minutes of every western he appeared in. David gave the Peabo Bryson interpretation of “Happy Together”. And he has the distinction of being the first contestant to pick up the mic stand. Please consider that when you’re voting.

Jason Yeager was next. Who??? If these people are too boring to be shown in either the auditions or Hollywood week (we’re talking 100 hours of airtime here) then you know they won’t be around long. He sang “Moon River”.

Moon River, wider than a mile, a tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme, my huckleberry friend…

You get the idea.

Then came Jason Castro (pictured). Imagine Lisa Edelstein with dreadlocks. Here’s the only time I disagreed with Simon. He loved his rendition of “Daydream”. I thought it was weak. Paula couldn’t keep her hands on the table.

Colton Berry must think he’s in Flock of Seagulls. What’s with the blond hair swept way to the side? He looked like he was attacked by a leaf blower.

This year’s token rocker is Robbie Carrico. The judges were fawning over him because he’s so “authentic”. They completely missed that he’s a Bret Michaels clone.

They also loved loved loved David Archuleta. The fact that they were so excited about a 17 year-old who could easily pass for 9 creeps me out more than a little. Still, he’s a good singer and four million middle school girls had their first orgasm Tuesday night.

Luke Menard. Again, who???? Much weaker voice than the others but looks like Hugh Jackman. Will be around long into the competition.

Danny Noriega is an 18 year-old who looks like Jane Fonda in Klute. He sang “Jailhouse Rock” (an Elvis song from the 50s not 60s) with all the soul of, well…Jane Fonda in Klute.

The cute girls continue with Garrett Haley (pictured). Ryan says he looks like Peter Frampton or Leif Garrett. If you ask me, he’s Heather Graham with a schnoz. He sang “Breaking Up is Hard to Do” through his nose. Next to this guy Neil Sedaka is Springsteen.

The best was saved for last. Michael Johns. Great voice and charisma. Sang “Light My Fire” as a rock song not the theme from “Aladdin”. Should wind up in the top two if he’s not disqualified for getting Paula pregnant.

The girls are next. My thoughts on Friday. And for the tenth year in a row I will be filing my bitchy Oscar review early Monday morning. I guess that means I’ll have to watch them. Shit.

"My oh my!"

How's this for a phone call on your birthday? Dave Niehaus picked up the phone at 10:00 AM on heard this from the president of the baseball Hall of Fame:

"Dave, welcome to the Hall."

Happy birthday and WOW.

Dave Niehaus of the Seattle Mariners has been selected as this year’s broadcaster to go into the Hall of Fame. FINALLY!! It’s an honor long overdue and I could not be more thrilled. Even Castro’s resignation? Big deal. Dave Niehaus is going to Cooperstown!!

Dave and I worked together with the M’s and he’s the best partner I ever had. His enthusiasm, love of the game, and heart as big as the Puget Sound has always been an inspiration for me. He’s a throw-back to the days when announcers had distinctive styles, unique personalities, and memorable catch-phrases. “My oh my!” is how he punctuates a great play. “It will fly away” for a home run, and the inimitable “Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it’s grand salami time!” for a grand slam.

For 31 years “the Veteran Spieler” (as we call him in the booth) has announced almost 5,000 Mariners games. And during that time they won at least 300 of them. From 1977-1994 he probably called more losing games than any announcer in baseball. But you’d never know it from listening. Dave is always up, genuinely having fun – and so what if the M’s are losing 8-1...in the first inning? When you hear “My oh my!” you know something thrilling is happening and you don't want to miss a minute. If I had to describe all those losses my signature catch-phrase would probably be "Kill me now!"

Because of Dave, fans in the Northwest grew to love this team, even though they were usually mathematically eliminated by opening day and played in a nuclear reactor (the Kingdome). It’s only been the last dozen or so years that the Mariners have been contenders. But ratings for Mariners games have always been the highest in baseball. Far higher than the Yankees. It’s gotta be ‘cause of Dave. No one made a point to tune in because Ron Vallone was pitching.

When I was with him our team was getting trounced on a daily basis. How do you keep an audience with that product on the field? Here’s how. Dave and I would sing the “Wabash Cannonball” anytime the Mariners fell behind by ten runs. Unfortunately, we sang it so often it literally became our theme song. But that was Dave. Instead of getting down on the team or angry he found a way to humanize its plight and spin it into a good-natured bit.

Dave has had a number of opportunities to move to other teams, winning franchises in major markets. Had he taken one of those jobs he probably would have been in the Hall ten years ago. But he felt a commitment to the team and a connection to Seattle. I’m proud to call him my friend, my colleague, and mentor.

Listen to the jingle the rumble and the roar
as she glides along the woodland ‘ore the hills
and by the shore
hear the rush of the mighty engine
hear the lonesome hobos call
he's riding through the jungle on the Wabash cannon ball

Next stop Cooperstown.

Congratulations, Dave. And happy birthday. Maybe next year you can get a World Series ring.

AMERICAN IDOL: Hollywood Week

STOP CRYING!!!!

This is AMERICAN IDOL not DARK VICTORY. This is not a Meredith Baxter Birney Lifetime MOW where she comes down with whatever disease killed the last patient on HOUSE. This is not LOVE STORY. This is not OLD YELLER!!

This is a bunch of cute looking kids who all sound like Aretha Franklin or Michael Bolton vying for a chance to be on television every week. It’s not, “Ohmygod, I can walk. I CAN WALK!”

At least in years past these wannabes were asked to perform together in groups during Hollywood Week so you had the fun of putting six rats in a box with only one piece of cheese. There were cat fights, there were alliances, there were questions. Who would rise to the challenge? Who would crack? Who would ruin it for the others? Who would Paula sleep with?

That’s all been replaced with a non-stop blubberfest. Winners cry, losers cry, Paula cries (the one she really wants to bang is only 16). The only one with dry eyes is Simon, who makes $2.45 for every tear.

Now there are solo auditions (most we never see), and a knock-off version of CHORUS LINE. “Back row, you’re going home. Front row, you’ve made it through till the next humiliation.” “Waaa waaaa!!”

STOP CRYING!!!!

The worst was this boy (pictured) who lives in his car and looks like Kellie Pickler. Jesus! He was inconsolable when the Clippers lost. I’m sooo glad he was finally eliminated. He cries so much he probably needs windshield wipers on the inside of that car.

Where are the cocky assholes? Where’s the happy-go-lucky bi-polar guy? The stoner? The guy wanted in four states? Instead we get 24 Terrell Owens (“He’s my quarterback, man!”).

That’s followed by an entire hour of kids walking back and forth down a long hallway. It’s supposed to be real dramatic. One by one they enter this huge room and must cross to the judges to learn their fate. Back to a life working at the Dairy Queen or performing live on national television for a few weeks and then back to a life working at the Dairy Queen? So our stomachs are supposed to be in our throats as we hear the decisions. Except that, well…we don’t give a shit about any of these people yet!! Some of these kids we’re seeing for the first time.

And it seems that in order to qualify for the final 24 you had to be able to sing, cry, and have parents or friends who are all 300 pounds or more.

But at least now we’ll get a chance to meet them, hear them sing, and more importantly, can begin making fun of them. And they think they had a reason to cry before…

Why we have this day off

Hopefully you’re all enjoying your three-day weekend. But please take a moment to remember why we’re celebrating this holiday. It’s my wife Debby’s birthday!

I know, I know…I went a little overboard getting her gifts this year. But there are so many things that I know she wants and maybe I spoil her but I just had to get them all.

She really loved the upgrade to the Movie Magic Screenwriter program. And the new Wii. I also signed her up for the “Extra Innings” Major League Baseball package on the cable. Not to mention the DVD box set of the three TERMINATOR films, a signed Kobe Bryant jersey, the Joe Eszterhas autobiography, the newly remastered PET SOUNDS Beach Boys CD, four days in Vegas during round one of March Madness, a gift certificate from the Writers’ Store, tickets to WRESTLEMANIA, a subscription to Screenwriters’ Magazine, a UCLA Bruins license plate holder, a bound copy of my 1992 Seattle Mariners scorebook, the Robert Evans KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE book-on-tape, a Fernando Valenzuela bobblehead, a new Laserjet printer that can turn out a hundred page script in five minutes, and brunch at her favorite place – Mr. Cecil’s Ribs.

Happy birthday, sweetie. I love you. And thanks again for the earrings you got me last week for my birthday.

The smartest shows of all-time

MENSA, the worldwide organization for “people from every walk of life whose IQ is in the top 2 % of the population” (how democratic they are!) just announced their picks for the ten smartest television series of all-time.

Side note: Whichever MENSA nerd designed their logo must've been a big Batman fan.

I assume only a small portion of the club participated since most only “watch PBS” of course. But of those select members who do admit to watching commercial television, here is their top ten along with comments from Jim Werdell, the Chairman of MENSA.

1. M*A*S*H – It had smart repartee and was so much more than a comedy.
2. Cosmos (with Carl Sagan) – Sagan was able to communicate something extremely complicated to the layman and do it well, and that’s unusual for a scientist at his level.
3. CSI -- The way they use science to solve their programs is intriguing to viewers.
4. House – Again, it’s high level type of show; it’s the personality that makes it a winner, plus it deals with science.
5. West Wing – you had to pay attention to stay up with it. The repartee was fast and furious and you needed a fairly high level intelligence to keep up with it.
6. Boston Legal – It’s primarily because of the characters. The story lines are okay, but the characters are incredible and the writers give them great dialogue.
7. All in the Family – The show dealt with social issues before it’s time and was on the forefront of trying to show people’s feelings, beliefs and the complexities of personality, in both a serious and comedic way.
8. Frasier – The repartee was sensational; the main characters were very good. Even though they portrayed people who were likely of high intelligence, they also showed their weaknesses.
9. Mad About You – It’s a personal favorite, I loved the characters and the back and forth. It was very smart.
10. Jeopardy – It’s about the only game show that really tries to test people’s intelligence. There’s very little luck involved, and there are few game shows like that. I don’t watch it all that much honestly, but from what I’ve seen it tests more than knowledge, it tests intelligence too.

Okay. I certainly have to agree with #1 and #8. Not sure I’d put Mad About You and Boston Legal in there over The Wire or Battlestar Galactica but who am to argue with genius?

So after reading this list I thought, has anybody assembled a Top Ten of the stupidest shows in television? The problem is after Hee Haw there are so many to choose from. So I’ll throw it open to you, my dear discerning readers. What shows do you are the dumbest of all-time? Two groundrules: You can’t pick My Mother the Car because that’s too easy nor AfterMASH. It was terrible but not dumb.

I look forward with great anticipation and horror to your choices.

The latest rejection emails

Okay. This is great.

A number of prominent writers are reporting that since the strike ended they received rejection emails for their spec screenplays or pilots. The studio loved the concept and dialogue but it just doesn’t fit their needs. In the case of one rejection from Disney the writer’s characters were not “female friendly” enough and it would be an uphill climb to sell it to ABC.

Fine except for one thing: these writers did not submit scripts.

Apparently studios and production companies are so intent on passing on material written during the strike they’ve even sent out some rejection emails to people who haven't submitted anything.

Gee, I sure hope the novel I haven't written doesn't get shot down. Just the years I've spent not doing research for it has been a major investment.

Stairway to Heaven...yeah yeah yeah!

It was 44 years ago this week that the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show. Here's how they might've sung STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN.

What is a Creative Consultant?

A reader wanted to know just what it meant to be a “Creative Consultant” on FRASIER. First of all, these titles are arbitrary and completely made-up. They can mean anything and nothing. For my responsibilities on FRASIER I could just as easily have been called “Teleplay Consultant”, “Script Captain”, “Producer for a Day”, “Supervising Shecky”, or “Power Forward”. In the theatre the job was called “Play Doctor”.

Essentially you come in one night a week and help to rewrite the script currently in production. You attend the runthrough and go back to the room and help fix the show. Primarily it’s punching-up the jokes but it can also be story help too. Often times the staff can get too close to a story and it helps to have a pair of virgin eyes. Even mine.

In this day and age of tightening budgets, “creative consultants” are a luxury most shows can no longer afford. It’s too bad. A good consultant can not only contribute to the script but also provide a welcome boost to the rest of the weary staff. Another screen credit could be "Part-time Buddy Sorrell".

I’ve done that job on many series including CHEERS, FRASIER, BECKER, WINGS, SIBS, MAMA’S BOY, IT’S ALL RELATIVE, LATELINE, and countless pilots. It can be great fun but also long hours. And when you’re working on two or three shows a week, and each rewrite goes until 3 AM your life become the Night of the Living Dead by Thanksgiving. Jerry Belson, one of the funniest punch-up guys EVER, worked on two shows a week at one time. LOVE SIDNEY on Monday and CHEERS on Wednesday. Except LOVE SIDNEY was in New York. Jerry would commute back and forth every week.

I’ve had the privilege of working with some of the finest “Creative Consultants”. In addition to Jerry Belson, there’s David Lloyd (the Noel Coward of television) and the all-time king of this field – Bob Ellison (pictured).

I marvel at Bob Ellison. The man is just a machine. He can come up with more jokes and BETTER jokes faster and more plentiful than anyone I’ve ever met. Most writers look for any excuse to get out of the room for a short a break. They’ll call their agent, use the bathroom, make some coffee, agree to a root canal if it’ll buy them an extra four minutes. Not Bob. He’ll sit down at 4:00 and not move until 2:00 AM. And during that time he’ll pitch great joke after joke. Bob can come up with more quality material in one night than most accomplished comedy writers can deliver in a year. And for twenty years Bob worked on as many as four shows a week. How he does this and remains so sharp and funny and consistent – night after night after night -- I will never know.

An example of Bob (and there are literally millions): There's a writer who always wore black. Bob crossed paths with him while walking across the Paramount lot and noticed he was wearing a white shirt that day. Without missing a beat Bob asked, "Who died?"

Like I said Bob Ellison is the King. Maybe that’s the screen credit he should be given. “King of Comedy” or even “Executive King of Comedy” if they want to spruce it up.

Valentine's Day

Most guys don’t love Valentine’s Day. It’s a holiday designed to trap them. If you’re dating more than one woman, you’re dead. If you get the wrong gift, you’re dead. If the gift is too cheap or too elaborate, you’re dead. If you get her a humorous card with Bush on the front you’re dead (although in that case you deserve to be).

Or worse, they love the gift and card too much. Then you’re REALLY dead.

My problem with Valentine’s Day is that it’s also my birthday. Try going out to a nice celebration dinner when every restaurant is packed, all the prices are jacked way up, and everyone is trying so hard to create a “romantic atmosphere” that when their date isn’t looking they’re popping Lexapros like Tic Tacs.

Still, not to be a cynic I would like to offer this touching love song as my way of saying Happy Valentine's Day.

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The strike is suspended!!!!

The WGA strike has been officially suspended pending ratification (which is pretty much a cinch considering 92% voted yes to suspending the work stoppage). For the first time since the beginning of November writers can go back to work on Wednesday.

What does this mean?

For TV writers on staff this means you say goodbye to your family and friends for the next two to three months. Once you enter the studio you will never leave. You might as well be checking in to the Hotel California. Round the clock writing sessions seven days a week to catch up. For the first few days it’ll be great. You’ll be rarin’ to go. By week two you might be looking back nostalgically to those halcyon days when you just picketed in the rain for four hours.

The good news is the final product will be terrific, probably even better than early season episodes when you had more time. Why? Because you won’t have time anymore to address endless notes. There’s a lesson in that of course but those that need to learn the lesson won’t.

With feature writers the amount of interference depends on whether your script is on the fast track or slow. If it’s fast they’ll want the draft TOMORROW. No time for them to say “What if we changed the drugged out rock star to a nun?” But if they’ve been sitting on your draft there’s no hurry then look out. They’ve had four months to obsess over the script. They’ll want you to change the rock star to the nun even if a rock star is not in your screenplay.

Warning: If you’re an A list feature writer and your phone doesn’t ring on Wednesday – you’re now a B list feature writer.

5,000 half-written screenplays/novels/plays will now go back into the drawer never to be seen again.

The Bill Maher Show will become funny once more. It’s been painfully obvious that you could replace Bill Maher but you can’t replace Chris Kelly and the rest of the writers.

Agents will be inundated with calls from writer clients saying, “Okay. I’m ready. Get me a job.” Every time these writers call back the agents will be “in meetings”.

Even though he can now get top name talent to appear on his show again, Jay Leno will still have Mike Huckabee on.

All the writer/directors who used to give money to both WGA and DGA causes will now make their contributions to WGA and SAG foundations.

And finally….

Pitchers and catchers report this week. I know that isn’t strike related but so what? Pitchers and catchers report!!!!

(photo by Jim Stevenson -- Deadline Hollywood Daily)

The return of my AMERICAN IDOL recaps

As expected, with the strike almost over I’ve been getting a lot of email questions. I thought they would all be about the deal points, what this means for the future, etc.? No. Most were wondering when I would lift my ban on AMERICAN IDOL recaps? Honestly, until they get down to actual contestants and voting the show is like watching the ninth sequel of POLICE ACADEMY.

The initial auditions used to be great fun. But not anymore. They say 100,000 people try-out each season. Well, we’ve now seen every one of them. How many times can we laugh at the same joke? How many tears can we shed for the same trailer trash sad sacks?

Daddy’s in prison after killing my sister but I know he’d be proud of me if only I can advance to Hollywood.

I’m sixteen, I have five children. I just got fired from Burger King for being too stupid, and I think I just conceived again in the waiting line, but I know things would improve if I became a star.

It’s either this or I go back to spending my life throwing flowers off the Tallahatchie Bridge.

Christ! And then there are the idiots who bring in puppies or (this season) a day old baby to butter-up the judges. Social Services people should be in the room ready to just confiscate these items and press charges.

The Hollywood auditions might be interesting. I suspect a lot of morons cracking under the pressure of having to learn the words to “She Loves You”. I’ll have to see.

In the meantime, here are some representative pictures from the open audition-freak show. All you need to know about twelve hours of airtime you’ll learn from scanning these for twelve seconds. Now don’t you wish you had those twelve hours back to do something productive like campaign for Fred Thompson?

Let’s get to those ten finalists, Barry Manilow night, the one contestant who has a porn video on the net (that's how you butter-up Simon), and let’s have some fun! More recaps then.

What I'll miss when the strike is over

Marching in the wind at 20th and being sprayed by the fountain along Pico for three hours a day.

Incessant honking. It was like driving in Mexico City.

That guy at 20th getting the cars to honk. I saw him at the Shrine and was surprised. I didn’t realize he was a writer. I just thought this was his job and that if Ralph’s markets go on strike he’ll be standing on Ventura Blvd. trying to get you to honk for that.

Reading Nikki Finke’s blog. Sure I could still read it, but now it’ll just be show biz news – Who got fired at New Line? Which agent is switching tenpercenteries? Who the fuck cares?

Those inspired videos from the LATE NIGHT writers. Why can’t LATE NIGHT be as funny?

Hanging out on line with my good buddy Elvis Costello. It was one of the greatest minutes of my life.

Getting into a fender bender with another writer. Exchanging insurance information and credits.

The actors’ support and show of solidarity, which is the only way any of us will ever get anything from these mega conglomerates.

Those idiots with the bullhorns trying to lead us in chants. They’d start out so enthusiastic. Then, after ten minutes of blank stares they’d say “fuck it” and go back to the car.

Being interviewed by the BBC. Disappointed that it was about the strike and not my views on the monarchy but still.

Seeing my neighbor for the first time in years. She had a pool put in? Really? Where was I?

Being asked by every person not in the business: “When is the strike going to end?” As if I knew.

I kept saying January. I was only off by a month (assuming we ratify the deal. If not, I was off by six months.).

Emailing members of the negotiating committee for updates and having them always promptly respond. Even if the news wasn’t good.

The plunge in TV ratings. AMERICAN GLADIATORS was not enough to save the entire industry.

Marching one day with each of my kids. Who needs to play catch with your son or treat your daughter to a Broadway show when you can stick picket signs in their hands and make them walk in circles with you for four hours?

Hosting a weekly radio show on KABC and knowing I was the highest paid writer in America.

Peeing at the Rancho Park clubhouse.

Free Alicia Keyes concerts.

Seeing people I hadn’t seen since the last strike. And aging better than at least two of them!

Having something to write about in my blog.

Members of the old guard. For four months these veterans of the industry --writers of many of your all-time favorite TV shows and movies and now unemployable – had a purpose. For four months they were just as important as Judd Apatow and Carlton Cuse. They marched in the rain and cold (and in New York – the snow) for benefits they’ll never see. I wish among all the standing ovations Saturday night at the Shrine there was one for these talented men and women to whom we owe so much.

It was fun to hear them tell stories. It was sort of like Radford Danny Rose.

Shutting down the Golden Globes.

And finally...

Marching with Richie, Katherine, Allan, Howard, Bob, Bobby, the Northwestern mafia, the staff of EARL, Andrea, Charlotte, the guys from FRASIER, Tom, Treva, David, David, David, David, David, and of course, Dave.

The big WGAW membership meeting

Back from the big general WGA membership meeting to discuss the proposed new contract. It was held at the Shrine auditorium, which was the perfect venue because (a) it’s large enough to accommodate the entire guild…along with the 5th Army, (b) most writers spend their Saturday nights in downtown Los Angeles anyway, (c) it’s close to historic Felix Chevrolet on the “big cat corner” of Figueroa & Jefferson, and (d) it’s the cite of the American Music Awards.

The turnout was excellent. Estimated at 3,500. CAA was not present handing out churros but all writers were given colored wrist bands and if you got a green one you were entitled to a free lap dance. I didn’t see Larry Gelbart or Frank Pierson but I did see Diablo Cody. There were also beefy security guards. Where were they during negotiations? Outside were disappointed photographers and film crews. Who the hell cares to see writers at a writers meeting? Where were the actors???

I didn’t know what to expect with this briefing. Similar meetings in past strikes have turned very contentious. Those security brutes might be needed. The pattern was usually this: the president and board spend the first hour selling the deal. The vibe is positive. Then the floor is opened for questions. Here’s where the mood turns. The first few queries are polite. Then about fifteen minutes in the first F-bomb is dropped. The questions get angrier and writers begin listing their credits (as if it gives their opinions more weight ‘cause they wrote six episodes of THE TWILIGHT ZONE).

The membership gets rowdy, the negotiating committee is under siege, and the whole thing turns real ugly.

Since a number of writers had issues with the current deal on the table I wondered if this would become a repeat of “Hollywood Palladium 1981, 1985, and 1985 part two”. Happily, it was not.

From the introduction of the negotiating committee there were standing ovations. It was like a Tony Bennett concert. There was even an enthusiastic standing 'O for the actors. When have writers ever in the history of man done that?

A major concern was addressed right off the bat. Members feared this deal was being rammed down their throats at the AMPTP’s insistence. Was the board going to vote to end the strike on Sunday before members had the chance to vote? WGA president Patric Verrone assured us that no, in an accelerated process writers would vote within 48 hours of the board meeting. So at the earliest, the strike would be over by Wednesday not Monday. That still would salvage the TV season and the Oscars. Joan Rivers is breathing easier today.

The main points of the deal are that it gives writers jurisdiction over new media and a share of distributor’s gross, which is hugely significant since any other formula is just monkey points. By establishing precedents the guild believes it is now in position to share the revenue from emerging marketplaces such as the internet. The deal is hardly perfect. There are a number of holes (which the committee candidly acknowledged) but considering we were negotiating against mega conglomerates who would just as soon break the union, this deal is at least a start and livable.

Chief negotiator David Young (pictured right) laid out the deal. Noting that his background was in the garment industry, a writer near me said one of the concessions we got was that doors would remain unlocked during business hours.

About an hour in Patric Verrone was handed a note and announced that someone was live blogging and would they please stop it. I was worried that everyone would look to me, and I would have to say, “Hey, guys. I don’t even know how to text message.” Rumor has it the culprit was some clown from the LA TIMES.

Lots of people lined up for questions, but they were primarily seeking clarification of specific deal points. And no one shared their credits. I have to be honest. The sound system in that cavernous barn was horrible and I couldn’t hear half of what anyone was saying. And numbers and formulas were flying around and after a half hour my head was ready to explode. I decided it was time to leave. It was pretty clear that the membership is behind this deal and if I got out before 11 I’d miss any street gang drive-bys.

So peace and harmony could return to Hollywood as soon as Wednesday. And will last all the way to June. Let’s hope SAG is able to make their deal without another work stoppage. But if there is, I’ll be the first to grab a sign and join their picket line. I doubt if the AMPTP would give a shit but the photographers and news crews would be pissed because I’m blocking actors.

Where have you gone Cary Grant? Or even Hugh Grant?

How far has romantic comedy sunk? To what depths has this once noble genre of films reached? Once we had great leading men. Charming, funny, handsome, brimming with charisma. Cary Grant. Clark Gable. Spencer Tracy. Fred Astaire. Tony Curtis.

And now… Matthew McConaughey. Yes he's good looking and some think he has charm but magnetic? Star quality? Funny? Sorry. I just don't see it. It's as if Andy Griffith had looks. He opens this weekend in yet another formula romcom, FOOL’S GOLD (has there ever been a more appropriate title?).

And once we had classy romantic heroines. Carole Lombard, Kate Hepburn, Rosalind Russell, Ginger Rodgers, Barbara Stanwyck.

Now...Paris fucking Hilton. Yes, that tramp actually stars in a movie -- THE HOTTIE & THE NOTTIE that also opened this weekend.

It's time to officially retire the genre. If there's one rule about romantic comedies it's this: they don't work if you're rooting for the couple to each end up alone. Or in the case of Paris Hilton, if you're rooting for the love interest to be killed.

No, the strike is not over yet.

Saturday night is the big Writers Guild members meeting to hear and discuss the latest proposal. Despite what you hear, the strike isn't over until at least after that meeting. And depending on the reaction to the proposal, we may be back to step one. I'm cautiously optimistic but until I hear what the deal is I can't really predict how the membership will react. I do know this: a giant room full of writers...with microphones for us to speak? The meeting will last for days.

Meanwhile, the LA TIMES is doing an article on what writers did during the strike. I was one of those asked and this was my response:

The great American novel that I started four strikes ago is almost done. I figure one more strike, two at the most and I'll be ready to send it to my editor (who I hope is still alive, I haven't heard from him since 1985). So I've got a target date of 2014 but I'm close. Really close. I can feel it.
Let's see if they print it.

I'll be at the big meeting. Will let you know how it goes.

Thanks to Deadline Hollywood Daily for the photo.

California Dreamin'

Back from Chicago where I guest lectured in my daughter Annie’s writing class at Northwestern. Getting there was no problem. Arrived on time. Zipped out to Evanston. A lot of “Ron Paul for President” signs in front of homes so that scared me, and the entire city looked like one giant mud slushy but all in all smooth sailing. I understand that the first gas powered automobile (circa 1900) won a race from downtown Chicago to Evanston. It took seven hours. Now, even in rush hour, it only takes five.

Since it was Super Tuesday I was sort of hoping my good buddy Barack Obama would invite me over to his downtown Hyatt suite to await results and watch CELEBRITY REHAB but alas he never called.

Let’s see…what happened Wednesday? Oh yeah, a blizzard.

I was trying to make snow angels in front of the Evanston Radio Shack but I got buried. I’m not used to snow blowing and swirling in my face. That’s for Brett Favre not me!

I was easy to spot as a Californian. No boots, no big overcoat (just a Patagonia jacket, perfect for Dodger Stadium in May), a stocking cap that made me look like a used Q-tip, and an umbrella. The umbrella was what really gave me away. I didn’t realize that it’s not much protection when snow is coming at you sideways. Even Mary Poppins wouldn’t be so stupid.

O’Hare was closed (big surprise). There were a thousand flights cancelled on Wednesday including of all things, mine. Fortunately, I had clothes for three days. I was wearing them all at once.

Northwestern cancelled nighttime classes and activities. Annie said that was the first time in four years they’ve done that. Her writing class went off as scheduled however. My topic was supposed to be character development but as a father I thought it was more important to lecture the kids for three hours on abstinence. They all must’ve been in a hurry to get to their next class because no one thanked me when they left.

More disruption: A nearby mall closed for the first time since 1999. People in Skokie had to make do without their Banana Republic and Cheesecake Factory. A local movie theater closed, but that could be because they were showing RAMBO, not the weather.

In the suburbs (where I was) we got a foot of snow. But at least it covered up all the Ron Paul signs.

And yet, for all the doom and gloom, everyone remained cheerful and friendly. There must be some sort of Kool-aid in the Chicago drinking water. Even the local newscasters still had a smile in their voice as they reported that hundreds of people were trapped in their cars. “I bet they’re setting their GPS systems to Florida.” Ha ha ha. “You said it. And turning now to the brutal slaying in Hyde Park…”

All the leaves are brown. And the sky is gray. Chicago has had a grand total of eleven minutes of sun this month.

One way to take your mind off of things was to workout at the Evanston Athletic Club. They have an indoor pool with a posted set of rules. This is – I kid you not – Rule #1: “All persons who are incontinent must wear rubber shorts.” I think I’d rather swim in Lake Michigan.

With all the snow and salt to clean the roads every car in Chicago looks fifteen years old. You can drive a brand new Beemer off the lot and in five minutes it looks like the jalopy used to deliver Domino Pizzas.

O’Hare was a zoo during my departure. People from Tuesday night still trying to get a flight out. I bet on an average night more people sleep in the O’Hare terminal than every Holiday Inn in America.

But it was all worth it to spend some time with Annie. I wouldn’t have minded being stranded another day…or two. Just not three because it’s supposed to get down to minus one. I’d be on Greyhound so fast my rubber shorts would have to take the next bus.

The unfriendly skies

Hello again from Chicago where I'm snowed in. But at least I'm not flying on United.

It seems they've has added a delightful new wrinkle to their poor service and utter disregard for passengers. If you check-in anything more than one piece of luggage you will now be charged $25 for every additional bag. Unless of course you fly with them over 25,000 miles a year. So in other words, a thousand people.

Here’s what it means to all United travelers.

More people will be schlepping carry-on bags. The bins will be over flowing. The woman seated next to you will have to keep her shopping bag of meat souvenirs under her (and your) feet. Bins may open, bags may go flying, and you of course will be the one nailed by some idiot’s over stuffed carry-on.

And the security lines become even more of a picnic as each person now has more luggage to juggle along with their shoes, computers, coats, and their Glad bags that must be measured because God forbid you sneak on one extra ounce of toothpaste.

Lines to check-in bags, normally moving with the speed of a glacier, will be even longer as passengers protest this new policy and/or claim they have the necessary miles, which will require the agent to look up their frequent flier information.

What more can United Airlines do to make life more miserable for its customers? Well…let’s see. One of their daily flights from Chicago O’Hare to Minneapolis is apparently late….96% of the time.

And how about this? That bag you paid an extra $25 for – I betcha any money they lose it.

Technical advisers

Hello from Chicago where's there's supposed to be a big snowstorm. Thanks for the great response to yesterday's post. And since we're all kind of in a MASH mood...
A lot of shows use technical advisers. It’s hard enough to write a good autopsy scene without also having to know anatomy. Sure, writers spent a lot of their high school nights at home alone (while Ben Silverman went to his prom) but we didn’t spend the time learning forensics. While others were taking pre-med courses in college we were working towards our completely-bullshit “Communications” major.

So when we’re asked to write lawyer/cop/doctor/dance shows we need a little help. On MASH we had three technical advisors. Dr. Walt Dishell who was our medical expert. We also had a trained nurse on the set to make sure the actors weren’t picking up scalpels from the wrong end. (The extras who played the patients in the operating scenes used their own organs, by the way. There were no guts-doubles.)

Additionally, we had a military adviser. When you hear Radar rattle off a list of incomprehensible army directives some are actually legit. And who needs to make up insane military procedures when all you have to do is use the real thing?

A Colonel from the Public Information Office of the army was assigned to us. When we first spoke to him he was very by-the-book, very wary of what we show business personnel were going to do with the information he was asked to provide. He also was new to the assignment, having only recently been transferred to Los Angeles. He had been overseas for two years.

We would ask him a simple question. He would call back with a long excruciatingly detailed answer that would include no less than five directives, four regulations, and seven procedures.

Now flash forward a year.

We call him for clarification on where death certificates were sent and he says, “Yeah yeah, sweetie, I’ll get to that. But first, I’ve got a great idea for a pilot. Okay, now picture this: establishing shot…” And he goes on to describe this stupefying idea. And all the while I'm thinking:

Sweetie? Establishing shot??

From then on we called him very rarely. Making stuff up was better than hearing his latest movie/pilot/mini series idea. And how do you complain to his superiors that we wanted a different adviser because this highly decorated war hero Colonel had gone too Hollywood?

So the next time you see a TV doctor or lawyer spouting authentic dialog just know there is a technical advisor somewhere, who spent years in law school or medical school, making an appointment for a Botox treatment.

You can now walk through the 4077th

The exteriors of MASH were shot at the Malibu Creek State Park. We called it “the ranch”. It’s about thirty miles from the 20th Century Fox studios where we filmed the interiors and I now picket. The park is right off Malibu Canyon Road not far from the ocean. But it’s inland just enough to be 110 degrees when it’s 75 at the beach. I never understood how that works. The original movie was shot there too, as well as other classic films like BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID.

We filmed each episode of MASH in four days, about 8 1/2 script pages. By comparison, a movie might film one page a day. To take advantage of the light we shot from sun up to sundown in the summer – cast in make-up ready to shoot at 6 a.m., wrapping around 8:15. Long day for the actors and the ox wranglers had it even worse.

But once we went off daylight savings time and it would get dark around noon it made no sense to schlep out there. So you’ll notice that in the last few episodes of each season they’re rarely outside and if they are the scenes are shot on our sound stage (Stage 9 for you trivia buffs). Usually they’re night scenes because they look less hokey than daytime shots (although not much).

The writers rarely went out to the ranch. Too much to do back in the office. When you film shows in four days it’s like Lucy and the chocolate factory – the episodes just keep coming faster and faster. In my four years on MASH I was only at the ranch one time. But if I had to pick a day, this was the one to pick. It was the first day of shooting season six. It was also David Ogden Stier’s first day. At one point I was standing on the chopper pad talking with Loretta Swit and heard a sound. We were re-filming a few shots from the opening title sequence that day. I looked up and coming over the purple Santa Monica mountains were the two choppers. I had the exact same view that Radar had in the beginning of the show. I remember thinking to myself, “Ohmygod this is MASH! It’s really MASH. And I’m working on it. How incredibly lucky am I!”

Just as the series was wrapping production a major brush fire destroyed the entire set on October 9, 1982. The fire was written into the final episode.

It was never rebuilt. All that’s left is rusted hulks of an army jeep and an old army ambulance. Park rangers would be asked constantly about the show. Wildlife questions no one had, but everyone wanted to know where MASH was filmed.

And now, thanks in part to Brian Rooney and a team of dedicated volunteers, there are steps being taken to recreate the ranch. They reconstructed the famous 10-foot signpost with its familiar hand lettered arrows. Using original blueprints they are also roping off the areas where the Swamp was, the Mess Tent, etc. The park may eventually institute organized overnight camping trips and videos projected on a bedsheet for campers.

But step one is a formal ceremony to commemorate the anniversary of the show’s finale on February 23rd.

So this summer, for the first time in 26 years you’ll be able to actually walk around the MASH camp. Bring water, sunscreen, a portable fan, and your favorite memories.

I'm off to Chicago for a couple of days to see my daughter. Talk to you from the Windy City. I understand I may need to bring a sweater.

Bob Redford on the phone. Tell him I'm busy.

With Super Tuesday almost here I’m getting three calls an hour from my “close personal friends” Ed Begeley Jr. and Sally Field pimping some candidate or proposition. If I’m on the fence over whom to vote for do I study up on the issues or take the word of the Flying Nun?

And for that matter, do I want Martin Sheen knowing my home number?

I have half a mind to call Senator Barbara Boxer’s office, get her on the phone and say, “Yes, I'm returning your call.”

On the other hand, I got a recorded call from Larry Gelbart last night asking to keep picketing until the WGA strike is resolved. Even a recorded call from Larry Gelbart is very exciting to me.

But returning to politics, here’s a novel concept: how about thinking for ourselves? Or at the very least realizing that celebrities are there to merely amuse us and when we do need to seek the counsel of others we turn instead to people who actually are qualified to help – namely BLOGGERS.

Good news on the strike front! Hopefully.

There is cautious optimism that the WGA strike may soon be resolved. Supposedly, both sides have agreed in principle to the deal but now must convert everything to legal language so the studios have loopholes to get around everything they’ve agreed to. Some announcement could come any day now. And peace and harmony will be restored in the entertainment industry – all the way until June when the actors’ contract is up.

But as we bask in this possible-glow I still have a few questions.

Why did it take the AMPTP four months, billions of dollars lost, thousands of workers laid off, the TV season in shambles, next summer’s feature tent poles derailed, residual animosity that will reverberate for years, the loss of the Golden Globes, and the possibility the Oscars would suffer the same fate when they could have just as easily made the same deal in October?

When informal negotiations clearly cut through the bullshit (as it always does), why go through the whole formal negotiation dance, especially when you have union hater Nick Counter as your lead negotiator?

Why wouldn’t the DGA just sit back and let us slug it out since their deal wasn’t up until June? What was their big rush? Clearly they got a worse deal. The DGA can publicly spin this deal any way they want. The truth is they’re being perceived as gutless. And as a member of the DGA I’m somewhat embarrassed.

What percentage of the audience that the networks lost as a result of the strike will never return?

Will anyone read Nikki Finke once the strike is over?

Is NBC still going to air MY DAD IS BETTER THAN YOUR DAD on February 18th? Come on. Rerun JOEY.

How did Giants receiver David Tyree make that catch?

The "Lost" CHEERS

This is my Superbowl tradition -- to present the "Lost scene of CHEERS".

My partner, David Isaacs and I wrote it, it was seen by EIGHTY MILLION people, (almost double the audience of the final episode of CHEERS)… then never shown again.. I’m not even sure if a copy of the film still exists. And after being buried for over twenty years, here’s the lost script of that scene.

Backstory: People forget but Cheers wasn’t always an enormous hit. The first season’s ratings (1982-83) were terrible…as in “dead last”. In today’s world both the CW and Univision would kick our ass. In an effort to get better exposure NBC asked if we’d do a special scene to be aired sometime during the Superbowl pre game show. Pete Axthelm (pictured), the distinguished sports columnist for Newsweek and gambling tout for the Peacock agreed to appear. David and I banged out the scene. NBC aired it…right before kick-off. Talk about a good time slot.

Enjoy, trivia buffs:

FADE IN:

INT. BAR – EARLY AFTERNOON

CARLA, CLIFF AND NORM ARE AT THE TABLE WATCHING TELEVISION. SAM IS AT THE BAR. DIANE ENTERS.

DIANE
Morning everyone.

EVERYONE AD LIBS HELLO’S.

DIANE
You boys are here early today.

NORM
Superbowl Sunday, Diane. The only reason for living…not found in a mug.

CLIFF
We’re early because we gotta catch all twelve hours of the Superbowl pre-game show.

CARLA
Started off this morning with the Superbowl Mass. Moved right into NFL ’82.

SAM
The next hour they’re going to trace the family tree of every player on both sides.

DIANE
Ah, the big game. An American tradition. These athletes will test themselves for all they’re worth. They’ll spit farther than they’ve ever spat before. They’ll scratch in places no man has ever dared to scratch. That is entertainment.

CLIFF
Yeah. Superbowl Seventeen. Or as the French would say it, (IN JOHN’S UNIQUE FRENCH ACCENT) “Superbowl Seventeen”.

PETE AXTHELM ENTERS AND APPROACHES THE BAR.

PETE
(TO SAM) Excuse me. Do you have a phone here? I’ve got the only bookmaker on the planet that I can’t get in touch with on Superbowl Sunday.

SAM
Yeah, it’s down the hall.

CARLA
Hey, you’re Pete Axthelm.

PETE
That depends on whether you want to thank me or hit me for my selections this year.

SAM
Welcome to Cheers.

EVERYONE EXCEPT DIANE ACKNOWLEDGES HIM.

CLIFF
Hey, how come you’re not out there in Pasadena?

PETE
I should be. It’s the last time I book a flight through Jimmy the Greek’s travel agency.

DIANE
Excuse me my ignorance, but I don’t know this gentleman. Will you introduce us?

SAM
This is Pete Axthelm. Pete’s the NBC house tout. Picks all the big games. He’s even right every now and then.

PETE
Actually I’m always right. It’s the players and referees that screw it up.

DIANE
Oh, I see. You predict football games.

PETE
That’s right.

DIANE
Oh what a worthy profession. I hope they pay you more than scientists and judges.

EVERYONE REACTS TO DIANE: “HEY, THAT ISN’T FAIR”, “LIGHTEN UP”, “COME ON, DIANE”, ETC.

DIANE
Pardon me, but it just seems ridiculous how you people place so much importance on the outcome of one silly little football game.

THEY CHIDE HER AGAIN: “AW, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND”, etc.

NORM
So Pete, forget about her, tell us who you like.

PETE
Well, I’m still feeding it all into my delicate computer – it’s a tough one, but I gotta start with that great Miami defense…

DIANE
Miami?! Are you crazy?! That Thiesman person will pick them apart. You call him a prophet?

EVERYONE STARTS TAKING SIDES. A GIANT ARGUMENT ENSUES ON WHO’S GOING TO WIN.

PETE
What’s going on?

NO REACTION.

PETE
Hey, what’s the name of this place?

EVERYONE
Cheers.

THEY ALL GO BACK TO THEIR ARGUMENT.

PETE
(INTO CAMERA) Lots of abuse. I love it. My kind of place. You only find true peace at racetracks and saloons.

FADE OUT.

Vote Yes or No

With Super Tuesday days away we in Los Angeles are getting bombarded by political commercials for various propositions. Several of them involve Native American gambling casino guidelines. Here's an ad that pretty much sums them all up.

Pepsi for those who think Superbowl

So that the Superbowl commercials don't have to all run back-to-back they have this football game to show in between them.

Here's a preview of a GREAT spot for Pepsi featuring Justin Timberlake.


Let's hope he has a better fate than a certain other Superbowl Pepsi spokesperson....(although this is a fantastic commercial).