See for yourself

Yesterday I presented the pickle we were in trying to figure out how to break up Nancy Travis & Kevin Kilner in one episode on ALMOST PERFECT. Here's another one of my little blog experiments. Today I will show you the episode. Tomorrow I will discuss the thought process that went into it. So yes today is homework but hopefully enjoyable homework. And it does have my favorite joke from the series.

How's this for a writing problem?

In 1996, after completing the first season of ALMOST PERFECT, my partners on the project (David Isaacs and Robin Schiff) were summoned to New York. We had a hunch it wasn’t because CBS loved us so much and wanted to treat us to a few Broadway shows. It probably was to ask for some tweaking before they picked us up for a second year. The show wasn’t a break-out hit but we were getting decent ratings. And over the summer we were moved into Monday night where we were attracting new fans (at least five that I know of).

The premise of the series: Nancy Travis was juggling the career of her life with the relationship of her life, Kevin Kilner.

Much to our surprise, we were told by the network that they wanted us to drop the boyfriend character. They felt Kevin didn’t test well. Actually, that’s not accurate. Kevin did test okay, but everyone else tested higher. The real goal should have been to do more with Kevin so we could get his scores to match the others. But the network didn’t see it that way. And they sort of had control of things.

I must say I disagreed with them for every possible reason. Kevin is a terrific actor and has a special quality – he is very real. We were able to make Nancy’s character more out-there because Kevin grounded the show and their relationship. No, he didn’t get the huge laughs every week but we didn’t give him the huge laughs every week. Yet whatever jokes we gave him he always hit out of the park. It was a total win-win.

Plus, he was the lynchpin of the series. The relationship is what made the show unique in our eyes. Otherwise it’s just Nancy juggling her career and her career.

They weren’t buying it.

In that second season I thought we wrote some very clever episodes but the heart of the series had been taken away. It was never as good.

CBS did offer one concession. We could bring Kevin back for one and do the episode where he and Nancy break-up.

How do you tell an actor he’s fired and then ask him to come back for one more show? To his enormous credit, Kevin Kilner was the ultimate mensch. He accepted the situation and graciously agreed to do the break-up episode. The only time in my life I ever left work to go to a bar and drink in the middle of the day was when I had to have that conversation with Kevin.

When it was announced someone called our office. David answered the phone. The person was irate and railed on and on about the idiot producers who made this stupid move. David said he was the P.A. but would pass along the message.

So here is the writing problem. We ended the last season with them declaring their unending love for each other. How do we suddenly break them up in one episode, making it organic and not just arbitrary? How do we do it so you don’t hate one or both of them? How do we work the other characters into the story? And how do we make the show funny? It will be the season premiere, we don’t want it to be a complete downer. We also don’t want a long argument scene of two talking heads. And this was before LOST so we couldn’t just conveniently kill anybody.

Quite the thorny little problem. I want to hit that bar again just thinking about it.

Tomorrow: what we did.

Herzengovina Idol

Olympic coverage continues…and continues… and continues. I love all the human interest stories. It’s like I’m watching the open audition rounds of HERZENGOVINA IDOL.

Question: Since I have an audience that extends beyond the U.S. borders (not in China because my blog is blocked there) but are you other-than-Americas really into these Olympics?

In 1984 the Big O's were held in L.A. as opposed to this year where (despite all the positive spin) they’re being played in the Detroit of China. For six months prior to the event we Angelinos were warned that the traffic was going to be an absolute nightmare. Citywide gridlock was predicted. But the result was a mass exodus of the locals and there was no traffic at all. We should have the Olympics at least every Friday.

For those of us who stuck around, it was a three-week party. The athletes were housed in the UCLA dorms and on the weekends would walk down the hill to the student union and mingle with the crowd. Vendors were selling commemorative pins and tacos and my family would swing by from nearby Westwood. Security measures were in place but mostly around the dorms. At this makeshift street fair the athletes roamed freely with us riff-raff. It was fun to talk to them about their countries and culture and answer their questions about America – like what was the appeal of Sylvester Stallone, and Prince.

I was fortunate enough to attend several events. Sat on the street and watched the marathon go by. I had my “Emil Zátopek rules!” sign but it turns out I had missed him by thirty-four years.

Got tickets for the ladies gymnastics finals at Pauley Pavilion. Thank God I brought my little Sony portable TV. There was no P.A. announcer telling you what was going on. All of these events were taking place simultaneously. Nobody had any idea what was happening except me. The one thing that did become clear, even to the people whose only exposure was watching it themselves, was that Mary Lou Retton was something special and on the verge of greatness. Beating out Romanian minx Ecaterina Szabó for the Gold Medal was truly thrilling -- only eclipsed by getting home with no traffic.

Since the Russians and 14 Eastern Bloc-countries boycotted the games, the U.S. kicked ass and American jingoism was at an all-time high. But what a joke. It was like the New York Yankees playing in the World Series against the Hooters girls.

Anyway, I must end here. The women's 10 meter air rifle event is about to start and I can't miss a minute of that.

Flying around the world in three hours. Pack a sweater.

Superhero movies are all the rage this summer. But I must admit, still my favorite superhero show is the old SUPERMAN TV series from the 50s.

I know it dates me but I was the target audience when it first came out but I still watch it in reruns (it’s now on cable channels so obscure they don’t even have names) and bought the first season DVD the day it came out. I’ve since given up running around the neighborhood employing a towel as a cape. My wife finds it humiliating.

When I watch the episodes now I am filled with a warm sense of nostalgia. I also am struck by how incredibly STUPID I was as a kid. There are moments in that show that are so preposterous that even as a seven year old I should have said, “Heyyyy, wait a minute.”

Okay, forget that no one can tell the difference between Clark Kent and Superman just from the glasses even though they look alike, have the same voice, and build. (Teri Hatcher had the same problem in the later series although in her case she was probably just too distracted terrorizing the crew because her Perrier was three degrees too cold.) I’m talking about these little gems (and I bet some of you have a few too):

In one episode Superman flies a little girl around the world. In three hours. At that speed with the g-forces I’d guess she’s be vaporized just outside the Metropolis city limits. And she’s just wearing a little sun dress and flimsy sweater. In one scene they’re flying over Mount Everest. He asks if she’s cold and she assures him she’s not. That must be some sweater because at that altitude it must be minus 300 degrees. But I bought it.

Remember the episode in which Superman was frozen? Oh no! How will he pass for Clark Kent? Simple, with some shoe polish and Lois Lane’s make up. Son of a gun, it worked!! No one noticed there was anything different between a normal person and a man wearing pancake makeup on his face and hands and jet black shoe polish in his hair. It worked for me.

The Daily Planet was a great metropolitan newspaper with a staff of three reporters. Yeah, that sounded about right at the time.

They were always quite liberal on their definition of X-Ray vision. Instead of just looking through objects, this Superman was able to see things from miles away. The one catch was that he couldn’t see through lead. There’s no lead anywhere in a straight line between the Daily Planet building and India?

Which brings me to my favorite moment of all. In one episode the bad guys got the brilliant idea that if they wore lead helmets that fitted completely over their heads that Superman could never identify them. Okay, forget fingerprints, they went to so much trouble to have these helmets made. And wasn’t it hot in those things? I guess not.

So in one scene two of these lead heads are going up to Perry White’s office in the Daily Planet. We see them walking down the hall. Picture this: Two men in suits, lead helmets, with fedoras. Two extras (“staff members”) pass them in the hall AND DON’T EVEN NOTICE THEM. Ho hum. Nothing unusual. Just two businessmen in helmets and hats. Now I fall off my chair. Then I thought “those helmets look good with those suits”.

Yeah, today Hollywood can turn out dazzling productions with spectacular special effects, starring A-list actors, shown on humongous IMAX screens. But they still can't mesmerize me like those cheesy black-and-white episodes that flickered on my twelve inch TV set, even if Superman did fly with strings and wore a gurdle.

Movin' on up

Okay, I know this is sick. But it's pretty damn funny. And it's why we need TV themes back.

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!