How can there possibly be a Michael Eisner talk show?
How can the GEORGE LOPEZ SHOW reach 100 episodes?
How can American Airlines charge $4.00 for crackers?
How can El Coyote on Beverly Blvd. stay in business?
How can Rob Schneider keep making a living as an actor?
How can Paula Abdul even remember her name?
How can MAMA MIA still be running on Broadway?
How can George Mason be in the Final Four (not that I’m complaining)?
How can Jessica Simpson want to adopt a child?
How can Jack Bauer’s cellphone always get great reception?
How can Joan Rivers close her eyelids?
How can Neil Sedaka not be in the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame?
How can anybody put together a piece of Ikea furniture?
How can Bonnie Bernstein think it’s better to host the Sprint NCAA tournament over-the-phone than sideline reporter for the CBS television network?
How can Barbara Walters be on INSIDE THE ACTORS STUDIO?
How can the JACK format still be on the air in New York?
How can ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY think Gene Wilder’s performance in YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN was the 9th greatest acting performance of ALL TIME??
How can Bucky still be on AMERICAN IDOL?
How can oil companies get away with charging almost $3.00 a gallon?
How can baseball commissioner Bud Selig hire a man who is part owner of the Red Sox and involved with ESPN to handle the “impartial” investigation of steroids?
How can the star of TRUE LIES be the governor of California?
And the biggest question of all:
How can George W. Bush actually be the President of the United States?
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Who hires directors?
The question was asked: who selects directors for TV shows? I can only speak for comedies but usually the show runners. Unless it’s a pilot and then it’s the network (and some of the directors they LOVE I wouldn’t let behind my cellphone camera). All directors must be studio and network approved but during the season that’s usually just a formality. I’ve never been told I couldn’t hire a particular director. There were a few I wish somebody did. When a director is recommended as “Andy Ackerman on a budget” RUN.
I was lucky enough to be trained by James Burrows, the Mozart of sitcom directors. After observing for a couple of years I asked him what’s the best advice he could give me? He said, “Get the job”. And like everything else he told me, he was right. You need to be thrown into the deep end to learn how to swim.
Yeah, but getting that job is easier said than done. This is where “who you know” REALLY comes into play.
Often times writers get their first directing break on their own shows, or as a reward for being on a series a long time. But I’ve seen First AD’s (Katy Gerritson of FRASIER, Lenny Garner of WINGS, Pamela Fryman, many others), editors (Andy Ackerman, Darryl Bates, etc.), camera coordinators, and line producers (e.g. Jay Kleckner, Tim Berry) get the nod too. On the worst show I ever freelanced for, I was followed by the wife of a studio executive. She showed up the first day and said to the actors “So like what, you walk around and stuff and I say okay?” (After the mutiny she was replaced, probably by the craft services guy.)
My first assignment was on WINGS. To this day I thank Peter Casey, David Lee, and David Angell for giving me the shot. I suppose it’s easier for a first-time director when the project is an indie feature that you wrote. Everyone looks to you since the movie is seemingly your vision.
In television you’re the substitute teacher for the Sweathogs. You do your best to act like you know what you’re doing but the cast KNOWS you’re not a director, not yet anyway. And you can’t blame them. Whenever a cast member wants to write a script we don’t take them seriously either (and God are we right most of the time. GAAAA.). It takes a while to learn actor-speak. Who knew a helpful note wasn’t “NO! Anything but THAT!!”
And then there’s the crew. Especially if you’re not one of them they HATE you first time out. With good reason, of course. You don’t know shit and you’re slow. There is nothing more terrifying than sitting down in front of the quad split (the feed from each camera) for the first time and hearing four grizzled camera operators whose credits include I LOVE LUCY, snarl, “Okay, whattaya want?” That’s the moment it starts coming down both legs. You worked all weekend with your little plastic men, moving them around, writing down your shots, getting all prepared, and now it’s like NONE of that matters. Even writing a block comedy scene for Courtney Thorne-Smith starts looking pretty good to you compared to this. What should take five hours takes eleven. No wonder the crew wants to impale you on the boom mike.
Somehow you get through it…unless you’re that studio executive’s wife. She’s probably an executive now herself GIVING directors notes. (So you like say ‘action’ and stuff and I say okay?) It’s a great accomplishment and if you’re ever hired again the second one can only get easier.
On Monday the tale of my first directing assignment complete with two crew members almost coming to blows and two cameras crashing into each other on show night in front of the audience. Where’s the Valium?????
I was lucky enough to be trained by James Burrows, the Mozart of sitcom directors. After observing for a couple of years I asked him what’s the best advice he could give me? He said, “Get the job”. And like everything else he told me, he was right. You need to be thrown into the deep end to learn how to swim.
Yeah, but getting that job is easier said than done. This is where “who you know” REALLY comes into play.
Often times writers get their first directing break on their own shows, or as a reward for being on a series a long time. But I’ve seen First AD’s (Katy Gerritson of FRASIER, Lenny Garner of WINGS, Pamela Fryman, many others), editors (Andy Ackerman, Darryl Bates, etc.), camera coordinators, and line producers (e.g. Jay Kleckner, Tim Berry) get the nod too. On the worst show I ever freelanced for, I was followed by the wife of a studio executive. She showed up the first day and said to the actors “So like what, you walk around and stuff and I say okay?” (After the mutiny she was replaced, probably by the craft services guy.)
My first assignment was on WINGS. To this day I thank Peter Casey, David Lee, and David Angell for giving me the shot. I suppose it’s easier for a first-time director when the project is an indie feature that you wrote. Everyone looks to you since the movie is seemingly your vision.
In television you’re the substitute teacher for the Sweathogs. You do your best to act like you know what you’re doing but the cast KNOWS you’re not a director, not yet anyway. And you can’t blame them. Whenever a cast member wants to write a script we don’t take them seriously either (and God are we right most of the time. GAAAA.). It takes a while to learn actor-speak. Who knew a helpful note wasn’t “NO! Anything but THAT!!”
And then there’s the crew. Especially if you’re not one of them they HATE you first time out. With good reason, of course. You don’t know shit and you’re slow. There is nothing more terrifying than sitting down in front of the quad split (the feed from each camera) for the first time and hearing four grizzled camera operators whose credits include I LOVE LUCY, snarl, “Okay, whattaya want?” That’s the moment it starts coming down both legs. You worked all weekend with your little plastic men, moving them around, writing down your shots, getting all prepared, and now it’s like NONE of that matters. Even writing a block comedy scene for Courtney Thorne-Smith starts looking pretty good to you compared to this. What should take five hours takes eleven. No wonder the crew wants to impale you on the boom mike.
Somehow you get through it…unless you’re that studio executive’s wife. She’s probably an executive now herself GIVING directors notes. (So you like say ‘action’ and stuff and I say okay?) It’s a great accomplishment and if you’re ever hired again the second one can only get easier.
On Monday the tale of my first directing assignment complete with two crew members almost coming to blows and two cameras crashing into each other on show night in front of the audience. Where’s the Valium?????
Why writers direct
Billy Wilder, a superb writer/director was once asked if he thought a director should be able to write. His answer was: “No, he should be able to read.” The question always arises: why do writers want to direct? As a writer who also became a director ten years ago I can tell you the answer. And it’s not the answer you expect.
Most people think it’s to protect your material. That’s a factor certainly but especially in television the show runner is king. The director is his bitch. David Chase doesn’t have to direct every SOPRANOS episode to carry out his vision. David E. Kelley never even goes down to the stage. In features it’s obviously different. There it’s the director’s show and the writer is lucky if he gets a drive-on at the gate. But studios rarely hire writers to be first time directors unless they’re big successes and if they are big successes chances are their material wasn’t ruined. And the independent route is expensive and very risky. Directors have to be turning your period piece love stories into sci fi slasher pictures to make you want to mortgage your house.
No, the real reason writers want to direct is this: directing is easier. Sure there are long hours, a million stupid questions (who gives a fuck what color the floss is? It’s floss!!), difficult actresses, and Faye Dunaway. But your job is to make something that already exists work. That’s a whole lot easier than creating something out of nothing. I wish I knew who said it but supposedly a writer who was sick of always hearing about the “Capra Touch” set 120 blank pages in front of him and said, “Here. Put the Capra Touch on this.”
Directors also have cinematographers to make them look good, special effects guys, second unit directors, Industrial Light & Magic, editors, Judi Densch. But writers just have that blank screen.
Writing is lonely, directing is social. Writing is wishing, directing is making. Writing is losing your credit in arbitration, directing is taking credit for everything.
And yet, in my heart of hearts, I know I’m a writer. It’s my first love, it’s who I am. And if I ever needed further proof, Cedar-Sinai screwed up and billed the DGA health fund as my primary instead of the WGA and I’ve been on the phone trying to straighten this fucking thing out for two months.
Most people think it’s to protect your material. That’s a factor certainly but especially in television the show runner is king. The director is his bitch. David Chase doesn’t have to direct every SOPRANOS episode to carry out his vision. David E. Kelley never even goes down to the stage. In features it’s obviously different. There it’s the director’s show and the writer is lucky if he gets a drive-on at the gate. But studios rarely hire writers to be first time directors unless they’re big successes and if they are big successes chances are their material wasn’t ruined. And the independent route is expensive and very risky. Directors have to be turning your period piece love stories into sci fi slasher pictures to make you want to mortgage your house.
No, the real reason writers want to direct is this: directing is easier. Sure there are long hours, a million stupid questions (who gives a fuck what color the floss is? It’s floss!!), difficult actresses, and Faye Dunaway. But your job is to make something that already exists work. That’s a whole lot easier than creating something out of nothing. I wish I knew who said it but supposedly a writer who was sick of always hearing about the “Capra Touch” set 120 blank pages in front of him and said, “Here. Put the Capra Touch on this.”
Directors also have cinematographers to make them look good, special effects guys, second unit directors, Industrial Light & Magic, editors, Judi Densch. But writers just have that blank screen.
Writing is lonely, directing is social. Writing is wishing, directing is making. Writing is losing your credit in arbitration, directing is taking credit for everything.
And yet, in my heart of hearts, I know I’m a writer. It’s my first love, it’s who I am. And if I ever needed further proof, Cedar-Sinai screwed up and billed the DGA health fund as my primary instead of the WGA and I’ve been on the phone trying to straighten this fucking thing out for two months.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Morning radio
Now that Howard’s gone there’s nothing to listen to on the radio in the morning. Certainly not if you’re looking for a laugh. (Sure, Howard is on Sirius but unlike sex, I feel it’s morally wrong to pay for it). Locally there’s Kevin & Bean on KROQ but I can’t take that head banging music at 7 A.M. (When will we finally see the “tender” side of Metallica?). Don Imus has gotten so bitter and craggy he’s morphed into his own face. The hole left by Rick Dees’s departure is no hole at all. The best I can do is XM and their three comedy channels.
But my choices seem to be the old school “classic” comedians station which should be renamed “I dunno, at the time they seemed funny” or the X-rated current comic stations, which is really the “Lewis Black challenge” and no one seems to come even close. Four out of five women comics are lesbians and that’s their whole act. How many times can you hear “If God wanted us to be with men he wouldn’t have invented vibrators” jokes? And if they’re not lesbians they’re Sarah Silverman clones (and even Sarah Silverman is becoming a Sarah Silverman clone these days).
What’s a commuter to do? I’d listen to NPR but then I’d have to hear the news. And the Jerry Lewis book on tape was not nearly as deliciously appalling as I had hoped it would be.
But then last week, a miracle. A great morning show. A great comic. Everything I had been craving all this time, all in one. Elayne Boosler was filling in on the Stephanie Miller syndicated show.
I’ve always been a fan but hearing Elayne handle this show reminded me of just how much better she is than most of her carpet munching or testicle collecting peers. She’s not the current “Flavor of the Month” but she is topical, relatable, quick, and very funny. Here are a few examples of what she said this week:
*****
You know what Al Jazeera means in English? Fox News.
What's the difference between a blog and a diary anyway? Well, I guess the Blog of Anne Frank wouldn't have had as much cachet.
Why are the Muslims so mad about the cartoons? If you can't draw the prophet and they've never seen the prophet, how do they know it was a picture of the
prophet? I thought it was Mandy Patinkin in a turban.
I think gay people should be allowed to marry each other. Just so they stop marrying Liza Minnelli.
On the news I saw two men in their eighties get married after living together faithfully for fifty three years. Who thinks this destroys the sanctity of marriage? Rush Limbaugh and his fourth ex wife.
He calls us elitists? Unlike him, I don't send my maid out when I need drugs. When I need a fix I get in my car at four in the morning and go downtown. And I know my drug dealers kids names.
I don't know if Barry Bonds is using steroids, but he did win the Kentucky Derby last year.
Athletes are upset that Bonds may have an unfair advantage because he distorted his body? Welcome to the world of women. You can't even watch the Oscars if you don't have implants.
Botox? Women spend five hundred dollars to get a shot of animal botulism in their foreheads, yet, they worry about mad cow disease. Eat a bad hamburger for two dollars, see if you like your face frozen like that before you spend
all that money.
The whole country gets ridiculous plastic surgery now. You know women are getting "vaginal rejuvenation"? Do they send it to Miami for a week?
Yes, women are getting their vaginal lips shortened. I can't imagine why. I guess it makes your legs look longer.
******
Elayne still tours and according to her website is involved in a number of projects, including the “Tails of Joy” animal rescue foundation which she started. (www.tailsofjoy.net)
I wish she toured more. I wish she did more SHOWTIME specials. But most of all I wish she got her own radio show. I mean, they gave one to Mickey Dolenz and David Lee Roth for godsakes. Why not someone who’s good? VERY good.
But my choices seem to be the old school “classic” comedians station which should be renamed “I dunno, at the time they seemed funny” or the X-rated current comic stations, which is really the “Lewis Black challenge” and no one seems to come even close. Four out of five women comics are lesbians and that’s their whole act. How many times can you hear “If God wanted us to be with men he wouldn’t have invented vibrators” jokes? And if they’re not lesbians they’re Sarah Silverman clones (and even Sarah Silverman is becoming a Sarah Silverman clone these days).
What’s a commuter to do? I’d listen to NPR but then I’d have to hear the news. And the Jerry Lewis book on tape was not nearly as deliciously appalling as I had hoped it would be.
But then last week, a miracle. A great morning show. A great comic. Everything I had been craving all this time, all in one. Elayne Boosler was filling in on the Stephanie Miller syndicated show.
I’ve always been a fan but hearing Elayne handle this show reminded me of just how much better she is than most of her carpet munching or testicle collecting peers. She’s not the current “Flavor of the Month” but she is topical, relatable, quick, and very funny. Here are a few examples of what she said this week:
*****
You know what Al Jazeera means in English? Fox News.
What's the difference between a blog and a diary anyway? Well, I guess the Blog of Anne Frank wouldn't have had as much cachet.
Why are the Muslims so mad about the cartoons? If you can't draw the prophet and they've never seen the prophet, how do they know it was a picture of the
prophet? I thought it was Mandy Patinkin in a turban.
I think gay people should be allowed to marry each other. Just so they stop marrying Liza Minnelli.
On the news I saw two men in their eighties get married after living together faithfully for fifty three years. Who thinks this destroys the sanctity of marriage? Rush Limbaugh and his fourth ex wife.
He calls us elitists? Unlike him, I don't send my maid out when I need drugs. When I need a fix I get in my car at four in the morning and go downtown. And I know my drug dealers kids names.
I don't know if Barry Bonds is using steroids, but he did win the Kentucky Derby last year.
Athletes are upset that Bonds may have an unfair advantage because he distorted his body? Welcome to the world of women. You can't even watch the Oscars if you don't have implants.
Botox? Women spend five hundred dollars to get a shot of animal botulism in their foreheads, yet, they worry about mad cow disease. Eat a bad hamburger for two dollars, see if you like your face frozen like that before you spend
all that money.
The whole country gets ridiculous plastic surgery now. You know women are getting "vaginal rejuvenation"? Do they send it to Miami for a week?
Yes, women are getting their vaginal lips shortened. I can't imagine why. I guess it makes your legs look longer.
******
Elayne still tours and according to her website is involved in a number of projects, including the “Tails of Joy” animal rescue foundation which she started. (www.tailsofjoy.net)
I wish she toured more. I wish she did more SHOWTIME specials. But most of all I wish she got her own radio show. I mean, they gave one to Mickey Dolenz and David Lee Roth for godsakes. Why not someone who’s good? VERY good.
Monday, March 27, 2006
My best of my worst
I’ve been tagged by Kevin Arbouet of tenspeedbrownshoe.blogspot.com. These questions all revolve around “the worst”. And when you think of the worst you naturally think of me.
*******
1. WHAT'S THE WORST THING YOU'VE EVER WRITTEN?
It’s hard to top (or bottom) AfterMASH. Take the three weakest characters of MASH, put them in the hilarious confines of a Veteran’s Hospital and you have a recipe for classic comedy. I thought at least I’d make a fortune in merchandising on those AfterMASH Action Figures.
2. WHAT'S THE WORST LINE YOU'VE EVER WRITTEN?
From an episode of MASH. A marine says “Radar, you and your rat are okay”. I defy any writer/blogger to come up with worse.
3. WHAT'S THE WORST ADVICE YOU'VE EVER GIVEN?
A writing teacher said take the money you would be paid for a script, divide it by the number of pages, and for each page ask yourself “is this page worth $200 (or $300 or whatever it was)?” Just writing this my tic came back.
4. WHAT'S THE ONE TIME YOU KNOW YOU SHOULD HAVE SPOKEN UP BUT YOU DIDN'T?
When Fox wanted us to cast a certain former ALLY McBEAL regular in a pilot of ours. As someone said afterwards, “he not only killed it. He then fucked its empty skull”.
5. WHAT'S THE WORST PITCH MEETING YOU'VE EVER HAD?
Very early in our career my partner’s friend was a secretary for a certain producer. She arranged a pitch meeting for us. When we got there he accused us of getting the meeting through “Nazi tactics”. It went downhill from there.
6. WHO'S THE ONE PERSON YOU'D NEVER WORK WITH AGAIN AND AREN'T AFRAID TO NAME?
Mary Tyler Moore. Wait, let me rephrase that: MARY TYLER MOORE!!!
7. WHAT'S THE WORST SCRIPT IDEA YOU'VE EVER HAD?
A romantic comedy about a woman having an affair with Saddam Hussein. I could never find the magic between them.
8. WHAT'S THE WORST THING ABOUT YOU BEING ON SET?
Going down for runthrough, hearing that the script has problems, and the cast looking at you like you killed their puppy.
9. WHAT'S YOUR WORST WORKING HABIT?
Writing a blog when I should be working on something that might actually pay me money.
10. WHAT'S THE WORST MISTAKE YOU'VE EVER MADE?
Created a show for Mary Tyler Moore. (in case you’re scoring -- failed comeback vehicle two of five). As the saying goes: We dragged a dead horse across the finish line to shoot it.
*******
1. WHAT'S THE WORST THING YOU'VE EVER WRITTEN?
It’s hard to top (or bottom) AfterMASH. Take the three weakest characters of MASH, put them in the hilarious confines of a Veteran’s Hospital and you have a recipe for classic comedy. I thought at least I’d make a fortune in merchandising on those AfterMASH Action Figures.
2. WHAT'S THE WORST LINE YOU'VE EVER WRITTEN?
From an episode of MASH. A marine says “Radar, you and your rat are okay”. I defy any writer/blogger to come up with worse.
3. WHAT'S THE WORST ADVICE YOU'VE EVER GIVEN?
A writing teacher said take the money you would be paid for a script, divide it by the number of pages, and for each page ask yourself “is this page worth $200 (or $300 or whatever it was)?” Just writing this my tic came back.
4. WHAT'S THE ONE TIME YOU KNOW YOU SHOULD HAVE SPOKEN UP BUT YOU DIDN'T?
When Fox wanted us to cast a certain former ALLY McBEAL regular in a pilot of ours. As someone said afterwards, “he not only killed it. He then fucked its empty skull”.
5. WHAT'S THE WORST PITCH MEETING YOU'VE EVER HAD?
Very early in our career my partner’s friend was a secretary for a certain producer. She arranged a pitch meeting for us. When we got there he accused us of getting the meeting through “Nazi tactics”. It went downhill from there.
6. WHO'S THE ONE PERSON YOU'D NEVER WORK WITH AGAIN AND AREN'T AFRAID TO NAME?
Mary Tyler Moore. Wait, let me rephrase that: MARY TYLER MOORE!!!
7. WHAT'S THE WORST SCRIPT IDEA YOU'VE EVER HAD?
A romantic comedy about a woman having an affair with Saddam Hussein. I could never find the magic between them.
8. WHAT'S THE WORST THING ABOUT YOU BEING ON SET?
Going down for runthrough, hearing that the script has problems, and the cast looking at you like you killed their puppy.
9. WHAT'S YOUR WORST WORKING HABIT?
Writing a blog when I should be working on something that might actually pay me money.
10. WHAT'S THE WORST MISTAKE YOU'VE EVER MADE?
Created a show for Mary Tyler Moore. (in case you’re scoring -- failed comeback vehicle two of five). As the saying goes: We dragged a dead horse across the finish line to shoot it.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
BIG LOVE. Big deal
Have you seen this show yet? Is the thinking “How can we do DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES but only have to pay for one husband?”
This show makes no sense. Bill Paxton plays a guy who has three wives, three homes, a dozen kids, and has only one job…in the easy money making state of Utah. Excuse me but he would be dead by now.
Oh, and there’s this other little wrinkle. It’s supposed to be a secret. How do you pull that off? What do you write on your tax return when they ask for spouse? What picture do you put on your Christmas card? Don’t other mothers get suspicious when there’s a different woman every day driving carpool when it’s their turn? How do they set up their Cingular family plan? What will Jehovah Witnesses think when the same guy answers the door at three houses?
And what’s in this for the wives? Jeanne Tripplehorn is the first wife. She once had him to herself. Why would she give that up? Why would the middle (trophy) wife, Chloe Sevigny, accept this arrangement when she could still nab an unmarried man? How many bad dates on match.com did she have to have before she agreed to this situation? And why would either of them go along with young Ginnifer Goodwin as either wife #3 or jailbait #1?
The deal is he’s supposed to rotate each night between them. Big surprise! He has trouble getting it up each night. So he takes Viagra. He should also take everything that Barry Bonds takes. And these are three beautiful women. I bet in reality a polygamist family’s photo must look like the Green Bay Packers team picture.
If the show’s ratings decline or if his impotence problem continues they could always rename the show DEADWOOD.
There’s a scene in the pilot where the three women are dividing up the nights and fighting over him. (This is Bill Paxton, remember. It’s not Sean Connery.) If my wife was one of the three I bet she’d be saying “YOU take him. Take him for the week. The month.”
He’s got a friend who’s also a polygamist but who cheats? Huh??? What’s his excuse – my wives don’t understand me? I need some variety?
Then he’s got wacko parents who live at the compound. Truthfully, I’d rather see stories at the compound. Maybe there I could learn the philosophy behind this perfect-for-cable-exploitation way of living. And even if not, there’s Bruce Dern and Harry Dean Stanton – far more interesting to watch than Bill Paxton zipping up his fly or three women preparing breakfast for twenty.
At every level this show seems bogus. For a better example of how a series treats a religion with sensitivity and accuracy might I suggest SOUTH PARK?
This show makes no sense. Bill Paxton plays a guy who has three wives, three homes, a dozen kids, and has only one job…in the easy money making state of Utah. Excuse me but he would be dead by now.
Oh, and there’s this other little wrinkle. It’s supposed to be a secret. How do you pull that off? What do you write on your tax return when they ask for spouse? What picture do you put on your Christmas card? Don’t other mothers get suspicious when there’s a different woman every day driving carpool when it’s their turn? How do they set up their Cingular family plan? What will Jehovah Witnesses think when the same guy answers the door at three houses?
And what’s in this for the wives? Jeanne Tripplehorn is the first wife. She once had him to herself. Why would she give that up? Why would the middle (trophy) wife, Chloe Sevigny, accept this arrangement when she could still nab an unmarried man? How many bad dates on match.com did she have to have before she agreed to this situation? And why would either of them go along with young Ginnifer Goodwin as either wife #3 or jailbait #1?
The deal is he’s supposed to rotate each night between them. Big surprise! He has trouble getting it up each night. So he takes Viagra. He should also take everything that Barry Bonds takes. And these are three beautiful women. I bet in reality a polygamist family’s photo must look like the Green Bay Packers team picture.
If the show’s ratings decline or if his impotence problem continues they could always rename the show DEADWOOD.
There’s a scene in the pilot where the three women are dividing up the nights and fighting over him. (This is Bill Paxton, remember. It’s not Sean Connery.) If my wife was one of the three I bet she’d be saying “YOU take him. Take him for the week. The month.”
He’s got a friend who’s also a polygamist but who cheats? Huh??? What’s his excuse – my wives don’t understand me? I need some variety?
Then he’s got wacko parents who live at the compound. Truthfully, I’d rather see stories at the compound. Maybe there I could learn the philosophy behind this perfect-for-cable-exploitation way of living. And even if not, there’s Bruce Dern and Harry Dean Stanton – far more interesting to watch than Bill Paxton zipping up his fly or three women preparing breakfast for twenty.
At every level this show seems bogus. For a better example of how a series treats a religion with sensitivity and accuracy might I suggest SOUTH PARK?
Saturday, March 25, 2006
the "Elite Ate"
Have these March Madness games this weekend been unbelievable? As a UCLA alum I am over the moon thrilled. But the tourney on the whole, has been spectacular. Duke losing. Texas losing. Cinderella teams. Buzzer beaters. Only thing missing is Bonnie Bernstein. As we nail down the last two spots in this year’s Final Four here is a travelogue from a few years ago when I made my first March Madness trek to Vegas.
GO BRUINS!!!!!!
***********
What a pathetic way of dealing with midlife crisis. I just got back from four days in Las Vegas where I sat in a sports book and watched 48 college basketball games. It's the first week of March Madness, the NCAA college basketball tournament. My friend Steve always puts together a group of guys to go for that first weekend. This is usually the same group that played poker the night of their senior prom and still have baseball card collections. How honored that I was invited this year.
I rarely go to Vegas. Can usually do about one day. Two if I'm lucky (and who's ever lucky in Las Vegas??) But being starved for entertainment and having just catalogued my baseball card collection I accepted.
Stayed at the MGM Grand. Was afforded all the personal touches one could expect from a hotel that boasted 10,000 rooms. Prices were determined by whether your room was findable. We arrived at about noon on Thursday and quickly headed down for the sportsbook. It was already packed. No chairs, much less tables. Big screens all around but almost impossible to follow even one game, or remember which game was on which screen. So now I couldn't find a chair, couldn't find the correct game, couldn't find my way to the elevator through the casino, and couldn't find my room. I had been in Vegas 45 minutes.
To insure this seating problem wouldn't happen again everyone in our group had to take a morning, get up at 5 and come to the sportsbook to stake claim to a table and chairs. And then wait four hours for the games to begin. I couldn't find the alarm clock either.
Of the 64 schools participating I really only cared about one -- UCLA. They got knocked out in the first round. (Fire Steve Lavin.) Now I'm supposed to get excited about Coppin State???
Each night after the games ended at about nine we all went out to a nice dinner. Most great US restaurants have a Vegas outlet. So we ate at Smith & Wollinsky's, Chinois, the Palm, and Gallaghers. It was either that or the Chuck Wagon Buffet. Amazingly, we spend twelve hours in front of nine screens, screaming and yelling and tearing our hearts out, slamming the table when we lose our two dollar bets and yet, later when we go out to dinner, everyone is just throwing around money, dropping hundreds like they were nothing.
Saturday night between the games and dinner the guys decided they had to see the Holyfield-Lewis fight on closed-circuit. So we went to the Orleans hotel (the elephant's graveyard for headliners. Melissa Manchester, Frankie Avalon, Captain & Tennille, probably the Cowsills, Karen Carpenter if she were still alive) and for a refreshing change -- sat in a ballroom on card chairs and watched TV...except we had to pay a tidy sum just to get in. If there’s ever a schmuck convention we’ll all be the first invited.
One of the guys in our group (who will remain nameless but you're on this distribution list and you know who you are) is the ultimate waiter killer. Four days and the rest of us were ready to kill him. We had to change tables in every restaurant, he sent back every order (sometimes twice), walked all the way across the casino (four miles) to return a cinnamin bun I had gotten him because there was frosting on it (like he couldn't just SCRAPE IT OFF!!) and almost brought a clerk to tears at Haagan Daz when he claimed she shortchanged him in his waffle cone. At that point me and one of the other sad sacks said we would punch his heart in if he didn't just take the fucking ice cream cone and move on. Yeah, that's how the MGM makes it money, skimming on the ice cream in waffle cones. I made sure I never ordered what he did because I didn't want them spitting in my food by mistake.
Sunday night finally arrived and we headed home. McLaren airport always had this wonderful feature -- recordings of stars telling you to use the people movers. I remember once hearing Totie Fields a week after her leg was amputated. The tradition remains but the level of stars has dwindled. This time I heard Judd Hirsch. Come on guys. Even the headliners at the Orleans are better than that. They couldn't get Vicki Lawrence to record a damn public service announcement??
I wound up breaking even, having a lot of laughs, unfortuantely bumping into a guy I knew in high school who is now an insurance agent and is calling me for lunch, and ultimately saying I was glad I went. But not enough to want to go again next year.
GO BRUINS!!!!!!
***********
What a pathetic way of dealing with midlife crisis. I just got back from four days in Las Vegas where I sat in a sports book and watched 48 college basketball games. It's the first week of March Madness, the NCAA college basketball tournament. My friend Steve always puts together a group of guys to go for that first weekend. This is usually the same group that played poker the night of their senior prom and still have baseball card collections. How honored that I was invited this year.
I rarely go to Vegas. Can usually do about one day. Two if I'm lucky (and who's ever lucky in Las Vegas??) But being starved for entertainment and having just catalogued my baseball card collection I accepted.
Stayed at the MGM Grand. Was afforded all the personal touches one could expect from a hotel that boasted 10,000 rooms. Prices were determined by whether your room was findable. We arrived at about noon on Thursday and quickly headed down for the sportsbook. It was already packed. No chairs, much less tables. Big screens all around but almost impossible to follow even one game, or remember which game was on which screen. So now I couldn't find a chair, couldn't find the correct game, couldn't find my way to the elevator through the casino, and couldn't find my room. I had been in Vegas 45 minutes.
To insure this seating problem wouldn't happen again everyone in our group had to take a morning, get up at 5 and come to the sportsbook to stake claim to a table and chairs. And then wait four hours for the games to begin. I couldn't find the alarm clock either.
Of the 64 schools participating I really only cared about one -- UCLA. They got knocked out in the first round. (Fire Steve Lavin.) Now I'm supposed to get excited about Coppin State???
Each night after the games ended at about nine we all went out to a nice dinner. Most great US restaurants have a Vegas outlet. So we ate at Smith & Wollinsky's, Chinois, the Palm, and Gallaghers. It was either that or the Chuck Wagon Buffet. Amazingly, we spend twelve hours in front of nine screens, screaming and yelling and tearing our hearts out, slamming the table when we lose our two dollar bets and yet, later when we go out to dinner, everyone is just throwing around money, dropping hundreds like they were nothing.
Saturday night between the games and dinner the guys decided they had to see the Holyfield-Lewis fight on closed-circuit. So we went to the Orleans hotel (the elephant's graveyard for headliners. Melissa Manchester, Frankie Avalon, Captain & Tennille, probably the Cowsills, Karen Carpenter if she were still alive) and for a refreshing change -- sat in a ballroom on card chairs and watched TV...except we had to pay a tidy sum just to get in. If there’s ever a schmuck convention we’ll all be the first invited.
One of the guys in our group (who will remain nameless but you're on this distribution list and you know who you are) is the ultimate waiter killer. Four days and the rest of us were ready to kill him. We had to change tables in every restaurant, he sent back every order (sometimes twice), walked all the way across the casino (four miles) to return a cinnamin bun I had gotten him because there was frosting on it (like he couldn't just SCRAPE IT OFF!!) and almost brought a clerk to tears at Haagan Daz when he claimed she shortchanged him in his waffle cone. At that point me and one of the other sad sacks said we would punch his heart in if he didn't just take the fucking ice cream cone and move on. Yeah, that's how the MGM makes it money, skimming on the ice cream in waffle cones. I made sure I never ordered what he did because I didn't want them spitting in my food by mistake.
Sunday night finally arrived and we headed home. McLaren airport always had this wonderful feature -- recordings of stars telling you to use the people movers. I remember once hearing Totie Fields a week after her leg was amputated. The tradition remains but the level of stars has dwindled. This time I heard Judd Hirsch. Come on guys. Even the headliners at the Orleans are better than that. They couldn't get Vicki Lawrence to record a damn public service announcement??
I wound up breaking even, having a lot of laughs, unfortuantely bumping into a guy I knew in high school who is now an insurance agent and is calling me for lunch, and ultimately saying I was glad I went. But not enough to want to go again next year.
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